Saturday Morning Fever

Things always break on Fridays. The damn furnace went out during the afternoon, and every repair place I called would not promise when they could get to me, as temperatures were only in the teens. Thoroughly warned about weekend overtime charges, I left my information with nearly ten companies across the downtown Boston area. I relayed the bad news to my wife when she called from much warmer Tennessee, where she was spending a couple weeks obtaining a new surgical certification at a teaching hospital.

About midnight I bundled up near our fireplace to sleep, and just as I drifted off my phone rang.

"This is Mike with G&N Services."

We spoke for a moment about the type of furnace I had, and he asked if I was available to let him in. "When will you be here?"

"I'm in fronna your house now," he replied in the classic New England accent.

Sure enough, an unmarked white van sat at the curb in front of the townhouse. For a moment it felt a little creepy that he was already there like a late night stalker, but maybe he lived nearby. Also I guessed this far up north these guys had to work all hours. I was grateful I would at least have heat, as the house was getting chilly.

Mike was a big guy, over six feet with a linebacker build. Once in the basement, he stripped off his worn parka down to a filthy red hoodie and jeans. The removal of his ski cap revealed that his blonde hair was short, and he had a short beard as well. He must have been in his late twenties, a little older than me. I offered coffee and delivered a mug to him as he knelt by the partially disassembled furnace, his shirt and jeans plastered with soot. His large hands were equally as soiled as he gripped the mug. It seemed like I had seen him somewhere before, but dismissed the idea, since we had moved here less than a year ago. All our local acquaintances were medical staff that worked with my wife.

We made small talk as he worked, and I thanked him for coming by so late at night. He said there were other people ahead of me on the schedule, but he just happened to be nearby. We made more small talk, both mentioned being married, and he had two toddlers at home. He apologized for his phone call awaking my wife, but I disclosed that Julie was out of town. The conversation then took a strange direction as he took an electronic meter and unwrapped some wires.

"This house has that little alley in the back, doesn't it, behind the carriage house?"

"Yeah," I answered nonchalantly, while flashbacks of the many interludes I spent back there on my knees with my lips wrapped around a dick suddenly arose. I tried to suppress those indulgent memories, and frantically sought a logical reason he would know about the hidden spot. "Did you used to live on this block?"

"Nah, I only do this residential stuff part time to help my fatha out. Actually I work next door to you." Mike gestured toward the giant white building behind our townhouse. It was the heating plant for the hospital. Suddenly I felt dizzy. He must have known my secret somehow. I was a closet

cocksucker

. I also realized now where I had seen him before, a couple times at the bus stop in a maintenance uniform, a hospital security badge similar to my wife's clipped to his coat.

No need to panic, I told myself, it may have just been a coincidence. Ninety-nine percent of the time that alley was empty. But back then, I was so obsessed I had never thought about a mechanic being on the heating plant roof, watching me give blowjobs. Maybe the furnace man had an interest in historic architecture, I rationalized.

"So was that

you

I saw..." he began to ask.

So much for the architecture theory. My first instinct was right. He knew. I blushed as a sense of dread overtook me. My pulse increased.

"...um...

partyin'

with those two old guys back there? Sure looked like you guys were havin' fun." Mike looked at me with a grin. His blue eye reflected the pale shop lights above.

"That wasn't..oh...you, um saw.. that?" I replied, halting a futile denial in midstream and stuttering the only thing I could think of to say. I was now able to drop my macho male persona. I knew deep down I wanted to confess to liking

dicks

and felt the warmth on my face and my pulse thump in my ears. Caught. My fear of him blackmailing me was luckily short-lived.

"Saw it, hell, I changed my schedule to Saturday first shift so I wouldn't miss it." He unboxed a replacement part. "Timed my breaks and work on the roof so I could catch all the action. You sure took good care of those horny old bastuds. I couldn't always see everything, but it looked like you were lovin' it, weren't you?"

"Well... yeah," I said. It felt great to admit it out loud.

He turned to look at me again. "Think you're ready for the big leagues?" Mike adjusted the crotch of his dirty denim pants. He had been in a squatting position, but lowered a knee to the scrap carpet on the floor and a nice bulge was detectable along the inside of his other thigh. I was sure that move was for my benefit, and he glanced over to see me staring down at the denim hump. My own cock was rapidly hardening inside my sweatpants. Was he inviting me to suck him off?

"I guess your wife doesn't know?" His mention of Julie halted my thoughts of verbally volunteering for the 'big leagues'.

"No way."

"You have lotsa Craig's list guys you meet? With your wife away, I'm surprised you're not out somewhere right now, swallowin' some guy's load."

