Tool

By R.W. Clinger

Damn, the tool next door to Lance Baye is superiorly hot. Although the stud’s name is Mike Danning, Lance insists on calling him Tool. Probably because he looks hot, big, and dumb. Lance knows Mike is from Phoenix, and is temporarily in Pittsburgh to care for his Uncle Craig.

Playing around, Lance decides to borrow tools from his neighbor. A wrench today. A screwdriver tomorrow. A handsaw the day after tomorrow. Soon, Lance has a pile of Tool’s tools. And he also has a strong desire for Tool.

But just when Lance decides to put the sexual moves on Tool, another neighbor is also interested. Honey Hertzer. Lance backs off -- it seems pathetic and a waste of time to chase a straight tool.

Things can change on a dime, though. Lance has a stack of tools that belong to Tool. And Tool needs them back. Will the two men share a hungry and sexual connection, crossing neighborly lines when Tool comes searching for his tools? Does a promising future exist between the pair?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: May 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781646567904

R.W. Clinger

R.W. Clinger is a resident of Pittsburgh. He has a degree in English from Point Park University of Pittsburgh. His writing entails gay human studies, and includes the novels Just a Boy, Skin Tour, Skin Artist, Soft on the Eyes, Pool Boy, and The Last Pile of Leaves. He has published many stories with Starbooks Press as well as The Weekender, a novella with Dreamspinner Press. His gay mystery, Cutie Pie Must Die, is published with Bold Stroke Books. For three years he has held the position of managing editor for the literary magazine, The Writer’s Post Journal. For more information, please visit rwclinger.com.

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Tool

By R.W. Clinger

Published by JMS Books LLC

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2021 R.W. Clinger

ISBN 9781646567904

Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

* * * *

Tool

By R.W. Clinger

What are you looking at, Sir Lance-A-Pot? Marcus says from behind me on the floor. He is playing some video game with dragons, castles, and handsome knights in shining armor. Get away from the window and give your new neighbor some space. Help me slay this three-headed dragon before he has me for lunch.

Sometimes I think Marcus lives with me in my two-bedroom saltbox in downtown Pittsburgh because he’s always around. But my bestie doesn’t. He has his own place across the Allegheny River on the North Side, next to Heinz Stadium in the Mexican War Streets District. Maybe he likes my place better than his, although, if ever asked, I will surely disagree with the person regarding this statement, hands down, since his place is vast, three levels, and has an incredible view of downtown.

I tell him, I haven’t smoked pot in three months. Since Valentine’s Day. When Ricky Starr broke my heart. So you can’t call me that anymore. I’m pot- and boyfriend-free.

He clicks and clacks the handheld device with his fingers and thumbs, controlling some time-traveling fool he has named Gridiron. Starr isn’t boyfriend material. He might look good and stir your private parts, but trust me, he doesn’t have a brain in that delicious body. He’s into cars, muscles, and drugs. You will never have an in-depth conversation about gentrification or climate control in highly-populated cities with him.

It’s early May and I stand at my open living room window. I roll my eyes. Sometimes Marcus is too honest with me. Frankly, I’d be perfectly fine if he lied to me once or twice. Guess this will never happen, though. Too bad. I ignore him and check out Tool in the double lot next door. My neighbor’s a dreamboat that stands at six-three with a golden brown tan all year round, wavy cinnamon-brown hair, a chiseled body at 210 pounds with perky nipples, pumped abs, and creamy brown eyes. He’s bent over the engine of a mustard-colored 1976 Nova. He’s in the mouth of a single red-brick garage where he works. His ripped back and tight bottom faces me. The guy sports a pair of tight, greasy jeans, cowboy boots, and no belt. The hood of the Nova is propped open and a blue metal tool box sits on the right side of the engine, open. He grabs a stainless-steel tool out of the box, clicks and clacks it against the engine, hard at work, looking like Hercules, Troy, or Apollo, and causes me to ogle him like a high school boy.

Behind Tool is the semi-dark garage filled with managed clutter: working fan that Tool sometimes plugs in and uses; paint cans of many colors on one wall; workbench to the right with a heap of stainless-steel tools; hubcaps galore here and there, a radio near