+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ BIKER MATES PART FIFTEEN
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BIKER MATES PART FIFTEEN - Tuesday night, Wednesday morning.
I think around an hour later I woke, dehydrated and confused.
Martin.
I rolled out of bed and stumbled back into the lounge. There was a kitchen area. I grabbed a glass and filled it with water.
When I returned to the connubial bed I found it awake. A bedside lamp illuminated the edge of an arm folded to support the head.
"You ok?"
"Stop asking me if I'm okay," I said clambering back between the sheets, "and switch off that fucking light."
You disgust me with your smelly hole and your fat and the way you just lap it up.
The light went off. It curled up in my arms like a bear that wanted to be a baby bear; normally, I wouldn't've crossed the street.
Not much later, aware of the sky-bloom broadening over the city mess, worried about something I couldn't remember, I was waking up. Still spooning, something made me want to give it another knock. I could feel it wasn't asleep either, there in the darkness, still wanting. I moistened my nob in the sweat damp of its arsecrack and went in easily. It was waiting, tightened and moved slightly to help. I rolled it onto its face. On top again, I stretched myself across its back and pumped the insides mechanically just like before. That's all it was good for. Turns out I wasn't excited enough to ejaculate; I was trying to get off but I wasn't getting off. I moved my hands around it for a hold. There was a lot of flesh. I've fucked guys like this before: No muscle. No resilience. I put my elbows on the bed just above its shoulders and held the skull in my hands like a football and pushed it into the pillow arching my whole body with an effort to penetrate enough to excite myself. I could feel it was trying to give me a grip, boring me.
I grabbed its neck and pulled it up. It coughed. I drove my dick deep in as far as I could, almost there, almost good, and held its head up by the neck, pressing down on the bed with my other arm, thrusting it. It was making a sort of gasping noise; I think I was strangling it. I don't think it could breath. Its back arched and finally I found myself inside unexpectedly deeper. It gasped and struggled. I had to really drill it but finally I felt myself approaching climax. Just. I held its neck tight deliberately imagining that I could kill it like a farmyard animal, and pulled its head back hard against my chest, panting into its hair, "Yeh." Then I came. It was good. But not that good. Martin. It didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything at all.
We slept again without exchanging a word. I don't know if he came or not. I don't care. Then the alarm on my mobile went off.
Martin.
My arm was under his Karol's head, so I had to really reach to stop the noise. When I turned back, he was staring at me. He had shifted onto his side, his bulky stomach lurching towards the sheets, and he propped his head on a hand and my arm was free. I wanted to get up and made a move.
"Going already?" he said.
"'Fraid so, mate."
"One for the road?" His jolly eyes slanted in mock sadness. Jesus, I thought, is there no let up?
"Why don't you take the day off sick?"
"Why don't you?" I said. "Why doesn't everybody? The whole world could take the day off sick."
He stared at me as though that sounded reasonable.
"I gotta," I said.
I pecked him quickly on the lips. He grabbed the back of my head and gave me a load of tongue. His mouth tasted sour. I pulled away in disgust, but tried not to look it.
"Want a coffee?" he said.
"No time. I'll just take a quick shower." I stood and made for the door. "Feel free," he said ruefully.
I entered the bathroom and stepped into the shower area. It was one of those drenching wet-room things, predictably, and the water was marvellous. I pissed against the glass mosaic walls. It saved time. The acid wee felt rough along my worn urethra.
I was wet and lathering myself, playing particular attention to the sore bits. He came and stood by the door, arms folded, dick half angled, looking at me.
"You don't mind if I watch you shower, do you?" he said.
"Feel free."
I foamed. My back to him, I turned, getting a good wash of hot water over my whole body and opened my eyes; there he was, staring like an idiot.
"You've got a beautiful body, you know."
"Thanks."
"You've got those lines that go across the top of your legs from your waist to your, um, there. Like a Greek statue..."
He pointed through the dripping glass with his finger at the part of my body to which he was referring: The long curved indentations which undercut the muscles of my abdomen like a vee-shaped arrow commanding his leering eyes to dive down, into the waistline, towards my thick hairy root.
"...a...nd a really beautiful cock..." I turned some more.
"...a...nd I like the way your back narrows to those two points and then your bum just sort of curves out and turns round into the backs of your thighs."
"You like that as well, do you?"
His admiration was contagious. I looked at my body in the misty full length shower mirror. My eyes met my own eyes with a complicit smirk. I noted my muscular development: I'd worked hard enough at it. Hours in my garage gym. Hours staring at myself, making fine adjustments.I could see that he was making a valid point. Then I thought, I haven't worked out for almost a week.
"You've got strong legs."
"Footballer's legs?"
"Sort of."
I turned off the water. Before I could move, he pulled an enormous luxuriant bath sheet from a shelf and held it up for me to step into. He wrapped it around my shoulders and started rubbing me down. He patted my back, the small of my back where it curves in, and out, and my buttocks where they curve out, and in, round to the seat where they joined my legs. He towel-patted the tops of my thighs. Stepping round, he pressed his hands into the thick ridge of rumpled towelling over my pecs. He pushed it away to make a clearing and then squeezed my big tits like packs of refrigerated steaks. He pressed down on my stiff nipples with his thumbs. I had my arms by my sides.
