“What are you doing for lunch?”
I knew without looking it was Mary and also knew to whom she was speaking. But I looked up and over the cubicle wall to confirm it. Sure enough, Mr. Hot Mother Fucker was coming out of Ben’s office.
“Sorry, Mary, I have a lunch meeting with a client.”
At that moment, Ben came out of his office, brief case in hand.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby,” said Ben to Chad. Chad Kowalski, intern at Elemental Graphic Design, LLC.
An intern just like me. But an intern with a decent cubicle location and the admiration of many of his fellow workers, I meanwhile sat in the worst cubicle, the one nearest the copier being ignored until some menial tasks needed to be done. I wondered if Chad knew his neighbor, Isabella hated his guts, called him a frat boy and suck up behind his back. I liked Isabella.
I saw Chad rush to his cubicle, grab his coat and briefcase, then rush after Benjamin Harris, Vice President of Marketing Designs, or Ben as he liked everyone to call him. It was meant to make him part of the team, just one of the guys, but having an office with a window to the skyline of the city made him anything but.
I settled back into my chair and went back to cleaning up a design. We were one of four departments under the main Creative Center, the department where all the chosen ones were allowed to work on the best projects taking the lead on the design of a graphics package. There was Web Design, Package Design, Digital Designs, and my group, Marketing Design.
I was an intern, the newest in the group. I had lightened my class load during my senior year which had me graduate at the end of the summer semester in lieu of spring semester. I thought it would give me a leg up on getting a job. Let everyone else finish in May and hit the job market in a mongrel hoard, then after the dust settled and some companies found a need for additional staff three months later, I could arrive at their door portfolio in hand ready for that interview.
It was a good plan, until reality set in. I sent resumes to companies in Seattle and Portland. Letters of rejection from most, and the others, nothing. No thank you for your application, no we’ll keep your resume on file in case something changes. Nothing. I sent resumes to Austin, Texas; Miami, Florida; New York City (yeah, I really thought I had a chance); Chicago, Illinois; and Atlanta, Georgia. Atlanta was my least favorite selection, for I knew the city from my college days coming to it to goof off and at times hook up with one of the locals. I wanted to go somewhere new. A place that would be an adventure. And I got rejection after rejection until Elemental Graphics agreed to an interview. The way it was put to me, I just knew it would be a waste of time. A wild goose chase where someone in Human Resources kept themselves busy interviewing people only to reject them afterward. At least Atlanta was close enough, I could drive there instead of flying. So, imagine my surprise when I got a call for a second interview, then another to come in and get set up to start work as an intern.
Despite my disappointment with the locale, I was excited about getting a chance to prove myself, to show why my grade point average was 3.9. It was soul crushing how no one welcomed me with open arms ready to see what I could contribute. Instead, I was shown my cubicle by the most indifferent human I have ever encountered, at the time and since then, from Human Resources, and told someone would show me what I was to do.
Then I found out who the other intern was for the fourteen of us in the cube farm overseen by a president, executive vice-president, and two vice-presidents. Mr. Hot Mother Fucker, Chad Kowalski. Not counting Charlotte, the Executive Vice-President, there were eight women in the department, outnumbering the men. Of them, four loved Mr. Hot Mother Fucker, practically worshipped the carpet he strolled across. And one of them was married. Did they give me the time of day, just once show some interest in me. Nope. Not one fucking time, although I had no interest in any of them, I would like to know I was attractive enough to garner some attention. But in Mr. Hot Mother Fucker’s shadow, I didn’t exist.
It was why, after only four weeks, I had come to love Anna and Isabella. They hated him, avoided any interaction with him. When Mr. Hot Mother Fucker asked Anna to lunch one day, she replied with such a flatness of tone, no, not interested, he avoided her ever since. Ha-rin and Sofia were indifferent. Maybe it was because they were married, or because they saw through his bullshit and couldn’t be bothered. I loved them, too.
“Hey Ryan, I’ll be right back if someone comes looking for me,” I said as I headed to the Men’s room. He nodded, letting me know he heard me, but I could see his expression let me know he doubted anyone would come looking for me.
I was the only person in the Men’s room, a large facility on the main corridor around the elevator shaft and the two emergency stairs. The lighting was dim except over the stalls and mirror at the vanity. I washed my hands, then splashed water on my face, and looked into the mirror to see if I still recognized the person. Chad was going to a meeting with Benjamin Harris, Vice President, and I was not. I was definitely low man on the totem pole.
