A Gay Ass Drama in Three Acts- Act One: The Meeting

Scene One- A Restaurant Restroom

~~Matthew~~

I tapped my foot impatiently on the floor of the limousine. Grace sat across from me, silently gazing out of the window. Despite my lack of feelings for her, she was my girlfriend of two years. Tonight was our anniversary, and she had decided to take me to her favorite restaurant. A restaurant that I particularly despised. Knowing Grace, she picked it knowing how much I hated it. She was truly insufferable. I glanced up at her, noting a smug smirk on her face. Even I had to admit, she was beautiful. Tall, slender, and graceful, she was the perfect woman. Everyone she met fawned over her, likely due to her sizeable reputation (and breasts.) A sneer crossed my face as the limousine slowed to a stop in front of it. 

Hooters. Why Grace loves this place so much, I couldn't tell you. Between the assholes that frequent the establishment and witnessing the way they treat the servers, it's absolutely repulsive. Grace even told me to dress up nicely, all for her own entertainment. The entire situation was on the verge of giving me a migraine. We entered the building and took our seats. Grace seemed in a particularly happy mood as our hostess gave us the menus. The waitress left briefly. When she returned, I sighed and ordered a chicken garden salad with some red wine. Grace smiled brightly and ordered the bacon wrapped chicken wings. Just the thought of how much grease must be on those made me nearly gag. After ordering, she turned to me, her bright smile turning mischievous.

"So, Matthew, what do you think of our waitress? Smoking, right?" Grace's smile widened. I sneered as I looked out at the waitress walking towards the kitchen with our orders. 

"Not my type." I turned back to Grace. Her smile had somehow turned worse, more sinister. 

"Speaking of which, what is  your type, dear? Don't try to say that I'm your type, we've been dating for long enough for me to know that's a lie." She snickered lightly as my eyes widened in surprise. I searched her face for any hint of sarcasm, but she seemed completely serious.

"I don't know what you mean. You're perfect. Beautiful, strong, hard working, and popular. How could I not like you?" Grace's gaze softened. 

"Yet I'm not your type. I never said you didn't like me, but you sure as hell don't love me. Is it possible your type is less... feminine?" My eyebrows furrowed at this statement. What the hell does she mean, less feminine? She should be my type, she's perfect, why the hell won't she believe me?

"I don't like what you're implying, Grace. I am perfectly content with you as a romantic and sexual partner." I tried to hide the rising anger in my voice. Judging by Grace's response, I failed horribly. She looked hurt for a moment, then fell silent. We remained that way as the waitress brought us our drinks, and as she later brought our food. Grace politely thanked her, as I simply began sipping at my drink. The silence only grew more tense as time went on when, suddenly, Grace cut it off. 

"I wasn't trying to imply anything Matthew. It's just... It's not hard to notice that you aren't attracted to me. We've known each other for three years, and been dating for two. I know you Matthew, and I know that all of this-" She paused briefly, gesturing to the restaurant and the other waitresses, "-it isn't you." I pushed back from the table, standing up swiftly. 

"I need to use the restroom. Excuse me." I dabbed at the small drops of liquid on the corners of my mouth with a napkin, and left before Grace could say anything else. I saw her reach out to me as I left, wanting to continue her tirade of accusations about me. I narrowly avoided running into several tables on my path to the bathroom, but failed to avoid clashing with a particularly drunk sports fan who was exiting it. He shouted a few obscenities at me. I paid no attention to him as the restroom door fell closed behind me. 

God, where does Grace get off being so insufferable? Not just on a regular day either, but on our anniversary? I rested my lower back against the sink, breathing deep into the smell of urine and chemicals. I opened my eyes at the perfect moment to see as Adonis himself seemed to enter into the bathroom. He was a man, overwhelmingly taller than me, wearing a white tank top that exposed his sculpted pectorals as they flexed and relaxed softly with his movements. They seemed to be begging for freedom from their fabric jail. My mind wandered as I thought how it might feel to trap them in a prison of my own fingers, my hands squeezing the soft, supple skin as if I was milking a cow. He walked over to the urinals, lowering his tight jeans while letting out a relieved groan. Underneath was a voluptuous ass, two perfect spheres squeezed against each other, planned by God himself to test my sanity. There was a slight panic as I realized that Grace might have been correct in her assumptions earlier. I was quickly distracted however, by his buttocks which were so intricately immense that I had to resist the urge to go to him and lower his tight boxer briefs myself, delighting myself with the silky smooth skin of his glorious ass. 

Feeling my dick start to act up inside my own pants, I walked over to the urinal by his side, letting my big buddy go while discreetly taking a look at what my bathroom acquaintance was packing on his front. I wasn't disappointed to see his flaccid manroot resting gently against his large, thick fingers. Even flaccid it looked about eight inches long, the swollen head letting a delicate stream of yellow liquid into the urinal. Directly under his delectable prince parts rested a pair of flushed spheres comfortably sitting in a tight, jiggly ballsack. I wondered to myself what deliciously sinful sounds he would let out if I mercilessly squeezed them together. My fantasies were interrupted by a thick hum as the restroom Adonis closed his jeans. As his urination came to an end, I felt myself grieve the view of his beautiful root adorned by delicate green veins, almost like hand painted vines on a fancy jar. I mentally and pathetically waved one last goodbye to his heavenly body before closing my own pants and returning to my date with Grace.

~~Grace~~

I held my hand out to Matthew as he stormed away from our table. I knew that he wouldn't turn back, and yet it somehow still hurt. I just wanted to help him. Even if I wasn't attracted to him romantically, I still cared for him. I couldn't stand by anymore as he denied his obvious feelings. It was damaging him more than he could tell. I sighed and called over the waitress, asking for another drink. It's a pain trying to help someone who doesn't think they need help, especially when that someone is as stubborn as Matthew. I massaged my temples as the waitress returned my now refilled glass. A few minutes passed, my movements restricted to hunching over the table or taking small gulps from my beer. Just as I was looking up from my glass once again, Matthew approached the table and sat, his face unusually rosy. After sitting he silently continued his drink, seeming to pay me no attention as he occasionally glanced back to the restroom or around the restaurant. 

"You feeling alright, Matthew?" I asked, tilting my head slightly and squinting at him. He didn't seem to hear me for a moment, until he slowly turned his head in my direction. 

"What..?" he responded, his voice seeming distant. His gaze wasn't like it usually was. His eyebrows were completely relaxed, and it seemed as through he was looking right through me. His sudden change in demeanor was slightly off-putting, to say the least. 

"I, uh, asked if you're feeling alright." His eyes finally focused on me, yet his face remained relaxed. He thought for a moment before responding. 

"I'm feeling great, actually. This salad is spectacular!" A rare smile crossed his face, with his tone of voice being unusually chipper. I stared in wonder and fear as he happily continued eating his food, all the while maintaining that strange smile and glancing around our surroundings. We remained in silence for the rest of the meal, and at the end Matthew was the one to call over the waitress. He smiled politely as he handed her his card and thanked her for her service. As odd as it was, it felt nice to see him enjoying himself. Throughout our entire relationship, there wasn't a time that I could remember him looking this happy. What sort of epiphany had he come to, in the restroom of all places?