Hard Hats

by Neil Plakcy

  “His dad would do that?” I said, wincing. That made me sad. “Keep an eye on him, Alex. We shouldn’t let him swim.”

  Alex leered at me. “Oh, so we care about him now?”

  “Just do it,” I said, mock-threatening him with a nail gun.

  Not twenty minutes later we heard a loud splash followed by a huge, anguished gasp. I was already flying down the stairs before Dylan screamed for help the first time. When I reached the pool, he was completely submerged, but still flailing wildly. I didn’t have time to kick off my boots. I just dove in and grabbed him. He was disoriented and reflexively struggling, so I had to use all my strength to yank his head above water. Again, he gave an enormous gasp, desperately sucking in air. I held him tight around the chest as he shook and coughed.

  “I know how to swim,” he muttered as he spat out water.

  “Yeah, sure,” I said. “But prove it to me later.” I dragged him out of the pool and hoisted him up in my arms.

  “Whee,” he mumbled between coughs, his head lolling.

  I carried him up to his room and dropped him gently on his bed. “Try to get some rest,” I said.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Dylan said, his eyes barely open. His chest still heaved from his near-accident.

  “To get you some juice or something. You probably should have some fluids so you don’t get dehydrated from all that alcohol.”

  “Wait…” he said, rubbing his head absently. “Why do you call your company Hercules Construction?”

  “Hercules is my first name,” I said. “People give me grief if I use it, so I just go by my middle name, Demetri.”

  “I like Hercules,” he said. He stripped off his bikini. “I can’t sleep in a wet bathing suit,” he said in explanation. God, he looked incredible nude.

  “I wish you were gay,” he said, his voice creaky with exhaustion and liquor.

  “Oh, really? I happen to know you only like rich guys.”

  “Are there rich guys in construction?”

  “I can think of one guy who drives a Porsche and vacations in Aruba twice a year.” I turned to leave.

  “Demetri?”

  “What now?”

  “Thank you.”

  I had Alex get me a change of clothes. Then I said he could take the truck back. I’d get a cab again because I wanted to make sure Dylan was all right. I didn’t want to make any noise, so I didn’t hammer up any two-by-fours. An hour later, I heard a couple of car doors slam. I went out to the hall and saw a big black Lincoln parked outside and Mr. Tyler coming up the walk with some other suit.

  I scrambled up to the attic and crept over to the vent in time to see the execs barge into Dylan’s bedroom, waking him up.

  “Oh, hey,” Dylan said.

  “At least you’re nude this time,” said Mr. Tyler.

  “Damn, he’s a hot one,” said the other man.

  “Dylan, this is Mr. Wells. He’ll be fucking your ass today, too.”

  “Let me take a quick shower,” Dylan said, and he left the room.

  “Are you really going to hire him?” Mr. Wells asked in a low voice.

  “God, no,” said Tyler with a scowl. “None of us will. It’s a terrible idea for all kinds of reasons. Besides, I have an inside contact at his university. He flunked out.”

  “That’s not going to fly at my corporation,” Wells said, unbuckling his pants.

  “Exactly. There’s no point. He’s just a piece of ass to fuck.”

  Wells chuckled.

  “And fuck and fuck and fuck,” Tyler continued as Wells laughed some more.

  Dylan came back, scrambling to the bed, dripping wet and eager to please.

  “So you want a job, eh,” Wells said, grabbing Dylan by the ass.

  “Absolutely.” Dylan grinned and arched his back, offering himself. “What kind of company would I be working for?”

  “Investments,” Wells purred as he fingered Dylan’s hole. “You have a degree?”

  “Uh, no,” said Dylan, lowering his head sheepishly.

  “Then your ass better be incredible,” said Wells, pushing Dylan on all fours.

  “Trust me, it is,” said Tyler, pushing his dick toward Dylan’s lips.

  I watched as the men penetrated Dylan from either end. When I saw what an enthusiastic cocksucker he was, my dick got so hard it hurt. Wells’ penis wasn’t much bigger than Tyler’s, but Dylan moaned and grunted with each thrust into his ass. It looked like Wells was pushing in and out for all he was worth considering how winded he was. After a minute he came, shouting “I’m fucking your ass! I’m fucking your ass good!” Then Tyler flipped Dylan onto his back to take his turn in Dylan’s hole. He yanked Dylan to the edge of the bed, and began plunging in feverishly. Wells straddled Dylan’s face and dangled his balls in the boy’s mouth.