I stared at my reflection, reappraising my earlier assessment. I was not bad looking, attractive even. I had never had a problem meeting other guys or having women flirt with me. So why did it bug me so to have Mr. Hot Mother Fucker getting all the attention. I was five foot ten inches tall, weighed one hundred sixty-two pounds, with a muscular build. I rode a bicycle, backpacked in the North Carolina and Tennessee mountains with high school friends once a year I worked out (not regularly like I should, but two or three times a week at least), and swam in the pool at the YMCA (not as cheap as I hoped for membership). I had black wavy hair, gray eyes, and fair skin. Yes, I struggled to grow a beard in college and since then kept myself clean shaven, and yes, my teeth were not perfect. But no one rejected me saying it was because of either thing. And despite efforts to create a bit of a bad boy image with a sleeve tattoo in progress down my left arm and both ears pierced, at work I kept that aspect concealed with long sleeve dress shirts and earrings left on my dresser. Over the last few days, I considered wearing a short sleeve shirt and earrings in both ears, but it seemed like I would be begging for attention and couldn’t do it.
Then I pictured Chad. Chad Kowalski. Mr. Hot Mother Fucker. He was every bit six foot three, maybe taller, and built like a fucking god. His shirts were stretched tight across the chest revealing his muscular build and his pants curved provocatively over a round ass. And he had perfect honey blonde hair cut short but long enough on top to hang over the forehead giving him a boyish appearance. His eyes were vivid blue, and he had a nice skin tone that made everything he wore look good. And when he smiled, dimples framed his mouth and when he laughed aloud, he revealed perfect teeth. Was he even human, I wondered or was he some cyborg robot sent by aliens to infiltrate us humans.
Fucking hot mother fucker. God, how I wanted to fuck him. Not in some manner of taking revenge for perceived wrongs, but really, cock buried in his perfect round ass, fuck him. “Jesus, Oliver, you’re pathetic,” I mumbled to myself, then dried my face and exited the room.
It was still light out, but the sun was about to drop below the western horizon. I was setting the table and my roommate, Sam, was in the kitchen getting dinner ready to bring to the table.
Before you go wondering if Sam is more than my roommate, let me inform you Sam is a woman. Yes, it was a surprise for me the first time I met her. I was searching for a place to live, checking every source available where people were looking for a roommate. Sam’s advert caught my eye. It was in an established neighborhood in an older apartment building. I knew it could mean a place with a bit of character, in lieu of the big soulless complexes going up everywhere with tiny apartments, all based on one or two generic floor plans.
I showed up at the two-story building sitting high over the road thinking it looked perfect. Four units on the front each with outdoor space; a porch for the ground level units and a balcony for the upper floor units, and the building was a beautiful dark red with white stone accents, a façade no longer feasible with tight budgets and speculators looking for every means of cutting more costs out of a project.
I had entered the hall that ran down the center of the building and climbed to the second floor. I had been dressed in my suit and tie because I had left work a few minutes early to get there on time. A good first impression was important. I knocked, then stepped back a respectful distance. The door had opened to reveal a woman nearly as tall as I with short brown hair and wire frame glasses I can only describe as steampunk.
Oliver?
Yes…are you, Sam?
I remembered how she smiled, then nodded. Not what you were expecting she had said as she looked me up and down.
No, but not a problem.
Good, come on in.
I had looked at the layout, listened to her expectations and rules for living together, and at some point, she turned to me and said right out of the blue, you can bring guys over, but they are not to stay here for any length of time. I had no idea how she knew I was gay, and it caught me off guard but when I looked at her with her devious smile, I laughed.
Of everything that had happened so far with my move to Atlanta, the roommate’s situation was the only thing I could claim to be perfect.
“How’s work?” said Sam as she set the baked chicken with potatoes and carrots around it on the table.
“Good.”
“Are you still obsessing over Sean what’s-his-name?’
“It’s Chad, and no, well maybe just a little.”
She laughed as we took our normal seats.
We talked about her work, currently working on a design for a residence in Blowing Rock, North Carolina. She talked of the client and how wonderful they had been. She was going to drive up on Saturday to see the site.
“Why don’t you come with me?”
“Really? I’d like that, but I promised my boss to go to this lunch meeting with a client on Saturday.”
“Mr. Mother Fucker didn’t volunteer?”
