Hard Hats

by Neil Plakcy

  Come early summer we get the greenhorns fresh out of high school or on break from college to spell off the regular guys on vacation. It’s my job to break these new guys in; in some cases, make ’em or break ’em. Like Rafael, from this summer just past.

  “What would you like me to do, Mr. Hunter?” he asked, once we’d spilled out of the crew cab and into a blazing dawn out on Highway 14.

  “First off, I’d like you to call me Dave,” I said.

  The guy looked like he was built more for office work than highway work. He was maybe five-eight, slim, with skinny arms and legs that were wrapped up in a plaid cotton work shirt and green nylon work pants, despite the ninety-plus heat. His black hair was cut short, his eyes were brown and intelligent, and he had an almost delicate-featured face.

  “You’ll be shoveling and spreading asphalt. It’s gonna be hot and it’s gonna stink,” I told him, pulling no punches. It was the worst job available, but that’s where I start all the new men, and women.

  He nodded downright eagerly, and we started unloading the truck. Then we sat around on our asses, scarfing down the coffee and donuts we’d bought in Montgomery, waiting for the machine operators to show up. When they finally did, we got down to the serious work of resurfacing an overpass that carried vehicle and foot traffic over the highway.

  Twelve sweat-soaked, lung-burning hours later, we broke for the day. We piled back into the truck and headed for town. Rafael and the other four guys in my crew zonked out as soon as they hit the bench seats, and stayed that way for the twenty-mile drive in. I was plenty tired myself, but I wasn’t going to let the guys see it. I may be pushing way past fifty, my crew cut as gray as it’s out of style, but I can still lay down a hard week’s work on the road with the best of them. As Nana used to say, “That one, he built like a brick shithouse, and just as dependable.”

  When we eventually rolled into the Come ’N’ Stay Motel, the woman tenting the muumuu behind the counter informed us that we were all sharing rooms instead of getting singles. The new girl back at the office had screwed up our normal sleeping arrangements. I quickly claimed Rafael as my bunk mate. He’d been the lightest snorer on the ride back to town.

  I tossed my gear onto one of the queen-sized beds and said, “Gonna grab a quick shower. Then we can go and get some chow.”

  “Sure,” Rafael responded, setting down his own bag.

  I turned the jets on full blast, relaxed under the hot spray, and let the water soak into my sore muscles. After ten minutes or so, I reluctantly stepped out of the tub, toweled off, and padded back into the room to throw on a clean shirt and a clean pair of pants. And that’s when I got a couple of surprises.

  One, Rafael hadn’t cranked on the air-conditioning, and the room was stiflingly hot, humid with steam. And two, the young guy was stretched out on his bed in just his underwear, watching TV, his bronze legs gleaming smooth and taut, his golden-brown feet crossed and wickedly arched.

  I had to stop and catch my breath. What does it for me, what’s done it for me ever since I was a Boy Scout in hot pants, is a well-turned pair of legs with a pair of shapely peds attached. I’ve been worshipping male lower limbs and feet for fifty years and counting, got the footprints on my dick to prove it.

  “All done in the bathroom, Mr.—Dave?” Rafael asked.

  “Huh?” My eyes were running up and down the guy’s toned, caramel legs, following the curved contours of his feet, bouncing over his slender, wriggling toes.

  “Can I use the bathroom now?” he said, his eyes leaving my face, shifting lower. And that’s when I noticed that my cock, which had been dangling between my legs with the nonchalance of casual roommate nudity, had suddenly stiffened up, as it took closer note of things. “Huh? Oh, yeah, sure,” I mumbled.

  He slid off the bed. I followed his flashing legs past me and into the bathroom, watching the muscles ripple sensuously on the shiny limbs. He popped his head out the door, looked me directly in the cock, and said, “We’ll get something…to eat after I’m done, right, Dave?”

  “Riiight,” I breathed. The door closed again. My cock was a hardened slab of meat, rising up and sniffing the steamy air. I met it with a warm, accommodating palm. The sound of running water and young man laughter filled my reddened ears, as I vigorously fisted.

  I inhaled soup, salad, steak, and baked potato.

