by Jeff Erno
His heartbeat quickened, and thoughts of what he’d like to do with Ethan flooded his consciousness. His cock awakened, plumping a bit in his khakis. Benjy had been the only guy to ever show even the remotest interest in Oliver, and he’d been the only person with whom Oliver had been intimate. But everything had changed, and oh so quickly. Now two unbelievably hot guys had all but bent over backward the past week trying to win his affection, and here he was on the verge of getting laid by one of them.
As they took their seats, Ethan casually blurted out an order for a bottle of wine, and when the young, strikingly handsome waiter handed Oliver his menu, the first observation Oliver made was the lack of prices. He read through the options, not as concerned about the cost as the caloric and fat content of each item.
“Order anything you want,” Ethan said flippantly. “I guarantee you’ll never blow your diet here…. I mean, if you’re still even on a diet. They’re not known for portion size.”
“Oh.” Oliver took a sip of his water, then smiled. “Actually, I’ll probably always be on a diet. Maybe not formally, but I’ll always be aware of fat and calories. I really don’t want to go back to who I was before.”
“I can hardly blame you,” Ethan scoffed. “You were quite the sight, but look at you now.” He waved his hand like Vanna White unveiling a word puzzle. “You just need to stay focused, and within a year or so, you might start to buff up like….” He cleared his throat as the waiter returned with the wine. After uncorking it, he offered Ethan the cork. He smelled it and handed it back without comment, and the waiter poured each of them a quarter-full glass. “I’m assuming you’ve started using supplements.”
“Definitely.” Oliver picked up his glass, not bothering to hold it in his palm and swirl the contents as Ethan so expertly continued to do. Oliver took a sip and set the crystal goblet back onto the table. “Protein mix, the stuff Adam recommended.”
“You do realize you’ve already advanced beyond the point where Adam Wilcox can be of any assistance to you.”
Oliver stared at him a moment, puzzled. “No, I didn’t. What do you mean?”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Adam’s one of these… how shall I say it? He’s a nice guy and all, but his whole life is that gym. He has a two-year degree from a community college and has always worked at the Fitness Warehouse. I went out with him a few times.” He shuddered, then took a gulp of his wine. He leaned toward Oliver as if to disclose a delicate secret, then continued in a hushed voice. “Maybe five inches at the most, but I’d say that’s being generous. Let’s just say, the nice body hardly makes up for the lack of anything substantive, if you know what I mean.”
Oliver felt his cheeks growing warm. God, he’d never bothered measuring himself. He wondered if Ethan would think something similar of him. Benjy sure hadn’t been disappointed, but what did he know?
He looked up to see the waiter waiting to take their order. He turned to Oliver first, who ordered whitefish. “I need a big piece of meat—red meat,” Ethan said. “Whatever cut you’d recommend, medium rare.”
“Yes, sir.” The waiter, a dark-haired twentysomething wearing a tuxedo, carried no order pad but seemed to just remember everything. He nodded. “Will there be anything else, gentlemen?”
“Other than your number?” Ethan raised his eyebrows as he took another sip of wine.
“That’s very flattering, sir, but you know how they are here—quite strict when it comes to fraternizing with the members.”
Ethan grinned. “While on duty, of course.”
The young man seemed unfazed by the blatant flirtation and just smiled sweetly. “I’ll make sure you both get a tasty dessert.” He winked as he walked away, and Ethan stared directly at his ass for a good five seconds until he was out of sight.
Wow, the whole scene was crazy. Beyond crazy. Weren’t Ethan and Oliver on a date? Maybe he’d misinterpreted the whole thing. Of course he had. He’d been the one to send Ethan the text. All this time Oliver had assumed things that weren’t true.
Embarrassed, he looked down at the table.
“Hey, man, you okay? You know I was just teasing that kid, just messing around, right?”
Oliver looked up, offering a weak smile. “Sure.”
“Hey, are you okay?” Ethan reached across the table and placed his hand on top of Oliver’s, and for the first time since he could remember, Oliver felt small. Vulnerable. As a fat boy, he’d often felt ostracized, even put down. He’d grown cynical and defensive and at times angry. Sure, he’d suffered a lot of hurt. He’d felt crushed, demoralized, and even depressed. But he’d never felt vulnerable.
