I was the youngest member of the crew. I was also the only white guy.
I tried not to look at it that way, being the one who had the most privilege and all, but I’ve always been a little insecure for a lot of reasons, and so whenever I was in range of one of the guys prattling off in rapid Spanish, surrounded by the others laughing hysterically, I couldn’t help but imagine them joking about me. All in all, they were good guys… but I also know if I spoke another language, I probably couldn’t help but talk shit about other people once in a while, even if I didn’t mean it. But ultimately, even after six months on the job, I felt somewhat of an outsider in their company, and I was more reserved than I had been in high school when I was at work.
For more than just that reason, though. This was 1999, and though people weren’t getting lynched so much anymore, it wasn’t particularly common to wear your sexuality on your sleeve, especially around older, masculine men like them — not if you could help it. And I was definitely what you’d call “passing” — I’m in construction after all, I have no fashion sense whatsoever, and I was tall and muscled, with an unusually deep voice, almost raspy, thanks to my terrible habit of smoking several packs a day. And I’d never come out of the closet, not even to a close friend, not even to a stranger in a public restroom. Yeah — the embarrassing truth was that, at twenty-four, I was still a virgin. Back in school, I had dated a couple of girls, but I couldn’t feign sexual attraction to them, and the relationships only served to deflect people from suspecting anything about me; they didn’t last long.
To make matters worse, not only was my “perversion” in my sexual orientation, but my type was unusual, to say the least. No, twinks and muscle hunks did nothing for me. For whatever reason, my ideal man resembled the guys I worked with: shorter, heftier, older, thicker, furrier. Some “padding”; some meat on those bones. So while part of me was delighted to be in the company of eye candy for forty hours a week, I also got nervous around them, always afraid I’d stare too long and one of them would figure me out. So I kept my distance, always taking my lunch break after they’d finished theirs, rarely straying from talking about work.
And so I was surprised and slightly terrified when I was invited to go along with them to the bar.
It was Manuel’s forty-eighth birthday. We’d never really celebrated anybody’s birthday before, but most of the guys had a wife and kids to go home to, whereas Manuel was more of a loner. He was also one magnificent specimen of a man. Despite being better with English than most of the rest of them, he was probably the one I had talked to the least. Not only did I avoid him lest I betray my attraction, he seemed to ignore me for the most part. I don’t think it was just me had a problem with though, in general he was definitely the quietest of the guys. He still got along with them better than I did, but he seemed to participate less in conversation, even though he would laugh along when they talked about… well, whatever they talked about.
I was taller than all the others, but I was nearly a foot taller than poor Manuel, and I imagined he must’ve been teased about his height. He had a wide frame though, broader shoulders than me, with thick, strong arms and legs like trunks of trees. His pecs protruded from his chest and his gut spilled over his belt, which I sometimes could catch a glimpse of when his shirt rode up, which was whenever he was holding something over his head. Best of all, I loved to watch whenever he’d bend down to pick up materials or tools, revealing the line of jet-black fur trailing down to the crack of his beautiful broad ass. I loved to imagine running my tongue down that crack, inhaling the sweaty, musky scent as I approached his puckering hole.
He shaved his head smooth, and his scalp would often glisten with sweat in the hot sun. He wore a full beard, unlike anyone else on the team, maybe to conceal his double-chin. He kept it trimmed, but it always looked a little rough anyway, the hairs sticking out at random angles and the jet black ones contrasting sharply with bright white ones that betrayed his age. His eyes were big and dark brown, inset a bit into his face, which also might have accentuated his chubbiness more than he would have preferred, but which I absolutely adored. Above them were thick, wiry, bushy eyebrows. His lips were relatively thin and blended in with his dark complexion, and I rarely saw him smile, but when he did, it was a wonderful sight that could melt me. He’d flash his teeth, a bit yellowed by years of drinking coffee, and his cheeks would wrinkle up under his eyes.
