Being Creative
One line ran through my head as I pulled into the driveway.
I needed a new town for my new start.
Sure, I wasn’t an alcoholic and I hadn’t left my family. And I certainly wasn’t selling VCR’s in Arkansas at a Wal-Mart. Shit, VCR’s were long gone by now.
This is the way my mind works, pulling random quotes and odd tangents from wherever it could find them. They usually made me smile, snicker or even bust out laughing. No one else ever got the joke.
To be perfectly fair, East Lansing wasn’t a new town to me. I had spent four years there in college, a seeming eternity ago. So much had happened since then. Three jobs, four year relationship, falling out with my parents, my sister got married. And those were just the highlights.
Or maybe they were lowlights. I never could quite tell. But now I was ready to live for me. Do the things-and people-I wanted to do without being hamstrung by the confines of another person. My relationship with Tony had dissolved three months ago. It had always been on shaky ground for any number of reasons, but it had been officially dead for three months, two weeks and three days now.
As I threw the gear shift into park and turned off the key, I lifted my wrap around sunglasses to the top of my head. This was my new home, the place I wanted to be. My best friend, a girl, was moving in later this week. Her live-in boyfriend of six years had decided to move on after a little too much nagging about finding a real job. To be more specific, any job.
We saw this as a chance to be our own version of Will and Grace, the stereotypical gay man/straight woman friendship. All through school, we ad been tighter than…well, a virgin ass. We did everything together: dinner, studied, shopping. You name it. And after we had graduated with me moving 90 minutes away, we saw each other once every three months or so. And talked on the phone every Sunday.
The late summer sun beat down on my head. Music played from down the street, probably one of the frat houses. School would be in session in exactly five days and most of the students who lived off campus had already moved back. Jackie-my girlfriend-and I had purposely picked this house after a month of looking. It had enough room for the things we planned on doing, sat close to the downtown area and fell within our price range.
My phone beeped at me from my waist. A grand total of four people knew I was here today. Jackie, my sister Andrea, Tony and my new boss who, ironically, had been an old boss while I was at school. Someone had blocked the number. I generally don’t pick these kinds of calls up…
“Yeah,” I stated bluntly into what my sister affectionately called my Crackberry.
“Aaron, it’s George Minser.” My realtor. He always introduced himself using his whole name. I found it slightly dorky.
“Hi George.” What the fuck did he want?
“I wanted to make sure you made it up alright.”
“I just pulled in with my stuff. Jackie should be here soon.” I mean, seriously, was a check in all he wanted? And how did I forget he knew I was moving in today?
“Good, good. Remember, if you need anything, call me. I’ve got connections…”
“Connections to the seedy underworld of East Lansing, right?” I joked with him. I had, how should I say this, met George for a night of man-on-man fun the night I left Tony. I needed to bust a nut, he was looking for someone younger to stroke his ego. And I had bought a house from him. Insane how the world works, isn’t it?
“You know that was only a rumor, Aaron. Never proven in court.” At least the guy had the good sense to play verbal tennis with me. He continually challenged me to lob the ball back at him.
“But when you’re getting crack, smack and blowjobs for the football team…”
“Alright, alright…uncle,” George uncomfortably laughed. Yes, the football team was true. I had seen the pictures. The crack and smack? I don’t know I don’t do that shit. Never have and never will.
“I’m about to start bringing my stuff in, George, so I’ll need both hands.”
“Alright champ. Talk soon.” And the phone went dead. I shook my head and slapped the phone to my waist. God, how I loved the belt hook on this thing. Beat the hell out of sticking it in my pocket.
Just for a minute, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I could smell East Lansing. The power planet, the river, the dorm kitchens starting to kick on. The car exhaust, the humidity in the air. It was mid-August. I was already sweating like a mother fucker. One of the banes of my existence, I guess.
My mind cleared for the first time in weeks. I forced every thought out of it, from work to the Uhaul attached to my Jeep to the bike I heard on the sidewalk behind me. All of it. Gone. A black field, vast nothingness. Here, in EL, I was at peace. I never had found my place out in Detroit with all the demons and monsters following me.
