Like A Magnet I Tell Ya

I met him in the oddest of places - at the mailbox. Oh I knew who he was, I am a red-blooded gay man after all. He's the really hot guy who lives in my complex, who I noticed the minute his car first graced our gates. He's the one who last summer sat out on his steps with no shirt on. Oh, I knew what he was doing. He knew I was watching through my binoculars through my window. I just knew it. Why else would he be out there?

Oddly enough, we started accidentally meeting at the mailbox. A lot. As if by stalking magic. Over time, we chit-chatted of course. After almost a year of my drooling talking with him, I finally invited him to dinner.

Every year, I invite people I know to my house for Thanksgiving. I call it the Orphan Meal. The people I invite are people like me whose families are far away, who are single, and who would just be sitting at home eating Chinese Take-Out otherwise. It's always a mixed crowd, and usually quite fun. And last Thanksgiving, I invited him. Without thinking. It was out of my mouth before I could think twice. I had innocently asked what he was doing that day knowing full well he has no family around here. He said yes.

Thus truly began the saga of Hot Straight Neighbor Boy. I don't call him that of course. I call him my boyfriend. Of course not to his face. In case you were wondering, he looks a lot like this guy.