The Biter Bit

Short Story

Michael Gouda

I knew it was going to be a bad day immediately I woke. For one thing the guy was still lying next to me in the bed and I NEVER, EVER spend the whole night with someone. It's just against my religion or something, certainly against my principles.

My first thought was to dig him in the ribs and send him on his way. "Thanks for everything," I'd say – though honestly I couldn't remember anything we'd done, or might have done. "There's a MacBurgerQueen on the corner which does a filling if not exactly healthy breakfast menu on the corner. I'll see you around."

I was just about to shake him by the shoulder which protruded from the bed clothes when I started noticing things. One: The bed sheet was white and clean. I'm not of course saying that my bed accessories aren't clean – I make a point of changing them regularly, say once a fortnight, so, although they don't stand up on their own, I'd never describe them as pristine even when washed.

Two: There was a wall on my side and I knew full well that my bed was free-standing. If necessary one could get out either side in the event of a hurried escape being necessary, say if my partner for some reason turned nasty (It has happened).

And three: There were curtains at the window. I don't do curtains. They need sort of washing every so often and that's an activity I take little enthusiasm in doing unless absolutely necessary.

Eventually my brain, which I must admit was suffering from a bit of a hangover, worked it out.

I wasn't in my own bed. And it would be a case of turning the guy who was slumbering next to me out of what was presumably his own bed, in his own room, possibly his own house. Au contraire, I would somehow have to climb over the sleeping body, no doubt waking him in the process, make my apologies and exit with as much grace as I could muster.

The decision having been made (Latin construction – ablative absolute) I examined the shoulder which was all I could see at the moment. It was olive-skinned and the little bit of back showing didn't seem to have a mane of hair on it. This was all to the good, as I'm not exactly a fan of body hair, except in the proper places, ie under the arms and round the genitals (oh, and on the head, of course). Baldness may be a sign of sexual vigour but it doesn't go down well with yours truly.

OK, I may be picky but I know what I like. Blonds, preferably natural though this isn't essential, nice eyebrows, slim build but not anorexic, a well-formed penis (size is not essential though it does have to be visible) good, low-hanging balls and activity in bed. I don't care who ends up on top just as there's enthusiasm on both sides. And only ONE NIGHT STANDS.

'Commitment' and 'relationships' are two words which are definitely NOT in my vocabulary.

There were two ways in which I could proceed. I could start cautiously, gently slide over his body and, if he was well and truly zonked out, perhaps get out without actually waking him. Or I could do a commando style leap, jump out probably drag all the bedclothes off him and flee out of the door, my departing words ("Bye, mate.") echoing back in the morning air.

Hang on. I wasn't wearing clothes. Somehow I'd have to find my no doubt scattered gear, get dressed etc. and I didn't think my partner, whoever he was, was likely to sleep through such sustained activity.

No, plan one would be the better.

I peered over the shoulder. A head lay on the pillow, dark hair, slightly curly – not my favourite colour. I'd really fucked up this time. His eyes were shut and some admittedly enviable lashes rested on a high cheek bone. I couldn't see the other one but I assumed they were a pair. He looked very young and I hoped I hadn't picked up some jail bait. Not that I had any hang-ups about just underage guys but they can lead to unpleasantness with the authorities.

Slowly and gently I lifted my left leg and hoisted it over trying not to touch anything. Once across I put it down on the other side and placed my left hand on the opposite pillow. I was now more or less across him. Another manoeuvre with the other leg and arm and I'd be on the outside and could edge myself out.

It was at that moment that he turned onto his back, opened his eyes and stared straight up at me. Brown eyes, startled then innocent and trusting as he obviously recognised me.

The face that stared up to me was beautiful – there's no other word for it. The face of an angel, eyes, large and luminescent, his lips smiling and his breath sweet, even though he had presumably drunk last night and I'm sure mine was sleep stale. His smile made those little dimples on each side under the high cheekbones.

"I'm glad you woke me," he said. "You don't want to leave yet?"

