1—The Next Morning.

The radio clicks into life and fills the bedroom with a bright pop song, as an upbeat voice informs me that it’s a chilly September morning.

I bury myself further under the duvet, covering my head with it. You roll further away from me, leaving an even wider space between us. I shouldn’t have stayed here last night, that was the wrong choice but I made it. The mattress moves. I’ve never noticed it before; we always got out of bed together. Even with my head under the duvet I can hear what you are doing. The scuffling sounds as you clear away the evidence of last night’s sex, the sound of the bathroom door closing, followed by the sound of the shower running. Now I quickly move. I jump out the bed and struggle into my clothes. I can’t remember how long it usually takes you to shower, so panic takes over as I rush into your living room to collect my coat, but I stop. There on the table is a paper and pen. I leave you a hurried note.

“I don’t want to see you, think we’ve said too much.

This is the only way I can do it.

You see I still love you—God help me.”

Pulling on my coat I turn towards the door. It takes a moment to unlock it, an unnervingly long moment, then and I’m outside. I run down the two flights of stairs on the balls of my feet. I don’t want another soul in this building to hear me. Once I’m through the building’s front door I run, like the devil himself is upon my back, down your street and towards the train station.

I don’t want to think of anything accept the physical process of running, yet the memories of last night run through my mind. My pounding feet won’t drive them away, won’t leave my mind empty.

How passionate, almost forceful you were during lovemaking, the night before. As always we had undressed on either side of your bed. I had worn my baggy, white briefs, while you wore a faded pair of black boxer shorts. The evening had not been especially romantic, a take-away meal eaten in your sitting room then watching television together, so the sudden passion with which you pounced upon me almost took my breath away. Once we were naked and under your sheets you pressed your body on top of mine, your hard cock rubbing against mine, as you kissed me and filled my mouth with your exploring tongue. The suddenness of your passion was so exciting, driving my cock into a full and tight erection. We pushed against each other, I was enjoying this new roughness, but soon you me rolled onto my side. Behind me, you pulled on a condom and surprisingly quickly pushed your lubricated fingers up my arse. This was soon followed by your hard cock entering me, I was so excited that it was unusually easy for you to enter me. You fucked me hard and fast; pounding into me with a passion I had never felt in you before (you had always been so slow and gentle). Your fast pounding away at my arse was heating me, heating up my buttocks and groin. The sudden passion of it all almost swept me away, but it was over with so quickly. You spasmed sharply, gripping my hips and growling into my ear as you came. You then rolled onto your back, pulling your cock out of my arse, your passion spent. I was left to wank myself to orgasm, to relieve my pent-up frustration, but the afterglow of our passion soon pushed me over the edge.

Then you held me. You stroked my hair, my head resting on your chest, lying there together. You began to talk. You told me that you knew I am the one most involved in this relationship. But I know this. Then you said you wanted to call an end to our relationship. I wanted to cry, to scream and shout it wasn’t fair that I love you; but I didn’t. Instead I lay there listening to you telling me the way you felt, I didn’t want to understand you but I did. When you wanted to sleep you rolled back throwing one arm over me and drifted off to sleep. It seemed to come easy to you. I waited until I was sure you were asleep before I climbed out of the bed and went into your living room were I finally cried, silently. When I returned to bed, I made sure there was as much space as possible between us.

I stop running as I reach the train station, my bus stop is there, and start to walk. I must catch this bus, I’m due in work this morning and as always I don’t want to be late. Then I collide with a woman, in a thick brown overcoat. I wasn’t watching anything around me, just getting away from you.

“Look where you’re going, can’t you?”

The anger is there in her voice.

“Why?”

She doesn’t answer me; she looks away with an embarrassed expression on her face before quickly walking away.

I touch my face and find that I’m crying.

 

2—One Day Later

One of those unexpected lulls has occurred at work. I’m left alone in our office. I can sit and read my newspaper, but I don’t. Instead, I just watch the telephone. We’re not allowed to make personal telephone calls but, as you know, all of us here have broken that. I quickly close the door. Before anyone can return, I pick up the telephone and dial.

I don’t have to think about your work telephone number, it is almost second nature. It rings three times before a female voice answers:

“Hello FF&S, can I help you?”

I take a quick breath before replying.

“Can I have extension 510?”

“Please hold caller while I put you through.”

The telephone is silent for several moments as my anticipation rises. I rub the palms of my hands together, rubbing away the nerves twitching away at me.

A metallic click then your voice comes onto the line.

“Hello Computer Admin’ here.”

Your voice sounds as fresh as ever...

“Hello, Computer Admin’ here.”

…causing a thrill of excitement within of me, bringing a thrill to my groin...

“Hello, hello!”

...I don’t make a sound, not even breathe to give away that it is me on the other end of the line. Instead, I just listen to your voice, as I feel my cock rapidly pushing into erection, inside my underwear...

