by Fabian Black
“Too much info, man. TMI!” Reaching my hand into the washing up bowl I flicked water at him, setting him laughing.
After clearing up I opened another bottle of Merlot and put it on the coffee table in the living room. I was in the mood for indulgence. After all it was the weekend. I drew the curtains against the summer evening sun before setting up the Blu Ray player. Settling next to Dee on the sofa I poured us both a glass of wine and then set the chosen movie, ‘Dredd,’ playing.
He hated it. He didn’t say so in words, but his face revealed his revulsion as the film progressed. Graphic violence, even fantasy violence is too much for some people. I reached for the remote. “I’m turning it off, Dee-Dee. It’s upsetting you.”
His blush came into evidence. “It’s okay, Si, if you like it I’ll watch it. I don’t want to stop your enjoyment.”
“I can watch it any time.” I turned the film off. “I’ll get my mate Tony over. He loves a good gore fest.”
“I don’t know why I’m squeamish about that kind of stuff.” The blush deepened. “I think maybe because there’s a touch of realistic cruelty beneath the comic book façade. It disturbs me. Sorry, Si.”
“For what?” I gave him a small reassuring wink. “There’s no shame in being born a sensitive soul.”
We didn’t bother with another film. Instead I put on an Artic Monkeys CD and then fetched us both a bowl of ice cream. We tucked in and talked. I asked him why Anne had taken his uncle’s ashes back to New York with her. It had been puzzling me.
He pondered in silence while finishing off his ice cream. “In all honesty I believe she did it to spite me,” he said sadly. “I think she was jealous of the relationship he forged with me in her absence. It surprised her. I think she saw me as taking her place in his affections. Anne has to be the centre of attention, the adored one. It’s why she found it so hard to be a mother. Mothers aren’t the focus of attention, children are. Taking his ashes was a way of taking him away from me and reclaiming him for herself.”
Leaning forward he put his empty dessert bowl on the coffee table. “You must think I’m awful. I make Anne sound like a horrible person. I don’t mean to. She just is as she is. Uncle Desmond always used to say society set too much store on how people ought to be instead of allowing them to be who they are. He accepted Anne as she was, faults and all, just as he accepted me.”
“Anne sounds selfish,” I said. “No offence, Dee, but she does. She’s like my father. He put his own needs before anyone else’s.”
“Do you miss him?”
“I did when I was a kid, especially when he first left.” I put my bowl on the table and picked up the wine bottle topping up our glasses. “I stopped missing him when I was about fifteen. It dawned on me that what I really missed was the concept of a father. He wasn’t a father. He abandoned the role when he abandoned us.”
“I suppose it’s what I miss too, the concept of parents. I never had a dad and Anne never played the role of mother, not with any conviction. I wasn’t even allowed to call her mother. I’ve only ever known her as Anne. I remember starting nursery school and hearing the other kids talking about their mummies and daddies. It puzzled me. I asked Anne why I didn’t have a mummy and daddy and that’s when she told me she was my mother, but I wasn’t to call her mother or mummy because she didn’t like the terms and their associations. They made her feel old. I did try calling her mummy once, but she got cross with me and didn’t speak to me for ages. I never did it again. You can see why I liked spending time at Jen’s house. Her mum was comfortable in the role, and she cuddled me. Anne never cuddled.”
He took a sip of wine and then leaned back into the sofa cushions, turning his head towards me. “I noticed the photo of James has gone from your fridge. Why?”
The wine encouraged a simple confession. “I finally realised or at least admitted I’d wanted more than friendship from him. In reality I didn’t even have that. It hurt. Me telling everyone he was only a fuck buddy turned out to be the truth, from his side of the fence anyway. Took me a while to see it. If I’d been any more blind I’d have qualified for a guide dog.”
“I guessed you had feelings for him you were pressing down. I’m sorry, Si.”
“It’s okay. Facing up to my real feelings has been painful, but it’s a positive thing. I can move on now.”
“And look for a new boyfriend?”
“I’m not looking for a permanent relationship. Me, myself and I are just fine.”
“James is off your fridge, but maybe not out of your system?”