And that night I was treated to more of those irresistible smiles, which I took in greedily, memorizing his features so I could masturbate thinking about him when I got home. The six of us were all seated at the bar, and I had the fortune to be sitting right next to him, on his left. He seemed to balk at all the attention from the guys, but he eased into it as the evening wore on and he’d had a few drinks. We clapped him on the back like tough, macho guys do to show their affection for one another, and after we’d all gotten some alcohol into our systems, we even sang him a horrible rendition of “feliz cumpleaños.” I relished the rare opportunity to really get to take him in up close without being noticeable, to see the way his big body quaked when he laughed. Mostly the guys socialized in Spanish, occasionally switching over to English for a few seconds when they remembered I was there, but then diving just as quickly back to their native language. Everyone was jovial and despite the language barrier, I did start to feel like I belonged with them, even if deep down I wished I could say more: to offer them compliments, to let them know that, even if their wives complained about their flab, I found them beautiful and desirable and perfect just the way they were. They were good guys, and God knows that while women receive far more attention for their appearance than for their accomplishments, with men it’s all too often the reverse — especially when they’re not walking, breathing Greek sculptures.
I was getting buzzed, and always being worried about staring too long or saying something stupid, I subtly told the bartender to switch to serving me Cokes. Manuel, on the other hand, was clearly getting blitzed tonight. Good for him, being his birthday and all, and nobody to go home to. The other guys were mostly having beers, but Manuel was on his fifth or sixth Moscow Mule. His speech was slurred and he was overly animated with his arms, more energetic than I’d ever seen him before. He really was adorable.
I announced I had to take a piss and headed to the restroom. It was one of those immodest restrooms that didn’t have barriers between the urinals, which I was always made me self-conscious, but thankfully I was the only one in there, so I fished out my dick and sighed in relief as I started emptying my bladder.
Not to brag, but I was blessed with a well-endowed penis, even if I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to put it in anything other than my fist.
Halfway through my leak, I heard the door swing open and Manuel came up beside me, curiously choosing the urinal directly to my right rather than giving me the customary space. He was clearly very drunk, swaying a bit and humming to himself as he unzipped his fly.
I knew I’d never get another golden opportunity like this one, so I snuck a sly glance as he pulled out his member. Like him, it was a bit short but thick like a beer can. He was circumcised like me, and the head of his cock was dark brown. Long, wiry black pubes pushed their way out of his pants, thinning out a bit but erratically sprouting from random follicles along the base of his cock. I looked away quickly.
And then the most amazing thing happened. I caught in my peripheral vision as he craned his neck to look at my pecker. As drunk as he was, he utterly failed at being subtle. It was only for a few seconds, but to my more sober brain, it was incredibly obvious and awkwardly drawn-out, so I turned my head to give him a cue that I had noticed what he was doing.
This pulled him out of his stupor and he realized with horror that he’d been caught. As much as I wanted to make a move, I was nowhere near brave enough to do anything so bold, so I decided to spare him any further embarrassment, hastily tucking my dick back into my pants.
I had underestimated how inebriated he was, because he was so flustered by being discovered that he turned a situation that could have been quietly forgotten into a an absolute shit show. Panicked, he stumbled and, trying to catch his balance, he accidentally rotated toward me.
Suddenly I felt hot liquid as the right leg of my jeans took the brunt of his stream and stuck against my shin.
“Fuck! Fuck! No! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” he yelled frantically. “Oh God, oh God, oh God…”
Unfortunately, I was so hard-wired to protect myself from any awkward situations that might reveal my true nature made my instinctual reaction one which I’ll always regret. I recoiled, my face contorted into an expression of angry shock, and I retreated, stepping back and away from him.
And what had begun as one of the happiest, most exciting nights of my life, quickly turned into the most horrific.
Another man had just entered the restroom. A mountain of a man, almost as much taller than me as I was than Manuel. He was also very visibly wasted, but as he took in the humiliating scene in front of him, I saw the fire in his eyes. I froze.
“FAGGOT!” he bellowed, and I watched helplessly as he wrapped his monstrous hand around the back of Manuel’s shiny, smooth head and viciously smashed his face against the tile above the urinals.
