The usual rules apply: the copyright for this story remains mine; it's a work of fiction and includes fictional people; don't distribute or copy without my permission and retaining this notice; if for any reason you shouldn't be reading this, then don't! This story contains descriptions of male-on-male sex (of legal age in the UK) so you have been warned :)

This is intended as the first of a series of short(ish) stories that are all connected in some way through the location. For details of the other things I have written, check the notice at the end of this story. Thank you for reading - emails are always appreciated too (marklbarwell@hotmail.com).


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Seaside Tales Volume 1

Mad About the Boy


by MarkB



It was a warm summer night and the lights of the distant oil refinery flickered like drunken stars on the surface of the water. As was usual for me in times of existential crisis, I was hunkered down on the rough pebbles of the beach, allowing my gaze to drift idly over the landscape. The glaring neon of the arcades at my back were a stark contrast to the dullness behind my eyes. Tomorrow would see the start of another working week and the thought of the monotonous drudgery filled me with despair.

Who am I, what was I doing, why the hell was I here? Of course, I knew all of these could be answered quite simply as long as only surface details were required. Medium height, medium build, medium life. I took care of myself, health-wise, but only out of a sense of duty. I had long since given up any passionate attachment to exercise so while I was far from out of shape, I knew that my once-held fantasies of turning heads wherever I went were a few months of sweaty dedication out of reach.

My medium-length, medium-brown hair danced in the light breeze that carried salty sea scents from the inky blackness beyond as I pondered my existence. I had a regular job (excitement level: medium) but nights alone. It had been a few years since I felt the hot comfort of a lover at my side and to be honest, I was terrified at jumping back into the game. It had all seemed much easier when I was younger – easier to pull, easier to love, easier to fuck. But I was in that twilight zone now, or so it seemed. The shadowy world between the oozing sexuality of youth and the solid commitment of monogamous satisfaction.

I really didn't know how it worked with straight people – all of a sudden, my friends seemed to have acquired families and responsibilities and chocolate box lives. Requests for nights out turned to appeals, then vague hopes before melting away in the quagmire of alternative commitments. I suppose I could have leapt into the pop trash whirl of the local gay “community” (does one bar and a couple of monthly club nights count as a scene?) but every foray into that world just left me with a sense of emptiness and increased isolation. I supposed there was some substance under the vacuous veneer but I really didn't have the confidence or the temerity to penetrate that deeply.

When all the lights have faded and all the music stopped, the sound of your own heartbeat, crashing eternal and empty inside your own body, can be the loneliest sound of all. Looking back on the past, reflecting on the endless antics and adrenaline-fuelled fun, it almost seemed like someone else had been there, done that, stripped off the t-shirt and gone dancing into the crowd. But the waves of celebration had receded with the years and I was left like a seashell on this beach, an empty reminder of what I once was. At 27 years of age, the colours of my life seemed to have bled away to the monotone drudge of merely existing. Once you get thrown from a horse, you need to get back on quickly or else the fear sets in and you're doomed to spend the rest of your life leaning on the railings and watching others enjoying the ride.

I could have stayed there forever in my zombie state but my bladder insisted on release and once those signals were acknowledged, others followed: the throb of the circulation trapped in crossed legs, the sharp sting of the unidentified beach filth jabbing into the complaining flesh of my clenched buttock. I stood, promptly fell over, and languished for a few delicious moments in the cacophony of sensations as my body struggled to return itself to a state of normality.

A deep, soulful sigh and I was up again, stumbling over the sand in search of relief. The newly refurbished beachfront provided every sun-drenched need a holidaying family could want: sweetly cloying doughnuts, deep-fried fare to greasily slip into overstuffed bellies, cheaply-made plastic tat to hang off every body part and the windows of cars before being discarded in next week's pile of forgotten memories. Money given, stuff gained. Food in, waste out.

But these were the hours of darkness; the gaudy, striped storefronts shuttered against the night. Singular, sterile conveniences barred from the vandalising, random acts of boredom that inflicted themselves on the town at this time. I was never one that readily embraced the wanton culture of doorstep urination so there were two options left to me: brave the turmoil of the seafront pubs (churning with the drink-fuelled and barely-contained potential for violence) or use the only 24-hour toilet in town. A no-brainer, really.

All throughout my adolescence, I was dragged around the country on summer quests led by parental enthusiasm for canvas and “fresh air”. My unquenchable desire for fizzy drinks coupled with long car journeys to produce a desperate need for gushing relief as soon as we stopped at each quaint destination. Tourist town planners throughout the land seemed to have been wise to this as you could almost always guarantee that the main car park was in close proximity to a toilet. If there were no signs about, then you could follow the “P” if you needed to pee.

The same was the case with the one I was heading to now. An undulating spread of grid-laden concrete nestled behind the main drag of the beach. A row of nightclubs of varying quality and size stretched alongside this expanse, offering night-time exuberance and sea views to enchant that night's chosen, fleeting conquest. In the corner, red brick facade hiding the steel-clad lining, was my target.

As I stepped into the subdued lighting of the acrid-scented interior, I passed someone on the way out. Still not completely paying attention to my surroundings, I only noticed that he was about 6 inches smaller than me and slight of frame. A flash of Mediterranean features beneath the obligatory hooded top caused me to stop and turn back as he passed, lightly brushing against my arm in doing so. A few steps later, he also turned back and our eyes met for a second. He couldn't have been much more than sixteen but the wry smile that flickered across his handsome face stopped my heart.

Casting my eyes quickly downwards, I staggered away, searching out a cubicle and locking myself safely inside. I urgently finished my task, splashing carelessly over the seat as the distracting glimpse of that boy flickered through my mind. Hating to leave a mess, I tore strips of rough paper from the dispenser and mopped up the drops before flushing the remains away. As I did so, I heard footsteps approaching. I froze and turned my ears to the sounds, tracing them as they entered the next cubicle and joined with the scrape of the lock as it slid home.

My hands trembled as I heard a zipper (the mere thought of what it would unleash sending ripples of excitement throughout me), then the soft thud of fabric falling to the floor.

When I was younger, and hormones ruled my world, a full bladder was always a mixture of consternation and thrilling sensation. I had not yet learned the pleasures of direct prostate stimulation but that desperate pressure was an exciting promise of what was to come. So those hurried visits to village toilets usually also offered a chance of more sexual relief as I splashed my teenage juices over tiled surfaces throughout the land.

Perhaps those memories were re-awakened, or maybe it was a new discovery of illicit excitement that drove me to my actions. Instead of leaving the toilet and going home to my medium size flat and medium length of sleep, I pushed my own clothing to the floor and sat down, thighs gently quaking with anticipation.

But what now? I was a complete novice to any such activities. Of course, I knew that some guys met in “cottages” for sex but I didn't know how it happened. Were there any signs, or a code of some kind? Perhaps it was just a case of flashing your cock and seeing what happened, although that didn't work out too well for George Michael.....

As I deliberated, my hand idly stroked at my cock, eliciting a rise as sexual excitement caused blood to flow even as fear and trepidation kept it from total engagement. A movement caught my eye, at the gap between the two stalls. I became hard in an instant as I saw the side of a Converse-clad foot tapping out an invitation. I quickly scanned the width of the cubicle – too wide for someone to spread their legs that much by accident. No, this must have been a deliberate action. Wasn't it? The foot disappeared and the sudden sense of loss almost caused me to gasp.

