Leaving The Scene
by David Heulfryn

 

The half-drunk pint of bitter which sat in front of me grew warmer from neglect as I stared at the old and scratched dark wood table. Sitting on a hard bench under the window, I managed to block out the din of the crowd and the constant chattering of my two mates flanking me. The table in front of us, we were able to watch the room. Well, they did; I just sat curled over, my eyes fixed on my glass thinking about something I could not tell my mates.

Ow! I felt a jab in the ribs. Raising my head, I saw Rob was looking at me with his crooked smile; he thought it made him look enigmatic, but I thought he looked like he was having a seizure. I smiled back, not knowing what he wanted. Had he spoken to me? I was not listening to them and their usual bluff about who they fancied that particular hour. When single queers congregate the talk will inevitably turn facile and sexual, well it does when us three single queers get together. Not wanting to keep the uncomfortable eye contact, I glanced ahead of me and saw a young man propping up the bar. His right arm rested on the branded towel set down to soak up the overflow from the glass when the barman placed the full glass down, his right leg on the foot rail caused his hips to point into the room. My eyes fell on his firm backside, the taut fabric of his pale blue trousers trailing down into his crack and looked in danger of splitting should he make any sudden moves. He flicked his sandy fringe from his eyes, flirting with the barman and killing time until someone came over to flirt with him. On another day, I may have thought it fun to go over and tease him, never even contemplating taking him home.

“Chris! I said it’s your round.” Rob said. “And leave that little prick-tease alone.”

Protesting, somewhat a little too much that I was ogling the young chicken at the bar; I got to my feet and squeezed passed Rob. He had a knack of positioning himself so that people had to brush by him, and I noticed his eyes followed my crotch until I turned and made for the bar.

I knew it was going to be one of those nights, Rob and Steve making a complete arse of themselves by drinking too much and hitting on any or every bloke they saw. I had forgotten why I had agreed to come out with them, I suppose it was out of habit, and I was trying to distract myself from my imminent thirtieth birthday. For the past fortnight, the prospect of turning thirty was really getting to me. I had never really thought about it before, but suddenly I seemed to be examining every part of my life and dissecting it until only the parts I hated were left.

‘Two pints of lager and a pint of bitter’ seemed to be my only social life. I don’t see my other friends these days often, what with moving around and changing jobs we seemed to have drifted apart, geographically speaking. Although when we do get together, we tend to have a great time; I suppose it’s because we’re not out chasing cock and bum. These days I’m only left with these two, Rob and Steve, trying to get their ends away each weekend and not caring with whom. Quite why they didn’t just fuck each other every weekend and save themselves several quid and a bad hangover was beyond me.

A few years ago, I thought I could leave those days behind as I had settled down with a cute bloke, but after a year of good times and great sex, it just fizzled. I wanted to settle, and he wanted the world to notice him. So we went our separate ways. We still bump into each other occasionally in the clubs, but all I see now is a sad thirty-something trying to cling onto his youth and looks, tarting it with the young lads and lapping up any attention he gets. We sometimes speak, but it’s never anything more than a polite greeting.

When you just stand at the bar, not looking at anything, in particular, you will never get served. As I waited, people had sneaked in front of me and went away clutching their sweaty glasses of drinks. The young chicken noticed me just standing at the bar and sidled his way over.

“Hi.”

I looked at him, smiling at me. Why couldn’t he just fuck off and leave me alone? “Hi,” I said through gritted teeth and almost barked at the barman as he came over. “Two pints of lager and a pint of bitter.”

The barman clanked the glasses and began to pump the lager as the young man felt my irritation and sloped away to ensnare another unsuspecting bloke trying to get served.

Carrying the three pints back to our table, gripped in the standard triangular formation, I watched Rob and Steve talking to each other. I knew how this night would end. In a few hours, we would go to our usual club, dance, flirt and drink. As I watched them talking, I imagined Rob on his knees, sucking an anonymous cock that he’d picked up at a club and Steve, bent double, his arse cheeks splayed as another anonymous cock was thrust into him. They loved it, Friday and Saturday night always meant sex; I can’t remember a single weekend when they didn’t get off with someone, even if it was a quick blow job in the club toilets. And the following day I would hear all about it in the most excruciating detail.

I placed the drinks on the table. Rob scooted over to allow me to sit on the end of the bench as they reached for their lagers, never breaking off from their conversation. I sat and picked up my fresh pint, listening to them. They were going over old ground as Steve relived the time he took a bloke home for a fuck only to find he couldn’t get it up from too much drink. The evening ended with the relative disappointment of the poor bloke sucking off Steve with two fingers stuffed up his arse. I realised now why I wasn’t listening to them earlier. Every conversation seemed to be a rehash of one that went before, the endless repeats of their glorious triumphs and their dreary disappointments. Of course, none of the failures was down to them.

