Starting Over by Kiernan Kelly


“Rustic home; needs TLC. Translation? Rundown cabin, needs wrecking ball and blowtorch,” Greg thought wryly. He eyed the dilapidated shack now belonging to him, lock, stock, and broken barrel. “Well, I wanted a change. This’ll teach me to be careful what I wish for.”

When Mark left him, leaving nothing behind but a toothbrush and a pile of credit card bills, Greg was heartbroken. He wallowed in self-pity for months, despairing of ever finding anybody who wasn’t a total jerk, and eventually decided he was done with love, done with men. He wanted a drastic change, and although his friends thought he was crazy, he packed his gear and left town.

He needed to find something cheap and available, and the tumbledown cottage sitting before him was it. Maybe his friends were right — maybe he was nuts, but he was comforted with the thought that, here in the middle of nowhere, his body wouldn’t be tempted to write a check his heart couldn’t cover.

One look inside the cabin told him he was going to need help to make the ramshackle shack livable. The cabin had a generator, but the damn thing sparked and growled like a caged animal, and he would need to replace it immediately. Years’ worth of old leaves and muck clogged the gutters. Inside, the plumbing hissed and sputtered, and the water ran a murky brown.

Greg was good with many things, but tools weren’t one of them.

Sighing, he got back into the car and drove to the small town he’d passed on his way out. In the tiny Piggly Wiggly market, he spotted a pegboard with local services advertised, and dialed the number for the first handyman listed.

***
Joe Bob Greer was a big man, tall and broad through the shoulders, with legs and arms bulging with muscle. His shock of red hair reminded Greg of leaves bursting with color on a crisp autumn morning, and his crooked smile wreaked havoc with Greg’s body.

Every day for the last two weeks, Greg watched Joe Bob wrench, screw, saw, and hammer Greg’s cabin into submission, slowly turning the dilapidated hovel into an actual home.

And every day for those same two weeks, Greg went to bed with a hard-on that no amount of masturbating relieved for long. He couldn’t help it. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Joe Bob’s fine rear end filling out the seat of worn jeans, or the broad chest straining the fabric of the plaid flannel shirts Joe Bob favored. His mind traced the curve of Joe Bob’s thighs, the curl of a bicep, but it was the bulge pressing against Joe Bob’s zipper that most fascinated Greg.

Was the hair under Joe Bob’s fly as bright a red as that on his head, or would it be darker, the color of rust? Maybe it was paler, the shade of fall leaves after they began to fade. Was his cock in proportion with the rest of him?

Yes, Greg thought. He pictured it clearly in his mind. It’ll be thick and long, a cock worthy of a big man like Joe Bob. He’ll have big balls, too, furry with rust-colored hair, and they’ll hang low behind his dick. His hand twitched, as if it could feel the weight of those balls, swollen with need, in his palm.

Joe Bob was working on the gutters, and a stepladder stood just outside the living room window. Being so tall, he didn’t need to climb very far up to reach the roof.

Greg was delighted to see Joe Bob’s crotch at eye level. It was a rare opportunity to fuel his secret fantasies with a bird’s eye view of Joe Bob’s package. Greg’s eyes drifted closed almost without his realizing it, his hand rubbing over his erection as he indulged his secret fantasy.

I could do it right now, while he’s on the stepladder. I could open the window, and pull down Joe Bob’s zipper. Fish out his thick, hard cock and suck him. Fondle those balls, lick them. Grab handfuls of his fabulous ass. He’ll be loud when he comes, bouncing the ladder against the house.

He moaned, caught up in his fantasy, rubbing himself harder, his hand molding over the erection straining under his jeans.

His eyes flew open at a tap on the window, and his hand froze. Joe Bob was looking at him, blue eyes darting from Greg’s face to his crotch and back again.

Shit! He was in for it now. He felt the blood rush from his face and his erection wilt. Greg knew he was no match for a large angry man. All those gorgeous muscles he’d admired for the past few weeks could pummel him into so much compost in no time. Could he make it to the door and throw the lock before Joe Bob could scramble down the ladder? Would it matter? Joe Bob was big enough to break the damn door down.

He risked meeting Joe Bob’s eyes, trying to gauge whether Joe Bob would simply beat his ass or actually kill him, and was shocked to see humor glinting in them. What the hell?

Greg’s eyes widened and his jaw hung open when Joe Bob grinned, but his body realized what was happening long before his brain caught on. His erection returned with a vengeance. It strained painfully against the unforgiving denim.

Outside the window, Joe Bob climbed back up the stepladder. His hand flicked the button of his jeans open and slid the zipper down. He was commando (a small part of Greg’s mind realized one mystery was solved – the curly hair poking through was a light brownish-red), and his heavy cock popped out.

It was indeed thick and long, a cock befitting a man of Joe Bob’s size. It was also semi-hard, a condition Joe Bob seemed intent on progressing as he stroked it.

Greg’s cock did the happy dance inside his pants, twitching until the discomfort made Greg squirm. What was wrong with him? Here was his fantasy come to life, and all he could do was to stare slack-jawed at the show Joe Bob was giving on the other side of the thin pane of window glass!

He wrenched the window up, feeling the outside air cool his hot skin. Nothing separated them now. There was nothing to keep him from touching what he’d been fantasizing about for weeks, but he couldn’t move. All he could do was stare with hunger at Joe Bob’s dick, and watch Joe Bob’s hand slide over the rosy flesh. The scent of sex wafted to him on the breeze, making him even harder.

“Know how to use that pretty mouth of yours?”

Joe Bob’s deep voice shocked Greg into motion. He paused only long enough to release his dick from the tight confines of his pants before leaning against the window sash, and reaching for Joe Bob’s cock.

It was hot and hard, and the taste of bitter salt on Greg’s tongue send a delightful shiver dancing from his balls directly up his spine. Joe Bob’s throaty moan ratcheted his need up to the next level, and he sucked hard, trying to draw out more of the spicy flavor. His hand flew along his cock, stroking it in strong, even motions.

The stepladder was beginning to shake, as Joe Bob’s hips pumped. “Fuck! Yeah, like that. Suck harder.”

The raw, needy tone in Joe Bob’s voice sent Greg over the edge. He let go of Joe Bob’s cock as he climaxed, painting the window sash with his come, and watched through sleepy, sated eyes as Joe Bob brought himself off. He felt the warm wetness of Joe Bob’s come on his face, and tasted bitter brine on his lips.

The only thought in Greg’s sex-glutted mind was that, crappy cabin or not, his decision to move had been one of the best he’d ever made.

***
Greg studied the front of the house. It was in perfect order, had been for months. He grinned broadly before giving the drainpipe a good, swift kick, knocking it loose.

Oh, dear. Time to call my favorite handyman. It seems I need another repair done. His cock swelled in anticipation.

It was a game they played, he and Joe Bob, for now, at least. Greg felt the time was coming soon when he’d want to stop the charade and tell Joe Bob how he felt. Maybe it would be tonight.

Joe Bob was kind, and a surprising thoughtful and tender lover. Greg knew he wanted Joe Bob in his bed every night, and wanted to wake up every morning to the crooked smile he’d come to love.

It was funny. He’d moved to the middle of nowhere to get away from men, yet managed to find the one with whom he wanted to spend his life.

Yes, he thought, definitely tonight.

He was still smiling as he dialed Joe Bob’s number.

Author bio: Kiernan Kelly remains chained to the keyboard of a temperamental Macintosh, churning out stories of gay erotica. Don’t laugh – it’s not as kinky or as much fun as you’d think. Well, maybe it’s a little kinky. Check out her website.

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