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I woke up to an empty bed, a bit annoyed because I intended to have a good cuddle before breakfast. Visions of passionate coupling, edging, and kissing filled my head. It was just “great sex” for a while until I discovered he spoke some foreign language and whispered the dirtiest things in my ears. I shot a huge load, then a second and a third after long sessions of edging and knob polishing. My cockhead was still sensitive, but I felt refreshed, light as a feather even. My balls felt light as balloons. 

But where was my one-night stand? It was barely past dawn! Had he left? I bolted out bed and jogged through the house. What I saw in the kitchen stopped me in my tracks. There he was, bathed in the golden morning sun. Every skin cell in his tanned, gym sculpted body seemed to glow from the inside out. He was leaning casually against my counter, providing a beautiful silhouette of his pillowy pecs, protruding posterior, and um… wow. Tighty whities do not hide a thing, and his cock looked full and impressive tucked away safe and clean in his underwear. I was instantly jealous of the cotton. The man was an impossible ode to physical perfect and male beauty. Even his day-after scruff is flawless! I gave one of those dreamy, Disney sighs.

I began to wonder what liquid courage I drank last night that made me go up and talk to this guy. He was out of my league. BEYOND out of my league. Out of my orbit. …Shit, what was his name?

“Good morning,” I purred as I strode into the kitchen.
He turned his head and a smile crinkled his eyes. “Oh you’re up. Did I wake up?”
“I woke up cause my bed was empty.” I caressed his shoulder, then kissed it.
“I’m sorry. I was utterly gross, and I didn’t want you to see me unshowered. I was worried I’d wake you if I got back into bed.” He folded the paper and set it on the counter.
“Quite alright. You’re still here. I’m glad you stayed.”
He gave me a gentle kiss. I wished I brushed my teeth.
The stranger raised a thick eyebrow at me. “You’re not gonna kick me out? Most of my one night stands don’t like reminders of their inhibitions standing around..”
I scoffed. “Well they’re fools.” I pulled open my cabinets and my fridge, looking for things. I had no idea what I was making yet, but I was definitely cooking this man breakfast.
“Fools?” he repeated with a smile.
“Well…well yes,” I stammer. I never wanted to cook breakfast for any man before, and it wasn’t just in thanks. Something about his presence made me feel like I had to serve him, that I wanted his respect and appreciation. Maybe it was because of my low-esteem but Christ, I wanted him to validate me to eternity and back. “That was easily the best sex of my life last night,” I admitted. “I thought it was great by itself, and then you start speaking in this language and holy god that turned me on so bad. I feel so fucking energized this morning. Hell it wasn’t sex, it was some sort of cleansing ritual.”

“Oh god stop,” he groaned with a chuckle. “I’m so embarrassed. And you’re being way too kind.”
“Pft!” I replied, putting pans on the stove. “I don’t know what planet you grew up on, but when a drop-dead gorgeous man gives you the best dicking of your life, you want him to stay for breakfast. …You will stay right?”
He perked up and rubbed my hip with his hand. “You’re realy going to cook for me?”
I realized I should really have asked what this walking statue was called. “If you tell me what your name is,” I said sheepishly, “Because I don’t think it’s ‘oh god’.”
The man laughed again, a hearty, healthy sound. I was smitten. “We kind of skipped that formality hm? My name is Avid, like David without the D.”
He pronounced it, “ah-veed”. It sounded plenty exotic. “What nationality is that?”
“Persian. That was Farsi I was speaking in.”
“Farsi? Well, you are welcome to teach me some of that.”
Avid’s eyes seemed to sparkle when he looked at me. “Just might do that. And you are…?”
I set the bag of flour on the counter. “Oh! Right, sorry. Name’s Hank, which I don’t really like, so most everyone calls me Mitch, after my middle name, Michael.”
“Why not Michael?” Avid inquired.
“It’s my dad’s name. Gets confusing.”
“You Americans have so many names! Like some sort of spy.”

I chuckled, then moved onto cracking eggs into a bowl.
“Are you really making me breakfast…?” Avid asked, coming up behind me and wrapping his hands around my waist.
“Yes, I am.”
Avid reached up and began to twirl his fingers in the curls at the base of my neck. My knees felt weak. “You really know how to take care of a man.”
I sat up a little straighter at the praise. “I…like to think so.”
“I like that,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. “You Americans eat dessert after breakfast?”

“In this household we do.”
Avid made a noise of satisfaction. He smacked my butt. I yelped. “Make a big breakfast. You’re gonna need the calories.” He said. My dick began to harden.

Text is fictional. This is Pablo Hernandez.


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