At the feet of a heterosexual bastard

This story is totally fictional, unlike my other stories.

Any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental.

The perversions of a highly submissive mind like mine are the only thing that is real.

I had been noticing him for some time. He was an attractive guy, about thirty-five years old, a real pretty boy, and he knew it, you could tell by his attitude, he had one of those chiseled faces that don't reveal much at first glance, like one of those fashion models, but he was masculine, with masculine features that would give him personality if it weren't for his haughtiness.

Ever since I saw him, he seemed distant and somewhat unpleasant, with that air of superiority that I dislike so much. He was the kind of person who creates enemies just by breathing.

We would cross paths on the street several times a week, and I had gotten used to the idea that he was a difficult man to deal with, with bad manners and indifferent to other people's problems, always going his own way without a hint of kindness.

From time to time, he would be accompanied by women who were always very well-dressed, all of them stylish and with perfect bodies, the kind that straight men love, tight and well-defined asses, round and very attractive, and a pair of good breasts, both in their place, always perfect. In those moments of showing off, you could tell he was full of vanity, like a peacock showing off his feathers.

Precisely in those moments, I could kill him.

The typical macho, flashy, with his expensive suits, tight pants that accentuated his package, and his perfect hair, his monotonous perfection! How I hated that kind of prefabricated man! I saw him as so artificial that it bothered me to run into him, I felt saturated with him just by looking at him from afar.

I prefer natural men, without artifice, virile. Ufff.

For a while, our street encounters were continuous, our schedules were almost the same. One day, suddenly, I missed him, it had been several days since I hadn't seen him, I almost felt relieved not to have to see him again. It's like knowing that something unpleasant has disappeared from your life.

Months passed without seeing him again, or even thinking about him.

Until one day, as usual, I was coming back from work and entered the bar next to my house, although this time I almost didn't stop.

I found him sitting at the bar, I had never seen him in the bar before. I had to look at him twice to convince myself it was him. He had changed completely, his long hair revealed gray hairs on his temples, adding attractiveness to his face, his pose was relaxed, he was wearing a loose Adidas tracksuit and at his feet, a sports bag from the same brand, which I assumed was from the gym.

Even with that outfit, I noticed his elegant demeanor, his toned body, his broad arms squeezed by the sleeves of the tracksuit jacket, his muscular back was marked a...