I had found myself in the "Morning Star". A traditional English pub near London Bridge, but seemingly devoid of the heavenly bodies that its name might have suggested.
It was another lost weekend; killing time with shots of vodka and feeling the world revolving around me like a skewed Ferris wheel. Previously, I had arranged to meet a friend in West Hampstead but he had been unavoidably delayed and boredom had drawn me inexorably here like an idle puppeteer, setting my feet into motion and turning chance into fate.
It was a traditional English pub, resplendent in its vulgar trappings. Wood paneling met with nicotine-yellow walls where drink stained tables propped up the elbows of beer swilling braggarts.
It appeared to be ostensibly populated with Everton soccer fans, hypnotised by a huge screen that televised a match. There seemed an inherent charm about this bastion of macho bravado; a sanctuary from political correctness. I started to warm to the atmosphere as men bonded with other men in their collective chanting and the mutual back slapping. My sense of alienation quickly became overwhelmed by all the macho camaraderie. There were no women here, just men, uncouth and yet endearing.
Most of the men wore jeans or track suits, blissfully unaware how its fabric revealed their bulging masculinity. Many of them were rather portly but nevertheless appeared strong and burly with it. I leant at the bar trying not to hold my glass with too much of an affectation, casually gazing around as all eyes focussed on the big screen. I adopted a straight persona as I ordered another beer but felt although I was mearly striking an unconvincing pose. I imagined myself caught up in their world of soccer and women.
Every once in a while, an uproarious cheer would erupt from the crowd as I remained silent and impassive. Perhaps Karl Marx was wrong, maybe it was soccer and not religion that was the "opiate of the masses".
I noticed that a young guy had glanced at me on a few occasions. In between his football chants and cocky mannerisms, he had noticed my incongruous presence in the pub. I was truly like a fish out of water here, but the oxygen starvation was making me high.
He reminded me of a childhood friend I had known in the village where had I grown up. During his mid-teens, he had become a something of a latter day Lord Byron making many conquests with his easy charm and dark intensity. The more his reputation spread, the more the girls seemed to fall at his feet in doey eyed submission, perhaps hoping that they might tame his animal desires...
Once more, the guy glanced in my direction then resumed the conversation with his friend. I studied his scruffy highlighted hair and unkempt stubble. I took a lingering glance at his grey hooded top and matching track suit bottoms. In my distraction, the bar seemed to be clearing and soccer pundits blared out their inane post-match commentary. I could hear my unknown friend espousing the merits of Everton. Beneath his top, I could just discern the pronounced cut of his pecs. His easy laugh and confidence drew my eyes to his very obvious bulge; quite a crowd pleaser, I speculated.
Only a few people remained and the guy looked at me while still happily smiling to his mate. I drained my pint and wandered into the toilets, casting a rather reckless glance back at my handsome friend.
The white tiled toilets seemed to occupy a diagonal space. I stood at the urinal and began to urinate. The relief brought about a partial erection and a tingle shot up the nape of my neck.
The door slammed. I looked up. To my surprise it was the same guy, stumbling slightly from the beer. I glanced over at him as he stood at the urinal but quickly averted my gaze when he felt my eyes on him and looked up. I cast another discreet glance at his dangling manhood then listened as his trail of piss poured thickly, smattering onto the porcelain. As I looked up again, I realised that he had followed the line of my stare to where my eyes rested and any ambiguities about my sexual preferences were lost. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
Ordinarily, I would not take such chances, but there was something about his machismo, his very heterosexuality that stirred my senses into a spinning frenzy.
He appeared unperturbed by my cock-worshipping glance, so I looked again, this time, my eyes lingering. I was almost sure that he would not punch me and the drink had made me impetuous. "Good result." I ventured, guessing wildly at the outcome of the football match. "Yeah! Fuckin brilliant mate!" He smirked a crooked smile, full of high spirits. I noticed that his manhood now stood at half mast. "Looks as if you're planning on scoring yourself." I flinched as soon as I had said the words, but he seemed indifferent to them as he shook the last drops from his bloated dick. "Yeah, too fukin right I am! I am off over one er me bird's ouses now!" "Lucky her." I smiled. He looked quizzical but his mischievous smirk remained. "Can you wait that long?" I said looking him in the eye. "Dunno mate." The adrenaline and pungent smell of ammonia induced a peculiar mixture of nausea and excitement as I headed into one of the vacant cubicles. I pretended to gather toilet tissue as a ruse, but as I turned, he was standing at the threshold of the cubicle, his large uncut 8 inch dick straining upwards from his partially lowered trousers. He was now fully erect, clearly the alcohol had dispelled his last remnants of inhibition. I began to suspect that he had been sucked off before as he bolted into the cubicle and slid the lock into the latch. I sat on the toilet seat and as I turned, his cock was inches from my lips. As he dropped his tracksuit bottoms further I glimpsed his large hairy balls though the open fly of his Union Jack boxer shorts.