This was my new home, a new start for me. A new life at the age of 31.
My eyes opened and readjusted to the sunlight. It was bright today. Shit, it should be. I had left Detroit a little after 8 am, years worth of memories packed up precariously. The trip took 2 hours-I stayed just below the speed limit because of my cargo. So, sitting here about 10:30...yeah, this was about right.
George had done a walkthrough with Jackie yesterday to make sure everything inside was in order. She said we were good to go. I trusted her. But I wanted to see it again before anything of mine got put in.
One of the key selling points for me (and, by extension, Jackie) was the wraparound porch, stretching from the front doors along the right side of the house and into the backyard. It had always been a fantasy of mine to be able to sit on a porch eating breakfast on the weekend. Yeah, odd fantasy. Sue me.
Inside, though, was what I was very proud of. Brand new hardwood floors in every room. The bedrooms had been recarpeted with rugs Jackie and I handpicked. Every wall was dressed with a fresh coat of paint; my room as light green. Three bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms, a den, kitchen, living room and basement. Thanks to the shitty economy, the house had been a steal. We even had our very own working fireplace.
We sat on a corner, a small side street to our right. And to the left was another house. George wasn’t sure who lived there. In all the times we had come up, we never saw anyone.
In was warm inside, almost oppressively so. My first order of business was to pop open all the windows. Downstairs, upstairs, front, back…all of them. I needed to get some air flow somehow. And with each room I went into, the ceiling fans sprang to life. My body immediately cooled down, a by-product of standing directly under the whirling blades for a couple minutes. It reminded me there was work to do. A massive amount, if you must know.
There was moving everything in, not to mention the food shopping-there was no food here-and then I needed a bed. We needed a couch or two. Some wall decorations. Maybe a plant or two. Window treatments. Tables, chairs, patio furniture. It was almost overwhelming. Whenever I did get overwhelmed by it, I thought back to where I had been the last couple of years. Those were dark places. This would be a cake walk.
I unbuttoned the couple of buttons on my white linen shirt I had bothered with this morning, sliding each arm out of the arm hole with an “ugh” escaping my lips as the material stuck to my arm. Underneath, I wore a black A-shirt, something I always called a wife beater. It showed off my tan, or lack thereof. I burned easily and never really bothered with beaches or tanning booths for that reason.
For a brief moment, I ran my hands over my chest, feeling the mixture of sweat and hair. If there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s that I like what I like and I don’t care what’s in style. Case in point, my body. No, it’s not perfect. Some people might say I have too much chest and tummy hair. I like it. It’s not too little, not too much. Just right for me. And, honestly, I find it sexy. Hopefully someone else here would, too, so I wasn’t stuck jerking off or finding tricks every night to get laid.
With a little luck, I’d start getting some color as I moved everything into the house today. With my sunglasses firmly over my eyes again, I set back out, leaving the front door open as wide as I could. The first priority, for me anyway, was to set up some music. Nothing extravagant, just enough to entertain me for the day. To that end, I grabbed my messenger bag-a beat up, black piece of fabric which had served me well over the last eight years but was on its last legs now-and my radio.
Plugging it in, the display flashed 12:00 repeatedly. There was no reason to set it; it would be disconnected all over again in a couple hours anyway. My iPod, known as Bitch!, founds its way into the dock. The screen lit up, begging me to pick a song. I clicked shuffle and turned the volume up as loud as it could go.
My other priority was getting my 46 inch HDTV into the house. Before I left Detroit, it had been wrapped very carefully in two bed comforters and laid down in the back seat of my car. This object was my baby, a piece of technology I jokingly kissed every night before bed. If anything happened to it, I’d be devastated.
The city was starting to come to life, very slowly. The traffic just outside the house began to pick up. More pedestrians passed me with every trip I made with armfuls of possessions. Movies, laptop, clothes, more clothes, pictures, towels, suitcases, file cabinet, desk, chair, pots and pans, shoes, clothes, jackets, clothes, plastic containers filled with miscellaneous items.
