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Climbing Up the Wall

Barry Lowe

Classic Erotica

Inner city living can be hell, what with the traffic, the noise, and the break-ins. But what can you do when you wake up naked and horny to discover a ladder propped against your bedroom window and a hunky blond staring in at you?

When an inner city night-shift worker is woken by sounds of what he thinks are cat burglars at his window, he grabs the nearest weapon and waits to pounce. But the intruders are a hot young construction worker named Stig and his older but equally hunky boss, Egon. It soon becomes apparent that Stig is eager to grab another sort of weapon, but whose exactly?

eBook Cover Price: 0.99

Length: 4144 words

Gay / menage / construction workers

Heat rating: 4


My hand closed round the handle of an ancient cricket bat that I occasionally used to prop up tables and beat to death inner city vermin. I waited. The boot became a naked leg emanating from a thick woolen sock curled over at the top, followed by tanned and almost hairless calves, then on to equally tanned thighs. My cock gave a twitch, which brought me back to the reality of my situation. I lifted the bat.

The cut-off jeans adhered to a bubble butt like paint to a Picasso and a gift-wrapped full package of cock and balls. The stomach muscles were firm, the belly button an innie and the pecs were…the pecs were…well, if I were the sporting type, I could have skied down them. I’m a chest man.

They say that when you are about to die your life slows and seconds seem like hours. That was happening to me now as I awaited my fate. The arms were strong and muscular as the body skittered further down the ladder. Strong enough to wrench my neck sideways, obliterating my life in an easy snap. The head…that same head I was about to batter into oblivion was…oh fuck! I couldn’t tell whether the shallow breaths I was taking and the adrenalin beating of my heart was fear or lust. His eyes were blue. He was beefy, blond and beautiful. Not handsome. Beautiful, as you would describe an angel or some other ethereal being who was too good to be true. Like Billy in Jerry Mills’ cartoon series “Poppers”.

He was half-turned, calling to someone below, as I raised the bat. However, my dick was telling me that there were better ways of getting revenge. He stopped and turned fully. He blinked.

“What’s the hold up?” his mate below yelled to him.

Blondie called down, “The guy’s home after all.”

“G’day, mate,” he said to me in such a warm and friendly manner I almost forgot my intense dislike for the clichéd greeting. “Nice bat…and set of balls.”


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