This is a story about a continuing relationship between two men in New York City. It includes explicit homosexual acts. If you are underage or find such material distasteful, please read no further.
If you are choosing to read the story, please let me hear from you. Your criticisms are really appreciated. Write me at macoutmann@yahoo.com.
The people and events in the story are totally fictitious, but actual locales are used to add realism.
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Copyright 2015 by Macout Mann. All rights reserved.
AT FIRST SIGHT
by Macout Mann
II
My "apartment" is like many others designed for bachelors in poverty. They can be found from the village all the way up to the Bronx. It has one room with a Murphy Bed that can be pulled down from the wall, an "efficiency kitchen" in a corner, and a small bath to the side.
My bed has not been "up" since I moved in. The sheets are clean. That is, they are not stained with cum. The fridge contains eggs mostly. Well, some bacon, sausage and cold cuts. Bread, cereal and instant coffee are all that's found in the cupboard.
When we arrive, I think I should've said, "Let's go to your place."
"Welcome to my humble home," I say.
"What d'ya mean, `humble?'" he responds. "It has a bed. Everything we need."
He undoes my belt buckle. Then he kisses me!
In all my life I've never let a dude kiss me. Shit that really is queer! But I let his tongue spear my mouth and I respond. For once I'm not into getting laid so much as I am into being with my guy. We embrace like some gal and some guy might have hugged each other in a 1940s movie. And it feels good.
I wake up next morning feeling so rested. Wilbur and I are totally entwined. The sheets are no longer clean. My ass is dripping and so is his. Both our dicks are not capable of sustaining a piss hard. I've never ever felt this way after a night of sex.
I arouse him by going down on his eight inch wiener.
"Mumph," I hear him grunt.
"Would you like an edible sausage for breakfast or just a swallowable one?" I ask.
"Whatever," he mumbles. "Just let me nestle with your wonderful bod."
I hit the bathroom, do my thing, and cook a breakfast of link sausage, scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee.
Wilbur climbs out of bed and for the first time I really appreciate the glory of his naked body. It is perfect. I resist the temptation to eat him instead of the meal I have prepared.
We have breakfast without bothering to dress, then shower together. My shower is only a three foot square, but we manage to squeeze in and soap each other.
"Do you have any plans for today?" he asks.
"Only work tonight," I answer.
"Let's go up to Central Park," he says.
He leads the way up Waverly Place to Seventh Avenue, where he hails a cab. It's late August and an ideal day to enjoy Central Park. I had never spent any time there and am looking forward to it. We begin at the zoo. Then Wilbur hears that there is a "Heart of the Park" tour being led by the Central Park Conservancy guides, so we wander up to the Morse statue at 72nd Street, where the tour begins. It takes about ninety minutes and we are shown some of the parks most significant landmarks. Then we wander back south to the Tavern on the Green, where we have a late lunch. Wilbur tells me that the restaurant has been recently reopened after an extensive renovation. For the remainder of the afternoon we lounge about Sheep Meadow and sun ourselves. I have never felt so comfortable with another person, and I wish the afternoon would never end; but I have to be at work by five. We take a cab from Central Park South back down Seventh Avenue.
"I have some projects and research to take care of, but I'm pretty much on my own man until the fall term begins," Wilbur says. "What is your day off?"
"Monday," I reply.
"Let's have dinner Monday night. I'll come by your place about seven. O.K.?"
"Sure." Me, the king of one night stands, was overwhelmed. I was going to get to see him again!
After we exchange phone numbers, I am dropped at Asti, and Wilbur continues on.
Saturday is the most hectic night of the week, but I am floating on air. I am scheduled to sing "La Donna e Mobile," and get a roaring ovation and even compliments from some of my fellow waiters who are much more experienced than I. After work I don't even think of looking for a trick. I just head home and think about Wilbur. It's after one when I fall asleep.
One of the great things about not being on the ranch anymore is that I don't have to go to church. It's not that I don't believe. It's just that I don't want to be told every Sunday that I'm going to hell because I'm queer.
I wake up but still snooze until about ten. When I do get up, Wilbur is still on my mind. I wonder what he's doing right now.
I have puffed wheat and bad coffee for breakfast. Then the phone rings.
"Yeah?"
"Jack?....Wilbur. I've been thinking about you. What's up?"
"Oh God! I've been thinking about you too. Could it be?" I think. "Just lazing around," I say to him. Could it really be?
"I'm really looking forward to tomorrow night," Wilbur says.
"Oh, so am I," I respond.
"You take care," he says, and then hangs up.
I finally face the fact that I'm falling for this dude. Otherwise, why would I even have a second date with him? Well, a first date really. Last night was just a hookup. That's where shit like this is supposed to stop, isn't it?
I take a walk down to Battery Park, then take the ferry to Staten Island and back. I have a lot to think about. And most of my thoughts involve Wilbur.