Date: Sun, 7 Aug 2016 18:12:31 +0000 (UTC)
From: Hairy Jacques <hairy.jacques@yahoo.com>
Subject: Male Sorting, part 2

_________________________________

This story, modified to protect the anonymity of those involved, blends
fact and fantasy.

Reader feedback is welcomed, and the author will do his best to answer
questions and respond to comments. Contact him at hairy.jacques@yahoo.com.

Thanks for visiting Nifty, a great site that for years has rendered a great
service. Please consider making a
donation:http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html

---------------

My eyes focused on the address label, where I expected to see my name. I
didn't. Instead I saw another name. I didn't believe it at first, so I read
it a second time. There it was, plain as day and in all caps: RICHARD
SPANGLER.

It took me a moment, but then the thought sank in. Rich also received the
Undergear catalog. I had grabbed his copy by mistake--a fact he almost
certainly understood since, by now, he had finished sorting the mail.

At that moment my brain sped up. All sorts of thoughts and questions
flashed through my head.

If Rich was on the Undergear mailing list, it proved that not everyone who
received the catalog was gay. And since he wasn't gay, Rich wouldn't
suspect that I was. But what if he was? What if Rich were gay? Was it even
possible? Or what if he wasn't but also understood that Undergear had a
predominantly gay clientele? Would he figure me out? Would he tell anyone?
Would he tell everyone?

It occurred to me to wonder about my International Male catalog. I reached
into my backpack and pulled it out, examining the address label. Sure
enough, it was addressed to Rich. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach as
it dawned on me that he'd discover that I received not one but both of
these catalogs featuring shirtless dudes and their bulges. But then it hit
me that I knew the same about him. Did he really subscribe just to buy the
sorts of clothes these catalogs sold? I couldn't be sure, but, other than
his ROTC uniforms, I'd never seen him in anything but stuff that looked
like it had been purchased at Walmart and J.C. Penny.



Then my thoughts turned to a more pressing question: What to do? I had seen
his eyes focus on the cover of Undergear as I stuffed it into my
backpack. Rich knew I took his copies of the catalogs because, when putting
out the mail, he must have discovered that I hadn't taken my copies. It
occurred to me that I should probably wait and see what his next move would
be. Since they were identical anyway, maybe he'd just grab my catalogs for
himself and not say another word. But what if he put the copies addressed
to me in my mailbox? What then? Would I have to give back the copies
addressed to him? I felt relieved when I realized that it would be easy
enough to do this. Next time I worked the desk, I could just slide the
catalogs addressed to him into his mailbox. The feeling of relief vanished,
however, when I remembered how some of my cum had landed on the catalog. I
reached down for his copy of Undergear and picked it up. The last two pages
were stuck together. How would I ever explain that?

Not wanting to miss dinner, I summoned the courage to pass the front desk
on my way to the cafeteria. Much to my relief, Rich was busy talking to two
sorority girls. I felt a weird pang of jealousy. They were obviously
flirting with him.

As I turned the corner to head toward the cafeteria, I decided to check my
mail. I opened the combination lock to my mail box, which contained nothing
but my phone bill. He must have just taken my copies of International Male
and Undergear. In the cafeteria I sat down with some friends from my floor,
ate a burger, and finally felt relaxed. It was one of those long dinners
with lots of laughs and a conversation that just kept going. The cafeteria
workers were flipping chairs onto tables by the time we left. As I passed
the reception desk I glanced over my shoulder. Rich wasn't there. His shift
had ended. Instead, behind the desk sat Michelle, who had replaced him.

I took the elevator up to my floor. When I opened my door I looked down to
see a manilla file folder that someone had slid through the crack. I picked
it up and discovered it contained my copies of International Male and
Undergear, which had a Post-It note on the cover: "These are yours, so I
guess you have mine? Bring them by my room. I'll be up late! -- Rich"

Sometimes, when I'm in a stressful situation, my mind just flips a switch
and I go into autopilot. In hindsight, I should have realized that he
viewed these catalogs as best kept on the down-low. Why else place them in
a file folder? But I didn't think about it: I just took out the catalogs
addressed to me and replaced them in the file folder with the ones
addressed to him. I walked to the end of my hallway and took the stairs one
flight down to his room. I knocked on his door.

He opened it.

He smiled when he saw me. I smiled back.

"Come in," he said.

I quickly sized up his room. His fraternity pledge paddle hung from the
wall at the head of his bed. Over his desk was a poster featuring military
helicopters. Overall it looked like Rich kept things pretty basic. The room
was more neat than clean. It wasn't musty but just a little bit musky. His
closet door was open, displaying his pressed ROTC dress uniforms and
camouflage fatigues. Beneath them was a laundry basket nearly overflowing
with clothes. My nostrils took in the very faint but very attractive scent
of his sweat-soaked gym gear. His room smelled like a hot ROTC fraternity
jock lived there, and indeed one did.

