The Embarrassment of Riches

The Embarrassment of Riches Chapter Five: The Tailor's Dummy

The people, places and events of this story exist only in my (and now your) imagination; therefore, any resembelences to real people, real places or real events would be really cool.

The second last weekend in October had begun as mild and dry, brining chilled winds and angry gusts such that the temperature approached a balmy nine degrees Celsius. It was nice inside the Pothos Emporium; toasty without being hot, the air conditioning keeping things very pleasant.

Martin's first few weeks working for Graham Cauldwell had flown in, his days at work broken by days in school before he inevitably returned to the shop. Martin had been embarrassed on his first day when, in a team building exercise, Graham had given him a uniform unlike anyone else's.

Martin had arrived for work casually as Graham had instructed; he wore salmon coloured shorts and a teal hooded jumper to keep away the chill.

"We have some new stock arriving for the autumn season that we'll need to get unpacked and there's been a good surge in the sale of sportswear. Perhaps folk are trying to burn off the winter weight before they even put them on," everyone laughed appropriately at Graham's joke, even if it wasn't a very good one.

"I think we have an opportunity to market clothes that fit an athlete's physique," Graham continued to brief the team, who were already dressed in black trousers and maroon shirts. "And there's no-one better to model that physique than the newest member of our team..."

Sandy, Nate and Sam were the three young men he had met before; Joe was off today and replaced by Gordon. Gordon was short with light brown hair and ears that stuck out but he was so cute.

"...Most of you have met Martin, I believe?" Graham said, "Gordon, you might have missed him."

"Nice to meet you," said Gordon.

"Hi, you too," replied Martin extending his hand to be shook.

Martin towered over Gordon by nearly a foot; but the little guy, who was – like his colleagues – a few years older than Martin, had a firm handshake.

"Martin," said Graham pleasantly. "I have a different uniform I would like you to try out. We already discussed trying something new with you to get the clientele interested and today's the day we give it a go. I'd like you to strip off and I'll get your uniform."

"Erm... strip off?" Martin repeated with a nervous hitch.

"Oh yes," Graham replied. "Your uniform won't fit over what your wearing now. And besides, we're all men here and there's certainly nothing most of these guys didn't already see during your interview."

Martin blushed and shifted uncomfortably.

"Your uniform should be just behind the counter. Take off your shorts and top and I'll fetch it," Graham instructed.

As Graham headed for the cash desk, Martin sighed. He wasn't thrilled about stripping in the middle of the shop where Graham had convened the meeting, but his instruction had brooked no refusal. At least the shop was not yet open and it was also true that, apart from Gordon, the others had even seen him naked. Martin thought of it as being in the locker room at the Symposium and tried to pretend it was normal.

The brief thought of the Symposium gave him butterflies. E.J. and he had set a date, a proper going-out date and Martin was nervous about that.

Back to the matter at hand: Martin pulled his hooded jumper off and the t-shirt that lay under it all in one go. Graham was behind the checkout counter and raised his eyes, smiling at the topless and handsome tall boy with a sculpted upper body. Then Martin unbuttoned the shorts and pushed them down to the floor. Everyone admired Martin as he now stood in just his briefs and trainers in the middle of the empty shop. His briefs held a delightful bulge for a boy his age – in fact for a person of any age.

Graham returned to the group and shook his head, "Martin, you can't leave an untidy mess like that in the middle of the floor. Please fold your clothes."

The others smiled at the admonishment and could hardly believe it as Martin blushed and then bent down to pick up each item and fold it neatly. Martin's thighs were accentuated by the hem of the briefs that curved from his groin to his hip and then around his tight arse.

Once folded, Martin put the tidy pile in an empty space on the table beside him, beside jeans that were arranged by size, colour and style.

"I'm afraid I left your uniform in my office," said Graham. "I'll go fetch it and put your clothes safely away."

Martin blushed again and was forced to stand around for ten minutes in just his underwear while he waited. The doors to the shop were opened and a couple of people were already coming as Martin was handed his attire. He was so desperate to get covered up before the customers saw him that he didn't care what the damn uniform was.

So those were events that had kicked off his first day.

