I see him there almost every day. He sits and talks the other homeless folk beside the intersections of the main road, under the patch of trees that gives them shade from the sun and some shelter from the rain. It's so close to work, I can't help but pass him, and I can't help but notice him. There's a good bit of them that stay in that cluster of trees together, but he stands out from the rest to me. Sometimes he's on the median, holding up his sign like they all do. "Homeless, anything helps, god bless" written with black marker and outlined with white. They used to all write their signs the same, with plain black marker. Over time, though, I'd noticed them starting to add colors and little details to their cardboard. One of them must've gotten ahold of art supplies. I never carry cash otherwise i'd probably have done this sooner.
My workplace is just up the road, Dixie Tobacco. Snacks, cigarettes, lottery tickets, wine and beer, all the things you need for a good night. He stops in every few days with pocket change. Anything helps, I guess. He's almost always wearing the same clothes: a faded blue shirt for some towing company that he probably never worked for, ripped blue jeans, work boots, a baseball cap with a team logo I don't even recognize. I don't watch sports. I doubt he does either, nowadays. He's a canine of some sort, but it's hard to tell exactly what subspecies he is due to his age and the weathering of his features. He's probably in his mid-to-late 50's, and his fur looks like it used to have a richer pattern to it but has mostly faded to a light brown with cream and white accents. His ears are erect, which I think personally adds to his charm. I don't have a problem with floppy ears, but those sharp ears always catch my attention. His features are wrinkled, and his hair is white. It goes a bit down his neck, and curls from under the sides of his hat. He looks like he'd say he could use a trim, but I like it personally. His beard is the same white, wispy, ratty. It's long in the front and has patches in spots where it's thinned a little. He probably scratches himself. He probably has fleas.
His eyes have a saggy-lidded squint to them from a mixture of age and tiredness, but they're still so blue, so bright. His eyes are what first caught my attention. I've got a thing for eyes. He walks slowly, with a slight limp. His path through the store is almost always the same: to the left, down the wine aisle, to the Wild Irish Rose. Walks the back perimeter of the store, looking at other brands, before coming up my aisle, to the checkout counter. He didn't use to talk to me much, he'd lay his change in a pile on the counter and have me count out how much I needed. Some days he didn't have enough, but i'd pretend he did. I'd give him a few cents back, sometimes a dollar or two. Nothing the company would miss, that's for sure. He eventually caught me doing it when I got generous one day, squinting his already narrowed eyes and remarking "I know i ain't had that much money" when I handed him back his change.
"You didn't" I'd say. "But I like you".
"Y' like me, huh? Well, somebody's gotta". He said, then he'd laugh, scooping his change off the counter into his palm and cramming it back in his pocket. He had a handsome southern drawl to his voice, I wanted to ask him to keep talking about anything. We usually had these exchanges with other customers in the store, so we both felt an obligation to hurry through our time together. This was one of the rare times he was in the store when no one else was, though, so I had the opportunity to chat with him.
"What? There's a lot to like about you." I'd say, my expression squinting up with a playful smile. He'd cock a sleepy eyebrow back at me, his head down as he stuffed a cigarette in his mouth, holding it between his teeth as he asked "oh really?". His hand reached for the brown paper bag and he'd tuck it in his back jeans pocket, where he always did.
"Like what?"
"Well, those eyes, for starters. Such a nice, bright blue. Brightens up my day when you come by". I leaned my elbows on the counter, crossing my arms and letting our faces get a little closer. I loved those eyes, the rich life hidden behind droopy, elderly eyelids. He'd nod incredulously and give a half-uncertain "aaalright then", the corners of his mouth pursing a bit, signifying he thought I was bullshitting him. The doorbell rang, and in walked a customer. It could've been God himself and I still would've cussed him under my breath for ruining our moment. We weren't really getting anywhere, but who knows if that would've changed given a few more minutes? It's already hard enough to flirt with a presumably straight man, but it's exponentially harder with a witness. They clam up, they're worried about someone seeing them being hit on. They get defensive, which is understandable. To bring my deviance into their life already is risky, but to do so where they might be seen reciprocating? You never know what could happen.
I'd pat the counter a few times and smile once more to him, saying "see you tomorrow buddy". He'd give a short "yep" back as he rummaged through pants pockets for a lighter as he head toward the door. The doorbell rang as he opened it, punctuated with "have a good day, Nico" as he left.
He'd said my name. I was astonished. How'd he know my name? I paused for a moment and tried to collect myself, the statement having practically knocked me on my ass. It was only after contemplation that I realized I was wearing my nametag, which I rarely did. He must've read it while we were talking. Suddenly the tables had turned, and all the details i'd quietly noticed about him paled in comparison to the mightiest fact he knew about me: my name. I didn't know his name. We'd been talking for months and not once had I asked him his name. He'd never asked me mine, so i'd never thought to return the question. But now, he knew mine, and suddenly I felt like i was staring in the face of a friend who's birthday I'd forgotten. How could I admire a man who's name I didn't even know? The other customer was already at the counter, but who really gave a shit? I can barely remember what I said to him as I rang him up. I just kept glancing out the door, out the window, wanting to run after Blue Eyes and ask him what his name was. He came in every few days, I could easily just ask next time. But what if it was the last time I saw him? What if, of all the days, this was his last? What if he got a job and a place and a wife and child and I never saw him again? What if the company finally found out how much money i'd quietly been giving him and they fire me? I couldn't stop thinking about all the mistakes i'd made up until now, how many opportunities I'd wasted. He was so old, what if he just up and died? 
The thoughts were flooding my head, filling my chest with a heavy feeling. The kids call it "Fear Of Missing Out", or FOMO. It's the anxiety that there's something you could be doing and you aren't doing it. You SHOULD be doing it, though, but because you're not doing it then you're probably missing out on something amazing and everyone's having fun without you and your soulmate is there waiting for you, only to go home alone. It wasn't until the words "uhhh, can I have my receipt?" rang in my ears that I would suck air, sniff a look wild-eyed over to the customer, who's brow was bunched up in the middle like i'd sworn at him. He looked confused, and his hand was already closer to the receipt than mine was by the time i'd snapped back to reality. He took it himself, folding it up and walking backwards, looking half offended and half confused before his back hit the front door and he walked out. Whatever, man. I just missed out on the love of my life and you're looking at me like you're supposed to be my top priority. Get over yourself, asshole. My life's basically done at this point.
---
It was Thursday when my life had officially ended. Today was Tuesday, and i hadn't seen Blue Eyes since then. The day was dragging on as it always did. A few handsome guys here and there, mostly uninteresting conversations about some man's vacation weekend or some wife's upcoming party. Stimulating enough, but I was still thinking of Blue Eyes. The gesture was small, and I was probably being narcissistic in thinking it "meant something", but his choice to notice my name when I hadn't noticed his felt oddly kind for a man like him. I don't know why it made me feel the way it did, maybe it's because I was lonely. It just felt so strange. Men like him tended to be standoffish, abrasive, sometimes rude. They're often hurried or aggravated, and rarely exchange politeness until a strong bond has been formed. There's one guy like Blue Eyes who refers to me by name, but that's mainly because I caught him stealing and told him I'd pretend I never saw it if he'd just put it back. Part of me didn't want to handle the paperwork and police, but most of me just didn't really care. You need it more than I do, buddy.
 I kept hoping i'd see Blue Eyes again, though, and I kept idly walking the store and fronting bottles, pacing, waiting on him. Every time the doorbell rang, I looked up hoping to see that dingy blue shirt and those bright blue eyes. It felt like everyone in the world was coming to my store but him. I stood at the window, looking up and down the street, occasionally opening the front door and stepping out onto the sidewalk when no one was inside so I could look all the way up and down the road for some old geezer hobbling my way with his head down, slouched and cranky looking. He wasn't showing up, though, and I resigned myself to the reality that I was going to not see him again today, either.
That was, until 7:14 PM, which was way later than he usually came in. The doorbell rang, and in he walked. I must've looked weird to him, because I perked up immediately and said "h-hey!" with such excitement I almost barked it. He first looked startled, then perplexed, stopping in his slow walk to say "...hello?" back to me, a few more steps down the wine aisle before he'd say "yer in an awful good mood today". His bootsteps thumped against the tile floor, slow, with a limp. There was another customer in the store at the time, and I swear if I could've grabbed her by the collar and thrown her out the store legally? I would have done it, like they did with drunkards in old-time saloons on western movies. Blue Eyes was already heading to the counter, and she was clearly following close behind, but taking her sweet goddamn time about it. He got to the counter first, and I went to look at my register for a moment before pausing, narrowing my eyes, twisting my lips up as if I was trying to figure something out.

"Weird, it's not ringing up. What's the price on that?" I'd ask, hoping to get him to back up for a moment so I could ring her up first. 
"5.04 after tax" he'd cut back immediately. Shit. Of course he has the price memorized, he gets it every single time. I had to think quickly.
"Well...I need the item code 'cause it's not scanning, can you go grab it for me? Sorry". I frowned to him and he exhaled slowly out his nose, frustrated. He nodded, though, and headed back toward the wine aisle. I would look to the woman behind him and wave her over like she personally was holding my entire day up. It took every ounce of my strength to be nice enough to get her out, bagging up girly dessert wines and listening to her talk about her gal pals. Great. Love it. Have a nice night, ma'am. She was gone after a moment, and Blue Eyes was right back at my counter.
"115027" he'd say, and i'd key it in, answering him with "Five--"
"Oh four, after tax" he'd finish the sentence for me, laying a five-dollar bill and four pennies on the counter for me. I'd look down at it and slide it toward me, plucking the pennies up with my fingernails as I chatted.
"Haven't seen you in a few days, was gettin' worried".
"Money's been tight. Had to buy some aspirin, knee's gettin' to me".
"That sucks. Could've just asked, I woulda got you some".
"Y' barely know me".
"I know, and yet I still like you. Ain't that funny?" I smiled at him, and he rolled his eyes and gave me a half-smile like I'd told a bad joke.
"S'just good customer service, I know how it is" he replied, looking down as he rummaged his pockets for a cigarette. He always got it ready while he was still in the store, and would light it right as he passed the doorframe.
"Please, if y' think I got good customer service then you musta missed me practically shove that lady in front of you outta the store".
"Why'd y' do that?" he'd ask.
"I like gettin' time to talk to just you" i'd reply, and his eyes would cut up for a moment to look at me while his head remained pointed down, eventually returning to inspecting handfuls of junk he was pulling out of pockets.
"Ain't got nothin' worth talkin' about" he'd say, his eyes fixed downward now.
"Sure you do. Like your name, for starters".
"Why y' wanna know my name?" he'd ask, still looking downward. He really couldn't find his lighter.
"Well, you know mine. Ain't it fittin' I know yours too?"
"Davis."
By now, it was obvious he definitely didn't have a lighter on him, so I tucked one quietly into his bag along with his Wild Irish Rose, slid it to him.
"Check your bag when y' get outside, Davis. Might have a treat in there".
His eyes cut up to me again, though this time his snout followed as he looked a bit surprised. He'd just told me his name, but hearing it seemed like it caught him off guard. He'd take his bag in his hand this time, looking down inside it before looking up at me.
"Y' don't have t' do that. I can buy my own".
"I know you can" i'd say, adding "but like I said, I like you".
"Well, thanks. I owe ya" he'd say, standing there for a moment. It was odd. No one had come into the store to interrupt our moment like they almost always did. I could just close the shop now, lock the door, pull him in the back and tell him how badly I wanted to jump his bones. I'd lose my job, but the opportunity WAS right here...it felt strange how much I could do in that moment that I just didn't do. I was surprised he hadn't left yet, as he stood there looking at the product in glass cases in front of him. Bowls, vape rigs, e-cigarettes, those little glass pipes with the rose in them, lottery tickets, lighters. I had the goods laid out before him and he had a moment where he seemed lost in thought, looking at all of it. I could've asked him more in that moment, but I didn't. I don't know why I didn't. Instead i kept it casual.
"You got plans for the rest of the day?" I'd ask. His face was curiously pressed to glass like a kid in a candy store, eyeballing glass pipes.
"Might go rob a hooker later. Come back an' get me one'a'them pipes". I raised my eyebrows.
"Just kiddin'. I'm too old for that kinda shit". I'd laugh, joking "damn and I really believed you".
"Don't believe nothin' I say, i'm full'a shit". He'd cut back, grinning. His teeth were yellow, he was missing a lot of them and the ones that were left had slid out of place. It was the first time i'd really seem him smile like that. Before I could say anything else, he'd wave.
"See ya, Nico".
"Same to you, Davis".
And he was gone. Again. All my opportunities were lost. I was always so excited to see Davis, but after he'd leave i'd always feel so regretful I didn't go just a little bit farther. He just had this odd charm to him that I felt myself constantly drawing blanks, wanting instead to just blurt out "I want to kiss you! Right here!". He made me weak. I felt like such a typical homosexual, salivating and eyeballing a straight man and imagining what it would be like to touch his body tenderly, admire the intricacies of a man his age, the shapes and textures of a dog like him. I felt like a horrible person. This poor old homeless man was out on the streets struggling and I was sitting in here thinking about his dick. What more could I do, though? I made enough money to toss him freebies every now and then, but I didn't have the money to fix his problems. I didn't live alone, I couldn't move him in with me. All I could do was be his friend, and be nice to him when I could. And think about his dick. No one could stop me from doing that.
---
Davis and I would have these interactions every few days. Sometimes we had the privacy to do so, and the conversations would last a few minutes. Sometimes the store had other folks in it, and we'd have to make it quick. Regardless, he seemed receptive to it. Could it have been because I gave him free things and discounts sometimes? Maybe, but I doubt he'd call me by my name if that's all it was. We were really hitting it off, even if we were only hitting it off as friends. If he was alone, he'd spend progressively more time in there, chatting with me. We shot the shit as men tended to do, talking about a bunch of nothing and occasionally bitching about our lives and the state of the world. I learned a bit about his life, and he learned a bit about mine. He's divorced, obviously. Wife got the house, and Davis fell on hard times. Drugs and booze, but he eventually quit the drugs. He held his own for a few years before things just got too hard and he fucked up a few too many times in a row and lost the place he was renting. He's couchsurfed here and there, but mostly ends up staying outside. He and a few buddies watch eachother's backs, so they haven't had much trouble. They're all peaceful so the cops don't bother them. 
