I was having both of my bathrooms renovated. Jacob was the head contractor, but had a group of four other guys working with him. Joe came to work at my house with Jacob’s gang.
Joe was a nice-looking, slim dude. He was probably in his thirties. He was painfully shy.
The first time I got to talk to him alone, he was down in the basement, working on removing my old toilet. He was down on the floor on his hands and knees. He was wearing a tight white tank top, and his neck and shoulders were covered in sweat.
I usually wasn’t into slim guys, but this one caught my eye. He had a feeling of submissiveness to him that got my balls aching. His hairy pits, small stiff nipples, and well-sculpted arms didn’t hurt either.
I tried talking to Joe, but he was very nervous. I got him to laugh a couple of times, and he would answer my questions with a meek voice, using few words. He looked away from my gaze most of the time.
The second time I had the chance to be alone with him, I asked him out—or rather, I tried to—but he started hyperventilating and then froze up. I was able to comfort him and calm him down, which involved touching him and placing my face close to his. He smelled incredible. I managed to get him to go outside and take a short walk to help him pull himself together. Needless to say, he did not respond to my invitation.
I mentioned it to Jacob, who apologized to me and said that he believed that Joe had hardcore anxiety issues. He hinted that Joe had just started on some new medication.
That night, I wound up out at my local Irish pub, which was where I was hoping to take Joe. I was craving a shepherd’s pie, and theirs were top-notch.
I found my favorite spot at the bar, right at the back corner, and grabbed it. The bartender, a guy named Peter, whom I knew pretty well after years of patronizing the place, brought me over my usual—a Jameson with Coke.
I took my first sip and looked up and down the bar. About twelve guys were sitting all around. It was a decently busy evening. Sitting two spots up from me, with his head lowered so that I almost didn’t recognize him, was Joe. He had on a hoodie. I called to him.
“Joe!” I waited. He finally looked up. I think he’d already seen me, as he showed no sign of surprise.
He smiled and raised his hand once in a brief wave.
“Come sit down here,” I yelled, pointing at the two vacant seats to the left of me.
He stared at me. I imagined that he was trying to get up the nerve to get up. I waved him over again.
I stood up from my chair. There were two empty seats immediately to the left of me—the last two seats at the bar, close to the wall. I pulled out the chair immediately next to me and invited him to sit, which he did. He got himself situated.
I sat back down and turned myself at the waist to face him.
He tilted his head down and spoke, as if to the bar-top. “Hi Robert.”
“Hi Joe,” I replied. “How are you, my friend?”
“Good,” he said quietly, still not looking at me.
I sat back in my chair and stretched my arms up over my head. I had on my favorite Hello Kitty t-shirt. It was tight all over, and when I raised my arms, my armpit hairs poked out in a big way. I was showing off the work I had been doing at the gym and showing off for Joe.
I lowered my arms.
“Hey buddy, I’m sorry about yesterday,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “I didn’t mean to upset you or anything. I shouldn’t have been so forward and assuming that you would want to go out with me.”
He turned his head, which was still bent down towards the bar, and looked at me sideways.
“That’s ok,” he said. “It was my fault.”
“No, man,” I said, rubbing his shoulder, “it was mine. I didn’t know…uh…I didn’t think before I spoke. Sometimes I’m bad at that. I am sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I get very nervous—all the time.” He turned back to look at the bar top in front of him.
“Well, I promise, I’ll try my best not to be the cause of it, ok?”
“You weren’t,” he said. “I mean, ok.” He smiled.
“There. Better?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I hope we can still be friends. I promise I won’t hit on you anymore.” I chuckled and clapped him on the back, gently.
He smiled again. Then he sat up straight in his chair and turned it to face me. He straightened up his submissive posture, and I felt a change in him…for the better.
“I hope we can, too,” he said. “And you don’t have to stop hitting on me, because I like you.” I noticed him hold his breath after saying this.
He put his hand on top of mine and looked me in the eyes. This version of Joe was very sexy. My cock stirred at his touch.
“Oh, is that so?” I said. I did not want to make a big deal about it at risk of freaking him out and/or making him retreat inside himself again.
“I mean…if it’s ok to say that,” he said.
