Allan splashed his face with water, looking back at his reflection. Luckily, the mental exhaustion didn't show. Outwardly, he was still the charming clean-cut demigod in a white coat, even if the double shift at the St. Vincent hospital had taken its toll. Only three more hours before he could call it a day.
He was just about to leave the restroom for another examination, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. A text message from an unknown number.
"Heyyyy, sexy. Miss you already. wyd?"
Allan rolled his eyes. He didn't have many friends who would text him, and no girlfriend or hookup in particular. His work didn't leave time for that kind of commitment. The only question was: scam or wrong number?
He decided it was probably the latter, judging by the inflationary use of the letter y. He quickly typed an answer before putting the phone away.
"Sorry, miss, you've got the wrong number."
Allan liked to imagine scenarios. Perhaps here, some one night stand had left the woman a wrong number because he didn't want to be bothered by his latest conquest. And that number had turned out to be his.
His phone buzzed again just as he was examining an old lady's warts, and when he looked at the display afterwards, he saw another text message waiting for him.
"When you told me how horny you were, back in the club... I'm already growing hard again just thinking about that, sexy... ;)"
So, he had it backwards. This was a guy texting, and the girl had left a wrong number. Kind of understandable with these borderline-creepy text messages.
"Dude, it's still the wrong number. Sorry!"
Still, as he walked through the corridor, he couldn't help but wonder how the woman in question looked like. She was probably very attractive. His mind filled in all the blanks readily. Long hair, inviting lips...
A stirring in his loose clinic pants yanked him back to reality. What was he doing? He couldn't fantasize about women at work, and he absolutely could not get hard at work. His phone buzzed with another message.
"I mean, the way your muscles worked under that tight shirt of yours, and then your bulge... you had no shame whatsoever. So. Hot!"
Allan shook his head. Okay, so neither the sender nor the supposed recipient were female. This was a dude... hitting on another dude.
Of course, Allan didn't have a problem with gay people. He just didn't know any. But why didn't the man on the other side react to his replies?
A red warning sign and a little "undelivered" answered that question at least. He should just block the number and go on about his day. He still had a lot of work to do. But some part of the one-sided exchange intrigued him, enough to stop his finger hovering over the "block" button. Women he could understand, but what made a man attractive to another man?
As he continued to walk, he tried to get to the bottom of it. Muscles, apparently. He felt his pectorals brush against the coat, and his biceps touch the constricting shirt. He was proud of his body, and the long work-out sessions... No, wait, he didn't work out. Did he?
What else? The text mentioned a bulge, and Allan was fairly certain that referred to the pelvic region. His own erection throbbed. His hand went down to readjust himself, to hide his arousal, but then stopped. There was nothing to be ashamed of. Shame was constricting. Constricting like that shirt of his.
He stopped at a trash can and wiggled out of his blue shirt and tie, exposing his toned and hairless chest before putting the white coat back on and disposing of the unnecessary fabric in the trash. There, much better. There was nothing wrong with showing off your goods, right?
The nurse and the pregnant patient in the next room apparently disagreed. Both women blushed heavily and stared at him. He could see their pupils dilating. A mix between shock and desire. Well, bad luck to be them. He was a man's man, as gay as they came, and --
Wait. This wasn't right. Mumbling a "sorry," he fled the scene and dashed into an clinic room. What was he thinking? Why did he strip half-naked in the middle of work? Why did he walk around with a clearly visible erection? And why the fuck did he think he was straight?
He blinked. No, wait. Why did he think he was... straight. Yes, that way it made sense. He was a gay man. He liked dick, and ass. He was... gay. His head felt like it was filled with cotton, and he tried shaking it to shoo away the strange thoughts, but was interrupted by another message.
"I couldn't wait to touch you, feel that stubble on my face, your hot dick in my hand... Fuck, I'm so horny again."
The text was accompanied by a picture. A pair of underwear tented by an erection, the tip wet. He licked his lips subconsciously. It was a large bulge, but not as large as his. Checking that the door was closed, he stripped out of his pants and watched his own underwear throb in arousal. With each pulse, it extended a bit longer, and with each extension, his underwear changed, from a pair of loose boxer shorts to something tighter, more form-fitting. Something pronouncing his assets rather than hiding them away.
Fuck yeah. He couldn't stop himself from playing with his clothed cock for a bit before snapping a picture and sending it back. It, too, quickly went to "undelivered", but something else caught his eye. His first reply showed a check mark now. But was that what he had written? He read over the message again and scratched the stubble on his chin. "Just work, boring af. What you miss about me?"
Allan slowly nodded. Yes. That made sense. It sounded like something he'd text. He looked around. Work was boring as fuck. He mostly hid away in empty rooms to watch TV or jerk off. Men had needs, after all, who if not doctors would understand that. Not that he'd knew anything about that fucking medical crap, he was just the janitor.
Speaking of which. Only two more hours until the end of his shift. Surely nobody would mind if he clocked out a little early. He didn't bother to put on more clothes again as he made his way back to the locker rooms. More than a few heads turned, but he didn't care. He was proud of his body. The phone he was holding buzzed.
"Fuck, my apartment still smells like you, stud. I can't wait to bury myself in that forest of chest hair and sniff you again."
Heh. Yeah. That needy bitch knew what he wanted. Good. Because if there was anything Al had a lot of, it was hair and the smell of man. He hadn't showered in weeks, because he knew fucking well needy bottoms like this one loved it. He snapped another picture of his magnificent body in the locker room and send it, together with "Oh yeah? Can't wait? Then prepare your holes, bitch. I'm over in twenty."
He scrolled back at the lewd exchange. He probably shouldn't be sexting during work, but fuck was it fun to lead that bottom on with every message. Well, sexting and jerking off only got you so far. Time for the real thing.
Al threw on a pair of gym shorts and some sneakers before he started jogging, occasionally shouting lewd comments at guys in the street. His car had broken down last week and he somehow knew the bitch he was heading to wouldn't mind if he worked up a sweat.
Good old dumbing down via text messages! I hope you enjoyed!
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