I had seen brian in my neighborhood a few times. He had that look that just about all the youngish business types have. You know what I mean: the slight cockiness and swagger when he walks, the haircut that's too long to be called short, but too short to be called young, the clothes that aren't cheap, but aren't pricy either, and always a size larger than they'd wear if they were gay. I could go on with more description, but you get the idea.
I'd see brian when I'd be heading home from the gym. I work an earlier shift, and I'm out of the office between 4 and 4:30, usually, and then I head to the gym. When I'm done, I walk west to my apartment. Sometimes I'd see him on my walk back home. Clearly, he lived in the neighborhood too (he wasn't going to the gym because brian did have a gym body at all, until I had something to say about it), probably getting off one of the subway lines that were far west and walking to his place. I never followed him home because, well, for a long time, I wasn't really all that interested. I thought he was mildly cute, mildly hot, and looked the same as every single one of those 28--35-year-old single white male professionals you see moving into what WERE gay neighborhoods. Always either a white or blue shirt, two buttons opened in warm weather (I'd see the color of the collar when it was cooler and he was wearing a sweater), and black or navy-blue pants. He wore sneakers, and I suspected that he probably changed to oxford or other "professional" shoes when he got to work.
I wrote I hadn't taken an interest in him, right? Well, maybe I did. Who can explain attraction, especially when, as you and I both know, his type is a dime a dozen . Who can tell? I checked him out every time I saw him. He always walked on the same side of the street, so if I happened to be on the other side and I saw him at a distance, I'd cross over. He knew I was checking him out: he told me so later, and in any event, I knew, because when I passed, I'd see that "look:" you know the one I mean -- somewhere between "thirst trap" and "not you again." He didn't wear a wedding ring, so I assumed he was single rather than divorced. He had an expensive briefcase which I guessed had been a graduation present or something like that. Back then, I couldn't really tell if he had a good ass, because his pants were too baggy. Sometimes, especially when he wore a white shirt, I could see the outlines of his nipples. They're small and they perk up really quickly . (Patience, fellas. I'll talk more about those later). So, we went on in our merry way, me doing some really low-level cruising when I saw him, him passively acknowledging it, and seemingly enjoying it, but not doing anything more than that. Until...
I wrote that he always wore black or navy-blue pants, right? Well, one day, that changed. It was in late summer, on a day that was pleasant enough to not sweat. I hadn't seen brian in a while, and that day, his slacks were one of those colors you see advertised as "chalk" or "slate" or "plaster." If that color was part of his summer uniform, I don't know. This was the first day I saw him wearing them. With a white shirt. Brian has dark brown hair, and dark eyes, and the look pushed him from mildly hot to VERY hot in my mind. I made a decision that changed both of our lives, and I don't regret it. I changed from one side of the street to the one where he was walking, and I pulled out my phone. I turned on the photo feature, and as I got close enough to get a good shot, I took his picture. Did I intend for him to notice? I don't know. But he did. After I had walked on about ten steps I heard him yell.
"HEY. DID YOU JUST TAKE MY PICTURE?" I've been told I have balls of brass, so I smiled and said "Yup, it's a good one, too." I smiled, and I could see his face reddening.
"YOU CAN'T DO THAT, FAG." Now, I had taken pics of other guys before, and I knew that I COULD do it. If I didn't try to use it for commercial purposes, I was fine. "Actually, I can. What if you just happened to get into a picture, I was taking of the sun setting?" He was clearly getting frustrated by my answers. "I INSIST YOU DELETE THAT PHOTO, FAG," he continued. My smiling more, as I saw him get frustrated and angry, just pushed things along. "I didn't intend to, and as long as you use that word, I'm certainly not gonna. Have a good night." I pretended I was heading west. I had no intention of leaving though. I was enjoying this. "OK. DELETE THE FUCKING PHOTO, MR FAGGOT" he ordered. I just shook my head. "Nope. That's not better. Except for the Mister part." "I'M CALLING THE COPS," he screamed, and I shrugged my shoulders. "Go ahead, call `em. When they get here and tell you you're being foolish, you'll just be embarrassed. " I paused. "In any event, you should be flattered that a guy with my muscles thought you were cute." THAT shut him up for a minute. I didn't mention it: I was wearing a tank top because I had just been to the gym. I work out every day, and if I do say so myself, I look pretty damn good for a 45-year-old.
