Pound4Pound
Experienced
- Joined
- Aug 1, 2016
- Posts
- 90
Damien Blackstone used to be somebody. All through high school he was the big man on campus. The first sophomore to be voted captain of the basketball team, which he lead to three straight championship runs. He was the football team's leading rusher and still held records for career/single season rushing yards and most career touchdowns. Even in college, he enjoyed minor celebrity status at his Division II school but Damien knew his limits. Playing either sport professional was not in the cards for him, so he stayed in the books and graduated in four years with a degree in Marketing. His plan was to stay in sports, but of course no one carried about his records once he got into the real world.
The gravy train came to a screeching halt once he walked across that stage and he took the first job he could find to keep the student loan collectors off his back. It wasn't anything glamourous, it wasn't even in sports, but it paid the bills. After five years of long hours and hard work, he worked his way up the ladder to become the youngest project manager at his advertising firm. Unfortunately, working at Libberman, Tanner, and Kline was nothing like Mad Men. His secretary was an overweight Black woman named Clarisse and there was no bourbon in his desk drawer. He did have an office with his name on the door and a window, too. Unfortunately it faced the alley and he set his watch by the sounds of the dump truck that came every morning right before noon.
He still had his looks though. His 6'3" were coated in honey brown skin, unblemished by tattoos. And while he'd put on a little weight since college, he still held the physique of a man who spent a good amount of time at the gym. Gone were the hard oblique muscles that often directed eyes to his package, but Damien still sported a six pack, his chest still well defined. Arms and legs still heavily corded from years of running and jumping. Then there was his easy smile and chestnut eyes that could disarm even the most jaded of women.
As handsome as he was though, Damien wasn't that guy. He was honest with women about his lack of interest in commitment and had no shortage of dates because of it. Though he was a notorious flirt, he had a firm policy of "not shitting where he ate" so women in the office were off limits. Needless to say, his last serious relationship was in college and she broke up with him when she realized he had no aspiration to play ball professionally. He told himself it was her loss, but it stung his pride.
That was the marked the end of Damien Blackstone, big man on campus. Now he was just Damien Blackstone who still drove the same shitty SUV his parents bought him for his 18th birthday. Who lived in a crapped one bedroom apartment above a liquor store. Sure it was in the city but the part where he lived had yet to be gentrified, or else he wouldn't be able to afford it on his five figure salary. Granted, it was on the high end but Damien knew he was a long way from that elusive sixth figure. In the words of Roy Hawkins and Rick Darnell made famous by legendary bluesman BB King, the thrill was gone and Damien was mostly okay with it. He'd settled into his life of anonymity well enough. Developed a routine but even he admitted the monotony was mind-numbing.
Things took a turn one beautiful spring afternoon. The sun had finally poked out from the clouds after a rainy week to greet the city to start the weekend off right. He didn't have any plans besides a good workout, but he kept his options open. A couple of guys from work had been toying with the idea of a bar crawl Saturday night but most of them were married so chance were slim that any plans would come to fruition. He was content to sit on his couch in front of ESPN with his feet kicked up if nothing came up, but he hoped something did. Damien was running through possible booty calls in his head as he jogged on the treadmill when he saw her. A tall leggy blonde on the elliptical a few rows in front of him. As nice as her ass was, it was her reflection in the mirror that caught his attention. Her delicate features were so familiar and it took him a moment to place her.
Liz Warren, and he hadn't seen her since their high school graduation almost ten years ago. They basically grew up together, their houses on opposite ends of the same suburban cul-de-sac. She'd always been a pretty girl, if a little on the bitchy side. Given the years she spent defending her brother from jock assholes, Damien always understood her disposition. He wasn't one of those guys though, his mother was a firm believer in "due unto other" and she passed the philosophy on to her son. Being the product of a biracial couple Damien had problems of his own so he always treated the Warren twins with kindness. It was his mother's voice in his head that got him off the treadmill a mile early and heading over to his childhood neighbor. He made sure to keep his approach slow and deliberate as he came to stand in front of her machine. And he wouldn't have touched her if she hadn't been wearing earbuds but he didn't see any other way to get her attention.