Now, out on a limb, I could shut them off again to concentrate on the beads on condensation meandering down my glass. A glance at my watch told me it was nearly half-past nine. After this drink, they would move on, and if I didn’t do something soon, I would be caught up in their wake and follow to the club. They would cop off with blokes and, seeing me alone, would arrange for some sad, unfortunate loner to come over and offer me what was in effect a mercy fuck.

So I began to work on my exit strategy. I drank my pint quicker than usual before getting their attention.

“Hey, guys.” It took several calls and a nudge on Rob’s shoulder before they shut up and looked at me. “I think I’m going to give the club a miss tonight.”

“Why, what’s up with you. Not got the stamina like us?” Steve badgered.

There’s nothing like a fake illness to get you out of anything you don’t want to do. So I explained I wasn’t feeling myself, eliciting much guffawing from Rob and Steve, and I had a splitting headache.

And that was that they accepted it and let me slip away quietly. I suppose they just didn’t want to carry the lame with them on their latest sexual expedition.

 

It was still early, so I rode the bus across the city to my apartment. I could have walked, but I was feeling lazy. Alighting, only a few steps from my apartment block, I had the lobby key already in my hand. As I pushed the Yale key home, I realised I had become the cliché of the single gay man living in a city apartment close to the pubs and clubs, a space where I could bring a fuck home and still go back out to find another.

I lived on the second floor and always found it quicker to climb to two flights of stairs than waiting for the small wheezing lift. Leading off each landing were three apartments. On my landing lived a single woman and a middle-aged man whom I very rarely saw.

As I climbed the stairs to my landing, I noticed a man, sitting on a holdall by the young woman’s door, staring at his feet.

My soft-soled shoes concealed my approach, and I instinctively approached my door before turning.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

The man looked up at me through his brown fringe. I stared through the wisps of hair at his deep green eyes, waiting for his answer.

“Yes, my sister lives here, and I’m just waiting for her to get back.”

“Did someone let you in?” Only residents had keys to the front lobby door.

“Sort of. I just snuck in when someone left. They never said anything. I did buzz Karen, but there was no answer.”

Karen, that was her name, ever since I saw him waiting by her door, I was racking my brains to remember her name. She was blonde and slight, nothing like this man. He was still sitting on his bag, but he looked tall and well built with broad shoulders; the rugby type and the sort of bloke I would tend to avoid if I met them on a night out. They intimidated me and made my small frame feel vulnerable. He could only have been in his mid-twenties, and he looked handsome, having lost any trace of boyish looks along time ago. I still looked quite boyish at his age, and I grew envious of the man in front of me, his masculine face and his lean body with its relaxed yet confident posture.

His eyes looked strangely at mine. I had been silent and still too long. He was waiting for me to go into my apartment so he could continue his quiet vigil until his Sister returned.

Turning my back to him, I opened my apartment door fully intending to leave him alone, but I suddenly did not feel like being alone just yet. I would only sit and drink that bottle of wine I kept in the kitchen, waking up the following morning with a terrible hangover and not even a good night out to blame it on.

“Look, it’s still early. She won’t be back for hours. And it can’t be comfortable down there.” I was gathering the courage to ask him in.

“It’s ok. I’ve been here for three hours already.”

“Why don’t you come in with me, you’ll be more comfortable. We’ll hear her when she comes in.” I smiled at him, and we shared my implicit joke that she was a noisy neighbour.

“Why the hell not.” He said and jumped to his feet, startling me.

He was indeed tall, a good foot taller than me and as he approached me, I shyly curled up and walked into my apartment. He followed, throwing his bag in my tiny hallway by the front door.

Walking into my living room, he confidently sat down while I took off my coat and went through to the kitchen.

“I’m opening a bottle of red wine. D’ya fancy a glass?” I shouted through.

“Sure.”

Carrying the two full glasses back with me, I sat down on the sofa next to the chair he chose. I flicked on the television to break the silence.

I noticed him watching me while I took two nervous sips from my glass, my eyes on the television screen. He did not speak, just kept his eyes on me, waiting for me to overcome whatever schoolboy feeling prevented me from having a normal conversation.

“So, why…” A bad start so I quickly changed tack. “How often do you come and visit your Sister, I’ve not seen you around before.”

