Kevin Baker sat at his desk in the Third Street Bank and Trust. Anxious about the time, he surreptitiously checked his watch as his secretary droned on with the review of that day's accomplishments.
Four forty-six. Fourteen more minutes. Please don't let any last minute drama come busting through that door, Kevin thought. I wanta get to the gym. I gotta see him again.
The "him" was a six foot something hunk of a bear (as the personals would describe him), who had captivated Kevin's attention at the local gym for the previous three weeks. He didn't come to the gym every day, but came often enough that Kevin was always looking for him, always hoping he would show up.
The guy was husky and handsome. His head was shaved; he had hoops in both ears and a tattoo of a leopard on his upper left arm. Kevin guessed he had blue eyes. He had never been close enough to make sure. The one time he had been close, on opposite sides of a rower they both were heading to use, he had been so flabbergasted that he didn't look directly at the man. He was sure he had a salt and pepper Van Dyke. Kevin figured he was in his forties, maybe fifty. That made him feel good because he, Kevin, was fifty-five. Well, okay, fifty-eight, but he looked fifty-five, so that was what he put in his personal on the Older For Me web site. He'd had few hits to his ad and he figured it was because he had been honest and included the information that he was married. The few guys who had responded were in the same situation as Kevin. But no one turned him on like the man at the gym.
"I said, 'What do you want me to do about the Johnson application for a small business loan? They have called three times and need ... '"
"Oh ... yes ... I'll call them in the morning. I..." he checked his watch again, five o five ... "I have an important ... ah ... meeting to get to."
"All right," she sighed, "but please call them. They're getting on my nerves."
"I will. Don't worry." Johnson, Shonson. It's five and I'm outta here, he thought.
Marianne gathered her notes and walked out of the office. Kevin looked over the papers on his desk one last time and went into his private bathroom to get ready to go. He pissed and stepped to the sink to wash his hands. Gazing at his reflection he assessed himself for the umpteenth time that day.
He stood just under six feet, weighed about 175 and could be considered well built. He didn't have the genes of a body builder, although he had aspired to that for as long as he could remember, but his regular workouts had produced good muscle tone and he was well proportioned. He flexed his chest muscles and pulled in his belly.
Yeah, I'm reasonably attractive.
His dream man did have those genes. He had a massive chest and arms as big as Kevin's thighs. His belly protruded, but he had no objection to that. In fact, Kevin found a round, firm, domed belly as much of a turn on as a six-pack. The guy's waist was slim, his back tapering in a perfect 'v' and his butt ... oh man.... his butt. It was round and firm and about as perfect as you could get. It filled out those shorts, from which extended fantastic tree trunk legs, to the point of premature ejaculation just from thinking about it. Kevin had never caught him naked in the locker area or showers and that was his main objective: he wanted to see what was under the shorts and sleeveless sweats the guy always wore.
Kevin checked his reflection one last time--smoothing his thinning brown hair and grinning at the image of the slight tent of his trousers in the mirror. Just thinking about him made things happen. One last look and he picked up his gym bag and headed for the door. A thought struck him: his wedding band. He looked down at the plain, gold ring. He thought of the lack of hits on his personal ad. With a pang of remorse, he removed it from his finger and put it in his pocket. He closed the bathroom door behind him and crossed the room to the outer office.
The phone rang. "Holy Shit! Not now!"
"Mr. Baker, I'm sorry, but I am glad I caught you. It's Mr. Johnson. I tried to put him off, but then he asked to speak to Mr. Wallace." Marianne sounded apologetic. She was a good secretary. She was looking out for Kevin's ass. Mr. Wallace was the bank president.
"That's okay, Marianne, thanks for running interference. Put Johnson on."
For the next fifteen minutes Kevin schmoozed Mr. Johnson and assured him that the approval for his loan was a mere formality. Johnson seemed appeased and Kevin could get on to the important business of the evening.
As he hung up the receiver he offered a quick prayer to Saints Serguis and Bacchus for protection from all further interruptions to his quest, then felt another pang of guilt, this time for praying for sexual favors.
Kevin left the office, passing Marianne at her desk. He thanked her again for her attention to detail in saving him the embarrassment of having to explain to the president of the bank his reluctance to deal with a customer. He crossed the street in the middle of the block and almost sprinted to his SUV in the parking garage across from the bank.