Date: Wed, 6 Dec 2006 15:43:30 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: "Take Care of My Man for Me"

			TAKE CARE OF MY MAN FOR ME
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
			WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

     My sister's letter in my hand as proof, I knocked on the door. It was
Sunday, he ought to be home. But nothing at first. I knocked again.
     "Yeah, yeah, who is it, God damn it?" came my brother-in-law Justin's
voice. "You knock on my door, you better have a Goddamned good reason, you
mother-fucking...oh, hello, Lionel." he said when he saw it was me. He was
bleary-eyed and looked hung over. "What are you doing here?" Though it was
nearly two in the afternoon, I had awakened him. His hair was disarranged
as much as such short hair could be, he was wearing only a rather ratty
pair of boxer shorts (he had kept the door carefully covering him until he
saw it was me, then opened it on up), and his body gave off an ineffable
odor of unwashed sweat and dirt. His hairy chest was a solid mass of
bulging muscles, from the well-defined pecs, down to the washboard
abs. Over this, his hair was an exotic design of dark lines, that wove and
swerved across in patterns that were random but seemed to almost make
sense, if you could but ascertain the pattern. "Well, what is it?" he asked
me again; an order not a question, one beefy arm raised his hand up to wipe
at his eyes with his broad fingers.
     "Uh, I came to stay with you a few days or...or so." I nattered.
     "Uh?"
     "Natasha asked me to stay with you for a while." I said, showing him
the letter. "She's heard that you...well, you need someone to clean your
house and cook your meals and...and such. And I'm in between jobs right
now, so I said I'd do it."
     "Stay with me?" the Master Sergeant which Justin was began to show
forth. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
     "I mean I stay with you and clean your house and cook meals for
you...and wash your clothes." I said. "Sis asked me to. She's going to pay
me herself."
     That was a mistake. "Hell, I don't need my wife to pay for a
housekeeper for me!" Justin snarled.
     "Read her letter." I said, waving it at him. Sis had warned me her
husband would be a hard case. "I was to take care of you whether you wanted
me to or not." I said. "Now, since you can't do anything about it, can I
come in?" If not, I had a copy of her door key and instructions to slip in
while he was busy on the base and clean things without his consent. Her
instructions concluded, "Take care of my man for me."
     "God damn it." Justin stepped aside and walked back and I followed in.
     Ye god! Sis had been right! This place was a dump and Sis had been
deployed for less than a month!
     Justin and my sister Natasha were both in the Army. When the Iraqi
conflict started up, I think we all assumed that one or both of them would
be sent there. Everyone sort of expected Justin to go and Natasha to stay
(after all, she was the woman!).
     But that wasn't how it had happened. Justin was a top-notch training
sergeant, able to turn raw recruits into polished soldiers. Natasha was a
communications gear repair specialist. Which one would you send to a battle
zone? Right, my sister had gone to Iraq and her husband was left at home to
make do without her.
     So I was looking at the result. Justin had taken to taking his clothes
off in the living room and dropping them (everything including socks and
briefs with brown skid-marks in the back, ewww!) in the middle of the
floor. The coffee table held empty pizza boxes and grease-stained hamburger
wrappings, not to mention an appalling number of empty beer cans which lay
along one side of the couch. There was a single empty spot on the couch and
Justin sat down in it, and he fit the empty slot like a peg-in-hole game
for a toddler, he picked up a beer can, shook it, and then turned it up and
drained it. Guh! That beer couldn't have been cold, and must have been
flatter than hell!
     "So you're here because Natasha is paying you to take care of me, eh?"
Justin said, his legs splayed out, and his boxers' fly made an intriguing
gap in the middle, you could almost see inside...almost.
     "Yep." I said, but I wasn't looking him in the eye.
     "You can see you got your work cut out for you." Justin said. "You
want to start in right now, or get a fresh start on it tomorrow."
     "I'll just hit the highlights for now." I said. "You got any trash
bags?"
     "Check in the kitchen." Justin turned on the television (or rather,
turned the mute back off again) and the football game roared on.
     I plucked trash like it was fruit in a fruit orchard, hanging
everywhere and lying on the floor, too. Natasha had written that Justin was
a good husband, but felt that a woman's place was to keep the house
clean. She had mostly accommodated his antiquated ideas, but wrote in her
letter with what I imagined an impish grin on her face that I could try
giving Justin ideas about how a man can clean things up, too.
