I woke to the sound of loud thuds from outside my window, the light barely beaming in through the drawn shades of my bedroom.
I snoozed dreamily, hardly able to rouse myself. The AC in the house was broken, and so I’d slept horribly, barely comfortable in the sweaty mess of my top sheet, the thickness of the air leaving me restless.
Annoyed.
Horny.
I rolled over onto my front, dick landing firmly on the mattress. I always woke up hard, no matter what, barely sated by the fact that I’d beaten off twice the night before to fall asleep. That was just how it was. Every morning, like clockwork, I’d find my dick fully at attention, scarcely able to get it to go down unless I busted again.
It was the summer after my freshman year, and far from what I’d envisioned. My parents had wanted me to get a summer job, but I could hardly muster the energy, failing to get myself organized enough for an internship or even some manual labor. All my other friends from school had glamorous opportunities with publishing houses and banks, but instead, I was stuck in the hometown that I’d tried, successfully, to leave. No other gay guys for miles, just the few straight kids that had stuck around. Even my hometown friends were away, Nate up in Holden with his family, Greg away at lacrosse camp.
So it was to be Will’s solo summer. Long, humid days of working out and beating off, my right hand my only ally.
I heard a rustling outside my door and then a persistent knock.
“Will?” My mother’s voice.
I turned over and covered my dick with my pillow in a rush, worrying she’d walk in and find me so compromised.
“Yeah?” I called out expectantly, my eyes laser-focused on the door.
“I’m heading out for the day.”
She tried turning the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. I’d forgotten I’d locked it, smarter than I realized.
There was a pause, and then: “I’ll be home around six.”
“All right,” I said sheepishly. She might have been suspicious as to why I kept it locked, but she could do the math. I was an 18-year-old boy, after all. She washed my sheets.
“The AC guys are here. They’ll be working all day. Should have it running by the evening.”
“Got it.” I waited silently until I heard her walk down the hall and to the stairs, her feet padding to the first floor.
I remained still for a few minutes and then, hearing the front door shut, I walked to the window to make sure she was gone. Lifting the blinds, I watched as she got into her minivan — God, I couldn’t believe she still drove one — and then pulled out of the driveway, peeling away past the row of houses that lined our suburban block.
I was about to shut the blinds when I glanced towards the side of the house, where the condenser was being replaced. There stood two hulking and sweaty guys bent over the unit, bodies a deep, dark tan, framed by those loose, strappy tank tops that hung over their shoulders, skin glistening in the daylight.
I felt my dick perk up at the sight of them, rising first from semi-hard to fully erect.
One of them sported a brimmed baseball hat. The other had a smooth, shaved head, it, too, slicked with sweat.
It was hot inside, even with the shades drawn, the temperature punishing, so I could only imagine how hot it was out there. The forecast had said it would be mid-90s. This new unit couldn’t come fast enough. I couldn’t stand another night in this heat.
But I could enjoy this view a little longer. There I remained, entranced as their bodies strained as they lifted up the new piece for installation, placing it just so alongside the old unit that was being discarded. Their bodies had the telltale signs of manual labor—roped, thick muscles, not overly worked out in the traditional sense, but sturdy from the amount of lifting they did all day, every day.
I’d always been most attracted to guys like that, the ones whose bodies just looked naturally built and solid, like you could climb them or fight them but never knock them down.
I placed my hand on my dick, feeling it through the light fabric of my mesh shorts. I liked watching them work, seeing them strain alongside each other. Ever since I was young, these guys were my fantasy.
The thick, weighty pecs that pressed against the tops of their tanks.
The meaty asses that stood high against the utility shorts that covered thighs.
And the curvature of their calves that ran into thick Timberland boots.
Guys like that were wasted on women, I always thought, hardly appreciated for just how hot they were. There was no way they were being properly honored by the women they probably dated.
What a waste.