I strained to hear the slightest of sounds that would confirm or deny my suspicions. Thinking I could discern a soft moan, I pressed my hands against the steel wall, desperately needing to know what was happening mere inches away, so near yet so frustratingly far! My rising heat was clouding my judgement and even as my sensible side screamed warnings in my head, I sank to my knees and tilted my head to the side, hovering just above the cold, tiled floor.

My muscles strained to keep me silently poised as I crept closer to the gap, achingly slow. The now-familiar shoes were topped by a crumpled mass of denim and rising from them a set of olive-tinted legs, lightly dusted with downy hair. Swallowing my desire, I slid further, fingertips straining at the floor to keep me from collapsing entirely as my gaze reached the top of the bowl on which this delight was perched. With one hand cupping a tight set of dark balls, the other was stroking an impressive sight: a gloriously smooth cock, rising proud and hard to around 9 inches with a hint of skin caressing the tip.

“Fuck....”

As the words left my lips, I stumbled in panic and fell to the floor. I thought I was going to pass out as the blood pumped in my ears and flushed my face. Quickly righting myself, I jumped to my feet and waited for a reaction. My cock was maddeningly hard and I gripped it tight as I heard the disappointing sounds of my neighbour dressing then slamming the door open.

The echoes of that frightful sound softly diminished as I stood there, frozen. Would he run, call out for help, the police even? This town had a reputation for intolerance and I could see the worst scenarios flash through my head – jail time, lost job, front page news! I quickly yanked my clothes into a semblance of order, not wanting to be caught quite literally with my pants down.

And then.....a soft clicking as the door to my cubicle was tested, the lock preventing it from opening. The horny devil on one shoulder punched the fearful angel on the other as I slid the lock free and the door swung open.


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There he stood in all his adolescent glory. Dressed in casual clothes; jeans slung low over narrow hips, hoodie unzipped to just below the nipples (and what perky little nubs they were!), tight pants clinging to his hips with just a hint of a bulge showing. But what struck me was the look on his face. As I had thought, his complexion was coffee cream smooth; big brown eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. One perfectly sculpted yet masculine eyebrow raised in question; in my hormone-fuelled state he seemed to be beckoning.

Even though I was his senior in years, I felt totally under his thrall and as he reached into the waistband of his trunk-style boxers I resisted the overpowering desire to fall at his feet in worship. Instead I freed my own cock from the confines of my clothing and tilted my head in response to his unspoken question. A nod of the head indicated that I retreat into the relative seclusion of the stall and I obeyed at once, stumbling backwards as he followed me in then turned to lock us into isolation.

He hesitated and it seemed like he was inviting me to appreciate his pert rear, jutting from the loose top of his jeans. On instinct, I did more than just look: I reached out to caress his thinly-clad flesh and groaned in satisfaction as his luscious buttocks clenched under my touch. He chuckled and leaned back into me as I stepped forward and for a long, tantalising moment we embraced. My hand brushed across his juvenile chest and swept downwards, tugging his hand free from his underwear so that I could replace it with my own.

My fingers danced lightly through the tufts of hair that nestled between his legs before sliding deeper to grasp the root of his monster dick. A soft moan escaped his succulent lips and he reached around my probing hand to tug his zipper fully open, allowing me total access to the warm and inviting space within.

I stroked him slowly, marvelling at the silken feel of his skin and stunned by the length of what he had to offer. It seemed that while he was sparse with hair, he certainly made up for it with growth elsewhere. It was hard to believe that one so young was packing such a prize. It was even harder to believe that this was happening and yet here we were, sharing a moment of passionate indulgence, excitement quickened by the thrill of being in a public place.

I stretched my arm to its fullest to free his straining cock, allowing it to spring free and bob gently in front of him. I supposed that a lot of blood was needed to fill such a monster and it was not surprising that it reached only a 45-degree angle instead of pointing skyward like some of the smaller yet harder cocks I had encountered before.

He turned and smiled shyly up at me as we faced each other once more. Flicking his gaze between my groin and face, hinting gently at a reciprocal show, he timidly reached for me and tugged at my tan-coloured chinos, bulging at the front as the result of our experiences so far. I helped him along, tugging buttons free of their fabric prison and pulling myself into the open for him to grasp.

At just under 7 inches, I was far from uncertain about my own confidence when it came to size and the years had proved educational in helping me to realise that I was comfortably above average; not enough to be swaggeringly boastful but not too little to be scorned. But next to him, I felt vastly inferior. Those extra inches made all the difference to my esteem and I couldn't help but comment.

“That's an impressive package you have there,” I whispered, grasping it once more and gently squeezing.

“I guess,” he shyly replied.

“I'm surprised you don't pass out when it gets hard!” I chuckled, inwardly chastising myself at the embarrassingly poor nature of my sexual small talk.

“It gets harder,” he replied and his cock twitched in confirmation.

The seconds ticked by as we slowly stroked each other. I really wasn't sure of the protocol in this situation, if there even was one! It was the first time I'd been with a teenager since...well, since I was one. And while I was no stranger to the delights of toilet-based masturbation, this was the first time that I wasn't alone in that.

Tearing my eyes from the ebb and flow of our mutual wanking, I took greater interest in his face. A complexion beautifully clear from the ravages of adolescence, lips slightly parted and full with the promise of soft delights. I reflexively flicked my tongue across my own lips, the moistening action attracting his attention and allowing our gaze to meet.

I instantly felt lost in the dark and inviting depths of his scrutiny as we drew inexorably together, our mouths connecting with subtle insistence. I flicked my tongue out just a fraction and he responded in opening slightly to allow me entry. Gentle and trembling probing led quickly to a burst of passionate exploration as we teased, thrust and licked ourselves into a more urgent sense of coupling.

With a gasp we parted and stared at each other, smiles tugging at the corners of our tingling mouths. He squeezed my twitching cock and I returned the gesture, prompting bigger grins from us both.

“So what do you want to do?” I asked, wanting and willing him to be open for anything. I needed this moment to last and was willing to offer any bodily request so that this could be fulfilled.

“I don't mind.”

“Well what do you like doing?”

“Whatever,” he answered, a shrug adding to the frustratingly non-committal response. “I don't like sucking dick though.”

“Well I do,” I smiled as my once-buried, animalistic sensibilities bubbled to the surface, setting me aflame with lust for this gorgeous youth.

He smiled and I took this as a sign of acceptance as I lowered myself to my knees and drew level to the turgid flesh that jutted proudly before him. Marvelling at the sight of him, I breathed in the sweet, musky odour of teenage privacy as I closed in. I flicked my probing tongue into the sparse foliage at the base of his cock before working my way up his throbbing shaft.

The skin at the end had receded slightly, allowing a tantalising glimpse of the pink sensitivity within. I delved into this pliant warmth, running the tip of my tongue around the rim of his foreskin and teasing it slowly downwards. A drop of clear liquid swelled onto my tongue and its sweetness caused a moan to escape but I was so lost in the moment that I couldn't be sure which of us had made the sound.

Just as I was about to envelop him in my welcoming mouth, we both flinched as we heard the clomping sound of someone entering the premises. Quickly scrambling to my feet, I pointed desperately to the toilet and we squeezed round each other to allow him access to the bowl. Reaching out to the wall with one hand and my outstretched hand with the other, struggled onto the rim, balancing there with baited breath as I stood before him. To anyone looking under the door it would seem that there was only one occupant.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your assessment of the situation, that left a teenage cock pulsing against my chest, the quivering head maddeningly close to my eager mouth. Looking up at my partner in lust, I silently begged a question that his accepting shrug seemed to answer so I bent slightly forward and took him into me once more.