  “Mine. All mine,” said Tyler, panting. “Mine to fuck as much as I want.”

  “Ours,” said Wells. Dylan moaned at this and started jerking his dick harder.

  Tyler apparently heightened his pleasure when he heard his own voice. “That’s right. If you want a job with either one of us, you’ve got to be our fuck boy!” Then Tyler started shouting for God and Jesus as he came forcefully inside Dylan’s ass.

  “Ours,” he said grinning, shaking hands with Wells while still deep inside Dylan’s rump.

  I suppose ass-wipe executives with pencil-dicks must always come and go quickly without a thought for their bottom’s orgasm. After they left, Dylan remained on his back, looking dejected. He jerked off for a few minutes and then quit to pick up the phone.

  “Chuck, I overheard my dad’s boss say that he’s not going to hire me, and he’s telling all his friends that they shouldn’t either; they should just fuck me… Yes, I’m hurt. And there’s no way my dad is not going to kick me out. I’m sure of it.” Dylan began playing with himself again. “Something else happened, Chuck. I was kind of drunk, and I think the construction worker saved me from drowning in the pool… Yeah, I should apologize. He probably thinks I’m an asshole. I can’t believe he’d rescue me after I was so rude to him… No, I would have told you if he fucked me. He can’t be gay. I stripped and practically offered up my hole to him. I can’t stop thinking about him slipping in while I’m asleep and nailing me. He has a key and that’s been my fantasy all week…Hey, I’m still feeling out of it. I’m going to crash and then pack my stuff. I’ll probably get kicked out the day my folks get back. Bye.”

  He hung up forcefully. “Gee, thanks for offering me a place to stay, Chuck!” he yelled. He exhaled and started stroking himself again.

  He beat off absently, but I could tell he was thinking about having nowhere to live, which did nothing to keep him aroused. He soon fell asleep.

  I had a cramp in my leg from sitting still for so long, but I stayed put and thought. He wasn’t such a bad kid. And he seemed to want me a lot. God knows I wanted him. I sighed.

  Okay then, Hercules to the rescue.

  I sneaked into his room, just like his fantasy, and started to strip. But I just couldn’t wake him by rudely sticking my dick in his ass. I had to kiss him some first.

  He had barely stirred by the time my mouth was on his.

  “Wha—?”

  “It’s me,” I said. “Is this what you wanted?” I reached between his legs and gently massaged his pucker with one hand and caressed his face with the other.

  “Holy shit!” Dylan shouted. He was so startled he jumped. Then he settled back against the pillow. “Holy shit,” he said again softly, spreading his legs. “You’re—you’re going to fuck me?”

  “I happen to know that’s your fantasy,” I said.

  “Holy…holy—” He couldn’t complete the interjection because I kissed him again. His lips were soft and inviting. His skin’s fragrance was a sweet mix of sweat and talcum.

  He reached down between my legs and grasped my heavy cock.

  “Geez, you’re huge! And so thick! Oh, damn, I can’t wait for you to be inside me.
” He lifted his legs impatiently.

  “Let me kiss you some more, baby,” I said, although I felt more than ready to be buried in him. I just didn’t want to be crude like the pricks from earlier.

  “Please,” he begged. He reached over to his bedside table and grabbed lubricant and condoms. He quickly lubed up his hole while I stretched a rubber over my shaft.

  “I love your dick already,” Dylan purred, and then he winced as I tried to push in.

  “Damn, you’re very tight for someone who gets fucked as much as you do.”

  “I know,” he said. “I have a really small hole. I’ll be tight no matter how much you fuck me.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You think that will happen a lot?”

  Instead of answering, he leaned his head back, closed his eyes and took some deep breaths. He began stroking himself. Soon his ring relaxed, and my dick began to slide inside him.

  “Unnnnh,” he cried as my cock hit his prostate for the first time. He was so warm and tight I could practically feel the throb of his pulse. This was sheer heaven.