I lowered the waistband of my shorts and let my dick spring out — cut, smooth, just large enough at 6 inches to feel weighty in my hand, the pulsing that it emitted straining inside of my palm. I closed my eyes and started jerking it slowly, thinking about my hands on the curves of their bodies, licking every drop of sweat from their skin with my tongue.
I’d service them, every inch of them, giving them the kind of attention their bodies really deserved.
I opened my eyes to further feast on the view, only to be confronted head-on by one of them staring directly back up at me, laser-focused on the window. I’d thought myself invisible with the glare against the pane, but his eyes said otherwise — brow furrowed, looking directly into my eyes and then down at my dick pointing outward, just visible above the sill from his position below.
In a panic, I backed away, hiding, dropping the blinds all the way back down, and taking a big gulp.
Fuck, I thought to myself. I’ve been caught.
I remained silent, still for a moment, and then I composed myself. It didn’t matter. I was safe. They were outside and likely to stay there. And I had nowhere to be, anyway. I could just hide out in here for the rest of the day in front of the fan until they left, no one the wiser.
I made my way to the bedroom door, unfastening the lock and padding my way down to the bathroom, eyeing myself in the vanity mirror.
My body was looking pretty good for the summer. In all my spare time, I’d been hitting the Y and teaching myself how to lift, an attempt to transform my body from the lean, almost-twink that I was into something more closely resembling a man.
I’d found some measure of success, moulding my form into a more solid display of muscle. Sure, I was still slight, but my biceps had grown, and I was showing something of a chest atop my smooth, lean six pack. But my ass had always been the easiest thing to maintain. Effortlessly, it was already round and big — not muscular per se, but pillowy, soft, extending widely from my hips. It was what I was most proud of, the baseline. I just had to build the rest to complement it.
I reached for my toothbrush, carefully squeezing some paste onto the end of it, and then started brushing, eyeing my bare chest left and right in admiration of my progress. I was rinsing off the head when I heard what sounded like a knock from downstairs. I turned off the faucet, frozen, wondering if I could have heard correctly.
And then, nothing. Must have been my imagination.
I put the brush back in the jar and made my way back down the hall when I heard it again, this time louder, the sound emanating from the door at the back of the house.
I paused, about to turn to my bedroom to throw on some clothes, but then it began yet again — insistent, loud — leaving me flustered.
I could ignore it? Pretend to be asleep? But my sense of obligation got the better of me. My mother wasn’t home, and perhaps it was something urgent. Better not to risk it.
Slowly, I made my way down the stairs, turning towards the kitchen and the door that faced towards the garage. Sidling up to it, I pushed the curtains aside from the glass window only to see the construction guy who’d clocked me standing in the doorway, hands on his hips, head bowed, brim of his hat concealing most of his face.
Fuck. It was him.
I reconsidered my initial plan to hide—after all, this was embarrassing, really embarrassing—but then I thought better of it. It was too late. Time to face the music.
Taking a deep breath, I collected myself and, in a moment of bravery, unlocked the door.
As the door swung open, my visitor raised his chin, his visage now in full view. Up close, he was even hotter than I’d imagined. His were the chiseled features of a Roman by way of the Caribbean—square jaw, thick lips, and a pair of cheekbones that were perfectly framed by the hat that covered his brow. His body was even more impressive than it had seemed from afar, and hardly concealed by his clothing. He was drenched in sweat, most of the grey cotton jersey soaked through in large darkened circles between his pecs, under his arms, and around his stomach, the fabric gripping him.
His eyes met mine, direct, as insistent as his knock. I could hardly look away.
“Hi,” he started. “We’re here fixing the AC…”
“Yes.” I nodded back. That I knew.
“I need to get in to see the electrical panel.”
He glanced down at my naked chest, my body barely covered in my athletic shorts, it too covered in a thin layer of sweat. I’d hardly had any time to cover up, and I felt mildly self-conscious that I was appearing so under dressed.
“Of course,” I said, nodding and gesturing him inside.
He walked past me and made his way to the kitchen, pausing there.
“You want something to drink?” I asked. He was practically panting, he looked so hot.
