A Clean Up Man

Man.

Part 1

Married Man Fever

Chapter 1

A Working Man

Have you ever been fucked in the ass so hard that it felt like the dick was going to pop out your chest like the little alien popped out of the man’s chest in the movie Alien? Well, that was what I was feeling like right about now as this skinny brother was giving me the fucking of my life. I was getting it in good, too. There was nothing like well-hung man who knew how to use his pipe. Besides the dick, the thrill of doing a married man sent me over. It was like I was Evel Knievel getting ready to jump out of a plane tied up in a straitjacket. I could lose some money and maybe get fucked up real good if we got caught in this position, but this dick he was throwing at me was well worth it. I needed the money but I really wanted the dick. Usually, it was like flipping a coin. Heads or tail? But in this scenario, he got some head and some tail. We were both winning, as Charlie Sheen says it.

Ahhhh shittttt! I clamped my ass muscles around his dick and tried to push him off of me with one hand and hold on to the edge of the bathroom sink that I was supposed to be fixing with the other. They had some water leakage that needed to be dealt with, but we were working on a different type of plumbing problem at the moment.

Slowwww . . . down, I grunted, but he was not hearing it. It was like he was trying to finish fast. I always wondered why men tried to fuck fast like it was a race or something. They all had that bank robber approach going on: get in and get out as fast as you can.

Damn, you so fucking tight, he grunted as he slammed into me again. We had knocked all of the ceramic decor off of the sink during the beginning of our fuckfest. I guessed his wife wasn’t giving it to him like she should have, because pulling his ass and getting the dick was a little too easy. Her ass didn’t have a good choice in color schemes, either, because her brown and purple bathroom didn’t do it for me. She had everything coordinated, or uncoordinated for that matter: bathmats, floral shower curtains, and the paint job. Ray Charles probably could have done a better job.

My wife . . . He huffed as he continued to drill into me. My wife ain’t got nothing on you. Damn, you feel so good.

Uh huh, I moaned as I pushed back against his lap, driving his pipe deep inside of me. I was getting used to the size now. He was stroking me some kind of terrible. I knew I would have welts on me from him banging so hard into me while I was strewn across this sink. It was well worth it, though. Believe that. You doing it, daddy! Knock a couple of screws loose. Drill that hole! I egged him on.

Dude behind me was still going to town and I was still enjoying.

I think I heard the front door open, I said as I peeked over my shoulder as he pumped away. I knew it was the door because I heard it squeak when I entered their house the first time. I just wanted to bring it to his attention.

Oh, shit . . . My wife. His dumb ass was butterball naked and his clothes were in his bedroom where we started. I had mistakenly walked in on him as he came out of his master bathroom, which was attached to the master bedroom. He was all dripping wet from the shower he just took and my eyes lingered just little bit too long at the bulge underneath the Egyptian cotton towel that he had around his waist. Next thing I knew I was on my knees devouring his massive piece of meat. Instinct had told me to suggest to him to do me in this bathroom, closer to the steps that led downstairs. Like a dummy he was thinking with the wrong head and let his dick be his guide.

Get the fuck off of me. I pushed him off so I could get myself together. I simply pulled up my pants and placed my work belt back on. He was like a deer caught in headlights. I just looked at his ass, because I was fully dressed and he was still standing there stark naked. He couldn’t risk being caught coming out of the bathroom naked and running into his wife. So I had to do some quick thinking and fast.

Lawwwrence . . . Lawwwrence . . . Lawwwrence . . . Her voice got closer and closer. She was still calling his name as we both heard her footsteps coming up the uncarpeted steps.

Up there, dumbass. I pointed up and he looked at me with fear. A few seconds went by and his dumb ass finally put his hands and feet on opposite ends of the wall and scaled it with the agility of Spider-Man. Thankfully, the bathroom was the right size for him to get up to the top comfortably.

Hi . . . Have you seen my husband? She knocked on the door and came in.

I inspected all eleven inches of his dick if that counts, I thought. It took everything in me to keep myself together as she talked to me. I just wanted to get the hell out of their house with my body intact.

No . . . I was in here working. Everything in me was screaming and praying that this guy’s legs and arms would hold out. I had some confidence, but all the pumping he was doing fucking me made me a little leery. Maybe he left out for some supplies or something, I suggested, hoping she would get the hell out of the bathroom.

