Their first date didn’t end in kissing or sex but was filled with sexual tension. They found themselves glowing the next day.
* * * * *
Brick sat down on the futon couch of his one room trailer and kicked off his work boots. It was an unusually warm September day for Minnesota and his socks were stuck to his feet. He was working on the crew fixing I-35North and they were getting substantial bonuses for putting in extra hours. Brick, a loner by nature, was happy for the work and to sock away a few extra bucks. He peeled off the socks, got a beer from the fridge and was about to light up a cigar when his phone rang. He did not recognize the number and sighed. Probably a telemarketer.
“Adams here,” he said, thinking it could be someone from work.
“Hello,” the voice on the other end said, “Mr. Adams, I’m Michael Johnson. I’m the new manager of the Sunny Hollow Estate.”
Brick smiled. He sounds like a kid. But the last manager—Chuck Edwards—was an asshole who never fixed anything, harassed the single women who lived in the park, and was rude to the Latino and Black families who lived there. Brick was hardly a PC lefty; but he figured, “live and let live,”—just leave people alone to live their lives.
“Hello Mr. Johnson,” Brick responded back. “What happened to Chuck Edwards?”
“Well Sir,” Michael cleared his throat, sounding a bit tentative. “He’s no longer with the Management Company. That’s all I’m at liberty to say. But I understand you’ve had some complaints in the past. I’m wondering if I could come by your place and we could discuss them. I’d like to make sure we correct them as quickly as possible.”
Brick was impressed. The kid sounded decent and sincere. Kid? Brick was only 37, but he was an old soul. Still-Johnson sounded like he was maybe 20.
“That sounds fine, Mr. Johnson. I just got home from work and need to take a shower. Gimme 30 minutes?”
Michael sounded eager. “Sure thing. I’ll be right over. Thank you. And please, Sir, call me Michael.”
Brick smiled, “Sure thing, Michael. You can call me Brick.”
Brick hung up the call and headed for the shower.
30 minutes later, Michael Johnson showed up at Brick Adams trailer. Michael was younger—26 years old—and had just finished getting his MBA from the University of Minnesota. Jobs weren’t abundant these days, so when a friend of a friend connected him with the management company who oversaw Sunny Hollow, he jumped at the job. He had student loans to pay off and this job came with free housing. He was following a total asshole who’d been fired for skimming money off the books. Michael figured that if he kept his nose down, did his work, made sure the residents were all taken care of, then he could move on to a more lucrative job in a couple years. Plus, Sunny Hollow was only 25 minutes north of the University and he could stay in touch with his friends who got jobs in the city.
Michael knocked on the door just as Brick was finishing putting on his shirt. He didn’t bother with the top couple of buttons and his chest hair poked out. “Coming,” he answered.
Brick opened the door to a smiling—if nervous—Michael Johnson. Michael stood at 5’11 with an average build, short curly brown hair, a goatee, and the most beautiful blue eyes Brick had ever seen. His smile was earnest and he looked remarkably sincere.
Michael stuck out his hand, “Hello Brick, I’m Michael Johnson. Thanks for agreeing to see me.”
Brick stared. This guy was gorgeous! He was not one to mince words nor get overly emotionally, but he found himself speechless, staring, and with a bulge growing in his pants.
After a momentary pause, Brick extended his hand—significantly larger than Michael’s—and felt a jolt of electricity as they shook hands. “Welcome Michael. Please come in.”
Michael walked passed and Brick couldn’t get over what a cute butt he had tucked in those dockers.
“Please sit down,” he said to Michael. “I’m just having a beer. Would you like one?” He pulled two out of the fridge.
Michael looked torn. “Well, I’d love one… but I’m on the job and given its my first week, I probably shouldn’t…” His voice trailed off. He couldn’t take his eyes off the man handing him the beer. Brick was 6’3″ with curly brown hair that needed a trim, a full beard with flecks of red and a hint of grey; he weighted 240, had 10% body fat, and wore a size 13 shoe. He was a gentle giant of a man, but if you didn’t know him, he looked intimidating as hell.
Brick nodded and put the beer back in the fridge. “I respect your work ethic, Michael. How about this? We’ll go over our business and when we’re done and you’re off the clock, we’ll have the beer?”
Michael contemplated for a moment. While he was newly “out,” he sensed the chemistry here was real. What the hell? He thought. “Thank you. That would be great.”