"Excuse me for interrupting your workout but your name wouldn't happen to be Liz Warren would it?"
The gravy train came to a screeching halt once he walked across that stage and he took the first job he could find to keep the student loan collectors off his back. It wasn't anything glamourous, it wasn't even in sports, but it paid the bills. After five years of long hours and hard work, he worked his way up the ladder to become the youngest project manager at his advertising firm. Unfortunately, working at Libberman, Tanner, and Kline was nothing like Mad Men. His secretary was an overweight Black woman named Clarisse and there was no bourbon in his desk drawer. He did have an office with his name on the door and a window, too. Unfortunately it faced the alley and he set his watch by the sounds of the dump truck that came every morning right before noon.
He still had his looks though. His 6'3" were coated in honey brown skin, unblemished by tattoos. And while he'd put on a little weight since college, he still held the physique of a man who spent a good amount of time at the gym. Gone were the hard oblique muscles that often directed eyes to his package, but Damien still sported a six pack, his chest still well defined. Arms and legs still heavily corded from years of running and jumping. Then there was his easy smile and chestnut eyes that could disarm even the most jaded of women.
As handsome as he was though, Damien wasn't that guy. He was honest with women about his lack of interest in commitment and had no shortage of dates because of it. Though he was a notorious flirt, he had a firm policy of "not shitting where he ate" so women in the office were off limits. Needless to say, his last serious relationship was in college and she broke up with him when she realized he had no aspiration to play ball professionally. He told himself it was her loss, but it stung his pride.
That was the marked the end of Damien Blackstone, big man on campus. Now he was just Damien Blackstone who still drove the same shitty SUV his parents bought him for his 18th birthday. Who lived in a crapped one bedroom apartment above a liquor store. Sure it was in the city but the part where he lived had yet to be gentrified, or else he wouldn't be able to afford it on his five figure salary. Granted, it was on the high end but Damien knew he was a long way from that elusive sixth figure. In the words of Roy Hawkins and Rick Darnell made famous by legendary bluesman BB King, the thrill was gone and Damien was mostly okay with it. He'd settled into his life of anonymity well enough. Developed a routine but even he admitted the monotony was mind-numbing.
Things took a turn one beautiful spring afternoon. The sun had finally poked out from the clouds after a rainy week to greet the city to start the weekend off right. He didn't have any plans besides a good workout, but he kept his options open. A couple of guys from work had been toying with the idea of a bar crawl Saturday night but most of them were married so chance were slim that any plans would come to fruition. He was content to sit on his couch in front of ESPN with his feet kicked up if nothing came up, but he hoped something did. Damien was running through possible booty calls in his head as he jogged on the treadmill when he saw her. A tall leggy blonde on the elliptical a few rows in front of him. As nice as her ass was, it was her reflection in the mirror that caught his attention. Her delicate features were so familiar and it took him a moment to place her.
Liz Warren, and he hadn't seen her since their high school graduation almost ten years ago. They basically grew up together, their houses on opposite ends of the same suburban cul-de-sac. She'd always been a pretty girl, if a little on the bitchy side. Given the years she spent defending her brother from jock assholes, Damien always understood her disposition. He wasn't one of those guys though, his mother was a firm believer in "due unto other" and she passed the philosophy on to her son. Being the product of a biracial couple Damien had problems of his own so he always treated the Warren twins with kindness. It was his mother's voice in his head that got him off the treadmill a mile early and heading over to his childhood neighbor. He made sure to keep his approach slow and deliberate as he came to stand in front of her machine. And he wouldn't have touched her if she hadn't been wearing earbuds but he didn't see any other way to get her attention.
"Excuse me for interrupting your workout but your name wouldn't happen to be Liz Warren would it?"
