When Love Taes Over

It was a perfect ass, everything an ass should be. High, tight, round, plump, it pushed out the worn denim that clung to it, a faded seam disappearing between the luscious mounds. Looking at it, all I could think of was the phrase a half-forgotten bar acquaintance from my long ago partying days used whenever he was faced with such a work of art, "I bet that ass tastes just like filet mignon."

"God, I could tear that up," I thought involuntarily. I even stunned myself. I mean, I am versatile, but I've never considered myself an asshound; but in this case I could make an exception. All I could think of was holding down the slim, young tile layer, Rico, that the perfect ass belonged to and sticking my tongue up that same perfect ass until....

"Brandon" I thought I heard my name. Then louder," BRANDON"

I came too with a start, as if woken from a dream. Oh shit, I wasn't alone, I was at work on a jobsite and had been staring at a sub contractor with my tongue out like some dirty old troll at a strip club. I could feel my color rising, and prayed to god that my dark sunglasses had hidden the direction my eyes were focused.

"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" I turned to Ben, the lead architect on the project. "I was...um,um," I have never been good at lying, especially on the spot, "thinking about the tile layout in the foyer," I managed.

"Really? It looked more like you thinking about laying Rico."

Busted. "I...I...dammit, I never could hide what I was thinking. Reed always said I had an anti-poker face. He made me stop going to investor meetings."

" Well, I'll give you this---Rico IS pretty distracting," Ben laughed. "Anyway, what do you think about changing the door from a double one to a single with one with sidelights? I'm concerned about the swing."

That's the great thing about being an openly gay man, working with another openly gay man, in a city that, by and large, is gay friendly. If you're caught ogling the hot male help, you're usually forgiven, even if it is embarrassing. Ben and I talked about another couple of minor changes, and then I headed off the site.

My partner, Reed, was in real estate development, and since I had a degree in interior design and was used to working on renovations, I was his man in the field, picking finishes, working with the architects on the design schemes, and being the contractor liaison. This latest project was one of our largest to date, the renovation and conversion of an all but collapsing mansion on the edge of the French Quarter into condos. The plus and minus of the situation is that the interior had been basically stipped off most of it's original detailing, so while that gave us leeway to reconfigure the interior in ways best suited to modern living, it had been a challenge to do so while trying to convey a sense of the flavor and history of New Orleans. I was proud of the work our team had done, and it had certainly been well received. even though we were still several months out till completion, 3 of the 6 units had already been sold.

I was still embarrassed that Ben had caught me checking out one of the workers. It was just so unprofessional, and I always tried to maintain a certain level of professionalism, even working with friends like Ben, whose partner usually made up our fourth on social outings. I also couldn't believe I was thinking about a 22 year old's "filet mignon" ass when I had somebody like Reed at home. I kept thinking of Paul Newman and that famous quote of his about fidelity, "Why go out for a hamburger when you have steak at home?" And Reed was definitely some prime, USDA beef, tall and dark and lean, with legs and cock for days. I was attractive enough I suppose, at 5'10 with a naturally muscular, stocky build. And I know my broad, hairy chest and blue eyes had always gotten compliments, though not as many at 38. But Reed. Reed was truly gorgeous.

I still remember the first time I saw him. It was on a rainy Monday in November, 2007, and I had just celebrated my 31st birthday. At the time, I was working for a crazy designer who had a studio/showroom on Magazine Street. Her building, luckily, had survived major damage during Katrina, and she had managed to reopen by December of 2005. We had been very busy with the first waves of people returning to rebuild, but by the fall of 2007, things had slowed down considerably. And in fact, when I heard the chimes signalling someone's entering the shop, I started a little since it was first person, besides the mail guy, who had been in all day. It was around 3:00 pm.m, and I was up on the second floor mezzanine level doing some busy work with the fabric samples which always seemed to be in a mess and counting the minutes until I could close up at 5.

"I'll be right down," I shouted, brushing some lint off my dark jeans and heading down the stairs that curved along one side of the building. As I made it about halfway down the staircase, I could see a man's back, looking toward the artwork hung on the back wall of the showroom. He was tall, definitely over 6 feet, and slender, but with broad shoulders, and those shoulders and his hair were dark with rain. As he heard my approach, he turned around.

Thank goodness I was holding the railing, because when I saw his face, I think my knees may have buckled slightly. I may have even left out a small whimper. Here's the deal: I've never really been big on "types" and looks. Up to that point, my various tricks and quasi-boyfriends had been all over the place; I had dated (and slept with) bears and pretty boys, African-Americans and Latinos, nerdy guys and professors, thin dudes and fat guys, tall guys and short ones, etc. All they really had in common is that they thought I was cute and I thought that they were pretty nice. That said, there was one look that had always buttered my bread: the tall, lean type with a swimmer's build, a dark complexion, silky black hair, dark eyes, and an angular face. Honestly, I didn't think that such paragons existed outside of models and movie stars, like Gregory Peck or Keanu Reeves. At least, I had never seen one in the wild. But apparently they did. And apparently they like shopping for furniture on Magazine Street in the rain. Thank God for that.

