DAVID 390
Before I forget...David 391 has also been posted, but you'll need to change your gallery settings to include "Mixed Group" to see it. Enjoy!
It was closing time. Brad leaned against the railing of the stairs, gazing out across the pedestrian-only streets of Santa Monica. He purposely locked the back door a few minutes before the official closing time just so that he could survey his domain. It was especially surreal at sunset, with the pastel walls of the shops and restaurants washed in a wan, yellow glow from the setting sun. The palm trees cast long shadows like great sweeps from a watercolor brush, and the metal trim of car doors and pricey sunglasses worn by the crowd glittered like silver and gold. He felt as though he himself was glowing...glowing with the knowledge that he was right where he should be. King of the gym. Prince of the beach. A sun-kissed god who was worshipped by those who could afford to pay, and for those who couldn't pay with money, he accepted their envy. He was the hero to many, the bearer of a cure, albeit temporary, for those addicted to a lust for muscle. Later, he would walk the streets, taking pictures with tourists, one arm bent with his fist in front of his waist so that he could give his signature "thumbs up" salute.
There were other bodybuilders walking the streets of Santa Monica and Venice, but Brad was the epitome of the California beach hunk; tall, blond, outrageously muscular, and bronzed by the sun. The tourists seemed to just be waiting for someone like him to appear on the boardwalks. They'd have their cameras at the ready, and they'd scan the crowds, singling out the biggest muscle gods to show the folks back home. Especially appealing to Brad were the tourists from the Midwest, especially the women, easily recognizable in their discount store clothes and sporting the beginnings of a bad sunburn. The men too; bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirts, as though they' thought they would melt right into the Southern California scene. Those were the ones he loved to wow. He'd strip off his shirt, flare his lats and strut by, walking as though he weighed a ton. A few seconds later, the cameras would start clicking, the group photos would begin, and that fist would be held in front of his waist with the thumb pointing up. Once, someone had even asked for his autograph.
Brad was not the handsomest man on the beach, but he had a rugged, bad boy kind of brutishness about him, an unrefined quality suitable for the motorcycle crowd or his occasional stints as a bouncer. Brad was not the biggest man on the beach either, but bodybuilding was not a tall man's sport. Most of the bigger guys, proportionally, were well under six feet tall. Anyone approaching Brad's six foot one and a half inch height seemed long-limbed or were so into the competitive contest scene that they hardly had time to socialize and be seen in the gym, on the beach, or at the bars and clubs. Brad was the biggest...of the visible, the handsomest of the brutish, and there was one aspect in which he outranked everyone. Ego. A guy might be a male model and look prettier, but he could never come close to having Brad's flex appeal. A few guys might be bigger, but they weren't part of the scene. A few guys might have a charisma that sparkled, but Brad was the sun. Royalty. And this gym was his throne room.
The gym had been here for almost forty years, built in the days of Mr. Americas and Mr. Universes. It's size had enabled it to include other venues for exercise: a ballet studio, an outdoor weightlifting area, and a martial arts studio. With the rise of the exercise boom, the other areas fell into disrepair, and finally every room in the building was full of weights, treadmills, stationary bicycles, and exercise machines.
That's just how Brad liked it. Since the owner had taken ill, Brad made things even more to his liking. The music became exclusively hard rock and much louder, the dress code had become more lax so that now the blonde beach bunnies could display their breast implants in bikini tops and bodybuilders, shirtless and spouting expletives, could monopolize the equipment to their hypertrophied hearts' content by sweating all over it. It was a poser's paradise.
Brad locked the door and made his way back to the reception desk in the main public area, the free weight room, with his shoulders pulled out, elbows turned out to the sides, and legs spread slightly. His muscle strut was second nature to him. With a menacing look meant to intimidate anyone and everyone, he made his entrance. He turned the music off and put his thumb and forefinger to his mouth and gave a piercing whistle.
