The sun was coming through the patio door when I finally woke up. My shorts were still pulled down. I pulled them back up, grateful Art hadn’t come in. I checked my phone: 10 a.m. I could hear Art moving around upstairs. I knew he had some work to finish this morning and didn’t want to bother him. Time for another cigarette. Out of curiosity, I pulled up Grindr to see what kind of guys were around here and immediately wished I hadn’t. I scrolled through perfect bodies with body fat percentages in the single digits and profiles that screamed, “no fats, no femmes, no flakes”. Back home, I was a 7 on a good day. But here, I was barely a 3.

“Still a slut, I see.” Art walked onto the back patio and handed me a large mug of coffee. “Haven’t been here for 12 hours, and already cruising for dick.” 

“Morbid curiosity,” I laughed, sliding my phone into the pocket of my shorts and sipping the coffee. Three sugars, no cream: he remembered how I took it.

“Those apps are garbage anyway.”

“And how did you and Bjorn meet, again?” We laughed, both knowing the answer.

“I got the last good one. That’s why they’re garbage now. We only use them for the occasional ‘third’ every now and then.”

“So when am I going to see this mystery man?” 

Art pulled out his phone and opened up the folder of photos. “That’s him,” he said, handing it to me. If you did a Google search for “viking muscle bear”, you’d find photos of men who looked like Bjorn. Big, hairy, barrel-chested. It surprised me as Art used to be almost exclusively into circuit-boy gym-bros. “He keeps me warm at night.”

“I know. I heard.” Art laughed and sipped his coffee. “And this morning.”

Art smiled and there was not a hint of embarrassment. The photo of Bjorn cropped right at his waistline. I tried to scroll down to see what he was packing, but the photo slid to the next one: a pic of a familiar dick tucked away in a metal chastity cage. “Shit, I’m sorry – “

I hastily handed the phone back to Art. He just laughed. “It’s not like you haven’t seen my dick before.”

“Yeah, but that seemed… private.”

“Dude, seriously.” Art pulled his shorts off, revealing his dick locked in a black cage. I wondered how many different cages he had and how he decided which one to wear. I wanted to turn away, but I could see him standing there so unabashedly confident. “Look at it. And tell me. How does that make you feel?”

“Nope, we’re not doing this,” I laughed nervously. “I’m not one of your clients on your couch.”

“We used to walk around naked all the time in the apartment. What changed? What happened?”

I knew his questions were valid, so I paused, trying to think of the answers.

“Honestly, I don’t know what happened. I’m just not that guy any more.” I realized how that sounded, so I clarified. “I wish I was, though.” And there was the truth revealed. I wish I was that person I used to be, confident in my body to stand naked and proud and confident in my skin.

Art let the moment sit and did not press the issue any more. He pulled his pants back up, gave me an understanding hug, and led me inside. He showed me the large living room in the front of the house with its warm red couch big enough for six, and a massive television sat above the mantle. It no longer worked after the insides melted from the one time they used the fireplace. It was a once beautiful television that no longer served its purpose. I could relate. 

We walked up the stairs to the second floor which was divided in two. The first half was taken up by the open kitchen and dining area. The other half was the master bedroom which was currently too messy for him to show me.

“Speaking of which, the cleaning service is supposed to be here soon, and I don’t like to be here when they’re here. You should see the looks they give when they change our sheets. Go throw some clothes on. I’m taking you to the beach.”

---

Ten seconds with my feet in the water was all it took for me to know that movies and TV lied to me. The Pacific Ocean is cold as fuck, even on a day as warm as it was. Art soon had his shirt off, tucking it in near his ass crack. He had definitely put on some pounds since college and no longer bothered shaving his chest, but he walked around with a swagger I was envious of. I had put on just as much weight as he had, but he carried it in a way I hadn’t quite figured out for myself yet.

We sat on the benches facing the outdoor gym at Muscle Beach, watching the hot guys get hot in the afternoon sun. We played “Guess Which One Is Gay?” as we ate popsicles. Art caught the eye of a well oiled bro who winked in our direction. I tried holding in my gut as Art licked the tip of his RocketPop and casually tweaked his left nipple. 

“Massive cock, total bottom,” Art whispered to me. “Not even vers.”

We both sighed with disappointment.

“Aren’t we all.”

---

Back at the house and in the air conditioned condo, I lay down in my room on the freshly changed bed. I opened up Grindr and saw a tap from a few hot guys who looked like they could be Instagram models. I flipped through their photos with their perfect bodies and offers for no-strings sex. I thought about how long it had been since I had felt someone, anyone, on top of me. I looked at them. I looked at their muscles. I looked at my belly. I took a nap.