It’s a shirt, right? A plain old, g

It’s a shirt, right? A plain old, garden-variety t-shirt. If I take off the one I’m wearing to try on the one he gave me I won’t be exposing my genitalia or anything, so I don’t bother going into a stall. I scan the room to see if we have company and notice he is doing the same. Even better. There’s no one in there with us, and not wanting to waste another moment of this guy’s valuable time (yeah right), I proceed to doff my old shirt and lay it on the counter. When I grab the new one from the bag, I see him watching me, admiring me.

I slow my movements. I want to give Coffee Man time to make a move, if he’s working up to one. I certainly hope so. He’s licking his lips, practically salivating at this point. Maybe he just wants to look. I put on the shirt—it’s a perfect fit, not surprising since we are of similar build. He’s taller, with broader shoulders, but beyond that, we’re a dead heat.

“It’s a perfect fit”, I tell him, watching him closely. If there are any double or even triple meanings implied by that statement, I mean every one of them.

I thank him and he watches me as I stuff my old shirt into the bag he gave me and turn to leave. I’m almost at the door, holding the handle and generally kicking myself for being a complete pussy when I hear him call out.

“Wait”, Coffee Man tells me. So I stop. And I turn. And I wait.

“I—“, he starts, and I can practically feel the words clogging his throat but there’s so many of them and he doesn’t know which ones to use first, or which way to use them, so he says nothing. And I realize that here, in the bathroom of this big, shiny sterile building an insane tension has developed. It’s the kind of tension that would definitely disarm you if you didn’t know how to deal with it. Coffee Man obviously doesn’t. I do, but up until this moment have been concerned that making a move would definitely result in the loss of my breezy job. So for both our sakes, I decide to throw caution to the wind. I approach him, slowly because he’s skittish, watching how those mystical eyes watch me, lean in and press an easy kiss to his lips.

It’s good. It’s simple. Coffee Man’s lips are soft. He doesn’t resist. I hear his breath catching, and then exhaling in a huff, as if he’d been holding it. I begin to move away but he grabs my head and presses his lips against mine more firmly. And then I feel his tongue sliding between my lips and I taste his sugar for the first time.

And then all bets are off.

You’ve never seen two men paw at each other the way we do. We can’t get close enough. My new shirt is in a heap on the floor along with his suit jacket, vest and tie, and I’m frantically working at the buttons on his shirt. Meanwhile he is licking my neck as if it had been salted and would be followed by a wedge of lime.

Voices outside of the bathroom door alert us that we are not in fact the only two people in existence, and certainly not in the building and that at any moment, someone might need to use this bathroom for something other than watching the two of us make out. We stop and gather our things in a rush, and then scurry into separate stalls. I hear him giggle nervously from his stall and it sets my mind at ease. That could have easily gone the other way. It is obvious Coffee Man needs to let off some steam or at the very least, do a decaf switch a couple of times a week.

I put my shirt back on and listen. When I’m sure no one is coming into the bathroom, I come out of my stall. He comes out of his right after. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top and his silk tie is in a ball in his hand. I watch him stuff what is probably a $500 tie into his pocket.

But I digress. We exchange awkward looks.

“Will you come with me?” he asks me, and I smile. I am going to miss two classes by leaving with him, and I couldn’t be happier.

“Yes”, I tell him, and that sweet mouth of his curves a little into a smile. “By the way, I’m Shikamaru.”

He doesn’t respond in kind. Coffee Man it is.

Turns out the guy drives a Mercedes sports coupe. A black one. And he lives in an obscenely posh condo in a very upscale neighborhood. I wonder about all the goodies, but I say nothing. We ride in silence.

We’re in his condo fifteen seconds before my new shirt is lying in a heap someplace again. I vaguely recall him telling me it is a new rule that I have to be shirtless as long as I am in his place. Whatever.

