Woring Class Hero

I am a very privileged working-class hero. My situation was born of tragedy with good fortune attached. I don't mean to sound callous. I am well acquainted with tears and heartache. But time passes and I moved on. Such is the way of life. However, my circumstances are rare and I try not to lose sight of that.

I was thirty when my grandparents died. They had raised me after my mom succumbed to cancer so I grew up in their picturesque but modest Ft Lauderdale home. It is shaded by a Banyon tree and towering palms, and in back there is a small pool off the lanai. Now, I am thirty-three and it is all mine. And it came with a financial inheritance sufficient to cover my personal overhead for the rest of my life, but not quite enough for pocket change.

For that, I have a solo lawn care business that keeps me just busy enough. Lawn care is great exercise and has the dual benefit of flexible hours and outside work. Having been raised in Ft. Lauderdale, outdoors is where my life happens. Patio bars on the waterfront and world-class sidewalk cafes. Plus the beach! Plus my boat out on the Gulf Stream! Why go indoors? Sometimes I even sleep outside beside my pool.

One day I got a call from a buddy who runs an apartment moving company. He was one man short for a job the next day and begged me to jump in. "Same deal as always. Just don't mention what I pay you to the other guys." Hard work. I like that. Cash money. I love that.

There were three of us and we made quick work of moving the furniture from a storage unit into the 23rd-floor beachfront condo in Boca. The customer was a fifties-something gay man. His sexuality was entirely speculative on our part. He was small, although very fit, with carefully cropped white hair. Maybe his manicured, lacquered fingernails were a bit long, but that was common among successful single men of a certain age. He was a bit fussy, too, hovering over the placement of every chair, sofa, and table. So we figured it was a good bet he was gay. But that was just an observation, not a judgment. We were cool with whatever. When you take a person's every possession from one domicile to another, you get a rather intimate glimpse into their life. It's just a game we play.

All doubt was put to bed, however, when we started carrying in his framed pictures and statuary. As we unwrapped the cardboard packaging there emerged a gallery of male-oriented art; some erotic, some outright carnal, but the theme of every piece was men.

One of my colleagues joked under his breath, "I should be wearing a condom just to handle this stuff."

"Don't even start with that shit," I said with a sternness that shocked the others. We looked over to see that the customer had overheard the entire exchange. As I carried a piece past him he whispered a thank you.

As we were getting ready to go, the customer said, "Hold it. We're missing a piece."

The guy in charge asked, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course. It's a statue the size of me. I would notice if it were here."

A call to the warehouse confirmed that the statue was in the storage unit next to the one that had been packed full with the rest of his stuff. A communication breakdown. SNAFU.

It made sense that I would be the one to deliver that last piece since my truck was parked at the warehouse and I would pass relatively close past his condo on my way home. We apologized and I assured the gentleman I would return within an hour.

With the help of one of the guys, we laid it into my truck bed and secured it for the ride. It was wrapped in a packing blanket that was then sheathed within two layers of thick cardboard. I threw in a dolly and headed into the South Florida rush hour traffic.

It was longer than the promised hour by the time I knocked at his door. When he answered I noticed he had grabbed a shower and changed into some old shorts and a faded Hawaiian shirt. He also wielded a hammer in one hand.

"Sorry it took so long. Traffic." I said as I entered. "I hope that's not for me."

He looked at me quizzically until I pointed to the hammer. "Oh, heavens no," he laughed. "I was just hanging some pictures. I'm Jonathon, by the way, but call me Jon. And thank you for ... earlier, you know ..."

"No worries, Jon. I'm Marc." We shook. "Young kids these days got no manners. Now where are we going with this thing."

"The statue is going to the fireplace hearth. Do you need some help?"

I scoffed and wheeled it easily into the living room. He had been busy since we had left and most of the artwork was hung. The guy had good taste though it did lean to the prurient side.

"Actually," he said a little sheepishly, "I have one rather large picture I could use some help with. Would you mind?"

The hook was already set into the wall of the Dining Room and we each grabbed a corner of the frame. It was almost 5 feet wide and over 3 feet high so catching the wire on the hook was pretty tricky, but we finally got it hung and level. That was when I took a good look at it.

Jon said, "It's really more a conversation piece than art, I suppose."

"Really? I can't remember anything like that painting ever coming up in conversation."

It was a depiction of the Garden of Eden unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Eve clearly had a penis.