There was a sickening crack as the tile split into a spider-web and when the man pulled Manuel back, I saw a river of blood run down from his forehead to his cheek, another stream already starting to drip from his smashed, disfigured nose. He was still conscious, but dazed, his eyes open wide and pupils dilated in shock and terror. The man finally released him, and Manuel was now facing me, but he stumbled back, slipped, and fell backward, his weight colliding with the toilet stall behind him. The flimsy wall gave way and he collapsed awkwardly on his ass, the stall wall bent and partially wrenched from where it was clamped to the tile wall. He slumped forward.
“NO!” I screamed. I was completely blinded by rage. I would’ve stood no chance against this man, save for the fact that he was at least as drunk as Manuel, and that slowed his reaction time. I closed the distance between us in a frenzy and then brought my knee up as hard as I could, taking him in the gut. He cried out and keeled over, bringing him down within my range, so I swung my fist and hit him square in the throat, again knocking the wind out of him. His hands went to his throat as he choked, wide-eyed.
I squatted down by Manuel. “Oh no…” I whispered, fighting back a sudden urge to cry, as I took him in.
Thankfully he was still awake, but his mouth was twisted in an agonizing expression and he whimpered. There was blood all over his face, a big gash on his forehead and his broken nose splayed sideways. To add insult to injury, his cock was still out of his pants and the last of his urine had run down his left leg, soaking his pants.
I was about to shout for help, when I heard movement and realized I had made a grave mistake in assuming that the assailant was incapacitated by my pathetic attempt at a takedown.
I rose up but it was too late to do anything. The beast hit with me with a force I’d never felt before, both fists aimed for my chest, and there was an awful crunch as my ribs gave way. I sailed across the bathroom several feet, then my tailbone collided against the porcelain sink and it felt as if my body broke in half as I crumpled to the floor. The sink had been split by my impact and a shower of water from a broken pipe sprayed the room.
The pain was unbearable and I could barely breathe. I was lying face down with my arms and legs spread, and I craned my neck up to face my attacker as he approached. “No, no wait,” I tried to say, but I wasn’t even sure if what escaped from my mouth was even intelligible.
He made a guttural growl, and his booted foot came down, bearing all his strength and weight, stomping on my right arm. My bones shattered like glass and I howled.
I could feel myself slipping. My vision was swimming and suddenly everything sounded muted and far away. It felt as if the lights in the room were dimming.
The door burst open again, and Luis and Arturo were there, shouting frantically. Another man was behind them, maybe another member of our crew or maybe someone else from the bar — I couldn’t tell. The three men were pulling the monster away, struggling to subdue him, and finally I saw with bleak satisfaction was that they’d brought him down to his knees. I desperately clawed toward the light, to keep myself conscious despite the searing white-hot pain. But my head dropped limply back to the floor and the last image I saw was the grisly remains of my arm, a bone jutting out of my elbow.
I woke to the worst hangover of my life, or so I thought. It felt as if my cranium were stuffed with cotton balls. It was then, that after my eyes finally focused, that I could see in the dim lighting where I was. A hospital, of course. The events of that night flooded me and I tried to bolt upright as I remembered everything that had happened.
Instead I was only able to lift my body halfway before the pain surged through my broken ribs, and I gasped, falling back onto the bed.
I heard movement and turned, realizing I wasn’t alone — he stirred as he woke, sitting up in his chair.
“…Manuel?” I asked, then cringed as I realized I was wrong. As he leaned forward I could see it was Luis.
“Hey,” he said softly, and he smiled kindly at me. “You’re awake.”
I knew I risked hinting too much at my true feelings, but I couldn’t help it. I needed to know. “Is he okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s okay,” he said. “He’ll be here soon.”
“What… what happened after I was out?” I asked, careful to downplay my relief.
“The guy’s in jail, where he belongs,” he said. “We’ve been taking turns here, so you wouldn’t be alone when you woke up.”
“Er, thanks…” I said sheepishly. “Wait — how long has it been?”
Luis checked his watch. “30-some hours?”
Holy shit. “Seriously?”
“Yeah it’s 3 in the morning.”
“Fuck…”
“He was really worried about you. He uh — he told us some things.”
“Like…?” I asked, confused.
“Look, just don’t be too hard on him, okay?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well… he said that he might have been… checking you out.” Luis looked at me. He seemed embarrassed, but he didn’t look away, as if to study my reaction.
