We decided that I would host and I told him my apartment number. He said he just finished a jog and would shower before heading over.
I felt like such an idiot, standing outside the bakery freezing my ass off because I was too scared to go inside. I couldn’t even blame someone else for this, it was my idea!
My coworker Rome was having a birthday party for her son, but was worried she wouldn’t have enough time to pick the cake up, so I offered to do so without batting an eye. It was on a weekend anyway. But now I was starting to wish I kept my mouth shut.
I have a bad relationship with food. I’ve been chubby most of my life and have only started to make some progress losing weight in the past year or so. My gut was finally, finally starting to recede. But just looking inside at the displays was making my mouth water.
I’m not a strong person. I don’t have much self-control. But I was still more nervous about entering this bakery than I had any good reason to.
Getting sick of this, I firmly told myself that I’m a grown-ass man who made a promise to a friend and if I couldn’t be around desserts for any length of time I might as well lock myself in my apartment forever.
Just walk in, get the cake, and walk out. Don’t overthink it, just do it.
I opened the door, hearing a little bell. A frustratingly delicious odor smacked into me. This might be harder than I anticipated.
Dalkom Park was a bakery that opened only a month or so ago right across the street from my apartment building. I sneaked a quick peek inside while on my daily jog more times than I care to admit. But it wasn’t just because of the food.
As usual, my heart did a little dance when I saw the man behind the counter. He was a handsome Asian man, most likely Korean given the name of the shop, with a muscular form and kind eyes. This guy was so beautiful and so far out of my league I felt almost unworthy to gaze upon him. He flashed me a brilliant smile when he saw me walk in.
“Welcome to Dalkom Park. What can I do for you, sir?” His voice was a clear tenor with an American accent. Now that I was close enough to read his nametag, I saw that his name was André.
I swallowed a little, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
“H-hi. My name is Tory Diamandis. I’m here for the birthday cake Rome Harrison ordered.”
He nodded. “Yeah, she told me on the phone one of her friends was picking it up. Let me go get it.”
André went in the back and left me alone, surrounded with temptation. Everything looked so fucking good.
I did what I learned to do when feeling cravings, which was remind myself how much I hated my fat and needed to be vigilant if I wanted it to go away. I needed to be in control.
Then my gaze locked on the worst thing possible: a little tray of free samples. Each was one perfect bite of cake on a cute little spoon. It was mocking me. I felt my resolve waver. It’s one bite. Surely it couldn’t do that much damage.
I heard André’s voice again.
“Wanna try one?” He had returned with the cake packed up in a box. “It’s Chocolate Sponge with Salted Caramel Whipped Cream.”
I was sorely tempted but shook my head, somewhat violently.
“No, no thanks. I don’t really like sweets,” I lied.
“Okay, no problem. Let me ring this up for you.”
Soon enough the transaction was complete and I walked out of the shop, way quicker than was necessary.
I was proud of myself when I got back to my car. I had demonstrated that I developed some resolve.
My weight loss journey had been rocky, to put it lightly. In college I was completely lax, didn’t care what I ate, and never exercised. But in the following years I felt more and more disgusted with how much I let myself go. I don’t have much muscle tone, so I was skinny-fat, and looked awful. I had a pot-belly, man boobs, and twig arms. About two years ago I finally decided to do something about it. I went on a diet and began working out regularly. At first, it was a dream come true. The pounds melted away, but soon I hit a wall. My fat was still there. It didn’t even look that different from when I started.
Eventually I had to really buckle down. I kept close track of what I ate, making sure I didn’t slip up. I also cut the strength training and focused entirely on weight loss. I needed to get rid of the fat first, that was my priority.
It was long, slow work, but I did see some results after a while. Still, I had a long way to go before I had a body I could be happy with.
When I got to the party at the mall Rome thanked me profusely.
“Wanna stay a while, try some of that cake?” she offered.
I smiled politely. “Thanks, but I’m fine. See you later.”
To be honest, I was feeling pretty good on the drive home. I wanted to reward myself. I was thinking about what I could do when I remembered I hadn’t hooked up in a while. Some action tonight sounded like just what I needed.