Another thing about me you need to know if this. When I have a project I’m determined to finish, I finish it. No stopping, no hemming, no hawing. I go balls to the wall, going until I can’t go anymore. And then I go some more. Any sane person would have taken a water or food break during the moving process. Not me. Besides, I didn’t have any food to eat.
When a song started playing I knew the words to, I’d start singing. Quietly at first, under my breath. As the morning wore on and the noon sun was high above me, I no longer cared which young co-ed walking her dog heard me. Or which linebacker-type heard every last word to “It’s Raining Men.”
There’s another part of my personality: I have no time for stupidity, to worry about what others think about me. If someone likes me, fantastic. If not, fuck off. Too much of life is spent worrying how others see you. That doesn’t mean, of course, to be a complete fucktard to everyone you meet. Just have confidence in yourself.
I think I was on the fourth gay song in a row-following selection from Queen, “Hairspray,” and Melissa-when Crackberry rang again. Dum DaDaDaDa DA DA DA…Dum DaDaDaDa DA DA DA…Superman again. Part of my contemplated not picking it up in favor of continuing to work. The other part told me to at least check out the caller id. See who it was.
I plopped down on the top step of the porch, partially covered from the sun. The screen on the phone was lit up with a name I didn’t expect. Carter.
“Hello.” I said into the handset, trying to act surprised.
“Uh, Aaron?” It was a squeaky, almost gay but maybe not kind of voice. Completely didn’t go with his face, by the way.
“Hey Carter. What’s going on?” Be still my heart, I thought to myself as I placed my hand on my chest. From the combination of the sun, the workout and now Carter, it was beating like a runaway train.
Lemme explain about Carter. In the week after I broke up with Tony, I met Carter on one of those gay sites. Not the dating things. The sex stuff. I was instantly attracted to him, despite being seven years younger than me. Masters degree, nice firm body, tan in all the right places, a fan of his body hair, beautiful seven inch dick. Eyes telling me he was fun loving with a series side.
We talked once or twice online and kinda fell off after that. It was him…or me…maybe both. At any rate, I was insanely fascinated with him, almost to the exclusion of other guys who expressed interest in me. Yes, there was at least one, maybe two. Our plan was to hook up one weekend; it fell through. I guess he must have read my away message last night on messenger giving the details of where I was going to be.
“I wanted to see what you’re up to.” Direct and to the point, apparently.
“I’m still moving my shit in. And then I need to jump in the shower. I stink to high heaven.” It was the truth, you know. Even I had to admit that.
“Need some help?” He seemed sheepish today for some reason, not that we had talked in person before. Something was off.
“Help with the moving or the shower?” I wondered what the response was going to be. In the moment it took him to answer, my mind thought about his possible answers.
If “shower” came out of his mouth, I wouldn’t turn him down. Inaugurating my new shower with hot sweaty man sex I could handle. If “moving” was his answer, well, I similarly wouldn’t mind hot sweaty man sex to inaugurate the house. I’m horny. Is that a crime?
“Both?” Why did he phrase it like a question. As if I’d turn down a good fuck from him. Or a blowjob. Maybe both if I was lucky.
“Come on over. Lemme give you the address…”
Before I could finish, a figure rounded the corner, coming straight for me. I caught the movement out of the corner of my right eye, through the slats in the porch railing. In my gut, I knew it was Carter. He had a backpack slung over his right shoulder, shirt hanging out of the back of his shorts and black sunglasses covering his eyes. He closed his phone the minute we made eye contact-at least I think I made eye contact. I couldn’t see his eyes.
As he got closer, I could see the sun glistening off his body, the sweat dripping between his pecs through the dense field of chet hair, matting it to his body. His smile shot through me.
“How the fuck did you know where I lived?” It was the logical question, don’t you think?
He took off the glasses, revealing his brown eyes. They were squinting in the sunlight. Carter stopped at the base of the porch, looking up at me.
“See that house over there?” He pointed down the side street and two houses down. I nodded.
“That’s mine. I’ve been on the roof watching you move stuff in all morning. Had my breakfast up there and shit,” came the response, as he continued to eye me. “It’s not often someone like you moves in around here.”
