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Camden - Job Interview
🕑 Added 2025-10-17 05:00:08 +0000 UTC“Camden, stop bitching and meet us at Dorothy’s tonight,” Ben said.
He couldn’t see me roll my eyes on the phone as I pulled out my wallet and looked at the last of my cash. “I really shouldn’t. Especially if I don’t nail this interview today.”
He let out a heavy sigh, “Dude, if you bomb the interview, that’s all the more reason to come out. Drown your sorrows in a pink Cosmo, maybe suck some dick, or even better, top a twink.”
I chuckled. I haven’t been laid in a few weeks, and a Friday night at Dorothy’s is easy picking. As a fellow twink, I usually have to pound my chest to top a guy, but on a Friday night, the ‘new’ twinks seem to line up to ride my dick. “Uhh…I’m not saying no, but if I were to head that way, what time are you getting there?”
I could hear him smiling through the phone, “We’ll be getting there at nine, and I’ll buy you a drink if you come out.”
I looked at my watch; it’s already 1:15 pm, and my interview is at 3:00 pm across town. “Shit, I need to get going, gotta shower and stuff before I head out.”
“Ok, but while you’re naked in there, think of me,” he joked.
“Bye, asshole,” I smiled.
“Bye,” he sing-songed and hung up.
Ben is great, truly supportive. He’s a pretty effeminate guy, which isn’t really my type, and he’s into beefy guys, so I’m not really his type, so we’ve just been friends who occasionally make out when we drink too much since college. We worked together after graduation, and a few months ago, the company was acquired by a larger company, which then underwent restructuring. As a result, my entire department was let go. I could always lean on my parents if money were too tight, but I don’t want it to get there. I’m still in the closet for the most part, despite knowing I was gay since I was 12 years old. Now that I’m 24, I know I should come out, but honestly, after what I saw in the news about Matthew Shepard two weeks ago, I just feel like this country is regressing instead of progressing.
I showered, put on my best “hire me” suit, and then hopped on a bus across town.
To say my interview was a trainwreck would be generous. I was immediately flustered because the guy doing the interview was hot. Not model sexy, but like, a manly man who looked really good in his tailored suit. He probably had Italian roots, with dark brown hair, a slight olive complexion, a strong jaw, a prominent Adam’s apple, a Colgate smile, really pretty eyes, a manly voice that’s not too deep for his size, everything about him made me flustered, and he’s not even my usual type. I tried to pull it together, but then I immediately choked on the water he offered me, sending me into a coughing fit that resulted in me saying, and I quote, “I usually have no trouble swallowing,” the kind of joke I would make to my friends, not to some random guy. The look on his face was pure shock; he didn’t even crack a smile, just raised his thick eyebrows so high they almost disappeared into his thick hair. I didn’t have a graceful recovery after that either, just word salad, followed by word vomit and rambling until he cut me off each time. I wish he had the same amount of mercy Travis had for Old Yeller and put me down, but instead, he kept asking questions, and I kept wishing I were dead.
By the time I was done, I had almost sweat through my suit, and I’m not the type to break a sweat under pressure. I had to go home and take another shower.
After replaying the interview in my head over and over again, I decided to put on some dancing clothes to meet Ben at Dorothy’s, and insist he buys me drinks until I puke.
As I regaled Ben and company with the tragedy that is my life and the most recent episode that is today’s failed interview, they all laughed and bought me drinks. I think I was on my third Cosmo when I heard Ben say, “Mmm, dibs,” and nodded as he looked behind me.
When I turned to look, I almost fell out of my chair. Swiveling my head back to the table so fast, I think I gave myself whiplash. “Oh shit, that’s him,” I stage whispered to be heard over the music.
“Him who?” Ben asked, staring him down.
“Don’t stare, fuck. That's…ugh…shit, I want to say his name is Peter, yeah, Peter sounds right,” I put my hands up on the sides of my face like horse blinders.
“Mmm, I’d like to get a look at Peter’s peter,” Ben said, sipping from his martini.
“Jesus, keep it in your pants, that’s THE GUY from the interview,” I told him.
He laughed, “No fucking way.”
“Yes fucking way. Keep your voice down, I can’t let him notice me,” I continued to stage whisper.
Ben rolled his eyes, “Camden, baby, I love you, but you’ve got to stop trying to live this dual life and be out and proud.” He pursed his lips.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I will, but not when a potential job is on the line,” I insisted.
