Tar and Nails

The sound of hammering echoes throughout the neighborhood.  It will go on throughout the day and into the early evening.  Houses are being built and the area is filled with pick up trucks and hard bodies setting up.

You watch from your back deck as men climb atop the two storey houses with belts laden with hammers and nails, and carry sheets of shingles over their well muscled shoulders.

As the midday sun beats down, they begin, one by one, to remove their sweat drenched t-shirts.  Their toned and sun-kissed skin glistens and you are compelled to walk over to where they are and offer their thirst slackened lips a refreshing pitcher of homemade iced tea.

The men climb down, grateful for the break and the refreshments.  It is time for a meal and you timed your arrival perfectly.

One of the roofers approaches you, as he has every day you happen to be out with your well-timed treats.  He rubs his chiselled shoulders and tilts his head suggestively.  You fairly melt under his gaze.

You follow him to one of the unfinished houses, away from the small group of men in his employ.

Once alone, his rough hands make fast work of the buttons on your shirt.

How will you spend this stolen moment together?

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