Michael pulled out a file folder and a stack of papers. “So it seems that you’ve had some complaints in the eight years since you’ve lived here,” he said putting on his glasses. “And it looks like very few of them have been addressed. I’ve read them all, Mr. Adams—Brick—and they are all very reasonable. On behalf of the company, I want to apologize to you personally.”
Brick was stunned. Chuck had ignored most of his complaints or was too drunk to deal with the rest. Here was a new manager who was taking him seriously. And he was cute as fuck!
“Well thank you, Michael. I appreciate that.” He stared into those eyes and saw Michael start to blush.
“It is the least we can do,” Michael responded with sincerity. “I’ve made a list of all the lights that have been out, the potholes that need to be fixed, and the other issues in the neighborhood. We have a plan to fix them all starting tomorrow. We also saw your note about Mrs. Larsen needing a ramp, but I see that her trailer has one.”
Brick looked down. The woman was 67, used a walker, and needed a ramp to get into her home. After a year of fighting with Chuck, Brick said, “To hell with it,” and built it himself, using his own money.
He responded quietly, “Well, we took care of Mrs. Larsen.” Michael was enchanted with the bigger, brutish looking man sounding so gentle. He wasn’t expecting it at all.
“Thank you,” Michael said. “You’re a really good neighbor.”
Brick didn’t respond but found himself aglow with pride from the compliment.
“Now, Brick, the last item is the playground,” Michael started and Brick interrupted, “Yeah—the kids need somewhere to play. With equipment that isn’t busted or gonna give ’em tetnus. I’ll be happy to help build it, but those kids need a place to play.” Brick was animated—he didn’t have a lot of time for most adults and while he didn’t understand kids at all, he believed they needed a safe place to place.
Michael found Brick’s passion endearing, “Yes. I agree. Since winter is coming, we can’t do anything right now. But here’s what I’ve done: I’ve contacted the local YMCA. They have a shuttle bus that will pick up any kid who wants swimming lessons after school. Free of charge. And, I’ve put in a request to the management company for new playground equipment and am working on a grant to get the costs covered. No guarantees, but I’m hoping we can have one in next spring.”
Brick smiled wide and Michael focused on his full lips. Brick couldn’t take his eyes off Michael’s…for a guy who worked a 12 hour day doing hard labor and whose body was exhausted, Michael was a jolt of caffeine and Brick found himself very much awake.
They had finished the work conversation and Brick brought the beers out of the fridge. As they sat and talked about the neighborhood, Brick found himself comfortable with Michael in a way that he usually wasn’t. Michael, in turn, was awed by the mysterious giant of a man. His friends teased him about being a twink who was attracted to bears, but Michael didn’t care; Brick was a stunning man and with his left arm covered in a tattoo sleeve, it was taking all of Michael’s self control not to cum just from looking at him.
Before long, it was 7:30pm. “I just noticed the time, Michael. I’ve got to be awake at 4am for work and haven’t eaten yet.”
Michael stood up to go. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” he stammered as he gathered his papers and briefcase.
“Oh, you don’t have to go!” Brick said rather forcefully. “I just meant that I need to start dinner. A big guy like me needs to eat.” They both laughed. Brick voice was tentative, “Would you like to stay? I was going to grill up some veggies and burgers? I mean, if you have to go home to your wife or girlfriend or…” Brick found himself tongue tied. He was terrible at small talk and he didn’t want to assume anything about Michael.
Michael smiled. “Thank you. I’m new to the neighborhood. I’d love to stay. Thank you. Now, what can I do to help?”
Brick’s smile was radiant. He grabbed the steaks from the fridge and Michael started slicing carrots, peppers, and zucchini. Brick turned on some classical music and Michael chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Brick asked with a smile.
Michael smiled back. “I just hadn’t pegged you for a Mozart guy.”
Brick threw his head back and laughed. “I’m an enigma,” he bantered. “And Michael.”
“That isn’t Mozart. That’s Vivaldi.” He laughed heartily.
Michael moved closer to him so he was standing almost face to face—clearly he was in Brick’s space and the bigger man started to sweat.
They stared into each other’s eyes and they could feel the heat radiating from the other.
“And Brick,” Michael smiled as he cocked his head with a coy grin, “there’s no girlfriend.”