Behind my glasses, I rolled my eyes. Dude, this was a college town. The only people who moved in here WERE the models and frat boys. And besides, if that was a pick up line…no wonder he was trolling for sex on the internet.
“So I have a stalker, do I?” I said seriously. If someone was going to be watching my every move from his roof-his ROOF!-I needed to know.
Carter looked down like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He wasn’t sure if I was upset or playing with him.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
“Do you need some help?” His puppy dog eyes looked back up at me. There was something irresistible about him standing there, subordinate to me, dripping with sweat and asking if I needed anything.
I couldn’t have planned it better myself when the Venga Boys filled the air. Boom boom boom boom I want you in my room. Jesus, my mind told itself, no one is going to believe this.
“I won’t turn it down. There’s only a couple things left in the car. And then I wanna find something to eat…” …Your ass and your nipples, my mind finished the thought. I smirked because of it. Jerking off had taken a back seat to moving the last week and I could feel my cock getting hard thinking about Carter’s body. Through sheer willpower-and the thought of Bruce Vilanch naked-it died very quickly.
Carter dropped his bag on the porch and bounded down next to me. I was surprised just how tall I felt next to him. My official height was six foot, but that could drop to five eleven on a bad day or shoot to six one on a good one. Carter couldn’t have been more than five nine, maybe five ten.
“You like some really…odd music,” I was told.
“Thanks, I guess.” Shit, he really had been watching me, hadn’t he?
“A lot of slow stuff, though. It’s not good for fucking.” Wow. This conversation was taking an odd turn very quickly. Was this a serious proposition or was Carter just being a tease? I grabbed my dive bag and shot glass checker set from the Uhaul, my mind literally racing through the different meanings of his words.
“All depends on how hard you like your ass pounded. The first minute or two should be gentle before you go balls to the wall,” I retorted. His face didn’t betray any emotion, no surprise over the words, nothing. As if he had these conversations with strangers everyday.
“Slow fucking sucks. What’s the point if you don’t feel the dick in your gut?” The question was punctuated by a grunt as he single handedly lifted a box weighing 75 pounds with some of my movies.
What’s the point indeed as went up the stairs, him first, then me. I got a good look at his ass through the basketball shorts. It was sticking to his crack, giving me the perfect outline of two (hairy, from what I knew) cheeks underneath. Trust me when I say I was sorely tempted to play with them right there on the stairs. But I was a gentleman.
The house was starting to warm up, as expected. Shoot, the windows and front door were open, the air was off. Of course it was going to be hot. My tired legs trudged up the stairs to my room, dropping the things I carried onto the floor. Carter followed me, having put down the movies in the living room.
“Cool view,” he said, looking out one of my windows. I had a corner room and thus, a window on the front of the house and one on the side. Almost instantly, I knew what he meant. Carter’s house was plain as day. And he could see everything I did.
I came up behind him, something inside me taking over. Maybe it was the sweat, the sexual tension, my own pent up frustration, the heat…maybe all of them, maybe none of them. My lips lightly touched the back of his neck, right below the hairline. He was hot…literally, hot. I tasted his sweat and smelled the exertion oozing from his body. There’s a smell-a combination of heat, sweat, musk and something else-men expel when its warm out. You know it when it’s around. Just hard to explain.
I let my tongue dance around the back of his neck, from side to side, teasing the sides of his neck every once in a while. My front pushed into his back little by little until we were flush with one another. The more I sucked on his neck-yes, I was giving him a hickey-the more Carter moaned. Little at first, then a bit more and more until he was thrusting air, hanging onto the window frame for support. If anyone was walking by, they were getting a wonderful show.
And just as quickly as it started, it ended. I don’t know why, all I know is Carter pushed away from me and ran down the stairs. I assume he grabbed his bag. It was gone when I got downstairs three seconds after he jumped off the porch and ran home. There I was, sweating from the heat, heard on in plain view for everyone to see and my first potential sex partner running off in the middle of making out.
Great way to start a new life, Aar. Great.