The last customer had left and it was finally time to close up shop.
I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot as I got everything ready for closing. I’ve wanted my very own bakery for the better part of a decade, and even after having it for nearly two months it didn’t seem real.
Once everything was ready I walked across the street to my apartment building. How lucky could I be to live on the same block I worked at?
I knew that my dad was looking down on me, happy.
He was always my inspiration for baking, himself being a pastry chef classically trained in France. That was part of the reason why my name is European despite me being 100% Korean-American. He taught me so much growing up, and I aspired to be like him.
Then it happened.
One day, out of nowhere, my father, a relatively healthy man in his 60s, had a heart attack and passed away.
My whole world shattered. The grief was overwhelming. It made me back away from baking for a while, all it did was remind me how much I missed him. But after a year or so my brother asked me to bake a cake for my nephew, and I agreed. Seeing how happy that birthday cake made them had me remember why I loved baking in the first place.
I got back on the ball and began working with the ultimate goal of owning my own bakery, and now at the age of 31 the dream was realized. My life was by no means perfect, but I wouldn’t trade it for any other.
Later that evening I felt a certain itch I hadn’t felt in a while. I had been so busy with the bakery that dating and sex had been off my radar, but now I was feeling the urge to get back on it.
I logged on to Sniffies and saw my little bubble appear, with that same picture of my ass as my avatar. Damn, it’s been a while, the last time I’d been on this site had to have been before I moved.
Immediately my attention was grabbed by another bubble that was almost on top of mine on the map. Zooming in I saw that if the location was accurate, this guy had to live in my apartment building.
I noticed that he was online and sent him a message.
Hey man. Shit, we’re really close.
He replied in about thirty seconds.
Yeah, lol. What’s up? What are you into?
I told him how I’m generally a bottom and am looking for a quickie, though wasn’t opposed to something more.
The two of us went back and forth for a bit, each sending over some pictures. This guy was fair-skinned and had a nice long cock. Then I saw the face pic and everything clicked.
Holy shit, I know you!
I’m André from Dalkom Park. You came in today to pick up a cake. I sent him a face pic of my own.
OMG André? I didn’t know you lived in this building!
We kept talking, and soon it became apparent that we were going to meet up. We decided that I would host and I told him my apartment number. He said he just finished a jog and would shower before heading over.
I needed to get moving, I hadn’t bottomed in a while and had to get myself ready.
This already good day was about to get even better.
The entire process of getting ready I was expecting to wake up from a dream. There was no way André the Asian Adonis wanted to hook up with me, it just didn’t make sense.
It had to be my cock. I was eight inches uncut, so he must have seen it and decided it made up for all my shortcomings.
Whatever the reason, I decided not to question it. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I couldn’t pass it up.
After spending too long trying to make myself look presentable I went over to his apartment. It was on the opposite side of the building, so I guess it made sense we never ran into each other before. I knocked on the door and stood with bated breath.
The door opened to reveal the man I’d been crushing on for weeks. He gave me that perfect smile again.
I smiled back.
I walked in and he greeted me with a big hug, His arms felt so strong and firm.
“Did they like the cake?”
I furrowed my brow before it occurred to me what he was talking about.
“Oh, Rome’s party. I couldn’t stay and find out, but I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t.”
He pulled back and gave me a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re a nice guy, running errands on the weekend.”
I felt my face heat up a little.
He kissed my now blushing cheek again and felt up my crotch through my pants.
“Holy shit, you’re packing.”
I cupped his bubble butt with both hands
“I could say the same about you, dude.”
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
We both stripped down, and looking at him made me aroused and insecure at the same time. I hated my body, but André’s body was incredible. He was maybe 5’8″ to my 5’11” and less hairy, and his shape was incredible. He was probably a mesomorph, while I was firmly an endomorph. His arms were firm, his chest and back strong, and his glutes left me speechless.
“What do you do in your free time, deadlift semi-trucks?”
The two of us made out and felt each other up for a while, both of us hardening. He led us to his bedroom and just like that we were at the main event.
