The closer it gets to 5 PM, the longer I stare at the clock, silently begging for it to move faster. "C'mon, minute hand," I think. "I believe in you." Not that I hate my job. In fact, I love working in IT. Flexible hours, lax office environment, and I have a knack for computers so my job isn't exactly difficult. But I don't get enjoyment out of the typical routines anymore. I haven't for about a year.
Dave pops in and taps on the top of my cubicle, grinning at me over the partition. "Wakey wakey," he says.
I blink a few times, smiling slightly. "Just one more minute." It's 4:59. So close.
"Just one more minute until... you come out with us?" he asks suggestively.
"Don't tell me..."
"We're getting drinks," Dave says, and I sigh. I know exactly what he means when he says "drinks." It means him and the Boys (or at least, that's what they call themselves as a collective) are going to throw back a few shots of Jim Beam and peruse the local strip club.
"You know that's not my thing," I remind him. Dave of all people should know. He's the only one of the group that I've outwardly told that I'm gay - though I'm sure the others suspect something, considering how negatively I respond to their locker room talk of women and their embarrassing adoration for strippers. I used to go out with them, just for the sake of going out. But then, Miguel...
"It'll still be fun. C'mon," he insists, loosening his already half-undone tie. "Come out with us for a change."
"I'm not really in the mood for strippers," I say, and I feel that little tingle of excitement when the time switches from 4:59 to 5:00. Finally. I hastily close all the applications, log off my computer, and shut everything down for the weekend. As I stand up, Dave looks at me sadly. "What?" I ask.
"You need to get over him, Teddy."
Leave it to Dave to hit me where it hurts. He doesn't know much about my last relationship - just how it ended. He met Miguel maybe once or twice, and I'm not one to discuss the intimate details of my romantic life, so it's not like Dave really understood just how much Miguel meant to me. But even then, considering the circumstances, I find it almost insulting that he thinks he can tell me to just "get over it."
"I'm trying," I tell him, snatching up my badge from my desk.
"It was, what, over a year ago?" he asks. "Time to move on."
Less than a year, actually. "I'm trying." That's all I can tell him. I'm trying, Dave.
The thing is, I feel like I've mostly gotten over Miguel in terms of him as a person. But the feeling, the security of a relationship, the strange freedom of being yourself around another person, I miss that terribly. The openness. The vulnerability. The mutual exchange of emotions and thoughts and perspectives. It's a beautiful thing, to be in love like that. Even when I tried to "get back on the dating horse" or whatever, all I did was try and see how the guy lined up with Miguel's silhouette. Could they take his place and give me exactly what I had before? Miguel was too good to me. For me. And in a lot of ways, it ruined me. I suppose that makes me sound ungrateful, and I feel a pang of guilt whenever I think like this.
Dave sighs. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us."
I try and give him an appreciative smile. "Thanks, man."
I do appreciate him inviting me out with them. They're honestly a good group of guys, as (almost offensively) heterosexual as they are. But today is just one of those days where I'm really feeling that loss. I'm eager to just get home, throw back a few glasses of whiskey, and pet my cat. Maybe rot in front of the television for the remaining hours today has to offer. That's my plan for the evening.
But Ling comes up to my cubicle as I'm packing up, slinging his arm around Dave as he looks at me. "You coming out with us, buddy?"
Dave jumps in to my defense. "He has plans."
"Oh come on," Ling says, unconvinced. "Come out with us. I'll pay for a lap dance for ya."
I force a smile. "Lap dances don't really do it for me, Ling," I say, pocketing my badge and turning off the computer monitor.
"Oh, you need the real thing?" Ling says with a grin. Then he turns to Dave. "He doesn't need a stripper; he needs an escort."
They both laugh before Dave says "Leave him alone," pushing Ling playfully off of him.
"Fine, fine," Ling says, holding his hands up in surrender. "But you gotta come out with us next time."
I just shrug, not outwardly saying "no" but definitely not saying "yes." I don't understand the appeal. Having a stripper one-on-one, sure, but aren't they all straight? What about sporting boners in a room full of other men excites them so much? I just don't get it. But whatever. You guys have your fun. I'll try and have mine.
