The guy looked like he must bench cattle for fun. But he didn't have the usual power-lifter's gut. He was thick, but his waistline wasn't. I had a difficult time figuring out if he was a bodybuilder or a power lifter. His shoulders and chest bespoke unspeakable power.
He was built like a herd of oxen!
I blinked my eyes while I tried to shake the image out of my mind, but when I took another look, I was no less astounded.
So, if you're a reader of gay erotica, you've certainly read yarns about the pickup at the coffee shop. These stories are almost ubiquitous. But when I looked at this guy, standing in line at my own, personal S-bux, my mind filled with the fantastical possibilities.
Now, I got not vibes whatsoever from this guy, as far as registering on Gaydar. He did look around the store a little while he waited, but hell, if you looked like you could throw a cow into orbit, you'd probably be at least mildly curious about who was looking.
I was looking—and when our eyes met, I immediately averted my gaze. Too late. He kept looking. At me. I'm not going to go on a bragging tirade here, but until Mr. Ox came in, I do have to admit that I didn't really have any competition in the restaurant, as far as muscle size and aesthetics go. I spend more than my fair share of hours in the gym, and it shows. And when I'm cruising the gay bars, I usually have my choice as to whom accompanies me home.
But when this guy came in, I was out. Blown out of the water. Not even in his league. Not even in his galaxy!
And apparently, he knew it. How could you not...
I looked back at him, to find him still checking me out. My heart rate increased. He turned to the counter as the line moved forward one position. A moment later our eyes met again.
I'd say the dude was just a tad over six-foot; the more I studied him, the more I found myself in the "this guy is a bodybuilder" camp, than the "powerlifter" camp. Although I dunno...
He wore a tight shirt—but not too tight. His arms were litterally so fucking huge that they wouldn't let the sleeves slip lower than his broad shoulders. Obviously designed to show off everything, but not so tight that it made him look like he was trying. Fuck, he certainly didn't need to try. His arms were the size of legs. He was really lean and vascular. Veins like a Thomas Map Book of highways. Yeah, bodybuilder.
When he ordered, he faced directly away from me, and I saw his lats. God in fucking heaven almighty save us from destruction. The gym I work out in has some heavy-duty bodies there, but this guy would have them in tears. His shoulders were the stuff of cannonball legend. And from the back, his triceps screamed with more definition than I had seen when he had first walked in. Then there was that ass! I nearly spilled my Frappuccino®. Rigid ass muscles—big enough to be delicious, but as tight as rock, from what I could tell. God, to be those jeans. His upper legs were behemoths.
He stepped to the barista's oval and waited for his drink. He glanced at me again. I hadn't looked away.
Was that a friendly nod he just gave me?
Fuck, his chest was astounding. I consider myself to be quite the connoisseur of muscle dishes, and just for the record, Mr. Ox was now the meal to beat. I'd never seen someone so gorgeously gigantic and so wonderfully wide.
He whipped out his cell phone and fiddled with it while he waited.
"Venti Caramel Flan Frappuccino® for Jarrett," the barista announced.
He stepped forward and grabbed his drink.
Jarrett. I was now officially in love.
He walked away with his drink, trying to balance his attention between whatever app he was using on his phone—and deciding where to sit. Turns out there just happened to be a small table in front of mine. He sat, facing me, at the next table. Like, you know, we were facing each other. Now I noticed how gorgeous his short, tight-curly brown hair was. It had a suggestion of blond highlights. He started sipping his drink, and continued to work his app.
Again, I averted my gaze, but my eyes weren't about to ignore this feat of muscle magnificence that sat at the table directly next to mine.
He finished with his phone and slipped it into his belt holder. His gigantic triceps grew and undulated with this task. Fuuuuuuuggege... I nearly melted into the floor watching that. He glanced up at me, & caught me looking again—or still. He gave the slightest of smiles.
I know I was gawking. How could I not? I hoped he was used to that. How could he not be?