“Mr. Hot Mother Fucker,” I corrected her to her amusement, then shook my head. “He had something to do and no one else in the group wanted to do it. I got the opportunity by default.”
“Maybe it’ll help you get more respect at work.”
I scoffed, harder than I meant too, and for a second, we stared at each other before laughing hysterically.
Saturday afternoon and the apartment is quiet, too quiet. I thought it would be nice to have the place to myself, but not having anything particular to do, such as having a boyfriend over, left me sitting around bored. I thumbed through the channels on the television until I grew bored with it. I tried to read, but felt like I should be doing something, like finding that boyfriend I wish I had now.
“Fuck,” I uttered to myself, getting to my feet, grabbing up my keys and the novel I was reading, and headed out. I’ll go for an early dinner somewhere. Maybe get a sandwich at that deli with the outdoor seating. A bit of fresh air and a relaxed meal with some reading sounded better than sitting around lethargic.
The deli is busy but not crowded to the point where I couldn’t find a suitable table. The deli is in an old house, the wrapped-around porch glassed in for a dining area, and the outdoor area is across the front and down the side facing the two streets. I found a table near the corner of the lot under a maple tree. Shade and fully open to the breeze from the south. It also provided a full view of those going inside and to all the outdoor seating area, so between sections of the storyline, I could look up to do a little people watching.
The dirty blonde in a bright blue shirt sitting with two women. Is he their gay friend, or is one of the women a tag along with him and his girlfriend? Then there were the two men sitting near the entrance. One appeared to be late fifties or so and the other late twenties. Father and son, or daddy and boy. I think the former, for the older man doesn’t do anything to show affection or possession. At the far end of the side area, a table tucked up near the house at the end of what was once a porch is four guys. I see them laugh, and one touch another in a familiar way. They’re gay. One leaned over and gave the guy to his left a quick kiss on the cheek making him blush. Oh yeah, definitely gay, I think smiling at the openness and simple joy evident at the table.
“Your sandwich,” said the waiter setting a plate in front of me. “I’ll get you a refill. Sweet or unsweet?” referring to the tea I’m drinking.
“Sweet,” I reply, like me I want to sarcastically add. The waiter is cute, and I am tempted to flirt with him. But I know the guy must endure it all day from both men and women, and I’m ready to eat, so I let him saunter away to get me a refill.
I expected to see my waiter coming out, so imagine my surprise to see Mr. Hot Mother Fucker coming out with two other guys. I look at them, size them up, then turn away hoping Mr. Hot Mother Fucker doesn’t notice me sitting alone. How pathetic would that be. I cut my eyes over and see him standing in front of the other two guys, laugh at something said, then the mannerism of people parting ways, Mr. Hot Mother Fucker headed down the sidewalk and the other two guys came my way. I steal glances at them as they approach and nearly choke on the air I’m breathing when I see them take each other’s hand and bump shoulders.
What the fuck? Mr. Hot Mother Fucker was having a late lunch or early dinner with two gay guys. Did that mean he was gay too. No, there was no way, not that bastard. Then I smile at the idea of it, how several women would be devastated to know he would never give them a chance. As I ate, I slowly considered the options. Maybe one of the other guys was an old friend and they were just catching up. It seemed the most logical. Afterall, Mr. Hot Mother Fucker would have no trouble getting a boyfriend, even if for only a week or so, therefore he should not have been alone when meeting the other two. But if he is straight and his girlfriend (there had to be one, right?) is a bit of a homophobe, he would leave her ass at home and come alone. That’s it. That had to be the story. It made the most sense. You think so, too…don’t you?
I finish and tip the waiter generously, hoping he’ll remember me when we cross paths at one of the gay bars. You know how it goes. I’m alone at the bar sipping some cocktail, and he strolls in and comes to stand next to me to order a drink. Hey, I remember you and everything falls into place for me to wake up in the morning with his well-used naked ass next to me.
It could happen.
I go down the side street to my five-year-old Accord and sit there, the engine running so the air conditioner is on, wondering where to go next. It’s six thirty on a Saturday afternoon. Probably too early for most bars and I mentally scroll through the list of them, the ones I can remember, knowing most are not open yet and those that are will not be busy. Then I remember the post on one of the older establishments under new management. There was a name change but I have no doubt not much else. It was known as a gay dive bar, the description helped by it being on the back of a shopping center. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it, but the patrons swear it is the place for a drink and a bit of socializing. I do a search to find its address, knowing I could always have one drink and leave if the place is too much of a dive.
