+++If you are under 18 years of age, you ought not to and are not invited to read this story.
Okay, keep your snide remarks to yourself, I'm a CPA, accountant you know, but I'm not a nerd. I'm Cary-Grant-handsome and work out three days a week at the local gym. There are six of us who work for a national accounting firm, this is a branch office in Hempstead, Long Island.
The six are a varied sort. There's the old guy, the one with a naval style beard, the kid, a blond eager-beaver, the twin brothers, James and John (not too bright), me and the new guy.
The new guy was just hired. He's just out of New York University and passed his CPA examine with a high score. He's even less like an accountant than I am. He dresses very stylish, almost too much so. You know, bold striped shirts with white collars, suits with shawl collars and such. His personality is very unconservative. He has a strong New York accent and he talks about ten decibels too loud. His name is Greg Halsey.
I'll admit his a good looker and probably could bring in business from, say, theatrical people, but our old line customers won't like him.
Right off he seemed to want to become my work buddy. We are about the same age, twenty eight, and we're both bachelors. "Hey you got any hot numbers, Jack? We could double date."
I guess I ought to have told him that I haven't dated girls since I was sixteen and I only did it to put off my buds from thinking I was gay, but since, I have had two male LTRs. Right now, I am single.
The other thing about Greg is that he is probably a homo hater. I think that because when I first met him and we went to have coffee together, he asked me, "Are there any queers in the firm?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I'm not comfortable around those types. They tend to come on to me."
"Really. Do you encourage them?"
"Look guy, I'm a straight, lady-fucking dude."
I said a weak, "Right," but decided I better be closeted in my relations with him.
Now you probably hate him. Maybe I was too rough in my description of him. Actually we got to be pretty good work buddies and we played squash at my gym once.
There was that time in the men's room. What? You say. Yeah, he looked at my cock when we were pissing. Not only that, but he complimented me. Yeah, it's true. "Nice piece," he said.
I thanked him but I was really confused. Do straight guys look? Well maybe yes, but they surely don't make a remark about another guy's garbage, do they?
But when we were at the gym, he was careful to undress around the corner from my locker and skipped showering, said he'd shower at home. So, that left him with a score of one to zero in the gay department.
But, wait, there's more, much more. Friday after work we walked out together and he suggested a drink before heading home, at Riley's. Now Riley's was not the nearest bar, there were three closer to our offices, but Riley's was a strange case. It was a mixed gay and straight bar, but after ten o'clock, it was all gay. A straight man who is curious to meet a gay, this was the perfect place.
When we walked in, Greg didn't go to the bar, instead he steered me to a booth. There we were, two young guys having not manly beers and chasers, but cocktails. Sweet! Anyone seeing us would assume we were gay boys.
I don't know about you but Martini's really get me drunk fast. If I have one before dinner, it buzzes me, but then I eat and it's fine. If I have two, I can get a little thick in the tongue but my mind is still sharp. But tonight, I had three, so did Greg. It didn't seem to bother him at all. Well, he was a little too smiley and he kept touching my bare arm to make points. My arm was bare because at the second cocktail I took off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves. He did comment on my hairy arm. I'm a red head and red arm hair is a bit unusual.
Anyway the third drink made me loose as a goose and I may have said more than I should but Greg seemed to encourage me. I found myself voicing what I was wondering about, "What would you do if there was a queer in the company?"
"I'd just be warned."
"Maybe you're too fascinated with the whole subject."
Suddenly he put his warm hand on my arm, firmly and looked into my blue eyes and said, "You're not gay are you?"
I didn't answer right away. His question made me evaluate whether I wanted to lie or whether he was under consideration as a possible sexual partner. I took the safe road, "What do you think, do you want me to be?"
Yipes, that was dangerous and could cause me trouble, but to my relief he answered, "I like you and kinda hoped you might be. I am a little curious, you are correct."
Neither of us said any thing for a full two minutes, but the elephant was in the room. Finally, I as the one who was sure of my orientation said, "I live two blocks from here. You want to continue this at my place."
He blushed. Now that was cute. He did have nice features, tilted nose and excellent shaped, white teeth and a full mouth. I was getting giddy now, you think?
"When you say 'continue this' do you mean drinks, or conversation about homosexual stuff?" he said.
"Maybe both, buy I think I need some food. I can make some hamburgers at my place. You want?"
That relaxed him. You could see the tension leave his face and he grabbed my arm again and kinda rubbed it. "Let's go."
I live on the second floor of a brownstone. We trudged up the old staircase and I unlocked the three locks to my flat. That's the way it is in New York. Inside the place was stuffy and I snapped on the enormous window air conditioner. It was a noisy motha and we had to project our conversation to hear over it.
I told him to make himself comfortable in the little livingroom and I got busy with hamburger patties I had in the frig and also threw two rolls in the toaster. Little mother that I am, I set out two place mats on the small dinette table with folder paper towels, mustard and catsup. Soon the stuff was ready and I poked my head into the livingroom to call my guest. Wow, there he was. He had removed his shirt and was in his athletic shirt.
He saw me looking at his full chest and he blushed. He's a heavy blusher, this lad. "It was hot. I, I..."
"No problem. I told you to get comfortable. Dinner's ready."