     Justin could clean house, I was sure of that, you can't get out of the
Army without getting acquainted with a scrub brush and tile grout cleaner,
but with a wife, Justin just went limp. His wife could take care of it when
she got back. Natasha had cleaned up similar messes time and time again
when sent on detached duty for a week or two. Now she was over in Iraq for
at least another six months. Yep...Justin needed me, before he succumbed to
scurvy or food poisoning.
     So I scooped up over four garbage bags full of trash and got them out
to the garage to wait for the pickup on Tuesday morning. I had encountered
dirty dishes and got them out to the kitchen and piled in and around the
sink. Well, that would have to do for now.
     As the sun was nearing setting, I came back to the living room with
two beers and gave one to Justin. His response was, "Who the hell said you
could drink one of my beers?"
     "I did." I said. "I live here now. Room and board is part of the deal
with Sis."
     "Oh." Justin said. "Well, in that case, get on the phone and send out
for a pizza. I'm hungry."
     I gave myself the rest of the day off, and got to talking with
Justin. His gruffness had evaporated as the smell in the place improved,
and he was even joking with me by the time bedtime rolled around. He got in
bed at nine o'clock at night, which makes sense when you realize he had to
be at his job by five a.m. He was greeting a new pack of recruits. Fresh
fodder for the Iraq garrison troops, if you call that garrison work.
     So when I awoke at the more sedate hour of eight in the morning, I was
alone and had been for some time. I got up, cleaned myself up, and dug into
work. There was a lot to do.
     I wasn't done by any means by the time Justin came home at nearly
eight o'clock (he would work extra hours for a week), but I had washed all
the dirty clothes, picked up the rooms properly and washed that mound of
dishes. It was now possible to cook a proper meal, and I did. His
refrigerator freezer contained a fair amount of meat and there were canned
goods to tap, and biscuit mix. Justin sat down to a plate of fried chicken,
mashed potatos (from the dry mix), corn and biscuits. He dug in with gusto
(a diet of hamburger-and-fries and pizza gets old in a hurry) and settled
back, patted his still-slim stomach now slightly distended, and said, "Ahh!
Damn, but that hit the spot!"
     "Glad you liked it."
     Justin regarded me. "You know, you might just be worth having around
after all."
     I grinned/shrugged and looked down at my plate. "It works for me,
too. I get some time to figure out what I want to do with the rest of my
life."
     "Thought about the Army?" Justin asked me.
     "Thought about it." I admitted. "Laughed really hard. Forgot about
it."
     Justin just said, "I figured that would be your response. Being in the
Army takes a good deal of dedication. It's not for the faint-hearted."
Which was a way of calling me a wimp!
     I got a bit incensed. "Yeah, well, I see how it's worked out for you!
You got a wife in a combat zone!"
     "Yeah." Justin said. "Well, I'm going to turn in. Clean the dishes and
leave a cold breakfast for me in the fridge, will you? I was nearly late
this morning by having to stop at McDonald's."
     "Sure." I said. "No problem." I could scramble some eggs and wrap them
in a tortilla with some bacon and such, a breakfast burrito he could eat
cold or nuke in the microwave.
     So I stirred it up and washed the dishes and walked back to the
bathroom to get ready for bed. And I heard it, sounds from the bedroom.
     Justin, that big, strong Master Sergeant, was crying. Jesus, what
should I do about that? Thought about it, and decided to do nothing. At
least, right then.
     The next night, Justin got home at six instead. I had finished
scrubbing the bathroom and kitchen, it was now up to me to keep things
clean instead of laboring away. I had fixed a simple casserole, wanting to
give Justin something better to eat than fried foods.
     He put it away with his usual verve. "Damn, Lionel, that's better than
Natasha fixes for me."
     I smiled/shrugged again. "I like cooking."
     "Maybe you could get a job at a restaurant."
     "I don't like cooking that much." Justin smiled and I said, "I mean,
cooking that quantity. Cooking one casserole is fun. Cooking twenty-five
casseroles is just too much work!"
     Justin laughed. "Natasha's said about the same thing. You know, you
and she look a hell of a lot alike. I catch you in just the right light,
you look just the hell like her."
     "Must be some really bad light." I said, and passed it over. Hell, we
did look a lot alike, we were brother and sister, after all. Be more
surprising if we didn't resemble each other.
