The Real Rhett
I stood outside his front door for longer than I should have. My hand hovered just slightly from the frame. The smell of summer hung around me, the warm air brushing my knuckles, the weight of everything pressing in before I even knocked.
I told myself I was just here for a drink, for a moment of calm, maybe for a chance to understand whatever strange shift had been unfolding between us over the past few days. A part of me still believed that. A bigger part knew I was lying.
It took too long for me to knock. When the door opened, Rhett didn’t speak. He simply looked at me with that calm, unbothered expression, like my arrival wasn’t a question but something he had already counted on. He smiled warmly, as though we were old friends and stepped aside.
“Hey, Miles, thank you for coming over.”
My throat was dry, which made it nearly impossible to respond. Somehow, I croaked, “Hey, Rhett.”
I was immediately struck by how quiet the place was. No music, television, no clutter or chaos. Just stillness.
It suited Rhett.
The place was clean, but not sterile. Comfortable, without pretending to be anything it wasn’t. There were signs of use, like the edges of the coffee table marked from cups set down without coasters, the faint scuff of boots against the entryway wall, the soft trace of sawdust in the corner of the floor where the sun angled through the blinds. He lived here like a man who didn’t perform for anyone. No show or masks and no curated bullshit.
Just a space that gave me a window into his soul.
Rhett closed the door behind me and walked into the kitchen with an ease that told me he wasn’t concerned about what might or might not happen next. He opened a cupboard, pulled down two short glasses, then retrieved a bottle from the counter without glancing back.
“Drink?” he asked. He spoke so calmly, like he’d done this a hundred times before.
My mind raced and I began to question why I’d come. It’s just a drink, I told myself.
I nodded, and he poured without waiting for a specific answer. He didn’t ask what I liked. He poured what he had. Something amber and dark that looked like it might sting a little. He handed me a glass and gestured with his own toward the living room before dropping into an armchair that had clearly molded itself to his body over time.
He sat like a man who owned his space. One ankle resting on the opposite knee, his thigh stretched out, that white ribbed tank clinging across his chest and shoulders in a way that made it hard not to look. The very small black shorts he wore didn’t do anything to hide the bulge that masked what I’d sucked on just recently. But it didn’t feel deliberate. I got a sense that this was just how he existed. Comfortably masculine, naturally confident, and completely unaware of the effect he was having. Or maybe he was entirely aware. That was half the problem.
I sat opposite him, perched on the edge of the couch with my drink in hand telling myself I wasn’t about to flee this extremely bad idea. I tried to act like this was something I did all the time. Like I hadn’t already noticed the smooth line of his collarbone, or the way his chest hair peeked up from the edge of his tank, or the faint shadow of his thigh muscles shifting under the fabric every time he adjusted his position. I took a sip while the burn hit the back of my throat and chased the silence out of my chest.
“You made it,” he said eventually, eyes flicking over to mine.
“You didn’t give me much choice,” I replied, not trusting my tone, and trying to balance it with humor that probably wouldn’t land.
He tilted his head slightly, a lazy grin tugging at one side of his mouth. His eyes, still shifting between hazel and gold, depending on the angle of his gaze. “I got the sense you needed to be… encouraged.”
I smiled, hoping the drink would calm my nerves faster. “Guess, you read me well.”
“No,” he said, settling deeper into the chair, his eyes still on me. “I find you very… fascinating.”
The silence stretched again, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt like an invitation. One I wasn’t sure how to accept.
“Oh? In what way?”
Rhett took a slow sip of his drink and studied me like he was waiting for something, like he already knew how the evening would end, and he was giving me the chance to catch up.
He took his time to respond. I wondered if the lack of any background noise was intentional.
“I don’t mean this offensively, but I got the sense you haven’t had much experience with this kind of stuff. There’s a certain… depth to you. The way you look at me, and the way you push through your fear. You strike me as a highly intelligent guy with a lot of internal conflict.”
“I don’t really do this,” I said finally.
“Accept an invitation?”
I smirked. “Walk into someone’s house and pretend I’m just here for a casual drink.”
He nodded like that made sense to him. “It can be just a drink. I’ve never… invited a guy to my house before. Are you nervous?”
I let out a breath that was too close to a laugh. “Is it obvious?”
