Hot Technician

Hot Technician #6

Copyright 2006 By Lee Mariner

This ADULT fantasy will depict homosexual acts and erotic situations.  If you are not of legal age in your locality to be reading this story or if you disapprove of this type of material, please leave.

The author copyrights this work.  All Rights are reserved.

mariner1931@hotmail.com

Yardman

Except for coming down with the flue or a bad cold, my health had always seemed to be pretty good. But, like most men in their forties or fifties, I was inclined to forgo the advice of my doctor on those rare occasions that I would visit him for treatment.  It wasn't until I was stricken with a heart attack that required surgery that I realized how foolish I had been.   While I was able to continue working, my doctors recommended curtailing some of my activities, and concentrate on a regimen of supervised therapy combined with medication.

When I inquired as to the effects there might be on my sex life, I was relieved to hear that I should abstain for a couple of weeks before thinking along those lines.  I couldn't help but smile when my doctor made the recommendation since my lover and I had only recently broke off our relationship, and for the present, abstaining would not be a real problem. 

It was even more surprising when I was told that I should consider employing a maid to handle some of the more strenuous housecleaning and hire a lawn service to trim the lawn. Pushing a lawn-mower, using a weed-eater, raking and cleaning the yard and flower beds was out of the question for the foreseeable future. 

I was gratified and deeply appreciative when I returned and learned that my neighbor had cut and trimmed my lawn while I was in hospital. One of the things that had attracted me to the neighborhood was the friendly atmosphere, and the way neighbors looked out for each other, assisting when they learned of some difficulty a neighbor might be having.  

Hiring a maid was not at all difficult, the yellow pages of the telephone directory was full of maid services.  Finding a lawn service in the middle of summer that would cut and trim the lawn in addition to caring for the flowerbeds and bushes was a horse of a different color.  Those that I did talk with would only cut the grass, including trimming the edges of the sidewalks and any edging needed around flowerbeds that a weed-eater could handle.  Unfortunately, they were all booked until the following spring.

After a couple of weeks, my lawn started to look like a jungle of tall grass mixed with pine cones and a thatch of pine needles, and I knew I could not continue to depend on a neighbor to be an unpaid yardman.  I was in a quandary as to how to solve the problem until providence or some benevolent entity solved if for me.

Across the street from my house there was a two-story home that had been on the market for only a short time before it was sold. No one had seen anyone who may have been a prospective buyer, and it was surprising when an Atlas World-Wide Moving Van arrived and started unloading furniture. An ever-bigger shock was when a  group of four young military or college age men arrived and moved in.  Of course, four males occupying one house was a gossip generating mystery as to how they could purchase a home together until Paul Marks, a hunky, good-looking, unfortunately married stud who lived in the second house behind theirs found out that the property had been bought by an agency that specialized in rental properties. That solved the mystery although several people were still concerned about the wild parties they assumed young people were wont to hold, threatening to call the police if they did.   In general most of us agreed that it really was none of our business one way of the other as long as they were not as wild and noisy as some thought they would be.  If they did, we would cross that bridge at the appropriate time.

• • • • • • • * 

After a few weeks the neighborhood returned to normal and everyone was more concerned with his or her own affairs than those of the new neighbors.  It may have been a disappointment to some, but the loud raucous parties never developed. Every now and then on an irregular schedule, one or the other of the boys would cut the grass and do some trimming of the bushes but not that often for the property to be considered as a candidate for Homes and Gardens. 

I can't say that the eye candy was not appreciated though, they were four good-looking boys, and even from a distance it was obvious they were extremely well built.   Maybe there was an ulterior motive lurking in my sub conscious, but I was in need of help and the thought that one of them might be interested in earning some extra money crossed my mind.  At first, I was tempted to ask them but the seeming lack of enthusiasm for doing their own lawn work wasn't very convincing, and I decided it would be better to drop the idea.

I had been checking the newspaper help wanted ads hoping to find someone interested in yard work and one morning when I was checking the ads, my doorbell rang.  Opening the door, I was shocked to see one of the young men from across the street standing on the other side of the storm door.  Before I could speak, he said, "Mr. Collins, my name is Pat, Patrick O'Connor. I don't intend to intrude, but my buddies and me heard you have been sick," he stammered, sort of shifting from one foot to the other but not loosing eye contact as he spoke.   "We haven't seen you outside working in your yard, and a couple of us thought you might need some help.  The other guys have busier schedules than mine during the day; so, I was wondering if maybe I could give you a hand."

My young visitor had clear green, almost bronze-green eyes, and what many might consider classic Irish features.  He had a broad forehead, high cheekbones, an aquiline nose softened by full, inviting lips and a square chin. His thick blond hair glistened golden in the morning sunlight and from what I could see, his sideburns were neatly trimmed, and his hair was neatly tapered on the nape of his thick neck.  He was approximately six foot tall and wearing a dark blue sweat suit with U.S. Navy emblazoned in gold letters across the front of the jersey. It was difficult to make a closer assessment other than he appeared to be an excellent, well-groomed specimen of male masculinity in his late teen or early twenties.