“Look this isn’t funny.”

…the palms of my hands are twitching, my face cold and clammy, my cock fully erect in seconds and leaking sticky pre-cum into my underwear...

“All right I’m hanging up now!”

The telephone clicks dead in my ear. My hard cock throbs inside my underwear.

I let out a heavy sigh and return the telephone to its cradle. I am left with a very hard cock pushing uncomfortably at my underwear and a deep feeling of frustration. I want you so much...

 

3—One Week Later.

The cold night air has finally penetrated through the last layer of my clothing to chill my flesh. I’ve been standing here for hours and the cold has now become painful. The light is still on in your bedroom, now the only light in your flat (In my mind I can see you climbing naked between your sheets, your smooth chest with just a few hairs around your nipples and your long cock crowned by thick, dark pubic hair). I can clearly see your flat because I’m on the opposite side of the road.

I guess this is childish, stupid. I had come here on an impulse; but you caused it. Your letter was waiting for me when I returned home from work tonight. There had been a leaving party at work. I had gone along but had not wanted to drink or get drunk. I knew the letter was from you, the moment I saw your handwriting on the envelope. As soon as I saw it I grabbed it, and shut myself away in my room to read it. But what you told me didn’t make sense. You talked about how once something is finished, about clean breaks, being adult about “our little affair”, asking me over and over to forgive you for hurting me—but there’s nothing to forgive because I still love.

So I left my home and came straight here. The evening traffic was heavy, two buses passed me without stopping they were so full, therefore it took me much longer to reach here then usual. When I did, I didn’t know what I wanted to do. On the bus I had planned what I would do, I would call at your flat and we would discuss your letter, how we honestly feel about each other, then you would see how strong my love is, we would fall into each other’s arms and talk about our future together. Except, when I reached here my courage simply left me. All I could do was watch your flat from across the road.

I glance up and see your bedroom light going out. Driven by cold and hunger I quit, turn and finally go home.

 

4—One Month Later.

My bus is late, same as every morning this week, and I’m bored with waiting. Fortunately, the frost is no longer covering the ground but the air still is cold. My hands are dug deep into my coat pockets and occasionally I stamp my feet as the cold reaches my toes.

There is a crowd of people around the bus stop. I imagine there will be a rush forward when this bus finally arrives. At this pace I’ll be late for work, again and I try not to worry about this but fail.

A woman, behind me, is complaining very loudly to her companion about the buses. I don’t want to listen, but I can’t ignore her because her voice carries so far. I sigh angrily to myself and look in desperation down the road searching for my bus. My whole body aches with the cold. Then I stop myself.

It has to be you, walking on the opposite side of the road. Thick, black overcoat. Briefcase held in the right hand. Sharply folded newspaper held in the left hand. Black hair neatly brushed into a side parting. The only splash of colour is a red scarf folded snugly at the neck. It has to be you, and something leaps up into my throat. My hands clench into fists and my eyes follow you like a gun’s target. My heart beats fast with the sound of thunder in my ears. Watching you makes all those feelings I have for you come rushing back. I want to run across the road, throw my arms around you and hold you close to me. To feel your warm breath on my neck, your hands on my back and our faces pressed together. I want sex with you, your body pushing me down onto the bed and your voice whispering, begging me to “please let me fuck you.” I open my lips, I want to shout your name, but don’t. Something inside stops me. Then the figure turns to look back over his shoulder and I see it’s not you. This man has a large and drooping moustache, not your clean-shaven face. Now I want to cry with frustration. But again that something inside holds me back, but an overwhelming sense of disappointment does fill my mind.

The crowd of people round me moves forward as the bus arrives.

 

5—Two Months Later.

The only light in the room is a yellow glow from the streetlight outside the window. The only sound is the heavy breathing, not quite snoring, of the man lying in bed next to me. The only movement is mine, fidgeting as sleep doesn’t come to me.

I lightly touch his body. I run my finger across his flat stomach, feeling the warmth of his flesh. My hand then moves up his body, over his hairless chest, stopping over his heart, feeling its beating. My finger then traces patterns around his deep pink nipples. He stares in his sleep and I whisper, as if to reassure him, but in mistake I whisper your name. I stop, frozen as embarrassment flushes my face, but he stays asleep.

This sleeper isn’t like you. He is blonde and soundly asleep. He doesn’t grunt and talk in his sleep the way you do...did...do.

He rolls over in his sleep, pressing his body against mine. His body is as warm as yours, his breath as moist as yours, but he isn’t you. We had sex over an hour ago that was fast and very urgent.

