The Seduction of Roger

THE SEDUCTION OF ROGER Part One by K. Nitsua. Copyright 2020 by the author.

Every gay man at some point in their lives runs into someone who provokes lust at first sight. Someone who is just their type, handsome, hunky, hungÑand straight. Usually that's the end of the story for me. I'm good enough looking and comfortable in my skin. I have a busy enough social life that I don't feel the need to go chasing after men who don't play for the same team.

This particular man, though, was so irresistible that I had to make an exception.

Seducing RogerÑI didn't know his name for a long whileÑdid not get off to an encouraging start. I began to notice him after I'd been going to the gym, where we both still have a membership, for a few months. I'm serious about keeping fit, though I neither think or look like a gym rat. I was one of the regulars, a group of maybe a dozen men and women I saw at least once a week, sometimes more. All of us were past the age where we were interested in becoming models. We were just hoping to postpone our decrepitude a few more years.

Some of us were friendly and made small talk when we happened to run into each other in the locker room or at the pool. The man I picked out of the crowd was not. In fact he was definitely standoffish. Handsome men often are, especially if they perceive that you are giving them the eye. I thought I was being discreet, but at some point I must have given myself away.

His schedule was like clockwork, Monday and Thursday afternoons. He'd spend at least half an hour and usually more doing cardio, either the treadmill, stationary bike, or elliptical, serious endurance work. After that long most people would come back on an alternate day to do their resistance work, but after toweling off and getting a drink he would be back at it on the weights for another forty minutes or so.

It all paid off, which is why, try as I might, I could not keep my eyes off of him. It wasn't that the guy was fitness model material. He was beginning to lose his hair on top and his stomach, though trim, was not a six-pack. There wasn't an ounce of excess fat elsewhere on his body, though. His shoulders were broad, his biceps bulged, and his forearms, corded with muscle, ended in large, strong hands. His chest was imposing, and hairy enough that tufts peeked out of the neckline of the tank tops he liked to wear. His shorts, while not tight or revealing, were a bit shorter than most men wear them these daysÑshort enough to set off his sturdy thighs and muscled calves. Despite the seriousness of his workouts he always looked sleek and put togetherÑhair all in place, skintight workout shirt hugging his torso.

That was my first reason to hope that he wasn't totally unavailable, actually, much more so than the fact that he didn't wear a wedding ring. How could a man so conscious of his appearance possibly be completely heterosexual? Yet the only people I ever saw him chitchatting with were either women, or straight men with not a whisper of anything ambiguous about them. The snatches of overheard conversation I heard were not promising either. Work, sports, and occasional crude remarks about what a woman working out across the room was wearing. Like I said, not promising.

But then there was his post-workout routine. The gym had recently remodeled its shower area. Formerly it had consisted of a maze of stalls with opaque, interlocking walls. I had always been convinced that the whole idea was to discourage hanky-panky in the stalls, which occasionally happened at off hours with the old setup. In the renovation all of the old walls had been removed and replaced by two rows of individual stalls made of translucent plastic that lined both sides of the rectangular space. Each had its own door and shower head.

The entryway was set so that some of the stalls could be seen from the main locker room. Most guys who used the showers at all made sure they chose a stall not visible from the lockers. Not that you could see anything really detailed through the frosted glass, but a perv like me could see enough.

You would have thought my unfriendly straight guy would make sure to take his post-workout shower in the furthest corner of the shower room, right? Wrong. He would stride down the tiled aisle, holding a nondescript towel around him that was just a little too small to stay unassisted around his waist and bared a tantalizing strip of his thigh. Inevitably he would step into a stall opposite the entrance and then drop his covering.

His showers were really long too. He would cover himself with soap and wash every nook and cranny, sometimes more than once, lingering over his private parts, which as much as I could see were pretty substantial, as he faced outward. His hair-washing was thorough too, involving lots of raised arms, giving anyone watching good looks at his hairy chest or muscled back and shoulders. Either my man was performing a show on purpose, or he was the most unself-conscious post-gym shower user I'd ever seen, particularly for anyone so unfriendly outside the frosted Plexiglas.

