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~BHM, ~Gay, ~~WG - A chance meeting at a library leads to something more
[Author's Note:] At last, I have written something new. Of course, there will be more, but please let me know what you think.
It is a Saturday morning at the local library, and I know why I am here. If I need to look up something for academic purposes, or out of personal interest, I come here during the week - on the weekend, the library is purely for people-watching. Many an interesting person I have found, and even a few lasting friendships have formed over an exchange of ideas and carrot cake in the café. It may be old-style social networking, but it is a part of my week I cannot imagine...
A smack on the floor echoes through the muted atmosphere, and I look towards where a book has been dropped.
I stop, my brain having fixed myself at this instant in time, commanding me to remember what I see here.
I realise I am seeing my vision of beauty, as a man bends down to pick up his book. From the baseball shoes, through the stretched skinny-fit jeans, the white v-neck shirt and black corded jacket, this was a man that, at least, spoke to my sense of style.
However, it was the way those clothes were filled that stopped me - the denim was stretched over thick, dimpled, fleshy thighs and calves, knees retreating into them, and supported by the roundest, shapeliest behind of its size. The torso followed suit, with soft arms, full breasts, and a belly that curved out and over any waistband, shielding and tickling whatever it tried to hide. Clearly, this was a body that only knew pleasure, which fascinated me so much.
The man stretched his arm to slot the book into a space on a shelf above him. A three-quarter rear view of the body I craved to be nearer towards threatened to send my senses out the way I walked in. His jacket lifted up to show the globes of his ass that much better for me, but his shirt just had to lift along with his arm - his underbelly visible, tanned, hanging and free. Eep...
Job done, the man turned around. Long, chaotic auburn hair, randomly streaked blond, fell around his chubby cheeks and chin, surrounding his plump lips and cute nose, and his trendy spectacles could not hide his translucent blue eyes...
Hang on, is that mascara and eye shadow around them? He’s certainly out to make an impression. Which section of the library is this? “Gay & Lesbian.” For the love of all things, please tell me he isn’t here to study. I’m never here to pick up another guy, but this is too much of a win-win-win situation for me. I want to know your name. You don’t know what you’ve done to me.
“Can I help you?” He could sing alto in a choir if he wanted...
Oh, fuck, reality, say something NOW!
“Erm... I don’t know if you may have seen this, while you’ve been over here, but have you seen a copy of ‘British Queer Cinema’?”
Brilliant save, you idiot.
“I Have, actually. It’s up here.” He pointed to the shelf where he put back his book.
It was now my turn to reach up. We were of similar height, making him five feet, six inches tall, but my average, slim body doesn’t make for much of a spectacle. Having said that, when I fished my micro-exercise, I saw the man’s eyes quickly move back to looking straight ahead. Clearly, I made some sort of impression, but my immediate concern was keeping my composure.
“You know what’s a good one, is ‘My Beautiful Laundrette’. Shows you don’t need a big budget to tell a good story.”
What do I say? “Good thing Daniel Day-Lewis wasn’t famous yet.” Phew. I made him laugh.
“My name’s Oliver,” he said, extending his hand.
“Adam,” I replied, smiling. My hand was shaken. I was shaken.
“Hey I’ve heard this café is quite good. How about it?” I found myself walking with him.
It turned out that Oliver doesn’t usually visit libraries, but he thought that he should find the particular book he wanted, about an old ocean liner, the SS America, before making a purchase - I found that he probably knew more about the ship than the book’s author, as he didn’t have a copy to take away with him. Even more surprising for me, he thought he should check the gay section before leaving - I felt very lucky indeed.
“I like your name, Adam - like Adam Lambert.” Now I can see how the make-up comes into play. “Actually, you look a bit like him too. Confident, knows where he stands.” Really? What are you trying to say? I look like someone you admire, but there seems to be something else.
We talked over our carrot cake, the one contribution I consciously made. We got ready to leave, Oliver saying, “it’s been great to meet you.” I felt that he meant it.
Oliver put his hands in his jacket pockets, searching for something. “Sorry, could you hold out you hand for me?” Without question, I held out my left hand as Oliver retrieved a keyring with a small Sharpie pen on it. He scribbled something across my knuckles, beamed a smile back at me, and with a two-tone “by-eee”, waved farewell. As I watched him walking away, my eyes moving from left to right, I finally thought of looking at my hand - there, in purple ink, was written a mobile phone number.