Hardly had the door of his flat closed behind us then he pinned me against the wall and kissed me hard, not only his mouth pressed against mine but his whole body. Soon, seemingly intoxicated on our own lust, we into his bedroom, at the same time trying to remove each other’s shirts. With the same urgency and lust we hurriedly pulled at each others’ clothing, though life is not a porno video and we found ourselves tripping over our own clothes—I actually fell over trying to pull my trousers off. When he pulled off his underwear I actually paused at the sight of his long and fully hard cock, it actually bounced upwards as he pulled his underwear down. His cock, though not thick, was certainly very long, crowned off by a circumcised red head and at the base hung very large and round bollocks. All topped off by long and blonde pubic hair. Almost on instinct I bent forward and slipped my mouth over the head of it. I was not able to take much of him down my throat (you taught me well though I’m still not very experienced, yet) but I was able to suck hard on the head of his cock, the sharp taste of his pre-cum on my tongue. He groaned loudly and gripped both sides of my face. It was so exciting that my own cock was so hard it actually ached. I was only able to suck on his cock for a few short strokes before he pushed me back onto his bed and jumped on top of me. Once naked we rolled together on his bed, kissing and licking each other’s bodies (he actually licked my armpit and I found myself enjoying it). Soon, though, he was turning me over onto all fours and pushing a lubricated finger into my arse, and then two fingers, and then three; opening me up. When he fucked me it was with full and long strokes. He pushed his cock all the way in and then pulled it almost all the way out. Over and over he did this and with each stroke built up the pressure pushing just behind my bollocks. I dropped my head forward and just enjoyed the sheer pleasure from being fucked, once more. When I came, almost without warning, that pressure seemed to actually push the come out of me (I had never come like this before, not like the slow friction and heat as with you). Once I had came he continued to fuck me, and strangely I enjoyed it too. I just knelt there not moving and actually enjoyed the physical pleasures of just being fucked, the pleasures solely coming from my arse. When he came all he did was fall forward and gasp into the back of my neck, as he suddenly stopped moving—no shuddering or crying out with him.

Afterwards we lay side-by-side in his bed, a space between us, in silence.

I feel his cock growing, pressing and rubbing against my own, making my own grow, his hand begins to stroke my thigh and slowly moves towards my cock. His eyes are closed but I know he’s awake now and it seems he wants to play again. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even open his eyes, just uses his body to tell me what he wants. Slowly and rhythmically rubbing his own hard cock against my thigh and smearing his pre-cum over my skin. Even his seduction is different to yours.

This is just a one-night-stand, no more. Both of us know this, though neither of us has spoken about it. In the morning, there will be an embarrassed good-bye and awkward comments about seeing the other “around”. But I’m glad it’ll end this way because he’s not what I want. I’ve only had one-night-stands, only two, since we parted but I can’t find a man who makes me feel the way you did.

He holds me down onto the bed taking the lead again in our wordless sex...

 

6—Three Months Later.

The atmosphere in here is strong. Smoke, alcohol, sweat and sex all mix together in the air. I want to find a blast of clear air, find the air-conditioner. Instead, I just look around myself at the crowd. I feel uncomfortable and out of place here.

This is Scott and Keith’s idea. A night out at their favourite club, they said, would do me the “world of good”. I had heard their reasons several times before but tonight I changed my mind and agreed to come along. I guess their regular invitations and insistence worn me down and I finally agreed.

This club is in two large rooms, a bar and a dance floor. I’ve left Scott and Keith at the bar. They seem pleased that I’ve gone off on my own.

It’s full of hot and sweaty men. I cradle my drink and look around myself. I just watch the display of men dancing, varying styles of dancing.

A red haired man, in baggy jeans and no tee shirt, his smooth and hairless chest shows off a fine definition of muscles, dancing by himself, catches my eye. In one brief moment, he checks me over, his eyes scanning over my head and the ribbed tee shirt covering my chest, before dismissing me and turning his back.

I look down into my drink. I feel stupid, waves of it washing over me. What did I expect, someone ready to throw himself at my feet.

Someone bumps into me causing me to look up, seeing you, dancing. Dancing closely with a thin young man. Your hands are roaming all over his back and buttocks, pressing him close into your body, actually caressing the curve of his buttocks. Your head is forward and it looks as if you’re whispering something to him, breathing on his neck. Your groin rhythmically moving back and forth over his. All the while the two of you keep time with the music. I don’t move. I don’t want you to see me here. I just want to watch. What do you see in him? He’s so thin. His lank hair is so lifeless, it just hangs there, desperately in need of washing. His clothes are worn, hanging off his frame, and his ear is full of cheap earrings. He looks cheap. I can find half a dozen like him in any club, but you are pouring yourself all over him. You make me feel embarrassed and jealous. Jealous because you are here with someone while I’m still on my own. How can you find a lover before me when you were the one who broke-up our relationship.

