Condo for Sale

For Sale: $675,000. 1 bed, 1.0 bath, 546 sqft condo at Hill Street, Unit A. Do you want to own a home in a great location in San Francisco? Here is a terrific opportunity on Hill Street in the heart of Noe Valley and the Castro District. In this 1 bedroom, 1 bath Condo in a 4 unit building with your own private deck. Close to transportation, many great shops and well-known restaurants. HOA dues are $300 per month. Condo includes shared washer & dryer and personal storage area in the garage.

I was responsible for sales on the four-unit Hill Street rehab apartment house. I'd sold two right off the bat—this was a popular part of downtown San Francisco—but sales were dragging on the remaining two units. Clifford had wanted to put the prices down, but I'd argued that the units should go for the original asking price. Now I was on the hook for selling the units and Clifford was getting impatient with the time it was taking.

The buyer prospect for the smaller of the two units and I met at a coffee shop on Castro Street before I took him up to see the condo on Hill Street he'd enquired about on the phone. I like to size possible buyers up before taking them to the property, which included sizing up their ability to buy. Too often I was called by leftover hippies from the 70s who wanted to live in the heart of San Francisco at 70s prices. In this case Thangsowit—and what kind of name was that?—came up with solid gold finances in the quick search I'd run.

He also came up to snuff nicely when I picked him out entering the coffee shop. His name helped me pick him out. Southeast Asian. Probably Thai. He was taller than I am, which is always good, and was slim and expensively dressed. He had a patrician air about him that went with his credit report. He was coming from Los Angeles.

I stood up from the table and looked at him expectantly. I was gratified that when his eyes connected with mine, a warm smile floated across his face. His dusky-toned face was handsome. He was maybe in his forties, with dark, expressive eyes, and straight black hair pulled back in a bun. The long hair was the only hint of adventure and danger in an otherwise manicured, well-heeled appearance. It only hit me then, though, that when he let his hair hang free, his features would cross over into the effeminate. That piqued my interest, just as I could tell that I, at a model-sculpted twenty-eight, piqued his interest. Or that might just have been my overactive fantasies as the Castro District of San Francisco, where I worked and played most of the time, was dominated by gay life.

I wondered if this Krit Thangsowit knew that. Just as I wondered if he would be beautiful and sexy when he let his hair down.

"Mr. Thangsowit?" I asked as he came close to the table I was standing at. "You called me about the condo for sale around the corner on Hill Street?"

"Yes, I did. Is it Ryan Gladstone? You look as friendly and nice as you sounded on the phone. I hope I am not taking you from more lucrative prospects."

"No, of course not. Please sit. I'll go get us coffee. Sugar? Cream?"

"I can do that," Krit said.

"Nonsense. I'm a regular here. I'll go."

"Thank you. Sweetener then, no sugar or cream. Have to watch my figure," Krit said, sinking into a chair at the table in a fluid, feminine motion, picking a chair where he could—and obviously did—watch me go to the counter and then come back with two cups of coffee. My attention went to the man's hands when I came back to the table. He had his hands poised on the table top. The fingers were long and sensuous and the manicured nails were long and lacquered with something clear that wouldn't be too noticeable unless you were looking for it. Images of the man dressed sensually as a woman ran through my mind.

I was intrigued. I'd never mixed enough with transvestites before to be conversing with one—let alone done one. I wasn't put off—more interested in the exotic nature of it. What were they called in Thailand? Katoys, wasn't it? I'd been on a couple of sex tours in Bangkok and had katoys brush up against me and make offers, but I'd never been brave enough to go that route. Still . . .

"So, you live in Los Angeles now and are planning to move to San Francisco?" I asked as we settled at the table. "Your business is causing you to relocate?" I asked. What I wanted to ask, but didn't, was why someone with his line of credit would be looking for a less-than-600 square foot one-bedroom condo.

"It's more of an expansion of business than a change of one," he said. He was a pleasant, soft, sing-song voice tone. I'd even say it was sexy if he were a woman. "I am a restaurateur. I have several Thai food restaurants and am opening one up here in San Francisco, in the Castro District, on 18th Street. I'm looking more for a pied-à-terre here for when I am in town. I'll continue living in Los Angeles. But I would like to spend some time and adventure here in San Francisco, from time to time."

