by J. M. Snyder
He let me get a good look, unashamed of his nudity. As he continued to towel off his hair, he didn’t bother covering himself. That smile turned into a smirk and he struck a pose, one hip jutting out to lean against the door frame. The movement made his wrinkled balls swing to the left and did delicious things deep in my lower belly. Nonchalant, he asked, “Who are you?”
I cleared my throat again. “Maintenance,” I croaked. That was what I had wanted to say, and to prove it, I repeated it, adding, “Just here to fix the air.”
“Maintenance,” he echoed. When I nodded, he asked, “Your parents named you that?”
“What?” I tore my gaze from his crotch and found him grinning at me. God, he was hot, and it had nothing to do with the steam still rising from the room behind him, either. “No, I’m just here—”
“To fix the air,” he finished, interrupting me. “So you said. I didn’t hear you knock.”
“You were in the shower.” The image that came to mind of his naked body drenched in water, hands rubbing suds along hard flesh, made my knees weak. “I knocked a few times. I’m not surprised you couldn’t hear, what with the water and the fan and the radio…”
He laughed, a boyish sound that only added to his appeal. “Nah, man. That was me. You ever hear the joke about how ninety-five percent of guys like to jerk off in the shower?”
I shook my head, my throat dry with lust. Was he seriously talking about masturbating in the shower? What was he, a mind reader or something?
“The other five percent sing,” he said, as if we were having a normal conversation and he wasn’t standing buck naked in front of me, his dick dripping water onto the carpet. “Do you know what song?”
Was this the joke? “No, what?”
He winked, his grin kicking up a notch. “If I have to tell you, then we know what percentage you fall into, eh?”
I wasn’t quite following him, but I knew I shouldn’t have been there. I had other jobs I had to do and he…well, judging from the semi-hard erection poking from between his legs, he had other things on his mind, too. Pushing the shop vac ahead of me into the hall, I forced myself to look him in the face and not speak to his dick. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in on you like this—”
“Hold up.” He put out a hand to stop me, letting the towel fall from the top of his head. Thick black spikes stood up at randy angles from his scalp, and though he held the towel at his waist now, he still made no move to cover himself. When his hand touched my shoulder, I felt the warm dampness of his palm burn through the thin fabric and imprint itself directly onto my skin.
His smile was disarming. This close—when had he moved so close?—his eyes were a pale blue, icy almost, and if I looked into them for too long, I thought I might be able to stare right through them. When he spoke again, his voice dropped dangerously low. “What’s your name?”
“Elliott,” I whispered. I struggled to keep my gaze fixed on his, but it had a disturbing habit of wanting to wander down between us to fixate on his crotch. I tightened my grip on the shop vac’s hose and tried not to imagine my hands encircling anything else. “I should go.”
His hand rubbed down my arm to my elbow, which he squeezed. “No need to rush off,” he said, his voice softer still. When he tugged a little, I let him pull my arm away from my body. His hand tickled over the sleeve of my T-shirt and into the crook of my elbow, then curved around my forearm.
I let him pull me closer as his hand gripped my wrist, then slipped into my palm. “Really,” I protested, but it sounded weak to my own ears. “I have to get back to work.”
Instead of releasing me, he pulled my hand toward his body and pressed the back of it against his damp, flat stomach. I thought I felt it flutter under my touch. God knows my own belly dropped out at the feel of his naked flesh against mine.
“It’s just you and me here, man,” he whispered. His words were hypnotic, trapping me in place. As if there were really anywhere else I wanted to be. “You can touch me if you want.”
Lord Jesus. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more.
Pulling my hand from his, I strummed the back of my fingers over his smooth abs. He wasn’t built, exactly, but I could feel the tightness of the defined muscles just beneath the surface of his taut skin. I glanced up at him, saw the encouraging smile he gave me, and let my hand drift lower, following the trail of tiny hairs that led to the mass of curls at his crotch. When my fingers plunged into the kinked pubes, his lips parted with a gasp. “Yes.”
