Ben Ryder - Englishmen 3 - Released

by Ben Ryder

  I leaned over his back and reached an arm around. My head rested on his shoulder as I slid my hand over his cock and jerked him off while I fucked him. A rhythmic clink came from his belt buckle as it bounced in time with every thrust. I stood up and started fucking him hard, driving his shoulder into the tree stump. There were noises everywhere, from the sidewalk, from the street, from the creaking branches above me.

  From behind me. I turned my head and saw two guys in their early twenties standing behind me. One was a punk-looking kid wearing black jeans and a leather jacket. The other was clean-cut, in a pair of long flimsy shorts and a running jacket. They stood apart but both had their cocks out, slowly jerking off. The strangers stopped for a moment and looked at me as if waiting for me to tell them to fuck off.

  At first I wanted to, as I hate being stared at. I hate it with a passion. But there was something about having them watch that was, strangely, turning me on even more. Maybe

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  it was because they were concentrating their stares at my ass rather than my face. They were voyeurs, plain and simple. They made no attempt to join in. A live sex show was only a few feet away from them, and they weren’t going to do anything to ruin the chance to watch it play out.

  I saw the shimmer of silver hair as the man I was fucking turned his head. He could see our audience, too, but he didn’t stop. He wanted me to keep fucking him. If anything, being watched only spurred him on. He thrust his hips back against me, slamming back just as I thrust forward. He jerked himself off and was soon tightening his hole around my cock as if close to coming. The excitement, nerves, and exhilaration became too much.

  “I’m going to come,” I whispered into his ear. He stopped moving, and I slipped out of his ass. I pushed one hand on the tree trunk for balance and felt the bark dig into my palm. He flipped his necktie over his shoulder and got on his bare knees, holding his face close to my cock with his mouth open wide. He hungrily caught my orgasm between his open lips as I sprayed it over his face. He wasn’t done yet, so I pulled the strands of thick, wet semen from across his cheek and onto his tongue.

  Hot air escaped his lungs in short bursts as he shot his cum on the leaves at my feet. I watched until his body stopped writhing in pleasure. He flicked his hand to the side and then glanced up at me with a casually satisfied grin.

  The two spectators quickly disappeared in different directions, leaving us alone to dress.

  As we did, I was unsure what to say to him. At that moment, all I wanted was to get out of there, but it almost seemed rude to leave him alone while he reassembled his

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  suit. As he pulled his underwear up, I saw his cock was no longer erect, but still hung down thickly. At the base was a mesh of dark pubic hair, revealing that only the locks on his head had grayed prematurely.

  With his shirt tucked back into his trousers, he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and retrieved a pen from the inside pocket of the suit jacket still hanging over the tree. He walked in a small circle, squinting at the pen and paper. He found the faintest strand of light through the branches and scribbled something and handed it to me. “E-mail address,” he said.

  “Cheers,” I replied simply. Again, I didn’t have a clue what to say to him.

  He finished dressing and swiped at his clothes to dust any dirt away. As he put his raincoat back on, he walked toward the small gap in the bushes. He ducked under the branches to escape our hiding place. Nothing more was said. I listened as the sounds of his footsteps faded. In a moment, he was gone.

  I shook the dirt off my own jacket, smartened myself up, and strolled back onto the pathway and out of the park. As I walked toward the subway, I berated myself for being so foolish. Anything could have happened in those woods. It was a dumb stunt that could have ended incredibly badly. If something had happened to me, how long would have passed before someone noticed I was gone? I was alone in the city and knew no one outside of my office.

  My thoughts were sensible, as they should have been. But I could hear Richard’s voice in my mind, telling me off like I was a schoolboy. “What the hell were you thinking? This

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  isn’t you, Dominic. You’re not that kind of person. You should be disgusted and ashamed of yourself for what you just did.” As if he was a damn angel.

  A blast of cold wind slapped me across the face. “Fuck you, Richard,” I said defiantly, to no one, as I

  approached the subway station.

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  Chapter Three

  Friday, May 5, 2017 THE first two weeks in my new job had been amazing. All of the people or organizations I’d reviewed or written about were fantastic. But after interviewing the hipster artists on Monday, things went downhill. The rest of the week was fairly difficult.

  On Tuesday, over lunch in Battery Park, I interviewed an author of a book chronicling the financial meltdown of Wall Street in 2008. He explained some of the deals he worked on and how they contributed to thousands of investors losing their money. I found him smug and untrustworthy. What I found most distasteful was that he stifled a laugh when we discussed the meetings he’d attended, the same ones he mentioned in the book, where the loopholes in the law were discovered and the strategies of exploiting them were devised. I didn’t appreciate that he thought we should share the same sense of humor about thousands of people losing their life savings, especially as he was now worth a small fortune from the transactions. The book itself was preachy, as though he was a financial whiz who could have stopped it all from happening, if only someone from the government or press had listened to him at the time. By the look of his Rolex watch and the town car

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  and driver waiting outside the restaurant, it was clear he never even considered speaking up. On Wednesday, I sat on my own in a small, half-filled theater to watch the matinee debut of an Off-Broadway play called Remembering Me. Before the curtain rose, I was looking forward to seeing it, hoping that it might be inspirational in my situation. Instead, it was a one-man show with long monologues about depression and suicide. Toward the end of his performance, the solitary actor brought a bottle of pills onto a dark stage that held only a chair in a spotlight. He took one pill at a time, proclaiming each to be named for someone who’d wronged him. He ran through the directory of people that had pushed him to this point in his life, and when the bottle was empty, he fell on the ground, dead. Charming.

