Wild Things

After graduating college, I got a job doing bookkeeping for a construction company. The pay was decent, but it meant I was relegated to working in a small trailer on whatever job site I was assigned to, something I wasn't crazy about.

I'd gotten used to it by l the end of my first year though, and it was when I was assigned to a new project that I met Luke Bridgers.

At 26, he was close to me in age, and a lot friendlier than most of the other older men that made up the crew, which I think was largely the reason why we first began striking up conversations with each other. That, and he was cute as hell.

Luke was just a hair under six feet tall, and had a good amount of firm, natural muscle from all the manual labor his job required, as well as a noticeable farmer's fan. The paleness of his upper arms and chest sharply contrasted the deep, golden brown hue his skin darkened into.

He was clean shaven and kept his coarse, chestnut hair cut short. A small, gold chain hung around his neck, and there was a stud in each ear. Bright blue eyes and the slight drawl in his deep voice only added to how attractive I found him.

So, it wasn't surprising that I ended up developing a huge crush on him.

Luke was exactly the type of guy I always got hooked on but never seemed to have a chance with; young, masculine, and blue-collared, with rough hands and a beguiling simplicity that college educated men lacked.

He was also the complete opposite of me in almost every way.

Average in height with a slim figure, I'd never done a day of physical work in my entire life, and while I wasn't exactly feminine, I also wasn't the most overtly masculine guy either. I styled my dirty blond hair and dressed in business casual clothes for work.

Sometimes I wondered how the two of us must've looked standing next to each other. Luke in a white, short sleeve shirt underneath his neon vest, faded, dirty jeans, and even dirtier work boots, me in slacks and a polo, my hair perfectly coiffed to look neat and tidy.

It painted an odd picture, I'm sure, but one that I liked.

Luke and I usually chatted during breaks and ate lunch together sometimes, but it was a couple months before we first hung out after work, grabbing a beer nearby.

We'd sat at the bar, our stools crowded close enough that I could smell him, a hearty mix of sweat and debris. It was the distinct musk that belonged to a strong, hard working man.

I'd tried not to swoon.

We hadn't been there very long, no more than an hour, but that wasn't unusual.

Luke lived with his pregnant girlfriend and their one and half year old son, which naturally took up a lot of his free time, although apparently not enough to keep him from fucking around on on the side.

After I'd caught him hitting on some girl on my way back from the bathroom, Luke had given me a bashful smile while admitting he had trouble keeping it in his pants.

"Always seem to be chasing my next nut," he'd rubbed the back of his neck in a way that'd made him look boyish.

I'd joked that was probably why he already had a kid and another on the way, but my good natured teasing concealed the envious desire underneath.

I would have loved nothing more than to help Luke get off. The idea of getting to pleasure him was intoxicating, and I often fantasized about what that would entail, even though it seemed out of the realm of possibility.

------

The first time Luke stayed over at my place was after he'd had a fight with his girlfriend one night.

Even though I lived in a small garage apartment, he said he was fine crashing on my couch, and I practically fell over myself to let him.

Since neither of us had to work the next day, we stayed up late drinking while shooting the shit, and in the morning, I was treated to the sight of a groggy Luke rising from the couch in nothing but a pair of camo boxer briefs.

I tried not to stare, especially at his bulge, but I nearly choked on my coffee when he stuck his hand under the waistband to scratch his lower abdomen, giving me a glimpse of his dark happy trail as it began to converge with a mass of curly, brown pubic hair.

When he excused himself to smoke a cigarette, I merely nodded and kept my lower half discreetly turned away to hide the wood I was sporting.

I figured he'd at least put some shorts on, but evidently Luke didn't seem to care that he was wearing so little as he stepped outside to light up, something I found incredibly sexy.

"Fuck, not even noon yet and it's already cooking out there," he said after stepping back in a few minutes later.

"That's South Carolina for ya," I murmured. "You want some eggs?"

Luke nodded and pulled a seat up at the counter, "Please."

It was quiet while I made us breakfast, Luke absorbed in his phone until I set a plate in front of him.

"You heard from Aubrey?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm texting her now."

"And?"

"She seems to be over it," he set down his phone and picked up a fork.

"That's good at least."

"Yeah," he snorted. "I don't know if I could deal with any more of her bullshit today."