     Justin was quiet for a time, then said, "Yeah, with you here, it's
almost like I got Natasha back with me. Clean clothes, clean house, good
food. Everything I need to feel this place is home again. It wasn't feeling
much like home with her gone."
     "Yeah, if you were fucking me, it'd be just like home, wouldn't it?" I
joked, and got up and took the dirty plates into the kitchen. "You want me
to pack the rest of the casserole for your lunch tomorrow?"
     "Yes, please. And a breakfast, too."
     "All right." and I forgot about it. Washed the dishes and felt pretty
good about things. This was working out just fine. Maybe tomorrow I'd fix
him a hearty stew for supper, and also I should plan out how to give him a
decent breakfast. His leaving at four-thirty a.m. made a hot meal out of
the question, but I could come up with something. I settled for fixing him
another breakfast burrito, but told myself to shop tomorrow and find
something better.
     I got things done and went into the living room. Justin was still up,
though he'd go to bed in another half-hour if he kept the 9-4 sleeping
schedule he had. I went in and found him holding a picture of my
sister. Talking to it, with a soft croon in his voice, while he fondled his
crotch.
     I would have backed out of there and re-entered after making some
noise, but he saw me at the same time, yanked his hand away from his bulge
and put the picture back on the side table.
     "You miss my sister, huh?"
     "Yeah." Justin said. "I love her, a hell of a lot. When they called
her up, I asked for a reassigment to Iraq myself, you know, teach the
Iraqis how to fight and such, but they turned me down. Said I was more
valuable here. Valuable!" His face crinkled in rage. "Now my wife's in a
danger zone, cooking over open fires and sleeping in a tent, and I'm
sitting at home with a cook/housekeeper to satisfy my every need. Where the
hell is the justice in that?"
     "Hey, don't hit on yourself." I said, sitting down beside him, patted
his leg sympathetically. "Military separations are hard." I had listened to
my sister talking about such things. "She's thinking about you, I mean, she
got me to come work for you."
     "Yeah." Justin said. "Everything I need except the one thing I need
most."
     "I know it's hard on you."
     I patted his leg again, and he looked at me, licked his lips and said,
"You know, you look just like Natasha in this light."
     "Must be bad light." I joked again, unoriginally.
     "I can see just fine." he said and his face came over towards mine.
     I suppose I should have been surprised, or fended him off, or said
something. I didn't do any of that. He kissed me and I kissed him right
back. He lowered me back onto the couch as he kissed me, slowly getting on
top of me.
     "It's just that's its been so long." he said huskily when he let go of
my lips, and positioned one leg onto the couch. "I love Natasha, you have
to know that. You look just like her. That's why."
     "I know." I said and I understood just what he meant. "It's all
right. She told me to take care of you, remember? She didn't say how. Just
to take care of her man."
     And Justin kissed me again and this time, his body lowered itself onto
me and I felt his hard-on pressing onto my leg. I felt his strong back, and
that chest pulsed as his breaths sped up, pressing against my own. His kiss
was as gentle and loving as any husband would give to his wife. That was
me, his substitute wife. He wasn't making any promises to me. In a way, he
wasn't even breaking his vows.
     His body smelled of the sweat of a day's labor, and he did work hard
at molding those young men. A sergeant doesn't just stand around and yell,
he is out there working with the men, running here and there, helping one
adjust his rifle, helping another adjust something, and yelling at a third
who was doing it wrong, but yelling in a way to make him think, because if
you mess up on the battlefield, they don't give you any do-overs and they
put you in a metal box to ship you home.
     I undid those big buttons they put on a soldier's shirt, and slid it
over those broad, round shoulders. The t-shirt was next, and skinning it
off of him was fun. My own t-shirt was next and then his hairy chest came
down and I darned near died, those myriad tickling points of his man-fur
stroking my body in a hundred ways at once.
     I took another pause to say, "You want to go into the bedroom?"
     "No!" he said sharply, then quieter, "No. That's not your place. It's
hers."
     "Okay, sure." I said, abashed. I was sleeping on the couch, which
folded out into a sleeper sofa. Most military families invest in one, and
it gets a lot of use one way or another.
     But we didn't rig out the bed, we undressed and after rubbing a
generous allotment of my Lovelube onto his tool, Justin lowered me back
onto the sofa and those massive hands began to lift my legs up. I sighed
when that sturdy prod touched my anus. I had half-expected Justin to be
this rough-gruff guy who just stuck it in hard, but Justin was as gentle as
a mother cat with one of her kittens. When he popped the glans inside my
sphincter, it was almost like coming home.