His uniform, it transpired, was a ribbed maroon vest (a colour very closely matching the long sleeved shirts worn by his colleagues) and a pair of black shorts. The shorts were a skinny fit around his thighs and rested an inch above the knee. Both were undeniably a good fit, as if they had been tailor made for him. It took some getting used to though: he was the only one whose legs were on show.

Nice legs of course: long with hair so fair it almost blended into his smooth skin, appearing more like a fuzzy haze in the air around his legs. His big bulging arms were constantly on display too and the vest accentuated his big chest that tapered into a slim waistline.

Although Martin was tall, a half a dozen centimetres short of two metres, Martin still need a step to reach the very top shelf for overstock on a few items that were on sale. Several people turned when they saw him on the step, raised into view of everyone who watched as his arm and pits were exposed and his vest hoisted up just a little to reveal his waistline.

It was too good an opportunity to pass up and someone wanted to take full advantage, placing his hand on Martin's calve muscle.

"Excuse me," the young man said and Martin looked down to see who had spoken and who the heck had their hand on his leg.

The young man was in his early twenties and dressed in a blue suit but without a tie and the top button of his shirt was undone.

"Yes?" Martin replied, and smiled because the guy was handsome and because he was meant to help customers in any way possible.

"Are you Martin?" he asked, sliding his hand up Martin's leg just a little, stopping at the back of his knee.

"Y-yea," Martin said.

The young man's touch was gentle and seductive and, being seventeen, it did not take much to get Martin going. He felt his dick get harder and he knew he had to get down in case it was noticed. Martin stepped down to the floor and the young man stepped back.

Whoever he was, Martin got the impression he wasn't any old customer. He was in his twenties, average height, brown hair in need of a trim but that in its untidy way suited the guy. His blue eyes were little pools of the clearest ocean water.

"Can I help you?" Martin finally asked.

"I'm Oscar... did your boss tell you about me?" he replied.

"No, should he have?" Martin replied politely as he turned to put a pile of the stock he'd taken down onto an appropriate table.

Oscar smiled and looked Martin down and up and then down again, pausing at Martin's groin: "I'm supposed to measure you."

Martin gulped and didn't know what to say.

Luckily Graham came to the rescue, sidling over from out of nowhere.

"Ah, great, you two have met then?" Graham asked.

"Measure me?" Martin asked nervously.

"It's ok, Martin," Graham laughed. "Oscar is working with an old friend of mine and he's learning a trade: tailoring. I told him he could come and measure you up to get in some practice."

Martin felt relieved.

"In fact I thought he could make a work shop out of it so he could show off his skills and drum up business for my old friend. And Pothos of course, I'm keen that we offer something other shops don't." Graham smiled broadly.

Martin still felt relieved but a creeping unease had started. It was only now that he noticed the space in the centre of the store, which was always relatively clear as if to mark out the heart of the Pothos Emporium looked bigger than normal. Martin could have sworn several tables, racks and rails had been pushed back to make more space.

"Come along and let's get started," Oscar said. "If that's ok with you, Mr Cauldwell?"

"Of course it is, Oscar. And I've told you to call me Graham," he replied. Then, to Martin and Oscar both, he added: "There should be plenty of space for you in the middle of the shop and plenty of space for everyone to watch Oscar's excellent and professional technique."

Graham was almost giddy with anticipation. Giddy to see if Martin's trusting naiveté would really fall for this...

In the middle of the store, Graham, Oscar and Martin gathered. Oscar had a small fold-up stool and a case, both of which had been deposited by Nate just moments before. A small crowd started to gather around to watch whatever it was that seemed about to happen.

"Have you ever been measure for a suit?" asked Oscar.

"No," said Martin nervously.

"There's nothing to be anxious about, I'll be very gentle," he reassured young Martin.

"Come stand where everyone can see you," said Graham, pulling Martin dead centre into the circle of spectators that numbered at nearly two dozen.

Oscar opened his case and retrieved a measuring tape then a pad and pencil.

"Now, to get the most accurate measurement I'll have to take off your vest," said Oscar in a serious tone of voice.