In my younger days I had prided myself on my lack of gag reflex so it was with a great amount of self-satisfaction that I applied my talents and swallowed his entire length, eliciting a barely-suppressed growl from my quaking acquaintance.

As I slid back and forth his hands moved to softly grasp the side of my head, instinctively holding me secure to a rhythm of breath and non-breath as I pleasured his trembling tool. My right hand reached out to explore the confines of his hoodie, slipping over the tight and trembling flesh of his waist, tracing the sensuous outlines of his hips, dipping into the enticing hollow of his adolescent navel. My other hand reached round to pull at the fabric of his underwear, teasing his bum into the open. A shudder forced him deeper into me and I almost lost my stride but we were soon moving once more as one.

Sliding off him for a moment, I licked my left index finger and returned it to its explorations of his tight and trembling rear before distracting him once more with my prodigious talents at deep throating. I wanted to feel all of him, deep and hard and thrusting. The long-constrained spurt of passion that had vacated my recent years returned in full force as I gave myself to him totally.

I probed the rim of his puckered hole and easily slipped inside. Although hot and tight, it felt like this wasn't the first time he had been invaded in such a way and my mind raced with the thrilling possibilities of his past experience. Teasing images of fingers, makeshift probes and enquiring friends all fuelled my fantasies as I pushed further in. Finding the apex of the yielding wall of his bladder, I pushed gently in and was rewarded with an involuntary clenching around my finger as he forcefully thrust into my well-stuffed mouth. The tricks learned through self exploration and the responses of willing partners in my wilder days were being put to good use on this eager playmate.

Suddenly he let go of my head and bent almost double to whisper urgently in my ear.

“I'm gonna...so if you don't wanna....fuck that's good.....” he slurred and I answered by pulling him tightly into me and jabbing harder at his prostate.

With a shudder and a whimper, he unloaded inside me. For a moment I was reminded of the facehugger from my favourite sci-fi film; the unusually erotic image of an alien tube buried far into the throat and pumping its fluids deep within. Each spasm injected a fresh wave of warm liquid as he spent his passions, the pulsating thrusts gradually dying away to a quivering rest.

Reaching behind him, he pulled my finger from his depths as he withdrew from my throat. Standing there, towering above me in his flushed fulfilment, I could have taken him in my arms and loved him forever. But the moment was shattered as we heard a shuffle from the other side of the door. We had forgotten all about the other occupant of the toilets!

The boy, that marvellous and rampant youth, dressed himself as he stood on tiptoes to peer over the cubicle door before leaning down to whisper his report into my ear.

“Not bad, about 40 years old so not really my thing. Are you gonna fuck him?” he teased.

“I dunno,” I replied. “Some horny teenager has got me all worked up!”

“Awww,” he smirked, a twinkle in his eye, before he clambered to the floor and reached for the door.

I grabbed his hand in alarm and he looked at me with a startled expression on his radiant face.

“It's OK,” he said reassuringly as he mimed a wanking action while pointing to the door. “He's one of us.”

I breathed again and reached for my trousers as my companion opened the door then slipped through, leaving it wide open for the other guy to peer in. I scrambled to fasten myself up as the older man waved his semi-inflated cock at me and moved closer. Without meeting his searching eyes, I shook my head and pushed past him to escape into the outside air. Frantically looking round, I saw the object of my affections sauntering up the road so I skipped after him.

Aware of the cold scrutiny of the car park security camera, I walked alongside; close enough to be heard yet far enough apart to appear unattached.

“Can I see you again?” I asked with an embarrassing amount of pleading in my voice.

“You're seeing me now,” he grinned as he kept walking.

“Do you want my phone number?” I almost begged.

“I don't have a phone,” came the sly reply. One more chance; I had to try.

“Look, I'd like to do this again. You here tomorrow night?”

A shake of the head.

“When then?”

He stopped. Quickly looking up and down the street to check that no-one could overhear, he looked right into my eyes and gave me hope.

“Friday, OK? I'll be here Friday.”

“Cool, see you then,” I breathed with relief, then stood and watched as he walked away into the night.


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The rest of the week could not have passed more slowly. They say that men think about sex every few seconds and every one of those thoughts was about him. I would try to lose myself in the deluge of paperwork that haunted my work-time existence but whenever I came up for air, images of what we had done pushed me under and swept me away once more. By Friday, it was almost unbearable and my suffering performance had not gone unnoticed by my colleagues. A fact that was painfully brought to my attention when my supervisor collared me at the photocopier as I stared into space with dreams of teenage lust pulsing behind my eyes and between my legs.

“John?”

From my far-away place I heard the sound but was far too engaged with my fantasies to connect it to anything meaningful.

“John!”

This time the voice was shrill and insistent and I broke my reverie to turn and answer.

“Sorry Sandra, what were you saying?”

“For fuck's sake, John,” she hissed. “What the hell's got into you this week? Your targets are down, your workload is piling up and as for your reports? Well, I wouldn't even wipe my arse on them, they're worth that much to me.”

Blimey, I thought, don't hold back; say what you really feel....

“Sorry, I'm sorry. I've got a lot on my mind.”

“Well I suggest you get it off your mind and on to your desk before I have to have serious words.” Her metaphorical talents were as sharp as ever....

“OK, Sandra. Sorry, Sandra.”

“Yes, well. Get it sorted. Christ, I haven't seen you this vague since you gave up smoking!”

With that she turned and stormed away, leaving me to ponder that revelatory phrase. Because she had hit the nail on the head – it was just like giving up smoking. A constant craving and desperate desire for satisfaction and fucking fulfilment. Just one more taste, one more! Everything about him was desirable – his smooth, soap-scented skin, the twinkle in his eyes, that monster cock. Just the thought of it pumping down my throat could make me harder than I'd ever been, bent forward at my desk in an effort to hide my excitement while sneaking a few crafty rubs against the plywood. I was totally addicted.

But it wasn't just the physical sense of him, although that was virtually perfect. The glorious juxtaposition of shyness and confidence: one minute in charge, the next unsure of what to do. It made him so vulnerable yet so powerful at the same time and I was hooked. We had shared something special, I knew it. Looking into his eyes, kissing those oh-so-soft lips. That wasn't just a fuck, that was something bordering on.... no, that was stupid. After just one lustful encounter? Was I reading too much into it? But I swore there had been a connection there and that only served to further fuel my fire.

Maybe it was the experience itself, one shining moment in my otherwise boring life. I supposed that I missed the adventures, the fun and games, the adrenaline of juvenile antics. And what was more thrilling than a sexy, sexual sixteen year old in a public place. The fear of getting caught, the recklessness....

A cough and a pointed look from my adversary down the corridor sent me scurrying back to the shackles of my duties and away from delicious reflection. As I bounced onto my chair, swivelling and coastering into place, I decided to plough my nervous energy into rectifying the results of my slacking. Thoughts of the evening would have to wait.