“First time since she moved away. I’ve not really visited. Although she does come back home quite often to visit the family.”

“Where’s home?”

“Northampton.”

“So you’re not too far away then.”

“No.”

“Why the visit today, something special?”

“She doesn’t know I’m here.”

I had assumed as much. If you come to a strange city to visit your Sister and end up waiting upwards of three hours at her apartment, then she’s either very absent-minded, or you have turned up unannounced. I was desperate to find out why he came all this way on the hope of finding her in, and he knew it. I must have looked like a dog drooling as he waited for his dinner.

I pried, and his explanation was brief.

I imagined the moment he stormed off to the bedroom, grabbed his holdall from the wardrobe and threw a selection of clothes into it before stomping back down the stairs and slamming the door behind him. All the time, hearing protests and sobs from his partner. He wouldn’t say what it was about so I left it and we sat quietly for a moment, his eyes watching the television and my eyes looking at his crotch.

After years of cruising men in pubs and clubs, I just suppose that it has become a habit that I check out the crotch. His was yielding very little as he wore black jeans whose fabric was now gathered around the crotch. As my mind filled in what I wanted it to look like, mentally peeling away the layers and the unseen underwear to view what was underneath, I realised that I had no idea what his name was. When I did this in the clubs, it didn’t matter that I didn’t know what to call them. But here, in my home, it felt different, and I should have at least asked out of courtesy before mentally undressing him.

Ben. He looked like a Ben; big and bold with large hands and wide hips.

I couldn’t have been very discrete in my looking as he soon shuffled over to me. I felt his hand on my thigh, gently rubbing. I had come home to avoid this sort of thing; the quick shag and an even quicker goodbye. My dick went rigid from his touch.

     I felt Ben’s hand move to my crotch, feeling my hardness. My head turned, and we kissed, Ben, taking control and thrusting his tongue into my mouth.

“Where’s the bedroom?” He said as he broke the kiss.

I nodded in the direction of a door, and he grabbed my hand and pulled me up, leading me through the door, down the small hallway and into my bedroom. Wincing, I noticed that I had forgotten to make my bed that morning, and my dirty discarded clothes were lying in a heap by my dirty linen basket. I hoped he wouldn’t notice my underwear on top of the pile.

He pushed me to the bed and stood over me, slowly undressing. I watched as he unbuttoned his checked shirt, pulled it from the waistband of his jeans and let it drop from his arms to the floor. His chest was hard but not too muscled, you could have banged a drum on that chest, and I wanted to beat out a rhythm. There were no firm pecs or a six-pack, but it was lean and furry; the brown hair spreading across his chest and down to his flat stomach which betrayed a slight fatness that I guessed was due to drinking.

Kicking off his trainers, he unbuckled his belt and the button on his jeans. I watched as the first glimpse of his grey underwear came into view, and I expected his hands to fumble with the buttons on his fly, but he just flicked his fly, and the buttons popped. I wondered why I never got the hang of that. Whenever I had encountered them, everything had to stop while I concentrated on the buttons. I now felt such a pillock and thought how stupid I must have looked to those men. Ben had mastered the quick flick, and the fly opened, and I now realised why they existed. In one firm motion, the fly was open, and it was so much sexier than mechanically lowering a zip. Tomorrow, I knew I would buy myself a pair and spend hours in front of the mirror, mastering the technique. But tonight I just wanted to see the goods shielded behind the tented grey trunks.

Leaning forward, my arm outstretched, I tried to reach him, to touch him, but he pushed me back. All I could do was watch as his thumbs hooked under the waistband of his trunks and slowly pushed them down. I caught my first glimpse of his patch of rich brown pubes. They seemed to be merely an extension of the hair that ran from his chest and down his belly. Then the thick base of his cock came into view. As he drew his underwear lower and freed his cock it became shielded by his body as he bent down to step out of them. Straightening, his hard cock was slowly revealed to me, its eye poking from the foreskin to look at me.

Ben knelt on the bed, his legs straddling mine and shuffled forward. His cock bobbed with each move as I watched it come closer; licking my lips to ready my mouth for him, to taste him and to please him.

He brought his cock to my lips, and I kissed the moist tip before sucking his bulbous end into my mouth, my lips retracting his foreskin. My hands caressed his hips and slid through the light hair that covered his arse cheeks. As my fingers teased their way into his crack to search out his hole, I felt the hair thicken before the clearing where his hole twitched, waiting for my finger. It slid in easily, no doubt my finger was nothing compared to the thick and throbbing cocks that he’d already had up there.

