A Picture's Worth
My first tangle with Mason Ripley happened in Central Park, because I dared to interrupt him while he snapped candid pictures of people enjoying the first day of spring. I didn’t know his name, then. I didn’t know anything about him, except that I wanted him to take my picture too.
It took me a few minutes to get up the nerve to make a move. That was strange for me. I was six foot five, 295 pounds. I was one of the top bodybuilders in the country. High intensity situations were, well, a walk in the park for me.
But something about this guy had me off balance from the get-go. On the outside, he seemed so casual; dressed in a brown, scuffed leather jacket and a pair of faded blue jeans. He had a mop of brown hair that blew around when the breeze did. Just another guy in the park . . . with a camera that put the ones on my photo shoots to shame.
He crouched, a smile playing on his lips as he took a picture of a little girl. I tilted my head to the side, stole a look at his round ass as they filled out his jeans.
Okay, I wanted him to do more than take my photograph.
With my hands in my pockets, I walked forward. My tall, broad frame cast a shadow over him. “Hey, I’m—”
“In my light,” he said, not looking up from his camera.
I stopped short. “Oh, sorry.” I walked around to his other side. “How’s that?”
He snapped another picture. “Thanks.”
What little momentum I had was gone, and I fumbled for something to say. “I’m Joe. Joe Wilson.”
He cast a brief glance my way before returning his attention to his camera. “Mason Ripley.”
His total disinterest floored me. I was a huge guy. I inspired awe in everyone I met: male or female, gay or straight. My best pick-up line was my body, and now I actually had to say something. “So . . . taking some pictures?”
Aw, fuck. What was that!
He answered me, though. And he didn’t seem annoyed, just unimpressed. “Yep.”
The little girl got up and ran to her family. He smiled as he watched her go.
He had a great mouth. Full lips that seemed soft, but not unmasculine. I wanted to see a close-up of that mouth. More specifically, I wanted to see it on my cock.
He got up, started to leave.
I couldn’t let him go, and the single, desperate word was out of me before I could think of something more suave. “W-Wait.”
He turned, an expression of vague curiosity on his face. “Yeah?”
“C-Could you take my picture?”
His brown eyes looked me up and down. “No. But thanks for the offer.”
What the hell? I felt as if I’d just been shot down after asking him out. “Why not?”
His face was gentle, friendly. His voice was polite and calm. “You’re not very photogenic, and I’d hate to waste the film.”
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