  “Jeez, you’re sure hungry tonight, boss,” Fat Manny commented, mopping up the remains of his own thirty-two ouncer.

  “Yeah, hungry,” I mouthed, staring at Rafael across the table.

  “We’re gonna try out that new bar on the corner. You comin’?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so. I’m gonna take a dip in the pool, hit the sack early. How ’bout you, Rafael?”

  “A swim sounds great,” he responded, poking at his inch-thick wedge of semiraw beef.

  Manny snorted, said, “You kids behave yourself,” as he pushed the table away from his gut and heaved to his feet. He and the other guys trundled off down the empty street toward the neon oasis, while Rafael and I legged it back to the motel.

  The Come ’N’ Stay had a scenic view of the interstate on one side, the bald prairie on the back side. But it did boast an in-ground swimming pool and Jacuzzi tucked away in a corner of the three separate buildings that made up the place. And when I watched Rafael stroll out of the bathroom in his bathing suit—a red Speedo that bulged in all the right places—his legs stretching out long and lean, his small, tender feet tiptoeing through the carpet, I vowed to heat up that pool and soak tub way past their normal temps.

  Rafael’s body was smooth as a sheet of copper, slender but wiry, his nipples dark like his eyes. I trailed after his bouncing bottom, his swishing legs, as they and he made their way out of the motel and into the green water of the medium-sized swimming pool.

  It was just before ten, the temperature still hovering in the low nineties, but we had the pool all to ourselves (after I’d shooed away a couple of kids who should’ve been in bed by then). We swam four or five laps, me right on Rafael’s tail, following in the wake of his kicking, pale-padded feet, his churning, glistening legs. Then we paused to catch our breath in the deep end, and I splashed water in Rafael’s face.

  “Hey!” he yelped. He grabbed on to the silver ladder at the edge of the pool and lay out on his back, kicked water in my face.

  My mouth was hanging so far open, watching those playful peds kick out at me, those golden legs flex on the surface of the froth, that I almost drowned. I spat chlorinated water and grabbed hold of one of his mischievous feet, then the other. He thrashed his legs around, but no way was I letting go.

  His feet were warm and wet, incredibly smooth and soft, exquisitely curved. They were almost dainty in their elegance, and I gripped and squeezed them, thumbed their bottoms, my cock and resolve hardening. Rafael stopped struggling and stared at me with his liquid-brown eyes, floating on the surface of the suddenly stilled water. The “deep end” was less than six feet deep, so I was standing with the water just up to my shoulders, which made it easy for me to lift the guy’s left foot and sole-lick him from rounded heel to outstretched toes.

  “Jesus,” he breathed.

  He didn’t try to pull away, though. I hard-licked the hourglass bottom of his other foot, my big, calloused hands now gently cradling his slender, tendon-cleaved ankles, putting his feet up on a pedestal where they belonged, where they could be righteously worshipped by a fetisher like myself. I dragged my velvet-sandpaper tongue over the contoured sole of his left foot again, and his legs started trembling, his foot-bottoms crinkling, telling me I was getting through to the guy, bridging the generation gap one glorious foot at a time.

  “D-don’t stop,” he whimpered, confirming my thoughts.

  I shoved my thick tongue in between his big toe and the first piggy in line, slithered it around. I went down the plump-topped row on his left foot, tonguing in between his toes. His legs really started shaking then, the water rippling with my erotic fo
otwork.

  “Jesus, that feels good!” he gasped.

  “Tastes good, too,” I muttered, popping his cute little pinky toe into my mouth and sucking on it.

  I went back up the row, sucking on his toes this time, one by wiggling one. His foot-digits were neat and trim, oh-so-succulent, and when I took his big toe into my mouth and tugged on it, he moaned with pleasure. And almost as breathtaking as the sight of the guy’s sensuously molded feet and legs was the sight of his swelling cock. The snake in his soaked-through Speedo was shifting around on the water’s surface, expanding dangerously with desire.

  I consumed Rafael’s right foot, lapping at his sensitive foot-bottom, writhing my tongue in amongst his delicate toes, sucking and nibbling on them. His cock strained the thin material of his skimpy swimsuit, his entire body trembling now as I fed on his feet.