“Yeah buddy, it’s very ok,” I said, turning towards him and putting my other hand on top of his. “I like you a lot, too.”
“Crazy,” he said, smiling widely. I saw a hint of worry or apprehension in his eyes.
“Yeah, but, no pressure, right?”
Joe just nodded his head.
I removed my hands from his and turned my chair to face him. Our knees were now touching.
“Can I say something…something maybe sensitive?”
“Yeah,” he said, “Sure. What?”
“First, if I’m being too invasive, please just say so. I promise I won’t be offended or anything.”
“Ok, ok,” Joe said, nodding.
“It seems like you have some kind of anxiety thing going on?”
“Yes,” he said. “Ever since…well…about seven years ago…something happened that I would rather not talk about if it’s ok.”
“Oh, Joe, yeah, sure,” I said. “I mean, of course. You don’t have to. I just wanted to acknowledge that I recognize this.”
“Oh, I see. Thanks, Robert.”
“And…if something happens…if I do something, or say something…and it makes you feel bad, I want you to feel free to tell me. I understand that maybe you won’t be able to.”
“That’s nice, Robert. I will try, but it’s usually outside my control. I freeze up—or worse.”
“I know, buddy. I’m really sorry about that,” I said. I placed my hand on his neck and pressed my forehead against his. I stroked his temple with my thumb.
“Well, I’m starting some new meds, so maybe it won’t happen so much anymore.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said.
“I’m feeling good right now…now that you’re with me,” he said. He looked into my eyes again. I saw a little bit of confidence there.
“Can I tell you how handsome you are, Joe? And how much I want to kiss you?”
He gave me the biggest smile I’d seen so far.
“Thank you. I want that too.” He moved his face closer to mine.
This wasn’t a gay bar, but it was certainly gay-friendly. I had made out with many guys sitting at this bar before. I leaned in and kissed him.
His lips were soft, and his breath was warm. He was breathing heavily. Our tongues touched.
“Now, can I tell you how sexy I think you are?” I said to him. “That first day we talked and you were in that white tank-top, and you were all sweaty, and your nipples were so erect and your pecs looked so tight.”
I put my hand against his chest and rubbed it. I felt the hard nipples, and I stroked one with my thumb.
“Oh, man,” he whispered. I could hear his heart racing. I could see the blood coursing through the veins in his neck. I suddenly felt like a vampire. I wanted to suck that neck and feel the blood pumping with my lips.
“What would you want to do if we were alone?” I asked him.
He kissed me again and held his face up to mine, our breathing mixed.
“First,” he said. “We would take all our clothes off. And you would grab me around the waist and pull me close to you and kiss me as hard as you could.”
“That sounds exactly like what I would do,” I said, reaching up and inside his shirt and stroking his flat, hairy belly with my fingers.
“Oh, Robert, that feels nice.”
I decided to butt-in and continue his fantasy for him. “What if I bent you backwards and started to kiss your chest…I would start by sucking both of your nips, hard…pulling on them with my lips. Then I would rub you down your side, and slide my hand behind you and grasp your ass, and tickle the hairs between your ass-cheeks and kiss you hard and deep again.”
“Oh, fuck, I want that,” Joe said. “I want you to make love to me, fast and hard.”
“Damn, Joe!” I whispered to him, touching my lips to his again.
“Robert.” He ran his tongue along my teeth.
“You are so beautiful. Tell me…would you let me fuck you?”
He gasped and held his breath.
“Oh yes, Robert, yes, I want that so so bad.”
I placed my hand against Joe's chest, feeling the hardness of his nipples as I brushed one gently with my thumb.
"Fuck," he whispered breathlessly, his heart pounding beneath my touch. His arousal was palpable; his veins pulsed visibly in his neck. The sight only fed my growing desire – I craved to taste him deeply.
Our lips met again in an electrifying exchange of desire.
His tongue flicked against mine—needy at first, then shyly retreating. I chased it, pulling him close by the back of his neck, feeling the bar’s buzz fade into background static. He slid his hand under my shirt, fingers digging into the soft crescent of my waist, and I felt a surge—not just in my cock, but a fever in every inch of my skin, as if his palm burned right through to my ribs.
