“Sorry, but the computers are down,” Chris said, handing Howie a clipboard with a key sign out sheet on it.
“No problem, Chris. How are you?” Howie asked as he printed his name on the paper.
Chris handed him his key. “Doing great. Just two more weeks until graduation.”
“What are your plans?”
“I’ll work here for the summer, and then I’m off to State.”
Howie smiled. He and his cronies, Kelly and Ernie, had also gone to the state university. “You’ll love it. I’m an alum.”
Chris smiled. “Maybe you can put in a good word for me with the scholarship committee.”
Howie laughed. “I doubt they’d even know who I was. I never contribute to their alumni fund drives. Sorry.”
Howie rechecked his locker number on the key, wrote it on the sign out sheet, and headed for the locker room. He located his locker and started to undress. As he did so, he let memories of the summer before his freshman year at State float in his mind. That was the summer he’d realized he was gay. Never much into dating, he’d not given his sexuality much thought. He beat off regularly looking at straight porn on the web. But that was as far as he’d ever gone.
Then Mr. Graham came into his life. Howie had worked for a pool maintenance business that summer. Mr. Graham’s pool was one of his regular weekly assignments. For the most part, when Howie arrived to do a pool, the clients weren’t home. Mr. Graham, however, always seemed to be there, sunning on the pool deck, and usually clad in only a skimpy Speedo. Mr. Graham was an attractive man and well-built for his age, which Howie surmised to be around forty. Howie was curious as to why he appreciated how well Mr. Graham filled out the pouch of that Speedo.
Mr. Graham was always very friendly and encouraged Howie to take breaks, sit with him, and have a Coke. Soon the breaks were moved indoors to the kitchen in deference to the heat on the deck, and then to the family room where they’d be more comfortable. There Howie discovered his interest in the porn he watched was more about watching the hunky men doing their thing than the females in the videos. It also explained Howie’s curiosity regarding Mr. Graham’s crotch.
He spent the summer lost in lust with Mr. Graham. Soon after arriving at the university, he discovered his roommates, Kelly and Ernie, were on the same page sexually as he was. Thus began their four years of sexual exploration.
As Howie bent to step into his jockstrap, he idly wondered if Chris, the receptionist, was on that same path. He’d pulled the jock up to his knees when he raised his head to see a boyishly-handsome man walking toward him. The man had a body to rival the gods. He was wrapped in a white gym towel, fresh from the showers. He smiled at Howie as he approached. Howie realized he was still bent over, pulling up his jock, and that his head was at cock level with the man, and that Howie was rapidly getting hard.
He flushed with embarrassment as he stood, struggling to pull up the jock and stuff his semi-hard cock inside.
The Adonis stopped before him and said, “Hi. How ya doin’?” He turned to his locker, which was directly across from Howie’s. He casually removed his towel and laid it on the bench between them.
“Hi…I’m…uh…good,” Howie managed to say.
It took Howie exactly ten seconds to fall in love with this man and decide that was enough to meet his criteria for falling in love before having sex.
Howie dallied around, slowly putting on his shorts and tank top, and tying and retying his shoes. All the while, he was taking in the masculine beauty of this god-man in what he hoped was a surreptitious manner.
The guy was dressed and ready to leave before Howie was done getting ready for his workout. He smiled at Howie and said, “Maybe see you here again sometime,” and walked away, leaving Howie to watch him go.
Howie’s hard-on strained against the elastic limitation of his athletic supporter.
The man was all that Howie could think of as he wandered from workout station to workout station. He mentally checked off his Mr. Right wish list with each repetition of every exercise.
Should be handsome: check. Should be well built: check. Hairy chest: check. Bonus: nice ass - double check.
Howie sighed deeply as he lowered and racked the bench press bar, completing the last set of his workout. He lay on the bench for a moment longer and closed his eyes, letting the Adonis’ last words resonate in his head. Maybe see you here again sometime.
Did that mean what Howie hoped it did: that the man was interested in him?
“Hey, man, ya done or are ya settlin’ in for a nap?”