Oh . . . Okay. She looked confused. She went to walk out and then turned back around. You hungry? That’s when the impossible happened. The condom that dude forgot to take off hit her square in the middle of her forehead. She looked up and saw her husband and he had a silly-ass smirk on his face.

Hey, baby. Everything okay?

His ass is the biggest dummy ever. Why do I always get the ones with the big dicks and small brains?

Fuck! I bolted past her.

Not again, Lawrence! You said the last guy was the last guy! I’m going to kill your ass this time! I heard her yell at him as I made my way down the stairs.

I hopped in my truck and peeled that truck out of there so fast that I did a tailspin before I could get full control of the truck. I looked back over my shoulder when I got about two blocks away. I was breathing extremely hard.

Shit! Shit! Shit! I banged the steering wheel. A couple of blocks later I pulled into the parking lot of Lowe’s on Route 40. I reclined my chair all the way and thanked God for not getting my ass shot or stabbed. Then I smiled; I had a flashback of the sex that I just encountered. Dude was no joke in the dick department for sure.

Well, let me formally introduce myself. I’m Kraig. I am an independent building contractor and I did house jobs like this all the time. I was breaking up concrete and marriages all at the same time. Well, not really breaking them up, but having sex with the husbands didn’t help. I didn’t do it on purpose. My ass got me in trouble most of the time, literally. And this was just another one of those times. I had a pretty round behind and it was little more plump then the average man, but not big as an average woman’s behind. It was just enough to get a man attention. I was the average man, about five foot seven inches, when it came to build, size, and stature. Some muscle, curly black hair that was usually pulled back in a ponytail or done in cornrows. You see, to most unsuspecting couples, I was just a masculine, sports-watching, beer-drinking, cocky, bullheaded brother. That was true. I wasn’t the gay guy you saw on RuPaul’s Drag Race. I was the complete opposite; when you saw me on the street you’d probably try to holler at me. But I was what they call the clean up man, too. It wasn’t always easy to get these men to give up the goods, but some were just begging to be turned out. And the wives and girlfriends simply didn’t treasure the meat they had at home. Their nagging and complaining about the simplest things, and I would swoop in and scoop him up and then spit him out. Constant complaints like not washing the dishes and then I’ll hold out the sex on him, or if he doesn’t listen to your every suggestion, and then you’ll hold out the sex on him. After a while your man is going get tired of you rolling over and he is going to start rolling over onto someone else. And, man, I did a lot of rolling in the last past couple of years. You see, you women are looking for the signs that your man is gay. Here’s a heads-up: there is no sign. You don’t find out until you find out. It could be the mailman, the milkman, the sandman, or me—the clean up man.

Be warned, ladies, about leaving your men alone with me because my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard . . . lol. Yours could be next.

I know what you are saying. You think I’m a whore, but I disagree. A whore has to look for his next supply. My supply comes to me most of the time.

I was contracted to come in to do a job and ended up doing the husband as well. It wasn’t every case, but I was running a solid 70 percent average. It was white, black, Asian, Hispanic, and even Pakistani men. Baltimore had all kinds of downlow men and they all had equal opportunity to fuck me or get fucked, sometimes both and usually in the house that I was fixing up.

Damn, I left my tools! I popped back up in my seat. It wasn’t the first time I had done it. And I was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

You are one bad boy. I smiled as I looked at myself in my rearview mirror. I reached behind me because in my small back seat was a clean-up kit that I had for occasions just like this. It contained some Wet Ones, a washcloth, a travel-sized body wash, mouthwash, and some cologne. I quickly pulled my hair back into a ponytail and exited my Ford F-150 and made my way into Lowe’s. When I got in the store, I made a beeline for the bathroom. I needed a quick clean up before I got in reach of anyone. I had me and dude’s sweat all over me and it wasn’t a good look to be walking around smelly and grimy. I was in and out of the bathroom in about ten minutes. Thankfully, there wasn’t anyone else in the bathroom.

Hey, Kraig! A white male Lowe’s employee waved as I walked out of the bathroom on to the store’s main floor. I felt like the fat guy, Norm, on the television show Cheers, because everybody in here knew my name. I grabbed a cart and moved toward the aisles that I needed to visit.