  Thursday was a little better. I spent the morning in an empty nightclub interviewing a female cabaret performer who was rehearsing for her new show. Unknown to me, she had a long-standing career on the New York cabaret circuit and quite the cult following that adored her. With the interview in the bag, we spent most of the afternoon huddled in the private corner booth of the nightclub drinking vodka while she gave me advice on everything from dating New York men to whom I should approach for interviews. She was genuine and honest, and one hell of an entertainer oneon-one. The stories of her days as a burlesque dancer alone could fill a book, which I encouraged her to write.

  That evening, I was a little late arriving at the function Jackie had invited me to earlier in the week. I’d realized at the last minute that my tuxedo—the one I’d worn on Godknows-how-many occasions for my old job—was still at the dry cleaners when I packed to get out of London. After racing

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  around Manhattan, knowing there was no way I could be fitted and tailored for a new one in time, I finally found a rental place with one in my size.

  The fund-raiser was a stuffy affair, which was made bearable only by Jackie. She was a master when it came to speaking to people and getting attention. Although she fit in well and blended in effortlessly with the high society of Manhattan, she made the night enjoyable by whispering cutting asides and mocking both me and herself as if we were gate-crashers.

  That brought me to Friday. I spent a heavy-going morning at an exhibition by a war photojournalist. Images of orphaned children dying in the streets and horrific injuries cause
d by bombings were uncensored and brutal, and left me feeling disheartened with the world. I returned to the office and was sitting at my desk contemplating the horrors of war, when Jackie pulled me out of my thoughts.

  “What are you up to this weekend, my love?”

  “I am not too sure, to be honest. Probably working if I don’t get these last two pieces for Saturday and the Sunday supplement done on time. Why?”

  “Martin and I are going to a charity fund-raiser and silent auction tomorrow night. It’s going to be filled with wealthy socialites and fresh debutantes. It promises to be a complete yawn, but it’s all for a good cause. Plus, you’ll finally be able to meet Martin. We’ll be staying at the hotel to make a weekend of it. I know it’s a little opulent, considering we live in the city, but one does love a chocolate on one’s pillow every once in a while. Would you consider gracing us with your presence?”

  43“I’d love to, but it really depends on how much of this I

  get done,” I said, lifting a pile of papers and notes. Sighing, I turned to my screen and willed the words to appear on their own.

  “What’s that?” a deep voice asked. Alex appeared behind Jackie and pointed at her computer screen. He looked smart, in a dark shirt and tie with a pencil stuck behind his ear. It gave him the look of an old-fashioned reporter.

  “That’s Black River Gorge,” said Jackie. “It’s the newest destination for thrill-seeking New Yorkers, or so they keep telling me in an effort to get me to write about it.”

  I wheeled my chair around the desk and pulled myself next to Jackie. Her screen displayed a photo of a whitewater raft crashing against churning, frothy rapids.

  “Where is it?” Alex asked, leaning with one hand on the back of each of our chairs. I got a little kick out of his hand being so close to me.

  “It’s past Albany, about four hours north. They’ve emailed and asked if I would consider doing a piece on them. I dare say they are hoping to attract some of the more affluent, extreme-sports enthusiasts in the city,” Jackie said as she clicked her mouse to skip on to more photos.

  “That looks incredible! I love stuff like that. Snowboarding, bungee jumping, skydiving,” Alex said.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a smile creep across Jackie’s face. “Well, you’re in luck! In return for a review, they’ve offered me two free passes and accommodation for next weekend. Why don’t you take them? I have a dinner with some of Martin’s associates, so I won’t use them. They’re yours if you want them.”

  “Really?” Alex asked excitedly.44

  “I don’t see a problem with it. So long as you’re happy to write the review about them. I’d do it myself, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t think Clive would be too happy about that. I’m supposed to be concentrating all of my efforts on a story right now.”

  Jackie pretended to be working out a solution, but I knew full well what she had in mind—I knew it the moment Alex reacted to the photo. She tilted her head to the side, then looked up in epiphany. “Why not take Dominic with you? That way he can write the review, and you can still have the experience of hurtling down a treacherous river and escaping a watery grave!”

  To my surprise, Alex raised an eyebrow at me as if to ask if I was game.

  “Jackie, thanks for the offer, but I have my tattoo scheduled on Wednesday afternoon, and I have no idea how long it will take to heal,” I said a little coyly.

