Home > Twisted Twosome

Twisted Twosome
Author: Meghan Quinn

Chapter One


RACER

Why is it so goddamn drafty in here? I grip my hammer in my hand, my tool belt riding low on my hips, and my stereotypical construction hat rests on my head as I finish up the project I was hired to do.

Taking a quick look around, I search the bedroom, looking for an open window or AC vent that’s blowing a cold breeze right against my dick and sac, making it almost impossible to look semi-decent in this scrap of fabric.

“Mmm, I think you forgot a nail on the ground over there,” says the throaty, smoke-filled voice of Mrs. Sage, who is lying across her chaise lounge, wearing a silky pink robe that is barely tied around her waist. She makes it her mission to show me as much skin as possible, and as we’re talking about skin showing . . .

I bend down to pick up the nail she’s pointing at as the thin strip of man thong material rides higher up my ass crack than I care to admit.

Let’s pause for a second.

Are you wondering to yourself, is Racer really wearing a man thong as he finishes building a solid oak shelf?

The answer is yes. Yes, I am.

I’m Racer McKay, and I wear man thongs for older, rich women while I work on simple projects around their houses. Excuse me, I mean mansions.

Don’t worry. Yes, I’m also very much ashamed to admit the level I’ve stooped to in order to make some cash. I have my pride, but right now, when I’m offered three hundred dollars more to build a shelf in a man thong, I’m choosing to seize the opportunity.

Self-respect was thrown out the window two years ago when a pile of bills and responsibilities were thrust in my direction without any preparation or warning. Making money is as vital as breathing to me, so I will take it any way I can get it.

Cue the man thong.

“Oh, you’re right. Here it is,” I say, holding up the nail. “Thanks for the help, Mrs. Sage. I would hate to see you hurt yourself from my lack of attention to detail.”

She waves me off and puffs her chest toward me, her robe slipping farther apart, showing the cleavage of a very saggy pair of breasts. I’ve seen my fair share of boobs, and even though I don’t mingle sex with work, I can’t help but want Mrs. Sage to remove the robe just so I can see what she has hidden under the silky fabric.

How saggy are we talking here?

I’m interested for exploratory reasons, for knowledge about every kind of breast out there. Because right now, Mrs. Sage looks like she’s rocking a pair of pancakes that have been flattened by a steamroller.

“You would just have to nurse me back to health if that happened.” Her finger trails up her varicose veined leg to her geriatric hip. I hold back the shiver that wants to spin up my spine.

All I can say is . . . can’t unsee that.

I nervously laugh and tuck my hammer into its holster. “Not much of a nurse, Mrs. Sage. I might hurt you even more.”

“I don’t mind getting hurt.” She starts to spread her legs and that’s when I call it a day.

I turn around quickly, snag my jeans, and slip them up and over my legs, struggling around my tool belt. Once things are in place, I remove my hat, put on my shirt, and cover my hair with a backward baseball cap. The peep show is over.

Once dressed, I gather my tools, tuck my construction hat under my arm, and turn to Mrs. Sage. This is my least favorite part, getting the old bird to pay up.

“Leaving already?” She pouts, lipstick on her teeth.

“Unfortunately, I have another engagement I’m running late for.” A lie, but it’s the only way I know to get out of here.

“That’s a shame. I really should book you for a whole day. That way you can’t skirt out of here earlier than I’m ready for.”

She walks out of the den and into the entryway where she opens her purse and pulls out a wad of one-hundred-dollar bills. My brain explodes from the amount of cash in her purse, as if it’s chump change she’s ready to throw around at a parade dedicated to her and her riches.

“What do I owe you? Six hundred?”

Fuck, it’s five hundred, and if I wasn’t a nice guy, I wouldn’t correct her, but I believe in good karma. Especially considering where my bad luck has gotten me—trying to climb my way out of a large debt. I try to put as many good vibes out in the world as possible.

“We actually agreed upon five hundred, Mrs. Sage.”

“Such a bargain.” She flips through her cash, pulls out five bills—damn—and hands them over to me. “Shall I call for my next project?”

I pocket the cash. “Email is best, Mrs. Sage. I always feel awkward taking phone calls at work.”

“Such a hard worker.” She pats my face and leans forward, lips puckered, but I step to the side avoiding an attack from her old-lady lips.

As I depart, I wave my hand in the air and say, “Thanks, Mrs. Sage. I look forward to your next email.”

Out of her reach, I toss my tools in the back of my truck, enter the cab, and place my hands on the steering wheel as I exhale a long pent-up breath.

My boys, Smalls and Tucker, can never hear about today’s side job. There is no way they’ll let me live it down if they knew. I know my two best friends—who I’ve been working with in construction for the last few years—have never had to put on a man thong and bend over for a client multiple times. And hell, if they found out I do—on occasion—I think they would question my sanity.

Although, they’re aware of my struggles and try to help out where they can. Tucker, technically my boss, tries to schedule me as much as possible, but sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.

From the center console of my beat-up truck, I pull out my phone and see three text messages.

Tucker: At the House of Reardon with Smalls. Come have a drink.

Smalls: Get your ass here.

Adalyn: Have you ever smelled burning skin before? It’s nasty.

I chuckle at the last message. I head toward the bar where Tucker and Smalls are hanging out and do voice text back to Adalyn.

“Try to avoid burning skin, especially on the worksite. I’m taking it you’ve had a fun shift at work today?”

Adalyn is one of my best friends as well. I met her through Tucker’s fiancée, Emma. We spent one night together hanging out and we’ve been inseparable ever since. And before your mind starts racing a mile a minute about how we’re going to get married and have little Radalyn babies, I’m going to cut you off right there. There is nothing going on between us. As Adalyn very honestly told me one night, she has no interest in starting any type of relationship with me since I’m not her type. Although, she said if I want to hang out with my shirt off it would be no problem with her. Such a horny little minx.

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