The words that keep running through my mind this morning are, “Oh, my God . . . .Oh, my God. . . . OH, MY GOD!” Again and again this simple I-can’t-believe-I-got-fucked-like-I-did mantra seeps into my brain taking me back to last night.
Bad Boy Abercrombie—being the wickedly naughty boy that he is—sets me up with his smoking hot roommate. It is my idea, actually. Bad Boy Abercrombie has a girlfriend, so when I text him the other night, I ask if he has any friends who might want to meet me. Gorgeous men hang out in packs, so I figure if I like Bad Boy Abercrombie, I am also going to like his friends.
Boy, do I.
Smoking Hot Roommate is 6’ 1” and 235 pounds of pure muscle. But the most delightful surprise about this blonde body builder is that he’s also educated, can string multiple sentences together, and actually has some pretty damn witty things to say. In other words, he’s much more than 28-year-old eye candy.
We meet at a dive-y dive bar linked to a seedy motel because it is across the street from another seedy motel with an indoor pool that caters to swingers. I frequent both establishments, but Smoking Hot Roommate has never been to either. I get to the bar a bit early, settle in with my beer, and try to appear nonchalant when he walks through the door. Mind you, the vast majority of the people in this hole in the wall don’t have all of their teeth. Smoking Hot Roommate sticks out like a red hot beacon of deliciousness.
ME: Do you have any questions for me about the pool? I imagine your roommate told you a little bit about it.
SMOKING HOT ROOMMATE: So everyone is just in there naked having sex?
ME: The first time I went, I expected there to be a changing room or a place where I could have some privacy. I walk in, and there is a woman in the pool getting fucked from behind while blowing another guy sitting on the ledge. There’s no place like it in the world.
Smoking Hot Roommate says he can handle it while downing another double shot of Crown. I can tell he is nervous, but I can also tell that we are going to hit it off famously. I warn him about some of the pitfalls that come with going to a bathhouse that allows single men (lurking, leering, and being just plain creepy are the biggies), answer his questions about potential homosexual play (“It happens but it’s in the rooms and discussed in advance”), and agree I won’t run off and leave him stranded there naked.
Taking off our clothes takes a bit longer than the split second it takes me when I’m with a date who feels comfortable, but as soon as we are naked and in the pool, I am riding him like a bucking stallion. While I know I like looking at his broad shoulders and bulging biceps, what I am not completely prepared for is what a strong man can do when we’re having sex. He lifts me up and down effortlessly, flips me over with ease, and is as solid as a brick wall.
After splashing around for a while, we decide to carve out a space on the community bed. We find a somewhat distant corner, lay down our towels, and get right back to business. The orgy of bodies beside us only distracts us mildly as we whisper, nibble, pound, and pull each other’s stringy, wet hair.
I like how his wavy hair curls around his face when it’s damp.
I like his clear blue eyes and knowing grin.
I like his clean shaven face and body.
I like how he treats me like a lady even though we are being naughty.
Hell, what don’t I like about him?
Around two in the morning it is time to go. I have to work in the morning, and really, I can’t handle any more sex—no matter how delightful. Smoking Hot Roommate walks me to my car, kisses me gently on my lips, and I murmur, “Have you and your roommate ever shared a girl?”