The Handyman

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
Artwork (c) 2006 by John D.

Illustration of The Handyman

I was making my way across the field behind my house, going toward a single small trailer house from the rear. I was not wading in weeds, for a well-worn trail extended from this trailer house toward the cul-de-sac (actually a fair-sized circular drive, but the term had stuck) where my house, along with twenty others, stood in a small, contained community. This one trailer house and these twenty-one houses were bound together in a way I think was unique in this country and perhaps in this world.

The town of Fairfield, of which our cul-de-sac was a part, extended to the edge of that field and not beyond, so the houses were I lived were all upper scale, large places, almost estates, each house owning a nearly-wedge-shaped piece of property that stretched from the cul-de-sac where it fronted to encompass nearly two acres each. The cul-de-sac and the houses that stretched along either side of the road from it made up a twenty-house mini-village of sorts, tied together by two things, we'd all bought our plots from the same owner and we all used the services of Gene Jackson as a handyman.

Gene really was a good handyman. He'd taken over this almost-defunct profession from his father and so was only in his mid-twenties. He knew and could do anything, filling in as yard worker and landscaper, but also basement cleaner, emergency plumber or electrician, and even on occasion would work as a carpenter to build small structures behind the large houses. He was a handsome, strong hulk, over six foot two, with black hair and a bushy mustache, neither of which he kept perfectly combed, blue eyes, massive arms, broad chest, slender waist, powerful legs, and a smile that had more than one man's wife sighing as she watched him at work.

Yet though his hulking, powerfully built body was often seen about our cul-de-sac working away at that task or other, and now and then a rumor would circulate about this woman or that and Gene being romantically (or not so romantically) involved, nobody had ever, to my knowledge, done what I was doing, crossing this field along this trail to visit Gene where he lived, and visited the lion in his den so to speak. Women didn't because the field was very prominently in view from several houses; such a visit was bound to be noticed. Men didn't because Gene was, by the nature of those rumors, made association with him beyond that of occasional employer, beneath them. Gene didn't care, he would sing bawdy beer-drinking songs at the top of his lungs while he raked the leaves and many a child got in trouble for repeating some of those songs, not to mention using the words that he would say when he hit his thumb while pounding a nail or some such.

Even his job duties were handled without resorting to visiting him in that trailer, a bulletin board held his work schedule, you hired him by writing in what you needed and what you'd pay him. If he didn't like the work, he'd scratch out your writing or simply not show up if there wasn't time to communicate by this bulletin board. His schedule of fees were well-known, so this didn't happen often. So Gene had no visitors from the cul-de-sac, not to my knowledge.

But me, I had to visit him. The reason was simple. Current rumors (and confirmed by a good deal of circumstantial evidence about my home) said that Gene and my wife were...oh, I couldn't bring myself to even think about it much, much less actually tell anyone about it! My sweet angel Melissa and that, that, that brutish man was more than I could bear! I had to speak with him, learn if he was actually daring to touch her and then, well, I would do whatever it took to stop him from further depredations upon my divine angel!

My knock on the door didn't result in anything, I could hear the television set blaring away, and guessed that it had drowned out my knock. I tried again, and then again.

"What? Who the hell is it?" Came the familiar voice. Only I'd never heard it truly angry, other than the brief fury that flies from a man with a banged-up thumb. But he sounded mad. "I'm off work, damn it! Use the schedule!"

"I'm not looking to hire you!" I called back. "I need to speak with you, Mr. Jackson!"

"Only one person I know calls me Mr. Jackson." the voice barked out. "Come on in, Hotchkiss, come in!"

I didn't like him just using my last name like that, no "Mr." in front of it but was in no position to argue. I turned the knob and opened the door, cautiously, a visitor doesn't walk into a house, even a trailer house, he is let in by the owner! But this was urgent, I went in.

The inside of the house was, to put it bluntly, appalling! Gene was sitting in a recliner chair that looked like it had been tossed out on the sidewalk and left there for weeks before he'd retrieved it and place it in his trailer house. Empty milk crates and wooden boxes made up much of the other furniture. The television was the sole nod to modern living, it was a large, flat-screen model that was perched on top of a large box. The kitchen held any number of unwashed dishes and what looked like an entire empire of roaches that skittered about in the near darkness (the only working light was from the television and a small lamp that sat on the floor in one corner of the living room. "Okay, what d'ya want?" he demanded from his throne before the television set.

With no place to sit, I had to stand as I said, "I came to speak to you about Melissa?"

"Your wife? Yeah. What about her?"

"Is what I've heard about you and her true?"

"I dunno. What have you heard?" Gene seemed completely unconcerned. My belief in his guilt wavered, but I was committed, I plowed on.

"Are you and her...having...relations?" I choked out.

"No relation I know of." Gene said and I relaxed, then he went on, "If you mean am I fucking her brains out, the answer is hell, yeah!"


