Hard Hats

by Neil Plakcy

  “‘Why thanks,’ you would say, and you’d come in for a cold beer and a hot shower,” I said to the doll. “If only it was that simple.” I wrapped the handkerchief around the figure. The doll throbbed in my hand, and it seemed to breathe in. The sweat soaked into its clothes as I set it down to watch me work, or as was the case, not work.

  The pirates refused to cooperate, as I looked out the window into the street. My construction worker drilled the concrete slab and cracked it into pieces. The doll’s red shirt started to bleed into the white handkerchief; the dye must be running from all the sweat. I removed the wet cloth and the yellow safety vest and tossed them aside.

  The thunderous jackhammer stopped. The man set it aside, removed his yellow vest, tossed it into my front yard, and returned to work.

  I glanced from the doll’s vest and back to the man’s vest. They matched each other in place and position.

  Strange.

  I tapped the pencil against my teeth, as the pirate king…as the pirate king…as the pirate king did what? Sat on his fat ass until I could figure out what to make him do next? I didn’t know.

  I picked up the construction worker doll on my table. His hard hat tipped back off his head and rolled across my paper.

  The man in the street stopped the jackhammer as his hard hat flew off the back of his head and rolled over the concrete.

  I picked up the hat and replaced it on his head.

  The man in the street bent over, showed a nice white slice of butt crack, and placed his hard hat back on his head.

  I brought the doll to my nose and inhaled. Manly sweat. It felt warm to my touch, despite the air-conditioning. My finger played across his shirt, and it was even more damp than before. No way could that handkerchief have soaked the figure this much.

  Or could it?

  On the blank piece of paper I drew my house. I walked the doll to the front door and looked out the window.

  The construction worker stopped his jackhammer and walked to my front door.

  I made the doll’s hand knock on the picture of my door.

  Knock-knock, sounded on my front door.

  Should I answer it?

  Picking up the pencil, I quickly drew the street and walked the doll back into the road.

  The man left my porch and walked back to his jackhammer. He shook his head and returned to work.

  This was too freaky. I raced to the kitchen and came back with a bottle of water. I twisted the cap off and watched the man work. The jackhammer drilled into the concrete and broke off another big chunk as the cold water slid down my throat.

  I recapped the bottle and set it down next to the doll. I eyed it as an idea formed in my mind. Setting the bottle on its side, I rested it next to the doll. With my other hand, I raised my pencil and stabbed the bottle. Water sprayed across the paper and the doll.

  Outside, the man yelled.

  Looking out the window, I watched a spray of water soak the man and the street. He pulled back from the jackhammer, dripping wet.

  Quickly, I walked the doll back to the picture of my house.

  The man ran to my door and pounded on it.

  I grabbed a towel from the laundry basket sitting on my couch and headed to the front door.

  As the door opened, the dripping man looked at me. “Can I use your phone?” He seemed surprised to see the towel in my hand but accepted it. He wiped his face and patted his soaked shirt.

  “Come in,” was all I could manage.

  The man looked down at the entryway floor, and tentatively stepped onto the tile. “I don’t want to leave a puddle.”

  “It’s only tile. It’ll dry.” I walked over to the hall table and picked up the phone.

  “I need to call the city to shut the water off.” We looked out the front window. The water had stopped. He waved the phone away.

  Moving over to the drafting table, I set the phone down and saw the water bottle was empty. Quickly, I removed the doll’s shirt. I held my breath and slowly turned around. The man stood in my entryway…shirtless. My knees threatened to buckle.

  I licked my lips as I spun around to flip the doll’s work boots off. Taking a deep breath, I held it and closed my eyes before I turned to look at him.

  His bare feet stood on the tile.

  I swallowed hard, staring at his pants.

  Should I?

  Could I?

  Would it work?

  I walked back to the door and stopped dead in my tracks.

  “Do you mind?” the man asked me as he unbuckled his belt. He unzipped his jeans and quickly removed them. He wrapped the towel around his narrow waist, but not before his white, wet briefs, revealed what was underneath.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the doll’s pants were balled up in an exact pile.