"Please let him be gay....please let him be gay and single....please let him be gay and single and into 31 year olds with hairy chests and blue eyes...." began running through my head in an endless loop as I pulled myself together long enough to launch into the usual customer greeting

"Hi, I'm Brandon. Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"I'm Reed. Not really. I just bought a house and was looking for ideas." I swallowed hard when I heard his voice--deep, rich.

"If there is anything I can do to help you, please let me know. Anything." As the last word let my mouth I could tell I had said it far too loudly and emphatically. I could feel my face turning scarlet.

He laughed a little, I couldn't tell if at my offer or my blush, or both. . "Let me look around a bit, and I'll let you know if there's anything you can do."

I slunk away to my desk as unobtrusively as possible and tried to concentrate on paperwork, but I kept alternating between stealing looks at him and planning our future wedding. I was debating the merits of eloping (that way I could have him all to myself) or having an extravaganza so every bitch who had ever been mean to me could turn pea green with envy when I walked down the aisle with Reed. I had made it to debating our honeymoon plans, trying to decide if I wanted Reed in a speedo on a beach or naked on a bear skin rug in an Alpine lodge, or both, when I realized someone was calling my name.

Reed had come to a stop by a small group of abstract painting. "Can you tell me about these? I love the color combinations and the compositions. Who's the artist?"

I walked over with what I could feel to my chagrin was a huge smile. "I can tell you anything you want to know about him. I painted them/"

"Really?" I nodded. "Well, they're beautiful. I'd love to have one, but honestly, they're out of my price range. This whole store is, but it's been great to look around. Thanks." He turned to go.

"Wait," I said, again a little too loudly, but dammit, I wasn't going to let Reed walk away that easily. He swung back around with brows raised. "Look, it's started pouring down since you came in and the store is dead. Why don't you come up stairs and have some coffee. Tell me about your house and maybe I can give you some ideas. I'd much rather talk to you about your new house than dick around with fabric swatches."

"I don't want to impose."

"You're not, trust me. If I didn't like to talk about decorating houses, I wouldn't be a designer. Come on up."

"Well, if you really don't mind, I'd appreciate some help."

Upstairs, in addition to Donna's work space and the sample wall, there was a small kitchen and a seating area set up like a living room, complete with working fireplace. I took Reed's damp jacket and got him settled before making the coffee. Unfortunately he chose a chair instead of the sofa so sitting beside him was out, but I was willing to take what I could get. The fireplace was gas, so I lit that. I may have also dimmed the overhead lights slightly on the way to the kitchen. A little ambiance never hurts.

Once I came back with the coffee, and we started talking, we connected instantly. It didn't take long to determine that Reed was, in fact, gay and single. He had moved to New Orleans from upstate New York to work on his doctorate in political science, and had so loved the city, that after graduation he had decided to accept a job here and settle down. He had used a small inheritance to put a down payment on a flooded house that he was planning to restore and live in. As the day wore on, we talked and talked. We talked about his house, my art, the city. We talked about work, books, movies. We just talked. Five o'clock came and went. At some point, he migrated from his chair to a spot beside me on the sofa, close enough for his leg to touch mine. Eventually we got hungry, but luckily there were leftovers, including wine, in the fridge from an event we had hosted on Saturday night so we that could have a bit to eat without leaving and continue to talk in this bubble that seemed to surround us. Our talk never got too personal or romantic, though it was definitely flirty at times, but I sensed that he was interested in me, and the touch of his leg to mine, even through the layers of fabric separating us, and the scent of his spicy cologne was enough to make my cock hard and leaking. And a couple of surreptitious glances at his crotch indicated that he was in a similar state.

At some point, though, we realised how late it had gotten.

"Oh my God," Reed said, glancing at his watch. "It's almost 10. I need to go; I have an early class tomorrow, and I haven't prepared my lecture yet."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he said. "I can't remember the last time I did something like this---talk for hours. I guess I can safely assume you'd like to have dinner with me later this week. Is Wednesday too soon? "

I wanted to come up with something witty, but I was too excited by him and too happy with how the evening had gone to be anything but perfectly upfront. "You are right, I would like to see you again. And Wednesday isn't soon enough, but I'll take it/" This earned me a grin.

He helped turn out the lights and insisted on helping go through the closing routine before he would leave. We were at the front door when he leaned down to kiss me. It was meant to be a soft kiss, a good night kiss, but once his lips touched mine, it ignited something. As he moved away, I instinctively grabbed his head and pulled his mouth back to mine, devouring him.