I had to replace some of my tools. Now was as good a time as any. I loved my job and I loved fixing up houses. I hated losing my tools, though. Thank goodness that didn’t happen that often. I usually got it in with dudes whose wives were out of town or something like that. Today was the biggest risk I had taken in a long time. It was worth it for sure. I loved the rush, the dick, and the money, but the thrill was almost as good as getting a good nut, which I didn’t get this time around. It was just like crackheads after they get high the first time; they are constantly on the journey to find a high just like the first one.

I walked down the aisles, picking up tools that I knew I left behind. I felt my phone vibrating. I picked it up and looked at it. It was an unknown number. I picked it up because it could have been a job opportunity. I listed my cell phone under my ad in the paper and on the Internet so that I wouldn’t miss any jobs. I loved money, too.

Hello, Kraig speaking. I had to put on my professional voice. I could be ghetto at times.

Um . . . Ah . . . Ah. I heard a female voice stutter and pause.

Can I help you? I asked, confused by the silence.

I . . . I . . . I’m sorry. I thought this was a woman’s number. I was going through my husband, Howard’s, phone. He’s been sneaky lately and I thought he was cheating on me. I was wrong. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.

Howard was cheating. You just got the gender mixed up. No problem. I am a private contractor. I probably did some work on your house or something like that. I didn’t recognize her voice and she didn’t recognize mine, and her husband’s name I didn’t really care to remember, until now, even though the dick probably was good. It was a one-time thing. She was probably out of town when I worked on her house.

Ohhhhh. She sounded like a weight was lifted off of her shoulders. She even chuckled a little. I am such a fool. I was out of town visiting my sister for two weeks and came home to a newly done kitchen. By the way, you did a fabulous job.

Thank you. I beamed with pride. Your husband wanted to surprise you for your birthday. He gave me a present as well.

It’s a lovely gift indeed and I’m so sorry for wasting your time, sir. Have a great day and I will be sure to recommend you to some of my friends.

Thank you. I closed my Nextel and breathed a sigh of guilt. And little did she know I was sexing her husband, who I now knew as Howard.

Howard was a nerdy-looking white guy with a fetish for dark meat. He wasn’t much to look at in the face but he had a short but thick dick with freckles that was the width of a soda can. He tried to split my ass in half. I had to call him and let him know that his wife called me and also let him know that one sexual encounter was enough.

I know what you are saying: why have sex with a married man? As I said before, most of the time these men would approach me about sex. I rarely propositioned a married man in his house. He had to make the first move. I value my life, highly. That was why I carried condoms in a secret compartment in my toolbox. Which reminded me I needed to make my way over to Wal-Mart to replace the ones I’d just left behind.

I grabbed all of my replacement tools, paid for them, and made my way home. I was exhausted and needed to shower and crawl into bed.

After I got out of the shower I thought about the fact that I could get in trouble with the Better Business Bureau after what happened at the house in Catonsville today.

Nah, she’s not going to call anyone. I laughed as I spoke to myself. What’s she going to say, ‘I just caught my husband doing the guy who was fixing my house’? I rolled over and rested easy.

Chapter 2

Mr. Soda Pop

I was awakened by someone in my room opening the curtains and letting the morning sunlight into my room.

Rise and shine, sleepyhead. The smile across my best friend’s face greeted me as I tussled with my pillows and peeked a single eye at him. He was known for these types of stunts. For a brief second, I thought about taking the key back that I gave him when I first moved in. But that was just a thought. He was my best friend and I loved every part of him. He lived at home with him mom, but he spent time at my house from time to time as well.

Whoever heard of a gay man with a straight best friend? It was a first for me. He and my momma and his momma were the only ones who really knew I was gay. Carlos was a full-blooded Puerto Rican. Born in Puerto Rico, but moved to Baltimore and raised in the hood. I shook my head at the thought of his momma living in and raising a Puerto Rican kid in an all-black neighborhood. He swore he was black now. He hadn’t gotten the memo that he wasn’t. He had the act down, though. We were the same age, twenty-nine. He was fair skinned while I had a toasted-caramel tone. I had deep brown eyes and thick eyebrows.

Carlos’s hair was short and curly and he still had a small accent left in his voice, mostly from being around his mom.

He had no problems being my friend from the day we met in elementary school. He was one of the first people I came out to in college.

