Hard Hats Page 6

  David bobbed up and down once or twice more before I grabbed his waist to still his movements. “Please, no more, I can’t take any more,” I moaned, sitting up and hugging him tightly. His arms came around my back and we held each other in that position, me embedded deep inside him, our sweaty bodies pressed together in a liquid embrace. We kissed deeply and then slowly parted to lie back and rest. As if psychically linked, we rose in unison and I led him to the master bath. We took turns cleaning up and then had a wonderful shower together. As he dressed, he smiled at me.

  “You know, I really need to fix your modem and get back out there. I think I have to see at least two more people today. But I’d really like to come back,” he said, suddenly vulnerable. I was still nude, not at all interested in getting dressed while he was still so close.

  “Why don’t you come by after your last call? You can check and make sure my systems are all working properly,” I said, kissing him. He took hold of my limp cock and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Mmm, yeah, I can see your systems need a lot of special attention,” he said, bending over and kissing my cock lightly.

  He quickly hooked up the new modem and called the office to report the changed hardware serial number. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek as he left my office and I sat nude in my chair, staring at the screens, my mind still in my bedroom, our joined, sweating bodies filling my senses, my cock growing quickly. I smiled and switched my mind to practical matters like work. But as I thought about him in the back of my mind for the rest of the day, I knew that I just might have found what I was looking for. Only time would tell, but it was one heck of a start.

  FANTASY MAN

  Aaron Michaels

  Mitchell sat in his tenth-floor office staring at the high-rise going up across the street and thought he was losing his mind.

  It wasn’t the fact that construction of the new fifteen-story luxury condos meant he’d be saying good-bye to his spectacular view of the mountains beyond the city. He’d come to grips with that as soon as cranes started lifting steel girders into place. No, what was threatening his sanity, not to mention his ability to concentrate on his work long enough to earn a living, was the lanky young man with the hard hat and clipboard currently inspecting progress on the open-air tenth floor of the condo project.

  The man looked like he was in his late twenties, although from this distance Mitchell couldn’t be sure. Mitchell had seen him before, often enough to recognize the dark hair curling out from beneath his hard hat; the confident, athletic way he walked around a building that, as yet, had no outside walls; and his full, easy smile that transformed what looked like a pleasant enough face into something truly extraordinary. Mitchell couldn’t get this man out of his mind.

  Mitchell thought about him when he should have been making the numbers in his spreadsheets behave. Obsessed about him when he tried to fall asleep at night, alone and hard and needy. What would the pleasant face beneath the hard hat look like up close and personal? Was his hair silky soft, or would it curl stubbornly around Mitchell’s fingers? How about that mouth? What would it wrap willingly around? What color were his eyes? Today they were hidden behind sunglasses. Would they be blue and piercing? No, maybe hazel and mysterious, or warm brown and full of good humor. Within a week after the guy had appeared on-site, Mitchell had bought himself a pair of high-powered binoculars, but they were no substitute for an up close and personal inspection.

  The man turned around to inspect a section of wall, and Mitchell let himself stare at the man’s ass. It was hard to tell whether the man was lean and muscular beneath his clothes or simply thin. His jeans weren’t baggy but they certainly weren’t molded to his body either.

  “This isn’t getting me anywhere,” Mitchell muttered. He had a ton of work cluttering the top of his desk, but crunching numbers didn’t have quite the same appeal as the view outside his window.

  The man with the clipboard bent over. Mitchell groaned. He’d been on his way to a nice afternoon semi just imagining what the man looked like beneath his clothes. Now with an unobstructed if somewhat distant view of the man’s ass up in the air, Mitchell’s comfortable arousal had swelled into aching hardness.

  “Numbers,” Mitchell said. Concentrate on the numbers.

  Yeah. Like sixty-nine. Or half of sixty-nine, which in Mitchell’s current state of mind wasn’t thirty-four point five but a curly-haired head bobbing up and down on his cock, swallowing him whole.

