Tool Boy

About the time I started high school, my family moved from the south to New York City. We moved into a small apartment building on the upper west side. It was an elegant building that wasn't a large a place, but that was well- maintained by a guy called Pop who lived in a back apartment on the lower floor with his wife and a cute, blond-haired kid, everybody called Scotty.

Little Scotty always followed his father around on the weekends as Pop fixed various things throughout the building. Pop was in his mid-thirties and was quite a hunk, with muscled biceps bulging out of his rolled-up t-shirt sleeves and dark curls of hair that stuck out from the front of his neckband. Pop must have had the biggest hands I had ever seen, and he kept those giant paws busy, making sure everything worked properly no matter how long it took or how hard the job.

One Christmas, Scotty got a belt of toy tools just like his dad's. Needless to say, Scotty was in raptures from then on, and spent every moment he could with Pop, working on pipes, sinks, boilers, windows, or whatever. Scotty would stand transfixed, watching his Pop work, fingering his toy tools that hung from his little belt. He was a cute kid, and anyone could see that he would be just like his dad someday.

I was trying to be a high school super jock, and whenever Scotty's dad wasn't working and I was home, he would come to my room and watch me work out with my weights. He always watched every move I made with the same intensity that he would watch Pop fix things. Since he was several years younger than I, he couldn't lift the weights himself, but he loved to sit and pretend to do all the same moves I did.

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After I graduated from high school and went off to Vanderbilt, I mostly forgot about Scotty and Pop. The folks sub-let the apartment when they moved out of the city, thinking that I might need it when I finished college and moved back to the city.

In June, after my final year of graduate school, I did gradually start moving back into the old place. Not having much in the way of furniture, I spent most of my time at my parent's house. In part to get rid of me, they offered me some furniture. Finally getting the message, I took the bed and set it up. I had only spent two nights at the old place when I was jarred awake by a bang and heavy jangling sound one morning. I turned over, barely opening my eyes, to see a figure standing at the foot of my bed dressed in a grimy t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off and worn-out jeans with a belt full of tools around his waist.

As I rubbed my eyes and squinted, he spoke: "Oh, Chris, I didn't know you were here. I didn't mean to scare." I must have looked confused in my drowsiness, because he then said, "It's me, Chris -- Scotty. I came to fix the drain in the bathroom sink." I still didn't say anything, lying bare-assed on my back in the wad of sweaty sheets. The summer heat was near unbearable, and I hadn't had the used air conditioner fixed that I intended to put in the bedroom. With Pop around all those years, I never learned or had any need to learn how to fix things myself. "Gee, Chris, you sure are big," Scotty stammered as he shuffled sideways towards the bathroom. I thought he was referring to my muscles, until I looked down at the sheets to see the hardest of piss hard-ons, my cock sticking straight in the air. I rolled over to go back to sleep, but starting to think about what Scotty had said, and wondering whether he was talking about my eight-inch cock or my body muscles. Realizing that I needed desperately to piss, I also realized that the bathroom was occupied and could be for hours if Scotty took the time to fix things the way Pop used to do.

I lay still for a few minutes, trying to overcome my early morning need and to give my flagpole a chance to go down. Finally, I stumbled out of bed and stuck my head around the bathroom door. "Sorry, Scotty," I said, "but I got to piss real bad."

"Oh sure, Chris," said Scotty, staring not into my eyes, but rather at the head of my still-hard cock, which was also poking around the edge of the door. "Come on in," he said, wedging his head back under the sink as he banged the pipes with his wrench.

I was irritated that wasn't getting up to step outside while I took care of matters, but I couldn't wait any longer and let loose with a torrent of hot piss into the toilet bowl. As the splashing sound started, Scotty pulled his head from under the sink and stared, transfixed by my semi-hard spout, the way he used to when I worked out or Pop was fixing things. After the flood finally stopped and I shook the last few drops off, Scotty continued watching and I couldn't help but get harder.

Now that I had some relief, my head was clearing up enough for me to realize that this wasn't the same little kid I used to know, but a crouching, hard- muscled young stud of about nineteen years. "I didn't know you were taking care of things around building," I said.

"Oh yeah, ever since Pop opened a repair shop in upstate New York about a year ago," muttered without altering his gaze.