I wind my way around the city letting the navigation system be my guide, although there were two times I seriously doubted its accuracy. I almost drove past the entrance due to my doubt, but I swing into the drive seeing it was the one that aligned with the rear service drive, so I eased straight ahead. I saw the black awning over a door and knew it had to be the place and as I cruised by, I saw the new sign adjacent to the solid metal door. I wondered if I needed a special knock to get in as I eased down to some parallel spaces along the drive and parked.
Approaching the door, I heard music. It was too muffled to make out the lyrics, but I recognized the tune. Any gay guy worth his salt would have recognized that song. It was practically a gay anthem a few years ago. I pulled the door open and for a minute thought the place must be closed, because all I saw was a dark tiny foyer. Then I saw the dim lights around the end of the wall, and eased in wondering if it would be a one drink stop.
It was a small place, not over sixteen feet wide at best, with a bar along one side that had maybe twelve stools, and along the other side bar height tables, a mix of four-tops and two-tops. The walls were black, the ceiling was black, and the floor was black and white tile, but not good stuff, like porcelain, but that cheap stuff made of some vinyl shit. It had the dive bar feel, but surprisingly, not the typical dive bar funk, with dust and battered walls and missing floor tiles. I made my way to the bar where there were six guys sitting. Four were paired up in a group, their stools pulled back so they could sit in a little circle, and at the end, the other two sitting side by side with heads leaned toward each other. I sat between them and quickly had the bartender in front of me.
“Just a bourbon, neat.”
“Any particular brand?”
“Knob Creek or…Woodford.”
“Woodford Reserve,” the bartender replied, repeating my final selection.
I watched him find the bottle, make the pour, then set it in front of me. “Fifteen,” said the bartender.
I handed him my credit card wondering when dive bars got so expensive. Then a sip, then another, feeling that warming effect as it descended to my stomach. I glanced to my right seeing the two men were in some deep conversation about the cost of rent in the city. I turned quickly, not wanting to get into that conversation, and glanced over at the four guys to my left. They were talking about a Rick, then someone they called a slut (eliciting a laugh from the group), and I realized it was just normal gay men’s gossip. I straightened up and looked in the mirror behind the bar at the men sitting behind me along the opposite wall. It was the same. Just guys out for a drink and casual conversation.
I sat back and took another drink wondering if I would find anyone of interest. You know, someone for a good solid one-night stand, or maybe someone to go out with, the dinner and a movie routine, or just maybe someone to develop a friendship. Someone who knew the city better than I. My phone beeped with a text message, and I saw it was one of my friends. Greg was straight and about to get married. He graduated last spring and moved with his fiancé to Dallas, Texas. I opened the message.
We set a date.
June 20, 2026.
It’ll be in Montgomery.
You better plan on being there. I need a best man.
I texted back, smiling at hearing the news they had finally set a date. I replied with the usual Congrats! Then Of course, anything for you. We traded text messages for far longer than I realized, because when I set the phone down the bar was crowded. I looked around surprised at the sudden change in atmosphere, but I quickly saw it was guys in groups. No one alone like myself, and I looked at my cellphone realizing it was still early. Maybe the single guys show up later.
A few minutes later, I heard it. A familiar laugh. No, it couldn’t be, I thought as I looked in the mirror to confirm what my mind wasn’t comprehending. Yep, there he stood, Mr. Hot Mother Fucker just inside the bar with four guys this time. The two from earlier plus two more. Is he always the odd man out I wondered and secretly hoped if I’m honest. They all had beers in their hands, so one of the others had been to the bar, for I would have noticed that bastard if he had come to the bar. I think so, anyway. Maybe not with the way I had had my nose in my phone texting with Greg.
“Another?” said the bartender.
I realized my glass was just melting ice. “Sure.”
“Woodford Reserve?”
“That’s right.”
A minute later, the bartender sat the drink in front of me then went to slap another fifteen-dollar hit to my credit card.
“That’s pretty top shelf for an intern.”
I looked in the mirror and saw it was him. Mr. Hot Mother Fucker. He was easing in next to me, and I turned to him realizing he was awfully close for there wasn’t room for that muscular body at the bar, but he squeezed it in anyway. He looked at me with those blue eyes and smiled with those dimples and perfect teeth.
“I don’t get out much so I’m treating myself,” I replied.
“Are you here alone?”
