House Hunting

House Hunting

by Squeezable (amauiguy@gmail.com)

One of my neighbors called with the bad news: our homeowner's association had voted to start allowing vacation rentals in our condo complex. Since I work from home, I had voted against the change, but not enough other owners objected. The new rule would go into effect in three months. I knew I would have trouble concentrating on work with noisy vacationers coming and going at all hours, so I started looking for a house to buy.

My friend, Karen, who happens to be a lesbian, is my real estate agent. She cheerfully set up appointments to show me various houses, but after five weeks I still hadn't found an acceptable one. Of the two best so far, we crossed one off the list when a shift in the breeze revealed that it was uncomfortably close to the local landfill. As for the second, I was ready to place a bid on it when Karen spotted the signs of major termite damage. Argh!

I finally broadened my search area. Although I preferred living near the beach and seeing all the handsome toned surfers and studly volleyball players, in reality I didn't spend much time there. I decided I was willing to sacrifice that if it could get a quiet home office. Also, it seemed more likely that I'd find houses in my price range farther from the beach.

While Karen drove us up along the winding forested roads on the side of Hale'akala, the mountain that makes up the eastern half of Maui, I spent my time enjoying the view. The cool breeze through the open windows carried the sweet scents of plumeria and eucalyptus. I noticed a few 'for sale' signs here and there but mostly I kept my eyes aimed toward downhill side, gazing at the spectacular views of the sparkling ocean and other islands in the distance.

"Only a bit farther now," Karen said optimistically.

I turned my focus to the houses as we drove slowly past, trying to get an impression of the neighborhood. Most of the houses, large and small, seemed situated on decently sized lots. We passed a 'for sale by owner' sign on the right, at the top of a driveway that sloped gently downhill. I caught just a glimpse of a nicely kept yard and the blue tile roof of a one story house, when Karen slowed the car.

"Here we are, Marcus," she said, turning left to drive up a steep driveway.

I peered around we climbed the long gravel driveway and parked on a flat area at the top. There were some nice eucalyptus trees and some ornamental shrubs, and the view was amazing. The house itself wasn't as big as I had hoped. Walking through it I felt a little claustrophobic.

"It's kind of cozy, isn't it?" Karen remarked raising her eyebrows hopefully.

I chuckled, knowing that in agent-speak 'cozy' means small. But she'd been through enough houses with me to know that that wouldn't be a deal-breaker, assuming of course that we didn't find any other problems.

Suddenly Karen's phone rang.

"Hello? Yes, hello Glenn. Yes, we're there now. Oh, they did? When? Oh, I see. That's too bad. Yes, thanks for calling, Glenn. Good-bye."

By the look on her face, I could tell that it wasn't good news.

"The owners have just taken this house off the market, I'm sorry," she said dejectedly. "Glenn, their agent, just found out and was hoping to catch us before we drove all the way out here." Trying to sound encouraging, she added "Don't worry, Marcus, we'll find something for you."

With a grim nod, I said, "I know, it's not your fault, Karen. We'll just keep looking."

My eye caught sight again of the 'for sale by owner' sign on the other side of the road as we reached the bottom of the driveway.

"What about that one?" I asked curiously, pointing at the sign.

"It says 'by appointment only' but we might as well take a look at the outside while we're here. It doesn't look like anyone is home," Karen said, as she turned the car down the driveway and parked by the tan stuccoed house.

We walked slowly around it. The house wasn't new, but it was probably no more than ten years old. The lawn, trees, and bushes had a slightly wild but natural look, and it was clear that they received regular care. From the outside at least, the house seemed spacious and it looked to be in good repair. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that although the side facing the road was just one story tall, since the house was built on the mountainside it actually was two stories tall on downhill side, and that side was made almost entirely of glass. I guessed the views from upper floor must be fantastic.

"Look, Marcus, there's an ohana, too," Karen pointed down the hill to the left.

The large cottage sat by itself down the hill where the driveway ended.

"Let me call and check on it for you. It's worth a shot," she said as we drove home.

She called the California phone number listed on the sign, but only reached the owners' voicemail. As we parted she promised to let me know as soon as she found out anything.

The next morning Karen called to tell me that she had finally talked to the owners.

"They mentioned having some financial trouble, so I think they are motivated to sell," she explained. "I was able arrange an appointment for tomorrow afternoon."

Then she sprang the 'gotcha' on me.

"One thing you should know is that the ohana has a tenant," she said cautiously. "Since he has a lease, part of the contract stipulates that he be allowed to continue to rent it. The owners said he does all their yard work, and while they're away he's been taking care of the house, too. You could use his rent to help make your mortgage payments," she suggested.