He didn’t smile this time. He just met my gaze with something heavier. “It’s alright if you are. I’m nervous too.”
That surprised me more than it should have. Rhett didn’t strike me as the type of man who admitted things like that out loud. But he said it without flinching, and I felt it deep within me.
“That surprises me. You seem so… carefree and confident,” I said, the words more vulnerable than I intended.
He finally smiled, those eyes penetrating me. “Guess I’ve just learned to hide it well. I’m just glad you came.”
That silence returned, softer this time. Like it was wrapping around us instead of pushing us apart.
“You’re not the first married guy I’ve been with,” he said after a pause. “But you’re the first one I’ve actually wanted to see again.”
I swallowed, staring down into my glass. That hit harder than I was ready for. Not because it was flattering, but because it was real.
He said nothing more, shifting again, sitting up a little, elbows on knees, hands wrapped around his glass.
“I don’t bring people here. Not ever. This is… mine. It’s where I don’t have to explain anything. Where I don’t have to answer questions or watch how I sit or speak or look. And now you’re here, and I’m trying to figure out why that doesn’t feel like a problem.”
I looked at him, and for a moment we just sat like that. Two men in a room, pretending they weren’t adrift.
Was this a date? Were we trying to become friends?
Without realizing it, I had finished the Whiskey he’d poured.
Rhett downed the rest of his then, he just got up, walked over and took the glass from me, all the while staring at me like he knew secrets in my mind I didn’t want to admit.
In the kitchen, just out of view, I heard him pour us both a drink.
He returned and handed the glass to me.
With the whiskey having settled my nerves somewhat, I couldn’t help but stare at that bulge in those tight shorts. I sat and wondered if they were actually underpants with pockets while he watched me.
“You’re a very sexy guy. If you want, we can just chat. I don’t have anyone I can talk to about this stuff,” he said, taking a sip of that golden liquid.
I watched him, feeling my dick stir. My mind repeatedly demanded that I put the drink down and leave, while my dick begged me to go play with that carefully wrapped package.
But what he said struck a chord with me.
“I don’t know what I’m doing. If I’m honest, I don’t know why I did what I did. I just know that after the first time, I went home and it felt a little like, something I’ve wanted for a long time. And there’s something about you that… “
That what? I didn’t know what to say. There was something about Rhett that I liked. It was like, if I could find the ideal person to explore this side of me with, I’d conjured him up from my fantasies.
Rhett got up came and sat down next to me, invading that little bit of space that I hadn’t realized protected me.
He put his hand on my thigh and stroked it, all the while staring at me.
When I looked into his eyes, I saw lust.
He leaned in to kiss me.
And reflexively I pulled away.
There was a flicker of frustration in his eyes, but it went too quickly for me to wonder if I’d imagined it.
But his hand didn’t stray, instead, he stroked up my thigh and skirted just under my bulge.
I looked down, and realized that my hard on was very visible.
He moved his hands up and stroked it, gently. His hand was warm. Hot.
“Maybe take it slow?” I asked, again feeling like my voice was timid.
He nodded, rubbing my cock through my shorts, then gently digging under my shorts with his fingers, lightly touching the flesh of my shaft underneath.
Rhett didn’t say anything. He just watched me, his eyes darker now, the glint of restraint flickering behind the heat. The kind of man who didn’t beg or plead. He simply waited.
His free hand rested on the couch behind me, his fingers lightly curled, like even they held tension. His white tank clung just enough to hint at the shape beneath, the kind of body that didn’t come from vanity, but from years of work. I remembered that faint trail of hair from the construction site, the one my tongue had wanted to follow, and still did.
When I looked at him, I couldn’t figure out what was more intoxicating, the soft scruff along his jawline, the deep grooves of muscle in his arms, or the way he touched me like I was something fragile, even as my cock begged for anything but.
He shifted closer, his thigh now pressed against mine, the muscle firm, warm. Every movement was deliberate. Grounded. There was no rush in him. Just this heavy, steady confidence that said he knew what he was doing, even if I didn’t.
Then I surprised myself and I leaned in and kissed those luscious lips. They were so full, and so tender, and spoke such calming words. I wanted to taste everything that he’d said.