Kết quả (Việt) 1:

Đó là một áo sơ mi, phải không? Một đồng bằng cũ, vừa t-shirt. Nếu tôi đưa ra một trong những tôi đang mặc để thử trên người ông đã cho tôi tôi sẽ không phơi bày bộ phận sinh dục của tôi hoặc bất cứ điều gì, vì vậy tôi không bận tâm đi sâu vào một gian hàng. Tôi quét phòng để xem nếu chúng ta có công ty và thông báo ông làm như vậy. Thậm chí tốt hơn. Có là không có ai ở đó với chúng tôi, và tôi không muốn lãng phí một thời điểm này của chàng có giá trị thời gian (có phải), tiến hành để doff áo cũ của tôi và đặt nó trên quầy. Khi tôi lấy cái mới từ túi, tôi thấy anh ta xem tôi, khâm phục ngắm nhìn tôi.Tôi làm chậm chuyển động của tôi. Tôi muốn cung cấp cho người đàn ông cà phê thời gian để thực hiện một động thái, nếu ông đang làm việc lên đến một. Tôi chắc chắn hy vọng như vậy. Ông licking đôi môi của mình, thực tế salivating tại thời điểm này. Có thể ông chỉ muốn nhìn. Tôi đặt trên áo-đó là một hoàn toàn phù hợp, không đáng ngạc nhiên kể từ khi chúng tôi là tương tự như xây dựng. Ông là cao hơn, với vai rộng hơn, nhưng ngoài ra, chúng tôi đang chết nhiệt."Đó là một hoàn toàn phù hợp", tôi nói cho anh ta, xem ông chặt chẽ. Nếu có bất kỳ ý nghĩa đôi hoặc thậm chí gấp ba lần ngụ ý bởi rằng tuyên bố, tôi có nghĩa là mỗi một trong số họ.Tôi cảm ơn ông và ông đồng hồ tôi như tôi công cụ áo cũ của tôi vào túi ông đã cho tôi và lần lượt để lại. Tôi gần như tại cửa, đang nắm giữ tay cầm và nói chung đá bản thân mình vì một pussy hoàn chỉnh khi tôi nghe ông gọi ra."Chờ đợi", cà phê người đàn ông nói với tôi. Vì vậy tôi dừng lại. Và tôi bật. Và tôi chờ đợi.“I—“, he starts, and I can practically feel the words clogging his throat but there’s so many of them and he doesn’t know which ones to use first, or which way to use them, so he says nothing. And I realize that here, in the bathroom of this big, shiny sterile building an insane tension has developed. It’s the kind of tension that would definitely disarm you if you didn’t know how to deal with it. Coffee Man obviously doesn’t. I do, but up until this moment have been concerned that making a move would definitely result in the loss of my breezy job. So for both our sakes, I decide to throw caution to the wind. I approach him, slowly because he’s skittish, watching how those mystical eyes watch me, lean in and press an easy kiss to his lips.It’s good. It’s simple. Coffee Man’s lips are soft. He doesn’t resist. I hear his breath catching, and then exhaling in a huff, as if he’d been holding it. I begin to move away but he grabs my head and presses his lips against mine more firmly. And then I feel his tongue sliding between my lips and I taste his sugar for the first time.And then all bets are off.You’ve never seen two men paw at each other the way we do. We can’t get close enough. My new shirt is in a heap on the floor along with his suit jacket, vest and tie, and I’m frantically working at the buttons on his shirt. Meanwhile he is licking my neck as if it had been salted and would be followed by a wedge of lime.Voices outside of the bathroom door alert us that we are not in fact the only two people in existence, and certainly not in the building and that at any moment, someone might need to use this bathroom for something other than watching the two of us make out. We stop and gather our things in a rush, and then scurry into separate stalls. I hear him giggle nervously from his stall and it sets my mind at ease. That could have easily gone the other way. It is obvious Coffee Man needs to let off some steam or at the very least, do a decaf switch a couple of times a week.I put my shirt back on and listen. When I’m sure no one is coming into the bathroom, I come out of my stall. He comes out of his right after. His shirt is unbuttoned at the top and his silk tie is in a ball in his hand. I watch him stuff what is probably a $500 tie into his pocket.But I digress. We exchange awkward looks.“Will you come with me?” he asks me, and I smile. I am going to miss two classes by leaving with him, and I couldn’t be happier.“Yes”, I tell him, and that sweet mouth of his curves a little into a smile. “By the way, I’m Shikamaru.”He doesn’t respond in kind. Coffee Man it is.Turns out the guy drives a Mercedes sports coupe. A black one. And he lives in an obscenely posh condo in a very upscale neighborhood. I wonder about all the goodies, but I say nothing. We ride in silence.We’re in his condo fifteen seconds before my new shirt is lying in a heap someplace again. I vaguely recall him telling me it is a new rule that I have to be shirtless as long as I am in his place. Whatever.