dcmorgan
Porn Star
- Joined
- May 31, 2006
- Posts
- 317
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(...)
I'm early. Or he's late. Whichever it is, I'm at the bar, having a gin and tonic with extra ice and extra lime. I haven't had anything to eat yet, and my stomach is screaming for something substantial, but I figure that if I'm going to survive the next forty-five minutes I need some alcohol.
"Spencer?"
I turn around and look into two pitch-black eyes. Belonging to a male in his early 30s. I jump down off the bar stool and realise he's at least four inches taller than me, take his hand and confirm his question.
"I'm Christian," he adds with a smile. He's wearing a white sweater that's hugging his dancer's physique and perfect V-shape. I don't look below his chest area, as I know I'll be in trouble the second I do, and this is a business meeting. We both refuse the lunch menu, but Christian orders a tonic water on the rocks.
"Shall we go and sit down?" he asks, in a velvety-dark voice and smiles. His tanned skin glows in the dim light from the bar, his dark brown hair makes me wonder if he may be Italian or Greek, yet he has that All-American-Male look about him. He doesn't expect an answer, just smiles again and walks in front of me down towards the back of the room. Don't look down, don't look down... And I look down. He's wearing a pair of jeans that gives his arse the perfect shape. Narrow, yet meaty. Look up, look up, this is unprofessional. Look at his neck.
He sits his large frame down in the chair. His shirt has the three top buttons open, revealing a v-shaped excerpt of his hairy chest. I feel faint. Why can't I meet guys like this off Gaydar? I can see his mouth moving, he's ruffling his papers around, looks incredibly confident, yet I can feel his knee brushing mine as it nervously rocks under the table. He's probably been trained how to look relaxed and in control, and when he leans back in his chair he proves my point further. A typical "I'm really relaxed" posture. His eyes are piercing mine, which indicates real confidence. Confidence is hot. I need to focus.
"So what do you say?"
"This all sounds great," I say, without having heard a word he's said. "If you've got some paperwork I can take back to the office, I'll look into all the details and give you a call, Christian."
"Call me Chris."
"Do you have a card, Chris?" I ask, hoping he may have an email or a mobile phone or another way of communicating with him without actually having to call him. Maybe he's a stripper at night. This can't be his full time job, surely, someone as good looking as him must be a stripper or a model or something else exciting. He's too good to be a suit. I'm also pretty sure he's gay.
"Sure do," he smiles and picks out a card from the breast pocket of his shirt. It's a black card with silver writing. Italic. Christian Bateman. There's a mobile phone number, an email and what looks like a home address. I'll email him next week. He hands me a folder containing the exact same papers he's been talking about for the past thirty minutes.
"It's been nice meeting with you, Chris. I'll be in touch." I shake his hand again, excuse myself and leave. I cross the road and go downstairs to the bathroom where I spend the last five minutes of my lunch break. I slam the door closed and lock it with shaking hands. I'm aroused, and I know I have to deal with it before I go back upstairs. I feel somehow uncomfortable, knowing someone could easily want to use the bathroom at any point, but I simply cannot walk past Judy with a throbbing hard-on.
I unbutton my pants, and let them fall to the floor, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, as my slim, hairy legs and my excited dick are laid bare. I'm quite satisfied with the size of it, at seven and a half inches and a nice girth, and with that thought I take a deep breath, relax my right arm, allow my hand drop and finally hold it in a firm grip. I slide my palm up and down over the shaft at first, tease the head occasionally, think of Chris on his knees before me with his mouth around it, simulate his mouth by rubbing the head with a circular movement. I focus more and more on the head, and start feeling the muscles in my thighs tightening. My whole middle area is pulsating, and I start panting. The urge to moan hits me, I bite my lip, suppressing the noises I can't help but making when I'm about to climax. I release a muffled moan as I release myself into the sink.
I still haven't had any food today.
(...)
I'm early. Or he's late. Whichever it is, I'm at the bar, having a gin and tonic with extra ice and extra lime. I haven't had anything to eat yet, and my stomach is screaming for something substantial, but I figure that if I'm going to survive the next forty-five minutes I need some alcohol.
"Spencer?"
I turn around and look into two pitch-black eyes. Belonging to a male in his early 30s. I jump down off the bar stool and realise he's at least four inches taller than me, take his hand and confirm his question.
"I'm Christian," he adds with a smile. He's wearing a white sweater that's hugging his dancer's physique and perfect V-shape. I don't look below his chest area, as I know I'll be in trouble the second I do, and this is a business meeting. We both refuse the lunch menu, but Christian orders a tonic water on the rocks.
"Shall we go and sit down?" he asks, in a velvety-dark voice and smiles. His tanned skin glows in the dim light from the bar, his dark brown hair makes me wonder if he may be Italian or Greek, yet he has that All-American-Male look about him. He doesn't expect an answer, just smiles again and walks in front of me down towards the back of the room. Don't look down, don't look down... And I look down. He's wearing a pair of jeans that gives his arse the perfect shape. Narrow, yet meaty. Look up, look up, this is unprofessional. Look at his neck.
He sits his large frame down in the chair. His shirt has the three top buttons open, revealing a v-shaped excerpt of his hairy chest. I feel faint. Why can't I meet guys like this off Gaydar? I can see his mouth moving, he's ruffling his papers around, looks incredibly confident, yet I can feel his knee brushing mine as it nervously rocks under the table. He's probably been trained how to look relaxed and in control, and when he leans back in his chair he proves my point further. A typical "I'm really relaxed" posture. His eyes are piercing mine, which indicates real confidence. Confidence is hot. I need to focus.
"So what do you say?"
"This all sounds great," I say, without having heard a word he's said. "If you've got some paperwork I can take back to the office, I'll look into all the details and give you a call, Christian."
"Call me Chris."
"Do you have a card, Chris?" I ask, hoping he may have an email or a mobile phone or another way of communicating with him without actually having to call him. Maybe he's a stripper at night. This can't be his full time job, surely, someone as good looking as him must be a stripper or a model or something else exciting. He's too good to be a suit. I'm also pretty sure he's gay.
"Sure do," he smiles and picks out a card from the breast pocket of his shirt. It's a black card with silver writing. Italic. Christian Bateman. There's a mobile phone number, an email and what looks like a home address. I'll email him next week. He hands me a folder containing the exact same papers he's been talking about for the past thirty minutes.
"It's been nice meeting with you, Chris. I'll be in touch." I shake his hand again, excuse myself and leave. I cross the road and go downstairs to the bathroom where I spend the last five minutes of my lunch break. I slam the door closed and lock it with shaking hands. I'm aroused, and I know I have to deal with it before I go back upstairs. I feel somehow uncomfortable, knowing someone could easily want to use the bathroom at any point, but I simply cannot walk past Judy with a throbbing hard-on.
I unbutton my pants, and let them fall to the floor, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, as my slim, hairy legs and my excited dick are laid bare. I'm quite satisfied with the size of it, at seven and a half inches and a nice girth, and with that thought I take a deep breath, relax my right arm, allow my hand drop and finally hold it in a firm grip. I slide my palm up and down over the shaft at first, tease the head occasionally, think of Chris on his knees before me with his mouth around it, simulate his mouth by rubbing the head with a circular movement. I focus more and more on the head, and start feeling the muscles in my thighs tightening. My whole middle area is pulsating, and I start panting. The urge to moan hits me, I bite my lip, suppressing the noises I can't help but making when I'm about to climax. I release a muffled moan as I release myself into the sink.
I still haven't had any food today.
(...)