I'm happy to repost one of my all time favorite series by Amalaric with revamped manips! In Chapter 1, hunky straight construction worker Dave McGuiness receives a distressing phone call from his mother that the bank intends to foreclose on their home.
24 Hours - Chapter 1: A Fateful Phone Call
by Amalaric
Series: 24 Hours
‘I’d rather be a hammer than a nail. Yes I would, if I coul...’ Paul Simon’s plaintive Peter Pan twang was cut off in mid-syllable by a meaty hand slamming down on the clock radio’s pause button. Back in 1970 when the song hit the charts Dad had been...what? Over thirty- Damn, that was hard to believe! The old man had passed his love for what were now called ‘Golden Oldies’ on to his twenty six year old son and Dave kept his alarm tuned to the local dinosaur station. He grunted, eyes still shut and more than half asleep, and languidly shifted his weight under the warm blankets. Outside, the light had a pearly, new quality of dove-gray softness. It reached tentatively into the dark bedroom and tickled his closed eye lids. Dave reached down and scratched one long hairy leg, stretched, and opened his eyes.
‘Shit!’ he muttered, squinting at the blinking green digital numbers of the clock; but his tone belied the expletive. Life was basically good and, besides, this was a hell of a lot better than the wake-up call from his days spent in the Marine Corps. That thought flitting through his foggy mind; Dave McGuiness cracked a slow smile and rolled out of bed. He stood in the center of the bedroom rubbing his eyes and shivered comfortably. Too young to have any of the ‘aches and pains’ that seemed to multiply like gnawing rodents in the lives of his elderly parents, he casually moved a broad hand over his taut belly fingering the elastic waistband of his pajama bottoms. Shirtless, he gazed in a mildly disinterested way at his reflection in the closet door mirror and approved of what he saw. Six foot three, big boned and well-muscled, with wide, boyish features and a thatch of tawny blond hair, his genes hearkened back to the Norse rape of the Irish homeland a millennium before. In Dave’s case the brutal biology had all worked to great advantage and he was, by anyone’s estimation, ‘a fine looking stud’. He stripped off the pajama bottoms in a lithe, cat-like movement and walked, naked, through the open door of his bedroom to the small bathroom at the end of the hall. Casually twisting a knob in the shower, Dave took a long piss while the water warmed up wondering in an absentminded way why he always seemed to begin the day with a hard-on. His dick drooped to half-mast while he emptied his bladder, but retained some of its stubborn ‘spring’ as Dave turned, flushed the toilet, and stepped into the shower. He shuddered with pleasure as the steamy water hit his broad back and ran its warm course over the ridges of chest, arms and hairy abs, sluicing down the deep crack of his ass and dribbling like a mini-waterfall from the precipice of his thick, bobbing cock. He shook his head under the cascading water, pushing the insistent sexual tingle to the back of his mind, and reached for the bar of soap. Running lathered hands over the tan expanse of legs and torso he sighed with pleasure; gently scrubbed his balls and the thick patch of blond pubes at his groin and exhaled sharply as his eight inch rod sprang back to steely life. ‘Well, I guess I’m just a growing boy,’ he laughed to himself and, grasping his dick in one soap-slick hand began the familiar rhythmic stroke, reconsidered, and with a last shudder flipped off the water and stepped out of the shower. He wondered as he toweled himself dry why Cathy had to hang on to that fucking job two hundred miles away. They’d been together for three years now, but lately only saw one another every couple of weeks, and that was hard...in more ways than one. He stared down at his drooping, disappointed dick and shook his head. Talking, as if to an old friend, Dave muttered, ‘Patience, boy! She’s driving down in just a few days. Save that juice for when it counts.’ He threw the damp towel over a rack, brushed his even white teeth, but didn’t bother to shave, then headed back to the bedroom to dress for work.