I chose my next words carefully, "Well, you can always hang out here if you can't."

I looked up and Luke was smiling at me over his plate, "Thanks, buddy. I appreciate you."

"No problem," I tried to hide my blush by shoveling a forkful of eggs into my mouth.

Luke didn't stay for too much longer after that, getting dressed to head home once he'd finished eating.

I walked him out to his truck, and he said goodbye with a fist bump.

"Thanks again for letting me crash here."

"Anytime," I told him.

I stood in the driveway as he backed out, and gave a casual wave when his truck pulled away. As his taillights drew further away, I sighed longingly, only to jump when a rough, husky voice caught me by surprise.

"Now he ain't your usual type."

I turned around, and for a second, I didn't see anything in the brightness of the late morning sun. Then, from the shadow of the open doorway, a figure stepped out onto the small back porch and came into view.

Myron Simmons was the 68 year old home owner whom I rented the apartment from. A twice divorced good ole boy, he'd retired after a career in the military to live out his days in the simple farmhouse that sat directly of the detached garage I lived above.

"Didn't mean to startle you," Myron said, but grinned down at me as if he were amused.

"You didn't."

From the way his smile grew, I could tell he didn't believe me.

"And I don't know what you mean," I added.

"Oh, I think you do," he took a drag from the lit cigarette in his hand and fixed me with a knowing look.

I felt myself flush, and heard his soft snigger as I looked away.

Only a couple months after first moving in, I'd hooked up with a guy that'd spent the night, and early the following morning, after hugging him goodbye in the open doorway, I'd noticed Myron smoking out on his back porch, gazing up at us.

Seeing me look in his direction, Myron's mouth had twisted up in an impish smirk as he twirled his fingers in a dainty, little wave that made my face redden.

After that, he'd make the occasional slick remark about my "gentlemen callers".

"You usually like 'em more buttoned up, and a little gangly, not unlike yourself," he cocked his head in consideration. "Like that fella with the glasses you had over a handful of times."

Myron was referring to Daniel, a podiatrist I'd briefly dated a few months prior.

I gritted my teeth as he went on, "Looks like you might've finally traded up, though. This one seems like a real man."

"He's just a friend," I said tersely.

"If you say so," Myron winked.

"Ugh, whatever," I rolled my eyes and turned away to head back inside.

"Hey!" he barked after me.

I did an about face as Myron flicked his cigarette butt away and climbed down the steps.

Despite his shorter stature, Myron carried his wide, stocky build with authority reflected in the buzz cut and mustache he sported. His dense, round mid-section was offset by the solid muscles in his thick, hairy arms, honed from decades of physical labor in the military that'd left him stalwart even at his age.

As he approached, I could see the surly look on his hardened, rough-hewn face; his big lips were twisted up a snarl that was exacerbated by a sharply hooked nose and heavy brow.

Myron stood before me in his usual loungewear, a pair of boxers that showed off his tree trunk thighs and a wife beater unable to conceal the heavy matting of curly, white chest hair spilling out over the top.

He narrowed his eyes at me, the southern twang in his voice deepening as he growled, "Don't you sass me now, boy. Not when you're staying here on my property."

I gaped at him, caught off guard by the radical escalation in his demeanor, and struggled with what to say in response.

After several tense moments, the stern look on Myron's face slowly melted into a large, wicked grin right before he emitted a deep, rumbling laughter from the depths of his gut.

I sagged with relief, but felt the pinprickle of annoyance underneath.

"I'm just fucking with you, kid. Should've seen the look on your face."

He patted my cheek just a little too hard, his chunky, gold ring knocking against my jaw, and I smiled wanly in response.

Myron did seem to enjoy messing with me, an unfortunate consequence of his crass and blunt personality, and while it did bother me, it was never bad enough to make me reconsider my relatively cheap living arrangement.

Although this was the first time he'd ever been so aggressive about it.

"If you say he's just a friend, then I'll believe you," Myron held up his hands, a lopsided grin on his face.

I couldn't tell if he was being serious or just screwing with me again, but that was Myron in a nutshell, and truthfully, given his age and that we were in the South, I was lucky that all he'd ever really done was tease me and crack the occasional joke at my expense.

