Just a Smirk…
An SPH Confession by Danny Piccolo.
A few days into my first week, I saw him. I had gotten into the elevator, and the doors were closing when suddenly a hand slipped between them, causing them to reopen like magic. I looked up, startled, and offered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you coming.” Which was true. He smiled and nodded in a way that told me he didn’t believe me, but I wasn’t lying. He was tall, and the way his jacket hugged his shoulders and arms told me he was in great muscular shape. Glancing up at his profile, he was chiseled, strong chin and high cheekbones, dark, well-modeled hair, and there was a scent about him of fresh soap and honey. Clean-shaven. He was gorgeous, and I was happy not to speak, as I didn’t think I could have worked my mouth and tongue to form words. I must say he took me by surprise and gave me a bit of a rush.
As I said, I grew up in a small town, so coming to a big city was quite the experience. I am 25 and gay, so while I knew I might be able to be more comfortable with my sexuality in a bigger city, I was also a little wary of how the men might, shall we say, behave. I was raised in a conservative (aka discreet) family. I had some gay-ish experiences back home, but mostly with school friends in parks after hours, or in the back of a dark movie theater—young childish experiences. Never had a boyfriend, never dated per sé, Lots of porn hidden in a box under the bed kind of thing…I’m still kinda a kid when it comes to sex.
About a week later, I got in the elevator leaving the office, and who stepped in, much to my delight, but none other than my dream hunk. He had a gym bag over his shoulder and wore a sleeveless tee to perfection. He was obviously heading to the gym downstairs. His arms were sculpturesque. He didn’t recognize me; he just got in, staring at his phone, and pushed the “L” button, which was already lit by me. He kept his eyes on the phone and, when we arrived at the lobby, strode out on his mission to pump some iron. My mouth was dry again, and I felt my face warm. A few days later I witnessed the same scene, only this time I was sitting on a bench in the lobby staring at my phone…Oh, who am I kidding? I was stalking, hoping to spy him again to find out his gym schedule. I discovered it was on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. I joined the gym.
The following Tuesday, I “accidentally” entered the elevator with my gym bag and an old sweatshirt I had changed into for my maiden voyage to The Sweatshop, as the gym was playfully called. As he got out of the elevator, I put my phone away absentmindedly (or so I pretended) and followed him toward the locker room. The gym was not as busy as I had thought it would be, but there were enough people to make me feel like I blended in. He took a locker in the back row near the showers, and I took the same row but on the opposite side. There was a bench between us, and we both sat next to each other but facing different directions. I took off my sweatshirt and put on a tee; he took off his pants and put on shorts. After he locked up, he turned and noticed me.
“Hello, you’re the elevator guy, right?” He said.
“What?” I awkwardly said without thinking.
“I see you in the elevator from time to time recently. You new in the building?” He smiled.
I smiled and nodded, my mouth too dry to speak at first. I swallowed. “Yeah, a few weeks now. Thought it might be a good idea to join this place and start up a routine.” What a mess I was. I didn’t even introduce myself.
“Cool, have a good workout.” He offered and stepped out to the main gym floor.
I strolled around the place looking for something to do; I could always jump on a treadmill. I could pick up some dumbbells, but I really wasn’t prepared to start guessing at what I was doing. Treadmill.
When I went back into the locker room, seeing him head that way after an hour or so, I saw he was stripping down for a shower, quickly wrapped a towel around himself, grabbed a small bag of toiletries, and headed off. The showers were separated but grouped. Each had a small curtain, so he disappeared for a while. I quickly grabbed a shower too and made sure I was back at the bench to meet him, ever so casually and seemingly accidentally. That’s when it happened. He stood at his locker, took the lock off the clasp, opened the door, grabbed some underwear, and then the towel slipped off.
His toiletry bag fell to the floor, and as he turned to grab it and the towel, I caught a glimpse of his works. I smirked at what I saw. It was involuntary; it was so natural that I didn’t have time to think about it. It was a small smirk, and then I quickly bit my lip. He was quite small down there. He was tiny. I smirked the way I would if I saw someone make a small trip in a hallway. Like I saw something I thought was slightly funny. Not a laugh, not loud. Just a quiet smirk.
