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Dream Man

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Blurb

"Michael Stein has a recurring dream of Mr. Muscles -- a tall, strong, s*x machine who pounds him into oblivion and makes his sheets wet. Unfortunately, Mr. Muscles doesn’t really exist.

But who needs reality when the best s*x he ever had comes every night? He doesn't need a real man, right? Such a man doesn't even exist. Life is good -- no messy relationships, hot nocturnal encounters, and he only has to clean up after himself.

One day at work, Michael finds himself face to face with the man of his dreams in the form of Christian Bolster, who is six feet tall and full of solid muscle. To Michael’s surprise, Christian invites him to dinner, and he can't help but say yes.

As the evening progresses, Michael is drawn to Christian’s charm and relaxed nature. Suddenly he starts to panic. This can't be real. Things like this don't happen to him. What was he thinking? Should he take a chance on reality, or hold out for the man in his dreams? Or can Christian be that man?"

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Chapter 1
Downtown Office Suppliers, Inc., where I am employed, is an office supply company, located in the heart of downtown Atlanta, Georgia. The building has five floors, the top three of which house supplies. The first and second floors are for the staff, and I work on the first floor as a receptionist. Dress is ‘neat’ casual (no daisy dukes allowed—damn!). I start my shift on time at nine o’clock. It’s not a bad job, really, though I would never have thought being a receptionist would be in my job description, not with a Business degree from Georgia Tech. But you have to start somewhere, right? The phone rings non-stop until noon, when I take my lunch break. Sheila Langston, my best friend and coworker, walks with me to Tacoland to get some grub. “So did you have that lusty man in your bed again last night?” she asks around a mouthful of a sumptuous-looking beef taco. Sheila knows all about my love affair with Mr. Muscles, and wants to borrow him so he can give her current boyfriend some tips. “Of course, I did! He is my s*x life, after all.” I smirk. My chicken taco is delicious, by the way. “Michael, while I envy the ‘passion’ in your dream life, you need to find a real man. What about one of the drivers?” she asks, taking a sip of her soda. I roll my eyes. Nothing against any of our drivers, but they don’t do anything for me. Oh, and it doesn’t help that they’re always talking about v*****s, breasts, and their latest female conquest. Hello? Not interested! Plus they know I’m gay and avoid me like the plague. It would rub off, you see, and not in a good way. Sheila and I talk about her boyfriend Chuck (no, not Norris, sadly, because even he would be an improvement) as we walk back to work. He lives in Conyers and works as a truck driver for NAPA. She sees him once a week at her house in Lithonia when he’s in town. “He’s nice enough,” she says, “but he could use some tips in s*x etiquette—having an orgasm in five minutes and then turning over to snore may satisfy him but it does nothing for me.” She usually ends up pleasuring herself, not that I needed to hear that part.

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