"You never outgrew your fascination with tools, huh, Scotty?" I saw his face redden and the words he wanted to say got stuck in his throat. I couldn't resist the opportunity to tease or entice him further in order to find out his urges. "Well, Scotty, this the only tool I know how to use. How would you like to do some work with it." He couldn't speak and his face got redder. I asked him if he was gay or liked guys, but he still said nothing and only got redder. I told him that this was ok, that there was nothing wrong with being gay or liking guys. I said, "after all, I sure like guys a lot." A look of slight relief come over his face, I gazed lower to see a small dark wet spot forming in the crotch of his jeans. "You can touch if," I said, pulling his beefy left hand from the edge of the sink and bringing it towards my throbbing cock, wrapping his fingers around its warmth and hugeness. Scotty began to squeeze and softly moved his hand back and forth. "That feels good; grip it a little tighter," I moaned. Scotty, like Pop, always wanting to do the job right, increased his pressure and stroked a little more vigorously. I was about to pop my load into his beautiful blond curls, so I pulled his hand away just at the last moment. My cock throbbed and pre-cum dribbled from its slit. Scotty tentatively extended his tongue and licked the flowing juice.

Here I was with Scotty on his knees in front of me, while I wondered about the size of the piece of meat stuffed in his pants.

I reached under his arms and pulled him to his feet. He smiled nervously as I pulled his grimy t-shirt up and over his head, exposing his hard muscled torso. His nipples were full, round and pink, with just a few hairs surrounding them. I leaned forward and found the right one with my tongue, caressing it gently, and feeling it begin to harden. I massaged the left one with my fingers as I wetted down his chest. Scotty groaned pleasurable, and I began to suck on his thick nipple. He liked what I was doing, and loved the taste of his sweat and its salty musk.

I tongued my way down the smooth chest, reaching his navel and the sprouting bush of fur that began below it. I hooked my fingers into the top buttonhole of his jeans and began popping the buttons open. As the last button pulled free, his cock fell out of a mass of thick, blond pubs. I yanked his jeans down to his ankles, leaving his tool belt jangling around his waist. His cock curved upward, wide and proud, almost touching his furry navel. I reached for it, slowly sliding the thick foreskin back to expose the head. I licked the tip and leaned my face forward.

I couldn't believe how hot his cock was as my lips covered the full, prick head. My mouth must have felt like a bucket of ice to him. He moaned and pushed forward. As my hand held his foreskin back, I took at least five inches of his thick meat into my throat, still holding some in my hand. I knew he wasn't going to hold off for long, so I began a vigorous sucking. It took about ten full downstrokes before his cock erupted, sending thick torrents of hot juice into the back of my throat. He bucked his throbbing cock all around the inside of my mouth. I grabbed hold of the handles of two hammers that hung on either side of his belt and pulled him deeper into my throat. I kept swallowing, but he was pumping faster than I could get it all down. Cum streaked down the base of his cock on to his balls and dripped from my chin. When the last of his cum seemed to be drained, I took his cock from my mouth, still stroking his foreskin back and forth over the head and proceeded to lap up the cum around his balls. He was hot for me to continue.

I sucked his balls into my mouth one at a time, pulling on them with gentle firmness. Scotty moaned and moved his legs further apart, while I pulled a screwdriver from his belt that was banging against my ear. I moved further down, approaching his rosy-pink pucker that appeared deep in his fuzz-covered mounds. I extended my tongue to the rim of his hole, and Scotty gasped, his opening quivering at the touch. His entrance relaxed, and I pushed my tongue deep into him, forcing the remains of his hot load into his crevice. I continued licking and sucking, while kneading his muscled cheeks with my hands. His tools jangled like heavy gongs around my head.

When his hole gleamed from my spit and his cum, I stood up and leaned Scotty against the sink, placing his hands on either side of the mirror above it. I moved between his thick legs and pressed my cockhead to the opening. With one gentle push, my cock lid easily into his burning chute. As my balls banged into him, I saw his cock bounce up like a spring, slapping against his belly. I reached around, grabbed it in my hand and began stroking him as I plunged in and out of his hole. His cock felt even hotter now than when I had sucked him a few minutes earlier. I watched in the mirror as my hand moved his foreskin back and forth over the broad head. The juice leaking out caused the movement to make a snapping sound. Scotty threw his head back and I could see in the mirror that his eyes close, mouth open. I knew he was close to a second cumming. I plunged deeper and harder to bring forth a release to match his. His tools banged against the side of the sink. Just as my cock made a last massive expansion and exploded, Scotty let loose with another gushing volley, splattering the mirror with bolts of his hot juice. Rivers of his pleasure were running down in so many places, I could no longer see our reflection.

Exhausted, I pulled my cock out with a pop, and we both collapsed on the floor in an embracing heap.

We moved to the bedroom, and Scotty shot twice more that afternoon until we were both too sore to continue. Finally, we fell asleep, may arms around him, and his tools scattered on the bedroom floor. Just before we dozed off, Scotty looked at me and said, "I always loved to work with tools, Chris, but yours is the one I love the most, and I've always wanted it, ever since I used to watch you work out all those years ago." I kiss the back of his neck, knowing that this was going to be a good summer.

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