The fountain in this story is very real; I helped built it. The rest of the story is a tapestry of events, both actual and fantasy, that occurred during construction. I won't reveal which parts really happened but will admit that there were definitely some very muddy and sticky moments involved. Enjoy!

A muddy mess at the fountain vault

It was an ambitious project to create a grand fountain in a lake. But it would require overcoming some real challenges to make it happen. The first was to drain the lake and create a roadway across the resulting mud flats to allow construction equipment and material to reach the chosen site without sinking in the muck.

Excavations for the four-foot thick concrete base turned up a lot of interesting things that had been dropped in the lake over the decades. I was often out there on weekends playing archeologist and getting nicely muddy in the process with no concern about being seen because I had the perfect excuse.

Every Monday morning there was a construction meeting with the contractor and the construction management company in a trailer on site. The trailer would fill with hunky guys wearing muddy boots and jeans or Carhartt workwear. The manager wore a shirt and tie, slacks and rubber boots. The construction superintendent, Jake Turner, usually wore Levis 501s, a blue chambray work shirt and Muck boots.

Jake was lanky, incredibly handsome with dark short-cropped hair on his head, a tuft of fur poking out of the top of his open shirt and furry arms, which showed when he rolled up his sleeves. I was in lust every Monday morning. After the meeting we would walk out to the construction site to discuss issues that needed to be resolved. He caught me staring at him several times as we worked together solving a problem.

Soon the thick concrete walls of what would become an underwater vault took shape and then the concrete roof was poured. All of the pipes, nozzles and lights would be constructed on this roof, a decorative wall would then be built around it to hide the works and everything would be made waterproof.

We finished installing temporary electricity and sump pumps in the vault and work began on the big pipeline that would supply water to the fountain features from the pump station on shore.

And then the rain came. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday we had almost constant heavy rain and the work site was shut down because conditions were so bad. On Saturday afternoon I got a call from Jake telling me that some mud had gotten into the vault via the unfinished pipeline. Jake told me he was going out there on Sunday morning to evaluate the situation and asked if I could come along. I immediately agreed.

"Wear clothing and boots that you won't mind getting muddy." I assured him that would not be a problem. I hardly slept that night thinking about getting muddy working alone with Jake.

It was a warm day and the sun was finally out. We met at the equipment yard and he drove us out across the somewhat flooded lake bed in a small excavator. The tracked vehicle had no trouble getting out there but the tracks were quickly covered with thick clay mud.

With Jake's warning about clothing, I put on an old tan Wrangler cowboy shirt, my favorite 501s worn commando with the legs tucked into a pair of 18" Wesco logger boots with Vibram soles that I sometimes wore on my dirt bike instead of my enduro boots. They had been muddy many times and were reasonably waterproof.

Jake was wearing his usual work clothes but his 501s looked to be a size smaller than what he wore during the week, nicely faded and showing off his butt and manhood to the point of taunting me. The work shirt he wore was faded to a powder blue and lightly wrinkled, as if it had been previously worn and not laundered.

It was in contrast to what he wore for the Monday meetings when the Levis were looser and dark blue, almost new looking, and the shirt appearing like it was freshly ironed. The color contrast between the blue of his shirt and his tanned hairy arms often caused me to stare at them during meetings. It has always been one of my favorite looks.

He had not shaved since Friday morning and now had a magnificent stubble on his face. I often wondered what he would look like with a beard since he could clearly grow a nice one. And now I saw the beginnings of one and it too drove me nuts.

We both brought drinking water and our lunches in case the work was more than just a few hours. Jake had arranged for one of his men to pull a 1" hose from a hydrant on shore to the fountain vault and the end of it was coiled up on the roof of the vault.

We climbed the ladder up to the vault roof and then through the hatch back down the inside ladder. I plugged in the temporary work lights hanging from the ceiling.

"Oh my God! It's even worse than I thought!"

I echoed Jake's exclamation. "The sides of the trench for the unfinished pipeline must have caved in and all of that mud funneled right into the open pipe."

Our once squeaky clean 85-foot long equipment vault had slick clay mud all over the floor with a slope from where it spilled from the open pipeline into the vault to almost the opposite end.

I asked Jake, "What do you want to do first?"

"Let's look at the valve on the end of the pipe and put our lunches and water on top of the section of pipe sticking out of the wall to keep them clean," was his response.

By the time we made our way to the pipe, the mud was 15" deep and it got thicker as we got closer to the pipe. Since the pipe was 18" in diameter and about a foot off the floor we could put our stuff on top of the three foot section that stuck out of the wall. There was still liquid mud coming out of the pipe because the big valve on the end of it had been left open.

I shined a flashlight into the open pipe as Jake looked in to evaluate the situation.

