Disclaimer ==========
This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights (copyright (c) 2000 - ardveche@hotmail.com) to this work and you may not copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between consenting adult males:
- if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ ON.
Now, if everyone who is still here is meant to be here, let's get on with it. This is the first story I've posted so all comments are welcome (email them to ardveche@hotmail.com), but be gentle with me!
The Copier Guy ==============
Part 1: The Office
I hate my job. So that makes me unique, right? I guess maybe not. But is there anyone out there reading this who works every day in a great big version of one of those mazes they make rats run through? Anyone who sits for lets say ten hours in a sensory deprivation chamber known as a 'cubicle'? Well you guys know that I REALLY hate my job. Straight out of college and into the wonderful world of accountancy. And here I am still, six years down the line and going nowhere. I just can't bring myself to suck-up to the dork who runs my section so spend most days dreaming about better jobs. About Matt Damon showing up some day and begging me to quit and go help him with his taxes. Where the hell are you when a guy needs you, Matt?? Sigh!
Anyway, a bit about me, to help you visualise the loser. My name's Mike Robins, a not bad looking, pretty well built, 5'11" with dark brown hair and blue eyes, I'm 29 (about a month away from my thirtieth birthday) and I am the most miserable of God's creations. My girlfriend of four years broke up with me about a week ago - I was fooling myself, but apparently not her. I've been gay pretty much as long as I can remember, but I've been in denial (do you know how much I had to pay an hour to be told that?), so I've never been with another guy. I just don't know how I'd go about meeting a guy. I've chatted to tons of other guys on the Internet, but at the last moment I always freak and can't meet with them. What if they're nothing like they are online? What then?
So here I am, single, frustrated and swamped in work. As if that's not enough, some idiot's jammed the copier (which is just outside my cubicle) so I've had to spend the last hour explaining to people that, "no, it was not me" and that, "no, I don't know what's wrong" and that, "yes, I have called the service centre", but, "no, I don't know when the repair guy will show up". Did I mention that I hate my job? An hour of this, this and well-meaning idiots trying to fix it themselves, but I haven't gone on a killing rampage. At least it'll be time for lunch soon.
I always eat lunch in my cubicle rather than the cafeteria, this way I get some peace and quiet once I eat my sandwich to add some more touches to my current fantasy. I leaned back in my chair, put my feet up, closed my eyes and took up where we left off. I had to go over to Matt's house to help him out with a particularly tricky problem with his return. One thing led to another and we ended up in his pool...
"Mr., uh, Robins?" The questioning tone brought me back from my reverie. I'd been caught, I felt the hot flush of guilt even if there was no way anyone knew what I was daydreaming about. My eyes flew open and I made to stand up but tripped over my own feet and crashed into the guy standing in my cubicle's door. Thankfully, he caught me, and my God was he strong! And did he ever smell good! My face was against his chest and he was holding my arms to steady me. I jerked back, righted myself ad straightened my tie, trying to look both businesslike and manly at the same time. "You okay?" he asked?
"Yeah, yeah, sorry, yeah, I'm fine. Bit dizzy, must've stood up too quickly, sorry", I explained to my shoes.
"You are Mr. Robins, right? Uh, Michael Robins?" He checked my name on a crumpled bit of paper he took out of his pocket. "You called about the copier?" I shuffled some papers about on my desk until I got control of my embarrassment at falling on him like that.
I finally looked up and got a proper look at him, he was NOT the guy that came last time, oh no. The last guy was 45, overweight and balding - not my fantasy, but it takes all sorts, right? This guy was none of those things. He was in his early twenties, a couple of inches taller than me and seriously fit, blond with the deepest, brown eyes I have ever seen. He was dressed real sharp too, in a fashionable black suit with a light blue shirt and that awful company tie they make them all wear. Without that tie, he'd have passed for a god, that kept him human! Actually, I could have lived without the tie, without anything come to that, bet he'd look good!
It struck me that I was standing there staring at him and fantasising about seeing him naked but I still hadn't answered him. There was an odd expression on his face that said he found my weirdness faintly amusing but that if it went on he might find it worrying.
"Um, yeah, that's me, sorry." Jeez, I can't even tell the guy if he got my name right without sounding like a total moron!
"You know that's the third time you've apologized already." Ouch, and he spotted it too. Not to worry though I had a brilliant comeback ready, I apologized to him again. Doh!
"Sorry." His face split in a big wide grin, a mouthful of perfect teeth. Okay, so he's decided that I am a psycho, but I'm the harmless kind.
"Forget about it. If my boss knew how much time I spent doing actual work, or not doing it, he'd fire my ass in a split second. My name's Scott." He stuck his hand out and I took it, hoping my palm was dry.
"Hi, nice to meet you, Scott, and I'm sure you're a model employee!" Good firm handshake, and that grin again! I found myself grinning back at him and maybe, just maybe, holding his hand for a second too long. Just long enough for him to look at me kinda quizzically.
"So where's the patient, Mr. Robins?" Well, I sure blew that, he's Mr. Professional all of a sudden.