  Fuck.

  Mitchell had his own office, and most importantly, he had a lock on his door. It only took him half a second to make up his mind to flip the lock. Still standing, he leaned his back against the door, took a deep breath, and unzipped himself.

  He’d never jerked off at work, not even in the men’s room, but then he’d never had such vivid fantasies in the middle of the day before now. He was painfully hard, the head of his cock nearly purple. When he wrapped a fist around himself, he groaned out loud. This wasn’t going to take long.

  He opened his eyes and stared at the man in the hard hat. The object of Mitchell’s fantasies was scribbling something on the clipboard. The worker he was with, a middle-aged man in overalls and a hard hat but carrying no clipboard, must have said something funny, because he laughed hard and slapped the other man on the shoulder.

  Mitchell wanted to be that other man. He wanted to see for himself what the man with the easy laugh looked like. Experience what he felt like, tasted like. Hear the noises he made when he came.

  Mitchell’s hand sped up on his cock. He bit his lower lip to keep himself from moaning. The burn low in his belly was starting to consume him. His balls felt tight, his cock full. He imagined lips and tongue and wonderful wetness and suction surrounding him.

  When he came it was with a groan he couldn’t suppress. He staggered a little, hips thrust forward tight again his fist, as every muscle in his body went from hard steel to satiated putty. He had to put his other hand out on his desk to keep his balance.

  “Damn.”

  He’d come on a report he’d left on top of his desk. At least it was something he could print out again.

  Now that he was done, he felt a little sheepish about being unable to control himself. He was a grown man, for fuck’s sake. Old enough to have a kid in college, if that had been his inclination, and here he was jacking off in his office like a horny teenager to a fantasy man he’d never meet.

  He cleaned himself off with a tissue from the box he kept on his desk. Just as he was finishing, he raised his eyes to look across the empty space between buildings to the tenth floor of the condo.

  The object of his fantasies was staring back at him.

  Mitchell swallowed hard. No, that couldn’t be. No one could actually see in through the window, could they? It was the middle of the day. It wasn’t like he was in his office at night with the lights on and his dick in his hand. The man just happened to glance Mitchell’s way. Coincidence, that’s all.

  Mitchell tucked himself away, zipped up, and sat down at his desk. He kept his back resolutely toward the window as he reprinted the report on his own printer. He folded up the report he’d ruined and shoved it in the bottom of his wastebasket. He needed to get back to work. He had numbers to crunch and none of them were sixty-nine.

  As he worked, he thought he felt eyes on him, but he told himself it was just his imagination. Fantasies were just fantasies, and unless he wanted to look for a new job, they damn well better stay fantasies. Anything else was just too dangerous.

  Two nights later, Mitchell went to Friday night happy hour at a bar across the street from his office with a few of his buddies from work. The bar served a decent choice of beer on tap along with a variety of foods dipped in batter and fried. Not great for the cholesterol count, but Mitchell had decided long ago that the only way to eat zucchini was breaded, fried, and with a healthy helping of marinara sauce.

  After his buddies left, Mitchell was finishing up the last zucchini stick and thinking about the curly-headed man with the clipboard. The guy hadn’t been around since Mitchell had embarrassed himself coming all over his report, and that was probably a good thing. Mitchell missed the view but he’d gotten a remarkable amount of work done in the last two days. It made him feel better about his momentary lapse into teenage horniness.

  He was startled out of his reverie by the waitress, who brought him a fresh plate.

  “I didn’t order that,” Mitchell said. He definitely didn’t order the side of ranch dressing.

  She grinned at him. “From the gentleman in the last booth.”

  Mitchell turned to look where she nodded. The booth was partly obscured by a couple who were making selections on the jukebox; the rest of the booth was in shadow. All Mitchell could see was the vague outline of someone slouched in the corner.

