For Sale

Seven months after the real estate bubble burst, I was still showing luxury houses in the exclusive neighborhoods in and around my native Seattle. Of course, being the professional realtor that I am, I was only showing my esteemed clients with secured financing the prime properties on my premiere listings. Unfortunately for me, though, when the filthy rich have it set in their minds that they can get to sit in the lap of luxury for next to nothing, most of the truly savvy, financially-conscious ones are fans of the wait-and-see approach to the new falling market. So, to make a little extra money—if the markets and my commissions were going to stay down for more than a little while—I decided to moonlight as a part-time sales associate for a series of new high-end high-rise condominiums downtown that the developers were practically hell-bent on getting rid of—even if it was like giving them away!

On my very first day, I had showed all five different floor plans to about twenty-some-odd people looking to purchase. It was only my last potential sell of my three-day workweek that I had to stop myself from drooling over this gorgeous hunk of a man—a strong potential prospect.

It was a quarter ‘til quitting time on a Thursday afternoon when he and his steamy boulder-like buns came rolling through the door one hard cheek at a time. Now, normally, I am not the kind of openly gay man to go goo-goo gaga over a very good-looking man with a nice super-sized basket, seeing that a truly masculine, buffed-out man like myself don’t usually try to put himself out there like that. Secondly, in my line of work, I come across a bevy of men that seem to fall into the “gorgeous, good-looking, athletic” category on a regular basis, considering that some of those same gorgeous men have no qualms about paying top dollar for full service.

This man however was hard to miss—even if his was drowning in the mist of dapper and well-endowed millionaires. He had a style of swagger (yes, swagger) strictly his own. A style that covered his muscled brawn of a lumberjack quite well with a face that looked as if it came off a man-style porn video box. His overall presence was—as if I had two choices in the matter—either go along with the program or risk being his next rape victim.

If it wasn’t for the damn Employee Manual, I would have surely gone along with the program. I mean showed him what I had to offer (you know what I mean!). As it stated on Page 16 however, it was against company policy to show a condo to a prospective buyer without another sales associate present in the office. Again, as if it was my unfortunate luck, my training supervisor, Sharon, had left early to fuck her blue-collared boyfriend while her white-collared sugar daddy husband was still out-of-town on business.

At any rate, not to cause an uproar with a man that seemed desperate to get through the door before closing time, I was reluctant to tell him I was getting read to leave as well for the night and there was no way I could show him around.

Looking pissed and looking as if he was ready to verbally rumble, the man took a deep but short breath and told me he had a late afternoon appointment with Sharon.

Mildly afraid to tell the annoyed man she had left for the day; I walked over to her desk and saw she wrote him in on her calendar—for the following day.

“Mr. Leslie Jones.” I read from her desktop calendar, after I confirmed his girlish name for such a masculine-reeking man. “Four-thirty, Friday afternoon, two-bedroom, two-bath, floor plan B with twelfth floor harbor view?”

“Fuck, I thought I’d changed it for today!” Mr. Jones said with a slightly heavy but pronounced accent. He came off slightly embarrassed as he ran his long thick digits into his raven-black hair. “I meant to change the time to today since my flight to Birmingham got bumped up from late Saturday morning ‘til about this time tomorrow.”

“Were you two going to sign on the place today?” I asked, allowing my professionalism to dictate to my snaking trouser trick.

“No, I just wanted to look it over one last time before finalizing my decision on the place. Like, ‘could I really see myself calling this place home?’ I guess I can see if that’s the case when I come back into town, huh?” Mr. Jones inflected with an undertone, as if he was seeking parental permission.

“No, sir,” I blurted out anxiously without trying to sound too obvious about wanting to see what was really behind those well-fitted pants of his. “I don’t see any harm in showing you your future abode, Mr. Leslie—Mr. Jones.”

“Please, call me, Lester, it sort of goes with the testosterone in my vein.” Mr. Jones winked.

“Okay, Lester. I’m Fuller,” I said, shaking on it.

 

Full of Lester. Skank!

Once we got off on the twelfth-floor elevator, I was already regretting my decision to against another rule in the Employee Manual about showing a condo close to closing time. While his charming personality seemed to contradict his arrogant good-looks and stature, the large band on his left index finger happened to suggest he was not only off the market, but also, he didn’t even play for my team as I handed him my best sales pitch ever. (And before any of you bitches start, a single gay man messing around with a married straight man is so cliché.) 

Still, being the professional salesman that I am, I once again highlighted the many perks of living right in the heart of downtown Seattle and the many amenities the condo itself had to offer. After awhile, however, I got the lingering impression that Lester was already sold on the place and wanted to just look around.

If I had been more courteous than disappointed, I would’ve gone back downstairs and left him there to experience his possible new home. Even though this particular condo came fully furnished by some world-renowned interior decorator, even if an iota of an item went missing, it was coming out of my lowly commission. So, in lieu of that, I left him alone to look around while I took up space moping around the couch.

“Are you ready to go?” I asked when I saw him come back into the living room.

“Not yet…if you don’t mind.”

 

Fuck yeah, I mind! I’m not going to get paid or laid for this shit.

“I know you’re probably anxious to get home to your family, but I’ll like to take another look at this beautiful skyline from the balcony.”

“Axel,” I said abruptly opening the door outside. “The only thing I have to get home to is my dog, Axel. I don’t get my son, Curtis, ‘til tomorrow afternoon, for the weekend, obviously.”

“Oh.”

“Do you and the misses have any kids?” I asked dutifully.

Lester paused briefly and looked over at me. He was getting ready to ask me something, but his right hand happened to grip his left ring finger and chuckled.