It was finally on one odd Sunday that I confessed to him that I was lonely because "I missed having a man".
"A man?" he'd ask. "Suddenly it all makes sense".
"Does it?" I'd ask, almost immediately regretting confessing this.
"Yep. You jus' bein' tryin' to butter me up". 
I went to protest that remark--even if it wasn't entirely untrue--but Davis began to laugh before I could. 
"Jus' kiddin'", he'd say. "Boys like you like them young things, them girly boys".
I practically gagged at the remark, spitting "FUCK that" out abruptly, then stiffening up as i realized i'd sworn at work. Luckily, as per usual, Davis was the only one in the store at the time. He laughed out loud, though, harder than I'd seen him laugh in a while.
"That's NOT my type at all, good lord" I protested, to which Davis would ask "well what IS your type?"
It was a perfect opportunity, really. I could've easily said "guys like you", or some simple shit like that. My nerves got the best of me, though, and I would instead avoid eye contact, pick up a lighter from the counter and flick it a few times, put it back. I fidgeted.
"Older guys, really. Men who work for a livin'. I don't like girly guys and I don't like folks younger than me". That SHOULD have tipped Davis off of something, but he would instead offer me an apologetic "well good luck with that" as he stuffed the brown bag in his back pocket, as he always did.
"Guys like that don't usually swing that way. Might have t' lower your standards".
My smile faded. "Trust me, I know. S'why I miss havin' a man".
He picked up on my sudden shift in mood, it seemed, because he would lean in and pat his hands down on the counter, stretching his neck out and his head down as if he was going to tell me a secret.
"I'll keep my ears open for if any of the guys I know like whiskers ticklin' their dick. How's that sound?" he asked. I laughed a little, unable to avoid smiling at him.
"Sounds good. Though I can always trim the beard".
He'd leave, as he always did, and the store would go quiet, as it always did. I looked down at the countertop and could see dirt spots where he'd pressed his hands. I slid my hands slowly toward them, and pressed my palms to the spots where his palms had been. I felt pathetic, but in that moment it felt like the closest I was ever going to get to touching him. Something felt wrong with me, the stupidity of it all, lusting after some old guy that obviously values our friendship but has ZERO interest in me sexually. Still, my palm stayed there, and I pressed my other palm to the other spot he'd left on the counter. I wanted it to still be warm, I wanted anything more than what I was getting at that moment. I wanted to chase after him. I always wanted to chase after him.
I stayed there in that spot, with my palms where his palms had been, until a customer came in finally, disrupting my peace as they always did. I greeted them, but as I looked down and realized they'd soon be in the place where he was, I felt my mood sour more. Our time together was so transient, and so easily pushed aside by the demands of others. I hated professionalism, I wanted nothing more than to tell them to fuck off for a while so he and I could talk like friends should be able to talk. I felt so sad, knowing any minute someone else would put their hands on this table, put their palms all over his spots, and I'd bag their goods over top of the moment we'd just had. Something had to be done. I couldn't keep living like this, always wondering what could be if I only tried a little harder. I resolved, in that moment, that I'd take my shot.
---
A responsible person would've probably waited until the next time Davis was alone in the store to ask him out. A responsible person would've dipped their toes into the situation, getting a read on whether or not he even was looking for company, let alone sex or love. A responsible person would've probably confessed their admiration and offered dinner, kept it moving slow and seeing where things went. A responsible person would've probably not pursued a homeless alcoholic.
I am not a responsible person.
And, because I am not a responsible person, I instead did what a guy like me does, and I bought myself a bottle of Wild Irish Rose right before I closed the store. I did what a guy like me does, and I chugged a few mouthfuls of it quickly off camera before I locked up for the night, and stepped outside onto the street. My truck was parked around back, but I would instead head west, down the sidewalk of this busy main road, to the patch of trees where the homeless folk stayed, with half a bottle of Wild Irish Rose beginning to flood my bloodstream. 
I would find Davis, as expected, sitting under a tree talking to one of his friends (I assume). An old wolf, skinny, hunched over and probably over a foot shorter than his actual height now. He was bent at nearly a 45-degree angle and he had a bandana around his forehead, big coke bottle glasses, and he was smoking. I sauntered up and said "hey" like I knew them both personally, because that's what a guy like me does.
Davis looked up, surprised, abruptly asking "Nico!?" as the wolf next to him looked at me, then to Davis, then to me again.
"Y' know this guy?" the wolf would ask, and Davis (who also seemed to be at least mildly drunk) would reply "yeah, that's the cig shop guy. I buy my wine from him". I took a seat like I knew them, sitting across from them, and drew out my bottle of wine and swigged again. He noticed the brand immediately, and remarked "i always pictured you as more of a middle shelf kinda guy".
"I was," i'd start, "but y' gave such glowing reviews I thought i'd give it a shot". I could already feel it loosening me up, maybe a little too much too quick. The wolf was eyeing me up like he didn't trust me, which seemed odd because I was drinking in public, which is not only illegal but also a fireable offense when you work anywhere that sells alcohol in this state. Still, it was trust I had to earn, so I was understanding of it.
Davis, meanwhile, seemed...somewhere between uneasy and happy to see me. It seemed like he couldn't believe i'd come to this weird homeless hangout to spend time with him, but he also seemed like he didn't know what to do now that I was here. His usual demeanor was gone, and instead replaced with a weird, tense energy you might find the first time you talk to someone.
"So..." he'd start, rummaging in his pockets and finding a light--the lighter i'd given him, "what brings y' down to these parts? Y' get kicked out?"
"No," i'd lean forward, rest my elbows on my knees, cross-legged, "I just felt like goin' out tonight. It's been a while since i went anywhere but home after work". I felt bad for it, but that was a lie. I was no stranger to bars at that point, and I frequently hit the local dive on the way home, drinking myself silly and throwing myself at men that seemingly had no interest in me. Once in a blue moon it worked, and I'd get fucked by a guy that often didn't want to be seen with me during the day. Sometimes i'd bag a fellow gay that wanted a relationship even though we had nothing in common except for some shit like a shared love for the smell of armpits, and those connections would fizzle out quickly as well. I couldn't tell him that, though, it made me sound like a whore--which I wasn't. Whores get laid regularly. I was just pathetic.
"Y' felt like goin' out after work so you came down here?" the wolf would ask, to which I replied "yea" like it wasn't a really weird thing I was doing.
"Why?" he'd counter, and I had just enough wine in me to answer but not enough wine to where I was honest. Honesty would've been "I want to kiss and fuck Davis all night long and then do it again tomorrow", but half-drunk me instead said "iuno, just lookin' for some fun". The wolf would snort a short laugh that made his shoulders bounce.
"Fun" he'd say. "Go lookin' for fun around here and you're gonna bring home somethin' you can't get rid of".
"Wear protection, got it" I'd say, prompting another snort from the wolf and an embarrassed look to the side from Davis. Maybe I should reel it in, I thought. The wolf, however, would remark "damn you're honest".
"I'm a little drunk" i'd reply, to which Davis would remark "no shit". It was then that I got a bit worried, realizing I wasn't setting the best example as the new friend for this straight man, sitting here immediately talking about sex. I'd fallen into the exact stereotypes I hated about gay men, meeting a new guy and immediately telling him how i was sniffing around for penis. I mean, it WAS the truth, but we gays could stand to learn a little more subtlety in our approach...at least at first.
The wolf would laugh, thankfully cutting the tension. Apparently he'd not picked up that I was EXCLUSIVELY gay, though, as he remarked "well there's definitely gals down here that'll go with ya for some money. Maybe a few guys too, if that's yer thing". I was just sober enough to nod and say "good to know" before dialing it back a notch.
"What's your name, anyway?" i'd ask the wolf, who was glancing around a bit before he'd pull a metal flask from his coat pocket and take a swig himself. 
"Josiah. Call me Joe".
"Joe. Got it. Nice name. I'm Nico" i'd say, though I immediately second-guessed if Davis had incredulously said my name earlier when I approached.
"Okay Nico, good luck getting laid" Joe would say, smirking, reaching behind him for something and eventually drawing up a walking cane. He struggled to his feet, groaning as he did, a hissed "son'f'a'BITCH" as he hobbled to his feet, creaking and popping as he did.
"I'm gonna go see if'n I can make a few bucks and get a bite t' eat before bed" he'd say, taking a few steps forward and poking me with the rubber end of his walking cane.
"Don't be a stranger. We don't see new folks down here too often, 'specially not folks with homes". With that, he'd give Davis a tap on the head with his cane and hobble off. Davis had been quiet. I couldn't see his eyes as well in the evening now, but I could tell they weren't looking at me. Leaning back against the tree, his knees were drawn up and his arms were folded in the valley of his lap. I scooted over and took the spot where the wolf had been sitting, leaning back against the tree with him. He didn't seem to move much as I did.
"Are you alright?" i'd ask. He'd nod and answer a short "i'm fine", which didn't at all sound like he was fine. I'm nosy enough about things like that when i'm sober, but a tipsy me couldn't resist prying. 
"You really don't seem fine", i'd press. One of his arms raised and waved his hand around dismissively, followed by a short exhale through his nose.
"S'jus' weird. This is new. I don't know what t' make of it". The whole time, he'd still be looking off to the side, though his posture shifted from his knees being drawn in to his legs splaying out in front of him, the toes of his boots curling in as I could tell he was stretching. I bet for sure he had nice feet.
"Like, do y' want somethin' from me? You fixin' to solicit me or somethin'? What is it?" His tone had changed a bit and, though he'd splayed out comfortably, he sounded more defensive than before. "We went from just talkin' at work to you stumblin' drunk down here and tellin' my buddy you're out sniffin' for sex. S'weird".
I let him finish talking as it all was sinking into me. I had made a terrible first impression. He was right, in a way, I WAS cruising. Mind you, I was specifically cruising for him, but cruising nonetheless, and that probably was strange to a straight man that had, until now, had a purely platonic friendship with me. I'd pressed the issue too quickly and let the liquor make a fool of me, and it was all hitting me at once as I took another swig to calm my nerves. I swallowed, then exhaled a low "...shit". It prompted him to look at me, the signs from the nearby 24-hour store casting just enough light that I could see his blue eyes again. They were just as gorgeous in the night.
"Yeah, you're mostly right," i'd start, nodding in agreement with him. I leaned my head back against the tree, knowing damn well it was going to get sap and bark in my hair but not caring much about it at the moment. "I am into you, like INTO you, and I wanted to give it a shot. But i didn't just come down here hopin' for sex". I had to take a deep breath to release some of the tension in my chest, another long exhale to get the shivers that were in my shoulders and neck out of my system. I was nervous, embarrassed.
"Guys like me...they move so fast. They meet a dude and immediately ask him if he wants to fuck, and I always hated that. But, I guess it's jus' kinda how i'm used t' doing things. It's hard making friends with a guy you're really attracted to knowing that he's never gonna like you back, and always havin' to hold those feelings in your stomach. So I got it in my head that i'd just try it, have you obviously reject me, then move on with my life knowin' i'd tried. But..."
I shifted a little, drawing up my own knees and crossing my arms over them, laying my muzzle over my forearms. "I don't wanna do things that way, 'cause I like bein' friends. I came down here wantin' to get to know you more, since we only ever get to talk at work. I drank before I got here and it's got me actin' too honest, but I ain't just in it for sex."
He was still looking at me, and I was only just now noticing. It made me a bit nervous, so I looked away myself. "Shit, if I had the choice to fuck you once or stay just friends, i'd pick the friendship. It ain't worth it to make it weird". My ears folded back, and my face felt hot. I felt so small, so stupid. "I just...really fell for you. Iuno what it is about you but you're jus' gorgeous to me". He snorted.
We sat there in the white noise of a busy intersection for what felt like ages. It was probably not even a full minute, but I felt like I sat there listening to the chaos for hours, if not days. The noise of traffic, the occasional honk of a horn, the idle conversation of the nearby homeless and the distant doorbell of the 24-hour store foot traffic coming and going, it all filled the void but not nearly enough to soothe my worries. 
"Well, thanks". The words finally broke the silence and I looked to Davis, who was looking at a car sitting in the left lane, waiting to turn. The lights from the nearby world gave him a sharp silhouette, and I could really see how scraggly his fur was. He needed a bath badly, which was already evident from the slight smell I was picking up just sitting close to him. I certainly didn't mind, being the man that I am, but I imagine it bothered him quite a bit being as dirty as he was. I wished in that moment that I could offer him a shower and a place to rest. I also wished I could root my nose under his arm and smell him, but that was secondary to wishing I had a place for him to stay. 
"I don't know what y' want me to say. Guys don't do nothin' for me. I ain't above suckin' dick for money if i had to, but i ain't had to yet and I didn't really wanna start". The car completed its turn, but his gaze didn't leave that location.
"No, i don't want that at all. I don't want you to do anything you don't wanna do. Hell, I don't even know if i'd feel right doin' it if you DID wanna do it, at this point. I feel gross". I reached for my bottle and pulled another sip. He'd extend his hand in request, and I handed him the bottle. He turned it back and chugged most of the rest down, wiping his mouth with his wrist and apologizing as he sat it upright between us.
"Don't be a pussy about it", he'd start, his gaze wandering from the road to somewhere above him, like he heard an animal in the trees. "S'what men do, we chase what we like. Y' think I ain't ever laid it on way too thick with a girl and made her uncomfortable? I prolly done it this year. Maybe even this month. Don't go actin' like i can't handle it". I was somewhat relieved to hear him say all that, as it sounded like he at least understood my mistakes and that I hadn't ruined our friendship.