I walked on air throughout my way home, the crowded London streets making no impact on me, unlike Oliver. I called him that very evening, and the first in a string of dates began.
Like the library café, we found somewhere we could eat and be sociable, and Oliver always took care of the former - no wonder he was the size he... has become? I was intrigued by his intimate knowledge of West End restaurants, and even more by how he once visited all its Angus Steak Houses within a three-month period. This man loved his food more than most.
“Do you usually eat out?”
“All the time - it’s the only way I know I’ll get something I like. I never mastered cooking beyond what is merely edible.”
“Tell me about it. So long as I know the right stuff is going in, I know I’m doing well.”
“That’s fine if you just want fuel, but if you are given something where you can savour the flavour, that means more than anything to me.” Oliver’s special fried rice looked more appetising than my vegetable chow mein, and I wished I ordered it too.
“Come on, have some.” Oliver spooned up a colourful morsel of prawn, pork and rice. He held it to me, and as I leaned over, devoured it, and sat back on my seat, I was examined for my reaction. Oliver quietly smiled as my eyes opened.
“You keep telling me about your job. No-one should work in a call centre, least of all taking complaints. Quit, quit now - let me help you, Adam.”
Oh fuck - I know I am going to listen to him, but only because I know he is right.
My plan was set. After leaving work for the last time, holding my head high, carrying my placard with a photo of my hand raising my middle finger - Oliver advised just showing your finger isn’t enough these days - I opened the envelope Oliver gave me when we met for breakfast. In it was a card for an address overlooking Trafalgar Square, and a simple message saying, “see you there.”
Two bus journeys later, I arrived at the ornate entrance to a grand old building, receiving instructions to take the lift to the top floor. Once there, the corridor had but one set of double doors. I walked to it finding one door slightly ajar. Walking in, I was confronted with an elaborate art-deco entrance hall, a style that continued through to a library packed to the ceiling with books, picking up arrowed cards.
The trail ended in a plushly upholstered, vividly-coloured lounge, specifically designed to induce sensory overload. Strewn across a wide wooden table were all the edible delicacies I could imagine, and stood before them was their master - in an expansive blue silk robe, matching his eyes, was Oliver, clutching a spoon, with a knowing smile across his face.
“Hi.”
I dropped the placard I couldn’t believe I was still carrying, and ran around the table, and wrapped my arms around him. We both laughed.
“Congratulations. I want today to be the first day of the rest of your life.”
He thrust the spoon into my hand.
“Feed me, Adam.”
I knew what I wanted to feed Oliver, and it wasn’t food at all. For the first time, we kissed “I love you,” and not just “hello.” I fed him my tongue, my fingers, my entire body to him - I wanted to be swallowed whole by this man and his world, and Oliver wanted me to enjoy it. As we shed our clothes, my body felt the warm claps of skin against abundant flesh, surrounding, cushioning, comforting me.
When we finally convulsed ourselves into climax, returning our senses to us, I realised I was behind Oliver, thrusting myself into his behind, hugging onto it for dear life, as he lay on the table, shovelling a New York vanilla cheesecake into his belly. We laughed for a good five minutes, before supporting one another to Oliver’s plush silken bed, where we slept off our exertions until dinner time.
When I awoke, I found Oliver had already left the bed. I blinked my eyes back into focus, and saw my new boyfriend at the door, in as seductive pose as he can make, wearing the outfit from when we first met four months ago. I don’t remember it being so tight, and I definitely didn’t see his belly stick out from under his shirt when standing still.
“Just to let you know, I have gained twenty pounds since the library, and I want to thank you.”
Confusedly, I said “OK.”
“Everything you see is mine, Adam, and I want to share it with you.”
Putting my hand to my mouth, my voice broke. “Thank you so much. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”
“Just follow your heart, fulfill your dreams, and keep making love to me like you did earlier!”
I admitted what happened was more the result of imagination than practice, and that was what did it for him.
Oliver bounded onto the bed, lying close to me, kissing me until the shaking stopped.
“Adam, I love that you love me for being me, and I am glad I found you. I love that you love my body. Obviously, I wasn’t always this big. Let me tell you about it.”