I felt the inevitable surge in my groin, and a cold sweat of nervousness spreading over me as my mind conjured up thoughts other than those regarding the grooming of my lawn.  "Help me, yes, yes you can," I thought lecherously as I extended my hand, smiling to cover my nervousness.

"Dwyane Collins, Pat," I said as we shook hands and, I noticed that unlike some, his grip was firm and strong. "Nice meeting you, Pat, would you like to come in for a moment, and we can talk over something cold."

"Yes, Sir," he said in a strong baritone as he stepped across the threshold. "I've got nothing but time on my hands until nineteen hundre...sorry, I meant seven o'clock tonight."

"Military time," I replied, "Don't hear that to often since I retired from the Navy, Pat.  Am I right in assuming you are or were in the navy," I said as I shut the door.

"Still in, Sir," he said, turning to follow me as I passed by him inhaling the exciting aroma of a musk cologne or body wash gel. "Still in," I replied over my shoulder. "Would that be for four or six years?" I asked.

"Only four years," he answered as he followed.  "I was eighteen when I enlisted, but I'll be twenty-two just before I'm discharged next month."

"Twenty-two," I thought to myself, a little enviously, as we stepped out onto the backyard screened in porch, and I pulled a chair away from the table saying,  "What would you like, Pat, beer, mixed drink or maybe a Pepsi or Coke?"

"A beer would be great, Mr. Collins," he said as he sat down.

"Miller Lite, okay?"

"Sure thing," he replied, looking at me an grinning as he leaned back in the chair, and sat with his legs splayed wide open, one elbow on the glass topped table with his hand dangling over his crotch and the other hand on his broad thigh.

"Miller Lite it is,'" I said, attempting to suppress my excitement, and inhaling deeply at what any gay man would consider a provocative display.

It was for the benefit of a few friends that visited every now and then that I kept any beer at all in my fridge.  Having Miller Lite on hand was the fault of Danny Miller, an old fuck buddy that dropped in unannounced whenever he was horny. He had brought it on his last visit, and for that I was grateful.   Normally, bourbon and water was my usual drink but out of deference to my young guest, I extracted two beers from the fridge.

"Pat, would you like a glass?" I called out.

"The bottle is okay, Mr. Collins," he answered. "No need to use a glass."

"Pat," I said as I handed him his beer. "How about we drop the Mr. Collins and you call me 'Dwyane' or just 'D'? 

"I like Dwyane," he said glancing at me with a twinkle in his eyes as he swallowed several gulps of his beer.

"Now that that is settled," I said, sitting down on the other side of the table. "I've been needing someone to take care of the yard as you can see, and I appreciate your offer of help, Pat, as long as it's okay with your roommates."

"That's no problem, Mr.. Dwyane," he said as he finished his beer and set it gently on the table. "They can't bitch about me helping you, I do most of what is done in our yard anyway."

"Oh," I replied, nodding and glancing at his empty bottle.  "You drank that pretty quickly, would you like another?"

"If it's all right with you," he answered, scooting the chair around and stretching his legs out crossing them at the ankles.

I nursed my beer while Pat drank his second, talking about his time in the navy, what he had learned and done, and where he had been which he said was no where really, and was one of the reasons he was not sure about re-enlisting.  We talked briefly about when I had served some years before he had enlisted, and he asked if I had liked it.  When I answered in the affirmative, he said, "I'd kind of like to stay in, and I like being on board ship and traveling; but there are so many damned regulations about what a guy can and cannot do," he said, falling silent for a few seconds and draining his beer.  

I hesitated before speaking, not sure if he was going to say anything else.  I did realize that we had not really spoken about working in my yard, but I was more interested in a few prime comments he had made and his body language.  He had consciously or subconsciously moved his hand from his thigh and pushed it between them into his crotch while he drank with his other hand.

"You wouldn't have another would you, Dwayne?" he asked after finishing his second beer, his voice softer than it had been earlier, but his words still clear and concise as he spoke.

I heard his chair move as I was getting his third beer.  He had straightened up with his legs not splayed as wide as they had been earlier.  When I handed him his beer, he looked up at me with a twinkle in his eyes and then glanced down as he took it from me.  Following his glance, I saw the not to subtle movement of his free hand moving over the inside of his thigh up into his crotch, his fingers outlining the elongated bulge stretched over his hip and thigh joint.

Swallowing and breathing in deeply, trying to act as if I hadn't noticed, I was returning to my chair when I heard him say in sexy, guttural tone, "You want some of this don't you, Dwayne?"

"What makes you think that?" I asked, nervously, twisting my chair away from under the table before sitting down sideways in an attempt to remove the hardon growing in my crotch from his view.

"The little things that most gay guys notice," he answered in a seductive tone, still squeezing and stroking what was an obviously impressive cock.  "I've seen the guys that visit you, especially one real swisher who anyone would pick out as being gay. The way he walks swinging his hips is a dead giveaway, Dwyane, and when I saw the dirty but still visible gay emblem on the back of your car that was the clincher, straight or bisexual people don't display gay emblems."

"Is that all?" I replied, trying to be nonchalant.