Summer was a busy time in the construction business especially in the booming sun belt cities of the southwest. The long, hot days were used to maximum advantage and guys were expected at work by seven sharp. The sun was up and flooding through his bedroom window as he rummaged around for something to wear. ‘Damn, it’s gonna be a scorcher today,’ Dave thought as he pulled on his last pair of clean white FTL briefs and yesterday’s faded jeans. White tee shirt, socks and work boots finished the job and Dave could already feel the sweat beading on his upper lip and around his hairline as he headed for the door.
Trucking over to the site in his beat-up Chevy the frustrated buck just couldn’t get Cathy out of his mind. Easy going by nature, it still rankled some that she made twice the money he did working as a grunt on one of the local construction projects. ‘Screw that,’ he thought. ‘I like my job just fine.’ He figured he and Cathy might not make it much longer but, damn, they were so hot together in bed! He wasn’t ready to call it quits quite yet. She had tried, of course, to talk him into coming with her. ‘You could go back to school, honey,’ she had cooed; a bright smile masking the tense context of the discussion. Then she blew it by adding, ‘I make enough for both of us, Davy,’ pause, ‘and you could leave your dead end job down here (the smile faded) and...well...I’d take care of you till you finished up at school and found something better.’ Cathy trailed off realizing she had gone too far, while Dave did a slow burn, deeply humiliated by her suggestion, staring out the window of the car, not able to think of anything to say. He liked his work and didn’t care all that much about the money and there was no damn way he was going to let his girl friend pay his bills. Besides- he tried to keep his tone reasonable- and mumbled, ‘Yeah, baby, but what about my folks?’ Cathy rolled her eyes; they had been over this ground before and, to be honest, despite the crazy, frustrating absurdity of it all, it was one of the things she loved about her man. The big, tough looking stud had a heart of gold and sense of honor like some sort of big, strapping, overgrown boy scout. She smiled in spite of herself and Dave, misinterpreting the gesture, reddened in deeper humiliation, frowning his incomprehension. ‘Cathy,’ he tried again, ‘you know how it’s been since dad had his heart attack. Doc says it could happen again...any time. Mom’s working herself to the bone taking care of stuff, but she can’t do it all.’ Cathy squirmed and felt her pussy begin to sweat as she gazed into his wide blue eyes; noting the concerned crease just above the bridge of his nose, his flushed complexion, the arched blond eyebrows, noble jaw line... Her eyes dropped to his open shirt and she lost it. ‘I know, honey,’ she sighed. ‘You’re all they have.’ ‘Yeah,’ and he nodded, honor satisfied, conversation closed.
The Chevy pulled into the construction site and Dave shook off his reverie. He and Cathy would be fine, just fine. She was coming down in a couple of days and the thought made his crotch, already sweating in the loose denim of his jeans, throb. Life was good. Fuck the money; he loved his work and, as for his folks, well they would be ok too. He would make sure of that- he was all they had.
6:55 AM and Dave strode onto the site like a young god. He was in his element; three years out of the Corps, top condition, charged with the kind of raw energy that turned heads wherever he went, whatever he wore- but today he was in his glory. This was where he belonged and he knew it with an instinctive certainty that spoke with an eloquence he had never achieved by going to school; straight from the gut. Dave put on a big, unaffected grin and headed for the foreman’s trailer. His mood was so bright that he even whistled affectionately when Masco, the boss’ dog and unofficial site mascot, capered up to him and, sure enough, attempted to clamor up the tall stud’s leg and bury his wet nose in Dave’s sweaty crotch. Of course, the obnoxious pug never succeeded- he was too small- and Dave, humoring the little fucker, bent down and scratched behind his velvety black ears. Masco gurgled an inarticulate response and commenced to dry hump Dave’s muscular thigh. ‘Oh! You nasty bastard,’ Dave laughed, and, looking around to make sure no one was watching, lightly kicked the damn thing, guffawing loudly as Masco rolled in the dirt and scampered away. Shaking his head in bemusement (he secretly hated the pug), he entered the foreman’s trailer for the day’s work assignment. Five minutes later he was back in the sun, time card punched and making money. ‘Yeah, right!! Big money...’ Dave laughed to himself and, sipping the last of his free coffee from a smudged paper cup, headed across the site to the rising office block. He would be working indoors today.
