Peter was not looking forward to visiting the open houses. His boyfriend, Frank, had given him the task of visiting them first on Saturday so that they could whittle down the ones that wouldn't work for them. Which was all fine, but Frank was very picky and Peter wasn't sure if he'd be able to choose the right houses. He figured that they would just be doing this all over again with Frank, and Peter would have wasted a perfectly good afternoon when he could be out doing, I don't know what -- getting drunk and having fun?
Peter was also not looking forward to the open houses because he didn't love their real estate agent, Magda. Magda was tall, brutally efficient, and she was very honest about her feelings. She said that one house that they wanted to look at "looked like shit," and another house, "was probably owned by a criminal. I'm only guessing." She didn't really like whatever Peter had to say because she knew the money was coming from Frank, and she didn't really like the idea of -- as she said - "babysitting" Peter. That's what she literally said: "I'm going to babysit Peter to the open houses."
And worst of all -- she was going to have to drive Peter to the open houses. Frank had his car this week for work, and the other one was in the shop, and so she'd have to drive Peter around all day. This felt particularly humiliating.
But Peter was trying to be a good boyfriend lately. So, when Frank came into the kitchen that morning as Peter made coffee, Frank's meaty chest and big thighs squeezed into one of his Italian suits, and gave Peter a goodbye kiss, Peter told him, "Don't worry, I'll be a good boy. I'll get a full list going. Magda's coming by at ten?"
Frank nodded. "Thanks so much." He grinned, his white teeth gleaming. "Oh, and by the way, it's not Magda. It's another one of the realtors."
"Oh?" Peter said, "Who?"
"I can't remember," Frank said. "Shawn something or other."
Frank gave Peter's ass a squeeze and then walked out of the house. A few moments later, Peter heard his car drive off.
Peter couldn't picture Shawn. Was he the old guy? Ugh, he hoped not. But what could he do? There was not much he could do.
At ten am, he was waiting outside for Shawn's car to pull up. Within a few minutes, a grey Mercedes came roaring down the street, quickly slowed in front of his house and pulled into the driveway, stopping feet away from where Peter was standing.
The front window on the passenger side of the car lowered.
"Are you Peter?" a voice said.
Peter nodded and walked up to the window. He looked into the car.
The driver, Peter noticed immediately, was gorgeous. He was wearing a light blue suit with no tie, and judging by the width of his upper arms, and the size of his legs, the driver was in excellent shape. His face was precise and symmetrical, his lips a little full and heavy, and his eyes were bright. Every one of his teeth were white and perfectly shaped. He had a slight, scrappy beard. Peter was not into blondes -- and this guy's hair might have been bleached, it was so blonde -- but it looked fantastic. Loose, and wavy, but not too long.
"I'm Shawn," the driver said. "Is that what you're wearing?"
"I guess," Shawn said. He was wearing a white tank top, dark shorts and a pair of white sneakers. "It's hot out -- I figured I'd just try to be comfortable."
"Well, it doesn't matter now," Shawn said. "Get in."
Peter opened the door and got into the car. The seats were of some beautiful buttery leather that felt obscenely soft. As soon as he made contact with the seat, Peter imagined what it would feel like to have Shawn fuck him on these leather seats.
It was a warm, inviting, easily imagined scenario and he got lost a little in it.
His daydreams were making his dick chub out, and he had to rearrange himself a little as he put on his seatbelt. This was hard because when he was sitting, his already short shorts seemed to get even shorter, and more of his thighs were exposed. Looking down, it looked like he wasn't wearing much -- maybe just a pair of dark underwear.
Shawn, however, was all business. He wrenched the standard transmission into reverse and putting his hand on Peter's headrest, he looked back as he reversed.
Peter could almost feel Shawn's hand through the headrest.
"Why are you looking back?" Peter said. "There's a little screen for that."
"I know," Shawn said, annoyed.
They drove to the first house, silent. Peter felt particularly naked comparing his bare legs to Shawn's suited legs. It was hot today, and it was going to get hotter, but the air conditioning in the car made Peter feel very self-conscious about his relative nakedness. For instance, he liked this tank top because the straps of the shirt didn't cover his nipples. His nipples were quite visible. He had chosen this shirt because he wanted to annoy Magda and make her regret her babysitting comments. But now, he was worried because his nipples were hanging out of his shirt, and they were getting hard in the cold air.
Shawn didn't seem to pay attention to him at all. When they arrived at the first house, Shawn put the car into park, taken off his seatbelt and said, "This is the first house."
They toured the first house, a sweet home that hadn't been renovated in decades. There was even orange wall paper in one of the bedrooms. A lot of the other visitors to the open house were straight couples. The couples held hands, and they eagerly pointed out potential nurseries, or imagined where the swingset would go.
Peter, on the other hand, walked behind Shawn and listened to him describe the ugly house to him. But while Peter listened to Shawn, Peter was only watching the impressive inverted triangle of Shawn's back, the round globes of his butt, his giant hands. He just could not stop thinking about fucking Shawn. Or, more accurately, Shawn fucking him.
When Shawn stopped in the upstairs primary bedroom, and began talking about the closets and the size of the ensuite bathroom, Peter looked at how tight Shawn's waist was, how flat his stomach must be under that perfectly white shirt. And he couldn't tell for sure -- it was too carefully concealed -- but he thought he could see that Shawn had a giant dick in his pants.
Peter briefly imagined unzipping Shawn's pants right there, reaching into Shawn's fly and wrangling out that thick, hard, fat cock from the fabric and immediately jamming that giant monster dick into his mouth. He thought about running his tongue up and down its length, then trying to swallow all of its thickness, letting its fullness widen his mouth.
But in a moment, Shawn had moved onto another room and then another. Eventually they left the house to go to the next open house.
This time, before he got into the car, Peter tried to discreetly rearrange his own dick because it had started to thicken again. His legs, resting on that soft leather, and so close to Shawn's, began to tingle. His balls and his taint and his asshole began to tingle. His butt began to tingle.
The tingle ran up his body. It ran up his almost bare chest, and hit his nipples, which were hardening again in the air conditioning. They felt harder, bigger this time. Peter wondered what they looked like. Did they look perverse?
He took out his phone to look at himself, and he noticed that yes, he looked almost naked under his tiny little tank top. Also, his chest was showing a bright red sex flush. And finally, his nipples were out and hard and looking very urgently horny.
He put his phone away, and hoped that Shawn didn't notice any of this.
"Making a TikTok?" Shawn asked.
"No," Peter said. "Just a selfie." He thought that was less embarrassing than what he was actually doing.
"Yeah, I bet," Shawn said. "Another thirst trap."
What?
They pulled up at the next property, so Peter had no chance to respond. But as they walked through this property -- an unconverted loft with lots of young, arty people looking at it -- Peter could only think about what Shawn had said.
He must think I'm attractive. He must!
