FRICTION FICTION: PLUMBER'S HELPER by Derek Adams (1991)

[monshanjik]

Illustration by Boyway

PLUMBER'S HELPER

By Derek Adams

(Mandate.July.1991.)

I probably should have known better than to have started this project,
but I've always fancied myself a handyman and I assumed I could manage
it on my own. The shower in the bathroom had been leaking down into the
laundry room in the basement for six months and I'd been telling my wife
that I'd get right on it every time she mentioned it. Now, she'd been
out of town visiting relatives for six weeks and I wanted to have it all
fixed when she got back.

So why did I put it off so long? Probably for the same reason you
haven't cleaned out that closet in the hall for so long that now you're
afraid to open the door. Anyway, it was two days before Lorie was due
back and I was finally ready to get the job done.

It was the hottest day of the year, of course. Even in the basement,
where it was usually relatively cool, the temperature registered above
ninety degrees. I had stripped down to an old pair of cut-offs, but I
was still sweating buckets as I traced the water lines, trying to
isolate the problem. I finally found the offending pipe — tucked up
between the floor joists so you could hardly get at the damned thing,
naturally. The trouble looked simple, like the kind of thing you could
fix with a little judicious tightening. So I tightened it and the leak
got a little better. I clamped the wrench down again, to give it a final
turn and then get on with my life. But like with so many things, I
should have left well enough alone. Something snapped when I put
pressure on the pipe and the drip became a steady stream that was
rapidly forming a major puddle on the laundry room floor.

I tried the shutoff valve. But it didn't want to budge and I was
beginning to lose confidence in my plumbing skills, so I didn't force
it. Instead, I ran upstairs and did what I should have done in the first
place — I called a plumber.

Of course, I got two answering services and three busy signals before I
finally found someone who agreed to come over. Then I tacked a note up
on the front door and went back downstairs to see what I could do to
contain the damage The first thing I did was to wrap some electrical
tape around the crack and put a plastic garbage can under the leak to
catch the flood. Then I got busy mopping up. I was wringing the last
drops out of the towel I'd been using when I heard footsteps on the
basement stairs.

"Hello," a young sounding tenor voice called down to me, "I'm looking
for Mark Gunther." He saw the rag in my hand and grinned. "You must be
the guy."

"Right," I nodded. "You're here with the plumber?"

"I am the plumber," he corrected me. "I'm Ken Wilson. You called me,
right?"

Hell, he didn't look a day over eighteen, his thick blond mane falling
down almost into his eyes. He was dressed in shorts and a T-shirt that
was cut off just below his pecs, leaving a big expanse of flat hairless
belly exposed for my viewing pleasure He looked like my idea of a
surfer, except he was carrying a toolbox instead of a board. He
certainly was a handsome, well mannered kid — I just hoped he knew what
the hell he was doing.

"Come on down," I said, tossing my rag onto the top of the dryer.
"You're looking at yet another victim of the 'handyman' syndrome. I was
going to fix the problem myself and save a few bucks." I sighed and
shrugged my shoulders. "You probably get a lot of business that way."

"A fair percentage," he agreed, his eyes locking with mine as we talked.
I got the feeling he was studying me or something, like he was trying to
figure me out. The thought gave me a nervous little flutter in the pit
of my stomach.

"I'll get this emptied before it gets too full to move it," I said.
Grabbing the handles of the garbage can, I hefted it off the floor and
lugged it over to the utility sink in the far corner of the room. The
damned thing must have had over twenty gallons of water in it and it was
incredibly heavy. When I turned around, ready to bring it back, the
young plumber was still staring at me — his eyes roving up and down my
frame.

"Wow, man," he exclaimed, a low whistle escaping him. "You've got a
really buff body! When you picked that can up, it was like the muscles
were trying to jump out of your skin. I try to keep myself in shape and
I know how much work it takes to keep that up. Your arms and legs are
something, man. And the way those abs cut in when you tensed them up —
you're just incredibly hot. How old are you, anyway?"

