Date: Sun, 30 Aug 2015 00:36:57 -0400
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: Hot Day on the Job

                        HOT DAY ON THE JOB
                      By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                  WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
     I was cursing as I nailed the decorative tin shingles onto the
rooftop. What the hell had I gotten myself into? My sweat poured from my
body onto the metallic surface upon which I knelt, and it sizzled as it
struck. I was feeling pretty parboiled myself.
     It had been flattering, yesterday, when it had started. I had been
working on a job alongside several other carpenters, putting more
conventional shingles on another roof, when I noticed a man on the sidewalk
standing there, staring at me. I got to my knees (I'd been on all fours, of
course), took off my hardhat and wiped my brow with the back of my shirt
sleeve, and the sweat had left a dark stain of moisture on the dark grey
workshirt I was wearing. Looked over at the guy and he looked right at me
and smiled and nodded to himself, and went over to my supervisor, pointed
at me.
     I was called down to the supervisor soon after and wondered what the
hell had happened? I hadn't been goofing off, but that didn't stop some
inspectors from singling you out. "Yeah, Skraggs." the supervisor had
said. That's my name, Daniel Skraggs. "You saw that man pointing at you
earlier?"
     "Yeah?" I admitted. "What did he want?"
     "He wants you for a job he's got, shingling his roof. He'll pay you
five more dollars an hour than this job. You want to take it, free-lance?
Just you on the job and he says it'll take a couple of months to finish."
     Now, believe it or not, this sort of thing has happened
before. Usually, though, it's a woman who pulls it, and the reason she
wants a single carpenter or cement-hauler or such on her jobsite is that
she plans to have him pounding something other than nails more'n half the
time. So I had a guy pulling it. Well, hell, for thirty-two dollars an
hour, a man can put up with a hell of a lot. I might even let the fucker
slurp on my pud for a while for that. I'd take on the job through my union
which required a contract, a two-month job, forty hours a week, at that
rate...I'd be a fool not to take it, even if I did have to let some
cocksucker slide up and down on my cock once or twice before I told him to
cut it out. So I'd agreed, and the union had my contract waiting when I got
down there, the man had gone straight there and signed me up. All I had to
do was sign my John Hancock on my part of it, take my copy, get the
address, and ankle on home.
     That was before I'd seen the job. I'd said tin shingles, but you don't
know the whole job. These shingles were about six inches across each,
diamond shape (a sort of modified seashell) and I had to nail them on just
so, so they'd interlock and overlap and the rain wouldn't seep in between
them. Must have cost this guy a fortune! But I'd already known he had money
when I saw the place. Twenty bedrooms if it had one, and this wing I was
roofing added six more to it.
     Tin shingles, and me the only roofer on the job. I was covering about
four square feet an hour at this and I had some six hundred and fifty
square feet of roof (it was on the contract) to cover with these
shingles. Oh, it was going to look terrific when it was done, I admit...but
right now, I was baking my ass off all alone in the sun of late summer and
had two more months of it to go! I'd hoped to finish the job ahead of time
(I'd've gotten paid the same either way) but as it was, hell, I'd be
working right up to the deadline, and no nookie to pad the account!
     Shit!
     The summer was getting hotter, not cooler, I swear, the sweat was
pouring off me like it hadn't half done the day before. I had drunk most of
my three-gallon cooler of water already and it was only two-thirty in the
afternoon! God, what the hell had I gotten myself into?
     I did like I had the day before, raised up onto my knees (knee-pads,
actually) and took off my helmet, this time I wiped a bandanna I'd put into
my rear pocket across my face. My body always did sweat a lot more than
normal people, and my workclothes today (a carbon copy of yesterday's, dark
grey cotton fabric, sturdy, easy to clean, cheap, and durable) were stained
that same darker shade where the clothing touched my body directly. My back
must be solid sweat-soaked cotton workshirt, I know when I wiped that
bandanna across my face and neck, it was practically dripping. I lifted it
up and wrung it out and a stream of my sweat poured onto the tin roof.