Jon appreciated my humor. "I imagine not. But some believe that the Bible tells the story of the second Garden of Eden. The tale of the original Garden is all but forgotten."

"Another thing that never came up in conversation."

"But it's true. When God realized that Adam would be lonely he made another man and named him Evan. Adam and Evan were a perfect pair. They were literally made for each other. The garden provided everything they needed and in each other they had everything they wanted. They discovered so much pleasure in each other that they frolicked endlessly. When God returned, He found things exactly as He had left them. No progress. No creative development. This displeased him mightily. So He banished Evan into a closet east of Eden and he created the first woman, Eve. Sure, there was some pleasure to be found, but it was never the same for Adam."

"But shit got done."

"Exactly. Once Eve showed up the happiness level went down but productivity went up."

I gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. "The price we pay for progress." I left him to ruminate about the tradeoff as I got out my box cutter and started to remove the packing around the statue. What was revealed was a 6-foot-tall replica of Michelangelo's David with one exception. In this version, David was aroused and all the criticism of the small penises in ancient art was repudiated by his rather prodigious hard-on. I found it funny and laughed. Jon chuckled and asked, "What do you think?"

"I think I should be very careful how I handle it." With that, I grabbed the statue by the waist to avoid the rock-hard erection. Then I made a point of showing off my power by hoisting it at arm's length and gently placing it on the hearth.

"Oh, be careful ... Oh, my, you must be very strong. That is a very heavy piece."

I did my Groucho impression, "Well, I'm a pretty heavy piece myself." Then shifted back to my professional voice. "We need to get this oriented the way you want it. Maybe stand over there?"

He went to the middle of the room where I pointed. "Turn him this way," he advised. "About a quarter turn. We don't want his tush to the wall." He reconsidered. "No, maybe back a skosh."

I made the adjustment and, as he pondered the statue, I got to ponder him. I guessed him to be shy of sixty years. He was about 5-8, trim, tan, and fit enough for the beach. His full white hair was neatly cropped to the edge of his ears and he had a short goatee that was favored by gay men of a certain age. And I noticed his lips were plump. I always notice lips.

"Are you sure? You get great morning sun here and if I turn him back a bit you could tell time with him," gesturing to his outstretched cock, "you know, like a sundial."

That elicited a giggle. "You're a clever guy. But no, I think this is good."

I walked to where he was and stood about a foot from him. From there, I considered the statue. He asked my opinion, "What do you think?"

"I think you've got it right." The fingertips of my left hand went to his waist as my right hand made a sweeping gesture from the windows to the hearth. "Your morning light will really bring out the bubble in that butt."

Our eyes met and locked. He laughed self-consciously, more aware of my fingertips than my humor. I let my gaze linger and deepen. I saw apprehension and hope vying in his eyes. It built as the seconds passed. My eyes never faltered as I leaned in and planted a gentle fleeting kiss on his lips.

Shock trembled through his gaze as our lips parted. It was quickly replaced by a visible kindling of ardor. As the space became greater, his eyes burned hotter. I leaned back further so that my mouth was in the periphery of his gaze. My tongue made a slow, glistening circuit of my lips and his eyes flared with disbelief and yearning as, with our look unbroken, I again placed my lips upon his. His eyes poured his rising lust into mine. My moist kiss skated gently over his pouting, plump lips. A quivering moan escaped from within him.

I broke away. "I hope my advances are not undesired."

I imagined him reckoning with the possibility of a strapping hunk half his age seducing him. Wilton Manors lent the area a reputation for being a hedonistic gay playground but the dating scene here was no different than in Topeka. For a single, aging gay man, life could be solitary and sad. Most men were left with dreams of the wild lifestyle. And every one of those dreams included a man like me.

In all this time he had neither blinked nor looked away. "No, your advances are desired. Surprising, but very desired."

I moistened my lips and leaned in. I saw his eyes flare with passion before my eyes closed and we kissed again. His mouth opened but my tongue tarried in a sweeping caress of his pillowy lips before sinking into his eager mouth and his plush, dancing tongue. My arms encircled him and pulled him tight. Our groins met and pressed and undulated together. The kiss was deep and soulful, and we let the moment stretch as my arms roamed his back and shoulders. I could sense he wanted to reach for my cock. His moans and trembling betrayed his mounting desire, but my arms only allowed him to clutch at my neck. I exerted gentle control over him and he understood.

