Roger's Coming Out

Roger's Coming Out Ch 01

Designing Intern

All characters portrayed in this completely fictional story are over 18. In this first chapter, a bigger-than-life alpha hunk trains a mousy twink--opening him to his inner desire and professional potential. Warning: Arguably there is non-consensual sex in this chapter. © Brunosden, 2025. All rights reserved.

First person, in Roger's voice...

Colby Johnson, my summer intern, arrives today. I work for ARM, a large comprehensive design firm in New York: architectural design, interiors, and graphic design. Typically ARM employs six or more interns each summer, recruited from all the top art and design schools--Pratt, RISD, SCAD, Harvard, Penn, Chicago for example. Interns were typically seen as extra-work burdens by the employees to whom they were assigned--since they required more instruction and supervision than the work that they accomplished merited. But, virtually all of our new hires had been interns first with us--and we were growing and needed to hire.

So, of course, the mentors were all typically junior members of the ARM team, like me--and the supervision time was added on to our assignments (not replacing them). The only perk: we got to charge occasional lunches and dinners to ARM throughout the summer.

I'm Roger Stoneman, an architect/designer. I've been at ARM for just about two years--and I had interned there as well. It has really been my only job, save some summer work during college.

Colby is a would-be architect, with one more year at Penn to complete his M.Arch. He's 24, about my age. Colby had received terrific recommendations from his profs. He was described as "thorough, creative, confident, and brilliant--a self-starter, take-charge young man, performing like someone years older." The description was a little puzzling for a grad student--but in these days when a negative report is legally actionable and where profs are trying to distinguish their best for plum jobs, we didn't give it much further thought. He was potentially a star that we might want--or perhaps it was just exaggeration from a prof who had been infatuated with him.

It's going to be my job to determine whether he lives up to his recs and rep. But, it was also going to be a tough summer for me. I was starting my first project as project leader--with a team of three, designing a portfolio of eight model residences and a clubhouse for a section of a new planned community in Jersey. One of the upstart golf clubs had gone bankrupt, been purchased by Toller Bros, and was being reworked into one of their suburban mega-communities--keeping just nine holes of the original course to make room for the homes. The preliminary floor plans were due by Friday.

I hadn't interviewed Colby--and so we would meet today. He was in HR right now signing his life away. And being bored with recitations of dos and don'ts at ARM. They'll bring him to me when they finish. Poor guy. Nobody should have to go through that shit.

Since we're going to be together for a little while as I tell you this story, I guess I should give you a little background about me. I'm 24, a transplant New Yorker--a reluctant resident of this incredibly aggressive and noisy city. I moved here when I started with ARM. They were and are my preferred employer, and they are in New York, which may be just a little too much for me. I am originally from York, PA where I excelled academically, following a completely STEM curriculum, finishing at 16, a nerd--yeah with the dark-rimmed glasses. I failed miserably in the social setting. I was the exact opposite of a teen's definition of an alpha male. I started at RPI and did my architecture work at Virginia. I'm six foot, slim and not very athletic. I run and do use the gym from time to time, not as often as I should. So I'm not muscled. I weigh in at about 165. So I'm naturally cut. I'm pretty much a loner and passive. But, I'm known for delivering the goods when the instructions are clear.

I'm not currently attached or dating. I guess you could say that I'm not really a sexual guy. I dated a bit at RPI, but engineering majors were considered nerds and generally found it difficult to date. And, of course, I was a few years younger than my class mates. The curriculum was intense and required hours of work. Since I dated little, even though reasonably attractive, a few of my male classmates hit on me from time to time--including one roommate. Most of them were bigger and more muscular. And I did enjoy a joint-jerk, and an occasional blow, provided he initiated the encounter--and made me feel like I had to. Once or twice, a classmate would suggest that we try something more (actually that he should try something more). But, I ran from the potential experience. Since I've been in New York, I've been celibate. 24/7 work doesn't leave much time for anything else. Actually that's a lie. I do have time, but not the inclination to put myself out there to find someone in this hyper-aggressive environment. In our part of New York, if you frequent a gym or go to a club or bar alone, you are assumed to be advertising for companionship and more. And if you're my size, they assume you are a bottom and probably a cock-hungry twink.

