What I Like (mc musc)

Copyright © 2016 Derek Williams. All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

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It was a loud Saturday night at the pub. Not my kind of night, and barely my kind of crowd. It was young - mostly college kids and yuppies. I didn't really go that young. At my age, almost sixty, it just feels wrong.

I was almost sixty, and when you look up 'bear' in the gay dictionary, I was what you'd find. Trust me, I have a copy right on the bookshelf next to the gay agenda. I was big, with a gut to match. Hairy. Huggable. I'd grown a killer beard, even if it was mostly white.

Almost sixty. Hell, I was going to be sixty in about four hours if the clocks kept going.

I was looking to feel young again, just for a little while. To find the kind of fuck that would get my heart racing and my dick hard. I know what type of guy I like - the gay dictionary calls it a cub.

I was sitting at the bar drinking a stout when the right guy caught my eye. He definitely had the look I was going for - maybe 35 and radiating charisma. His hair was dark brown, just a half shade darker than his well groomed beard. He had squeezed his full muscles into a fitted t-shirt, and you could see wiry chest hair peeking above the neckline. His jeans weren't tight, but they showed off his butt well.

Target acquired.

Next to the young flesh crowding the bar, this guy was a beacon of masculinity. He wove through the crowd effortlessly and at ease. People seemed to step out of his way just in time. He was headed toward the far side of the room, but he glanced over at me. Deep green eyes laughed in my direction. There was something powerful about his gaze.

I glanced away for a second and looked at my drink. When I looked back, he was gone, lost to the crowd.

Well, serves me right for feeling bashful. If you're going for an emotion named after a dwarf, at least make it happy.

"Hey," said the guy from the next stool over.

Holy shit. How'd he sneak up on me? Whatever, just roll with it.

"Hey," I said. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Nah," said the cub. "I like to be the one who says that. Let me take care of you." He signalled the barman.

I got another beer, he got a whisky on the rocks.

"I'm Ryan," he said over the din.

"Paul," I offered up my hand. His handshake was firm, but not too tight. It's rare to find a handshake like that anymore.

Everything about Ryan was intoxicating. The way he clinks the ice against his glass when he takes a drink. The way he smells of cologne and old campfire. I pictured bending him over my bed, my desperate cock ravaging his tight hole…

Shit, he'd said something and I wasn't even paying attention. He was waiting for an answer.

"What's that?" I said, hoping it would work.

"I asked what you do," Ryan said, laughing at my train crash of thought.

"I research… physics at the college." I said. "Sometimes I do a little teaching, but I don't have to do that much anymore. Tenure, you know," I said.

"Hah, yeah," said Ryan. "I run a roofing company dude. I don't think anyone who works for me has even finished college. Lots of young studs who haven't wrecked their knees yet, y'know?"

"Damn, that's got to be a thing to see. Lots of muscle, working hard all day…" I got lost looking at Ryan again.

"Yeah," he was saying, "It's good young muscle, just the kind I like. Sweaty and stupid."

"Yeah, but really, you're the kind of guy I like," I said. I rested my hand on his meaty thigh.

Ryan looked at me with those killer eyes again. He looked like he was deciding something.

"What do you weight anyhow?" he asked.

"About 320," I lied, bringing the number down.

"Huh," said Ryan, "I thought you were closer to 185 or so." The ice clinked in his whisky glass and I felt myself getting lost in his presence again.

"Uh, yeah," I said after a while. "I don't know why I said that. Yeah, I'm just over 190."

"Hah, I knew it, you're what 22? What are you studying?" The clink of ice in the glass. "Yeah," I said. "Right, I'm almost graduated with my degree in physics."

"Really," Ryan said. "I had you pegged as a psychology major…" He took a sip and clinked the ice in his class.

Shit, I must really have had a couple too many. "Uh, yeah, that's it," I said. "Sometimes I get that shit mixed up."

"How do you like it?" Ryan asked.