"Forty-three," I blurted, too taken aback by his compliments to tell him
my age was none of his damned business. It was weird, being praised
liked this for my body. I'd always been vain, keeping involved in sports
and regular exercise. But it was unusual for people to comment on my
appearance, especially young men. A few women in our crowd had made eyes
at me over the years, but I'd never given it any serious thought. Now,
all of a sudden, I was confronted by a plumber young enough to be my son
who was damn near drooling over my pecs. I was half tempted to throw him
out and call someone else — but I didn't.

"What a fox!" When he finally noticed the way I was looking at him, he
blushed and looked down at his feet. "Hey, Mark, I'm sorry . . . I
didn't mean to say all that. Hell, it just popped out. You're not
pissed, are you?" He flashed me a toothy grin and raised his hand to
push his hair out of his eyes.

"Hell, I'm not mad," I muttered. It was true that I had a knot in my
stomach, but I was beginning to realize that it wasn't caused by anger.
"Fact is, uh, Ken . . . that's right, isn't it?" He nodded in the
affirmative. "Anyway, the truth is, I'm glad to know that all that work
hasn't been wasted."

"Let's fix that leak, then," Ken said, tactfully changing the subject.
He shut off the water and checked the cracked pipe. "Piece of cake," he
announced, digging in his tool kit. "If you'll help me here, I think we
can get this taken care of in about twenty minutes. I'm just gonna patch
this, because if I start screwing around with these old pipes, we're
going to have more leaks than we can count. Now if you'll stand here and
hold these pipes steady, I'll pop a sleeve over the crack and seal it
right up."

I reached up and got a firm grip on either side of the area Ken was
working on. He pulled a stepping stool over in front of me and climbed
up, his face level with the pipes. He was only inches away from me, and
I was extremely aware of his ripe, masculine scent. His hands grazed my
fingers several times as he was fitting the sleeve and smearing it with
waterproofing. Once, his bare belly brushed against the mat of hair on
my chest, jolting me like an electric shock.

Never mind that with his arms over his head, his shirt had pulled up,
baring his quarter sized nipples! They were as pink as his pouty lips,
slightly inverted in the muscle mass of his chest. When I first saw him,
I thought he was totally hairless, but now, his torso only inches from
my eyes, I could see a frosting of downy blond fuzz covering his belly.

I could feel the heat radiating from his body, more steamy than the
stuffy air in the basement. Sweat was beading up on my forehead and
streaming down my sides, tickling me. I looked up at his face in the
shadowy gloom between the floor joists. His mouth was set in a
determined line as he put the finishing touches on the patch. When he
looked down and caught me staring at him, he winked at me, the ballsy
little bastard!

"You're gonna have to hold that for about five minutes, till it sets
up," he announced, stepping down off the stool. "I'm not tall enough,
otherwise I'd do it myself."

"No problem," I replied. "But if you could do me a quick favor I'd
appreciate it."

"Name it."

"Wipe the sweat out of my eyes." Salty water was pouring into my eyes by
now and it stung like hell.

"No problem at all, man." Ken took a towel off the pile on the dryer and
reached up to swab my face. His belly smacked against mine and he made
no effort to move away. I froze, hardly daring to breathe. What the fuck
was he doing? Why the fuck wasn't I protesting, making it loud and clear
that I had no desire to play any queer-boy games with anyone? Damn it!
With his face at about the level of my throat, I could feel his hot
breath ruffling the hair on my chest.

"How's that?" Ken asked, wiping my face and neck, and then slowly
dragging the towel down my torso till his hands were fluttering around
my waist.

"Fine," I sputtered. "How much longer for this stuff to set up?"

"A couple more minutes," he said, dropping the towel and slowly stroking
up my sides to reach my armpits. Then his fingers curled around my
biceps and Ken pressed his face into my reeking pit! The next thing I
knew he had started lapping up my sweat, sucking the beads of water out
of the curly hair that thatched my pits.

Ken was pressing his crotch against me as well, and I could feel his
cock’s hardness on my upper thigh. My brain was reeling as I tried to
figure some way to get him to stop. But hell, the truth was if I wanted
him to stop, all I had to do was ball up my fists and beat the living
shit out of him. I outweighed him by about forty pounds and I could have
floored him with a single punch. Instead, I stood there, my arms over my
head, pretending I was saving the world from the great flood while he
was licking me and humping my fucking leg.

