“I haven’t forgotten where I’m from,” I tell him, my voice serious. “It’s just been a long day and I’m in need of rest. Some other time, I mean it.”
They say the steel industry is in decline, and I reckon they’re right. But there’s still a demand for the stuff right now, and that means long days of hard work for people like me who’re still manning the furnaces and forging the sheets, pipes and girders that secretly hold together the world around us all. Take this apartment building, for instance. No way I could afford a place like this if our company didn’t get its hands on half a dozen units at a heavy discount in exchange for a quick turnaround on the raw materials.
If my name hadn’t been picked out of the hat for those interested in taking one, I’d still be living in Island View where I grew up a few doors down from Greg. As it is, I look around me and all I see is luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out over West Riverfront park, with a concealed exit out onto a balcony big enough for cook outs in the summer. Clean lines, open living space, hard wood floors and exposed brickwork. I’m sure most of my neighbors are stockbrokers or solicitors, and those are fine, important jobs, but I bet they never imagined they’d be living right next door to a blue-collar worker from the tougher end of Detroit. I didn’t exactly grow up behind a private security gate, with a pool and hairdresser right inside the building, but I’m lucky enough to have those things now.
“Ugh, whatever, man. I just miss you, that’s all.”
Greg says it like it’s a joke, but I know him well enough to know there’s more truth in it than he cares to admit. He might like to remind me of my upbringing, but he’s no slouch himself. I don’t understand half the stuff he knows about computers and tech, things he learned from taking the things apart and putting them back together again. He could probably afford to move out of Island View himself if he took one of the many computer jobs he’s been headhunted for, but he prefers to stick around the old neighborhood and just fix stuff that breaks. And I get that. It’s one of the reasons he’s remained one of the few friends I keep around.
“I know. I miss you too,” I tell him. “Seriously, we’ll meet up soon. Have a couple of beers and discuss who should be benched for the Tigers. Just like old times.”
He huffs. “Fine. Get some rest. But I’m holding you to that, Saint.”
“Say hi to your mom for me, Greg,” I say, and he laughs as he agrees, before we both hang up.
Popping the button on my jeans, I drop them to the floor and step out of them, shoving them in the hamper with the shirt as I head for the bathroom to shower. But I’m momentarily distracted when I spot her out the window.
I don’t know her name, but she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s not the first time I’ve stood here, watching her, and it won’t be the first time I’ve jerked off in the shower with thoughts of her on my mind, but here we are. Her chocolate-brown hair and dark eyes haunt my dreams. Her curves were made for my hands. Her ass is the finest ass on the planet, and I just want to crouch down behind her and worship it with my mouth, biting the soft flesh of her round buttocks and running my tongue through that deep, warm groove.
She’s teaching the local kids to skate, as she seems to do every afternoon, and I wonder what she does for a living besides being an angel. There’s no ring on her finger, I’ve been careful to check that, and she doesn’t ever look tired or strained. She just hangs out in the park, giving her time to the kids there, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I watch as she smiles at one of the kids, and I wish that smile was for me. I can’t believe I’m jealous of some boy of about ten years old, managing to elicit that warm curve of her perfect lips. Forcing myself to turn away from her is hard, but the way my cock is straining at the front of my boxers as I stare at her is painful and I need some relief.
I head for the shower, already starting to manipulate my hard-on through the cotton of my boxers to thoughts of her. When I step in under the water, deliberately set to freezing cold just to try to ease some of the tension throughout my body, all I can think about is those lips wrapped around my cock as I grab handfuls of her chocolate-brown hair, forcing her face down to the root. I lather myself up as I stroke off, gripping myself so tight it’s a wonder I don’t pull my dick clean off, making the head swell with every tug, groaning into the stream of cold water as I imagine her sweet face covered in my cum.