|We're Exactly Alike
by Greg Scott
All the usual stuff about you must be old enough in your jurisdiction, etc. In other words, if you are underage, don't read this unless you have a really cool teacher who assigned it. Otherwise, come back in a few years, when nobody will yell at you.
------------------------------Nine days previously I had been driving on the other side of the median, heading the other direction on the flat, straight interstate highway. I had been going home after what had seemed to be a particularly long and boring academic conference, which had been marked by only one event of any interest at all. But that single moment of interest let me know that I would be returning to the host city long before I had previously planned.
I averaged about four conferences per year. My major motivation was not so much to keep up with research in my field or to share my knowledge with my intellectual inferiors (as I considered nearly all of them to be) as it was to provide an excuse to get away from the confines of the conservative city that I temporarily called home.
I enjoyed travel of all sorts, but I especially enjoyed an opportunity to wander a vibrant city, noticing the sounds and smells while I soaked in the atmosphere. What I enjoyed even more than those experiences was a chance to meet other men, away from the curious eyes of my students and colleagues. I wanted to know their sounds and smells as well.
Unfortunately, that particular conference had not provided the kinds of experiences I sought. For one thing, the host city was one that I knew well already, as it was only a couple hours away from home, and I had previously had many opportunities to visit and explore. For another, this conference was particularly formal and pretentious, making others with similar sexual proclivities that much more guarded and hesitant to deviate from their showy scholarly identities.
So it was that nine days before this return journey, I had checked out of my hotel on the morning of departure day, loaded my luggage into my car and returned to the hotel meeting rooms to endure the last of the sessions. There were several on the schedule that seemed as if they would be at least marginally interesting.
It turned out that I was dead wrong about the second session of the day. The title of the session was misleading. Perhaps it was the cumulative exhaustion brought on by sitting through all the presentations of the several previous days, or perhaps the presenters really were the most boring speakers in academia. Whatever the reason, I could tolerate no more. I decided to leave a couple hours early.
I reached the little lobby area outside the hotel convention center's collection of meeting rooms when I had a sudden change of plans. Seated in one of those amazingly uncomfortable hotel chairs under a gaudy lamp with a flowery, fringed shade was a man who looked very unlike any of my fellow attendees.
He was blond, trim with a boyish face, although he was probably no more than a year or two younger than I. What really set him apart from my colleagues was his open shirt collar. Having been in an unaccustomed tie for the better part of the past four days, I envied his freedom. I immediately decided that my drive home could wait a while.
I positioned myself on a barely upholstered bench facing his direction, about thirty feet away. I examined him leisurely. "Very stylish," I thought, although not a style I could pull off. His shirt was boldly patterned; his tailored pants fit him closely without being too tight. His shoes reflected more light than the many mirrors in the large room.
I decided that he was a bit conceited or self-confident at least, as he held himself quite upright in the chair, but maybe the chair's sparse upholstery and design gave him no choice. Clearly though, he had a right to be confident in his appearance.
I managed to enjoy the view until he turned his eyes toward mine. By instinct I quickly moved my stare elsewhere in the room. I surveyed the rest of the room a short while, finding it nearly empty, and then glanced at him. When I did, he reacted the same way that I had, quickly averting his eyes.
We played that game a few more times, until we seemed to simultaneously grow tired of it. We allowed our eyes to lock in clear recognition of mutual interest. Then he moved his eyes down my body then up again to my eyes.
Since I had previously thoroughly inspected him before he first looked my way, I didn't really need to check out the "merchandise," but I went through the motions in order to send a clear signal. When my view settled on his midsection, I was surprised to see a lump in his pants jerk twice. Of course that caused by ever ready member to begin to grow.
He rose and walked down a corridor that let to the large men's room that served this part of the meeting area. I considered waiting a respectable period of time before following, but, as he turned to see if I was behind, I realized that there was nobody else in the lobby that seemed to be paying attention to anything anyway. I stood urgently.
I followed him, but I was confused when he walked past the rest rooms and continued down the hallway. He reached a corner, turned right.
I wondered if I should follow. Was this going to be some sort of embarrassing chase in which he left me in his wake with a teasing wave over his shoulder? I paused. His head appeared around the corner, and he nodded for me to follow.
Near the end of the hallway, where there appeared only the swinging doors that were labeled as a catering area for employees only, he turned left into what I soon learned was a small, empty men's room with a single stall, urinal and sink. This guy had obviously scouted the hotel better than I had.
There would be no further game playing with this guy. As soon as the door had closed behind me, he reached for the zipper in my suit pants.
I was immobilized by his confidence, which bordered on being too forward, although I was too aroused to care. At this close distance, he was even better looking than I had previously thought. I don't know whether he would be better described as cute or handsome. Perhaps beautiful would be a better word. He did not look feminine in any way, but his features were a little too perfect to be thought of as masculine.
I reached forward to his zipper. It required considerable effort to work his sizable cock out of his constraining briefs. Meanwhile, he faced a similar challenge with mine. Neither of us was to be denied our respective prizes, and we succeeded in our efforts at last.
To my surprise, once my cock was free, he released it and pulled my hand off of his. I assumed he planned to drop to his knees to engulf me, but I was wrong.
Instead, he stepped back, as I listened carefully for any approaching footsteps. He stared at my exposed erection, then down to his own. He repeated this several times. At last he raised his eyes toward mine and quietly said, "We're exactly alike."
"What?" I asked, although I knew his words, I just didn't understand what he actually meant.
"Our cocks are exactly alike."
I looked down to survey the two dicks, each pointing toward the other man's face. "Yeah, I guess they are similar," I agreed.
"No, they're exactly alike," he insisted.
"Okay," I said, not as fascinated by this coincidence as he appeared to be.
"Do you have a room?" he asked with new urgency in his voice.
"No, I check out a few hours ago," I replied with the disappointment that I had felt since I first became confident of his interest.
"Can you get another one?"
"No, I have to head home, soon. Do you have a room?" I asked, although I already sensed his answer.
"No, I live in the city," he said.
"Alone?" I asked in a moment of hope.
"No," he said as he reached forward and at last started stroking me.
I grabbed for him and noticed that it did feel eerily familiar as I explored and massaged his cock. I began to salivate.
We felt the pressure change more than heard the swinging doors in the corridor just outside the restroom and heard the inevitable footsteps. In a panic, we both forced ourselves back into our pants and rezipped.
Fortunately the footsteps continued down the hall and around the corner.
"I don't want to do anything in here. I can't afford to get caught," he said, echoing my thoughts. "Are you sure you can't get another room?"
"I really can't," I said while trying to convince myself.
"Too bad," he said, resigned to our situation.
"What's your schedule like next week?" I really didn't want this guy to escape.
"I have Tuesday off, but I'll have some errands," he replied.
"I'll drive back down, we can have lunch and get a motel room," I offered.
"I guess that would be okay."
"Choose a restaurant near the interstate where we can meet," I requested.
He did so, and that is why I found myself driving that familiar stretch of interstate nine days later. As I drove, I wondered whether he would actually show up. I developed an alternative plan to entertain myself in case his apparent fear got the best of him.
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