I reminded her that I was planning to rent out the condo I have now, so I wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea of getting an additional tenant, but I promised her that I wouldn't decide until after I had seen the inside of the house.

"Great!" she exclaimed. "The reason they have the house 'by appointment only' is that the owners are on the mainland and they want the tenant to be there so prospective owners can meet him. He'll be there to show us around. Meet you at my office around 1 pm tomorrow, ok?"

"Sounds good, see you then," I replied.

The next morning I was concentrating on my software work, frantically trying to get it done before I had to meet Karen. When the phone rang, I glanced at the clock. I was startled to find that it was already a little past noon.

It was Karen. She explained that she wouldn't be able to keep our appointment because she had hurt her back.

"You should still go, Marcus. The tenant will be expecting us at 2 pm, and I don't have a local number to call and reschedule with him," she said.

I told her that was fine, and that I'd be able to find the house without any trouble. I asked her if she needed anything, and she assured me she'd be fine in a few days.

After finishing what I had been working on, I got cleaned up and headed out. I figured it would take me about an hour to get there. But the traffic was stop and go due to an accident, and by the time I finally got around it, I knew I was going to be really late.

On the way up the mountain, I passed several guys on bicycles pedaling powerfully up the steep winding roads. As I carefully gave them space, I gawked at how huge their legs were. Hmmm, I thought to myself, I'll be giving up the beach crowd, but in return I get muscular Lycra-encased thighs of cyclists--it could be a nice change of pace.

I arrive nearly an hour late and park where we had previously. I ring the doorbell, but there is no sign of anyone around the house. Remembering that I'm meeting the tenant, I look down toward the ohana. There is a wheel barrow and some gardening tools propped up against the open side door of a van, so I assume the tenant must be down there working.

Walking down the driveway toward the ohana, I become aware of a rhythmic clanging sound. As I get closer, I realize there is someone inside working out with free weights. Free weights? I'm suddenly feeling very optimistic about meeting this tenant. I stop at the door and count to myself the clang of each rep, and the pause between the sets. When I hear the next pause, I knock firmly.

"Yeah, one second," rumbles a very deep shockingly familiar voice that has been haunting my dreams for almost two months.

I turn quickly to look at the van parked nearby. Belatedly, I realize that it's the same dusty white van that I had seen at Costco.

Behind me, I hear the front door of the ohana open, and I slowly turn.

I find myself face to pecs with the tall monstrous guy I've come to think of as over the past couple of months as "the Costco bully." Slowly my gaze travels up from the sweat-stained front of his red tank top, until I'm looking at his rugged masculine face.

He seems as surprised to see me as I am to see him. His eyes move and glance around, obviously searching for Karen.

I try to speak, but find my throat has suddenly gone dry. I force a swallow.

"Karen couldn't make it," I say weakly.

With that news his eyes widen, and a menacing grin spreads across his face. I imagine he's contemplating all kinds of ways to humiliate and intimidate me, and I'm growing more nervous by the second. He didn't actually hurt me when we met before, and I've been fantasizing about him nearly every night since then, but I have no reason to believe that he wants anything more than a cheap thrill from tormenting me.

"You're late," he growls forcefully, "and I'm in the middle of a workout."

His chest, arms, and shoulders bulge massively and gleam with sweat. Pumped up, he is much bigger than he was during our encounter at Costco. Standing only a couple of feet from him, I can feel the heat radiating off his gigantic body.

"Been enjoying all that soy sauce, little man?" he asks with a condescending tone.

I feel myself blush and look toward my feet in embarrassment.

"Wait here," he commands in his deep voice, as he turns and walks back into the ohana.

A moment later he returns with a key ring.

"Follow me, runt. Since your real estate agent couldn't make it, you're going to get the special tour," he says in an ominous tone.

He has to duck through the doorway and I step back hurriedly to get out of his way. Setting off up the driveway toward the main house, I follow behind, jogging to keep up with his much longer strides.

He unlocks the side door of the lower level and pushes it open. Leaning against and partially blocking the doorway, he casually stretches a thick arm across the top of it.

"After you," he says, looking down at me with a knowing smirk.

I pause a moment, glancing through the doorway at the tiled entry and at the carpeted room beyond. Turning to the side, I carefully slide under his arm and past him through the doorway. I'm careful to avoid any kind of body contact, but I can't avoid the powerful manly scent of his fresh sweat. He follows closely behind me.