I wasted no time slipping it into my grateful mouth, pursing my lips tight, drawing back the foreskin and then burying my face in his pubes as his entire length filled my throat. He gave a reflexive moan and his dick muscles made the thing twinge upwards, pressing to the back of my throat. "I aint queer ya know." he mumbled. I pulled off.. "Nobody said that you were, you are just a straight guy who likes being sucked, don't worry about it." I smiled at him disarmingly. I grasped his hips as my tongue lavished attention around his big hairy balls and then down the shaft of his impressive throbbing cock that seemed to rear up like an impatient stallion. I drew up his shirt slightly, and gazed at his thick manly belly hair as I resumed my deep throated sucking. "Ahhh..." He went into paroxysms of ecstacy as I ran my lips steadily faster down his succulent dick. I looked up and his eyes were closed, his face grinning with wanton pleasure. His hands pressed to to cubicle walls, steadying himself as he started rocking his hips in time with my sucking. His pushing turned into concerted thrusts as he panted breathlessly. At that point he must not have cared whether I was boy or girl, old or young. I was just a nice goal mouth for him to prepare to aim his shot.
He made quiet grunts as he rapidly pumped my mouth, then tried to stifle his groan, hands grabbing the back of my head and forcing it down his entire length. I felt long squirts of jiz shooting deep into the back of my throat. "Ahh yeh!... GOAL...!"
He stood momentarily locked in position as the pleasure ebbed and the last of his cum trickled down my throat, nearly making me gag. He quickly withdrew his glistening cock. "Cheers mate." He said, avoiding my affectionate stare as he slipped his sated dick back into his tracksuit bottoms. He handed me a handkerchief, which seemed quite a gentlemanly gesture. I dabbed my lips with it like an Edwardian dandy, making him smile in amusement. "No problem." I said quietly smiling up at him. His cheeky grin broadened. "I don't suppose I could have your phone number?" I asked. It was a long shot. Perhaps it was a taboo that should not have been broken. "Sorry mate, I gotta go, my bird's waiting." "Ok." I said meekly, feeling slightly crest-fallen. He unbolted the door and stepped out. I heard the main door slamming shut.
Almost immediately, it creaked back open, so I quickly pushed-to the cubicle door and flushed the toilet, I did not have time to slip the bolt back across the door. "Come on boys, we got a live one ere." I wondered if my friend had betrayed me. About three sets of scruffy trainers charged into the room and barged the cubicle door, making it slam open and causing the partition to shudder. A rather overweight skinhead stood at the entrance, looking down on me as I sat on the toilet lid. He looked to be something of a pugilist with his broken nose and facial scar. His voice gruff like a market tradesman. I tried to look innocent as I smelt the alcohol on his breath and the threat in the air. "What's up guys?" I tried to muster some confidence as I looked around for an escape root, but to no avail. He said nothing as he stepped up to me menacingly and grabbed my collar, lifting me from my seated position with a silent hatred. "Don't hurt me, please, what do you want?" I gasped. He continued to lift me to a standing position and then pushed me roughly up against the partition, making the flimsy construction rattle. I could clearly see his two associates, one of them slim and swarthy looking, possibly mixed race. In another scenario, I would have found him very attractive, but he stared at me with an aggressive sneer. "Listen! Take my wallet, but don't hurt me. I have not done anything." My body felt limp with fear. Then I heard the words that every man of my persuasion most fears. He pressed his face up to mine and to my horror he said "You fuckin poof!" His gruff thuggish voice seemed to exacerbate my terror. He let go of me as my legs gave way and I slid down the wall to my knees. "Please, I beg you, I just want to go home." My pounding heart felt as if it might jump out of my chest. "We don't like poofs in our fucking pub!" He glowered, his spittle spraying into a dusty shaft of light. "Well I will leave then... I won't come back... ever!" "Nah, cocksucker, we're gonna fukin kick the shit out of ya.' I had nothing to loose, perhaps in my terror, humour found its way from the abyss. "Ok, I admit that I am a cocksucker, but only at weekends." Would humour diffuse his anger, I wondered. It was worth a try. "He's a cheeky fucker innee." In my panicked state, I had almost accepted the inevitability of my forthcoming beating. "This is what we do to cocksuckers..." With one hand and a grip of steel, he grabbed my hair and with the other, reached around his overhanging stomach, his dragon tattoo flexing over a large bicep. He pushed down his track suit bottoms enough to allow his semi-erect cock to flop out. "Hold is ead." he instructed his mate. The mixed race guy reached over and grasped my hair as my aggressive tormentor pulled back his foreskin and released a couple of short squirts of urine over my face. I tried to free my head but the guy held it firm. The urine started to flow more rapidly, soaking my shirt and trousers. The stream started to slow, and he arrogantly shook of the last drops inches from my face. By this time he had become hard. "Come on boys.' But they needed no encouragement. Already the mixed race guy had flopped out an enormous chocolate brown cock and eased back his foreskin as he aimed his thick stream of piss onto my face and down my shirt. The strong hot jet tickled my lips and felt vaguely pleasant. Before he had finished the third guy emerged from the background. He was slender and mean looking. I speculated that the gaps in his teeth were probably from brawling. His piss smelt of beer as he relieved himself randomly over my face and chest. He was fully erect and much of his piss shot over my shoulder as a consequence. Before he had finished the fat skinhead pushed back to the fore. He staggered slightly on the slippery floor, which was now awash with piss.
