Tag: featuring bricklayers

Like making out under an unfinished statue

Wojo don’t mind a gold-digger. So long as she loves him, she can spend all the money, he don’t care. Just give him an allowance to buy lunch every day at work. Couplea shirts at Christmas. That’s all he needs.

Sandra never knew he made good money. Wojo thought bragging was trashy. Bricklayers make good money, plus he got a Marine Corps pension. He needta spend more money to look like a good provider, he thought. That was ironic though, cuz if he spent money, he’d have less, and he wouldn’t be such a good provider anymore.
And he don’t know what else to spend money on. If he had a woman, he’d shower her with like jewels and stuff. Makeup. Those dumbass handbags that cost like ten grand. Mad expensive. Should he have just told Sandra he got a couple hundred grand saved up? Would that have changed anything? Would she have stayed with him for the money? Does that even matter? Wojo don’t mind a gold-digger. So long as she loves him, she can spend all the money, he don’t care. Just give him an allowance to buy lunch every day at work. Couplea shirts at Christmas. That’s all he needs.
That coffee commercial came on, the one with the husband drinking coffee with his wife who’s pretty in a nice way, like a new kindergarten teacher, got a cozy sweater on. Wojo want a wife he can treat right like that. Sandra never wore a sweater. Need a house with a fireplace.
In the commercial, they’s lounging around afrontuva fire in a fireplace, but in the outside shots, there isn’t no chimney on the house. Aside from that, it’s a perfect marriage, he thought. Bet!
So when she finished her coffee or possibly not-coffee drink, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, that was nice, she don’t hate him or nothing. She got a tenderness for him. Her lips was soft and electric and warm, and they proved that maybe nothing was wrong about Wojo. She wouldn’ta kissed him if he was a creep. Then Wojo trudge-booted home. Maybe that was the problem, he saw now, he shouldn’ta done wore boots. Girls don’t like workboots.
Or maybe girls just don’t like bricklayers. His old flame Mazie said it was like making out under an unfinished statue.

From Wojo the Bricklayer

He knew he was gonna look like a spoilsport, but he don’t care, Wojo was raised proper.

Wojo stopped his laughter when he realized what he was laughing at. “You shouldn’t talk about women like that,” Wojo said. He knew he was gonna look like a spoilsport, but he don’t care, Wojo was raised proper. He’s a Christian. “It’s disrespec’ful.” Anyway, Jeb, Dawkins and a couple others agreed with Wojo, and that led to a dispute about thullogy and the ethics — theelogy — thoulogy? God stuff.

From Wojo the Bricklayer

Frankie Wojohowitz

Wojo swaggered in like it was a chore to carry so many meaty muscles, and his big square face was huffing and ruddy. His shoulders and hair were speckled with brick dust, and clods of mortar clung to his clothes.
Avery inhaled deeply of the work-toned musk and firm muscles of his shoulders. Years of bricklaying made Wojo bulky, his shoulders and upper arms massive, hands callused like a troll, even his wrists felt callused when Avery’s hands roamed down his arms. Avery felt the tension and the roiling heat beneath his furnacey body.

From Wojo the Bricklayer

He sat down across from her at a bite-size table. “I was wearin’ cologne, just so you know,” Wojo said, his voice too deep for the room, it got those high ceilings like a chamber, and Sandra didn’t like it, she ain’t said that, but Wojo could tell, he was pretty sure, she prolly thought he talked like a cannon. “Cologne got washed off by the rain, you know, in the rain.” He gestured out to the downpour through the window, then, realizing he didn’t need to do that, he clammed up and brought his hands down to the table like a teacher told him to keep his hands to himself. “I wore it though. The cologne.” A girlfriend once told him he should always wear cologne when not at work, and he wanted credit for doing so, even if Sandra couldn’t smell it.
Wojo drank his coffee black, no fufu stuff in it. He got a small cuz he don’t really want any coffee, it was just an excuse for a date with Sandra, but now he thought the coffee looked too small in his meaty grip. He got mad clodhopping hands, big as shovels, callused like old workgloves, his knuckles gnarled and thick. She noticed that, she was looking scornful at ’em in the restaurant last week.
But there was no such button, and prolly she’d get turned off when she realized he was just a big-ass bricklayer, dumb as a clod of dirt. And he used to be a Marine. Oorah. He dunno if that was a plus for girls or not. It seemed like girls liked it at the time, but now they was fussing about it like it don’t matter. Maybe calling hisself a “former Marine” made him sound old. Only washed-up old men was former anythings.
Lotta Marines say there ain’t no such thing as a former Marine, just ones that are civilians now. But women sure acted like a currently military Marine was different than a now-civilian one. Or maybe Wojo just don’t put off the right kinda vibes for a Marine anymore. Girls pay alotta attention to vibes. There oughta to be like a tattoo or something that tells women you got a Marine pension, so you don’t gotta tell ’em. Women don’t know about that stuff. There’s no vibe to it.