It took all the strength I had to pull my hand away. “I really can’t…”
One corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “Don’t you get a lunch break or something.”
I glanced at my watch—it was after twelve. Technically I was off the clock…
He leaned in close and surprised me with a quick peck on the lips. “Stay. I’ll make it worth your while.”
How could I say no to that?
I just nodded, numb. Every fiber of my being ached for him. He kissed me again, full on this time, his mouth hot against my own. As his tongue slipped between my lips to lick inside me, I felt his hand tug on my belt buckle. His fingers curved into my waistband to tickle my stomach.
I pulled back a little, my head spinning. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Donnie.” He punctuated the announcement with another kiss.
Before he could take it further, I pulled back again. I was up against the door now, the shop vac forgotten at my feet. “Your girlfriend—”
“Sister,” he corrected. “She’s at work. Are we going to do this or what?”
I nodded again, eagerly this time. “Please,” was all I could think to say.
Reaching out, my hands danced over his smooth stomach, his narrow hips, angling for the length between his legs. But he caught my hands in his and, turning, held them behind his back as he led me to the living room. His ass cheeks were pert and round, firm like unripe peaches, the crevice between them dark with black strands that matched the hair at his crotch. I wanted to trail my fingers through it, brush it one way then the other, part it to find the sweet center of his being. I wanted him, every inch of him, now.
In the living room, he stopped and turned. Dropping my hands, he tugged at my belt again and this time unbuckled it. “You’re overdressed, Elliott. Off with the threads.”
He helped me shuck off my pants and underwear in one smooth motion. Kneeling before me, he held the pants down as I leaned on his shoulder to balance myself as I tried to step out of them. When they wouldn’t come off over my work boots, he unlaced those and pulled them off, tossing them aside in his haste. My cock bobbed half-erect above his head. My balls were already beginning to hum. “Please,” I said, struggling to kick the pants away. “Can’t we just…”
With a great jerk, he pulled the pants off my feet and my legs out from under me. I landed hard on my ass on the carpeted floor, my pants a tangle in his arms between my knees. Crawling over me, he grinned as he stole another kiss. “That’s one way to lay you down. Shirt off while I find my lube and tubes.”
The way he spoke reminded me of the age difference between us, but I didn’t want to sound uncool—I wanted him too badly to screw this up now. So I unbuttoned my shirt halfway, then shrugged out of it, tossing it aside. One hand strayed to my cock as I watched him bend over in front of a duffle bag on the floor. His buttocks split like an invitation that sang in my veins. I squeezed the tender tip of my dick and told myself I’d be diving between those fleshy cheeks before my lunch hour was up. The thought alone almost made me cum, but I held it back. Not yet.
After a long moment, I asked, “What exactly are you looking for?”
He tossed a half-empty bottle of lubricant at me—it struck my knee and landed in the heap of my underpants. As I retrieved it, something else sailed across the room to hit my chest. A box of condoms landed in my lap. When I picked it up, it felt kind of light; I shook it and out rattled two unopened rubbers. “Shit,
that’s it?” Donnie asked, crawling over me. He swatted my hand away from my dick and plucked one of the condoms from my fingers. “I gotta get some more.”
“You do this often?” I wanted to know.
Squeezing a healthy dollop of lube onto his palm, he rubbed his hands together and laughed. “Not since I’ve been staying with Molly. You’re the first guy my age I’ve seen around here.”
He had a point—most of the residents who lived in the apartments were elderly widows or families. There were a few co-eds—all women—and a boy about seventeen who lived a row over with his grandmother, but that was about it. I’d been trying to talk Shonda into hiring a second maintenance man to help me out, but so far it was just me.
Thank God, I thought as Donnie wrapped one lube-slicked hand around my stiff shaft. I gasped and lay back on my elbows, the carpet itchy against my skin. With long, slow strokes, he massaged my dick, his hand sliding easily along the length. The cool lube quickly warmed from our body heat. Each stroke sent shivers crashing through me in cascading waves, starting at my overly sensitized cockhead to wash down my cock, over my balls, and through my groin. “Yes,” I moaned, letting my head fall back between my shoulders as he worked my dick. “God, that’s heavenly.”