After he turned off the water he took minutes inside the stall to dry himself with his towel, before wrapping it again around his waist and emerging, never meeting anyone's eye. Then the post-workout grooming session would begin. Most men would get dressed in a hurry, dry their hair, run a comb through it and leave, probably to get back to work. He'd put on his jeans, then stay shirtless most days while he shaved, carefully combed his hair, moisturized, and finally got dressed. All this was done at an unhurried, casual pace. It was only after this process was finished that he'd pack his duffel, zip it up and leave.

Watching all of this made me all the more determined to at least try my luck. If there's one thing I like it's a challenge. Besides, what did I have to lose? He wasn't talking to me anyway.

I racked my brains for weeks about the exact approach I was going to take. Finally I saw an opening, based on two facts I'd gathered over many weeks of observation.

First, though my man's gym and street clothes were neat and even stylish in their understated, casual way, he had absolutely no taste in underwear. None. I never saw him in anything except the dullest, most generic boxer briefs or tighty whities. I swear the guy wore Fruit of the Loom. Anyone with a body like that needed to show it off with fashion undies, and he wasn't doing it.

Second, though the guy exuded uptightness in most waysÑcertainly in the few encounters we'd hadÑhe was strangely nonchalant in one way. He always used the same locker, in the row nearest the entrance. When he'd leave to take his ten- or fifteen-minute showers I've already described he would without fail leave his gym locker door wide open, his sweaty gym clothes draped over the door and his duffel bag plainly visible inside. I mean, weren't his wallet and keys in there for the taking? It never seemed to bother him, and I guess nothing had ever happened to shake his confidence.

These two observations gave me the idea. I've always had a bit of an underwear fetish myself and own a substantial collection of briefs and jockstraps, most of which I only wear in the privacy of my own home, or when no one else will see. Occasionally when I'm feeling daring I'll wear one to the gym.

I went online and perused the merchandise available on my favorite underwear site. Finally I settled on a pair of briefs in a brand I liked. They were stylishly cut, but not skimpy enough to freak anyone out. I chose a fairly conservative shade of blue, though it was much brighter than anything I'd ever seen him wearing. I guessed at his waist size, though by now I'd looked at that body so much I had a pretty good idea. In a couple of clicks the underwear was on its way to my place.

It was in my mailbox a few days later. I opened the padded envelope and saw to my satisfaction that the briefs were folded in a compact plastic container, small and discreet. I put them in with my gym stuff and took them to my workouts every time, waiting my chance.

I didn't try too hard to coordinate my gym schedule with that of my crush. I didn't want him to get suspicious or to think I was stalking himÑthat would kill my chances for good. So it was a couple of weeks before I was able to execute the next phase of my plan.

I had finished my workout, during which I'd seen him at a distance on the machines. When I thought he was getting close to finishing I left the floor and went back to the locker room for a quick shower, so I'd be out by the time he came back.

I'd timed things perfectlyÑjust as I dried off and stepped out of the stall in he came with his too-small towel around his waist, ignoring me as usual. I deliberately ignored him too and hastily went back to my locker to get dressed. I managed to get a few glimpses of my naked guy luxuriating in his shower, but that wasn't really what I was after today.

I finished dressing, packed my stuff, but deliberately didn't close the zipper on my gym bag all the way. I strolled casually through the locker room toward the exit, keeping my eyes open.

Sure enough, the same locker was open with all his stuff arrayed near it and his gym bag open. I looked back down the aisle toward the shower area, then forward toward the entrance/exit. There was a momentary lull in the trafficÑno one was around. Quickly I moved up to his locker, took the underwear I had purchased still in its package out of my gym bag, and slipped it into his duffel. Then I hightailed it out of there.