He changed his approach. "Come on! I know what you're planning to do with that photo." I answered: "Do you? What am I planning?" I could see him getting embarrassed. "You're gonna use it to jerk off to." I started to laugh. "Well, WE certainly have a high opinion of ourselves Mr. Straight Boy. But you do happen to be right."
"How do you know I'm straight?" he veered again. "Oh, probably for a lot of the reasons you assumed I was gay." He thought he had me "Well, you are, aren't you? You just told me you were."
"And you're straight, aren't you?" He sputtered "THAT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS." I shook my head. "Ok, questioning. My bad. Mr. Sorta Straight Boy."
You know how small children throw tantrums? I was reminded of that as we went on. "I'M NOT SORTA STRAIGHT. I'M STRAIGHT." Then he realized he had given me enough to shake my head and say, "told you." He was clearly running out of arguments and getting more and more frustrated. He dropped his voice's volume. "Please. I'm really uncomfortable thinking about you, or anyone, jerking off to my picture."
"I bet I'm not the first one who has. You're handsome." Now, the red in his face was more from blushing than anything else. He looked ready to cry. Meanwhile, my evil mind was working overtime. I was beginning to really think that screwing with this guy would be fun. I had a feeling he hadn't had sex in a while -- maybe not since he was in school, and that maybe he had been sucked off by a guy in the past. (It turned out I was right, but that information came later).
"You know, I really like this photo, and I want to keep it. But I tell you what: pick some kind of challenge. Anything you want. You against me. If you win, I'll delete the photo in front of you, then delete it from trash. You'll see it, and it'll be gone. " He gave me a quizzical look. "And what if YOU win?"
"AH, there's always a risk straight boy, isn't there? If I win, I get to take five more pictures. No nudes, but I get to pose you any way I like, and you'll do it."
Frankly, I expected him to just say "the hell with it," or something like that and back off. I don't know what was going on in his mind. Later, when I told my friend Casey about it, he asked me if brian had thrown wood when this was going on. Honestly, I don't know. Even if I had been looking, those pants weren't tight enough to show anything. Casey's pretty astute about things, though, and he suggested that brian probably got very aroused by someone -- anyone -- thinking he was sexually attractive. Still, we were in the middle of a quiet street in an old, settled neighborhood. We weren't going to box, or race, or wrestle, or do one of those general knowledge quizzes. I had the advantage in that I had the photo, and he understood I didn't have to delete it. And I had pushed the burden of picking a challenge on him. What he decided surprised me.
"Wrist wrestling" he answered, and I laughed. "Where the hell are we gonna wrist wrestle around here? You want to find a bar where we can do it?" I made that suggestion because I KNEW- I just knew -- that this guy probably didn't go out to bars at all, and probably spent most of his time online, or playing video games, or something like that. Like I said, he's a type."
"No, not a bar. I live a block from here. It's a walk up , but I guess Mr. Physical Fitness can handle four floors."
"Oh, I went from fag to Mr. Faggot to Mr. Physical Fitness. You should use my name. It's Kyle."
"I'm Brian. I'd shake your hand and say, `it's nice to meet you, but I try to tell the truth." I just chuckled. "You really must think you're going to win with that attitude." He snickered. "Let's go."
I must have passed the building he lived in a million times. It's in a straight line from my gym to my place. I saw the name plate on the buzz in buttons: "B. Farrell." He made another stupid comment: "Front door is always locked, so don't think you're gonna get a chance to take more pictures." I figured he'd never dealt with someone who was more of a smart ass than he was. "Sure I am. Now that I know where you live, I can just post myself outside your building and snap away."
"YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T TAKE ANY MORE PICTURES IF I WON." I shook my head. "Nope. You weren't listening. I said I'd delete the picture I took. I never said I wouldn't take more." I dropped my voice and made it sound like a voice in a horror movie: "You're fair game straight boy." He looked like he had just swallowed sour milk. "Look," I said to him "I promise. I won't stalk you, I won't take anymore photos, nothing. Believe me, stud, there are a lot of guys in this neighborhood who look as good as you do. I'll move on to someone else before you can say `suck me." He gave me a look. "Let's just get this over with."
I have to say that his place was one of the nicer ones I've seen that were inhabited by a single straight guy. It was a small one bedroom, with a kitchen too small for me to use (I love cooking), but it had a little breakfast nook, where I saw a small table. I assumed, correctly, that this is where he was going to have us go at it.
"Can I get you something to drink?" My head snapped up and he laughed. "Surprised? I have some manners. You're a guest in my apartment now. I can be courteous." He was surprising me (and, a year and a half later, he still does). "Maybe after we're done. I'm fine right now. " I paused. "Don't wanna need the bathroom while I'm kicking your ass."
"We'll see about that," he said. Then he asked me which side of the table I preferred. I chose one and sat down. "Winner takes all, or 2 out of three?" I asked. He had to think about it for a minute. "Ok. 2 out of three." He unbuttoned the cuff on his sleeve and put his arm up in position. "Ok, let's go."
"Hairy arms. You hairy all over, Brian?" I asked, and I saw him get flustered. "COME ON. NONE OF THAT. LET'S GO."
"I bet you wax your chest," I added, and he almost stamped his feet. "LOOK, CAN WE JUST DO THIS?" I put up my arm and clenched his hand. "Ready?" I asked "Let's go" he grunted and began pushing.
I suppose his cockiness is what made him pick arm wrestling, but I knew as soon as we clenched that this was a no brainer. The only question was: how long was I going to torment him. I could see he was watching my bicep flex as he tried to push me down. I didn't do much except hold my position. He was strong for someone who didn't work out, but he was working hard. His grimaces showed it. Then I began to get to work, pushing him down to the table. "FUCK!" he shouted when I had him about 1/3 of the way down. I stopped. "Need a break, pretty boy?" "FUCK YOU" he answered, and I continued to work on his wrist. When I had him about 2/3 of the way down, I said "you know, you have really sexy nipples. I can see them through your chest."
SLAM! Down went brian's wrist. He was furious. "YOU DISTRACTED ME," he yelled. "No. YOU distracted ME. You puffed out your chest and tried to distract me with those nips." After a pause I said "And they ARE sexy. I bet I'm not the only person who's told you that." To my surprise, he laughed. "Ok, no more talking. It's 2 out of three."
"It sure is," I answered. "Unless you just want to admit defeat." He grunted and put up his elbow for the next round. "No rest in between?" I asked, and he snickered "Why, old man? You need a breather?"
"NAH. I'll make a prediction. I'll take you down in less than 15 seconds. And if I don't...you win."
"You're a cocky mother fucker," he answered. He had a timer, and he set it off.
Well, it took me 9 seconds. Wasn't difficult. And I had a hard-on now. A raging one that I'm sure showed through my jeans. He sighed, but he didn't make excuses. That impressed me. "You win. It was a stupid thing for me to do. But you won fair and square. I can't beat you. So, get out your phone and take your shots."
"Okay, handsome," I said. "First one, open up your shirt and then strike one of those call boy poses. You know, lean against the wall, hitch your thumb in your pants, and give me a look." His eyes got wide. "YOU SAID NO NUDES." I expected that reaction. "And I'm not gonna have you do anything other than open your shirt. Now, you made the bet, pay up." He sighed, but he looked away from me and opened his shirt. Then he got into the pose without any coaching from me. "Hmmm. You'd make a good escort, you know that?" He made a frown, and I got exactly what I wanted: he looked like an angry hustler. "OH, that was good, Brian. REALLY good. One down, four to go. Now, sit in that chair, but put your wrists behind the back of it.