"No," he replied, breathing in deeply as he stood up. "You've been trying to hide it but, straight guys don't look at other guys the way you've been looking at me since you opened the door, and the way you're trying to hide your hardon. That's enough to tell me you are as gay as me," he said as he slowly pulled his sweatshirt over his head revealing a gorgeously developed torso.

"God Pat," I whispered, my eyes devouring the chiseled magnificence of his chest, the dark brown twin nipples surrounded by large, slightly brown aureoles jutting out from each breast muscle, enhancing the beauty of his chest.  A thin dusting of golden hair covered the upper portion of his chest gathering at the sternum before cascading down between ridges of hard abdominal muscle, covering his navel before disappearing into the top of his sweat pants.  The well developed but not bulging forearms and biceps of his arms tapered smoothly from thick trapeziuis neck and deltoid shoulder muscles.  Chest and shoulder muscles were accentuated by the flare of his lateral muscles and a small almost wasp like waist.

Kicking his canvas deck shoes off, he moved toward me, his hands teasingly moving over his cock and groin.   Trapping my legs between his knees, he thrust his groin forward softly growling,  "Touch it, Dwyane, squeeze, you know you want to."

"Oh, shit," I groaned, throwing caution to the wind as I succumbed to the raging fire burning in my loins, and reached for the hidden bulge only inches from my lips. His cock felt like a hot steel rod, and as I wrapped my fingers around its throbbing length. Squeezing and stroking it gently, I heard Pat sucking air between his teeth as he inhaled, groaning softly and thrusting his hips forward as he untied the drawstring holding his sweat pants up.

A wave of uncontrolled excitement swept over me as his magnificently circumcised cock sprang free, literally bouncing with the force of a springboard, spewing pre seminal fluid from it's urethral aperture.  "Jesus, Pat," I whispered, trembling as I ran my hands over the back of his hard muscled thighs to the solid flesh of his buttocks - squeezing gently.

"Do you want to suck it, Dwayne or do you want to feel my rod filling your asshole?" he asked, running his hands through my hair and sounding almost triumphant. "Either way is good by me," he said, pressing his hands against the thick golden bush around its thick base, and teasingly waving his smooth tapered cock before my quivering lips.

I didn't have to answer, my lips parted automatically, and I felt the pressure of his hands holding my head in place as he slowly thrust his hips forward. 

Any thoughts of lawn grooming were dispelled from my head as his thick cock slid between my lips.  The fire in my loins surged as inch by inch his pre-cum drooling cock penetrated the depths of my mouth, touching the entrance to my throat. As much as I wanted all of him, I knew his cock would not be able to fill my throat from the way he was standing and I was sitting.  When I started to withdraw, he held my head tightly as he started a slow piston movement, fucking my mouth.  

My cock felt as if it would explode but there was no way I could free it from the confines of my jeans, and I cursed mentally at being so stupid as to having not worn my robe or at the very least loose fitting shorts.  Readjusting it until it was stretched out along my inner thigh, I squeezed and stroked its throbbing length, matching Pats energetic but gently thrusts until we almost simultaneously reached thunderous climaxes.  My sperm was gushing, soaking my jeans and Pat's stupendous climax filled my mouth forcing me to swallow rapidly or drown. 

Pat hugged me tightly to him as his cock softened, and I was trying to drain every drop of the delicious nectar his magnificent shaft had provided.  I could feel sticky sperm soaking the thick hair surrounding the base of my wilting cock, but in the afterglow of pleasure it was only an incidental, I was enjoying the taste of the soft cock still not quite filling my mouth. 

It was only a few minutes but in the surreal atmosphere that had surrounded us, it seemed like ages.  I was reluctant to release Pat's cock until, chuckling softly, he said, "Dwayne, you can have it anytime you want it."

"I'm sorry, Pat," I said as his cock slipped from my lips to rest on walnut sized balls, impressive even in it's flaccid state. "It's been so long since, oh, you know what I mean," I exclaimed.

"Yeah, I do," he said softly, his beautiful green eyes glowing as he leaned over and placed his lips to mine. The kiss lingered for several seconds. His probing tongue felt like a satin javelin dueling with mine as we searched the velvety recesses of our mouths.

As our lips parted, he rubbed my nose with mine as he asked, "Would you mind if I take a shower?"

"On one condition," I replied, standing and rubbing my hands over the thick muscles of his velvety soft chest.  "Only if you allow me to take one with you," I said as I removed my shirt and sperm soaked jeans.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he chuckled, kicking his sweat pants from around his ankles, his eyes glistening as he gazed at my naked body. Moving slowly toward me, he growled, "Oh yeah," he growled appreciatively, golden flecks flashing in the depths of his green eyes. "I had a hunch that you were well built from watching you, and I was right; but, from the size of your cock, we are going to have a lot of fun."

"We are?" I whispered excitedly as we slipped an arm around each other's waist, and walked toward the master bathroom.

Pat became my permanent yardman, and it was not long before my yard was the show place of the neighborhood.  We never did discuss payment for services; we didn't really have to. We both benefited from his work as our relationship grew.