"And a ten-inch cock."
"You're shitting us now," Oliver said.
"Yes, I'm shitting you," Porter answered. "But, really, I would want him to have a nice cock on him."
"Well, high on my list is that he has to be willing to take out the trash without being asked to," Adrian interjected.
"And put the toilet seat down too?" someone asked. They all laughed.
"No, thank god," Adrian answered when he'd finished laughing. "We'd have no problem with that."
Blake pulled his attention away from the discussion. It was probably a mistake for him to come this evening. Adrian had been a friend, like forever. But Adrian was a bit limp wristed, and the guys he ran with—especially this crew tonight—were decidedly so as well.
He agreed to meet Adrian at the bar tonight for a drink. He hadn't known that Adrian's gaggle of goofballs would be here too. For nearly an hour they'd been discussing what they wanted in a man. The consensus was moving somewhere between Superman and Donna Reed. The little shit Jeffery seemed to want a combination of the two. Porter only talked about the size of the cock.
They would have laughed, but the closest they'd come to what Blake would have said was that ten-inch cock. It was possibly the first time he'd ever found ground for agreement with Porter.
"You've said you melt to big cocks, haven't you. Blake?" That was said by Porter.
Blake snapped his head around to look at the guy with the orange hair and the ring in his eyebrow. Was he a mind reader? Had he just snatched what Blake was thinking out of the air?
"Yeah, at the party last week when you got a little blotto, Blake. Said you liked big cocks and surprise attacks and playing denial games."
Another head snap around to the effeminate dark-headed one with the big, rouged lips. Oliver.
"You did say all of that a couple of Saturday nights ago at my party," Adrian said, laying a hand on Blake's forearm. "I know it's been a while since you had it, baby, and how important it is to you to be taken care of regularly. Maybe you're just a bit uptight about this crackdown on sexual behavior in the school system. If you weren't so burnt out on the construction worker with the big cock, you wouldn't be shying away from the service workers. You need to accept, I think, that that's the sort of rough sex guy you like."
Blake was opening his mouth to speak, not sure what to say yet, when Oliver saved him by switching the line of discussion, if not the topic.
"Well, as far as I'm concerned, he's got to be a professional: a doctor or lawyer or professor."
"Agreed." That from Adrian and Porter in unison.
"But a professional with a big cock," Porter clarified.
Blake had to agree with that. He'd want the guy to be a professional, and steady and even predictable would be nice. No more adventures for Blake. But why didn't they say teacher? They'd said professor, but what was wrong with high school teacher? That's what Blake was, and he considered himself a professional. He'd be a good catch, wouldn't he?
Not for any of these limp-wristed guys, of course. Blake wanted his man to take charge.
But that thought sent a shiver through him. He shouldn't have come here at all. He should have agreed to meet Adrian somewhere else, not a gay bar. He needed to think more clearly on such things. He was a high school teacher. Being seen in a gay bar could be the end of his career. They were really pressing down on that now. And he'd been here with these screamers for an hour now. Anyone who came in would think he was one of this band. He was careful to cultivate an entirely different look and the way he was perceived, disappearing more into the mainstream. He turned in his chair, preparing to get up and say his apologies for needing to leave.
But as he turned, he saw him, the man that the group had been zeroing in on as the perfect man, at least from what could be seen on the surface.
He was probably in his early thirties, older than the group Blake was talking with. But they'd all agreed on that. They wanted a man older than them, but not really a daddy type, just older. And he was tallish, without being noticeably so, not too muscle-bound but obviously well muscled. He was wearing a close-fitting polo shirt of a light-weight material, and Blake could see every contour of his pecs and six-pack. Even the bumps of his nipples showed. Good biceps. No discernible tattoos. He looked clean cut and professional. More than that, he looked confident, under control—and capable of controlling. Blake liked to be controlled. This guy looked like he could take care of both of them.
The pants fit closely without looking sluttish, and from the look of the creases as the man leaned back on his bar stool and looked out into the room, the ten-incher they all were talking about couldn't be belied. He was achingly handsome. Auburn hair with golden highlights, a five o'clock shadow that looked groomed, sparking eyes. Blue or hazel. A great mouth and smile.
And right now he was looking at Blake, and Blake could attest to the nice smile, because that was what he was doing. At Blake. Was there a challenge in that look?
Blake did a double take. How long had he been staring at the guy without realizing that the guy was looking at him too?
The guy lifted his glass to Blake and smiled. Blake involuntarily smiled back, but he immediately dipped his head and averted his eyes. He'd lowered his head without thought, but he was thinking about it now. Would the hunk see that as a classic form of submission? And was it? And, more significant, was it what the man was looking for? Embarrassed and well aware that the man was still looking at him, Blake turned in his chair, burying his attention back in Adrian's group.
They were discussing muscle tone now. How much was too much? All Blake could think was that the guy at the bar was just right.
"But I don't think we settled on the job thing," the usually silent and not almost "up with the discussion" Jeffrey said. "He needs to be a professional, right?"
"Yeah, we already settled that," Porter said. "A doctor or lawyer. Something like that. And with a great cock."
