Evan 3

May, 2024

I got a text from my old pal, Evan.

- Coming to Tulsa for some mtgs. Can I see you? -

- Absolutely!!! -

- FYI, I'm in a relationship. -

That was disappointing news. Deflating, actually. Just the thought of seeing Evan had begun to get me aroused.

- Congrats! Will he be with you? -

- No. Just me. Wanted to be clear. -

- Message received. Can't wait to see you. Can I cook you dinner? -

- You can always cook for me. LOL. -

_____________________

September, 2012

Evan and I met in a quaint tourist town in the Ozarks. It was an art haven with healing springs and a surprisingly eclectic music scene that attracted hordes of tourists. It was also very LGTBQ-friendly and many of the most prominent citizens were gay or lesbian, even trans.

Evan had just moved to town. He was only 38 but had already aged out of his position as a dancer in the San Fransisco Ballet Company. From what I understand, that is a cruel and competitive business and, unless you are Baryshnikov, it comes with an expiration date. Just as his 'best by' day arrived, Evan was jilted by his long-time lover. Doubly cruel fate. The winds of change blew him to this little town.

I was a carpenter building luxury lake homes. At 41, I had the thick muscled body that comes from decades of joyful but hard work. My approach to life was rooted in the hippie, back-to-the-Earth years that had drawn me to this mecca of healing waters. Mellow, tolerant, joie de vivre. Whole-grain goodness, I liked to describe it.

Evan started frequenting the same tavern as me at the onset of football season. We naturally gravitated to each other. Not only were we both from Tulsa but we went to the same effing High School - Go Chargers! - though I graduated a couple of years ahead of him. He was smart, funny, and gay. I was pretty smart, not as funny as I thought, and straight. We became regular bar buddies.

The tavern was crowded with tourists one Saturday afternoon. Evan and I washed up like shipwrecked sailors at one of those ridiculous high tables off to the side. Nonetheless, it had a good view of two big screen TVs so we were happy. We were probably four, maybe five beers into chatting and watching the games when he dropped a bombshell out of the blue.

"I'm rather large."

I think we'd been joking about all the husbands hiding out while their wives shopped for tchotchkes, so you can understand my being taken by surprise.

"You mean your thing?"

"Yes," he laughed. "My 'thing' is rather large."

"Okay." Fortunately, the bar was loud enough for this to be a private conversation. Still, I scrambled for context and strained my brain for something relevant to say. "Well then, is it otherwise aesthetically pleasing? I mean, well-proportioned and pleasing to the eye?"

"At the risk of sounding immodest, it is very appealing."

"Immodest? Evan, you blew way past immodest a while back."

We both laughed but he shook his head in exasperation as if I had missed the obvious subtext. I couldn't imagine he was coming on to me so I was left without a clue. "Is there a point to this rather shocking factoid?"

"I don't know. I'm just feeling dejected and unappreciated, and I'm unloading on my straight best friend. All I'm saying is I have my attributes."

"Sorry you're feeling that way, Brother. I appreciate you." I meant it and gave him a sympathetic pat on the back. He probably wanted a hug but it seemed we were tiptoeing in an emotional minefield. "And I don't get it either."

"Get what?"

"How you can still be single. There are dozens of gay guys in this town."

"It's not that easy."

"Okay, here's what I mean ... You are a beautiful man."

Evan blushed a bit and gave me a quizzical look. "That is not what I expected to hear from you."

"What? Okay, I'm straight. We both know that."

"Your heterosexual bona fides are well established."

"But I've got eyes and you are objectively a great-looking guy."

He blushed crimson but waved my compliment off. "I don't feel that way anymore. I just feel lonely and like I'm getting old."

I signaled to our harried waitress for another round of beers. "When you get a chance, Em."

I shot Evan a look of disbelief. "That's crazy talk," I said. "You've got this amazingly athletic dancer's body. I mean, what are you, six-one? I bet you could toss a ballerina around the stage like a rag doll. I mean, how are you not the hottest item in town?"

"I don't know. I've gone out with several guys but I haven't met anyone who is engaging. You know? Someone I could just hang out with and talk about ... whatever. The gay scene here is very provincial and weird."

"It does seem oddly dysfunctional."

Our beers arrived. "Keep them coming, Emily, it's one of those days." She smiled and gave a thumbs-up.

