Friday, August 21, 2015


Welcome back! I took a wonderful two months off and spent the time with my family. It was a well-deserved vacation. My son entered the fourth grade this past Wednesday; my daughter, though, graduated from high school this past June and moved out of the house to live on her own. So I am - officially - OLD AS DIRT.  

I'm participating in the NaNo Team Games this month. I've had quite a few personal and family things going on over the last six months that have interfered with my ability to write. The Games - since they are a team competition - seemed like a good way to inspire weekly writing and creativity without putting an undue burden on myself. The teams are arranged by region, so my team (Samurai's Word) is made up of writers from Northeastern Ohio.

The first event was a team story where we were given a 3000 word limit, a requirement of a complete plot (meaning a beginning, middle, and end to the story), and a second requirement that every member of our team (we have 9 total) had to contribute writing to the story. We wrote a Young Adult story about zombies that placed 6th out of 7 teams. Not very inspiring.

The second event provided 10 songs in a playlist. The team had to use at least 7 of them to craft a story of up to 5000 words, using the meaning of each song we chose as a plot point in the story. The team chose to use all 10 songs, and wrote a Women's Fiction story. I won't know how we placed in this event until 6PM today, but I'll try to update.

It's definitely been an interesting experience. For those of you who have never participated in team or group writing, I highly recommend you give it a shot. At least once. While it's maddening for those of us who outline and plot-plan to give up control to a group of other people, it's also very magical to see how a story can evolve in a completely unanticipated direction.  

All that out of the way... I decided to interrupt my series with a little gem that I wrote a while back for a friend, specific to this time of year. It's longer than flash so I have to cut it in two and will post the second (and sexier) half next week. But for now, enjoy the first part of Blowing Hot & Cold.


© Tucker McCallahan 2015


The day was a disaster. A freak summer hailstorm tore through the Burlington area of Vermont the night before and the house did not escape unscathed. None of the houses on Sawmill Road came away untouched, but their neighbors sharing in the misery didn’t make things any better. All Don knew as he picked somebody else’s shingles up out of the lawn at 4:30 in the morning was that he was crazy glad he and Kyle didn’t actually own this mess. 

The insurance adjuster was due to show up and take a look at the roof, the siding, the windows, and the central air unit. God only knew why it had decided to stop working. An HVAC crew was coming out to check it. Now that the storm had passed, the weather was hot, sticky, and horrible, close to ninety with a heat index off the charts and humidity so thick anybody walking out the front door damn near choked on the air.

Don tried to lie down before the adjuster and HVAC crew showed up, but it was hopeless. The house, including the basement, was sweltering. He couldn’t even enjoy being home alone. He was just resentful Kyle wasn’t able to stay home and help him today. He felt forsaken, desolate, forlorn even. 

Don felt abandoned.

At 8:30 he gave up and got in the shower. At least under the pounding spray he wasn’t sweating like a pig, and he could pretend there was nothing wrong with the house. Don closed his eyes and ran his soapy hands down his slightly rounded torso. He loved watching and reading porn about twink boys with rippling, washboard abs, but truth was truth, and the truth was the only six-pack Don ever got his hands on was when Heineken was on sale.

That was okay, though. Kyle never complained, and Don was happy, content in his own skin. One hand swept down and wrapped around his dick, tugging insistently as the other hand caressed and fondled his sac.

As was becoming disturbingly frequent, images of other men flickered behind Don’s eyes as his hand moved on the thick stalk of flesh between his thighs. Since Kyle’s surgery to correct a cracked tailbone a year ago, their sex life had become nonexistent. Don wanted to fuck, to bury his dick in a tight, hot ass, and his extensive collection of gay porn wasn’t cutting it anymore. He wanted the real deal, damn it; sweet little pierced nipples on a hairless chest, long arms roped with muscle, a nice hard dick, and a tight, hot hole just begging to be kissed, licked, and rammed full of his hard—

Don shuddered as he spurted, coming in soft waves with a gentle groan. He sighed, thinking about how much more he wanted and wasn’t getting as he finished washing up. That was the price of marriage, he supposed; for better or worse, in sickness and in health. When he stepped out of the shower, clean but just as depressed as when he’d gotten in, despite the orgasm, the oppressive heat hit him full force. Don groaned again. His whole body was immediately sweat-covered. He’d just showered, damn it!