Dave crossed the hundred or so yards of the site in a slow saunter, unconsciously flexing arms, chest and back, anxious for the free workout that he knew the day must bring. He could already feel the clean cotton of his tee shirt sticking to the pumping muscles of chest and back and, pausing, stripped it off and shoved it, like a trophy, in the back pocket of his jeans. Reaching behind his head with both hands, he arched his rock-hard torso backwards, then sideways, stretching his long frame under rippling tan skin and was amused when he heard a group of Mexicans hoot and whistle from the other end of the site. Dave’s smile flashed white in the sun and he nodded his approval. One of the Mexicans shouted, in heavily accented English, ‘Be careful cabron! You will drive the delicate, white mujeres wild with lust!!’ Dave’s smile grew impossibly broader and Little Faustino, the site joker (who had unsuccessfully tried to talk Dave into ‘riding the rails’ one memorable night in a sleazy bar) added, ‘You forget your belt, hombre? Watch your pants amigo. Maybe you be a low rider, but those babies are heading for your feet.’ The Mexicans roared with laughter as Dave looked down the length of his slick torso and noted his belt less jeans riding low on narrow hips, an inch and a half of cotton briefs visible above the faded blue waistband. ‘No me chinges, pendejo!! (Don’t fuck with me, dickhead),’ he grimaced theatrically, then hammed it up by grabbing his crotch and shouting, ‘Yo se que lo quieres!!! (I know you want it).’ The Mexicans went into hysterics and Dave disappeared into the dark maw of the half-finished office block.
Two and a half hours later the happy young buck was slick with exertion and dusted with a fine sheen of pale plaster when Juan Ruiz interrupted his workday rhythm. Dave was perched on a ladder, naked torso stretched suggestively, pants sagging even lower, hammering on a piece of dry wall when Ruiz spoke from behind, ‘Foreman wants you down at the trailer, man. Phone call from your mom; must be important.’ Dave turned slowly on the ladder, a quizzical expression on his handsome face. He looked at Ruiz, who shrugged, and noted Masco, crouched at Juan’s feet staring intently. In an instant his carefree concentration was shattered. Dave descended the ladder with a heavy sense of foreboding, toweled the plaster dust from his golden skin, shrugged his tee shirt back on and headed for the door.
‘Mom, what’s the matter?!!’ Dave stood in the sweltering trailer, cell phone propped against a reddening ear. ‘What the hell!!!?...sorry,’ he shouted into the receiver and the foreman shot him a concerned look. ‘Hey! Try not to worry, mom. Everything’s gonna be ok. Really!! Maybe I can do something...yeah....ok, bye.’ He turned toward his boss. ‘There’s been some trouble, sir. Something about a loan my folks took out at the bank and now they can’t pay- least ways right now. Dad’s got some serious medical bills. Seems like some asshole at the bank called and threatened to take their house or something. Can’t be true, can it??? Man, mom’s got enough on her hands right now with dad being so messed up and all. Ah, shit...’ and he trailed off, sick with anxiety. The foreman stared intently, chewing on his lower lip. Dave was a decent guy and a valuable worker. ‘Listen, Dave. Take the rest of the day off and go see what you can do. You’re a good man, but I think we can get by without you for a day,’ he winced at his lame attempt at humor. ‘Go home and get cleaned up, then head over to your folk’s place. Sounds like they need you right now.’ ‘Thanks, sir,’ Dave nodded his appreciation, left the stuffy trailer and stepped into the arid heat. It was 10:48 in the morning.
Driving down the highway, heading for his apartment, the anxious young man’s mind rolled over and over in desperate concern for his parents. God, what this must be doing to them!! His stomach felt like molten lead, mind a swirl of helpless anxiety. He passed the green freeway sign indicating the off-ramp to his apartment; a mile and a half to go. Dave took the next one, a quarter of a mile down the road, and did a U turn. In a sudden flash of clarity he knew what he had to do. All of the unreasoning confidence of his twenty six years came to bear on the rash decision. He headed toward the bank; maybe he could reason with them. Maybe.
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