"Let's go people!" he shouted. "I got people to do...I mean, see!" He listened carefully and waited for a response. There was none. There was none because the gym had been empty for over twenty minutes. His call-out had still been necessary though. There could still be people in the locker rooms, and they didn't need to know that he was commanding an empty space. He ventured into the men's locker room, bracing himself as if anticipating an impact, stiffening his body as he turned every corner. There was always the chance that some skinny guy, not watching where he was going, might come around the corner and bounce off him. He liked when that happened. It made for good storytelling later. The men's locker room seemed to be empty though; he heard no voices, and so he relaxed a little and kicked all the towels on the floor into a great pile and then dumped them into the laundry cart. He cocked his head. He heard water running. Someone was still here, taking a shower. He wandered over to the row of individual stalls. All the shower curtains were open except one. Steam, and the smell of a fresh, new bar of soap, was wafting out of the farthest one. A clean, dry towel hung on a hook just outside the shower curtain. Brad sneered. He went over to the shower and plucked the towel from its hook and threw it in the cart. Poor sap, he thought, sneering all the while, That's what you get when you stay too late. I ain't gonna wait around to pick up after you. He chuckled quietly. It should be fun to watch the guy, no doubt a pale whale of a man, or a scrawny old gent, tiptoe around like a chicken looking for a towel.
Right on schedule, a chorus of giggles stopped at the entrance to the men's locker room.
"Brad?"
That was Cloe and her entourage. All five girls began whispering. Finally, another one shouted.
"Can we come in?" shouted Candy.
"What for? shouted Brad.
"I have to ask you a question," shouted Susan.
"So ask."
Susan looked at the other girls, trying to come up with a question.
"Uh....," began Shaquita. "Uh......She wants to ask you what's a good exercise for your butt?"
Susan gasped. The other girls giggled.
"My butt? Or her butt?"
"Ah mo kill you girl!" said Susan. She playfully shoved Shaquita.
"Her butt," Cheryl called out. "Mine too. Can you show us? Please?"
"Please?" said Susan.
"Please?" said Cloe.
"Please? said Candy.
"Please?" said Shaquita.
"I'm busy!"
"Please?" said Susan.
"Please?" said Cloe.
"Please? said Candy.
"Please?" said Shaquita.
"Please?" said Cheryl.
"How come you guys don't ask me out there during the day?"
"Cuz uh...cuz we're shy."
A chorus of giggles.
Brad smiled. They weren't shy. They were all in their last year of high school, brash, rich, and unabashed fashion divas. They just liked to see him flex. He just liked to tease them. Maybe in a few years they'd have the money to convince him to spend some time with them, but right now, they were too risky. That didn't mean they weren't useful though. They were fun to tease. They had to be made to think that they were a hair's breadth away from scoring a date with him. Brad fantasized that at their Beverly Hills high school, the blond bodybuilder from Earl's gym would be almost every girl's fantasy, and moreover, some of the young men's fantasy too.
"Okay, " Brad muttered. "Come on in."
"There's nobody else in there?" asked Shaquita.
Brad heard the water in the shower stop. He sneered. "Nope."
The girls slowly entered, eyes peering all around. The men's locker room was naturally off limits to women, but this whole scene of after hours "instruction" had happened countless times before. Still, they felt they had to scan the scene upon entering every time. Besides the absolute silence, what struck them most every time was the smell, or lack thereof. No perfumes hung in the air. The men's locker room just smelled wet, with the faintest tinge of soap.
"It's nearly five," said Brad. "I can't stay late. It's a good thing this place is clean otherwise I wouldn't have time."
"We won't take up much of your time," said Cheryl. "Just show us a butt exercise."
"Yeah," said Cloe. "And what's one for right here?" She ran her fingers up and down the back of Candy's upper arm.
"Don't be touching me, bitch!" Candy said with a smile. "I don't know what kind of cooties you have."
"I got yours now," said Cloe, "because I touched you. You didn't touch me."
"My arm touched your fingers!"
"Uh uh. My fingers touched your arm."
"Hey! shouted Brad.
"Oh...my god!" shouted Cloe as she pointed at Candy's shorts. "Are those lululemons?"
Candy nodded.
"They're so cuuuuute!" squealed Cloe.
"They're cuuuuute!" the other girls said.
