This month I thought I would do something I have never done before: offer a sneak peak of a WIP that I am currently editing. Keep in mind, it is still a rough draft and is something that might be considered niche erotica given the subject matter: a bisexual nudist who doesn’t believe in showers and whose primal, male funk turns him on. I got the idea after reading about a man who lived a year traveling cross-country, bathing only in the natural bodies of water he came across on his journey. Something about it turned me on, and thus this story was born. As always, feedback is welcome. Enjoy, and Happy New Year!
Chapter One: Broke
I never wanted a roommate.
That was Blake’s idea.
I liked living alone. I found the solitude helped my writing. Not that I’d had much luck in that department lately. My publicist Jan was fond of telling me to get my hand out of my pants and get back to work. How could she know I hadn’t written the first word in months? Or that I didn’t wear pants?
I’m a nudist, born and raised, which is probably why I was still single at almost 40 years old. The people I dated didn’t get it. Or else they got too clingy because of it. Neither of which kept me around for very long. I’ve always been my own best company, comfortable in my own skin. My parents raised me to be proud of who I am, of who I represented. And what I represented was myself. The word “narcissist” had been tossed in my face like a glass of Dom Perignon by a jilted lover more times than I could count.
And maybe I was.
Nobody spent as much time on their bodies as I did just to cover it up in the privacy of their own home. I loved my body. At six-five and almost 250 pounds of pure muscle, I carried myself with a bestial air men and women seemed drawn to. Maybe it was my intense brown eyes. Or the sharp, angular features that constructed my rugged face. Or maybe it was the male hair that coated my broad chest and belly and drooled into the pelt between my legs.
Whatever it was that drew people to me, I was hot and I knew it. The various mirrors I kept hanging around weren’t just to make my posh, Chicagoan penthouse feel airier.
I’m also a naturist, another reason the idea of getting a roommate was laughable. It isn’t that I didn’t believe in showers. I just believe in cutting my carbon footprint by as much as possible without cutting into my lavish lifestyle. There is a word for me in the gay community:
Not the most flattering given my fabulous disposition, but I carried the mantle with pride. Yet another reason I’m probably still single. As a culture we have a hard enough time coping with our own nudity. Let alone stalking around naked and malodorous. It also didn’t hurt that my own natural stink was a lightning rod to my cock. The reek of other people also turned me on. Men. Women. It didn’t matter. I’m an equal opportunity fucker.
“Did you hear me, Ian?” Blake scolded through the phone sandwiched between my ear and shoulder. “You’re broke. You haven’t written a word in a year and yet your expenses have risen exponentially.”
The way he said “expenses” reminded me of my latest excursion to the Cayman Islands. Ten days in the Caribbean. Eating what I wanted. Fucking who I wanted. No guilt, no shame…just the way I liked things.
“I heard you,” I said, a little annoyed. “You just caught me playing my…game.”
It wasn’t a lie, per se. Playing video games sometimes helped kick start the creative juices. My Xbox was still paused, the intro music for Halo: Reach muted in the background. Except Blake hadn’t caught me blowing away Covenant bent on destroying the human race. He’d caught me masturbating. My softening cock still glistened with my juices against the hairy muscle of one thigh. The dense male hair at the base reeked of my pheromones…of me.
“Ian!” Blake screeched, pulling me out of my cock trance.
“What do you want me to say, Blake?” I bit back at him. “I have expensive tastes. You know this.”
“And those tastes are going to land you in the poorhouse if you’re not more careful,” Blake snapped back. He heaved a deep sigh through the phone and I could almost see him rubbing his temples in frustration like I might make his head explode. “Have you given any more thought to my roommate idea?”
“Have you ever had a roommate, Blake?” I cut him off before he could answer. “Someone who isn’t your husband?” I corrected. “It’s a lot to process. Learning somebody’s habits. Them learning yours.”
“It’ll be a change,” Blake sympathized, “especially for you. But a roommate will help you offset some of your expenses. As it stands now, you have enough cash to carry you through the end of the year. But only if you curb some of your spending.”
“Don’t worry that number pushing head of yours,” I offered as lightly as I could. “The kid’s still got a few wildcards up his sleeve.”
“You’re hardly a kid, you’re forty.”
“At the end of the year,” I quickly corrected him.
Blake loved reminding me of my age, as if it wasn’t constantly breathing down my throat like an unrelenting cock.
“If nothing else you can always stay with me and Shad,” Blake laughed, the tension melting between us. “If you lose your place, that is.”
That was Blake for you. Always looking out for me. He was more than my accountant. He was my best friend. The two of us had practically grown up together. I was the one who officiated his wedding, for fuck’s sake. If anyone knew the extent of my hedonism it was Blake Silver. Even if it was just numbers flitting across a screen to him.
“Tell Shad not to make up the guest room just yet,” I said. “I’ve still got a time before I’m completely destitute.”
“Who said anything about the guest room?” Blake quipped.
I hung up and tried to get into my cock again but the mood had passed. Leave it to Blake to kill my boner. Instead I stalked naked over to my laptop, flashing all of Chicago a glimpse at my brilliant physique. Fuck, I loved that view. The Chicagoan skyline outside my window was like my own voyeuristic giant peeking in on me. And I loved giving it a show.
The screen was still frozen on the blank document I had toiled with earlier, trying to spew words onto the page that didn’t sound like utter shit. I opened a web browser and went to Craigslist. I stared at the blank space awaiting my ad like it was the manuscript for my latest novel. How do you advertise for something you didn’t even want? “Self-indulgent nudist seeks raunchy roommate” seemed a little on the nose.
In the end I went the more practical route:
Struggling writer seeks roommate to share expenses on luxurious downtown flat. Must be respectful of personal space as this is still MY home.
Not the warmest advertisement on the market but I think I got my point across. I added the address in case someone wanted to Google Maps the Townsend Commons, as well as my personal cell number so they could set the appointment.
Once posted, I sat back in my chair at the dining room table, arms behind my head just…staring at the screen. The idea of sharing my penthouse with a complete stranger triggered my anxiety – that hidden gem always lurking there beneath the surface of my otherwise flawless physique. I should have added “must be comfortable with nudity” as a caveat to my ad. Either way, whoever responded would have to get used to seeing my hairy, muscular body walking around in the buff.
If someone responded. Did people even still use Craigslist? I hoped not.
The smell of my ripe pits triggered the visceral response of my cock all over again. Soon, I was standing on end, my bulbous head jutting angrily through the hood of foreskin hugging the bloated coronal ridge.
I closed my laptop, standing to flash all of Chicago a view of my perfect muscle ass as I stalked over to the sofa and back to more pressing concerns.