~ ~ ~
I almost forgot about the mess. I groan as soon as I walk into my apartment, seeing my place in near-total disarray. Maxi comes up to me, meowing her little tail off as if telling me how she disapproves of the state I've let our apartment get in. But I'm a slob. It's my biggest flaw. Even one that Clark can't fix. I hope he doesn't visit soon, because he'll take it upon himself to clean my apartment for me after glaring at me with particular disdain.
I don't deserve his kindness. Clark is basically a gay father figure to me. He took me in when I was kicked out of my house after coming out to my parents. He helped me through that tiresome, uphill battle against addiction, and even paid for my rehab. He set me up here, in this snazzy apartment, since he owns the whole complex. The benefits of knowing the landlord, I suppose. Too often I feel like I'm taking advantage of him because I don't do much in return, but he constantly reassures me that that's not the case. I guess the least I could do is clean up around here.
Tomorrow, though. I'll do it tomorrow. Right now, I just want to sit. I take off my jacket and my pants and my work shirt, revealing a graphic tee and an old pair of briefs underneath. Ultimate relaxation. I'm feeling kind of horny, now that I think about it - but it's the bored sort of horny, where the thought of jacking off is only appealing because it's a way to pass the time. So, after refilling Maxi's bowl with dry cat food, I head straight to my desktop.
What to watch, what to watch... My go-to site has tons of different categories. The list is endless really, and I can spend hours sifting through videos if I want to. I'm in a particularly oral mood, so I choose the "Cum-swallow" channel and open up a few tabs' worth of videos (just based on the thumbnails) to sample them each. As expected, the first two videos aren't that hot. There's no swallowing of cum whatsoever. Either it splatters on their face and the receiver recoils (which is a turn off for me), or the guy spits it out (which is even more of a boner killer). Why is it so difficult to find decent videos with actual cum eating? So I try the third video.
On the side, though, I notice something. Usually I come across plenty of those janky ads that say things like "Hot 'n horny studs in your area" or "Slutty young teens looking to FUCK you". They always look sketchy, and I always ignore them. But what Ling said rings in my ears: "He doesn't need a stripper; he needs an escort." He had a point there. I don't like the teasing quality of stripping. I'd need to go all the way. Though the concept of escorting has always confused me. Is it not just prostitution?
This ad looks different than the others, too. It looks almost, dare I say, professional. Curiosity makes my mouse hover over the ad before I click. Immediately, I'm directed to an escort site. A dozen or so small profiles pop up on screen in a somewhat overwhelming fashion. It looks like a cam site, but that's not what they're advertising. They're selling sex. Is this... legal? When I allow the site to access my general location, it refreshes and shows me who's available in my area. Wow. I'm intrigued by all the different profiles of guys: Latin lovers, BBCs, woodsy lumberjacks, buff daddies... I spend a solid bit of time just perusing them. After sifting through a page or two, I start to realize the type that doesn't appeal to me: the type with a username like CollegeMuscles69 or HUNGDADDIXXX or (the ever original) Hunkk, all plastered with a photo of their muscled torsos, or their asses, or sometimes their hard-ons. It's all a little too self-indulgent for me. Too in-your-face.
That's what makes one profile stick out: NotTheBoyNextDoor. It makes me smile for some reason. Plus, his photo is just one of his face rather than a body shot. He's exceptionally handsome. A little scruffy, with perfectly straight teeth and an angular face reminiscent of Eastern European models. He's sexy. So, intrigued, I click on his profile.
Right off the bat, I like him. There's something about his ad. "Looking for a good time? So am I." Immediately I laugh. It's nice to see that at least someone enjoys a little humor. "Seriously though, your satisfaction is my top priority," it says before getting into his bio more. It's less self-glorifying and superficial than other profiles, I notice. I find myself interested in him. And I can tell there's an ease about him, especially in the way he says "Guess I gotta sell myself, so here's me at my most narcissistic: I'm personable, sweet, social as hell, passionate, curious, very open-minded, and I like to pretend that I'm funny." I like him. That's all I can say.
It doesn't help that he's fucking hot. I scroll through the public pictures listed on his profile and feel my cock responding to a few particularly tantalizing ones, including a nude. He looks young, tall, and tastefully hairy. And he's got a great body. Not a body builder by any means, but something more my type: in-shape. He clearly cares about his physique without being so strict about it - though his thighs? Those look pretty damn powerful.