  The waitress leaned closer. Mitchell saw amusement in her smoky eyes. “You’re being hit on, honey. He’s pretty cute. I’d take him up on it myself, but I don’t think I’m his type.”

  Huh.

  The waitress winked at him and walked away.

  The plate of zucchini sticks was certainly a variation on the standard buy-someone-a-drink routine. Maybe the guy in the booth thought food would be harder to refuse than a drink. And why should Mitchell refuse it anyway? It had been a long time since someone had hit on him like this. It wouldn’t hurt to be nice.

  Mitchell picked up the plate and his beer and wound his way through the crowd. When he got a good look at the man who’d sent him the zucchini sticks, he nearly spilled his beer.

  “Hello,” said his fantasy man.

  The booth was too dark for Mitchell to get a good look at the man, but even without the hard hat, the brown curls and infectious smile gave him away. There was no mistaking that this
was the same man Mitchell had jerked off to in his office two days ago.

  “Uh…hi.” Mitchell swallowed hard. This had to be random, right? A coincidence? The bar was as close to the condo project as it was to Mitchell’s office.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” the man said.

  His voice had a hint of an accent and was surprisingly deep. He was sitting sideways in the booth, one leg bent, arm propped up casually on his knee. If he felt at all insecure about sending a stranger a plate of food, he certainly didn’t look it.

  Mitchell, on the other hand, was glad the bar was dark because he could feel his face heating up. He’d never expected to meet this man for real.

  The man didn’t say anything else, and Mitchell realized it was his turn to say something. He had to clear his throat before he trusted himself to speak. “Thanks. I…uh…” Well, that was certainly a lame attempt at casual. Even if the man didn’t know what Mitchell had done in his office the other day, Mitchell was going to give it away. He tried again. “People don’t usually buy me food in a bar.”

  “Their loss.” The man shifted to lean forward. “Would you like to sit down?”

  Mitchell put the plate and beer down on the table and slid into the booth opposite his fantasy man.

  They exchanged names. The fantasy man was Owen, and he worked as a foreman on the condo project.

  “Kind of young for a foreman, aren’t you?” Mitchell asked.

  “I’m old enough.” Owen leaned forward and picked up a zucchini stick, swirled it in the dressing. “And I’m good at what I do.” He held the stick out to Mitchell, but when Mitchell reached for it, Owen drew it away from Mitchell’s fingers.

  Damn. Mitchell’s mouth went dry at the thought of his fantasy man feeding him. “I don’t usually like ranch,” was all he could think of to say.

  “You’ll like this.” Owen touched the end of the stick against Mitchell’s lips. “Open wide,” he said in a voice that was liquid sex.

  Mitchell opened wide.

  If this wasn’t a prelude to sex, he didn’t know what was. He didn’t even taste the ranch. Somewhere between sitting down and introductions, his cock had come to life. Now it was pressed so hard against his trousers, he’d embarrass himself if he stood up.

  “See?” Owen dipped the stick in more dressing. “I knew you’d like it.”

  “Let me,” Mitchell said. He took the zucchini from Owen and fed it to him. Owen wrapped his lips around Mitchell’s fingers and his tongue briefly flicked against the tips. Mitchell felt more than heard the sound of pleasure Owen made.

  Mitchell had never been one for food play. He was rapidly changing his mind. He just wished they weren’t doing this in the middle of a crowded bar. The dark booth gave them an illusion of privacy, but it was only an illusion.

  “This may sound kind of lame,” Mitchell said, “but you want to get—”

  “—Out of here?” Owen finished. “Thought you’d never ask.”

  Owen had started to slide out of the booth when Mitchell remembered his predicament. “Uh…you’re gonna have to give me a second.”

  Thankfully Owen didn’t laugh.

  “I feel kind of silly,” Mitchell said when Owen sat back down.

  “Don’t. I take it as a compliment.”

  Mitchell swallowed some beer as a distraction. An old Rolling Stones song started on the jukebox, and Mitchell tried to focus on numbers, but the only one that came to mind was sixty-nine. Not a good choice.

