Joe the Welder - 2. "How'd ya do that?"

I'd settled down into a couple of weeks of work insanity. Through the miracle of self-overbooking, I'd managed to get in 2 required ongoing education classes, 3 shifts of answering phones at the real estate office to pick up clients as they'd call in or walk in for info on properties, and every other spare moment spent showing properties to those new clients, plus all the other paperwork that real estate agents HAVE to do. (Nope, it's NOT a glamorous life, but it keeps me busy, lets me make some money occasionally, and I really do meet interesting people! Not a bad career!) Thankfully, this mid-Saturday afternoon, with me on the phones, actually was quiet, and I was making progress on the mountain of followup paperwork that I'd moved from my desk to the front desk in the lobby.

And, quite frankly, after my initial confusion from the encounter of Joe's hand with my dick in his bathroom, and the “let's just be friends” speech he'd given, I just kinda pushed it all out of my head, and figured at some point we would connect again—as casual friends—and then go from there.

My cell phone rang.

My “spidey sense” was dinging, and without even looking at the caller ID, I answered “Hi, Joe.....what's going on?” And don't make a big deal of that spidey sense thing---we've all had moment's like that, right? Knowing who was calling before you answered?

“Come on down, let me buy you a drink. I'm at Norma Jean's. Great day to relax.” Norma Jean's was the bar I'd dropped him off at almost 3 weeks ago after I'd gotten that tongue-dueling kiss in the parking lot of the Main Street Bar.

“I'm at work, but almost done here, buddy. I'll be there in 30 minutes.”

Thirty or 40 minutes later, I was seated at the bar at Norma Jean's, Joe on my right. Never been there, interesting place. Imagine a free-standing chain drug store building converted into a bar. Bland tan brick exterior with a parking lot surrounding it on 3 sides. High ceiling inside. Mostly fluorescent lighting, with the exception of some hanging lights over the bar, and spotlights over the multiple pool tables lined up against both far walls. Formica-covered bar in the shape of a rectangle mounted almost dead center in the building. Damn near more of a pool hall than just a bar. Thankfully, half of the fluorescents overhead were out—don't know if they were wired to switch off, or if management removed the bulbs to add some ambiance. Unfortunately, bar ambiance was in short supply—it was too bright, and maintained all the warmth and charm of a doctor's waiting room.

Did I mention the babyshit yellow walls? Or the cheap artificial palms/ferns thrown in haphazard places? Or the bar's reputation for regular drunk fights and official cop visits?

In other words, the bar from hell.

On the other side of the bar from us were a trio of loud women, apparently already half -drunk. An elderly man to our far left was slumped over the bar, head next to his drink, checking out his bourbon glass for fingerprints, I guess. A handful of guys playing pool at the tables, friendly banter underway. It was a light crowd.

Joe and I made small talk. He'd really gotten on the fast track at work and was now a supervisor. A guy at his job went past his shitty apartment everyday to work on the same shift schedule, so despite the fact of no car, Joe paid the guy gas money and had a regular job transportation. Another guy there was a church-going man, so he'd gone with him to church for the past couple of Sunday's, then back to his place, where he'd do Sunday lunch with the man and his family. Joe was finally making friends, had a job he loved, and everything was falling into place.

With the exception of his apartment. Landlord wouldn't make repairs, pushed Joe to pay outstanding late charges from Brandon's time in the unit, and had already warned him that the rent would be going up substantially when the lease expired in 2 months.

“Don't worry, you'll find the perfect place. I can see a townhouse in your future!”, I'd said, “and you know I'm right on this.”

Again, where'd the hell did THAT come from?

Another “spidey-sense” moment, again, without the bells and whistles. Damn, don't understand that!

Now understand, in this town, there simply aren't that many townhouses around. You'll have apartments that have been converted to condos, starter homes that are now rentals for the retired owners, and then mid-to-upscale homes that were already priced well beyond Joe's very modest budget. I don't do the rental market anymore, but I knew that to meet all of Joe's criteria was gonna be damn near impossible.

We both lit another smoke, and got another round, continuing our small talk. Beyond a new place to live, Joe was itching for a vehicle. He'd found a motorcycle for $5 grand, had saved up a downpayment, and was gonna get it. Despite the nasty winter forecast for this area, typically cold rainy days that rival London or Seattle in terms of “drear” factor, he was persistent on how cool it'd be to have a bike.

“Dude, you'll end up like me—a happy minivan driver, wondering why you'd want anything else,” I laughed. “You don't wanna deal with the hassles or safety issue of a bike when it starts seriously raining in a couple of months. And you'll be under-the-radar cool, too!”

GEEZ.....twice in one conversation? Again, no bells or whistles, no tingly spidey-sense. I'm NOT a psychic, but as soon as I'd said it, I fuckin KNEW it'd happen.