"Oh, just round the corner here", I showed him where, "and, please, call me Mike."
"Sure thing, I guess I ought to be on first name terms with any guy who throws himself at me." He flashed another grin, walked over to the copier and squatted in front of it giving me a great view of his ass and thighs filling out his suit pants. Now what on earth did that comment mean?
He opened up the unit and started doing copier-guy type things inside it with some tools from his case (don't ask me what they were!), and occasionally he'd mutter something to himself. Me, I just kinda stood and watched him, I don't know if he was good bad or indifferent at his job but I could've followed him around all day and watched him! Finally he pulled a sheet of slightly blackened and very crumpled paper out and stood up. "You know, more than half the problems I get called out for could be fixed in thirty seconds if some idiot didn't try to fix it for me? Here's what caused your initial problem though. See this slot?"
"Yes."
"This machine doesn't do duplexing, that's not a paper slot, it's an air vent. Some people, huh?" He tapped his forehead and grinned. "You stick paper in there, you're lucky it only jams, could've gone up in flames, then you wouldn't be calling me."
"Yeah, some real fools work here", we both grinned at that, "So what do I do if it happens again?" Keep him talking.
"Well, you've got three options really." He counted them off on his fingers, "One: put up a sign reminding people not to shove things in the ventilation slots - which won't work, nobody'll read it! Two: buy a copier that has a duplexing unit - which is unlikely, knowing this firm. Or three: call me - here's my card, any problems just give me a call."
"Great, thanks."
"No problem, Mike, see you around." Big grin, and that was it, he was walking away, leaving the building and there I am standing holding his card and watching him go. After all this time I've still got the moves. Of a thirteen year old. He must've thought I was a prize moron. He's known me for like fifteen minutes and I've spent the whole time either falling on him or staring vacantly at him. Oh well, at least I have something new to think about while I'm meant to be working. Move over, Matt!
Scott. Scott Logan, in fact. It was all on his card, unsurprisingly, office number, pager and cell phone. Scott Logan, all six feet something of him would be featuring very heavily in my private fantasies for a while. Unlike Matt, I'd actually seen and touched and smelled him. Oh yeah, Scott, I've got a problem and I just know you're the man to fix it. With that thought I returned to my cubicle, my little fantasy kingdom and my interrupted nap.
Part 2: Dale's Advice
I spent the rest of the day in some pretty serious fantasizing. And believe me, in my dreams Scott turned out to be the best damn lover the world has ever known. The best part about that, of course, is that the company still paid me and I did everything short of jack off in my cubicle. Which, if I had a door, I might even have done. I was supposed to be meeting a friend of mine after work for a drink and I was pretty keen to get packed up and out of there as soon as possible so I curtailed my dreams and straightened my desk up. For a change I was first out, and was well on my way to the bar before my chair stopped spinning.
Dale hadn't made it to the bar by the time I got there - he has further to come than I do. So while we wait for him, I'll tell you a bit about him. Dale was my roommate in college and we've been best friends ever since, we always hung out together and I ended up as his best man. Which is kind of ironic, as I always had a bit of a thing for him. Bet that surprised you. Its not that he's totally gorgeous or anything, though he's not bad, he's just a great guy, always got time to listen and always really nice to everyone. He's about my height and build (we play squash together) with brown hair and eyes and he works real hard as a lawyer to keep Eileen and the kids in good style.
His wife is real lucky, as I constantly tell her! Don't worry, I've been friends with Eileen for about as long as I have with Dale and it was them I went to after my break up and them I first came out to. Actually, only them I've ever come out to. I got really drunk and blurted it all out, including the part about wanting Dale all through college, which pretty much stopped conversation for a moment. Then they both stood up and I thought I was about to get thrown out, but I wasn't, they both came over and hugged me. Eileen is constantly on at Dale to find some 'nice man' at work and bring him home for me. Thankfully he's resisted so far. How awkward would that be? But he's always there for me, I've lost track of how many nights we've sat up getting drunk, him listening and me yapping about how awful it is to be me. A true friend, in other words.
"Hey, late again, sorry, bud! Only a half hour this time!" He said checking his watch as he walked over to me. "What're you drinking?"
I realized I'd been standing there for about twenty minutes and I hadn't even ordered myself a drink. My mind must've wandered. "Scotch."
"The hard stuff, huh? Tough day at work?" He signaled to get the bartender's attention. I have zero bar presence, I can be the only one there and never get served. Dale can walk into a place, standing room only, and have a tray of drinks in ten seconds flat. "Wanna tell me about it?" He said loosening his tie as the drinks were poured.
"Work was fine. Better than fine in fact. Cheers." I took a big swallow of the whisky, good old Dale, he'd bought the good stuff.
"And I'm the tooth fairy, Mikey, c'mon spill. You know I can always tell when you're lying. Don't make me pour the whole bottle in you to get the information." He had a point, not that a few more drinks would hurt.
