He's Not My Type

If there is one thing I've learned in my twenty-seven years, it's which male attributes turn me on and which leave me limp. Most of what I realized came from watching videos. Certain types just do it for me, while others just make me click to the next one.

As for the guys I've dated, most of them have had eighty-five to ninety percent of the characteristics that make me hot and bothered. First of all, I like a guy with really dark hair; extremely dark brown is OK. Jet black hair is the best, and I like it straight, short, and with enough in the front to have bangs or get pushed back. Next, I want blue eyes. Crystal blue eyes make me ooze pre-cum. Soft skin and no hair on the face, chest, or back is an absolute requirement. A little hair on the arms and legs is alright. Short hair around the dick and balls is good; although, hairless balls are a delight.

Short men, by that I mean at least three inches shorter than I am. I'm about six-two, and I weigh one hundred eighty-five pounds. I want a guy who weighs less than I do and has nice, firm muscles. Men who are ripped make me think gym-rat, and there are better ways for the two of us to exercise.

In the clothing department, my man needs to have clean clothes that are not too baggy and not two sizes too small. Off the rack clothing is just fine, but dirt or rips will make me run away.

I also want straight teeth that are more white than yellow. I know that teeth come in various shades, but if you've taken care of them, I don't expect to see stains. I want someone who is tobacco-free; smoking or vaping is an immediate deal-breaker. That goes for drugs, too. I'm not talking about prescribed medication, but I think that any experimentation should be over by the time you're dating me, and we should be able to make ourselves happy without any chemical help.

A man who can hold a conversation is also important. A pretty face with no brains may make some guys happy, but I'm not one of them. I'm not looking for a guy with a Ph.D., but we should be able to talk about important issues. So, while I wouldn't mind a pretty face, personality, character, and integrity are more important. Oh, and he had to be a bottom. I'd experimented with taking a dick up my ass in college. I didn't like it. I did like shoving my dick in a nice, warm, lubed-up butt, and I enjoyed sucking on average-sized dicks. Anything over six and a half or on the thick side just were not my idea of fun-sized.

I'm sure my readers are now saying to themselves, "No wonder this guy is alone. I hope he has a soft hand and stock in a lubricant company." My response to them is the same thing I say to my friends, "My Mr. Right is out there. I just haven't found him yet."

* * *

Another Friday afternoon at work, and I had no prospects for the evening or the weekend. I had decided that I'd spend the evening on Adam4Adam and try to find someone interesting to chat with. I might even find a hook-up.

At around three o'clock, Fred Ostenmeyer stopped by my desk. "Derek, I was wondering if you wanted to go out with some of us to the Prism Barn. It's good eating; they have a dance floor, and on Fridays, there's a pretty good selection of trans-ladies."

"Oh? Are you into trans-ladies, Fred?" I was a little surprised by his invitation. He was recently divorced, and I had heard that he'd been caught in the copier room with one of the field agents. Rumor had it that he was caught with a dick in his ass.

"Haha, Derek. Everyone here knows I was having an affair with Steven Montgomery." Fred rolled his eyes as he said it.

"Actually, Fred, I didn't know that's whose dick you were sucking, but I appreciate your keeping me up-to-date." I smiled at him. Fred wasn't the first man in the company to leave his wife for another man.

"The truth of it is that Margie is interested in dating a trans-woman, you know, an MTF, but she's not comfortable going there by herself."

"I thought the trans-women dated guys, at least most of them."

"Yes, Derek, but she's been chatting with someone named Amy, and now she wants to meet her. She doesn't want to go alone."

"OK, Fred. I'll go. I've never been to the place. What time should I meet you there?" I knew that question would prevent my having to ride with them.

"They're supposed to meet at six-thirty for drinks. We're going to get there at six to have a bite."

"Sounds doable. I want to run by my house and change, so I should be there just a few minutes after six. Hey, here." I reached into my pocket and pulled out a twenty. "Get me an appetizer and a Coke."

"Hey, that's not a problem, bro. I can get it."

