Average Joe - Preview

 

Chapter 1 

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Who would ever have believed that I would end up where I am today? Certainly not me. I was just your average kid from a working-class American family—a mom, a dad, one brother, and one sister—in Columbus, Georgia. I was a good student in high school. I made good grades, but not good enough to win an academic scholarship, and even though I played several sports, I did not excel enough to win an athletic scholarship. That’s me: your average Joe. More accurately, your average Julius.

     I hated that name. When I was growing up, all the kids made fun of me, calling me “Julie,” “Juicy,” and “Ju Ju Bean.” So, when I entered high school, I adopted the name “Joe.” So, yeah, I was just your average Joe—except for one thing. I’m gay.

     You might say I was “Closet Joe” because I took great pains to make sure that no one found out I was gay. That reality just would not have gone down well in a working-class family in Columbus, Georgia.

     Fresh from my high school graduation, I had my future all mapped out. In the fall I would live at home while attending Columbus State University to get a business degree. Then, I would work my way up the ladder of my dad’s hardware business. Dad’s flagship store was in Columbus, but he also had stores in Macon and Decatur, just outside of Atlanta, with another one in Auburn, Alabama. The potential for further expansion was looking pretty damn good at that point. Things really were looking up, and I didn’t want to do anything to screw up the plan.

     My parents agreed to pay most of my tuition as long as I continued to work in the store to make up the difference. I would major in business management so that I could take on more responsibilities in the family business.

     Even though my true love was not business, but the arts, I loved working in the hardware store. With all the hot workmen coming into the store along with super sexy soldiers from nearby Fort Benning, I never lacked for delicious eye candy. I could barely keep my dick in my pants, and to be perfectly candid, I didn’t always resist the temptation.

     On weekends, Dad would sometimes send me to help out at one of the satellite stores. I loved those trips because Macon, Decatur, and Auburn were all college towns, offering excellent opportunities to hook up with college jocks, frat boys, and nerds, all of whom were just as horny as I was…well, almost as horny.

     Whenever Dad would go to Macon, Decatur, or Auburn to check up on the other stores, he would often leave me to lock up the main store at the end of the day, and after all the other employees had gone home, I would sometimes lure one of the hot customers into the stockroom. I’m not bad to look at—maybe a little bit more than average in that department—so it usually didn’t take much arm twisting to get them where I wanted them.

     One night when Dad was away and I was locking up the store in Columbus, I heard a tapping on the front door. Mr. Sullivan, a local electrician, practically begged me to open up. He said he just absolutely had to have a circuit breaker for an elderly customer who would be without the electricity she needed to run her ventilator if he didn’t get that part pronto. Mr. Sullivan was a regular in the store and also at our high school football games. His son, Jeff, was one of my classmates and a teammate on the football team.

     Jeff was a real stud, wickedly handsome and built like a brick shithouse. Unfortunately, he was as straight as a board, but that didn’t keep me from worshiping him with my eyes in our team showers or fantasizing about him when I beat off every night.

     It was very easy to see where Jeff got his good looks. His dad, Mr. Sullivan, had been a football player too—in college as well as in high school—and even in his mid-40s, he still struck a commanding pose. He was a nice man and a loyal customer, so I promptly unlocked the door and let him in.

     Of course, Mr. Sullivan knew exactly where the electrical supplies were kept, but I led him to that department anyway, chatting along the way about his work, Jeff’s football scholarship to Clemson, and my plans for college. I tried in vain to keep my eyes averted from his impressive ass, especially when he bent over to pull something from the bottom shelf. And from the magnetic bulge in his work pants, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was as hung as his son. Did he catch me staring once or twice?

     As we walked back to the register, I heard the front door open. Oh shit! I left it unlocked. Just as I was about to tell the two young soldiers entering the store in their army fatigues that we were closed, one of them threw his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. It was impossible to miss the smell of alcohol on his breath. “Need some tooools,” he slurred. “Need ‘em baaad.”

     At the same time, his buddy, also three sheets to the wind, stumbled his way toward Mr. Sullivan and practically fell into his arms.

     “I’m really sorry,” I apologized to Mr. Sullivan. “I’ll get these guys out of here.” But the soldier with his arm around my shoulder started pawing my chest and then my crotch. As hard as I tried to suppress the boner growing in my pants, I just couldn’t, and Mr. Sullivan took note. I thought I would die of embarrassment, but Mr. Sullivan flashed me the biggest grin I had ever seen in my life, and the raise of his eyebrows told me that he fully approved of what he saw.

     “These guys aren’t going anywhere right now,” said Mr. Sullivan. “They’re certainly in no condition to drive. I wouldn’t mind driving them back to the base myself, but they’ll be in a shitload of trouble if they show up like this. Do you have any coffee?”

     “Coffee?” I asked. “Oh…uh…yeah, we keep some in the break room for the guys.” I wash the pot out every night, but I hadn’t gotten to it yet that night. Fortunately, there were several cups left in the pot when we managed to drag the soldiers into the break room. The java was no doubt stale and tasted like shit, but they were in no condition to notice, let alone complain.

     Besides a couple of small round tables with chairs, the break room also had a large vinyl couch against one wall. Mr. Sullivan got the boys situated while I served up two cups of coffee. I also offered a cup to Mr. Sullivan, but he winked at me as he retrieved a flask from the pocket of one of the grunts. Unscrewing the cap, he sniffed the contents and nearly whiplashed.

