Date: Wed, 18 Sep 2002 02:05:39 -0700 (PDT) From: Matt Cox <levey666@yahoo.com> Subject: The Second Floor Part 2 The Second Floor Part 2 By Levey666 Copyright 2002 **Names used in this story are ficticious and any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. There is lots more to cum folks, so stay tuned! PART 2 I almost came right then. I suppose I should have known about my interest in men from the response I gave myself when looking in a mirror. Come to think of it, I can remember throwing a bone while shaving after a shower, flexing after a workout, putting gel in my hair. I must have played it off as typical guy stuff. Every man that looks as good as this is allowed to be infatuated with himself, right? Anyway, it was getting late and I was going to get myself behind if I ended up late for work this week. I hung the photograph of myself proudly on the refrigerator door and went to iron the shirt I had decided to wear. The thought occurred to me to try something new that day and work without underwear. I quickly dismissed the idea as begging for trouble, I do work with three other guys and two women, none of which would take kindly I'm sure to my crotch sticking out eight or so inches from my body. Besides, this was all so new to me, rushing my new experiences might have damaged my ability to truly marvel at the wonders of man to man action. As soon as the creases were back in my clothes I hastily made my way to work with nothing but fevered anticipation for what might happen at day's end. When I returned home, I was a little disappointed to find no other items waiting for me outside my apartment. Forgetting about my mail, I went back downstairs to the row of boxes that, for the first time, I noticed had names on them as well as unit numbers. I couldn't help but look to see whom my fantasy lovers were. "Jason Hewitt and Michael Davidson," was what the tag read. I was completely dumbfounded to see that they had different last names. Except for the hair color, they should have been identical twins. As I climbed the stairs for the second time I wondered when I was going to get the chance to ask about their names, let alone which is which! I decided I would have to workout, maybe help relieve some of my nervous tension. Not long after I moved in I turned the extra bedroom into a home gym, allowing me the comfort of a full workout whenever I wanted it, without the hassle of finding the 24-hour gym. I grabbed the phone on my way back to my bedroom to check the voicemail while I changed. There was a message from Jennifer, no doubt she couldn't get what she wanted from that jerk Aaron and now she wants to get back together, two hang-ups, and the message "11." Who would just leave a number and nothing else? Stumped, I got undressed and decided to workout in just a jockstrap to try and ease my way into what was sure to be a shockingly different way of life. I have always loved the feel of the straps cupping my ass. It feels like someone is there holding you, but at the same time there is no impairment of motion. Typically, I wear an actual cup with my strap when in public gyms; it serves to stay out of trouble as well as to protect against unnecessary injury. Feeling the loose fabric against my cock turned out to be very "uplifting." I usually end my workout with crunches and, in my already sensitive condition, I nearly crunched myself to orgasm the way the fabric pulled at my straining erection. When I was finished with all two hundred crunches, I glance at the neon digital clock hanging in the middle of the mirrored wall. It was 7:11 and I chuckled briefly to myself. Then it hit me. What if "11" was not just a prank. Could it mean 11 o'clock? If Jason or Michael had gotten my name from the mailbox just as I did theirs, it wouldn't be that hard to get my number, I am listed after all. Why didn't I think of that? Regardless, I was not about to let an opportunity like this slip away, so I spent the next three hours preening, pacing and fantasizing about what would happen before my cup of orange juice in the morning. When eleven finally did come, I was primed and ready to wage war with the pent up passions I needed to explore. I almost fell down the second half flight of stairs I was in such a hurry. When I came to a stop outside the door of the second floor apartment, I noticed it was once again ajar, but this time there was a distinct conversation coming from the voices inside, I even think I heard giggling. Assuming the door was open for that reason, I did not knock as I entered the front room for the second time in as many days. As with the night before, the only light was projected from the back bedroom. The conversation ended abruptly as I passed the bathroom on my way towards the beacon in front of me. When I arrived at the beaded curtain, which I now noticed was comprised of beige and tan beads making it a fitting piece for the home that appeared to share nothing of it's occupant's personality, I froze. I don't think I was breathing at that point. When I did remember it was breathe or die, I lifted my hand to part the curtain and enter the chamber which had, less than 24 hours prior, been the set for my most powerful masturbation fantasy to date.