I was in a state of anxious suspense for days. When would my man find my little present? Would he be intrigued, curious, or creeped out? I could see in my mind's eye him lifting the package out of his gym bag, inspecting it, and opening it. I could see him lifting the underwear out and holding it up, intrigued and curious about who might have given him such an intimate gift. I could see him in the privacy of his bedroom, stripping down and slipping them on, discovering how they hugged his hips, bared his thighs, and cradled his amply sized junk. I could see the pouch swelling as he began to get excitedÉ

I also could see him pitching the package in the trash, unopened. Which would it be?

I didn't see him for a long time, and after a while my obsession eased a bit. Either he'd respond, or he wouldn't. I went to my workouts, showered, got dressed, and left. Sooner or later I would see him again.

Then one Monday there he was, back at his usual routine at the same time I happened to be there. I kept my eyes straight ahead as I ran on the treadmill, but I wasn't breathing fast just from the exertion. Would this be the day?

I kept up my usual routine while keeping a covert eye on him. He left the machines and headed over to one of the water fountains for a drink. This was a signal that he was finished and about to hit the showers. I watched him leave the floor and disappear into the locker room, cut my run a bit short and went in after him. I wanted to time things not to see him in the shower, but to see him getting dressed.

My efforts were rewarded. As I packed up my stuff and headed out I saw him cross the aisle in front of me with his shaving kit, wearing only his underwearÑmy underwear. He parked himself in front of one of the sinks and gazed in the mirror as he began his grooming routine.

As I had thought they would, the blue briefs fit him perfectly, hugging his lower body like a second skin. The high cut leg openings bared just enough of his thighs, the tailored back emphasized the firm cheeks of his ass, and the frontÑwell, for sure he'd discovered a new comfort that he would never have felt with the discount store stuff he'd been favoring up until then. The contour pouch didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination.

I could tell that not only was he wearing the underwear, he liked wearing it. There was a bit of a strut in his stride that hadn't been there before. Wearing something that you know makes you look hot will do that. And he looked hot. So hot that I forgot to be discreet. I stopped in my tracks and stared, drinking in the sight of this man unknowingly modeling the gear I'd secretly selected for him.

At that moment my luck ran out. He looked up and caught my eye in the mirror. I froze, the blood rushing to my face. Busted!

I probably wouldn't have done what I did next if I hadn't been so flustered. I grinned broadly and gave him a thumbs up. "Looking good, buddy!" I said, in the heartiest imaginable voice.

His jaw fell open in complete surprise. One word came out of his mouth.

"What?"

I plunged ahead. "They look great on you. Wear that kind all the time myself."

Before he could respond I beat a hasty retreat, my face flaming. Talk about outing yourself. Would he complain to the management about me harassing him, get me expelled? There was nothing to do but change my schedule so I'd never see him againÉ

Actually I didn't change my routine, for no other reason than morbid curiosity. In fact the next Monday I went to the gym I made sure to wear a pair of briefs in the same style I'd given him, except in bright red. Although I made no effort to approach him I made sure I was standing at my locker when he emerged from his shower, pantsless so that he could see exactly what I was wearing underneath, if he wanted to.

I thought I detected a flicker in his face as his eyes swept over me, so I went for broke, giving him a smile and nod. "How are you doing?"

His eyebrows lifted and he returned the nod, cool but not unfriendly. My heart jumped with barely suppressed joy. I'd gotten a foothold in his consciousness.

I knew I'd have to proceed carefully so as not to creep him out. I started timing my schedule to match his, so that we kept meeting. I made sure to greet him casually if we happened to pass each other on the gym floor or the locker room, but never more than that. I noticed to my satisfaction that he wore the underwear I had gifted him a couple more times.