Howie’s eyes snapped open and he saw a sweaty, heavyset man staring down at him as Howie lay on the bench. “Oh, sorry.” Howie quickly sat up and threw his towel over his lap to cover the hard-on which was tenting his shorts.
After taking his shower and dressing, he checked the number on the locker the god-man had used: 1026. When Howie stopped at the front desk on his way out to drop off his key, he ran his hand down the sign-out sheet on the clipboard. He blessed God for allowing Murphy’s Law—anything that can go wrong usually does—to extend to computers.
Locker 1026, locker 1026, he repeated over and over, trying to find the name that went with that number. He had to have come in before Howie, so it had to be above Howie’s name on the sheet. Finally, there it was. Locker 1026—Matthew Timmons.
“Matthew Timmons, I love you,” Howie whispered as he ran his fingers over the name.
“All set, Mr. Bosley?” Chris asked, walking up to the counter.
Howie was startled. He hoped Chris hadn’t heard his profession of love. He felt himself blush.
“Uh, yeah. Say, Chris does…uh…Matt come in often?” he asked, trying to sound off-handed as he pointed to Matthew’s name on the sheet.
“Um, not too much. Couple times a month, maybe. But I’m not here every day so it might be more than that. Why?”
Why? Uh? Why? Howie thought. He hadn’t expected that. What could he say? Surely not, “He left his jock in the locker room and I want to return it, or I just now fell in love with him and want to hop his bones.” Thinking quickly, Howie said, “He’s a client. We made arrangements to meet and go over his finances, and I realized I forgot to write down the time. I don’t have his number or address with me. Could you look it up?”
“Gee, I’m sorry, Mr. Bosley. That’s against the rules. We’re not supposed to give out personal information on club members.”
“I understand,” Howie said. “Well, good night. See you later this week.”
“Hey, if I see Mr. Timmons before you do, I could tell him you need to get in touch with him?”
“Uh…thanks, Chris…but I probably have his number at the office.”
That night as Howie lay on his bed flanked by Sergei and Katya, he couldn’t force the image of Matthew Timmons out of his mind. Matthew had reddish-blond tousled hair, gentle brown eyes, and a scruffy full beard which barely covered a pair of delightful dimples. His boyish smile made you weak in the knees.
The man had a killer body, not bodybuilder muscular, but he could be the poster child for any anatomy class: deep chest, flat defined abs, powerful shoulders and arms, sturdy athletic legs. His torso was covered with the same reddish-blond hair as his head and beard. The pattern was exquisite. His chest was thickly covered. This thinned as the hair continued down his torso, then culminated in a superbly dense bush of pubes. The memory made Howie shudder.
When the man had turned around at his locker and had begun to dress, it was all Howie could do to keep from reaching out and massaging the wonderfully full, round globes that had been just inches from him. Howie was sure he’d been drooling.
Finally, bingo! Matthew Timmons’ genitalia would win a prize in any gay bar’s wet whities contest. The guy was everything Howie could ever want and more—at least physically.
Howie hadn’t realized it, but he had unconsciously reached down and was stroking his own very hard, very erect cock. As he redirected his memories back to Matthe
w’s face, he imagined Matthew leaning forward, whispering, “I love you, Howie,” then taking Howie in his arms and kissing him. At that precise moment Howie’s cock erupted and spewed volleys of cum onto his stomach.
Howie thought of the other night at the bar when Howie had questioned Ernie about approaching a stranger without knowing if he was gay or not. Ernie had responded, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
“Fuck,” Howie said as his excitement subsided. “I gotta find out how to get in touch with this guy. He’s just too good to pass up without taking a chance. After all, he did say he hoped to see me again.”
With that thought, Howie got up to clean up his mess.
Chapter 4
“Maybe see you here again sometime?” Geez! Why on earth did I say that? Matt chastised himself as he drove back to campus. You’re only setting yourself up for more frustration.
But he was so cute. He reminds me of a young Andy Griffith—only handsomer and with a swimmer’s body.
