Synopsis: Byron and Patrick part company, but not before Byron accepts what his "old friend" came to give him...
Chapter 3
Byron tried not to let his true feelings of dread show on his face, clearing his throat as he attempted to regain his composure. He straightened up, rolled his shoulders back, and puffed out his chest -- all minor moves that, even when he was standing on a busy public street in nothing but his underwear, succeeded in making him look like a commanding figure.
Although something deep inside Byron told him he should be wary of Patrick, the rational part of Byron's brain was still speaking loud and clear: there was no way on earth he'd be wearing the skimpiest costume he'd ever seen in his life in front of all of his friends and fellow townsfolk tonight -- and, more importantly, there was absolutely no reason why he should think that Patrick could make that decision for him.
"Listen, Patrick," Byron began calmly and assertively, his voice lowering an octave further as part of his overall attempt to call on the authoritative manliness his general build and appearance exuded. "Maybe I could wear something like this when I was an 18-year-old freshman, but now --"
"But now," Patrick said, once again cutting Byron off abruptly, having little regard for what Byron was actually trying to say. "Now, you want to do it again."
Patrick's gaze was steady, locking eyes with Byron as though he were daring the much taller, much stronger, and much more imposing man in front of him to disagree with his statement about what Byron wanted.
Naturally, Byron opened his mouth to contradict Patrick's claim. Why on earth would he want to do something so demeaning and humiliating again? That photo from 2007 flashed into his mind. No matter how hard he tried to write it off as a joke that got out of hand, everything about the scene pictured there absolutely told him it wasn't a "boys will be boys" moment of tomfoolery, but more of a "this boy's a fuck-toy" moment of public indecency.
His body reacted instinctively to the thought of being so openly objectified, with a cold shiver running down his spine.
Yet, at that same moment, an altogether more alarming involuntary bodily response also came to Byron's attention -- an undeniable sudden throb between his legs, his dick chubbing up ever so slightly.
"I..." Byron began, studying Patrick's face as he felt dual impulses rising up inside of him: one part dreading what Patrick had stated as a mortifying premise, and the other apparently welcoming the idea as a thrilling possibility.
"I..." Byron began again, his eyes narrowing on the unfamiliar face in front of him, still trying to figure out who this mysterious stranger actually was and how his words could cause such strongly warring reactions inside of him.
"I... want to do it again," Byron finally said, so quietly that he himself barely heard the words coming out of his mouth. His hand clasped around the medical-mask mankini it held (small enough to fit in a single one of his palms), a sign that he had acquiesced and accepted the "gift" Patrick had given him.
Patrick's gaze remained steady, his tight-lipped smile now expanding to a full and toothy grin upon hearing Byron's words. The shorter man looked suddenly triumphant -- as though all of the other inexplicable things that he had made happen so far (somehow getting Byron to throw an impromptu party, somehow convincing Byron to walk out into the street in his underwear in the middle of the afternoon, and so on) had been nothing compared to what he just gotten Byron to agree to in that moment.
"I was hoping you would," Patrick said, wetting his lips before his eyes trailed down to Byron's bare torso once again. "You've still got the body for it, that's for sure," he added, taking stock of the even-beefier and more-well-muscled physique that the 31-year-old Byron now had.
The normally self-confident and self-assured Byron blushed despite himself as Patrick's eyes openly feasted on every inch of his bare flesh once again. In his state of confusion, he'd adopted a kind of tunnel vision, tuning out everything other than Patrick in front of him. He'd completely lost sight of the fact that, not only was he clad in nothing other than the boxer shorts he wore to bed, but that dozens of people were still scoping him out from the sidewalk, street, and neighbouring yards -- a scene made all the more humiliating by the fact that he stood there next to man dressed like he belonged in a law office or a bank.
He glanced around, feeling embarrassed all over again when he actually saw that he was undoubtedly the centre of attention. Most would likely say that their looks were "curious" when taking in such a strange sight, but Byron could tell even from a quick glance that there was a hunger in many of those gazes, eagerly lapping up the show.
He attempted yet again to centre himself, straightening up and giving a polite nod to a young couple gawking at him from across the street. Hadn't they bought their new cabinets from him just last week? He shuddered at the thought they -- along with so many others -- would be mentally undressing him again the next time he saw them in his store.
"I, uh..." Byron stammered, turning his attention back to Patrick as he tried to suppress the hot blush he could feel rising in his cheeks. "I need to, uh, get things ready for tonight," he stated vaguely, feeling like any excuse to remove himself from this situation would suffice.
Mercifully, his feet started to move slowly in the direction of his front door once more, seemingly free to take him away from the street now that Patrick's reason for dragging him out here had been satisfied.
"Yeah, me too," Patrick replied, his eyes finally leaving their intense study of Byron's plump pectorals so that he could give the other man a wink to accompany his own statement.
What could Patrick have to get ready for tonight? His own costume, or something even worse yet in store for Byron himself?
Not wanting to stick around in this very public place any longer, Byron decided it wasn't worth it to ask for any clarification, being mostly thankful that it at least meant an end to this particular exchange. The redheaded stranger didn't move to follow Byron as he was stepping backwards towards his front door, instead turning back to his car.
Before climbing into the driver's seat, Patrick glanced behind him, letting his eyes run up and down Byron slowly one more time before adding in a devilish tone, "Be seeing you."
Byron, for his part, felt a huge relief as soon as Patrick was out of sight. It was like something finally clicked into place inside of him, telling him that whatever sway Patrick had over him was now fully gone with the knowledge the strange man was done with whatever he'd wanted him to do over by his car.
At that, Byron turned around towards his home, speed-walking towards his door as quickly as he could without seeming even more comical than he already appeared. He tried again to act like none of this was bothering him, giving a polite wave to the elderly man sitting on his patio next door. Mr. Simmons just gave him a disapproving glare in response, no doubt having lost any respect he had for his neighbour after seeing him parade about publicly in nothing but his underwear in the middle of the afternoon.
Trying to get back to his front door as unassumingly as he could, the blushes on Byron's face persisted as he felt the whole neighbourhood's eyes on his back, feeling certain in the knowledge that everyone he had spotted when he'd looked around a few moments ago was now just enjoying the view from a new angle, either admiring the well-developed muscles of his back or perving on the two meaty globes of an ass that even loose-fitting boxer shorts could not entirely obscure.
As he finally reached his door and stepped back inside to the privacy of his own home, Byron let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been unconsciously holding. Immediately afterwards, he realized he was unconsciously holding yet another thing as he reached out to close the door behind him: a medical mask with two extra-long strings attached -- an exceptionally tiny rectangle of paper-thin material that would be the only thing separating every last inch of his flesh from everyone he knew in just a few hours' time.
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