‘Just not into it, ay,’ he says, crossing his arms over his chest. His guns are the size of John Cena’s. I need him inside me. ‘Why don’t ya suck me?’
I point at the headset.
‘Oh yeah, right,’ he mutters, like he hadn’t worked out I need my mouth free for a phone call.
Not only the body of John Cena, but the brains, too.
While I’m still on my call, he snakes his hand underneath my waistband and starts to grope my arse. I bend over the basin and he curls a finger close to my arsehole.
I try to focus on wrapping up the call. ‘Now all you need is the rego code and …’
Shit. I’m not in front of my computer.
In my least proud moment ever, I make up a fake code for the student. He hangs up.
I leave my phone off the hook so no more calls can come through.
‘Fuck me,’ I beg the muscle bro.
He spits in his hand. Instead of sliding his cock in, he fingers me, hard and aggressive. His thick index finger rubs against my prostate like he’s saying ‘come here’ to my arse. My hole is suctioned onto him, twitching, my dick hard.
I’ll lose my job if anyone walks in. I’m so turned on I don’t care.
‘Seriously, fuck me,’ I groan.
He grins, his finger still vibrating furiously in my hole. ‘Nah, gotta get back to work. Bit too public here for anal. You close?’
I yank my undies off and stroke my meat all of three times before exploding, spraying my jizz all over the bathroom mirror.
‘Pretty close,’ I pant. ‘Yep.’
The bro slides his finger out of my hole and then sniffs it deep, eyes rolling back in his head a bit. ‘Hot arse, mate. I’d love to eat you out some time, ay.’
He’s got a blokey, country twang to his accent I wouldn’t have expected. He looks like a classic Guido gym bro, but there’s some ocker Paul Hogan element in there too.
I wipe my seed off the mirror with paper towels.
‘Tonight, your place?’ I offer. ‘I live with straight housemates, can’t host.’
‘Can’t tonight, got plans in the city. I’m Jack, anyway,’ he says. ‘And you are Zee-kee, according to your name badge?’
‘Zeke,’ I correct him. ‘One syllable.’
‘Ahh, like ZEEK, gotcha,’ Jack says, nodding slowly. He’s hot but dumb: a conversation with him would be like spelling in the NATO phonetic alphabet to Colby for every single sentence. ‘D’you wanna fuck tomorrow, Zeke?’
‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘Graduation.’
‘Damn, I’m horny as. Look, I gotta get back to work,’ Jack says, before pointing his thumb at the gym logo on his polo shirt. ‘I’m a PT at Legends Gym. I’ll find you on Grindr, we’ll set up a time.’ He holds out his fist and for a second I think he’s going to punch me, before I realise it’s a fistbump. I bump back. Are we homos or bros?
‘Sounds good,’ I say.
As Jack reaches the door, he says, ‘Ah, nearly forgot – the reason you caught my attention was cos I saw you doing ya footy tipping, then found you on Grindr. Not often I find other guys into footy on there.’
I could tell him I’m a geek and if anyone overheard him referring to me as a ‘guy into footy’ they’d laugh. But this is a hookup. No sense involving the truth.
‘Oh yeah, keen on my footy tipping,’ I say. ‘I’m seventh in the league.’
‘Out of how many?’