Did this feeling stem from an underlying sense of inferiority? How could he deny he’d always felt like less of a person than the perfect-looking guys like Ethan, but why did he still feel this way after losing so much weight? Was it because he still had so far to go? He didn’t have Ethan’s muscle mass. He didn’t have his striking, man-boy face, his flawless golden skin tone. He didn’t possess the double row of perfectly aligned teeth that gleamed with his every smile, the fastidiously coifed hair, sculpted without a single strand out of place.
No, it wasn’t just Ethan’s looks that laid bare Oliver’s soul. It was Ethan’s very countenance that intimidated him. How had it taken Oliver so long to realize? In their previous interactions, Ethan had seemed so interested in Oliver, and how could Oliver deny that he was flattered? His heartbeat took off like a locomotive every time he even allowed himself the possibility of being intimate with Ethan. But at what cost? Was it worth it to sacrifice his dignity, to allow himself to feel so belittled?
“I’m fine,” he said, pulling back his hand and placing it in his lap. He squared his shoulders, straightening his posture in the chair. “I just think I got the wrong impression, and it’s probably my own fault.”
“What do you mean?” The same plastic smile, beautiful yet vapid, met Oliver’s gaze as he looked across the table into Ethan’s face.
“I mean… I know this is gonna sound silly, but I thought….”
“What?”
“I thought this was a date.”
“It is, silly.” Ethan’s deep, bubbly laugh should have warmed Oliver’s soul, should have reassured him. Instead it felt hollow. “I thought I made that clear. I don’t bring just anyone to this place. Of course it’s a date. If you’re worried about me flirting a little with the waiter….” He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s all in good fun. I’m not interested in that kid. I’m interested in you.”
Oliver leaned back in his chair as another server approached, carrying salads. After sliding the oversized plate containing perhaps a couple ounces of greens and a single cherry tomato in front of him, the waitress offered crushed pepper. “Please.” Oliver smiled at her.
Disinterested, Ethan continued as if he hadn’t noticed the distraction. “I promise I’ll make it up to you when we get back to my place.”
“Your place?”
“You promised dessert. Remember?”
The waitress turned to Ethan as Oliver stared at her face, wondering how she maintained such a neutral expression. “For you, sir?”
He barely shook his head, not bothering to even acknowledge her. “Thank you,” Oliver offered meekly, somewhat embarrassed by Ethan’s dismissiveness. After the waitress had departed, he answered Ethan. “I wasn’t sure you were serious about that.”
“How about we enjoy our time together and see how it goes?”
Oliver picked up his fork, releasing a silent sigh of relief. “Okay.” He smiled, and somehow felt smaller than he ever had in his life.
“AND THAT right there is Devon’s condo.” Ethan pulled into the Lakeshore Estates and stopped briefly at the intersection to point to a particular condominium unit. “Mine’s on the next block, around the corner.”
Ethan’s voice sounded distant to Oliver. With the elevation of his blood pressure combined with an annoying queasiness in his gut, he struggled to focus. It seemed he’d suddenly entered a fog—a s
urreal state where the impossible had become possible and fantasy became reality. How was he even here right now, and why?
Worse yet, he was trapped. Without his own vehicle, he’d have no escape were he to decide to leave. But dinner had gone okay. After Oliver overreacted to Ethan’s flirting with the waiter, the rest of their meal went smoothly. And he wanted the intimacy. He wanted to touch and be touched, to experience a man like Ethan, even if only one time. For so many years he’d envied guys like this from afar, and now at last he found himself up close and personal. Hadn’t he earned this privilege? Hadn’t he worked damn hard to mold himself into a better person, one worthy of this honor?
Ethan’s hand sliding onto his thigh, easing downward between his legs, triggered a jolt of excitement that raced through him. With one hand, he gripped the door handle on the passenger side of the car. With the other, he held on to the side of his seat, not daring to look over at Ethan but instead staring out the window, still as a statue.
