Hard Hats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Introduction

  HAMMERED AND NAILED

  DEMO DOGS

  70s PORNA-PALOOZA

  LIVE-WIRE DELTA

  HIGH-SPEED CONNECTION

  FANTASY MAN

  HAZARD PAYOFF

  HERCULES TO THE RESCUE

  LEAVING MY MARK

  RANDY ROOFERS

  GLORY DAYS

  SOOTY

  THE LANDSCAPE GUY

  DANIEL IN THE LYONS DEN

  FOOT BRIDGE

  CONSTRUCTIONAL VOODOO

  CLIMBING UP THE WALL

  YOU MISSED A SPOT

  VERTIGO

  AN OFFICE ROMANCE

  SANDHOGS

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  ABOUT THE EDITOR

  Copyright Page

  INTRODUCTION

  I spent five years working as a project manager on various shopping center construction sites, and the hardworking, hard-bodied guys I saw around me every day were the subject of some of my most intense fantasies. From the shirtless carpenters to the beefy laborers, there was plenty of guy candy.

  I loved their macho posturing, and after a few months I was able to give and take with the best of them. I always had an eye out for a handsome guy, and for a secluded corner of the site where we could get together.

  That experience inspired me to put together this collection, asking some of the best writers of gay erotica to turn their attention to the hard-hatted construction workers who had provided me with so much inspiration in the past. There’s just something about a guy with a tool belt that turns me on, and I hope you’ll feel the same way about the men in these very hot stories.

  Take a trip to the top of a high-rise under construction, or down into the belly of a mine. Hang out in the backyard with some hunky landscapers or roofers, slip into a construction manager’s RV or into a storefront under construction. Wherever you go, you’ll find sexy, men-loving men who are turned on by their buddies’ tools. In this world, the hats aren’t the only things that are hard!

  Neil Plakcy

  HAMMERED AND NAILED

  Rob Rosen

  It was my first home. Well, condo, to be exact. Ten stories high, overlooking the ocean—if you leaned far enough over and craned your neck, anyway. At least that’s what I’d been told. Still, it was all mine. Mine and the bank’s, that is.

  Okay, mostly the bank’s.

  In any case, it was going to be spectacular. High slanted ceilings, a massive window line, state-of-the-art everything, luxurious bathroom—you name it, the bank was paying good money for it. And all I had to do was make a few decades of easy payments.

  I was thrilled at the prospect, hence my visit that day. Honestly, I couldn’t wait any longer to see how it was progressing. Visions of stainless steel and marble tile and ash-blond hardwood floors danced in my addled mind. Plus I already had a key, which had been burning a hole in my pocket for several weeks.

  So I snuck inside the vacant building. It was a Sunday. Naturally, no one was working. The place was eerily quiet. No construction crews, no hammering, no welding, and, sadly for me, no electricity, which meant a ten-story climb. Ten stories in the middle of summer, no less.

  Still, with a buoyed spirit, I sprang up the stairs—my spring giving way somewhere around the fifth floor. Luckily, I was smart enough to wear my shorts and sneakers. The T-shirt came off on floor number six. That’s when the silence turned from spooky to sexy. I was alone. Utterly and completely alone. I could’ve heard a pin drop. Only, instead of a pin, it was my shorts dropping.

  Then it was just me in my undies and sneakers, lumbering silently up the stairwell. By the eighth floor, fairly exhausted, I stopped to catch my breath. Fortunately, the small window I was standing in front of, with the magnificent city view, had yet to have the glass installed. A somewhat cool breeze flowed through and over my sweaty, nearly naked body, sending goose bumps across the nape of my neck and down my arms.

  Then, of course, my nearly naked body became totally naked.

  I figured by then I had earned it. That, and I was getting hornier by the second. I climbed a few more steps until my midsection was at window level, then pointed my cock out toward the city. Quickly, it jutted up, rigid with pumping blood, greeting the teeming masses below.

