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

yelled.
    A crow flew out from the cypress.
    For a moment, Jake stopped beating off. Close to the edge of orgasm, he looked down at his thick mushroom head and watched it throb. He’d been trying to teach himself the art of holding back—timing himself to prevent his cum from shooting too soon.
    His cock bobbed, aching to be touched.
    Jake’s newness to the gay scene had him acting more like a teenager testing the waters before taking the plunge. He’d only fucked a guy once. And while he enjoyed it, several beers and the guy’s insistence had lowered his guard.
    With the truck’s cabin growing too warm, he quickly rolled down the window and grabbed his dick again. Thoughts of the three dudes he sat across from in last week’s circle jerk came to mind: them all pulling their puds, shirtless and with jeans slightly pulled down along their thighs. One guy even tried to kiss Jake, but he refused. Sitting around with a bunch of supposedly straight guys jerking off during halftime—while sexy as fuck—wasn’t the romance a kiss required. Instead, Jake grabbed him by the nape of the neck, shoved his face down on his dick and blew a load in his mouth. The two other men cheered and shot wads all over their own chests.
    In quick jerks, Jake’s hand became a blur. “SHIT! I can’t take it!” His cock sprayed its juice onto his T-shirt. He pulled at the cotton in a futile attempt to catch the bursts. “Oh, fuck. Oh, God, yeah,” he muttered, with a quiver in his voice. “It...feels...so fucking...good.” He held his breath, eyes closed, while seven to eight spurts covered the landscaping logo on his chest, as well as a shot to the face and under the brim of his cap.
    In a shiver, he stopped. He looked behind him to make sure he hadn’t hit the window like he had the other day. Explaining a splatter on the glass proved embarrassing when picking a guy up at the club.
    Jake peeled off his shirt and wiped his face, hat, and the mess that had puddled in his pubes. He started the truck, balled up the shirt and threw it to the floor.

Chapter Two
    W ith a white towel wrapped around his waist, Jake’s bare feet slapped against the hardwood of the upstairs hallway.
    “Bye, Jake!” Jocelyn yelled, from the bottom of the stairs.
    He walked past his bedroom and leaned over the banister. “See ya, kid. Have a good day.”
    Jocelyn, with her long, blonde hair pinned up, smiled. “You too. Tell Juan I said hello.” Jocelyn had a bit of a soft spot for immigrant workers, and Jake’s crew consisted of plenty.
    “Will do.”
    When he got to his bedroom, Skip, Jake’s stepbrother, finished a pushup and rolled onto his back. “Well, well, well,” Skip said, “look who’s doing the walk of shame.” He leaned up on his elbows. Sweat dripped down his chest, and he exhaled. “Where were you last night?”
    Jake opened the dresser drawer on his side of the room. “None of your business.” He took out a clean pair of underwear.
    “Sor-ry,” Skip said, extending the syllables in a singsong voice.
    Stepping into his briefs, Jake slid them up under his bath towel. “Nothing to be sorry about.” He removed the cloth and threw it on his bed.
    “Your mother drank herself silly worried—”
    Jake rolled his eyes. “I heard.” He turned around and folded his arms across his chest. “And your dad...where was he?”
    Skip pulled himself up onto his unmade twin bed. “Tuesday night card game with the boys. You know.”
    Jake turned around and opened his bottom drawer for a pair of jeans. “Of course. I forgot.”
    “You should probably call her next time.”
    “Since when are you the moral one?” Jake asked, looking over his shoulder.
    Skip held out his hands, palms forward. “At ease, soldier...at ease.” Since Skip’s return from Afghanistan, he would bandy about military phrases to the family like the lieutenant in the Army he’d wished he had been.
    After pulling out a pair of Levi’s, Jake kicked his drawer closed.