My friend Marcus and I entered the building and caught the elevator to the basement floor, and when the doors opened we looked at each other warily. The hallway was extremely dim from what we could see, and for a moment I considered letting him go in by himself.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" I asked.
"Of course. 69 Appleton Street. Apartment B-5, in the basement."
"Well, you go first," I said, nudging him on his shoulder.
"Chickenshit," he said, exasperated. "Let's go."
He left the elevator and as I followed close behind, the door began to shut, nearly pinning me between it and the metal frame. It caught my shirt, which I managed to yank without tearing, and suddenly it was just us, alone in the long, dark concrete corridor.
"I think it's down this way," Marcus blurted, slowly beginning to make his way down the hall. I didn't budge at first, and when Marcus got a few feet away from me he noticed I was missing. "Are you coming, or are you gonna stay out here the whole time?"
"I don't know about this."
"Look, Core, this bag's getting a little heavy, and I'm not exactly in the debating mood if you know what I'm saying."
"Alright!" I snapped, moving to catch up to him. As we walked, sounds varying from people arguing to loud music blaring emanated from behind orange-painted apartment doors. In my mind I counted, 'B-1, B-2, B-3...,' hoping that we'd make it to B-5 before some unknown assailant came out of nowhere to shank us and steal our wallets.
"Here it is," Marcus said when we reached B-5, giving the door a hearty rap with his knuckles. It flew open almost immediately, and I was a little more than pleasantly surprised at what greeted us on the other side.
"Yeah?" the guy who answered the door said. He was clearly bothered by us being there, and didn't pretend otherwise, but what he obviously lacked in people skills was more than made up for in his visage. He was a bit over six feet, strapping yet not overly-muscular, and was unclothed, save a tiny pair of black boxer-briefs that barely covered his well-toned thighs. He ran a hand impatiently through his mane of longish, brown curls and took a deep drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke directly at us.
"Uhh...my name is Marcus. I'm here to install tile in your bathroom," Marcus said. I could tell he was just as awestruck by this gorgeous male physical specimen as I was.
"Now?" the guy blurted. "I thought you were supposed to come tomorrow afternoon."
"No, we agreed on today at 4 o'clock," Marcus said.
"Fuck, today is Thursday, isn't it?"
Marcus nodded, all the while trying to stifle a cough from the smoke. I wanted to laugh but somehow managed to hold it back.
He took another drag and looked at Marcus, then at me (his gaze stayed on me a bit longer), stepped aside and said, "Come in." We entered a very small, carpeted entrance way and the guy shut the door behind us. "You'll have to excuse the mess. If I had remembered you were coming I would've straightened up a little." He went ahead, leading the two of us down the tiny hall into a larger, well-lit space that was furnished with not much more than a couple of sofas, a coffee table and a floor-model TV. The place was lived-in to say the least. A few beer cans littered the coffee table, magazines and clothes were casually strewn about and the faint smell of marijuana lingered in the air. The noise from a box fan in the corner drowned out the faint sound coming from the TV.
"So, is this the way to your bathroom?" Marcus asked.
"Oh...right...no, it's back here down the hall." The guy walked to the other side of the room and it was then that I noticed how tight his ass was, encased in those tiny black underwear. Marcus followed him and looked back at me, mouthing the words "Oh my God," and I smiled and nodded in agreement. As I took a seat on the tweed loveseat, I was suddenly glad that I had decided to accompany Marcus on this particular job. I'd been promising to go with him ever since he'd started up his own floor tiling business, and that day seemed as good a time as any to do it. Besides, I figured if half the people he installed tiled for looked anything like this guy, it couldn't be all bad.
I sank back into the couch (which was quite comfortable, considering), and gazed around at the place. The apartment was in dire need of some interior decorating, to say the least. Drab, pale-green walls, a tacky day-glo clock hanging just above the floor model TV, a stereo and a few potted plants that needed much attention completed the décor, and I suddenly found myself wondering how someone so hot could live in such a dump. 'What if this guy's a serial killer?' I thought to myself. 'Or a cannibal, or some kind of weird hermit?' No. He was too good looking to be evil. Sure, he was a little spacey, and maybe just a bit rude, but spacey and rude don't necessarily equal maniacal killer. Or do they? I chuckled at my wild imagination, and was about to join Marcus and our host when I realized I wasn't alone. Mr. Hot 'N Spacey himself was staring at me in the doorway that led to the living room, running a hand over his slightly furry chest and abdomen. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I momentarily contemplated making a run for the door.