"It just ain't for me". I wasn't surprised he said it, I'd heard that line a thousand times. It's a curse of homosexuality, we're often drawn to men who have zero interest in us because they exude such a naturally masculine energy that a lot of men "available" to us do not. Of course it's not for him, I knew that. I just had to try, and here I am drunk off cheap wine sitting in a homeless camp getting my feelings hurt. I knew it wasn't for him, but I just wanted it so bad to be.
"S'alright" I said. It wasn't alright at all, but you learn to accept the rejection with grace. It stings a little less each time, until you find that one guy you REALLY want to like you and HE rejects you, then it hurts like it did the very first time. That's where I was at, sitting there all forlorn but trying not to show it. There was a bit of happiness, though, in that he at least wanted to remain friends. I just had to come to terms with it, and to get over this lingering need to want to care for him. My mind wandered back to the bath, to the bed, what I wanted to offer him just to see him relax for a while. I couldn't offer him my own place, but I wanted so badly to manifest somewhere he could stay, at least for a little.
It was then that my mind made a connection to the obvious. The busy intersection didn't just house a 24-hour convenience store. It also housed a used car lot, a coffee shop, AND a cheap motel. How could I be so dumb? I could rent him a room. At least for a night, every now and then, to let him wash up and get rest in a real bed. I was drawn to his need for care and it activated all these strange desires in me. Even if i couldn't have sex with him, I could still be his friend, and I could still improve his life in some way. It was strange, how this felt like it would satisfy me, but it really did feel like it would. I didn't understand. Maybe part of my sexual desire was wanting to give him something I felt he'd gone so long without. Maybe there was some subconscious power dynamic in me where I was attracted to men I felt like I could "fix". None of it made sense at the time, especially because I was drunk, but somewhere in that sexual attraction were good intentions. I thought, if nothing else, I could manifest those good intentions in another way.
"How about I change my offer?" I asked, to which Davis would quickly cut back "you're not playin' with my ass". I cracked a smile at that.
"No, nothin' like that. How 'bout I rent you a room for a night? Let you shower and get a real night's rest."
"That'd be nice. What do I owe in return, though?" He asked, a suspicious look in his eyes. I knew what he expected me to say, and there was a dark and salacious part of me that did want to say it, but I didn't.
"Spend some time with me. We'll get two beds. I'll order dinner. I just wanna sit and talk, get to know you better. Nothin' weird. Not unless you WANT it to get weird", I closed it with a wink, and he did a small spittake as he looked away from me.
"I don't even gotta stay the night if it makes you uncomfortable. You can check out yourself in the morning, and we can go about our separate ways. I just wanna be nice". I also wanted to kiss him. And smell him. And rub him down. And service him in any way his old heart desired. But, sometimes we don't get everything we want, and that's alright. I could at least have this, and I could still have him come by my store every few days. I thought, if nothing else, this would be more than enough to scratch this weird itch I had in my stomach about wanting to give him something. 
"Sure" he answered surprisingly quick, prompting my ears to perk up and my head to do a short shake and draw back incredulously.
"Really!?" I asked, almost in disbelief.
"Yeah, why not? Food, shower, AND a bed? I'd suck dick for that".
"WELL if you're offering then yeah i'll take you up on th--" I rolled with the joke, to which he barked "I'm KIDDING, i'm KIDDING".
"I know," I said, grinning a toothy smile, "I am too". He smiled back.
"Now you wine and dine me and get me a nice steak, i MIGHT suck it then", he kept the joke rolling and I laughed.
"Noted. I get paid Wednesday. Wanna meet again Wednesday night?" I asked. He nodded.
"Deal. Bring two liters of Rose, one for each of us. I can't get drunk off a quarter of a goddamn bottle" he said, nodding down to the trace amount left between us. Neither could I, honestly, so that wasn't a bad idea. Why would he want to get drunk together, though? It almost made me nervous. I'd already shown how stupid I can get when I was only halfway drunk. Imagine me polishing off a whole bottle in one night. I'd have to restrain myself.
We sat for a little while longer and shot the shit, casually chatting and finishing off the last of the Rose. Joe came back with snacks and a beer he'd gotten from panhandling money, so I stayed a while longer and chatted with him too. They were nice guys, surprisingly normal compared to some of the homeless folks I dealt with at the store. Some come in drugged up, incoherent, belligerent. Some of them steal. Most of them are mentally ill, some worse than others. Some clearly don't know where they are, or probably who they are. It always made me sad, I always tried to be understanding. But these guys, they seemed mostly coherent, albeit a little absentminded at times. It was comforting, I almost forgot I was talking to homeless men.
Eventually I checked my phone. It was 1:47 in the morning, and I was tired and still a little tipsy, but I knew I had to get home. We parted ways, and I started back toward my truck. I walked alone for a minute, just intoxicated enough to not really consider my safety, before I heard footsteps behind me. The sound of work boots. I turned around to see Davis following me, hobbling up to match my pace as I slowed down to meet him.
"Figured i'd walk y' back to your car. There's a few tweakers in the area that've gotten rough with folks walkin' alone at night. Figured company couldn't hurt".
"Well, thanks," I said, "but what about you walkin' back?"
"I know the guys and they know me, and they know robbin' me would get them a lighter a two or three bucks at best". He shrugged.
"That's almost enough for a fifth of Wild Irish Rose, though" I joked, and he cut back quick "it's more than enough if the cashier wants t' fuck you". It caught me off guard, and I cackled like a hyena as I got to my truck, leaning back against the driver's side door and turning to face him.
"I'm glad you're a good sport about me bein' weird the first time we met outside'a work" I'd say, crossing my arms. He stood with his hands in his pockets and a slouch, his shoulders shrugging a bit.
"Y' give me free lighters, I can't bite the hand that feeds me". My smile faded for a moment as I took him seriously, and he reassured me "i guess you're a pretty cool guy, too". I felt somewhat reassured.
We stood there in the parking lot, in the darkness, for a few minutes, idly talking about work, and my truck. It was a rusted old blue pickup, and he said he used to have one kinda like. He told me the things he'd done in it, and a bit about his younger years. His daddy did construction and was a total hardass to him, so he enlisted in the military when he was 18 to make his dad proud. His dad fell off a steel beam and died while he was away at war, though, and he came home having never heard his dad say he was proud of him. The story broke my heart, but he told it almost as if it was meant to be a joke. He laughed at the end, taking his hat off to scratch the top of his head.
"Cantankerous old fucker he was" he said, smirking. "I know he's proud'a me anyway though, it don't matter". He said his mom had since passed away, and his sister moved out west. He'd married young and they had a kid young, before they were really sure if they were happy together. Turns out they weren't, and they'd both eventually catch eachother sleeping around. 
"She, of course, played the courts with her wiles and got custody. She's with the man she was sleepin' with the whole time, and my daughter calls us both her 'dad'. Ain't that some shit?"
He, again, said this like it was meant to be humorous, but I had a sad look on my face, I could feel it.
"That's fucked up", I'd start, and he'd cut in with "may as well be gay, right, since i'm one of two dads?"
It was clear Davis had learned to laugh at his misfortunes and troubles, and I wanted to laugh with him to reassure him, but it was hard to. I could tell that he really did hurt under it all, only compounded by being homeless and an alcoholic. I knew there were times when he would think about all this and not laugh at all, and knowing that broke my heart. Selling addictive substances, you really see it in a lot of people, especially men. They roll with the punches, they laugh it off, they drink it away, or they smoke to calm the nerves. Davis was obviously one of those men, and I knew it when I met him, before I even knew his life. Hearing parts of it, though, only confirmed it. I wanted to give him a hug. I didn't know what else to do.
"You deserve better" was all I could say, and a frustrated Davis would cut back "you're goddamn right I do!"
His posture had changed a bit, his shoulders hunched forward as he paced around, clearly brimming with a rising anger. Maybe it was from sobering up, or from thinking about his past, but it was clear he was upset, and I stood by and watched him as his temper rose. He would kick his boots out, scuffing the asphalt with the bottoms of them as he cussed.
"Y' pour your life into something and the world just shits on you! It ain't right! It ain't goddamn right!". He found a large chunk of asphalt and kicked it as hard as he could, sending it clacking across the parking lot as he paced a bit more. It was clear he was blowing off steam, and I was more than content to stand here and be support for him, even if that was just in listening. That was really all I could do. He would carry on like this for a few minutes, with me agreeing with him when he'd speak. I was being honest. It did suck, it was all terrible. Men like this used to scare me, when I was younger. I'd grown up around anger, and seeing it used to make me fearful. But now, as I was older, I understood it. Not only living with my own experiences, but meeting so many men going through the similar things, you begin to understand why they're boiling under the surface. Davis was at a point in his life where the only kindness given to him was handed to him from half-unrolled car windows, locked doors. It was given to him in the form of free lighters and blowjob offers. No wonder he'd be mad sometimes.
"I know I can't fix your life on my own, but I hope maybe we can figure somethin' out for you eventually", I'd say, and as I spoke he slowed his pacing a bit, to a small circle.
"More than anything i'd like t' get you cleaned up and help you find a job", I said, and he'd cut back a defensive "that'd be fuckin' nice!" before immediately looking up to me and apologizing, raising his palms in surrender.
"Sorry. Sorry. That came out all wrong. I'm mad at the world, not you. Mad at myself". I nodded and reassured him "I know, it's cool".
"Y' gotta give me some time when I get like this, I ain't used to folks wantin' to be nice nowadays, s'tough to get used to. You're too kind to an old dog like me". 
As he spoke, his hunched over posture would become progressively less hunched, and it was clear his tension was fading. He was calming down as we spoke, and he seemed to really trust that we could figure something out. I could at least get him started somewhere, hopefully, and life could be more in his control again.
"Yer gonna regret it all when y' finally see my dick and realize it ain't worth all the fussin' you're goin' through" he would joke, to which I chuckled and asked "wait wait, I thought YOU were suckin' ME off?". It prompted a return laugh from him, and he would draw a cigarette out his pocket, holding it with his index and thumb while he pointed at me with his pinky.
"You're funny, y' know that? Weird, retarded for wantin' to be nice to a guy like me, but funny". I took the compliment.
"Anyway, get on outta here. I gotta take a leak and I can't have y' seein' the goods before I get that room or you won't wanna gimme no more money". I turned and unlocked my truck's door, looking back over my shoulder as I whined "awh, no free samples before I commit?"
He'd roll his cigarette in his mouth from one side to the other as he fumbled for his lighter, a playful "GET the fuck outta here" from him as I hopped inside, rolling down my window to continue the conversation.
"See you tomorrow at work?" I asked. He said "probably, if folks are generous". I said "stop by anyway, I know at least one person'll be generous" and his eyes lit up a bit.
"For that," he said, lighting his cigarette and stuffing his lighter back in his pocket. He was right next to my truck door at this point, and he reached down and started fumbling with his belt. "I'll letcha take a peek at my dick before y' go".
My eyes went wide. It was happening so fast. I couldn't believe this was the same guy that had been so standoffish to my advances, and now here he was about to flash me the goods just 'cause I offered to buy him a bottle tomorrow. My mouth was watering as he wrestled a bit with his belt. His pants were loose, it was obvious he was skinny under those baggy clothes, and he finally unbuckled his belt and reached his hand down into his pants. I could see the waistline of his boxers, tattered a bit, greyed. He unzipped the front of jeans, and I stared voraciously between his legs waiting for his dick to slip out his fly. He fumbled a bit, and from his fly would emergy a small, erect shape of some sort. Holy shit. He was hard? It was small, but it was hard? Why was he erect?
Then the rest pushed out, and from his fly pushed his hand, which proceeded to shoot me the middle finger from between his legs. He snickered with the cigarette between his teeth and cut me the most shit-eating grin i'd seen from him yet. I scoffed and gave him a playful "FUCK you" as I started the engine, barking "see if you get free booze now!" as I returned the grin. He pulled his hand back from his pants and extended his arms toward me, fanning them outwards as he laughed, pleading "come ON, it was a good joke! Look, yer laughin'!"
I was, it was true, and I was also looking at him as his pants slowly sagged further and further down, leaving him standing awkwardly in boxer shorts as I put the truck in drive. "See you tomorrow," I'd say, adding "for that, it's $5.04! No discounts!". He would spit in protest, barking out "oh come on! Don't do me like that! Here, I'll letcha smell my hand for the discount!"
I pulled out, leaning back out my window for a moment and calling back "i'll think about it!" as I peeled off, and he flicked me another middle finger, smiling while he did. The night had gone a lot better than I'd expected, and it seemed like things were going smoothly. I was surprised by where things were at, and as I rolled up the window and turned out onto the main road, I realized I could smell him. Faintly. We hadn't touched, but the dirty smell of the older man seemed to be hanging in my nostrils. It wasn't that noticeable until I was in a closed space, but he smelled...nice. Masculine. It was probably worse up close, but from a distance? I rather liked it. Maybe I should've taken him up on that offer to smell his hand. 
---
The next few days came and went as usual. Davis came in the next day, and I gave him a discount. He didn't seem surprised, but he seemed appreciative. My life was uneventful for a few days, as it felt like my entire world was on hold waiting for Wednesday night. I was going to work and coming straight home, save for one night where I sat down at the intersection with the boys for a while again. I didn't drink that time, I had to make a better impression. 
Wednesday finally came, and I woke up early to shower. I don't know why, I was about to rent a room for man who'd most likely not showered this year, and who I wasn't even trying to impress anymore. I still scrubbed up, though, and wore my best cologne, which was silly because I had no intention of him being anywhere close to my neck. Just in case, I thought. The day went mostly uneventful, though I waited patiently for Davis to arrive for his daily bottle. 
Around 2:30, he did show up. He walked his usual walk, grabbed the same flask as always. There was a customer in the store with him, and just as I expected him to turn his last corner to walk down my aisle, he paused. Standing, looking at the chips and candies. I furrowed my brow, wondering if he was hungry. He almost never grabbed food from here, especially because most of our packaged food was always JUST close enough to expiration date to be stale. He lingered, though, and I began to ring up the other man that was in the store. I sent him on his way, and almost immediately Davis would walk up to the counter.