“I don’t want a relationship, that’s all.”
“Afraid of getting hurt again?”
“You’re like a dog with a bone.” I turned the tables. “What about you, how are you going to set about finding your alpha mate?”
“He’ll find me.”
“I don’t think alpha men just happen along these days, Dee-Dee. You have to look for them in the right places.”
“If by the right places you mean fetish clubs then I’m not interested. I don’t want chains, bondage games and kinky sex. I don’t want some bonehead with a boner and a whip. I want a natural dominant. I want a man who looks and behaves much like any other, but who knows when to draw the line, and who knows how to take care of me in every sense.”
“Like the head of household heroes in your uncle’s stories?”
“Yes, I suppose so. I want a man willing to take me in hand and give me love and direction.”
“You hardly need taking in hand. You have too sweet a disposition. I think you’re chasing a shadow. All I can say is the best of luck, my friend.”
The CD came to an end. I got up. “I’ll put another one on. What do you fancy, Gorillaz, Blur, The Stone Roses, or if you fancy a bit of retro punk I’ve got The Ramones and The Clash?”
“Have you got any Barbara Streisand?”
“Jesus, Dee.” I shook my head. “Barbara Streisand. Seriously? If I didn’t already know you were gay I’d begin to suspect it.”
“I like Barbara Streisand. My uncle did too. He used to play her records as background when he was working.”
“Well I haven’t got any of her records. I might look older than my years, but I’m still only twenty-five not fifty-five. I’ve got Adele.” I held up a CD, pulling a face. “Another present from my sister.”
“I like Adele.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
He made a rude noise accompanied by a rude finger gesture. “She has a good voice, you have to admit it?”
“I suppose, if you like pop ballads.” I put the CD back on the shelf. “I’m not in the mood for pop music. How do you feel about listening to the radio, a bit of Classic FM?”
“I don’t mind, as long as they’re not broadcasting opera. Opera always makes me cry. I never know what they’re singing about. They could be singing about lavatory seats and suppositories. It would still make me cry.”
“I know what you mean. I like opera, some of it, but it’s hardly knees up music.”
I put the radio on and sat back down next to him. He’d finished his glass of wine. I picked the bottle up from the coffee table and tilted it. “I reckon there’s one good glass each left, want it or have you had enough?”
He gave a mellow smile and held out his glass. I recharged it and then my own and put the empty bottle down.
The curtain shaded warmth of the room and the wine I’d drunk made me feel pleasantly spacey. The Mozart piano concerto playing on the radio added another hypnotic layer to the atmosphere.
Sinking deeper into the soft leather cushions of my sofa I closed my eyes. I was conscious of Dee-Dee next to me. On and off all evening I’d been getting a scent of the soap or shower gel he’d used before he came over. It was pleasant and fresh with an undertone of muskiness as the warm air caused his body to produce a light sweat. I sensed him moving a little closer, as he too relaxed into the cushions.
“Si?” He made a gentle question of my name. “You s
ay you don’t want a serious relationship, so what do you want, another fuck buddy?”
“Why?” Opening my eyes I turned my head to look at him, smiling lazily. “Are you applying for the post?” I don’t know why I said it. It was meant to be jokey. Somehow it didn’t come out as such. It came out loaded.
There was an intense moment of stillness, during which he held my gaze. His full lips parted, seeming to cause a butterfly effect making the air vibrate around us like the skin of a bubble.
“Why not,” he whispered, leaning towards me, his breath misting my face. His eyes glittered, the pupils slightly dilated.
The strong heady wine, the music, the sultry shady seclusion of the room and the proximity of our bodies produced a charge, which ignited as our lips met. His were every bit as soft and sensual as they looked. I could taste wine and ice cream. It had been a long while since I’d been with a man. Masturbation is all well and good, but nothing compares to the sheer joy of physical contact with another human being. The need in him was as powerful as it was in me. Our kisses intensified.
I lurched to my feet, grasping his hand, pulling him up and into my arms. His chest pressed against mine so close I could feel his heart pounding. I broke a head-spinning kiss to breathlessly murmur, “bedroom, let’s go in my bedroom, there’s lube and condoms.”
