“What do you say I buy the beer and we go watch that UFC show on pay per view at your place?”

“Sounds cool to me,” I replied. Ultimate fighting was a guilty pleasure of mine and had become more so since I found out that Mark was a die-hard fan. I now had several seasons of Spike TV’s The Ultimate Fighter on DVD—just for nights like this. Stopping by the Quickie Mart, we stocked up on enough MGD and munchies to last us through the night. It wasn’t often that I got him over to my place, and I wanted to keep him there as long as I could. Between UFC, Mark’s hot body and beer, it was shaping up to be a pretty okay night.

Walking into my condo was like walking into an oven. “Damn,” commented Mark, as he took the beer and snack food into the kitchen, “is your air conditioner on the fritz again?”

“Must be.” I looked at the thermostat—pegged solidly in the 90’s and not a breath of air moving. Opening the sliding door to the patio, I called, “I’ll bring the fan in from the bedroom.”

Returning to the living room, I stopped, amazed, in the doorway: Mark had taken off his clothes and sat on the couch in just his boxer shorts. With one leg hitched up on the coffee table, he held a can of beer in his hand, resting his elbow on a powerfully muscled thigh.

“It’s too fucking hot in here for clothes,” he said as if it were nothing for him to be nearly naked in my living room.

For a moment all I could do was stand and stare at his massive chest. Even though I saw those beautiful blond pecs almost every day at work, I never had a reason to just sit down next to them. Having set up the fan to circulate the sticky air, I followed Mark’s cue and stripped down as well. Thankful I’d worn boxers myself, I prayed my thickening cock would stay down long enough for me to make it to the couch.

“Wild looking shorts, man,” I said, playfully commenting on the lime green with orange flames motif. I was trying hard not to stare as one of his hefty nuts peeked out around the cloth by his thigh. The only time I had seen Mark completely naked was the one time I had succeeded in coaxing him to the gym with me. I’d thought I’d died and gone to heaven as we’d showered afterwards. I’d been able to scope out his cock and balls: they were impressive and nestled in a nice, natural bush of pubic hair, which now poked out along with that extroverted testicle. As I sat down Mark tossed me a beer, followed by a light punch to my bicep.

We sat in a companionable silence for the first couple of bouts. I tried to keep my eyes more on the television than on Mark, but in my peripheral vision I could watch as he slowly rubbed his hands over his abs. I wanted to be doing that. It was driving me crazy!

“Hey, Peter, that guy in the gray shorts looks a little like you.” Mark sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “He’s dark and wiry and got all that curly hair.”

“Guess we’ll see whose got game now,” I replied. Distracted I admired the light haze of hair that trailed down his back to meet his firm round cheeks, the tops of which peeked out over his waistband.

“He’s way too small, man,” Mark jeered. “He is so going to get his ass whipped.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I argued playfully. “You know, size isn’t everything. Remember David and Goliath: The bigger they are, the harder they fall!”

Mark looked over at me with a smirk. “We’ll see, buddy. We’ll see.”

When the smaller fighter submitted his opponent with a triangle choke, Mark exploded. “I don’t believe this shit! That match had to be rigged. The guy in the red was a lot bigger.”

“See what I mean?” I said.

“That’d be like you pinning me down on the mat, man,” Mark said, finishing off one MGD and reaching for another.

“You’re not really all that much bigger than me, dude,” I countered, running a hand over my chest. “I think I could pin you pretty easily.” I couldn’t believe that I was actually trying to get him to wrestle me. I figured I’d blame the beer if he got weirded out.

“Never happen, man.” Mark belched and stood up. Turning toward me, he looked down, his crotch just inches away from my face, and the pouch in his shorts revealing his mass of thick blond pubic hair. I wanted to bury my face and breathe it in.

“Give me a hand with this sofa, and we’ll see about who’ll pin who,” he boasted. Smirking at me, he taunted, “Unless you’re afraid that you’ll end up on the bottom.”

If he only knew! “No fucking way, dude,” I shot back. Crippled by beer and lust, my better judgment had no grasp on what was about to happen. At that moment I only wanted to get this man in my grip and press my body against his.

— © C.C. Williams 2012