"Short on money for food?" i'd ask, preparing to throw him some funds for chips. I'd started bringing cash with me recently, to offset the balance in the tills when i gave him discounts, and in case he needed something, but he shook his head 'no'.
"Nah, was just tryin' to kill time til that other guy left. Wanted to have time t' talk". 
My face warmed at the gesture, that he'd actually put in the work to give us time alone like I always tried to. It made me feel like he really did care. 
"Hey, about tonight," he'd start, and a knot formed in my throat. I was waiting on him to bail, expecting for sure he was going to say he thought it too weird, or he didn't trust me enough, or something. My cheerful expression slid instantly to one of preparation for worry, blank, expecting. 
"Get the room first, then come to the hangout. Be subtle about it. I ain't trying to be weird or nothin' about it but i'd feel pretty bad gettin' a bed and shower when Joe'll be outside. I'm gonna tell him i'm gonna go bang a girl so he won't wanna intrude. But it'd fuckin' suck to have him sleepin' dirty out on the grass when we got a room to ourselves". 
"We can invite him up too," I said thoughtlessly. "GODDAMMIT. NO. NO WE CANNOT" immediately rang in my mind, and I realized doing so would totally ruin the chance for privacy and conversation that we had. I wasn't even expecting to fuck him, that was entirely off the table for me, but I was looking forward to the peace and conversation. Morally, the right thing to do would be offer Joe a night there too, but I just flat out didn't want to. I had, however, just extended the offer.
Bless whatever higher powers there may be, though, because Davis grimaced and shook his head vigorously. 
"Nooo no no no god no. Love the guy, but you get him t' talkin' and he won't shut the fuck up. We wouldn't have a moments peace. Plus, he snores and sometimes he pisses himself when he's drunk. I don't wanna deal with that. Another night maybe, but not tonight".
I almost wanted to wipe the sweat off my forehead, but it felt rude. Thank God. Joe was a nice guy, but I wanted this moment so badly. I felt a warm, twisty feeling in my stomach, though, realizing Davis wanted it too. Even if it was just as friends, the fact that he wanted us to have peace and quiet together felt too good to be true. To have at least an ounce of my feelings reciprocated had me so elated I could've floated off the counter and out the door, cartoonishly on a cloud of hearts or some shit like that. You take what you can get.
"Yeah, good point. We can always get him next payday or something, I wouldn't mind plannin' for it again". I said, handing Davis his brown bag.
"Slow yer roll kiddo, we ain't even done it yet. Y' might hate me. I might be terrible conversation. I might even rob ya!" he said, cutting me a wink of the eye as he tucked his bag in his pocket.
"Or i might get you alone and throw my homosexual urges all over you" I picked back, to which Davis remarked "yeah i bet you'd love to get at this" as he tugged up the hem of his shirt, showing some of his belly. His fur was thin and wispy, and the pink bare skin beneath it had scratch marks and scabs on it, several scars, many of them seeming to be from scratching or bug bites. I was not in the slightest bit put off by it, and I made that known by raising my eyebrows, lifting my gaze from his scrawny old tummy to his eyes, speaking honestly when I said "well now don't tempt me". He lowered his shirt and replied "got it, weird guy" as he turned on his heels, tossing me a goodbye salute before adding "see ya tonight!"
"Looking forward to it, Davis" I said, waving him goodbye as well. He left, and the silence fell on me as it always did. I had hours to wait, and they felt like days. I paced restlessly, fronted bottles, stocked shelves, even swept the floor. I never do that much work in a day, but I'd done all that and more and my shift wasn't even over yet. The time spent waiting was unbearable, and I kept finding myself literally staring at the clock until someone would distract me with business. I kept thinking about Davis, the way he smelled from a distance. I thought about his bright blue eyes, and that shitty smile he gave me when he flicked me off a few nights before. I thought about that wispy cream-colored thin fur on his belly, the white body hair that trailed down to his waistline. His scratches, his scars, his limp, I thought about all of it. I wanted him so badly, and I found myself sweating, my heart pounding at the thought of having him alone. I'd never wanted a man so badly in my life, and I was about to have him entirely alone. I could probably have anything I wanted tonight, and yet all I was looking for was a conversation. Was I good-hearted or stupid? Or both? Probably both.
I bought two bottles of Wild Irish Rose before I closed the store, cleaned up, and clocked out. I threw them in my truck and drove it right down the road, to the motel's parking lot, and parked in the back. I stepped outside, took a deep breath, and exhaled as much worry as I could. Payday was generous, and tonight was the night. I went inside, through the automatic sliding doors, into the sterile beach smells of hotel cleaning products and air fresheners. The irony wasn't lost on me that I was about to sneak some grimy, smelly homeless man into this fragrant environment. If they only kne what I wanted to do in this pristine place. It was so clean, sandy colors and earth tones decorating a lobby that was silent except for the nearby TV playing some sort of home renovation television show. The floor was cold on my paws--I mostly went barefoot. Most anthros do, actually, unless they do hard labor that involves risk of injury. Men who wear shoes typically do so to protect the tops of their feet, as we have evolved to have resilient skin on the undersides. The temperature was cool, though, clearly meant to combat the summer weather outside, and I took a moment to stand in the lobby and soak up the odd, unsoiled atmosphere before approaching the front desk for a room.
Ordering the room was awkward. I didn't know what to say, even though in reality it was a simple request. I fumbled through asking for a room, scratching the back of my head like some dude trying to buy weed for the first time. If the woman at the counter wasn't suspicious of me before, she certainly was now. She asked for my ID, and I handed it over without question. She looked at it for a moment, though, and handed it back to me, informing me "policy says we can't rent to residents who live in the town. Only out-of-town". I chewed my tongue for a moment in disbelief as I asked "...what?"
She seemed like she had very little interest in having a conversation with me, but would tap a sign on the counter with the back of her pen, a sign that was full of fine print. "Policy is not to rent rooms to people in town. It cuts down on rooms being used for purposes other than rest." She probably didn't need to tell me that last part, but it did make sense. The problem was, I had to lie on the spot to see if I could talk this frigid personality into renting me a room anyway. I looked around and let my eyes focus on nothing as my brain tried to concoct a good lie, rolling out a thoughtless "ohhh, yeah, that makes sense," to save me a minute.
"The problem is, uh, my power's out at home," I scratched my forearm awkwardly, not helping my case, "I jus' need a place to stay for tonight to take a shower and charge my phone. I work at the tobacco shop right up the street".
The woman behind the counter squinted her eyes suspiciously at me. It was only just now that I was discerning her species: Saluki dog. Haughty creatures, they are. She probably was looking down on me for being a fox, which would've offended me more if I didn't secretly know I was only renting a room to bring in a homeless man I wanted to have sex with. 
She would look at my ID, then look at me again. It was true, I did work right up the street, and I hoped that maybe that solidarity would have some effect on her. It was a rough part of town. We went through the same struggles together. Come on, be cool about it baby, I thought to myself, chewing on my tongue as she picked up my ID and began to type some information into the computer.
"I recognize you. You walk down to the Rexxo station for coffee sometimes. Always thought you were homeless, no offense". She said it all without looking at me. Ouch.
Offense was taken, but I pretended it wasn't, taking a step back and tucking my hands in my pockets as I pretended to be interested in the idle information on the signage on the plastic counter mat. "Yeah, no, not me. I just sell to 'em". I forced a laugh at the end of my comment to keep the conversation rolling.
"Better you than me," she started, typing away as she slid my ID back to me. "I hate dealing with the bums. They all sit around and drink and smoke. Then they get up and ask for change like it's gonna be spent on anything useful". I bristled at the comments. I already found that kind of mindset repulsive, but now I was taking it personally because of Davis, and Joe, and their friends. I knew these people now, and I knew they were way more than that. 
"What're they supposed to do? Put the dollar you gave them toward a new car? Or a job?" I asked.
"Well, no, obviously not, but..." she started, clearly caught off guard by my response. I really didn't NEED to be arguing with this woman when she didn't NEED to give me the room. My problem was that I was impulsive and I had a temper at times, especially when people acted like they were better than someone else.
"I just think they could be more responsible with their money". She finished, clicking a few times before the printer behind her started spitting out paperwork.
"So could I, so could you probably, and yet here we are" I said as she returned with the paperwork. She stopped the conversation, which was probably for the best as I would've ended up saying something stupid and losing my room. She slid the papers toward me and tapped spots with her pen, informing me that I would be charged extra if I smoked in the room or destroyed the property in any way, and that I agreed to pay the fees yadda yadda bullshit. I couldn't have been more zoned out. I was thinking almost exclusively about Davis, laying on a bed, relaxing, telling me all the details of his life. I couldn't wait. 
Our room was on the second floor, around back, with a gorgeous view of a line of trees between the motel and the used car lot next to it. I wondered if she gave us a corner room with the worst view on purpose, not that it mattered. I made my way to the room and checked it out, making sure it was fine. The floor was a mildly sticky short carpet, as expected. Two beds, a TV, a bathroom. The lamps had USB chargers, which was a step up from what I expected, but that was about as exciting as it got. I stood in the room for a moment, taking in the smell and the quiet buzz of the light without the ambient noise of the TV to combat it. 
I took a few steps around the room, then sat down. It was all happening so fast, and as excited as I was...I was also pretty nervous. What if Davis didn't like me? What if I was a terrible conversation? What if something DOES happen and he really hates it? What if he robs me? What if this has all been an elaborate long-term scheme to get me alone so he can murder me? How could that even be a thing, since he didn't know until just a few days ago that I was getting us a hotel room? I was being stupid, again, but I couldn't shake some of the worries I had. I wanted it to go perfectly, and there was so much that could go wrong. I wanted to crack into the Rose early, but it felt a bit more polite to let us toast two fresh bottles together. There was no getting my nerves together, I just had to go for it, one step at a time. 
I turned and left, letting the door shut behind me, and walking thoughtlessly outside, out to my truck, where I grabbed the bottles of Rose and went to meet Davis. He was sitting, thankfully, alone, and noticed when I approached, standing to meet me halfway. We exchanged short "hey"s as he looked around to make sure no one was really paying attention to him, then we headed off back toward the motel. Once the two of us were far enough away from the crowd to be noticed, I would give him a more proper "evening, buddy" as I smiled to him. He would walk with his limp as he always did, returning the "evening" to me as he idly rambled about his day. I listened intently, as I always did, even though it mainly consisted of what he'd bought for lunch, and how he'd seen a hot girl in a car earlier and she locked her door when he walked by her with his sign. At least both of us weren't strangers to rejection, I thought...
As we stood at the lobby, I thought for a moment about the frigid dog at the front desk, and whether or not she'd give me a hard time for Davis being with me. I tucked the brown bag of wine bottles under my arm and turned to Davis, asking him to meet me around the side. He asked "why, ashamed of me?", and though I figured he was mostly kidding...it did make me feel bad to hear. The reality was that people were assholes, and the woman at the counter would probably be mad to see me bringing in a homeless man. Or worse, she might assume me to be soliciting him (I kinda was) and call the cops on us. Davis agreed, though, and headed around the side of the building. As I walked down the hall toward the side exit to let him in, I wondered about if you could get arrested for soliciting a homeless person for conversation. At what point does soliciting become illegal? Is it only sex? What if I was buying him food and a place to stay and he wanted to have sex with me because we really hit it off? Is that still illegal? Did I want to explain that all to a cop?
We both made it to the room, and I let him inside first. He stepped onto the carpet and looked down at it, at his dirty work boots. "Should prolly take these off, huh..." he'd mumble to himself, making his way to the closest bed and sitting down. He would then slide his hands across the fabric, falling back and letting his body rest on the comforter, sighing happily. His eyes were focused on the ceiling, and he layed almost completely still. It was probably the first time he'd laid on a soft surface in months.
A contented "aaahhh~" followed by "I missed this feelin'" came from Davis as I sat on the opposite bed, letting him enjoy himself.
"The last time I was in a bed was last November, when we had that freak snow. Some lady gave me fifty dollars at the stop light and told me to get outta the snow, and I actually did. Got a room at that ratty-ass inn up the road".
"Goddamn, that's about as bad as stayin' outside" I replied, knowing well that that inn not only was a one-star, but was known for being a drug trafficking and prostitution hotspot. And for shootings. And stabbings. It was really known for everything except a good night's rest. Davis gave one short exhaled laugh at me.
"Yeah, it really wasn't great. This is nice, though, real comfy" he'd say before finally sitting up, unlacing his boots and tugging them off his feet. His socks looked like they'd been white at one point, but were now mostly grey and brown, mostly from dirt it seemed. He would take them off as well, balling them up and stuffing them into each respective boot before planting his feet firmly on the carpet. I could see him splay his toes, pressing his pawpads to the soft texture of the carpet and clearly admiring it. He wasn't saying anything, but I could tell he was enjoying the luxuries he hadn't had in a long time. He might've been making a happy expression, but truthfully I was staring right at his feet. They were long, gangly, and his toenails were unkempt and gnarly. He had some spots on his toe knuckles where his pink flesh was showing through, having rubbed them bald from wearing his shoes for so long. The light-colored fur on his feet got darker between his toes, I could tell how dirty they were even from this distance.
"Lemme go take a leak, actually" he'd say, standing up. The gay in me wanted to pop off some horny-ass "no, let me help you" or something like that, but I bit my tongue, simply sitting in place. Though, as he went into the bathroom, he would shut the door. I didn't want to think anything of it, as he probably just valued the privacy of a bathroom that wasn't public for once in a while. That said, I had a moment to myself, and my eyes wandered right to those boots. I knew without a doubt what sorts of smells were in there, and I wanted so badly to just throw myself on all fours like the dog I was and just bury my muzzle in them, snorting and ripping up sniffs of the worst smelling foot musk I'd probably ever experience. I didn't care how bad it could be, it was his musk and I wanted it. For all the trash I talked about my fellow gays and their urgency for sex, I really was no better than them. I heard him unzip his pants, and I heard his stream start. It wasn't a very heavy stream, but goddamn was it a sound to behold.