This was leading into what I was dying to ask and now would. "Adventure? I think I must ask before we take the time to look at the apartment. Do you know what part of the city we're in now—what the dominant lifestyle in the Castro District is?"

"Yes, I do. My restaurant on 18th Street won't just provide food. We will be offering authentic, full massages in rooms behind the restaurant. Beyond that, when I am visiting here, I would like to enjoy myself with my own preferences and continue my activities in pursuing personal pleasures. If we're being open and talking about dominant lifestyle, I must ask if the lifestyle that's dominant in this district is your lifestyle and if you are a dominant? I have done some checking and believe you are a dominant gay. I find you, shall we say, alluring."

"Yes and yes," I answered with a smile. "Would you like to see the apartment now?"

"Yes, I very much would like to see the apartment," Thangsowit answered with a coy smile of his own and a batting of his eyelashes. I only then realized that his long eyelashes probably were false.

* * * *

It didn't take long to view the apartment. There isn't much looking involved in a two room, with kitchenette and small bath, space that is sixteen feet wide and less than forty feet deep. In moving around, though, we seemed to brush against each other constantly. I didn't have any trouble figuring out that Krit was doing it purposely or what he wanted from me. I wanted the same thing from him.

What can one do in an empty, but carpeted apartment?

Leaving him standing at window alcove in the bedroom, I went back into the living room and locked the apartment door from the inside. By the time I returned to the bedroom, Krit had stripped and was standing at the alcove, the heels of his hands pressed into the alcove's side walls and posing for me. He had let his hair down, and from the aspect he was showing me—his nearly naked back in a sheer black slip, rounded buttocks, and shapely legs, he easily could be a beautiful woman.

When, stripping and moving to him, I came up behind him, gathering up the hem of the slip and gliding the silky material up his thighs and placing my hands on his waist, he moaned and leaned back at me, pressing the back of his head into my chest. He whispered something in a low voice and I had to ask him to repeat himself.

"Fuck me," he said a bit louder. It wasn't anything clever or romantic, but his tone was so erotic that I shuddered with arousal and want for him—for anyone to fuck, really, but he'd had me thinking of doing it with a transvestite. I slowly went to my knees behind him as I kissed down his body, slipping the straps of the slip off his shoulders, so that the material bunched at his waist, leaving him otherwise naked. He spread his buttocks for me to explore inside his crevice. When I reached around to find him in erection, I was momentarily confused, as expertly he had transformed himself, but a thrill of a chill went up my spine in the knowledge of how unusual the situation and the coupling was.

Again he moaned as I opened up his channel with my mouth and fingers, and he signaled the completion of the fuck by lowering a hand and brushing my hand with fingers delivering a condom disk. I was hard as a rock and leaking, so the party would have started anyway.

Krit was still leaning into the alcove, his hands pressed to the opposing walls and his buttocks jutting out when I stood and embraced him from behind. He presented his ass for the best angle of approach as I moved my sheathed cock into position, and I didn't so much slide up into him as he pressed back into me, taking me deep inside. I shuddered again when I moved my hands to covering his breasts, which were those of a woman, hard, firm, yet small melons that would not give the effect of more than a well-muscled man under a T-shirt, and we moved together in waves of deep giving and taking to a mutual panting release. His nipples were puffy and I thrumbed them with my fingers and thumb, pulling sighs and moans out of him, as we fucked as one, coordinated, rhythmic motion machine.

The shadows of the late afternoon were moving into darkness in the bedroom, when, groaning deeply and my balls aching, I was fulling satiated and giving my last as I lay on my back on the bedroom carpet and held Krit's waist between my hands. The Thai transvestite, mounded breasts shimmering, straddled my pelvis, riding my cock in a slow rocking motion, milking me for everything I could provide, Krit showing no sign of having enough.

Needless to say, I made the sale, and we exchanged not only business cards, but private e-mail addresses and plans for periodic couplings when he visited the city.

* * * *

For Sale: $739,000. 1 bed, 1.0 bath, 859 sqft condo at Hill Street, Unit B. Be in the heart of San Francisco's Noe Valley and the Castro District in this charming Hill Street Condo with 1bd 1bath and your own private deck overlooking a picturesque park like setting with an enchanting view. Enjoy easy city living with many amenities within a short distance of public transportation, Restaurants, Groceries and many great shops.