Alone. There was the question that spoke to my aloneness. My lack of a date or friends to just hang out with. Sounds pathetic, but I just moved here, and it takes some time to fit in and make friends.
“You know. New intern who doesn’t fully know the city.”
“But you came here during college.”
“On weekends, usually to the mall, then out to eat, then hitting the bar near the park before one of the clubs.”
“The main circuit for a Saturday night,” he replied, not as a question but as a fact.
“So, you’re gay,” I blurted out, then wished like hell I could take it back. He laughed, then leaned down far too close.
“Yes, and I assume you are as well.”
It was stated as a joke, but it didn’t seem too fucking funny at the moment. I felt breathless and wanted to…what? I had no idea. Move closer to the bastard? Make a run for the door? Or just sit here and stammer like a goddamn fool?
Mr. Hot Mother Fucker, Chad Kowalski, ordered another beer, and once it was in hand, he tilted it toward me in a friendly gesture. “I’ll see you back at work. I need to get back to my friends before they make a scene.”
And that was it. The whole of our interaction. So, why did it consume so much of my mind. I sat there for a while longer, looking in the mirror at him, until his little group moved to a place I would have had to turn around to see them, and I was not going to do that. So, I paid and left.
I had gotten to work early and was in my cubicle when Mr. Hot Mother Fucker strolled in right at nine. He greeted those he passed, and I tried to focus on my work and act as if nothing was out of the ordinary. You know, like finding out the big macho bastard was gay. Eventually, I settled back to my work and made real progress. But around 11:30, Mr. Hot Mother Fucker was all over the place. At the printer, then back a few minutes later at the copier, both just outside my cubicle. I would look up and he would be strolling past. He even stopped at Ryan’s cubicle next to me to ask a question, and instead of going back to his side of the office area, he crossed the narrow aisle and spoke to Sofia who was directly across from me. I could look left and see him, all of him. Broad shouldered, round ass, blonde and blue eyed… I could see all of him. I glanced at the clock seeing it was ten till noon. I would leave early and go for lunch somewhere outside of this office building, despite a bagged lunch in the refrigerator waiting on me.
I clocked out, grabbed my cellphone, and stood to head out.
“Are you going to lunch?” said Chad.
“Yes. I didn’t have breakfast (a lie) so I’m hungry.”
“Where are you going?”
“Huh…” I stammered, caught off guard.
“Where are you going? Have you tried that new deli over on Commonwealth? It’s good.”
“I…huh…no, I’ve not tried it.”
“Come on, my treat. You should try it.”
And that, dear reader is how I found myself with Chad Kowalski leaving for lunch. Others had looked up expectant of an invite, but Chad fell in beside me going on about the deli then switching subjects to the new project the department would be working on soon, not once looking around at the others.
Did he just blow them off?
When we strolled out of the building and hit the sidewalk heading west toward Commonwealth, Chad finally fell silent for a bit. We were nearing the first intersection on our little walk when he finally spoke of the weekend.
“Did you have fun Saturday night?”
“I got out of the apartment. I don’t really know anyone,” I replied immediately hating how pathetic it sounded. “You know how it is when you first move to a new place. It just takes a little time to fit in.”
“But you sat alone.”
“Yeah, I’m not always the most social person.”
“I see that at work.”
“What?”
“You speak to others, but not in a way to get to really know them.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Chad replied, chuckling at my response.
“Did you have fun?”
“It was a nice night out. I hung out with my friends until I had had enough then went home.”
“You didn’t hook up?”
Chad looked at me, and I read the expression. He knew what I was thinking, what most people would assume about him. He was attractive, so therefore he always had somebody in his bed. He could pick who he wanted and fuck the shit out of them. “No, I went home alone.”
“Really?”
I was a real dumbass sometimes. Just adding to the notion Chad was a player. Afterall, he looked like a player with his perfect good looks and muscular body. Didn’t all the players in movies look like Chad?
Chad laughed, but not good naturedly. “I’m not like that.”
Awkward silence goes here, for I felt scolded, deservingly so, and I kept my mouth shut as we strolled the last block to the deli.
Waiting for our sandwiches, we were seated at a small bistro table along the side of the dining room. It had us close, real close, as if the tightness of the small dining room meant to physically shove us together.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“About what?”
“The assumption you were a player. You know, always hooking up and…”
The apology sounded worse. I told myself to shut up.
“I was in a relationship. It lasted…two years and six months to be exact.”