He raised himself so that our bodies touched and his skin, silky smooth rubbed against mine while his cock hardened under me.

"I ... I," I said, intending to get away but not wanting to hurt him with an outright rejection. You see, I'm not all bad.

"We could be good together, Mark," he said. He knew my name but I couldn't remember his. But yes, on a purely physical level, I'm sure we were indeed good together and though generally I don't like sex first thing in the morning, it didn't need much to persuade me. He could have seduced a saint. Probably had – and I have very few virtues.

Eventually I made my escape though not without having his phone number written on a piece of paper and pressed into my hand. I determined that I'd lose that as soon as possible. Do I sound ungrateful? Possibly, though I don't think I left him with that feeling.

So morning was pretty advanced when I got out into the street to find I wasn't a million miles from home, actually just two stops on the Underground. But the episode had upset my weekend routine. Saturday's my day for the supermarket and stocking up on the 'Ready meals' to fill my freezer so that at least I don't have to do much cooking in the week. I put the episode down to a momentary aberration and decided it would never happen again – not until I was elderly, say at least thirty and way over the hill.

I didn't call him over the week.

The following Friday I went out. The Fish and Griddle is my local. It isn't as crowded as most in the area in the evenings. It's gay well, half and half and the barman, Dan, obviously is. He has bleached hair and eye make-up. I'm pretty sure I once had him but we never mention it.

There are middle-aged men in suits with their wives and/or girlfriends, young men in T-shirts and jeans or more fashionable baggy trousers looking for someone to cop off with, and then bunches of girls at the start of what will be a binge night. Surprisingly the mix gets on reasonably well together. The decor of the pub is old-fashioned Victorian mahogany and nicotine-stained paint, though of course smoking inside is forbidden now, with etched glass mirrors for light relief. The only concession to modernity is the strip lighting. I guess eventually they'll get round to redecorating, and then it'll lose all its character. It's the pub to start off with before most go on to more exciting places, leaving it to the old-uns with their dominoes and cribbage boards. Occasionally they have a darts match but not that night.

"Your usual, Mark?" asked Dan, and when I nodded he pulled me a pint of draft lager. "So what you got that the rest of us haven't?" I frowned to show my lack of comprehension. "What you talking about?"

"Come on don't play the innocent. You pulled that young lad last Friday. The one I had my eye on. Talk about cradle-snatching."

"Was I pissed?" I asked.

"Well, obviously not pissed enough not to know a hottie when you saw one. Why? Did something go wrong?"

I wasn't about to divulge my strange behaviour in allowing myself to spend the night so I denied it emphatically.

"You seeing him again?" Dan's questions were becoming a bit inquisitorial.

"Doubt it," I said airily and turned away to look at the available talent.

"Only," he continued, "I wouldn't mind making a play for him myself if he comes in again."

"Feel free."

"So, what's his name?"

I had seen the glint of blond hair over the other side of the pub but this question pulled me up short. I haven't the slightest idea, was the honest answer but I figured this might make me sound too slutty, so I grabbed a name out of the air. "Gavin," I said and plunged into the fray.

When I got there, 'Blondie' was on his way out actually with a friend/acquaintance of mine. We'd pinched conquests off each other before without any real rancour but I saw this one had gone too far for me to step in. However we did introduce ourselves and I gave 'Blondie' (who was dishy in a rather well-worn way) the appraisal and then smiled. "Perhaps you can get in touch later," said my friend pointedly, leading him towards the door.

"My phone number's, 604473," said Blondie over his shoulder as they went out and I scrabbled for a piece of paper to write it down. I'm not proud.

I found a scrap of folded paper in my jeans' pocket and took it out. There was a name and a telephone number already written on it. The name was 'Gavin'. Now that in real life is what we call a coincidence. It's not allowed in fiction so obviously that means that this is a true story.

But it was really incredible. The name I'd just conjured out of thin air was actually the guy from last week's real name. Of course, someone will cleverly explain it, that my subconscious had remembered it from when Gavin actually told me last week or even that I'd perhaps glanced at the piece of paper when he gave it to me. Go figure. I don't care.