Evan had settled into a funk. He whispered, "And you know what my best feature is? My ass. I've been dancing since I was eight. That's thirty years. And I've got a great ass."

He got to his feet and stood close to me, looking out at the crowd, very nonchalant. "Go ahead. Give it a feel. No one will notice."

"I'm not going to feel your ass!"

"Go on. It's not a gay thing. I just want you to understand."

I looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. Then, my hand very discretely made its way to his backside. I lightly surveyed the contour of each cheek. Several times, actually, for the sake of accuracy, and tested them thoroughly with discriminating squeezes. I admit, it was impressive. "That is a stellar tush. And I assure you, I've assessed many tushes in my life. It's very supple and firm. Like I said, objectively beautiful. Also, smart and funny and kind. I mean, what the fuck is wrong with the gay guys in this town."

"Thanks, Marc. Those are kind words. It's just ... honestly, I just feel so lonely and unappreciated sometimes."

"I appreciate you, man." I gave him another sympathetic pat on the back as he sat down. "Where's Emily with another round?"

He perked up after that. Sometimes you've just got to say things out loud. Get things off your chest. The football games were good. Emily kept the beers flowing. We were having a great time but there was something stuck in my mind.

Evan got up to take a piss. A couple of women paused to watch him pass. He really did look great and he filled out those jeans like a runway model. I'd kill to look half that good.

When he returned, I blurted out, "I've got to see for myself."

"See what?"

"The size of your thing."

"We've officially crossed another boundary. I'm not going to just whip it out here."

"You're right. We have to go somewhere else."

"Not happening. Uh-huh. And no more beer for you, my friend. You're freaking me out."

"Look, you made a bold assertion about your thing. You're my friend. I want to believe you. Honestly, I do. But I think that under the circumstances I deserve proof. No," I poked the air with my finger, "I demand proof."

"What circumstances?"

"That you would just drop a mindfuck image like that, out of the blue, in a public place, and just expect me to accept it." I was overly proud of my eloquence and logic when I was drunk. "You live just up the mountain. We're gonna go there and you're gonna show me."

It took all of eight slightly wobbly minutes to get there. Quick enough that the idiocy of my inebriated logic could not wear off. Evan stopped in the middle of the living room and turned on me with a snippy attitude.

"Okay. So what? You want me to just whip it out?"

"No, we're not primitives here. The moment calls for comportment, decorum. Now strip them jeans off."

"Drop trou is your idea of decorum?"

"Evan, just do it and it'll be over with."

With an exasperated grunt, he ripped open the buttons on his 501s, dropped them to the floor, and kicked them off. He was wearing a pale blue -- I don't know what to call a garment like that. They were made of a glistening fabric that rode high across his hips and then plunged lasciviously down to a long pouch that was packed very full. Very, very full.

"You wear that out in public? Isn't that sort of brazen?"

"No, it's not brazen. I wear them discretely underneath."

"Still, you're wearing intimates among decent society."

"I like them. They feel good."

"I have to admit, objectively speaking they look very - what's the right word - fetching? As in you could fetch a gay man real quick in those. How are you still single?"

"Did you get me to do this just so you could crack jokes?"

"Absolutely not. I apologize. So far, I'm impressed but the circumstances require that I see it in all its abundant flesh."

"You just can't help with the flippancy, can you?" He hooked his thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down far enough to reveal himself. "There! Satisfied?"

"Wow." The shaft hung a long six inches. I'm a carpenter and I know six inches when I see it. Flaccid. With blue veins running the length. Then a plump cockhead, wide and pillowy. Overall, it was thick and looked muscular, like it was capable of doing hard physical labor. I was captivated. "That is indeed an impressive thing."

With a tinge of annoyance, he pulled his watcha-ma-call-its back up. "Can you please stop calling it my thing? It's my penis. If you knew me better you could call it my cock, but to you it's my penis."

Evan was definitely annoyed now. He gathered his jeans and shook them out furiously before putting them back on. Almost falling in his sudden frenzy. "I mean, what the hell did we just do?"

"Ask yourself," I countered defensively. "You can't just implant a mindfuck image like that without warning. Where did you think that little gem would take us?"

"Not to this. A little commiseration, maybe? Not to you teasing me about my underwear then saying 'Wow' when you see it and joking 'How are you still single?'. That isn't the ego boost you think it is."

