There was this guy that I'd seen around a lot, who worked in the building I worked in, on the first floor, at His TV. I didn't know what they did there, but I think it was some small production arm of a big local station. He was very good looking, in a straight-guy kind of way. His body was compact, tight. He moved like an athlete. He always wore jeans and sneakers, and a plaid shirt open over a T-shirt or turtleneck, and often a ballcap. His baggy clothes hid his body too much, but on hot days in the summer he sometimes wore shorts and you'd get to see his nice solid legs, with little hair. If you walked a few steps behind him going up the stairs you'd get glimpses of a sweet-looking ass. He had salt-and-pepper hair. He was probably in his late thirties then. His eyes gave away nothing; they were don't-even-talk-to-me kind of eyes, blue-gray. He had a kind of blushy complexion, but you couldn't imagine him blushing. He smoked. For a long time I'd never seen him smile.
I was intrigued by his silence. I'd met him in the alley many times when I went down for a smoke, so he knew I worked in the building too, but in response to my hellos he'd only ever nodded and looked down, concentrated on his cigarette until he finished it and then walked away without making eye contact again.
One day coming out of the subway on my way home I recognized him walking ahead of me. He went into the supermarket, where I was going. I mused that he might live nearby. I went around and got my groceries and got in line, again spotting him in front of me, his turn at the same checkout. I noticed that he was buying all kinds of frozen food – pizzas, frozen dinners, with some fruit and munchies thrown in – pretty much what I was buying: the bachelor's diet. Again out on the street I saw him ahead and noticed him turn onto to my street. I "followed" until I got to my building and he walked on up the street. I glanced around to make sure no one was around and set my bags down on the bench in front of my building to watch where he went. My street was mostly apartment buildings, with just a few detached houses dotted in between. He turned and went into one of those. I now knew where he lived, and it was just down the street from me. I was further intrigued, if only by the odds of two strangers living on the same small residential street uptown and working in same small office building downtown.
I wondered about somehow mentioning this to him the next time I met him in the smoking spot in the alley outside the back door of our office building, but didn't see how I could do it without letting on that I had really been spying on him. I decided I wouldn't bother. After all, we had never really spoken to each other. Not that he was really unfriendly, he just stayed quiet. Maybe he was a little shy. Or maybe he had guessed that I was gay and didn't want to be caught by his office mates being too friendly with the gay guy from upstairs.
One Friday night when I was feeling too tired to go out and too horny to go home without jerk off material, I popped into my corner video store. This is a Chinese mom-and-pop-run place that has a surprisingly extensive and varied porn collection, housed on its own floor, the basement. Although this arrangement makes for private porn-browsing, the mom and pop have a closed-circuit video camera set up down there, which displays onto a TV that is set up at the end of a row of sets that they keep for sale. I usually check out that set before heading downstairs, as I prefer to browse my gay porn in solitude. If someone's down there I'll just hang out upstairs among the regular flicks, and maybe pick something out to watch after I get off. This time I discreetly checked the set as usual and saw that there was someone down there. From behind and in black and white video he looked kind of decent and I thought, what the hell, I'll check him out too, while I browse. I headed downstairs, and was rather delighted to find that the other guy down there was my shy hunky smoker from up the street!
He heard me coming down the stairs and turned around when I came in the room, and blushed red, like he'd been "caught," when he saw me. He muttered "Uh, hi" as he strode past me, eyes down, and made his way to a little table they have at the bottom of the stairs. I was so surprised I didn't even return his greeting – this was first time he actually said hi to me, I guess just out of being caught off guard and embarrassed. I was also kind of turned on by the thought of him watching porn. Even though he'd barely ever even made eye contact with me, the idea that this man who turned me on so much, seemed to be single, and lived just a few doors down would be doing the same thing I was going to be doing that night distracted me so much that I couldn't concentrate at all on picking out a video. I wandered around the little alcove that housed the gay section, pantomiming browsing the movies, while all I could think about was him, wanking in the blue light of video porn. I had noticed that he already had two videos in his hand when he walked past me. He had just picked out two movies and was now going home, just up the street, to watch them and jerk off. I actually got a raging hard-on just thinking about all this. The next thing I realized was that I could hear his footsteps up the stairs. He was leaving.
