He closed the door behind me and I could see that he was attempting to look me up and down but his dilated pupils could do little more than leer.

Looking at him (trying) to look at me I got no vibe from him that he was ‘gay’, regardless of the fact that I found him on a gay fuck-site and that he was standing in front of me; another man, a stranger, pretty much naked except for a towel.

Combined with the location (not that gay guys can’t be found in the hood), the weirdness of him living across the hall from where he told me that he lived, he looked more like a ‘Thug’ than a ‘Gay’ (let alone a bottom looking to be fucked).

He was obviously high, which in and of itself doesn’t bother me, but I didn’t know this guy and what he was capable of sober-let alone stoned-so I was starting to get the first inklings of a tingling in my gut.

But, at the same time, seeing him in person; wide as a refrigerator, broad shoulders atop a tapered waist, arms as large as tree trunks, washboard abs and huge rock hard thighs, his dark skin glistening from either still being wet or from some sort of lotion or oil in what was left of the late afternoon sun coming in the barred front windows, the outline of his man-meat causing the thread-bare terry cloth bath towel to rise and fall, he took my breath away.

Unfortunately, I started to wonder what else might be taken.

Also, what gave me pause (other than the sheer size of him) was the amount of ink that covered his upper body. His chest, arms, shoulders and neck were tatted up more than anyone I’d seen this up close and personal before.

Some of the tattoos were intricate and quite beautiful in their own way, the work looked like it had come from a professional shop by an artist of the craft while others looked “home-made” (and by ‘home’ I wondered if he’d been a guest at a correctional institution and by ‘made’ I wondered if there was a gang affiliation).

I even spotted a teardrop tat at the corner of his eye (and I quickly wrecked my brain to remember if that particular tattoo signified that he’d shot someone or was it my imagination in overdrive and I was confused from the many episodes of OZ on DVD that I’d watched).

Even though we were roughly the same height, I started to wonder if he was a mountain too big for me to climb (on top of).