I needed a new town for my new start.
Sure, I wasn’t an alcoholic and I hadn’t left my family. And I certainly wasn’t selling VCR’s in Arkansas at a Wal-Mart. Shit, VCR’s were long gone by now.
This is the way my mind works, pulling random quotes and odd tangents from wherever it could find them. They usually made me smile, snicker or even bust out laughing. No one else ever got the joke.
To be perfectly fair, East Lansing wasn’t a new town to me. I had spent four years there in college, a seeming eternity ago. So much had happened since then. Three jobs, four year relationship, falling out with my parents, my sister got married. And those were just the highlights.
Or maybe they were lowlights. I never could quite tell. But now I was ready to live for me. Do the things-and people-I wanted to do without being hamstrung by the confines of another person. My relationship with Tony had dissolved three months ago. It had always been on shaky ground for any number of reasons, but it had been officially dead for three months, two weeks and three days now.
As I threw the gear shift into park and turned off the key, I lifted my wrap around sunglasses to the top of my head. This was my new home, the place I wanted to be. My best friend, a girl, was moving in later this week. Her live-in boyfriend of six years had decided to move on after a little too much nagging about finding a real job. To be more specific, any job.
We saw this as a chance to be our own version of Will and Grace, the stereotypical gay man/straight woman friendship. All through school, we ad been tighter than…well, a virgin ass. We did everything together: dinner, studied, shopping. You name it. And after we had graduated with me moving 90 minutes away, we saw each other once every three months or so. And talked on the phone every Sunday.
The late summer sun beat down on my head. Music played from down the street, probably one of the frat houses. School would be in session in exactly five days and most of the students who lived off campus had already moved back. Jackie-my girlfriend-and I had purposely picked this house after a month of looking. It had enough room for the things we planned on doing, sat close to the downtown area and fell within our price range.
My phone beeped at me from my waist. A grand total of four people knew I was here today. Jackie, my sister Andrea, Tony and my new boss who, ironically, had been an old boss while I was at school. Someone had blocked the number. I generally don’t pick these kinds of calls up…
“Yeah,” I stated bluntly into what my sister affectionately called my Crackberry.
“Aaron, it’s George Minser.” My realtor. He always introduced himself using his whole name. I found it slightly dorky.
“Hi George.” What the fuck did he want?
“I wanted to make sure you made it up alright.”
“I just pulled in with my stuff. Jackie should be here soon.” I mean, seriously, was a check in all he wanted? And how did I forget he knew I was moving in today?
“Good, good. Remember, if you need anything, call me. I’ve got connections…”
“Connections to the seedy underworld of East Lansing, right?” I joked with him. I had, how should I say this, met George for a night of man-on-man fun the night I left Tony. I needed to bust a nut, he was looking for someone younger to stroke his ego. And I had bought a house from him. Insane how the world works, isn’t it?
“You know that was only a rumor, Aaron. Never proven in court.” At least the guy had the good sense to play verbal tennis with me. He continually challenged me to lob the ball back at him.
“But when you’re getting crack, smack and blowjobs for the football team…”
“Alright, alright…uncle,” George uncomfortably laughed. Yes, the football team was true. I had seen the pictures. The crack and smack? I don’t know I don’t do that shit. Never have and never will.
“I’m about to start bringing my stuff in, George, so I’ll need both hands.”
“Alright champ. Talk soon.” And the phone went dead. I shook my head and slapped the phone to my waist. God, how I loved the belt hook on this thing. Beat the hell out of sticking it in my pocket.
Just for a minute, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I could smell East Lansing. The power planet, the river, the dorm kitchens starting to kick on. The car exhaust, the humidity in the air. It was mid-August. I was already sweating like a mother fucker. One of the banes of my existence, I guess.
My mind cleared for the first time in weeks. I forced every thought out of it, from work to the Uhaul attached to my Jeep to the bike I heard on the sidewalk behind me. All of it. Gone. A black field, vast nothingness. Here, in EL, I was at peace. I never had found my place out in Detroit with all the demons and monsters following me.