"HEY. You're not tying me up, are you?" he asked. "Why? Do you want me to?" I smiled. He didn't answer. "Nah, you're just gonna look like you are. Nothing hotter than a sexy man tied up." He sighed and got into the position. "No, no. Not finished yet, bud. Point out those nips like you did when you tried to distract me." "Fuck" he whispered under his breath, but he did it. I took the shot.
I couldn't help remarking "You DO wax, stud. Ever have a Brazilian?" He looked at me. "I'll explain it to you sometime. Or look it up when you play on your computer."
"Ok, now button up again. We're going from tied up hustler to tied up executive." He moved pretty quickly, as if he didn't want his chest to be seen. "You want me to look like I'm wearing a push up bra again?" He asked. "Nope. A captured businessman wouldn't be doing that. GOD I should've brought a gag." I might have been imagining things, but I thought I DID see his crotch twitch when I said that. "That's a gorgeous shot," I said to him. "You'd be a natural bondage model." I think his head was ready to explode at that point and he didn't answer. "OK, you've got three. Just two more."
"Yup. Next one, kind of the same, but roll up your sleeves. I want a record of your hairy arms." It looked like he was beginning to like this. I sure was. When I took the fourth photo I said "Ok, now keep that position." I went and stood my phone on the counter and set a timer. Then I stood behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. I wasn't imagining the soft moan I heard come out of him.
"You're a good sport, Brian." I squeezed his shoulders. "All done." I went and got my camera and looked. I teased him by licking my lips.
"Hey. Do you mind if I have a look?" He asked. "Sure. Just don't do anything silly like trying to grab my phone. " I brought up the photos. I could see a grin coming over his face, and at one point -- I think it was the photo where his shirt was open in the chair -- he said, "not so fast," when I tried to move it forward.
"Well, thanks much, Brian. You made my day." I picked up my gym bag. He was looking down at the floor. "Something wrong?" I asked.
"No. I'm just...embarrassed."
"By the photos?"
"No, but by what I want to ask you." He took a breath. "Do you think I could have a set of those pictures, Kyle?" "Sure!" I told him. "Use them for your online dating profiles, or whatever you want. I just need your number to send them.
"Oh. Yeah. Never mind." I looked at him. "Just block my damn number after I sent them through, ok? Then you don't have to worry. GEEZ. Such a fucking wimp." He sat down, and again, he looked at the floor. He didn't look up. "My number is..." and I punched it in. I sent the photos.
"OK, we done?" I asked. "Yeah, I guess so, Kyle." I headed to the door, and he spoke. "Hey, wait. Kyle. It's getting late but, do you wanna grab a drink or dinner or something?" That caught me completely off guard. "Well, if it weren't a school night, I'd accept, Brian, but we both have work tomorrow and you know..." I shook out my hand. "This baby is really sore from some of the stuff it just did. So, if you want a rain check -- but you decide. You can't block my number if you want to do that, though, cause I'm not gonna stand in front of this building to try to get a place and time to meet." He laughed. "No, I'm not gonna block it. I just...I have some thinking to do. I should do it alone."
"You let me know if you wanna talk, Brian. This was a big deal for you, I know. But it's because I find you really attractive."
"But I'm straight," he wailed. I shrugged my shoulders. "Does that make you less handsome?" He kept looking down. "I guess you're right."
"You gimme a call, handsome boy. We'll figure something out. I promise." He smiled. "Yeah. And Kyle -- thanks for the most interesting evening I've had in a long time." Believe me, I was DYING to say `you ain't seen nothing yet.' I behaved myself. I shook his hand instead of going for a kiss when I let myself out, and yes, I had a really good bating session with those photos. And I had another one, two days later, when he called to see if I had any free time on the weekend.