Who am I kidding? You’re wasting your time—and his—even considering trying to get to meet him.
He was attracted to me, I know he was. He got so flustered when I walked up to him and dropped my towel.
Whoa there, Matt. Not good. Don’t go congratulating yourself for being a flirt. You shoulda never done that!
But he had a nice piece of equipment. Really filled out that jock well.
Matthew!
Matt continued this argument with himself until he pulled into the parking lot at Carl’s apartment building. He got out of the car, wrote a quick thank you to his friend on a scrap of paper, wrapped that and a five dollar bill around the car key to cover gas, and put it all in a metal magnetic box. He placed this under the front fender of the car.
He jogged the two blocks over to his small apartment in grad housing, hoping the exercise would clear his head. It didn’t. He tried to study. He had exams coming up. He couldn’t. He tried watching some television on his computer. No luck there either.
Images of the man from the gym kept intruding on everything he did. By the time he’d brushed his teeth and gotten ready for bed he was hard as a rock. Since he had an early morning meeting with his graduate thesis advisor, Father Leopold, he gave in. He knew he’d never get to sleep if he didn’t release the sexual tension the guy from the gym was generating. He began stroking his hard-on, letting pictures of his mystery man flow freely, until his cum flowed all over his hand.
“Crap. No self-control,” Matt said as he got out of bed to clean up. “Oh well, I guess at least Dr. Carl Clark will be happy my prostate got a workout tonight as well as my body.”
* * * *
Matthew rapped lightly on the door of Father Leopold’s office.
“Come in.”
Matthew entered the room. Father Leopold sat behind an ancient wooden desk piled high with stacks of papers. Hanging on the wall in back of him was a crucifix and a framed photo of Pope Francis. The old priest looked up and smiled as Matthew came through the door.
“Good morning, my boy. Right on time, perhaps even a bit early. How refreshing.” Father Leopold gestured toward a small sofa. Matthew sat down as he returned the old priest’s smile. Father Leopold got up, came around his desk, and sat at the other end of the couch facing Matthew.
Father Leopold had a full head of hair—strikingly white—and pale blue eyes. Matthew surmised that at one time in the good father’s life they were a deeper shade of blue and probably quite piercing. His face was fairly free of wrinkles, save for the two delightfully sexy dimples on his cheeks. All in all, Matthew found him to be very handsome—and disturbingly attractive.
“How have you been since our last meeting?” Father Leopold asked. “Staying out of trouble, I hope.” The last statement was punctuated with a wink.
Matthew gave a nervous little laugh, thinking of last night and his flight of sexual fantasy starring the man from the gym.
Father Leopold laughed, patted Matthew’s knee, and said, “I’m obligated to make statements like that. It’s in the job description. Designed to put the fear of eternal damnation into you.” He laughed again.
“Now that that little formality is over and if my memory serves me correctly, and at my age you can’t always depend on it’s doing so, we’re to talk this morning about the topic for that annoying master’s thesis we require you to do.”
Matthew liked the man. He was easy to be with. To Matthew he was the model for all priests: kind, able to laugh and joke, and non-judgmental.
“You’re right. I was supposed to come with a topic in mind.”
“And have you?”
“Yes. I’d like to do a series of hagiographies on a group of saints I’ve come across.”
Father Leopold looked thoughtful. “Hagiographies of most of the saints are quite plentiful. In order to qualify for your master’s thesis there must be some unique aspect to your linking these saints together.”
“There is,” Matthew said. He hesitated briefly and then went on. “They all seem to have been venerated for a time then either their feast day was downplayed or it was removed from the calendar all together. I’d like to delve a little deeper as to why.”
“Who were they?” Father Leopold asked.
“Saints Aelred, Paulinus, Sergius, Bacchus, and Francis of Assisi. There were others but I’d like to concentrate on these.”
Father Leopold raised his eyebrows. “Very interesting. What have you discovered about these men that would make you think they are linked in some way?”
Matthew hesitated again. Now that he was actually talking to his advisor about his thesis topic, he wasn’t sure it was such a great idea.
