Muscling Through

by J. L. Merrow

  So we went back to his place, and we had a Chinese takeaway, and we watched old Charlie Chaplin films. I like them ’cause you don’t have to be clever to get the jokes. I never thought someone smart like Lawrence would like them too.

  And it got a bit late, and I thought, well, Larry’s a poof—see, he said I could call him Larry, ’cause nobody else did—and he keeps smiling at me, so maybe I should make a move? So I put my arm round him and pulled him close, but he sort of shivered, so I let go again. I didn’t want him to start shaking like last night.

  “No, come back,” Larry said, and he snuggled into my side. I liked that. Then he reached up and kissed me, and I liked that more, so I put my arm round him again and pulled him onto my lap. He laughed. “If we tried this the other way round, you’d flatten me,” he said, and then he kissed me again. So I didn’t have to try and think of nothing to say. I liked the way his kisses tasted—all sweet-and-sour sauce and white wine—and the way his lips were so soft, but his chin was rough with stubble.

  “Where did you get this scar from?” he asked, rubbing his thumb along it. It tickled when he got to my lip.

  “Beer glass.”

  “Were you attempting to drink from it at the time?”

  “Nah. Some wanker in the pub din’t like my face.”

  Larry’s eyes went wide. “So he shoved a glass in it? Christ!”

  “’S all right. I broke his jaw.”

  “God, I bet you did.” He laughed. “You know, you’re really not the sort of person I’d want to meet down a dark alleyway.” I didn’t say nothing, ’cause where we’d met last night had been down a dark alley. Maybe he wished we’d never met? “Joke, Al, joke,” he said, stroking my face, and I felt better.

  We kissed again, and I shoved my hand up his shirt so I could feel his chest. Larry hasn’t got any chest hair, and his skin felt so smooth and soft I was worried I was going to scratch it with my rough hands. “Oh, that feels good,” he said, like he could read my mind.

  Sometimes I wonder, if people get really clever, can they read minds? But I don’t think Larry can read mine. Not really.

  I put my other hand on his arse and pulled him in tight, but it wasn’t so good with stuff in the way. “Get your clothes off,” I said, and it probably sounded a bit rough, but there wasn’t nothing I could do about that, I was so turned on.

  Larry sort of shivered again, and scrambled off my lap. It felt cold and empty without him. I pulled off my shirt while he was unbuttoning his, and Larry’s eyes went really wide. I guess he’d seen my tats. I got them all over my chest, plus the spider’s web on my neck that he’d seen already. I got more on my back too, but he couldn’t see those.

  Larry got his trousers and underpants off really quick, and climbed back on my lap, his cock bobbing. It was a nice cock, thicker than you’d expect but not so long you’d gag on it. He didn’t kiss me, just ran his hands all over my shoulders and chest. “God, you’re a work of art all by yourself,” Larry said. “I mean, even without the tattoos you’d be amazing, but with them—where did you get them? I’ve never seen designs like these. They’re reminiscent of Australian aboriginal art, but there’s a subtle difference—it’s intriguing.”

  I liked that he liked them. “There’s this bloke on Orwell Street. I told him what I wanted, and he done them for me.”

  “You designed them?”

  “Nah, I just drew a picture on some paper and told him what colours I wanted and stuff. It was him what done the tattoos.”

  Larry smiled. “That means you designed them.” He started to kiss me all over, which felt really nice. I grabbed hold of his arse with both hands, squeezing it and pulling his arse cheeks apart. I think he liked that, ’cause he sort of moaned and started kissing me harder.

  I still had my jogging bottoms on, but they were stretchy enough I didn’t need to take them off to get my cock out. I wanted him to ride me, but I didn’t think he’d want to do that on a first date, so I didn’t say nothing. So I rubbed our cocks together, and he wrapped one of his little hands around us both, and then I forgot all about doing anything else, ’cause it felt so good. I used my hands on his arse to move him up and down, rubbing up against me, and he made those little moaning sounds and threw his head back. I wanted to bite his neck, mark it, but I didn’t think he’d like that, so I bit and sucked at his chest instead where no one would see it. His skin tasted sweet, like white chocolate and fortune cookies.