"No it was just those two, a crime of opportunity," I replied. "Oh, and one guy drunk in college." Just the admission and brief mental recollections sent even more blood to my cock.

"I saw the old guys moved away, too bad," he said as he hit a button and after a few clicks, the gas jets of the boiler ignited. Mike went over his repairs, the replacement of a hydrostat and limit switch. "I gotta go out to the truck to get my ticket." He stood and the mouthwatering bulge reshaped itself but remained, oriented toward and nearly reaching a side pocket, angled up like an hour hand pointing to ten on a clock face. He reached down for his packed tool bag.

The ball was clearly in my court to escalate things. The hunger for cock had returned full force in just a matter of moments. It was time to beg if required. I could only imagine the spectacular meat hiding beneath that sooty denim. "What do you mean by big leagues?" I asked, nervousness apparent in my voice.

"Do you wanna find out?" he asked, then looked down and smiled at the bulge in my sweats.

"Hell yes!" I replied.

"The problem is, I got other calls to get to, but I guess we got time for a little taste." He unwrapped his blackened fingers from the tool bag and reached toward his belt buckle.

At this point it should be explained that the access to my cluttered basement had a wooden landing that straddled a sewer pipe and some other plumbing, almost like a back porch with two stairs down to the 1700's stone floor, on which we currently stood.

Mike began giving orders, which I nervously obeyed.

"Turn around. Up there."

I walked up the two stairs to the landing, its ancient boards creaking. I was facing away from him at that point. His buckle clinked.

"Step forward and sit. You ever suck a dick upside down?"

"No." I always wanted to try it, but wasn't sure how well this was going to work in this uncomfortable location.

"Lie down, pants around your ankles, boxers too. I like to see a man's cock while he's sucking me!"

I heard a zipper as I followed the instructions, and my sweats and Hanes 34s were soon almost completely off, and the air chilled my bare skin. My dick was throbbing madly and pointed at the ceiling. I was going to need to wash everything, as I was wallowing in decades of dirt, but didn't care. I was going to get to suck another dick! I was flattered that he had routinely watched me in the alley this past summer, and I was ready to do his bidding.

I had barely adjusted my shoulders and leaned my head back when Mike was over me. My mouth propped open as wide as possible, I was practically in the dark as his big frame instantly blocked the most of light. I didn't even get to see his stiff meat in its entirety before the divided underside of his circumcised helmet passed over the bridge of my nose. Mike's awesome, vein-riddled shaft was next, resembling the tensed forearm of a posing bodybuilder. It just seemed to keep going and going as it nearly filled my field of vision, and passed beyond my trembling, anticipating lips. Salty and smelling like heating fuel and stale piss, his dick pressed my tongue up against my bottom teeth and was still progressing toward my tonsils. I now understood what he meant by big leagues as his heavy, warm shaved sack nestled against my forehead. I formed a duck mouth and closed my lips around the warm, thick, muscular,

long

cock. I only had time to feel a couple pulses of blood flowing through it when he spoke, his voice coming from midair over my crotch as he was nearly lying on top of me.

"Open. Relax it," Mike said, referring to my throat. He alternately grabbed my wrists and set my hands flat beneath my head, apparently to cushion my scalp if it contacted the hard wooden stair tread.

My introduction to the 'big leagues' of cock sucking began slowly, with the guy's bulbous head plugging my throat and pulling back several times, creating a series of loud squishes audible above the roar of the furnace. It felt awesome to have my mouth filled so quickly.

"Do you like that?" He asked. I hummed a positive reply as he spoke again. "You cock sucking faggot." I hummed agreement again, my dick twitching as I confessed.

His pace increased as my throat became increasingly occupied, and I began noisily gagging with violent convulsions. As my chest cavity literally bounced off the deck, my head indeed bottomed out and slammed into my hands beneath. I could feel pools of phlegm and thick saliva form and overflow with loud gurgles out of my mouth. I was now involuntarily grunting random and strained, flatted chords of discomfort as Mike's rock hard meat rhythmically choked me.

"Take it! Take it you cocksucker!" he grunted as he fucked my mouth.

I was at his mercy, completely dominated by that cock, at moments unable to sense anything else but the stabbing, stiff penis. It felt like he had inserted a third arm into me and was trying to lift me into the air by the esophagus. The big man's hanging belt buckle pelted my ear, and his open zipper scraped my forehead From above I must have looked like a small fish that had taken the bait from a giant shark hook and was thrashing about on the boat deck, unable to escape or breathe. My own dick, load rapidly building, flailed around, loosing some its solidity as the throat fucking had absolutely consumed my senses. I had been kicking the floor without even realizing it. Taking Mike's dick so deep and so suddenly was simply another unforgettable experience.