  I couldn’t get enough of the guy’s pretty peds, my hunger for manly feet and legs a thing that could never be fully satisfied. I lapped at the curved tops of his feet, pressing his peds together, my own cock tenting the loose, wet fabric of my trunks.

  I opened his legs up again, and this time I nipped at his ankles, bit into the bunched muscles of his calves. Then I shoved his left leg up higher into the air, dunking him in the water. I swabbed the soft, vulnerable back of his knee with my tongue, my hands shaking now with excitement. He tasted wonderful, his legs and feet a goddamn delicacy. He had to conk me on the head with his leg to get himself upright and breathing again.

  I attacked his other leg, but he was ready for my oral assault this time, urgently rubbing his cock as I sank my teeth into his calf. The sight of what I’d done to him and his cock drove me crazy, and I waded in between his legs, my big mouth open and hungry for meat. I shouldered his thighs and grabbed on to his waist and captured his balls in my mouth.

  “Jesus!” he yelled again.

  I was like the shark in Jaws, swallowing the guy whole as the boat went down, tugging on Rafael’s sac through the damp material of his bathing suit, juggling his balls around with my tongue. His head went under the water, popped up again. He anxiously scanned the horizon, the motel windows, for curious onlookers. But I didn’t give a damn. I was a relentless man-eating machine. The whole town could’ve come out and watched the spectacle, for all I cared.

  I sucked on Rafael’s pouch, my throat working. He closed his eyes and moaned, abandoning himself to my loving mouth. A different kind of warmth, not air or water related, was washing over him now. I pulled him down a bit, unmouthed his balls, and dragged my tongue up the rigid outline of his cock.

  He bit his lip and clung to the metal ladder, as I licked his shaft over and over. I soon got sick of the taste of spandex, however. I yanked his Speedo down; let his dick pop out and catch some air, some direct tongue. His cock was clean-cut and golden brown, veined and throbbing. I teased its tensed surface with the tip of my tongue, and Rafael groaned and did a pelvic thrust into my face, slamming his hard cock against my soft lips. I tongued his naked shaft, slow and sure, from fur-matted balls to mushroom head.

  “Yes! Yes!” he urged, knuckles white on the railing, eyes wild.

  God, but it felt good! Inhaling the musky scent of that young man, his muscled thighs resting hot and light on my big shoulders, his tightened sac and swollen cock within easy reach of my mouth, the warm air and water swirling all around us. It was enough to make a guy poetic, if he was so inclined. Me, I bluntly lapped at his shaft, then swallowed his hood.

  “Fuck!” he wailed.

  My lips sealed around his cap, I wagged my tongue back and forth, scouring the sensitive spot where shaft meets head. Then I took in more of his cock, bending it back like a lucky guy pulling the lever on a slot machine. Rafael arched his slick body to meet my demanding mouth, and I quickly swallowed his meat down to the balls.

  I kept him there at that impossible angle, staring at him, his cock filling my mouth and throat and choking me, my face half-submerged in the water. He shook like he meant it—like he was close to blowing his load. Or maybe his muscles were just wearing thin. Either way, I pulled back a bit, let some of his shaft glide out from between my lips. I stopped its progress with my teeth, biting into his cock halfway down. I started sucking him off, bobbing my head up and down on his dick, polishing his hardness with my lips and tongue.

  “I’m—I’m going to cum, Dave!” he warned.

  Cum to poppa! was all I thought. I kept right on sucking, blowing that guy with a technique perfected over five decades, vacuuming him down to the fur line and then suctioning back up his shaft again, over and over.

  His body bowed rigid as his dick, and then he shuddered, groaned. His cock jerked in my mouth, and I was flooded with warm, salty spunk. I kept my lips locked on his spasming cock, milking him, while his thighs squeezed my neck like a vise. The young man spurted his joy repeatedly, forcing me to swallow fast and often. I drank in his essence without wasting a drop, proudly watching as he thrashed around in the water, blown away by my cocksucking.

  He lost his death grip on the ladder and almost went under for good when he’d finally finished emptying his balls in my throat. I dragged him to the surface. I wasn’t done with him yet.

  “I wanna foot-fuck you,” I whispered in his ear.

