Read Online Handy Men Do It Better by Dan Sexton - Free Book Online Page A

down.
    “What do you think?” she asked.
    He put on his left blinker. “I’m glad Frank served burgers last night at the club.”
    “You met him at Frank’s?” Jasper Hills, Florida, a hundred miles from any big city, limited Jake’s hookups. Frank’s—a bar on the outskirts of the township—rallied Northwest Florida’s horny gay men for miles.
    “Who?” He pulled onto the main road.
    “The guy you were with?”
    “Oh, yeah. I’d seen him there before. He’s a football fan. I went to the club straight from work.” He brushed the leg of his cutoffs. “In fact, I’m still wearing yesterday’s clothes.”
    “Jake! You must smell. That’s disgusting.”
    “Mom up?”
    Jocelyn didn’t say anything for a bit. Jake imagined her sitting at the kitchen table, like always, craning her neck toward the downstairs bedroom. “No,” Jocelyn said, “she drank practically a whole box of wine last night. You know what that means.”
    “Up around noon.”
    “You got it.”
    “Well, I’m swinging by to hop in the shower.” He looked down at the paperwork beside him. “I’ve got a job in Black Oak.” He picked at the job logs. “And a bunch of lawns this afternoon.”
    “It’s past seven. You’re already late.”
    “And you’re going to be late for school. Now make yourself some breakfast and get yourself ready. Did you do your homework?”
    “I did.”
    “I’ll see you in a little bit. Love you.”
    “Love you too.”
    Jake hung up the phone and threw it back onto the passenger seat. “Love that little kid.” He turned the radio back on, shifted, and the pickup raced down the interstate.
****
    O ff the rural highway, another dirt road led an additional five miles to the house. About a third of the way down the path, Jake pulled off and into the Fosters’ old farm. With his truck coming to a stop under the shade of an oak, and with a plume of dirt settling about, he shut off the engine.
    A dead cypress tree hung precariously over the abandoned house. The bank had recently boarded up the windows and bolted the doors, which had saddened Jake, for he’d often spent time inside clearing his thoughts and using the space to obtain some much-needed privacy. With his stepbrother and him occupying the same room, Mom’s little two-story grew smaller.
    He took out his phone and sent his boss a text that he’d be running late, which he knew Gregg wouldn’t mind. He owed Jake time anyway. Being a salaried foreman had its perks.
    Jake took a deep breath and exhaled. The pickup ticked and hissed its way to cool, and silence ensued. “Peace,” Jake said and leaned back as much as he could—the seat’s back permanently welded in place from a snap long ago. He scooched down and let his head fall against the vinyl headrest.
    Over the truck’s faded-teal hood, acres of overgrown weeds filled his view. Jake envisioned a land of tall, mature trees and lush green grass. He loved to fill his mind with landscaping ideas, but right now he had another thing to attend to.
    He reached down between his legs and rubbed the soft, tan corduroy bulge. He loved the velvety touch on his hand and pressed a palm against his growing erection. Jake moaned. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift to someone sucking his cock. “Mmmm.” A muscular dude with tattoos now sat on his dick. “Yeah.”
    He unbuttoned the top of his pants and unzipped them. All eight inches bounced out, and he took to it—at first in delicate touches, and then tight, hard bursts. His free hand worked its way up his shirt to tweak his nipples and grip the firmness of his pecs. While he enjoyed masturbating, his penchant for release grew so strong he needed to ejaculate often to relieve pain. He couldn’t do it in his room—not with his stepbrother about. He could take to the bathroom, and often did, but with a full house, he couldn’t express himself loudly like he enjoyed.
    Jake knew the safe, desolate locations to bust his nut.
    “FUCK!” Jake