Continued in post #4
INFATUATION (part 1)
by kamandi
by kamandi
[Author's Note:] At last, I have written something new. Of course, there will be more, but please let me know what you think.
It is a Saturday morning at the local library, and I know why I am here. If I need to look up something for academic purposes, or out of personal interest, I come here during the week - on the weekend, the library is purely for people-watching. Many an interesting person I have found, and even a few lasting friendships have formed over an exchange of ideas and carrot cake in the café. It may be old-style social networking, but it is a part of my week I cannot imagine...
A smack on the floor echoes through the muted atmosphere, and I look towards where a book has been dropped.
I stop, my brain having fixed myself at this instant in time, commanding me to remember what I see here.
I realise I am seeing my vision of beauty, as a man bends down to pick up his book. From the baseball shoes, through the stretched skinny-fit jeans, the white v-neck shirt and black corded jacket, this was a man that, at least, spoke to my sense of style.
However, it was the way those clothes were filled that stopped me - the denim was stretched over thick, dimpled, fleshy thighs and calves, knees retreating into them, and supported by the roundest, shapeliest behind of its size. The torso followed suit, with soft arms, full breasts, and a belly that curved out and over any waistband, shielding and tickling whatever it tried to hide. Clearly, this was a body that only knew pleasure, which fascinated me so much.
The man stretched his arm to slot the book into a space on a shelf above him. A three-quarter rear view of the body I craved to be nearer towards threatened to send my senses out the way I walked in. His jacket lifted up to show the globes of his ass that much better for me, but his shirt just had to lift along with his arm - his underbelly visible, tanned, hanging and free. Eep...
Job done, the man turned around. Long, chaotic auburn hair, randomly streaked blond, fell around his chubby cheeks and chin, surrounding his plump lips and cute nose, and his trendy spectacles could not hide his translucent blue eyes...
Hang on, is that mascara and eye shadow around them? He’s certainly out to make an impression. Which section of the library is this? “Gay & Lesbian.” For the love of all things, please tell me he isn’t here to study. I’m never here to pick up another guy, but this is too much of a win-win-win situation for me. I want to know your name. You don’t know what you’ve done to me.
“Can I help you?” He could sing alto in a choir if he wanted...
Oh, fuck, reality, say something NOW!
“Erm... I don’t know if you may have seen this, while you’ve been over here, but have you seen a copy of ‘British Queer Cinema’?”
Brilliant save, you idiot.
“I Have, actually. It’s up here.” He pointed to the shelf where he put back his book.
It was now my turn to reach up. We were of similar height, making him five feet, six inches tall, but my average, slim body doesn’t make for much of a spectacle. Having said that, when I fished my micro-exercise, I saw the man’s eyes quickly move back to looking straight ahead. Clearly, I made some sort of impression, but my immediate concern was keeping my composure.
“You know what’s a good one, is ‘My Beautiful Laundrette’. Shows you don’t need a big budget to tell a good story.”
What do I say? “Good thing Daniel Day-Lewis wasn’t famous yet.” Phew. I made him laugh.
“My name’s Oliver,” he said, extending his hand.
“Adam,” I replied, smiling. My hand was shaken. I was shaken.
“Hey I’ve heard this café is quite good. How about it?” I found myself walking with him.
It turned out that Oliver doesn’t usually visit libraries, but he thought that he should find the particular book he wanted, about an old ocean liner, the SS America, before making a purchase - I found that he probably knew more about the ship than the book’s author, as he didn’t have a copy to take away with him. Even more surprising for me, he thought he should check the gay section before leaving - I felt very lucky indeed.
“I like your name, Adam - like Adam Lambert.” Now I can see how the make-up comes into play. “Actually, you look a bit like him too. Confident, knows where he stands.” Really? What are you trying to say? I look like someone you admire, but there seems to be something else.
We talked over our carrot cake, the one contribution I consciously made. We got ready to leave, Oliver saying, “it’s been great to meet you.” I felt that he meant it.
Oliver put his hands in his jacket pockets, searching for something. “Sorry, could you hold out you hand for me?” Without question, I held out my left hand as Oliver retrieved a keyring with a small Sharpie pen on it. He scribbled something across my knuckles, beamed a smile back at me, and with a two-tone “by-eee”, waved farewell. As I watched him walking away, my eyes moving from left to right, I finally thought of looking at my hand - there, in purple ink, was written a mobile phone number.
