Alex Miller's Vault: Tom Discovers Wrestling

THURSDAY. NEXT DOOR @ ALEX'S APARTMENT.

Me. (Tom)

“You’ve got the right idea, Alex. Dating guys. You’re so lucky you’re gay.”

Alex firmly replies, “Just stop, Tom. No gay guy needs to hear a straight guy telling him how lucky he is or how much easier he has it because he’s gay.” I open my mouth but stops me, “In any context. Not these days. You say it way too much. Okay?”

I nod. I do say that to him a lot. Break ups. Dry spells. Dating. In a relationship. So, yeah, all the time. I didn’t know it bugged him. Maybe it didn’t, maybe it’s just my timing. Or maybe it’s because Alex is the most chill guy I’ve ever met. I’ve never heard him yell at anyone or about anything in the three years we’ve been neighbors. And I would hear it. He’s certainly heard me yelling and being yelled at. I can be a volatile guy.

We share a non-brick wall between our lofts that isn’t very soundproof. I’m 28 and he’s 32. We’re both busy. He’s heard me with a lot of chicks. One day, we were shooting the shit. He joked about it. I admitted that I’ve heard him with guys, too. His fucks sound very physical. A lot of grunting. And there’s even what sounds like dirty talk. I can’t make out the words, but it’s the tone. It’s kind of hot. I bet he can say stuff to his guys that would get me slapped or sued.

Encounters: Denim Duel 2

 

Previously in The Cave: ENCOUNTERS: DENIM DUEL

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FIRST CLASS. 30,000 FEET IN THE AIR OVER NORTHERN GEORGIA USA.

“Last chance, sir. Can I help you with anything else? Anything at all?”

“What?” The first-class flight attendant wags my empty glass. Oh. I didn't even see him take it, I'm so lost in thought. He licks his lips and raises an eyebrow as he waits for me to answer. I finally gather myself, “No thanks. I’m good.”

I adjust the blanket that I’m using to hide the prominent bulge in my pants from the flight attendant. He’s shamelessly flirted with me since I boarded, so I know the outline of my semi-hard cock would not have gone unnoticed. I don’t mind the flirting. It happens. I’m a hairy, bearded, olive-skinned stud that other guys think is handsome. He wouldn’t even be the first (or worst) flight attendant that I’ve fucked. I just have no interest this time.

Me (Steve).