You look up from him and almost straight at me. But you don’t see me. You don’t show the slightest glint of recognition. The darkness must be hiding me. Then your attention turns back to him. You kiss his neck, slowly and lingeringly. It is too erotic to watch. I have to turn away. I want a man to be doing that to my flesh, far too much. I want to feel another man’s breath on my skin, his tongue brushing over my neck, his kisses lingering a moment too long on my check, his attention sending shivers of excitement down to my very cock. I want you to…

I leave to find Scott and Keith. I’ll tell them I’m going home, that I’m tired, it has been a long day. I’ve had enough of this place.

 

7—Six Months Later.

I’m making this cup of coffee last as long as I am able to. The time is dragging slowly on my hands, as it always does when I have to wait for someone or something. I’m not good at waiting, not through impatience but because of fear of being abandoned. Fear that the other person will not turn up or that whatever I’m waiting for will not happen.

I’ve been sitting here, in this Soho coffee shop, for nearly thirty minutes now just waiting. My manager at work told me, in her usual brisk manner, that I needed to take my remaining week of annual leave by the end of the month. So I took it, but being so short of money I have had to stay here in London, not even a small hope of a holiday. Today is the second day of my listless week of annual leave.

We have agreed to meet here today, a shared drink of coffee and then onto see a film in one of Soho’s few independent cinemas—a film of two male lovers who take a road trip across America together. Today is the first day he can meet me during the day, he’s working the weekend. Only he’s late and now I’m imaging scenario upon scenario, all of which involved him not arriving. Even though he has been late before.

It was his idea to meet here, it is the first time I have been to this coffee shop. The walls have prints of famous cinema posters, all tastefully framed. The furniture is all chrome and black leather. There are grey blinds at the windows, rolled halfway down. The staff, two strikingly handsome men, are very friendly and ready to help, even slightly flirtatious in an attentive way. They don’t seem to be concerned about how long I’ve been here already.

“Hi, been waiting long?”

I look up to see him standing next to my table, his face beaming a broad and welcoming smile, his hand resting on the back of the chair opposite to me.

“No, only just got here,” I say and smile back at him.

“Good,” he replies and sits down on the chair.

As he orders a coffee from the dirty blonde waiter I just sit there and watch him. His neat black hair, worn in a side parting on the left, with a few flecks of grey within it. His oval face is dominated by his big and bright green eyes, which seem to sparkle with the very emotions he’s feeling, and his long and distinguished nose, the type of nose that was once called commanding. His slim mouth, hiding small but even white teeth. His large hands resting upon the table, twitching slightly because he has recently given up smoking and still craves a cigarette. His large hands are in proportion to his tall and lean body, standing easily head and shoulders above me. Kissing with him when standing is an art within itself, always involving my neck cricked backwards.

We only met three weeks ago and since then our relationship has rushed along with an almost break-neck speed. Sex is always high upon our menu. That first night we ended up in bed together. With his average lengthed, but more then pleasantly thick cock, he fucked me. Since then, every single time we have met has involved sex. Neither of us can seem to hold back, I am always anxious to see him.

We always seem to fuck, occasionally we will suck each other’s cocks or casually wank each other off but always only as a prelude to us fucking. He likes me to lie on my back, my feet resting on his shoulders or wrapped around his back, as he parts my buttocks and pumps his cock into me. He fucks me with short and pounding thrusts, his cock seems to pump with the speed of an engine. Surprisingly, I love it. The fraction and heat he generates in my arse is always exciting and always pushes me on towards coming.

Suddenly I’m having regular and fulfilling sex and suddenly I feel revitalised, happy and full of energy.

He’s finished ordering and looks back at me.

“Penny for them,” he says.

“Nothing,” I reply.

He leans forward, a mischievous smile sliding across his face, “you’re thinking about me fucking you, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I whisper back as I feel my face flush with embracement.

“We can skip the film and go back to my place and fuck, if you want.”

The offer is tempting, a shiver of excitement pulls my bollocks upwards and making my cock twitch inside my briefs, but also I know he wants to see this film.

“Lets see the film and then we can spend the evening fucking,” I reply.

“Sounds good to me.”

“You’re not working tomorrow, are you?”

“No.”

“Then we can spend all day fucking.”

“Sounds even better.”

He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand within his own, large hand.

“I love you, you’re as fucking randy as me,” he says.

“Thanks…”

Some, unkindly I feel, have compared him to you. They have said he even looks like you, that you and him share the same similarities in looks but I am attracted to tall, dark haired handsome men. You and him may have a similar sense of humour but that sense of humour fits well with my own. I have not sort out a carbon copy of you, as some have said.

Two nights ago, as he fucked me, his cock pumping away at my arse, my own hard cock in my hand, I thought of you. I thought of how you would fuck me, with your long and smooth strokes, and then I came. This is not the first time this has happened.

He smiles at me, his large hand still enfolded around my own hand, and I smiled back at him.

(I thought I had crawled out of that valley, that valley of all my feelings for you, I really thought I had…)

 

© 2006 Drew Payne - Contributor's Bio