But what if he was thinking about me as much as I was about him? What if he'd gone to the toilets the next night in the hopes of meeting me again but found me absent? My chest tightened at the thought of any disappointment I may have caused, irrational but still possible. I had deliberately avoided the place all week. After all, I couldn't afford that many late nights given the disgustingly early hour that I had to wake on a work day. Plus, he had said Friday, hadn't he? Damn this distraction – I was anxious, frustrated and very very horny! It would take every ounce of self control to make it through the rest of the day without running to the office toilet and beating a spurting release. I wanted to save myself for him.


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I spent almost an hour getting ready that evening. I showered, shaved, doused myself in Diesel (the aftershave, not the car fuel). Then I decided that I was trying too hard and washed it all off again only to start over. I teased my hair into all manner of shapes until it cried out for mercy. I brushed my teeth until they almost bled. Eventually I shook myself free of the madness and went through the rapidly changing trauma of selecting what to wear. The only thing that stopped me from going through my entire wardrobe was the time: I remembered that it was about 9.30pm when we met so I wanted to get there a bit early in case he turned up and I wasn't there again (I still clung to the fear that I had missed him earlier in the week, informing him of my supposed disinterest).

I lived about 15 minutes walk from the seafront and while I had been content to idly wander in my introspective state at the start of the week, it simply wouldn't do to arrive sweaty and flushed for this encounter. So I drove my medium size car at a medium speed; an impressive effort considering my anxiety to get there. Even though the hour was late, and the civil enforcers of the 24-hour parking fees were probably all tucked up in bed, I still bought a ticket. It seemed that my youthful rebellion had truly been quenched by the mundane regulation of responsibility.

The dim glow of the lights reflected my nervousness as I peered into the cracked mirror just inside the doorway. Not bad – I'd probably jump my bones if I saw myself in the street. Which was a whole new level of narcissistic weirdness that I was too strung out to contemplate. Instead I went to my previous place, shut myself in, released my trousers and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After 15 minutes my bum cheeks were sore and I rose to rub them, noticing a ring of red that had formed from the impression of the seat. Dammit, I couldn't let him see that – how moment-shattering would it be if he laughed out loud as he turned me round to....to what? What was I hoping for? To feel him inside me? The stretching of my hole with quivering fingers in my evening bath and the rinsing of the interior suggested that I was fully prepared for that possibility but it was only then that it was brought into the sharp focus of potential reality.

Would he want to? Could I manage it? It had been a few years since I had done anything like that but I guessed it was like riding a......well, you know. And the size of it? In all my years I'd never successfully managed something as impressive. I once tried sleeping with a guy whose dick was the size of a Cola can but we were both tanked up on pills at the time and kept forgetting what we were doing so ended up settling for fumbling cuddles and awkward kisses with gurning mouths.

A wave of remembrance brought a shuddering rush to my body and a rise to my cock so I sat back down and perched on the edge, avoiding the unwanted indentation. The seconds ticked by as I idly stroked myself between inflation and flaccidness but when my cheap digital watch beeped me alert to it being 10 o'clock, I gave up all hope of his appearance. Yet I still waited an extra half hour (just in case he had got held up) before dragging myself home and crying myself to sleep.


********************************



There's a hypothesis that when someone faces the reality of something awful, they go through fives distinct periods of behaviour – it's sometimes called the “5 stages of grief”. But I seemed to be swinging through them at random. Saturday morning was a time of depression and I didn't leave my bed until late afternoon. I couldn't even be bothered to get up to use the toilet so I resorted to my old drunken-student trick of using the nearest empty receptacle. When I had filled the last glass at hand, I decided it was probably time to face the world, if only to do some washing up.


I kept replaying the events of Monday night to see if there was any hint of disinterest. OK, so I had practically chased him down the street at the end but he'd agreed to meet up again and he had seemed so sincere. Perhaps I came across as too pushy and it freaked him out?

Or maybe there was something wrong with me? Was I not big enough, good enough? Did my readiness to swallow him mark me as some sort of slut, not worth bothering with a second time? My self esteem crashed to a record low as I critically examined every aspect of my sexual performance, personality and physicality.

I've always been easily influenced by films and have fond memories of leaping around my room as a youngster pretending that my watch fired lasers like James Bond. Even now, it takes me ages to decide what to watch. You can't just pick something at random and hope for the best; it's like choosing the perfect wine for dinner. The right film can enhance your mood or even alter it to what you desire.

But I was not even close to being in a stable state of mind during the rest of the weekend and a succession of poorly-chosen movies followed. As if “Beautiful Thing” would have distracted me from teenage love! And “Beaches”?!?! Not the best remedy for depression. Sunday with Tarantino delivered me into the stage of anger and I readily cursed the boy for daring to have the audacity to let me down! What sort of fucker would do that to a person?

A cute, adorable, sexy, hung fucker, that's who. And I was right back to depression again.

Too much moping and too little sleep deposited me, weary and subdued, into my work routine once more as Monday morning rolled round again. By this time, I had gained some sort of pretence of acceptance. To the outside world, I was my old self. If I ignored the continuously invading thoughts of him, I could even pretend to believe it myself.

Then again, what the hell was I doing? In my rational moments, I felt foolish. After all, it had only been a brief encounter, less than 10 minutes probably. Yet in that time, my whole world had been blown apart (if you pardon the pun). Surely it was stupid – how could I be feeling this intense? And why? He was, after all, only a shag (and not even that if you wanted to get technical). Yes, that was it, only a fuck. Something to be cherished then discarded as a sweet memory. Nothing more. Not at all.

So it was with some surprise that I found myself that evening parked in the now-usual spot, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel of my car and contemplating my next move. It was all down to the key in the ignition. I could turn it, drive home and forget about this whole situation. It might take time to ease the pain but with self control and too much ice cream, I could get over it.

Or I could remove the key, lock the car and go see if he was there. Same time, same day, same place. But there was no guarantee that there would be the same person, let alone the same experience. Too many “what if”s threatened to overpower me and I decided that not knowing was the worst torture of all so before I even registered what I was doing, I was crossing the threshold into that lavatorial den.


********************************



The row of five cubicles stretched along the far wall, opposite the limescale-encrusted trough. The doors to the first and second stalls were shut and a gentle prod of each confirmed that they were locked. So I stationed myself inside the next free one along and assumed the usual position – pants down, cock resting lightly on the edge of the seat.

A few minutes ticked by as I waited for a sign but my “need to know” got the better of me and I crouched forward to peer under the divider to my left. Nice plimsolls, purple chinos, moderately hairy legs, slightly hairier ballsack and a reasonably sized cock. Smaller than my own but a bit thicker and tapered at the end. Whoever it belonged to seemed to be enjoying themselves as they were alternating between frenzied strokes and pulsating rest.

Whoever it was seemed to become aware of my attention as they suddenly stopped their activity and covered themselves modestly. I retracted quickly and returned to my sentry position, the fear of discovery glueing me to the spot. I waited with baited breath as my dick slowly deflated.

Then a shadow appeared beneath the dividing wall, as if that someone was trying to peer under! I carefully leaned to the side and was surprised to see the back of their head, a shock of dark blonde hair curling over the hood of a parka jacket. They were looking the other way, checking out whoever was in the first cubicle.

My curiosity was renewed and I mirrored the pose, head to the floor and craning to see what was beyond: a new-looking pair of blue Nike trainers, not the Converses I had hoped (or feared) to see. But whatever they were doing held some interest for my neighbour because he wasn't just spying but also furiously pumping at his waist. Then he turned and I saw the features of an older teen, probably 18 or 19. Decent looking face, nothing like my boy (did I really just think that?) but cute enough. An intense gaze that soon gave way to a wry smile before lifting out of sight leaving me with a clear view of the occupant beyond, or at least his footwear.

