I bounced on my heels to keep warm, waiting for him to answer the bell. I looked over my shoulder at the basketball court across the way.
We had not yet met, but this hook up already offered a lot of potential as an ongoing fuck buddy. Chief among his attributes was his address.
He lived across the street from my son’s school.
How handy it would be, I thought, if this worked out. On school days, I could drop off the kids, stop by his place for a spell, and then head off to my desk, fresh from sex, ready to focus on the day’s tasks.
The intercom squawked and buzzed. The front door clicked. The entry door clicked a moment later.
At the end of the hall, I saw a door left slightly ajar. I checked the number I had copied down. 2A; it correlated.
I gently pushed open the door, closing it behind me as I stepped into a darkened kitchen.
There were four or five doors leading from the kitchen. Only one was not closed. I pushed it open.
I stepped through a dressing area and into a bedroom. The shades were drawn close.
He lay on the bed, wearing only white briefs.
He was watching “The Today Show.”
I began to unbutton my coat.
“You can put your things on that chair,” he said, waving his remote in the direction of a white upholstered divan.
I placed my coat on the seat.
Through the darkness, I made out the furnishings of an elegant room.
He reclined on a queen-sized bed, with a headboard and footboard covered in the same creamy white fabric as the divan. A high-back desk sat near the window, dark walnut, like the matching dresser and nightstands.
I stepped from my shoes. My socks sank into plush white carpet.
The plasma screen provided the only light in his shuttered room, the only color in an enclosure of black and white furnishings and gray air.
Katie Couric laughed as I removed my pants.
I stood nude next to the bed.
He glanced over, taking me in before his eyes were reclaimed by the television.
“Turn it off,” I suggested.
He lifted his remote. The room sank into a deeper gloom.
“Take them off,” I suggested.
He lifted his hips and removed his underwear.
He folded them and placed them on a nightstand.
He lay back, lifting an arm over his head and turning his face away. His lids lowered. He gave himself to the admiration of my eyes.
I took in the view.
His body was compact and well-toned, naturally smooth, with a shock of black hair around his cock. His youthful profile was delicately etched, framed in straight hair kept as long as appropriate to his conservative banking job.
I sat on the bed and touched his chest. He flinched slightly.
Nice response. I put both my hands on his body, roaming freely with a light touch.
He remained still, his eyes closed. Only the movement of his cock gave away his arousal.
I brought it to life with my fingertips. It lifted from a hip until it bobbed into the air, flopping back to his bare lower abdomen.
“You can suck me,” he said.
“All right, I will,” I replied, my voice low.
I bent forward and licked the underside of his cock, slowly, from its base to the head and back. I swirled my tongue just under the head, catching a strand of flesh in my teeth, just enough to give him a hint that I know very well what I’m doing.
He flinched again as I took his head into my mouth. I kept it shallow and enveloped in my tongue, leaving the rest of his cock to press for more. I kept him at bay.
He might well be wondering if this was the extent of my abilities: a blowjob that rests just inside my mouth for fear of disturbing a gag reflex.
As if I sucked cock like a girl.
I gave him a moment to crave more and then gave it to him. A deep plunge took him to the back of my throat and back, and then again.
I took his slender hips into my fingers, feeling his runner’s muscles grow taut as I pulled him into me.
Give it to me, I thought. Move your hips, my fingers enticed. If you know how to fuck, here’s your chance.
“Uh . . . ,” he moaned into his raised bicep. “I’m cumming . . .”
I pulled back. His hand took his cock and tugged. I continued to study his hips with my fingers.
His shot jetted up his torso to his neck.
He did not alter his position as he came.
I registered details as he orgasmed.
He likes to be adored. He’s passive. He cums fast.
Nothing steamy in this, but I could work with it. After all, he’s handsome, available on weekday mornings, and conveniently located.
He opened his eyes to look at me.
“Do you want to cum?” he asked.
“Yes,” I smiled.
“Go ahead,” he said, closing his eyes again.
“Do you want to get fucked?,” I asked.
“No, no time,” he demurred. “I have to get to work soon.”
There was no offer of a blowjob coming my way. Evidently, getting myself off was my responsibility
I stood back on my knees, wrapping my legs on his thighs. I jerked my cock, still touching him lightly.
I trained my eyes on his handsome profile, on the cum covering his tiny bare nipple.
Just use him, I told myself. Let your eyes use his looks.
That thought took over. He was just visual stimulus, my personal magazine photograph, living and breathing—barely—underneath me.
I felt my orgasm building. My shoulders lurched back and my hips rocked. My cock looked enormous next to his hips, dwarfing his flaccid dick.
Too bad his eyes are closed, I thought. I could show him how to fucking cum like a real live man.
I moaned as I shot. I came in torrents, lurching as one burst and then another mingled with his cum on his body, pooling over and running down the sides of the hips I had so admired yet could not compel to move.
I breathed deeply and fell back on my haunches.
“Hot, man,” he said, almost robotically. His eyes remained closed.
“Yeah, hot,” I replied. “Say, which way is the bathroom? I’d like to wash up.”
“Oh,” he looked up. “I don’t want to disturb my roommate. Here, there are some tissues by the lamp.” He turned on a light and took two tissues for me, then a few for himself.
He began to wipe cum from his body. I stood to give him room, wiping my palms on Kleenex.
He sat up to toss his tissues into a wastepaper basket. I followed suite.
He reached for his underwear and pulled them over his feet. He stood as he lifted them to his waist.
“So that was hot, man,” he repeated, reaching for his remote. “We should do it again. I wish I didn’t have to get to work so soon.”
Matt Lauer interviewed someone I think I recognized from “Lost.”
“Yeah, let’s do this again soon,” I said, reaching for my shirt.
I looked around as I dressed.
The light had drained the mystery and elegance from his bedroom. It emerged fully devoid of personality, like a comfortably bland three-star hotel room.
It looked as though he had decorated with two swipes of a credit card, hitting Ethan Allen and Circuit City before stopping for coffee at Starbucks.
Once I had my scarf in place, I sat next to him on the edge of the bed. He was engrossed in a national weather report.
“Have a good day,” I said, kissing his cheek. “Thanks for having me.”
“Yeah, you too,” he said, not looking up.
“Great,” I sat for a moment. Wind storms in the Midwest. “Okay, I’ll let myself out.”
It was a bright morning. I decided to walk home.
I made coffee and settled into my desk.
As a rule, anyone I meet for sex gets a nice note afterwards. That’s just good manners.
This time, I figured, why bother.
I was just another body in the room, He’ll find others.
Such a shame, though. What a great address he had.