  My panting filled the stairway. I turned and slapped my prick against the railing, sending a pinging sound in all directions. A drop of precome slid off my mushroom head and stuck to the metal. I wondered if my come was the first to land in all that marvelous empty space. It was a heady thought. And a hot one. My dick grew even wider, eager to burst.

  But not there. Not yet.

  Newly invigorated, I climbed the remaining stairs. Then, slowly, I opened the door to my floor. Still silence. “Hello?” I whispered into the hallway. My voice echoed down the unfinished cement corridor. I left the stairwell and proceeded forward, my cock bouncing, my sweaty, heavy balls swaying with my stride as I approached my doorway. The key proved unnecessary, though. I still had no door. It stood inside, leaning against the pristine white entryway wall.

  I pressed against the knob with my back. The metal was surprisingly cool to the touch. I stood on tiptoe and rubbed it against my fuzzy ass. Then I spread my cheeks apart and let it press against my asshole. What the hell, I figured it was mine to do with as I pleased. Well, again, mine and the bank’s, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

  I walked inside the vacant space. The walls had been put up. Gaping holes, where appliances and light fixtures would soon be, stared blankly at me. The place was big and stark and empty. I roamed around, stroking my cock with my spit-slicked hand. I couldn’t wait to spread my seed on the bare floor.

  And that’s when I spotted them: a pair of electrical clamps, small and metal and vivid red. I walked over and lifted them off the floor, breathless in anticipation. I spread them open and then clamped them down one at a time, slowly, gently, on my rigid nipples. A rush of both pain and pleasure filled my chest, and traveled down to my belly and my pulsing cock. I yanked on the wires that hung from the clips. My body quivered and quaked with a rush of internal electricity.

  I walked farther into my new home, into what would be my bedroom. The flooring boards were stacked about two feet high to one side. I placed one foot on the stack and squatted down several inches, pulling on my hefty balls as I did so, and still slowly working my seven, upturned inches, occasionally pulling down on the clamps, each time moaning as I did so.

  Luckily for me, the clamps weren’t the only things the workers had left behind. On the end of the pile of wood sat a finishing hammer, its base as wide as my prick, as phallic an instrument as ever there was. With my cock and balls and nips getting stimulated, why not my asshole?

  I reached over and grabbed it, then looked around for some sort of lube. My answer lay in the almost finished master bathroom. On the sink sat a small, open tub of grease remover, its white, gloppy filling beckoning me.

  I dipped my hand inside, engulfing three of my fingers in the slick goop. The trio quickly found their way to their intended goal, gliding around and then slowly inside my puckered hole, lubing it up, stretching it out, getting it ready for the object that now rested on the soon to be installed toilet.

  Once my asshole was adequately prepped, I spread a layer of the lube up and down my shaft, then reached for the hammer, also slicking it up before placing the wooden
base flush against my hole. It would be a unique way to christen my new home.

  The solid wood slid in and up and back, sending a shiver down my spine and a flush through my stomach. My asshole clenched then gave in to the pressure of the unbending tool. My cock thickened and precome dripped from the tip. I sighed, and slowly, rhythmically, fucked myself with the end of the hammer.

  I was too preoccupied, or too far in the belly of my home, to hear the approaching footsteps, but I did, however, hear this: “Um, I think that’s my hammer you’ve got there.”

  I froze, with half the tool buried inside of me, and my hand gripped tightly around my dick. My eyes, which had been shut tight in rapture, suddenly popped open.

  A man in denim shorts and a tight, white tank was staring at me, grinning as he stood there, arms akimbo. He was tall, lean, ruggedly handsome and, much to my relief, amused at my present state.

  “Um,” I coughed. “This is my house, er, condo.”

  “And, as I said, that’s my hammer,” he laughed, and a blush crept up my neck and across my cheeks.

  “It’s a good hammer,” I thought to reply.

  “Seems as much,” he replied. “Never tried that with it before, though. Mostly, I use it for, uh, hammering.”

  “Multipurpose,” I said, sliding it out and placing it in the bathtub and out of sight, removing the electrical clamps and setting them to the side.