"Let's get the hose and bring it down in here so we can clean this up and close the valve," were his instructions. I made my way back up the ladder and uncoiled the pressurized hose. As I lowered it down the hatch into the vault Jake carried the end over to the pipe.

"OK, I've got enough."

I went back down into the vault and joined Jake.

"There is no way either one of us is going to get out of here clean. So we might as well not even try," was Jake's next comment. I had no problem with that plan whatsoever.

"Hold the light and I'll scoop as much mud out of the pipe as I can and then we can hose it down enough to we can close the valve without destroying the seal."

At that point Jake knelt down in the mud, which came up to his crotch, to reach into the pipe. I felt tenting in my 501s. Then he abruptly stood up again.

"No point in getting my shirt all muddy."

Jake turned to face me, unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, revealing that incredible hairy chest I had fantasized about. The hair was long and silky with patterns leading from his well-defined pecs down a thick treasure trail to a very hairy belly. I stared a bit too long and Jake noticed but said nothing. He turned away and placed his shirt on top of the pipe as the tenting in my Levis expanded. Was I being teased? Since it was quite warm in the vault I took off my shirt and placed it on top of his. I imagined the pheromones from his sweaty underarms rubbing off on my own shirt.

I held the portable light as he reached in to scoop out the mud from the inside of the pipe around the butterfly valve. Soon his arms, chest and back were streaked with tan clay mud. When he had most of it out I got the hose and began to spray as much of the mud out of the seal area as I could.

Jake stood up, mud dripping down through the fur on his beautiful chest and mud was caked on his furry forearms. He was muddy from the neck down with some in his new beard as well. I could see the mud running down into his Muck boots through the gap between the boot shaft and his Levis. I thought about how that felt as his feet slid around inside those hot boots. More tenting of my Levis occurred.

"You keep shining the light in there and hosing off the valve blade and seal and I'll turn the operator slowly to close it."

I did as instructed and in the process splashed a lot of water and mud all over myself. We finally got the valve closed and the stream of mud stopped entering the vault.

"What are your thoughts on cleaning this up?" asked Jake.

"It's too much to do by hand with a bucket on a rope. Since the new sump pumps are in and operating and they can pump a certain amount of solids, how about we keep flushing a lot of water into the sump pit and use the pumps," I suggested.

Jake dragged the hose over to the big sump, which was full of fairly liquid mud. While he was busy doing that I reached down and scooped some of that slick clay mud down into the crotch of my Levis. It was warm and felt good sliding around my dick and balls.

I pointed the hose into the pit to stir things up and turned on the first pump. It slowly sucked down the muck in the pit but was working hard. And the trench drain was still pouring more mud into the pit from both sides.

Jake looked at the situation and said, "I hate to say it but I think we need to use our clean shirts to dam up the trench drains so we can cut down the fresh mud flow."

I agreed and went over to get our shirts from on top of the pipe. Jake was focused on the pumps so I took the opportunity to sniff the sweet smell of his sweat in the pits of his shirt as I brought it back. Clearly he had worn it before, perhaps on Saturday doing yard work. The tenting in my Levis grew yet again. We wadded up the shirts and put one in the end of each trench.

I put more water into the pit to further liquefy the mud and turned on the second pump. It drained the pit in a few minutes but when I turned it off all of the muddy water in the 12-foot pipe up to the deck came back down into the pit.

"Looks like our check valve has gotten stuck," Jake observed. Since we didn't want to run one pump continuously lest it overheat, we had to take apart the check valve. After clearing the pit again with the first pump it was clear that we needed to lay down in the muck on the floor and lean over the pit to remove the check valve.

The four foot thick concrete floor was still curing and it was quite warm. In fact the entire vault was quite warm because the ventilation fans had not yet been installed. We were both perspiring at that point and the sweet smell of man sweat was becoming quite noticeable.

Jake got down on his belly in the clay mud and reached in to try to unscrew the check valve but it was not budging.

"OK Mr. Clean, time for you to enjoy some quality mud time with me."

I got down on the floor next to Jake and reached one hand in to help but couldn't get a good grip. What we needed was a strap wrench but there were no tools in the vault.

"You're gonna have to climb over me and reach down with both of your hands."

Since I'm taller than Jake I was able to do as commanded, sliding over Jake's mud covered butt and back, reaching down with two more hands on the ring. But I kept slipping.

"Lock your boots with mine."

We interlocked our legs and both strained to get a grip on the check valve ring, me on top of the object of my lust for these past five months. It was totally surreal. Each time he said "go" we would both grab as hard as we could and try to spin the ring.

About the sixth time we did that he yelled, "It's coming!" and I spontaneously yelled out, "So am I!"

