I sat at my favorite coffee shop and stared from my little round table in the back of the shop at the scene before me, lazily sipping my drink. It was my day off, and I always came to this coffee shop at this time, shift change for the workers. It was afternoon so most of the girls working left, and then he came in, like he always did.
The tight young middle eastern college boy, loose grey joggers and a puffy black coat strode in. He went in back and returned, tight black tee shirt now revealed with the hint of nipples underneath the thin fabric. He walked out donning his maroon apron with the name "Mo" written across a name tag attached. He turned and his succulent muscular butt moved as he wiped that mornings remnants from the counter, his bicep pumping against the sleeve of his shirt as he worked. I took a long sip and also drank in Mo along with it.
I assumed he was actually named Mohammed, medium toussled black hair, full pink lips contrasting against sandy brown skin. He was very fit with an athletic build, I guessed he was in some type of sport at school...he looked about nineteen or twenty. The boy was basically a v shape, wide shoulders and muscular arms tapering down to a flat stomach supported by defined legs. Clean shaven, handsome, with solid chocolate eyes, he was my weekly hobby. I'd come in before he arrived, watch the stud come in, order a drink to go from him, and enjoy him waiting on me. I loved that he had a slight accent, but not much of one. Just a hint.
I stared at the delicious boy and had an urge, I wanted to record him. I was wrapping up my 'Mo arrival' drink and was about to go order my 'Mo working' drink. I opened the phone, the camera, tapped record, and slid it in my breast pocket facing out. I went up and ordered. Mo greeted me with a professional smile, straight white teeth flashing before he took my order in a deep caramel voice. Then turned, made the drink showing off his backside, then turned back my way and slid it to me...not bothering to call my name since I had stood waiting and was the only one ordering. I thanked him and returned to my seat. I removed the phone, turned off the recording, and looked around.
No one else was in the room except an older black man who sat at the table behind me. He was about fifty, and I mused he was about thirty years older than my recent young obsession. He had thinning greying black hair, a goatee, a expensive suit, and a newspaper in his hands. He was not reading it though. He was staring. Right at me.
A shock of fear shot through me, and I went cold. Had he seen me? Probably not, he was smiling. However there was something more in the smile than friendly aquaintence. This was further reinforced when he looked from me to the chair beside him and gestured to it, smile widening. I felt compelled, the man was average looking in build and features, neither sexy or ugly, but he had something that drew me to him, not attraction like I had for Mo, but almost a magnetic draw. So I complied with his apparent request, and joined him. He lay down the paper.
"How are you? I'm Mr. Mitchell." I awkwardly extended my hand, "Nice to meet you." I declined to share my name. His smile rested, but the twinkle in his eyes remained. "I couldn't help noticing you noticing that." He nodded at Mo, who was leaning against the counter staring at his phone looking bored, his customer service smile gone with no customers but us in the place. I decided I liked his pouty lips better at rest than forcing that smile. I swallowed, "Ugh, I mean...I suppose." His smile returned, "With you recording, I think you more than noticed." I must have looked terrified at this, it was not welcome candor. "Look, let me see. I won't tell if you do." I fumbled for my phone, confused and uncertain, but not sure what to do but go with it. I played the video and he leaned in, Mo moving across the screen smiling and nodding. "A hot young straight fucker isn't he?" Well that's good at least I figured, and now made more comfortable by him joining in my stalking, I relaxed a bit and just nodded. "I watch too," he pulled out his camera and played a video, it was the same young man, but he was working out in a gym, shorts and a tank showing off more than I usually got to see. Muscular thighs with a dusting of dark hair against the muscles. Defined arms with a hint of armpit hair peaking from between the cleave of his arms. I noticed the video was from above, like it was from a security camera. I couldn't help but be turned on, not just by the sweating exertions of the boy as he worked a leg press and gym shorts hiked up a swarthy hairy thigh, but by the way this stranger just one upped my little foray into creeping by a mile.
Along with my nervous confusion I couldn't help but also be fascinated and curious, "How the hell did you get that?" He looked at the boy again, then made a zipping motion over his lips, and then swiped to another video without a word. My eyes fixed on the scene, it was Mo...shaving, shirtless, wearing nothing but boxer briefs. His chest was hairy from the clavicle down to nice round dark nipples, then a treasure trail disappeared into the thin underwear. I could see a slight outline of his penis in the bulge and noticed he was circumcized. He was as fit as I pictured him, and I pictured him often. The video seemed to be taken from directly in front, like a camera was mounted on the mirror. I watched, transfixed, as he ran the razor over his neck, craning up and delicately sliding it over a pronounced Adams apple keeping his face and neck smooth. I just stared and then closed my now open mouth and swallowed hard. I had no idea what was going on, but it was deeply arousing.
Mr. Mitchell turned off the phone, placed it in his pocket, stood up, and pulled out his wallet. He removed a card from it, and placed it on the table. It was just a plain white card with "Mitchell" on it in stark black and a phone number. He turned it over and scribbled, then slid it over. "I'm looking for someone and have a feeling you fit the bill nicely, I'll soon find out." He winked, and walked away walking past the counter, "See you later" he called to Mo who lowered his phone and instantly brought back his fake customer smile and waved. I glanced at the card with an address next to which was also written "tomorrow, 10pm."
I sat, a little confused and more than intrigued...I knew one thing. I was going to follow up on this strange encounter. It was probably stupid, but I wanted to know more about this man and more than that I wanted to know how he got that kind of access to my recent obsession. I watched Mo, now returned to his phone, as he used one masculine hand to adjust himself. Thanks to Mr. Mitchell I knew a little more about what he was adjusting. I also knew I would be at that address the following evening at ten...
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