  “Apparently.” He stepped backward and let me exit the bathroom, my cock, in its mortification, quickly withering down to its normal size as I passed by him.

  “Sorry. I got overstimulated. First home and everything,” I justified.

  “No need to explain. I mean, it’s your home. Not like I don’t do the same in my own. Minus the hammer, though.” Again he smiled, his sapphire blue eyes twinkling, causing the skin around them to crinkle around the edges. “Name’s Greg, by the way.”

  He stuck his hand out to shake. I did the same, then thought the better of it, what with the grease remover still on my hands. “James,” I said, with a nod and a smile as I glanced around for my shorts.

  “They’re in the kitchen,” he offered, obviously aware of my discomfort. “Gonna be a nice kitchen, by the way. That’s why I’m here, actually. Can’t work tomorrow, so I thought I’d get the floor done today. Keep us on schedule, so you can move in on time.”

  “Much appreciated,” I replied, moving out of the bedroom and toward my clothes. “I am eager to move in. Obviously.”

  He snickered. “Yeah, so I saw.” I laughed as well, mostly out of nervousness, then bent down to reach for my shorts. “By the way, does that grease remover make a good lube?” he asked. I froze, yet again, my hand an inch way from the khaki waistband.

  I’d heard the telltale catch in his voice, and looked back over to him. The smile on his handsome face remained, though something else was behind it. Something searching. Eager.

  I left the shorts where they were, stood back up, and turned to face him. “Surprisingly, yes. Slick without being sticky. And it keeps its, um, lubiness, quite well.”

  “Lubiness, huh? Don’t think it mentions that on the side of the jar.”

  I followed his train of thought and walked back to the bathroom. He trailed close behind. I lifted the jar up, returned to the light of the bedroom, and read the label. “Yep,” I said. “Says so right here. Good for removing grease, grime, and soil. Especially good for the occasional jacking off.”

  The smile on his face wavered for the briefest of seconds. I handed him the jar, brushing my fingers against his hand. My dick twitched at the sensation of skin on skin. He scanned the label. “Must be in the small print. Too bad I left my reading glasses at home. Guess I’ll take your word on it.”

  I hesitated about saying what I was thinking, then realized I had little to lose. After all, he’d already seen me at my most vulnerable. “Why take my word on it. Try it yourself.”

  It was less of a dare than a come-on. He looked at me with curiosity, the now familiar smile returning to his handsome, stubble-darkened face. He paused, for a brief moment, as if to gauge my sincerity, then grabbed for the edge of his tank top and pulled it over his head. He was thin and ripped and covered with a fine, blond layer of hair, not to mention numerous scars.

  He saw me staring at them. “Nature of the beast,” he said. “Carpentry’s sometimes a dangerous trade. Sharp, heavy objects and thin skin don’t always go hand in hand.” He ran his fingers over several of his more obvious accidents. “Worst one’s here.” He pointed to his behind.

  “Really? Let’s see.” He looked at me uncertainly. “Fair’s fair,” I added, waving my hand up and down, referring to my obvious nakedness.

  He paused and nodded before loosening his belt. Then he unbuttoned his shorts and dropped them down to the ground, revealing well-defined, equally hairy legs and calves. Not to mention a pair of tight blue boxers. Pausing again, contemplating what to do next, he quickly turned around and slid the boxers around his legs. His ass was stunning. Taut and white. Like granite. With just a thin blond trail down his crack. I gulped at the sheer perfection. Then I spotted the inch-long, thin, pink scar.

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “Yep, ouch,” he echoed. “Fell backward onto a nail. Thirty stitches. Hurt like a motherfucker.”

  He stepped completely out of his shorts and boxers, and turned back around, holding his hand modestly over his crotch. Not that he could cover the obvious, though. He was already semi-hard, and he had two of the largest low-hangers I’d ever seen, stretching down several inches beneath his thickening cock.

