Meeting Andy

Let me tell you about Andy. The first time I met him, actually, saw him, he was doing tequila shots off a bar somewhere with his best girlfriend fag hag. They were loud and full of life and I was naturally repelled and attracted both at the same time.

He had on a white bonds t-shirt which was tight on him, which left none of his fine muscles to the imagination. And he had on a pair of jeans that were baggy on him, pulled tight at the waist and bunching up right at the front making it look like he filled them out well. Of course, he did fill them out well.

Andy smiled at me and kind of winked and I was a little taken aback looking around behind me to see who it was he was, actually, smiling and winking at.

He and his girlfriend were the life of the bar that night.

I was there with a friend, Tom, he and I were out for a quiet night’s drinking.

Sometime later, Andy came over in his big, goofy way and slurred in my ear, “Hey handsome.” And I just thought, I bet you say that to all the guys. We chatted for a time, but not for really long, just enough time to find out our names and where we lived and what we did and some of the things that we liked, but then his girlfriend, Rosa, came over and demanded him back, and while I got the sense that he didn’t want to go, that he’d rather stay there with me, he went with his girlfriend. And that was that. 

Tom and I left not long after, Tom going to a sex club, and me heading home, a bit drunk. Staggering, a bit, maybe. Happy, sure. Feeling lighter than I normally would have after a handsome boy made eyes at me, and I liked it. Snatched away, sure he was, but he still did. Sigh. 

I lay in bed thinking about him. Stupid really. 

And that was that, life went on. 

Weeks, possibly months later, I was home in bed between jobs, lazing around, I wouldn’t exactly say rudderless, but I do like that expression. When we are motivated and achieving, we have a fin shove up are arses that steers and guides us in the direction we want to go, when we are not, it falls out with a plop sound and we just have bare, rosy cheeks to sit on. I was sitting on my bare, rosy cheeks. 

Late morning sometime, my house mate Shane said there was someone to see me.

“Who?” I called out.

“Andy,” said Shane.

Andy, I thought. Do I know an Andy? “Andy who?” I called out.

“Knock, knock,” said a voice at my door. My door pushed open and his smiling, nervous face appeared. “Hello.”

To say that I was stunned, was an understatement. “Hello,” I said.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh, er, um, yes, sure,” I said.

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he said.

“You were in the neighbourhood,” I repeated.

“Yes, I hope you don’t mind.”

“But how… no, I don’t mind, come in,” I said. “What you doing, er, um, how do you know? How?”

“I did a job for your neighbour…”

“Gardening?”

“Yes.”

“Gordon?”

“Yes.”

“And Gordon…”

“No.”

“No?”

“Rosa.”

“You’re demanding fag hag friend?”

“You’ll like her…”

“Will I?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Her lesbian house mate, owns a bulldog named Diego…

“A black bulldog?”

“Yes, he is black.”

“Oh yes. She goes to the dog park.”

“She knows you,” he said. “And I thought I come over and get to know you while I am working practically next door.”

“It’s a small world.”

“And getting smaller,” said Andy.

He slid onto the bed next to me.

He had these blue overalls on which he had left unbuttoned right down the front, giving a glimpse of his white T-shirt, and even the elastic of his jocks, I couldn’t stop myself taking peaks. 

His floppy blond hair, his square jaw, his three day growth. He looked great. The line of buttons unpopped one by one all the way down his front, as if to make a proposition, were distracting, as we chatted. It’s true. 

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be seducing him, having sex with him there and then on his lunch break, on what I assumed was his lunch break. 

Unwrapping his thick thighs, grabbing handfuls of his big purple nuts, sucking his fat shaft, rock hard like metal. sliding my finger into his foreskin, slipping his precum around on my fingertips, making long spurts of cum shoot out of him right there on my bed. Watch him shake his feet when he blows.

No, I wasn’t sure about any of that that day in my bed. That was all to come. 

We chatted and pretty soon he said he had to go. We made a date to see each other again before he left. 

That boy Andy. Sexy, and cute, and funny, and smart, and trouble, and hard working, and irrational, and loud, and a gorgeous free spirited sex pig all rolled into the same sexy, muscular, contradictory mass of maleness would be in my life for the next two years successfully and unsuccessfully. Mostly unsuccessfully, as it would turn out.

He liked gardens. He liked to work on cars. He liked photography. He liked dogs. He liked Andy. Not necessarily in that order.