     “Whew!” he said. “That’s some potent shit.” He took a swig of the liquor and then surprised me when he offered the flask to me. I demurred, but he insisted, “Oh, come on, sport. You look like you could use a swig…or two.” I wasn’t sure if he was referring to my being faced with the unexpected responsibility of looking after two drunk soldiers or the embarrassment I exhibited at being caught with a raging hard-on. Either way, I accepted the flask and took a swig. And then another. Mr. Sullivan was right; it was potent shit.

     Mr. Sullivan and I bent over the two soldiers and tried to coax them into drinking the coffee, but they were too unstable, so we squeezed between them on the couch, Mr. Sullivan tending to one of the guys while I focused on the other one. We propped them up while pouring lukewarm coffee down their throats. The couch was wide enough for all four of us, but just barely. The body heat from Mr. Sullivan on one side of me and the hunky soldier on the other side overwhelmed me, and my goddamn cock betrayed me again.

     I shifted my body, hoping that Mr. Sullivan would not see me tenting again, but that just made it easier for the soldier to zero in on the growing bulge in my jeans. “Toools,” he mumbled, as he had at the front door. “Mmmm,” he moaned as he squeezed my cock through my pants. “Need toools baaad.”

At that, Mr. Sullivan, of course, looked over my shoulder and saw what all the excitement was about. I wanted to crawl under that couch and hide, but Mr. Sullivan just roared with laughter. Putting one hand on my shoulder, he assured me that my condition was nothing to be ashamed of. But then he said something about how uncomfortable it must be, and before I knew it, he had opened my fly and freed my raging dick, to which the soldier beamed and then dove for like a Kamikaze.

     After the two soldiers were done servicing both of us, the four of us collapsed on the ugly green couch. Despite the caffeine we had poured into them, the soldiers zonked out. Who knows what other adventures earlier that evening had driven them to exhaustion?

     As our surprise guests slept, Mr. Sullivan and I talked. He told me that he had had his eye on me ever since I joined the football team but didn’t dare do anything until I was 18. I expressed surprise that he would be interested in guys since he was married.

     “I’m bi,” he said. “We both are…Emily and I. We enjoy sex with each other, but we also like a little variety now and then. Sometimes she goes out on her own, sometimes I do, and sometimes we hook up with another couple or two—sometimes with the person of the opposite sex, sometimes the same sex. It’s all sex, and it’s all good.”

     I was stunned. “What about Jeff? Does he know?”

“Of course,” Mr. Sullivan replied. “We have always been very open with Jeff about sex. We don’t interfere when he has girls over, and he doesn’t interfere when we have other people over.”

     I was speechless. I couldn’t imagine such a thing.

     “You’re welcome to join us sometimes if you’d like,” he offered.

     “What? Me? Oh, fuck no!” I blurted out in shock. “I love dick. Pussy is not my thing.”

     “OK,” he allowed, “but what about joining me and some other guys sometime?”

     As that thought raced through my mind, Mr. Sullivan walked right up to me, pulled me up from the couch, stared lustfully into my eyes, wrapped his strong, muscular arms around me, and kissed me. It was such a loving kiss that I nearly melted. The only part of me that didn’t go weak was my dick, which shot up like a rocket. Mr. Sullivan was holding me close enough to feel my hard-on, and he responded by grabbing my ass and pulling my crotch into his. I obviously wasn’t the only one with an erection. He continued to kiss me lovingly and then passionately. I had never been kissed like that before. When he finally let go, I said breathlessly, “Holy fuck!” And hoping to break the spell he had cast over me, I jokingly complained, “Look what you’ve done. Now I’m gonna hafta jack off again.”

     “Oh, there’s a better way to handle this situation,” he laughed. I wasn’t quite sure what he had in mind, but he looked over at the two soldiers just as they were beginning to stir again. I still wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but I was beginning to get the idea.

     Though they were still drunk and still half asleep, both soldiers were sporting woodies. Mr. Sullivan reached over to one of them, the one who wouldn’t let go of my cock. He rubbed the soldier’s rock-hard dick through his fatigues, and the kid purred like a kitten. Mr. Sullivan promptly untied his boots and removed them before unbuckling his pants and removing those.

     Mr. Sullivan looked at me and then nodded toward the soldier who still had his pants on.

     “Oh, I couldn’t,” I replied, realizing what he was instructing me to do.

     “So, you’re just gonna stand there and let him suffer? He’s gotta be in pain with his dick trapped like that.”

     I don’t know if I succumbed to the silly logic or just wanted an excuse to proceed, but I took the bait and stripped that soldier as Mr. Sullivan had done with the other one. We didn’t stop with the pants, though. We stripped them completely, and, man, was I glad we did. They were both buff from all the training they had obviously been through—broad shoulders and chests, ultra-thick biceps, and ripped abs. One of them was as smooth as a baby’s butt, and the other one had a thick coat of black fur that tapered into a treasure trail that nearly drove me wild. I wanted to lick them both all over.

     “I don’t suppose you’ve got any lube,” Mr. Sullivan paused long enough to inquire.

     “Not here,” I replied.

     “No problem. We’ll just improvise.”

     Seeing Mr. Sullivan stroke the soldier’s woody until he covered himself with creamy baby batter, I mimicked my mentor’s example, only to be rewarded with a burst of gooey gratitude. We both scooped up the lotion and used it to lube each man’s desperate hole, inciting them to squirm and open their eyes.

     “Toools,” slurred the soldier.

     “Need ‘em baaad,” added his compatriot.