  “I don’t know what happened,” the wet man confessed. “According to the survey, there’s no way that the water line ran there.”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.” I knew it was all mine. “Look, it stopped already. How bad could it have been?”

  The man peered out the window again and saw the water had indeed stopped. He looked confused.

  “I need to finish something,” I pointed to my drawing board, “and then maybe I can explain.”

  The man just nodded as his hand held the towel wrapped around his hips, tighter.

  My hand quickly drew a shower stall with water spraying from the nozzle. With my other hand, I moved the doll into the square.

  “Do you mind if I use your shower?” The man motioned up the stairs.

  My mouth went dry and all I could do was nod. I tried to lick my lips, but there wasn’t any moisture in my tongue.

  The man’s bare feet padded across the tiled entry and headed up the stairs. The towel loosened as he walked. It slipped down in the back and his wet underwear waistband appeared. At the first step, the towel dropped lower, and the sheer white fabric appeared as a second skin. It hugged his butt and pulled deep into his crease.

  I followed him up the stairs, drinking him in as his ass swayed with each step.

  The towel fell to the floor once he entered the bathroom. He peeled off his underwear and stepped into the shower stall.

  I gasped at the beauty of the sight. His body looked as if it were sculpted from stone but made of flesh. Even my skills as an artist wouldn’t have been able to conjure up this…

  And then he turned to face me, and I gasped.

  “Wanna join me?” he asked.

  Water shot out of the nozzle head and flowed over his body. His pelt of hair slicked down and glistened on his body. His pecs rippled as he soaped them. The fur fanned over his chest and narrowed as it approached his navel. From his belly button down, the hair triangled and thickened. A massive cock swelled and rose from the thick bush of pubic hair. As he lathered up his groin, the uncut head bounced and began to rise, thickening and lengthening as white foam combed through the dark hair and cascaded down his long legs.

  My hands unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans and gravity took over. I ripped my shirt off over my head and discarded it on the towel.

  His heavy balls swung back and forth between his legs as water and foam flowed over them. They seemed to beckon me to join him.

  My underwear slid down my legs as my hand reached through the open shower door for his scrotum. My fingers grasped and juggled the orbs between my fingers. They felt to be the size of golf balls, low hanging and furry.

  He moaned and stepped back. “Let me make some room for you.”

  My hand worked the flesh, and the soap and water mixed into a thick creamy lather. The clumps of foam dropped at our feet.

  My smooth skin contrasted against his sun-bronzed flesh. His pelvis stood out from his tanned chest and legs in a white square. “You need to get out more; look how pale you are.” He ran his finger across my chest.

  Moving closer, his erection brushed my torso. My cock sprang to life, rising up from my body and slipping underneath his. Our engorged pa
rts ran into each other, and waves of pleasure flowed over me and into him, back and forth between us, just as the warm water and foam washed over us.

  Water plastered my hair to my scalp as my cock slid up his torso and his penis ran alongside mine. Our balls brushed each other, coarse hair against coarse hair. We ground our pelvises into each other, humping body to body. Waves of pleasure flowed as warm as the water.

  “Now you’re getting the idea.” His hands started to work the soap over my body, stimulating each nerve fiber. They worked their way across my chest, down along my sides as he pulled me close. His cock dug into my belly button, seeking entry.

  His hands soaped and massaged their way to my ass. His fingers kneaded the mounds of firm flesh and ran along the groove. His thick fingers played in my crease, gently exploring. He looked into my eyes. “Can I?”

  “You may,” I said, and my moans encouraged him. One finger stretched and found the sensitive spot. My knees threatened to buckle, but his finger circled my asshole, and I felt as if I balanced on his tip. The soap and water lubed the opening.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. His finger pressed forward for entry, as I pressed back against him. My ass welcomed his intrusion. “Yes,” I said and took a deep breath, as he drove it home. My balls wanted to empty their load, but I resisted, holding the eruption back.

  His rough finger and enlarged joints tortured my sensitive skin. The tender opening begged for more. I impaled myself on his finger.