The sound made Brad wince. "HEY!" shouted Brad. "Con...cen...trate."
"Sorry," said Cloe.
"Yeah, said Candy. "Sorry."
Amidst a short burst of whispering, the girls sat on the concrete floor in front of Brad.
Brad shook his head. "Okay," he said to Susan. "Show me how you do a squat."
"I know how," Susan whined.
"We want to see how you do a squat," said Cloe.
Brad held his arms out to his sides, as though shouldering a barbell, and then detailed all the nuances of doing a proper squat. The girls watched, their gaze never leaving his thighs. Standing upright again, he said, "Too bad I didn't wear shorts. You could see the separation I got along the sides of my thighs." He stood on one foot and shook the other leg out. Then he stood on the opposite foot and shook his other leg out, relaxing his leg muscles and twisting his thigh back and forth at the hip so that the entire mass of his upper leg swung from side to side around the bone.
The girls squealed.
Brad jammed his leg straight. Now the thigh rippled. Susan gave it a quick, dainty squeeze.
"Oh my god. It's, like, hard as a rock!"
The girls squealed again.
"Do the arm thing again," said Cloe.
"What," asked Brad. "You mean flex my bicep?"
"Yeah."
"I did that last time."
"Please?" said Susan.
"Please?" said Cloe.
"Please? said Candy.
"Please?" said Shaquita.
"Please?" said Cheryl.
"No."
"Aw, c'mon Brad," said Candy. "Please?"
"No, wait!" said Shaquita with a devilish grin. "I know what will make him do it."
Brad rolled his eyes. He had every intention of flexing for them, but begging was like the spice of life, and he wanted the afternoon to be well seasoned.
"Oh!" said Cheryl, realizing Candy's plan.
Brad smiled. It was hardly a plan. Brad always chuckled and told people "Never ask a guy with muscles what time it is," and when the person asked why he would assume a wide stance, put one hand on his hip, and flex the other arm for a few seconds before twisting his forearm to glance at his watch.
"Brad," said Candy. "What time is it?"
Brad rolled his eyes. He sneered. "It's five o'clock. Closing time. Now get outta here."
The girls moaned.
"C'mon," said Candy. "Just do it. Please?"
"Please?" said Susan.
"Please?" said Cloe.
"Please?" said Shaquita.
"Please?" said Cheryl.
"I don't have my watch on!"
"Please?" begged Susan.
"Please?" begged Cloe.
"Please? begged Candy.
"Please?" begged Shaquita.
"Please?" begged Cheryl.
Brad assumed the stance, flexed his arm, heard the girls gasp, and then twisted his forearm to read his imaginary watch. "Five o'clock," he said. "Now get outta here." But just to give them a bonus flex, and keep them coming back on subsequent days, he flexed his other arm for them.
They fell silent.
Brad didn't know what to think. He had never elicited such awe in them.
One of them quietly whispered, "Oh.....my......god."
For a moment, there was a strange quiet; far too long to be borne of a bicep's flexing. Brad's attention was pulled away from his bicep by a curious change in the atmosphere, a sudden realization that the girls did not have their eyes focused on his flexed bicep, but on something beyond it, or maybe nothing at all. Most natives of southern California could recognize that moment when their everyday world and the cadence of their speech or thought was invaded by a force of nature, that millisecond when you first hear the rattling dishes and vibrations of an earthquake. Even the light in their area of the locker room seemed to change; it grew a shade dimmer, and Brad had a sinking feeling, because he realized that the blazing sun with which he identified himself could indeed be demoted by something rare and wonderful, a total eclipse of the sun.
Still, he flexed. "You wanna see a double biceps?"
"Uh...Brad...." whispered. Cloe.
"Brad..." said Candy, quietly.
"Oh...my....god," whispered Shaquita. "Oh...my...god."
Brad assumed a double biceps flex. "And this will have to be it because--"
"Brad," began Shaquita somberly. "You need to turn around."
"Uh...Brad?...." said Susan.
"--I gotta finish cleaning up." Brad grinned. "You should see 'em pumped up." He'd never seen them react like this. They looked shellshocked. Their mouths hung open. Their eyes were wide, seemingly unfocused.
