Robert

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By waynoh

The month in New York seemed to pass like a year, and I was anxious to return home and see Robert. I set my bags down in my room, disappointed that Robert wasnít anywhere to be found. The bed in his room was unmade and clothes were scattered about. A pair of briefs lay on the floor and I moved closer to look down at them. They seemed to bulge where they once contained his full package, the material stretched into what appeared to be a permanent mold of his @#%$ and balls. I hesitated for a moment, then stooped to pick up the underwear, and was startled to hear the front screen door open. I jerked up and panic swept over me. The last thing I wanted was to have Robert catching me snooping around his room, let alone holding his underwear. I bolted out of his room as I heard an unfamiliar voice call out.

"Yo, Robert!"

I moved down the short hallway leading to the living room and, as I rounded the corner, caught my breath at the sight of a young, built stud standing in the kitchen with the refrigerator door open, the light casting shadows across his sleek muscles. He grabbed a beer and stood up straight, seeing me for the first time.

"Oh, @#%$, dude," he said. "I thought you were Robert."

"Heís not here," I replied, the only three words I could utter at the moment.

He moved from the kitchen towards me, his forearms, biceps and shoulders rippling as he popped open the tab on the beer can. He looked to be about Robertís age. He wore a faded yellow tank top that hugged his beautifully proportioned torso, the nipples on his round, firm pecs straining against the material. His black baggy shorts covered what were sure to be very muscular quads, for his calves were sharply defined, veins popping with each stride as his bare feet moved across the hardwood floor. His face was stunning and exotic. Many Latino guys seem to ooze sexuality, and this guy had to be their king. His black hair was short and spiked, his brown eyes inviting, his lips were full, almost to an exaggeration, begging to be kissed.

"Iím Joe," I thought I heard him say. He reached out his hand and I saw mine move to grab it. I was shocked to see that I still had Robertís underwear in my hand. I pulled it away, whipping it behind my back.

"Oh, @#%$." I half-laughed. "Sorry about that."

"Um. Itís okay," Joe said.

An awkward moment passed before he continued.

"My brother and I moved in next door a couple of weeks ago. You must be Jeff. Robertís told me a lot about you."

I mumbled some sort of agreement, trying to compose myself.

"Anyway," he said. "Iíll get out of your hair so you can get back toÖ whateverÖ you were doing. Let Robert know I came by, will you?"

I nodded and Joe was out the door. I stood there in stunned silence for a moment, trying to collect my thoughts. "Holy crap," I muttered to myself.

I unpacked, showered and ate a light lunch. It was difficult trying to get settled back in after being gone from home for so long. I was anxious for Robert to get home, and I kept replaying the scene with Joe earlier today. There seemed to be a familiar chord that struck me in our meeting. My "gaydar" is pretty good, and I thought I detected a bit of a blip on the screen when he and I looked at each other. However, I knew that I wouldnít try anything with him, knowing that he and Robert appeared to now be friends. If it were to get back to Robert that I was gay, Iím sure that would end our relationship, for he seemed pretty homophobic. I was pretty selective about who I would tell about me, and I preferred to keep my affairs discreet.

Robert got home late that evening and I was shocked to see how down he seemed to be. It became clearer when he explained that Julie broke up with him shortly after I had left for New York. When I later mentioned that Joe had come by, he grew uneasy and said that he felt uncomfortable around him.

"Why?" I asked.

"I think heís gay," Robert whispered.

He told me about Joe inviting him to come along with some of his friends to a club in Hollywood. On certain nights it was open to eighteen and older because they didnít serve alcohol. When they arrived, Robert immediately noticed that there were very few girls there, and that they were dancing together. And then he noticed all of the guys dancing together. It hit him like a ton of bricks and then Joe asked him if he wanted to dance. Robert played it cool and politely declined, and basically hung out in a corner trying to go unnoticed. I thought that was pretty funny considering how beautiful he was. I imagined that every guy in the place wanted to hit on him. And then I got angry at Joe. Not because he brought Robert to that club, but because he was putting the moves on him. Then I thought, "Who wouldnít do it with Joe? Heís a stud. And, if Robert even had the slightest inclination to experiment, Joe would be the perfect guy to do it with." I crashed into a major jealous stupor.

For the next few weeks, Robert and I fell into our familiar routine of working out together, going to movies and hanging out. Occasionally, Joe would stop by, bringing some more beer over to stash in our refrigerator. Robert would chip in some cash so that Joeís brother would continue buying it for them. But, I was sure that Joe would probably be happy paying for the beer himself, as long as his crush on Robert lasted. Robert always seemed to be relieved, however, when I would come home to find him and Joe watching television. Joe would find some reason to leave shortly after I arrived, and then Robert would go on about how much Joe gave him the creeps. I told Robert that Joe was probably in love with him, and that didnít seem to settle too well with him. I smiled at my cleverness at squelching any of Joeís hopes, whatever they were, by pointing out his flaws (which were hard to find) and exposing his evil intentions (of which, Iím sure, he had none) to Robert. This was war, and there was no way that little bastard was going to get to my Robert!

One day, Robert and I were just getting back home from playing tennis when he said that he noticed some real gains in my body. My chest was looking bigger and that there were major cuts in my legs as they flexed and moved me around the court. He asked me how big my chest was now, and I told him I had no idea.

"Dude," he said. "Letís check it out."

He went into the bathroom and returned with a tape measurer.

"Take off your shirt," he said.

"Iím only going to do this if we take your measurements, too," I smirked.

"Okay."

I sensed that he mistook my offer as a challenge, and I suddenly regretted my proposal. He pulled his shirt off.