“In college?”
“Yep. We met in our sophomore year, but it was just crossing paths in one class or another.”
“And at some point, you guys found yourselves attracted to each other.”
“More like we got drunk at a party and woke up in the same bed,” said Chad. “And we didn’t even do anything.
“But we did have a late breakfast together and talk, and one thing led to another.”
“Why did you break up?” I asked, suddenly, really wanting to know.
“Graduation was approaching, and I thought…really believed we would be moving to the same city. But then he came in two weeks before finals and broke up with me. He was all apologies, and kept repeating he was sorry until I wanted to punch him in the mouth. Then he confessed he had been pursuing a job overseas and had gotten it. It was his dream job.
“I turned down the job I was pursuing for it was in the city we had planned to move together and did a rush to find another job. It was my uncle who got me in with our company.”
“He works in the industry?”
“He’s a client.”
“OH.”
“Yeah, not the best way to get a job, a little old fashion nepotism. But I was so desperate to…I don’t know. Get away from Wil or try to disappear where he couldn’t find me.”
“You sure can conceal it.”
“It is my nature to try not to dwell on something, or failing that, just pretend it’s not there.”
Our sandwiches arrived, bringing an end to this conversation. As we ate, we talked about the city, places to go, restaurants I just had to try. Chad suddenly fell into that familiar rhythm of his, the easy-going guy who was always looking to help.
We were finishing up and a glance at my cellphone showed we needed to hurry to get back in time. I drank the last of my tea and Chad was pushing his plate to the side, when the waiter came over with the check.
“I got this,” said Chad.
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
Is it, I wondered.
We were walking back toward the office, our pace a bit faster than before, for we were cutting it close, when Chad finally broke the silence between us that existed since we left the deli.
“Hey, you want to have dinner one night this week?”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah, you know, that act of going to a restaurant and getting food.”
“So, just dinner.”
“It could be more, if you wanted it to be. I get the feeling you don’t really like me, but—”
“I never said that.”
“But sometimes you look at me as if you really don’t like me.”
“I…it’s just…you’re an intern too but seem to have such a head start on me, going to meetings and in with everyone in our group and—”
“And you’re the new guy who is not fitting in?”
“Yes, something like that.”
“That was the first time I got to go to a meeting. I’ve been working three months in my cubicle and began to wonder if I’d ever get to leave it during the day.”
“So, I’ve got some time before I might get out.”
“Probably. But you never answered my question. Dinner?”
So, it was dinner with Chad Kawalski on Wednesday night. Just the two of us at some Spanish restaurant in Midtown. I, Oliver Jones was out with Chad Kowalski, the hot mother fucker. I saw the looks, men and women giving him the “I’d fuck that” look. Eyes going from the face down to the ass or crotch, then back up. So often, I was getting self-conscious about it, but Chad either ignored it or really didn’t pay attention to it.
Then we were back at his place for a nightcap. Just a drink before calling it a night.
You believe that?
We took two, maybe three drinks from our glasses, then did it: kissed. It was one of those goofy first kisses. Should have been awkward but we just laughed, then kissed again. And again. Then I found myself on his bed, naked, and my cock being sucked.
I closed my eyes to the feel of his mouth, how it moved on my cock, up and down its length. How the tongue swirled around head making me moan and push upward. When his mouth pulled off it, I opened my eyes to see him up on his knees. He was unbuttoning his shirt, slowly, making me want him more. The chest and stomach came into view. Perfect. Even the little tattoo over the right nipple.
He undid his jeans and deftly worked them and his boxer briefs off each leg. His cock stuck straight out, long and thick, and the head flared wide. I wondered how it would feel stretching my ass wide open. I started to raise my legs to find out when he surprised me. He moved over my waist and settled his ass down on my cock. I clutched at the bed as he rocked his ass back and forth, working it on my cock.
Fuck.
Fuck, the hot mother fucker was working that ass over my cock until I was pushing upward, pressing hard against it. He moved back and forth, rubbing over my erection until I went from wanting to be fucked to wanting to fuck him. He wanted it and I was ready to give it to him. I sat up and bearhugged the larger body and rolled it to my side. I was on my knees between his legs.
“Do it, Oliver. Put it in me,” said Chad.
Fuck.
I stroked my cock, then put it to his ass. I pushed against its tightness, felt the resistance, but I saw the want in the face. He pulled his legs back until feet were pointing straight up.