All I knew was that Blondie had escaped me – and now I'd actually forgotten the number he'd given me so wouldn't be able to contact him anyway during the week.

Still, tonight was the top priority. No one I really fancied around so, next stop, the Club. I blew a kiss at Dan on the way out and he waved. Perhaps I haven't actually had him and I should put him on my list.

Now. you've all been to a gay club so you know more or less what 'Ruckers' was like. It wasn't one of the really sleazy sort nor did it cater for the fetish set, leather or BDSM, though I must admit that I'd met a couple of guys who seemed to have an unnatural, though quite amusing, predilection for toes and feet (purely as an entree of course).

There was that all-pervasive atmosphere of excitement tinged with desperation, smells of sweat and body cologne, at this time Homme Massif was the favourite, coloured lights reflected off bare, glistening chests and backs and the pounding rhythms of the latest 'in' disco music. Someone offered me some 'E' tabs but I refused. I wanted to remain clear and in control, at least until I'd copped off with someone. Then anything could go!

A couple of guys I knew, or had known at least, Eddie and Brian, came over and I bought them some drinks. I'd had sex with them a long time ago and, by mutual consent, the relationship had settled into a sort of friendship. They were great gossips and knew practically everyone so that they were quite useful in pointing out new talent, as long as they'd dabbled there first.

'So what's new?" I asked.

"Still into blonds?" asked Eddie. Both of them were beautiful bottle blonds which of course was the reason I'd first got to know them. Actually their hair looked a little less chemical that evening and I wondered if they'd been sunning themselves somewhere.

"Just got back from Spain," said Brian. "Sun, sex and sangria."

"Lots of the first two anyway."

I had to listen to a stream of reminiscences about guys called Nico, or Rico, or Pico or Silvio or Enrique, which were probably more exciting in the doing than the telling but I bore it with fortitude. "And anything new around here?" I asked eventually.

"Well, there's the current heartthrob," said Eddie.

"Cock teaser," said Brian.

"Just because you haven't been able to get into his knickers," said Eddie.

"And have you?" Brian can be rather bitchy on occasions.

"And here he is, dead on cue."

I turned towards the entrance, as did quite a few of the other guys in the club, and saw – yes you've guessed it, another of those coincidences – the young man coming in was Gavin. My Gavin! Well, not my Gavin of course because I had no intention of contacting him again. In fact I rather wished there was a back way out of the club so that I could skip out without his seeing me. Perhaps there was. Surely must be a fire exit somewhere but by the time I'd worked this out he had seen us and was smiling. His seductively erotic, bewitching smile and I found myself smiling back.

Eddie and Brian were smiling too. Though I heard Eddie mutter, "Don't smile. Remember your laughter lines."

And Brian's anxious reply, "Laughter lines! Are there any there?"

"Don't worry, darling you're as smooth and blank outside as you are inside." In competition they were even more bitchy to each other.

"Mark," said Gavin. "I was hoping for a call."

"You know him?" A stage whisper from my friends.

"Oh yes," I said casually. "Good to see you, Gavin. I've been very busy this week but I still have your number." I waved the piece of paper I'd found earlier in my pocket.

"Well, you don't need it now. I've found you. What a coincidence." He sounded genuinely pleased to see me and I wondered how I was going to get out of this without a) sacrificing my principles or b) upsetting him too much.

I rehearsed various excuses.

I was suffering from an obscure but not fatal sexually transmitted disease which necessitated my not having sex for at least three weeks. I discarded this as if it got around (and knowing Eddie and Brian it certainly would) I'd be forced out of action for much too long a time (as far as I was concerned).

I was looking after a sick relative who needed to be attended to at all hours of the day and night. In which case what was I doing in 'Ruckers' then?

I could get so desperately drunk that I was incapable of doing anything. That of course might mean that Gavin would out of charity take me back to his place to look after. Perhaps indeed that was what had happened last week.