He didn't wait for Martin either, he wanted this first step to be pushed so the next would be automatic. Thus, Oscar stepped forward and tugged the hem of Martin's vest. Lifting it up, Oscar had to resist licking his lips as Martin's toned stomach came into view and his bellybutton and his nipples. Martin complied by raising his arms above his head, exposing his underarms and stretching his torso to its fullest length. Exquisite!

The spectators knew they were being treated and said nothing about the boy being stripped of his top even though they all knew it was totally unnecessary.

"I can now get measurements that won't be skewed by the addition of fabric around your chest, underarms and abdomen," Oscar told Martin, who nodded.

Oscar spent some time around the abdomen, daring as much as was plausible, to stroke the soft teenage skin. Moving up he took measurements around the chest; the tape measure resting just below the nipples so that, as he adjusted the tape he could brush Martin nipples with his fingertips.

Martin enjoyed the unexpected nipple play and resisted saying anything because the touch was accidental in his mind.

Oscar then had Martin raise his arms again as he took more measurements and Oscar was able to slide his hands around Martin's armpits with were fresh and filled with wiry hair that seemed to accentuate his exposure.

Each measurement was carefully noted in his note pad and the pencil laid on top again.

"Now!" said Oscar after sufficiently focusing on the top half of Martin's body, "Now I need to measure your legs and groin."

"Groin?" Martin said: confused, excited, embarrassed.

"Well of course," Oscar assured him. "The groin is important for making sure everything fits, so to speak, and is essential to ensure the seat of the tailored trousers is correct. Otherwise it might be too tight for your privates or the bum could burst when you bend over. And we wouldn't want that."

"No," said Martin quietly.

The spectators were all quiet too – quietly imagining Martin's young arse bursting out of a pair of trousers.

"So, to make sure the measurements are accurate, I'll need to pull down your shorts."

Oscar waited to make sure Martin would not stop him. The boy was a big lad and Oscar didn't fancy a punch in the face; but that didn't happen so Oscar continued. He reached up and unfastened the button on Martin's shorts and then unzipped them and tugged them down.

The observing customers could not believe what was happening. That the boy could be so placid while he was publicly stripped. The shorts fell to Martin's ankles.

"I'd rather they didn't get in the way, if you don't mind stepping out of them," Oscar asked politely.

Oscar was kneeling in front of Martin's groin, looking at the bulge bundled inside the teenager's briefs. Ordinarily he might take a seat on the folding stool for leg measurements. But ordinarily he wouldn't take off a person's trousers or shorts to take his measurements so there were some changes all over with his routine today. Graham was right – the boy was a little gullible.

Martin lifted each leg in turn and the shorts were removed from sight – just as the vest had been, in fact neither were anywhere to be seen just now.

"And if you could slip your feet out of your trainers and take off your socks, please?" Oscar added.

Graham had to stifle a splutter. He hadn't suggested that when he'd briefed Oscar but it was a fucking nice touch, he thought.

Martin complied, slipping his feet out of his trainers and standing in socked feet. Then he lifted each of his big size fourteen feet, one at a time obviously, and pulled the socks off. Martin was now stood topless and bare foot wearing only his black briefs in the middle of the store and another half dozen men had joined the audience.

"I need to make sure the bottom hem will fit nicely around your shoes, so I'll measure your feet and then you ankles and work my way up," Oscar said with excitement.

Oscar's had took any opportunity to touch the boy – his toes, the top of his feet and the curve up to his ankle. Measurements were written down methodically and unnecessarily (except for maintaining the pretence for Martin's sake). From the feet, Oscar's hand slid up to the knee; he measured around the knee and took the circumference of the calf, his hand stroking the back of Martin's lower leg in the process.

Oscar took the circumference of Martin's thighs too before warning Martin he would be measuring the full length of his legs next. The reason for the warning became obvious as Oscar's measuring tape started at Martin's ankle and moved up and up, eventually stopping in Martin's groin with Oscar's hand brushing Martin's balls. More cupping that was necessary or plausible took place and Martin was worried he's get hard if it continued much longer.

As much as Oscar would love to do that now, he had another idea first.

Oscar worked his way around back to measure Martin's arse. This was where more groping and hand adjustment took place. Occasionally, Oscar muttered "sorry" as if it were an accident.

