Timing

Timing is a funny thing. Some people have it; some do not. And then there are others who get the timing just right maybe once or twice in their life. Timing can be intentional, and it can be purely by coincidence. Sometimes timing—whether it has a positive or negative outcome—can change the rest of someone’s life.

Standing at the self-checkout line in Fred Meyer, I decide whether or not to use cash or debit card to purchase my baked, chicken dinner and six-pack of 10 Barrel Joe IPAs. I decide to go debit and save that Jackson in my wallet for breakfast out in the morning. I insert my debit card. Chip Malfunction (annoying beep). I take it out and insert it again. Again, Chip Malfunction (annoying beep). I sigh and decide to just use the Jackson, but the self-checkout clerk steps up next to me and says, “Try it again, buddy.” I turn to observe a dude about my height, peaceful eyes, calm demeanor. Marty is on his name tag. I insert my debit card again. Marty scans his ID card, pushes a few buttons and success!

“Thanks,” I say, slipping my wallet into my back pocket. I notice Marty is not just looking at me; he is looking into me with those eyes. A strangely friendly, knowing look. I guess Marty to be a little younger than I, about 30.

He smiles. “Not a problem, buddy.” He gives me the once over again with those eyes. This time, I feel a tingle, which catches me off guard. I would normally be uncomfortable with such a look from a guy, but the tingle I feel is not uncomfortable at all; it is, in fact, exciting.

I begin to walk away with my chicken and IPAs, when I hear his voice again: “Excuse me for asking, but what is your name?” I turn to meet that smile and those eyes. Another tingle. My eyes quickly survey the rest of him quickly, but I know he notices it. He is well-built. The tingle is centered just below my waist; I notice then that my penis is half-erect in my pants.

“Craig,” I nearly whisper, embarrassed, sure that Marty notices the bulge in my jeans, sure that Marty knows he is the cause. I meet his eyes and see they dart from my groin area to my face. I smile. Maybe it is a knowing smile, I am not sure, but I think Marty takes it that way. He takes a small piece of paper from his pocket, pulls a pen from his shirt pocket and writes something down. He folds the paper, hands it to me and moves to another customer in need of assistance.

I carry my groceries and paper to the car in a sort of stupor; my erection has eased. I put the groceries in the passenger seat and unfold the paper. It is a phone number with Don’t waste this opportunity. I’m off at 7  neatly printed below the number. It is then my imagination and erection swell.

At 7:05, I punched the number into my cell phone three times before actually pressing the dial button. About three rings later, a voice says, “Yeah, this is Marty.” I pictured his eyes, the rest of him.

“This is Craig. You gave me your number at Fred Meyer,” I say, feeling that I’m whispering again.

“I was hoping you’d call,” he says. “I could barely focus on work after you left.”

I was a bit shocked that I had affected him in this way. Of course, this bit of information heightens my curiosity and arousal. My cock grows again in my jeans. I picture the two of us together, naked, doing wonderful things to each other. He wants to come over to my apartment a bit later. I give him my address and apartment number. He agrees to bring a six-pack of IPAs. We iron out those plans and perhaps what we could do when he arrives. I have a hard time keeping my hands off of myself in anticipation.

Now, it is not like I never thought of things like that before, but I never acted on the thoughts except for once at a summer, church camp between my junior and senior years in high school. The pastor’s son came onto me in a big way. I was nervous as hell. We eventually managed to have one of the boy’s cabins to ourselves during one lunch, when everyone else was eating. In the larger scope of taboo man-on-man activities, what we did was pretty tame, but it was hot, especially when it was with the pastor’s son. We bared each other’s manhood, stroked on them until hard and then stroked each other until each one of us squirted our hot, creamy loads. We could not manage to meet up alone again that week of camp, but I often think of that fleeting, wonderful moment.

I think of this while sipping on my third Joes IPA, waiting for Marty. However, I start to think that he will not show up. He might get nervous. Hell, I am nervous. Just as I finish my third beer of the evening, there are two, quick knocks on my apartment door. I have a light buzz going from the beers, so I am eager to answer the knock. I open the door. I see Marty there, holding a six-pack of beer, smiling and those eyes. “Hey,” is all I can manage.

“How goes it?” he says, giving me that same look as he did at Fred Meyer. He is wearing a tee shirt, shorts and sandals. I can’t help but eye the slight bulge in his shorts. That tingling feeling hits me again, radiating from my own, growing bulge.

“Great. Come on in,” I say. He brushes past me. More tingling. I’m nearly fully engorged. “Can I take those beers from you?”

“Yeah, why don’t you open a couple,” he says, handing the six-pack to me. I notice he is looking down at my crotch. It is obvious what is going on down there under my jeans. His eyes then meet mine. “Nice.” That’s all he needs to say.

I quickly open two beers, put the other four in the fridge and walk back to the living room. I hand Marty one of the beers. He takes it, takes a long drink from the bottle, sets the bottle down on the end table, steps close to me and presses his left hand against my crotch. Of course, I am rock hard already, but the gesture and feel of his hand drive me mad with desire. I moan aloud, unbuttoning my fly to release the beast, so to speak. My stiff cock springs out as Marty slides my pants and boxers down my legs. I quickly slip my sandals off and step out of my boxers and jeans. I then peel my tee shirt off, standing there totally naked in front of a stranger, one of the last things I would have considered doing just a few hours ago.

Marty wastes no time. He slides his shorts and underwear off in one, fell swoop, revealing an erect package that is about the size of mine, cut and ready for business. He takes his shirt off and tosses it aside, smiling at me. “Damn, this is already hot,” he says, stepping up to me again. Our hard cocks touch—the feeling is like an electric current spreading through my body. Marty leans in and begins kissing my neck; he then moves down to my nipples, gently nibbling on each one. I feel my balls tightening under my rock-hard cock. He moves down to kiss my belly and then reaches his goal. He takes my cock slowly into his mouth, licking and nibbling on its head while gently massaging my engorged balls. I am groaning aloud, lost in the moment. I know that if he continues at this pace, I will not last another minute.

To be continued..