I was almost poked in the eye as a hand appeared in front of me, gesturing for me to...what? It looked like he was miming something...cradling...grasping....oh! Right! I figured what the hell, I might as well have fun since I was here already and perhaps it would take my mind off the other thing. By this point, I was at full hardness again so I shuffled myself into a squatting position, knees splayed to the side and pushing my groin as far towards the wall as I could. My hips were still quite pliant from the years of kickboxing training that had accompanied my early twenties. Or perhaps it was from when I got to spread them more often....

Whatever the cause, it served me well as I lowered myself onto the clutching fingers. They weren't expert in their fondling but they were certainly enthusiastic and I leaned back in delight as I was stroked, poked, tweaked and groped. At one point, a zealous digit brushed across my hole and I thrust myself forward in pleasure, a soft cry escaping my lips. Then as suddenly as it had appeared, the pleasuring hand was gone and I was left dangling (in more ways than one).

Pulling myself back, I returned the gesture and thrust my hand out, striking gold as I encountered the pliant yet firm target that I was lustfully seeking. It wasn't an easy manoeuvre and my watch scored painful lines into my wrist as I jerked the guy's meat in a variety of fumbling ways. Perhaps I had been too harsh in my early judgement of his abilities if this discomfort was mutual. After a few glorious moments, during which I simultaneously stroked my own self to the edge of satisfaction, the pain in my arm outweighed the pleasure that the rest of my body was experiencing and I withdrew.

When too many moments passed and a reciprocal hand failed to re-appear, I chanced a glimpse under the wall and was relieved to see that he was still in the game and had reseated himself, resuming the delicious stroking pattern of before. I watched, I wanked, I almost came. But I also wanted to take this further – perhaps a taste, or even the feel of it pressed up against me. Maybe a kiss? It was strange to think that playing with someone's genitals seemed somehow less intimate than pressing my lips to theirs. But it was this deep and personal connection that I craved.

A movement to the far side of this wanton spectacle caught my attention and my heart stopped as I gazed once more into the eyes of my fantasy boy, the previously unknown occupant of the far cubicle. The surprise was also evident on his face and we were locked for a moment before he vanished from sight. My heart was pounding and all thoughts of my erstwhile satisfactory wank-buddy disappeared.

Checking my clothing and ruffling my hair into a deliberately casual style, I was plunged anew into the torrent of sexual obsession. A lock disengaged and footsteps scurried quickly away so I hurried to fasten my clothing, stumbling out of the cubicle and into the darkness. Peering into the gloom of a dimly-lit night, I couldn't see him anywhere. Frantically seeking any sign, I thought I saw a figure retreat around the corner of the building and swiftly followed only to stop short as I almost collided with the object of my affections. However, I was totally unprepared for the words that hissed from his lips.

“Go away,” he said, frantically shooing me back the way I had come.

The shock of this left me dumbfounded and I struggled to form a reply.

“You have to go,” he confirmed. ”My mum will be here in a minute to pick me up.”

“Oh! Oh, right,” I stammered and instinctively reacted to this unexpected news by pushing past him and striding across to my car. By the time I got there, I was panting heavily and the adrenaline of the moment was kicking in, causing me to flush and feel faint. I fumbled with the lock and collapsed into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind me.

Wait a minute, what the fuck just happened? I glanced at the blinking neon time on my dashboard and reasoned that it was, after all, a school night and so it wasn't unreasonable to assume that he needed to get home. But getting his mum to pick him up? My first thought was: how old was he really? Had I gotten myself into some serious issues with legality? But common sense told me that even at sixteen he wouldn't be able to drive yet and the buses had stopped running an hour before. So it wasn't an unreasonable situation. Still felt a bit weird though.

Then my erection clamoured for my attention and I remembered what I had been doing before getting sidetracked by my fleeing paramour. Why didn't I just go back and finish what I had started? After all, I was horny (so very painfully horny!) and someone in there was willing to sort me out. So what if my first choice was out of the picture? At least I could have some fun while I was there.

With that thought in mind, and with the fervent hope that the CCTV operator wasn't paying close attention to my comings and goings, I left the safety of my car and made my way back to the toilet block, taking satisfaction in seeing that there was no longer anyone waiting outside for a lift home.


********************************



The first cubicle was shut once more and I could discern some whispering and giggling from within. Who would have thought that it could get so busy at this time? Mind you, I had experienced a fair share of activity myself over the past week so perhaps it shouldn't have been that surprising. I left the newcomers to their delights and returned to my previous place.

The neighbouring stall was still occupied and a quick glance underneath confirmed that it was the same guy. I couldn't help glancing past to check the other thrill-seekers but saw only one set of shoes (white trainers, white socks – very chavvy). I assumed that one of the couple was being cautious and was crouching on the bowl to avoid detection. Perhaps he was being sucked off, or even perched in the other direction, arse thrust backwards onto a willing meat-pole. Such thoughts brought hot blood rushing back to my groin and I grinned as I prepared to resume my earlier activities.

True to form, my outstretched hand received its desire and the next few minutes were spent in blissful gratification as I was teased into a state of sexual fulfilment. Sounds of sucking from the far cubicle served to heighten my pleasure and I took great satisfaction in imagining the action that was taking place a few feet from where I was receiving my own near-orgasmic stimulation. The whispered words resumed and I strained to hear them.

“Come on,” pleaded a voice thick with the twang of the Thames Estuary. “Just lick it.”

The guy must have been denied because his voice became louder and more insistent.

“Suck my cock, you horny little fucker. You know you want to. Come on, play fair. I just did you.”

“No,” said an all-too familiar voice. “I don't like sucking dick”.

Time froze. I pulled back from the pleasures of my neighbour's hand and slumped against the wall of my own cubicle. It couldn't be, could it? My heartbeat pumped painfully loud through my ears as the negotiations continued.

“Well what if I do this?” came the protagonist's voice, accompanied by a responding moan. “Will that persuade you?”

“I told you, I don't like...ah, fuck! That was amazing. Do it again?”

“I dunno. I might not want to.” I thought I could detect a smirk in the voice, piercing my heart as the ramifications of the unseen activities assaulted my senses.

“Please, just do it. I'll...”

“You'll what?”

“I'll let you suck my dick again.”

“Oh really?!” laughed the other guy. “Just because you're hung doesn't mean you're all that. What do I get out of it?”

“You get to suck my big dick?” came the nervously hopeful reply.

Every word was like a knife in my chest. Only a week ago, that had been me. I had him first, I wanted him again. Fingers grasped from beneath the stall but I ignored them, my wilted cock hanging useless between my collapsed thighs as I struggled to comprehend the implications of what I was hearing.

“Nah, not worth it, mate.” This time the sneer was evident.

A metallic clang rang out. I bent down to check and saw the white trainers walking out the door, swiftly followed by the blue ones.

“Wait,” begged the boy that was the source of all my hopes and frustrations.

I followed the drama, played out from ankles downwards.....

White paused in the doorway, turned slightly.

“What for?”

Blue timidly approached.

“I...I'll try it. Just....don't go yet.”

“Hmmm, I dunno. What if you bail out on me again?”