"This is the media room," he explains unnecessarily. The widescreen television, and comfortable leather sofa and chairs make that clear. Along the entire long wall of this room there are glass doors, which display a remarkable view.

I really like this house, but my mind is in an uproar. He seems serious about giving me a tour, but should I try to escape? Then it occurs to me that if anything happens, at least Karen knows that I was meeting him here.

"The laundry room is through there," he points to a doorway, "and there's a full bath down here, too."

I try to keep calm and inspect the house. The laundry room is larger than I would have expected, with spacious storage cabinets.

I step into the nicely decorated bathroom noticing artistic tile work that covers the walls. As I turn to leave, I find myself once more face to pecs with his looming form. In this much smaller enclosed space, he is truly enormous and quite intimidating. Seeing my startled expression, he takes a deep breath expanding his already hulking chest and grins threateningly.

"How tall are you, runt?" his rumbling voice demands.

"Five-ten," I mumble softly.

"What?" he roars. "Speak up, I didn't hear you."

Cowering, I repeat, "I said I'm five-ten."

"Ha! In the fifth grade I was taller than you are now. I probably weighed more then than you do now, too."

He turns ducking back out the doorway and heads back to the media room, leaving me once again in shock to ponder his gigantic size. I remember back to when I was in the fifth grade. I used to love wrestling around with boys who were bigger than me. I avoided the boys that liked to punch me, but I taunted the ones who I knew would put me in a headlock or sleeper, or squash me down in a school boy pin. I liked when they sat on my chest as I squirmed beneath them, or when they wrapped their legs around me with a crushing body scissors. But my favorite was the neighbor boy who was on the football team. He was a couple of years older than me and much bigger. He would grab me in a bearhug, lift me off my feet and squeeze until I submitted.

"Are you coming, squirt?" he growls, startling me from my daydream.

Coming? Yes, I nearly am, I realize. I'm getting extremely turned on by his aura of power and domination.

"Be right there," I answer, giving the bathroom another quick glance.

"Kitchen and bedrooms are upstairs," he states in his low rumbling voice.

He starts up the stairs first, and I'm treated to a view of his gym short-clad magnificently strong flexing butt and legs as I follow numbly up the stairs after him.

At the top of the stairs he stops and turns to watch me coming up behind him. Finally I reach the top.

"Wait right there, half-pint" he orders, as he takes one step backward down the stairs. Then he takes another step down, then a third. We're finally almost eye to eye at this point. He inspects my body up and down, clearly enjoying my discomfort at his scrutiny. His eyes stop briefly as he notices my aroused state. He shakes his big head slowly and rolls his eyes, and then comes back up the steps.

"There are three bedrooms up here, one master suite and two guest rooms," he explains, as he casually stretches his arms over his head revealing his bushy armpits. "The master has its own bathroom, of course, and the two guest rooms share one."

I'm barely able to concentrate on what he's telling me. He's intentionally tormenting me by flaunting his mighty physique.

In a daze, I wander from bedroom to bedroom, trying to focus on the purpose of my visit. When I return to the kitchen, I find him leaning against the stainless steel refrigerator, his huge arms folded across his chest.

"It's a rather warm in the house today because I keep the windows closed and don't run the air conditioning while the owners are away," he explains as he grasps the bottom of his tank top and slowly lifts it off over his head.

I feel light-headed as bit by bit he reveals his magnificent torso. I grab hold of one of the kitchen bar stools to steady myself.

The light brown hair that dusts his deeply tanned abs trails down out of sight beneath the waistband of his workout shorts, but higher up his immense bronze pecs have a nice covering of curly light brown hair that swirls around his prominent nipples.

Casually he reaches behind and tucks the end of his sweaty red shirt under the waistband of his shorts.

"Ah," he sighs, "much better. I can tell that you don't mind a little skin," he adds with an evil leer.

"Just one final thing to see up here," he says, walking over to the glass lanai doors and sliding them open.

I walk unsteadily out onto the upper lanai. The fresh breeze quickly clears my head. The expansive view is stunning. He steps closer and I sense the heat radiating from him as he looms behind me. I flinch when his hand comes past my shoulder.

"That eucalyptus tree is near the corner of the lot," he points down the hill slightly to right. Swinging his thick corded forearm in front of me he points toward the left, "and that tall redwood tree marks the other corner."

He steps back and pulls the sliding doors closed.

From where I'm standing, turning to the right and left, I can hardly see any of the neighboring homes. I love this house and want to buy it, I suddenly realize.

"Follow me, squirt" he orders, as he starts down the outside stairway.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I thank him for taking the time to show me the house.

