"And a ten-inch cock."
"You're shitting us now," Oliver said.
"Yes, I'm shitting you," Porter answered. "But, really, I would want him to have a nice cock on him."
"Well, high on my list is that he has to be willing to take out the trash without being asked to," Adrian interjected.
"And put the toilet seat down too?" someone asked. They all laughed.
"No, thank god," Adrian answered when he'd finished laughing. "We'd have no problem with that."
Blake pulled his attention away from the discussion. It was probably a mistake for him to come this evening. Adrian had been a friend, like forever. But Adrian was a bit limp wristed, and the guys he ran with—especially this crew tonight—were decidedly so as well.
He agreed to meet Adrian at the bar tonight for a drink. He hadn't known that Adrian's gaggle of goofballs would be here too. For nearly an hour they'd been discussing what they wanted in a man. The consensus was moving somewhere between Superman and Donna Reed. The little shit Jeffery seemed to want a combination of the two. Porter only talked about the size of the cock.
They would have laughed, but the closest they'd come to what Blake would have said was that ten-inch cock. It was possibly the first time he'd ever found ground for agreement with Porter.
"You've said you melt to big cocks, haven't you. Blake?" That was said by Porter.
Blake snapped his head around to look at the guy with the orange hair and the ring in his eyebrow. Was he a mind reader? Had he just snatched what Blake was thinking out of the air?
"Yeah, at the party last week when you got a little blotto, Blake. Said you liked big cocks and surprise attacks and playing denial games."
Another head snap around to the effeminate dark-headed one with the big, rouged lips. Oliver.
"You did say all of that a couple of Saturday nights ago at my party," Adrian said, laying a hand on Blake's forearm. "I know it's been a while since you had it, baby, and how important it is to you to be taken care of regularly. Maybe you're just a bit uptight about this crackdown on sexual behavior in the school system. If you weren't so burnt out on the construction worker with the big cock, you wouldn't be shying away from the service workers. You need to accept, I think, that that's the sort of rough sex guy you like."
Blake was opening his mouth to speak, not sure what to say yet, when Oliver saved him by switching the line of discussion, if not the topic.
"Well, as far as I'm concerned, he's got to be a professional: a doctor or lawyer or professor."
"Agreed." That from Adrian and Porter in unison.
"But a professional with a big cock," Porter clarified.
Blake had to agree with that. He'd want the guy to be a professional, and steady and even predictable would be nice. No more adventures for Blake. But why didn't they say teacher? They'd said professor, but what was wrong with high school teacher? That's what Blake was, and he considered himself a professional. He'd be a good catch, wouldn't he?
Not for any of these limp-wristed guys, of course. Blake wanted his man to take charge.
But that thought sent a shiver through him. He shouldn't have come here at all. He should have agreed to meet Adrian somewhere else, not a gay bar. He needed to think more clearly on such things. He was a high school teacher. Being seen in a gay bar could be the end of his career. They were really pressing down on that now. And he'd been here with these screamers for an hour now. Anyone who came in would think he was one of this band. He was careful to cultivate an entirely different look and the way he was perceived, disappearing more into the mainstream. He turned in his chair, preparing to get up and say his apologies for needing to leave.
But as he turned, he saw him, the man that the group had been zeroing in on as the perfect man, at least from what could be seen on the surface.
He was probably in his early thirties, older than the group Blake was talking with. But they'd all agreed on that. They wanted a man older than them, but not really a daddy type, just older. And he was tallish, without being noticeably so, not too muscle-bound but obviously well muscled. He was wearing a close-fitting polo shirt of a light-weight material, and Blake could see every contour of his pecs and six-pack. Even the bumps of his nipples showed. Good biceps. No discernible tattoos. He looked clean cut and professional. More than that, he looked confident, under control—and capable of controlling. Blake liked to be controlled. This guy looked like he could take care of both of them.
The pants fit closely without looking sluttish, and from the look of the creases as the man leaned back on his bar stool and looked out into the room, the ten-incher they all were talking about couldn't be belied. He was achingly handsome. Auburn hair with golden highlights, a five o'clock shadow that looked groomed, sparking eyes. Blue or hazel. A great mouth and smile.
And right now he was looking at Blake, and Blake could attest to the nice smile, because that was what he was doing. At Blake. Was there a challenge in that look?
