Date: Thu, 07 Feb 2002 01:29:24 -0500 From: Cepes LA <cepes@mail.com> Subject: The Interviewee Part 2 This is gay erotic fiction. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of homosexual acts, go somewhere else. Neither this story nor any parts of it may be distributed electronically or in any other manner without the express, written consent of the author. All rights are reserved by the author who may be reached at cepes@mail.com. This is a work of fiction, any resemblance of the characters to anyone living or dead is pure coincidence and not intended. They are all products of the author's overactive imagination. The Interviewee Part 2 "Alex. I don't think my boyfriend would like where this is going." Of course, I wouldn't mind. "Tell you what. You got to do it to me. Inspect me, judge me, daydream. I want my turn. Put you on the rack and see what pops up. Drive me home and then take me to dinner. I know you want to. And, fuck your boyfriend." I did. I really wanted to. The pleasure of imagining where this could lead was enormous. What to do? "Alex, I'm sorry, but I can't. I can advise you or answer your questions about the college. I can act as a mentor for college admissions. But I think that you are asking for something more than that. I'm sorry." Standing on the sidewalk in front of my office building, I was turning down this fascinating young man. Not exactly sure what I was turning down, though, dinner and an interview is what he said, but who knows what he actually meant. This was a much more aggressive side to this young man I had met because he was applying to my alma mater and I was the alumnus assigned to interview him for the admissions committee. "John, that was not the answer I was expecting. I could tell when we met that you were interested. Hell, I'm even willing to fuck up my chances to get into this college. I couldn't stop thinking about you. And I couldn't believe that I hadn't been able to bring myself to give you a few signals about my interest. In you. Don't say no." "Alex, no. I'll be honest, if we had met somewhere else and if I wasn't already attached, I would be very interested in dinner. But, if thing were different, then they would be different. But, that's not so. No dice. I hope you can find your way home on the bus safely. If you have any other questions, let me know. By the way, even though you're willing to fuck up your admission chances, I think you've got a good shot, and I never tell anyone that. We're not supposed to. Got to go back to work now." "Bye, John. I'm sorry. Don't tell the admissions committee, please." "I won't. I'm too flattered to do that." With that he reached out his hand, I grasped it and shook, both of us holding on moments too long. I turned and walked back into the building. I didn't see where he went. Inside, I couldn't believe that I had turned him down. I wasn't sure I had that kind of will power when my cock was definitely lengthening out in these, thankfully, baggy slacks. I couldn't believe I had kept my cool, nor could I believe I had, in a pseudo-professional demeanor, offered to continue answering any questions he might have. What a mixed signal I was sending: `I can't have anything to do with you, but if you want to talk, give me a call.' I was screwed up in the head. I loved thinking about this guy, but when he presents me with an opportunity to do something, I have to be officious and turn it down. So cautious, so prudent, so boring. `Fuck.' My boyfriend wouldn't like it; the admissions committee would frown; I'm a wimp and spineless. My legs, detached from my mind, had brought me to the elevator bank and up again I went to my floor and my desk. With this protrusion in my pants, it would definitely not be easy to concentrate on work. It wasn't even 5.00 yet. Damn it! The unofficial office policy, which no one actually spoke aloud but which everyone seemed to observe, was that no one went home until 6.30--at the earliest. Damned `face time' provisions. This client sucks; I'm having trouble finishing this presentation due tomorrow; and all I want to do is jump the bones of a kid who can't even vote yet. I need a cold shower. And then a cock up my ass, ideally one attached to Alex's body. `I have got to stop thinking this way.' I awoke my computer and opened the presentation. It looked like it was written in Greek, and I never learned that language. My mind was completely scattershot. `Time for a visit to the stalls for some quick release.' I got up and walked to the bathroom on this floor--not the one that was close by, but the one that was out of the way and buried near the back of the office. The guy who did the floor planning must have loved jerking off because this room was perfect for it. Remote location, doubled-up entry doors (all the better to give you some warning if someone else was coming in), large stalls for stretching out the legs! In I went, door shut and locked, down came the pants, down came the Calvin Klein boxer briefs (heather gray, my boyfriend's fetish color), and down went my body onto the seat. And then up and down went my right hand while my left began tugging at my sac. Feels good, but I know something better. Dropped my fingers into the toilet water and started probing my hole. One made it in. Not the most comfortable thing in the world (water does not lubricate all that well), but my hole was still pretty loose from a shagging two days earlier. Probing, probing, ah ha. Tickle, tickle, tickle, Mr. Prostate. As my right hand went up and down, up and down, a second finger decided the join the first in tickling my insides. `Oh yeah, here we go.' My left hand came out of my ass and grabbed for the toilet paper; just in time, too. One, two, three, and a dribble. All neatly caught on the paper. I've never been one for slurping up gallons of cum like some people you hear about. Nope, best place for this is down the toilet. I brought my left hand to my face and saw that my bottom had not been very clean. `Gross.' After all these years of bottoming and loving ass play of various kinds, excrement still made me cringe. I wiped off what I could and then some more toilet paper around those fingers so that their stink wouldn't transfer over to my underwear and pants when I pulled them back up. Mission complete, I pulled my clothes back on, left the stall, and went to the sink and thoroughly washed both hands, using lots of that great smelling coconut soap they made available. I did this three times to make my left hand, particularly, smelled fine. Once I arrived back to my desk, I found I could concentrate again. I dove back into the presentation. Around 8.00, I looked up from my work, noticed that most everyone had left, and decided to pack it in. Next morning, I found myself at my desk, glowing from the previous night's fuck, at 