Something must've come over me in that moment, because I succumed to my desires. I was quick about it, but by the time i'd heard the unzip I'd gotten up and gone to his boots. I was on my knees, and I leaned forward and stuffed my muzzle into the shaft of his right work boot, and took a deep sniff of it. The smell was noxious, or at least it would've been to a man that didn't like Davis like I did. It was so strong, so overpowering, a reeking vinegar smell permeated my nostrils and I closed my eyes and savored the aroma. The boot leather and the sock inside were still warm. It was his warmth, the warmth of his body was on my snout and I felt in that moment that the world outside me didn't exist. My dick was rock hard, though I wouldn't notice that until later, instead focused on the fetid odor of Davis' paws trapped in these old boots. I wanted to grab it and roll onto my back, wearing it on my snout. I wanted to take out his socks and rub them on my muzzle, marking myself with his musk. All these perverse desires ran through my head, but I had SOME self-control. Just enough, it seemed, as shortly after I heard the toilet flush, and I was already sitting back on my bed, just as I had been before he'd gotten up to pee.
Davis emerged from the bathroom, asking "miss me?" as i sat back in bed, crossing my legs. It was then that I noticed the boner, and thankfully could position myself so that it wasn't that obvious. All i needed was for him to not ask me any reason to stand up for the next minute or so...and to not do anything that would cause it to stay hard. I felt like such a freak, in that moment, the post-horny guilt setting in as I realized how at odds I was with my own desires. I would've felt myself an honest man if Davis knew equal parts of me wanted to listen to him talk and throat his unwashed dick, but he probably had no idea how much I wanted the latter. Was I a bad person for doing this? Even if we didn't have sex, even if I made no mention of it, even if all we did was have dinner together and laugh and share stories, drink together, and enjoy our life as friends, was I a bad person for wanting more? Was I dishonest for not telling him all this? I wished I could clear my head of those worries, but at the same time they did a good job of quelling that erection I had in my pants.
"'Course I missed you. The room ain't the same without those bright blue eyes", i'd say, closing it with a wink that caused Davis to smile and roll his eyes, reply with a "good GOD" as he returned to sitting on his bed. 
"So whattaya wanna know?" he'd ask, a question that was a little too hard to easily answer. What did i wanna know? Everything really. I wanted his life story. I wanted to hear everything he had to say. I wanted not only to know what his life had been, but more. His favorite song. His favorite color. What was his favorite smell? What did he do for fun? If he had one wish, what would it be? I just wanted him to fill my mind with the trivial bullshit no one else would probably care to hear, because I cared. I wanted to know all of it. 
"Well," I'd stand, moving to the nightstand where I'd sat the bottles of Rose, handing him one and taking one for myself, "how about we take a few swigs a'this, loosen up, and you just start talkin'? We'll go til we're hungry, i'll order delivery, then we can get back to it". He nodded.
"Sounds great," he'd say, twisting off the cap and tossing it back. He drank quickly, guzzling a few throatfuls before setting the bottle back on the nightstand. 
"Well," he started. I nursed a bit off my own bottle then leaned in.
He told me more about his life, building off the stories he'd told me a few days prior, outside my truck. He was one of five children, but he didn't know what most of his siblings were up to nowadays. The one he did know, he knew because they were dead. "He ain't up to much nowadays", he'd say. The other he knew was the sister that had moved out west. His parents were gone, his mother having passed five years ago, before he was homeless. He'd told me the other day that he married young and had had the kid young, and that the marriage had fallen apart due to them both cheating. He didn't tell me until now, though, that that marriage had lasted over twenty years. He was in his 40s when they caught eachother cheating, and they spent a year legally separated before divorcing. His daughter was in her early 30s, almost the same age as me. After the divorce, he actually held his own for a few years. He'd worked in construction like his dad had, though as he got older he moved from construction to painting houses. He worked with a company for almost ten years before a mixture of alcoholism and drug use lead him to crashing a company truck. It's why he walked with a limp, he said, and why he didn't have a home anymore.
He was 56 years old, specifically, and had been legally homeless since he was 51. The first two or so years were when he spent time sleeping in other people's homes. Friends, friends of friends, friends of family, eventually strangers, anyone that would let him stay for a while. He struggled to find work, and he struggled harder keeping it once he'd found it, so his promises of getting his shit together and getting out on his own constantly fell empty, and would result in him transitioning from one sofa to another, to a pile of blankets in the garage, to a futon mattress in the basement, to just bare floors, to the outside. He'd been fully outside for more than a year but less than two years, he said. He was fully off drugs, but the drinking's about the same, he said. I believed him. I saw the guys that were on both, and they weren't nearly as coherent and collected as Davis was.
He told me about his time in the war. He was in one of the middle east wars, the ones in the early 90s. He'd shot people, and he'd been shot at. He'd smoked more weed there than he ever had in the rest of his life. He'd seen his friends die in front of him. He held one of them as they passed, apparently. He told that story a bit quieter than the rest, than shortly after proceeded to tell me about how said friend had apparently had sex with 17 women the week before he got shot, so "he at least went out with an empty sack". He'd smirk as he said that, adding "he'd want me t' tell you that part, s'why i did. I know he was proud a' that". 
He told me he'd had a few flings with women here and there since he and his wife had separated, but they'd never gone long-term like he had with her. He made it clear, too, pointing a finger at me, that he "ain't ever been with a man though, don't go thinkin' I fell on THAT hard'a times". I was a little disappointed to hear it, but mostly happy. He really didn't seem the type to swing that way, as much as I wanted it. 
I engaged with his stories, asking questions and learning a lot about him. We talked about happy things, and sad things, and I shared a bit about my life as well. He seemed to admire, in the strange way that men do, that I'd had my own struggles. It was something I noticed talking to straight men especially, they have a respect that has to be earned, and you often earn it by telling them you've been through some dark shit. They like knowing you too have seen the horrors of the world, at least in some mild way in comparison to their own. As I described some of the details of my past, Davis was getting comfortable in bed, reclining back onto the pillows with his arms up behind his head. He'd take off his hat, and I saw finally that his hairline was somewhat receded. I wasn't surprised, due to his age and his stress, but it occured to me he'd never taken his hat off around me before now. His hair was pressed down, sweaty, and he'd tousle what was up there a bit to bring some life back into it before tossing his hat on the floor, nestling into the oversized, abundant motel pillows.
The conversation died out naturally, and the room grew mostly quiet. Finally Davis, who was idly scratching his belly as he spoke, would ask "so why me?"
"Whattaya mean?" I replied.
"What's so special 'bout me that you did all this? What's different about me than someone like Joe? Or any of the other guys down at the trees?"
I drew my fingers to my mouth and pressed my pawpads to my lips, thinking. I didn't really know, truthfully. I'd just grown smitten by him rather quickly, and I liked being around him. So, I figured i'd be honest.
"Well, to be honest, I found you handsome. But I've found guys handsome before and not felt for them how I do for you, so i don't really know. I just got so excited when you'd come in the store, and we'd get to talk. I got even more excited when it'd be just the two of us and we could actually have a conversation and not get interrupted. Being around you just makes me happy, I can't really explain it". All of that was the truth. I felt so silly saying it, though. It sounded obsessive and weird, and maybe it was. At the same time, i've never really understood what love was supposed to feel like, if not a strange obsessive desire to be around someone. Sure, I thought sexual things about Davis, but I thought so much more about the rest of him. I thought about his smile and his fucked up teeth, and the way he can tell a joke with a straight face. I thought about how he'd been through so much and still had a pretty good attitude on life. He certainly had a better attitude I did. I'd become jaded and bitter about a lot of the world, antisocial and distrustful. Yet here he was, chatting me up and sitting in a room with me like we'd been friends for years.
He'd listen and think on it for a while, finally shimmying his elbows a bit as he sank more into the fluff of the pillows. He looked so strange in contrast, his dirty clothes and dirty fur all dark, browned and dingy against the while pillows and white sheets. Even his light brown fur was mottled with dirt. "S'a damn shame y' couldn't fall for someone better than me" he'd say, looking at me with a lamenting, wry expression. He had that same "tough shit" look to him, but there was a bit of sincerity to it, I could tell he really did feel for me, head over heels for him. 
"Yeah, funny how this stuff works, huh?" I'd ask, cutting him back a smile to let him know I was okay.
"Though I gotta say, never in my life did I think i'd spark the interest of a man. Didn't think you guys would go for dirty, ragged-ass old hillbillies like me". This nearly made me do a spittake, and I leaned forward and sat at the edge of the bed.
"Dude, you have no idea. There's a whole huge population of gays who don't like other gay men at all, so we chase after straight guys because y'all just...exude the energy we want in a partner. You're rugged, hard-working, naturally masculine..how's that NOT appeal to guys who like guys?"
"Well I--I just figured, like, y'all...one of you's the guy so the other's gotta be the girl, right? Y'all typically like guys that act like girls?" He stumbled over his words as he talked. This was clearly not something he was super familiar with, and I tried not to laugh as he explained to me that he thought homosexuals essentially sought to mirror heterosexual relationships, and that the "bottoms" were expected to live and behave like women.
"God no," I started, with Davis interjecting "but then why d' so many of 'em wear makeup and skinny jeans and talk all gay--like--talk like--you know what I mean".
"That's just how some dudes wanna do things. It's not for everyone, and it sure as fuck ain't for me, but that's just how they wanna live. Honestly, I don't get it myself".
Davis was looking directly at me, wide-eyed. I felt like a teacher, like I should have a powerpoint to explain that gays don't have to have a "girl" in the relationship. I was a little embarrassed, to be honest, because it felt like when I was in my early 20's and preaching to people about what was and wasn't "problematic language". I'd really calmed down in my late 20's, but having to explain homosexual relationships to a straight man made me feel like I was harping about something he didn't care about.
Davis, however, had sat back up, and was sitting on the edge of his bed, opposite me.
"Okay so I don't wanna offend," he started.
"You won't", I reassured.
"But... why... d'yall... do it... like that? Don't it hurt?" he asked, reiterating "i'm not tryin' to be nasty or nothin'". This wasn't the Davis I expected, by far. It was kinda cute, him obviously caring about being nice to me. He didn't strike me as someone who even liked gays normally, let alone someone that would tread lightly when discussing it.
"Do you want the sugarcoated answer or the honest answer?" I'd ask, and he'd curl his lip up like he was grossed out by the thought of what my answer would be.
"The...honest one, I guess".
"Well," I began, "obviously not everything has to be anal. Gay sex is just like regular sex. There's tons of different ways you can do stuff together, so it's not all butt stuff. But, like, even with butt stuff...it's not that bad. You've fucked girls in the ass, i'm sure, yeah?" I'd ask. How weird it was that we ended up on this conversation.
"Sure have" he would boast, cracking a grin as he did. God, I loved his teeth. What a unique smile.
"And they liked it, right?"
"I guess. I know I did".
"Right. So it's like that, 'cept men have a spot in their ass where it feels real good when you hit it. So we tend t' like it more than women". I tried to explain it, but I could tell as I started getting into the meat of explaining anal, he was getting grossed out, finally culminating in him interrupting me with a short "forget I asked" as I was explaining the prostate to him.
"Yeah, i mean, you DID ask" I shrugged.
"Well, you have fun with that" he'd say. His stomach growled, and he would look down at it. A perfect change of subject.
"You hungry?" I asked.
"Been hungry, but now i'm gettin' REAL hungry". He'd say, putting a hand on his stomach.
I first had to explain the concept of food delivery services to him, as DoorDash had come out after he stopped being able to afford a phone. He'd heard of it, but he seemed in disbelief that you could just place an order and have it show up to your room. I showed him, though, and we ordered Chinese. I let him pick whatever he wanted. He went a bit crazy with it, ordering well more than enough food for two people just for himself. I let him, though, I wanted him to enjoy tonight. I got myself something as well, and our order said it would arrive in 45-55 minutes. He groaned at the time, and sank back onto the bed, laying his hands on his stomach and resting.
"Actually," he would say, his eyes opening with a sudden realization, "lemme go test out that shower. S'been so long..."
I was about to encourage him to do so, when a thought crossed my mind. A salacious thought, my heart beginning to pound in my neck as I contemplated speaking it. I would first turn to my old friend, Wild Irish Rose, and toss a swig of it back before letting my head collect itself a bit. It was a risky question, but this was a real now-or-never moment. Dare I ask, though, and risk making it weird? I had to think about how to go about.
I immediately fucked it up by throwing all grace and subtlety out the window, kicking off the question with "wait". Great job, Nico.
"Wait? For what?" he asked, looking over to me. I only had one set of eyes on me at the moment, but I felt like I had a thousand. It's just a shower. Why would I need him to wait? He was probably thinking I was going to ask for some horny shit like "let's shower together" or something like that. The longer it took me to ask, the longer he had to draw conclusions that were probably progressively weirder and weirder to him. I could see his expression changing from confusion to frustration, a perplexed short shake of the head as he asked "well?"
"Can..." I started. The words were hanging stuck in my throat like rocks, I felt like I couldn't cough them up. 
"Can I smell you first?"
There, I said it. My heart was pounding in my chest, my mouth was dry. I felt a little dizzy, like I'd gotten myself lightheaded with worry, and his confused expression wasn't helping at all. He looked bewildered, like I'd just sprouted a second head, and would ask "smell me!?", sounding almost offended.
"I mean if you wanted! You don't gotta. I just thought i'd ask, since you were about to go shower and all..." my ears had folded back, and my tail curled a bit around my waist. I must've looked pathetic, like a kid caught stealing. I shrank a bit, embarrassed I'd made the mistake to press my desires onto a straight man.
Davis, however bewildered his expression may have been, didn't seem mad. He seemed taken aback, but he didn't seem angry. Hell, he hadn't even moved other than to look at me. That helped somewhat to soothe the silence between responses, which felt like hours though they were mere seconds. 
"Where?" he asked, the question in itself feeling like it could've knocked me back off my bed. The fact that he'd even asked at all amazed me, as I'd expected a firm "no".