  “Oh!” he gasped, and I felt his hot spunk hitting my chest. It was so good, watching him come. He didn’t look like a teacher no more. He looked wild and happy. I could have watched him all night.

  When he’d finished, he put his arms round my neck. “Oh God, that was… You didn’t come?” He looked worried.

  “’S okay, I’m close,” I said, and I started jacking myself off.

  “No, let me.” He slid off my lap onto the floor and put his mouth on my cock, and it felt like heaven. I think I grunted a bit. He started bobbing his head up and down, moving his tongue over the head of my cock every now and then. Watching his pretty little face, his lips stretched round my cock, was better than the best porno I’d ever seen.

  “Going to come,” I told him, but he didn’t lift off. I tried to move his head, but my hands weren’t working so good, and I shot in his mouth. He swallowed me down, except for a little bit that dripped from the corner of his mouth.

  When my breathing had steadied, I said, “You should of made me wear a condom.”

  “Statistically, unless I had an open cut in my mouth—which I don’t—the chance of transmission this way is very low,” Larry said. He sounded like a teacher again. Then he looked a bit worried. “Um, are you positive, then?”

  “Nah, my mum makes me get tested regular, but I always use a condom anyhow.”

  “Thank God for that,” he said with a little laugh. “I’m not normally this reckless, believe me.”

  I pulled him back up into my lap so we could kiss, ’cause I liked kissing him, but then we remembered at the same time that I was still covered in spunk, so we didn’t get that far. “Would you like a shower?” Larry asked, still half on my lap and half off.

  “’S all right. I can have one at home,” I said, ’cause I didn’t want to be a bother.

  “Actually, I was rather hoping you might stay the night? I have to get up for work, and I’m sure you do, but, well…”

  I hope I wasn’t scaring him, ’cause I think I had a big grin on my face. “All right,” I said. I got up, lifting Larry up too. “Let’s shower.” Larry laughed and told me to put him down, but I could tell he didn’t mind, really. So I carried him upstairs to the bathroom, and then I put him down on his feet on the bathmat. He was still laughing when he put his arms round me and kissed me. He’s good at kissing, Larry is, even when he’s laughing.

  There wasn’t a lot of room for both of us in the shower, so we had to stand really close together. Larry said he wanted to wash me, so he soaped me up with about half a bottle of this expensive shower gel that smelled like wood and leather. By the time he’d rinsed me off, we were both hard again, so we jerked each other off in the shower, and I got spunk all over me again. It was magic.

  We felt really sleepy after that, so we went to bed. Larry’s got this really big bed. Emperor size, they call it. It takes up most of the space in his bedroom. I had to laugh at the thought of little Larry sleeping in there all on his own—but when I thought about it more, it didn’t seem so funny. I didn’t like to think of Larry being alone. “You must’ve been waiting for someone like me to come along,” I said. I meant, because of the big bed.

  But Larry looked at me all funny and said, “Yes, I think I was.”

  Chapter Two

  So after that we kept on seeing each other, and Larry started asking me to these University dinners and stuff. He said he’d buy me a suit, but I told him I had one already from when I used to work as a bouncer. “Why did you give that up?” he asked. “I’d have thought that kin
d of thing would be perfect for you.”

  “Din’t like the hours. It’s nice, working outside in the day and hearing the birds and stuff.”

  “You’re just a big softy inside, aren’t you?” Larry smiled at me.

  I shrugged. If anyone else called me a softy, I’d deck them. But I didn’t mind Larry saying it.

  The night of the first dinner, Larry was all keyed up like I used to be before a fight. I didn’t get why he was nervous, ’cause he must have been to loads of them, so I thought about it, and I thought it must be ’cause of me. “Are you worried about your mates seeing you with me?” I asked him.

