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I tasted the salty tang of his pre-cum as his cock slipped around in my mouth. I was going to take my time, this time, the last time. I wanted to savor the moment and the delicious taste of his dick, the strong scent of man rising from his thick pubic bush. I couldn’t keep seeing this guy, not like this. I knew going into it that he was straight, and just experimenting with me. Jerry loved to get blown, and I was easy and available.

Three weeks ago tonight, I remember it like it was last night. Jerry was sitting alone at the Pub around the corner from my office. I had gone there with friends to see the playoff on the sports bar’s big screen plasma television. I couldn’t care less about the fucking game, but I needed to unwind and I enjoyed my co-workers company. A bunch of really nice guys, but all straight as an arrow. I assumed they knew my story, but it’s definitely “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” at our company.

He had moved forward, and stood among us at the front of the bar. Funny how a sport brings men together, even as different as Jerry and the “suits” I work with. Jerry and the boys were shouting and hooting at the screen, as if their coaching could change the Mets dismal performance that night. Every run would prompt slaps on the back and general rowdiness. I joined in, more because I enjoyed the male bonding than for the game.

Jerry is a big guy. He stands about six-four, and has that stocky build you only get with weight training. His shoulders slope down from his neck and fall into mounds of fleshy muscle on his arms. His biceps are large and defined, like twin cannonballs. His well-developed chest stands high off his frame, mighty and proud. I could see his dark silken chest hair curling tightly over the top of his very tight white tee shirt as I sipped my beer that night in the blue pub light. His cheeks were dark with a day’s growth of whiskers, and his hair was overdue for a cut. It looked soft and sexy, a shiny brown mane dancing across his forehead and curling at the nape of his neck in a short ponytail. He stood next to me as we watched the game. I felt light-headed; intoxicated by this big strapping man slapping my shoulder and grinning at me as the Mets rallied.

I had just gotten another beer when the game ended. The guys rushed off to catch the next train to the comfortable suburban lives they enjoyed every night. It seemed like everyone left at the same time. I had nowhere to go, so I nursed my beer alone at the quiet bar. Jerry was still there.

“Hey, some freakin’ game, Huh? Those Amazin’ Mets! I didn’t think they was gonna pull it off, but they did!” Jerry shouted across the room. I didn’t realize he was talking to me until he moved down the bar and sat on the stool next to me. “What are ya drinkin’?”

He ordered two more beers, I introduced myself as Billy and he began to tell me about himself. I discovered he was recently separated from his wife and living alone for the first time in seven years. He appeared to be about thirty-five, rough and masculine. Judging by his deep tan and leathery complexion he obviously worked outdoors. In fact, he was a landscape construction engineer for the New York Park system. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was how I was staring at him, but the conversation quickly took a new direction.

“Lissen, Billy, You like cock? I mean, men, y’know? I’m gettin’ the idea that maybe you’re a queer. I ain’t got a problem wid’ that. Jus’ wanna know, y’know?” He slurred, leaning into me confidentially, blowing his beer breath into my face. Unbelievably direct. I told him he was right, I was. I waited for his response, wondering if I was about to get bashed or end up with a bloody nose.

Jerry smirked and turned back to his beer with a snort. I saw him reach down and grab his substantial crotch, grasping the faded denim of his Levi’s in his big, calloused hand. I looked at his powerful features, the square jaw, obscured by the drift of stubble that ran from ear to ear across his handsome chin. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Jerry looked me square in the face and boldly stated “I’m gonna get up now, and you're gonna follow me. I got a place around the corner. You're gonna follow me there and I’m gonna feed you my dick. Got it?” He pulled his jacket across his wide shoulders and threw a couple bucks on the bar. I shivered and nodded my head. I understood.

His apartment is in the basement of a three-story brownstone on 28th Street. It has a private entrance and Jerry opened the door, stepping aside to let me pass. I entered the room and waited for his instructions. It’s a small studio, the bed and the kitchen both in the same single room. I saw a futon mattress, open and disheveled. I imagined Jerry, sleepy and warm, dragging his awesome hairy body out of the crumpled sheets that morning.

“Wanna smoke some weed?” He asked, “I could sure use a hit, got some good shit!”. He pulled a fat joint from a jar on the side table and lit it, drawing deeply on the cigarette and passing it to me. I inhaled, pulling the rough smoke into my lungs. I figured I would need some courage for this, and grass always makes me less inhibited. “Take your clothes off, Billy. Strip real slow for me, I wanna see what a cocksucking faggot looks like!”

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