"Hey, I'm sorry."

"A joke is not always the best response."

"You're right. I didn't mean to make light of your feelings. But I am still gobsmacked that you have trouble with the guys. Honestly, Evan, you're the total package: brains, personality, looks, and also "Wow"."

His anger abated and he managed a chuckle. I was desperate to shift the topic. "Since we're here, didn't you want to show me something about your deck?"

We went out his sliding glass doors and I inspected the construction of his deck from every angle. It was underbuilt. I told him how easy it would be to shore up the posts and rim joist. "Not even a full day. I can knock it out Wednesday."

The deck was as basic as could be. Ugly, actually. Box-like. It needed some flair as well as structural support. Over the next couple of days, I spent the evenings in my shop crafting ornamental balustrades for the railing and matching braces for the posts. It took a lot of time but ...

I don't know why I did all this. I only intended to charge him for materials. Now a six-hour job was costing me fifteen additional hours in prep. I don't know why. I just wanted to do something a little special for my buddy. You know, atone for being a boozy jerk.

On Wednesday, I was nearly done replacing the balustrades on the handrails by the time Evan got home. "Holy moly, what have you done?"

"You like it?"

"It's amazing."

"Check it out from below."

Evan admired the handrail of the steps, then saw the matching angle braces. The whole deck was bolstered by reinforced posts wrapped with rough cedar.

"Marc, this looks incredible. I wasn't expecting anything so involved."

"Don't worry. I'll be finished in about an hour. We'll talk turkey then."

When I entered Evan's house, he was pacing and looking very anxious. "Marc, everything looks great ... so good. But we never talked about cost. I mean, I don't know how ..."

I handed him my bill from the lumber yard. "That's the materials cost. I get the contractor's discount so it's a good price. That's all you owe."

"But you obviously put in a ton of work."

"As a favor for a friend. You can't argue with a favor so just accept it for what it is. A gesture."

Evan was taken aback at my generosity. He reluctantly agreed "Okay. Well, thank you. You've been such a great friend to me."

With that, he gave me a hug. A big one. And, as I hugged him back, I realized how good it felt. His body was firm and athletic, obviously graceful. And his embrace had a quality that I can only describe as sensuous. And it was a full-body hug. Hips included. "I needed this," he said with a sigh.

We both breathed deeply and continued to embrace. He smelled of musk. My head lifted slightly and turned until my lips met the flesh of his neck. Tender kisses followed. I don't know how. I had not intended them. They came from a place that didn't ask permission. But they followed one after the other. Evan's breath caught in his throat and a tremble passed through us both.

"Marc, what are you doing?"

Somehow, I regained some control of my wanton impulses. I allowed myself one last kiss. "I have no idea." I stepped back from him. His face was flushed with the same rising fire that I felt and his eyes were just as confused and anxious as mine. "I have no fucking clue what came over me."

Awkwardness and manic energy overwhelmed me. I had to get away.

"Marc, wait."

I couldn't look Evan in the eye. I cast about looking for a place to leave the bill, then dropped it on a table and made for the door.

"Marc, wait."

"Maybe I'll run into you this weekend."

"Marc, please wait."

"Enjoy the deck."

_____________

May, 2024

Evan arrived for our dinner within minutes of the appointed hour. His hair was a distinguished white now, very Richard Gere-like, and he'd gained only a scant few pounds. Twelve years had barely grazed his statuesque grace. Give him a personal trainer for two weeks and he'd be camera-ready for the cover of AARP. I mentioned that.

"AARP? I'm already camera-ready for AARP!" He feigned offense before he broke out laughing. "You're looking great, too. And it seems you are doing well for yourself."

He was sitting across my cozy dining table. No candles but the track lights were dimmed. Those eyes were still so beguiling and blue, and he remained the most handsome guy I had ever known. As well as the sexiest man or woman I'd ever kissed.

"Well, my cousin built the business. Turns out, all that was lacking was twenty years of hippie, back-to-the-Earth experience. Custom eco-homes right here in Okiehoma."

"Good for you. Good for the Earth."

"And what about you? Designer jeans?"

"Weird story. James and I had been dating for three weeks and one night we got to talking ..."

"I remember your post-coital chats. The pleasure centers of the brain are momentarily quenched and the conversation flows until arousal arises again."