  “Um,” I said, motioning to the jar in his hand, as a reminder.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, with a mischievous smirk. He sat on the ground, with his back up against the drywall, and placed the jar to his side. Never taking his stunning blue eyes off of mine, he reached in for some of the white goop, and then slid it over and down his cock. I stared, mesmerized, as he stroked it. Watched it grow and grow, inch by widening inch, and begin to curve upward, until the thick head was pointing at his fuzzy belly. “Yep. Good lube. Go figure.”

  “Told you so,” I said, sitting down in front of him. I grabbed for the jar and slathered more of the stuff on my already rigid prick, matching his rhythm, stroke for glorious stroke. He was a beautiful man with an equally beautiful cock, and I watched in stunned silence as his massive balls slapped against the hard concrete floor. “Doesn’t that hurt?” I asked, pointing at the dynamic duo.

  He looked at me and winked, then jumped to a squat and grabbed for the hairy, dangling pair, yanking them away from his body. “Nope. I like ’em pulled. Twisted. Um, played with.”

  It was my cue.

  I leaned in and slapped at the bottom of them while he gave a tug. He moaned, appreciatively. “Harder,” he suggested. I obliged with one, two, three fluid flicks of my wrist. His balls bounced up, as did his hefty tool. “See,” he said, in a rasp. “They like it. Now pull down.” Again I obeyed, grasping the fleshy base and tugging down, slowly and evenly. The skin stretched until his nuts were now a couple more inches away from his body. His moans reverberated around the room. It was a joyous sound that completely filled the empty space.

  “My turn?” I asked, hopping up and matching his squat.

  The impish grin reappeared. “Well, I am on the clock. Might as well get your money’s worth.”

  He leaned in and caressed the long hairs on my ball sac, then gave a tentative pull. “Actually, it’s the bank’s money,” I said. “Of which they have a lot.” The pull grew harder, firmer, until my balls were stretched to their limit. I winced, but otherwise retained my balance.

  Suddenly, he let go and reached for my cock, gliding the slick lube up the shaft. A wave of intense bliss spread through my body. I groaned, released his balls, and stroked his cock too. He crab-walked in closer, so that we were inches apart, our hands moving up and down, our faces in breathing distance of each other.

  “You gonna kiss me or what?” he aske
d, his eyes unblinking, staring, pleading; intense blue on muddy brown.

  I closed the gap, pressed my lips softly on his, and felt his tongue slide in, around. The kiss grew firmer, more intense, and still the eyes stayed open, eager to see what was to come next. We crouched there like that, stroking, swapping some heavy spit, and moaning with abandon for several more minutes. Eventually, he broke away and said, “I hear the view outside is nice.”

  “So I’ve been told,” I said, reaching down for a final yank on his mammoth nuts, then a glide across his hairy asshole.

  “I’ve never been finger-fucked ten stories up,” he whispered into my ear, before biting down gently on my lobe.

  “No time like the present,” I replied, jumping up and walking him over to the sliding glass balcony door. I grabbed the lube on our way, and then we were outside. “Man,” I gasped upon first sight of the tremendous view. Mine was easily the tallest building around, by far. No one could see us, and the balcony was encased so that if you leaned over all someone from the sidewalk would witness was your torso—and from our extreme height, barely that.

  Greg reached for me, pulled me toward him, engulfed me in his sinewy, strong arms, and hungrily kissed me. The sun caused his irises to twinkle, like stars in the heavens. His cock pressed hard up against my stomach, and mine on his. His hands caressed my back, working their way down to my ass and eventually my hole, which he flicked and rubbed and fingered, slowly, in and out, in and out.

  “They say you can see the ocean from up here,” I said to him.

  “Really?” he asked, breaking away from me and leaning over the balcony. I watched his lats and triceps tense as he grabbed the edge and looked over the side. “Wow,” he said, with a low whistle.

  “Wow,” I repeated, bending down and spreading his legs apart and then his fuzzy cheeks. He had a perfect pink hole, surrounded by fine blond hairs that circled it like a halo. The musky aroma drew me in, and my tongue gave an initial deft lick, then two, before sliding inside of him.