I forced myself to pull back, searching Joe’s face for any sign I’d gone too far. But his eyes were pitch black, and he panted, “Back to your place? Right now. Please?”
The cab ride was a silent riot of thigh-pressed tension and hands awkwardly tangled on corduroy knees. We tumbled through my front door before it even latched behind us, laughing and pawing at each other's jackets, falling against the hallway wall. I kicked off my shoes and Joe followed suit, stumbling over the thick runner into the living room.
“Fuck,” I barked—a laugh, a plea—then pressed Joe against the wall, pinning his wrists with one hand and kissing him so hard I could bruise. He arched into me, legs trembling, then melted against my weight. My hand slid up the inside of his shirt, bunched it to his armpits, and I inhaled the salty sweetness of his sweat. I licked along the warm slope of his neck, sucking a line down to his collarbone.
He was panting so fast that my head swam. I yanked his tank top over his head and tossed it aside, then devoured the patch of downy hair between his pecs, flicking and biting his tight brown nipples until he gasped and jerked—and started to whimper.
“God, I want you so much,” Joe mumbled, dazed, clutching the back of my shirt.
I peeled off my shirt and nudged him back toward the couch. We crashed onto the cushions in a tangle, cocks pressed tight through our jeans, rutting and grinding—neither of us able to get enough. I palmed his chest, then cupped his bulge through denim, feeling him twitch under my hand.
My fingers trembled as I undid his belt, yanked down his jeans and briefs in one motion. His cock sprang free, rigid and leaking—beautifully pale, a wild tangle of hair at the base. He blushed and tried to cover himself, but I caught his wrists and kissed him, murmuring, “Don’t hide from me. You’re so perfect.”
He closed his eyes, groaning as I wrapped a fist around his cock, thumb circling the slick head. I stroked him slowly, memorizing every vein, every shiver. His body was all nerves—he shook, gasped, and almost sobbed at the lightest touch. Then I sank to my knees, nuzzled the curly hair at his thigh, and took him into my mouth, letting his thick heat stretch my lips.
Joe’s sound was all stuttered vowels, halfway between a cry and a plea. I sucked and licked, eyes watering, loving the wild rhythm of his hips. His breaths came faster, tighter, but I pulled away before he could finish, craving more.
I pushed him back into the cushions and shed my jeans, freeing my cock. He reached for it, wrapping his fingers around the shaft with reverence, then leaned down, tongue tentative, then eager, licking a wet stripe up its length before latching onto the head. His mouth was hot and hungry; I moaned as his lips slid over me.
We switched places, mouths, and hands chasing each other in a frantic, endless dance. I licked under his balls, sucking each one in turn, then teased the ring of muscle below until he seized beneath me. “God, yes… fuck… more,” he whined, his hands fisted in my hair.
I dug through the side table for lube—how long had it been since I’d done this for someone so desperate, so sweet?—and slicked my fingers. I pressed in one, two, then three, until he was open and writhing against the couch cushions, feet braced against my hips.
“Do it—just fuck me,” he moaned, voice hoarse.
I lined up, rubbing my cockhead along his crack, savoring his hunger. He locked eyes with me—no doubt there, only need. I pushed in slow, excruciatingly so, feeling that tightness surround and grip me. He bore down, groaning, pulling me forward with both hands on my ass.
It was too much. I gasped, thrusting slowly at first, then faster as Joe met me—his hips rolling to meet every push. I bent down and kissed his open mouth, licked the sweat from his trembling jaw. Our bodies crashed together, the hollow thud echoing off the empty living room walls.
“Robert—holy fuck—yes, just like that,” he grunted, his cock leaking between our bellies.
I reached around and stroked him in time with my thrusts, wanting us to finish together. His breaths hitched, then broke, and with a hoarse cry, he came, milky streams painting across my chest. The sight and feel of him clenching around me drove me over the edge; I groaned, pounded harder, then shuddered and spilled inside him, hips trembling.
I collapsed onto his narrow chest—both of us sodden and panting, our skin slick with sweat, spit, and cum. After a long, silent minute, Joe laced his fingers through my hair and kissed the top of my head.