I've spent the morning slaving over a new idea for a floor plan--one that "feels like 3000 square feet, but is in reality 2000 square feet." Building costs have skyrocketed. Buyers still want space--but they can't afford the massive floor plans that were popular a few years ago. So we've developed techniques--larger windows, "open" floor plans, uniform "luxury vinyl" flooring, removal of doors and moldings--all to give the illusion of more space than was there. I tend to like more traditional ideas--real rooms, nice moldings, hardwood floors. So this has not been a great morning for my creative juices. I've been struggling. And the Toller account partner in charge has been hovering nervously--even though I've only had three hours so far to tackle the job. He's not sure I'm the guy for this project, and they are a very important client.

There was a "knock" on the frame of my cubicle. I looked up. Terry, from HR, was there. She introduced Colby, said her farewell/welcome, and quickly left him with me. I pointed to the only other chair in my space. He's way over my height (about six-four), deeply tanned, cleanly shaved--but with evidence of a definite four-o'clock shadow although it was only eleven, a wide athlete's face, blue eyes, and mahogany hair with blonde highlights--carefully done to suggest casualness, the light streaks probably from a bottle. He was wearing a navy polo that strained to cover a massive chest, chinos and Dockers. He was a hulk and a hunk. He must weigh over 220. And filled the cubicle with his personality before he even said a word. As he sat uncomfortably in the small chair, he smiled, and our eyes made contact. I jolted, I hope not visibly. I think every nerve in my body must have vibrated. His eyes seemed to look right through me. He was insanely beautiful. No one--man or woman--had ever had such an impact on me before. He was one hell of a man.

I stuck out my hand in welcome. And when he took it, his massive mitt dwarfed my hand. He held it tight for a few seconds, we both felt the spark and the tension. It was unreal. I was speechless and motionless for what seemed like hours (but was probably less than a minute) as his gaze drilled into me. Fuck! He's reading my mind, undressing me and examining my soul. And my soul is not exactly pure at the moment. I was already melting in lust for this Adonis. And, what's more, I'm pretty sure he knows it. He definitely must know the impact he has on people.

Finally, I snapped. I welcomed him to ARM and briefly described what I was currently doing. He filled me in a little on his background, with one of the deepest drawls I had ever heard. Exactly the tone and languor that could lead to a plantation boudoir. Then I walked him over to the bullpen. I'm sure I felt his eyes burning a hole in the seat of my baggy cargoes--that revealed nothing. I showed him the center space with comfortable chairs and tables used for small conferences and study. Then we entered the drafting bullpen. He selected a desk (really a drafting table with a hydraulic lift, so he could sit or stand and work). One other intern was already there. She froze and stared. Then stammered to introduce herself. She too had felt the magnetic sexual energy that seemed to radiate from him.

I handed him a folder (about Toller and its carefully sculpted "philosophy" of building), explained that I was currently working on floor plans for new construction, and left him to read about them and the assignment. "I guess your first project will be to work with me on these plans. I'll be by to pick you up for lunch in a few minutes at 12:30. First day is on ARM. Feel free to interrupt me with questions anytime. Welcome to ARM. I hope you'll profit from your summer with us." He didn't say anything-- his eyes had said it all. Then I headed back to my desk--by way of the toilets. I wanted to see if my color had darkened. (It hadn't, but I did fuss over my blonde hair for longer than usual, and then I had to rearrange my stuff in my trunks. I was very pleased that the cargoes were a size too large. I had a semi, moving toward a full on erection.)

Lunch was in a nice place, but not too formal, a block away from the Chrysler Building where ARM had two floors of offices. Actually, the whole building had developed sort of a vibe for design firms. It had become a tower of creative people. We each even had a glass of wine (on ARM).

At lunch, we got the vitals out of the way, man-style (i.e. short and sweet). Me: single, living in New York in a rented loft two blocks away, folks in Pennsylvania, one sister, older than me, football fan (college not pro), runner, no significant other at present. My roommate (in whose name the loft was rented) had gone off to London for a three month consulting assignment--but he kept up his share of the loft for his return. Not much social life, but, I did "hang" with several of the other ARM designers on Fridays after work.

