"Hey! Is your spare room still free? I'm flying in for work next week and need a place to crash."
Chase's text sends a warm tingle down my body. I haven't heard from him since he left to take up a new position in another city.
"For you? Always." My fingers fly across my phone's screen.
"Sweet, thanks!"
Right afterwards, I see Chase typing a second message that takes a bit longer to write. Then a pause. He starts, he stops again.
I stare at my screen now, waiting for the weight to land. Is he thinking what I think he is?
Time stretches out like it does for a sub blindfolded.
***
I don't often rent out my spare room because I enjoy my private space very much. Chase, though, was different.
Twenty-six years old and working in the advertising industry, Chase had what I can only describe as big corgi energy - an infectious, sunlike aura that was light and warm all around. He was a real joy to house. Clean, bought snacks every now and then, no problems with payment at all. Most importantly, he agreed easily to my requirements. He nodded eagerly when I told him that I have regular visitors, and that the room down the corridor was out of bounds.
But by the sixth month of his tenancy, two new factors had emerged.
First, Chase's company was going through some hard times. Competitors were popping up all around, and gigs rolled in a bit slower for him. Rent started to come in a few days late; a few more months in and it started to come in instalments. Still, even though Chase's smile never waned, I could see that paying late really embarrassed him. "I'll pay you next week, promise! Sorry 'bout it, man." But who could get mad at him with that charming grin?
Second, and more interestingly, Chase seemed to be developing some inkling of what went on inside that room.
I don't think it took long for him to realise, on the nights that he came home during one of my sessions, that I was having people over for sexy gay recreation. On more than one occasion, he's also seen my boys enter all tough and mighty only to crawl out broken and blissed-out wrecks. He eyes them from the couch as they shuffle out; then, he turns back to me, smiles faintly in what I can only say is a knowing and impressed manner, then turns back to the television, which was probably never loud enough to drown out the roars from my den. I think this stoked both his curiosity and something else too. A strapping lad living alone in a big city, no girlfriend, a tightening career; unscratched was his urge to be regarded as beautiful.
That's probably why Chase started walking around the house in just his underwear.
The first time he pulled that stunt, my eyes nearly popped out into my coffee.
"Hey, buddy," Chase chirped as he swung into the kitchen headed for the fridge. Hair ruffled, slow easy stroll, rocking a tight pair of grey boxer briefs that revealed more than it hid.
Did I say "wow" out loud?
Either way, I'm sure I couldn't help but stare.
Chase is one of those guys who doesn't actually look buff until you see him with his clothes off. And when that happens, like on that sweet Saturday morning... what a sight to behold. Underneath that shirt, Chase was packing some respectable muscle, but not so big that he hulks out like my other boy Lawyer Dan. Instead, Chase is a buff pup. His shoulders, pecs and biceps are firm and claspable. And down there, inside those tight grey trunks that hugged his cheeks and thighs, a heavy bulge that swung with each step.
Chase winked at me as he ambled towards the fridge. I caught a whiff of his fresh scent, accompanied by a front row seat to the grand display of his ass. Snapping out of my sexed out stare, I tried turning my attention very conspicuously towards my coffee.
"Stop it! You're becoming a creepy live-in landlord!"
But inside my mind, I was entranced. That wink - was that Chase being Chase, as cheerful and stupidly charming as usual, or was that something more? This couldn't be, I told myself. I was reading my own thirst into this; guys walk about in their underwear all the time.
But then, my question was answered. Chase stood right there, stirring his mug in just his underwear, his beautiful sunkissed body on full display, his big bulge hanging ripe.
"How's it going, man?"
This big tease. Dumbly, I took a sip of my own steaming coffee. I remained barely in control of my eyes and that growing urge inside my pants.
And soon after that, after I revealed my weakness, Chase started tempting me more and more.
Underwear Chase became a frequent sight at home. For no reason at all, Chase would lounge about the apartment practically naked. Watching TV. Working at the kitchen table. And sluttiest of all - doing pushups, squats and crunches in nothing but his tight sweaty briefs. And he was enjoying it; that knowing smile became more of a smirk as I visibly struggled with the heat he stoked in me. Chase had become a visual feast of abs, pecs and bulge. There and then, I wanted to drag him into my den, tie him down to my table and punish him hard for being such a cocky straight boy.
But that would be letting Chase win. And you know me. I only do it when they want to surrender.
My chance came once rent season rolled around again.
"Chase, can we chat about this?"
Today, for a bit of variety, Chase was actually partially clothed. He was wearing a baggy tank top cut to show some shoulders and a flash of chest, probably because he wanted to leverage on his body to ease my nerves while being modest for our discussion. We sat at the kitchen table. His eyes were wide open like a begging puppy.
"You've been a great tenant, but this is the fourth month rent is coming in late."
Chase chuckles nervously. "I'm sorry, man. Work hasn't been easy. I promise, I'll get it in once my client pays us!" He offers me a tiny smile and a small shrug.
I knew that look for what it was. Chase was a deer lost in the woods. Now, it was my turn to smirk.
"Well. Why don't we negotiate?"
I had him where I needed. I leaned in and across the table.
"I think you have some idea of what I like doing with my guests. I think, also, that you might be interested. Why don't we make a deal?"
Chase looks stunned. How the tables have turned; my voice deepened as I corner him in my hunting ground.
"Clear your Saturday. I'll put you through a session, and in return I'll write off your rent for the month."
Chase is overwhelmed. My boys' strangled howls rumble in his mind. He seems to grapple with the consequences of his chronic thirst trapping. But he's considering it. Money is money, his eyes say as he pulls them back into himself. And then, as he opens up again, he glances back at me like a curious puppy. And, behind that initial shock, I can see that he wants this too. He licks his lips and shifts in his seat, as though making space down there to let something grow bigger.
"What do you mean by session?" He's practically getting hard in his eyes. He thinks this game is one he can swing to his side.
"Do you know what milking is?"
Five minutes later, we shake hands.
***