Tony Lawson? That couldn't be the best-seller novelist Tony Lawson, could it? But this was San Francisco, and at the prices of these condos, I guess it's possible that even a best-selling author might be looking for a one-bedroom condo the size of a bathtub. And this one is larger than the one I'd recently sold to the Thai restaurateur, Krit Thangsowit, who had top-level credit.

I smiled at the thought of Krit. We had remained in contact—and not just by e-mail. We'd had intimate contact more than once since I'd sold him the downstairs Hill Street condo. And I'd just returned from a nice Thai lunch and a sensual massage at his new restaurant on 18th Street. That sweet little Sombat had talented hands and a glorious finish riding my cock.

Now I had just one more condo to sell in the Hill Street property, one that was similar to the one I sold to Krit, except that it was at the top of the building, with a small study where Krit had a small bedroom and a bedroom in a loft over the kitchenette and study.

And I had in hand an e-mailed request to view this condo. I made an appointment to meet this Tony Lawson guy at the same café where I'd first hooked up with Krit. And I certainly could say I hooked up with the sexy Thai transvestite. We fucked and fucked all afternoon, into the evening, in the empty condo. Krit drained me dry and still wanted to fuck some more.

The B unit I still had to show had been staged. We'd put rental furniture, on a scale that made the apartment look larger, in it for show when we'd put all four units on sale. Krit and I had made good use of the walls and carpeted floors in the A unit. I can only imagine what exotic positions we could have used in a furnished condo. My thoughts went to fucking Krit on the spiral staircase ascending to the bedroom loft in the B unit, and I was forced to go to the bathroom at the real estate office on Castro Street to jerk off to the image. I'd barely recovered from the sex massage Sombat had given me at lunch.

* * * *

It was the best-seller novelist Tony Lawson. I checked out a book jacket before coming to meet him at the café, and it was him, although an older him. His photo made him out to be about thirty—an extremely handsome, blond thirty, just a couple of years older than I now was—but his bio put him closer to what had to be his current nearly forty-five, albeit an extremely fit and handsome, blond-with-graying-temples forty-five.

"Mr. Lawson?" I said, standing up from the table in the café when he'd entered and scanned for the Realtor he was looking for. In seeing him I could loose my imagination to thinking of the meeting as a hookup in the vein of my meeting with Krit Thangsowit here. Lawson was delectably handsome and was of the age I liked to do men. If they were natural bottoms and of that age, they both had the experience and the gratefulness to be fucked by a much younger man, like me—and one who, like me, I'm honest enough to admit, is well hung and a real hunk. Krit at about forty-five certainly wasn't able to get enough of me and was messaging me more often than I was him.

"Mr. Gladstone? Ryan? Please call me Tony," he said as he shook my hand. I held his for a moment longer than necessary and folded my thumb under into the palm of his hand to see if he recognized the signal of a top looking for a bottom. The warm smile he gave me let me know that he fully understood, and as I pulled out the handshake, he ever so briefly folded his fingers around my thumb. He was a seeking bottom. The game was on. I'd been bold because his Web site bio had mentioned a male partner and the two books I'd read had had homosexual undertones.

The negotiations for more than the condo had begun. My thoughts went to the furnishings of the condo I'd be showing him. The bed was only a double to hide how small the loft bedroom area was, but I had put sheets on the bed, which otherwise only had a bedspread on it, as it was only intended to be for show.

But I was getting ahead of myself.

"So, it's true, you are Tony Lawson, the author," I said, as we settled at the table. "When I saw your name, I checked your photo out on the jacket of a book I have and on your fan Web site."

"And you found that I'd grown old and ugly since the publicity shot was taken," he said. He'd given a little laugh, but it was a nervous one. He was worried whether I was disappointed in the forty-five-year-old Tony Lawson.

"Not in the least," I said, giving him what I hoped was a smile of genuine interest. "If anything, you are more handsome than in your photo. And I must confess that I'm more drawn to men in their forties than considerably younger. They've had more time to experience an interesting life and they know what they want."

"And do you know what you want, Ryan? You are much younger than that, so perhaps you are still undecided."