I heard him moan, then he tossed the jacket he was carrying to the side and crushed me to him, wrapping his muscular arms around me, squeezing me so hard I could barely breath, I pulled away just long enough to push him on the nearest horizontal surface, an enormous sofa. I was on him in an instant kissing him and tearing at his shirt. I was acting on instinct. It was if I had to feel his naked skin against mine now, right now. . He clearly felt the same way; I could feel him fumbling at my sweater. Straddling his hips, feeling his erection pressing up against mine through his jeans, I sat up, pulling the sweater over my head. As I did, I noticed a shaft of light falling across my arms from the street light outside and realized that we were right by the front window, and even with the lights off inside anyone looking in would see us. Right at that moment, Reed managed to undo my pants and grip my aching prick and I decided that I didn't give a fuck if anyone watched me and threw my sweater over the back of the sofa.

With a bit more effort on Reed's part and enthusiastic help on mine, I was soon naked. Too impatient to unlace his heavy boots, I contented myself with pushing his pants (he was going commando---so hot) down to his ankles. I lay on top of him, continuing to kiss him and relishing the feel of my hairy body next to his smooth, silken flesh. His torso appeared to be naturally smooth, and it felt so good next to my wiry body hair.. But what felt even better was my cock, wet with what seemed like a perpetual stream of pre-cum, rubbing against his. I had been right; he, too, was rock hard and wet, and when I pulled his jeans down, I felt a huge damp spot that had been concealed by the dark indigo dye.

I reached between us to grab both our cocks in a hand. Oh my God. When I felt how big he was, I actually stopped kissing him for a second so I could pull back, sitting on his thighs, so I could take a look. He was huge. I've never been a size queen. The vast majority of my sexual partners had been a nice-sized average (which coincidentally was what I was personally packing), and that had always perfectly satisfied me. I did have a brief moment of concern, thinking to myself, "what exactly do you plan to do with that?". Before I could run through too many of the fantastic options that had flashed into my mind, he had pulled me back on top of him, kissing me like I have never been kissed before, his powerful arms holding me tight against him. At this point, I had no coherent thoughts--I was all flesh feeling, his warm lips, his tongue in my mouth, his arms around me, and above all, his monster cock sliding underneath mind. Finally, after a final frenzied motion, I was cumming, bucking on top of him, as I fired hot streams between us. I felt him clench, and knew he, too, had climaxed. I collapse on top of him for a moment, drained. Then, reluctantly, I pulled myself off of him and stood by the sofa, concerned I was too heavy. I looked down on him, his beautiful tawny face flush, cum smeared over his torso.

"Wow," he said. "I haven't cum like that in a long time. And it's been an even longer time since I've cum from making out and...well, I was going to say dry humping," he laughed running his hands through the mess of our orgasms on his chest, "But I guess this is more wet humping than dry humping."

I giggled.. And then, as usual, I said the first thing that came into my head. "Thank God that's a leather couch. I won't have to call the cleaners."

He shot me a glance and burst out into even deeper laughter. I joined in, mainly from relief that he showed no signs of immediately pulling up his pants and running out the door. "We do pride ourselves here at NOLA Interiors on providing our clients with full service." I looked around for something to clean up with.

In tune with me, he reached for his shirt on the floor beside the sofa. "We might as well use this. I think you popped off all the buttons when you ripped it off of me. I can just wear my jacket home." I flushed bright red, and still naked, I could feel it from my head to my toes.

Laughing, he wiped as much cum off his chest as he could before handing it to me. "You look so cute when you blush," he said. "I'll have to see how often I can make that happen. But it will have to be later. I really do need to go home. You will let me make it to my car without molesting me this time, won't you?" he said, with a grin and twinkling eyes. He stood, pulled up his pants, and shrugged on his jacket.

"I'll try to control myself," I said, still blushing. In fact, his molestation joke had caused it to deepen.

He leaned down and kissed me before he left. "Goodbye. And I'll call you tomorrow about dinner."

"Goodbye." I after I locked the door behind him, I walked over the window so I could watch him walk to the car which was parked right in front of the store. As he got in, he noticed me at the window and waved. Right then, a couple of young women walked by. Noticing Reed's wave, they instinctively turned to see who he was waving too. It was only after that they both threw thumb up signs in my direction that I realize I was still naked, covered in cum, and standing in the window. I quickly looked over to see if Reed had noticed the girls. By the look on his face, as he sat, shoulders hunched, shaking in laughter behind the steering wheel, I realized he had. I could hear his laughter in my head, as I shot the girls a quick military style salute, hastily gathered my things, and made a quick retreat to the restroom with a huge smile on my face.