  Alex spoke before Jackie could react. “It’ll take a few days, but you should be fine by Saturday. Besides, we can always bandage it up in some kind of waterproof dressing if you’re worried. Mine only took about a week to heal completely.”

  “You have a tattoo?” Jackie asked, looking rather shocked.

  “Yep.”

  “What is it? Let me see!”

  “No!” Alex replied, trying to laugh it off as he returned his attention to the screen, which only egged Jackie on.

  “You must let me see! Where is it? What is it?”45

  “It’s just a small one on my chest,” Alex said, laughing again.

  “Show me or else I shall deny you the opportunity of boasting that you’ve rocketed down Black River Gorge. Come on, now. Please!”

  Alex laughed and once again refused. But Jackie was in no mood to give up. “I shall stay here all day if I have to. Even the nuns at the convent said I could try the patience of angels.”

  Both Jackie and I turned in our chairs as, reluctantly, Alex began unhooking the middle buttons of his shirt. He looked like a blond Superman as he pried open the hole. But he didn’t unfasten enough buttons to uncover the tattoo. Jackie tutted her disapproval of the incomplete reveal. With a look of submission, he clumsily unbuttoned all the way down. His stomach was at my eye level as he fully opened his shirt, revealing his torso.

  He was close enough for me to smell his deodorant and the fresh scent of shower gel on his skin. I swept my eyes up his body, from his belt and up the golden blond hair trailing upward from his navel. His washboard stomach and lean muscular chest were even more beautiful than I’d imagined. He tugged at the left side of his shirt, which was now untucked from his trousers, and bared the left side of his chest.

  “That is too adorable!” Jackie exclaimed.

  On his left pectoral muscle was a tattoo of a teddy bear. The design had it slumped over with its eyes closed. Some clever shading and lines gave the impression that a child had left it in the corner of a room. Jackie was right; it really was

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  a very cute tattoo, though not what I would have expected from a man who was so masculine and who clearly looked after his body.

  “Ah, that explains your love of getting involved in dangerous sports, young man,” Jackie said as she reached up and tapped the bear. “You’re a child at heart.” She seemed pleased with herself that she’d unlocked the not-sohidden meaning of the tattoo.

  “Where are you getting your tattoo done?” Alex asked as he rebuttoned his shirt and tucked the tails back into his trousers.

  “A place a couple of blocks from here called Big Apple Dragon. I’m hoping they can get it finished in my lunch hour.”

  “What are you getting done?” Alex asked. He straightened his tie to look as smart as he was when he joined us.

  “I’m not too sure yet. There are too many things to choose from. I have a couple of ideas, but I will probably decide this weekend.”

  “You’re a lucky guy. I wish I had time to relax this weekend. I have to head back down to DC.” A voice called from the reporters’ desks. “Hey, Alex, your guy Johannson is on the TV.”

  Alex looked over at the bank of screens. “It’s okay, I’ve already seen it,” he called back.

  Jackie seemed interested and looked at the televisions. “I know who he is, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him. Which one is he?”

  47Alex pointed. “Top, left-hand corner screen. The

  crotchety old bastard with the face like a smacked ass.” Above the CNN ticker there was footage of a man being interviewed. He looked to be in his seventies, portly, with thinning gray hair that had been slicked back. The glasses he wore, which might have made others of his age look like a kindly grandfather, only magnified the look of contempt he had for the interviewer, who had obviously asked the wrong question.

  “I don’t know why he doesn’t stick with doing interviews on Fox News. They’re the only ones who believe him and won’t question the shit that comes out of his mouth,” Alex said with an edge to his voice. “I can’t wait to see that pitiful excuse for a human being get his comeuppance.”

  “Not a fan, huh?” I asked, teasing him.

  “What’s your story on, Alex?” Jackie asked.

  “I have a credible source in DC who’s told me a few

  things about his dealings with lobbyists, senators, and congressmen. Johannson donates to their campaigns, which isn’t illegal on its own. But he’s also giving some of them enormous kickbacks in cash an
d supplying them with hookers. In return, they vote for bills and policies that’ll help him and his many businesses. It’s not just one or two, there’s a long list of politicians on his payroll.”

  “Sounds like a nice character,” I said.

  “I fucking detest him and everything he stands for. I hope the old bastard keels over dead tomorrow and spends eternity burning in hell.”

  Jackie feigned a brief look of shock. It was the first time either of us heard Alex speak about anybody in such harsh terms. In fact, it was rare to hear him even swear in the

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  office, which the other reporters did frequently and without filter. Alex lingered on the screen for a moment before turning back to me. “So, about this rafting. Are you up for it?” he asked, changing the subject. He wasn’t smiling, but his tone had softened.

  “Sure. Looking forward to it.” “Good stuff. It’ll be great to get out of the city for a while,” he said. He walked backward from our desks, playfully shooting finger guns at Jackie. “Can you e-mail me the details?”

  “No problem.” Once Alex was out of earshot, I wheeled my chair back around to my desk and sat facing Jackie once more. “What was that about?” I asked her in a whisper.