I last wrote about a guy I met at the clubhouse gymnasium of my apartment complex. Almost from the day of our first tryst I had thought about another encounter with this man. While it is not uncommon for me to fantasize about past conquests, it is very uncommon for me to want to go back for seconds. Since I had become sexually active in high school I realized there are just so many swinging dicks in the world I don't have time to fool around with the same one twice.
What changed my mind about my policy regarding this fellow, I wasn't quite sure. It could have been his innocence, the fact that I was his first man-on-man encounter. Or it could have been his great physique. But most likely it was his horse cock. It was truly a work of art. It was nice and velvety to the touch. Smooth, but incredibly hard. I lay at night thinking about it, and no amount of jerking off or hooking up with other guys seemed to quench my longing for it.
I returned to the gym, where I first met and seduced him, everyday. At first it was only to complete my own exercise regimen, but then, with increasing urgency, I hoped to see him. After two weeks without success, my mind struck upon an idea. When I first got to the gym, I signed in as normal, but then looked at all the other signatures for the last several days. There I saw it, exactly two weeks ago today. I thought I could make out "Chuck Shoemaker".
He looked like a Chuck - I still marveled at the fact he wore cowboy boots to a gym. Granted, he didn't intend to do any aerobic exercise, but still! And those denim shorts, cut off and frayed above the knee. Where did this suburban cowboy come from?
Next to his name on the sign-in sheet was his building number and apartment number written neatly in the columns provided for this information. At that point, I decided to seek a workout in his apartment instead of at the gym.
I know it was brazen to walk up to someone's door after a totally spontaneous fling, but I was not thinking with my mind at the moment. In fact, the throbbing head of my penis led me to the door of his building even though I had never been there before. When I reached the security door I saw it had failed to seal after the last person who had entered or left the building.
Seizing the opportunity, I entered the building and climbed the stairs. His building was laid out just like mine and all the other buildings in the complex, so I no trouble finding his apartment. I paused before I knocked, hoping he was at home.
After knocking, I heard movement on the other side of the door and the deadbolt being unlocked. When he opened the door he was wearing only blue jeans and what appeared to be some sort of Indian necklace. His nipples were tiny, hard and dark next to his white skin.
His mouth hung agape after recognizing me as the man who had deflowered him in the clubhouse shower room. Did I forget to mention that the encounter was not entirely consensual? After recovering from his initial shock, his face turned from white to red and he tried to shut the door on me. I, of course, stopped him by grabbing the door myself. "We need to talk, Chas," I said firmly.
"Oh God! Oh God! You have AIDS don't you?" he said.
At this point, I was impressed by his inner drama queen. I could tell he had been worrying about this possibility since our first tryst, but I laughed out loud and took him by the shoulder. "Don't worry, Chas, I am positive that I am negative."
"What?" he stammered.
"I don't have AIDS, HIV, or even a cold," I said in my most comforting, reassuring tone.
"Okay. What do you want then? And why do you keep calling me Chas? My name is Chuck," Chas said.
"'Chuck' is short for 'Charles', so is 'Chas'. And I prefer 'Chas'," I informed him.
"I prefer you not be in my apartment," Chas said.
"Chas, we had real chemistry. We made beautiful music together," I argued.
"I live with my girlfriend. That's all the action I need," Chas said, trying to convince himself as much as me.
"Is this her?" I asked, pointing to a frame on a shelf near the door.
"Yes," he sighed.
The woman pictured with him seemed to be every straight-boy's fantasy - skinny, blonde-haired, big-breasted, and with a vacant stare to top it all off.
"Nice enough, if you like that kind of thing," I chided.
"I do like that kind of thing... I mean, I do like her... I mean, I love her. And besides, I'm not gay," he demanded.
"I know you're not gay. That's why I like having sex with you," I confided in him.
"Whaaa...What?" he finally managed.
"Look, why don't you have a seat and I'll get us a beer?" I told him. "You do have beer, don't you?"
"Yeah, there's a couple left in the fridge."
"Great, I'll get us some," I replied, and did just that.
I peeked in the fridge. Oh great! Cheap, domestic stuff, I thought. Still, I hoped it would act like liquid blue jean remover on my reluctant cowboy.
I opened both cans and handed one to him, then sat at his feet while he sat on the couch. He drank deeply then stared at the can instead of looking at me.
"Like I said, Chas, I know you're not gay."