"Now, I really am sorry Martin, but to get the seat of your trousers right... I'm going to need more accurate measurements of your bottom," Oscar said.

"Err, that's fine," Martin replied.

"Great, I'm glad you understand, you've been a great sport," Oscar said and then pulled down the back of Martin's briefs.

Martin's surprise registered with everyone, who was equally shocked to have a great view of Martin's bare bum.

"This really is the only way to accurately measure the curve of your bum," Oscar said, patting one of Martin's cheeks for emphasis. "I'll start by placing the tape on the inner edge of the intergluteal cleft."

Martin didn't know what that meant but had a good idea when he felt Oscar's had rest between the cheeks of his arse. The intergluteal cleft A.K.A. the butt crack.

The measuring tape crossed Martin's bare cheeks: first the left and then the right. Martin really was struggling to remain composed now. He could feel excitement as keen as the sweat now covering his skin, a bead of sweat travelling down his thigh until it tickled the instep of his foot. As Martin was unable to see him, Oscar leaned as close as possible to the boy's arse as he could. He was so close he stuck out his tongue and almost dared, as much as he knew everyone watching was daring him, to stick his tong into Martin's bum hole. But he resisted – even Martin would know that was unjustified in the scheme of tailoring.

Instead Oscar approached the finale. He scrambled around Martin and knelt in front of him – looking up a rather long way to gaze into the lad's eyes.

"Do you usually wear briefs?" Oscar asked.

"Yes, not always but often. Why?" he asked.

"The type of underwear you wear can have a huge effect on how trousers are tailored," Oscar replied as if Martin was daft. "Think about it: boxers keep things loose, boxer briefs keep things snug, thongs stick things out – if you know what I mean?"

Oscar laughed comfortably and a chuckle spread to everyone including Martin.

"Briefs however, can fill out in certain circumstances and that requires measurement too," Oscar said with a deadpan face that took more effort than he knew he had.

Martin didn't understand.

"To make sure the front of the trousers are always big enough, I'll need to get you hard."

Martin coughed, then spluttered; balked, then stuttered; and then he shut up.

"It's ok – I'll be very gentle," Oscar said.

Martin did not resist as Oscar reached up to knead his penis through the fabric of his briefs. Martin felt excited as his cock started to respond and he let Oscar stroked his balls through the thin fabric of his underwear.

Although Martin was seventeen, very handsome and attended an all-boys school; his sexual experience was rather limited. At school, he had people he was friendly with more than actual friends. He was on good terms with a lad called Smith and his cortege, there was the McMann mob and the book club lads could be a good laugh too.

People liked Martin, most people liked Martin and certainly nobody disliked him but he was a lone wolf who flitted between groups and individuals without belonging particularly to any of them. Maybe if he had made allegiance to a group, Connor's especially, he'd have had more sexual experience by now.

As it was his first hand job appeared to be from an older man in a shop filled with spectators...

Woo Hoo!

Martin felt his cock get harder under the glare of the lights, the gaze of the audience and the manipulations of Oscar. His penis had been sitting snug in his briefs, hanging to his left; Martin's pubes were a little bushy explosion above the waistline of his briefs. Now, as it grew it filled out the briefs and Martin's cock head swelled towards his left hip. Not that he could do anything about it, but Martin's arse was still hanging out of his briefs; the result being that there was more give in their briefs front than normal so now Martin's right testicle was popping right out of the briefs. Much to the delight of the men who watched with rapt attention.

His cock was totally hard now and must have been more than eight inches of rigid meat. However, Oscar had to concede to his stated role in the charade. He retrieved his measuring tape and made sure he took several measurements around Martin's waistline, pressing the measuring tape flat against Martin's big bulge. His final measurement taken and Martin was all measured up for his suit. The revels had ended.

If Oscar hadn't looked up perhaps he would never have done what he did next. Oscar saw a look in Martin's eyes when he looked up: horney, almost pleading, sexed and excited.

"Maybe I could measure one more thing?" Oscar suggested and looked around for approval.

The men and boys around them were very approving.

Oscar looked up again and caught Martin's eye. Martin just nodded and waited for Oscar to do it. In a moment, Oscar had pulled down the front of Martin's briefs and his big penis sprung out and bobbed to a standstill in full view of everyone.