Now, one other little discretion feature that I like about my video store is how you obtain your porn videos. You pick video boxes right off the wall and head over to a little table at the bottom of the stairs, where you write down their numbers on little slips of paper, leaving the boxes stacked on the table. This way you need emerge from the porn room with only a discreet slip of paper in hand instead of the garish throbbing-cock-festooned video boxes. This allows prurient spies like myself to check the picks of my fellow porn browsers. As my shy smoker was leaving I dashed over to the table to see what he would be watching that night, and my heart almost stopped! They were gay videos! One was a seventies wrestler feature and the other a European "twink" new release. I had seen both, and was impressed by his tastes, not to mention further intrigued by his apparent penchant for twinks, as I qualify as one, at only a slight stretch.
I finally picked out my videos, just the first two new ones that I came across that I hadn't seen yet, and headed for home. I settled in for a Friday night at home – smoked a joint, ate some leftovers, popped open a beer, got out the munchies and popped in one of the fuck flicks. It was pretty good, lots of hot guys and lots of group scenes, which are my favourite. I stripped down to my T-shirt and boxers and started to get into it, occasionally rubbing my cock through my shorts as the pot and beer began to take hold. I kept thinking about my "friend" up the street, who I presumed was doing much the same thing I was doing. I pictured him in briefs instead of boxers for some reason, with white sport socks on but no T-shirt. Like me he was kicked back with a beer, occasionally rubbing his thick hard cock through his white briefs, causing a wet spot to grow in the fabric over one hip bone, all lit just by the television, the flesh of guys fucking and sucking. I was incredibly turned on by the knowledge that some semblance of this scene was a reality, just a few doors up the street. I imagined being there with him.
Now, sometimes the combination of pot, alcohol, and hormones can make me pretty crazy. I tend not to consume too much when I'm out by myself because I've been known to get myself into some rather dubious situations (all stories for another time), but when staying in I figure I'm safe from that and thus put no such restraints on myself. In other words, I'd smoked a nice big fatty and was flying pretty high. I couldn't stop thinking about the guy up the street and started to think about how I might be able to make contact with him somehow. Now, I might have just popped over, rang his doorbell and asked him if he wanted to come over for a drink, but I didn't think that would work and my hormone, cannabis and alcohol-clouded mind was leaning toward a more "adventurous" route. I quickly decided that I somehow needed to see what he was doing, just a glimpse inside somehow. In this state I don't think in terms of the illegality of such ideas, or think of myself as a Peeping Tom or anything like that. It all just becomes fun, a big giddy challenge to "pull it off", without getting in trouble, which I never had before. In a state of great excitement I dressed, despite the difficulty of tucking a leaky, rock hard dick into my jeans, and headed out for my adventure.
I knew that his house was probably laid out like most houses in the neighbourhood, with the living room on the ground floor toward the front, and with the dining room and kitchen toward the back. He'd probably be watching his movies in the living room, but even in my clouded state I knew that I couldn't get away with sneaking up on to his front porch and peaking in the front window. I figured I'd have to head for the back of the house and see what I could see from there. I walked around the block to the alley that accessed the back of the property, hoping that there was easy access to his backyard from there. It was still fairly early in the evening, so even though it was dark I knew I had to be careful and watch out for watchful neighbors and such. I found the row of three houses, of which his I knew was the third on the end. There was a driveway there, with a battered jeep in it (cute, I thought) and a gate through the fence to his backyard, which was propped open. So far I was in luck. Looking around for watchful eyes I slipped into the yard, my heart now pounding, and stopped for a moment in the shadow of an old shed at the back of the yard to check out the house.