"You got a green thumb?" he asked.
"What?" I responded.
Wild thoughts of Marcus laying on the bathroom floor, dead by the hands of our scantily clad host, began to rush into my head. I moved to get off of the sofa, but paused when he left the doorway and crossed the living room to one of the potted plants.
"This one...the fern...it's kind of grody, don't you think?"
"No. It's actually kind of...nice." The plant looked like shit, but at this point I wasn't about to start spouting truths.
"Really? I've been giving it water and plant food...I even put it in the kitchen window where the sunlight comes through and--nothing."
I kept my eyes on him and, while leery of his presence, I couldn't help but be turned on by his magnificent body. From where he was standing I could really get a good look. He had broad, football player shoulders that sat atop a perfectly v-shaped back. His long, toned legs resembled that of a runner, and his feet were large and well-kempt (a surprise, considering the fact that he didn't seem like a guy who cared how groomed his feet were). My eyes wandered back up and lingered on his ass for a moment. I was in awe of the way the underwear hugged his firm, muscular glutes, denoting every flex and squeeze as he stood fiddling with the near-dead plant. I was also pleasantly surprised that he hadn't bothered to slip on a pair of pants.
"Maybe you should pick off the dead leaves and sit it back in the sunlight," I blurted.
"Maybe," he shrugged, leaving the plants and moving to scoop up a tiny ottoman on the other side of the room. He planted the small piece of furniture square in front of me and squatted down on it, which caused his underwear to rise and tighten on his muscular thighs and bunch in the crotch area. I inadvertently moved a hand to my own crotch area in an effort to conceal my growing arousal. "You always come along with your boyfriend when he does a job?"
I was instantly taken aback by his comment. Not only were Marcus and I anything but boyfriends, but the fact that he'd assumed that we were gay at all completely took me by surprise. Although we both were gay, neither of us played into the stereotypical "gay male" persona, which was one of the reasons we could relate so well to each other.
"My boyfriend? Waitaminit, Marcus isn't my--"
"Hey, I'm kidding," he snickered. I exhaled and let out an uncomfortable laugh as he extended his hand. "Brad."
"Corey," I said. I shook his hand and was impressed with his firm grip.
"You like music Corey?"
He stood from the ottoman and walked to the TV, shutting it off. He then moved to the stereo set in the corner, pulling an album from the cabinet beneath it. 'Geez, who has a record player anymore?' I thought as he placed the record on the turntable. Seconds later, the room filled with the opening chords of Bill Withers's "Use Me".
"Excellent taste," I said, nodding my approval.
"I'm telling you, man, they just don't make tunes like this anymore. This was when music was music." Brad began to sway his hips in time with the beat as he made his way back to the ottoman. I found myself becoming completely enthralled with this man, which was amusing to me because just minutes before I was almost sure he wanted to murder my friend and me.
"So, do you always walk around in your underwear when you have people over?" I asked.
"Well, I wasn't exactly expecting company."
"That's right. You got the days mixed up."
"Mm-hmm. Besides, you can't tell me you don't walk around in your shorts when you're home alone."
"What can I say, you got me there," I said. Brad hadn't yet sat back down, and he was no more than a few feet in front of me. I noticed the tip of what appeared to be a tattoo peeking from underneath the band of his underwear, right at his hip, and my curiosity got the best of me. "What's that?"
"You mean my ink? It's the Japanese symbol--for sex."
'Surely you jest,' I thought.
"Here, have a look." He moved even closer, pulling his underwear down just enough to expose the inked area of his pelvis. I scooted eagerly to the edge of the couch to take a gander. "It's right on the bone. Hurt like a sonofabitch but it was worth it."
What happened next nearly took my breath away. He took my hand and placed it directly on his hip, running my fingers over the half dollar-sized, intricate skin art. My cock surged to attention again, and this time I didn't care if he noticed.
"Um...how long have you had it?" I said, barely eking the words out.
"Five, six weeks. When it was healing, rubbing it always made it feel better."