This was my new home, a new start for me. A new life at the age of 31.
My eyes opened and readjusted to the sunlight. It was bright today. Shit, it should be. I had left Detroit a little after 8 am, years worth of memories packed up precariously. The trip took 2 hours-I stayed just below the speed limit because of my cargo. So, sitting here about 10:30...yeah, this was about right.
George had done a walkthrough with Jackie yesterday to make sure everything inside was in order. She said we were good to go. I trusted her. But I wanted to see it again before anything of mine got put in.
One of the key selling points for me (and, by extension, Jackie) was the wraparound porch, stretching from the front doors along the right side of the house and into the backyard. It had always been a fantasy of mine to be able to sit on a porch eating breakfast on the weekend. Yeah, odd fantasy. Sue me.
Inside, though, was what I was very proud of. Brand new hardwood floors in every room. The bedrooms had been recarpeted with rugs Jackie and I handpicked. Every wall was dressed with a fresh coat of paint; my room as light green. Three bedrooms, three and a half bathrooms, a den, kitchen, living room and basement. Thanks to the shitty economy, the house had been a steal. We even had our very own working fireplace.
We sat on a corner, a small side street to our right. And to the left was another house. George wasn’t sure who lived there. In all the times we had come up, we never saw anyone.
In was warm inside, almost oppressively so. My first order of business was to pop open all the windows. Downstairs, upstairs, front, back…all of them. I needed to get some air flow somehow. And with each room I went into, the ceiling fans sprang to life. My body immediately cooled down, a by-product of standing directly under the whirling blades for a couple minutes. It reminded me there was work to do. A massive amount, if you must know.
There was moving everything in, not to mention the food shopping-there was no food here-and then I needed a bed. We needed a couch or two. Some wall decorations. Maybe a plant or two. Window treatments. Tables, chairs, patio furniture. It was almost overwhelming. Whenever I did get overwhelmed by it, I thought back to where I had been the last couple of years. Those were dark places. This would be a cake walk.
I unbuttoned the couple of buttons on my white linen shirt I had bothered with this morning, sliding each arm out of the arm hole with an “ugh” escaping my lips as the material stuck to my arm. Underneath, I wore a black A-shirt, something I always called a wife beater. It showed off my tan, or lack thereof. I burned easily and never really bothered with beaches or tanning booths for that reason.
For a brief moment, I ran my hands over my chest, feeling the mixture of sweat and hair. If there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s that I like what I like and I don’t care what’s in style. Case in point, my body. No, it’s not perfect. Some people might say I have too much chest and tummy hair. I like it. It’s not too little, not too much. Just right for me. And, honestly, I find it sexy. Hopefully someone else here would, too, so I wasn’t stuck jerking off or finding tricks every night to get laid.
With a little luck, I’d start getting some color as I moved everything into the house today. With my sunglasses firmly over my eyes again, I set back out, leaving the front door open as wide as I could. The first priority, for me anyway, was to set up some music. Nothing extravagant, just enough to entertain me for the day. To that end, I grabbed my messenger bag-a beat up, black piece of fabric which had served me well over the last eight years but was on its last legs now-and my radio.
Plugging it in, the display flashed 12:00 repeatedly. There was no reason to set it; it would be disconnected all over again in a couple hours anyway. My iPod, known as Bitch!, founds its way into the dock. The screen lit up, begging me to pick a song. I clicked shuffle and turned the volume up as loud as it could go.
My other priority was getting my 46 inch HDTV into the house. Before I left Detroit, it had been wrapped very carefully in two bed comforters and laid down in the back seat of my car. This object was my baby, a piece of technology I jokingly kissed every night before bed. If anything happened to it, I’d be devastated.
The city was starting to come to life, very slowly. The traffic just outside the house began to pick up. More pedestrians passed me with every trip I made with armfuls of possessions. Movies, laptop, clothes, more clothes, pictures, towels, suitcases, file cabinet, desk, chair, pots and pans, shoes, clothes, jackets, clothes, plastic containers filled with miscellaneous items.