As great as his ass looked, it felt even better. His chute held my cock in a velvety grip and he was able to take all my dick with relatively little effort. It wasn’t long before I blew my wad in the condom.
Once I calmed myself down I ate his ass while he stroked himself to completion. Afterwards, we cuddled in his bed, basking in the afterglow.
“You and I need to do this more often,” he murmured.
He looked at the time on his phone.
“It’s getting late. You can sleep over if you want.”
My eyes widened. “That sounds great!”
About an hour later we were in his bed. I was the little spoon and he held me in his strong arms. I felt so happy.
I thought this was some kind of sign, a cosmic sort of reward for staying strong in the face of temptation. If I kept at it, kept losing weight, I’d be happy.
My eyelids gradually closed and I fell asleep.
My internal clock woke me up around sunrise, and Tory was still fast asleep.
I examined what little of him I could see in the dim light. Mostly I looked at the back of his neck. His pale, olive-tinted skin was raised up around his vertebrae, making bumps go down his back. This man was a kind of skinny I didn’t see very often.
His whole body was bony and angular. He had jutting hip bones, prominent ribs, and shoulder blades that looked like they were trying to escape when he moved his arms. I already knew he was thin, I could see as much when he came into my shop the day before, but I didn’t know he was this skinny until his clothes came off. He didn’t exactly look malnourished or starving, but his body was far removed from what I was used to.
Eventually Tory woke up and left, respectfully declining my offer to cook him breakfast. Before walking out, we gave each other our numbers and he told me to text him anytime.
And text him I did. The two of us got to know each other, and though neither of us said it out loud, it was starting to feel like we were dating. We didn’t just have sex, we texted each other during the day, watched Netflix together, talked about our lives and our struggles. I found out he had this quick, dry sense of humor that was able to catch me off guard sometimes.
I hadn’t had a boyfriend in years, my whole life was dedicated to the grind of getting my own bakery, but now that part of the work was over and it felt nice to think about other things. I was running this business on my own, I hadn’t even hired any part-time employees yet, so it was a lot of work. But after a long day om the job, spending some time with Tory was just what I needed.
One night we were hanging out at my place and he noticed a burn I had on my hand. He asked me what happened
“Oh, I was making a lot of Italian buttercream today.”
Tory tilted his head, squinting for a few seconds. Then I realized that statement had no context to someone like him who didn’t bake.
“It’s a type of frosting that uses a specific kind of egg white foam. Italian meringue requires dripping boiling hot sugar syrup into egg whites while you mix them. I had a little burn, but it’s not as bad as it looks, I promise.”
“I didn’t know baking cakes could be so hazardous.”
“It’s all part of the job. Plus I’m going to need a boatload of Italian buttercream soon.”
“For what, exactly?”
I let loose the big dumb grin I’d been holding in all day.
“I’m making a wedding cake!”
This was the biggest order I’ve done for this bakery. I’d helped making wedding cakes in past jobs, but this was still a huge project. It would help legitimize my business and help with getting the word out. My client really loved a cake from my shop with Italian buttercream and asked me if I could make her wedding cake. I’m sure it also helped that I was able to do it on short notice. It was going to be a lot of work, but this was the most excited I’d been since I opened Dalkom Park.
“I just need to hire delivery people.”
“Why? Can’t you deliver it yourself?”
I blinked a few times. “I don’t have a car. I thought I told you that already.” I hadn’t had a particular need for a car since I moved. My ingredients get delivered and I could use public transit just fine. But this was a big cake that needed to go across town.
“I mean, if you want you can use my car.”
“No, I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not? It’s just a car. I barely use it anyway.” Tory worked from home and generally liked to stay at his apartment in his free time.
“I mean…if you’re sure, that would be awesome.”
“Thanks man! I need to make it up to you somehow. How about I pay you?”
“For what? Sitting at home while you do all the work?”
“Okay, then I’ll take you out to dinner.”
Suddenly his whole demeanor changed. He had a deer-in-the-headlights look I’d never seen before.
“I…um…nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”
He stood up and began walking almost robotically to the door.
“I just realized I forgot something I had to do tonight. I have to go.”
“Okay. Talk to you later?”