We sat opposite each other, our knees touching occasionally at the tiny table, really meant for one. He munched his burger like a good school boy and told me that they were good. I opened two beers and we finished the meal and each of us brought the rest of the bottle into the livingroom and he sat on the couch.
Now there are two chairs opposite the couch. I markedly avoided them and sat next to him on the two-seater couch. I think it is called a love seat, how ironic or appropriate, depending on the next hour.
I cleared my throat. He jumped as if I had fired a pistol. I put my hand on his shoulder (bare in his athletic shirt) "Relax, I was just going to say that you have great upper arms." He smiled happily. This was a boy who loved to be appreciated.
He flexed and asked me to feel them. Instead of doing the usual squeezing feel, I stroked them. I stroked them for a long time and then moved to his full lower arm and stroked the inside, a very sensitive place, you think?
He began to take deep breaths. I picked up the slack.
"Why don't we take off our tops and really let the AC do its work?"
He immediately divested himself of his wife beater in that jock way we all love. You know, grabbing the alternate sides and pulled it over the head. Sissy boys are afraid to muss their hair and wiggle it off.
His chest was excellent, no hair, naturally. He wasn't one to wax, I'm sure. I had a fine sprinkling of red hair, I am guessing that he wanted to feel it but didn't ask.
"May I check out your pecs?"
"Okay," he rasped and as I approached those beauties, he began to take short breaths like a weight lifter.
My warm hand closed over the nearest mount and I squeezed gently. Soft and easy wins the race, I said to myself. Then making, what I consider, the first sexual move, I passed my hand rapidly over his tits. He sucked in a hard, noisy breath.
"They're a little sanative," he husked, apologetically.
"I hope so," I said in my best seductive voice.
I got to work on them, flicking my finger and thumb over them until he grabbed my hand.
I looked questioningly at him.
"I'm a little drunk and also I get kinda wrought up with breast stuff, I almost..."
"You mean that got you close?"
"Yeah, it's as if they are wired straight to...you know..."
"Let me try it. Go ahead, do me."
I purposely used that crudity. No more nice boy for me.
He reached out a hand that was, I don't lie, shaking like a cocktail shaker and touched one nubbie with a hesitant finger.
I made the requisite sigh and said that it was nice. Encouraged he moved closer and gave me a real workout, using the pinch method. "Hey Greg," I intoned, pulling his head to my chest. "Why don't you tongue it? That really gets me going."
He didn't waste a second but his tawny head was at my chest, his hair tickling a bit as his hot mouth surrounded a tit and sucked gently. This technique was likely not new to him. I thought sadly of all the girls he had done it with. But still, it was fucking nice and I was slipping into a sex hazy and the novelty of his action was getting me close. I took his head gently off me and slide down on the floor and looked up at him.
"You want to go to second base?"
As an answer, he opened he expensive Polo belt and unzipped his fly and slipped his pants to his ankles. Oh shit, what legs, big thighs, big calf muscles and smooth as silk. I rubbed his thighs, especially the insides. I could see a nice hard on in their, caught sideways in his briefs. (See guys do wear them.)
I rubbed that snake and he wantonly pulled off his shorts. His prick now freed unglued itself from his hot hip and rose in greeting. A faint odor hit my nose. A hot odor, a man odor. I almost cried out in passion at it.
I took my hand and lifted his cock, fitting it into my palm. His eyes were scrunched closed and the tip of his tongue was outside his lips. He looked like a little boy working over his homework.
I reached for his balls. This was introduction time. They were down between his muscular thighs and not readily available until he divined my purpose and spread his legs as far as he could with his pants down, to make access.
He had a big sac, not one of those long hanging ones (which are good too) but one type I like. It was round like a baseballs, hairless and thick skinned. I cupped it, as if I was going to throw a grounder. He let out a slow noisy bleat, and said, almost to himself, "Oh yeah!"
I played with him as I clumsily got my loafers off and then my pants and tee shirt. Clad now in my Italian briefs I could operate better.
We had reached the critical moment. I was damn sure I had no idea of where this would go or where he wanted it to go. I was reluctant to start blowing him, though I sure was in position. I didn't want this to end up that he got his nut by a queer from his office.
I did something that I detest when someone does it to me. I looked deeply into his eyes and said, "What would you want to do?"
"Fucking," he said after a long struggle. "I'd like to try it."
I sat straighter and spoke patiently to him. "Greg, you ought not to assume that all gays want to be fucked. I for one have never been fucked and I don't think I go that way."
He let me finished. Then he put his hand on my bare should and squeezed hard. "I mean I want to try being fucked."
"O-o-o-h," I said. "I can do that. I'm good at it." I said stupidly, I was so taken a back.
"How does this work?" he asked meekly, in a small voice.
I, took unaccustomed command of the situation. "Get your shoes off and pants as those old fashioned tighty-whities and lay on side back on the couch. I'll take care of the rest."
He did exactly as I asked and now he was sitting there, naked, his poor frighted dick shrunken in fear as if he had been swimming in icy water. Even his plumb balls were half-sized.
I separated his legs. They were sweating in from nerves and I leaned between them and sought his lips. His eyes opened wide and his lips immediately pushed out. He was a kisser, just my kind of guy. I pressed myself into those hot firm lips and felt them yield and soften, and in a moment we were licking each other's tongues and panting.
Something was happening, I felt his legs rising.
End Part One