Another thing about me you need to know if this. When I have a project I’m determined to finish, I finish it. No stopping, no hemming, no hawing. I go balls to the wall, going until I can’t go anymore. And then I go some more. Any sane person would have taken a water or food break during the moving process. Not me. Besides, I didn’t have any food to eat.
When a song started playing I knew the words to, I’d start singing. Quietly at first, under my breath. As the morning wore on and the noon sun was high above me, I no longer cared which young co-ed walking her dog heard me. Or which linebacker-type heard every last word to “It’s Raining Men.”
There’s another part of my personality: I have no time for stupidity, to worry about what others think about me. If someone likes me, fantastic. If not, fuck off. Too much of life is spent worrying how others see you. That doesn’t mean, of course, to be a complete fucktard to everyone you meet. Just have confidence in yourself.
I think I was on the fourth gay song in a row-following selection from Queen, “Hairspray,” and Melissa-when Crackberry rang again. Dum DaDaDaDa DA DA DA…Dum DaDaDaDa DA DA DA…Superman again. Part of my contemplated not picking it up in favor of continuing to work. The other part told me to at least check out the caller id. See who it was.
I plopped down on the top step of the porch, partially covered from the sun. The screen on the phone was lit up with a name I didn’t expect. Carter.
“Hello.” I said into the handset, trying to act surprised.
“Uh, Aaron?” It was a squeaky, almost gay but maybe not kind of voice. Completely didn’t go with his face, by the way.
“Hey Carter. What’s going on?” Be still my heart, I thought to myself as I placed my hand on my chest. From the combination of the sun, the workout and now Carter, it was beating like a runaway train.
Lemme explain about Carter. In the week after I broke up with Tony, I met Carter on one of those gay sites. Not the dating things. The sex stuff. I was instantly attracted to him, despite being seven years younger than me. Masters degree, nice firm body, tan in all the right places, a fan of his body hair, beautiful seven inch dick. Eyes telling me he was fun loving with a series side.
We talked once or twice online and kinda fell off after that. It was him…or me…maybe both. At any rate, I was insanely fascinated with him, almost to the exclusion of other guys who expressed interest in me. Yes, there was at least one, maybe two. Our plan was to hook up one weekend; it fell through. I guess he must have read my away message last night on messenger giving the details of where I was going to be.
“I wanted to see what you’re up to.” Direct and to the point, apparently.
“I’m still moving my shit in. And then I need to jump in the shower. I stink to high heaven.” It was the truth, you know. Even I had to admit that.
“Need some help?” He seemed sheepish today for some reason, not that we had talked in person before. Something was off.
“Help with the moving or the shower?” I wondered what the response was going to be. In the moment it took him to answer, my mind thought about his possible answers.
If “shower” came out of his mouth, I wouldn’t turn him down. Inaugurating my new shower with hot sweaty man sex I could handle. If “moving” was his answer, well, I similarly wouldn’t mind hot sweaty man sex to inaugurate the house. I’m horny. Is that a crime?
“Both?” Why did he phrase it like a question. As if I’d turn down a good fuck from him. Or a blowjob. Maybe both if I was lucky.
“Come on over. Lemme give you the address…”
Before I could finish, a figure rounded the corner, coming straight for me. I caught the movement out of the corner of my right eye, through the slats in the porch railing. In my gut, I knew it was Carter. He had a backpack slung over his right shoulder, shirt hanging out of the back of his shorts and black sunglasses covering his eyes. He closed his phone the minute we made eye contact-at least I think I made eye contact. I couldn’t see his eyes.
As he got closer, I could see the sun glistening off his body, the sweat dripping between his pecs through the dense field of chet hair, matting it to his body. His smile shot through me.
“How the fuck did you know where I lived?” It was the logical question, don’t you think?
He took off the glasses, revealing his brown eyes. They were squinting in the sunlight. Carter stopped at the base of the porch, looking up at me.
“See that house over there?” He pointed down the side street and two houses down. I nodded.
“That’s mine. I’ve been on the roof watching you move stuff in all morning. Had my breakfast up there and shit,” came the response, as he continued to eye me. “It’s not often someone like you moves in around here.”