"Pretty good," I said. "I mean, it's easy, but…"

"But it leaves you lots of time for the gym, right?" Ryan said, swirling his whiskey so the ice clinked in the tumbler.

"How'd you know that?" I asked, totally amazed how well Ryan knew me already. Then I glanced at myself in the bar mirror - I was a hundred and eighty pounds of young muscle, the combination of genetics and gym ambition that only the lucky one's get. I'd worked hard on these peaked biceps, these rounded pecs that hinted in every baggy shirt I wore, this flat stomach that could be a six pack if I ever laid off the beer.

I had a powerful body, and I was grateful that Ryan appreciated it.

"Hah, I guess it's pretty obvious," I laughed.

"It is when you dress like that," said Ryan, taking a sip and then motioning with his glass. I liked the sound the clinking ice made.

I looked over myself in the mirror and I had to admit he was right. I wanted to show off my hard work, and I dressed the part. My jeans were tight, they had to be, without spandex these thighs didn't even fit in jeans. And I'd given up wearing hoodies sometime in high school, now it was all deep v-necks and muscle tanks. Tonight I was wearing a thin henley with a deep cut down the neckline, my firm nipples showing obviously through the white fabric.

"Yeah," I said, "I guess I like to show off…"

"Hey, you've earned it buddy," Ryan said. "You've certainly got dedication to the sport." Ice clinked in his glass.

Hell yea I had dedication to the sport. Rugby was the only reason I'd ever worked out enough to get this big in the first place. "Yeah, I said, I fuckin' love rugby. I play it, watch it, want to go pro if I can."

"Yeah," said Ryan, "It's probably the only reason you stay in school. Hell, a dumbass like you, probably the only way you got into school in the first place." He took a long sip and played with the ice some more. Ryan had a big shiteating grin aimed right at me.

My head swam. That wasn't weird or nothing tho, my head always felt pretty fuzzy. I wasn't dropped on the head as a baby or nothin', I just was never too solid on the brains. You know how you feel when you've had a few too many beers? I always feel like I'm at least three beers in.

I leaned in and kissed Ryan, real deep and powerful. Sure, I was shit for brains, but you don't need brains to play, and it was pretty cool that I could just go with the flow, right? Never think to hard, lol, that's my motto bro.

His mouth tasted like a campfire smelled.

After a minute or so we broke off. "Yeah," Ryan said, "you're almost there."

"Huh?" I asked.

"Just a few more details buddy," he said. "Like your hair, I like how you keep it buzzed. Most rugby guys keep it longer." He took a sip and clinked his glass.

I ran my head over the stubble on my head. I loved it too. "Yeah," I said, "I really like the way it feels when some dude rubs his hands on it, y'know?"

For the next kiss, Ryan obliged by rubbing his thumb against the back of my hair, tickling my buzz.

We broke off again and Ryan took another sip of his whisky. "You've got a great jawline," he said. "I love a cleft chin." The ice clinked in the glass when he set his drink down again.

I glanced in the mirror again. Yeah, I had all that, just like if you looked up 'jock' in the thesaurus.

"You wanna get out of here?" Ryan asked. "I bet your balls are full, and your ass is empty," he took a big sip and spun the ice around the glass.

I couldn't think of anything else - fuck yeah I wanted to get out of there. Sometimes you just gotta let your dick do the driving.

"Bottom's up," I said. "Let's go." My cock was tight in my jeans, clearly visible for anyone to gawk at.

I strutted out of the bar, fully aware that every one had their eyes glued to my hot ass. Ryan stopped us at the coat check, picking up his bomber and my letterman jacket. The young guy behind the counter gave me a bored expression.

"I would have thought you'd want to be like him," Ryan said absentmindedly as his tip clinked in the jar.

I went in for a kiss on Ryan's neck, working my way up to playfully biting his earlobe. The guy at the counter was staring in envy now, probably thinking about getting to the gym more.

"C'mon daddy," I growled, "Take me home."