Joe had to take a leak, so walked away for a few minutes. The guys were still shooting pool, and the trio of women—now down to two--were still loudly talking, one complaining about what a jerk her boyfriend was for some obscure reason. Still a quiet group for a Saturday afternoon. Guess everyone was saving their energy and money to go out later tonight.

At that moment, I noticed Joe coming out of the men's room....when he promptly literally ran into the missing woman of the trio. Couldn't hear 'em, but could see him apologize, when suddenly she leaned in, kissed him hard, and whispered something in his ear. He actually blushed, endearingly so.

He made it back to the bar, ordered another beer, and sat. I'd asked about the woman, told him I'd seen the bump, and asked if she were ok.

“Yup, just not paying attention after I came out of the john. And she obviously wasn't hurt—after kissing me, she asked if I wanted to fuck her later.” He grinned that mega-watt smile.

“So? You about to get laid tonite?”

“Nah, told her I was with you.”

Wait, what?

“You sure you want to put that out there, buddy? If I remember, this is a pretty regular hangout for you and for Brandon. Word of that gets out, it's not gonna help your breeder-boy reputation. And your nephew is gonna freak.” Sure my face still had my eyebrows buried up in my hairline in surprise.

“Fuck 'em. She's a whore, has pretty much slept with everyone in the bar, and if anything's said, I'll just say it's the lie of a drunk, bitter slut.” He grinned.

Small talk continued. I'd already finished my scotch, needed to get more smokes on the way home, and was just about to ask if Joe was ready to head out. (I'd drop him off since he'd walked the half-mile or so to the bar.) As I'm gathering my stuff to get ready to head out, there's a hand on my right mid-thigh...and it's moving upwards.

I just looked over. Joe grinned big. “Couldn't resist seeing your response, buddy. Somehow I think you're enjoying it.”

Fuck, yeah, I was! I'd hardened up in my dress slacks, and went to steel-rod-hard when Joe wrapped his hand around my cock. Still looking at me intently, but saying nothing, he started a small up and down motion with his hand. His shoulders didn't move, so no one at the bar could see that he was all but jacking me off. The fly of my boxers had released my dick, so now only a thin layer of dress slack material lay between my cock and Joe's subtle massage. Couldn't make complete sentences at this point.

Joe laughed that charming laugh of his, and moved his hand back up to the bar. “Thought it was only fair, Rex.....you always keep me off balance, thought it was my chance to give it back to you!”

Huh?

I keep HIM off balance? He wants to be friends, but I keep HIM off balance? He's the one kissing, grabbing my dick, constantly checking me out, and HE'S off balance? He's feeling me up in a straight bar, and I'm keeping HIM off balance? I've been a fuckin gentleman, and HE'S off balance?

“Let's get out of here, I'm ready,” he says.

“Give me a couple of minutes,” pointing at my still-hard prick in my pants. “I can't leave like this.” The bastard just grinned big again. “OK.”

A few minutes later, we're getting in my van and the ride to his place was quiet. What could I say—I had NO clue what was going on. As we pulled in at his place, I turned and said we needed to talk.

“You're my friend, and I love hanging out with you,” he said as he leaned in to kiss me a hot kiss that was far more than friendship. “I'll call you next week, maybe do dinner?” With that, he grabbed the door handle and was gone.

I sat there for a few minutes, just thinking. Finally decided he was a straight boy with an offbeat sense of humor, and the constant tease was just his fratboy style of fun. Maybe best to push it into it's own compartment....and yet, there's no denying I was attracted. Oh, well, it is what it is.

The following Saturday morn, another breathless phone call. “MAN-you-won't-believe-it-but-I got-a-van-a-mechanic-at-church-was-selling-his-wife's-van-it's-got-a-lot-of-miles-but-its-in-great-shape-can-I-come-over-and-show-it-to you?” Yup, all done in one breath. I gave him my address, got out a mug for his coffee, and pulled on shorts and a tshirt.

Although an older model, the van WAS in great shape...and the engine could barely be heard despite it's miles. Interior in good shape, a minor parking lot ding on the back passenger fender, but it looked great, all things considered—and he'd gotten it for only $2500. Less than half of what he was gonna spend on the motorcycle. With the savings he'd done, he'd been able to buy it outright.

After praising his purchase, we settled on the patio with coffee. He's giving me a really strange look.

“How'd you do that?”

“What?” Yeah, I'm NOT a morning man even at my best—ya can't expect deep thoughts anytime before 10:00 am.

“Predict what'll happen. You predicted my job down to the day. You predicted the van. Only thing I'm waiting for is the townhouse, and I'll suck your dick to say thanks. I just wanna know how ya do it.” His gaze could have ignited the morning paper, even though I'd seriously considered grabbing it from the patio table and hiding behind it when he started this conversation.

