Zeke

So, here is a quick little thing I wrote. It's not a full on story and there will be no other chapters, but, I think it's got some fun imagery, so, get a snack and check it out.

Read Zeke after the jump.

Zeke

By Get A. Snack

After a long night of parties we had ended up at a bar in the East Village. I really liked going out downtown, but it was always a hassle to get my friends to agree to head down there. Despite the fact that it was a bit of a trek from our uptown apartments, I liked that it was a little edgier than the Disney-fied, midtown bars that we always seemed to end up at… I thought of the bars in midtown as sort of bars on antidepressants. Everything was Ok, the peaks and valleys had been smoothed out –the guys weren’t usually terrible, but they weren’t terribly hot either. In the East Village, the hot guys were hotter, but the not hot guys, well, you get what I’m saying.
As it was now nearly 2 in the morning. I had a comfortable buzz going. Thanks to a whisky sour at my friend Chloe’s birthday party, and a caiparina or two that I had at a roof party that a friend of mine had thrown in one of the more hip and fashionable neighborhoods of Brooklyn, I was feeling good. Not smashed, but relaxed.

“Hey, you’re cute, what’s your name?”

A handsome, dirty-blonde guy was holding out his hand to me. He had really nice features, and was more my type than most of the guys I found out at gay bars. He looked like he was maybe 25 years old, perfect skin, nice, albeit drunk, eyes, and a cute, stocky build. Muscles to spare with a bit of a gut, just like I like ‘em. Except that he was an inch or two shorter than me, he had the look of a guy who had played college football but also never said no to a beer.

“I’m Alex. What’s your name?” I responded, taking his hand and flashing the dirty blonde guy a quick smile.

“I’m Zeke. You’re really hot.” He took a slightly unsteady step closer to me and moved his arm to the small of my back.

“You’re really forward.” I grinned again. “And drunk too I’d wager.”

Zeke grinned sheepishly

“I’m ok.” He insisted “I’ve just been having too much fun with my buddies tonight. But I’m ok, I swear. Having a good night?”

We started through the usual bar small talk questions –what do you do, where do you live, where did you go to school, etc… Turns out that Zeke was old than I thought, just turned 30 rather than 25. He was more shocked that I was 22, less than a year out of college, and giving him the time of day than I was that he was 30. He was a VP at a real estate brokerage firm (which he of course took up after modeling for a while in his early 20s) and lived by himself in a penthouse on the Upper East Side. Although I generally hook up with guys my own age, these were generally very good answers to the bar small talk test.

After a few more minutes of flirting, Zeke suggested we go get something to eat somewhere. We walked around the village, hunting for somewhere that the model jock boy could get some food. We walked under some scaffolding and he grabbed onto one of the cross bars and did a pull-up.

“Look, isn’t that hot?” He said as he grinned down from the bar at me, very boyishly pleased with himself. “Can you do that? Do you lift weights?”

While I was most assuredly not at muscled as Zeke, I was decently muscled for my frame, and jumped up and did a pull-up with little struggle.

“That’s hot. I really like a guy who works out. I like working out. You should’ve seen me when I was in high school, I was so scrawny.” He absentmindedly rubbed his thick biceps as he spoke.

“I’m just fucking starving. I haven’t had carbs in a week, I’m really trying to lose this.” He rubbed his cute little football and beer belly. “Salads never fill me up. That’s all I’ve been eating. We should find a diner or something around here… Or we could go uptown, I know a good diner by my place.”

Although it usually takes much more than a cute guy, three drinks and a few nice compliments to get me to go home with someone, I figured grabbing a quick bite with a somewhat swollen ex-jock wouldn’t be so bad, and if worst came to worst, my place was just a quick taxi across the park.

When we got to the diner, Zeke poured over the menu with gusto. “I love diners. You can get whatever you want. They have everything. This place is good, you won’t go wrong here, I always end up here when I get drunk.”