  He rolled back farther, surrendering his ass to my deepest penetration. I thrust in and out slowly. I stopped to kiss his chest now and then, but I luxuriated in every stroke. I must have fucked him for twenty-five minutes, and he obediently took everything I gave him. I knew this was probably one of the best asses I’d ever have. Very tight, but willing and experienced in pleasing a penis.

  “Oh, God, your dick is perfect,” he whispered, moaning. “I wish you’d enslave my ass forever.”

  “Then I will,” I said with a growl. His eyes grew wide, and his body began to shake with orgasm. He shot spurts of come over his head and onto the wall behind him. Coming made his ass muscles even tighter around my dick, and with a loud grunt I let loose a huge load deep inside him.

  “That’s just round one,” I said to him as I ruffled his beautiful hair. Both of us panted heavily. I squeezed his arm muscle. “You’re a very strong young man, and I understand you need a job. Want to learn construction?”

  He gave me a gleaming smile, but shook his head. “If I got to spend more time with you, I’d love to, but I’m not sure I should. My dad would kill me.”

  “It sounds like he’s going to kill you anyway.”

  “Yeah, and I do need a job, like, yesterday…all right, I want to work for you. I want to be even more buff.” He flexed his left arm for me.

  “Are you done letting bastard executives have your ass? Especially ones that don’t even make you come?”

  “Yeah, they’re history,” Dylan said. He lifted his head off the pillow and kissed my cheek.

  “If Daddy really kicks you out, you can stay with me for a few days,” I said, kissing him back. Maybe a lot longer, I added silently to myself.

  “Really? Awesome,” he said. “I promise I won’t be obnoxious anymore.”

  “You won’t be. Otherwise I won’t take you to Aruba at the end of the summer.”

  “Aruba. Damn, that would be sweet,” he said.

  “And until then,” I said, reaching for another condom, “whenever we’re not working I plan to be fucking you constantly.”

  “Absolutely, Hercules,” he said with a sweet smile. “Absolutely, whenever you want.”

  LEAVING MY MARK

  Jeff Funk

  I lower my binoculars and reach for the bottle of lube. I shake the damn thing—shit, almost out. I give it a squeeze and the last few drops splatter into my left hand. I grease my cock and go back to peeping out the window at the construction workers next door. I’m particularly fascinated with the one I’ve been calling the Dark Lord. He’s clearly the man in charge. Tallest, cockiest, the one giving orders. Little buddies come to him with their questions. “It’s a hot day, man. Don’t you need to take off your shirt like the others?” I say. My cat gives an inquisitive gremlin mew, as if to say, “Are you talking to me?” My mouth runs nonstop when I peek at men. The obscenities flow, I tell you. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed on a white comforter. The curtains are parted slightly with a spider plant providing camouflage.

  Living out in the country, I don’t get the chance to spy on men very often. It is a rare treat indeed. When my dad died he left my brother and me a nice chunk of land a few miles north of town. There’s nothing but fields, woods, and ponds in these parts. I built my house a few years ago. My brother decided that he’d had enough of city life so he’s building a home next to mine. I came out to him a little over five years ago. He was way cooler than I expected him to be. If anything, he seemed relieved, as if I’d handed him the final piece to the puzzle. We joke around, shoot the shit. My sister-in-law is always fascinated with my latest dirt. I figure it’s going to be nice with them living next door, like a family compound.

  Now, I watch the construction workers step aside as the concrete truck makes a slow backward trek toward them. My forefinger dials a tighter focus so I can better observe the glistening sweat on Shorty’s washboard stomach. I lick my lips, since I’m a salivating pervert. My cock pulses in my hand, hot and throbbing. I stroke my pud some more, the wet sounds filling the room along with my cat’s purring. The workers spent the afternoon yesterday setting up plywood so they could pour the foundation today. They climb boards like monkeys, cross planks like tightrope walkers. No wonder their bodies are like gymnasts’.

  Just then, the Dark Lord shouts something to the guy in the earthmover, who, oblivious to the Lord’s commandment, backs up and—

  Oops!

  —down goes the Port-o-John.

