I live in a unique location that’s both hot and cold.

Fifteen minutes to the west lies the beach and all its near-tropical warmth. An hour and a half to the east lies the chilly, often snowy mountains. It can be hot during the day and freezing at night.

Which means the houses in this area must be equipped with a pretty robust heating and cooling system.

Anyone who’s lived in a warm climate knows the special hell one must go through when his or her HVAC system goes out during the height of the summer heat. I’ve seen people resort to sticking their heads in the freezer for a moment’s relief. Plus it seems your HVAC system always goes out when the repairmen are short-staffed or have an overabundance of jobs.

So every spring I have the guys come out before the weather heats up to do a spring check-up on my HVAC system. They look under the hood, so to speak, replacing the air filter, checking the thermostat, and test the coolant pressure in the system. They also test the start-up capacitor and take off the cowling on the outside unit to clean the cooling vanes and get rid of the leaves that build up inside.

It was during one such service visit that I ran into the young, juicy country boy HVAC tech.

I was outside on the front porch when he pulled up in the company van. They had called and warned me he was on his way, so I’d put away the computer, with all its gigabytes of porn, to sit outside and wait for him. The minute he got out of his truck I knew I wanted to get into his pants.

I never did learn his name, which is a shame because now I can’t ask for him specifically should I need a followup visit, which I definitely do. I know that he was about 5-11 or 6 feet tall and weighed about 180 pounds. He had short, strawberry blonde hair and I noticed a scattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose. Also, I remember a skimpy mustache and chinstrap, and a compact butt for such a beefy guy. He told me he was 19 years old and had been doing this work for a year now with the intent of saving his money so he could move out of his parents’ house and get his own place.

He was also a big fan of hunting dogs, which confirmed my suspicion that he lived in the more rural part of our county where the boys tend to hunt birds, fish for bass in the lakes and trout in the streams, drive pickup trucks and drink cheap American beer. Nothing wrong with any of that – it just wasn’t my scene. But this 19-year-old was definitely the exception.

Don’t ask me why. There was something about him that put the iron in my rod, so to speak. He had an earthiness about him that appealed to me. And that big ol’, strapping body didn’t hurt much either. He wasn’t a skinny, delicate twink by any stretch – completely the opposite, actually. I could imagine him playing linebacker or competing in a lumberjacking contest.

I brought him inside and showed him where the intake grate was, then the thermostat, then the interior unit. We chatted while he worked. He had a plainspoken quality that confirmed his country roots. I could just imagine him down by the river at night, him and his buddies gathered around a campfire, drinking beer and laughing and carrying on well into the evening. I wondered if that carrying on included fooling around with each other. You gotta be open-minded about these country boys. They come off as totally straight, but you’d be surprised at how many of them are willing to play with your butt or let you suck their dick.

He went on about his dogs and how he didn’t want to “hunt” them, and then the conversation drifted into how he wanted to get out of his parents’ house and find a place of his own. He never mentioned a girlfriend or a roommate, but I got the impression he’d need one or the other to pay his bills. From there he talked about some of the strange things he’d seen in his time as an HVAC technician making house calls. At one point he described a recent visit where the homeowner, a woman, answered the doorbell naked.

“Well? Did you get any?” I asked slyly.

He chuckled uneasily and shook his head no. “I could’ve used a good suck job that day, too,” he said, “but I was running late for my next appointment so I focused on getting her AC fixed.”

I saw an opportunity so I ran with it. “How are your appointments running today?” I laughed.

He laughed back. “Today, not so bad. I don’t have anything else till 3 this afternoon.”

I arched an eyebrow and nodded. It was not 11:30 a.m. – plenty of time for a little extracurricular activity. So I said, “Listen, I don’t want you to get all freaked out or hostile or anything, but if you were still in the mood for that suck job, I could help you out.”

He continued working and gave me an exaggerated nod. “I see,” he said, not smiling but not frowning either. It’s never easy to know how a dude is going to react when you issue an invitation like that. I’ve had ‘em bow up and want to fight me, while others practically jumped at the offer. I was hoping this guy would fall into the latter category and when he finally answered, he confirmed my hopes.

“I don’t think the boss would much approve of that, ya know.”

“He probably wouldn’t, but then the boss doesn’t need to know, does he.”

He kind of nodded his head, acknowledging the truth of that statement without necessarily agreeing with it. He didn’t say anything, which could have meant a lot of different things. But since I was in for a penny I decided to go in for a pound. As he was peering at the innards of the AC system, I casually reached between his legs and began massaging his crotch. The one thing I noticed right away is that he had boned up substantially, which I took as another hopeful sign. He stopped what he was doing and looked down at my hand. Then, slowly, he turned and stared directly into my eyes. His expression was blank. I had no idea if he was going to jump my bones or punch me in the face. So I rubbed a little more firmly and murmured, “I’d love to have that huge piece of meat in my mouth.”

He kept staring at me, a poor country boy at a loss for words. I continued rubbing and I could swear a wet spot had formed at the top of his crotch, seeping through his shorts. So I pressed my luck even further and began undoing the button at the waist of his shorts. He did nothing to stop me. I used both hands to get it undone, and when it popped free, I ran the zipper down until his pants loosened and unfolded from his body, revealing a pair of plaid boxers. I took the hem of his shorts and the boxers firmly in hand and pulled them down.

A wave of heat and odor rolled out. Either he’d been doing a lot of manual labor that morning or what I’d been doing to his dick had worked him up to a feverish pitch. Either way, once his pants were down, his cock and balls flopped out, along with the pungent aroma of aroused male flesh. His cock was semi hard and very, very fat. It hung between two healthy-sized balls that moved freely in a loose scrotal sack. He was clean shaven – I could see the stubble of a generous pubic patch, but he’d recently trimmed it all off.

I took his dick in my hand and just held it a moment. The flesh was warm and slightly tacky. I sniffed my hand and smelled the odor of ripe country boy. I’d have to see if he’d give me those boxers. I love the odor of man scent in a used pair of boxers or briefs. Mmmm mmmm! I reached under his cock with my other hand and cupped his balls. His ball sack was also sticky and warm, making me want to lick it clean.

As I clasped his dick it began to grow larger and harder. The tip was, in fact, oozing prostate fluid, and I used my index finger to wipe it up, as if I were collecting a drop of nectar from a honeysuckle bloom, and slid it into my sucking mouth. It had a distinctive taste, like a kind of slow-basted, fatty meat. My mouth began watering. I really wanted to try that fluid directly from the source.