After little deliberation, Zeke settled on an order of onion soup to start, and a deluxe bacon cheeseburger platter, with a double order of onion rings instead of fries. I decided to order some matzoth ball soup. I wasn’t that hungry, but I knew Zeke would feel self conscious eating alone, and that the water in the soup would be a small step in the process of re-hydrating myself and avoiding a hangover in the morning.

“The whole no carb thing is so hard, but man, it works if you can keep to it. I don’t know how I got so fat. I really need to lose this gut.”

“I think you look fine. You worry too much.” I smirked at him.

He smiled at me and leaned in across the table.

“You wanna hear a secret?”

“Sure.” I replied, leaning closer.

“You see these?” He grabbed one of the individual jam servings that was sitting next to the butter packets on the diner table. “Sometimes I just want carbs so bad, like now, I just eat these plain.”

To demonstrate his point, with practiced precision, he quickly opened the packet and scooped it’s contents out with his fork, and devoured it.

“Mmmmm…. Sugar.” He half moaned.

He repeated this process half a dozen times before our soups arrived. Although some part of me was a little grossed out because I personally would never touch individual jam packets that had been sitting in a diner for only God knows how long, another part of me was a little turned on by the sort of vulnerable desperation that this handsome, beefy ex-model-musclejock was showing with his need for carbs.

Zeke attacked his meal like he had never before seen food. I paced myself in eating my soup so as to not highlight to him how much he was consuming. He devoured his French onion in no time at all, scraping the burnt cheese from the crock with his spoon. He tore into his enormous burger like an animal. I made an effort to talk more so as to distract him from how much time he was spending chewing.

Finally, when every bite of burger, every crumb of onion ring and every speck of coleslaw had been devoured, Zeke leaned back in his chair and put is hands on his belly.

“Oof. I am full. That was good. I can’t believe I ate all those carbs… Oof I am full. I gotta lie down.”

We paid the bill and quickly left the restaurant. We passed more scaffolding, and Zeke tried his pull up trick, but came just shy of pulling himself all the way up.

“Gut’s too full.” He mumbled sheepishly, “But you saw I could do it before… You know I’m in shape.”

I smiled deviously and nodded.

“You’re hot.” I grinned and wrapped my arms around his waist.

He leaned and in kissed me. It was sweet and passionate and lusty all at the same time. He took my hand and tugged me on after him.

His apartment was impressive. On the 23rd floor of a doorman 5th Avenue building, the grand apartment was impeccably clean except for a few empty chip bags sitting on the table in front of his massive flatscreen.

“I need to get the maid in here, I never clean up after myself. It’s terrible.”

I walked up behind him and put my arms around his full midsection.

“Looks fine to me.” I grinned and squeezed him a little.

“Careful buddy, I got a full tank.” He smiled. “I’m thirsty. You want something?”

I said a glass of water should be fine and he returned from the kitchen in a matter of moments with my glass of water, his glass of milk (whole from how thick it looked), and no shirt. His belly, despite his valiant effort to suck in, was rolling a little over the top of his strained jeans. From the looks of his wardrobe, the belly was either a new addition to his otherwise muscular body, or something that he was quite committed to denying.

“You look like you wanna relax.”

I walked up to him and kissed him hard on the mouth. Before he could put the two glasses down, I pulled his head to mine with one hand, and with the other, undid the poor, tortured top button of his jeans. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around me and kissed back, trying not to spill the milk or water.

“I think we should go into the bedroom.”

Not to gloss over the sex, which was pretty amazing, but, hey, a boys gotta keep something to himself. Anyway, what stuck with me from the night was the after sex moments. We laid in bed, spooning, him as the little spoon, me as the bigger spoon. I wrapped my arm around him, and rested my hand on his belly. As he drifted off to sleep, he finally relaxed his stomach muscles and let his gut out. It felt like it was just growing right there, under my hand. As he slept, I rubbed it a little and he moaned a little in pleasure.

“That feels good.” He mumbled, half drunk and half asleep.

I slept like a baby.