Ben reached across the table, cupping my hands in his and leaning in. “Cam, honey, I’m going to say this with as little sass as I can after two full martinis and three sips of this one, but…you’re gay.” I nodded in understanding. “In a gay bar.” He added. I kept nodding. “And so is he.” I kept nodding, not letting it sink in what Ben was really saying. Then his head dropped, and he dropped my hands, “Scarecrow, he’s a friend of Dorothy.”
My eyes went huge, and I straightened up in my seat, “Oh shit, you think?” The other guys at our table all nodded along, each trying not to look over at him while obviously looking over at him. Ugh. I took a deep breath. “So, should I like…”
“Go suck his dick, yeah,” Ben cut me off.
I couldn’t help but laugh. The pink cosmos flowing through my bloodstream was giving me a newfound confidence and probably a false sense of courage. “I was going to say, go over there and say hi.”
Ben pursed his lips together, then looked at our friend Martin, “Isn’t that what I said? I don’t hear the difference.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his caddyness. “You’re such a bad witch.”
He laced his fingers under his chin and batted his eyelashes at me, “Aww, you’re so sweet. Go get you some dick, I’ll let you have this one.”
I rolled my eyes, “I’m not going to sleep with him, I just…do you think, if he sees me here and knows that I’m also gay, maybe that will give me a leg up on the other job candidates.”
Ben crossed his arms, “or both legs up on his very toned shoulders,” he sassed.
I grinned, “You’re such a sex maniac.”
“Oooh…sticks and stones,” he grinned and sipped his drink. “Look, he just sat at that table all by himself. You'd better hop on your broomstick and fly on over there before some other lost midwestern clicks her heels and wishes him to take her home.”
I squinted at him. “What?”
“Yeah, that one kinda got away from me, just go over there before someone else swoops in. You don’t want to have a bad interview and then be a cock block,” Ben shooed me away.
I took a deep breath, then finished my drink. I walked over to the bar. Ben and I have been coming here since we had to use fake IDs to get in, and Ben has given it up to the bartender enough times that we don’t ever wait for service. “Hey, Camden, what can I get for you?” Charles asked.
“You see that Italian-looking guy sitting by himself at that table by the entrance?” I asked.
“Mmm-hmmm,” Charles leaned on the bar to hear me.
“Can you make me two of what you made him?” I asked. “Oh, and put it on Ben’s tab,” I waved over at Ben, and he gave me a thumbs up, not knowing what I was even doing.
Charles smiled, pulled out two tumblers, and started making what turned out to be an Old Fashioned. Of course, that completely masculine guy drinks the cocktail that comes with testosterone and tastes like Tim Allen doing his weird grunting. Charles slid the drinks over to me, and I walked over to the table where Peter was seated and looking out the window.
“Hey, Peter, right?” I asked.
He looked up at me in shock, but quickly fixed his face, “Oh, hey, um…I want to say Cameron?”
I chuckled, setting the drink down next to his almost-empty glass. “Camden, but close.”
“Sorry, Camden,” he shook his head. “Ummm…” he looked around the room, as if searching for someone else. “What are you doing here?” His words came out like the question he really wanted to ask was, ‘Are you stalking me?’
“Umm, this is one of my regular watering holes,” I shrugged casually. “I’m…a…friend of Dorothy,” I stretched out my arms in a very ta-da kind of way.
“Oh,” he nodded his head.
“But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” I told him and sipped the nasty cocktail, trying not to scrunch up my face as I swallowed it.
His face looked less than pleased. “Is this for me?” He asked, pointing at the drink.
“Oh, God, yes, sorry, I meant to say that,” I nearly shouted. “I just saw you from across the room and wanted to come over and say hi, but also apologize for being such a mess in the interview today. I’m not usually that frantic. I was just kind of nervous,” I explained.
He looked me up and down, “You’re not?” He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, his biceps popping from his skin-tight white deep-V t-shirt with trimmed chest hair poking out.
“Well, no, and I realize…I’m not doing a good job of proving that like this,” I gestured at the two of us, almost spilling my drink.
He smiled, the first smile I’d seen from him since I walked into his office. He sipped his drink, silently dissecting me with his eyes. “So you thought, you’d what, come flirt with me over drinks and I’ll give you a job?”
“What, no, I’m not, that’s not what this is,” I insisted.
“Oh, so you’re not attracted to me?” He shifted, setting his drink down on the table.
I chuckled, “I didn’t say that.”
“Then you are attracted to me?” He picked his drink back up and sipped it.
I looked up at the neon lights that traveled in a wavy design across the ceiling, “Umm…I…oh man,” my voice cracked.
He chuckled, “Relax, Camden, I’m fucking with you.”