"We can't do this," I blurted out, releasing the pipe.

"We are doing it, Mark," he sighed, nuzzling his face in the deep valley
that split my chest down the middle. Ken had his arms around me at this
point, stroking my back and tracing the ridges of muscles along my
spine. "Besides, man, I can tell you like this . . . a whole lot." He
slipped a hand between my legs and traced the outline of my throbbing
cock. The damned thing was hard as a steel bar, the head already sticky
with my juice. "You're one horny dude, Mark!"

That much was true, at least. I was always horny, which had led to some
tension in my marriage over the years. I could have done the job twice a
day, every day, and still wanted more. As it was, I was lucky to get it
once or twice a week, sometimes less. I'd never been a guy who was into
beating off either. That drained the pipes, but didn't file the point
off the horn — if you know what I mean. Since Lorie had been gone, I'd
been climbing the walls. But I hadn't done anything about it — not yet,
anyway.

"There's nothing wrong with it, I promise," Ken continued, seductively
grinding his hips against me. His dick was sticking over the top of the
waistband on his shorts by then, the head pulsing against my hairy
thigh. "I could make you feel real good . . . It feels to me like you've
got a root to reckon with." The plumber gave my prick a squeeze, his
fingers caressing my juice tube through the fabric of my cut-offs. "I'll
stop any time you say."

I didn't answer him, partly because I was afraid of what I'd say. Ken
looked at me for a long time. Then I guess he interpreted my silence to
mean consent because he sank to his knees and unbuttoned my fly. My cock
swung straight out in front of me, smacking Ken on the cheek and leaving
a string of slime that glistened on his face and neck. He grabbed my
meat with both hands, guiding the fat knob to his lips. My thighs tensed
into knots when he made contact, digging into my piss hole, milking me
for more juice. My balls were full of it and dick honey spurted out in
thick gobs, dripping down his chin. Ken moaned softly as he rubbed my
prick head over his full lips.

The minute Ken's hot mouth slipped over the head of my dick, his lips
tight and slippery on the shaft, I forgot any objections I might ever
have had about cock sucking. It was the wildest sensation I'd ever had.
My wife had tried giving head a couple of times. But her heart wasn't in
it and it had never become a regular part of our sex play. But Ken was
working my cock over from base to crown, his throat opening to take me
in deep.

"You've got a beautiful piece of meat, dude," Ken growled huskily,
leaning back on his haunches and looking up at me. "It's hot and it
pumps honey like nothing I've ever seen!" He milked the thick shaft and
rubbed my lube on the points of his nipples, making them glisten in the
light from the basement window. Then he went down on me again, polishing
the knob and swallowing me whole while his tongue flickered out to tease
my balls.

"I want that meat inside of me," Ken whispered, standing up and
rummaging through his toolbox. After a while he pulled out a foil
packet, ripped the seal with his teeth and a rubber plopped down onto
his thigh. Then he kissed my dick a few more times, sucking one last
mouthful of juice out of it before he capped the well.

"That's pretty wild looking," I chuckled when he had my dick snout
firmly encased. The first couple of inches of the latex sheath had
little nubs of rubber, like the tentacles of an anemone. The rest of it
was ridged at about one inch intervals, making my cock look like some
king of space-age sex toy. The pressure the tight latex created made me
so hard that my prick was pointing straight up towards the ceiling. Ken
gave me a lewd wink and finished unrolling the condom down its full
length.

"It doesn't look half as wild as it feels, Mark. I'll think you've grown
fingers on that big sticky knob of yours when it punches up deep inside
of me. I want it bad, man! Stick your big, hard cock in my ass." Then
the young plumber jumped up on top of the washer and leaned back,
slipping his hands behind his knees and pulling his legs up to his
chest.

The asshole puckered between his legs was pinker than his tits, tensed
up so tight it was vibrating. He looked so vulnerable right then, his
asshole bared, ready to let me use his body for my pleasure. My prick
slapped against my belly, my nuts drawn up on the shaft and pulled in
close. I grabbed my throbbing ramrod and took aim. The first time I
touched the tip against his asshole, it fluttered open a little, then
snapped back down tight.