“Ah,” he replied, grateful but reticent. “Sure.”
I reached into the cabinet for a glass and filled it at the sink, waiting until it was full and handing it over. His bicep tightened as he raised it to his lips, revealing a perfectly hairy pit, equally as tanned and dark as the rest of him.
He finished it all in one long gulp, eyeing me as I stared back. There was something shy but knowing in his glance, as if sizing me up, too. He stood there, looking at me expectantly, before finally speaking.
“The panel?” he asked, breaking me from my stillness.
“Of course!” I said, practically stammering, brushing past and leading him to the doorway to the basement.
When we’d reached the bottom landing, I pointed at the metal door on the wall, standing to the side as he opened it up and surveyed the different latches. I barely knew what any of them linked to; instead, lingering there awkwardly, feigning some sort of usefulness.
I’d hardly been so close to a guy like that before, and I could feel the same tingling in my dick as I had this earlier that morning. I still hadn’t beaten off, almost a necessity before I started my day, and I could feel the heat rising in me, unexpressed, with nowhere to go.
Except for my dick. It was uncontrollable, the way it started to enlarge, and because I wasn’t wearing underwear, there was little to conceal what was happening between my legs. Sensing it was becoming obvious, I placed my hands in front of my crotch, hoping to distract from the fact that my cock was almost fully hard, straining against the fabric.
At first, it seemed not to matter, so consumed my new friend was with the work at hand. His arms strained as he flipped several of the switches off, wiping his brow from underneath his hat, sweat dripping onto the floor.
And then, when he appeared satisfied, he replaced the panel into its locked position and turned to me.
“All set,” he said, noticing how awkwardly I was comporting myself, barely able to restrain my cock, fully fighting with my shorts, now a complete hard-on.
He reached into his pocket and slowly pulled out a piece of paper, a work order, and extended his hand to give it to me. “For your mom.”
I hesitated; my hands were too busy concealing what he’d inspired between my legs.
He stared back at me, confused, his eyes searching for why I’d hardly moved.
And then, realizing I had no other choice, I lifted one to meet his, taking the piece of paper in my hand, leaving a large part of my crotch exposed.
As I grabbed it, he looked down at my shorts, my erection now partially visible, my other hand awkwardly concealing the rest, and something registered. He looked back up at me, my face flushed with embarrassment. But instead of being received with scorn, I saw something else — acknowledgment.
Our eyes danced in complicity.
Instead of eliciting disdain, his face did the opposite — it softened. Something in his expression suddenly emboldened me to go against every other instinct to run and hide. And so, ever so slowly, I removed my other hand, placing it at my side, revealing my cock in all its glory as it pressed through the thin fabric of my shorts and out towards him.
For a moment, I considered if I’d made a fatal error.
And then I watched as he took his hand and placed it on his own crotch, reaching around his own bulge to indicate complete recognition.
Fuck.
It was on.
Wordlessly, I walked over to him, our bodies just inches away from each other, so close they were almost touching. Slowly, I knelt, my knees meeting the ground in front of him. I stared up, biting my lower lip, his hand still placed on his dick, before raising it and reaching for the tool belt hung low around his hips. With dexterity, he ran his finger through the metal buckle and prong, unfastening it and letting the entire thing and its contents drop with a thud to the ground.
It was happening, I thought to myself.
And then, reaching for the waistband of his Carhartt cut-offs, he slowly released the button and unzipped the fly, lowering the elastic of his boxer briefs to let his cock flop out.
My face turned as I took in what was before me.
The kind of dick that the word “hung” was invented for.
Dark, thick, uncut — a veiny slab, pointing downwards despite being fully engorged, its weight too great to point upwards on its own. It was framed by a pair of hairless balls that extended down beyond it, the perfect complement. His piece was the perfect mirror image of his body.
Imposing. Unwieldy. Brutish.
I licked my lips as I stared up at it, and him, and my mouth just centimeters away. I could feel the fabric that barely restrained my own cock pressed to its capacity, its contents desperate to get out.
