male/male My friend Marcus and I entered the building and caught the elevator to the basement floor, and when the doors opened we looked at each other warily. The hallway was extremely dim from what we could see, and for a moment I considered letting him go in by himself. Are you sure this is the right place? I asked. Of course. 69 Appleton Street. Apartment B-5, in the basement. Well, you go first, I said, nudging him on his shoulder. Chickenshit, he said, exasperated. Lets go. He left the elevator and as I followed close behind, the door began to shut, nearly pinning me between it and the metal frame. It caught my shirt, which I managed to yank without tearing, and suddenly it was just us, alone in the long, dark concrete corridor. I think its down this way, Marcus blurted, slowly beginning to make his way down the hall. I didnt budge at first, and when Marcus got a few feet away from me he noticed I was missing. Are you coming, or are you gonna stay out here the whole time? I dont know about this. Look, Core, this bags getting a little heavy, and Im not exactly in the debating mood if you know what Im saying. Alright! I snapped, moving to catch up to him. As we walked, sounds varying from people arguing to loud music blaring emanated from behind orange-painted apartment doors. In my mind I counted, B-1, B-2, B-3 , hoping that wed make it to B-5 before some unknown assailant came out of nowhere to shank us and steal our wallets. Here it is, Marcus said when we reached B-5, giving the door a hearty rap with his knuckles. It flew open almost immediately, and I was a little more than pleasantly surprised at what greeted us on the other side. Yeah? the guy who answered the door said. He was clearly bothered by us being there, and didnt pretend otherwise, but what he obviously lacked in people skills was more than made up for in his visage. He was a bit over six feet, strapping yet not overly-muscular, and was unclothed, save a tiny pair of black boxer-briefs that barely covered his well-toned thighs. He ran a hand impatiently through his mane of longish, brown curls and took a deep drag on his cigarette, blowing the smoke directly at us. Uhh my name is Marcus. Im here to install tile in your bathroom, Marcus said. I could tell he was just as awestruck by this gorgeous male physical specimen as I was. Now? the guy blurted. I thought you were supposed to come tomorrow afternoon. No, we agreed on today at 4 oclock, Marcus said. Fuck, today is Thursday, isnt it? Marcus nodded, all the while trying to stifle a cough from the smoke. I wanted to laugh but somehow managed to hold it back. He took another drag and looked at Marcus, then at me (his gaze stayed on me a bit longer), stepped aside and said, Come in. We entered a very small, carpeted entrance way and the guy shut the door behind us. Youll have to excuse the mess. If I had remembered you were coming I wouldve straightened up a little. He went ahead, leading the two of us down the tiny hall into a larger, well-lit space that was furnished with not much more than a couple of sofas, a coffee table and a floor-model TV. The place was lived-in to say the least. A few beer cans littered the coffee table, magazines and clothes were casually strewn about and the faint smell of marijuana lingered in the air. The noise from a box fan in the corner drowned out the faint sound coming from the TV. So, is this the way to your bathroom? Marcus asked. Oh right no, its back here down the hall. The guy walked to the other side of the room and it was then that I noticed how tight his ass was, encased in those tiny black underwear. Marcus followed him and looked back at me, mouthing the words Oh my God, and I smiled and nodded in agreement. As I took a seat on the tweed loveseat, I was suddenly glad that I had decided to accompany Marcus on this particular job. Id been promising to go with him ever since hed started up his own floor tiling business, and that day seemed as good a time as any to do it. Besides, I figured if half the people he installed tiled for looked anything like this guy, it couldnt be all bad. I sank back into the couch (which was quite comfortable, considering), and gazed around at the place. The apartment was in dire need of some interior decorating, to say the least. Drab, pale-green walls, a tacky day-glo clock hanging just above the floor model TV, a stereo and a few potted plants that needed much attention completed the décor, and I suddenly found myself wondering how someone so hot could live in such a dump. What if this guys a serial killer? I thought to myself. Or a cannibal, or some kind of weird hermit? No. He was too good looking to be evil. Sure, he was a little spacey, and maybe just a bit rude, but spacey and rude dont necessarily equal maniacal killer. Or do they? I chuckled at my wild imagination, and was about to join Marcus and our host when I realized I wasnt alone. Mr. Hot N Spacey himself was staring at me in the doorway that led to the living room, running a hand over his slightly furry chest and abdomen. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I momentarily contemplated making a run for the door. You got a green thumb? he asked. What? I responded. Wild thoughts of Marcus laying on the bathroom floor, dead by the hands of our scantily clad host, began to rush into my head. I moved to get off of the sofa, but paused when he left the doorway and crossed the living room to one of the potted plants. This one the fern its kind of grody, dont you think? No. Its actually kind of nice. The plant looked like shit, but at this point I wasnt about to start spouting truths. Really? Ive been giving it water and plant food I even put it in the kitchen window where the sunlight comes through and--nothing. I kept my eyes on him and, while leery of his presence, I couldnt help but be turned on by his magnificent body. From where he was standing I could really get a good look. He had broad, football player shoulders that sat atop a perfectly v-shaped back. His long, toned legs resembled that of a runner, and his feet were large and well-kempt (a surprise, considering the fact that he didnt seem like a guy who cared how groomed his feet were). My eyes wandered back up and lingered on his ass for a moment. I was in awe of the way the underwear hugged his firm, muscular glutes, denoting every flex and squeeze as he stood fiddling with the near-dead plant. I was also pleasantly surprised that he hadnt bothered to slip on a pair of pants. Maybe you should pick off the dead leaves and sit it back in the sunlight, I blurted. Maybe, he shrugged, leaving the plants and moving to scoop up a tiny ottoman on the other side of the room. He planted the small piece of furniture square in front of me and squatted down on it, which caused his underwear to rise and tighten on his muscular thighs and bunch in the crotch area. I inadvertently moved a hand to my own crotch area in an effort to conceal my growing arousal. You always come along with your boyfriend when he does a job? I was instantly taken aback by his comment. Not only were Marcus and I anything but boyfriends, but the fact that hed assumed that we were gay at all completely took me by surprise. Although we both were gay, neither of us played into the stereotypical gay male persona, which was one of the reasons we could relate so well to each other. My boyfriend? Waitaminit, Marcus isnt my-- Hey, Im kidding, he snickered. I exhaled and let out an uncomfortable laugh as he extended his hand. Brad. Corey, I said. I shook his hand and was impressed with his firm grip. You like music Corey? Sure. He stood from the ottoman and walked to the TV, shutting it off. He then moved to the stereo set in the corner, pulling an album from the cabinet beneath it. Geez, who has a record player anymore? I thought as he placed the record on the turntable. Seconds later, the room filled with the opening chords of Bill Witherss Use Me. Excellent taste, I said, nodding my approval. You like? Oh yeah. Im telling you, man, they just dont make tunes like this anymore. This was when music was music. Brad began to sway his hips in time with the beat as he made his way back to the ottoman. I found myself becoming completely enthralled with this man, which was amusing to me because just minutes before I was almost sure he wanted to murder my friend and me. So, do you always walk around in your underwear when you have people over? I asked. Well, I wasnt exactly expecting company. Thats right. You got the days mixed up. Mm-hmm. Besides, you cant tell me you dont walk around in your shorts when youre home alone. What can I say, you got me there, I said. Brad hadnt yet sat back down, and he was no more than a few feet in front of me. I noticed the tip of what appeared to be a tattoo peeking from underneath the band of his underwear, right at his hip, and my curiosity got the best of me. Whats that? You mean my ink? Its the Japanese symbol--for sex. Surely you jest, I thought. Here, have a look. He moved even closer, pulling his underwear down just enough to expose the inked area of his pelvis. I scooted eagerly to the edge of the couch to take a gander. Its right on the bone. Hurt like a sonofabitch but it was worth it. What happened next nearly took my breath away. He took my hand and placed it directly on his hip, running my fingers over the half dollar-sized, intricate skin art. My cock surged to attention again, and this time I didnt care if he noticed. Um how long have you had it? I said, barely eking the words out. Five, six weeks. When it was healing, rubbing it always made it feel better. With his crotch this close to my face, I decided to get a good look at what he was working with. His bulge was heavy and substantial, and I could clearly make out the head of his penis, which meant that he was definitely cut. His flaccid cock sat snug against what looked like a nice-sized nut sack. My arm accidentally (or not) rubbed up against it, sending a jolt of excitement through my entire body.