Oddly, it didn't look like they were looking at him.
"Pssst! Brad!" Cheryl whispered. "Stop."
"Oh Braaaaad," Candy whispered, with a strange tone of warning.
"Too much for you?" Brad asked. "How's this?" He brought his fists together in front of him and bent forward, flexing every muscle in his body. They didn't respond. "Ya like that?"
"Oh...my...god," whispered Shaquita. That's all she could say. Her eyes were open as wide as they would go. "Oh. My. God."
"Look at him," whispered Candy. The other girls were now stupefied. Eyes wide, mouths agape, they almost seemed to be looking at Brad's hair.
Shaquita made an exaggerated gulp. "Brad? Uh...Brad?"
"Pssst!" whispered Candy.
He had them going now. They were dumbfounded. In awe.
"Brad," Candy whispered.
"What," Brad asked.
Candy managed to focus her eyes on Brad's. She made a motion with her index finger as though she was stirring something. "Turn around," she whispered. She looked frightened.
Residents of southern California will also tell you that after the moment where their train of thought or conversation is cut short, there also comes a moment of intense fear because they know that, depending on the strength of the earthquake, their lives could change forever in a matter of seconds. Brad stood straight and fell silent. Having been born and raised in southern California, the feeling was all too familiar. The girls looked...interrupted, as though a force of nature had descended upon them. He actually took a moment to listen for movement in the room, the movement of the earth or the building itself. and as his eyes wandered, he noticed that his shadow, in which the girls had been sitting - the very projection of his self in the physical world - had been eclipsed.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me."
Bravado demanded that he turn on his own sweet time. It was probably just the guy from the shower looking for a clean towel. "Not now, pal," he said without turning.
The girls gave a collective gasp.
"Brad honey," began Shaquita, "you know I love you but honey baby you need to turn around...right...now."
"Uh, excuse me," said the voice. It wasn't the voice of an old man. This was the richest, baritone growl Brad had ever heard.
Still, he had to be in command. "Come around front, sonny, if you want to see the show."
The girls gave a collective gasp and held it, as though bracing for an impact.
"Oh," said the voice. "I don't want to see the show."
Now Brad's eyes went wide with indignation. What idiot would be stupid enough to pass up a private flex show from the King of the gym, the prince of the beach, the duke of deltoids, the baron of brawn?
All the girls sat crosslegged on the floor, their eyes wide, their eyebrows raised, a huge lungful of air held in their chests, and their hands clamped over their mouths.
Brad turned around, and his life was changed forever. The arm alone was enough to cause his jaw to drop. The first impression that smacked his brain was not only of its unparalleled size, but the fullness and roundness of the muscles. He followed it up to the bowling ball of a shoulder and then across to the rest. His self control shattered. He wanted to utter, "Oh my god," but the words jammed in his throat. He made a sound like a hiccup.
The thickest pecs in the world, like hanging slabs of beef, were inches from his face. Their shape was perfect; broad squares that jutted out so far that without any effort at all you could stand a beer bottle on top of them with ease, a party trick favored by any bodybuilder at a club It looked like the guy was wearing armor. That chest screamed of masculinity. And if that wasn't enough, the entire expanse was covered with a layer of chest hair that was black and silky. It swirled around the pecs in neat whorls. The great, round shoulders swept up into thick masses of muscles that disappeared behind his ears, making his neck as thick as a paint can. And on the top of that mighty neck was a jaw that was the ultimate jaw...heavy, square, as though roughly hewn from a block of granite, and sporting the ultimate chin...strong and perfectly cleft.
Brad was powerless. His eyes kept traveling upwards. His brain swirled. He thought of snide remarks to say, and also of worshipful ways to beg. He told himself to feign indifference, and also struggled to find the words to convey his utter awe. He wanted the guy gone, and he wanted to follow. There was more to see of this giant, but when Brad's eyes met the giant's eyes all self control evaporated. They were the most beautiful eyes he'd ever seen. Maybe it was the black of his hair that set them off. They looked almost inappropriate for the man's color. The irises were a faint, watery blue. There was an eerie sense of clarity about them, as though they were jewels that refracted the light and sparkled, giving off more light than they took in. The color was absolutely breathtaking., almost too bright, and quite exotic against that thick black hair. That hair looked as though he had hastily dried it with a towel, parted it with his fingers, and swept it back. One lone wave had broken free and rested on his forehead.
