If Only

by Don M.

2xist thong pencilI first saw him in the locker room at the gym. I’ve been working out there regularly for the past three years. He was standing staring at a distant place, seemingly lost in thought. My own thoughts were a jumble of emotions – beauty of the male form, lust to caress and possess the body, especially his perfect ass, shame at my desire, fear of rejection and anger at the shyness in me that held me back from even trying to approach him. He stood there with his left hip slightly cocked looking like a living Greek statue, only one that was wearing a jock strap.

I discreetly followed him out of the gym and saw him get into a red Ford pickup truck with one of those signs on the side – Ken’s Lawn Service, along with an area code and phone number. I desperately tried to remember the number, but by the time I got to my car and found a pen and a scrap of paper, all I could recall was the area code. As soon as I got home, I got out the Yellow Pages and looked under the heading “lawn service” for Ken’s Lawn Service. Nothing. Googling “Ken’s Lawn Service” got the same “nothing.”   Nuts! I went back to the gym every night for the next week looking for my jockstrap-clad Greek god. I came an hour early and stayed an hour late. I didn’t see him. My longing grew more and more intense.

I have always been shy and afraid to commit myself to someone or be open about my true feelings to a person.  This was never so true as in the case with this beautiful, jock-clad male.  Would I finally be able to break free of this self-inflicted curse?

I spent many hours daydreaming of how I could approach him and getting him to trust me to the point that I could spend time caressing and exploring that beautiful body. Then one night I had a dream that I approached him at the gym and talked to him about my photography hobby – how I took underwear photos and submitted them to the more erotic underwear companies. He was reluctant at first to consider modeling for me, but my enthusiasm for his modeling potential finally won him over.

He showed up at my house the next night. I had the spare bedroom cleaned up, shades drawn and a washable comforter on the bed. I had my camera set up on a tripod. He was wearing tight jeans that showed the sculpted globes of his perfect ass. A snug fitting T-shirt complimented his beautifully developed upper body. He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed to take off his T-shirt, running shoes, socks and jeans. Finally, there he was, standing in my bedroom wearing that temptingly revealing jockstrap.  I took a few shots – front, side and back. Then I explained that I needed to oil his body to enhance the photos.

I began with his upper body and slowly worked my way down. His eyes seemed to lose focus as I gently rubbed in the baby oil, working my way downward. I noticed that there was a swelling in the pouch of the jockstrap. I skipped over the middle of his body and this time started with his feet and worked my way slowly upwards. I could no longer restrain myself. I began to lightly work the oil into the smooth skin of the globes of his ass. When I heard him moan slightly, I took courage and began oiling the crack of his ass. His moans got a little louder. I got bolder and began working my finger around his sphincter muscle until I felt it give just a little. I took another bold move and gently but firmly pushed my finger inside his ass. As I worked my finger around inside his ass, I took my other hand around to his front and freed his hard-on from the prison of the jockstrap pouch. His cock sprang up and quivered in a mesmerizing way. I slid around in front of him and took that beautiful cock in my mouth while I continued to gently probe his ass with my finger. I was delirious with lust. He grabbed my head and set the pace of my sucking motions. As he shot his load into my mouth I came in my pants. We collapsed on the bed in a tangle of legs and arms.

It was one of those dreams so graphic and erotic that I woke up with an obvious mess in my sheets. Also, it was so vivid that I remembered it the next morning.

Since I remembered the dream in so much detail, I gave some real thought to the photographer approach to him. Could I realistically make this work? The more I thought about it the more I didn’t think I could pull it off. I liked to take pictures. I did have a tripod, but my camera was a $300 compact digital Canon. Clearly not the tools of a professional. Maybe I could tell him I represented a famous underwear photographer and that I needed to take some sample stills to send to my professional photographer friend. I began to convince myself that this would really work.

Seven nights and no Ken. On the eighth night he was there. As I came into the locker room of the gym, he was standing, one hip slightly cocked, wearing the jock strap and looking off into the distance.   My heart started racing in my chest. Oh, the beauty of that strap-outlined ass. I wanted more than anything I’d ever wanted before to stroke and kiss that smooth flesh. A few moments later he came out of his reverie and pulled on a pair of jeans, covering those beautiful globes of flesh. The tightness of the jeans increased my desire, because I could so clearly picture that virtually naked ass of a few moments before. He put on a T-shirt, socks and running shoes, picked up his gym bag and headed out the door. Again, I discreetly followed, this time pacing my steps so that I got to the outside doors at the same time he did.    I opened the door for him, and, as he stepped around me, he fixed me with a brilliant blue-eyed gaze and said: “Thanks.” He said it with a warm, slightly crooked smile and a slight wave of his hand.   I swear that his eyes had a limitless depth to them.  I think my heart actually fluttered, or maybe it skipped a beat or two.  His voice was soft and caressing to my ears.  I froze up inside and couldn’t even get my tongue to say: “You’re welcome” much less go into my representative of a photographer spiel. He got into his red pickup and drove out of the parking lot. I just stood there watching his taillights fade and then disappear, visions of the globes of his ass blocking all my thoughts.

More dreams interrupted my sleep and more plans were worked out in exquisite detail.

I would hire him to re-landscape my front yard and, because of the heat, sweat and dirt invite him inside to take a shower before he went home for the day. I would offer to join him in the shower and wash his back and then let my hands drift down to those beautiful ass cheeks and wash them. I would then wash the crack of his ass and let my finger stroke his beautiful, promising butt-hole until I felt him relax enough to push a finger in. I would give him another blow-job and I would spontaneously come again. But what if he didn’t want to come into the house and shower? After all, that was a pretty obvious ploy that could easily lead to rejection and humiliation.

How was I going to see that beautifully developed ass and give it the attention it deserved?

Maybe I could ask him to service my backyard pool. I didn’t think it would be that big of a transition to go from landscape man to pool man. I convinced myself that I would be able to talk him into doing the job.  He would surely show up in shorts with the thong jockstrap underneath, and, because the weather was hot, take off his T-shirt. How hard would it be for me to talk him into skinny dipping after he cleaned the pool? Once we had cooled off in the pool, I would bring us a couple of beers and have him relax in a lounge chair – hopefully lying on his stomach so that I could unobtrusively study his ass and memorize every detail. Then I’d suggest applying some sun screen to his back, once again working my way to the place of my overwhelming desire. Yes, this plan would surely work! This would be the beginning.  Maybe this would lead to a long, passionate and loving relationship.  Finally, after years of only dreams, I would have a beautiful, passionate man sharing my home and my life.  A real love life, not a dream-life.

I went to the gym every night for the next two months.  No more Ken.  I tried other gyms.  I never saw him again.  Whatever happened to him? Why, oh, why was I so lacking in courage? If only…

One Response to If Only

  1. Pingback: Issue 18 is live! | wildeoats

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s