"Actually, that's a pretty solid summation. Anyway, he suddenly was joking about starting a fashion line. At least I thought he was joking. I had no idea what deep pockets could make happen."

"Hundreds of millions deep, I read."

"What can I say, I got lucky. Anyway, a month later I'm sitting on a couch as the most talented designers in California trot their newest creations in casual wear before me. My sole job is to point to the things that I like. Me! As if I know shit about fashion. But James is a genius at business and in another month we had a billboard on Rodeo Drive.

"But it's exciting," he continued. "I was in Milan last month. And then Paris. And everyone treats me as if I were the great new thing in horrendously over-priced t-shirts and jeans. Go figure."

We laughed and then fell into silence. Finally, Evan said, "Nice music."

"Yeah, thanks. Diana Krall, of course. You turned me on to this that one night ..."

"Oh, right. I remember."

...

...

___________________

October, 2012

I called first to make sure it was okay for me to pop in. I had been avoiding him since our last weird encounter. Evan welcomed me in with a proper two-pat bro hug. No contact below the shoulders. We got halfway through his living room when I stopped and blurted, "I want to see it again."

Evan spun with a look of consternation on his face, "Marc, what are you ... What is happening here?"

"I'm not sure and I don't care. I'm with my beautiful friend who I seem to be obsessed with. Whose neck I can't help but nuzzle. We're all alone. I've seen your amazing cock once and I can't stop thinking about it." I realized I was babbling, "I hope it's okay for me to call it your cock."

"Under the circumstances, it sounds right."

"Evan, it's just, I've never done anything like this before. I was thrown for a loop by the moment. I'm attracted to you. Massively attracted. And I've thought it over and I would really like it if you would show me your thing again. I mean, your penis, your cock."

"You're serious aren't you?"

"Once again," I was the exasperated one now, "we're all alone. You're my beautiful friend. I'm giddy as hell over you. And I would really like it if you would show me that amazing cock again."

Something happened then. The space between us suddenly became energized, zillions of minuscule ions thrummed with carnal vibes and the air became heavy with plumes of pheromones. With a slight quiver, I implored, "Please?"

Heat kindled in Evan's pale blue eyes as he locked me in a smoldering gaze. I saw that he wanted me, too. I watched his restraint dissolve and his libido rouse. I witnessed his sexual animal awaken.

All his life, Evan had commanded the eyes of women and men alike. For him, a stroll down the sidewalk was like a turn on a fashion runway. Eyes envied his elegance and lurid minds imagined him naked. He was aware of the power he commanded and embraced the seductive charade. Now, he struck a subtle, suggestive pose.

"I want to show you far more than that."

Evan swept off his T-shirt. He was sleek. Feline. Mats of sculpted brawn undulated beneath his taut skin. He was an athlete of dance, trained by decades of physical feats of grace. He was perfection.

His nipples were plump. I had never noticed a man's nipples in my life, but as the t-shirt got hung on his chin, I found a moment's fascination in the tender protruding nubs of his tits. I was suddenly consumed with the urge to nibble them. The first of several sudden urges I would encounter that night.

As the shirt hit the floor, he turned his back to me. Over his shoulder, he cast a lascivious glance, like out of a Marlena Dietrich movie. It shot straight to my loins. My breath trembled in anticipation of the show.

He opened his pants with tantalizing allure then wiggled them down his hips revealing low-slung, satin briefs that glistened with a violet hue. The fabric strained across a butt so perfect it could have convinced Columbus the world was round. As he stepped out of his pants, the glossy fabric failed to encase those sumptuous orbs and plunged into the gap. His flesh burst forth. Beckoning firm, luscious mounds of muscular ass.

With a wicked smile, he turned to face me. His hips were pitched obscenely forward and he boogied them right and left. Within the glossy purple pouch, his prodigious manhood swayed and strained for release.

"If you want to see it again," there was a smoky heat in his voice, "you'll have to take it out yourself."

My arm rose, My hand reached. He neared. My fingertips glanced across the bulge of his cockhead. We both gasped. I was entranced. I lightly traced its length through the silky fabric. I heard his breath catch as his cock grew. He moaned. The swelling flesh pressed harder against the confines of the fabric. I moaned. My fingers began to race up and down its hardening form. We both moaned.

Then suddenly he leaped away. My trance was broken and my lust felt betrayed.

"No," Evan gasped, "this is wrong."