to the attic. I started up the stairs and then, one of the big black guys said in a deep voice, “Hey, can I take a piss?”

Tyrone looked up at me. What was I supposed to say? “Oh, um, sure, go ahead.”

The rest of us walked up the stairs into the large open attic. I had put a couple of boxes up there, and there were some old pieces of furniture, lamps, books and a large old wall mirror left by the previous owner. I started to show Tyrone the different areas of concern. The guy who wanted to use the bathroom, who they called Bobby, was taking a lot longer than normal, but maybe he had to take a crap. I didn’t have anything valuable in the bathroom, just toiletries.

I was pointing out the ceiling of the attic and the spots that sometimes leaked. It was already pretty hot up there, Tyrone took the bottom of his t-shirt and wiped the sweat off his forehead. I got a glimpse of his nice abs. Anyway, I was going to show them the rafters, which were starting to rot, and were a good 9 feet over our heads. Tyrone said to us, “Well, no problem Daniel, we’ll take care of things, but I better get down stairs to see what my guys are up to. You mind showin’ Bobby and Jamal which rafters you’re talkin’ bout?”

“Okay.” I responded, although I felt weird about being asked to show these two brutes what needed to be done.

“It’s gonna be a hot day,” Tyrone said and walked down the stairs.

Bobby and Jamal followed me as I tried to show them the few rafters that needed repairs. I was very nervous, left alone with these two dark imposing hulks, and as I was talking to them at a feverish pace, they just seemed to stare down at me with blank looks. I realized how they must have perceived me as a small, slightly feminine, limp wristed “white boy.” I was not sure if they truly picked up on my gayness.

Bobby made a head movement towards Jamal, and they walked over to the opposite corner of the attic and started talking in low tones. I figured they were discussing the work that needed to be done, although they kept glancing back at me. Quickly, I sized them up.

Bobby was about 35, 6’2, probably nearing 300 lbs of bulky jet black muscle. He wore an army green button down shirt that strained against his enormous barrel chest and immense shoulders. His arms were like tattooed black cannons, sheathed at the top by tight rolled up sleeves. He was glistening with the starts of some sweat. He wore big tight jeans that showed off his meaty waist, ass and package. How I imagined what that package contained. He had an unusually thick neck, shaved head and pronounced facial features, like a wide nose, flared nostrils and big full lips opening to some crooked teeth. It all made him very intimidating.