“It’s rumored that they were all…uh…gay.”
A half hour later, Matthew stood outside the door to Father Leopold’s office. His thesis topic had been approved. Matthew had expected resistance, but instead, Father Leo, as the good man had encouraged Matthew to call him, seemed to be enthusiastic that Matthew had been brave enough to investigate such a topic in light of the church’s stance on homosexuality.
That task behind him, Matthew headed for class. As he did, he pulled out his cell and dialed Carl. He needed Carl’s car again.
Chapter 5
“So, all you know is his name?” Ernie asked as they sat at Stubby’s, a low-key gay bar and Howie’s choice for the three friends’ weekly meeting. It was about as much the opposite of the Pick-n-Play as a gay bar could get. Howie knew it would irk Kelly. There wouldn’t be a whole lot of action here. But that was his whole point in choosing it.
“Yep, I asked but they can’t give out any information on clients at the gym,” Howie responded. “Against the rules.”
“Did you try googling him?” Kelly asked.
Howie nodded,
“And?” Ernie asked, looking eagerly at Howie.
“Nothing. The only Matthew Timmons that came up was a retired meteorologist living in Arizona.”
“Bet he retired from boredom. Not much challenge in forecasting the weather in Arizona,” Ernie said.
“Bummer you couldn’t find out who the guy was,” Kelly said. “Well, easy come, easy go. Plenty of other fish in the sea.”
Easy for you to say, Kelly, Howie thought. But you’re not looking for what I’m looking for. And this guy seemed so perfect.
“He did say he’d hoped to see me again at the gym,” Howie said.
“There ya go, Howie,” Ernie said. “You just have to wait for kismet to strike again.”
“Kismet? What the fuck is that?” Kelly asked.
“Fate, fortune, luck, destiny,” Ernie replied.
“Oh, I get it,” Kelly said, “Romance again. Hey, speaking of romance—how’d it go with Mr. Cucumber, Ernie?
“Wesley? Well…his cucumber was pretty impressive, but that was about all. He couldn’t kiss worth shit, and all he had to talk about was his vegetable garden.”
“So, another one bites the dust, then?” Kelly asked.
Ernie nodd
ed. “But like you said, there are lots of fish in the sea. One of these days Mr. Right will come along. Until then I’ll settle for Mr. Right Now. How’d it go with Jerome?” Ernie asked Kelly.
“Really great. That little twink knows how to make a man feel good,” Kelly responded.
“So you’ll be seeing him again?” Ernie asked.
Kelly hesitated for a fraction of a second and then said, “Hell, no. He was definitely a one-time deal. They have to be pretty spectacular before they get more than a trial run.”
Trial run? Howie thought. Interesting choice of words. Freudian slip? Maybe old Kelly wasn’t as much of a player as he let on. Maybe all three of us are really looking for the same thing after all.
Howie’s thoughts on this subject were interrupted by Ernie saying, “Kelly, I’m surprised you didn’t know what kismet meant. You took that class in History of American Musical Theater with me, right?”
“Yeah, sure, I guess. So?” Kelly responded.
“We studied Kismet, the musical by Wright and Forrest.”
Kelly gave Ernie a blank look. “If you say so. I don’t remember. I didn’t have to pay much attention. I got my grade screwing the prof,” Kelly said and chuckled. “It was an A. That I do remember.”
Ernie just shook his head.
“How’d you know he was gay?” Howie asked.
Both Kelly and Ernie gave him the OMG look.
“What?” Howie asked.
“Hello—American Musical Theater,” Kelly said.
“Oh yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Getting back to the hunk you met at the gym, Howie. What are you gonna do about him?” Ernie asked.
Howie shrugged. “I don’t know. Just hope I run into him again. You know, what you called it—kismet.”
“So, when you do, how you gonna find out if he’s playing for our team? Your gaydar isn’t the sharpest. All you got now is that he said he hoped to see you again,” Kelly said as he munched on the peanuts that were in a bowl on the table.
“I could ask him if he was into musicals,” Howie said. They all laughed.
* * * *
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