“That was… I’ve never…” He trailed off, breathless, laughing softly.
But as the adrenaline faded, he stared up at the ceiling, silent for a long moment. His fingers played absently with the sheet, and I saw his jaw clench—just a flicker of old nerves resurfacing. He let out a shaky breath, not quite meeting my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, barely above a whisper, “I… sometimes get in my head after, well, anything exciting.”
I squeezed his hand. “You’re safe here with me. No judgment.”
He nodded, finally letting himself relax again into my arms.
“Well, there is judgment,” I said, kissing the top of his head. “And you were amazing. A complete success.”
I nuzzled his neck, feeling the pulse of lazy contentment radiate from his skin. “You good, man?” I whispered, voice soft.
He nodded, smiling widely. “Yeah, Robert. I’m…amazing.” He chuckled.
We lay tangled and sticky, the world outside irrelevant. It was long past midnight by the time we stumbled to the shower, clumsy with exhaustion and afterglow. He shivered under the hot spray, body stripped raw, but when I soaped his back, he leaned into it with a trust that surprised us both. In the fogged glass, I watched the last of his nerves wash away.
Clean and new and still a little uncertain, we lay together in bed. I tucked his head against my chest and held him tight. His hair tickled my chin, but it felt right, necessary. Neither of us spoke for a long while—I had nothing to say. I just lay there, listening to the soft cadence of his breath and thought: this, at last, is enough.
I woke first, with Joe’s arm thrown across my stomach and his knees knocking into my calves. It was dark outside, but the kind of blue-black that promised a sunrise any minute. I lay there long enough to watch the pale light smear itself across the lines of Joe’s back, to listen to him breathe in long lungfuls, to try to remember the last time I’d woken up and actually wanted to stay in bed with a stranger—no, not a stranger. Not anymore.
Eventually, my bladder sent up an emergency flare. I peeled away from Joe and padded to the bathroom, my feet icy on the hardwood. When I came back, Joe had burrowed under the blanket, face hidden, only his hair poking out. It would have been easy to climb back in, twist myself to fit the crook he’d left. But I’d already smelt myself—that sharp, spent funk—and decided morning coffee and fresh air were more urgent.
In the kitchen, I started the coffee. The clatter of the scoop in the tin sounded weirdly loud in the sleepy house. From the sink window, I could see the battered pickup truck in my driveway—Jacob’s—and remembered I was supposed to let the crew in early today. Whatever. They could wait. Maybe Joe would want to stick around, or maybe he’d bolt, but either way, I wasn’t ready to get back to the hum of contractors and tile dust.
I poured two mugs and carried them to the living room, then went back to the bedroom and found Joe sitting up, the blanket pooling at his hips. He blinked at me owlishly, then, as if caught, tucked his chin and grinned.
He still looked wrecked. Hair in dumb directions, sheets creased across his face, both shoulders criss-crossed with beard burn and love bites. I liked that look on him—raw.
“Morning,” I said, setting the mug on the bedside table.
Joe hesitated, pulling the blanket up to his chest. “Do you, um… do you think it’s weird? That I’m like this after?”
I sat beside him, mug warming my hands. “Not weird at all. We’re both figuring it out.”
He nodded, but his eyes darted away, searching for something to anchor himself. I brushed his hair back and smiled until he managed one in return.
He scrunched his eyes shut and said, “Still, I can’t believe that happened. Did that happen?” His voice was shredded, his throat bruised with sleep—and last night, too.
“Unless I dreamt it,” I said. “Which is possible.”
He reached for his coffee and sipped, then hissed at the temperature, grinning. “You make strong coffee, Robert.”
“The only way I know how.”
Joe leaned back, cradling the mug in both hands. “Do you always wake up this early?” he asked.
“Only if someone is drooling on me.” I poked him in the ribs with my toe. He made a noise that was half yelp, half giggle, and buried his head under the pillow.
“If you hide, I’ll have to come get you,” I said, and I did. I peeled the blanket off, revealing a tangle of Joe’s bare thighs, his cock lazy and soft against his leg, his skin all goosebumps. He flinched at the cold, then grabbed at my hand, hauling me down on top of him.