I let out a heavy breath. “Oh, ok, jeez,” I said, shaking my head. “I thought…”
“You were going to have to sleep with me to get the job?” His grin widened.
“No…” I started trying to say precisely that without actually saying it.
“It probably wouldn’t hurt,” he said very deadpan.
I was really struggling to get a read on him. I won’t lie and say the thought of seeing him naked didn’t get my blood flowing, but also…umm….morals?
“I’m messing with you, Camden,” he shook his head and drank another sip.
“Oh, damn, you’re hard to read,” I admitted. “Or maybe I’ve had too many cosmos,” I joked.
That got a laugh from him. “You said you come here often?”
“Yeah, well, I live five blocks from here, and I’ve been coming here since I was in college,” I shrugged. “Do you live around here?”
“God no,” He said a little too quickly and somewhat offensive sounding. “I’m in walking distance to the office, which is nice,” He leaned back in his chair, his muscles flexing in his t-shirt.
“Oh, what brings you to this side of town?” I asked.
He shook his head and shrugged. “I was supposed to meet a guy here,” he looked at his very expensive-looking watch, “But I guess I’ve been stood up.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said, sipping my drink.
“Eh, it’s ok, plenty of other guys to have fun with,” he chuckled, gesturing to the filled bar with the full dancefloor further in the back.
“Yeah, this is a great place to meet an easy good-time guy,” I shrugged.
“Yeah?” He smiled at me.
“I mean, not me, but…guys, around here,” I sipped my drink, once again wishing I could be put down like a rabid dog.
“So what brings you here, if not for sex?” He asked bluntly.
“I have sex,” I reassured him, then realized that wasn’t what he was suggesting. “I mean, shit…” I felt flushed, then decided to put my cards on the table, to get out of what seemed like a never-ending interview from hell. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You are a very attractive guy, and I think that has me flustered for some reason. I swear I’m not usually this messy,” I chugged the last of my drink.
He licked his lower lip, swirling his drink, “Why don’t we get out of here, go back to your place, and talk, without any of the distractions?” He gestured to the rest of the bar.
My drunk brain didn’t connect the dots and legitimately thought he wanted to go back to my place and talk about the job and give me a chance to show him who I really am. “Really? I’d love that,” I told him with a huge smile.
He downed the last of his drink, setting the glass back on the table with a loud thump. Then he smiled, “Great, lead the way.”
I rambled the entire walk back to my place, mostly about my work history, which led me to delve a little too deeply into college and my friendship with Ben. I paused when we reached the top of the stairs, where, behind the door, was my studio apartment, and I hesitated, trying to remember what state of disarray the place was in. I’m not sure what happened in the moment of pause, but Peter, out of nowhere, pushed me against the door and started kissing me.
I was taken aback, but I’m horny, drunk, a man, and…he’s hot, so…yeah, I didn’t stop it. His hands were roaming all over my body as he sucked me into his mouth, and I think my brain switched off as my balls took over. Was I about to fuck this hot Italian guy? Should I do this? He’s potentially my boss, it could be problematic…or…if I really make him moan, it could be a hot thing that happens on the regular.
Inside our clothes were flying off. We didn’t even get the lights on, so I was only able to see him through the moonlight and the glow from the closet light that I must have left on. I was excited when I got his pants off and he was wearing tight maroon briefs, his bulge on display, barely held back by the stretchy fabric, but most importantly, they framed his toned ass very well. I couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as we kissed, and I squeezed his ass.
I shoved my pants down, my loose-fitting boxers doing nothing to contain my 7.5” cut dick. He wasted no time in kissing down my mostly hairless torso, with the exception of my treasure trail, pulling my boxers down as he went and engulfing my dick in his mouth. “Mmmm, yeah,” I moaned, tangling my fingers in his hair. This isn’t his first blow job; he has quite the mouth on him. I can’t wait to return the favor. I don’t even care if I get the job as long as he doesn’t quit this blow job.
He pulled off my dick long enough to move me to the bed, and I sat down, spreading my legs and gesturing for him to put his mouth back on my dick. He was on it in a nanosecond, taking me to the root, using his fist to twist as he went up, then throating me on the way down with little to no gag reflex. The way his throat would constrict on my dick had me squirming, trying not to blow my load. I’m not a multiple cummer. If I blow my load in his mouth, he’s not going to get fucked, so I fist his hair and pull him off. I don’t want to disappoint him if, for any reason, he remembers how good I fuck him when deciding if I deserve the job.