“Oh Christ,” Don muttered. 

A knock at the door brought his head up with a jerk and he squinted toward the clock.


He wasn’t sure how exactly he lost track of time, or how the hot water managed to last through a forty-five minute shower, but it was a quarter after nine. Somebody was banging on his door. He hoped they hadn’t been out there since nine.

Don dashed around, grabbing clothes and hauling them on as he stumbled to the door and tried to rub a towel over his head and face at the same time. He opened the door.

“Hey, sorry about that I was—”

“Busy. That’s okay. Want us to come back later?”

Don’s head snapped up at the teasing tone. Two men stood in the doorway. Each wore khaki cargo pants and a white polo emblazoned with a patch that read Chuck’s Heating & Air Conditioning. Don’s mouth went dry and his cheeks flushed even pinker than they already were from the shower and the heat.

The man who spoke was gorgeous. He had thick black hair with tight curls waving through it that were just long enough for somebody to thread their fingers through and get a good strong grip. Little wisps of curling jet black hair peaked out from the bottom of his open, unbuttoned collar. Deep, warm, Mediterranean olive skin made it impossible to tell if he was naturally dark-complexioned or just amazingly tan, and perfectly shaped, black eyebrows arched over golden eyes that danced with mischief as he grinned at Don. 

The light to the darkness stood beside him, short, slim, and compact with a body that made Don immediately think of a Russian gymnast. Short blond hair capped icy blue eyes that traveled over Don, the house, and the interior without changing expression. He carried a toolbox nearly as big as he was, and his biceps and triceps bulged like he was powerlifting. He’d shoved the sleeves of his shirt up to show off some kind of tribal tattoo that encircled his upper arm.

A quick flick of Don’t eyes confirmed that both arms had the intricate tribal ink around them, and a fast and dirty fantasy of blond boy bent over a pommel horse almost incapacitated Don. He lowered the towel he held over his crotch to hide his rapidly expanding erection. 

“No! Uh, I don’t want you to go, I mean. It’s way too hot.” Don blushed even brighter when his brain caught up with the words that had just come out of his mouth.

“Yes, it’s definitely hot around here.” Mr. Dark grinned, shifted his clipboard, and offered a hand. “I’m Troy. This is Eric. We’re from Chuck’s Heating & Air Conditioning.”

Don stared blankly at the proffered hand, but then manners kicked in and he shook. Troy’s hand was warm, slightly damp, and his handshake was firm. Don knew he was not imagining things when the handshake lasted just a few seconds too long. Then Troy’s middle finger ran down Don’s palm in a gentle wisp of touch that sent tingles shooting straight down Don’s spine.

“The homeowner knows Chuck and Brian, huh?”

“Uh … I don’t know,” Don managed to choke out.

“You do live here, right?” Eric asked.

“Yes,” Don said, then added under his breath, “with my husband.”

“S’all good.” Troy gave Eric a reproving glance. “We got the order to come out and take a look at your ailing AC unit. Lightning hit it?”

Don was so grateful they were finally talking about something he could discuss without feeling tongue-tied or blushing. He slipped his shoes on and led the two men to the central air compressor.

“We’re not sure what happened. It was working fine, then suddenly, no cold air.”

“We’ll take a look at it. Brian said anything you needed, since you’re friends and all.”

Don nodded helplessly. Kyle had made all the arrangements; Don had no idea what they were talking about. But if they were willing to do anything he needed …

Another knock turned all three men toward the front of the house. 

“That’s probably the insurance adjuster,” Don said. 

“Don’t worry about us,” Troy said. “Take care of whatever you need to do, uh …”

“Don. My name’s Don.”

“Great. We’ll be right here, Don.”

Don speed-walked back to the door, hoping the insurance adjuster was either female, or possibly eighty-years-old, wrinkled, and bald. If any more hot men showed up to torment him in this heat he was going to wind up in the hospital.