“Like that?”
Did I? Jesus.
Donnie scooted between my knees, his legs draped over my hips. When his feet nudged my hands, I grasped at his toes, lacing my fingers between them. I felt his now hard dick prod at my nuts—it wept warm pre-cum whenever it butted against me.
Using both hands now, Donnie strummed up my length, squeezing as he worked me over. Up, down, both directions at once, until I thought my seed would squirt from me like toothpaste from a tube. “Please,” I sobbed as he rolled my balls like dice in one hand while the other tugged my erect dick up as tall as it could stand. He leaned down, tongue darting out between too-red lips, and licked around the flared ‘shroom of my cock. He kissed it, then sucked it into his mouth, taking me in as he went down between my legs.
“Now!” I cried, arching my hips away from the floor to thrust into him as far as I could. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna, please, God, just—”
“Uh uh uh,” he sang out. My cock slipped free from his lips as he gave me a damp grin. “Not yet, you aren’t. I want you in me.”
Wriggling my hips invitingly, I told him, “Then climb on up already. I can’t hold it forever.”
He found the condom where it had fallen to the floor. With expert moves, he ripped the packet open with his teeth and rolled the condom down onto my all-too-ready shaft. He followed it with a squirt of lube, spiraling the cool gel up and around my dick as if he were drizzling chocolate syrup on a sundae. When the last of the lube spurted noisily out of the bottle, he rose onto all fours and crawled onto my lower belly.
As he sat, my cock slid up the crevice between his buttocks. He arched his back and hissed with delight as my slick dick rubbed against his backside. Raising up on his hands, he did it again, and a third time, stroking me with the crack in his ass. I wrapped my arms around his hips and grabbed meaty handfuls of his butt cheeks, spreading them wider to allow my cock to really get down in between them. The next time he reached the tip, hovering over me precariously balanced on his hands and knees, I dipped both middle fingers into the tight hole at his center and widened him.
“God,” he gasped, writhing above me. I prodded farther, to the first knuckle on each finger, spreading him open. He fucked back against my hands, making a little contented sound in the back of his throat that sounded so animalistic, so guttural, so raw, it took my breath away.
Leaning over me, Donnie covered my mouth with his and whispered, “Guide me down. Fuck me, Elliott. God, fuck me hard.”
Only too happy to oblige, I held his buttocks apart and blindly guided the tip of my cock to the precious pucker of his anus. He kept his lips on mine, kissing me harder whenever he felt any discomfort—his hands fisted against the carpet on either side of my head and he moaned into me, a hungry sound that made me raise my hips up off the floor to thrust into him. Past the muscular bands of resistance and into the very heart of him, tapping that sweet spot deep inside that made him squirm against me with lustful pleasure. “Yes, yes,” he cried out, beating his fists against the floor as we slowly moved toward a singular rhythm.
I hoped the resident downstairs was still out on her terrace, bemoaning the storm damage, and not on the phone to Shonda to complain about the loud, randy noises coming from her neighbor’s apartment above.
We struck a fast pace, our bodies growing slick with sweat. We moved together like a well-oiled machine, my cock pistoning deep into the socket of his ass, his dick rubbing smoothly between us. My heartbeat increased and my whole body trilled with the very essence of him. Wanting more, needing it, I rolled him over onto his back—now it was me kneeling above him, my lips pressing him to the floor, my arms and legs trapping him in place. My thrusts became quicker, frantic, the power behind them spurred by additional leverage the floor provided.
Beneath me, he moved with me, keeping pace. Gasping, he moaned my name and God’s, and begged me to fuck him harder, harder, please. I dove deeper into him as he clawed at my back, pulling me close, holding me in place as he screwed his ass onto my cock. Please, and God, Elliott, and yes, yes, yes.