“Oliver, you fucker, do it, do it.”
I did it.
I pushed through the tightness feeling the squeeze on my cock. Inch after slow inch, I pushed into that hot mother fucker. I saw the flat stomach undulating, heaving up and down as I penetrated that ass.
“Fuck,” Chad uttered as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back.
Yeah, fuck. I took those legs behind the knees and widened their spread and began to fuck.
You know how it feels. Your cock buried in a tight ass. The tightness as you tug outward then push inward, with your moves through that fucking tight ass pushing your arousal to the breaking point. Now multiply by ten. No, a hundred…a thousand. It was like that.
I moved inside that ass slowly, enjoying the feel of it on my cock. I pushed inward until my abdomen pressed against that ass, then tugged outward until the head nearly slipped free. Long slow pulls that made my cock flex with my arousal until my slow pace was torture. I had to fuck faster. I had to feel my cock move in that ass with the physicality that would eventually get me off.
I pushed the legs over and down, until against that muscular body, and I hammered his goddamn ass. I fucked with a furious pace until the bed squeaked and rocked beneath us. I heard his moans and grunts then the breathless pleadings to fuck him harder. I pushed down on the legs and fucked until the sound of body smacking against body echoed in the room. I fucked until I thought I would turn into a puddle of sweat.
Then I was jamming my hips against that ass as my cock erupted, spewing wad after wad into his depths. I collapsed on top of him, gasping for breath. His legs slide from underneath me and he relaxed, but only for a few seconds, then he was manhandling me. He bearhugged me, then quickly rolled me to my back.
“My turn,” Chad exclaimed.
Fuck, yeah.
My ass quickly had every goddamn inch of his cock. All nine inches buried in my ass and the fuck was trying to push deeper. Then he began to fuck. I felt that cock tug outward, then push inward. Over and over, until he was in a steady fuck. At times he did pull out, hover over my ass for a second, then slammed back into my depths resuming his fuck.
I shuddered and moaned and arched my back pushing my ass against his hips. I couldn’t get enough of his cock. Couldn’t get it deep enough. It felt like it was punching into the center of my being, and I wanted it deeper. He held my hands down and kissed my neck, tugged on my left ear, then kissed along my jaw until our lips were pressed together, and not once did he slow our fuck.
He pulled out, rose to his knees, and manhandled me to my hands and knees. He pushed back into me, grabbed my hair, and fucked. Head pulled back until my hands came off the bed, I took his fuck. Every thrust. He hammered my ass as my own cock grew erect and flopped between my thighs.
“Fuck me. Fuck me harder. Come on…fuck my ass,” I begged as he tugged on my hair again. I was soon hard as a rock, and it was flopping so hard it would smack my stomach. Then he pushed me over until my face was buried into the bed and he moved over me, and I felt nine inches of thick cock bore into my ass, slowly…real slow, and I shivered with the fullness of the penetration when he finally pressed against my ass.
“Jesus, I’m close,” Chad uttered.
“Don’t stop; keep fucking. Fuck that shit in me,” I uttered as I felt him tug outward just as slow.
When he sank into my ass again, he didn’t stop this time, instead he fucked. Fucked to cum.
I clutched the bed and took every thrust. When he reached underneath me and took my cock in hand I moaned and pushed back as he shoved forward. He once again hammered my ass. I felt sweat rain down on me then his hot slick chest rubbed over my back.
I came. Shuddering and jerking as I ejaculated for his hand never stopped. Then he shoved into my depths and shuddered against me as he came.
I got to work the next Monday feeling like I had been bored out. How many times had that hot fuck cum in my ass, I couldn’t recall, but I knew I pumped load after load in his ass and mouth until I couldn’t cum again. I was somewhat glad the work week arrived to give me some reprieve from our rutting.
I went to my desk, fired up the computer, logged in, then checked emails that had come in over the weekend. Mr. Hot Mother Fucker came strolling in a few minutes later and he did his usual morning greetings and at one point he looked my way and smiled. I smiled back then looked down to prevent anyone from noticing. Right now, it was our little secret.
We joked about it the day before while dining at this little Greek café. He admitted to knowing who liked him and who despised him and how he just let it go, knowing sooner or later it would all settle down. But for the week ahead we’re going to play it cool. We would assume our usual roles within the office as if nothing had happened. Then come Friday afternoon when it is time to clock out, we’ll leave together, giving the others something to contemplate over the weekend.
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