I wet my finger and pushed it into Ken's butt. His hips wriggled and he
gobbled it up to the hilt. "Gimme another one," he moaned. "Loosen me up
a little. Stir it around. That's right. Oh, shit that feels good!
Stretch it out, Mark." Then he reached between his legs and grabbed the
long silky hairs on my belly, pulling me tight between his legs. "Fuck
me, man," he grunted, pushing my fingers out and using his getting the
peg lined up with the hole we were planning to pound it into.

His ass ring kept on resisting, but he tightened his grip on my fur and
thrust his hips up till I breached him. The sensation of heat and
tightness on my prick drove me nuts. I lunged my hips forward, driving
my spike in deep. Ken howled and grimaced with the pain, but I was so
desperate to get inside that I ignored his groans and rammed him again.
After five or six thrusts, my nuts were mashed up tight against his ass.
He was whimpering, but his cock was still hard and he was starting to
twist and writhe on top of the washer, fucking my dick with his entire
body.

I got into the act as well, humping his ass, slipping it out all the way
so I could see his fuck chute gaping when I left him, then frantically
punching it back in. Evidently the tickler on the rubber drove him
frigging nuts every time I punched his knob with it. His belly muscles
would ridge up and his cock would bounce and squirt, its pungent smell
mixing with the funk of our combined sweat.

I braced his feet on my chest and leaned forward, raising his hips into
the air. I started playing with his tits, chewing on the succulent
points of flesh that popped up against my tongue. He grabbed my biceps,
his fingers clamping down tight as I pumped away inside him like a
madman, building up enough heat to start a fire.

"Kiss me," Ken gasped, tangling his fingers in my hair and pulling my
mouth away from his chest. I thrust my tongue down his throat, the
sensation it gave me revving me up even more. Ken's tongue pushed back,
twisting around mine, slipping between my lips and tickling the roof of
my mouth.

It was the wildest sex I'd ever had — down there in the basement,
fucking the shit out of a hot, young plumber, for Chrissake! No matter
how hard and deep I thrust, or how wildly I stirred my thick, hard prong
around in his guts, he loved every minute of it. His hands had slipped
down to my ass and he would slap my butt every time I started pulling
out of him, encouraging me to pound it back home inside him.

The tight ring of his sphincter muscle grabbed at every one of those
damned ridges on the rubber, making my balls tingle. He had his arms
around my neck, fiercely sucking on my tongue, his mouth working there
as frantically as his asshole on my cock. I clasped my hands behind his
shoulders and pulled him up off the washer, his whole weight hanging off
my prick. Then Ken hooked his legs around my waist and held on tight,
his prick crushed tightly between our heaving bellies.

"Fuck me, fuck me, pound it in deep," he chanted, his eyes glazed, his
body slick with sweat as he bucked and writhed in my arms. I bent my
knees slightly, my hips pumping, bouncing him up and down, now forcing
every inch of my swollen root into the tight, hot hollow between his
hot, muscular ass cheeks. It was like I wanted to climb right up inside
of him, my meat leading the way.

"Oh shit, man, I'm gonna !" he howled, his body tensing like a coiled
spring.

When I felt his thick, hot cream gush up over my belly, I lost it as
well. One shot caught me under the chin, strings of his white goo
dripping down onto my pecs. My knees buckled as I blew my own load,
filling the tip of the safe, the volume of spunk I pumped forcing the
slippery heat to ooze slowly down the shaft till it started dripping
down and out onto my nuts. We stayed together there on the floor for
quite a while — me on my knees, Ken holding on like a monkey clinging to
a tree in a hurricane, his face pressed close to my neck.

"That was intense," he said, finally relaxing his hold on me.

"Yeah," I chuckled, stroking his hard ass, "I had no idea that plumbing
could be so much fun!" We were both still rock-hard, his hot asshole
making the fire in my belly start to flare again. "Do you have to
leave?" I asked, hoping he'd say no.

"I never leave till a job is finished," he growled, tangling his fingers
in the sticky mat of hair on my chest. "And this job is far from being
completed." Then Ken leaned forward to kiss me and we rolled onto the
floor, starting to fuck again in the hot, lazy afternoon.

-------------------------
Thanks to original poster in Yahoo! gaymagazinefiction group!
Enjoy!