Brandon Jamison liked many things about hanging out at the gym. Not the least was taking off the tight constraints of proper underwear and letting his cock swing free in flimsy gym shorts. He liked to feel his cock swinging in his shorts. He was big and liked being big. It made it far easier to get girls into bed and Brandon really liked getting girls into bed.
Of particular interest was a tall brunette he'd seen at the gym. Her workouts made him chuckle. She didn't take her workout too seriously and would flit like a butterfly from one machine to another, trying each, giggling at her efforts, and just having a lot of fun. There were moments when it seemed like the whole idea of a workout was a private joke, but in a silly, innocent way. If she was that playful in the gym, what was she like in the bedroom? Brandon very much wanted to find out.
He started the conversation as he'd started many, hitting on women at the gym. After two minutes she figured out that he was hoping to get her into bed. By the third minute she'd decided he was extremely fuckable. At the five minute mark, she decided that as long as he didn't screw it up, she would sleep with him.
He realized within a minute that she was a loose cannon, probably a little flaky, but potentially fun. She was a free spirit whom he could never tame, but the chase would be fun.
A smoothie at the juice bar turned into an invite to a drink. They found a bar, had a couple of beers. At some point, he leaned over and kissed her. She kissed him back, stroked her hand on his chest, and said she wanted to leave. With him.
They walked a few blocks to her house, holding hands. She lived in an older, brownstone apartment building in the bohemian section of town. The lobby was that kind of stately foyer with an air of aged elegance that said it used to look better in its time. They climbed the two flights to her door and entered an apartment that was simple, modern, nicely furnished. Crate and Barrel style, but tasteful. A black leather couch faced a glass and steel shelving unit with the usual - television, DVD, a number of pictures. Several flowering plants were on the windowsill, and a shelf of books. She ducked into the bedroom while Brandon scanned the titles. The books on a person's shelves tell you about them, so he'd heard. A couple of chick-novels, relationship books, a long run of titles in Spanish and French, a couple of photo albums. A half dozen tall, cylindrical candles in hurricane lamps around the room. The apartment had a faint scent of vanilla. "I think she's a romantic," he said to himself. "Sometimes, yes," she said, right behind him. He started at the sound - he hadn't heard her return - and she giggled at getting one over on him. Tight jeans and a red silk camisole now framed her body. Her hair, unbound, cascaded around her shoulders.
She bounced on bare feet into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. "Let's get to know each other," she said, as she sat on the couch.
He joined her. They sat for a while, drinking the wine and chatting. She finally put down her glass and asked when he's going to kiss her. He smiled, knowing that this was the invite to move on to what he really wanted.