He gave me a few gentle strokes, knowing I needed to cool down for a second, but just as I expected him to put me back into his mouth, he instead started sucking on my balls. “Oh fuck,” my breath caught. His wide mouth had no problem sucking both my nuts in, the pressure overwhelming, and I was squirming on the mattress. I pushed on his head gently to push him off, and he dropped my balls like a dog, licking them, pushing my legs up, he started licking my grundle, then, “Oh my God, mmmm,” I moaned as his tongue began lapping at my hole.
I haven’t had a guy eat my ass since college. He was good, too. Peter’s oral skills are impressive. He should put this on his resume: Eats ass like a king!
“Fuck, that feels so good,” I mumbled, running my fingers through my hair with one hand as the other found my dick and started stroking again. I let my legs dangle in the air to make sure he had good access and didn’t stop until he had his fill.
I panted and stroked, trying to let more of his tongue into my hole. I felt how big his tongue is when we were kissing earlier, and I know he can get deeper into me. He pulled it out for a second and mumbled, “Your ass is tight,” then dove back in. I thought to myself, ‘obviously,’ and kept stroking myself.
As soon as I was back on the edge and about to lose it, he stood up, pushing his briefs down, and his Italian sausage came out. It was easily as big as mine, but thicker and uncut. He spat on it and stroked himself for a bit before getting between my legs, where he had just slobbered all over my ass, his precum-slicked head aimed right for my hole. That’s when it finally dawned on me, he intended to fuck me, not get fucked by me. When he started pushing, I clenched hard. “Wait, wait, wait,” I mumbled.
He groaned in frustration—a frustration I recognize having dealt with fussy bottoms myself. I didn’t know what to do. My head was spinning. He already put in the work to fuck me, plus I realize I gave no indication that I was going to top him, plus if I blue ball him right now, he’s definitely not going to hire me…I felt him nudge his cock in my wet hole again, more gently this time. It did feel good, and I let out a low hum of pleasure. Maybe I could do this. I haven’t let a guy fuck me in like…three years, but I really want to please him, so I guess I can take it just this once. “Umm…there’s lube and condoms in that bowl,” I pointed vaguely toward the small table I used as a nightstand. On top of it was a lamp, an alarm clock, and a wicker bowl holding condoms, lube, rogue coins, receipts, and a small bottle of poppers my last hookup left here.
I have only used poppers once, back in college, my first and last time getting fucked by a black “straight guy,” and it left me with a wicked headache, so I never tried them again. I reached forward, grabbed the little bottle, and started huffing. The rush was immediate and helped me relax as Peter lubed us up.
“I don’t think this condom is going to fit me,” he said.
I chuckled. His dick is no bigger than mine, and I always have the large condoms. But as I focused through the popper fog, I noticed the condom he was holding up was not the white wrapper I usually buy. I vaguely remember the Asian guy I last fucked had brought his own condoms and poppers, leaving both behind after he left a few weeks ago. “Oh, that’s not mine, there should be a condom with a white wrapper in the bowl, that’ll fit for sure,” I said, then shook the little brown bottle and took another hit.
“Just this one,” he held up the condom in the blue wrapper in one hand, the bowl in the other hand, with nothing but coins and white receipt paper in it. “It’ll probably be fine,” he shrugged and tore it open with his teeth as the rush of the poppers washed over me. He rolled the condom down his shaft with a bit of a struggle; it looked like it was about to burst and was completely rolled out, leaving the last inch of his shaft exposed. He added more lube to the rubber, then wiped his hands on my bed before shoving me further up the mattress and getting on the bed, folding me in half, and his hairy thighs flanked my hips. He pointed his cock right at my hole, trying to find the center. He pushed a few times before getting it right, and we both groaned as his head popped in.
Even with the poppers and the swirling room from my drinks, the stretching of my asshole around his cock was a lot, and I groaned, the oxygen forced out of my lungs, “Oh shit…ahhh….”
“Just breathe,” I heard him whisper as he sank half his dick into me. I’ve used those words before and now realize what an asshole I am for saying that as I hissed and reached for the poppers to take another hit and hopefully flatline before he gets another inch into me.
The rush washed over me, and he pushed a little deeper, an iota less painful, but still enough to make me squirm under him, and I pushed back on his hips with my hands—a weak attempt, but a sign that I needed him to go easy on me. When I felt his thick bush tickling my ass, I knew there couldn’t be more than an inch left to push in and sighed in relief. He leaned over me, folding me flat in half, and kissed me. His tongue skills quickly distracted me from the sting in my guts, helping me to relax as my hands roamed over his back muscles and he gently retreated his hips, then pushing right back in to the hilt, moaning in my mouth as I groaned into his. Repeating it a few more times until he broke the kiss and started fucking me.