The transition from living room to bedroom should have broken the momentum, but didn’t. The fire was burning in both of us and the only thing that would quench the flames was sex.
The bedroom was dim, sheltered by closed curtains in an effort to keep out the heat of the sun. It was still warm. Dragging off my sweat damp t-shirt I flung it aside and reached for the buttons on his shirt, undoing them blind as we kissed. Slipping the shirt from his shoulders I let it fall, baring his smooth hairless chest. He was thin, but not unattractively so. He just needed a little more weight to pad out the muscle definition evident there.
“Nice.” I smoothed a hand over his chest. His nipples were centred in large copper colour areolas like bosses in a bronze shield. I teased them between fingers and thumbs and then bent my head to suck each in turn, feeling the nubs swell and stiffen. His hands in my hair made me moan with pleasure, encouraging me to suck harder, eliciting reciprocal moans from him. I put a hand to his crotch feeling the bulge straining the denim material. My fingers moved to the snap and zip.
He stood passively as I unfastened and pushed down his jeans. A worry suddenly flared in the foggy regions of my mind. Was I coercing him? With James and I neither one of us had called the shots. We undressed ourselves to a prearranged plan, knowing exactly what we were going to do.
“Sure?” I stopped what I was doing and searched his face.
He nodded, going shy again, lowering his eyes and pressing his body closer, his chest sticky against mine. I rubbed his back, feeling sweat trickle between my fingers. We were both flushed with wine and lust. There was no going back. Desire demanded satisfaction. We kissed again, our tongues winding together. Mozart’s music floated through from the living room somehow legitimising our activity and making it beautiful.
Bending down, I finished removing his jeans, lifting his feet to get them off before reaching for the waistband of his briefs and freeing his erection, conscious of being in charge and enjoying it. His cock as he had said was average size, but pleasing with a sheaf of loose foreskin crinkled like a coif at the base of his helmet. His neat balls were surrounded by dark brown hair spreading out towards his lean thighs. Kneeling down I inhaled his musky scent, flicking my tongue around his balls and the base of his cock while kneading his buttocks with my hands, slipping an exploratory finger into the channel between. His body quivered. He made a small mewling sound.
Standing up I quickly shed the remainder of my clothing, sneakers, socks, jeans and finally my briefs, easing them over my engorged cock, rolling them down my legs and off, giving a sigh of relief to be free of their constriction. His eyes widened, fixated on my cock now revealed in all its glory, standing thick, hard and proud against my stomach, reaching almost to my navel. Precum glistened on the head like a bead of morning dew on a mushroom.
“Beautiful!” He breathed the word. Dropping to his knees he reached out, drawing a finger reverently along the length of my penis, making my balls throb with anticipation. “It’s beautiful, Simon, powerful, a true force of nature.” He raised his eyes to my face. “I want to draw it.”
“Leave drawing until later,” I said hoarsely, touching my hand to his hair, feeling a ripple of delight at its silken texture. I manoeuvred his head gently towards my groin. “Why don’t you just paint it for now, with your tongue.”
He needed no second bidding. Using the tip of his tongue he took up the bead of precum from the head of my cock as if it were indeed a globule of paint, rolling it over my sensitive glans and then down the entire length of my shaft, a brushstroke of sexual graffiti. A sweet fiery heat flooded my body as his tongue worked magic, licking down and up and then down again, lapping around my balls, caressing my sensitive perineum before journeying back to the summit. Curling his hand around my cock he pulled it slightly forward and then looked up at me as if seeking permission, his mouth open in a round O. I nodded my head, permission granted.
The warm wetness of his mouth on my hardness made me groan and arch my back. He couldn’t take all of me, but he took as much as was physically possible without retching. Gripping my hips with his hands he worked up a momentum. I put my hands in his hair massaging his scalp, moving my body in rhythm with the motion of his head. Great waves of pleasure rolled and spooled, coiling over and around me, gathering impetus as he used his teeth to graze my shaft, further sensitising it. My buttocks clenched and my balls tightened.
“I’m getting close,” I gasped a warning to him. He didn’t stop. The words served to encourage him. He increased his speed, sucking and licking with more drive and urgency, making small primeval grunts.
