9. Wylie
WYLIE
It promised to be another hot, muggy day, but the monotony of summer was broken up by the fact that Wylie had a date–a real one–with his elusive crush.
His body thrummed with excitement as he cruised down East Bay Drive to Diego’s place.
This was their first official date, the one they’d tell their families and future kids about.
If they had kids, Wylie reminded himself.
Diego seemed like a family man, but they should probably talk about that at some point.
Slow the fuck down.
That was his problem, his imagination. It was so vivid that Wylie could plan entire futures in his head based on very little information–him with his law degree, working as a public defender while Diego put in long hours at his own restaurant.
Their first few years would be tough, and they’d have to make time for each other, but once things settled down in their careers, they could start thinking about adoption or surrogacy.
Of course they’d be married by then–within a year or two.
Wylie wouldn’t hesitate to lock that shit down.
And there he went, doing it again. It was an unhealthy habit of his because then when things didn’t work out as planned, he was even more disappointed about the future that would never be.
It was the shadow side of his ability to manifest. Better for him to focus only on today and what Diego might look like in his bathing suit.
The man in question was waiting on the second-story breezeway outside his apartment, looking fine as fuck in swim trunks that hugged his thick thighs and a t-shirt that was so distressed it was practically transparent.
Diego spotted him idling in the parking lot and started walking toward the concrete stairwell.
Wylie hadn’t been invited up to Diego’s apartment yet, and he was wildly curious, but he could be patient.
The bucket hat on Diego’s head and knapsack over one shoulder made him look absolutely adorable, like a school kid going on a field trip, and instead of his trademark steel-toed boots, he wore flip-flops.
This was Wylie’s first opportunity to see the man’s feet. How exciting.
“Sup?” Diego said as he climbed into the passenger side of the car.
“Sup, hottie,” Wylie replied. He wished they were at the stage of smooching upon greeting, but not yet. They’d get there though, he knew it.
“I’m thinking Pub subs for lunch?” Diego suggested.
“Solid.”
They swung by Publix to load up on food–sub sandwiches, chips, bakery cookies (half choco-chip, half sprinkles).
Diego didn’t drink alcohol, so they grabbed some sports drinks instead.
Wylie figured the no-drinking thing had something to do with his past addiction, but he didn’t want to bring it up unnecessarily.
At the register, Diego insisted on paying.
“To make up for all the gas,” he claimed, but Wylie suspected it was because this was a date and Diego, to his delight, had been the one to ask him.
On the way to the beach, they chatted about work and Diego’s recent visit to his mom’s house.
He’d fixed some cabinets for her, and she’d made him dinner afterward.
It had ended with his mother telling him she needed her gutters cleaned out too, and so they’d made another date for next Tuesday.
Wylie suspected Ms. Machado had an endless list of tasks awaiting Diego’s attention and thought it was a pretty clever way to keep her son coming back, but he didn’t mention it to Diego. He’d figure it out soon enough.
They parked at Clearwater Beach and hauled their shit to the shore, setting up camp on two towels underneath an over-sized beach umbrella.
It shaded them both, mostly, and would hopefully keep the seagulls at bay.
They were aggressive little monsters at this beach, thanks to all the tourists feeding them Cheetohs and whatnot.
Wylie had spent so many good times at this beach with his mother as a kid.
They’d usually stay for the bonfire and drum circle at sunset, Wylie running around chasing birds while his mother danced to the music.
It used to make him sad, coming here, but now he just smiled at the memories.
Diego kicked off his flip-flops and settled on his towel, digging his toes in the sand.
His bare feet did not disappoint. Nicely shaped with high arches, cute, brown toes and trimmed, moon-white crescent nails on pink beds.
Wylie could definitely see himself massaging those feet one day, maybe even sucking on his little piggies, if Diego was into that.
He wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to be weird about it.
“You should let me put sunscreen on your back,” Wylie said, hinting that Diego might want to take his shirt off already.
He’d been waiting for what felt like an eternity to see this man’s chest. All he’d gotten to see the other day was his dick, sort of, and he’d been too distracted by the blowjob to even make note of it.
“I’m good. I put some on before you picked me up,” Diego said.