Rhett leaned into me, hands coming up behind me, one of them stroking my back and the other gently massaging my neck, also pulling me deeper into the kiss.
This was the moment I realized I was free. We were in private in his house, and I had a strong sense that whatever happened here, would stay between us.
This allowed me to lose all restraint.
Up until now, I’d held back fantasies about men. Being close to them because I was afraid that it would be too gay.
But Rhett was that release. Like someone had fired a starter pistol to all my fantasies.
My tongue entered his mouth and met his eager tongue. And suddenly I pushed him back onto the couch and got on top, kissing him while I pulled myself on top and began rubbing my throbbing cock, desperate to reconnect with his in this much more safe surrounding.
Laying on top of Rhett, I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time, certainly not for Anna.
I pulled his top off, and he pulled mine off, and we resumed kissing.
Somehow, the rest of our clothes disappeared, as we kissed and found our way upstairs to his bedroom.
I registered nothing, other than a naked Rhett, a muscular man who turned me on in ways I’d never imagined.
He threw me on the bed, with a cheeky grin that spoke more about what he’d been fantasizing the past few days.
Rhett lay on top of me, rubbing our dicks together and our chests as he resumed kissing me.
The feel of his chest hair against mine, the feel of his firm body pressed on top of mine. The way he smelled of sweat, and something sweet.
And a kiss that made me want to do anything he wanted.
I can’t imagine how long we lay like that, embraced like lovers with no care, but I didn’t want it to end.
He started to kiss along my neck, then my nipples, which I’d never had before. With hands circling around parts of my body, his tongue found its way down to my cock, where he began licking it and smelling it.
Then he put it in his mouth and I wanted to moan out loud and hope this moment never ended.
He sucked me like he wanted to remember the shape of it. Slow, deep pulls that sent waves up my spine and made my fingers curl into the sheets. I didn’t try to guide him. I didn’t say a word. I let him take control because something about the way he did it told me I was safe here.
His hand pressed against my stomach, holding me down like he knew I’d try to arch up from the pressure, and fuck, I wanted to. His lips were warm, wet, skilled without being performative. It didn’t feel like porn. It felt like reverence. Like he was learning something he’d been dying to know.
When he finally pulled off, he looked up at me, lips wet, breath heavy. His chest was rising with a hunger that matched mine.
I couldn’t stop staring at him. His body, his smell, the way his lips curved just slightly after each kiss. I reached up and ran my hand along his stomach, feeling the slight ripple of muscle beneath his skin, the warmth, the life. He fell beside me, resuming that kiss, meeting my tongue again like it had become his twin. We lay side by side now, neither of us in a hurry. His hand traced my chest while his other gripped my thigh, pulling me closer like he didn’t want space between us.
I leaned over, kissed his shoulder, his neck, then lower, tasting salt and something uniquely him. When I reached his cock, I looked up to find him watching me. Not demanding, just there. I took him in my mouth slowly, and when I felt his hips twitch, I smiled to myself and kept going.
Not that I had any frame of reference, but his foreskin tasted sweet and his cock was the best I’d ever seen.
He moaned.
I sucked his dick from the tip, licking and exploring the foreskin and then the shaft. I wanted to see how much of it I could put in my mouth. In that relaxed space, I found that I was able to get it right to the back of my throat.
I gagged, but didn’t stop. I sucked him, feeling his muscular legs on either side of my ears, pushing me into him deeper as I sucked.
He moaned, and with his legs he pushed me away.
Then he pulled me gently onto my back and kissed me again, that kind of kiss that forgets I’m supposed to be straight. His hand moved down my body, stroking, teasing, learning me. And when he slid down, he took his time. He licked me the way I’d always imagined it should feel, like worship. Stroking my cock, then with a strong hand, he pulled our dicks together and jerked them off.
It felt incredible, as he kissed me, rubbed his chest against mine and masturbated us both.
Then he went down again, and his tongue met my cock, I exhaled so sharply I nearly laughed. It wasn’t funny, just really good.
We took turns. We licked and sucked and touched and held each other like we were afraid it might end too soon. There was no talk of more. No rush. Just two men, on a bed that had never seen this kind of intimacy before, giving in to something we’d both been starving for.
And the whole time, I kept thinking: this was the safest I’d ever felt.
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