"I insist," I told him. "I always pay my own way." I shoved the bill into his hands. "See you in a couple of hours." He walked away, whistling as he went. I found that annoying, people were trying to work. And I wasn't comfortable with his calling me 'bro.' I went back to work a little distracted by the excitement of checking out the Prism Barn.

* * *

Five after six and I pulled into a parking space. Except for the rainbow flag on the sign, the place looked like any normal restaurant. The window on the door had letters painted on it: 'Good Food. Good Dancing.' I hoped the first was true. For me, dancing was simply holding a guy close to me and seeing whether are bulges liked the proximity.

Marge and Fred were seated at a table with a view of the door. I could tell from a distance that Marge was nervous. I wondered silently whether she knew in advance that her date had been a man in a previous life. As my grandmother would say, it made me no never mind. But I was curious. I had always wondered what I would do if I met a guy who had two pussies. I always figured that if I liked him, I'd just fuck both of them.

"Hey, Marge, you doing alright?" I reached out and held her hand. It was ice-cold. I sat down next to her. "You OK, Fred?"

"Oh, fuck, Derek. Wait until you see the men at the bar, and the ones already dancing. They're so hot I think I'm gonna have a heart attack.

"I think both of you need to take some deep breaths. Here, Marge, give me your hands." I rubbed each between mine. "I said, 'Breath.' You're going to be OK."

Marge looked over at me. "It's just that I like her, and I haven't met anyone since I moved here that I like that much."

I smiled. "It's nice when you start to like someone that way."

The door opened and the two of us looked over at it. Walking into the restaurant was a tall muscular man. He had to be about six-five. When Fred saw the looks on our face he turned around.

The man had a look of recognition on his face. He also had one of the filthiest t-shirts I'd ever seen. It seemed to be smeared with some type of grease. There was grease on his pants as well. He made his way over to our table.

"Well, fuck me if it isn't Fred. How ya doing man?" At least his voice was a calm tenor, not too loud.

"I'm doing just great. How about you?" Fred's smile seemed genuine.

The man sat down at the only free chair. And without being asked. What an arrogant prick!

"These are my co-workers. Marge and Derek." Fred nodded to each of us as he said our names, as though the man did not know which is which.

"Nice to meet ya."

Marge stood up. "My date's early. You can have my food when it comes." She ran over to a nice-looking woman in a skirt that stopped above the knees and revealed some really nice legs.

The man turned to look at me. Reddish-blonde hair was visible at the edge of the baseball cap he wore. He was either an Indians fan, or he had picked it up off the street. The dirt on the hat looked as though the latter were true. His face looked as though he hadn't shaved in days. He was the epitome of scruffy. As I analyzed his face, I thought his ears too small and his nose too big.

He stared at me intently with dark green eyes. He pointed a finger at me as he said, "You know, finding Fred here is a coincidence, but you know what's an even better fucking coincidence? Mine name is Derrick, too."

"I thought your name was Steven," said Fred.

"That's what people call me cause that's what's on my work shirt. But my name's Derrick." He smiled.

There were slight gaps between some of his teeth, and he had definitely needed braces growing up. One of his upper teeth pointed back into his mouth, and although his bottom teeth were all the same height, two of them were twisted. I didn't fault him for that, though. Getting his teeth fixed was his parent's responsibility. To his credit, his teeth were clean and white.

"Then who calls you Derrick?" I asked.

"My brother." He nodded his head as he said it. There seemed to be a sadness in his eyes. He moved his hand toward his eye. I couldn't tell if he was trying to hide a tear, but he quickly rubbed his index finger over his eyebrow.

I noticed that his hands seemed stained brown and dark grey. "I should go wash these again," he said. "That fucking oil stains them bad," and he got up quickly and disappeared into the crowd.

"An interesting character," I said to Fred. "Is he coming back?"

"Don't know. He'll probably get stopped by girls on his way back if he does. They flock to him like seagulls to a fish. I'm not sure how they do it, but guys like him seem to get all the pussy they want."

"Is that all you know about him? He acted as though you two were best friends."