A long "well, uhh..." prefaced my response as I thought about what to say. I knew where I wanted to smell him, but it would be entirely too invasive for his liking. 
"Iuno, your chest? You don't gotta even take your shirt off".
"My chest?" He asked, seeming surprised, still unmoving. 
What? What do you want from me dude? I thought. Of course I wanted to say somewhere else, but I also didn't want to make him uncomfortable. 
"Yea, just like...lemme smell you a little before you wash off".
"Why?" he asked, prompting my mind to scream "GODDAMMIT DON'T ASK WHY" as I stared on like that was a totally expected question to ask.
"I...like the way you smell, a lot. I could smell you a little outside the other day and I'd...love to...get a little more of a whiff before you clean up". It all fell awkwardly from my mouth. He looked at me like I'd just puked on myself, his snout snurled up with what looked like mild disgust. Though, after a moment, he'd give a short raise of the eyebrows and an affirmative "sure, knock yerself out".
"What, really?!" I'd ask, half-terrified and half in disbelief.
"Yea, it's your funeral". He laughed. I assumed he meant from his smell. I sat there awkwardly, stiff in my posture and my hands in my lap. I must've looked ridiculous, all tense and uncomfortable and unsure if I was even okay in doing so. He'd said it was fine, but was I being weird? Had I cornered him? Did he feel trapped? He could easily kick my ass if he wanted, rob me and take dinner when it arrived, but was I a creep for asking him? I asked myself a thousand questions as I sat there before he would burst the bubble swelling with doubts and worries with "well? how d' y' wanna do this? I wanna get washed before food gets here".
I was thinking about how to position us in a way that wouldn't feel weird to a straight man. Of course I wanted to sit on his lap and loom over him, rubbing my nose all over his body, but he'd never go for that. He probably wouldn't go for me lying next to him, either, one arm over his body while I held myself hovering over his chest. I had to think of something that wouldn't feel invasive to him, and I finally settled on asking him to sit upright, cross-legged. He did so, and I joined him on his bed, sitting opposite him, also cross-legged. Our knees were touching, and that alone could've given me an erection just by how it was the closest physical contact we'd had so far. I tried to maintain my composure, but as he got in position it became hard to do so.
Davis had sat cross-legged, but had pressed his palms to the bed behind him, thus pushing his chest out as he braced himself on his arms. He gave a nod like "well? go on then" and I looked up to his eyes before looking back to his chest. His shirt was so stained, covered in oil and dirt and probably god knows what else, and I could smell him even before I leaned in. 
"Are you sure?" I'd ask again, and he'd give a frustrated, "aw c'mon! quit bein' a pussy" in response.
"If all I gotta do t' get free food, a room and shower is let a man sniff me? You can sniff me every fuckin' day" he'd say, and I could see from the corner of my eyes that he'd smiled a little as he said it. That helped a lot. I leaned in. 
My nose touched to the fabric of the shirt at first, which hung a bit loosely off Davis' chest, and I took a few weak, short sniffs. His body odor was so strong, spicy. It burned my nose a bit at first, but as I took deeper sniffs I found it only got progressively more intoxicating. That's the thing about musk, it's pheromonal, and even if it stinks it can affect you. Davis was affecting me. I leaned my nose in a bit more and would press my nose directly to his chest, with only the shirt as a barrier between us. I took in slow, deep sniffs and exhaled out my mouth, taking in the aromas of a man in his most natural state. Davis had a smell to him that was sharp, almost peppery, and this was only his chest I was smelling through his shirt. His canine musks and body odor mingled in such a delicious way, and I found myself salivating as I kept breathing in low, deep inhales of that smell. I moved my nose around his chest a bit and continued to breathe out my mouth. He let me do this for a few minutes before I would exhale "wow" through a breathy, clearly enthralled tone.
Davis would fidget a bit on his wrists, complaining "hol' up, this ain't a comfortable position" before leaning back on his elbows, easing down to his back. I was surprised, seeing as I really wanted him in that position to begin with, but I felt it was a bit too intimate for him. He'd pat his chest like I was a feral dog and he was calling me, and I followed right along like I may as well have been. I eased onto my hands and knees, a palm on the bed on either side of his chest, leaning my neck and snout down to continue to sniff at him. I liked this angle a bit more, too, as it hid how hard an erection I had in my pants. What happened next, though, I could've never foreseen coming.
Davis cracked a simper, clearly somewhat pleased to see me losing my composure to sniffing him. I don't know what his intentions were with what he did next, but it was unquestionably the turning point in our entire experience together. I would've never gone further had he not done so first, but god am I thankful he did.
The dog would stretch out, raise his arms above him, and cross his forearms behind his head, resting on them. The notes of musk immediately changed, and Davis would nod his snout slightly to his armpit, recommending me "y' like smells so much, why'on't you stick yer nose in there?" Davis chuckled afterward, and I think he suggested this with the thought that it would break my musk-hungry desires, presumably because it would be funny in his mind to see me recoil at the odor and break the mood. However, I felt in that moment as if i'd never had a greater gift than that offer, and I wordlessly shifted my snout sideways, from chest to armpit, and pressed down, breathing in. I could feel his bristly underarm hair coiling and squishing beneath the fabric of the shirt. His armpit was warm, and his shirt was slightly damp from sweating, and the smell was exhilarating. I'd never done cocaine, but I imagined myself experiencing a similar rush to doing a line of the stuff. The smell was pungent, onion-y, much more like typical body odor than his chest and much, much more intense. 
His shirt had visible sweat stains, and I would bear my nose down and rub my snout around on the warm spot, snorting up a smell through my nose and succumbing to the chemicals flooding my brain as I huffed Davis' musk. It was incredible, overwhelming, addictive. I wished anything I could remove his shirt and taste it as well, but here I was getting thrilled on the smell alone. I was muskdrunk, and I finally lost my composure in sniffs when I exhaled a low moan, my shoulders relaxing as my legs spread. Davis made no effort to stop me or cut the mood short, instead seeming to want to pick with me about it, asking "y' like that?", to which I nodded and exhaled a whimpering "y-yea". He would cut back "c'mon, don't half-ass it then, fuckin' huff it up". I don't know why he pressed me on this, but I obeyed. I would press my nose to his armpit in a way that squished the front part of my muzzle upward, some of my teeth and gums showing  as i sniffed on him. I would close my eyes and press my snout sideways against him, musk-marking myself in his aromas before pressing my open mouth to the fabric, breathing in through my mouth. I wanted to taste it, and though I couldn't, the act would cause Davis to declare a surprised "goddamn".
I went to switch arms, just for the fun of it. I started to crawl my backside over him, and in a courageous move would sit on his lap for a moment as I moved my snout to the second underarm. My ass was pressed right against a bulge in his pants, and I wanted to grind back, but he was having none of it.
"'hey, HEY, none'a that, fruit" he'd say with an abruptly commanding tone, his hips twisting as if trying to push me off. I obeyed without speaking, crawling off him and resuming my position on all fours with my head bent down and stuffed under his sweaty underarm. The smell on this side was the same, but the thrill felt entirely new to me. His tone had softened from that serious tone a moment ago back to his usual easygoing self as he chastised me for getting adventurous, letting me know not to "try any homo shit on him". I found it interesting that a man sniffing his chest and armpits and moaning with pleasure wasn't "homo shit" to him, but I thought it best to not question that too much. He was letting me do as I wished with his underarms, and seemed to be a little prideful of it himself as I got a bit brave and pushed the sleeve of his shirt up, letting warm pit fur tuft out of from the end of it. I pressed my nose to bar, wirey armpit hair and soft furry undercoat and sniffed it, the smell not that different but so much more intoxicating now that it was bare skin. I expected Davis to cut that short, but instead he would instead play along, saying "THAT'S gettin' your money's worth". Oh god. Was this soliciting? My dick was too hard for this to not be soliciting.
Davis let me have at it for a while, and i sniffed around under his arms for a good while. My head was hot, my dick ached, and my elbows and knees were trembling by the time I surrendered. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to tear off his shirt and go directly for bare skin, but I doubted he'd go for that. I felt it best to take what I was offered and enjoy the moment. Who knows? We could always do this again. I really wanted to do it again.
I'd eventually find myself sitting cross-legged beside him, regaining my composure while he relaxed, seeming to stare at nothing. Eventually his eyes would wander to mine, and he'd ask "well, y' done? Can I go shower or y' wanna get some more outta me first?"
"Well, there's definitely more I'd gladly put my nose on, but I bet i've sniffed all you'd let me sniff" I said back, letting him know I was more than satisfied by closing with "which was fuckin' amazing, by the way".
"Yeah? Where else?" He asked as if he had the intention of letting me. I sucked my lower lip into my mouth and chewed on it apprehensively, shaking my head. 
"No, trust me, I already know it'd be a hard 'no'" I said, to which Davis would counter "y' don't know shit. Where?"
"...Between your legs."
"My cock?!" he went wide-eyed, insisting "y' don't wanna go down there, that's the worst of 'em all".
I thought back to his boots. No, those were definitely the worst. He had no idea how bad those goddamn boots stank, nor did he know how much I loved it.
"Talkin' like that's teasin' me" I said back, and he shrugged his shoulders and said "Okay sure, get a whiff. Don't go tryin' to grope on it though".
I must've heard him wrong, I was sure of it, but as he spread his legs a bit I began to wonder if maybe I was crazy. Was he drunk? Was I taking advantage of a vulnerable man? I looked over to his wine bottle, which was about half-gone. That's not drunk for Davis.
"Wait, what?" I'd ask, NEEDING a second confirmation. I'd get that in the form of Davis nodding downward.
"Go on tough guy, get down there!"
It was then that it made a bit more sense to me. This was a test of my strength to Davis, a game he was playing that he might've played with other curious men at some point, maybe in the military. Men do strange, homoerotic things sometimes as a test of willpower to other men, and it seemed to me that Davis thought some part of me was going to break from his smell, and yet admired my resilience when it didn't. He knew his aroma, and he was impressed I didn't back down. He was definitely smart enough to deduce it was arousing for me, but I think his masculine insticts overrode his heterosexual apprehensions. He scooted back on the bed a bit, sitting reclined against the pillows, and I laid down on my belly and crawled up between his legs.
I wasn't even that close yet, and I could smell him. This was definitely a hot spot, and the musk was stale. He sweated bad here, and as I crawled up to where my nose was a few inches away, I knew i was really getting in deep with this one. His jeans were somewhat baggy, though they looked like they used to would have fit him well. His weight loss and their fabric thinning, though, had left the denim soft, and a bit loose. His underwear probably matched in thinning and lack of elasticity. I could see a faint curve in the denim where his dick was, but it wasn't defined. I put my snout a few inches away from it and sniffed a few times, lightly. I felt like I had to be gentle with this one, so as not to seem like I was trying to make him erect. The smell was strong, a secondary note of stale piss masked mostly by a much heavier, fishy smell of musky dick. I sniffed a few more times, and realized this was the one that was going to be the hardest to dive right into. It wasn't so much because of the smells, mind you, but because I was trying to respect Davis. The smell, though, was the strongest so far after those boots. He'd definitely pissed himself drunk a few times, and he definitely jacked off into his own pants. Both these smells were distinct.
Davis, however, was apparently less than thrilled with my apprehension. I felt a hand abruptly grab the back of my head, yanking me downward while old thighs clamped closed against the sides of my face. I was disoriented for a moment as I felt my snout mash against the definite, unmistakeable meat of Davis' dick and balls through his jeans, his thighs squeezing so hard on my face that my cheek skin pushed forward and pursed my lips. 

"Goddammit kid how many times I told'y' to not be a pussy about it!? GET IN THERE" he said in an abruptly stern, almost angry sounding tone. All at once, I felt pressure against my snout and both sides of my face as he had me in a headlock, grinding his crotch hard against my snout. It would've probably been distressing if it had been anyone else, but because it was Davis I found myself melting into the grip. My nose snorted so hard you could hear the mucus in my muzzle rattle, and he gave a growling "ATTABOY". I huffed again, then again, and my hands reached up to grab the outside of his thighs and squeeze them, pulling the prominence in his jeans against my muzzle as I breathed in that ambrosial stink, the overpowering musk of a man almost twice my age. I moaned out my mouth again, though this time it was far more sexual than the last. Davis didn't seemed phased, and retained the forceful thigh grip he had on my head. His hand was still gripping my hair, holding me crammed against his dick as I breathed in the smell of months of living in these dirty jeans. I swear, in that moment, I almost orgasmed from sniffing him alone. 
Davis was swelling against my snout, I could feel it. He had been limp the entire night, even when I slid across his lap earlier, but I could feel the tension building between his legs as he held me in the vice grip, forcing me to sniff him. I certainly wasn't complaining, but I did find myself a little dizzy. Such strong, heavy snorts were really getting me lightheaded, and I found my mouth hanging open, salivating. My tongue wanted to lash against the denim, but I thought better of it. THAT he might take as an advance. It was clear that, however far this went, it was on his terms, and I surrendered to the role of his beta, his submissive. We weren't engaging in "gay sex" to him, this was same-sex sexual behavior for dominance. This was Davis in the throes of masculine aggression, and it only was growing more intense. He would roll, suddenly, so that i was pinned on my back. His thighs were on my shoulders, his knees on either side of my face. The growing rigid bulge was over top my snout, and my nose was pressed against his balls through his jeans. He would grab me once more by the hair, and tug me into the warmth of the creases of fabric, the stink of man. He cursed a passionate "godDAMN! THAT'S the spirit!" as I snorted again, almost seeming proud of me as he beared down his weight on my face. I could only exhale through my mouth, and each breathe left my entire world being the smells between Davis' legs. I was enraptured. 
