Relieved as shit not to be sent packing, I nod. “Let’s do it.”
Standing to the side, he waves me in. “That’s the plan.”
Forget love at first sight. Is cum at first sight a thing? ‘Cause this guy, this Twinkie Bear Bear, is unbelievably attractive.
A young, bespectacled Matt Damon was my first thought, and while there is a remarkable resemblance, a second name sits in the tip of my tongue as I stand aside and let this sexy stranger in.
It clicks as he passes, casually running his hand through his hair. Like many women her age, my sister was obsessed with The Gilmore Girls. Dean in particular. I, too, was a fan. Especially of his dreamy, floppy 90’s boy band hair. So yeah, should Mr. Ripley and Dean have a love child, Twinkie Bear is him.
He’s lean, but muscular, shortish, under six foot anyway.Easy to toss around.
I’m so lost in the contemplation of his finery, that I don’t realize I’m still standing in the open doorway. Still staring. “Sorry. I … um, you’re distractingly beautiful … In the most manly sense of the word, of course.”
“Oh, of course. That goes without saying.” His cheeks color, the confidence exuded in our messages all but vanishing in a puff of modesty. It’s a shyness that has me overcome with a barbaric desire to get him all hot and bothered. Not only because I want to touch every inch of him, but to see if I can get those glasses fogging up. Only problem is I have no idea how to make the first move.
A myriad of things run through my mind, but then he drifts closer, eyes roaming over me as he licks his lip, and every intelligent thought I’ve ever had evaporates. All I can think of is getting naked and wet.
Oh. Liquid.
“Can I get you a drink?” I offer, motioning, then walking backwards to the kitchen, purely so I can keep watching him work that lip.
“That would be great, thanks.” With a smile that takes my breath away, he turns and bends to remove his shoes. A good sign, I think to myself, he’d be unlikely to take them off if he was planning to run. Since it’s mild out, he’s only wearing a faded Red Sox tee and a pair of gray sweats stretched to the point of oblivion over his glorious ass and thighs.
I’ve worked on plenty of swimmers in my time, a fair amount of hockey players too, and this is no swimmer’s body. I know a hockey butt when I see one.
For a moment, I simply watch that ass jiggle as he navigates his laces, then remember what I’m supposed to be doing, and turn away, reaching for a glass into an overhead cabinet. “I’ve only got water from the faucet. Hope that’s okay?” Behind me I hear the gentle pad of his feet, then feel him warm against my back.
“Water’s good. Can I give you a hand?” Exhaling a shuddering breath, the glass I’d just taken possession of, slips from my grasp when two fingertips brush over my hip. The old goalie reflexes kick in and I twist to catch it. “Nice save. Ever played hockey?”
Looking directly at him feels too daunting, so I remain facing the tiled splash back. They really are nice tiles. Good quality. “I’ve dabbled, yeah. And you’re a swimmer? If I had to guess, I’d say you have a hockey build.”
He huffs a laugh and steps closer, fingers brushing the sliver of exposed skin on my side. “I do enjoy swimming, yeah. And hockey, and lots of other things. Sex for instance.”
“Oh … that’s a … coincidence. I … too … enjoy sex.” I pause and clear my throat, hopefully removing the robotic overlord that’s possessed my voice box. “It’s been a while for me, but you know what they say. It’s like riding a?—”
“Big, hard dick?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
His grip tightens, nails digging into my skin as he attempts to twist me towards him. Being so much bigger, I could easily resist, but I don’t.
“Hi.” He smiles once our eyes meet. “I’m Cory, and since I heard nothing at all embarrassing through the buzzer, can I ask your name?”
“Jimmy,” I say after regaining a little composure. “My name’s Jimmy.” Why I chose that, the name only my late dad ever called me, is a mystery. Judging by the breathtaking smile that lights his face, Cory approves.
“Like Jimmy Olsen. You’re not a photographer for The Daily Planet are you?”
A DC comics joke.It’s weird how much that turns me on. “Not the last time I checked, no.”
“Well, Jimmy. Why don’t we save the water for later. There’s something else I’d rather swallow.”
Hansel and Gretelwould be proud of the trail of discarded clothing we leave behind us. Bumping off each wall we pass, when we make it to my old room I’m down to my briefs, and he’s in his tee and a fetching pair of boxers featuring Spider-Man’s face. Should this be a date-date I would be thrilled by the prospect of spending time with a fellow superhero nerd, but that’s not what this is.
This is sex.
Just sex.
And I want it.