-----

Luke and I started hanging out more often after he spent the night, sometimes at a bar after work but also at my place too. The two of us would sit around sipping beers while talking or watching TV, even sneaking out to smoke a bit of weed behind the garage occasionally.

It seemed that the further his girlfriend's pregnancy progressed, the more she seemed to drive him crazy, something Luke frequently complained to me about, and he ended up spending another night on my couch after they fought again.

Aubrey had accused him of texting some other girl and he'd fired back that her hormones were making her paranoid, never mind that she'd been right.

The next morning played out similarly to the first; Luke went out to smoke and I made us breakfast, except the one difference was that when I walked Luke out to his truck, Myron stood there hosing off the driveway in his underwear, sending a wave of embarrassment through me.

"Mornin', fellas," he nodded at us as we approached.

"Morning," I greeted back plainly.

"Sorry about that," Luke apologized, noticing all the dirt his tires had tracked in. "Can I give you a hand?"

"Don't worry about it," Myron switched off the hose and turned to face us.

"Construction work, you know?" Luke cracked a boyish smile.

"Oh you don't gotta tell me," Myron drawled. "I'm plenty familiar with all the muck and grime that come with those kinds of jobs. Not like our college boy here."

There was a smirk on Myron's face as he glanced in my direction, but I kept myself from reminding him that I also worked at the same project site Luke did, albeit in a trailer.

"You a construction man too?" Luke asked.

"Not anymore," Myron waved him off. "But I did a lot of infrastructure work during my time in the NCF."

Luke looked at him, "You were a Seabee?"

"Forty years, and damn proud of it, too."

Myron slapped the outside of his bicep, where he had a faded tattoo of an angry looking bee wielding an old fashioned machine gun, the words "We Build, We Fight" scrawled across a banner underneath.

Luke looked at it briefly before removing his cap and holding a hand out to Myron.

"Thank you for your service, sir."

Myron returned a brief look of appraisal before clasping Luke's hand in a tight grip.

I could see the muscles straining in Myron's arm as he delivered a vigorous handshake, watching intently for the younger man's reaction.

But Luke was unfazed, and his face remained impassive as he maintained eye contact and pumped Myron's hand with a strength of his own.

Then, Myron's face split open into a grin, as if their interaction had been some kind of test that he'd judged Luke to have passed, and suddenly I recalled how he'd done something similar to me when we first met.

I'd winced.

"Name's Myron," my landlord boomed.

Luke introduced himself as he slipped his cap back on.

"You've got one hell of a grip, son," Myron clapped a hand on Luke's shoulder in approval.

"Could say the same about you," he smiled back, pleased by the compliment.

"Don't let my age fool ya, now," Myron winked.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

They both chuckled while I glanced back and forth between them and tried not to look so perplexed.

"You ever serve?" Myron asked.

"No," Luke shook his head. "Never had the privilege."

"Don't know how much of a privilege it was," came the older man's dry retort, "but shit, it paid the bills."

"I hear that," Luke affirmed. "I like the way you commemorated your service, though."

He gestured toward the tattoo.

Myron glanced down at it, "She's seen better days. This one, too."

He showed off the equally faded tattoo on his other bicep, this one of a bald eagle carrying a snake.

"Still looks pretty wild," Luke peered at it.

"You got any ink yourself?"

"Just this."

Luke lifted his sleeveless shirt, exposing the pale skin of his flat abdomen and toned chest. On his left pec was a black cross and a scripture quote in cursive that read, "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might."

Even though I'd seen the tattoo before, I didn't know what verse it was from, nor had I ever asked, but Myron recognized it.

"Ecclesiastes," he nodded respectfully. "Good creed to live by, shows tenacity. Seems like you've really embraced it, too."

Myron gave Luke's stomach a couple playful whacks and cracked a lopsided grin, "That's a gnarly farmer's tan you got. Could light the damn moon with how pale your torso is."

Luke snickered and let his shirt drop, "Yeah, don't think I'll ever be rid of that shit."

"Aw, it's nothing to be ashamed of," Myron dismissed. "Shows that you're a hard working man."

"That's what I tell my girlfriend, but she can't stand it. Says I look ridiculous."

"They all say shit like. Doesn't ever stop them from spreading their legs though."

"True," Luke chuckled.