  “Now that’s gonna be a helluva shitty mess,” I say to Boris. She meows a response. Boris is a female cat, by the way. I named her before I found out her sex and by then the name had already stuck.

  I hear the guys on the work site shout and groan. Their masculine ululations send chills capering down my spine. Is there anything more manly than men at work? That camaraderie. Muscles that come from hard labor. Deep voices. Sweat. Dusty boots and dirty clothes. White teeth that shine through grimy faces…

  I’m about to crack a nut when I see the Dark Lord walking toward my house.

  “Oh, fuck me,” I say. I spring from the bed and search for my clothes. Where the hell? Oh, yeah, I stepped out of them an article at a time on the way to my afternoon show. Goddamn it. Cock flopping side to side, I dash to my dresser and grab a T-shirt and pull on a pair of jeans. My turgid prick doesn’t want to fit into my pants, so I pack it to the side and zip carefully. I glance at the mirror above my dresser. I look guilty.

  The doorbell rings.

  I take deep breaths as I walk. I melt ever so slightly at the sight of the Dark Lord through the paned glass.

  I open the door. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Hamilton?”

  “Call me Jake,” I say.

  He nods. “I’m Scott.” We shake. His grip is strong; he has big hands and seems to enjoy holding mine. His brown eyes are piercing. “Your brother said that if we ever needed anything we could come over here—”

  Good ole David, I think.

  “—and it just so happens that Randy knocked over the shitter.”

  “Ah, so that’s what I heard,” I say, pretending to be oblivious to this knowledge.

  “Yeah, and it’s gonna be a day before I can get another Port-o-John to the site. So I was wondering… I hate to put you out, but would you mind if the boys used your john? Just for today.”

  “That’s no problem at all.”

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Mind if I use it right now?”

  “Go right ahead,” I say. I tell him it’s just down the hall, first door on the right. I watch his long legs as he walks. His smell wafts pleasantly in his wake. I spot my underwear on the floor in the hallway. Then it dawns on me: I left my butt plug on the counter and there are smut magazines in the basket next to the john. Oh, God. Will he be freaked out or act like he didn’t notice? Then I reason, it’s my house and I’m extending a courtesy to him. Can I h
elp it if I wasn’t expecting company?

  He’s in there for a long goddamn while. When he comes out, he seems unfazed. “Thanks, Jake,” is all he says. He walks back out the door then turns and gives me a solemn nod.

  Curious.

  He goes back to the work site and has a brief word with his men. I go back to sitting on the bed, watching them. I notice that every so often, Scott looks my way. The first time he does it, I duck. Can he see me? Then the thought comes again, this is my damn house. If he sees me peeping on them then he’ll just have to deal with it. Or maybe he knows I’m watching and likes it.

  At the end of the day, the workers pack their trucks. A couple guys exchange whoops and hollers followed by laughter. One by one, they fire up their pickups, music blaring, and drive away, leaving a massive cloud of dust.

  All but Scott.

  He walks from the work site through my lawn and up to my front door. This time instead of ringing the doorbell, he knocks.

  I answer the door. “Hey, Scott. Get a lot done today?”

  “Yeah, it’s coming along real nice.”

  “Need to use the restroom?”

  He shakes his head. He looks at me with those gorgeous brown eyes, which now shine with a lusty glaze. He stands close to me with his arms hanging loosely at his sides, as if he wants me to hold his hand. He stinks good from his hard day of work.

  I point to his black T-shirt, which is covered in dust and wet with sweat. “You like Nine Inch Nails? They fuckin’ rock.”

  “Right on. Seen ’em many times.” He nods slowly while forcing a breath through his nostrils. His shoulders fall as if his marionette strings have been cut away from a strict puppeteer.

  “I’m really into armpits,” I say matter-of-factly. “Would you mind if I licked yours?”

  “I just got off work. They’re probably…”

  “That’s okay.” I pull him close to me. My hands rove under his T-shirt.

  “They’re hairy…you know. I don’t know if you—”

  “I love hairy armpits.”

  I lift his shirt and see flesh stretched tightly over muscle. Male beauty. My mouth finds a nipple. I flick it with my tongue then bury my face in his pits, licking through the wetness of the dark fur. I inhale deeply. “Fuck,” I say, “that’s nice.”