I had never been lucky with love in my life. The few relationships I have had are most of the time dysfunctional or just plain bad. I look pretty timid and weak, which is why a lot of guys go for me. I have a bit of muscle and have the beginnings of a six-pack. I would have more but on my thin frame, it looks like I belong in a circus if I do. The types of guys that I like are the athletic jocks. It turns me on thinking about them playing whatever they play, all sweaty and hot but a lot of the time they are assholes. This time I was intent on finding a guy that would satisfy my criteria. I was looking pretty hot with my tight jeans, that showed off my bulge quite nicely, and a simple cotton collared shirt.

The club was packed with guys, but only a few looked like they were in my range. I scouted out a seat at the bar and began scoping out a guy. Looking into the crowd, I figured that about half of them weren’t my type, half of that half of guys were assholes, and another fourth of that half were taken. There wasn’t that much to choose from but I needed to at least try so I got up and began my hunt.

There was an average looking guy, just wandering around, that I decided to attempt first. I “accidentally” bumped into him, spilling his drink. I apologized and offered to buy him another but he refused and walked off. Oh well, on to the next one. The second guy was tall with red hair, looked like a basketball player. He was at a table talking to his friend. I went over to say hello and ask him if he wanted to dance but he got up before I could get there and took off. “Third time’s the charm,” I thought to myself.

Finally I saw the guy I was going home with. He stood at around 6 feet tall, just around my height and in his early twenties, again like myself. His radiant brown hair shined with the streaks of dark blond. His skin looked flawless against his warm green eyes. He was definitely a jock, I didn’t need to wonder about that, and he looked like he was alone so I made my move. He was sitting at the bar dinking a bottle of beer. God he was gorgeous. I came up to him and asked for a light. He reached into his pocket, which gave me an opportunity to stare at his bulge. He brought the lighter closer and lit my cigarette up. I introduced myself and gave him my hand to shake. He took it and said his name was David. His long hair covered some part of his right eye as he was talking with me about mainly sports. It took a lot of bullshitting to get a conversation going because I didn’t know the first thing about any sports. The only times I ever go to games, I don’t pay attention to the game. He asked me if I played on any teams. Judging by his outrageously looking legs, I guessed he played soccer so I told him that I played soccer.

“That’s so weird. So do I.” He seemed relaxed to find somebody to talk to. He was sweet and sincere, almost like a little puppy dog, only he was tougher and more athletic. “The perfect man,” I