“Hell, I dunno.....guess you inspire me.” I smiled my winningest smile, hoping he'd get distracted, and we could let this drop, since I had NO idea why those comments really did happen. I'll admit I DO get flashes of insight from time to time, but anything I'd say at this point would make me sound like an idiot—including the truthful admission of “I don't know”, which somehow manages to sound evasive.

No such luck distracting him. “It doesn't make a difference with you and me, I'm just curious.” And then HE smiled. “It's no big deal, just curious.”

“ 'With you and me'—what does THAT mean? I didn't know there WAS a 'you and me'.”

“I'm still your friend, regardless of how you do it.”

“Oh.”

Can ya tell I'm still confused about what's going on?

Another week goes by, and Joe calls on Sunday morning at 9:30, just as 'CBS Sunday Morning'—my favorite show—is going off. “You gotta come over and see my new place!” He was damn near shouting, but at least he didn't pull the breathless thing he normally did when excited.

“New place?”

"Yup, a guy I work with told me they were renting his grandmother's place. She can't do the stairs of a townhouse anymore, and has moved to her daughter's in Houston. They wanted someone who could take care of the place, make some minor improvements like paint and handyman stuff. Since the place is paid for, and they knew me, and knew I did handyman stuff, they cut me a deal on the rent. I got moved yesterday!”

“Man, I'd have helped, you should have called!”

“Knew you were probably working on Saturday, but it was fast and smooth, no issues. And it's amazing how much you can put in a damn minivan!”

He gave directions, I showered, got dressed and headed over. The townhouse was near the historic district, and although an older complex, the properties were far better maintained than his last place. No cars on blocks in the parking lot, and a fresh coat of paint on the trim of the clubhouse and parking lot stripes.

Joe met me at the door with a big mug of coffee, complete with sugar and cream, just the way I like it. “Come on in, lemme give ya the nickel tour.”

Great L-shaped layout inside, with a big combo living room/dining room overlooking the enclosed courtyard. Stairs going up, with a half-bath tucked underneath. The small kitchen had newer appliances, and the breakfast area already had Joe's table—an outdoor round glass topped table he'd scavenged from someone at work. Washer and dryer hid behind a bi-fold doors. And the breakfast area had sliding patio doors to open to the courtyard.

Upstairs, was a small guest bedroom, Joe said he'd use when relatives came into town. (Live near New Orleans, and everyone comes to see you!) Full bath accessible from both bedrooms. Then the Master bedroom. Big, it's own private bath, and a balcony overlooking the courtyard below. Nice.

Joe had made real progress....clothes were hanging in the closets, a couple of boxes had been unpacked with socks and underwear shoved into a small chest of drawers. Joe had gotten his TV set up on top of the chest, and he could lie in his now assembled bed and watch TV before sleep.

I turned around, and complimented Joe on his new place, truly happy it'd worked out for him.

“You've done well, sport! It's a great place!”

“Glad ya like it! I do too, think it'll work out great.” And with that he, pushed hard on the center of my chest and pushed me down on the unmade bed. And yeah, I'd finished my coffee, so no worries about spills!

Joe totally fumbled briefly with the button and fly on my shorts before pulling 'em down to my ankles. Boxers were quickly and efficiently yanked down, too. Joe stops for a moment and looks up at me.

“Third time's the charm. I'd promised ya a blow job if the townhouse came through. I'm paying up.”

Joe went to work.

Sitting on the floor between my spread legs, Joe used his arms to pin my thighs in place against the mattress. My prick was at full mast, with Joe licking up my right thigh. And rather than lie back, close my eyes, and just go with the moment, I propped my torso up with my elbows, and watched as he worked his way up. Joe didn't waste time, because the next thing I knew his nose was buried between my thigh and my crotch, he's sniffing, lapping at my ball sack, and moaning—a raw sound of lust and satisfaction.

Swallowing my left ball, he used his mouth to tug at my sack, and his tongue to add a little pressure to my left ball. Just enough pressure to be interesting, enough of a tug to seemingly make my balls light up with even more desire. Yeah, this is going great—I tend to be rather energetic during sex, bordering on rough, and this was right up my alley. Rough and tumble energetic sex is just what the doc ordered...and fuck yeah if Joe wasn't on the same page as me on this. My right ball was next on the menu, and got the same treatment as it's buddy.

Joe's next move was to attempt to get both balls in his mouth—and despite much effort, that just didn't work. He licked, sucked, tugged, tried using his hand to slightly compress both balls into his mouth, but it wasn't to be. Yeah, I'm loving the effort, though. Ball work is part of the fun, and Joe was manhandling my nuts just the way I loved.