     "Hello!" came the call from below and I turned to look. The guy from
the day before, he must have just come home from his job. Hell, was he
going to bitch about me wringing my salty sweat onto his precious tin
shingles? Salt wouldn't be good for shingles, I agree, but you can't put
those things on a house roof without expecting some wear!
     "Hello!" I waved back at him.
     "Hot day, isn't it?"
     "Yes, sir!" I said with feeling.
     "Why don't you come inside for a half hour or so, cool down, and have
some iced tea with me?" he volunteered. "No reason to kill yourself up
there."
     "Well..." I looked at what I'd done, what I had to do. Hell, a half
hour wouldn't make that much difference, and with the extra pay rate, I
could work an extra day or so if I had to. Besides, I still didn't know if
he was looking for that "special service" these freelance jobs can entail.
     I climbed down the ladder and could feel his eyes boring into my ass
as it went down the ladder. I knew I was a hell of a buffed stud, I'd
inherited some strong Nordic features from my mother's side, I was
brown-haired, long and lean-faced, my shoulders were broad and my chest
muscled, my arms rippled with my biceps and triceps flexing as I wended my
way down, my waist was slim and trim as any swimsuit model's, my legs
powerful and long and I dripped masculinity as well as sweat (a lot of the
latter, my family were renowned sweaters, my father always said, we pour
salty sweat/water out by the gallon, but it lets us work all day in heat
that would lay anyone else low) and I got down and let him look me over.
     "Goodness, but you're drenched with sweat!" he marveled.
     "Yeah, it's hot as hell up there." I said. "Uh, sorry, I didn't mean
to swear."
     "That's all right." he told me earnestly. "Please, come in, we'll let
you cool down and see what we can do for you. Get you out of those wet
clothes!" And before I could respond to that last, he was off toward the
main part of the house.
     Get me out of these clothes? Was he kidding? Hell, I HAD picked myself
up a cocksucker! No wonder he'd bought these prissy tin shingles and come
looking for just one man to put them all up!
     And it had taken him until now to make his move! About fucking time! I
got inside and practically fainted. So wonderfully cool! My external
temperature dropped thirty degrees in ten seconds, and felt wonderful! I
decided right then that if he wanted to whirl on my love-shaft, he was
going to get to!
     The iced tea was laid out on the coffee table in front of the couch,
where he gestured to me to sit down. Poured me a glass and I took it with
sincere thanks and just held it to my forehead for a moment. "Ahhhhh!" I
sighed, closing my eyes then I lowered the glass to my lips and tilted it
back and took several heft swallows. It was just sweetened enough to take
the sourness out of the tea, it was ambrosia. I lowered it to see him
holding out a shirt to me.
     "You need to get out of those sweaty clothes, that salt will burn your
skin." he told me. I got my first good look at him now, he was a good
decade older than me, maybe forty, his face was plain but regular. A good
woman could love him, a runway model never. There was that indefinable set
to his body that said "gay" right off, the touch of feminine in a cloak of
masculinity that can always be covered but never totally dismissed. Darker
brown hair than mine, but less of it, darker eyes, darker-toned skin than
mine, or would be if I weren't burned by the sun over most of a summer on
hot roofs without shade all day long. Darker than the part of my body that
were covered, I should say.
     "Oh, I'll be all right...." I started.
     "No, no, I insist. I have a fresh pair of work clothes for you right
here."
     "Shirt and pants?"
     "Underclothes, too." He said, looking over to a pile of everything a
man would need to wear. "Can't have you in those sweat-stained things. The
salt will ruin the tin shingles if too much of it gets on you."
     "I can bring some fresh clothes from home." I demurred.
     "But that's another day. Please, you still have some hours left to
work today. Let's get you changed."
     Okay, I didn't need to torment this guy, he needed to keep his little
cover-story going for now. "I guess you're right." I said and stood up,
unbuttoning my shirt. His eyes feasted upon my hands moving over my chest
as I dealt with the heavy buttons the workshirt favored, oversized discs of
plastic with four large holes to let thick threads be used to hold them in
place. I got them off and showed my tanktop under my shirt and started to
drop the shirt onto the coffee table.
     "No, no, let me take that." He said. "You take off your tanktop as
well, I have a t-shirt for you."