“Something funny?” He asked me to my face as he quickly slipped on his briefs. Big brown eyes stared directly at me with no expression at all, just the cold question.
“No…I…no, nothing…”. I stammered. I didn’t think he saw me; he couldn’t have heard me…it was just a smirk.
He looked away and finished getting dressed. I didn’t look back, although what I had seen of the rest of his body was mesmerizing. He was older than me, looked to be in his early thirties, maybe? Built of solid muscle, about 6’2”, legs like tree stumps, arms and chest to die for. He had some light hair on his chest, just enough. His moves were graceful for a big guy. Maybe it was the angle he stood at, maybe I really didn’t see what I thought I saw, maybe it was the light, maybe…? My thoughts turned inward, becoming all too self-conscious.
I must say that I am not in that great a shape, at least compared to him and his physique. I mean, I’m not a fat slob, more of a slim, swimmer’s build. I have dirty-blond hair and a smooth body. Not too tall either, 5’7” with small features; I take after my Nordic mom in many ways. I have a flat stomach with the slightest outline of abs, but I have no definition at all, only because I’m slim, not because of my muscles. Next to him, I felt somewhat inadequate, but that’s how I always feel when I see a big, muscular guy. My dream is to have muscles like his, someday. I can dream, can’t I?
I heard him finish dressing behind me as he closed his locker door. I was just getting my shirt on and still had my shoes to lace. When I sat up straight, I was surprised by a whisper near my ear.
“You know the Racing Club?” I jumped and turned; he was leaning over, his face close.
“That bar, around the corner?” I whispered back, mimicking his tone, now completely bewildered.
“I’ll be there at 6:30,” He said, then stood tall, turned, and left, just like that.
He left. What just happened? Was he asking me to join him? Why else would he tell me he’d be there? Crazy city guy shit, I thought. He never even told me his name, although I didn’t offer mine either. Is this the way of things in the big city? I had a lot to learn.
I got there at 6:29. He was at the bar having a drink. He looked polished, relaxed, rich, and gorgeous all at once. I had to concentrate to put one foot in front of the other to get from the door to the spot he dominated at the corner of the bar. As I approached, he smiled at me, kinda.
“Well hello, I’m Danny.” He said, holding out his hand to me. “Thanks for joining me.”
“Hello,” I said, trying not to sound too shy. “I’m Mike.” His large hand in mine felt firm and warm. It spread all over me.
He asked what I was drinking, and I looked at his short glass with one cube and some brown liquid in it, and I asked. “Scotch?” He nodded and ordered me one; he opened a tab, and after my drink arrived, he started walking to an empty corner booth in the back. We scooted in and sat at right angles to each other. We sipped, set our glasses down, and looked up at each other.
“So, new to the building, huh?” He started what would become a few minutes of us sharing small talk about who we worked for and what we did. I told him where I moved from and he made a tight smile. He told me he had also moved to the city from another Midwest town in the state next to mine. We had something in common, tumbleweeds.
“Are you gay?”
The question came out of nowhere, but was asked so casually and frankly that I just answered with newfound confidence.
“Yes, but I don’t talk about it at home, or here…”. I offered, in keeping with my discreet upbringing.
“Same here, I don’t talk about it much.” Then he sipped and stared at me. “I saw you that first time in the elevator and thought you were pretty cute.”
“When was that?” I asked.
“When you didn’t hold the door for me, remember?”
“I really didn’t see you!” I said adamantly.
“OK, stick to that story, but I saw you.” He had the slightest twinkle in his eye. Maybe it was the scotch…?
We continued to disagree about this first encounter for a while, and as we sipped and ordered a few more drinks, the conversation became well relaxed and fun. He was a very smart guy and a good conversationalist. I enjoyed talking with him and didn’t want it to end. Then, all of a sudden, the lights went up, and we looked around to see it was closing time. There was no one left in the place, and the bartender was giving us the eye to wrap things up. When we got to the front door, we saw it was raining outside… well, it was like a deluge, really, really coming down.
“How did you get here?” He asked.
“I parked near the building and walked here.”
“Trust me?” He asked.
“What ’s up?” I asked.