My hard dick had been rubbing back and forth inside my mud-lubricated Levis as I moved against Jake's butt. As my body shook with each thrust of ejaculate I realized Jake was doing the same thing under me. The friction of his dick rubbing against his Levis on the muddy floor caused him to shoot a load almost simultaneously with me.

There was a stunned silence as we both caught our breaths. We did not move, enjoying the intensity of the orgasms we both experienced. Time seemed to pass very slowly. I wasn't sure who was going to speak first.

Then Jake said, "Don't you think we should get back to work?"

With no reference to what had just happened and both being rather self-conscious at this point I slid off of Jake's back and he was able to unscrew the ring holding the check valve in place. I got the hose and as we washed the valve we found a piece of electrical wire that had gotten stuck in it, holding it open.

I kept flushing water into the pit, running the other pump as Jake carefully reassembled the check valve. Then began the slow process of pushing mud into the pit with a squeegee and pumping it up to the vault deck, where it would run off the edge into the muddy lake bed.

I looked at my watch and it was 2PM. "How about a lunch break?" I asked.

"Yeah, I could use a break." We made our way over to the pipe holding our water and lunches, washed up a bit with hose and got out our food. Of course there was no place to sit.

Much to my great surprise, Jake said, "Oh fuck it." and sat down in the deep mud next to the vault wall to eat his lunch. Seeing the look of surprise on my face he said, "Well it's soft and you forgot to bring the chairs."

I sat down next to him. We talked about dirt biking and getting muddy on four-wheelers. It was clear that neither of us was a mud virgin in any way.

"You got your fancy boots all muddy."

"Oh I wear them instead of enduro boots sometimes when I'm out on the bike so they've been wet and muddy before."

After finishing our sandwiches we sat there resting for a while. I must admit that a warm mud bath is incredibly relaxing and the warmth from the curing concrete made for a very comfortable seat. I was still trying to figure out Jake. I knew he was married because of the wedding ring he wore at work. He was not wearing it today but that was probably because he didn't want to scratch it. No reference was made to what happened at the sump pit in our conversation.

Eventually we got up and after another hit of water we started walking back to the sump pit. Jake tripped over something under the mud and did a face plant in about 12 inches of mud. Since I was right behind him I tripped over him, falling on top of him.

He propped his head and shoulders up out of the mud with his arms and shook his head to clear the mud from his eyes and ears.

I asked, "Are you OK?"

"Yes, are you?"

"I'm getting horny again."

"Don't get any ideas back there!"

"Then stop wagging your ass!"

As I started sliding off of Jake he spun around and looked at me with a big grin and started wrestling with me in the deep muck. I was in heaven, wrestling with this hunk in the mud who had turned me on since our first project meeting.

We thrashed about quite a bit and then he mounted me, grinding his crotch into mine.

"My turn to be on top," he said as his muddy face scruff brushed against my beard and it was just incredible. Once again we both shook with each pulse of cum, holding onto each other tightly. And then we laid there in silence, my arms around his torso, his hands under my head and his face pressed against mine. I did not want it to end.

But eventually we let go of each other and stood up. We were both a muddy mess and just grinning at each other.

"That was the most intense orgasm I've ever had." I said.

"Me too."

"What brought that on?" I asked.

"Do you think I didn't notice the frequent tenting of your Levis as we worked? You were itching for that, don't deny it."

"Busted."

As we made our way over to the sump pit to hose each other off I realized that the way Jake dressed that morning was his not so subtle response to me staring at him in our meetings and work together. He liked the attention and was inviting me to take the next step. But I didn't so he took the initiative - twice! But I've always been super cautious about my sexual impulses at construction sites because I don't want to risk my job.

And then we got back to work. But at that point it really wasn't work any more, I was here with the man I lusted over since the project started, covered in mud, and we just shared two amazing sexual experiences.

I realized it was getting dark out, much later than we planned to work that day. We decided that the final cleanup would have to be done by his crew on Monday and they would need to figure out how to flush the rest of the mud out of the pipeline without it coming back into the vault.

Since we didn't need our shirts to dam up the trench drain any more I grabbed them and took them with me. When we climbed out of the vault we hosed each other off one more time, climbed onto the excavator and made our way back to the equipment yard.

Jake had spare clothes in the construction trailer and I always carry some in my truck so we both changed. I quietly slipped both of our shirts into the bed of my truck without him noticing. I had some plans for that nicely sweaty shirt of his. He called his wife and said he would be home in a couple of hours and we then went to a nearby pub for some well-deserved beers.

We talked about the work coming up the next week. No mention was made of what had happened earlier in the day. Every now and then I noticed a bit of mud in his beard or around an ear that he missed while cleaning up and smiled. I knew I would never be able to see him at a construction meeting again without thinking about the events of that Sunday.

As we left the bar, he turned to me with a big smile and said, "Remember, what happens in the fountain vault stays in the fountain vault."