Story of a warehouse

I had just turned twenty-five when my first job was finally calling my name. After a few years dedicated to studying, I was now going to have a fixed salary, I wouldn't depend on anyone economically, and I could finally start to enjoy life a bit, which until then I had only tasted in small sips.

My introverted and timid personality, along with the little time I spent going out, added to my years of being in the closet, had managed to limit my sex life until that moment to fleeting encounters, in secret, often unsatisfying, a small almost childish relationship, and several platonic loves that tormented me more than they gave me anything. The best moments I experienced were in the intimacy of my room, where, using my imagination, I managed to give free rein to my most daring and hidden desires.

I had it clear that my role was that of a passive, after the first sexual encounters, as well as my somewhat submissive character, as a general attitude in life, and particularly in sex. But I hadn't had relationships where that facet could come to light.

The journey to the office, where I was going to work, at first novel, was going to become progressively a daily ritual during the next few years. The good thing was that I could do it on foot, considering the proximity to my house.

At those morning hours, when the sun was just starting to rise, there were many businesses that I encountered on my route, which also started their day.

One day I noticed one of them, well, rather the boy who opened the gates of the establishment. Suddenly, he seemed to be fine, he was dark-haired, medium height, tending to be tall, a few years older than me, nothing sophisticated, some tight jeans and a simple black t-shirt that hinted at toned arms and a natural torso, nothing that came from hours of work in a gym, but probably reinforced by his physical work in his job; a beautiful profile, handsome, light skin, slightly tanned by the summer days that were already beginning to subside, and... those hands, yes, I like to focus on hands, they were large and strong, with wide fingers, that grasped and lifted the shutters of the door and the bars of the windows of the business with firmness.

The establishment had nothing glamorous, it was a store selling motor-related items: tires, spare parts, tools, oils... in a quite run-down local, which seemed to have a few years of history.

As I passed in front of him, I coincided with his back, that perfect nape, that marked and masculine jawline, with a two-day beard, and a fleeting sideways glance, to which I responded by disguising myself with a quick change of my visual objective.

The following days and weeks became a ritual, it was to pass by there and divert my gaze to be able to see him and observe that piece of guy, so much to my liking, so macho, so hetero, and with a bit of a rough edge, which I discovered day by day.

In the mid-morning, I saw him unl...