Big Boy Curious

He signed off again then, and I didn’t enter the chat room at all the next evening. Toward midnight, he IMed me, eagerly agreeing to come to Santa Cruz that weekend. I put him off, telling him I couldn’t make it until the following weekend, although I didn’t really have anything else to do. Just stringing him out; giving him line to either slither away or hook himself. He agreed to meet, and I picked out a gay biker’s bar in the rough part of town, telling him what the bar was, giving him plenty of room to cut and run.

On the designated night, I tricked myself out in my leathers and black net muscle shirt that stopped short of my belly button, showing off my abs real well, and biked my Harley over to the bar. Chances were that he wouldn’t show, but I’d have me a fine evening anyway.

Surprise, surprise, though. He showed. I easily picked up on him when he entered. Nice looking; good, trim, muscled bod, but nervous as hell. He saw me when I waved at him, and I saw his eyes get all big. I didn’t think he was dissatisfied, just hyperventilating at the whole concept.

He came over and sat, and after establishing we were who we thought we were, we tried some small talk. From time to time, he looked like he wanted to bolt for it, and each time I asked him if he wanted to leave alone, but he set his jaw and said no. He told me that his life had become just so boring in the sex department and he needed to give it a jolt start. I told him I could do that—and he had no idea how close to reality my plans were to do that—but that where we could go from here wasn’t going to be for the fainthearted. He swallowed hard and asked me if I was going to show him my basement. I told him, no, not this time—and his body seemed to deflate as if he’d worked himself up for nothing. But I went on to say that I thought he might like to see my garage instead tonight. Asked him if doing it tied up and on my Harley appealed to him, and I felt his thigh tremble under my hand.