Finding Persimmon

Chapter 2

August 4

Tate went on a date that hot and steamy evening. He chose a white tank, showing off his beefy chest, and a tight pair of shorts that defined his moderately-sized package. Most of the time, he sported boxer-briefs under his shorts, but he didn’t do his laundry in over a week, although he enjoyed the task, and didn’t have any to wear. So he went commando. Because of the high humidity, his tank clung to his chest like a second skin. Even though he loved the sun and summer, he could live without the humidity and heat, finding both uncomfortable and a nuisance.

He left his flat on Elderman Street in the downtown area at approximately twenty minutes after seven in the evening. Sinclaire Coffee House just happened to be in walking distance from where he lived. Since there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, he decided against taking Uber or a city cab. He enjoyed the summer evening heat on his bare arms and legs, and the heat against his solid chest, as he walked to his date place, taking in the city’s sights through his Ray Bans. He passed Bars, a gym where he worked out for the last dozen or more years, and then he passed one of his favorite queer bars, Steel City Boys.

Three blocks later, he ended up inside Sinclaire Coffee House and looked around for his date, Dean McFlarity.

Eventually, Tate spotted McFlarity at the bar, hidden in a shadow and next to a wall. The guy looked rough and handsome in the semi-darkness. The man’s dark hair and eyes, and reddish lips, made Dean look more like a vampire than a mortal. Like his ad on Kinder Finder, a dating app for gay men over thirty, McFlarity’s chest practically busted out of his sky blue T-shirt.

Before sharing a two-finger wave at the stud, Tate enjoyed a glimpse of McFlarity’s solid pecs, hard n*****s, and bulging biceps. He walked around the U-shaped bar, hugged the roughie, brushed his cheek against McFlarity’s bushy one, and eventually sat down next to the man, smiling.

They chatted a little about the weather, about how McFlarity looked sexy as s**t in his skin-tight shirt.

Tate eventually demanded, “Let’s stop the chatter. Take me back to your place.”

“And do what?”

Tate grinned, horny and feeling selfish. “So I can tumble around on your bed with you.”

The other guy chuckled. “Is that what you call it, tumbling around?”

Tate raised an eyebrow, already semi-hard, ready for action with McFlarity. “I can be quite vulgar if you want me to. Your choice.”

McFlarity’s choice was clearly obvious. They walked back to the man’s apartment, some three city blocks in the opposite direction of Tate’s city flat, and the two guys undressed in McFlarity’s bedroom. They kissed, ending up on McFlarity’s king-size bed, and spent the next hour getting off and becoming sticky and sexually spent.

Tate didn’t really go for cuddling and dressed after his naked affair with the stud. He decided to shower at his flat. He left his f**k-date’s apartment and made the six-block walk home, the dark city enveloping him. Alone, he smiled, having no commitments or ties to his evening date, enjoying the man’s body and their s****l fling/time together. Nothing more. No strings. No boyfriend. No arrangement to see McFlarity again. Freedom. Pure freedom.

Tate didn’t feel that he needed a man in his world and a certain someone to tie him down. He liked his sovereignty and one-night stands, and planned to keep his life that way. Organized. Hassel-free. Unchallenging when it came to relationships. Always. He couldn’t think of any other way to live as a single man without any obligations except for his job.