7.30. That fucking presentation had to be off for review by 10.30. `Concentrate. If you do this, you can have a treat. Mid-morning coffee break.' That little light at the end of the tunnel was enough to keep me focused on my computer. And, at 10.25, I pressed "Send" and off the presentation went. `Ball out of my court.' So much of corporate life was shuffling paper, making sure the other guy, or your boss, had more of your crap to review than you had of their work to do. One point for me; zero for everyone else. Time for coffee. I got up from my desk and ambled over to the elevators. Down I went and out I popped from the elevator in the lobby. Coffee, coffee, coffee. My mind was focused, already looking through the small crowd of people to the menu. Looking at what new concoction I might indulge in today, looking to a head of hair and a back that seemed very familiar. Nope, they were exactly the same hair and back that Alex had. Sitting at a table in this little coffee shop stuck in the middle of a corporate dead zone was the little tempest who had been causing my mind so much havoc. Not wanting to be frozen out of the coffee bar located in my own office building, I decided to confront him. I walked up to his back, placed my right hand on his shoulder, squeezed, and said, "Hi Alex, fancy meeting you here." I could feel the shudder in his body. Actually, I could feel quite a bit as I was holding onto his shoulder tightly. I started making tiny movements with my fingers, a kind of mini-massage. He turned back and looked up. "Uh, hi, John." Sounded nervous. "Alex, do you have more questions about campus life?" Saying this with as much humor as I could. "No. Just sitting here, enjoying the coffee. I liked the place when I came here last night." "School? It's Thursday. Shouldn't you be in class?" "John, I'm hurt. You don't remember our interview as well as I do." He was definitely getting back into the cocky swagger I had seen last night. I still had not let go of his shoulder. I could feel the muscles moving under his skin. Another muscle, this one in my body, began to engorge. `Uh oh. Time to cut this short.' "What?" "The high school I go to is on a year-round schedule. I'm now on an "off" period. Three more weeks off." "That still doesn't explain why you're here." I couldn't muster any humor; it was hard enough staying at all composed in this young man's presence. "Good coffee." He smiled. Oh, how I liked that smile. "Yes, I like this coffee so much, I think I will come here for coffee every day for the remaining three weeks." "Well. I thought I was very clear with you last night." "What, you think this is about you? Pretty big head. Nope, I just really like coffee." My hand dropped limply to my side, but my other appendage did not do the same thing. "I'm just going to get some coffee and return to my office." I started to move toward the line. His hand grabbed mine. "I know you don't want to talk. It's okay. But, you probably want to take a break from work. The place is busy now, but there's one seat free. The one across from the seat I'm in. Feel free to use it." I kept moving and he let go of my hand. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked to the line. I liked what he was doing. Taking the mixed signals I sent him last night and throwing them back in my face. Sit with me, he says, but don't talk to me (unless you want to). Cheeky bastard. It made it even harder to continue to reject him. But, he must learn that I have the will to reject him. I'll prove it to him. I will sit with him. And not say a word. When I had received my order, I walked purposefully back to the table, looked him over, and sat down. I noticed a textbook for European history lying next to his notebook and pen. School work, getting ahead. At least he was using the time he spent waiting to stalk me in a productive way. I looked up and his eyes held mine. I looked down and started in one my coffee. I turned my head and looked all around the little coffee shop. At the people in line, the people sitting at the tables, the people in the lobby outside. Everyone and anyone who was not Alex. As I sucked down the dregs, I looked at Alex again. His eyes darted up to mine. As I savored these remnants, I held his stare, got up from my seat, broke the gaze, and walked back to my office. The next day, Friday, I went for coffee at 9.30. Alex was there. I did the same thing, not saying a word. Sitting there, this time I looked at him the entire time. I traced the faint lines and imperfections in his face with my eyes. My cock wanted to get to know that face and body much better. Over the weekend, I fucked my boyfriend again. I needed to release and I could find nothing more pleasing than bending Chris over the back of the couch and grinding myself into him. He loved it. I did too, but I didn't even notice that it was Chris I was inside. To a certain part of my mind, it was Alex. I could see those legs in my mind and the veins in his arms. His tanned skin. And then his cocky, presumptuous voice. I painted Chris' insides, grunting loudly. We had been together for almost two years and left off the condoms for the last nine months. It was almost always my insides getting a fresh coat, at least one a day--I was enjoying this change in positions more than I thought I would. And I had Alex to thank. One of these days I would have to get over my inhibitions with this young man and thank him properly. The next week I continued having my morning coffee with Alex, but my resolve started to slip. I would listen while Alex talked to me. I found out over the course of the week that Alex was actually coming down to this part of town to visit the branch of the public library that was six or seven blocks away. There were branches closer to his home, but none had quite the right collections or a man named John so near--so he said. He would start his homework here in the Coffee Bean, bear any glares because of the length of his stay, have coffee with me, talk his head off, and head on to the library after I left. On Friday, I finally decided to say something. "You know, if you're going to be at the library all day, I might be able to give you a ride home tonight. Spare you the bus ride. Meet me here at 6.00." I had a huge smile on my face. So did Alex. He nodded and I left. My smile did not leave my face as I rode the elevator back to my floor. He had worn me down. I still had some defenses, but I did not know what was going to happen later this evening. Since Chris was meeting his sister for dinner, I had the night to myself. Or maybe for Alex and me. Frailty, thy name is John. To be continued. Author's Note: I appreciate hearing your comments on this story or anything else. You can send me a message at cepes@mail.com. I will respond to all messages I receive.