A great deal on drinks...

"Excuse me, do you drink?"
Wow. Like, I'm standing here in the middle of a bar on the Castro... you need to ask?
"Um, yea, I do..." I respond cheerfully.
"Well." He looks at me, and then around. He's very flustered, as if he was standing at the checkout counter of the college library and realized he'd just misplaced his library card. And bus tokens too.
"I didn't realize it was 2-for-1 night," he continues, "and the bartender gave me 2 of these really strong drinks... and... well, if you want one..."
Why, how sweet.
"Cheers, thanks!" I say. "So let me guess, you're visiting San Francisco."
"Oh no, I just moved here." He bats his cute, bespectacled, doe-like 27 year old eyes at me.
"Well, welcome to the City," I say, flashing him one of my welcome-to-the-city smiles.
"Where did you move from?"
"Connecticut."
"Wow, quite a change."
"Yeah, I just finished up school, and - " - Let me guess - a Master's degree in Economics from Yale - "blah blah blah " - wow, he's quite the talker - " and here I am!"
"So where will you be working in San Francisco?"
"Oh, for the Federal Reserve. I'm an Economist!" He says proudly.
"Cool! So, what was the weather doing back in New Haven?"
"Oh, it was freezing cold and -" he suddenly furrows his brows and looks at me, "Hey, how did you know I went to Yale?"
"Just a hunch."
"So you remind me of my ex-boyfriend," he says a bit shyly.
"Was he a supermodel?"
We both laugh.
"Hey I wasn't kidding."
We laugh even more, both a little drunker.
It's fun making new friends.

The guy in the black trenchcoat

The Midnight Sun is shoulder to shoulder with cute guys in winter gear - coats and scarves of all colors and makes. Not many hats (bad for the hair of course).
He's wearing a cute black woolen trenchcoat. A dark red dress shirt and grey slacks underneath. He must have just gotten off work. I notice the Calvin Klein label on the bottom left side of his coat. The top button of his shirt is undone, revealing an amply hairy chest.
Somedays I wonder what it would be like to have an amply hairy chest. I bet he'd be fun to cuddle with in bed. Hairy guys are always fun when it's cold outside. As he takes a sip of his drink, his muscles flex slightly, and I make out the impression of his left nipple through his shirt. Nice.
So now I'm wondering if he's a boxers or briefs guy. Hopefully boxers. They look sexier on a hairy man. I imagine my hand wandering over his bare chest and abs, amidst the swirls of hair until they reach the waistband of his cotton boxers... you know, that spot where the hair gets denser, and beckons you below...

Another drink, Antonio?

I've seen him in the neighborhood before. Like a few weeks ago, when I was leaving the gym after a particularly good workout, he was standing outside, looking at the t-shirts and stuff they have for sale. He was wearing a corduroy jacket with a furry collar. The same one he's wearing tonight.
"So you thinking of joining our gym?" He's standing beside me, still a bit nervous. Actually, he's much taller than me, and is practically towering over me. I find his nervousness endearing. I also like how his jeans are slung low on his waist, exposing a little of his undershirt, which is tucked in deeply.
"Maybe. Do you like it?"
Boy, do I ever. I just say,"Yeah, it's a pretty good facility. You should ask for a guest pass and try it out."
"You must work out a lot," he says.
I smile. I know where that line usually leads.
(Antonio; another gym story: My tattooed-musclehunk)