November 15

It was his eyes. I know what you’re thinking, his eyes were probably the last thing I was looking at, but I swear they were what I looked at the longest. They had a metaphysical quality, something that transcended the pixels and glass from my computer monitor. They spoke. It was like they said, “Adore me. I’m innocent. I want you,” all at once, leaving me reeling so much I had to relieve myself right then and there, just staring at his eyes. Afterwards, I tried to find more pics of him, but there weren’t any—on the list I was on, anyway.

Who was he, and what did he want from life? I was still haunted by him as I drove to work, and sat behind my desk. My assistant noted my distraction. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page,” she repeated as we reviewed next week’s agenda. I was still thinking about the guy with the sky-blue eyes.

I raced home to see if there were any more posts of him. How old was that pic? I kept wondering. Was it professional, amateur, what? His short-cropped hairstyle looked contemporary, but he wore no clothes to help date the image, and the only furniture in the room was an ugly lamp with a pink shade. As I re-examined it, pants on this time, it was clear that the photo was taken in some cheap hotel room. Was he a hustler, looking for some quick cash, not thinking about the fact that literally millions of guys would eventually see it? I felt sorry for him. I finally couldn’t take it, I had to know. I e-mailed the poster, hardneasy@ffzz.net and asked who this beautiful man was. And I waited.

November 16

Ordinarily, I don’t check my e-mail in the morning, but I tossed and turned all night wondering if that guy wrote back, so I got up before dawn to check. My heart raced when I saw an e-mail come from hardneasy. I opened it.

There was no message, just two attachments. I launched them, and nearly fell out of my chair. It was the same guy, in the same hotel room, just different poses. This time, he was on his back, on the bed, sporting a huge erection, smiling at the camera. The second pose was different. It was a close up of his beautiful face. He had a look of concentration, like he was jacking off or something, yet there was a certain sadness in his expression, a kind of desperation. I had to relieve myself on the spot again, and sure enough I ended up late for work.

Now nobody at work knows I’m gay. Very few people do. Only some online buddies. I divorced three years ago, which was convenient. My wife had an affair and decided she liked the other guy better, which suited me fine, since it was around the same time I finally realized my attraction to men was no longer a repressible urge. But despite a few “parties” I’ve wandered into, my sex life has been strictly nil, unless you count the hot guys I view online. I admit it—I’m lonely.

I wrote a quick message thanking hardneasy, and headed for work, depressed. My assistant got on my case right away for ignoring some important calls, and I agreed that I had a lot to do on my own and gave her the rest of the day off. I closed the door. I decided to check my home e-mail through my Yahoo! account. A new message from hardneasy came in. I closed the blinds.

Two more pics. I launched them, hoping the IT guys upstairs didn’t notice what I was doing. It was the hot guy again, same room, this time laying on his stomach, spreading his smooth cheeks. I take a long look before launching the second pic. It was another close-up of his face, only this time he was looking right at the camera, his mouth open. It looked like he was saying something. What?

I went home early, beating rush hour traffic and headed straight to my computer. I wanted to study the photos in more depth, of course, but I also wanted to write to hardneasy and ask him again who this guy was. Maybe I should offer to trade some pics for the info or something, I reasoned. I wrote and told him I have lots of pics to trade, so why not tell me who this amazing guy is? I ate a frozen dinner, and an hour later he wrote back. This time there were seven attachments, but still no message.

My mystery man was sitting on the edge of the bed now, pumping his meat. His hand was moving so fast it was a blur. The room looked darker somehow, like the lights were turned down around him, but he was richly illuminated. The first photos were all different angles of this hot scene, with the sixth showing him obviously close to orgasm. The seventh, however, was another face shot. This was extremely tight, my entire monitor taken up by his two breathtaking eyes, only it seemed like they were more desperate than ever. I couldn’t help myself, I touched the monitor. It was then I knew I loved this man.

After I finished a second round viewing these pics, I stared into his eyes some more. I didn’t want to leave him. The next thing I remember was a vivid dream in which I heard a man calling my name. I found him inside a square room filled with tiny blocks. It was him, nude, erect, waiting, reaching for me. I dove in head first, knowing I’d feel peace and comfort in his arms.

November 17

I heard my alarm go off in the bedroom when I realized I fell asleep in front of the computer. Through my squinting eyes, I jumped, startled to see Mark on the screen, staring back at me with his big, majestic eyes. But, Mark? How the hell did I know his name?

Right then, a new e-mail popped in. It was hardneasy again. I clicked on it, and it took a long time to open. There were 70 pics attached. I picked up the phone and called in sick.

After spending hours looking and stroking to nearly all the pics, I finally got to the last two. The first was another haunting close up of Mark’s face, with his eyes looking askance, like a man at the end of his rope. I launched the second. He was crying, and very clearly saying, “Please.” I panicked at this weird, nonsexual display and went out. What the hell’s going on? I thought as I drove up the street through the afternoon rain for some coffee. I tried to forget about all this, and mull the guilt I felt for wasting a day. I read the local weekly paper. I found myself looking through the “Men Seeking Men” classifieds in the back when it hits me with the force of a fat brick to the head: the URL! I could look up the URL that hardneasy uses as his e-mail. Surely there’s a clue there!

I sped home and raced inside, nearly slipping on the wet hardwood floor. Once there, I saw several new messages from hardneasy, but undeterred I type in the URL: http://www.ffzz.net, and I waited, not breathing.

A blank screen came up, black. Then a message, slowly faded into view. It read, “Do you love Steve?” Beneath it were two boxes: Yes, and no. I clicked yes. Another blank screen, and my monitor flashed. I could smell something burning, and then I felt the hairs on my arms raise. I stood, compelled by an almost electrical force. I pressed my face to the monitor, like iron to magnet. I felt my face cracking with the pressure when I woke up here.

December 17

See the pretty picture. See the two men kissing, tongues dangling. See them sixty-nine, lust giving their skin a reddish sheen. See them laugh and moan as they press their bodies together.

See them everyday online, everymen on everylist, slipping their desires away. Where does their sex go? Why it’s right here, new files uploaded every day. Where do they come from? Only handsome Steve and his faithful new lover know for sure. And any guys who enjoy their hot action are welcome to join in the fun. Just send them an e-mail, and you’re sure to get a reply.

 

© 2003 Jim Schutte - Contributor's Bio