“I, uh… yeah, that,” I muttered dumbly, not sure what to say.
“Just… he was drunk, alright? So don’t be too had on him,” he repeated. “I mean, none of us knew he was…” He trailed off expectantly.
“Gay?” I finished for him, cringing.
“Yeah… it’s not his fault though, you know? People just are what they are,” he said softly, and I wondered if he was telling this to me or to himself.
“I know,” I said, and even though I hadn’t revealed myself yet, I felt like a weight had been lifted off of me and for a moment I forgot about the knot of pain in my chest.
“He’s really sorry,” Luis added. “He blames himself for what happened.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, my voice growing stronger as I felt my confidence grow.
“Y-you…” He paused, then his eyes drifted to my arm, and I followed them.
I felt it before my eyes could register what I was seeing.
It was just… gone. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed as soon as I woke up. My elbow was wrapped in a big cast, and my hand was gone.
“Oh hell,” I blurted out, stunned.
“Yeah,” he said flatly, and he looked at me with pity. I just stared at my stump, unblinking, in disbelief.
Then, surprising myself with my own optimism, I said, “Good thing I’m a leftie,” and cracked a smile.
Luis chuckled. “Okay,” he said, checking his watch again, “he’ll be here in a minute. I’ll give you some space, yeah?” Without waiting for my answer, he stood to leave.
I had been so happy for a moment by Manuel’s bravery in coming out to the crew, and I felt my chance to do the same slipping away — and with it, the pain returning to the forefront of my mind. So before I could chicken out, I opened my mouth, committed.
“I am too,” I proclaimed.
“You’re what?” Luis asked, turning back from the door.
I realized that I wasn’t making sense, and tried to find the words.
“I’m… yeah, I’m gay too,” I said quieter, the strength drained from my voice.
His expression was unreadable. My thoughts raced as I panicked. I’d gone over this millions of times in my head, imagining the sickening rejection I’d receive when I finally confessed what I really was to someone else.
“No shit,” he said. “Good for you, Robert.”
My heart blossomed at his words. I could scarcely believe it, even though my rational mind had told me that he already knew about Manuel and clearly still cared about him.
“I gotta get home,” he said. “You two have fun.” He smirked, and my face flushed with embarrassment.
“Yeah, okay, uh, drive safe,” I said, still reeling in the wonder.
“You’re a good kid,” he added as he closed the door. “Get better.” Warmth washed over me and I smiled despite my horrible predicament.
Everything would be okay.
Even though it had been completely unnecessary, somehow losing a limb felt like a small price to pay for this newfound freedom I’d finally been able to experience. No more constant hiding. I could just be me. And even greater, I might even have had a chance with the man I had been infatuated with. More than that — I felt I loved him. I reminded myself that that was a silly notion, more a product of my fantasies, but I let myself feel that warmth anyway, because there was the slightest chance that maybe that could become real, that maybe he felt the same way.
The rapid, high-pitched beeping of a machine pulled me back into reality, and with it came the blinding pain shooting up from my phantom arm. The door opened, and I was disappointed to see it was a nurse rather than Manuel. I grimaced, trying to bear the pain quietly, but when she asked me how I was feeling, my meek response had her increasing the morphine to my IV, and the room faded away as I passed out.
When I came to again, the room was bathed in the peaceful orange-red light of the sunrise. And my heart fluttered as I turned and saw him dozing in the chair beside me.
Gauze wrapped around his head, he was bent forward, snoring softly, mouth agape. A large bandage covered his nose, and he had two black eyes, rings of dark purple, puffy flesh from cheekbones to eyebrows. Stubble grew from his shaved scalp, and I could see that he kept it shaved because of a large bald spot forming on top. And even though it pained me to see what that disgusting man had done to him, I found him handsome as ever, and relished the additional time I had to gaze at him while he slept.
But I accidentally cut that time short as I stifled a sudden cough, and he opened his eyes. The left one was red with blood.
“Hi,” I said stupidly, and for once I didn’t avert my eyes, afraid of being caught admiring him.