  “No! No, Al, of course not!” He smiled at me and gave me a kiss. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  So I kissed him back, and we ended up on the floor and had to really rush to get changed in time after.

  When we walked into this big hall with the fancy woodwork, everyone stared at me and Larry. I wasn’t sure if it was ’cause of me or ’cause we were two poofs, but there was loads of other blokes without girlfriends, so maybe they were used to poofs.

  We walked past this tall bloke going bald on top, and he looked at Larry and me and said, “My God! Since when have gorillas been allowed into Hall?”

  Larry sort of huffed. “Really, Doctor Hardwicke, one would have hoped that an English don would have been able to come up with something a little more original and pithy.”

  I know he said pithy, not pissy. I asked him afterward.

  Larry carried on. “May I introduce you? This is Alan, a very close friend of mine. Al, this is Clive Hardwicke, one of the English fellows.”

  He meant one of the University English teachers. Not that Clive was an English bloke, although he was that too.

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said, and I smiled at him. He looked a bit worried.

  “Ah, likewise, I’m sure. Don’t let me keep you from your seats.”

  So we sat down, and they said grace, but it was in Latin, so I don’t know how we was meant to understand it. It seems daft, praying something when you don’t know what you’re saying. But maybe they were all clever and understood it, and it was just me. So I just said my own grace in my head, which was much shorter.

  “Do you know which cutlery to use?” Larry whispered to me.

  I thought maybe he hadn’t been to one of these dinners before after all. No wonder he’d been nervous. I mean, no one expects anything much from me, but a clever bloke like him wouldn’t want to look stupid. “You just work from the outside in,” I whispered back. “My mum taught me that. I’ll tell you if you get it wrong.”

  Larry laughed, but I guess I must have missed the joke. That happens a lot, so it didn’t bother me or nothing. I just gave him a big grin.

  After dinner we had tiny little drinks of port in tiny little glasses. I was worried I was going to crush mine with my fingers, so I just held it and didn’t drink it or nothing. I met some more of Larry’s mates, and they all asked me what I did and where I’d studied, which didn’t seem very clever as I don’t think I look like I’ve got a degree or nothing.

  Larry was in a good mood when we left. “God, did you see their faces? The entire evening? Especially Hardwicke. I don’t think he’s been so shocked since the college started admitting women!”

  “Yeah, I’ve had other blokes who went out with me so they could shock their mates or their folks,” I said, ’cause it was true.

  Larry stopped dead in the street, and I wondered if he’d had too much of that port to drink. And then I thought, nah, no way, the glasses were so tiny you’d need about a hundred to get pissed. Though he is kind of little and he gets pissed easy. “Al,” he said, “you know that’s not why I’m with you, don’t you?”

  “I don’t know why you’re with me,” I said, ’cause I didn’t.

  He looked hurt. “Why are you with me?”

  That was easy. “Because you’re pretty and you’re clever and you know about paintings and you like Charlie Chaplin.”

  Larry gave me a big smile. He grabbed my arm and we carried on walking. “Well, then. I’m with you because you’re gorgeous and kind and we have the same taste in comedy.”

  “Okay.” I was pleased. Usually people can’t think of more than one reason why they’re with me. I know he didn’t mean it about me being gorgeous, ’cause I got a face like a squashed potato, and I know he likes cleverer stuff than Charlie Chaplin, but it was sweet of him to say it.

  We did sixty-nine that night. Larry went on top so he didn’t get squished. He’s really good at sucking dick. I wondered if he’d got exams in that too, and I had to stop sucking him ’cause I was laughing.

  “What’s funny?” he asked with a smile like he was getting ready for the joke.

  I told him, and he laughed too. I like it when he laughs, so I tickled him, and he tried to get away, but I grabbed him round the waist and lifted him off the floor, and then he couldn’t stop laughing. So we gave up on sixty-nine and just rubbed off on each other, nice and slow, and then we cuddled up in Larry’s bed and went to sleep.

