Laying Pipe

The next day I drove past the brown tent, past the caution cones and the construction dirt, past the piles of gas pipe waiting to be buried. I was apprehensive. I had nothing to be embarrassed about, it wasn’t me masturbating in front of a hundred strangers! Still I felt uncomfortable at the thought of him standing in the road, sneering a wicked grin, knowing a little secret about me. But he wasn’t there! I was relieved, but also disappointed. I wanted another look at the stud with the tattoo on his chest and the big dick in his pants. I parked and entered the store just as the doors opened for business. It was not a very busy day, and I decided to walk the store and see what was going on.

I went into the Men’s store to see a new collection of ties that came in that day, and decided to buy one for myself. I took a nice stripe to the register and got out my employee account card. I looked up from my wallet to see a deeply tanned face, with a five-o-clock shadow under a shaggy mop of light brown hair. It was RDWARRIOR. He had on a pair of very well-worn jeans, worn as thin as paper in all the right spots. He had his construction boots on, and he was getting dirt on my carpet. As if I cared. He also wore a new, dark blue denim shirt that he had made his own by cutting off the sleeves at the shoulder, revealing his massive biceps and bronzed forearms. He didn’t have his watch on, so the strip of skin hidden from the sun glowed white against his golden tan. I noticed that there was just a hint of spare brown hair on his shoulders that couldn’t see on the cam last night. I found it very attractive.

“Hey Mr. Suit! Thanks for watching last night. That was you, right? Did you enjoy yourself? I hope you got off the same time I did.”

As we walked together in the cool air of the store, he talked about the web cam site, and why he enjoyed doing his nightly show. He explained that in addition to digging ditches he was a volunteer fireman, and had been called to the Twin Towers that September day. He had seen the horrible devastation first hand. That explained the patriotic tattoo. I spent the time listening, and checking out his incredible body. He had wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, and the worn patches on his jeans accentuated the roundness of his butt. The new denim shirt was a size too small, but for him it was perfect. He had three buttons unfastened at the neck, and his hairy broad chest was straining to pop at least another one open at any minute. His real name was Hank. I liked the sound of that. It has a very masculine sound.

“I gotta get back to work. I gotta ask you somethin’. You like men? ‘cause I like what I see. You're a hot guy. I wanna see what happens if we hook up tonight. You wanna see me later?”

For a moment I thought he meant see him on the cam later, but as he waited for me to answer I understood he meant actually SEE him later. What a rush! I fought my demons and said yes. We decided to meet at a bar near his house. I thought to myself, he wants to be close to home in case we click. He won’t have to take me far to fuck me! I walked him to the door, and decided I needed to bury myself in reports the rest of the day.

I dressed right after dinner. I didn’t eat much, I had too many things on my mind. I wondered what Hank was looking for as I put on a white tank top with a tee back (that made my shoulders look good) and the Ck jean shorts that made my ass nice and firm. Did he want cute? Did he want sophisticated? Did he care? Why is a man with the body and dick of a porno star showing interest in me? Was I just a convenient fuck? Would I actually get fucked? Ah, another ride on the train of thought! We arranged met at 10:00. The bar was one of those dark, wood paneled beer joints that tries to look butch, but only comes off as dingy. I got there first, took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer. Hank came in a few minutes later. He came up behind me and hooked his arms under my armpits and wrapped his hands across my chest. He hugged me so my back pressed into his belly as he stood behind me.

“Hey babe. Howya doin’? I’ve been thinking about your hot little body all day! I couldn’t wait to get here and do this!”

He wasn’t wasting any time! His head nuzzled in the nape of my neck, and he gave me a kiss. Without letting go of me, he ordered a beer for himself, and positioned himself behind me, his arms around my torso. He slipped his hands under the straps of my tank and I felt his calloused fingers brush my nipples. He was wearing a “wife-beater” another name for a plain white sleeveless undershirt. His was very tight, it looked like he had painted it on. His nipples were large and they made the shirt pop out in two perfect peaks on each of his substantial pectorals. Cut low at the chest, the shirt revealed a large expanse of his upper body, his sun lightened chest hair tickling my shoulders. I was getting a major hard-on. Hank was moving at the speed of light. He continued to tease my tits as he gulped down one then two beers. He whispered his sexual sales pitch in my ear over the din of the dance music playing on the jukebox. He wanted to take me every way he could. He was going to fill me up from every angle.

“You like getting fucked? You seen my prick on the cam. You man enough to take it all the way up the ass? That’s where I wanna be, up your ass so far your eyes’ll pop outta your head! You got a sweet mouth, nice and full. You probably give great head. How about when I finish with yer shithole I let you give me a good ole-fashioned blowjob?”

Alright, I admit it. I like a little domination, I like a man who knows what he wants. I also get turned on by dirty talk. Sometimes that’s all I need. I can get off over the phone if I’m spoken to rudely enough. He didn’t need to sell himself to me, I was a willing taker! Hank continued to hold me from behind, my back against his chest. It felt possessive, I liked it. He was taking charge tonight. I smelled his body behind me, the scent clean and fresh. Soap, no cologne. As he reached to the bar for his beer, he leaned into me, pressing me tighter against his ripped abs. He finished his fourth beer, and suggested we go to his place to screw around. I downed the last of my drink and got off the barstool. We walked to the door with his mighty arm hooked over my shoulder.