"Yep, every Tuesday afternoon." Gene said and swigged a belt from his can of beer. I hadn't noticed it until now.

I floundered. "You admit it?"

"Yeah, why the hell not?"

"But...but...she's my wife!"

"So what?"

" have to stop it!" I burst out.

Gene considered this, shook his head. "Nah! I don't want to stop. Don't worry, I'll get bored with her and dump her after a while. She's a pretty boring fuck, but I don't have anything better for my Tuesdays right now."

How can you answer such a callous, cruel man? He knew what he was doing to me, and he didn't even care! "What...what can I do to make you stop seeing her right now?" I asked.

Gene belched, a loud, obscene sound. "Like I said. Find me another cunt to fuck to take her place."

Find him another... "Oh, I can't do that!" I gasped out. "I don't know any woman like that!"

"Yeah? I'm already balling five other women in the cul-de-sac now." Gene took another swig of his beer, belched, and went on. "So find me someone to fill in my Tuesdays and I'll dump that bitch, no problem."

I was beaten and I knew it. I just put my face into my hands and moaned. "I don't know anybody like that, I don't!" I sank to my knees in my misery.

I heard the sound of Gene getting up from his recliner. He was going to throw me out of the trailer house. My God, I'd lost my wife, my beloved Melissa, my sweet angel! She wouldn't even let me touch her more than twice a year, but she was bedding this man every Tuesday afternoon? Oh, horror!

"You do know one person who could replace her, maybe." Gene told me from his new position standing right in front of me. "If he's good enough, that is."

And then I heard the unmistakable sound of a man's jean zipper being pulled down. I opened my eyes and looked and I was looking right at Gene's cock. Not stiff, it was like an obscene brownish banana dangling there from his fly, and his hand reached down and pumped on it and it rose up like a snake rising up to strike.

It wasn't like I hadn't understood Gene's intimation, it was that I wanted to confirm it. "You want me to, to...."

"To show me how good you are sucking dick." Gene told me. "Your wife does a so-so job on it, so you can outdo her if you'll try."

"So if I suck your cock, you'll stop seeing my wife?"

"Not just one time." Gene reminded me. "Every Tuesday. You come home from work early and take care of it. Simple. Work as long as I like what you're doing for me."

"I've never sucked a man's penis before." I told him.

Gene shrugged. "Never know how good you are until you try. Maybe you'll get inspired." he grinned, the mean grin of a man who has the upper hand and knows it and intends to use it. "What's the matter, I thought you loved your wife!"

"I do, I just, just...."

"Think fast, I ain't going to stand here with my dick out for very long. This offer expires when I tuck it back in."

I dithered and after about thirty agonizing seconds, Gene sighed and reached for his cock again, which was shrinking. "Your loss, man." he said.

"No!" I gasped out and grabbed his dong before he could. I hurriedly stuffed it into my mouth and Gene chuckled, and Satan himself chuckling must sound pretty much like he did.

"You got it in your mouth, now let's see how well you can work it." Gene told me.

A miserable petitioner before this rough-hewn handyman, I began to suck on his prick. My lips held and slid up and down.

"Uh, uh, no, no, you have to get your mouth wet, work up some Goddamned spit!" Gene complained to me. "And careful with those teeth!" This last because my teeth had brushed the top of his shaft, I couldn't have hurt him with that gentle touch.

But I complied and Gene began to move his hips in time with my motions. "Uh, uhhh, God, I love it when I get a man sucking my cock. The worst male cocksucker can outblow Linda Lovelace every fucking time!" he grunted. "Faster now, Hotchkiss, suck it faster!"

Gene's cock leaked vile fluids onto my mouth, a thick salty liquid that stuck to my tongue like glue, and his cockshaft sliding over it smeared it all over until I could taste nothing else but that raunchy flavor. "Come on, faster now, shit, you have to move faster!" complained Gene.

I tried, I truly did. I moved as quickly as I could, and his cock was so hard, it was like sucking on a hot cucumber rather than a human's penis. But I tired, this wasn't anything I was accustomed to, and as I grew weary, my pace became uneven, my hold on his dong insecure and faltering.

"Come on, man, come on, you're quitting on me!" Gene griped. "Your wife can keep it up until I squirt, or at least until I'm ready to shove it into her pussy. You want to beat her by sucking alone, you have to do better than that!"

But I couldn't, my mouth was so tired, it was about to fall off! I had to think fast. I let go and said, "I can do better than that."

"You sure as shit ain't doing it right now?"

"Come on and fuck me!" I told him, and I laid back on that filthy carpet and began to undo my belt and pants.

He looked at me undressing and he gave a hard laugh and he said, "Yeah, sure, I'll fuck you, maybe that'll do." he agreed, and reached for his own pants.

He lowered them to mid-thigh, showing his thighs were hairy, and his briefs were old and ragged-looking, and he pushed those down as well.