"I don't know much. He's friends with one of the guys I was hitting on last week. He's a mechanic at Juan's garage. It's a block down the street. I was told he's the only guy who speaks English there. They're honest and do good work. You interested in him?"

I shook my head. "He is definitely not my type. It's just that he seemed a little sad."

"He's got nothing to be sad about as far as I'm concerned. He's got a job, all the sex he wants, and he's tall."

I grunted.

"There is one thing he needs, and that's a shower. His deodorant is not effective. And with that, I'm going to scope out tonight's bed partner. If I don't come back, you'll know I hit the jackpot." Fred smiled and moved into the crowd around the bar.

A waitress came by and placed what looked like a gin and tonic in Marge's place, a Coke in mine, and I'm not sure what in Fred's place. It would have been a rum and Coke. "The food will be out in a minute," she said as she hurried back toward the dance floor.

I took a sip of my Coke. I noted that Marge was having a great time at the bar. I caught her eye, and she brought her date to the table. "This is Derek, and this is Amy."

"Pleasure to meet you, Amy."

"Likewise," she replied.

"We're going to go," Marge told me.

"What about your drink?"

"You can have it, or give it to your new friend." She winked at me and then turned to go. I rolled my eyes.

* * *

The waitress put the food on the table just as Derrick returned. He sat down in the same place, just opposite me. "There was a fucking line. I think a couple of guys were doing it in one of the stalls."

I took another sip of my Coke. "Marge said you could have her drink." I tilted my head toward it.

"Yeah? OK." He picked it up. "Looks like Sprite." He took a sip. "Fuck me. That's got a kick."

"I thought it was a gin and tonic."

"It's fucking Vodka, straight up." Derrick removed his dirty baseball cap, and his hair fell slightly below his shoulders. It appeared mostly blonde with a tinge of red in it. There was a slight curl to it, but it appeared oily and need of a brush. Derrick pulled it back behind his ears and put his cap back on. He noticed that I was watching him intently. "I have to keep it up so it doesn't get in the fucking way at work."

"Can I ask you a personal question?" I pushed the fried mushrooms toward him. "Please, have some."

He took a fork and a small plate from Fred's place. He carefully moved a few mushrooms to the place, then using a spoon, he put some ranch dressing there as well. I was impressed by his manners. "Certainly. I don't know if I'll give you a fucking answer." He smiled slyly at me.

I got a whiff of his body odor. Did he realize how he smelled? "You said your brother calls you Derrick."

"That's right."

"What do your parents call you?"

I saw him bite his lip, then he took a mushroom and dipped it in the dressing. Before taking a bite, he said, "Usually shithead." He stuffed the mushroom in his mouth.

I felt a sharp jab in my heart.

"Sometimes it was 'shit for brains.' Of course, before my father ran out on us, he often called me a 'worthless piece of shit.' I guess there's a fucking theme there." He bit his lip again.

"I'm sorry. I thought maybe you had a nickname or something. I had no right to ask." I felt embarrassed.

Derrick ate another mushroom. "Did you have a nickname?" He took another gulp of the Vodka. "Oh, fuck, that's strong."

"My sister called me Derry, but she spelled it like a dairy farm in order to aggravate me." I took a sip of my Coke and ate a mushroom. What the fuck was I doing? Sharing personal information with this smelly red-headed giant and asking for intimate details from him. And why was my dick twitching? Was I just horny? Because he certainly wasn't my type.

"Want to dance?"

His question surprised me. "Um. I was told you were straight."

"A lot of people think that," he said.

I felt another twinge. "Don't take offense, but you don't smell very good."

"Shit." He sniffed at his underarms. "Fuck man. I didn't think. I only came here to grab a bite to each. I didn't plan to hang out. Can you hang on a minute?"

I nodded, and he disappeared into the crowd.

What am I doing? I asked myself and ate another mushroom. I picked up his drink and smelled it. Yes, it was straight Vodka. Was that a mistake, or did Marge drink it that way. I put it back down and took another sip of my drink. My brain was running a million thoughts at once; I was glad I hadn't ordered anything strong.

