Read Online A White Coat Is My Closet by Jake Wells - Free Book Online

preparations. Once my eyes were shielded with the dark lenses, I could look at all the golden bodies on display without fear of being detected. I squeezed some suntan lotion into my palm and began to rub it over my arm as I carefully surveyed the crowd. Let’s see, is there anyone on today’s poolside menu who looks particularly delicious?
    My initial preview was generally disappointing. A guy a couple chairs down from me was wearing a bright-yellow thong, but I wasn’t sure what kind of attention he was hoping to attract because his stomach was so big it pretty much engulfed his cock. I thought the point of wearing a thong was to display your jewels to the world. It had never occurred to me it could be substituted for a sausage tie. On him, the thong was reduced to little more than a flash of yellow that disappeared between his rolls of fat. Maybe he was hoping a chubby chaser would wander down to the pool craving a hookup with Oscar Mayer. I shook my head in disbelief. What was he thinking?
    Well , I thought as I tried to recover from the visual assault, after seeing that, the view has to get better . As was usually the case on sunny days, the gym patio served as a display case for some prime meat. I recognized a few of the guys reclining casually on the chairs from the cover of Men’s Fitness magazine. I had to chuckle. Physically, they epitomized the essence of masculinity—strong and muscular, with chiseled abs and sharp features. Ironically, however, for many of them it was all a ruse. They could only pull off being testosterone poster boys until you heard them speak. They’d open their mouths and a purse would fall out. How many straight men who pored over the pages of the magazine, desperate to pick up workout tips, would shudder at the realization that the guys they were idolizing were in fact big old queens? Though I myself was envious of their bodies, I had to laugh at the irony.
    I let my gaze continue to wander around the poolside spectacle. There really were quite a number of good-looking guys, but many of them were sitting in groups. Even if I had the courage, there was just no inconspicuous way to walk up to a tight group of good-looking men and try to break into the conversation. I mean, I suppose you could pretend to be taking a survey and approach them about participating, but for that kind of charade, you’d better come prepared with a clipboard and some questionnaires.
    I chuckled, embarrassed at even considering the scenario, but spent more time than I’d ever admit letting my brain work out some of the details of implementing such a ploy. Once the object of my desire had been identified, I would boldly grab my clipboard and break confidently into his group. I’d promise that participants in the survey would be eligible to win a big-screen TV, and then I’d single out the guy I was attracted to and proceed to ask him to reveal his favorite movie, what he looked for in a perfect date, and his telephone number. Oh , I thought mournfully, were only I to have the balls, my personal life would be significantly more scandalous and eventful .
    The sun began to lull me into a state of blissful relaxation, and even my daydreams began to slowly disappear into the shadows of my consciousness. I felt like I was floating, fading in and out of even a partial awareness of what was going on around me. I was so out of it that I barely noticed when the guy sitting right next to me evacuated his chair and someone new took his place. It wasn’t until I heard an iPod slide off the chair and clatter onto the cement that I even fully opened my eyes.
    When I did, I was shocked. Standing next to me, adjusting a towel over his chair, was the good-looking guy I had seen in the gym a week or two before. I recognized him immediately. His hair was wet from having just gotten out of the pool, but when he gave it a quick shake, it fell perfectly into place. He looked more clean-shaven than he had the first time I’d seen