Behind my glasses, I rolled my eyes. Dude, this was a college town. The only people who moved in here WERE the models and frat boys. And besides, if that was a pick up line…no wonder he was trolling for sex on the internet.
“So I have a stalker, do I?” I said seriously. If someone was going to be watching my every move from his roof-his ROOF!-I needed to know.
Carter looked down like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He wasn’t sure if I was upset or playing with him.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
“Do you need some help?” His puppy dog eyes looked back up at me. There was something irresistible about him standing there, subordinate to me, dripping with sweat and asking if I needed anything.
I couldn’t have planned it better myself when the Venga Boys filled the air. Boom boom boom boom I want you in my room. Jesus, my mind told itself, no one is going to believe this.
“I won’t turn it down. There’s only a couple things left in the car. And then I wanna find something to eat…” …Your ass and your nipples, my mind finished the thought. I smirked because of it. Jerking off had taken a back seat to moving the last week and I could feel my cock getting hard thinking about Carter’s body. Through sheer willpower-and the thought of Bruce Vilanch naked-it died very quickly.
Carter dropped his bag on the porch and bounded down next to me. I was surprised just how tall I felt next to him. My official height was six foot, but that could drop to five eleven on a bad day or shoot to six one on a good one. Carter couldn’t have been more than five nine, maybe five ten.
“You like some really…odd music,” I was told.
“Thanks, I guess.” Shit, he really had been watching me, hadn’t he?
“A lot of slow stuff, though. It’s not good for fucking.” Wow. This conversation was taking an odd turn very quickly. Was this a serious proposition or was Carter just being a tease? I grabbed my dive bag and shot glass checker set from the Uhaul, my mind literally racing through the different meanings of his words.
“All depends on how hard you like your ass pounded. The first minute or two should be gentle before you go balls to the wall,” I retorted. His face didn’t betray any emotion, no surprise over the words, nothing. As if he had these conversations with strangers everyday.
“Slow fucking sucks. What’s the point if you don’t feel the dick in your gut?” The question was punctuated by a grunt as he single handedly lifted a box weighing 75 pounds with some of my movies.
What’s the point indeed as went up the stairs, him first, then me. I got a good look at his ass through the basketball shorts. It was sticking to his crack, giving me the perfect outline of two (hairy, from what I knew) cheeks underneath. Trust me when I say I was sorely tempted to play with them right there on the stairs. But I was a gentleman.
The house was starting to warm up, as expected. Shoot, the windows and front door were open, the air was off. Of course it was going to be hot. My tired legs trudged up the stairs to my room, dropping the things I carried onto the floor. Carter followed me, having put down the movies in the living room.
“Cool view,” he said, looking out one of my windows. I had a corner room and thus, a window on the front of the house and one on the side. Almost instantly, I knew what he meant. Carter’s house was plain as day. And he could see everything I did.
I came up behind him, something inside me taking over. Maybe it was the sweat, the sexual tension, my own pent up frustration, the heat…maybe all of them, maybe none of them. My lips lightly touched the back of his neck, right below the hairline. He was hot…literally, hot. I tasted his sweat and smelled the exertion oozing from his body. There’s a smell-a combination of heat, sweat, musk and something else-men expel when its warm out. You know it when it’s around. Just hard to explain.
I let my tongue dance around the back of his neck, from side to side, teasing the sides of his neck every once in a while. My front pushed into his back little by little until we were flush with one another. The more I sucked on his neck-yes, I was giving him a hickey-the more Carter moaned. Little at first, then a bit more and more until he was thrusting air, hanging onto the window frame for support. If anyone was walking by, they were getting a wonderful show.
And just as quickly as it started, it ended. I don’t know why, all I know is Carter pushed away from me and ran down the stairs. I assume he grabbed his bag. It was gone when I got downstairs three seconds after he jumped off the porch and ran home. There I was, sweating from the heat, heard on in plain view for everyone to see and my first potential sex partner running off in the middle of making out.
Great way to start a new life, Aar. Great.