"No, I know what I want," I said, with a smile. He had the palm of a hand resting on the table top and I brushed it with the fingers of one of my hands. He didn't pull the hand away, so I rested mine on top of his. There was no problem in doing this in this café. We were well into the interior of the Castro area, a primary gay district of San Francisco, and other couples in the café were male and male, with several of the couples being more intimate than we were being. The tables were small and we'd been sitting nearly sideways in our chairs, but he swung his legs around, under the table, and I then did so as well, moving my knee to touching the inside of one of his. He squeezed my knee lightly between his. He moved his knees on mine, sliding gently back and forth. In a symbolic manner, I already was inside him and we were fucking.

He was already letting me in. He'd let me fuck him—unless he didn't know what he was signaling in answer to my signals. I needed to be sure. Maybe I was just overcome with randiness today.

"So, you've read a book or two of mine?" he said.

"Just that, two. I'm sorry. I'm not much of a reader."

"Which two?"

"The Aviators and The Handyman." It was a good thing I'd checked on the titles before coming here. I usually don't keep the titles of the few books I've read uppermost in my mind.

"Ah, two of my personal favorites. You know you remind me of Tab in The Handyman."

My mind raced. The protagonist of The Handyman was a confident—and hunky—dominant, if I remembered rightly. I couldn't remember if the character's name was Tab, but, if so, Tony was sending me another signal. This was looking good.

"On the condo," I said, going in for the kill. "The Castro district that the condo is in is one of the more expensive areas and it's predominant gay. If you wouldn't be comfortable—"

"I'd be very comfortable with the gay lifestyle," he interjected. "That's why I'm looking for a condo here. I've lived on the East Coast so long that I feel I've overmined that region for book ideas. I want to write a full-out gay lifestyle book and I figure that the West Coast—and San Francisco, in particular—are good for picking up open gay experiences that will inspire my writing."

"You're coming here looking for gay experiences to inspire your writing?"

"Yes, casual gay sex. I am a submissive."

"Your bio mentions a partner."

"Long gone. Not dead. Nothing to mourn. Just long gone. I haven't had sex for far too long." He was gripping my thumb in his hand and looking plaintively at me. "Am I wrong? You are a top, aren't you?"

"Yes," I said.

"Can I hope that you are well hung?"

"Yes."

"Can I hope that—?"

"Yes. Do you really want to see the condo that's for sale or do you want to go to a hotel or to my place? My place is close. There's a bed at the condo. The sheets are clean."

"Who the fuck needs a bed when they're collecting exotic sexual experiences? But, yes, if the condo is near, I'd like to see it."

I fucked him on the living room floor of the condo, just inside the door, in a doggy fuck—for the first fuck. He opened right up for me and wiggled his tail while I spiked him. He'd wanted it bad.

* * * *

We had made it to the bed and I was doing him on the foot of the bed in a missionary. Both of us were naked. His body was in better condition than I imagined it would be at forty-five and he had great stamina. He'd stayed with me in the doggy fuck on the living room carpet followed by another doggy fuck on the spiral stairs and then this missionary on the bed.

I was standing on the floor at the foot of the bed. His butt was on the edge of the mattress, and I was fisting his ankles, pushing his legs out wide as I slid deep inside him. He groaned, arching his back to push his pelvis up into me, and I pull his legs back together as I withdrew to where just my bulb was sheathed, and he moaned. Legs pulled wide as I bottomed inside him and pulled back together as I withdrew. In and out; in and out. He groaned both in the burying and the withdrawing. He was jacking himself with one hand and palming one of my pecs with the other.

He had murmured how beautiful my body and cock were, which aided me in the arousal department. He cried out "Git it. GIT IT. GititgititGITIT" each time just before he blew and then I did. And I got it each time.

After I'd shot my third load, I collapsed on top of him and he placed the heels of his feet on my buttocks and rubbed. "Fuck, that was good," he murmured.

"Just good?" I whispered?

"No, great. That's the first chapter for my new book right there."

"So, do you want to do a formal tour of the condo?" I asked.

"No need," he answered. "I'll take it. I can tell already that I can write here. But one question."

"What?"

"Do you come with the condo?"

"For as long as you come for me," I answered.