"I just wanted to get to my locker," said the man.
That broke the spell. Brad took a step back and took in the rest of the giant. Awesome perfection. This is impossible, thought Brad. You can't be tall and broad in the shoulders and narrow in the waist and huge and handsome! Nobody has everything! The giant had found a clean towel somewhere, but it wasn't the standard size distributed for members. This one was smaller. He had wrapped it around his waist. It rode low on his hips revealing a bit of the muscular globes that were his buttocks. He tugged at the front, pulling it down, trying to cover himself. Something impossibly huge pushed the cloth forward, and Brad realized that the towel could barely conceal the horsecock underneath.
And hung!
His thighs were like tree trunks. His feet were tremendous and yet there was nothing ugly about them. They were perfect. Not a mark on them, as though he had been born yesterday. Everything about the man was perfect. Your eyes didn't know where to go first.
Brad put his hands on his hips. His first words to the man were a brusque, "Who are you?"
For all his might, the man seemed nervous. He held onto the front of the towel with one hand, pulling it down, being careful not to expose himself. The sense of calculated machismo that Brad had so carefully cultivated seemed totally absent in the man. And then he smiled. Perfect teeth.
"Well, my name's Dave McAllister," he said. Then he smiled like a little boy seeing his presents on Christmas morning. "Why, you must be Brad!" He held out his hand.
Brad did not move. "Who says?"
"DUH!" said Cloe.
David's smile faltered. "Well, she....they all called you Brad. Just now."
"You a member?" asked Brad, sternly.
"Well, no I--"
"Then you're not supposed to be in here."
"But--" David said.
"Gosh Brad," said Susan. "Ew!"
The boy-like smile returned. "I am so pleased to meet you," he said. His voice was deep but lilting. His tone rose at the end, as though he was asking a question rather than stating a fact. Brad couldn't quite place it, but it had a cheery, almost midwestern tone to it. "I've heard so many n-.........things about you!" He still held his hand out. He was bent forward at the waist, reaching more than a little forward, as though there was an invisible picket fence between him and Brad. Oddly, it gave him the appearance earnest exuberance.
"From who?" demanded Brad.
"Well, from Earl," said David. "I'm going to be working here!"
Candy gasped.
Cloe stifled a laugh by slapping a hand over her mouth.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh," said Shaquita as if recognizing impending trouble.
Susan spoke up: "Brad, he's even bigger than y--"
"Hey!" barked Brad. "Don't you know it's not polite to interrupt?"
"Listen," said David. "I sure am sorry about getting out so late. But it's not quite five yet, is it?"
"Yeah Brad," said Shaquita. "What time is it?"
The girls burst into laughter.
"Shut up," mumbled Brad. He turned to David. "How come I didn't see you in the weight room?"
"Oh I came in this mornin'. I met Gina and worked out a bit. Then I went to the beach and came back here in the afternoon to finish my workout. I was inspecting the studio room just now. Earl said--"
"Earl didn't tell me anything about getting a new trainer," Brad said defiantly.
David looked shocked. "He didn't? But--"
"No. All he said was that some student from UCLA was coming to start a special ed class."
"Oh, well," David began. "That would be me." His smile faded. He nodded.
"You go to college?" asked Shaquita.
David chuckled. "Yeah. In fact it's my second time around. Can you believe it? I went back for more."
The interrogation continued. "How come I've never seen you around here?" asked Brad.
"Well I just moved here," said David.
"Where'd you live before?" asked Cloe.
"San Francisco," David said. "I went to school there."
"Berkeley?" asked Candy.
"Stanford," David answered.
"What'd you major in?" asked Susan.
"Psychology," said David.
