From Sky Riding:

I knew I was going to do it the minute I saw the crane.

I was driving home from the city, where I had spent a couple of days with friends in the Castro, running errands and just hanging out, when I spotted the crane going up in the fairgrounds parking lot. The carnival wasn’t ready for business—the crane wasn’t even completely assembled yet—but I got off the freeway and drove back to the fairgrounds anyway. I wanted to find out when they were opening and how long they were staying.
Parking my truck off to one side, I made my way across the arid field to one of the wranglers assembling the crane.

“Excuse me. Do you know when the carnival is going to open this thing?”

The man shook his head. “No idea, buddy. You’ll need to check with Dusty, over there.” He pointed across the lot to a man standing on a short ladder, nailing up a sign. “He’s the boss around here. Probably tell you what you want to know.”

I thanked him and walked toward the man on the ladder, studying him as I went. He was big, taller than me, and very muscular. He had a broad back that narrowed down to a trim waist and man’s ass, round and firm-looking under his jeans, all hard muscle. He wore a blue tee-shirt with the carnival’s logo; the shirt clung to him, dark with his sweat. I stopped next to the ladder, waiting for him to finish putting up the sign.

“Help you?” He squinted at me, taking a couple of nails out of his mouth.

“Are you Dusty? The guy over there said you could tell me how long this outfit is going to be here.”

Climbing down off the ladder, he turned and looked at me with a smile. “I’m your man. We’ll be here a couple of weeks at least. More if business is good.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket, mopping the sweat that beaded his broad, tanned forehead and ran into his eyes. “Why? You want to jump?” He looked me over with his dark eyes, sizing me up.

I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You want a cold drink?” He turned, walking toward a trailer parked to the side of the lot. The trailer was one of those little teardrop-shaped things, silver, with round porthole-like windows. Near the door sat two chairs and a cooler. Dusty flipped open the cooler, revealing a mound of ice and soda. “Help yourself.” Tugging his shirt out of his jeans, he wiped an arm across his forehead and whistled. “Whew. Working in the sun really makes you sweat, doesn’t it?”

I took a soda and popped it open, watching as Dusty pulled his shirt over his head. His flat belly was a hard, ridged plain, covered with a thick mat of light-brown hair. His chest was also furred, with broad pecs that bore nipples the size of quarters. When his head reappeared, he grinned at me and tossed the shirt aside. Reaching into the cooler, he grabbed a can of soda and rubbed it slowly over his chest before popping the top. The moisture from the can beaded in his chest hair, catching and reflecting the sun. The cold can brought his nipples up hard, and they pushed out of the pelt surrounding them.

My cock stirred in my jeans.

We stood for a couple of minutes, watching the crane guys as they wrestled the last of the thick steel bolts into place. Shading my eyes with a hand, I looked up at the crane. “How high is it?”

“Crane itself is one hundred seventy feet tall, but the platform only goes up to around one-forty, one-fifty.” He put his hand on my shoulder and rubbed the muscle there. “No point in tensing up yet, babe,” he chuckled. “Crane won’t be inspected and tested for at least a couple of days.”

He didn’t take his hand away—my cock began to have serious space issues. I glanced down at his crotch and saw that Dusty was having a similar problem.

– © C.C. Williams 2012