“I won't. Honest.”

White approached blue, squaring off against each other.

“You're a right little cock-tease, you know that?”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish! But maybe I'll fuck you....”

“No way. Ain't nothing going up there.”

My finger twitched with the memory of past probing and a wry smile flicked across my lips.

“We'll see....”

White and blue moved toe-to-toe and I could hear the distinct sound of lips sucking at flesh. I couldn't stand it any more – I had to do something, anything to get involved. I wasn't sure what I wanted though. Did I want to interrupt them? Was I hoping that I'd stop them from going further? Maybe I wanted to join in? All I knew was that I was feeling sick to the stomach and needed to act before I spewed my angst all over the floor.

I stood, dressed myself for the umpteenth time that evening and tried to act as casual as possible as I strolled out of the cubicle and past the entwined pair to wash my hands at the recessed sink beyond. I glanced back and took in the details of the tryst.

It was hard to determine the exact age of the newcomer but I guessed he was in his early twenties. Dressed in the regulation tracksuit and baseball cap that was the favoured dress code of most young people around here. His confident swagger completed the picture: a total scally. I wished that I could feel scorn but this type of straight-acting fit guy was the main reason I hadn't yet moved away from the town. There was something so horny about them, especially when they strolled along with their hands down the front of their trackie bottoms, idly fondling themselves without caring who saw.

To top it off, he was suckling at that neck – the soft, slightly-tanned neck that I had been stroking only the week before. I wanted so desperately to tear them apart but my dick was responding in a far different way and betraying me with its rigidity.

The water had stopped and I hadn't moved, which must have attracted the older guy's attention because he came up for air, looked round at me, glanced down at my crotch, then winked. Why the hell did he have to be handsome too? It really wasn't helping my attempt at nonchalance. With a grin, he gripped onto the teen's waist and marched him backwards into the cubicle but didn't close the door behind them. Their feet stayed just inside and I wasn't sure if that was an invitation or a brush-off.

Fuck it, there was only one way to find out. I carefully approached, making sure I still had ready access to the door in case I needed to flee for whatever reason. Their bodies were pressed against the steel of the stall door, propping it open as they writhed together. The younger looked up as I drew close but there was no indication as to his intentions as he returned his attention to waist level. I could see that he had his delicate hand wrapped around both of their cocks, mashing them together and stroking the twin lengths. They seemed well-matched in almost every way, only the skin shade distinguishing them.

I longed to be the meat in that sandwich, then immediately chastised myself. I was supposed to be angry but I was being drawn in to the passionate scene that was unfolding before my lust-filled eyes. The conflict inside me forced acid into my voice as I threw an accusation at the boy.

“I thought your mum was picking you up?”

“Oh yeah, I...er, I told her not to bother. Fancied a bit of fun instead.” He winked and I couldn't tell if it was genuine or put on for my benefit.

“And Friday?”

“Friday? Oh, shit! Sorry about that – I had to go to a barbeque at my uncle's and couldn't get out of it. Did you manage to have fun without me?”

I cast my eyes downwards which seemed to provide sufficient answer as he merely nodded.

“What's your name, cutestuff?” interrupted the older guy as he nuzzled at the boy's earlobe.

“Why do you want to know?”

“So I know what to scream when I come inside you.”

The boy looked shocked but quickly recovered. “Mac. It's Mac.”

“Funny name for a kid your age!”

“It's from my dad.”

“Do you get everything from your dad?” this with a pointed look downwards. The boy blushed.

I moved closer and as I did so, the older of the two manoeuvred them both in front of the seat. With a firm push downwards onto barely-resisting shoulders, Mac dropped into place with his head at the level of the other guy's throbbing tool. As it thrust forwards, he turned to the side, prompting a harsh laugh.

“Let's see if we can't get you in the mood, eh?” chuckled the chav as he slid his tracksuit bottoms around his ankles and squatted down to take the youth's eager dick into his mouth. My gaze roamed from the sight of the bobbing head and the flashes of familiar flesh to the welcoming crack that faced me.

Lust took control of my movements as I crept forward and bent down to fondle the taut muscles that framed the puckered hole wavering temptingly before me. As I ran my finger across the tightly-wrinkled sphincter, he moaned with delight and reached behind to grab my hand and thrust it more firmly onto his welcoming behind. I tool the hint and plunged myself deep inside, teasing out a spasm and further sounds of pleasure.

I suddenly felt under scrutiny and glanced up to find Mac staring at me. I wasn't sure what I saw in those eyes – there certainly wasn't the depth of connection I had previously encountered but he didn't seem to be discouraging me either. It was more like a confusing mix of resignation and lust. Keeping the contact was becoming painful but I couldn't tear myself away so I was glad when something obviously stimulating happened and he threw his head back in ecstasy.

Returning my attention to the rear before me, I renewed my attack on the warm inside. The response was incredible and I lost myself in a lustful moment of twisting and probing, teasing the hole into realms of pleasure that I knew I myself had enjoyed on the occasions when I had been the receiver to such delights. With an audible slurp, he pulled himself free from us both and sat down heavily against the dividing wall, grinning from ear to ear.

I was vaguely aware of a shape moving quickly away from beyond. I had forgotten about the other guy and supposed that he had been watching the whole escapade. My suspicions were confirmed a few moments later as the neighbouring door snapped open and a fleeting shape scurried by and out of sight. The scally and I looked at each other, shrugged and smiled.

“Fancy a go?” he asked, nodding at Mac's proudly-displayed cock.

I looked over for confirmation. “Might as well,” came the non-committal reply.

What the hell. It wasn't much of an affirmation but to be honest, I wasn't that worried about whether or not he wanted me to, the fact was that I wanted him. All the pain and frustration of the past week was pushed aside as I moved in for another taste of that glory. Like double-dropping after a period of drought, I was on it like a whore in heat. Swallowing his hardness to the root, I filled myself with blissful recollections of all that I had missed.

“Whoa, that's some serious deep throating, geezer!”

Such an acclamation only served to further incite my vigour and I performed for the both of them: the willing recipient of my oral skills and an appreciative voyeur. As I once more fondled that almost-smooth nutsack, I felt it begin to tighten and so I eased off before it was all over. The frustration was evident on Mac's face as he questioned my actions.

“What the fuck? Why'd you stop?”

I simply smiled in response and the other guy laughed at the boy's predicament. For a moment, it seemed that we shared a common goal: to tease and pleasure the boy in equal measure. This unexpected moment of camaraderie stirred a strangely-formal response and I thrust my hand out in greeting.

“I'm John,” I stated. He looked amused before extending his own hand to grasp mine.

“Kevin,” he grinned as his index finger caressed the back of my hand.

We were interrupted by an attention-grabbing clearing of the throat.

“Hello? A bit of attention here, maybe?” begged Mac.

Kevin and I shared a chuckle as the boy looked on in indignation.

“Hold on,” replied my new tracksuited acquaintance, “I got something that might help things along a bit.”

Kevin rummaged in one of his pockets, not an easy task when they were still gathered around his ankles. He soon produced a small, brown-tinted bottle and held it up for inspection. I recognised it immediately but Mac seemed bemused.

“What's that?” he asked.

“You mean you never tried poppers?” came the lecherous reply.