I’m . . . I’m . . . gay, I yelled out as we were running around the track in college one day in our junior year. We were both on the track and field team. It was just us two out on the track that sunny but breezy day and I figured that it was now or never. I had to let someone know. It was getting to be a chore keeping it to myself. We had talked about just about anything with each other.

What? He stopped suddenly. I did the same. He rested, bent over, with his hands on his knees. I don’t understand.

I like guys. I like men. I stood with my arms on my hips, breathing hard as I looked at him intensely. He just looked at me back. I was waiting for him to say something or just walk away from me.

Okay. He stood up and smiled.

I breathed a sigh of relief. That was one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my life.

Really? I asked, still unsure if he was getting ready to turn on me or punch me. It was unexpected for him to just say okay. You heard what I said, right?

I heard you, Kraig. He walked over to the fence where we had our towels and bottled water, took a swig of water, and wiped the sweat off of his brow. I don’t care what you do with men. You’re my best friend and I stand by that. Just don’t try any shit with me. I do punany only. He laughed.

Okay. I smiled. I promise.

Good. He stretched a little. Oh, and one more thing. Don’t ever, ever, ever, ever talk to me about what you do or who you did. I don’t need any visuals, okay?

Okay, I agreed.

That was the first and only time we had to discuss it. He never once treated me differently.

Don’t you have to deliver some soda or something? I groaned as I sat up in my bed and adjusted my eyes to the sunlight that seemed to be pointing only in my direction.

I’m off today, punk. He smirked as he grabbed the remote to my television and sat on my bed, flipping through channels. There were days I wished I wouldn’t have given him a key to my place. But then I knew he was the only one I could trust with it.

I keep telling you not to just pop up. You could have walked in on me and a dude getting it on on my living room floor and it would have forever been burned into your memory.

He just shook his head and he continued to look at television.

Or me sticking my dick in a dude at full force. I’m telling you it would have been a sight to see. I laughed, knowing it was making him cringe on the inside.

Dude . . . Dude . . . Dude! was all he could say while shaking his head vigorously.

I got up out of the bed and made my way to the bathroom to clean myself up. Beyoncé was shaking her ass on the screen as I walked past. I was sure Carlos was trying to burn the images of what I just said from his brain by watching her every move. I loved my best friend, I really did.

What are we doing today? I yelled from the bathroom as I turned on the shower.

Don’t know, but it’s your turn to decide. On a regular basis we both went out and had a day together, just us two men. We did everything that most men did together: go-cart racing, paintball fights, dirt bikes, pool, you name it we did it. Most people thought that at twenty-nine years old we should have been doing more adult things, but we both made a pact to be young at heart for as long as possible. We both worked hard and played even harder. In the hood, we both had seen some very gruesome deaths in our lives: drive-bys and robberies and a few stabbings. We knew that tomorrow was not promised, so why not get it in when we could?

I got in the shower and thought about the possibilities. Fifteen minutes later, I was out of the shower and walking into my room with a towel wrapped around my waist. I went straight to the dresser to get a pair of boxer briefs to put on. After grabbing a pair I grabbed the cocoa butter lotion off of my dresser and sat on the side of my bed. Carlos was still sitting at the edge of the bed watching television.

Hey, we can probably try that new rock climbing place they opened up in Towson. I was putting lotion on my body as I talked.

Sure, sounds like fun, he said without looking my way. He was watching the Beyoncé tour special. She was really going at it as I glanced at the television and continued to put my underwear on. I put on my deodorant and threw on a V-neck T-shirt. I pulled on some cargo pants and a Ralph Lauren polo. I finished myself off by spraying myself with UR cologne by Usher.

I’m ready, I called out to Carlos, who was intensely watching Beyoncé. I had to admit she had an effect on men, just not on me. Finally, I had to walk over in front of him to get his attention. I’m ready.

Oh . . . Okay. He grabbed the remote and flicked the television off.

We walked out of the house and jumped into his green Range Rover.

Driving down the highway in Carlos’s jeep I was somewhere else. Far off in my past. Carlos was talking and I was nodding but my mind was in my past. Where I had been, what I had been through, and where I thought I was headed. None of which I could really talk about with anyone. I had done some things in my past, some things that I dared not talk about: sex in cars, sex in professors’ offices, sex in car garages, a threesome, and more. A lot of it with married men. Yes, I loved it. The