I recently bought a big old house in the middle of nowhere in rural Virginia. I had been transferred to the area a year ago by my company, a textile manufacturer, and was offered a hefty salary and bonus to remain there in management at a small plant, which was out in real rural country. The “backwoods” folk took some getting used to, they are friendly enough, but I haven’t had much of a social life. It’s okay, the money is really good.

I’m a 32-year-old gay guy who is from the suburbs of a big city. I haven’t had a steady relationship in a long time, there are literally no other like minded men out here but I kind of like the peace and quiet. I exercise by jogging in the country and I am pretty fit, except I think my ass is still a bit big. It has some jiggle to it since I spend a lot of time sitting in front of a computer, snacking too much and making out reports for our corporate office.

Anyway, after I bought the house, I knew I wanted to do some fixing up on the inside and it also needed some structural repairs to the roof, rafters and rear foundation. I am not a “manly” fix-it guy, I usually stay in the office most of the day and watch movies at home in the evening, so I decided to hire a contractor.

The choices were slim, most were too far away to do the job, and one company would have me wait for at least six months to get started. It was the end of June and I didn’t think getting the job started in the winter was a good idea.

An employee in the plant, heard about my dilemma and she gave me the name and number of “ROC construction”. She said her brother had once worked for them and now that her brother is out of “the big house,” he’s been working construction in North Carolina. And Rocco, the owner had helped her brother with a new start. I thought I would give ROC a call and see if I wanted to hire them.

That afternoon, I called Rocco and he was very friendly over the phone and he agreed to meet me early that evening to survey my needed repairs.

At 6:00, Rocco arrived. He was about 40 years old, 5’10, classic Italian looks, dark hair, and goatee. He wore jeans and a dark blue polo, which was a little snug for his somewhat muscled frame. He immediately shook my hand and gave me a warm smile. We inspected the house together, inside and outside and he jotted down notes. I had told him about my dilemma with hiring a contractor and he said he understood, the area being what it is was. When we were finished, I offered him a beer and we sat at the dining room table and discussed the job.