I walked on air throughout my way home, the crowded London streets making no impact on me, unlike Oliver. I called him that very evening, and the first in a string of dates began.
Like the library café, we found somewhere we could eat and be sociable, and Oliver always took care of the former - no wonder he was the size he... has become? I was intrigued by his intimate knowledge of West End restaurants, and even more by how he once visited all its Angus Steak Houses within a three-month period. This man loved his food more than most.
“Do you usually eat out?”
“All the time - it’s the only way I know I’ll get something I like. I never mastered cooking beyond what is merely edible.”
“Tell me about it. So long as I know the right stuff is going in, I know I’m doing well.”
“That’s fine if you just want fuel, but if you are given something where you can savour the flavour, that means more than anything to me.” Oliver’s special fried rice looked more appetising than my vegetable chow mein, and I wished I ordered it too.
“Come on, have some.” Oliver spooned up a colourful morsel of prawn, pork and rice. He held it to me, and as I leaned over, devoured it, and sat back on my seat, I was examined for my reaction. Oliver quietly smiled as my eyes opened.
“You keep telling me about your job. No-one should work in a call centre, least of all taking complaints. Quit, quit now - let me help you, Adam.”
Oh fuck - I know I am going to listen to him, but only because I know he is right.
My plan was set. After leaving work for the last time, holding my head high, carrying my placard with a photo of my hand raising my middle finger - Oliver advised just showing your finger isn’t enough these days - I opened the envelope Oliver gave me when we met for breakfast. In it was a card for an address overlooking Trafalgar Square, and a simple message saying, “see you there.”
Two bus journeys later, I arrived at the ornate entrance to a grand old building, receiving instructions to take the lift to the top floor. Once there, the corridor had but one set of double doors. I walked to it finding one door slightly ajar. Walking in, I was confronted with an elaborate art-deco entrance hall, a style that continued through to a library packed to the ceiling with books, picking up arrowed cards.
The trail ended in a plushly upholstered, vividly-coloured lounge, specifically designed to induce sensory overload. Strewn across a wide wooden table were all the edible delicacies I could imagine, and stood before them was their master - in an expansive blue silk robe, matching his eyes, was Oliver, clutching a spoon, with a knowing smile across his face.
“Hi.”
I dropped the placard I couldn’t believe I was still carrying, and ran around the table, and wrapped my arms around him. We both laughed.
“Congratulations. I want today to be the first day of the rest of your life.”
He thrust the spoon into my hand.
“Feed me, Adam.”
I knew what I wanted to feed Oliver, and it wasn’t food at all. For the first time, we kissed “I love you,” and not just “hello.” I fed him my tongue, my fingers, my entire body to him - I wanted to be swallowed whole by this man and his world, and Oliver wanted me to enjoy it. As we shed our clothes, my body felt the warm claps of skin against abundant flesh, surrounding, cushioning, comforting me.
When we finally convulsed ourselves into climax, returning our senses to us, I realised I was behind Oliver, thrusting myself into his behind, hugging onto it for dear life, as he lay on the table, shovelling a New York vanilla cheesecake into his belly. We laughed for a good five minutes, before supporting one another to Oliver’s plush silken bed, where we slept off our exertions until dinner time.
When I awoke, I found Oliver had already left the bed. I blinked my eyes back into focus, and saw my new boyfriend at the door, in as seductive pose as he can make, wearing the outfit from when we first met four months ago. I don’t remember it being so tight, and I definitely didn’t see his belly stick out from under his shirt when standing still.
“Just to let you know, I have gained twenty pounds since the library, and I want to thank you.”
Confusedly, I said “OK.”
“Everything you see is mine, Adam, and I want to share it with you.”
Putting my hand to my mouth, my voice broke. “Thank you so much. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”
“Just follow your heart, fulfill your dreams, and keep making love to me like you did earlier!”
I admitted what happened was more the result of imagination than practice, and that was what did it for him.
Oliver bounded onto the bed, lying close to me, kissing me until the shaking stopped.
“Adam, I love that you love me for being me, and I am glad I found you. I love that you love my body. Obviously, I wasn’t always this big. Let me tell you about it.”
Continued in post #4