And then I slowly moved my face towards him, my lips just touching the tip of his dick, if only just to kiss it.
My eyes didn’t leave his as I made that first contact, and I watched his brow furrow and his mouth curl into an O at the sensation of me on him, that light caress. And so I extended my tongue, running it just inside the foreskin that hung over the ridge of the head, working it around in circles that pressed it every so slightly back, tasting the salty gift of his sweat and the beginnings of pre-cum.
When I heard that first moan, I knew I was doing something right. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes closed momentarily, taking it all in. Encouraged, I raised the hand that wasn’t on my dick and placed it at the base, pushing the foreskin back to reveal the thick, wide head that lay beneath—a beautiful surprise—and then ever so slowly received it into my mouth, taking as much as I could in one big, long gulp.
It was an impossibly large dick, far too large for my mouth, and as I took it, my lips were pushed to their capacity, the entirety of his dark member pressing open my pale white cheeks, filling my insides, and meeting the back of my throat, tickling it. The breach inspired a rush of saliva to flood my insides and run down past my lips, wetting it further. And so I held him there, my mouth filled with cock, him watching as I removed my own dick from beneath my shorts, taking it into my hand and starting to jerk it in earnest.
I imagined the way I looked, my legs spread into V on the ground with my cock just before me, prostrate to such a god.
And then slowly I released him, the length of it now fully slicked with spit, and began working him in and out, receiving it with long lashes of my tongue and strokes of my hand, each time it entered getting wetter and wetter. With every thrust, I gulped it with greater and greater intensity, disappointed that I could only take half of it inside, the remainder too thick and meaty to find it all the way in.
Overwhelmed, I pulled it out, gasping for air, leaving my hand at the base to hold it upright so I could survey its impressiveness, a long string of saliva connecting my mouth to its head.
“That’s a big fucking cock,” I told him, impressed, dismayed.
He nodded back at me, the faintest smirk crossing his face.
And then he took the hem of his tank top, loose and dangling just above me, and lifted it over his head, letting it rest behind his neck, perfectly framing his chest.
My dick pulsed at what it revealed, the mountainous pecs that had been hinted at from behind his shirt but now in all their glory. Round, meaty orbs, like tits, with dark brown nipples, perfectly thick and soft, and then a barrel stomach, shapely but soft below.
I removed my hands from his dick and mine and placed one on each of his nipples, taking the nubs between thumb and forefinger and tweaking them just so.
He grimaced at the sensation.
“You like?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he whispered, eyes narrowing.
And so I alternated between teasing his nips and taking the full weight of each tit in my hands before placing my mouth back on his cock, this time increasing speed, letting it plow deeper inside of me, fucking it with my lips, each time hitting the back of my throat and testing my gag reflex.
I was nothing if not determined.
And so I dissolved into a fervor, dissociating as only I could when sucking on the perfect dick, relaxing my face and jaw, mouth reduced to not an orifice but simply a hole.
It might have felt dehumanizing, but in fact it felt the opposite—affirming, inspiring—as if he was giving me something.
I was being fed.
He gently ran his hand through the blond strands of my hair, finding my chin and, using light force, began doing the work for me, guiding my mouth up and down on his cock. With mild disappointment of leaving his perfect pecs, I reached instead below, between his legs, settling for the feel of his fully exposed ass, using each cheek for leverage as he further face fucked me into oblivion.
His breathing quickened, my own dick straining, pulsing out the beginnings of a load, as I slurped and sucked harder and deeper as he guided my mouth more resolutely onto him.
And just as I expected him to bust, to reward me with his load after such a tremendous showing, I felt him pull my mouth off his cock, watching as it fell, sloppy and wet in front of him, pulsing mid-air as it held back an orgasm. I looked up in confusion, wondering why he’d stopped, only to see his face in profile, turned towards the top of the stairs.
“Pablo?” he asked, his voice quavering.
I followed his gaze to see his partner standing in the frame of the doorway, his own shorts messily pulled open, cock fully hard and resting in his hand.
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