With his crotch this close to my face, I decided to get a good look at what he was working with. His bulge was heavy and substantial, and I could clearly make out the head of his penis, which meant that he was definitely cut. His flaccid cock sat snug against what looked like a nice-sized nut sack. My arm accidentally (or not) rubbed up against it, sending a jolt of excitement through my entire body.
"Sorry," I said, half embarrassed.
I shrugged, not sure how to answer.
Brad put his fingers on my chin and tilted my face up to look at his. Bright blue eyes stared down at me as he said, "I thought you said you weren't gay."
"I said Marcus wasn't my boyfriend. I didn't say I wasn't gay."
"Touché," he said, smiling broadly. He took my hand and snaked it over his abs and across firm pecs. His nipples were standing at attention, and he shuddered each time my hand passed over one. My boner was at full mast now, and this time he must've seen it because he bent down and began to massage it. "What's this?"
"I think you know what that is," I responded.
"Indeed I do." He stood up straight and, without reservation, pulled his underwear down in one swift motion. I moved to sit back on the couch but he was quick, grabbing the back of my head and forcing it closer to his groin area. Without a word, he began to brush the head of his cock over my lips.
"But, my friend..." I began.
"What about him?"
"He could come out here any second."
"Live a little," Brad said. He tightened his grip on my hair and pushed my face square into his groin. I could feel his cock hardening against my face as he ground his pubic area into me--the hairs of his bush tickling and scratching my nose. His scent was manly and clean. I reached up to grab his ass with both hands, and he clinched and let out a moan. "Mmmm. I knew you were bad."
"No..." I whispered breathlessly. "I'm not...I'm...I'm good."
"Well, I'm not," Brad replied cheekily. "You like to suck cock, Corey?"
"Well, go for it." I welcomed his cock into my mouth, which was already wet and warm from anticipation. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest and the adrenaline coursing through my veins, and my own dick was just about to burst from the confines of my snug jeans. I decided to give it a little breathing room, and reached down to unzip my fly, all the while never taking my mouth from Brad's cock. My boner popped out with ease and stood at direct attention, and I began to stroke it as I went down deeper on Brad's tool. He moved his hips in time with my sucking--back and forth, side to side, round and round--and the longer I sucked, the faster he moved. As the sounds of the Bill Withers song came to a close, my friend Marcus became a distant memory and I became one with the sexy stud who was avidly feeding me his meat. I could feel him reach a full erection while in my mouth, and I withdrew momentarily, visually taking in the tasty bone I was enveloping. His cock--near-dripping with my spit, was smooth, thick, completely straight and about a good 8 inches. In other words--perfect. I took it in my hand, weighing the heft. As I had suspected, he was cut, and the head of his cock was large and mushroom-shaped. His balls were big (also something I'd suspected) and slightly hairy, and in that moment they were begging to be given some attention as well. I wrapped my lips around one of them and sucked until it popped into my mouth, and Brad jerked, letting out a grunt that filled the room.
I paused, thinking Marcus must have heard that, but lust won out over anxiety and fear. I pushed his other testicle into my mouth and sucked on them both for a good while, and Brad's entire body writhed in ecstasy.
When he'd had enough, he grabbed me by the hair again and pulled my head back, forcing me off of his nuts. He was panting and glistening with perspiration. A tiny bead of sweat trickled from his brow down to his nose and onto his upper lip, and he licked it off seductively and gave me a wink.
"Take off your pants," he demanded, and I readily complied. My underwear and shirt followed, and before I could fully kick them aside he was on my cock, taking it in his mouth all the way down to the base.
"Ohhh..." I groaned. My eyes rolled back and I slumped deeply into the couch. Brad was relentless in his pursuit to pleasure me. I could feel his mouth watering as he went up and down on my rigid pole. He paused for a moment to jack me off a few quick tugs, then immediately went back to sucking me off. I grabbed his head in an effort to slow him down a bit, but it was of no use. He had turned my cock into a popsicle, and his slurping noises filled the entire space of the living room.
When he was done, he came up so that he was face to face with me. "You have a condom?" he asked, out of breath.
"No," I said. I was usually prepared with at least one rubber in my wallet. Not on this day, however, and I could've kicked myself. "You?"
