Handy and randy

Barry Lowe puts the move on a string of delivery people, handymen and tradies to help loosen his bolts and tighten his nuts.

One day about a week ago I stayed home for a steady procession of delivery people and handymen, deciding to get everything over and done with in one day with the least amount of disruption. I stayed in especially. Who am I kidding? I’m always home, I only ever go out these days for something over eight inches and that’s usually a cucumber or a zucchini from the local supermarket.

If it were live sausage, hell, I’d go out for any size as long as it could stay hard.

By one of those incredible miracles all the delivery men, yes they were all men, turned up on time. The first was an older gentlemen dropping off a package, alas, not his own. It was stationery. Our intercom seemed to be on the blink and the gent had to lean in to listen for my instructions on floor number etc. When he arrived at the door, I apologised for the lack of volume.

“Not a problem,” he said, “I only have about a third of my hearing these days.”

I looked puzzled.

“Courtesy of my misspent youth,” he smiled. “You have no idea what I got up to.”

Taking a closer look at him, I smirked. “Oh, I think I can take a pretty good guess.”

He clutched my arm as if it were an expensive string of pearls, laughed, and said, “I think perhaps you could”.

That was my cue to say something along the lines of “Why don’t you come inside and tell me about it while I blow you,” but I totally missed the opportunity, not even thinking about it until he was in the lift on his way to his next job.

Damn!

The second person to turn up was a cute chap to look at our bed. At the front door he began to take off his shoes, but I told him it was totally unnecessary.

“If you want to take your pants off,” I said. “That’s a totally different matter.”

He just laughed and pointed to the gold band on his finger. It was either the world’s smallest cock ring or else a wedding ring. Shit.

So the bed, it squeaks. Probably in terror that it has to support my weight, the equivalent of an adult beached whale. Nope, turned out it has something to do with cardboard. The problem was solved quicker than a premature ejaculation.
The young guy’s eyes darted around the room focusing on the poster of two men kissing and I thought he’d make a hasty exit. But he went into a detailed spiel, warning me to take care to distribute our weight evenly on the bed to ensure a ridge didn’t form down the centre. He even recommended placing phone books down the middle when the bed was not in use.

“Seems like a lot of hard work to me, lumping phone books back and forth. Particularly when there’s a much more simple solution.”

“What’s that?” he asked right on cue.

“Simple,” I smiled. “A threesome.”

At least he had a sense of humour, even if he didn’t take me up on the offer.

Last, but by no means least, was a cute Muslim guy from Persia. He informed of that when he found out I was gay. I needed some simple jobs done around the apartment. Anything that requires a hammer and nails is totally beyond me, whereas if it requires a screw…

Although he assured me he had no problem with gay men, he was not that way inclined himself. At least not before noon. It was a different matter altogether after noon when I came back from lunch and he was half way up a ladder patching up the paint on the wall.

Whether it was the fumes or he’d been turned on by my extensive collection of Ann-Margret DVDs I’m not sure but not long after I’d admired his brush strokes, he said, “Why don’t you pull down my zipper and suck me off?”

At least the whole day wasn’t wasted.