     I turned toward the wall as I pulled off my shirt. I was letting him
look first at my back, the pulling off my tanktop would make the entire
back ripple as I lifted my arms, first my lower back, then my ribs and
shoulder as I brought it over my head. That was all I intended, a bit of
eye candy for the guy (he was paying for it, after all) but the wall had a
small mirror on it and that let me see that he wasn't looking at me at all!
Instead, he had my shirt in his hands and when I'd turned my back on him,
he'd taken the chance to do what he'd really wanted in all this "getting me
out of my salty clothes."
     He had his face buried in my shirt and was inhaling it deeply as he
could. I smiled, lowered my tanktop, not turning around, and said, "Can you
hand me that t-shirt now, sir?"
     He lowered the shirt hastily and looked at me, saw my back was turned,
and placed the shirt to one side and picked up the t-shirt and came toward
me.
     I turned, using a pose that made every muscle in my body flex and show
to him as I moved. You know, my feet facing at a right angle to my upper
body, my further shoulder tilted upwards, my nearer shoulder tilted
downwards, all of that will make the light shine (I didn't need to be oiled
up for it, my sweat was that thick on me even under the tanktop) and I held
that while I held out my nearer hand for the tanktop.
     He was breathing hard as he got closer and I had to smile. I didn't
take it, I said instead, "You know, before I put that on, I'd better get
out of the rest of these clothes, hadn't I?"
     "Yeahhhh!" He sighed and I grinned at him, knowing what he wanted,
telling him, it's okay, man, I know you want this body. It's okay, you can
look all you want.
     He licked his lips and I said, "You know, I'm so sweaty and hot here,
I kind of hate to drip all over everything. You got anything I can use to
dry me off? Anything at all?"
     He licked his lips again and I smiled broader and said, "You know, I
think the best way to get all this sweat off of me would be for you to lick
it off me. Don't you think?" I cocked one eyebrow up and tilted the smile
into a smirk. Come and get me, it said.
     He practically tripped over his feet getting to me and his lips made
no effort to mesh with mine, he was after the sweat dripping down my temple
on his nearer side. I'd felt it running down there and thought nothing of
it, but he hadn't been able to look at anything else. His lips rammed up
against my cheek and then suctioned off that runnel in no time flat, then
his tongue was licking the border of my hair and my flesh. I lifted my arm,
expecting him to dive into my armpit, but instead, he grabbed me and
steered me over to the couch and almost threw me down onto the couch. I
bounced, fucking bounced, as I landed on the ultra-soft leather couch, and
then he was on top of me and now he was digging his tongue into my armpit
and licking it for all he was worth. I felt his cock on my upper leg, he
was hunching at me.
     "Hey, hey, you want to lick this body, you'd better get me out of the
rest of these clothes." I growled at him. "You'd better strip down, too, so
you won't soak your own clothes on my body, eh?"
     He looked at me, dazed and half-hypnotized, then he was rushing to
comply. First he got my shoes off, practically yanked them bodily from my
feet without untying them (oh, he untied them, just didn't loosen the laces
beyond that, same thing), and my socks went flying off after that, then he
got his own shirt and t-shirt off, then he dived for my belt, undoing it
and unfastening my fly, then he was pulling my workpants down and my briefs
went with it. Now I was buck-naked and he was pulling the rest of his
clothes off (he must have had slip-on shoes, and no socks, to manage that,
I hadn't noticed) and then he was nude and crawling onto me. I felt his
prick mash itself against my leg and now he was mining for the sweat of my
other armpit.
     His whole body was writhing on top of me as he licked, I mean a back
and forth motion that rubbed his stomach against my prick and my sweat was
more than enough to lubricate all that. I was cooling down from the air
conditioning, but like I said, I had been spurting gallons of sweat most of
the day here, there was plenty left behind. Enough to grease my entire body
and he was sliding upon me as he licked, moving his entire body as his
tongue lapped at my armpit. There was a lot of sweat there, enough to feed
any greedy sweat-pig like him a good meal, and he was now hunching at my
leg faster, his dong was now deliberately being rubbed against my body and
he was caught up in me, in his source of man-sweat and it was all his to
lick up any way he wanted, he had me now and he was feeling my body's oils
all over his body and he wanted me just like this. The opposite of a woman
who wants her man freshly washed and smelling lightly of cologne. This man
wanted me just like this, all hot and sweaty and stinking of my labors,
smelling like this, like a man, like a working man smells, filled with the
scents of masculine musks and sweat and oil and salt, and all of it male,
male, MALE!