“I live two doors down; we can make a run for it, cool?”
Before I could give a definitive answer, he had opened the door, and we started running down the sidewalk to our right. He ducked into a small alcove just two doors down, as he said, took out a key, and let us into a small white tiled lobby. We were dripping wet, and I followed him up the stairs to the third floor, where he opened the door, flipped on the lights, and I found myself in a very modern furnished apartment. Stainless steel, glass, and dark fabrics created a very sensual atmosphere. I was still dripping all over the entry mat.
“Let me get you a towel.” Which quickly appeared and was brought over to me. “Better take off those wet clothes.” He smiled a mischievous smile, then offered. “I know what you’re thinking; no, I don’t bite- just don’t want us to get sick.” He then started taking off his shirt and threw it on the floor near the mat. “I’ll get us some dry stuff.” He said as he disappeared into another room. I kept my pants on until I could see what he was bringing me back. It was a bathrobe; it matched the one he was already wearing, with the belt tightly cinched around his waist. He threw his pants and underwear on the wet pile on the floor.
“I’ll get these in the dryer.” He said as he picked up all the clothes and waited for me to drop my pants and underwear from under my closed robe, then made off to a dryer off the kitchen, which he loaded and set in motion. It created a soft hum throughout the space.
He motioned for me to sit with him on the couch, and offered me a seltzer water. We sat in front of a huge window and watched the rain fall. It was punctuated by flashes of lightning and peals of thunder from time to time for dramatic effect. We were kinda drunk. We found ourselves staring at each other. I sipped and sat back. Then he shot his own lightning bolt; he spoke…
“What made you laugh?” He asked.
I froze at the question, for I knew exactly what he was referring to. “What?” I asked, trying to cover my recognition of the question.
“At the gym, I saw you laugh when you saw my…”. He let it float unfinished in the air. Lightning broke across the sky, then soon after the boom dropped. I stared at him, ashamed.
“I’m sorry.” That was all I could muster, and I looked away. We had become close through our conversations and drinking; we got soaked together, and a kind of bond was forming. But his question threw a truly wet blanket over all that.
“I know I’m small.” He told me, openly. “It may not be my proudest asset, but I’m certainly not ashamed of it. Are you?”
“Am I what?” I was confused by the new question. Was he asking if I was ashamed for him, or if I was also small and ashamed of it? He saw my confusion and clarified. “Does it bother you knowing that about me?” He was so open and casual about it all, so confident.
“No!” I said a little too emphatically. “I mean, no, It’s OK, you’re fine.”
“But when you first saw me it made you laugh a little, right?” God, why was he pressing me! He slid himself closer to me and put his hand on my shoulder, facing me with a warm smile. “It’s OK, I’m OK with it, really. Took me a while to be OK, but I am. Don’t be embarrassed.” He saw me getting red in the face.
“Mikey, can I call you Mikey?” He asked in a low voice.
“Yes, that’s what they call me at home.” I offered truthfully. It was a term of endearment at home; it felt right for him to call me that at the moment.
“You caught my attention the first time I saw you.” He stroked my hair and drew me towards his face. Then he gently kissed me. I leaned back to look at him. He was so close and so beautiful, light brown eyes so soft and hands so gentle on my neck. Then I went in for a full kiss and wrapped my arm around his shoulder. We snuggled a bit and got comfortable with each other.
“Touch me.” He whispered in my ear. “Please.”
I knew what he meant. His robe had opened a little, as mine had. We had kept our hands above our waists, but he gently placed my hand in his and guided it downward. He left his robe open, exposing himself. I looked down to see his small member starting to become hard. He was uncut, like me, but had more soft skin draping over his head than I do. His ballsack was small and tight; he was carefully shaved and smooth. Such a beautiful little cock. Very pink and soft. I let my hand drop down to cover it and felt his stiff flesh in my palm. I let my thumb and fingers move into position on top and bottom of the thin shaft. I could feel the base of his head under the skin and stroked the short shaft slightly, moving the skin gently up and down.