     I satisfied my need to touch his muscled form, you can't make love
with a big muscled stud without wanting to touch those muscles, feel them,
stroke them, know them. Reassure yourself that they're real. These were
real, God yes, so fucking real! I could touch them, I could rub them, I
could even reach out my tongue and taste that swelling at his right
shoulder, and meanwhile his chest continued to brush mine with a hundred
strands of his thick thatch of fur. I know that women blanche at the
thought of a man's body hair, but for me, it's the best thing about having
a man in your bed. I think women all got a look at Michelangelo's David
when they were young and fell in love with it. After that, every man who
isn't made of smooth white marble is deficient in their eyes. Not me, I
wanted a real man and I got one!
     Slowly he pushed inside me deeper and deeper, there was practically no
pain to speak of. I wondered about that, wondered if I dared ask Justin
about it, you don't fuck a man's ass the first time and be anything but
clumsy about it, it takes practice, I knew full well. Maybe I wasn't the
first substitute Justin had called on in his past after all! That or he and
Natasha did some things in bed a brother is better off not knowing!
     Whoever taught Justin how to fuck a man's ass, he did his job
well. After a time, I had the full length inside me, me comfortably
stretched out, and Justin began to fuck me. Long, slow strokes, like he
didn't have any hurry about it, he would take as long as he needed to do
the job right. Again, not what you expect from a warrior-type of man. My
sister was one lucky gal!
     As it was, my passion built up slowly, he raised up and looked me
right in the eyes, let me look right at his lust-softened face, at the
peace that had settled on his soul. When Natasha left, she had created a
void in his life, and now I had filled it again. With me in her place, he
could wait for her return in calmness.
     But the slow pace was telling on Justin, he got more awkward and I
realized that he was dead-tired from a rough day. So I stopped him and
said, "Let's shift around." And I got my inner leg out from around him and
managed to pivot on his dong so that I was lying beside him on the
couch. While I was nearly falling off the thing, the two of us were
side-by-side. Now Justin could move without having to support his body, and
his smooth tempo resumed.
     So sweet, the loving of a loving man, the gentle motions that lap over
your soul like the waters of the rising tide over the sand. Little by
little your spirit becomes saturated with desire, until the time when it
becomes one with the waters and they rush over it. In that slow, easy,
unforced way, my climax crept over me until I was ready to ignite, the
slightest touch of my hand on my cock and I would explode!
     And I held off, still, though my cock poured precome onto the sofa,
creating a broad, wet, cool spot and my body rocked slightly as Justin's
thrusts took on a slightly more rapid tone, I knew that he was close, so
close, and I grabbed my dong and I prayed that I could time this
right. It's so good when you and your lover come together, I wanted that
with Justin, I wanted his orgasm and mine to coincide, and I groaned, "I'm
ready to come, man! Tell me when you do it, please, tell me when."
     Gentle panting sounds were all his response until after nearly a
moment, he whispered to me, "Now. I'm ready now."
     I pumped my pud and I howled for my climax, so long delayed, revenged
itself on my senses by hitting them twice as hard as usual, I sprayed my
jizz all over the coffee table in front of me, a loud splatting sound as
they landed, and I heard that, and heard Justin's soft groans as his own
cock pumped his seed deep within my core. Just like he had loved me,
Justin's orgasm was soft, silent and gentle as a kitten's paw-touch when he
invites you to play with him. I felt oddly vulgar and crude, with my loud
roaring ejaculation while he gently poured his semen into me in his own.
     Done, I panted and said, "Oh, man, that was great."
     "I'm glad you're staying here with me." Justin said and hesitated. "I
guess you can sleep in the bed with me if you want to. I don't think
Natasha would mind, long as you remember that when she comes back, you're
back to sleeping on the couch. Alone."
     "Don't worry, I know what I'm here for." I said. "After all, her
instructions to me were clear. 'Take good care of my man for me, until I
can get back' is what she said. And I intend to do just that, whatever
Natasha did, I'll do instead."
     "Good." Justin said. "Because Natasha always got up to fix me a hot
breakfast at four-thirty in the morning. You can start doing that in the
morning, then. Now come on, let's get to bed."
     "Yes, sir." I mock-saluted him and then followed him to the bedroom,
thinking, yeesh, a four a.m. breakfast! Taking care of this man was turning
out to be more work than I'd thought!

				  THE END
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