That’s my kind of beef!” I thought. I saw him standing at the opposite end of the meat counter. Ever since I cut down on Scruff and Grindr’s life-enhancing apps, evening rush-hour food shopping at my local supermarket has turned into an unmissable experience. It occurred to me that the time between 18:00 and 19:00 is the ideal window to pick up hungry cubs on their way home after a hard day in the office. Years ago, I would have never perceived my local Asda as a hunting ground. I blame the pandemic. Socialising less has pushed the boundaries of what I perceive as socially acceptable.
I wore my active-wear joggers, which I use anywhere but the gym. Someone with voyeuristic tendencies has taken control of Fashion Trend HQ. Joggers had become increasingly tight over the years. Now, they leave very little to the imagination of the crotch area, so much so that I parade around the aisles as if I have nothing to declare: “It’s FIVE STARS from me,” I thought, noticing how the suit and tie he had on fitted like a glove. He was a hunk — a dark-blond god with naturally sun-kissed skin. Wearing a face mask enhanced his eyes, blue as the sky, seconds before dawn. He wasn’t tall. He was compact: “Everything I’d need is within reach,” I thought, practical.
A healthy source of protein
He caught me looking at him as I pretended to pick some lean meat. He smiled, rested his eyes on me, and there they remained. I can think only of two reasons why a fellow homosexual would stare at me more than necessary. One, he wants to fuck. Two, he needs an orgasm! I slowly re-shelved the minced beef and went straight for the real deal. “You’ve got healthy sources of protein in there. I approve!” I said, giving a cursory look into his food basket. “Come and have dinner with me. I live down the road,” I added, nodding with unashamed cheek. He agreed on the spot. We compared Covid passes, and off we went. There was no hurry. Courtesy of the new government guidelines implemented to fight the spread of the Omicron variant, from tomorrow, he’d be working from home. Ten minutes later, we had a snog in the lift on the way up to my flat. We carried on kissing in the kitchen, with grocery bags all over the place. His name was Joao. He was from Portugal. Like me, he had survived Brexit. As we started cooking, he felt the need to make himself comfortable. He slipped off his suit and donned a pair of my shorts.
Kama Sutra
To my surprise, tattoos covered his whole body: “He has overdone the theme,” I observed briefly before dismissing the thought when I noticed that he had black panthers inked all over his body. I distracted myself with more pressing matters. Standing behind me, he stroked his body against mine and whispered that he believed in equal opportunities and, therefore, in versatility: “Thank you, baby Jesus,” I thought immediately. I’ve never bought into the whole top/bottom debate. I find roles restricting. I perceive sex as a fluid experience in which various activities generate different kinds of pleasure. After dinner, we spent ages flipping around in bed. Eventually, we landed on position number 40 of the Kama Sutra, aka The Crouching Tiger. Or, to put it less exotically, he was sitting on me. With sweat pouring off, it dawned on me that I’ve finally found a productive use for the three-times-a-week cardio / strengthen-your-core classes I’ve been taking at my gym since the easing of the lockdown. I wondered if I could fit body pump into my fitness schedule when Joao announced that he was “very close.” I was elated. My customer service background always kicks in when least expected: “I’m gonna cum! Oh yes! Oooohhhhhh, MEOWWWWWWWWWWWWW!” “How unusual,” I thought, amused. I lifted my head off the pillow and turned it to the left to align my good ear to his face and make sure I’d heard right. It was a MEOW.
Joao looked at me in between meows: “Do you find this weird?” he asked, after explaining that he turns into a panther every time he has an orgasm. Maturity is turning me into a polite and considerate human being: “That’s perfectly fine. I replied, all cheerful, still stuck in him with nowhere to run: however, I’d expect more of a ROAR than a MEOW from a wild cat. “But please carry on!” I added, smiling benevolently. His reply was everything: “Well, I am a gay panther!” I couldn’t help but laugh. He laughed with me. Later, during the night, he meowed some more.