Derrick came back without his shirt. People were eyeing him. He was overly muscular and his chest was covered in red hair. A thick treasure trail ran down, and what was surely his bush was slightly visible above his black leather belt.

Someone catcalled, and he turned. His muscular back was devoid of any hair. He moved closer to me and crouched down. "I took a small bath at the bathroom sink." He leaned in toward me, and the scruff of his chin scratched my face.

My brain told me to get away from him. I found beards loathsome, and unshaven faces were so unattractive, but I leaned in. My cheek felt the bristles of his cheek, and his smell as no longer the putrid small of hot sweat. I could smell the soap from the dispenser in the restroom. Who does that? He must really want to dance. "I'm not a good dancer," I told him.

He stood up and put out his hand to help me balance. We walked to the open area that the restaurant called a dance floor, and he put his hands on my waist. The song changed to a disco song from the eighties, but I put my arms around his neck and rested my head on the fur of his chest.

While the music blared, we simply swayed back and forth. I felt the sensation of safety. I'd never felt that before. I got lost in the rhythm of the two of us.

"Derek?"

I looked up. "Yes, Derrick?"

"The song's over."

I let go of him, and we started back to the table. Derrick took my hand. "Will you walk me back to the garage?"

"Sure." I saw the waitress at the bar. "I need to pay." She told me that Marge had already taken care of it. I turned back to Derrick. "We're good to go."

We walked silently the garage; I had assumed that he wanted to get his car, but he had a small apartment above the garage. As soon as we climbed the stairs and went inside, he apologized for it.

It was basically a room with a small sofa, a bed, and a tiny kitchen. To one side, a bathtub and toilet occupied a corner. On the other side, clothes hung from a metal pipe, and folded underwear and a few t-shirts were on a coffee table that was beneath the hanging shirts and pants. What amazed me was the cleanliness of it.

"I wanted you to know where I live in case you want to come back and see me." Derrick's voice was soft. I could tell that he expected me to leave and never to see me again.

And that's what I expected, too. On my list of the perfect man, the only thing he had checked off was 'no hair on his back.' I couldn't see myself with this man. He'd needed a haircut years ago. I wondered whether he even owned a razor. You'd need a lawnmower to cut the hair on his chest.

He could read the certainty of my refusal without my having to say anything. He turned away from me, and I saw the tattoo on his back. It was crude. I couldn't even tell what it was. Another strike against him.

"When did you get that?" I asked.

"Fuck." He paused. "I got it in prison."

He saw the shock on my face; I was sure of it. What did my list say about integrity and high moral character? "Why?" My voice broke as I said it.

Derrick sat on the edge of his bed. Tears began to fill his eyes. He knew that he had lost me before he even had me. "I had some friends in high school. They robbed a store and stole a car. They drove by me as I was walking to the Dollar General. I got in the car with them because they had beer and they were going to share it with me."

I couldn't look at him. Tears were running down his face.

"I got five years, but I got out in four because of good behavior."

I didn't say anything.

He stood up. "It was nice to have met you."

I turned and looked into his eyes. Sometimes you know when things are right. I practically ran to him. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him. "I need you to make love to me. I want to take a shower with you and scrub my ass and then I want you to fuck me." I grabbed his arm and led him to the shower. I pulled my shirt off and kicked off my shoes.

Derrick removed his shoes and pulled his pants and underwear off in one motion. His uncut cock was already getting hard. I jutted out from a thick red bush of hair. His dick turned out to be a little longer than mine but about the same thickness. I couldn't resist, and I bent down and sucked it into my mouth. The salty taste of the sweat was wonderful, but as I slid it farther into my mouth, the sweaty stench of his hard-working body overpowered me. I stood back up.

"We need to get you cleaned up," I said as I slid my pants off.

Derrick started the shower, and within moments we were lathering our bodies. His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw to my nipples, and I loved every second of it. With clean, dry bodies, we moved to the bed.