God, he was beautiful. He went to grab a piece of paper and a pen while I removed my shirt. When Robert returned, the sight of him took my breath away. He stood next to me in nothing but his Calvinís, the briefs hugging his perfectly round butt, and stretching to contain what I only imagined to be his huge dick and balls. "Lift your arms," he commanded, as he moved in front of me. He reached around my back with both arms to pull the tape around my upper torso, the intense heat of his smooth, muscled flesh radiating towards me as our bodies drew closer together. As he focused on pulling the tape tight in front of my chest, I quickly gazed down the front of his body, taking advantage of my superior height. While he studied the numbers, I was able to take in the odor of his masculine body, still slightly glowing from our workout on the court. My hands ached to squeeze his shoulders, test his biceps, play with his tits.

"Take a deep breath and hold it," he said. I followed his instructions and felt his thick fingers graze my pecs as he carefully took my measurements.

"Wow, bro," he said, with a slight surprise. "Forty-four and a half. And, with your definition, you donít need to get any bigger. Go around with your shirt off and youíll have to beat the chicks off with a stick. Now your waist."

He lowered the tape to my abs and tightened it, a knuckle of his right hand brushing and dipping into my navel. I experienced an uncontrollable reflex at the slight touch of his hand.

"Ha! Ticklish, huh?"

I nodded with a sheepish grin on my face as another uncontrollable reflex began Ė my dick began to stiffen.

"Thirty-one," Robert reported. "Nice."

I couldnít believe his frankness and complete ease in this situation. I guessed if he knew that I was gay, we wouldnít even be doing this because he might feel self-conscious being this close to me.

"Now do me," he said.

I recorded in my mind the sound of Robertís voice saying that sentence to use later that night, jacking-off to my sexual fantasy with him.

Robert raised his arms up, giving me access to wrap the tape measurer around his broad chest. I felt as if God was punishing me in some way by displaying this muscle boy in front of me and saying, "You can look, but thatís all you can do!" His booming voice echoed in my mind as He cackled at me in my misery. I tightened the tape as Robert lowered his arms, his pecs returning to their normal, relaxed, bulging state. My fingers lightly brushed his warm, smooth flesh as I gingerly maneuvered the tape into position. As Robert began to flare his upper body, the tape almost slipped out of my hands, the once slightly yielding, relaxed pecs turned to steel and my dick grew to itís full seven and a half inches. I felt Robertís eyes almost glaring at me with a wry look on his face as I studied the numbers on the tape. I realized that this had turned into a competition for him.

"Forty-eight," I said with a feigned tone of nonchalance in my voice.

"Look again, pal," he grunted, his lips tight, his face focused.

The tape slipped a little in my grasp. I tried to draw it tighter, but the granite-like hardness of his body would not yield.

"Forty-eight and a half!" I said.

"Yeah, baby!" he shouted. "Read it and weep. This studís come home to roost."

He threw in a couple of poses, showing off his meaty pecs, his horseshoe triceps and his peaked biceps. I looked at him, shaking my head and chuckling at his arrogance. But, in truth, I was shaking inside at his beauty, power and grace.

"Now my waist," he ordered.

As I slipped the tape measurer around his waist, I could see that my raging boner was impossible to miss. Even though I would subtly try to shift my shorts about, I still failed to hide my arousal.

"Stand up straight."

I spoke with sternness, but the shakiness in my voice seemed to contradict my command.

"Look forward!"

My voice was practically squeaking.

"Some actor," I thought to myself.

With his eyes temporarily diverted from the obvious swelling in my shorts, I tightened the tape around his midsection. The sparse hair of his pleasure trail tickled my fingertips and my dick began to ache like nothing Iíve ever felt before. I noticed a tiny wet-spot appearing at the top of my shorts where the tip of my boner was leaking. Man, was I in trouble. I studied the numbers.

"Twenty-nine."

I know I said it, but he didnít hear it, and neither did I. I cleared my throat and spoke again.

"Twenty-nine."

This time it was too loud, but Robert didnít seem to notice. He was reveling in his "victory," and hit a most-muscular pose. My @#%$ vibrated.

"Now my quads," he demanded. "And, youíll have to lose the shorts when I do yours."

"Christ!" I thought to myself. "Iím dying here."

Robert stepped closer to me and placed his right leg slightly out in front of him. More to hide my embarrassingly straining crotch and growing wet-spot, I squatted down in front of him, the friction of my shorts causing my dick to jerk. My head grew dizzy with the sight of his rippling quads, the full length of those powerful legs exposed below his jockey shorts. I had never seen them so fully or close up before, and the heat of his body seemed to envelop me. I wrapped the tape measurer around the middle of the thick quad and hamstring of his right leg. I shifted my weight to get a better view of the numbers, and the material of my shorts rubbed slowly across the tip of my hard-on. My whole body shuddered and my dick began to violently squirt in my shorts. I tried desperately not to moan, and to hide my intense orgasm as my @#%$ continued to ejaculate shot after shot, the hot cum drooling down through my pubes, the wet-spot spreading rapidly across the front of my now-useless shorts.

"Are you okay, dude?"

My neck strained to lift my head and look up into the serious expression on Robertís handsome face.

"Man, you look like youíre going to pass out."

Suddenly, the phone rang in Robertís room and he bounded out of the living room.

"Back in a sec," he said, as he disappeared down the hallway.

"Saved by the @#%$ bell," I thought to myself.

I crawled on my hands and knees to the sofa, using it for support as I struggled to my feet. I wavered slightly and then headed for the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and caught my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed, sweat pouring down. The front of my shorts were soaked with cum. I looked into my eyes and thought, "Ainít this a pretty picture?"

Slipping out of my sticky shorts and briefs, I climbed into the shower and reflected on what my life had become as the warm water washed away the results of my secret desire. I stood there and let the water cascade down my muscular body as a faint realization crept into my mind.

"This is no way to live my life." •


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