And don't think that I was just lying there in blissful quiet—oh, no, I was apparently providing the sound track from a bad porn DVD as I became religious (“Oh, God! Jesus!”), swore (“Fuck”, “oh, shit”, “motherfucker”) and coached (“yeah, suck my fucking balls harder, let 'em slide back in that hot fucking mouth of yours”, “work on those balls harder, they love it like that”). Joe was adding the backup sound track with moans and gasps as he worked me over.

I somehow managed to slide back on the bed, with my back now against the headboard. Joe had pulled his own magic trick, and had gotten my shorts and boxers completely off, as well as getting his shorts off, too. He'd never let his ball work slow as I moved on the bed, and was now lying between my spread legs.

He was obviously working toward my cock....and I was now granite hard, leaking precum on my belly as my dick arched toward my chest. Yup, I leak a lot, and Joe's face was smearing it all around my crotch as he licked up one side of my cock and down the other. He stopped for a minute, slurped on my belly as though my precum was the caramel topping on an ice cream cone, looked me squarely in the eyes, and said, “it fucking tastes great! I want more!” The fucker grinned big, and with that, he made a loop with his thumb and forefinger around the top of my ballsack, tugged down firmly on my sack, trapping my balls in the hollow of his fist, and making my cock stand straight up. With a loud inhale, Joe impaled his mouth on my prick.

Dracula docked with my dick.

SHIT!

My instinct for self-preservation kicked in, and my dom top side came out. Grabbing his head in both hands, I pulled him up off my sensitive cock, gently slapped his face, and growled, “Use your lips boy; watch your teeth; take your time....no need to rush”. I wasn't pissed at all—very much pleased with his enthusiasm—but I did want some skin left on my cock to enjoy the blowjob. With that, I pulled his mouth back on my pulsing dick.

Just those few words changed Joe's approach. This time, his lips formed a perfect “o”, as he suctioned in my prick. I watched as my cock got progressively slicker, and Joe settled into a nice rhythm. He'd even started to swirl his tongue around the head on the upstroke. His ball work continued as he used my his fist to gently squeeze and tug my nuts. Damn, he was really getting better by the second. The coaching paid off nicely.

I was roughing up his hair, massaging his neck and shoulders with my hands, and letting him know how great he was doing. I'd tried to pull him up for a kiss—and told him so--but keeping my dick in his mouth, he just shook his head and kept up his work. He was giving a no-strings-attached blow job, and wouldn't let me interfere. I love to kiss, but hell, I'm not gonna mess with a man on a mission!

I DID manage to use my fingers to start tugging at his shirt, managing to get the tshirt bunched around his neck and armpits. Stopping only for a second, Joe shrugged the shirt off and went back to what had now become a good but obviously first time blow.

I leaned forward a little as Joe continued his rhythmic moves, and worked my fingers through the fur on his chest to his nipples. They found their target, and the moment they touched his nipples, it was like an electric current charged through his body. He groaned around my cock, his throat contracted, and I honestly thought he'd had an orgasm. Hot damn, love it when a guy's tits are sensitive—I can help him enjoy it all even more.

Pinching and twisting his tits only increased Joe's moans and his work on my crotch. His hand squeezed my balls even further into their sack, his mouth contracted even more on my cock, his head started twisting and turning as my prick got deeper and deeper in his throat, and his moans of satisfaction getting louder and longer. Fuck, yeah, my tit work was really paying off—for both of us.

Seconds—or hours—later (I'd totally lost all track of time), my moment of orgasm arrived. “I'm gonna blow Joe.....goddamn here it comes!” I figured Joe would back off and finish me with his hand, since most straight guys have a love/hate relationship with cum—love it when they cum, love it when a hot mouth takes it, but hate the idea of taking cum themselves.

Joe was a trooper, though, and kept up the hot action. I started to blast, and Joe just kept his mouth pumping up and down, swallowing every drop. At this point, you'd have thought I'd just swam the English Channel, based on my gasping and panting. No way to speak, I could only tussle his hair to let him know he did well. I may have fuckin' blacked out, but can't be sure.

Joe's now next to me up on the bed as I'm slumped over. He leans in for a kiss, looking at me with laser eyes. Sloppy, wet, lots of tongue action, the flavor residue of my cum remaining in his mouth. I may be in heaven. He then pulls away, and gives me a little boy look while asking, “How'd I do?”

“Fucking great! Nicest orgasm I've had in a while!” All that was true...and now the moment of truth...”How'd YOU like it?”

“I fucking LOVED it!!!! Makes me wonder why I haven't done that before now! And you taste fucking GREAT!!” And I suddenly noticed his dick was slick and shiny. He'd cum during his first ever blowjob. I never saw him pumping his cock, could he have cum hands free with just his work on my prick? I'll try to remember to ask about it later—if my still foggy brain can remember.

“Now, you gonna tell me how you knew all this stuff was gonna happen?”