Torso Tackle

Chapter 2: Coveting Ben

Chapter 2: Coveting Ben

Ben lifts weights in our living room, distracting me again. No longer can I concentrate on my client notes, particularly the one-hour therapy session with Jory Sole.

Ben has been my roommate for the last two years. Craigslist brought us together. Upon meeting Ben, I coveted him almost immediately. He stands six foot two, bald, and model-gorgeous. He makes a really great friend, and a reliable roommate who pays his rent on time. His Hawaii-green eyes sparkle as he lifts a two-hundred-plus barbell. Bare pecs flex. Buffed thigh muscles stretch with perfection. Sweat lingers against his ripped abs and dented navel. The hairless guy is beautiful. No, stunning. No wonder he models for magazines and is splashed over billboards across the city. I’d model, too, if I had his dimples, rigid jawline, and rock-my-world biceps.

At our kitchen table, I drop my pen to my leather-bound notebook. “My God, you are one fine specimen of man. Too bad you’re straight.”

Ben chuckles in a masculine manner, preparing for another lift on his back, but doesn't say anything.

“I would definitely be glad to mentor you if you ever want to try my queer world out.”

A grunt escapes his beautifully pink lips as he lifts and lowers the barbell. Sweat clings to his forehead; something I want to lick away.

“Tell me Zoe covets your skin like I do. It would make me feel better. Because knowing you're not someone’s s****l toy would absolutely devastate and kill me.”

His lift is finished—God bless his productivity and commitment—and he sits up, sweating and huffing on the bench under his tight ass. Ben finds a hand towel and begins his wipe-down, which is a total turn-on for me as he swirls limp cotton over his chiseled chest. He shares a twinkling stare with me, his adorable smile, which is often seen in glossy fashion magazines, and finally responds. “The football player isn't putting out for you yet, is he?”

I play dumb, and respond, “Who are you talking about?”

“Jory Sole. The quarterback for the Vipers. The guy you’re madly in love with. The guy every queer man and single woman desires in this city.”

“Lust, my friend,” I correct. “I am in lust with him.”

He laughs at me, drawing the towel across his ripped torso, absorbing his lingering sweat. “Have you tried to put the moves on him yet?”

I tell him about my Zen session with Jory, unable to leave out my intrusive boner and embarrassment.

Ben chokes with laughter while chugging water from a plastic bottle.

“It really happened. I’m standing behind the guy and I pop wood. And he notices it. He wanted to know what was going on behind him. What was I supposed to say?”

He swallows his gulp of water, wipes a firm hand across his Prince Charming mouth, and asks, “Did he have a look in his eyes that said he wanted to blow you?”

What’s nice about Ben is that he’s not homophobic. The guy is a liberal all the way. Besides, his little brother is gay; a high school band fag who is going to be as handsome as Ben when he finally grows into his skin and muscle. In truth, Ben is easy to talk to, and someone who gives me great advice—at least most of the time.

“Jory did not want to blow me,” I concede with a frown. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t want him to, because God knows I did.”

“Too bad for you. Maybe next session you can nail him. Or better yet, he can nail you.”

“Ben, I am totally out of that man’s league. I’m weak and have no athletic ability whatsoever. Plus, Jory is straight and…”

He stands, ready to head off to the shower, and says, “You don’t know that he’s straight. Rumors in town say Jory likes guys. I’ve heard it, among other friends of mine. Some guys are like that, you know. The rumors are true, even though the queens sport girlfriends.”

“They’re just rumors,” I sigh. “They mean nothing.”

“Still, it doesn’t give you any reason to be hard on yourself. You have a lot to offer a guy. You take care of your body by running, have nice looks, you’re smart, and I’m pretty sure you know what to do with your hands since you’re an alternative physical therapist. I know guys like a pair of good hands to wrap around their…”

“Go get a shower, Ben. I hear you. There’s no reason to mention the obvious.”

On his way down the hall, shaking his taut ass for my pleasure, he calls over his shoulder, “And just for the record, Zoe does covet my skin.”

I holler, “Whatever!” Then I find my pen and notebook again, becoming lost in my work and notes.