“Hey,” he said, and he smiled, though it betrayed his shame and pity. “I am so sorry,” he added sheepishly.
“Don’t be. Nothing was your fault.”
He just looked down at his shoes. “Bet you didn’t expect to get pissed on by a fat old pervert,” he said airily, but he couldn’t hide his cringe.
“Bet you didn’t expect I’d like it,” I said with a mischievous grin.
He chuckled. “Right,” he said sarcastically.
Without leaving myself with any time to think, I blurted out, “Don’t call yourself that, Manuel. You’re beautiful.”
He brought his eyes up to meet mine, testing whether he thought I was joking or not. Despite my earnest expression, he laughed sadly anyway.
Once again I was overcome with unexpected tears. I’ve never been a cryer, but I’d also never been quite this vulnerable before. I tried shoving them down, but my eyes watered anyway. As I blinked to clear them away, I saw his face scrunched up to hold back his own.
So I tentatively reached out with my left arm and softly placed my hand over his own, feeling the rough skin and wiry hair that grew on the back of his hand, enjoying the warmth.
He shielded his eyes with his other hand and said, “You don’t have to do that.” He made no motion to escape my touch though, which was the message I needed.
“I know.”
“They must be pumping some good shit through that IV of yours then,” he said, laughing again deflectively. “Because I’m one ugly motherfucker.”
“Stop it!” I exclaimed, my face reddening. “I’ve been drooling over you for six months now.”
I couldn’t believe I had just admitted that. He took a few seconds to compose himself before he said, “You’re not joking?”
“I’m not joking.”
“But you’re so… so young. And tall. And… in shape.”
“Well, now I’m a cripple, so I fully intend to let myself go,” I cracked. Then I remembered that he had blamed himself for this whole fiasco, and I grimaced, wishing I could take back the words. “Really. It isn’t your fault,” I added. “You didn’t do this.”
“I creeped on you. I fucking pissed on you. And you turned around and saved my life… and damn near got yourself killed,” he said, voice wavering.
“I don’t know about ‘saving your life’… I was just angry and for some insane reason thought I stood a chance against that guy.”
“Well you defended me anyway. I half-expected you to kick the shit out of me instead.”
I was aghast. “You really thought I would do that?”
He paused. “No,” he said slowly. “No, you’re not like that.”
“And do you think I’d call you ‘beautiful’ as some kind of cruel joke?”
“No…”
“Good,” I said, confidence building. “Because I don’t regret anything that happened, and neither should you.”
His eyes went to my stump of an arm. “I regret nothing,” I repeated strongly.
Then I wrapped my fingers around his thick wrist and tugged gently. He responded exactly the way I’d hoped, standing up then leaning over me. I ran my hand up his arm until I reached his shoulder and pulled him down until his face was inches from mine. Finally, resisting the sharp stabbing pain from my ribs, I pulled myself up towards him and planted my lips on his.
I felt an electricity arc between us, and it felt as if my lips buzzed at the connection. This was really happening, and I briefly wondered if I had slipped back into my morphine coma and was dreaming. But it was all too real. I gazed into his eyes, one white and one bloodshot, and he accepted, gently leaning lower and lowering me back onto the bed without breaking the kiss.
It was a moment I wished would last forever, but sadly it was broken by the click of the door. Manuel hastily pulled away, even though we both knew that whoever had come in would have already seen us.
There was a chorus of jovial laughter and a catcalling whistle. I craned my head to see that the whole crew was there, Luis holding a bouquet of “Get Well” balloons. I laughed before that was cut short by my aching ribs.
“Get a room, guys!” Arturo said, cackling.
“I already did!” I croaked. “Maybe knock next time.”
I was finally back home. Having one arm was taking some getting used to, and I suspected I’d have been wallowing in self-pity if not for all I had to look forward to. I had invited Manuel over for coffee tonight, and I hoped he knew I was hinting at us having more than just coffee together.
I had a few hours to kill, so I set about tidying up the small apartment, adjusting to my new one-handed life. It wasn’t so bad — a few years ago I had had surgery on my right shoulder and had it in a sling for six weeks. This was a lot harder of course, and I would catch myself instinctively reaching for objects with a hand that didn’t exist. But nothing could dampen my mood today. In the back of my mind I fretted about what I would do for a living now, but I let that be. Being alive was enough. Having the man of my dreams coming up to my place made it far more than enough.