Davis would ride on my face for a while, it felt like. My snout eventually got a little sore from being pressed so hard, and my mouth was wet with how much i'd been drooling. The ammonia scent of stale piss had left my nose stinging a bit, and I just wanted to grab my dick. It was incredible, but I was aching. I wanted to cum so badly, I could feel my dick bent against the tension of my jeans, and I just wanted to unzip them. This was what "too much of a good thing" felt like, but I wasn't at all about to tap out. I let Davis ride my face, snorting his musk and digging my hands into his thighs before I finally felt him begin to slow his pace. He would puff out a loud "WHOO lordy" as he hiked a leg, easing his body off me. Where the fuck had that bad leg gone? You'd never have thought Davis had a limp with the way he'd ridden my face, and I was laying there catching my breath when he slapped me on the chest, causing my body to curl up a bit and cough.
"Not fuckin' bad! Not bad at all!" He'd say, reclining back against the pile of motel pillows, arms above his head again. 
I was grinning as I asked it, but there was surprise in my voice as I asked "what the fuck was that about?", to which Davis gave one loud "HA!"
"Jus' thought i'd show y' a few tricks I learned in the war".
Grinding your dick on someone's face? You learned that in the war? I wanted to ask, but I didn't wanna accidentally offend him. I assume he meant his maneuvers as combat tactics, but even then, i've never heard of squeezing someone's head between your legs being used in American military combat. I sure didn't have any complaints, after all. Though, my dick was throbbing, and it was getting difficult to handle. I needed to jack off immediately, so I would sit myself up after clearing my head from that muskdrunken state, beginning to say "gimme a minute to go piss". I only got a few words out, though, before Davis would grab me by the collar of my shirt and tug me back with a commanding "hold it! Y' got work to finish first".
I looked back to him as he held my shirt, and saw that his other hand was pointing directly at the tent in his own pants, which was standing stiff upright with a wet spot forming at the front of his jeans.
"What?" I would ask. We spent all night talking about how gay he wasn't, and how he'd never do anything with a man. We'd had this conversation numerous times. Was he seriously, after all that, asking me to get him off?
"Y' don't get a man in this state and leave him like that, goddammit. Take care of it!"
Shit, I guess he was.
"I mean i'm glad to, but isn't that like--"
"Great! Get to work then!" he'd say, his brow furrowing as he nodded down to his dick. He'd let go of my shirt and cross his arms behind his head again. He HAD made it clear he found the idea of a man's ass to be unpleasant earlier, though, so I figured i'd go with the safe bet and use my mouth. Still, though, what the fuck? What was with this guy? I was horny out of my mind, but he was so strange. How had we moved so fast, and how had he gone from telling me he wasn't gay to outright demanding I make him cum? I didn't want to ask questions. You never look a gift horse in the dick.
I leaned down in front of him, my knees together, my torso bent forward. I first unbuckled his belt, the clinking of metal audible as it flapped open, flaccid and worn. The button came next, then the zipper. I was slow in my movements--I found that attractive--but Davis would cock an eyebrow as if he didn't get why I was taking it slow. Speaking of slow, I thought, where the fuck was Doordash? Would hate for them to show up now. As i pulled back the flaps of Davis' fly, the loose, thin material of greyed-blue boxer briefs revealed not only a sight of a rigid, wet cock in need of servicing, but a whole new level of that fishy dick smell that I'd been admiring earlier. The worst of those stale musks were in his jeans, but this...this was fresher. Manly, sexual. He'd been drooling precum for a while, it seemed. It also seemed like he'd either had nocturnal emissions or jacked off recently into these, as there were cumstains in his fabric. I loved it, though, I loved knowing I was going to satisfy active desires. 
I finally pulled down the fabric of his boxer briefs, tugging the backside below his ass, and pulled my torso back to tug his pants and underwear down together, to his knees. He would draw legs up one at a time and kick them off, a foot shoving them off the bed. He would then spread his legs a bit and allow me to lay on my belly between them, and finally I was graced with a sight I truly thought i'd never see. Davis' dick was erect before me, the tip and upper area gleaming with precum. He was just above average length, maybe 7", average girth, cut. His balls were heavy, wrinkled and saggy, and the base of his dick was surrounded in a forest of white and blonde body hair. God, how i'd waited so long to see if the carpet matched the drapes...imagine my delight when it did. His dick was pink, with the tip being darker and fading down the wrinkles where his foreskin would've been. The fishy smell was so intense, so arousing. My nose was drawn directly for it, and I wanted to just keep sniffing him for a while. Davis, however, had expectations, evident by how he took his dick in his hand and wagged it a few times before ordering me again to "get to it!"
I licked my chops. I had full intention to impress him, and I leaned forward and opened my maw. I'm sure spit stringed from my upper jaw to my lower jaw with how much I was salivating, My breath exhaled a warm steam on his dick, and I would take it into my own hands, feeling the soft skin on top of turgid organ as I fed it into my mouth. My head dipped down, and he would disappear into my snout as I closed my jaws carefully around him. Davis hissed air in through his teeth, and I let his dick bottom out in the back of my mouth. He was incredibly salty, the saltiest dick I'd ever had in my mouth for sure. I assumed it was the sweat and general lack of hygiene, and it burned on my tongue a bit at first, but I kinda liked it. It was his taste, the flavor of the man I'd been desiring for so long now. It was exceptionally warm, and I let my tongue roll his shaft around back and forth for a moment as I rested with my nose pressed firm against his lower stomach, getting a snoutful of aromatic white and grey pubic hair.
I could taste his precum as it slid down my tongue to the back of my throat, bitter, saltier than even the skin on his dick was. I loved it, and I would pull back to let the head of his dick rest against the front of my muzzle for a moment before I would dip my head down once more, pushing so that it was pressing the back of my throat. Davis was lucky that I didn't have a strong gag reflex, and I think he enjoyed that because I heard him cuss a quiet "fuck me, s'good..." as he propped a pillow up behind his head to watch me. I was used to men wanting to lean their heads back and lose themselves to the pleasure, but as I cut my eyes up to see his expressions, I found his tired blue eyes to be looking right into mine, the corners of his mouth curled up to a sleazy grin. He loved seeing it hilted in my mouth, I could tell. My half-lidded, horny eyes expressing an emotion that could only be compared to drunkenness, lost in a head rush from his smell and taste. I bobbed my head a few times and watched as his eyes would squint with pleasure each time I fed the length of that salty old dick to the back of my mouth. I enjoyed myself for a minute before I felt his hands slide down, grasping at my hair, both palms on the upper sides of my head. He would lift me off his dick, a thick string of slobber drooling out of my maw and globbing up on the tip of his shaft, slowly running down the side of it as I sat like a stupid animal, maw open and needy.
"Sit on the floor" he'd command me, and I wasted no time in obeying. I crawled onto my knees beside the bed, and he sat up, swinging sideways so that his feet were on the floor, my body sitting between his legs. His dick was in my face once more, thick with a coat of my spit, and I would open my mouth once more to bob down onto it, but he would stop me by putting his hand around my upper muzzle, holding it. He scooted forward, so that his balls slid off the edge of the bed and swung heavily between his legs, and he would order me "open yer mouth an' keep it open". As with all his commands, I obeyed happily. I opened my maw wide, my tongue lolled out between my front teeth, and Davis would tilt my muzzle up slightly to get a good view of the back of my throat. He then slid his dick up my tongue, the slimy tip prodding at the narrow passageway of my throat. Holding my jaw, he adjusted my head slightly so that my upper muzzle began to slide over his pubic area, my lower jaw, meeting with his balls in my mouth, and his dick would press firmly against the hole of my throat before a wet squelch confirmed to him that it had penetrated. My eyes watered, but fuck this was one of the hottest things a man had ever done to me, especially when I was praised with an "attaboy" groaned through clenched teeth.
Davis would then move his hands once more to the sides of my head, holding me firmly, as he began to thrust his cock in and out of my throat. Not only did I love the feeling of it, but it freed up my hands, which slid down and finally unzipped my own jeans, letting free my dick after all that aching misery it had been enduring in the tight confines of my jeans. It was wet, sweaty and slimy with precum, and I dared not touch it or I would've definitely cum on the spot. Instead I sat there, letting it tense and ache between my legs, while I felt Davis fuck my face, forcing throaty wet noises from my neck as he fed dick down into it.
"Y' ever had yer face fucked like this?" he'd ask me through a breathy, clearly flustered tone, as if I was in any state to answer. I gave the best "nuh uh" from my nose as I could, and as much of a shake of the head as I could with two hands gripping me. The truth seemed to arouse him further, as I heard him lick his chops and moan a low "goddamn right you ain't..." as his fingertips tensed up a bit, squeezing on me as he began to pull me down at the same time that he thrusted in. I could feel a gag brimming in my body, and I wanted a moment to clear it, but Davis was really enjoying himself. I could hear it in his breathing, he'd begun to wheeze a bit as he thrust into me, and I could feel his hands occasionally tremble when he gave a particularly deep thrust.
My open maw was pouring drool, thick bile-y drool pulled from my throat, running down my tongue and slathering his balls that were continuing to plap against the flat of my mouth. What didn't coat his crotch was pooling off my tongue, pattering on motel carpet and my own lap. I could feel warm, wet spots forming on my jeans from my mouth. The feeling of sitting there, letting Davis release all that sexual tension into my maw was one of the most arousing feelings I'd ever had in my life. Some might hear this and think it's degrading, or unwell of me to want to surrender to such a degree my autonomy to let my throat be a man's breeding hole for a moment. I can certainly understand the apprehension as I tell this story, and honestly it's not normally in my character to let myself so willingly be fucked that deeply. Davis was different, though. It was a strange feeling I can only assume was love, that made it fun to do the strange things he had in mind. I didn't feel dehumanized, or uncomfortable, but rather exhilerated. It was like challenge, and I was incredibly horny at the thought of pleasing him. My desire for finally experiencing him intimately had come to fruition, and this felt like only the natural progression into returning the satisfaction. Sex is a strange thing, and this was a strange experience I was having, but i've never felt a more full-hearted lust than I had in that moment. 
There was a moment amidst it all when Davis pulled back enough that his dick popped free from my throat and I gasped abruptly, taking in air and coughing a few times. He cut his eyes down at me, pulling my snout up to look at him as he asked "not gettin' tired, are ya?". I went to speak, but abruptly belched, having had my throat pumped full of air. I belched a second time and it prompted me to laugh as I gave him an enthused "fuck no i ain't tired" before taking the drive into my hands for a moment. Before he had a chance to thrust me back down himself, I opened my maw wide, back into position, and thrust my head down hard to where my jaws ended up pressed firmly against his skin, leaving little divots where my teeth hit his pubic area as I fed his dick down my throat as far as I could take it. I did gag this time, prompting a thick throaty spit to fill my mouth, but before he could put his hands on me I would smack one of them away, my own hands pressing down on his thighs as I proceeded to deepthroat him myself. He seemed to like my abrupt use of dominance, as he leaned back and rested on his arms once more, letting me take the reigns. 
I could feel him starting to tense up a bit. The head of his dick had gotten a bit fatter, and the veins in his shaft were more tense. He was clearly closer to orgasm than not, and I only maintained my pace of thrusting him into my throat until I would gag again, taking a moment to swab him around in my muzzle before returning to my neck. He was loving it, and I could feel his thighs and stomach clenching every now and then as his body began to store that building tension, preparing to release. 
It was in that moment, deep in the throes of sex, that there was a loud knock at our door. Doordash. I paused my body entirely, a dick around two inches past my uvula, and my eyes darted to the door. A second knock at the door. "Your order" they would say, and I would go to pull off of Davis. Just as I did, though, his hands would grab me by the head and push my down full force, feeding his dick as deep into my throat as it could go, once again. I coughed a loud, watery hack as he clamped his thighs shut around my face, his hands on the back of my head. He wasn't letting me handle this.
Davis would, instead, bark "LEAVE IT AT THE DOOR! THANK YOU!" as he looked in the direction of our locked motel room door. This was more than sufficient an answer, but the old dog had to have some fun, it seemed, as he followed it up with "My dick's in someone right now!"
The voice on the other side of the door was muffled, but I could hear it distinctly as it replied "uhhh...okay". Shortly after we heard the drop of several bags--not the setting down of bags, the drop--and a hurried walking away from our door. I was half-mortified, half-hysterical, and as soon as Davis let loose the clamp on my face I had to pull back because my entire body was shaking with laughter. I was cackling with laughter as I spit out "you ASSHOLE" to him, wiping tears from my eyes as he snickered along with me, retaliating "what? it was!" as he wagged it a few times in my face. I rolled my eyes at him and wiped the corners of my mouth for a moment as I asked "should i get the food? Someone's gonna take it if we don't".
Davis replied "nah, this ain't gonna go much longer", idly pumping his dick a few times as he ordered me once again to "open back up". I happily obliged, and he fed the length back into my maw. This time, though, I let him return to control, as I wanted to let him cum how he wanted. His hands gripped the side of my face and he puffed a low sigh of air as he looked down at me, at his dick disappearing below the censor of my snout. My eyes were squinted, and my ears were back, my hair a ratty mess, and his pace increased as he asked "ready for it??"
This was a loaded question. I knew the responsible answer was "no", because I had no idea where Davis had been or where the women I knew he'd banged had been. However, love makes us do stupid things sometimes, and in the heat of the moment I gave an enthusiastic "MMHMM!" out my nose. This seemed to delight Davis, who then cut ties with all his inhibitions and leaned forward a bit, thrusting into my maw with full force, causing wet pops and grunts out of my mouth as he bred my maw like he would the women he wanted so badly. The old dog would cuss a shivery "f-fuckin' hell--" as he sucked air, exhaling a raggedy "f-fUCKIN' HELL Nico..."
My name. How incredible to hear that name again, as thrilling as it was the first time i'd heard him say it. He said my name, right at the height of climax. I'd assumed he wasn't even thinking of me, that this was some sort of masculine dominance exerted over me and he was thinking of women, but to say my name? Right at that moment? I couldn't believe what I'd heard. His body leaned forward a bit and the bottom of his shirt was dragging against my face as he gave a few more thrusts. I could feel then that his dick swelled hard, the tip at it's fattest, most rigid shape. I was familiar with men what this meant, and I returned by pushing forward when he thrusted in, allowing him to breed my mouth as deeply as he wanted.