I wasn't really cruising himÑit was more like a discreet courtship. A few weeks went by. Then one Monday there we were again. After noting his presence I assiduously avoided looking in his direction or catching his eye, concentrating on my routine. It workedÑI got really into pushing myself and even forgot he was there. By the time I'd finished my last set of bicep curls and looked up he was still doing overheads on the shoulder machine. I picked up my workout towel and headed to the locker room, stripped and got in the shower. Maybe a little bit of me was hoping against hope, because I chose one of the stalls that could be seen from the entrance.

A few minutes into my shower, as I finished soaping my body and began to shampoo my hair, the stall door next to me opened and a familiar shadowy form stepped in. My heart quickened at the realization that it was him. Was it just an accident that he had chosen the stall next to mine? I continued washing my hair.

Though I only cast quick glances at the next stall I couldn't help noticing that he seemed to turn toward me an awful lot. Then I saw that he was soaping his groin area very slowly and thoroughly, pushing on his pubic bone and making his cock jump up. He took hold of his organ and gave it a few quick pulls, rinsed and repeated.

My own cock immediately leaped up in response. I took a few strokes on it just to let him know I'd seen, but that was all I felt I could get away with. It was early afternoon and there was a lot of traffic in the locker room. I rinsed, dried myself off and left the shower stall. I went back to my locker but didn't get dressed. Instead, I sat on the bench with my towel over my lap and watched him continue to get clean, now and then discreetly playing with himself for my benefit.

Finally he was done. He turned off the spray, dried himself off with his usual thoroughness and stepped out, wrapped in his towel, in which there was an unmistakable tent in front. His glance in my direction was pretty unmistakable too.

I got dressed in a jiffy and left the locker room, managing to catch his eye again and nod as I passed. Then I sat in the gym lobby and waited. He couldn't leave without passing me. I was fully prepared for him to rush by, pretending that nothing had happened in the shower, letting me know that flirting by flashing his semi-hard dick at me was all he was going to do.

The moment of truth arrived. He came striding toward the entrance with his gym duffel. I raised my head and our eyes met again. His steps slowed and he kept up the eye contact as he reached the door, waiting a long, meaningful moment. He waited to push it open and exit until he saw me get up and start to follow him.

We walked through the parking lot, him occasionally casting glances over his shoulder, until he reached his vehicle, a black BMW SUV. I caught up to him there, determined to force the issue. It was now or never.

"How are you doing?" I said.

Now that we were on the verge of having a conversation he suddenly became shy, not answering, merely nodding as he opened the tailgate and threw his duffel in.

Having invested so much time and energy getting to this point, not to mention a pricey pair of underwear, I was not going to give up. I cut to the chase.

"Live nearby? I can follow you."

He opened the front door and got into the driver's seat. For a moment I thought he was going to drive off without a word, but then he turned. "I'll wait by the exit over there," he said, pointing. It was the first time I'd heard his voice close up. Nice, though not that deep.

I smiled. "Got it," I said, and raced to my car, which fortunately was nearby.

I wondered where he would lead me when we left the gym parking lot. To my surprise we drove less than a mile before he turned into a large apartment complex. We snaked down a narrow access road through what seemed to me to be dozens of separate units before he parked. I found a spot not too far away and headed for it, making sure not to lose sight of him.

He got out of his car and walked quickly toward one of the buildings. I had to hurry to keep up with him. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure I was following, so I knew he wasn't trying to lose meÑjust keeping a discreet distance between us. He entered a breezeway that divided two blocks of units and clambered up a set of stairs, me following on his heels. I lost sight of him but could hear his footfalls above meÑhe was going to the third and top floor.

When I reached the top floor, though, he was nowhere to be seen. I stopped, momentarily confused. Then I saw that one of the doors that led to the individual units on my right was slightly ajar.

I hurried to my man's apartment, and paused in front of the door, breathing hard from the stairs and also from my excitement. I'd pursued my quarry for so long, obsessed about him for months. Was it really going to happen? I knocked, pushed the door open and went in.