Oscar particularly liked the way the cock head was shiney with pre-cum and the way the eye was pointing straight at his face. One look from Graham told Oscar not to dare going any further than measurement today. Oscar sensed trying anything more with Martin would scare him off, but was happy to measure the love muscle.

Martin's arse was still hanging out and now his penis and testicles were on show too – his briefs resting just below his scrotum.

Oscar gripped Martin's cock firmly and pulled slowly, drawing back the foreskin. He pressed the zero mark on his tape measure into Martin's pubes and drew the tape forward.

"Twenty and a half centimetres," Oscar said, his voice almost trembling; "That's eight point two inches."

Eight and a fifth inches? Fuck!

Martin had never measure before but he knew that that was big and could tell by the murmur around the room they thought it was big too. It made Martin feel rather good about himself.

"I think perhaps you should put that away now?" said Graham, phrasing the question as a statement.

Martin hurriedly compiled – manoeuvring his cock and arse back into his briefs – and set about looking for his uniform as the crowd dispersed, invisibly dismissed back to their Saturday afternoon shopping.

"It's alright, Martin," Graham said. "You'll find a fresh uniform in my office. Why don't you go there and get dressed again?"

Graham smiled supportively and Martin felt much better. He'd worried for a moment that Graham might be upset or angry for being so disreputable in his shop. Martin hurried off to the back of the store and then through the staff only door.

Graham would follow Martin in a few minutes but right now he was torn. Oscar had gone way off script during this session; his fear had been that Martin might get scared off if rushed into anything perverted too soon. Martin clearly had not been so scared after all, so what was it that bothered Graham so much?

Graham knew. It was obvious.

He was jealous.

Graham had been delighted with Oscar's initiative: exposing Martin's arse, exposing his cock... but Oscar had touched Martin's dick too. Oscar had gripped the thing in his hands, eased it back, leaned close enough to smell it.

Graham shook himself – he was being absurd. The green eyed monster was vanquished as quickly as it arrived; partly because Oscar had shown Graham something he wanted to know – how far would Martin go. The answer, it seemed, was very far indeed and that bode well for the future. Graham had many a plan for pushing Martin's horizon's even farther and looked forward to possibilities the future would hold.

Martin was dressed by the time Graham got to his office and he was in a good mood.

"Martin," Graham said. "I think we should discuss what just happened."

"I didn't mean for all that to happen," he replied earnestly; "Honest."

"I know, I know," Graham reassured him.

`Geez is this guy for real?' wondered Graham.

"I'm not angry or anything, I thought what you did was very brave. And it was..." Graham paused for effect, "Well, it was popular. Perhaps we could discuss how you might do something else, something similar? I have lots of ideas."

"Maybe..." said Martin.

Graham smiled though – he saw a flash of delight in Martin's eyes. He was as excited as Graham to see what might happen next.

Whatever "might happen next" turned out to be would have to wait for another day. The rest of Martin's Saturday was an uneventful affair, if a tad uncomfortable; Martin would have preferred to have had the chance to cum once he'd gotten hard. Maybe not cum in front of all those people, although that would be exciting too, but just to relax his balls.

Martin had a date tonight. He had met E.J. at the Symposium at the start of October and were enjoying their first dinner date. Coffees and lunch had formed the foundation of their getting to know each other and Martin still had not told E.J. the truth about his age. Unbeknownst to Martin, E.J. also had a secret to tell when it came to his age.

Martin was younger than he claimed and E.J. was older than he claimed.

Martin claimed to be twenty-one but had really only turned seventeen six weeks ago; and E.J. would be thirty-one in a week or two.

Martin had never dated before though and this was new to him; he felt an anxiety tonight that he had never felt before. He would be going to E.J.'s house – the lion's den? Or is a man's home this castle?

For E.J. dating was an old game he was starting to feel too old for but he was excited around Martin; the younger man (he had no idea) had invigorated him. He had hinted to Victor that he should find an elsewhere to be that night and, once he had explicitly told Victor to "get the hell out," his lodger had taken that hint.

Martin arrived and nearly made a mistake before he'd even sat down.