I broke the kiss and our eyes were locked again as we panted with lust. My right hand reached over his shoulder and the back of my fingers stroked his cheek. "From the moment I saw you I thought to myself there is a beautiful, sexy man." A shuddering heat flashed in his eyes as he heard words he'd given up on ever hearing again. In the instant before our lips met again, I whispered, "A very sexy man."

I set free his arm and he immediately sought my cock. He found it and gently traced its pulsing hard length. His fingertip found the wetness penetrating my jeans at the cockhead. My hand found the full roundness of his ass. It was supple yet firm and would do credit to a thirty-year-old. Jon certainly took care of himself.

"As I recall the bedroom is this way." I urged Jon onward with my hand and fell in behind, ogling his ass every step of the way. We only made it halfway before I reached for his waist with both hands. He stopped. My hands sought his chest and found his nipples as my mouth burrowed sloppily into the nape of his neck. With a yearning moan, he pressed his ass against my cock and waggled it. My left hand made a slow migration south, tripping lightly over his ribs, sending tremors up his spine. They continued teasingly across the tender crease between thigh and torso sparking the nerves that reach deep into his loins. When I cupped his cock, he craned his ass against me, aching for me to bury myself deep inside. We were close to collapsing into a coital, thrusting fuck right there in the hall. I gasped feverishly "I gotta get you naked."

We stopped beside his sheet-less mattress. My deft fingers made easy work of his Hawaiian shirt, celebrating each button with brief but eager kisses. Then I opened his shorts. His turgid cock sprang from its confines as his shorts dropped to the floor. I cupped it in my hand and stroked the shaft gingerly. It was about 5 inches with an admirable girth. I admired it as I wiped the pre-cum from his cockhead and lifted it to my lips. Our eyes were locked again as I savored its thick saltiness. "Why don't you lie down. I'll join you in a second. He sprawled enticingly in the center of the mattress. His torso was flat but slightly fleshy and his nipples were plump, eager to be suckled. His cock bounced to the beating of his heart.

I shed my T-shirt in a single move and stood frozen for his appraisal. I do a power workout in the Gym so instead of popcorn muscles and showboat abs I have heft and strength that stretches my flesh taut. His eyes bulged hungrily and I could read in that hot gaze the disbelief that he would once more feel the hard, strong flesh of youth in his arms. One by one, I popped the buttons of my 501 jeans. His eyes flared in expectation as my Levi's fell away and my cock burst forth. Others have described it as muscular and compared my plump purple cockhead to a cushion or a cloud; pillowy and fluffy yet firm. His eyes gaped.

I did a kittenish crawl across the bed pausing at his firm cock. I lifted it and left a sensuous kiss at the electric spot on the underside of his cockhead. "Beautiful." Then I kissed the cockhead itself, sucking it into my mouth and teasing it with my tongue. A strand of spittle continued our connection as I pulled back. "Beautiful."

With our eyes burning into one another's, I continued my crawl until our lips were together again. Bare, naked flesh, undulating and insinuating, stoked our passion as we kissed deeply, then teasingly, always languorously. I rolled atop him and he clenched me within his thighs. I rolled him atop me and our legs entwined like vines, our cocks dancing a lascivious boogie in the shadowed folds of manly loins.

He took control. Pressing me into the mattress with one arm he fondled my pulsing manhood with the other. Then his sodden lips engulfed me and sucked me deep into his throat. The wind was driven from my lungs as he plunged again and again down my shaft. Such a fervor flared in my groin that I thought I might instantly cum. His ravenous plunder of my cock sent surges of ecstasy up and down my spine. I felt powerless to resist. I was writhing beneath him. A molten furnace kindled in my balls and pressure began to slowly build. One hand reached for his ass. I kneaded the plumpness and separated his cheeks. I found his rosebud. I removed my hand and brought it to my mouth, slathering my fingertips with thick slobber. Once more, my fingers found their way to his puckered fundament and stroked it gently.