In the end I grabbed hold of him and took him onto what is euphemistically called the dance floor, where we performed a series of gyrations which mostly consisted of leaping up and down and occasionally rubbing parts of our bodies together (my version of flashy krumping). It was exhausting work but often pleasurable.

There was of course no way of carrying on a conversation so after we finished I just tried to edge away but Gavin attached himself leech-like to me and followed me back to Eddie and Brian who greeted us slightly coldly. I think they felt that I had in some way usurped our friendship by getting in first with Gavin. Gays are unfathomable creatures as people have often remarked about me.

"So, what's he like?" asked Eddie when curiosity overcame their hostility and when Gavin was at the bar getting drinks.

"We were good," I said but refused to go into any more detail. After all I remembered nothing of the night's encounter and though we'd had a bit of C2C in the morning it wasn't something I wanted to elaborate on.

"Is he a top?" asked Brian. They knew that I was pretty ambisextrous suiting my performance to my partner's wishes whereas they were predominantly if not completely 'catchers'.

"Now you know I never go into explicits," I said – or started to say because we were suddenly side-tracked by some sort of confusion going on at the bar. There were shouts interspersed by high-pitched cries and much to-ing and fro-ing. A sort of melee was going on. To say that gays can't fight is completely wrong. They can punch and kick with the best of them and also they have the added advantage that they have no scruples about scratching, biting or swinging handbags.

I could just see Gavin in the centre. He looked bewildered but unharmed. The fighting was going on around him and actually seemed just to involve two or three guys. It was an ideal moment for me to slip away from the club. No one would see me. I'd be free of Gavin and escape with my integrity unbesmirched.

But of course I didn't. I'm not quite such a shit as all that. Instead I did a very foolish thing. I leapt into the middle of the crowd, getting kicked on the shins in the process but I think that was just in error, grabbed hold of Gavin by the arm and started hauling him away. This rather diverted attention away from the fight.

"Oy! He's ours," shouted someone.

And they turned on me.

I can't understand how some people think that a 'good night out' is only 'good' if it involves a brawl and some thumping. I'm certainly not one who subscribes to that philosophy. I got a belt on the side of the head which, instead of making me see stars as you're supposed to, just made me feel dizzy, then a knee in the ballocks which, apart from the excruciating pain, made me feel sick. Even so to my credit I kept hold of Gavin.

Then there was a rush of bodies and I thought I was going down, but I was just pushed to one side and I dimly made out Eddie and Brian, arms flailing like wind turbines in a tornado. Finally the bouncers took over and we were shepherded into areas of safety. Luckily they realised who the good guys were and I was able to nurse my damaged bits in relative calm. I think Gavin wanted to administer first aid but it was too painful to allow anyone to get near, however altruistic their motives.

Well, that was the end of the evening for me.

Eddie called me a taxi and I whispered my address, not that I was really trying to hide it (well, perhaps I was) but my voice seemed to have lost some of its usual power and timbre. They asked if they should come with me but I just shook my head and slumped (carefully) back in the seat. The taxi drove off leaving Gavin with Eddie and Brian.

Adventure over.

Score: Gavin (TWO)
Eddie and Brian ONE (possibly divided by two)
Me: NIL (retired hurt).

Another week passed. I recovered and my scrotum gradually lost its blue shade. The doctor had examined it and said the contents were basically OK, just bruised. I had no concussion though I did have a headache of mammoth proportions to contend with.

I resolved NEVER EVER to leap to anyone else's rescue again.

As I got better my curiosity was aroused as to what had happened to the three guys I'd left on that fateful night but the only person whose phone number I had was of course the one person I didn't want to contact, Gavin.

So the following Friday saw me tentatively entering the Fish and Griddle. My radar noticed two blond heads, one of which was Dan who was already pouring my pint, so I approached him first. At the bar I turned to see who the other was. Probably 'Blondie' from last week but the guy was turned away and all I could see was the back of his head. Well, I'd take over a drink for him and perhaps hook up where I left off last time.