After about thirty seconds of his relentless, chaotic skull fuck, Mike pulled his cock out and into the light. I coughed and wheezed like a near drowning victim, my upside down face dripping with snot and phlegm. I could only see out of one tearful eye, but Mike's stunning hard cock came into view. The reason I felt hooked like a mackerel was now obvious. The stiff meat had a beautiful upward banana curve, which aided its navigation far into my throat to what felt like halfway to my stomach. His muscular dick was coated, glistening and draped with strings and webs of thick, cloudy liquid, which escaped in ropes and strings after their disconnection from my face, flung in random directions as it swayed temptingly. He hadn't come, as this was 'just a taste'.

Sweaty despite the cool air, I could only think of one word. "More," I said between coughs. "Please."

"You like that?" Mike laughed, stepping away from me. "I need to go. I'll call later, I need to check on these settings, anyway," he said, referring to the furnace.

The blonde man's dirty hand wiped the slobber off his dick and wiped on my heaving chest, leaving a shiny gray blotch across my Steelers sweatshirt, something I wasn't brave enough to wear outside around this city.

I watched him stuff his boner into his jeans and zip up; I hated to see it disappear.

"Not bad," Mike said, sliding into his parka. "You ever take one up your ass?"

"Yeah, once with the old guys."

"That's it? Cool," He replied as I scrambled around on the floor, tying to upright myself.

I followed him out to the van and paid the repair ticket in the frigid air, my dick making a tent in my sweats, unable to look him in the eye. Mike promised to come back later in the morning, and he would call first. I returned to the basement to make sure there was no sign of the brief encounter present in the heavy coating of dirt. There was evidence everywhere. I had to remove prints of my bare butt, his hands, and even my shoe prints were on the lower door frame, made while I was on my back flopping around with his cock down my throat. Satisfied I had tidied up, I showered and retook my spot on the sofa in front of the fireplace. I could not stop thinking about his cock. It was all I could do not to jerk off. It took a while for me to calm down, but I gradually fell asleep.

For some reason I awoke just after six; it was still dark. The house was warm and I had kicked the blanket off, wearing only a pair of basketball shorts and a hoodie, nothing beneath, so I could get naked fast. My dick was hard, as usual in the morning. If not for my sore sides from gagging, it seemed like the furnace had come back on by itself, and the whole episode with Mike had been a terrific dream. My cell rang right after I took a piss.

"This is Mike with G&N Services. I need to check your pressure gauges. Is now a good time, sir?" There must have been someone listening, the reason for all the formality. I played it straight when I replied , but all I could think of was that beautiful curved dick.

He arrived and I let him in the side kitchen door as before. He had cleaned up and changed into different sweats, but was not smiling and was all business. I had to lead him back down to the basement, I was kind of insulted he hadn't remembered the house he told me he immediately called ahead of four others because he thought the 'alley blowjob guy' lived there. But he must have been to a dozen houses over the weekend, and probably had been working all night.

Mike was kneeling at the furnace, and I decided to be bold. I slid off my basketball shorts, since he hadn't seemed to have noticed my roving boner beneath the thin material.

He said nothing as he looked around the gauges with a flashlight. Standing behind him, wearing only Nikes and an unzipped hoodie, I reached down over his shoulder and attempted to squeeze his crotch.

I had no sooner grasped the denim when he turned around and elbowed me across the forehead and shoved me away. I fell backward onto the cold stone floor, landing on my bare ass.

"What the hell?" Mike yelled, looking at me with disgust.

I wasn't really hurt, but serious doubts overcame me. Maybe I was going nuts. Did I fabricate the whole discussion with this guy about my oral alley exploits? Was the teasingly short throat fuck an elaborate fantasy? It did almost seem too good to be true. Was my secret obsession with men's penises driving me insane?

So there I sat with the big, angry furnace repairman staring down at my nearly naked body, my reddish dick sticking up. My stomach began to churn as I reached up for my shorts that were draped over an old chair. Mike reached out and held my wrist. He had pulled his phone out and a male voice angrily answered and cursed at him for calling.

Mike took a deep breath and sounded panicked. "You better get over here! I hit some gay guy too hard when he tried to grab my junk! No, a wrench! And then he hit his head on a pipe! There's blood everywhere!" He shouted my address. "Get your ass over here now!"

Mike tightened his grip on my wrist.

To be continued...