I pulled the blanket down and then got into the center of the bed. "I need to see your eyes while you love me." I pulled my knees out with my hands, and Derrick stuffed a pillow under my ass. I felt his tongue on my pucker and his fingers as they danced across my hole and then into it. First one finger, then two, finally he pushed his shaft into me and we were one.

He moved in and out of me as though we were doing ballet. He could read my wants and needs, and my response to him was as if I'd known him always. He moved closer to me and I felt his chest rub against me, and it made my cock swell and harden more than it had ever done. Time seemed to have no meaning. The pleasure of his shaft filling me and moving within me was beyond anything I had ever dreamed possible.

When his lips met mine, I wanted to pull all of him inside me. He began to lick my chin, and chills of excitement began shooting through me. I began to thrust my hips up to meet his inward fuck. He made little quiet moans, and from time to time, his eyes would roll up. I sensed him speed up, and I synchronized my speed. His balls had been slapping against my taint, another sensation I had never experience. They stopped slapping, and I felt Derrick's body stiffen and slam into me. A pressure increased within me, and I knew that he had released himself inside. He collapsed onto me.

I tried to hold his dick, but it slid out and he rolled onto his side. I rolled to face him. Tears filled his eyes.

"I don't know how to tell you this," said Derrick. "You'll think I'm fucking crazy."

"No, I won't," I told him.

He bit his lip again. I put my hand on his cheek.

"I..." He started to stammer, and then he took a deep breath. "I fell in love with you when I first saw you. It wasn't just 'he's cute, and I want to have sex with him.' It was more than that. And when we were dancing and I was holding you, it just felt so right, and I was thinking that I never wanted anything bad to happen to you. And when we got up here, and you saw this shithole I live in, I was so afraid you were going to leave and never come back. When you asked about the tattoo, I was sure you were never going to come back."

"Derrick, when I asked about the tattoo, and you were honest with me about having spent time in prison, that's when I knew I loved you. There were all these little things that were telling me that you weren't right for me."

"Like what?"

"Stupid things, mostly stupid things that don't really matter. Most were really superficial. But my heart knew who you were inside. I guess I just needed to hear you tell me. And now that I know, you won't have to worry that I'll leave."

"Do you think your stuff will fit in my little shithole?

"Are you talking about my dick?" I started to laugh.

Derrick thought for a moment, then he started to laugh, too. "Hey, I just thought of something. Maybe we can have our friends call us by our initials. That way we'll know whom they're talking to. What's your last name?"

I smiled. "Derek Jones. Nice to meet you."

Derrick bit his lower lip again. "My name's Derrick Jones."

* * *

Three months later:

About six weeks after we met, Derrick's boss asked him to start clearing his clothes and personal items out of the room. He said his daughter was going to have a baby, so they needed the room for his two sons.

We had moved everything except a change of clothes to my place, and most nights the two of us spent the night in that little room. Saturday night through Monday night, Derrick stayed in our big apartment. I added him to the lease, and we began to talk about his going to college. Growing up, he wanted to be a police officer; that was now not possible. We talked about the possibility of his being a lawyer. He seemed excited by the prospect, but he told me he wasn't ready to decide.

A few weeks later, one of the cars being worked on caught fire. The building was old and hadn't been retrofitted with sprinklers. It was a total loss, and Derrick found himself without a job. He started looking for another immediately and got another at a tree farm that was also a nursery. He absolutely loved it.

We were happy at home, too. The sex was wonderful, but more than that, any time we were together, we had an enhanced sense of joy and happiness, regardless of the activity. We decided to get married and did so in a private ceremony by the pastor I had grown up with.

When we met new friends, we told them our name was John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt

* * *

Ten Years Later:

I was settling into a new job and a new place to live. Derrick had earned a Ph.D. in Botany and was teaching at Pine Forest. I was a little sad in our name change. We'd been Mr. and Mr. Jones for so long, and our only unsolved argument was whether I was the first Jones. He claimed he was because he was two weeks older than I was. Now we were Dr. and Mr. Jones because 'D' comes before 'M' alphabetically. With nothing left to fight about, I guess we'll have to just spend our time enjoying one another's company and making love.