There wasn’t much distance to stroke; I did the best I could with it. He shivered and moaned ever so softly. He lay back and allowed me to see the entirety of his beauty as I stroked; he enlarged slightly until it was barely 3 inches or so. The shaft curved back in an effort to release the small head from under the foreskin. The skin stayed stubbornly over his small head. I slowly eased it back and exposed a tiny pink nub, so tender and cute as it could be. He was so vulnerable that I was afraid to touch it. When I did, he jerked back and moaned.
“Easy, Mikey, …easy…please be gentle…very sensitive…I trust you…”
He allowed me to continue holding his small pink head gently in my fingers. I did not rub it, but gently rocked it back and forth. “Yes, yes, just like that!” It felt like a small olive in my fingers. He expressed his pleasure, and I found myself enraptured with this magnificent specimen of a man, all muscle with this small child-like penis. He let loose a small amount of pre cum and I worked it over his head and some onto the shaft. Making it smooth and slick. The gesture started to make me get harder than I already was.
Suddenly I felt his hand move over my thigh and search for me beneath my robe, which was now loosened. He found me and held my shaft in his big hands.
“Wow, you are so fucking huge.” He whispered. “I’m jealous.”
We stayed there a while, rain starting to lessen outside ever so slightly, he holding my rather thick 7 inches in his big hand so lovingly, yet in a grim grasp. It looked so natural in his hand. He played with my foreskin under his thumb, pushing it around and slipping under here and there to arouse me in ways I never felt before. My fingers on his small member, probing and stroking gently, rocking and stroking his baby head. Soon he arched his back and let out a grunt.
“Don’t stop…please don’t…” He begged.
I felt him pulse with waves of energy escaping his loins, breathing and panting in a jerked manner as he shot warm load all over my hand and his thighs as he spurted out in multiple shots. Then he lay back exhausted, but continued to stroke me with his hand.
“Use both hands,” I asked. He smiled at me. He grabbed me with both large hands. He was intense as he watched me while holding my throbbing cock. For a person of small stature, I must admit I have a cock that looks borrowed from a much bigger person. He admired that he could wrap both of his hands around it while he caressed me and brought me to full red hardness. He looked up at me in awe, and I lay back enjoying the pressure of his motions, his biceps and wrists firm and purposeful. Finally I released my cum and shot far, several times, over my shoulders and onto my stomach. He continued to stroke until I couldn’t handle the post orgasm pain and placed my hands on his to make them come to rest on my balls.
“You are amazing.” He said to me as he lay his head close to mine, stroking my chest.
“I love your little cock.” I said without thinking. He smiled at me.
“I’m glad you do; some guys get turned off.” He said sheepishly.
“Well, it is kinda unexpected, you know what I mean…? I mean, look at you; you are beautiful.” I was still under the spell of my orgasm…
“People think that a guy like me, all jacked up, couldn’t have such a small one?” He made a smirk.
“Well, yeah. But now I don’t think I’d want you any other way. It’s perfect.”
“It’s been a long time since I was this comfortable with anyone. Thank you.”
He was thanking me. Then he reached down and picked up my flaccid shaft and wrapped his hand around it.
“Soft, you’re bigger than I am when I’m hard, damn!” He squeezed me firmly, enjoying the feeling of my meaty shaft in his hand.
“I’m sorry if I laughed at you; that was stupid,” I said as I put my hand around his, which was still around me.
“It’s all good, I’m not ashamed of myself at all. Sometimes in the gym, I like to walk without a towel, just to see how they stare at me. I’m so over it all.”
“You really don’t care what they think?” I asked.
“Why should I?”
The big city is no longer new to me; the job has been great. It’s been twelve years since that rainy night, and I have gotten used to Danny being next to me in bed all these years, playing with and stroking his little guy, making him squirm. He asked me to start teasing him about it; it gets kinda hot, telling this big muscle stud how damn small his cock is and how he’ll never be able to fuck me. He still enjoys stroking me off with two hands; he really gets a kick out of that. I get a kick watching him jerk off sometimes.
I ask him to show me how he does it so I can see him put that little baby dick in his fingers and rub it as best he could. He can’t get his hand around it, and I tell him how stupid it looks.
Then he asks me to do it for him.
I tell him he is so needy.
He tells me to shut up.
I give him a smirk.
The End.
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