I directed my gaze at Rich. Damn, what a stud. Gone were the tie and
short-sleeve dress shirt he had on before. He'd also changed out of his
khakis. He stood before me, smiling in his Army PT shorts and wifebeater
undershirt. He was both more hairy and more muscular than I'd imagined. The
ribbed cotton on his sleeveless shirt literally clung to his pronounced
pecs, accentuating his wide lats and narrow waistline. The deep scoop
exposed his thick tangle of chest hair, which thinned and softened as it
reached up to cascade over the muscles of his boulder shoulders.

A lot of guys aren't into body hair, but I'm not one of them. Rich, in my
eyes, was masculine perfection. I noticed the dense reddish-brown stubble
sprouting from his square jaw. I admired how the cleft of his chin pointed
down toward his adam's apple and thick neck, bristling with stubble and
chorded with muscles. I could see the damp, dark hair of his armpits
peeking out between his muscular shoulders and pecs.

My eyes darted down below his waistline to the slightly tented front of his
nylon shorts. I didn't allow my attention to linger on the big, broad head
of his cock, clearly visible through the sheer fabric. Instead, I kept
glancing lower, marveling at the thickness of his thighs and how all their
muscles seemed to come together at his knees. His calves were long and
strong and, like his upper legs, covered with a soft golden fuzz perfectly
silhouetted by the bright light of the lamp on his desk.

Then there were his feet. They were huge. They seemed much too big for his
six-foot frame, and while some guys had pretty feet it was pretty clear
that his, instead, were utilitarian. They were muscular -- ripped, even --
with big veins traversing across their tops and light tufts of hair
punctuating the knuckles of his toes. I'm not sure that anyone would hire
him to model flip flops, but his feet were perfect for military ruck
marches.

It occurred to me that Rich was just about my physical opposite. He was big
and hairy, handsome and masculine. At 5' 9" and 140 lbs. I was shorter and
less substantial. My chest was hairless. My features were delicate. The
word girls always used to describe me was "cute."

I looked up as he cleared his throat. He patted his mattress as he sat on
his bed. "Have a seat," he said.

I sat down next to him. I could just barely feel the heat of his body. He
was only about two feet away.

"So," he said, "you have the catalogs."

He gestured toward the file folder I'd been clutching in my hand. I passed
it to him, worried that he'd see the growing erection it had been
concealing.

He started to slowly turn the pages. "You ever buy anything from here?" he
asked.

"No," I admitted, "not yet." Then I turned the question back at him: "Have
you?"

He laughed. "Hell," he said, "I don't even wear underwear unless I
absolutely have to."

That was a hot little fact worth tucking away in my brain. It also
explained why I had been able to see so clearly the head of his cock
beneath his shorts. But it also begged a question.

"So why do you get these catalogs?" I asked.

He didn't flinch or hem and haw. "I like looking at the guys in the
photos," he admitted. Then he clarified, sort of. "They're, um, inspiring."

Maybe he was saying that the models were inspiring because they inspired
him to work out and further develop his body. Then again, when he said
"inspiring" he sort of changed the tone of his voice, as if to put quotes
around the word to signify that the guys inspired him to do something else
-- like beat off.

I decided to have some fun with the conversation. "Which guy's body
inspires you the most?"

He thoughtfully flipped through the pages, stopping at a photo of a cute
guy in bikini briefs. "I'll go with him," Rich said, pointing. "He's blond,
good body but not overly muscled, long legs, swimmer's build. He reminds me
a little bit of you."

I could feel myself blush. "Thanks," I said.

Then Rich asked: "Which guy inspires you the most?"

I paused for a second, then decided to go for broke. "Actually," I said,
"the guy on the inside back cover inspired me a bit too much."

Rich flipped to the back of the catalog, discovering the pages that had
been stuck together. This caused him to smile broadly as he carefully,
almost playfully peeled apart the pages to reveal the photo that had caused
me to cum. It was the one of the hairy guy flexing his muscles and wearing
a jockstrap.

I turned to face Rich. "He kind of reminds me of you."

He looked up, smiling, and stared into my eyes for a long second. He
exhaled, reaching behind me to place his big hand on the back of my
head. He pulled me gently toward him while he leaned in and kissed me.

To be continued...

PEASE SEND YOUR FEEDBACK and ideas to me at hairy.jacques@yahoo.com. I'd
love to hear from you!