Without second thought he took hold of my hair and brought his rigid cock against my closed lips. It smelt dirty from a day of frequent urinating.
"Open your fuckin mouth gay boy." I obliged and he banged it home into the back of my throat. "This is what we do to queers.' I was aware what a dangerous game I was playing. The stakes were high, my future indeterminate. I sucked him as if my life depended on it. As if it was the finest cock on god's earth. I knew that his merciful release from idle torment might prove to be my saving grace. I was being orally raped but thought only of escape as he pounded my throat.
As I knelt before him, he continued to vent his torrents of anger and abuse. "You fuckin queer boy... dirty fuckin poof cocksucker." I had already accepted my sinister fate and no longer paid heed to my fragile life. A few more thrusts and he was ready for his final degradation of my prostrate body. I was surprised when the first jet of come forcefully embedded into the back of my throat, making me choke. He chose to withdraw his bloated cock, jerking himself and directing the rest of his squirting jiz over my face. It dripped from my chin in long glutinous strands. "Queer cunt." He muttered. The mixed race guy stepped up. His long gorged monster rearing up at me. His handsome face and soft features drawn into a hard ugly sneer. He grabbed my hair with both hands and drew my head down the magnificent length, exhaling loudly as be thrust the remaining inches deep into my slippery throat. "Fuckin take it bitch." His cock tasted of pussy and I suspected that only hours before the very same dick had reduced some hapless slut into helpless orgasm. As his chocolate brown cock started to rapidly ram in and out of my throat, I allowed myself to relish the uncompromising lust that he was unleashing, as if it were the last request of a condemned prisoner. I could not help but adore his proud manhood as the thick girth left me gasping for breath. His thrusting desires were more intentional and determined than his mate. He assumed a slower pace and poked my throat with an exacting precision. He had started to regard my pleasure giving mouth with a peculiar reverence as his delicious dick became irregular as it bore down on my abused fuck-hole. His frantic jets of cum filled my throat so deep that I had to swallow it, trying desperately not to cough. He stifled a groan, tugging at my hair more gently, pulling my head back and forth as the last drops of his orgasm pulsed down my throat. He withdrew and I wondered if, by some chance encounter, I might ever meet such a straight stud again. My fear had partially dissipated as his beautiful brown dick smeared the last drops of his pleasure onto my lips.
I quickly swallowed again, preparing for the deeply frustrated white dick that twitched in anticipation. "You are all bastards." I half whispered, my indignation finally emerging from the remnants of my dignity. "Just finish it and let me go." I demanded in mock rebellion. "Shut the fuck up!" I had incited the skinny guy into a rage. He shoved his fat rock hard cock into my mouth, stifling my protests as the other abusers looked cruelly down on me. His ugly veined prick energetically pumped my mouth. I tightened my lips, instantly making him growl his satisfaction as the pressure of his grip became painful on the sides of my head. Somehow, my mind drifted and I wondered what it would be like to date such a disrespectful and self-satisfying fuck-machine. He seemed so bestial and irreverent as his solid dick bruised the back of my throat. When his climax came, he yanked up my head, holding my hair and leant over me thrusting deeply. His large manly smelling balls slapping on my chin as he exploded into my tenderised throat, half choking me as he leered down. I was forced to swallow his torrents of cum. "Bastard." I coughed as he slipped his sated prick back into his trousers. The fat skinhead roughly pushed me onto the wet floor and unceremoniously spat at my face.
Perhaps through good fortune, they filed out, laughing with each other, somehow trying to disassociate themselves with the pleasure that I had been commanded to give them. The toilet door slammed shut and I found myself sodden with piss and cum, my body prone and helpless like that of an innocent. I had been forced to relinquish free-will and self-determination and yet there was something divine in the depths of my degradation. At that time, I did not have the mind to re-visit the intoxicating images of what had happened or the fulfilment of a fantasy that my soul had somehow craved...
These were straight boys, returning to their respective girlfriends. Buried in their denial yet slaves to sensation and pleasure. In my mind's eye, straight and gay pigeon-holes no longer existed. Perhaps men will always desire new conquests as their instinct for sex and domination forever lurks beneath their semblance of humanity. Their desires secretly unrestricted by the constraints of gender.
I tried to wash away some off the filth that covered me and started to walk to West Hampstead, dazed in the stinging rays of the sun. I thought about gay and straight and the no-man's land that exists between the two. As traffic thundered past, I wondered if in fact life was just an exploration of one's own prejudices that cleverly mask themselves in the guise of `morality'.
I would be grateful for any comments that readers might have about my story. Please forward them to the above email address. Thank you for taking the time to read this... Graham