Blake did a double take. How long had he been staring at the guy without realizing that the guy was looking at him too?
The guy lifted his glass to Blake and smiled. Blake involuntarily smiled back, but he immediately dipped his head and averted his eyes. He'd lowered his head without thought, but he was thinking about it now. Would the hunk see that as a classic form of submission? And was it? And, more significant, was it what the man was looking for? Embarrassed and well aware that the man was still looking at him, Blake turned in his chair, burying his attention back in Adrian's group.
They were discussing muscle tone now. How much was too much? All Blake could think was that the guy at the bar was just right.
"But I don't think we settled on the job thing," the usually silent and not almost "up with the discussion" Jeffrey said. "He needs to be a professional, right?"
"Yeah, we already settled that," Porter said. "A doctor or lawyer. Something like that. And with a great cock."
Right on, Blake thought. The last man he'd had in his life was a construction worker. A great bod, but unreliable as hell. And he usually drank his paycheck before he got home with it. But once he'd gotten home and pushed Blake down on the bed and pinned him to the mattress with that big cock of his, Blake didn't care. Other than that, the guy was a deadbeat. They'd had to live on a teacher's salary.
A teacher's salary, Blake thought. He had to get out of here. He couldn't stay in a gay bar this long. It was risky. He shot a look at the bar. The guy was leaning across the bar, talking with the bar man. Stretched out like that, he looked like a million dollars. And that crease showing in his pants. Yeah that could be a big one.
The guy appeared to be rustling up two beers. He must have seen someone he knew, Blake thought. Or he must be here with someone.
Blake had been here too long. He had a compelling need to leave. He said his quick good-byes and headed for the door. At the door, he turned around. The guy was turned away from the bar now, a beer in each hand, scanning the room. His gaze kept going back to Adrian's table.
Could it be? Blake thought. Could he have been looking for me? But Blake had been in the bar too long. It would be best if he just didn't get into this now. Still, Blake lingered at the door until the hunk's eyes finally scanned around to him. The man gave Blake a level stare and Blake shuddered. Was there a possessiveness in that stare? A challenge, an offer, a command? If he had been sure it was a command . . .
Blake turned and left the bar. Perhaps the man would follow him. If he did, he did. And if he didn't . . .
He didn't. Blake went straight to his car, which was just across the street from the entrance into the bar. He leaned against the car's fender in what he'd have to admit was a "pose" for a good twenty minutes. But the hunk didn't leave the bar. No one did in that time. Deciding he just didn't care, Blake got in his car, drove back to his apartment, took a long shower, and, plopping down on his bed—alone—masturbated to a DVD on his computer.
* * * *
Friday evening and Blake was working late at school. He just had too much to grade before Monday. The place was deserted. The game was at another school at the other end of the county, and everyone else obviously was headed out there.
Blake was concentrating on the grading. It had been an essay test, so he actually had to read them all and try to make sense out of them—which wasn't always easy with high school juniors, most of whom seemed to be majoring in hieroglyphics.
It was a while before he realized he was hearing noises in the building. He thought he was supposed to be the only one in the school at this time. He got up and went into the hall and stood still and listened. Just when he was about to decide he'd heard nothing, he heard it again. It sounded like whistling. A low whistle. He quietly went down to the end of the hall. When there, he looked around the corner and almost swallowed something internal when he saw that there was a man near the end of this other hall. He had a mop and bucket out and was mopping the floor.
Blake took one look and then turned and started back to his classroom. He stopped then, his mind having had time to process what he'd seen. It wasn't just a man. It was a hunk. And he had been shirtless. He was dressed in the brown that custodians wear, but his shirt was tied around his waist rather than on his back. And he was a real hunk. Tanned like Blake wouldn't have thought anyone was tanned.
He turned and went back to the corner and peeked around again. The guy was turned toward him. Great bod and auburn hair with gold streaks in it. Hazel eyes and he was smiling. And he was looking right at Blake.
Good god, Blake thought. The guy in the bar. The guy in the bar is a janitor, a custodian.
"Peekabo," the guy said. And then he laughed. "You left the bar last night before I could come over. Your friends say you're between boyfriends and that you love to fuck. Sorry, I'm not much for foreplay. As soon as I saw you in the bar I wanted to fuck you."
The guy was unzipping himself and out flopped a long snake.