Mac looked at me for support and I answered as truthfully as I could while still being conscious about putting him at ease. I didn't want to scare him off but I also wasn't going to fudge the details of what was being offered. I had always had the same opinion of anyone wanting to try something new: explain the facts as honestly as possible and allow them to make up their own minds. If Mac felt mature enough to solicit strangers in a public toilet, he was certainly old enough to make his own decisions about any “enhancements”.

“It's a street name for amyl, a kind of solvent,” I explained.

“I ain't sniffing no glue!” Mac said indignantly. Kevin merely snorted in amusement.

“It's not really the same thing,” I continued. “Well, maybe a bit. But the effects are more....specific.”

“In what way?”

“Well, it increases your heart-rate. Only slightly!” (this in response to Mac's alarmed expression). “Makes you feel warmer, relaxes your muscles a bit....”

“And gets you really horny!” interjected Kevin.

“And gets you really horny,” I echoed. “But you don't have to do it if you don't want to.”

Mac's eyes flicked between mine and the bottle that Kevin was teasingly waving in front of him.

“Is it gonna fuck me up?” he asked.

“I'll look out for you. You can trust me,” I said and Mac peered into my eyes for confirmation. He must have decided that I was being truthful (and I was) because he nodded and reached for the bottle.

“Careful,” I said. “Just one sniff in each nostril for now.”

Once he had finished, the bottle passed to Kevin, who took a deep hit. I waved the bottle away when it was offered and this must have concerned Mac.

“Why aren't you having any?” he asked.

“I don't need anything to help me get more horny,” I replied. “Just looking at you does the trick.”

As I mentally slapped myself for being so corny (why did he always have that effect on me?), Mac licked his lips and smiled although I wasn't sure if it was a response to my words or the feeling that was washing over him.

“I'm getting hot, is that normal?” he slurred as he gripped his cock tight and began pumping it slowly.

As I was about to reply, Kevin leaned over and pressed his mouth to mine. His tongue was more insistent, more invading than Mac's had been. It was like being ravaged, both passionate and electrifying. He suckled my tongue and licked at my lips and when he drew back, I fell slightly forward, hungering for more. But he had other ideas and turned to plunge himself once more onto Mac's expectant manhood.

I reached over and grasped Kevin's pulsating member, teasing shudders from his writhing body and sliding his foreskin back and forth, slickened by the fluid that oozed from its tip. My other hand slid up Mac's thigh and as it reached the sensitive spot where his legs parted, he arched his back and came deep into Kevin's throat. Such an unexpected release caused a sudden spluttering and even in this carnal haze I took pride at having been able to handle the boy's load with more skill.

All it took was a firm squeeze on his engorged cockhead and Kevin spurted streams of thick cum all over my hand and halfway up my arm. As his shuddering climax spent itself, he collapsed against Mac's leg and lay there panting heavily.

I yearned for my own release but the moment had passed and I felt too embarrassed to try since Mac was already reaching for the toilet roll and pushing Kevin's prostrate form away from him. With a timid smile, the boy passed me a wad of the paper and I wiped my arm clean. I looked around for somewhere to deposit the sticky bundle and Mac scooted back on the seat, allowing me access to the bowl. As I dropped it within, I thought I saw him flinch as I came in close proximity to his softening cock. Perhaps the post-orgasmic shame had kicked in. Kevin seemed to be oblivious to our feelings as he got to his feet, pulled up his tracksuit bottoms and stuffed himself inside, tucking it down and snapping the waistband of his trunks against his defined abdominal muscles.

“Cheers guys,” he said as he stepped over me and walked away. I scrambled to my feet as Mac did the same and we jerked back as our heads almost collided. I stepped back against the door, holding it open and allowing Mac to pass. As our bodies brushed lightly against each other, he briefly looked up before scurrying off.

I stood there with a strange range of emotions all vying for my attention. I was having difficulty in processing just what had happened and how I felt about it all. Was I ashamed? Thrilled? Disappointed? Perhaps a mix of all three. It would take several wanks and a few hours of fretting before sleep eventually took hold that night.


********************************



The next day was spent flip-flopping between hard, grinning reflection and blushing, cowering shame. If the weekend had been tumultuous, the working week was shaping up to be no better. At least I was a bit more aware of my surroundings, capable enough of performing my duties without attracting too much undue attention or criticism. During the lulls that would otherwise have been spent checking Facebook or playing Minesweeper (retro, I know, but still one of the most addictive games ever made!), I instead pondered the events of the night before and the implications to my state of wellbeing.

OK, it had been hot. Very hot! My cock twitched at the mere thought of some of the things we had done. And it wasn't just about Mac either – the addition of the horned-up chav guy flipped the whole thing into something approaching porn. Then there was the added thrill of danger; the fact that anyone could have walked in and discovered us (although the timid side of me was glad that hadn't happened!).

I was close to getting over my initial obsession with the boy but if I was being truthful, I still would have done anything he asked me to. My self esteem wasn't recovered enough to stand firm against his conflicting behaviour – he had fed me enough attention to keep me interested while retaining enough distance to deny me that elusive connection that I so desperately sought.

Then there was the issue of truth. It seemed ridiculous to expect it from such a fleeting encounter; after all we weren't friends, we hadn't even spoken more than a few words to each other. But I had believed in the feelings that words could not express. The way he held me, the way he kissed. That couldn't have been put on just for the moment, could it? I thought I knew how these things worked but maybe I was wrong.

It was a fact that I had been quite adventurous in my youth and quite honestly couldn't remember how many people I'd slept with in the years of addled indulgence. I'm pretty sure it was just over a hundred, however that was an educated guess. But apart from one of two random encounters, I always played fair. There was an unspoken agreement of being honest with the person you were sleeping with, especially when sleep was the last thing that would occur in whatever bed I ended up in. Well, *I* had always been genuine and could only have hoped that whoever was with me was equally as open.

So I was confused by what Mac had said. Sure, the excuses seemed plausible enough – a last-minute, lust-driven change to a plan; an inescapable family commitment. But I couldn't shake the feeling that he had been trying to shake me off and had only complied with my addition to last night's entertainment because his hormones were in charge at that point in time. In a few rare moments, I accepted that at least I had gotten another taste of him but if truth be told, it felt hollow.

I needed one more chance to be sure. To find out if I could (and should) drop him from my life and start to move on or if there was a possibility of something deeper developing. I nursed a ridiculous notion that perhaps if I could take him away from the sex-driven atmosphere of public gratification, we could cultivate something more substantial.

My own state of mind was also at stake. I was in serious danger of slipping back into the lifestyle of random, fleeting, passionate encounters. My addictive personality had been suppressed for so long by the prosaic prison of a “regular” life and it was screaming to be let loose once more. I was afraid of what would happen if I unleashed this wild side and allowed it to run rampant so maybe I was hoping to save myself as much as I was intending to save him?

This time there would be no hesitation, no distraction. I would get my answers and it was this determination that thrust me into that evening's visit to the familiar scene of so much heartache and spunk.

Familiar voices slowed my progress as they wafted into the night and so I paused, doubt slowing my steps and persuading me into the shadows outside the open doorway.

“No, I just want to get off quickly.“ That was Mac, sounding strangely fragile. My heart wanted me to rush in and comfort him but my head told me to wait.

“Well that's too bad, you little fucker. You promised me last night so I'm calling it in.”

“I don't want to. I don't like...”

“Yeah, yeah, you said that already. But you didn't hold back from blasting your nuts down my throat, did ya? Didn't have a problem with that, eh?”

