SECONDHAND by K. Nitsua. Copyright 2008 by the author.
Summer had just begun and already I was bored. Going to the gym, sitting in the Starbucks reading the paper, and surfing the net for online porn had long since gotten old. So what was I doing today? Checking out the Goodwill store. My so-called life.
I'd had a good job, made a lot of money, and been able to retire early. So what was I doing in a thrift store? Going to the Goodwill wasn't as trashy as it might seem, actually. I'd picked up lots of good, practically new stuff there. Besides, it was a great place to check out cute men. No fooling. Younger guys, especially college students, are often short on cash, and sometimes it seemed as if all the studly ones shopped here.
Not that they were looking at me. All those years I worked I was too busy to spend a lot of time dating or cruising, and now that I had the time I was too old. None of those hot boys was going to take a second look at me, and I refused to go hang out at parks, bookstores or tearooms. I wasn't going to become one of those pathetic old trolls. That meant being pushed to the sidelines. I'd accepted my fate but that didn't mean I was happy about it.
A blast of cool air hit me as I pushed open the door and walked in. As usual the place reeked of dry-cleaning fluid--they had to make sure those used clothes were sanitary, I guess. The cashier smiled and said hello. I guess I was a regular by now. I nodded back and glanced toward the men's wear racks. No one was there. I looked at the bid case and dodged some screaming little kids running around. Fortunately that family was leaving.
I started looking at the men's clothes. The front rack nearest the store window had the underwear and sports gear. That stuff never much interested me because it was almost never the right size or color. I could never figure out whether normal-sized people never gave their stuff to Goodwill or whether it simply got snapped up too fast for me to grab any of it. The briefs and boxers in particular made me crack up--the pairs on sale were usually enormous. I tried to picture a man who could actually wear an XXXL pair of jockeys, and wondered whether he actually existed outside of a pro wrestling ring.
There was a normal-sized pair of briefs on the rack today, but I could see why nobody had bought them. They were high-cut and a bright safety orange. Eye-catching, but not really a sexy color. I moved to the next aisle to look at shirts. At that moment the door opened. I looked up and knew I had struck pay dirt.
A man had come into the store and was heading for the clothes racks. Actually he was a boy compared to me. He couldn't have been more than twenty--one of those college students looking for cheap threads. He was slender and hard, with unruly dark brown hair and a day's growth of beard. To my delight he decided to look at shirts too. As he thumbed through the rack down the aisle from me I cast surreptitious looks at him, liking what I saw more and more. He wore a loose, old shirt. The top two buttons were open, giving me a glimpse of his chest. His slim-fit jeans hugged his narrow hips and small rear end.
Then it happened. As I was copping a look at his lean, square-jawed face he raised his head and caught my eye. His own eyes were gorgeous--large, bright and dark brown. There was no hardness or challenge in them, only friendly curiosity.
I blushed, and ducked my head. It was humiliating that I couldn't even look another guy in the eye, but I'd never been good at talking to strangers, which explained why I was retired and single, I guess. I mapped out the quickest escape route in my head.
"So what do you think of this?"
Was he talking to me? I looked up. He was. I tried to say something but only a hoarse rattle came out of my dry throat. I harrumphed and tried again.
"I don't know. It's kind of old for you." It was a blue and white pinstriped Brooks Brothers dress shirt, the kind business types wore to the office.
He looked at it and let it drop. "Maybe so."
I turned back to the rack, relieved but somehow disappointed.
"How about this one?"
I looked at him again. This time he was holding up a faux-silk number with bright colored vertical stripes. On a skinny young guy like him it might actually look good. I said as much.
He looked at the shirt, then at me. "I'm going to try it on. Would you tell me how it looks on me?"
I shrugged. Another youngster stuck on himself.
"Sure. I'll wait here."
His gaze held mine. "Why don't you come with me?"
For a moment I didn't believe what I'd heard. "Come with you?" I repeated, like a fool.
"Sure." He smiled.
The dressing rooms were at the back. They weren't very private--the doors had slats and didn't extend either to the floor or the ceiling. Still, he was inviting me into one. Who knew what could happen?
"Okay."
Ever so casually we walked through the store, him holding the shirt, and went into one of the empty cubicles. By the time I pushed the button latch in the doorknob and turned around he was slipping off his shirt in front of the mirror. His bare torso looked exactly like I thought it would--hard, flat stomach with a fine dusting of hair, pecs defined but not huge. One nipple was pierced with a small gold ring. I wanted to pull on it so bad.
His jeans were slung low on his hips, the way all the young guys wore them these days. I could see he was wearing a pair of blue plaid boxers underneath. I had an idea. "Hold on, be right back."
I walked back to the front of the store and grabbed the orange briefs I'd seen when I first came in off the rack. When I got back he'd put the Goodwill shirt on and was looking at himself in the mirror. It looked great on him, as I'd thought it would. He turned and saw the underwear.
"What the--you want me to put those on?" He looked skeptical.
"Sure," I said, thinking fast. "I don't know how you stuff those boxer things into those tight jeans. This is what you're supposed to wear under jeans."
He shook his head. "I don't know. At any rate I don't want to here."
I saw my chance and went for broke. "I live nearby. Come back to my place and try them on."
His head snapped up. Before he could say anything I played my last card. "Tell you what, I'll buy both these things for you."
Silence that went on and on, then I saw his slow smile, the shrug of his shoulders. "Heck, why not? Lead the way, man."
I'd been telling him the truth--I lived just a few blocks from the Goodwill and had walked to the store. We made the short trip back mostly in silence, my new friend carrying the clothes I'd bought for him in a plastic bag. I'd found out his name, at least--Michael. Not Mike, he said firmly.
"Nice place," he said as we walked in the front door. I'd already made up my mind not to come on too strong. After all, I hadn't said or done anything overt and neither had he. So I kept playing the game.
"You want anything before we get started? A Coke, a beer?" I asked.
Michael shook his head, that small smile on his face again. He really was cute. At that point I didn't even care whether I actually fucked the kid or not. The novelty of having a guy less than half my age in my place was enough. And he was about to take his clothes off for me.
"You can put those things on in my bedroom down the hall," I said, handing him the bag. "Put your jeans back on over the underwear and tuck the shirt in. Then come on back and let's see how you look."
He trotted obediently away and I sat on the living room couch, surprised and a bit embarrassed that I was breathing hard, even shaking a little bit.