I warned again, “I’m close, Dee, I’m close.” He kept going, gripping my hips tighter, sliding his mouth up and down, his tongue seeming to curl around and squeeze my swollen member. My balls churned and pulsed. A white light flooded my vision. There was a freight train coming and nothing could stop it. It ripped through me. Tipping back my head I gave an almighty roar as I climaxed, pumping reams of cum into his mouth and down his throat. My knees shook with the sheer power of my orgasm. I moved my hands to his shoulders in an effort to steady myself.
“Jesus!” I gulped for air as he finished swallowing and sucking before allowing my cock to slide from his mouth. “Jesus, man, you’ve killed me!” I helped him stand up, pulling him into my arms and kissing him, tasting my own salty fluid. He clung to me, his breathing almost as rapid as mine, his body also shaking. We held each other for support, neither of us speaking, until wetness on the hot skin of my shoulder alerted me he was crying. I was horrified. “What’s wrong?” I tightened my embrace. “Tell me.”
He lifted his head from my shoulder, tears spilling down his flushed cheeks. “I came, Si.” Taking my hand he guided it to his slicked belly and then to his softening cock. “I got too excited and I came. I wanted to last longer for you, in case you wanted to fuck me. I would have liked you to fuck me while I was still hard.”
“Hey.” I used my thumbs to wipe away his tears. “Don’t cry, honey. It’s all right. I doubt I could have managed to fuck you after that blow job anyway. I’m spent. It was incredible.”
“Really?”
“Really. It was amazing.” I pushed a hand through his sweat damp hair. “Did it feel good when you came?”
“Oh yeah.” He gave a shaky little laugh. “I’ve never come like that before, not without being touched.”
“Then we’ve both had pleasure. Do you need more?”
“How do you feel about cuddles after sex, lying down cuddles?”
How did I feel? I wasn’t sure. A bit scared if truth were told. James had never cuddled me after sex, nor had he stayed with me. It wasn’t part o
f the deal. Cuddles and staying after sex suggested some form of emotional tie. Maybe that was why I was scared.
Dee-Dee obviously wanted a cuddle. It would take a crueller man than me to deny him so simple a thing.
“I think I can spare a cuddle after what you’ve just done for me.” Taking his hand I led him over to my bed and we lay down together.
“I like your bed,” he murmured, turning into me and snuggling.
I put my arms around him. It felt good. For some bizarre reason I had to fight an impulse to drop kisses in his hair. I thought we might just lie for a while, but we lay all night seduced into a deep sleep by wine and sex.
Chapter Sixteen
Thirst woke me along with an opposing urge to expel water. Opening my eyes I blinked a few times trying to clear my blurry vision and muzzy mind. I heard music and puzzled as to where it was coming from. The realisation cleared both vision and mind. The radio was still on in the living room. Christ! I stared up at the ceiling as the events of the night before came back to me with startling clarity.
I turned my head to view him. He had rolled away from me at some point in the night and was curled on his side sleeping soundly. He was an attractive sight, the long slope of his back curving out into the knolls of his buttocks. All the same my heart pounded with stone cold sober dismay. I lay for a few moments taking deep breaths trying to collect myself and then got carefully out of bed to go to the bathroom.
After peeing, I pulled on my bathrobe and walked into the living room to turn off the radio and then into the kitchen. Coffee was called for. Strong coffee. I put a pot on to brew and then washed two paracetamol down with a long glass of cold water in the hope it would take away the dull headache throbbing behind my eyes.
Sitting at the kitchen table I propped an elbow on it, cupped my chin in my hand and began reviewing the situation.
Spontaneous heat of the moment sex is wonderful, in the moment. The complications come later when the moment has passed. I could not deny I’d enjoyed the physical aspects of the encounter with Dee-Dee. It had been the best blow job I’d ever had. James had never given fellatio and nor had he allowed me to fuck him, as Dee-Dee had been willing to do. James always said it was the prerogative of the older man to top. In reality I think he was afraid of my size. In our relationship I had been the willing giver of oral and receiver of cock.