"What are you talking about?" he asks roughly, as he starts down the hill. "You haven't seen the ohana yet. Get over here," he commands.

I had forgotten about the ohana. The idea of entering "the lair" of this domineering bully, who seems like he might take me apart at any second chills me, but I'm also so turned on I can barely stand it.

As we walk down the hill, I watch the muscles flexing in his wide back and monstrous shoulders. The horseshoe-shape of his bulky triceps seems unreal as his arms swing heavily by his sides. But my eyes are captivated by the red shirt tucked into the top of his shorts that bounces with each step he takes, taunting me like the cape of a bullfighter.

He opens the door and steps inside, with me following right behind him.

The main room of the ohana is huge, but spartanly decorated, with a very high ceiling. Around the walls of the living room, except for the doors leading out to the lanai, is a large assortment of weight lifting equipment, including racks for plates and a variety of bars, an adjustable bench, and a number of heavy dumbbells. But the equipment is crowded near the walls leaving a strangely large empty area in the center of the room.

"Kitchen," he says pointing with a massive hand to the refrigerator, sink, and microwave in one corner. "Dining room," he says pointing to a small table with a couple of chairs in another corner. "Through there," he points to a doorway, "are the bedroom and bathroom."

He turns to where I stand just a couple of steps past the doorway, reaches over me with a thick arm and firmly pushes the door shut. Then he tilts his head down to scowl into my upturned face. I recoil in fright, my back against the closed door, and realize I'm trapped.

He steps forward, his bulky body squashing me securely against the door. I raise my hands and push against his unyielding mass, frantically but ineffectively. My nose is wedged into the base of the cleft between his hard round hairy pecs. His wide abs press relentlessly against my chest. I'm barely able to breathe with all that pressure, but my heart is racing with the thrill of finally feeling the touch of his skin again.

I stick out my tongue to steal a taste of the salty sweat trickling down between his pecs.

"Yeah, lick it, shrimp," he commands. "That's the taste of a real man."

For a minute or two, he grinds his gargantuan body against me. I revel in the crushing feeling. He takes a step back and looks down at me, perhaps making sure he hasn't killed me. From the sadistic grin on his face, I'm guessing he's got me exactly where both of us want me to be.

He reaches out with his colossal hands, grabs me under the arms, and lifts me up effortlessly. He holds me firmly against the wall so that we're eye to eye.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you, squirt?" he asks gruffly.

I nod mutely, scanning his ruggedly handsome face.

"Good, it's been a long time since I've found a crush slave."

Before I can blink, the breath rushes from my lungs with a whoosh, as he pulls me against him in a tremendous bearhug. My feet are dangling high above the floor. Like unstoppable anacondas his arms constrict my chest. I push against his solid shoulders, but it's as useless as pushing against the side of a mountain.

"Oh, yeah," he growls.

He briefly loosens his hold just enough for me to grab a quick breath before he pours on the pressure again. I squirm frantically trying to wedge my hands down into the hairy sweaty space between our bodies, but that only seems to encourage him to squeeze more tightly. I can't fight his irresistible force, but I'm enjoying every minute of my helpless struggle.

He reduces his hold a bit and starts bouncing me with ease up and down against his hard bulging chest, each time catching me with an enveloping squeeze, each squeeze forcing a puff a breath from me with an audible 'huh.'

"Gonna squash you like a grape."

Suddenly pulling me tight against the hardness of his broad furry chest, he cranks up the pressure. As I struggle against his crushing embrace, I can feel my ribs bending. I'm getting weaker by the second. Within a few seconds, I'm seeing stars as I slowly black out.

His giant face looms over me when I awaken.

He must have carried me into his room and laid me on his bed. Now he is sitting beside me, on the edge of the bed, looking down at me with concern.

Trying to maintain a serious expression, I beckon weakly with a finger for him to come closer. He leans down over me carefully as if he's afraid he's injured me.

"That was amazing," I whisper, as my face breaks into a wide smile.

The relief on his face is clear.

"So did you enjoy your special tour, little slave?" he asks in his low rumbling voice.

"It was fantastic. I'm going to place a bid on the house," I reply sincerely.

He grins menacingly and places one outspread hand on my chest, covering it. Then he leans his weight onto it, crushing me down into the mattress. Feebly, I struggle to push his hand away, but to no avail.

After half a minute he releases me and stands up, towering over the bed.

"Great," he says switching back to his sadistic sneer. "I'm looking forward to some crushing around the house."

With a smile, I nod. "I was thinking the same thing."