Ben G.

Ben came into my head as I strolled to work up Bourke Street. Maybe he’d be in working, I thought, after the holidays. It's nice that he's moved to my floor. He came and stood next to me, at the urinal, recently. Now, when was it? Just before Xmas, I do believe. Unfortunately, I was finished. I was turning away. Bugger! I so wanted to look. I tried to look a little, but, too late.

Have I ever written that sometimes I walk down Bourke Street whispering, Ben G, Ben G. Not that often, but often enough. It amuses me. I was this morning, not sure why this morning, but I was.

I got in early this morning, being too frightened of being late, made me way early.

“Hi Chris, how are you?” said a voice, first thing, as I stood at the urinal.

“Oh, hi.” Handsome, I thought. It was Ben.

We'd make great b/f's, I wanted to say, blurt out. You and me.

"How are you?"

I remembered my decision about him @ the urinal, I’d just look, not try to hide it, as I tried to sneak another look at what he held in his hand.

I still can picture his abdomen, that time in the toilet in our old offices, when he was changing, for the Xmas Party. He was in camouflage pants, he lifted his t-shirt to show me. His abdomen was tanned, toned, masculine. The material was flat against his muscled stomach. The elastic of his jocks just poked above the waist band of his pants. His bulge packed them out nicely, like a fist behind his fly.

“Just a bit of fun,” he said, as he looked intensely into my eyes. He always looks intensely into my eyes. So often, I've wanted to kiss him.

"I'm good," I said. Then I was brave, now or never, I just dropped my eyes.

I saw the softness of the cotton of his jocks, white through his completely open pants; his blond pubic hair against his brown skin; the round contours of the front of his jocks, against his thighs; how soft and round and warm he would have felt to touch, held gently, cupped, in my palm.

The smell of his hair. The touch of his skin

His eyes. His breath. His lips.

Time de-accelerating. The slow motion strobe of our hearts.

He shook his cock. There it was, raw, pink, bare skin, in his hand. He made no attempt to hide it. I made no attempt not to look. Curly pubic hairs, foreskin. Nice. Good size. His nob slipped out of the end of the folds of skin, all red and slippery, every time he shook it. It was beautiful. Fat and pink, like it had never seen the light of day.

I looked up. There must have been still drugs in my system from New Years Eve, it was horny, I was coming on to him. I was going to reach out...

I shook my head. "How are you?" I said.

His face flushing red; his sexy voice croaking, as he tried to say something, but couldn't. The smile, turning away embarrassed, turned on, nervous, putting his (I imagined) hardening self away. He pulled his jocks up.

"I'm good." He zipped his pants up. "How was your Xmas?"

The beautiful smile. Inquisitive and fragile, at the same time.

"Good," I said.

These blue eyes, looking intently. He could smile with them, so easily.

"You know, like every other Xmas." I shrugged.

The expectant pause. We smile at each other, momentarily silent.

"You know how they go."

We washed out hands, slowly, under the warm flow of water. We both sneak looks at each other in the mirror.

"Yeah, I do," he said. "Nice though. Family and all."

Smile. Hesitation at the door. Like there was more, the promise of more.

"Yeah," I said.

The last glance back. Smile.

"See ya," he said.

Gone.

Ah. He’s so gorgeous. I smile to myself in the mirror. Adjust my hair.

I imagine what my face would look like pressed up against his. I think about what his foreskin would taste like. I wondered what my fingers would feel like, sliding into his foreskin.

Wait until I’m in the lift with him next. I hope he has tight pants on.