“I don’t have any kids—and I’m not married either!” He said rolling his ring finger off with his thumb. “It’s a decoy to keep co-worker and potential clients at bay. If they’re not trying to score a quickie in the break room, someone is always trying to fix you up with one of their homely girlfriends. When that doesn’t seem to work, they always want to introduce you to their fart-face cousin or nephew or brother that they’re always trying to hook you up with.”

“So, you’re the one my Aunt Ethel has been raving about.” I joke playfully.

“I guess so—if I’d only known.”

“That I didn’t have a fart-face?”

“Exactly!” Lester beamed.

The two of us exchanged that look. The nonverbal version of “it’s about to go down.”

It wasn’t long before my hand boldly reached over the front of his pants massaging his budding crotch before adding, “At least this way, if it doesn’t work out no one would be to blame.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Lester said.

“Well, I was thinking of something else.” I said going in for the kiss.

It was as if I was in a race, getting to my knees and fishing out his stumpy cock from his expensive pants. Just like a fish in water, I swallowed him whole as if I had been waiting for him most of the day rather than just meeting him ten minutes earlier.

“Go slow.” Lester asked in a low sexy rumble. He had said it as if we were in a small enclosure instead of on the balcony for all Greater Seattle to see.

Per his request, I started sucking him off slow and deep, trying not to get carried away with the many thick inches forcing its way down my tightening throat; though it was hard for me to fight the urge to bob up and down on his Heineken beer-can thick prick, I did manage to keep him moaning ecstatically with my curved tongue milking the underbelly of his fat mushroom dickhead.  

“Keep it up.” Lester boomed above me. “I might just let the cream loose in your mouth!”

 

Oh my god! I don’t want that to happen!

While my mind went one way, my mouth went full speed, sucking him off like I was out to try to pull a brick through a paper straw.

“Damn, Fuller!” Lester hissed, pulling out of my mouth with a large pop. “Let me make myself clear. If I unload there,” pressing his cock against my pursed lips, “there I won’t be able to use this,” he said with a condom in hand, “and unload there,” pointing at my covered derriere.

“You want to fuck me?” I asked naively while at the same time being seductive by sticking out my tongue and fucking with his piss slit.

“Most definitely,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“Then, why didn’t you just say so?”

We pawed each other, working our way back to the sofa, stripping each other naked along the way. I was spent and spun, losing any sense of direction, whether I was right side up or upside down.

“Oh, shit,” I mumbled aloud, finally noting I was bent over the sofa with the cooling sensation of a wet tongue and a gentle tug of the balls. “Get that fucking tongue up in there!”

He did, pushing my buttons even more by firmly thumbing my perineum. And just when I thought his tongue couldn’t drill harder and deeper up in there, it did.

Even more astonishing was what happened next.

All I remember was letting out a deep pent-up sigh, and the next thing I knew, I suddenly felt empty and relieved. I had come instantaneously, hands-free, on the sofa behind me.

Once I realized what happened, I was just too embarrassed to say anything else, as Lester let go of my draining balls and started to laugh behind my back.

“Couldn’t wait for me, huh?”

“Nah,” I said jokingly trying to save face.

Being that had never happened to me before, I was unsure of the proper protocol that followed, seeing that I always had a hard and full dick on the rare occasion I got fucked.

“I can suck you off if you like,” I offered, in lieu of a better phrase.

“No,” Lester commanded calmly as he cupped his hand under my sticky cock tip.

He once again pressed my hot button, forcing me to shoot another wave of spoo from my cum hole as if it was creamy soap from a dispenser, and rubbed it across my throbbing spit-slick hole. “You’re even more fuckable with your self-made lube.”

Before I could say anything to the effect, I could hear the wrapper of the condom being discarded on the floor as Lester masterfully rolled it onto his meaty cock. It wasn’t even a moment later when I felt the latex sheath roll up and down the crack, and then aimed dead center for my quivering hole.

To my surprise, it wasn’t nearly as painful taking him as I thought it was going to be, but painful, nonetheless. Nevertheless, my hole seemed much more open than ever, like I was some slut that just bottomed for the entire Seahawks football team or something. And, just when I thought I was in for an easy and enjoyable carefree ride, I felt my gaping hole clamp on his cock like vice.

The more I tried to relax, the more it felt like his cock was starting to swell, as if he was about to come any second except the size of his cock in my cramped hole was not about to give in and come.

Gripping my shoulders with his large hands, Lester made best use of the existing lube, ripping me apart with ease and battering my already very tender prostate.

Lester rode me hard and swift, and for the second time, I was hard myself and practically easy picking for another no-assist shot. I gasped for air again, but to no avail.

I had to holler at this orgasm to come.

And it did—a load so powerful that it arrived with howls and grunts of a popular rock star on an amped-up stage. He leaned in giving me a congratulatory bite on the neck, as his hard sweaty body down poured on mine.

Going two to none, I would’ve thought Poor Lester would’ve given in, sooner rather than later. But as my hole re-opened and clammed back down around him, Lester humped his way to a slow, steady end.

When I saw Sharon at the second high-rise location a couple of weeks later, she thanked me for going ahead and showing Mr. Jones the condo. I would’ve taken the gratitude as is if she hadn’t insulted my established “professionalism” by telling me that was what a good sales associate did, please the client.

“He took the condo saying that he had already established some really good memories,” she noted.

“I guess he and his ‘wife’ really liked the place.” I lied for his benefit, certain that he took his wedding ring routine on the road.

“Oh,” Sharon paused. “The way I heard the two of you going at it, what good would a wife do? And before you even start to deny it, a word of caution, rookie. The reason why the Employee Manual is against showing a condo near closing time is because it gives the cleaning staff plenty of time to clean the furnished condos for the open houses on the weekend. And they had a hell of a time cleaning up those streaks off that expensive sofa!”