I showered and dressed casually, in athletic shorts and a plain white tee. Just as I finished clearing the junk off the kitchen countertop, there was a knock at the door, and my heart about jumped out of my chest.
I pulled open the door and there he was, in a nice plaid button-down shirt and slacks. “Wow, now I feel underdressed,” I said, and he smiled.
“I didn’t know the dress code,” he said, walking in and closing the door behind him.
“For you? The less, the better,” I said and grinned slyly.
He followed me to the living room and I gestured for him to sit down on the couch. I had to take two trips to the kitchen, of course only being able to carry one cup at a time, and he made a motion to get up and help but I dismissed him and he stayed put. He seemed tense, so I sat beside him and made an extra effort to appear nonchalant, spreading my legs apart and leaning back onto the cushion.
We sipped our coffee and chatted idly, mostly him catching me up on how the projects were going and what else I had missed. He no longer had the bandages and the bruises around his eyes had mostly faded. He still had some stitches on the big cut on his forehead. I referred to it as his “Harry Potter scar,” which made him laugh.
I took the empty cups back to the sink to rinse them out and noticed him trailing me back to the kitchen. I dried my hand on the towel and turned to face him.
“I know I already said this, but really — you are gorgeous,” I said. “Err, handsome, whatever.”
He laughed and said, “You should’ve seen me twenty years ago.”
“I doubt you were hotter then than now,” I said, feeling brave.
“You really think so?”
“I really, really do,” I said, closing the distance between us.
To hell with it. I knew I had to make a move, so I reached out and popped the top button of his shirt, struggling a bit without another hand, and worked down to the next one.
“Wait,” he said and gently pulled my hand away.
“Too forward?” I said, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sorry!”
“N-no, it’s just… it’s not pretty under there.”
“I really beg to differ,” I said. “Maybe it’s a little weird, but you… in my eyes, you are perfect.”
“It’s not just that I’m fat,” he insisted. “I… I’ve got scars.”
“Scars?” I asked.
He paused and looked away wistfully. “When I was around your age, I was still in Mexico, working at my dad’s orchard. The weather was getting bad and he warned me to come in but I didn’t listen, like an idiot. I was up on the ladder and… well… I got hit by lightning.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah… that’s kinda why I let myself go, gained all this weight. I knew, after that, that nobody was gonna want me after that. I mean… it’s awful.”
“Worse than this?” I asked, bringing up my right arm so the sleeve of my tee fell back, exposing my stump.
“Let me see,” I insisted. “Please.”
Hesitantly he undid the buttons of his shirt and slid his arms out from it, then hung it over the back of a chair. Underneath he wore an aged wifebeater with underarms stained with sweat. Forests of black hair sprouted from his armpits and I shivered involuntarily.
“Are you sure?” he asked, and I had a feeling this was more directed toward himself than to me.
“Please,” I repeated. “I really, really don’t think it’s going to change how I feel about you.”
He sighed and didn’t move right away so I decided to take matters into my own hands, or rather hand. I fisted the bottom of his undershirt and pulled it up over his big belly until it rested above his fleshy pecs.
It wasn’t ugly at all. Strange, maybe, but somehow beautiful in its own way.
The healthy patches of skin grew coarse body hair, but a large swathe of his belly and the middle of his chest was rough, leathery, and hairless. In some places the skin was black, and in others an almost white. From his belly button up to the center of his chest was a massive scar, but tendrils spread from that across the rest of his belly and chest, like tree branches. One branch spread across his side, and I carefully traced it with my index finger, feeling the rough, scabby skin as it wound its way to the small of his back. I followed it to the end, and my fingers were rewarded with the sudden feeling of the thick fur on his back. I let my hand rest there for a minute, then I slid it back around until I cupped his right breast, his hardening nipple in the center of my calloused palm.