“Yeah, of course. Bye.”
The door closed, leaving me completely puzzled.
What the hell was wrong with me? My new sort-of-boyfriend just offered to take me out to dinner and my entire mind just shut down. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before.
And for what?
I hadn’t gone out to eat for months, I preferred having control over exactly what I ate, but what could be so bad about going out to eat for one night? I’d just eat something light. It didn’t matter. This wasn’t a big deal. So why in the name of all that is good was I going into a panic attack over it?
It’s just food.
Part of me wanted to call André and ask him if we could just do something else instead, but what was I supposed to tell him? If I didn’t even understand what was going on with me, how was I supposed to explain it to anyone else?
I thought back to how I was feeling outside the bakery that day. I was being irrational and I knew I was being irrational, but that didn’t stop those feelings. It didn’t even slow them down.
When I got back to my apartment all I could do was sit down and wait for my brain to stop freaking out. Eventually things blew over and I knew the first thing I had to do.
I called André and he picked up right away.
“Hi. Sorry about that, I just…I just forgot something.” It didn’t feel good lying to him, but it would be easier for both of us if I just played it off.
“That’s fine. It just caught me off guard, that’s all.”
I held the phone further away so hopefully he wouldn’t hear me take a deep breath in and out.
“It’s fine if you want to take me out for dinner. When do you need my car?”
“The wedding is the Sunday after next.” That day was Thursday. So I had over a week.
“Where do you want to go for dinner?” he asked.
Suddenly it was like I had never heard of a single restaurant in my life.
“I, um…you can choose.”
“Okay. Is there anything you want to talk to me about?”
There was a pause. Should I tell him? What would I even say?
“No, not really.”
“Alright.” He sounded unconvinced. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
I hung up and needed to take a minute to process what just happened.
One thing I knew for sure was that I couldn’t very well back out of the dinner anymore. I already said yes, and I even doubled down on it.
I knew how passionate André was about his bakery. Making a wedding cake was a big step forward in growing his business. It wouldn’t be right to make him stress over me on such a big day. He shouldn’t have anything to worry about, and for that matter I didn’t either. It’s just food. It was another opportunity to exercise what little self-control I had built up. This would be good for me.
When he told me a few days later what restaurant he was planning on taking us to I looked up the menu online and decided exactly what I wanted to order. I wouldn’t even have to look at the menu when we got there.
Days flew by and before I knew it the day of the wedding had arrived. André borrowed my car and did his thing for the day while I did everything possible to distract myself. There was a voice in the back of my mind telling me that what I was feeling wasn’t normal. Part of me agreed with that assessment, but nevertheless I had to get through today before I could do anything else. I’d have to figure this out later. Right now I had a responsibility to my companion and a responsibility to myself.
I must have thought the words it’s okay or you’ll be fine thousands of times in those hours.
Nothing was happening that was worth worrying myself into another dimension over.
I just had to be strong.
I just had to make it through the day.
It took three days of work to make that cake. As a concept, it wasn’t that complicated: the inside was a black velvet cake and the outside was white buttercream with white flowers, providing nice contrast when cut. Basically it was a cookies-and-cream cake on steroids. But this was the first time I’d made an entire wedding cake by myself. Baking, icing, stacking, reinforcing, piping flowers, packing it up, it was a lot to deal with. But I was able to make it on time and leave in Tory’s car right on schedule.
On my extremely careful drive to the venue, I thought more about what happened with Tory a week ago. He acted completely normal since then, so it felt rude to bring it up to him, but the look on his face when I asked him out to dinner was hard for me to forget.
I thought back to the day we met, how he seemed a little on edge in my bakery. He said he didn’t like sweets, but that didn’t seem like any reason to act nervous.
I was scared to ask further about it because in the grand scheme of things we hadn’t known each other that long. We weren’t even officially dating. Would I be crossing a line if I pushed it?
When I got to the location I needed to hold those thoughts because I was back on the job. I had to assemble the tiers and put on the finishing touches, and for wedding cakes, “finishing touches” were still a lot of work. But it all came together and I was able to take a step back and look at my creation.