"How's it goin'?" he said to me across our tables.
"Good," I responded with a nod. Then I said, "Man, I just gotta say, you look astounding."
He smiled a bit more now. "Thanks."
"No, I mean, really," I insisted. "I don't think I've ever seen someone built like that."
He smiled broadly, but not so much that he looked amused. "Thanks. I appreciate that." He took a sip. "You work out around here?"
Like I said, I'm built well enough to stand out in a crowd, but the fact that Mr. Ox had noticed, made me feel really good. "Yeah, over at Hercules' Haven," I answered. "You?"
"Just moved to town," he said. "I've got a one-week pass to Samson's Strength Salon; giving that a try."
"I've never been there. But I know Hercules' gives out those one-week passes too. You should give it a try."
He nodded and took another sip. "Well, I think I will. When do you usually work out?" His eyes were twinkling.
"Me?" I choked. "Oh, um, well I usually work out first thing in the morning." But if you want to work out in the evening, I'll be sure to show up then!
"Cool," he smiled. "Me too. Do you have a workout partner?"
"No," I said. "Actually, I've been looking for one. My old partner just moved to Schenectady.
Now he stood. He pulled out the chair at my table and extended his hand. "Jarrett Baker," he said. I knew about the Jarrett part.
I rose off my butt, but not to a full stand and shook his paw. "Sean. Sean Scott," I said.
"Welcome to Constantinople Village," I offered.
"Thanks. Mind if I join you?" His smile now held a hint of a smirk.
If you only knew! Join me? Uh... yeah! You'll never know the WAY I'd like to have you join me!
"Sure, have a seat," I said. Now, only inches from my eyes, his forearms bulged with muscle fibers. I just stared. Finally, still ogling them, I said, "God almighty. Those are the thickest forearms I've ever seen!"
Without saying anything, he wriggled his fingers, and all hell broke loose on those babies: muscles dancing, veins pulsing, tendons and fibers all rippling. He watched my reaction, but didn't respond.
"Fuck," I mumbled. I smiled faintly. "Oh, sorry," I said. I didn't know if he'd be offended by my expletive.
He smiled. "No problem. I've said my share of cuss words."
"I guess I'm just at a loss for words. You're blowing me away, man."
He chuckled. His eyes twinkled more. Then a thought struck him. "Hey, since I'm new to Constantinople Village, maybe you could suggest a restaurant or two."
"Sure," I brimmed. "What kind of places to you like?"
He fiddled with his straw. Again with the rippling forearms! He looked up at me and said, "Oh, I don't know. Where do you like to hang out?"
Personally, I did have a few favorite places, but they were mostly gay bars. I decided to just get this all over with. "Well, I have a few haunts that I like. But I'm not sure you'd be interested in them."
"Why not?"
I cleared my throat. "Well... a couple of them are gay bars."
He pursed his lips, thinking. He paused about five years, it seemed, fiddling with that damn straw again. He looked up at me and said, "What makes you think I wouldn't like that?"
I sighed; he smiled.
"I... I guess I just wasn't getting the vibe, man," I said."
"Well, maybe you will after some time." He took another sip, sat his Frapp down, then said,
"But you know, now that I think about it, I'm kind of in the mood to stay in tonight," he said.
"Besides, I can't think of a reason to go to a bar now—now that I've met the hottest guy in Constantinople Village."
I wanted to swing around to see if he was looking at someone behind me. "Dude, you have no idea," I said. "I mean... I'm kind of in to muscle guys."
"Really?" Now he was teasing me. He laughed now. "Sean, I know who you are. As soon as you said your name. I've read all of your books, Seanny. And your short stories. Your devious mind—what a turn-on."
I swallowed hard. "Wow. This is not unlike one of those stories, Jarrett. Here I am, just minding my own business, sitting at a S-bux, when Mr. Ox walks in and..."
"...and," he said, "the rest happens in Chapter Two?"
I smiled. "Precisely."
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