RIPPED & READY (PART 39)

RIPPED & READY (PART XXXIX)

After working out for about an hour, and eating a spinach salad, I took a hot, fifteen minute shower.  As I allowed the water to cascade down on my face, I couldn't help but think about Collin and the love we had made so passionately at our spot off of HWY 101 and First Street.  To some, M6 was low budget overnight lodging, meant for partying or screwing, but to me it represented something more.  I had spent one of the most electrifying evenings of my life there, making love.  

Once I finished soothing myself beneath the waters, I stepped out of the tub, and onto the chilly, white, tile floor which, felt like ice beneath my feet.  I began drying myself with the large, cotton, dark blue towel, pausing periodically, inspecting my pudgy physique in the mirror.  How I longed to have the sculpted body sought after by others.  I know that sounds vain, however, I just wanted to know what it felt like to be the object of someone's desire.  

D'Andre's hazel eyes, and his athletic build had always been so appealing to women and men alike (As much as he tried to down play the attention he got, I knew he loved the admiration from any onlooker).  Collin's appeal was more rough neck and, if you scoped out Craig's List or any of the other dating sites on the net, many of the ads requested the hard bodied thug type.  I was neither.  

The doorbell interrupted my thoughts, and I quickly grabbed my dark, green, robe that was hanging on the door inside of the bathroom.  As I made my way down the hall, and into the living room I glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed that it was 11:30pm.  Joseph had his own key (I mean after all he lived there), so a visitor at this hour seemed extremely odd and, since we live in perilous times, I cautiously tip toed the last few steps away from the door, and peered out the peephole.  

When I saw this familiar and unwelcomed image at the door, I scoffed.  "Who is it?" I asked, knowing damn well who it was.  

"It's Lance Livingston, I didn't mean to disturb you at this hour, but I was here visiting another friend at the complex, and when I got to my car, it wouldn't start," he explained. 

Now, call my crazy, but if he was visiting another friend, why would he be knocking on our door?  I already knew the answer to that, he had it all planned out.  "I'm sorry, Lance, but Joseph is not home," I said, speaking through the door. 

"Oh, I see.  Man, this is just terrible...my friend left for work, he works the graveyard shift and I'm somewhat stranded now," he said, sounding desperate.  

Against my better judgment, I caved and opened the door for him to come in.  Once inside, he looked around and started small talking his way toward the living room.  "Joseph always speaks so highly of you, Marco.  I remember the first day I met him, and we disclosed our sexualities to one another, he went on and on about how he met you, the perfect guy, at his cousin's beach party," he said, removing his jacket, and sitting down on the long couch (he folded the jacket over his lap). 

I found myself taken aback a bit because, no this nigga wasn't making himself comfortable without being asked to.  Before he had a chance to continue on with his empty chatter, I asked, "So, did you need to use the phone, Lance?” 

I looked at  him with eyes of a skeptic.   

He looked over at me and smiled, "Oh, Oh, yea that would be cool.  I want to see if can reach my parents -- they have AAA towing," he said, reaching for the phone sitting on the end table beside the couch. 

I left him and walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water.  Because my mother taught me never to be rude, I offered him a bottle.  "Would you like a bottle of water, Lance?" I asked.  

"Sure, that would be nice, a brotha was a tad thirsty," he responded.  

When I went back into the living room, I noticed that he had removed his sneakers, and sat them beside the sofa.  Now, if I wasn't mistaken, this dude was planning on staying the night.   Before I had the chance to ask if he had reached his parents, the phone rang.  I walked over to where he was sitting, and answered it. 

It was Joseph. 

"Hey, baby, I got stuck up here in Santa Cruz and am going to be crashing at my parents house," he announced. 

"Stuck?" I questioned, but then went on and told him about the unexpected guest.  

"Oh, Lance is over there?  I told that nigga he needed to get rid of that damn jalopy he has been driving around in, it's always breaking down on his black ass," he said.

Listening to Joseph, I looked down at Lance.  His coat was now lying neatly beside of him, and his legs were gapped open.  He was fanning them out and in (You know, how some guys do ya'll).  To me, it was an act, I always thought, felt good to their dicks. 

I also caught a glimpse of the outline of his piece and, man, it was thicker than a cucumber.  I had a bad habit of looking at men's crotch's and, tonight, I got caught getting my stare on.  When I looked up to see if he had spotted me checking him out, the sheepish expression on his face assured me that he had.  

"Marco, are you still there, baby?" Joseph asked.  

"Uh...yea, I'm here.  How did you get stuck up in Santa Cruz, Joe-Joe (my nickname for him)?"

"There was a big accident that closed HWY 17.  They are still clearing things and, since it is so late, I decided against driving home," he said.  

"AWWW, dude, you know I hate sleeping alone without you," I said, whining a bit (He loved it when I did that).  

"I know, but can you do me a favor, because he is not going to be able to make it up this mountain tonight anyway, can you let Lance crash on the sofa, baby?" He asked.  

Reluctantly, I agreed; however, this really smelled like a set up to me.  I hung up from Joseph, and retrieved some blankets from the linen closet. I gave them to Lance, and he thanked me for being so gracious.  

"Sure, man, no problem," I said, and I left him and went into the bedroom.  I hurried and slid on some boxer-briefs, and turned out the light because, I wasn't up to holding a conversation with old boy.  

I didn't trust his ass.  There was a strange motive vibe jumping off from him.  I couldn't put my finger on it. 

"Hey, thanks again, Marco, I really appreciate it," he said, calling out from the living room. 

"No problem, Lance," I responded, feeling somewhat shame about the wood that had sprung up down below.  

I turned around, facing the window, and forced myself to take my mind off of the man-threat, lying on the couch in the living room.  

I had been sleep for awhile when I was awakened to a smacking noise coming from the living room.  

What the fuck was Lance doing in there?...