  He brought his mouth down on mine. “Kiss me,” he said. His lips inhaled mine into his mouth. His tongue dueled with mine as he threatened to swallow me whole. His tongue was in my mouth, his penis in my navel, and his finger deep inside my shivering ass. My body screamed for more.

  The assault stopped momentarily, as he spun me around. My face slammed into the tile as I felt him step up behind me and pin me to the wall. “Spread them,” he said as his thick organ slapped against my skin, and his hands pulled my hips to him. His feet kicked my legs apart. I could feel myself opening to him, welcoming him.

  Steam swirled around us, soap and sweat and sex filled my nostrils. I inhaled deeply and braced myself.

  His cock slapped on my lower back and slid down my crack. It filled the furrow and plowed along the length of the crease. His balls bounced off my ass with each pass. His pelvis retracted and plunged forward. The sheathed head targeted the bull’s-eye, sought entry, and slipped up and over.

  I drove back against him, willing him to come inside of me, fill me, rip me open.

  “Are you ready?” his husky voice asked.

  My body shivered with anticipation. “Yes,” was all I could breathe out of my mouth.

  His fingers dug into my hips and pulled them back onto his cock. His hands spread my cheeks, exposing the target. He rolled his hips and set his cock against the opening. He teased it, rubbing circles and pressing in the center for entrance. As the tip slipped in, he pulled back.

  “Beg for it,” he whispered, tonguing my ear. The hair on his chest caressed my back.

  I pushed back against him, but he resisted entry, teasing and taunting my hole. Finally I hissed, “Please.”

  The next moment, I felt heaven. With one quick thrust, he was inside me to the hilt. His balls banged into mine as his pubic hair tickled my asscheeks, but it was his engorged cock that took my breath away. As fast as he was in, he was out.

  “Don’t—” was all I got out before he was inside me again. His thrust pinned me to the wall. His hands pulled me onto his cock, which he slowly slid in and out. The thick head would strain against my opening, threatening to pop out, but at the last second it would plunge back in, to depths I’d never known before.

  His strokes were smooth and timed. He rocked my body back and forth, as if to the rhythm of some primitive tribe. My body responded. I helped his strong arms pull me back; my ass sucked him in deeper with each thrust.

  The speed increased as the force intensified. Like a well-oiled machine, he pistoned into me. I struggled to breathe. The humidity made me feel like I was drowning, and each thrust drove the little oxygen out of my lungs. Before I could inhale, he drove into me again.

  His strong hands released my hips. He pulled out of me and spun me around. Face-to-face, he picked me up and placed me back on his cock. “More?” he asked.

  I wrapped my legs around him and hung on as he drilled into me. His massive forearms held me up as I rode his penis. His right hand released my torso, and he reached between my legs. “This guy needs some action, too.” His fingers wrapped around my dick and started to stroke, matching each thrust with his hand. My balls rubbed up and down his furry six-pack as the water cascaded over us.

  I threw my head back as his rhythm increased, as did my pleasure. His mouth found mine as our tongues tasted desire and lust. His five o’clock shadow scratched my cheek as he continued to use me. A tension was rising with each thrust, urging me forward, closer, harder, faster.

  I welcomed him, and he smiled and quickened his pace.

  A low rumble started in his chest and worked its way lower. It flowed from him and into me. The vibration started as a buzz, but intensified to encompass the room. His groans matched my moans as he slid in and out, taking me higher.

  His body tensed as he pulled out of me one last time and then slammed back in. I could feel the orgasm start from his balls and explode out of his cock and into me. My prostate absorbed the load. Its heat melted my insides and forced them to shoot out across his hairy chest as I came. Another warm wave filled me, as the next jet exploded from my cock. My body convulsed as wave after wave of pleasure escaped.

  We sank down to the floor of the stall and let the water wash over us.

  I watched as he donned his clothes in the entryway. “I’m not sure what came over me,” he said, as he zipped his fly with his back turned to me.

  “Must have been the heat,” I offered.