"So," Myron placed his hand on his hips, "got yourself a girl then, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Luke nodded before correcting himself a second later, "well, maybe. We'll see when I get home."

"Uh-oh, you ain't in the doghouse, are ya?"

"I am, but what else is new," Luke shrugged. "Pregnancy hormones are a bitch."

Doesn't help that you constantly keep your dick wet either, I thought bitterly.

"Lucky I got Ash here to lend me his couch whenever they get out of hand though."

Luke thumped me on the back and offered such a genuine smile, one that reached his blue eyes, that I instantly felt guilty despite how hard I blushed.

"You know you're welcome any time," I smiled shyly.

"Thanks, buddy. As much as I appreciate it though, I should head out, see if I'm returning to a firing squad or not."

"Good luck, son, and it was good meeting you," Myron reached over and shook Luke's hand again.

"You as well, sir. I'll see you at work, Ash."

He smiled at me again before climbing into his truck, and I stood there watching him back out. But it was only as Luke drove away that I finally turned my head and saw Myron studying me carefully, a mirthful expression on his face.

"Shit, you got it bad," he chortled.

My face burned with an intense heat, and I looked away as the old man continued cackling.

"We're just friends," I murmured.

"Oh I know, that's pretty obvious, but 'just friends' ain't cutting it for you, is it?"

I didn't answer Myron, mostly because he was right.

My crush on Luke only seemed to grow the longer we were friends, and I yearned for the opportunity to be just another one of his side pieces that he seemed to be constantly messing around with.

-----

"Wait, wait, does 'for good' actually mean for good though?" I spoke into the phone.

"Fuck if I know," Luke bellowed back.

Despite the din in the background, I could hear the slight slur in his voice.

"She just kept saying it was for good this time," he added.

Aubrey had caught Luke fooling around on her again, with the same girl she'd accused him of texting, and had apparently kicked him out permanently this time.

"But the baby's due in--"

"I know," he interrupted in exasperation. "I said the same fucking shit, but you know how she can be."

There was a pause as he, presumably, took another drink.

"Well, you can stay here if you want. Until you find a place or she takes you back or..." I trailed off, unsure of Luke's prospects at such an odd junction in his life.

"Thanks, buddy. I'm gonna take you up on that. But first I want you to get your ass down here and get hammered with me."

I smiled, both at the thought of Luke living with me, even if only temporarily, and him inviting me out when he wanted some camaraderie.

I met him down at the bar he was at not long after. It was pretty packed for a Saturday night, but the two of us had a good time together.

We got back to my place late, and were so wasted that we had to hold onto each other while climbing the wooden steps up the side of the garage, only to pass out not long after.

I woke up the next morning with a hangover. Not the worst I'd ever had, but still bad enough that I continued to lay in bed for a while after, lingering in that half state between consciousness and slumber.

At some point, I heard shuffling out in the living room followed by the creak of the door, and assumed it was Luke going out for a cigarette after having just woken up.

Eventually, I shuffled to the bathroom, the need to relieve my bladder outweighing my desire to stay in bed. My stomach rumbled as I stood at the toilet.

I was far too hungover to consider cooking, but when I went out to the living room to see if Luke wanted to grab some food, I found it empty.

How long ago had he gone out for a smoke, I wondered, my sense of time warped.

I opened the door to the small landing, wincing a little at the sudden onslaught of sunlight, but Luke wasn't there either.

Where the hell did he go, I thought.

Stepping outside, I raised a hand to shield myself from the sun, and as my eyesight slowly adjusted to the light, I glanced around and finally spotted Luke, sitting out on the back porch, smoking with Myron.

For a second, I just stood there and took in the sight of them casually splayed out together on the wicker loveseat, side by side in just their underwear, taking drags from their cigarettes as they carried on a laid-back conversation.

The unexpected presence of my landlord in Luke's company made my stomach churn in a singularly, odd way, and a sudden bout of nausea crested over me as a result.

"Fucking Irish car bombs," I muttered once it'd passed, and slow began descending the stairs.

"We got us a live one," Myron boomed as I approached, causing me to wince. "You look like you've seen better days."

"Gee, thanks," I murmured, not in the mood to deal with his jocular attitude.

I climbed the porch, feeling overdressed as I stood before them in just the shorts and t-shirt I normally wore to bed.