He looked up at me uncertainly, but I knew I didn’t really need to say anything to alleviate his fear. Instead, I let my hand glide back to his back, bent my knees slightly, pressed my body up against his, and brought our lips together. I felt his big, burly arms wrap around my waist in an embrace and his lips parted, letting my tongue explore the inside of his mouth.
With our height difference, my crotch was almost level with his navel, and he must have felt me stirring as I started to get stiff at his touch. He broke the kiss in order to ease my shirt off, pulling it up from the back, and I finished pulling it off my head, which was out of his reach. In turn, he pulled his arms through his own shirt and removed it the rest of the way, and I had a moment to admire his flexed arms.
“Oh wow,” he said, eyes darting up and down my bare chest. “You are sooo out of my league!” He laughed nervously.
I placed my hand under his chin and lifted him up to face me. “You’re absolutely stunning,” I said and I knew that he knew I was telling the truth, and he pulled me back into his arms again and hugged me for what felt like hours. He squeezed me tight and I grunted as my sore ribs protested, but I didn’t want it to stop.
But when he did finally release me, I grabbed his hand and towed him to the bedroom.
He kicked off his shoes and I fumbled to unbuckle his belt, grateful that he finished the job for me. I gently pushed on him and he obliged, sitting down on the bed.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” he whispered.
“Me neither,” I said, examining the way his ample flesh folded when he leaned forward to start to pull down his slacks. “You are just… incredible.”
“Thanks,” he said sheepishly.
The coarse body hair continued down his thick, meaty thighs. I slid my hand up his leg, enthralled. I let him explore my chest and abdomen with his hands, then, tenderly, I brought my hand up to the big tent of his boxer briefs, running it up and down the length of his big, hard cock through the thin fabric.
In response, he tugged at my waistband, taking my shorts and boxers at once, and my own stiff cock sprung out in front of him. He whistled and I laughed.
Then to my delightful surprise, he leaned forward and the head of my cock entered his warm, wet mouth. “Ohhhh fuck,” I gasped.
He worked his way forward, taking more than half my length until he involuntarily gagged and retreated back to the head. “Sorry,” he muttered, muffled, my cock still filling his mouth.
He cupped my balls with one hand, tickling them a bit, and I squirmed. Then he used his other hand to squeeze the half of my dick that he couldn’t swallow and jacked me slowly as he bobbed his head up and down on the rest of me.
I was already getting close to climax, so I pushed him back. My face contorted into a wicked smile and I proclaimed, “My turn.”
I placed my hand on his chest again and gently pushed him, and he obliged, leaning back to lie flat on his back, legs still dangling from the edge of the bed. I traced a circle around the head of his cock, still through his underwear, and noted with satisfaction the sticky precum that oozed through it. I started to pull down the fabric and he sensed my difficulty doing this one-handed and helped me pull them down to his ankles.
There he was, in all his glory. He tipped his head up to watch me, his expression conveying that somehow he still wasn’t totally sure I wanted him the way that I did.
His boner rested against his stomach, giving me a lovely view of the veiny underside, and connected to his big, low-hanging bull balls, coated in more of his fur.
I leaned in and took a big whiff. He had showered recently but he still had a faint scent of intoxicating sweat. I buried my head between his legs and started licking the area where his leg met his pelvis and he moaned appreciatively. He was salty and delicious. Unable to resist, I made my way over to his cock.
I started off by teasing him, dragging my tongue up and down the underside of his meat. My own cock throbbed painfully but I resisted jerking, not wanting to be greedy. I knew he wanted me like I wanted him.
“Oh God,” he moaned, and I snuck a glance up to see he was still craned forward, watching me licking him.
I stretched my jaw as wide as I could and took in the whole thing at once, down to the base, and he gasped.
The head was in the back of my throat and I carefully relaxed, resisting the urge to gag. My nose was buried in his forest of pubic hair and I breathed it in deeply. As I continued to fight the urge to gag, I swallowed rapidly a few times, and felt him tremble at the sensation. So I kept at it, moving up and down only slightly and kept swallowing, constricting his delicious meat, careful to keep my teeth from rubbing wrong.
“Robert!” he roared, and I almost pulled away in concern, before he said the golden words: “I’m cumming!”