“There’s no way you could reach all of your back with massive shoulders like that,” Wylie argued.
“Massive?” Diego asked with a quirked eyebrow.
“You know how you look. Like you prioritize protein.”
Diego smirked and said, “Fine, do your worst.” He reached back with one hand and yanked off his t-shirt in one smooth motion.
Wylie feasted on the immaculate architecture that was Diego’s chest and shoulders.
How was it even possible to be that sculpted?
He’d only ever seen professional athletes with a chiseled physique like that. Honestly, he was a bit jealous.
“How many hours a day do you work out?” Wylie asked. The man had to be some kind of machine with the weights. He probably gave it his sole attention, just like he did when slicing meat or sucking dick. Ahem.
“A few,” Diego said. “I also run. Helps me burn off my nervous energy. Quiets my mind.”
“Well, it’s working for you,” Wylie said.
Diego grinned shyly and Wylie instructed him to lean back a bit, so that he could take in the full expanse of his chest, since he decided that his front needed sunscreen too.
Fuck any homophobes who might be watching, he was going to relish this experience.
And besides, Diego could probably kick their asses anyway.
“What’s that one say?” Wylie asked, regarding the tattoo just beneath his collarbone, some cursive script in Spanish.
“My crazy life.”
“Gonna have to change that one to ‘my stable life’ or ‘my mundane life,’” Wylie said.
“That’s definitely the goal,” Diego agreed with a good-natured grin.
Wylie worked the cream over the man’s chest, really putting in the elbow grease to rub it in so that it blended with his brown skin.
The hair on his chest was sparse, with just a few black hairs surrounding his nipples, which Wylie managed to tease just a little.
Taut little brown nubs that seemed to want more attention than a public beach would allow. Note to self, Wylie thought.
“You’d look fucking fine with nipple piercings,” Wylie said as Diego’s pecs flexed underneath his hands; he was practically salivating over the thought of it, his pierced and tatted baddie.
“I look fine without them,” Diego said with a cocky grin, his teeth practically glowing in the shade.
Hard to argue with that. “Which saint is that?” he asked as he moved on to Diego’s shoulder where there was a woman with her head bowed in prayer, clasping a rosary between both hands.
“That’s a rendition of my grandmother when she was younger. Mamama. Very pious. She’s always been a saint in my eyes. I need her on my shoulder, reminding me to make good choices.” Diego rubbed his shoulder, then kissed two fingers before raising them in the air.
Wylie recalled the conversation between Diego and his aunt. This must be the grandmother who passed away while Diego was in prison. The woman in the tattoo had her eyes closed, but he could still see the family resemblance.
“That’s a nice tribute,” Wylie said, thinking how he might want to get a tattoo to honor his mother someday.
“Yeah, this is all I have left of her now,” Diego said and tugged on the brim of his hat so that Wylie couldn’t see his eyes. He was doing it again, getting all up in Diego’s business. He didn’t want to scare the man away, he just wanted to know everything about him, immediately.
Chill, bro.
The tattoo of his grandmother blended into a rose and then puffy, cumulus clouds with a sun peeking out with the tableau ending at his wrist. Diego’s other tattoos included a small one along his rib cage that said “Trust” and some tribal art on his lower back.
Wylie was ecstatic about that one too. “Lean forward,” he bossed, pushing on Diego’s shoulders.
“Fuck, you’ve got a tramp stamp. So sexy. ”
Diego snorted and shook his head. “It’s not a–are you done yet?”
“No, I’m not. Damn, that shit is so hot.
” Wylie took his time working the sunscreen into Diego’s smooth lower back while he imagined bending the man over and plowing into that tight, muscular ass while staring at the intricate pattern.
He was hard as fuck just thinking about it.
“It’s like it’s a compass pointing me directly to your asshole,” Wylie remarked.
Diego turned with insane speed and tackled Wylie right there on the sand.
Wylie attempted to wrestle him, but all of his blood was already in his dick, and he was too horny to fight back.
He lasted about ten seconds before Diego had him pinned, and then Wylie couldn’t help but roll his hips, his hard prick brushing against Diego’s thick thigh.
“Sorry, instinct,” Wylie said.