  “There’re still some guys from my work around somewhere,” Mitchell said. “I get up with a hard-on, I’ll never live it down.”

  Owen’s eyes glittered in the reflected light from the neon over the bar. “I could take my shoe off and help you out with that. They’ll never know.”

  The extent of Mitchell’s exhibitionist tendencies had been jacking off in his office behind a locked door. Sex in public? He wasn’t into that. “Maybe later.”

  Owen grinned. “I take it as a good sign you’re talking about later.”

  Mitchell took Owen’s response the same way.

  They sat in the booth and finished their drinks and the plate of appetizers. By the time they were done, Mitchell’s cock had calmed down enough that he could get up and look somewhat like his normal business self.

  “So where are we going?” he said as they left the bar.

  “I need to check on one more thing at the project before I leave for the night. It’ll give me a chance to show it off a little. You mind?”

  Mitchell didn’t.

  They walked to the site in a companionable silence. Up close, Owen’s walk was smooth and steady, with a kind of natural athletic grace. His clothes were casual and comfortable looking—khaki trousers and a sand-colored silk tee—and he wore something around his neck on a chain hidden beneath his shirt. For all that they’d looked at each other in the darkness of the bar, Mitchell still didn’t think he’d gotten a good enough look at Owen’s eyes. All he could tell was that they were dark and seemed to burn with a combination of good humor and sexuality. His face was clean shaven with only a hint of a beard around the point of his chin and on his upper lip. His skin looked smooth, and Mitchell very much wanted to touch it. He just might be able to do that, and soon, if this evening was headed the way he thought it was.

  Owen unlocked the padlock on the gate in the fence around the construction site and ushered Mitchell in. He was prepared to wait on the ground, but Owen surprised him by handing him a hard hat. “C’mon up. Unless you don’t want to.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Owen showed Mitchell how to adjust the hard hat, then they rode up in the construction elevator. The lower floors were enclosed—the outer walls complete and drywall going up on the internal skeleton of beams and girders. But Owen kept the elevator heading up until they reached a floor that was mostly flooring, exposed studs, and a bit of bare drywall here and there. The exterior walls weren’t fully completed.

  “Recognize the view?” Owen asked.

  It was still light enough out that Mitchell had no trouble figuring out where they were. He could see his office building across the street. Not only his office building, but his office. The plant his assistant had given him on his last birthday was right there on the windowsill.

  Fuck.

  Owen had seen him.

  “How did you…?” Mitchell could barely get the words out, worried now that Owen had brought him up here just to embarrass him.

  “I’ve been watching you.” Owen came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Mitchell’s waist. “Not all the time. The sun’s not always at a good angle for that, but I figured out what times I could actually see more of your office than just your plant, as long as I kept my sunglasses on to cut down the glare. I’ve been trying to get up the courage to meet you.” One of his hands slid down the front of Mitchell’s trousers. “You gave me quite a show the other day. I took it as an open invitation.”

  Mitchell’s heart was thudding in his chest. He’d been on such a roller-coaster ride between horny and scared ever since he saw Owen sitting in that booth, all he could do now was stand there and wait for Owen to make the next move. It didn’t take long.

  Owen found Mitchell’s cock and squeezed, and at the same time he planted a wet kiss on the back of Mitchell’s neck. Mitchell moaned at the dual assault.

  “You have any idea what watching that did to me?” Owen’s voice was back to being liquid sex. “Seeing you come while you were watching me?”

  “I didn’t know—” The last word came out strangled as Owen rubbed his thumb around the head of Mitchell’s cock. Even through his trousers, the feeling was incredible. “Didn’t know you could see me. Didn’t think anyone could see me.”

  “Like here?”

  Owen reached for the zipper. Mitchell’s hand flew to cover Owen’s and stop him. “Not here,” Mitchell said. “Not where everyone—”