"You're in clover," I said, "with your job: All those tight bodies, early baths, locker room brawls, gay secrets, athletic supports, bending over in the showers, flicked towels, dirty socks, torn Achilles, off-side rules!!"
He laughed.
"I'm an accountant. The team only see me if they bother to turn up at the annual dinner-dance... generally. Though once this guy came to me for advice, about money, I think, but he looked at me in a strange way and I've often thought, perhaps..."
He continued patting me down.
"Which one was he?"
I tried to remember the name of a single Manchester footballer. "He's gone now. His English was none too good; I'm probably imagining... ...I wish we had more time, to get to know each other better, Houston." Once again he was gripping the towel round my neck.
"Yeh, well... sorry."
"Yeah. Perhaps we could do dinner or ? something..." He leant in and tried to kiss me. His breath his mouth was still foul but I put my tongue in his mouth and we kissed for some time. He put his arms around me and fondled my bottom. His body pressed against mine was warm and soft and comforting like a pillow.
"Look, I really gotta get a move on," I said, pecking his lips and struggling to get out of his hold.
He let go and stepped back. His prick was full on and so was mine.
"I'll drive you," he said.
"That'd be great. Really. Thanks." I had been counting on it.
He finished drying me and then followed me back into the bedroom, like a duck expecting a piece of bread, and whilst we dressed he rarely stopped looking in my direction, unashamedly hard. I was hard too.
We've all don't that changing-rooms-thing when there's this guy we fancy but don't know if he's gay or straight or into us or not; stared and looked away and tried to watch without bring seen. I could see Karol doing that, the lonely gaze of the closeted poof, except that Karol didn't seem to mind being seen. He did not disguise his lust. His prick said it all. So did mine, unfortunately. I had to hold it down to get it in.
"Are you out at work?" I said.
"More or less."
"More or less?"
"Everybody knows. It isn't a problem."
"I though football was the last bastion of closeted homophobia..."
"To the outside world, perhaps. I don't really care. I just do my job.
Let them get on with it," and he gave me a look which read, Stop being real.
"Fair enough."
Once we'd dressed he tried to grab me again when I bent over to get my phone. I pushed him away. I picked up my helmet.
"We gotta get going."
Soon we were back in the lift. He kept on staring at me. His eyes were wherever I looked in the mirrors.
"You're a terrific fuck," he said at last. "You know that?"
"Er, thanks mate."
"Thanks mate," he mimicked. "So butch."
The lift stopped and we headed for his car.
Once inside and we'd started to drive, he said, "I'd really like to see you again, Houston."
Here we go, I thought.
"I'd like to take you to dinner. Treat you nice." He grinned.
"You wha'?"
"We could talk. It's not fair. You know all about me. I don't know anything about you... I don't even know your name."
I didn't answer. Then I said, "Look, mate, I've got a boyfriend. I'm..."
"So where was he last night," Karol interrupted, "when you were rogering me to oblivion and back?"
"'S a long story."
"Have a fight, did you?"
I didn't respond.
A few minutes passed in silence.
"You know, even if you're in a relationship, it's good to get away from the home pitch from time to time, to time, feel your studs in different turf for a change. Isn't it?" I smiled. "Even if it's just to talk; though, the way you fuck, obviously, I'd love that as well. And I'd never tell. Anybody. Think about it."
The car cornered, and there was my bike, my beautiful glossy shining black Honda RX, right where we had left her. She looked fine.
"I mean it," said Karol, turning to look at me and transferring his hand from the drive lever to the scratched leather surface of my knee. "Take my number."
I groaned. I wanted to get away. I needed to get to work. I hadn't got time to piss around. It would be quicker if I just did as he said. I took out my phone.
"Ok," I said, "give us it."
"Here, let me, it's easier."
He grabbed the phone, dialled and hit connect. A moment later his phone chirped in his pocket. He hung up and handed it back to me. Now he had my number. Damn.
"Kiss?" he said.
I was about to get out, thinking that the first thing I'd do at work was grab a coffee, because I wasn't thinking straight.
I grabbed his hair and gave him some tongue. Our unclean mouths mingled once again and I felt drawn back to his embrace. I pushed my hand through his hair, mashing his lips into mine. We breathed through our noses
He gripped my neck. He seemed grateful. I whispered something else and then twisted out of his reach, got out of the low bucket seats, awkwardly trying not to drop my helmet. I could feel his eyes.
My aching body felt tired already as I walked away.
My bike wasn't as bad as the total write-off is constructed in my memory. I planted one boot by her side and lifted my other leg over her pert backside. I squished my thighs comfortably onto her vinyl bench. Nice feeling. I turned the key. Perfect start. Her gurgling mechanics spun about in shop-fresh balance. A soaring motor vibration communicated into my unsupported gonads, drained by their nights exertions. I twisted the throttle. Her hive-like buzz rattled therapeutically through my buttocks and legs and into my bones.
I was ready to roll. I pulled my helmet down and shut the visor, turned, signalled farewell, and moved off. We had made up time, so it wasn't that I had to hurry. I was just sick of his fannying about.
In my mirrors I saw Karol's Merc begin to move into a three-point turn. I was free.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
END OF BIKER MATES PART FIFTEEN
nb. This story is not concluded but I don't expect to be posting any more for some months.