On most weeknights the DC Eagle is relatively empty, mainly because most people have to get up and go to work the next morning. However, one Wednesday night in early February, the Eagle was as crowded as a Saturday night, filled with bears who had turned out for a Best Beard contest. As devoted, bearded-man admirers, I called Mateo and off we went, hoping that the contest would attract some fresh bears for us to cruise.
We got to the Eagle just as the contest was starting, so we headed right up to the second floor. We got beers and watched the men milling around us, then did a slow wander around the bar. Eventually we settled near the back where we could hear well enough to talk yet still see the little stage that was set up for the contestants.
Before long I noticed an unusually handsome, muscular guy with deep eyes, almost as tall as me, and a closely trimmed but thick black beard and gorgeous dark hair standing near us. He wasn’t paying any particular attention to us, but I ditched Mateo anyway and sidled over to say hello.
He introduced himself as Peter and seemed unusually friendly, smiling without any of the aloof attitude I might have expected from a man so very handsome and all alone in the Eagle.
As we talked more, I noticed Peter’s strong jaw with a slight underbite, deep frank eyes, exceptionally callipygian, and a generous smile… so fuckin’ hot. Eggs-for-breakfast hot. He was witty and spoke with a slow Southern drawl, he said, from growing up in Georgia. I was surprised to learn that Peter had lived in DC for several years and went to the Eagle often but somehow we’d never crossed paths despite having common interests like handsome bears or biking.
As I stood there staring (or trying not to) at how-do-you-like-your-eggs Peter, there was some background announcement about the beard contest and Peter suddenly pulled away. He was in the contest! I was disappointed to lose him so soon and wondered if I would find him again in the crowd. As I tried to keep an eye on Peter on stage, Mateo came over to find out who was the hottie I had been talking to.
The various parts of the contest dragged on through the introduction of each contestant, the probing questions and the witty answers, the beard display and discussion, and so forth; until the judges called an end and huddled to make their decision. Having come offstage, Peter reappeared near me at which I was delighted, and immediately got his phone number in case I lost him for good in the crowd.
We chatted again for only a few moments before the contestants were called back to the stage. Peter finished second, runner-up to a guy who had combed his beard and sideburns so they stuck out sideways which, in my opinion, wasn’t nearly as handsome at Peter’s. I forget what Peter’s runner-up prize was (a beard comb?).
Now that the contest was over, Mateo wanted to leave as it was getting late and we both had to work the next day. Peter wanted to stay at the Eagle longer with his friends, so we said good night and I stole a quick hug. But all the way home I kept thinking of handsome Peter. Yes, he was handsome and sexy, but I wanted an actual date, like, a nice dinner out, something more than to just to get him naked though I wasn’t about to rule that out.
So I duly called Peter the following evening to see if he wanted to have dinner on Friday, but he was already busy. Same for Saturday. Same for Sunday.
This wasn’t going well.
The following week I called again and asked if he was free on Friday. He said he already had plans on Friday night for, of all things, going out to the Naval Academy in Annapolis to watch cadet boxing―and did I want to join him and his friends?
Boxing.
This wasn’t going well.
I accepted immediately but also with some apprehension, picturing Julie Andrews at the boxing match in Victor/Victoria, spattered with blood and vomiting. But for some reason the Annapolis trip got canceled and I was relieved to be off that hook.
After several days of more telephone messages and missed calls, Peter and I finally met for coffee after work. He was just as handsome in daylight, and I kept trying to read his eyes for any sign of interest in me.
It wasn’t until about a whole month (patient, moi?) after we first met that I finally managed to get Peter over to my house for dinner, along with a few of my safe friends (read: already in relationships; my friends are sharks). Peter lingered after the others left and I asked him if he would like to spend the night, and he accepted.
This was going better.