"Eileen would be ecstatic if you did that! If we show up to dinner absolutely out of our minds on Scotch she'll skin you alive."
"That's my problem, so tell me about this better than fine day of yours, and explain how come it ended with your bottom lip down round your ankles."
I hadn't been aware of being depressed when I came in here, but now I really was. And even if I could somehow manage to lie to Dale, I couldn't lie to myself (though sometimes that's much easier), I knew exactly what was wrong. "I met this guy at work today."
"No kidding? Maybe we should go get a booth, huh?" He steered me across the bar to a booth that was just emptying and we slid into the seats. "So, what's his name? What's he like? When are you guys going out? Why don't you bring him round to our place for dinner?"
"It's not that simple, Dale."
"Sure it is, you just like to complicate stuff. You like him, he likes you, bingo. That's all you need at this stage. Who knows if he's your soul mate? Who cares? If you never go on a first date, you'll never go on a second. Am I right? Well?"
"Yeah, you're right. But first we're not going on a first date, I don't even know if he's, you know."
"Gay." Not a question, not from Dale. He never lets me get away with dodging round stuff.
"Yeah, I don't know if he's gay. And even if he is, why would he be interested in me. You didn't see this guy, Dale." I sighed, why would he be interested in me? Why would any guy be interested in someone like me? What could a dyed in the wool closet case like me possibly have to offer, even assuming I could get up the courage to talk, you know TALK, to a guy?
"Well, did you ask him?"
"No! Of course I didn't! Hi Scott, the broken copier's right there, but before you get started, can I just ask if you're gay? Oh, and single? Yeah, right. Come on Dale." I told him the whole story about Scott's visit to the office, leaving nothing out, including me falling on him (which Dale thought was hilarious - thanks, pal!) and the extended handshake and the funny look he gave me. When I was finished I was more depressed than when I began.
"So he's a copy repair guy. Have you seen him before?"
"No, it's a different guy every time. Here's his card, I might as well rip it up and forget about the whole thing, its no use to me." I handed him the card Scott had given me earlier and which I had been playing with when Dale arrived.
"Scott Logan, huh? You always deal with his firm?"
"Yeah. Why?" I couldn't see where this was going.
"What firm is that, because this card doesn't actually say? And I'm willing to bet that no other copier guy you've dealt with ever gave you their card, am I right?"
"Yeah, I always just call their office number, and they send whoever's available or nearest." I was beginning to see what Dale was driving at.
"Want my advice? Jam that damn thing again and call him. If he makes excuses or someone else comes, forget about it. If he comes himself then I say throw that boy down on the copier and kiss him tell he doesn't know which way is up." I burst out laughing, Dale has a knack of making everything sound so damn easy, even absurd things like that! Even though I knew there was no way on earth I was taking Dale's advice on this one, I found myself feeling a lot better. I slammed down my scotch and stood up.
"We should get going, Eileen is expecting us."
"You are indeed the sultan of segue, Mikey! This conversation is not over, just on hold. Remember that."
We didn't say a lot on the drive over to his place. Mainly because I was following him in my car! When we got there, Eileen was in the kitchen and the kids (twin girls, five years old and so adorable!) were watching TV. We were just in time, nothing was burnt, so we sat straight down to dinner and the subject of my godlike repair man was forgotten. Or so I hoped. After we ate, Dale took the girls upstairs while Eileen and I settled into the sofa with the rest of the wine and chatted about nothing much until he came back.
"Pour me some of that wine, you souse!" He kicked me in the shin and held out his glass. "So did Mikey tell you he met a guy today?"
"Daaaaaaale!" I whined. I should've known he wouldn't let it lie.
"No he did not. Bad boy!" Eileen hit my arm in mock outrage and sat forward to hear the story. "Tell all, I want every gory detail."
"There's nothing to tell, but I'm sure Dale will turn it into a three hour epic. The floor is yours, maestro!" If it looks like I gave up too easily, you just don't know how persistent this two can be, resistance was futile.
"So he was in the office tearing his hair out over a broken copier, when this vision of loveliness arrived to fix it..." And so the story went on as Dale rehashed everything I had told him earlier in the bar, missing out nothing. Then he expounded his crackpot theory to Eileen who sat in silence for the whole story. When he finished she turned and looked at me.
"I don't think you should take Dale's advice." She finally said.
"See! Ha! Told you you were nuts!" My crowing was to be short lived.
"Wait a minute, Mike. I DO think you should jam the copier, but I think you should do it just before five. If he shows up then and doesn't put you off to the morning that's a pretty good sign. Just wait until he fixes it and then ask him if you can buy him a drink, to thank him for service above and beyond the call of duty and so on. I would hold off the throwing down and the kissing until the third jam."
Dale burst out laughing, and leant over to kiss his wife on the cheek. Even I had to admit it sounded like a pretty good plan. Totally plausible, what did I have to lose? It was worth a try.
To Be Continued... ==================
Like I said at the start, any comments or suggestions should be emailed to me at ardveche@hotmail.com and I'll try to reply to them, but be nice!