Him: single, only child, father died a few years ago, beach-bum, sailor, swimmer, really all water-sports, high school football star, gym-rat, no current significant other. (The smirk when he revealed that suggested however that although there was no single "other" at present, he was definitely a player.) He was currently crashing on the couch of a really small apartment being sub-leased by four other Penn guys for the summer--and was looking for something more comfortable that he could afford. A few further remarks suggested that at least one of the guys in the apartment had already succumbed to his charms--so it wasn't always the couch.

More than once, his knee touched my inner thigh. And I think he was actually enjoying the jolt it produced. Each time, his eyebrows lifted in question and the corners of his lips turned up. He was a tease. An aggressive tease. Normally, not my type. Such guys terrify me.

Then, he talked about hobbies, TV shows and games. He asked what I watched. I smiled shyly, and admitted that, when it wasn't the news or sports, I loved Romcoms. (He perked up at the references. I think that I was admitting to being gay or at least curious.) Colby admitted to similar tastes, but wasn't too specific except to note that he loved internet games where there was one on one aggression. And that he was really good.

The afternoon went by very slowly. I couldn't concentrate. Colby started a rough floor plan exercise, and I think I'm close to a final on my second house. He came by my desk several times to ask questions about the work. He often looked over my shoulder, placing a heavy hand right there, and once he even offered a suggestion. When he did, his head bent over my shoulder and I could feel his heat and I think I could detect his musk--and had trouble vocalizing a response. But he was a perfect gentleman (or maybe a perfect seducer). He left me confused, but wanting more. My crotch, hidden under the drafting table, seemed awfully tight each time he left.

By the end of the day, I had decided that if I was going to get anything done over the coming summer, I needed to get my act together vis a vis Colby. I needed to establish the ground rules. I intended to make it clear that office relationships were taboo--which actually wasn't entirely true. But, before I could do so, he took the matter out of my hands. He came by the office, dropped a few sheets of floor plans on my desk, and invited himself back to my place. I can't remember how he actually did it, but before I realized it, I had agreed. He had asked if I had plans for the evening. Then, silently stared as I considered my options. I think it was all in his eyes. And he looked so hungry. So I invited him for a drink. He accepted and referenced the loft, not the pub that I had meant.

We walked over and went up in the ancient industrial elevator. At my floor, I inserted a key, then another, and struggled to open the heavy metal door. I motioned him in. By New York standards, it was palatial. A giant "great room" occupied most of the space with raw brick and stone walls, scarred wooden floors, and large windows. At the back of the space, a loft divided it vertically into two rooms--one above the other--creating bedrooms. Mine was up. Phil's was down--and currently empty save some storage that I had dumped there. The only bath was on the main floor, but it was modern and large--no tub, but a walk-in shower.

His eyes lit when he looked around. I guess it was really pretty special. And enormous for one person. "This place is pretty masculine--did you design it? And you're all alone here now?" Without waiting for an answer, he walked to the sofa as though the place were his and sat.

"Wine or beer or water?"

"Beer."

Later, as we sat on the sofa, he filled in a few more details on his life. Actually, he wasn't from Charleston, but one of the non-touristy barrier islands very nearby. He was a beach bum and totally into that lifestyle. Everyone on the island knew everyone else. Everyone knew who had slept with whom. He claimed to have slept with most of the girls and fucked many of the boys in his class. And many of the teachers. Most marriages were young, often forced by pregnancy, and semi-incestuous. He needed to get out--for at least a little while. His Momma had warned him about New York, but he needed to see what it would be like in a big Northern city. Very pointedly, he mentioned that he was looking forward to joining the sexual experiment that young New Yorkers were enjoying--frequent, anonymous sex with various partners of both sexes. Unlike me, the city didn't terrify him. It was a jungle and he was an apex predator. It was teeming with prey.

I didn't talk much. I was enthralled with his drawl--and with him. He seemed really innocent and naïve--but I had this deep feeling that he was a secret giant alpha, seducing me. Maybe that's a feeling that you get when in the presence of a smooth, beautiful guy who was totally comfortable in his skin. I got up to pour myself more wine, and when I sat, I noted that he had moved toward where I had been sitting. I felt like he was the spider and I the fly in this, my own house. His magnetism was irresistible. The web was already stretched around me.

