Mostly at work I remained closeted and discreet, but a few gay colleagues got me to admit to gay feelings. One of them was Stan. I hired him as an associate and felt an attraction to him from the very start. There was a sort of chemistry between us that was clear, and I thought the attraction might be mutual. On a business trip I learned that it was, when Stan came out to me and asked if I was gay too. I admitted to some gay experiences, and then we both agreed that it would be a mistake for us to become sexually involved. There followed several years of flirting, sexual innuendo and near encounters. One evening while working late, Stan grabbed his crotch and showed me an obvious hardon through his trousers.
"Don't know why I'm so horny all of a sudden," he said provocatively. I threw no fuel on that fire.
Another time while away together on a business trip, were lying in Stan's hotel room watching TV, he on the bed, me on a chair nearby, when Stan put his hand under the covers and began to play with himself.
"Hey, hey, what are you doin'? C'mon, you know you can't be doin' that stuff ."
"Is it turning you on?"
"Well, maybe it is, but quit it."
"I'm just touching myself for chrissake."
"Well, stop it."
"You know, Tony, one of these times you and me are gonna get it on. I can feel that it's gonna happen. When it does, let's just let it happen."
"Not tonight. I'm going back to my room. And jerk-off," I add with a laugh.
"Did you ever jerk-off with baby oil?"
"With what? No. With vaseline, but not oil."
"Baby oil is much better. Since I came out, gay friends have been teaching me lots of things. One guy couldn't believe that I didn't know about baby oil. And now, you see, I'm teaching you. Wait, I have some in my toilet kit. Here I'll pour some in this little lid here. Try this, you'll love it."
I get up from the bed. My boxer shorts are tenting out in the front. I make some comment about tomorrow's schedule as I turn back to face the room before leaving. I'm carrying the little lid of baby oil in one hand, with my other hand on the door knob.
Stan says, "You didn't have to tell me that about tomorrow morning. You just wanted to make sure I got a good look at your hardon."
Smart boy, that Stan. Whether or not I was deliberately being a cocktease, I'm sure he was right about me wanting to prolong the conversation for sensual reasons.
Stan began to tell me about his sexual adventures in detail. He was fairly new to the gay life, and was trying lots of stuff for the first time. He would tell me about his experiences, partly because they were new and exciting for him and he just needed to talk to someone about them, and partly because he knew it turned me on.
One evening when we were working late, Stan told me with some concern that he thought that he had a sexually transmitted disease. He wasn't sure, but he thought he might have warts. He asked if I knew what they looked like. I said no, but that I had read about them. With that, he closed and locked the door to my office, approached me, and dropped his pants. Before exposing himself, he apologized that I wouldn't be seeing him at his best.
"You know I'm nervous and upset now, so I'm not erect or anything. I'm bigger than this usually."
"Stan, I don't want to see your penis. This is not a good idea," I protested weakly.
With that, Stan pulled down his briefs and exposed an average sized circumcised penis, He lifted it aside to reveal some small brownish growths near his testicles and then turned around and bent over to show me that they extended to the rear also.
"They're on my ass too, aren't they? Are they warts, Tony? Do you think they're warts?"
"Uh, well, yeah, somethin' is there alright, Stan. I'm not sure what they are but they could be warts. I think you'd better see a doctor."
And that was how I finally got to see Stan's dick. After months of flirting, teasing, and cat and mouse games. Not too auspicious nor arousing a situation.
Shortly before Stan and I stopped working together, we were talking again about our favorite topic: how maybe, someday, if the circumstances were right, we would have sex together.
"It might happen," I said. "I think that we should let some time pass. Let's plan to get together in ten years and have sex."
Stan who is almost ten years younger than I, responded, "Oh, great ! What will you be then, like fifty or something like that? Why bother?"
And so, we never did. But it could happen. We still run into each other now and then.