Dan though stopped me as I ordered the second drink. "What have you got?" he asked and I experienced a feeling of
déjà vu. Wasn't this how last week's conversation had gone – more or less?

"OK, Dan," I said. "What is it now?"

He gestured across the bar and I turned to look. The blond guy had turned round. It wasn't 'Blondie'; it was Gavin. Gavin with golden hair. Gavin looking just my ideal guy, except – that I'd already had him.

"He's done that for you," said Dan. "Someone must have told him your penchant for blonds. By the way, how come you haven't made a play for me?"

"Sorry, Dan," I said slightly stunned. "I thought we'd already had it off together."

"Oh, maybe we have." Now here was a slut after my own heart.

I had to think fast. Gavin was making his way across the bar towards me, an immense welcoming smile on his face. I expected to be met with a big, 'you saved my life and virtue, and got damaged in the process' greeting.

I turned to Dan. "No, I don't think we ever have," I said. "I guess we ought to rectify that mistake. What about tonight?"

Dan fluttered his eyelashes. "Why, Mr Mark, this is so sudden. But what about your current affaire de coeur?" He nodded at Gavin who was still struggling through the pub customers in our direction.

"About to be dumped," I said.

"You couldn't be so cruel."

I looked at Gavin. My, he was cute. The angelic face now topped with a crown of golden hair, highlights reflecting the fluorescent lighting. His body was slim and beautifully proportioned, narrow waist and hips, just as I like. Legs in his jeans long and slightly muscled, just right for wrapping round a back (my back) whilst being impaled on a prick (my prick). I felt a twinge of sexual desire, possibly more than a twinge.

"Rain check?" I said to Dan and he nodded.

"Gavin," I said.

"Mark," he said.

I heard a noise from behind the bar which sounded like 'Eugh'.

I won't extend this too much. Suffice it to say that, after a couple of drinks and a couple of touches, feeling here and there, we decided that home was the best place.

"Yours or mine?"

The sheets had it and we went back to Gavin's place. There, kissing led to fondling and that led to the removal of clothing and naked romping. I've already said that I like 'activity' and activity there certainly was. We performed convolutions and entanglements which I hadn't believed possible. Fingers, hand, tongues, mouths, even feet (I told you I'd had a few lessons in his area) were used to the best advantage. And of course our pricks sliding into as many orifices as were possible. At length satisfied, satiated, gorged, surfeited, exhausted, we lay on the bed together.

"I told you we would be good together," he said.

"I thought you said that we already had been."

Gavin smiled at me. "We didn't get much chance last time," he said. "You just flaked out as soon as I got you to bed – and I never take advantage of a helpless body."

"But in the morning . . ."

"That was hardly to be counted, compared to what we've just done."

He was right. This was the real thing. I'd need a little time to recuperate but then we'd do it again. After all I'd been celibate for two weeks.

I felt an overwhelming rush of emotion. Usually it was a case of 'wham, bang, thank you, man' but not this time. And seemingly Gavin was the same.

Second time was longer, less frenetic, more sustained, gentler but still as satisfying.

And the third time in the early hours. . .

And he woke me in the morning. I couldn't understand it; I didn't feel bad about staying the night. Completely the opposite I wanted to stay.

"Hey, Mark," said Gavin. "I guess it's time to make a move. There's a Burger Bar on the corner. You can get a filling if not very healthy breakfast there."

"But. . . but . . .," I said.

"Sorry, mate. I don't do commitment. See you around."

He gave me a kiss but it was one on the cheek or somewhere in the air. A kiss of dismissal.

I went home, feeling used, refused and abused, but somewhere at the back there was feeling that I might have brought it on myself.

In the course of time I had Dan, and 'Blondie' and others, but it wasn't the same.

Eddie told me that he'd heard a rumour that Gavin had moved south of the river and was breaking hearts down there.

I knew the feeling.


Date started: Friday, September 21, 2007
Date Finished: Thursday, September 27, 2007
Words: 4,293
Page number: 12

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