Dinner with Evan
I couldn't help myself, last night. I had a business thing with Evan. It was a dinner, it seemed that he has to schedule every meeting he has as a business dinner, nothing else we suffice. So, we met at Generic Cafe, he was late, which is something when you are up against me. Ha, ha, people tell me I'm late to everything.
It got me thinking and I worked out that Josh time runs on the stated arrival time becomes Josh's time to be leaving the house, because I always live close to everything. If dinner is at 7pm, I leave home at 7pm.
It was papers to sign and a run through the strategy for the next twelve months. This and that and what have you, projected this, forecast that. I’ll be on time, don’t you worry about that baby.
"I reckon we should buy up BHP and Rio Tinto, with the current stock market dip."
"Sure, sure, whatever, where do I sign?" I’m no more skilled than that. People ask me what my secret is? I have good people.
He was telling me how horny he was. I mean, I'd seen him for two days in a row, and it was the same story. He dropped in to organise the "business thing", yesterday and mentioned it. Blue balls – you know, I've never understood what that was? “Things are starting to hurt.” He hates it that long, never ending ache. “Who needs it.”
"You guys are lucky, you can get sex whenever you want," said Evan.
"So, can you."
"You know that's why we hate you guys."
"You only have to take your pants off, it is that easy."
"You guys don't know how lucky you have got it."
He came back to my place for coffee (you know that's slang for smoke a joint, don't you?) and was once again lamenting his lack of sex.
"Come on, let's go, the bedroom is that way, I'm willing to help out. You know, a bro in need and all."
He hesitated, which I was surprised about. Then he laughed his pretty boy laugh – if that boy couldn't get laid with his looks, there is something definitely wrong with the world. Always a bit to neat for my tastes, to presented, is our Evan – "If only it was that simple."
And we both laughed. "Well, stop bitching about it then. Go out. Get laid. Do you want a couple of hundred bucks for a prossy?"
"Easy for you to say, you don't know how lucky you have it... blah, blah, blah, straight boy complaint number 1... if only I could get laid like you guys can."
"We, are more than happy to help out, you guys know that."
"Oh yeah, us guys know it, okay."
"Six beers and you usually come around, anyway."
"Bullshit."
"It's true enough of enough of you?"
"How many?"
"50%"
"Buuulllshit."
"You know when you get that need, that hungry, satisfy at all cost, need. Then you couple that with a penchant for beer and the familiarisation of straight boys with gay clubs and gay men, by being continuously dragged there by their girlfriends. And the straight men get to know that gay men are normal and funny and flirty and suggestive and provocative and even handsome and sexy... and willing. Then the straight boy gets that unyielding, hungry, all consuming, must satisfy need in the pit of their stomach, fingering their cocks.... metaphorically... and then they find themselves single and nobody to answer to... and what does it matter, nobody is going to find out..." I smiled. "I reckon 50% is an underestimation, if anything."
We sat back against the couch, in front of the fire, our legs stretched out.
"Roll me another joint," said Evan.
He got nervous sometime after that, when he saw me checking out the bulge in his pants. He slid his hand across his cock, then stood up and said. "Well." He brushed his hands against his thighs. "Thanks for a great night." The only thing standing up did was to put that bulge right in front of my eyes. "That is a good job done." He held his hand out, looked down to see why I wasn't taking it to shake, realised I was staring at his delectable bulge, smacks my shoulder. "Come one, get up." Brings his hand back over his cock, steps back. "Get up."
I couldn't help myself and I patted him on his shapely arse as we walked to the door.
“Hey.”
It got me thinking and I worked out that Josh time runs on the stated arrival time becomes Josh's time to be leaving the house, because I always live close to everything. If dinner is at 7pm, I leave home at 7pm.
It was papers to sign and a run through the strategy for the next twelve months. This and that and what have you, projected this, forecast that. I’ll be on time, don’t you worry about that baby.
"I reckon we should buy up BHP and Rio Tinto, with the current stock market dip."
"Sure, sure, whatever, where do I sign?" I’m no more skilled than that. People ask me what my secret is? I have good people.
He was telling me how horny he was. I mean, I'd seen him for two days in a row, and it was the same story. He dropped in to organise the "business thing", yesterday and mentioned it. Blue balls – you know, I've never understood what that was? “Things are starting to hurt.” He hates it that long, never ending ache. “Who needs it.”
"You guys are lucky, you can get sex whenever you want," said Evan.
"So, can you."
"You know that's why we hate you guys."
"You only have to take your pants off, it is that easy."
"You guys don't know how lucky you have got it."
He came back to my place for coffee (you know that's slang for smoke a joint, don't you?) and was once again lamenting his lack of sex.
"Come on, let's go, the bedroom is that way, I'm willing to help out. You know, a bro in need and all."
He hesitated, which I was surprised about. Then he laughed his pretty boy laugh – if that boy couldn't get laid with his looks, there is something definitely wrong with the world. Always a bit to neat for my tastes, to presented, is our Evan – "If only it was that simple."
And we both laughed. "Well, stop bitching about it then. Go out. Get laid. Do you want a couple of hundred bucks for a prossy?"
"Easy for you to say, you don't know how lucky you have it... blah, blah, blah, straight boy complaint number 1... if only I could get laid like you guys can."
"We, are more than happy to help out, you guys know that."
"Oh yeah, us guys know it, okay."
"Six beers and you usually come around, anyway."
"Bullshit."
"It's true enough of enough of you?"
"How many?"
"50%"
"Buuulllshit."
"You know when you get that need, that hungry, satisfy at all cost, need. Then you couple that with a penchant for beer and the familiarisation of straight boys with gay clubs and gay men, by being continuously dragged there by their girlfriends. And the straight men get to know that gay men are normal and funny and flirty and suggestive and provocative and even handsome and sexy... and willing. Then the straight boy gets that unyielding, hungry, all consuming, must satisfy need in the pit of their stomach, fingering their cocks.... metaphorically... and then they find themselves single and nobody to answer to... and what does it matter, nobody is going to find out..." I smiled. "I reckon 50% is an underestimation, if anything."
We sat back against the couch, in front of the fire, our legs stretched out.
"Roll me another joint," said Evan.
He got nervous sometime after that, when he saw me checking out the bulge in his pants. He slid his hand across his cock, then stood up and said. "Well." He brushed his hands against his thighs. "Thanks for a great night." The only thing standing up did was to put that bulge right in front of my eyes. "That is a good job done." He held his hand out, looked down to see why I wasn't taking it to shake, realised I was staring at his delectable bulge, smacks my shoulder. "Come one, get up." Brings his hand back over his cock, steps back. "Get up."
I couldn't help myself and I patted him on his shapely arse as we walked to the door.
“Hey.”
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