It was then that I felt it. Davis gave a sudden raspy cry out in pleasure, a hoarse masculine moan as he thrust once more into my throat, and I felt his entire dick throb. My tongue was dragging the underside of his shaft as I felt the vein pulse and pump several times, and I was greeted with a heavy, thick feeling in the back of my throat that I swallowed several times instinctively. I could taste remnants of it around the edges of my tongue--bitter, representative of his junk diet. I didn't care. I wanted to taste it better. I would pull back suddenly and bob my head normally on his dick a few times, prompting another hoarse moan from the old male as I felt him pump a heavy mouthful of seed onto my tongue. I got the full taste at that moment, the full sensation of satisfying him. It was indeed very bitter, a taste I would've probably not loved had it been any other man. With Davis, though, it tasted delicious. I gulped it down happily and plunged my maw forward, allowing him to dump another shot directly down my throat before pulling off once more to use my mouth to stimulate out the rest of his climax. His hands and legs were both trembling, and his breathing was ragged and wheezy, and I could feel the shots of his semen turning to slow trickles his climax finally tapered off after what felt like eight or nine shots. He must've been incredibly pent up, and in that moment I couldn't have felt happier.
I would finally pull back and free his dick from my muzzle, and Davis would reward me with a clearly satisfied "FUCK, Nico!" as he looked down at me. He looked exhausted, and the first thing he would do was reach for his bottle of Rose, tossing back a big gulp of it. He then handed his bottle to me, saying "here, wash it down", to which I asked "you sure you want my mouth on your bottle?"
His hand, which was holding his bottle down to me, drew back as he said "oooh, good point" and sat it down, handing me mine instead. I rejected, though, politely, as I wanted to save the flavors and smells in my mouth for the rest of my life...or at least for a little while longer tonight. He sat down my bottle and reclined back on his elbows, looking down at me behind his bouncing dick, still pulsing and starting to lose rigidity as it drooled the last of it's cum. I leaned in and lapped it up, causing him to tense up from the overstimulation. He sat there in silence for a moment, regaining his breath, before he would finally ask me "satisfied?"
"That's an understatement" I'd say as I wiped my mouth once more.
"Same here" he'd reply, his body flopping flat on his back.
"Ain't had head that good in as long as I can recall" he'd remark.
"Lemme tell ya why. S'cause you been with girls," I started. Davis snorted. "Girls suck dick 'cause they gotta, gays suck dick cause we wanna. It's a job for women, it's a passion for gays". Davis gave a short laugh and replied "got it" before finally sitting up, looking down at me.
"Don't think y' won me over to your side though, kiddo. I ain't goin' for guys now and I sure ain't playin' with ass".
"You mean i'm the only one? What a compliment!" I'd bat my eyelashes, and he'd take a paw and kick me lightly in the shoulder as he cut back "fuck ooofff man". He looked a little embarrassed.
I shrugged. "Doesn't have t' be a big thing. Guys put too much faith in labels. Call me crazy, but I think y' can still go for women and get your dick sucked by a guy every now and then".
"We'll see about 'every now and then', but the first time won't too bad" he said, looking down at his now limp, slimy dick...then down to mine, still erect and aching between my legs.
"When'd y' get that thing out?" he asked, looking back up to my eyes, probably to avoid prolonged contact with it.
"At some point when y' were lodged in my neck, I don't exactly recall". Davis would lean forward and press his hands to his knees, easing his body to standing.
"Weeell, I don't mean t' offend but I imagine y' wanna take care a'that, sooo...i'm gonna go get the food and hop in the shower. Feel free t' dig into yours while i'm washin' but i'll have mine after". Davis stood up slowly, his knees wobbly as he went for his boxer briefs, tugging them up and heading for the door. He unlocked the several locks and opened the door, tugging the food inside and sitting it by the wall as he locked all the locks back, immediately stripping back out of his underwear, then his shirt. It was the first time I'd seen him fully shirtless, which was ironic seeing as I'd just sucked him off. His chest and torso had a shape that said it used to have been more muscular, but had softened a little with age. The skin on his chest and belly sagged a bit, and had visible wrinkles to it. He had a fairly decent pelt of white and greying chest hair that thinned around his belly, spreading back out near his lower stomach and down to his crotch. I wanted to play with those wrinkles so badly, I was such an incredibly spoiled man. I was insatiable. He had such a beautiful body, I just wanted to keep admiring it.
"Wait, real quick," I'd stop him just as he passed the doorframe into the bathroom, causing him to lean his head back out and ask a frustrated "whaaat?!"
"I got some clothes in my car, do you...want a change? Into something fresh? I can take yours home and wash 'em for you". He looked surprised, an apprehensive "oh...yeah. thanks, 'preciate that Nico". I could tell he was a little guarded when I offered, like he was hesitant to accept such an offer, but I lit up when he accepted it and I think that might have helped him ease into it a little.
"I'll go grab 'em here in a few minutes, so don't worry if y' hear me leave the room". He gave a short "yep" in reply before shutting the bathroom door, starting the water. Privacy was once again mine, and my first priority was finally getting off. There was no way I'd even be able to walk to my truck with my dick as hard as it was. I stood up and kicked off my pants, freeing myself entirely from the constraints of the denim for now. My pleasure for the night was obvious: those boots were calling my name. I took a seat on the floor, and drew one quickly up to my nose. Pushing my nose inside, I returned to huffing up that strong, cheesy aroma of unwashed male paws. I leaned back against the end of the bed. One hand on the sole of the boot, the other on my dick, I proceeded to have myself the most indulgent masturbation I'd ever had in my life. Davis' smell was all I could experience, the musk of his feet and the feeling of his boot around my snout. It took me no time at all to be on the precipice of orgasm, and I thought for a moment about what I was going to cum on. I didn't want to blow on my own belly, because I didn't want to have to shower tonight. I had to think quickly.
This lead me to a rather impulsive decision, and though I'm not proud to admit that I did it, it's good to admit that I did it just the same. I tugged the sock out of Davis' other boot, stuffing my cock into it and proceeding to jack off into it. The climax was mind-bending, so intense it made my ears ring. I was dizzy as I climaxed, blasting jets of needy cum into this old man's already somewhat crunchy sock. I felt it immediately get damp with my seed, growing heavy and wet as I bred my load into the fabric. My other hand on the boot, my nose ripping sniffs of it, I melted into an almost hallucinatory climax that left the room spinning as I finally began to snap back to reality. I was lightheaded, and my balls hurt from finally dumping a load i'd been edging on all night. That said, though, now I needed to hope that I also had a change of socks for Davis in my truck. I eventually staggered to my feet and dressed myself, then looked to his clothes. I drew them all up into my arms and grabbed my truck keys, carrying the load of laundry out to the passenger side of my truck and dumping it in there. It would be a few days before he got these back, I thought. I was going to make the most of the smells in his clothes before I washed them...
Thankfully Davis, though taller than me, was skinny. I had a spare shirt and jeans for him, though no underwear...and no socks. That arose a problem. I rarely wore shoes myself, so I didn't have any reason for socks in my truck. I probably should've thought of that before I dumped a load in one of his, but that was a problem I could probably solve tomorrow morning with a quick trip home. I would head back to the room and leave the clothes on his bed as I took a seat on mine, laying back, basking in a post-climax relaxation. So much had happened so quickly, and my head was swimming in emotions. Most of them were positive, some of them worried. I worried about if Davis would be weird afterward. What if he stopped coming to my store? What if he's got post-sex regret in the shower right now? What if he drinks himself into a stupor, riddled with homosexual guilt? What if I get a disease from swallowing his cum? All these worries, for the time, paled in comparison to how happy I was not only to get to pleasure Davis, but specifically just to spend time with him. He was so fun to be around, exactly what I'd hoped for when I first asked to spend time with him. He also seemed to be having a good time himself, in and out of bed. It felt nice to see him happy.
The water stopped after a while, and I heard him grab the towel and start drying off. He must've felt nice, all scrubbed clean for the first time in months. He would eventually emerge from a steamy bathroom with the towel over his shoulder, his nude body on display as he picked up the shirt I'd left for him. It was a black band shirt, and he squinted and asked "who's this?"
"The Varmints. They're a band I was in for a little. They're still together, though obviously I ain't in it anymore". He tugged the shirt on, and thankfully it fit him fairly well. The jeans did too, and I got excited seeing him wearing my clothes. It felt like I was looking at my boyfriend, and I had to fight to shake my mind of those feelings. I really liked Davis, and I liked seeing him wear my clothes, and I found it hard not to attach myself to the sight of it. 
"What'd y' play?" he asked as he brought our dinner over to his bed, opening the bags and beginning to divvy out the dishes between the two of us. 
"I sang backup vocals. They didn't like me 'cause my sound clashed with the main singer's". I stood up to get my food, picking it up as he said "y' can sit on my bed, don't gotta go back over there". I took a seat with him, of course.
"Thanks. But yeah, they kicked me out and they play shows pretty often nowadays. Nice guys I guess, but I sure wasn't happy about it".
"Fuckers" he'd reply as he popped open a container of some dish I couldn't name, digging right in. He looked so happy, scarfing down bites of it, and I could barely focus on my own food at first as I lost myself in watching how content he seemed to be having a "real" meal. I felt weirdly parental, like he was my responsibility to care for, and seeing him indulge so unabashedly was arguably one of the best parts of the night. He swapped dishes, getting bites of each one before going back to previous ones. I picked at mine as I mostly watched him, occasionally having sips of Rose to wash it down. 
It was funny, how it all coincided together. For all the thrills that came with sex, I think the thing I wanted most out of sleeping with him was to make him happy, to make him feel good. Seeing him eat, seeing him cum and seeing him fresh out the shower all sparked the same joy in me. It was the same joy that inspired me to constantly give him discounts. I just wanted to see him enjoy himself. My feelings for him were all wrapped in the same desire to allow him the pleasures of life he'd gone so long without, and I felt almost lecherous with how excited it was making me sitting there watching him eat. I was probably going to be the same watching him sleep. What a pervert I was. Still, it was undeniable. If this wasn't love, it was damn close to it. Everything about Davis was attractive to me, and it felt like all the neurotransmitters in my brain were focused on his wellness and comfort. If it wasn't love, it was some sort of deranged obsession, so I let myself settle on it being the former so as not to overthink it. He made such cute noises as he ate, snorting and slurping occasionally as he tore at black plastic trays of glossy, sauced meats and vegetables.
We chatted a little throughout dinner, and moreso afterward. Strangely enough, the sex wasn't really mentioned once. He asked what my plans were for tomorrow, and I said I had to go to work. I asked him about himself, and he said "go to work, go grocery shoppin', maybe go out to the lake for a while". I returned a half-smile to the joke.
"You should come say hi, even if you don't need more Rose". He replied "maybe".
"Can't make my presence too known, the magic'll start wearin' off. You'll get sick'a me eventually. Gonna run outta lighters to give me". He said all that with a mouthful of lo mein.
"You still got the lighter I gave you the other day?" I asked. He cut back a squinted smile like a nervous dog, his teeth slowly showing as I answered my own question with "i see".
"You're right, I am getting sick of you" I said, nudging him with my elbow as he ate. 
"Fine, i'll get a hotel room with someone else next time" he replied, and I challenged him "see if someone else gives you a change of clothes after sex!"
"You got me there" he'd concede.
Our conversations went on for a while longer, the both of us staying up entirely too late. Funny enough, he ended up drinking most of his Rose but never finishing it. I drank about half of mine, and we ended up falling asleep in separate beds, tipsy but neither of us too drunk. It wasn't how I thought the night would end. I'd expected us both to fall asleep absolutely trashed and wake up confused, Davis being regretful. I supposed there was still chance for that last part, but at the moment it all seemed to be going surprisingly well. I fell asleep easily, and he must've as well because I heard him snoring as I was drifting off. He slept in his boxers, as did I. The room was quiet, save for the occasional turning on and buzzing of the automatic air conditioning. My life felt like it couldn't get better, and we'd only just had our first night together. Sleep was peaceful. I hadn't set an alarm, I just wanted us to sleep in. 
I awoke in the morning around 10:20 to an empty bed next to me. I assumed Davis to be in the bathroom, but after a few minutes of total silence, my heart began to sink into my stomach. Had he just flown by night? I stood up and pulled on my shirt and pants, and looked over to see his boots were gone. Without socks? I thought. He must've really needed to haul ass outta here quickly. His bottle of Rose was in the trash, empty, and mine was where I left it. I looked around the room for a moment, and saw no sign of him. I guessed I'd see him again at work eventually, but his disappearance said for certain that something wasn't right between us. I felt like crying, but I also felt so stupid for having pushed this idea onto him. I went to the bathroom and used my fingers to brush my hair to the best of my ability, straighten my beard, and check my face for dirt. I looked as good as a heartbroken man could look.
I was just about to leave, though, when I noticed the complimentary notepad on the table had writing on it, and had been moved slightly. I could've easily missed that, I was so thankful I hadn't. Davis had written me several notepad pages worth of note, and I sat in the wheeled chair and began to read it. He had some of the worst handwriting I'd ever seen in my life.
"Nico,
I'm not good at goodbyes. Sorry I left without saying anything. Last night was a lot of fun but I have a lot to think about. it started as me just trying to fuck with you and let you have fun but obviusly it ended up going a lot farther than i'd expected it to. I liked it but i dont know how to feel right now. Dont let that worry you. Ill still be by the store to say hello and get wine either today or in the next few days, dont worry if you dont see me right away. i just need to figure out how i feel about what happened. you are a really good person and i apreciate all that you do for me. I wanted to write you this so you dont think i just took all that stuff and left you high and dry, i hope you understand. i would like to do this again some time but i might need to wait a little first to figure out myself and how to make sure the guys dont catch on to things. i dont want to have to explain anything to them before im ready to. please dont bring it up around them yet.
ps please get me some socks for when i see you at work, you didnt leave me any. also i need a nother lighter please.
Davis"
I sat back in my chair and looked down at the letter with a smile. Alright, I'll take that as a start.