It was gentle for the first few minutes, mostly hip rocking, stretching me out, getting his full length in and out. As the poppers wore off and the intensity of his thrusting on my born-again-virgin asshole started to crawl back inside, I reached for the poppers and took another hit under each nostril. Peter pushed himself up off me, letting me breathe, and I went for my cock, trying to give myself some sort of pleasure as he used my tight hole for his.
I managed to bring my cock back to life and was choking it in quick, short strokes, almost perfectly in time with his. Then he pulled most of his cock out and thrust back in hard, both of us moaning when we suddenly felt the silky smoothness of skin on skin, his precum properly lubricating deep inside my guts so his slick head was able to touch deep inside me and give us both a quick pop of intense pleasure. “Mmm, fuck,” he moaned, holding his dick balls deep. He looked down at me, grinding his hips, and mumbled with a pleasurable strain in his voice, “I think the condom broke.” I felt that rush of panic and nodded, expecting him to pull out and put on another condom. “You don’t have another one, do you?” He asked.
I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. It wasn’t even my condom to begin with. All the struggling to loosen up for his dick will have been for nothing if I blue ball him now. I’ve had to give up mid-fuck with guys before because they couldn’t handle my dick, and the frustration you leave with after being so close to orgasm through sex…it sticks with you. You never call those guys back for a second attempt. In my case, he will not call me for that job. “I…I don’t have another one,” I mumbled.
He circled his hips, his now raw dick stirring my guts. “Can I keep going?” He asked.
“What?” I thought maybe I heard him wrong. There’s no way this guy is suggesting what I think he’s suggesting.
“You’re not going to make me pull out, are you?” He asked, confirming what I thought.
All of the alarms in my head went off at once, but the loudest one was still the voice saying, ‘He’s not going to hire you if he doesn’t get off.’ I grabbed the bottle of poppers, shaking it. “Are you clean?”
He grinned, “Of course,” he gave me a two-inch thrust of bare cock.
I hit the poppers, trying to relax myself some more, but also trying to silence the alarm bells in my head. His next thrust was friction-free, silky, and… “Mmmm, that feels good,” I heard myself mumble as I reached for my cock.
“Yeah, it does,” he panted, picking up the pace. His thrusting became faster, a little harder, but mostly deeper. Like he was trying to thrust his entire body into my ass. I know it’s unsafe, but fuck if his precum didn’t keep pumping into me and lubed the parts of me that didn’t get the synthetic lube, and all the burning and stretching of skin on rubber was gone, replaced with nothing but pleasure.
I tried not to moan out loud and encourage this behavior, mostly for myself, but my fist pounding on my dick, and the swelling of my prostate against his thrusting raw cock had my brain melting and my balls pulling up tight already. “I’m getting close,” I warned in a heavy breath.
“Mmmm, me too,” he thrust faster and bigger. I could feel his cock swelling, and I stroked mine faster. “Oh fuck,” he grumbled and gave me a few fast, deep thrusts, and suddenly I felt his back stiffen as his hips buried his cock into my ass and his rod started twitching. The pulsing of his cock felt so good, but the warmth and wetness of what had to be his load coating my insides was all I needed to push me over the edge, and my ass clamped down on his pulsing cock, cum shot out as my balls trembled, coating my chest and abs with hot semen. I pumped wad after wad of my incredible orgasm onto my torso, each tuned into his still-unloading cock inside me. My entire body washed with pleasure as my ass milked his cock and stole his orgasm, mixing it with mine.
I finally relaxed back onto the mattress and let go of my cock. My ass unclenched from his now deflating cock, and he slowly pulled out. “That felt…” I started out of breath.
He chuckled, “So good,” he finished for me, and stood up straight on the floor. His glistening cock had the tight condom busted and crumpled at the base of his dick like a turtleneck. He reached for it, rolling it down his shaft, and looked around for a trash can.
I pointed towards the kitchenette, “under the sink.”
He nodded, and I got to watch his fine ass walk away, wishing I had been able to fuck between those cheeks, but feeling so relaxed and sexually fulfilled for the first time in years, I couldn’t be mad at it. I would typically be panicking right now, having a stranger fuck me raw, even a broken condom usually freaks me out. Still, an entire load of cum was a different experience altogether. It helps that I know this guy's name, where he works, and a general idea of where he lives, so if he gave me more than his load…I’ll just hunt him down and go full psycho on him. Then again…I watched as he pulled his briefs up, tucking all of his soft inches into the pouch, and I got a good look at his body. I wouldn’t be entirely upset if I got the job and had to do this again.
