There are a few nice people and then there are the pricks. He was a nasty little prick. I had to spit those words out of my head, because I felt like hitting him. Mister fucking perfect, with his throw away, put down smirk. I bit my tongue, said nothing and walked away. That was then, the beginning of term, I was out of that clique before I got a chance to fit in. It made me angry, but I turned and walked away, pretending it was nothing. My hands were by my side, clenched into tight balls, almost tight enough that it hurt.
I slipped into a group of friends of another type. If you were to label the different little factions, I guess we were the anti. Alternatives sounds too positive to describe our little band. Negative, anti-sport, anti-study, anti-gay. The guys with something wrong, the misfits that joined together to hide their own problems.
My problem, and yes, it was a problem, was all wound up in that anti-gay attitude. And David, fucking, Mason had not helped. David was the nasty little prick that excluded me with a look and a comment from his group. It was his group, the gay group.
Why would someone like me, who was not gay, who could join in with the straight self-righteous majority, could join the anti-gay thinkers, want to be part of David Mason’s band of performing, effected, boys?
It took my entire strength to walk up to them and say something. Remember, at the start of term I was not really known, not well. Not well enough to be placed. In a group. Labeled. At least, I thought not. David obviously didn’t agree, or he was simply being a prick.
Now, in hindsight, I think it was a bit of both. What I mean is, he thought he knew me well enough to place me as an enemy, a threat. He also was asserting himself with the put down and rejection. He probably believed it.
And yet, in those few seconds, there was something. Something, I know, what the fuck am I talking about. I don’t know. I don’t know at all. But there was something.
Life went on. I played my part in our little clique, but I was never into it. Into it, as in a committed anti-everything, a nihilist. Over time I moved to the fringe. I was still a nominal member, but not the guy you spent time with outside of school. I was not invited anywhere. Didn’t go around anyone’s house. Conversation in the corridors and at break times was limited. I got the distinct impression that I was outside the outsiders.
What changed? That is a question. The big, huge, humongous question. The only thing I can tell you with any certainty, it was all in a look. And chance, circumstance, hazard. I was in the same shop as David Mason.
If I was who I thought I was I should have made a meal out of what I saw. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t who I thought I was. He was posing. No surprise there! I stood discretely, watching. IPhone in hand he was taking a selfie amongst the clothes racks.
Nice blond hair, pale, almost blemish free face.
The point was the shoes. High heels! Fuck!
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
Yes, I repeated that to myself. Not out loud.
My heart was pumping. Why the fuck was my heart pumping? And why was my cock ramming itself against the front of my jeans, twitching hard?
Those jeans he had on. Tight fitting. Clinging to his legs.
I was transfixed. Stupid, I know, but honest to God, I could not move. It was like I had caught him in his bedroom. This guy who had put me down with a simple remark. The guy who I hated. Then it happened.
He looked up. Two seconds. Eye contact. Blushing.
Did I blush? For fucks sake. Did I blush in front of… Did he notice?
I turned away and moved. Quickly.
This time there was no speaking. Only a look.
I couldn’t let it go. This was my epiphany. I had reached the summit. Either I stood there and claimed myself or I slid back down forever, nobody, hidden amongst the crowd.
I waited. Slipped behind him as he queued to pay at the checkout. He hadn’t noticed. Maybe he was self-occupied.
That was how I saw it. It isn’t what happened. Not from David’s point of view.
When he’d paid and picked up his bag, I had skirted around to the exit. Before I had time to think about what I was doing, I tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned. Surprised? I don’t think so. Now, I mean, I know he wasn’t exactly surprised. He told me.
A slight smile creased his lips.
“What do you want?”
His voice had a certain tone to it when he emphasized, you. I stood there silent for ages, looking at him. Ages? A couple of seconds in reality.
“I saw you.” What a stupid reply.
I stood dumbstruck, said nothing.
“I know you saw me,” he said in an exasperated fashion.
He moved a step closer. We were inches apart. I could smell his perfume. Feel his breath.
I jumped back.
Occupied as I was with his smell, his lips, his eyes. The hand on my groin was a shock.
“You normally get this turned on in clothes shops?”
I gulped in a breath. If I hadn’t been so preoccupied with him. For preoccupied read mesmerized. I would have run away. I didn’t.
“I like it,” he said, breaking the tension, lifting the atmosphere back to friendly.
“Kidding? What about?”
It was a question, but more than a question. Despite myself, it was a sort of desperate plea. I reckon David saw that. I was bad at hiding when confronted, close up, and obviously… well obviously, hard.
“I’m not playing.”
His voice was sincere. I believed him.
“My parents are out.”
It didn’t register. I must have looked stupid. But if I did, he said nothing. I know why. Now, I know why. I thought of David as some kind of… I don’t know what, an experienced dude. He appeared confident, in control, dominant even, if that applies.
I’m doing it again. My head is in such a bad place all the time. If it applies. What the fuck does that mean? If a gay can be dominant, manly. Shit, I’m a huge jerk. At least I know it, if that’s any justification. It isn’t.