  He nodded vaguely, gasping for air.

  I helped him out of the pool, admiring how stiff his bobbing cock still remained. Then I eased him into the hot, swirling waters of the Jacuzzi. I stripped off my own trunks, let my own cock catch some air. It was hard as a divining rod, twitching like it smelled water—and feet.

  I dropped into the tub and stood up to my waist in the bubbling chop facing my slumped lover. I fisted my submerged member, getting it good and fully jacked for action, my grizzled chest heaving with excitement and anticipation.

  “You—you don’t want to fuck me in the ass?” Rafael gulped, sitting up higher.

  “Sure I do,” I replied, grinning and fisting, fisting and grinning. “Later. Right now I want those pretty feet of yours.”

  He nodded wearily and extended his legs underwater. I grabbed his ankles, clapped his soles on either side of my raging cock. He went under, came up spluttering, clinging to the sides of the Jacuzzi. He was very, very flexible, like I’d thought he’d be, and his foot-bottoms gripped my cock in the best bowlegged fashion.

  I started pumping my hips, fucking the guy’s feet. My dick glided easily back and forth between his soft soles, the smooth, heated sensation sending a shiver up my spine, a lightning bolt through my groin. I pumped faster and faster, stirring up the agitated water even more with the brute force of my foot-lust.

  Rafael stared at me, struggling to remain topside, as I ruthlessly fucked his peds, his legs shuddering with the impact of my thrusting body. I gripped his toes and pistoned my cock in between his soles, the tension, the tingling in my balls, building and building with every furious cock-stroke.

  Then I abruptly pulled him up out of the water, spilling him back onto the indoor-outdoor carpeting. I scrambled up onto the shelf where he’d been sitting, then fucked away again. My cock went numb, flying in between his feet, my muscles locking up to the snapping point. I tilted my head back and churned like a madman, bellowing, “Fuck, yeah!” at the moon and the stars, consumed by the dizzying sensation of total release.

  I blasted white-hot cum onto Rafael’s chest and stomach and cock, pumping out rope after rope of sticky, sizzling sperm, the wicked foot-friction sending me sailing till I was drained as an end-of-season swimming pool.

  The next day I put Rafael on a new job—sitting in a chair under an umbrella holding up a SLOW sign. I wanted the young guy off his gorgeous feet during the day, ’cause I was going to be on them every night.

  CONSTRUCTIONAL VOODOO

  Logan Zachary

  My eyes followed the drop of sweat as it rolled down the hairy chest that stood in front of me. The tight blue jeans absorbed it quickly in the summer’s heat. The huge bulge strained against the zipper and seemed t
o swell. I forced my gaze up into the eyes of the man at my front door.

  “As you can see, we’re digging up the street in front of your house.” The man stepped to the side so I could see the road. His red shirt hung open all the way down to his furry belly button.

  An innie.

  “You may want to store some water, in case we need to flush the hydrants.”

  I forced my eyes back up to his face.

  He turned, and our eyes finally met.

  Deep blue. I wanted to dive in.

  No words were forming in my mind or my mouth. All I could manage was a nod.

  “Just thought I’d let you know.” The man took out a white handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. He turned and tried to stick it into his back pocket as he walked down the porch stairs. The handkerchief missed, slipped out of his pocket, and landed on the top step.

  He entered the street and slid his goggles, yellow safety vest, and earplugs into place. The buzz of the jackhammer sent shock waves through my house and into me.

  I walked out onto the porch and retrieved the sweat-soaked handkerchief. Instantly, I brought it to my nose and inhaled. A deep, sweet, musky man scent assaulted my nostrils. I breathed in deeply again and closed the door.

  I headed back to my drawing board, where a blank sheet of paper waited for me. The Pirates in My Pants was stuck. I wasn’t making any progress on the story line. The comic strip for the new magazine was in dry dock.

  A row of figures sat near my drawing board. I reached up and removed one, the construction worker doll, and set him on the drafting table. “We’re digging up the street in front of your house.” My voice took on a deep gravelly quality.

  “Here’s your handkerchief,” I said, as I offered the wet cloth to the doll, since I hadn’t run after the real deal.