The apartment was dimly lit and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust. The only light came from the open doorway behind me and a small lamp. I was in a living area, with a couple of armchairs, a wide-screen TV, and a couch facing me, upon which sat my man, one arm flung over its back. His jeans were down around his ankles and one big paw was flipping his organ, impressive even at half-mast. His eyes met mine in a challenging stare.

"Shut the door and lock it."

I obeyed, then slowly moved toward him, keeping my gaze locked on his until I was directly in front of him. I looked down at his cock, now fully hard. It was a beauty, long and straight, veined and capped with a purplish conical head just the way I liked. It was surrounded by just enough of a bush, and his balls dangled just far enough below. Perfect.

I decided to be a bit dramatic and fell to my knees, placing my hands on the sides of his meaty thighs. I wanted to get further between his legs, but his clothes were in the way.

"Okay if I get you a little more comfortable?" I asked.

His chin moved in the briefest of nods. I quickly reached down, lifted his feet and slipped his shoes off, then unhooked one leg from his pants and underwear and pushed them aside. Now I could spread his legs for maximum access.

After all the time he'd been teasing me I wanted a little of my own back. I sidled up to his cock, but didn't take it right away, letting it bump against my face, enjoying its hardness and heat, grasping the shaft gently and inspecting it at length, kissing it softly but avoiding the sensitive head.

"Suck it," he said urgently above me. I looked up and smiled, letting my tongue just graze the tip before I suddenly engulfed him with my entire mouth, taking him down to the root so that his pubes tickled my nose. I was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath from above and felt his shaft get even harder.

For the next few minutes I used all my oral skills, tickling his head and piss slit with my tongue as I lapped up the precum that was flowing freely, occasionally deep throating him down to the root, pressing my face against his pubes while I flexed my throat muscles. Between these two extremes I slid up and down on his shaft, tightening my lips around his head at the top, loosening my throat to take him as deep as I could at the bottom. I never kept that up long enough to let him cumÑwhen I could tell he might be getting close I slowed down or stopped sucking altogether, frustrating his climax.

After a while his sighs of pleasure turned into groans, then muttered interjections: "Oh fuckÉsuck itÉdon't stopÉ" I answered "Mm hmm" and went right on doing what I was doing until he was frantic with need. I slid vigorously on his shaft, then suddenly stopped, drawing a shouted "Fuck, keeping sucking it!" Abruptly, two strong hands grabbed my head as he bucked his hips up and down, fucking my face and making me gag. I hung on until finally he went over the edge, shouting, "Take it!" I felt the first blast hit the back of my throat, before my mouth filled with his salty, slimy seed. I swallowed as fast as I could, trying to keep a tight seal with my lips around his dick, but despite my best efforts some overflowed, ran out the sides of my mouth, and down his pulsating shaft. Above me he writhed and twisted, moaning obscenities over and over.

Finally his orgasm passed and he loosened his grip on my head. I waited until his body stopped thrashing and the flood had become a trickle before I let go of his cock and began to lap up the excess that had dripped onto his balls and pubes. Not until I had cleaned him of every stray drop of his juice did I cease my labors and cast a glance upward.

His broad chest was still rising and falling faster than normal. His expression was unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. After all the poker faces he had shown me for months it was dazzling in that dim apartment. He was handsomer than ever, and in that moment all the waiting and wondering, all the work I'd done to get here was totally worth it.

"That was awesome," he said.

"Glad you enjoyed," I replied. I had to ask. "First time with a guy?"

A beat, then he nodded.

I stood up. I didn't have to put myself together, since I hadn't taken anything off. "Cool. Sure hope it's not the last."

His smile turned a little cagey. "You never know."

I decided to take that as a "yes." Successfully seducing a straight guy can give you serious delusions of grandeur. As I walked down the stairs from his apartment my mind was already busy hatching scenarios to take this to the next levelÉ

TO BE CONTINUED