He swelled up even more and I stretched my jaw until it hurt to accommodate him, then I was rewarded with a hot liquid splattering against the back of my throat. I swallowed again, and he moaned, his whole body shaking. His bent knees suddenly straightened out and his thighs closed tightly around my head. Then I felt those big strong hands on the base of my neck, shoving me forward hard, squashing my face against his crotch. I couldn’t breathe, but I fought the urge to resist, another volley of cum shooting into me. Then another, and another.
I was seeing stars by the time he finally let his legs go limp and released my head. I pulled up only slightly so I could breathe again, but held him in my mouth. He was breathing heavily, his hefty stomach rising and falling. I stayed frozen, not wanting the moment to end, and his cock gradually deflated in my mouth until the head rested on my tongue, and I finally got to taste the last globs of my reward as I gently coaxed them out.
Eventually I let it go and rose to my feet. I met his eyes.
“Robert?” he asked, eyes wild with lust.
“Yeah?”
“Fuck me?”
I looked at him. “Seriously?”
“Please?” he begged.
“Uhm… y-yeah. Yeah, okay,” I said, glad I’d planned ahead and bought my first bottle of lube on my way home from the hospital.
I grabbed the bottle and squeezed some onto my aching cock. He brought his legs up and grabbed hold of his thighs. “Oh my God…” I said. It was a beautiful, incredible sight to behold. “I don’t think I’ll be able to last very long.”
He just plastered one of those grins that made me melt across his face.
I pushed my cock against his hairy hole that he’d hoisted up for me.
“Slow, slow,” he panted. “It’s my first time.”
“Me too,” I reminded him.
I took my time, slowly letting him open up to me, first a quarter of my length before pulling back out, then half, and then the whole thing. He shuddered and his mostly flaccid, spent cock twitched, coming back to life. “Oh fuck yes,” he muttered.
I pulled all the way out and then glided back in, until my balls bounced off his ass. It was even more incredible than his mouth, so tight and warm.
“Fuck me… fuck me!” he cried out, and I took the hint and started thrusting, gradually picking up speed.
His cock jiggled and stiffened as I pistoned him faster, and his body quaked beneath me, pecs and belly bouncing to my rhythm. “Fuck! Fuck!” he yelled, and I was shocked to see his cock erupt with another load, and cum shot across his belly and chest, almost reaching his own face. As he came his ass tightened suddenly around my cock, and that sent me over the edge. I unloaded deep in his bowels.
When my climax finally subsided, I collapsed on top of him and we melded together, glued by cum and sweat. And fell asleep in his warm embrace.
I ended up being able to stay with my same employer. Of course, I couldn’t work on-site anymore, but I started off in payroll and slowly my responsibilities grew until I was in charge of compiling quotes for new customers. It wasn’t as boring as I thought it would be, even if I missed getting physical exercise on the job. I became quite proficient with one-handed typing, and it took longer getting used to using a mouse with my left hand.
It didn’t pay as well, but Manuel made up for it by getting promoted to foreman. It wasn’t long before we moved in together.
I couldn’t believe how much time I’d wasted in fear; rather than alienating myself, I grew closer to the crew. We ate our lunches together, they taught me a little Spanish now and again, and we’d even go on double dates from time to time with some of the men and their wives. They loved us, and we them. It was liberating to just be me. And it was a dream come true to be with the man I’d spent countless nights fantasizing about.
I gained a few pounds with my new sedentary lifestyle and Manuel proceeded to lose a few, despite my insistence that he was great the way he was. It wasn’t a bad thing though — we both knew he’d never become “skinny,” and it was good for him to be in better physical health. Especially given our age difference — we wanted to have long lives together. Most importantly it gave him even more energy in the bedroom, so I couldn’t complain.
The day that gay marriage was legalized here in the States, we were far past ready. The guys even threw each of us our own bachelor party, and went so far as to track down some strippers who were my type, which I found horribly humiliating but thoughtful. They were my best friends.
That phrase I’d read and heard but never believed, “it gets better”: well, it does, and it did. Two awkward, disfigured men found happiness with each other. I wouldn’t have changed a thing.