     He wanted me just the way I was! God, how long had I searched for a
woman that felt that way! They all want to change you, make you different,
show them the part of you that you never show anyone else, like I'd ever
hid any part of myself! No wonder I had gone from woman to woman and none
had stuck, none of them, and now I was thirty and resigned to living alone
the rest of my life, ready to give myself to a man just because he was
paying me and he wanted me.
     Shit, damn, I was getting my cock rubbed by this man and he frankly
hunching at me now, he moved slowly upwards until his cock was alongside
mine and he was hunching faster than ever, aw, shit! "Shit, man! This is
fucking turning me on!" I grunted. "Come on, you bastard, come on and come
already, squirt it on me, come on, shoot it on me, man, shoot it on me,
shoot that spunk, shoot it on me, come on, shoot it on me!"
     "Oh, oh, uh, uh, uh, uh!" he panted.
     "Shoot it, come on, hurry up, shoot it already, I got to get back to
work." I panted. I wasn't thinking that at all, I was getting damned close
myself! If I came before him, I'd be...I don't know, less of a man than him
and I couldn't let that happen! "Come on, you bastard, hurry up and shoot,
I ain't got all day, shoot it, shoot it, man, shoot it all over me! Come
on, come on, come on!"
     "Oh, oh, OH, OH, AH-HAH-AH-AHHH-GUH-HUNNNNNHHHHH!" He howled and his
cock sprayed all over me.
     I closed my eyes and with his own climax camouflaging me, I grunted
so, so silently and squirted my own jizz into the squishy, squelchy, sticky
mess on my stomach and his. I could feel his cock pulsing against mine, and
I just hoped he didn't feel mine doing the same, I needed to know that I
was stronger than him, just he couldn't notice now, not now, so I grunted,
sighed and shot my load alongside his and let his own orgasm cover my
sounds of pleasure.
     He fell onto me and his hips continued to rub up and down on me,
rubbing our combined spunk onto both of us and into us, completely, totally
staining both of us, my sperm and his, my sweat and his, the two of us,
together. I leaned my head up and licked the side of his face, a small bead
of sweat was there and I lifted it off and took it into me as he had taken
so much of my sweat into him.
     He rose, panting, and stepped back. Handed me the new clothes,
gathered up the ones I had worn from home and all day so far, and left me
alone in his living room. Nothing else to do, nothing else to say, I knew
he wasn't rejecting me, just leaving me as I was, the masculine perfection
that he had worshiped so perfectly. I knew, too, that he would call for me
tomorrow at the same time and want me to again come in, change my
clothes. I put on these new clothes and went back out and up onto the roof,
and recommenced pounding on those ridiculously small tin shingles to the
roof. Only now, I looked at the vast expanse still to be covered and I saw
instead an endless stream of days, long as this warm weather held, of me
and him lying together on that couch and letting our bodies' fluids mix and
combine once more.
     A woman drove up a short time later, the man's wife, I think. She was
the right age. I rose up as she walked up and saw me there, she and I
exchanged a few mild pleasantries and then she went on inside. I kept on
pounding, today I would work until six o'clock, maybe later, as long as I
put in forty hours each week, my actual work hours were up to me.
     The man left about five o'clock, some kind of evening meeting for he
took his briefcase. About thirty minutes later, the woman's voice called
out to me. I decided to knock off the day and went down to see what she
wanted.
     She was wearing a skimpy, revealing outfit and had a martini in one
hand. "You look kind of hot." she said enticingly. "Why don't you come
inside and cool off with me?"
     I just looked at her, still worn out, and said, "Lady, you are way too
late. Your husband took care of me fore you got home."
     And with that, I left. I could stop off for a cold brew on my way
home. Tomorrow would be another hot work day.
                             THE END
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