  In the end, I spent so much time round at Larry’s house that he said why don’t I move in? So the next Sunday, I got all my stuff together and I borrowed a van from my boss and drove it round. We hung my punch bag up in the basement, and Larry had a go at it, but he can’t punch for shit. I told him that’s okay, ’cause he’d got me to look after him now. And then we ended up kissing and stuff, and I had him over the boxes my weights were in and was late taking the van back. I didn’t get into trouble, though. The boss just said I’d better get my lazy arse in to work on time tomorrow, and I did, so that was all right. I didn’t tell him I’d been late because I’d been fucking Larry. I thought he might be more cross if I’d said that.

  Larry’s got this loft conversion. It’s a big, open room with these huge skylights and the walls painted blue like the sky in winter the morning after it’s snowed. First time I went up there, I just stood in the middle and turned round, looking at it. I guess I probably looked a bit stupid. Larry came up and hugged me and laughed. “You like it?”

  “It’s amazing,” I said. “It’d be perfect for doing painting and stuff in.”

  “Really? Why don’t you do that, then? Use it as a studio. I’d love to see some more of your art.” Larry had his hands on my chest, so I guessed he was talking about my tats.

  I shrugged. “Haven’t got any stuff. I mean, apart from my sketchbook and that. Didn’t have room for it, my old place.”

  “We’ll get you some. There’s an art shop on King Street. They should have most of the things you need there.”

  “’S expensive.”

  “So? We’ll call it your moving-in present.”

  I felt a bit bad. “I haven’t got you nothing.”

  “Oh?” Larry looked up at me with big eyes. I started getting hard, ’cause he’d put his hand on my cock. “You haven’t got anything for me? Anything at all?” He gave me a little squeeze. “I think you’re wrong about that,” he said. “I think you’ve got something for me right here.” Then he stopped talking, ’cause I grabbed his arse and pulled him against me hard and kissed him.

  So we never got to the art shop that day. But we went soon after, and I got all kinds of stuff—a proper easel and brushes and paints and canvases and all that crap. I didn’t let Larry pay for it all. I think he was relieved.

  I got Larry to pose for me first off. It took awhile before I got any sketches done, though, ’cause every time he got his kit off, we ended up fucking. Then Larry had a good idea. He said we should fuck first and do pictures after, and that worked pretty good. I love looking at Larry when he’s just been fucked. He gets this smile on his face that doesn’t go away even when he’s nearly asleep, and his whole body gets kind of softer.

  I knew he’d get hacked off if I asked him to stand up for me, so I got him to pose lying down like he was asleep. I got the outline drawn, and I was filling in the detail of his face when he started making these snuffly noise
s, and I realised he was asleep. That was good, ’cause I didn’t have to worry about him getting bored no more. Larry slept for ages. I guess he’d been working too hard. I got sketches of him done from all different angles, and when my hand started to cramp, I went and kissed him to wake him up just like Sleeping Beauty. Although I guess with me it was more like Beauty and the Beast.

  I thought Larry might want to fuck again when he woke up, but he was dead keen to see my sketches. He seemed to really like them. “These are fantastic!” he said. “Very reminiscent of early Lucian Freud—it’s a damned shame you weren’t able to study at the Slade. Although come to think of it, maybe it’s just as well—you seem to have such an instinctive grasp of perspective and composition, I’d hate to see that homogenised out of you. Look—like this one—why did you put the book there?”

  I shrugged. I’d just thought it would look nice. Like, there was a gap there that was book-shaped? But I didn’t say that, ’cause it would’ve sounded silly.

  “And this one—such economy!” Larry looked at me, and I guess I must’ve looked kind of blank. “I mean, you haven’t used many pencil strokes, but you’ve nevertheless created a strong image out of them.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “My arm was getting kind of tired.”

  Larry smiled at me. I wanted to kiss him, but I stared at him instead, ’cause I wanted to remember that smile, it was so perfect. Like he was looking at something really beautiful. Even though it was just my ugly mug.