He shook his head slowly. "We can't let this moment go to waste, can we?"
"No buts." He quickly moved to position himself square on my lap with his back facing me. He situated my rock-hard boner between his ass cheeks and leaned into me--his sweaty back feeling warm and slick against my chest and stomach. Almost immediately, he began to move his hips, grinding his tight ass into my cock. He took my hand and brought it around to his own stiff member, cupping my fingers around it with his own hand and guiding it slowly up and down. "You ever fuck without...actually...fucking?" he asked.
"Sure," I whispered.
"Good." He began to grind into me even faster. He leaned back into me and I could feel his cock throbbing in my hand as I tightened my grip on it and stroked harder. "That's it," he whispered in my ear. The pressure from his movements and the weight on my dick was almost too much to bear, and I wanted desperately to shove it into his asshole. The loveseat squeaked beneath us, slightly drowned out by the soft hum of the fan, but still audible nonetheless. We kept it up at a steady pace for a good fifteen minutes before I began to feel things coming to a climax. I bit my lip in an effort not to come--there was no way I was coming before he did. As I stroked his cock I could begin to feel the slickness of his precum between my fingers, and I knew that he was close to blowing his load.
Suddenly there was a loud crash from the other room, and for a moment I thought of pushing Brad off of me and hopping up to grab my clothes, but he bore down on me even harder, and I knew that we would be seeing this thing all the way through.
"Sorry, guys, I just knocked over my work kit!" Marcus yelled from the other room.
"Uh, no--no problem!" Brad yelled back.
"Fuck, he's gonna come out here..." I said.
"No he won't." Brad leaned over and I felt his hot breath in my ear as he began to nibble on it, and suddenly I was at ease again. His warm tongue traced the curves of my outer ear, and he worked his way down to the lobe, where he began to delicately bite and suck.
The urge to come was becoming unbearable, and I fought with everything in me to hold it back until he came. I ran my free hand up his torso to his chest, and pinched his nipples in an effort to excite him even more. He stifled a scream and leaned into me even harder.
"How much longer can you last?" he asked.
With that, Brad's movements intensified. I knew that he wanted me to explode first, as I did him, so I gripped his cock even tighter and tugged until my hand was drenched in his juices. He titled his head back and arched his back, and his breath began to come in short, choppy rasps. My free hand squeezed his left nipple, and I buried my head in his shoulder blade as the waves of my own impending orgasm began to overtake me. Within seconds his cock twitched in my grasp, and I looked up to see a healthy stream of jism shoot out from his cock and land on the ottoman he'd been sitting on.
"Oh...fuck...yeahhhh...", Brad moaned. His body was trembling and convulsing, but he hadn't stopped his grinding movements. A second stream jetted out and landed somewhere on the carpet, and the rest of his cum spilled out and covered my hand in a slick, messy goo. It was then that I decided to let myself go. His ass was slick with sweat and my precum, which made it easier for me to blow my load, and blow my load is what I did. I buried my head in his shoulder again and felt the first surge of warmth explode from my cockhead, making a slippery mess between our bodies. Pleasure enraptured my body from my head all the way down to my toes, and for a minute I thought it all my be a dream. A wild, heady, crazy dream in which I was getting it on with a total stranger while my best friend was in the next room. Then I felt myself shoot again, and suddenly I realized it wasn't a dream.
Brad eventually slowed down a little, allowing me to finish coming, and at the same time catch my breath. When I'd finished, he collapsed onto the couch beside me--his cock not completely hard anymore but covered in his own juices, and I looked at his heaving, sweaty torso and his face, calm yet alive with excitement, and wondered how I was ever afraid of him to begin with. His underwear were in a tangled ball at his feet, and when he'd finally colleted himself enough to sit up, he reached down and began wiping the cum off of me, himself and the ottoman with them.
"Well, I guess these are gonna have to be washed right away."
I laughed and said, "You mean you actually do laundry?"
"Oh, only on the maid's day off," he joked.
Just then we heard footsteps coming from the other room and the two of us hopped up immediately. Brad scurried to another room while I rushed to throw on my clothes, managing to put them all on in record time (save my shoes). Marcus had a marked look of surprise on his face when he reentered the living room and saw that I was barefoot.