I really did have some respect for Peter seeming to not want to rush our acquaintance into sex. I’d felt the same way many times myself, longing for a relationship instead of just another orgasm. Nevertheless, I was excited to finally get Peter all to myself. He had soft velvety skin that was stretched tight over his muscles on his smooth chest.
He kissed aggressively, sticking his tongue immediately into my mouth, but I managed to get him to take that a little slower. He had a slim but long dick and he practically purred, his arms around my neck, when I touched, tickled, or stroked it. He loved having his nipples tweaked, and came with only a little additional stroking, and so did I. We fell asleep, and after he left the next morning, I could smell his body on my sheets.
We continued to see each other and experimented with various ways to have fun. Once I tied his wrists to my doorway pull-ups bar and teased him by v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y pulling his pants down over his hips and round ass until his stiffening cock bounced free, leaving him naked and in a standing position with his arms up over his head. I fetched a wooden spatula from the kitchen and smacked his ass a few times, and buried my face in his groin, my mouth wet all over his defenseless dick and balls. While exploring Peter’s crotch with my tongue, I also discovered I could make him writhe and gasp by merely wiggling my tongue hard in an apparently very ticklish spot on either side of his balls. He wasn’t otherwise ticklish (I tried) but I was amused to discover his secret spot. Ya can’t go wrong wrapping your tongue around another man’s balls.
On another visit, I tied Peter’s wrists to the head of my bed, blindfolded him, and slowly teased his cock until he was so hot and worked up, I thought he would pop with the slightest firmer touch. It was fun having Peter’s body to play with. I loved being sexy with him. I loved holding him as we fell asleep, feeling safe and secure.
In addition to sex, Peter and I started going out regularly and saw each other through spring and into summer. We got together for a couple of camping trips, met for dinners after work (he was totally adorable in his suit and tie and sheepish grin), or spent weekends at my house (I made breakfast martinis when we didn’t have to drive anywhere).
Peter was a pip and I loved being with him. He was funny, smart, imaginative, and loved to tell stories in a way I totally could not. I felt he made me in new ways. He could also be playful, often sneaking up behind me to slip his hand down my pants or whipping my cock out to suck it at obviously un-sexy moments, like, while I was changing a light bulb. Peter made it sexy.
By July I realized I was starting to like Peter a lot. More than a lot. And felt he liked me back, so much so that I was seriously thinking I had found someone I might want to live with. But when I raised the possibility of him moving in with me for real, he explained that while he liked me, he had never dated anyone as long as me and didn’t feel ready commit to a live-together relationship.
He added that he still had some trouble admitting even to himself that he was gay (I could relate) but I don’t remember if I talked about it further with Peter. Peter still wanted to be friends, but I’m afraid our relationship withered a bit. I felt increasingly frustrated though we continued to see each other.
By the end of October, I told Peter I didn’t want to see him for a while, to take some time to sort out my feelings for him, and then maybe I would be willing to try to be just friends if he still wanted. He got a little upset and teary at that, which I had trouble understanding given what he had told me before. I thought about how I had once read advice to marry someone who is able to cry, for they trust you with their thoughts and feelings.
Early the next year Peter and I gingerly got back together as friends, and he seemed really glad to hear from me, and got a little teary again. One weekend I helped Peter move to a new apartment in Maryland, but after only a few weeks that turned out to be temporary and on short notice, Peter had to move again.
So I invited Peter to move in, this time as my housemate. He put most of his stuff into storage until he could find his own place and as I had only one bed, Peter slept with me. I loved having him there again and being able to hold him every day. I fell in love with Peter all over again. Cue “My Romance” by Rogers and Hart—doesn’t need one thing but you.
But my feelings remained unrequited. After a couple of months, Peter moved out, going back home to Atlanta for a new job and to be near his getting-old mother. The morning he left, I pretended to be asleep and ignored his quiet good-bye, as it was my turn to get a little teary. I missed Peter for quite a long time.
We occasionally emailed or called for a few years and I visited him once, but like so many others, we lost contact and I let Peter go.