"Uh oh," said Cheryl. "He's gonna peek in our brains and find out why we're so crazy."
David smiled. He leveled a hand at Cheryl and pointed it at her like a gun. He winked and said, "Better watch out."
The girls laughed.
"Hey!" he said to Brad. "I noticed this mornin' that a lot of the members were uh, not exactly obeyin' the dress code. You must feel all wonkered out trying to run this place. But don't you worry. I'll help you get things back to normal."
"Swell," said Brad.
"You don't talk like you're from California," said Shaquita.
"Naw," said David. "I know. Y'all are gonna have to teach me how to talk like a surfer dude." He turned to Brad. "That's a beautiful tan you have, if you don't mind me sayin' so."
"Brad lives for the beach," said Cloe. "If he's not here, he's there. Right Brad?"
"Not always."
"You're kidding," said David. "Why I just went this very afternoon to apply for a lifeguard position."
"Where?" asked Brad.
"Here! In Santa Monica!"
"Ohhhhhhhhhh," said Shaquita.
"You can save lives?" asked Candy. "Have you ever saved someone?"
David lowered his head, smiling. "Well...kind of. Sort of. A few."
The girls sighed, swooning.
Brad gritted his teeth. "Where they gonna put you?"
"I'm sorry," said David. "I beg your pardon?"
"On the beach. Where?"
"Oh. I don't know," said David. "Hey! But maybe I'll end up working right near you!"
"Yeah. Swell," said Brad.
"Where are my manners?" David asked. The towel was beginning to slip from his hips. He tugged at the front, pulling it lower so as to cover himself. He held the tucked in corner with the other hand. He seemed genuinely nervous, but persevered. "Ladies, I have the pleasure of making your acquaintance, but I don't believe I know your names."
The girls began to introduce themselves.
"You'll pardon me if I don't shake your hands, but...uh..." He looked down at the towel, and then at Brad. "You know, I don't know where my towel went. This is the only one I could find."
Brad gave no response.
"And my name's Candy," said the last girl. "Usually our friend Maxine is with us, but she's got a modeling gig."
"I see," said David. "She as pretty as you?"
The girls giggled.
"Hey!" said Cloe. "Speaking of....Do you have an agent?"
"An agent?" David asked. "Well, I'm...I'm not really looking to break into show business. I've done some modeling for photographers but--"
"Who?" asked Shaquita.
"Nobody really famous," said David. "But I have an agent in San Francisco. And one in New York. It'd be fun to do some print work."
"You should still talk to someone here," said Shaquita. "I'm sure our friend Maxine could set you up. You're gorgeous.."
"Why thank you," said David. His smile was brilliant. "Well, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your demonstration.. If you'll excuse me, I'll just be headin' to my locker." He eased by Brad. "It was a pleasure meetin' y'all." As he passed them, the girls took in every powerful curve in his god-like body. He disappeared around a bend, and a few seconds later, they heard a locker opening.
Cloe turned to the other girls. "Oh my god!" she squealed, trying to keep her voice low. "I bet that towel's on the floor...right now!"
They rose as one and took a careful step towards the lockers.
Suddenly, Cheryl froze. "I can't."
"Well I can," said Shaquita. "Get the hell outta my way."
"That's it," said Brad. "It's ok for you to be in here when it's only me, but that's not the case right now, is it? Out. Now."
They moaned and protested, but shuffled out slowly.
"Bye David," yelled Cheryl.
"Bye David," yelled Cloe.
"Bye David. I'll tell my friend Maxine," yelled Shaquita.
"Bye David yelled Susan.
"Bye David," yelled Candy. "Can you show us how to do some exercises someday?"
"I sure will!" yelled David. "Bye!"
Brad herded the girls out of the locker room. They chattered excitedly all the way out the front door.
On his way back to the locker room, Brad sucked his stomach in and held it. He decided then and there that he would practice adding that to his bodybuilder strut. He tried picturing himself striding through the gym like a conqueror, but the only thing he could see in his mind's eye were the sweeping curves of muscle, the protruding front of that towel, the hairy chest, and the sparkling blue water of those eyes. With great effort, he took his time returning to the locker room. Something new was eating at him. In a moment he realized that his days as king of the gym might be numbered...unless...