When he came, he reached between us and jerked his release from his cock in a series of short spitting squirts. The white lines of cum looked like beaded strands of pearls crisscrossing his lower belly. I dug in my heels, shoved inside him until I felt the heat of his ass on my balls, and shot my load in him. “Yes,” he sobbed, smearing his own juices over his stomach. “Yes, God, yes!”
I collapsed above him, exhausted. He moved beneath me weakly, just enough to free his arms from between us, then hugged me to him with a frighteningly tight embrace. My head rested on his shoulder; he turned to kiss me, then pressed his forehead to mine. This close, his eyes looked endless.
“I need another shower,” he joked. He spoke so low, I felt the words in my chest more than heard them out loud.
I laughed. “We both do.”
He smiled, another invitation. Wiggling his hips under mine, his voice turned coy. “Join me?”
How could I refuse?
* * * *
By the end of the week, I had most of the hurricane-induced issues resolved around the apartment complex—those I could fix myself, that is. The block of homes without power would remain dark until the electric company could come out and replace the downed lines, but at least the tree that had taken them out was nothing but firewood and mulch now. Yards were cleared, terraces mended, the pool cleaned…it took a full five days, but at least things were starting to get back to normal.
When five o’clock rolled around on Friday evening, I pocketed the emergency call pager and headed home. I had nothing on my mind but a relaxing weekend with—hopefully—few interruptions. Of course, I should’ve known better. At quarter to seven that evening, the pager went off. I called into the answering machine where residents could leave messages regarding emergencies after hours. Please don’t be anything major, I prayed. Anything that could wait until Monday would suit me just fine.
I entered the access code to play back the messages and recognized Donnie’s voice immediately. Deep, smoked out, sexy as hell. I hadn’t seen him all week, not after leaving his sister’s apartment fresh from another bout of sex in the shower. It’d been a spur of the moment thing, for both of us, I knew. I held no illusions for anything more.
And yet…”Hey,” he breathed into the phone, the raw sound of his voice piquing my interest. Turning me on. “I’m hot in here, man. It’s just me and my hand. Hit me up if you can help get me off.”
Thank God I didn’t let that go until Monday! Shonda would’ve choked if she heard that. I almost did, to be honest…then I fell over myself getting my work boots back on. I lived a short, ten-minute drive from the apartments. I hoped he could hold out that long.
&n
bsp; The roads were empty and I made record time. As I pulled up in front of Donnie’s apartment building, I cut the lights. From the bed of my pickup, I took out my toolbox, hefting it in one hand as I headed up the stairs. Even though I doubted anything in there would satisfy him as much as the thick rod crammed down the front of my pants, I wanted to keep up appearances. In case any nosy neighbors were watching.
I stopped in front of his door, already hard and eager for another roll on the floor. Raising my fist, I knocked on the door once as I hollered out, “Maintenance!”
I heard the door unlock. The knob turned, the door opened a crack, and Donnie appeared. He saw me and grinned. When he opened the door wider to let me in, I saw his nude body in all its firm, ripe glory. “Don’t you ever get dressed?” I teased, setting my toolbox on the floor.
“Why bother?” He shut the door and leaned against it, then pulled me to him for a hungry kiss.
THE END
Out for Delivery
It’s quarter to eleven Sunday night when someone knocks on my apartment door. I’m awake and online, trying to eke out another three hundred words on an article I’ve been struggling with all day, and the last thing I need is an interruption. This piece needs to be on my editor’s desk first thing Monday morning or it won’t make the deadline for next week’s issue of Style. Who the hell could be bothering me at this hour? I’m tempted not to answer.
But I’m the only guy living upstairs—the apartment across the hall from mine houses a quartet of giggling college girls who think it’s cute their neighbor is young and gay, and the other two apartments are rented by elderly women who frequently ask me to change light bulbs or hook up their DVD players. It’s the thought of one of these ladies needing my help that forces me to answer the door.
The knock comes again as I reach for the door handle. I unlock the door—when I open it, a blast of cold air swirls in around my legs, chilling my skin through my thin pajama pants. My arms pimple in goose bumps. I tell myself it’s from the cold, but a glance at my visitor is enough to send delightful shivers down my spine.