“Here we are.” Ethan pulled into the drive as the garage door opened. Oliver glanced over, his eyes trailing the length of Ethan’s body. Starting at his knees, Oliver’s gaze traveled upward to the man’s waist, taking in the solid abs of his core, ascending farther. His polo shirt hugged his pumped, chiseled pectorals, and the short sleeves extended only partway down his muscular arms, ending midway across bulging biceps. Oliver’s gaze trailed back to his neck, which bore not a single ounce of unwanted fat. He’d never gazed into a mirror and held back his head far enough to erase a double chin. Ethan’s squared, masculine jawline outlined a perfect man-boy face, eyes as blue as the sky and lips soft, luscious pillows.
When Ethan leaned toward him, Oliver surrendered, closing his eyes as those perfect lips pressed against his own. He felt Ethan’s hand brush softly against his cheek, and as Oliver tasted this other man’s breath—crisp and minty from the after-dinner chocolate—he moaned softly. Responding to the kiss, his tongue explored Ethan’s mouth, and Ethan’s hand slid down onto Oliver’s shoulder. Tilting his head to the side, he submitted to Ethan’s guidance, allowing him control to ravage his mouth.
Now throbbing, Oliver gasped when at last they separated. Ethan stared into his eyes, smiling. “I suppose we should get out of the car, unless you want to get frisky right here in the garage.”
His heart now beating like a bongo, Oliver simply nodded and unfastened his seat belt. Ethan did the same, and they exited the vehicle. Oliver stepped around the sports car within the spacious garage and followed Ethan to the entrance. He gazed once more upon Ethan’s backside. His sturdy legs—the muscular contour of which could be identified even beneath his slacks—perfectly transitioned to the globes of a magnificent bubble butt. The man’s broad shoulders and narrow waist formed a V-shaped torso, which unquestionably would be the envy of most any man, Oliver included. He watched patiently as Ethan stopped just inside the door and entered a code into his alarm system. He then turned to Oliver, inviting him forward with his outstretched hand. Oliver slid his own hand into Ethan’s palm and moved closer.
Ethan pulled Oliver inside, closed the door behind him, and pressed Oliver against it as he kissed him once more. This time, one of his hands slid to Oliver’s crotch and began massaging his bulge through the fabric of Oliver’s pants. Excited, Oliver grabbed hold of Ethan, wrapping his arms completely around Ethan’s upper body, marveling at the solid firmness of his muscular torso.
“Mmm.” Ethan grinned as he reached for the tail of Oliver’s polo.
“N-n-no. Please….” Panic surged through Oliver as he pushed Ethan away. “I mean, not yet.”
“You’re not being shy are you… all of a sudden?”
He shook his head and looked around. “Wh-where are we?”
“Utility room. Leads into the kitchen.” Ethan laughed. “I get it. Of course you don’t want to do it in the fucking mudroom on top of the washer and dryer.” Oliver spotted the laundry facilities as Ethan spoke. “Although I have to admit, it’s a nice fantasy.” He leaned forward and kissed Oliver softly on the forehead. “C’mon. Let’s go inside, and I’ll show you around. I’ll get us a drink.”
As they entered the kitchen, Oliver looked around for appliances. The industrial-sized countertop stove sat against the opposite wall, and a pair of ovens stacked one over the other were built into the wall. There seemed to be no refrigerator, dishwasher, microwave, or any other appliance, though. A stainless steel double sink, gleaming spotless, was positioned adjacent to the stove on the neighboring wall. Ethan walked over to what looked like a large cabinet and pulled it open. Aha, the refrigerator. The bright light from the appliance’s interior illuminated the dim kitchen as Ethan reached inside.
“Beer?”
“No, thanks. Water, if you have one.”
He removed two bottles of water and handed one to Oliver. The kitchen darkened as he closed the refrigerator door. The light cast from the utility room provided a subdued ambiance, perhaps spooky—perhaps romantic. “Of course, with a kitchen this big, we could even do it right here. Right on the table.”
Oliver chuckled nervously. “You’re really revved up, raring to go.” He twisted off the cap of his water and took a sip. “This is quite the kitchen.”
“I can’t stand clutter. I insisted all the appliances be built in. Out of sight, out of mind.”