There was no reply but I imagined the blush that was probably spreading across Mac's youthful cheeks.

“No, thought not. So am I gonna get it or what?” There was a hard edge to Kevin's voice. He was slurring his words slightly and I was becoming concerned.

“I don't...”

“Don't what? Why the fuck did you come back here unless you wanted some more?”

“Erm....”

“Spit it out boy, unless you wanna swallow?”

This was getting a bit much and I moved into the doorway before the next words halted my progress.

“Can't we just do...this?”

A hiss and a moan. It was hard to know what to do. Mac sounded up for whatever was going on but perhaps he was just distracting Kevin from something less palatable. There was enough of a tremor in that youthful voice to worry me but I was too afraid of barging in where I wasn't necessarily wanted. Again.

“Yeah, that's it, you little cockhound.”

“I'm not a cockhound,” protested the boy.

“Wanna bet? I reckon you'd like this up ya, wouldn't you?”

“No, I....”

“Sliding inside 'til my balls smacked against your tight little arse.....”

“Stop it, I just.....”

“Filling your hole with my spunk, you dirty fucking bitch.”

“NO!”

There was a moment of silence. I held my breath, poised to charge in. What I heard next sent shivers down my spine.

“And what if I just rape you here? Who the fuck's gonna help you now?”

Acting on pure instinct, all impediments cast aside, I ran into the toilet and quickly took in the scene before me. Both of them were against the far wall – Mac held firmly into place with Kevin's left hand pressing over that delicate mouth while his right was roughly pulling his own arse free of the restraining fabric of a different set of trackie bottoms. A small plastic bottle on the floor – alcohol? GHB? I couldn't be sure what influence he was under but the tone of his voice and his unexpectedly violent nature told me that I needed to be careful. A look into Mac's fearful eyes and I spoke.

“Oi! Leave him alone.”

Kevin paused, tight bum cheeks flexing in response to my sudden interruption. Why the hell was I noticing that? Totally inappropriate! But still hot. He turned his head, bloodshot eyes narrowing as he focused on my face. I stepped closer but not too far that I was in range of his fists.

“You again, eh? That's cool, I can share. There's enough chicken to go round.”

“I said leave him alone.”

I shuffled in place, subtle movements placing one foot in front of the other as I turned slightly to the side. It would look like I was just adjusting my footing but my subconscious knew I was shifting into the right stance. I raised my hands and held them out in a placating gesture, a move that could also easily be turned to strike.

“Fuck off, he's mine.” Kevin turned back to his prey. My voice turned to steel.

“Get the fuck away from him now. Or else.”

“Or else what?” came the spit-flecked reply as Kevin whipped round to face me. His eyes were wild and adrenaline coursed through me in response. I felt my body stiffen and made a conscious effort to remain relaxed but alert.

Mac unwisely chose that moment to try to struggle free and Kevin responded by punching him between the legs. With a guttural groan the boy sank to the floor, clutching himself in agony. Kevin stepped towards me and I reacted.

One leading step and I was in action, twisting on my toes and sending my other leg whipping round in a roundhouse kick as I leaned to the side to counterbalance the move. A flick of my ankle at the crucial moment added to the force from the blow as it connected with my opponent's side, sending him crashing into the piss-flecked trough.

In the second that he tried to stagger upright, I was in close and connecting an uppercut to his vulnerable jawline. Eyes rolled upwards and he collapsed on the floor even as I moved in to grab his head and prevent it from smashing against the tiles. I had read too many horror stories of accidental deaths to want to bring about his in that way.

Mac looked up in surprise as I stepped over the prone body of his attacker and stretched out my hand.

“Come on, let's go.”

Maybe it was the shock of what had happened but he stayed where he was, cowering in fear. I softened from my stern defensive mode and crouched down to his level. When I spoke, it was with gentle and reassuring tones.

“I don't know how long he'll be out for,” I said, gesturing at the unconscious body between us. “Let me help you. You can trust me.”

I was consciously aware that the last time I uttered those words had led to a moment of wild abandon with the very person we were trying to escape so perhaps they weren't the most appropriate choice of placatory phrase. But the message seemed to get through and he reached out for my hand. Lifting us both to our feet, I helped him over the prone body and winced as he chose to kick the bastard in the stomach.

“Leave it,” I admonished. “He's not worth it,” and we ran into the night.


********************************



The undulating hum of the heater penetrated the silence of the suburban street as we sat in my car. Having parked in the far corner of a barely-lit cul-de-sac, our presence was shielded by the shadows as Mac pressed tight into my side, his head resting on my chest as I held him close. I whispered soft sounds of comfort as his sobs subsided. I was getting a headache, a comedown from the adrenaline rush of moments before. Lifting his head and sniffing deeply, the beautiful and fragile boy spoke in a subdued voice.

“Thank you.”

“That's ok. I....” What?

“Yeah, I know.”

I breathed a sign of relief. Some things just didn't need to be said.

“Come on, you'd better get inside.”

Mac looked across the street at the semi-detached house that he called home. The image seemed familiar as I had grown up on such a street, somewhere several miles away and too many years ago. The neatly-trimmed lawn, lace-curtained windows, even the porch light and the numbers carved into the slate signage next to the white-glossed door. A picture of middle-class conformity.

Perhaps we weren't so different after all. I knew about the need to rebel, to break free of the formal restrictions of “the right way to behave”. My own adventures had taken me to strange and exciting places but there had also been too many times that I would probably regret if only I allowed myself to remember them enough. I kissed the boy lightly on the forehead and he smiled wanly in response.

“What now?” he asked.

Yes, what now. All my hopes, my dreams, my fantasies for what could happen between us flashed through my awareness. I saw potential futures and understood what they meant for us both. I felt his vulnerability, that tender part of him so deep inside and I wanted to hold it safe forever, to protect him from harm and to hold his hand as he journeyed through life. I knew what could be and what should be and with this in mind, I answered.

“Now? You go in, do some homework, watch some telly. Put tonight behind you but don't forget how things could have turned out. Random sex can be exciting but that's nothing compared to how it feels when you find that special someone and share each other's bodies and souls. When the time is right, he'll come along and you'll wonder how you ever made do with anything else. Until then, there's always your right hand!”

He blushed and grinned, squeezing me tight. I ruffled his hair and he turned to face me, leaning in for a tender kiss. Our lips met and I felt genuine affection from him. Even after all we'd been through, he could still surprise me. Then we parted and I reached over to open his door. A backwards glance, a grateful smile and he was gone.

Two months have passed since that night and I never saw him again, although I often thought about him with fondness. I would sometimes pop into the toilets around that meaningful time of night but he was never there and although I still retained some disappointment, I was overwhelmingly relieved. Once or twice I stumbled upon expectant thrill-seekers but I never stayed to join in.

Looking in the mirror, I see a different guy looking back. There's more life in me now and I owe that to him. I think I've finally found that perfect mix of personal fulfilment and expectant duty. But more to the point, I like myself again. As I smooth down my shirt and check my hair one last time, I grin and head out to the bar. Time to get back on the horse.


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If you liked this (and thank you if you did!), then why not check out the other things I've written:

Healing Broken Hearts (a serial story – half of it is published and I'm almost ready to offer up the rest):
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/healing-broken-hearts/

Coming Home to Charlie (a short story about love and loss):
http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/young-friends/coming-home-to-charlie