  He paused for a moment. “Sunstroke?” He nodded to himself, “Yeah, sunstroke.” He turned to me and smiled. “Crazy from the heat.”

  “Well, if you need any more water, come and knock on the door.”

  “Isn’t that what caused this whole thing in the first place?” He set his hard hat on his head and walked to the door. “Thanks,” was all he said, and he was gone.

  I walked back to my drawing. The construction worker doll stood clothed on the easel. A huge smile covered his face.

  I smiled in spite of myself. Had what just happened, really happened?

  Oh, well. The pirates weren’t cooperating, and my editor wasn’t going to be happy, so the best thing to do was email him right now. I turned on the laptop and logged online.

  An email caught my attention, so I followed the link to eBay. After a few clicks, the Mario Lopez, Tom Selleck, and Mark Wahlberg action figures were sitting in my shopping cart.

  And with a big, happy grin, I clicked on BUY NOW.

  CLIMBING UP THE WALL

  Barry Lowe

  The noise woke me: loud voices and laughter, the irritating deep-throated opinions of a talk-back radio host. That’s the problem with living in the inner city: Sounds. Everywhere. All the time. Personal silent space narrows considerably. No wonder so many people take up yoga. And it’s why I slept in the back bedroom of the dilapidated inner-city terrace I rented. My bedroom backed onto a laneway, once a lane for the easy collection and removal of euphemistically named “night soil.”

  It had simply ended up a repository for garbage and renovation detritus, probably because all of us in the nine-house block were renters, not buyers, and so we had no vampire-like hunger for a few extra square centimeters of backyard. I was a night shift worker so I slept during the day. That’s what necessitated my move to the smaller bedroom—away from the light, away from the necessary noise of everyday living.

  I opened one eye and peered at the clock until it came into focus. I groaned. I had been asleep for only ninety minutes and it didn’t sound as if the noise was going to abate. In fac
t, it was so close, it sounded as if it were coming from inside my head. I got out of bed to pad across the floor and close the window. It would be stuffy and humid but I had to sleep. I scratched my balls as I tried to remain half asleep. No one could see me as the bedroom window merely looked out on the lane and the painted back brick wall of the house opposite that blocked the sun out until the late afternoon. That enabled me to leave the window open and the blind up and still kip in comparative gloom. It was particularly helpful in the sticky heat of summer.

  My brain was as out of focus as my eyes, and I didn’t pinpoint the voices until I was near the window. Then it struck me. The voices were coming from above and below. Someone was in my backyard and someone was on the roof. Burglars! I’d been broken into twice already in the short time I’d lived here but this was the most brazen attempt ever. And they weren’t being quiet about it.

  As if to confirm my suspicions the ladder propped over my window moved. What ladder? I don’t have a ladder. But someone did. And that someone was climbing up or down in preparation for breaking in via my very inviting open second-floor window. I had to give them an A for audacity. Most thieves just jimmied the rotting woodwork on the ground-floor window and scampered in and out like larcenous cockroaches.

  These guys were better organized. And therefore dangerous.

  A boot appeared on the rung closest to the top of the window. The intruder was coming down. I could have run for the window to slam it closed but if these intruders were as brazen as they seemed, they’d have no hesitation in smashing the glass and then I’d end up not only assaulted and battered and bereft of personal electrical goods, but also left with a glazier’s bill for a new window.

  My hand closed round the handle of an ancient cricket bat that I occasionally used to prop up tables and beat to death inner-city vermin. I waited. The boot became a naked leg emanating from a thick woolen sock curled over at the top, followed then by tanned and almost hairless calves, and then equally tanned thighs…

  My cock gave a twitch that brought me back to the reality of my situation. I lifted the bat. The cutoff jeans seemed to adhere to a bubble butt that looked as delicious as two half melons, and the full package of his cock and balls. For now, at least, I knew it was a male intruder. The stomach muscles were firm, the belly button an innie, and the pecs were…well, the pecs were…well, if I were the sporting type, I could have skied down them. I’m a chest man.