Jon relinquished my cock and lay his head on my thigh with a blissful sigh. I massaged his long-neglected hole and, in the deep, slow glow of rapture, he returned to my cock. His hungry sucking was forgotten as his lips, and tongue, and mouth made love to my manhood. The pressure in my loins abated as soothing waves of pleasure spread through my body. There are few things as luxurious as a long, slow blow job; a languorous, juicy blow job. I fell into a reverie as he swaddled my cock with his juicy mouth. I re-wet my fingertips with a viscous dollop of saliva. I coaxed his rosebud wider, making swirling tracks around the rim of his beckoning ass. He rocked under my fingertips, my hips dipped and danced in rhythm to his ministrations.

I wanted his lips again. I urged him off my thrumming cock and guided him to my mouth. His tongue was hot and supple. Mine was eager. With my free hand, I held his head tightly as my intensity mounted. I kissed him deeper. His moaning became more ardent and yearning.

My mouth flew from his lips and engulfed his cockhead. I was not languorous. I was fevered. My lips and tongue were soft but ravenous as they swirled over his plump cockhead. Wild bolts of pleasure exploded in his loins, incited by my onslaught. He hunched in waves of craving and gasped with startled passion. My sweet lips plunged down his shaft. I sucked him deep into my throat and held him there as my tongue made lush sweeps down to his base.

I came up for air, my saliva bridging the distance between our flesh. I gazed upon his cock. It was purple with heat and glistening. "Beautiful," I said. My mouth started deep transits from his cumhole to his base. He moaned in cadence, then gasped as my finger entered him. I felt his spot and massaged it slowly in time to my sucking. He breathed in sharp gasps as his entire body convulsed with bliss. Our eyes were locked. I saw the mounting fire. "I want your cum, Baby. Will you give me your cum?" As I returned to sucking him he replied with jolts of jizz erupting into my mouth. Three. Four. Then smaller dribbles. Five. Six...

Through clouded eyes he watched me kiss away the last drops of cum. My kisses continued up his tender flesh - his groin, his belly, his tits. His arms embraced me as I rose. I peered into his passion-spent eyes. "Seemed like you needed that."

"Sweet Jesus, I needed that. I've needed that for so long."

My lips played with his. The tips of our tongues flitted. Our kisses grew juicier and deeper. I broke our kiss to tease at the nape of his neck and whispered in his ear. "Jon, I'd like to get inside you now. Would it be okay if I fucked you?"

We were eye to eye again. There was something in his gaze that revealed the sadness of his time alone. It spoke of the nights of wanting and needing the connection of man to man, soul to soul, of manhood buried deeply, lustfully, wantonly inside him. He wanted to be the Evan to his own Adam. "I want that so much. Marc, I want you to fuck me to my core."

He reached for my cock as he spread his legs. He ushered me to his rosebud. He flexed, opening and closing his ass, tickling my cockhead, inviting me into his Garden of Earthly Delight.

I knew it had been a while. I was slow and he was so very tight. His eyes flared and bulged with every inch. The cloying caress of his ass clenched at me. He kegeled his core causing the walls of his hot sheath to undulate. Our eyes were inches apart when my penetration was complete. I paused and pressed deeply. Our connection transcended to that licentious coital plane of man-love. I felt him relax and accept my manhood. I laid a tender kiss on his lips as I started to move inside him. I luxuriated in his tight hole and fucked him slower, then faster, but always deeply, riding the swales and troughs of passion. Fucking him, really fucking him. Not ravaging, but relishing the treasure of his ass. I rose to my knees, his legs wrapped over my shoulder as I pressed my cock against the innermost wall of his sheath, concentrating pressure on his gland. His eyes rolled back.

I was lost in the ebb and flow of our fuck when Jon dropped his legs and wrenched my cock from inside him. He flopped over on his belly with his legs wide. The stark whiteness of his ass against the Florida tan of his back and legs accentuated the plushness of his plump buns. Jon reached back and spread his cheeks. His dark hole was agape and beckoning. "Give it to me now, Marc. Really give it to me."

That was not really my style but I was mesmerized by the sight of his enticing chamber and overcome with wanton lust. I dove my cock into him and could sense the waves of exhilaration radiating like a wake through the marrow of his being. I fucked him with abandon, pinning him to the bed. He clenched my arms to his side, whimpering, "Oh Baby, Oh Lover, take me deep."

He pulled my hand to his mouth and sucked two fingers between his lips like a cock. He sucked hard until they were buried to the hilt, his tongue swaddling them awash with his juice. I pounded him, thrusting with wild abandon. He made gasping grunting noises as he came for the second time. His ass convulsed around my cock, causing my loins to erupt deep inside him.