I sucked his cock hard as it touched every part of my mouth, one hand played with his arse while the other felt his loose and heavy furry balls. Bringing him close to orgasm, his breathing began to staccato as he slowly pulled his hips back, and his hard cock withdrew from between my lips.

Sitting on my hips, I could feel my hard cock push against my trousers in an attempt to bore into him. Ben ground his hips down, rubbing my cock through the fabric with his naked arse. His hands began to unbutton my shirt, then he slid further down onto my legs to unfasten my trousers. I leant forward and struggled to free my arms before throwing my shirt to the floor. Ben raised himself onto his knees and pulled my trousers and briefs down together, releasing my hard cock.

He slipped off the end of the bed to stand, my trousers and pants gathered around my ankles. Yanking my shoes off, he let my trousers and pants slide to the floor before removing my socks.

I felt puny and immature as his eyes looked at my white skin. Only a small, sparse patch of hair was on my chest and a small thicket of pubes at the base of my cock. If my skin did not show the scars of time, sagging and slightly wrinkled as it grew older, I could have looked like a sixteen-year-old; immature, fresh and eager for a first fuck.

Ben gripped my rigid cock with his hand and roughly tugged it before disappearing from my sight. I leant forward to see him rummaging through the pockets in his jeans. Holding a small packet, he stood up.

He was going to fuck me but wanted to tease me further. He straddled me again and placed the tip of his wilting cock on my lips. I took him back into my mouth, and his dick hardened. Slowly withdrawing it again, I watched as he ripped the packet open. Holding the rim of the condom with one hand, his other stroked his dick a few times. I watched as his hand stopped stroking, pulling the foreskin over his knob. He pinched the skin together with his fingers as he brought the rubber ring down, releasing his foreskin and trapping it in the teat which he pinched tight.

His hand encircled his dick, gripping the rubber and rolled it down his knob until it hooked behind his ridge. He released the teat, and his foreskin, and rolled the rubber down his shaft to its base. My eyes watched as his foreskin slid from within the teat so that I could just see his tip poking through.

Sliding back down my body, he flipped me over and gave my buttocks a couple of firm whacks. Hearing him spit, I felt the cool fluid drip onto my crack and then the soft touch of his hand as he rubbed it around by hole; inserting two fingers into me, he opened me up.

I heard more spitting as he mechanically prepared me for his cock; if it were not for the anticipation of him thrusting his dick inside me, I would not have enjoyed his touch. Then I gasped as I felt the coolness of his spit and the rubber covered cock touch my hole. He thrust forward and ploughed his entire dick inside me. Being a seasoned bottom, I readily accepted his dick.

Then the humping began. I lay flat on my front, my face turned to look at the wall while Ben carried his weight on his arms. My legs were open to give him better access; our only contact was his groin to my arse. He went deep inside me, teasing my prostate and causing my dick to twitch with each thrust.

Ben was fit and displayed his stamina as he pounded my arse. The only sense of exertion I got from him was his breathing and the occasional bead of sweat which fell from his face and on to my back.

I grunted with each thrust as my dick grew sensitive and twitched beneath me, rubbing between my belly and the bed. My orgasm got closer, and I couldn’t hold it back. My dick throbbed and spewed cum between the mattress and me. My arse clamped down harder on Ben’s dick as he continued his fuck, unfazed by my orgasm. As it subsided, I lay still, my muscles relaxed as Ben fucked me even harder.

Ben kept on fucking me, but as the elation of my orgasm subsided, I grew uncomfortable and eager for Ben to finish his workout. A few moments later, I heard the signs as he slowed down his thrusts and his breathing got heavier. A couple of firm, hard thrusts deep inside me, and he kept his dick still. I could feel it throb against my hole and I imagined his dick spewing its cum into the teat, trapping it and overflowing to smear itself down his shaft.

After his orgasm subsided, he slowly withdrew his hard cock and flipped me onto my back. Again he straddled me and brought his hard cock closer to my lips. I watched the hard, cum-soaked, condom encased cock get closer. Inches from my lips, he slipped the condom from his dick and tossed it to the floor. His dick was red and angry from the hard fuck and the confines of the rubber, the entire shaft coated with his cum. He brought his dick closer, and I opened for him, licking the head clean before sucking down the shaft and swallowing the last remnants of cum. Ben groaned, the head obviously too sensitive for him, and I felt his dick wilt as I cleaned him.

He withdrew his limp dick from my mouth and fell next to me. I looked at him, his entire body coated with sweat. I curled up beside him.

Later, his movement woke me, and I silently watched him dress and leave. No farewell, no last glance back at me.

 

 

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