He wasn’t. Confident. Dominant. The opposite. Like me. Insecure. Inexperienced. Dominant, I don’t know, it’s a two way thing. Least it was, is, between us.
Yeah, is. Despite, despite everything, despite me. It could so easily have gone wrong. But it didn’t. No it wasn’t like you imagine. Not at all. You probably have, had, a picture in your head. What it will be like. The first time. It isn’t. Nothing like it at all. Not for me, for us. Because it was his first time. Mister confident, brush off, put down, poser. He wasn’t.
His bedroom was the image of him. David Mason. How did he know? I have no idea. He really was not the guy I thought he was. And, me, I was not the person I tried to be. Your body does not lie. Not mine, not his.
“Valentine,” he said, smiling.
We lay there, side by side, on his soft bed. In his bedroom.
“I know,” I turned to look at him. “It’s a stupid name.”
“Not at all.” He ran his fingers over my naked skin.
“I love your cock,” he said, and it jumped admiring the admiration.
I leaned into him, lying on my side, poking his hip and making it all wet and slimy.
“There are some condoms in the bedside drawer.”
I realized this was real. It was happening. I moved off him, turned back the other way and stretched to open the little cupboard. I felt him turn and snuggle into me. His own hard cock was pressed length ways between my buttocks. I kind of liked it.
Then we were back facing each other on our sides and I tried to tear open the tiny square metal paper packet.
“Here,” he smiled. “Give it to me.”
I was too nervous to deal with it, but he struggled as well. He tried ripping it open with his teeth, which eventually worked.
“I’ve never done this,” I told him.
How I had moved to sharing my innermost secrets with a guy I thought I loathed, God knows.
“Used a condom or…”
I punched him, playfully.
“Had sex,” I confirmed.
He stopped with the condom packet. We looked at each other. Really looked. Eyes to eyes. Deep.
“Really?” I broke the silence.
We hugged. I almost cried. My eyes were damp. The emotion was overtaking me. He brushed his hand through my hair, pushing it back off my forehead. He moved closer. His lips touched mine. We kissed.
His tongue pushed forward. I opened my mouth and we played. Tongue with tongue. A long deep kiss.
Then I looked again into his eyes. He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb. Turned away, he rolled over, pulled down the two pillows from the head of the bed. He moved the pillows, one on top of the other, underneath him, and lay over them.
“You…” My cock was making the bed sheet wet.
“No,” he joked. “I want you to paint me.”
“With a condom?”
“Forget the condom, we’re both virgins. But use some lube.”
I found it in the same bedside drawer. Flipped open the cap and anointed my hard, already wet, cock.
“You use this when you…”
“Yes, of course, if you want to know.”
I moved myself on top of him. Then raised myself up. In my head I had hardly room for any other thoughts than one single need. To sink my cock into him. To slid it between those perfect little round mounds.
“Are you sure about this?”
He turned his head to one side. “Take it easy. Remember, it’s my first time. Even if I’ve practiced.”
I smiled at that idea. Placed the tip of my cock on the spot and slowly pushed forward. It must have hurt a little bit when it slid in, opening the tight little entrance, but I was as careful as I could be.
“Okay?” I asked.
I heard him breath and exhale. I waited.
“Yeah,” came the response.
I pushed into him. Slowly. It was… It was a thousand times better than using your hand. Better than grinding your hips into a pillow. This was it. For real. I was all the way. My balls up between his legs. I listened to him breath.
“You sure it’s okay?”
You see it was nothing like you watch on a porno vid. Who the hell stops and asks if its okay.
“It’s okay,” he assured.
I arched my back, pushing up on my outstretched arms. I looked down between our bodies. I wanted to see my cock in his arse.
“I don’t think I can last very long,” I told him as my cock throbbed.
“Go for it,” he whispered.
It was all I needed to give in to the animal urge. I pumped in and out of his arse, feeling it grip me. Feeling him squirming beneath me. Moving with me. Very quickly I exploded, fucking him deep, sliding back and fucking him again as the final ejaculations subsided.
I slide out of him and pulled him over towards me. For some reason I was desperate to see his cock. It was bouncing like mad. I grabbed it. Clasped my hand around it and started wanking him. Three or four pumps up and down and he erupted. A powerful shot arced up and landed on his chin. The second, lower on his chest. The third, smaller, covered his abdomen. I slowed. Stopped. Leaned in and kissed him.
“I love you,” I said, without fully realizing what I had just declared.
He wrapped his arms around me.
Later, lying side by side, I was looking at him. Beautiful, I thought. But I felt a moment of panic.
“How did I get here?” I asked. Not to him so much as to myself.
I punched him. Lightly, in the arm.
“What do I do now?”
“Take a shower.”
His smile was contagious. I smiled back. Forgetting my worries for a moment.
“Yeah.” I looked at him. I couldn’t stop looking at him.
“You know what you said?”
“What do I do now.”
“No, stupid. I love you.”
He laughed. His laughter was as contagious as his smile.