The smell of our sweat and come lingered in the sheets, but I didn’t care. I pressed my morning-stale mouth against Joe’s, felt him laugh into the pillow.
I felt Joe roll over, his arm pinning me across the chest, and a thigh wedged between my legs. He grinned up at me, stupid with morning lust, then jammed his tongue into my mouth. It was clumsy and urgent, all teeth and stubble, and I thought, Yes, absolutely yes. I let my head tip back, letting him work down the line of my throat, nipping at my Adam’s apple. He paused, then slid under the blanket—a hush of cheap cotton and body heat.
I propped myself on my elbows and caught a flash of his brown hair as he peeled down the waistband of my boxers. Then warmth, wetness, Joe’s mouth wrapping around me—none of last night’s timidity now, just hunger. The pressure and suction blurred together, and I clenched my jaw to stifle any noise. I heard my own blood pounding in my ears, the scrape of Joe’s knuckles against my thigh. I reached down, found his hair, and ran my palm over the back of his skull—not guiding, just there.
It didn’t last long—everything too close to the surface, the morning light, the aftershock of last night—but I wasn’t embarrassed. If anything, I wanted to laugh. I arched up, let myself go, felt him swallow around me, then linger with a last lazy lick. He came up grinning, face flushed. “Morning, boss,” he mumbled under the blanket.
I couldn’t help it; I laughed. I pulled him up and kissed the slick taste of myself off his lips, then rolled us both over so we sprawled diagonal across the bed—one heel hooked in the comforter, the other foot dangling off the edge.
“Is this what being thirty-five is about?” he said, poking me in the gut—less a jab than a gentle accusation.
I pretended to think. “I’m pretty sure it’s just the first phase. Phase two is mutual colonoscopies and matching prescription pillboxes.”
He snorted. He hadn’t bothered to put on clothes, but he looked like he belonged here—his pale belly against the dark sheets, hair wild, bite marks trailing down his throat. We lay like that for a while, everything still and quiet, before he broke the silence.
“Did you mean it? The thing you said last night?” He picked at the edge of the sheet, not looking up.
I didn’t have to ask what he meant. I propped myself on one elbow, trying to keep my voice light. “About liking you, or about being a big pushy pervert?”
He made a face—don’t say the wrong thing—so I ran a hand through my mostly-gone hair. “Yeah. I meant it.”
Our coffee mugs sat cooling on the nightstand. I offered one to him; he took it, our fingers grazing. We sipped in silence, the air thick with the unsaid.
“Do you ever get, like, scared?” he asked. “Of getting close, I mean.”
I had to think. I wanted to say something true, something that would make him feel safe. “I think it scares everyone,” I said finally. “But not, like…enough to not want to try. At least not for me.”
He nodded, looking relieved, and I felt a small, unfamiliar thrill. I wondered if this was what optimism felt like.
We finished coffee in bed without bothering to get dressed. Eventually, I got up, found a muffin in the freezer, and toasted it for him. He ate it with the blank, appreciative focus of someone who never expected breakfast in another man’s kitchen. The bathroom crew started up around eight—hammers and a shop vac rumbling the floorboards—but I ignored all of it, even when the sound was right under my feet.
Joe took a shower. He lingered in the hall afterward in nothing but a towel, glancing at me as if waiting to be told what to do next. “You can stay,” I said, as if it was obvious, and kicked my feet up on the coffee table. Before long, he was on the couch beside me, hair still damp, running a hand up my thigh with casual confidence.
When it was time to go—he had a job with Jacob that afternoon—we sat together in the driveway. Neither of us knew what to say. I looked at the sky, at the battered hood of his truck, at his hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles paled. Finally, I said, “Want to do it again?”
He laughed, quick and disbelieving. “Yeah. Yeah, I really do.”
We kissed—awkward at first, then not at all—and he started the engine.
I watched him drive away, standing barefoot in the dewy grass, feeling the wet against my toes and a weird, bright hope that maybe this could work. I headed back inside, grinning at the next phase, whatever it was. Maybe we’d be terrible at it. Or maybe, I thought, walking through the front door, we’d be just fine.