He continued to speak in that slow melodious drawl. Then, to make a point, his hand moved to my thigh--and squeezed. The conversation continued as his hand moved--to the inner thigh, and then brushed my stuff. Fuck, I was hard. And now Colby knew it too. He set his can on the large cluttered cocktail table and turned to face me. "I thought so. I'm hardly ever wrong about these things." Then, he drew me slowly in and our lips met. His lips were thick, sweet and pillowy--like a girl's, but simultaneously hard and demanding. He used them expertly to open me so his tongue could invade. No one, male or female, had ever kissed me like that. He literally was taking my breath away.

One hand went to the back of my neck and held me close. The other reached around and pulled me into his chest, as my legs straddled, and I lowered onto his lap. Every motion was so smooth that I had no time to think or resist. I wanted this. Fuck, I wanted this! Without any conscious thought, my own tongue began to duel with his and my lips sucked hard onto his. Soon, we were breathing together. My eyes were closed. It was all about feeling--the feeling of being overwhelmed. I felt as though I was falling and falling deeper and deeper into a vortex.

I opened my eyes to find him staring intently into my face. "You are a very good looking boy, Roger. Almost angelic." I swear he had already taken me prisoner. And his eyes were projecting his dominance. His dick was rock hard, nestled in my crack, and seemed huge, even confined within the chinos.

(Angel? Was that supposed to be a compliment? I'm not sure. Perhaps he was the devil, sent to tempt me. But, I was certainly enjoying the temptation so far.)

Without asking, he pushed me over onto the sofa and stretched out above me, pinning me to the soft cushions. We necked and ground together for what seemed forever. Then, he drew back, and using both hands, drew my polo off and cast it away. His lips were back--but this time they were sucking on my tits. The electricity was like thunder and lightning on a hot summer night, flashing, rumbling, striking. I was dazed.

He moved again, releasing me momentarily as his hands moved to my belt and zipper. He backed away and drew my cargoes--and my trunks from me, leaving me totally naked before his fully clothed kneeling figure. My leaking dick stood tall, betraying once and for all my interest--and surrender. Thank god that I'm not small in that department--a respectable seven plus and uncut.

"Nice dick! He looks so beautiful....and so harmless. Just like his owner. But, I bet he has his moments."

He pulled off his polo, revealing pronounced hairless chest muscles and a deep six-pac. He attacked again. His hands went behind my knees and lifted, placing my calves on his shoulders. His lips were on me....again. Licking, then suckling the peachy head of my cock--now rigidly erect. I was speechless and paralyzed before his aggression. Never before in my life had someone so beautiful, so dominant, so forceful taken an interest in me. With such magical results. He pulled my crotch tight to his face. His athletic tongue swiped down and then up the shaft, circled the corona and sucked me in again. Then he inhaled the balls, one at a time. And finally, after he pushed me higher, his tongue circled the rim and into my hole. By then, I was writhing under his furious onslaught. And leaking big time.

"Stop! Stop! I'm not gay."

"Are you saying that to convince me or you? You've been inviting me, leading me on all day. Your rock hard little dick is actually saying something else. You are definitely one gay boy, Roger. I'm gonna prove it to you."

Little? I'm seven and half. Reasonably thick. And a shower. And quite pleased with my size, thank you.

Breathlessly, I tried another tack. "We can't do this. You work for me. It violates the rules. No "special friends" within the firm. You need to go now."

"Are you really sure? I can leave now if you want me to. And we'll keep this summer a total hands-off experience for both of us. But, I don't think you're quite so sure." A spit-coated finger circled my anus and plunged. There was pain, but he kept up the pressure, and after he had penetrated most of the way in, he touched me in a way that I had never been touched before. I screamed, at first with surprise, then with pleasure. The lightning had moved from the atmosphere to inside me. I was sparkling with a kind of intense pleasure than I had never before felt. I think I actually raised my ass into his face to urge him further. I guess I had changed my mind--or at least little brain had taken over. Something inside me had communicated with my dickhead. I guess it was anything he wanted. Anything.