From Wojo the Bricklayer

“Damn it, that traffic pisst me off, yu know,” Wojo said, plopping his site slip onto Teddy’s desk. He let out a hollow chuckle as he unbuttoned and shrugged off his workshirt. “Fuggett’boutit, yu know.” He shrugged again, his broad shoulders rising up and going down, cuz the workshirt he wore was too small for his wide musculature. His chest tweaked, pecs bouncing and rippling, loosening the beads of sweat clinging to them, which made them drip down his hair-dappled belly. “Man, Teddy, I saw this accident happen, man, it was messt up, swear to God, the car was going this way, and this other car was going that way — maaaan, shiii….” He avoided cursing because he was Christian. He kissed his crucifix, then followed that up with a vociferous series of hand gestures and sound effects that explicated the narrative and its effectuation upon his gestalt, conveyed his sympathy for the victims qua his standpoint’s relation to the incumbent mores of his sociocultural position and satisfyingly exercised the fervor bubbling up from his conception of idiomasculine expression per se. He mimed a steering wheel, careening left and right. “They did that, bam, boom, screeeeeech! Pow! Splat yo, like that, wow, shiiiiip, that was… like, yu know! Whooooah, aww, yo, all ovuh, man. It was messt up, like mad messt up.” He passed to Teddy his truck key and the clipboard with his mileage form. “I got out to help the folks, they wasn’t bad hurt, just shook up, you know, I was like ‘no disrespec’t, man but that was like crazy’, and then the cops showed up.” He undid his belt as though to take his pants off mid-story, then realized he was still wearing his workboots. He held his pants up with his hands as he headed into the locker room, and Teddy followed.

From Wojo the Bricklayer

Books

Wojo’s a big-ass bricklayer with meat to spare, and he’s got a girl on the side… but he’s a Christian man, and he doesn’t mess around with women before marriage. That doesn’t stop him from getting a nut off with the fellers instead! Wojo’s an active top who just needs a passive hole — luckily, there’s plenty of willing passives around!

Can Wojo find what he needs?

Read it now!

They did that, bam, boom, screeeeeech! Pow! Splat yo, like that, wow, shiiiiip, that was… like, yu know! Whooooah, aww, yo, all ovuh, man.

“Damn it, that traffic pisst me off, yu know,” Wojo said, plopping his site slip onto Teddy’s desk. He let out a hollow chuckle as he unbuttoned and shrugged off his workshirt. “Fuggett’boutit, yu know.” He shrugged again, his broad shoulders rising up and going down, cuz the workshirt he wore was too small for his wide musculature. His chest tweaked, pecs bouncing and rippling, loosening the beads of sweat clinging to them, which made them drip down his hair-dappled belly. “Man, Teddy, I saw this accident happen, man, it was messt up, swear to God, the car was going this way, and this other car was going that way — maaaan, shiii….” He avoided cursing because he was Christian. He kissed his crucifix, then followed that up with a vociferous series of hand gestures and sound effects that explicated the narrative and its effectuation upon his gestalt, conveyed his sympathy for the victims qua his standpoint’s relation to the incumbent mores of his sociocultural position and satisfyingly exercised the fervor bubbling up from his conception of idiomasculine expression per se. He mimed a steering wheel, careening left and right. “They did that, bam, boom, screeeeeech! Pow! Splat yo, like that, wow, shiiiiip, that was… like, yu know! Whooooah, aww, yo, all ovuh, man. It was messt up, like mad messt up.” He passed to Teddy his truck key and the clipboard with his mileage form. “I got out to help the folks, they wasn’t bad hurt, just shook up, you know, I was like ‘no disrespec’t, man but that was like crazy’, and then the cops showed up.” He undid his belt as though to take his pants off mid-story, then realized he was still wearing his workboots. He held his pants up with his hands as he headed into the locker room, and Teddy followed.

Read it now!

Wojo the Bricklayer

Wojo’s a big-ass bricklayer with meat to spare, and he’s got a girl on the side… but he’s a Christian man, and he doesn’t mess around with women before marriage. That doesn’t stop him from getting a nut off with the fellers instead! Wojo’s an active top who just needs a passive hole — luckily, there’s plenty of willing passives around!

Can Wojo find what he needs?

Read it now!