“Hm. Seems your plan was effective. If not for the stove, I wouldn’t have known it was even a kitchen. You’re a very tidy housekeeper.” He pushed back a memory of Benjy that threatened to invade his mind.
“Not really. I have a housekeeper who comes twice a week—at least. Basically, whenever I need him.”
“Oh, cool. That’s convenient.”
Ethan smiled coyly. There had to be more behind the story he wasn’t saying. There was something about his tone when he said the word need that implied he was referring to more than cleaning. He turned and headed across the room, Oliver following. “In here is the dining room slash living room.”
Oliver nearly gasped as Ethan flipped on the dining room overhead light. The total square footage of the combined rooms had to be more than Oliver’s whole house. A partitioning wall and bar separated the two rooms, and the dining room table was enormous, easily able to accommodate twelve people. That still left plenty of space for the ornate bureau or china cabinet—whatever it was—that rested along the back wall, and a narrow serving table that ran along the opposite wall.
“Wow” was all Oliver could think to say.
“This room rarely is used except when the family shows up, which is hardly ever. But you never know. I just might start hosting dinner parties if I ever learn to cook.”
Oliver shrugged and almost under his breath muttered, “Or just hire a personal chef.”
Ethan heard him and laughed. “My housekeeper, Robbie, cooks for me. He’s really good and promises to teach me some day, but right now I’m just too busy. Between working out and rehearsing for my one-man show….”
Strange how different Ethan actually was from Oliver’s initial impression. Oliver had thought of him as an artist, and weren’t they supposed to be struggling? Starving artists—that’s what people always said. He was anything but.
“And this here’s my living room.” He led the way into the next area of the condo, which nearly took Oliver’s breath away. On one side of the room, a grand piano majestically rested beneath the glow of well-positioned track lighting. Along one whole wall, a bookcase extended, and Oliver immediately stepped over to get a closer look. Ethan flipped on a light switch, and an overhead chandelier cast muted illumination along the oak shelving.
“Wow, you have a ton of books.”
“I’m a collector.” It made sense. He’d said he had an English degree. “The classics, mainly.”
Oliver examined the gilded lettering on the rows of matching leather-bound titles. Wuthering Heights. Moby Dick. Dracula. Pride and Prejudice. Frankenstein. Oh God, wouldn’t Benjy go nuts in a room like this? “Wow,” he whisp
ered, trailing his fingertips across the binding of one of the books.
Ethan laughed, dismissive of Oliver’s awe, or perhaps too polite to make a big deal of it. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?” He motioned toward the big-screen TV on the far side of the room, mounted on the wall. “I have some inspiring films that just might set the mood perfectly.”
“Uh, no…. I just can’t get over this collection.”
“I haven’t even shown it to you yet. I have hundreds of porn….”
“No, I mean the books.”
“Oh….”
“You know, I read Wuthering Heights back in high school. What’s the main character’s name again?”
Ethan stared at him blankly, slowly shaking his head.
“Heathcliff!” Oliver laughed. “God, it took me forever to finish that book. Talk about a soap opera.”
“Are we going to talk about books, or are we going to…?” He stepped closer, placing one arm around either side of Oliver, grasping a shelf of the bookcase. Oliver, now trapped between Ethan’s arms, looked up into Ethan’s face. Only inches from him, Ethan smelled good enough to eat. His cologne, whatever it was, contained a hint of vanilla. Oliver inhaled as he gazed into Ethan’s eyes.
“Ethan…,” Oliver whispered.
Ethan leaned in and kissed him, at first gently, then gradually intensifying. Oliver moved his lips, opening and closing in coordination with Ethan’s expert guidance. Ethan slid his hand beneath the tail of Oliver’s shirt, across his back.
He pulled away slightly, looking directly into Oliver’s eyes. “What are you wearing? Spandex?” He smiled.
Oliver nodded slightly, somewhat embarrassed. “It’s… um… a compression garment. Full-body style.”
“Mmm. I once dated a guy who had a Lycra fetish.”
“It’s not that….”
“Can I see you in it?” He took a small step back, now holding on to the tail of Oliver’s shirt with both hands, ready to peel it over his head.
“I wear it because….”
Ethan stared expectantly, smiling.