Rounding the side of the house, Don got the picture from the back first. The ass did him in on sight. Nobody should have an ass that begs to be grabbed and squeezed like fresh produce, but the man at his door—in ripped, faded, low-slung jeans and a T-shirt bearing the name of the insurance company—had just such an ass. He turned, and Don almost ran shrieking for the trees. Really, how much was one guy supposed to take?

The bleached blond streaks in his brown hair were what Don saw next, then the SpongeBob Band-Aid that obviously covered a piercing in his eyebrow. The sultry brown eyes under SpongeBob drew Don like magnets and he had a terrible time pulling his eyes anywhere else. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass defined an elfin face, and the man smiled lazily.

“Hey! 76 Sawmill Road, right?”

Don nodded dumbly, unable to get any words off his tongue, which seemed far too big for his mouth.

“I know. It’s the jeans, right? We dress down for storm and disaster assessments now. After Katrina a lot of the national rules changed.” He offered Don his hand to shake. “Jesse Cynco.” Don shook, and hoped to God Jesse didn’t notice the slight tremor in his hand. “Unless you have questions, let’s get started. I’m sure you have all kinds of things you’d rather be doing than walking me around your house.”

Oh yes, Don thought. All kinds of things, none of which were permissible and several of which might be illegal. But he kept his thoughts to himself and dutifully showed Jesse the damaged areas of the house he shared with his husband Kyle, who he loved very much. Continual reminders of his marriage were a good idea, Don decided, particularly when they got back to the central air unit. Troy and Eric had unzipped the legs from their trousers so that both wore shorts now. They were also bare-chested, having ditched their polos.

The glistening chests of the two men made Don clutch the towel he’d never put down a little tighter. Maybe the hailstorm was a blessing in disguise. If he could just snake a few pictures of this bonanza, he’d have jerk-off material to last a week.

OK … a couple days.

“Chuck’s? You must know somebody.” Jesse made a note on his iPad. “They’re good … and expensive,” he added, his voice low.

“I heard that, Mr. Insurance,” Troy said, a wrench in his hand. “FYI, this ain’t a big deal repair. Storm knocked out a relay circuit. Once we replace it, we’ll crank this baby to Antarctic and see how fast we can chill it down inside. Don, you got beer? Maybe we’ll just take five and wait to see how well it works.”

They all laughed. Jesse made more notes. “That’s not a bad idea. The test on the system, of course. Not encroaching on Mr. Douglas’s hospitality.”

“Oh I don’t mind,” Don said quickly. “I’m not doing anything else today. You should stay for lunch.”

Oh God he sounded like a desperate idiot.

“But I’m sure you have other jobs to go to,” Don mumbled, and took off with his head down. He had to find a place to hide from all these beautiful men.

Back inside, Don fought the prickle of tears in his eyes. What kind of numbskull was he? They were working! They weren’t friends stopping by to hang out. And why would they want to hang out with him anyway? God, he was such a fool. He just wanted them all gone, now, immediately. He wanted Kyle home with him, Kyle to hold him and make him feel better, Kyle to tell him how much he loved him.

Knowing he would have to face at least one of them again, Don took a deep breath and let it out. He dropped the towel—now totally unnecessary because he was so far from turned on it wasn’t even funny—in the bathroom. God it was fucking hot! He went into the kitchen and got a drink along with two ibuprophen. He wasn’t sure if it was the heat or the situation, but his head was pounding.

Swallowing the pills, he heard Jesse call to him from the front of the house.

“I need to get up on the roof. Troy and Eric are going to let me use their ladder. They’re turning the AC on now. We’re going to wait and see if it works before we close up the AC work file. All that copasetic?”

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”

Don flopped down on the couch and put an arm over his eyes. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d all be gone when he woke up.

I hope you enjoyed the first part of Blowing Hot & Cold! The (x-rated) conclusion will post next week!

Once again, thanks so much for reading! Comments are, as always, craved and appreciated. 

Be Sure To Check Out The Other Stories:

Follow all your favorites and read the first 100 words on the group’s website: 

No comments:

Post a Comment