I meanwhile had divested myself of the lower half of my clothing. "Come on, shove it in me!" I had to protect my wife from this person and this was my only hope. A man who doesn't love the woman he's married to enough to take a bullet for her is not worthy of the title of husband! I had to take something less savory than a bullet, perhaps, but I was equal to the task. I hoped!

Gene got between my uplifted legs and without any preamble or gentleness, he pressed his cockhead to my asshole and as I felt it there and so did he, he gave a single hard shove that drove it into me.

I moaned in my agony, it hurt like hell and he didn't give me any time to get used to it, he just began to thrust it in and out of me. More pain followed.

But I had to do this, I had to keep this cruel, evil man away from my wife. I didn't do anything but cry out as he plugged me, his hard shaft driving into me and pulling out and I'm not sure which hurt worse. But I held to him and tried my best to make him think my cries of pain were cries of pleasure. Not that I think he would have cared either way.

And after a while, the movements of this man in and out of me didn't hurt as much as before and as he moved, I felt the beginnings of a new sensation from my body. Pleasure. The experience was so novel that at first I didn't recognize it, it rose from within me with all the diffuse enlightenment as sunrise on a cloud-covered day.

And as it rose in me, my clinging hands to his back moved less in agony and more in ecstasy, until I no longer had to pretend to enjoy it. My body had accepted this invader inside me, more, was glorying in the feel of that huge male dong ramming my insides. Every stroke into me was to be filled with pleasure, every withdrawal was more pleasure for each motion increased my joy.

"Ah, ahah, ah!" I gasped and that sound, when none other would work, got through to Gene.

"You like that, don't you bitch?" he asked me. "You like my hard cock in your ass, don't you?"

"Yes, oh, yes!" I moaned.

"They all do when I get it in them." He told he as he pounded my butt. "They all squeal and can't get enough of it. I have six women, hell, I could have a hundred if I wanted them."

"Yes, you could, you could!" I agreed, I would have agreed to anything just then, to keep that wonderful prick driving in and out of me!

"Why do I bother with those whores?" He asked me, but wasn't asking me, if you see what I mean.

Nevertheless, I answered as best I could, for my climax was building in me. "You...can you...take them! Uh!"

"Yeah, I do. Just like I'm taking you, eh?"

"Yes, just like me!" I gasped. "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

"Yeah, come on, blow your wad all over me!" Gene growled at me. "Shoot it hard you fuckhole!"

"Oh, oh, oh!"

"Come on, you pussy, you cheap whore, come for me, come all over me!"

"Oh, oh, UH-GUH-HUH-UHHH!"

"Oh, ah, ah, shit, all over me, yeah, shoot it, come on, shoot it harder! Ugh!"

"AGH-AHH-AH-AHNNN, AHNNN, AH-AH, hah, hah, hah, hah!"

"Oh, yeah, man, that's hot, so fucking hot, shit, I'm coming now, oh, shit, OH, OH, AH-HAH-AH, GUH-HAHHHH!"

A hot gush of male spunk poured into my ass and I looked up at Gene with lust-faded eyes and saw that I had indeed splattered him with my load. White blobs of my jizz hung from his shirt from his chest to the shirttails down around his cock. I had unloaded a huge load on this man, and all of it from his fucking me. And all of this while he shot a load into me that felt every bit its equal, for it filled me full to the bursting point and began dribbling out around his cock and down my buttocks to make a wet stain on the carpet beneath me.

Gene fell down onto me, his entire heavy weight crushing me beneath him and his face was red and sweaty and his face was softer than anyone I'd seen since...since my marriage to my beloved Melissa.

He looked up at me and that soft face was so beckoning that kissing him felt completely natural.

"Shit, man, that was hot." He told me. "I haven't been this turned on in a hell of a long time."

"Me, too." I agreed. "So we have a deal?"


"About Tuesdays, you stop seeing my wife and I come by and...." I couldn't finish it. The humiliation of my disgrace was sinking in as my rapture faded from memory. You forget the joy of sex so quickly, the totality of it at least, which is why you crave it so much!

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Hell, yeah, I'll dump that bitch to keep plowing this ass, sure!" Gene told me.

"Good. Every Tuesday it is, then." I agreed.

"And every Thursday and Saturday." amended Gene.


"You're better than Tina or Georgina, too." he told me. "I'm going to need that ass three times a week. Maybe more, I'll think about it."

"But that wasn't the deal!" I protested.

"You don't agree, I'll tell you wife I'm banging you."

"You can't, she'd leave me!" I cried out in horror.

"Three times a week or I tell her."

"All right." I sighed. "I have no choice, it seems."

"Good." Gene had pulled pants back off and returned to his recliner and his beer. "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. I'll need it again this Saturday at two o'clock."

"Two o'clock." I agreed as I got my own clothes back on and got out of there.

I was now the handyman's fuck toy. So why was my feeling as I returned to my house and my beautiful wife filled only with joy? Truth be told, I couldn't wait until Saturday!

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