He smoothed his hair upwards, adjusted his tight bodysuit, and advanced further into the locker room. He could hear the giant singing, very quietly.
His reign as prince of the beach my be threatened...unless...
Brad was nervous. This was a new feeling. He thought of a dozen ways he could appear indifferent: he could straighten the weights. He could restock the shelves. He could rearrange the displays at the juice bar. He could pretend to talk to someone on the phone. But for once, he could not control himself. Like a thief, he advanced quietly. Like his "customers", he was at the mercy of muscle lust, and he didn't like it one bit. Now he had someone to think about as he jacked off. Now he had fuel for all sorts of erotic dreams. Now he had someone to watch. Now he had someone to preen for. Now he had someone to avoid, and someone to follow. Now he had someone to banish from his kingdom, and someone he would beg to stay. Now he would dream of big strong hands caressing him, and he would lie awake at night imagining his hands on that chest, those buttocks, those arms. Now there was someone who was strong enough to hold him down and give him the fucking of his life, and who, at the same time, was the ultimate trophy...unless...
...unless this Hercules could be intimidated. Unless he remained unseen, at the north end of the beach...away from the pier and Muscle Beach, in his classrooms at school, in the gym with the "special" people Earl wanted him to care for. Then, maybe then, the eclipse would end.
"That you Brad?"
Brad froze. "Uh.....yeah." He moved casually around the bend, and saw David standing there, ready to don a crisp, white shirt.
"Hey!" said David, with that wide eyed, sweet smile. "If you want to head on out, you just go right ahead. Earl gave me keys. I'll be happy to lock up for you."
"Oh," said Brad.
"And I'll see you Tuesdays and Fridays to start off with."
"Oh. Not every day?"
"Afraid not. But who knows? Maybe I'll be able to put in a few more hours. Especially if the lifeguard thing doesn't go through."
"Oh." Brad shivered, disturbed at the powerful drug that David was. Brad felt as though he could stand here and watch him move for hours and hours. He felt like a man who had crawled across a desert and had come to an oasis, who could just drink and drink and drink in the beauty and never, ever have enough. His eyes zeroed in on the bubble butt straining at the fabric of the pants. The very fabric was like a living thing, clinging to him, as though it could not get close enough. With every movement, that hairy chest flexed and bunched. The muscles in his arms and shoulders coiled and rippled. His hair was expertly combed now, with a razor sharp part. The glossy black hair was almost slicked straight back, but a stubborn wave swept it to one side, and a single lock had again broken free and twisted onto his forehead. Brad was aware of a cool composure, and an almost practiced way of pretending not to know that he was being stared at. Ogled. Worshipped. Undressed with the imagination.
Finally, the lack of a further response from Brad became too awkward. David turned and smiled at him...
...and Brad saw the man's eyes, and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came. Finally, he said, "Oh."
David turned again and smiled at him as he buttoned his shirt He left the top three buttons undone. The mountainous pecs spread the shirt wide, revealing the hairy chest beneath.
The shirt was the best fitting shirt Brad had ever seen on a guy with muscles. It was as though it had been woven on him.
"You got a date tonight?" David asked.
"Huh?"
"Hot date tonight?"
"Oh." Brad tried to think of an answer, but all he could think about was ripping that shirt open.
"Good lookin' guy like you probably isn't ever lonely."
"Huh? Oh. Uh...no. No, I got plans."
"Well, maybe you and I can hang out one night."
"Yeah," said Brad. The thought made his heart beat faster. The only thing that allowed him to tear his eyes away was the fact that he realized that he'd see David again. Soon. Often. He cleared his throat. "Well...I uh...I gotta be going."
"Okay."
"Uh...thanks for uh, c-closing up my behind. I mean behind me!"
David looked straight into Brad's eyes, the sparkling jewels holding Brad's like magnets. He flashed that brilliant smile, and only when he was ready did David release him by glancing away., and then a moment later he looked back at Brad and gave him a thumbs up.
2008