"You want a glass of wine?" E.J. asked.

Martin was about to say he wasn't old enough; "Yes please he answered."

"You can have a beer if you'd rather, or vodka, rum, disaronno, bricardi..." E.J. stopped himself before he sounded any more like an Oddbins.

"Eh... anything," Martin replied, hoping he sounded nervous and spoiled for choice rather than clueless.

Martin wanted to kick himself. He knew the likes of Connor, or Mitchell or several other boys in his classes at school, would be experienced with alcohol... and sex. Martin felt woefully inadequate and wished he'd made more effort getting into a clique that might have prepared him.

"You don't need to be so nervous," E.J. assured him, reading Martin's insecurity.

"You have a nice house," Martin replied.

"Non sequitur, ok," E.J. said. "Thanks. I'll be paying the mortgage until I'm fifty but... it's a nice house. I got a bit of help when... when my mother died."

"Oh, sorry," Martin replied.

"That's ok, god – sarcastic quote marks – gave her cancer, not you." E.J. was aware he sounded a little bitter.

"I prefer to think there isn't one," Martin responded carefully. "A god, I mean. Sarcastic quote marks or not," he added wryly. "...'cause if there is one, he's kinda mean and stupid."

E.J. returned the sad smile that had come to Martin's face, one that made him look younger that his proclaimed twenty-one years.

"The god that I don't believe in is a good god, a just god, a merciful god. He's not the men and stupid god that you make him out to be." It had been a long time since E.J. had read Joseph Heller, but the words came back to him easily.

Martin smiled, "That's Catch-22, isn't it?" Martin asked. "I read that in school... eh, in fifth year."

So nearly had he said "last year" that he covered the panicked increase in his pulse with a glug of wine.

"It's a good book and a clever conversation between two atheists," E.J. answered – apparently not noticing Martin's near miss. "...Let's have a little more religious freedom between us, Yossarian proposed, You don't believe in the god that you want to and I won't believe in the god that I want to."

Martin was impressed by E.J.'s recall but it also made him feel a little stupid so he asked for even more wine.

To be honest there was something Martin had meant to ask from the moment they'd met. And then from the moment they'd had coffee, and then lunch. Certainly by now Martin should have asked the obvious question. Yet as the evening's conversation had started with literature it continued, as conversations do from one thing to another without the opportunity for him to ask. They talked about family. E.J. explained that he had lived in the area with his mum and dad until they split up, around the same time he'd started to realise he was gay and didn't know what to do about it.

"I mean, I kinda always knew – the way I assume `we' always kinda know. Deep down. But I was a young teenager and not ready to accept it so I tried girls, hated it, pretended I didn't," E.J. paused while he took a sip of wine.

"You kissed a girl and you disliked it, the taste of her cherry chap stick," Martin sang.

"Wasn't the only thing that tasted like cherries." E.J. replied facetiously.

"Gross."

"Yea, sorry, I think I was just sick in my mouth."

"So... you had sex... with a girl when you were a kid?" Martin asked, aghast that virginity could be lost at thirteen when he was still a virgin at seventeen. Aghast too that a gay guy could lose their virginity to a girl.

"Just once and even that was too many times," E.J. joked.

They were at the dinner table now, the noodle salad starter devoured and the chicken and chorizo paella now cool enough to eat without burning their mouths.

"My brother Stephen was a little older than me and thought I was missing out by not having sex yet. I mean, my balls had probably just dropped and my voice hadn't even broke but Stephen was the dedicated big brother and set me up with his girlfriend's friend," E.J. explained.

"You have a big brother?" Martin asked and then added, "Did he ever set you up with boys?"

E.J. laughed fondly, "Actually yes. He was cool about me being gay and he told me some great stories about his army buddies. Anyway," E.J. continued; "It was a relief when my parents broke up, just a few months after I lost my cherry. My dad had work down in Brighton and we went with him. It was a great place to be for a young gay boy who needed a bit of validation."

"Brighton has a pretty active gay scene, huh?" Martin half asked, half stated.

"It sure does," E.J. replied with a twinkle. "Anyway. I moved back here when I was twenty-one, my mum was sick by then and I had just finished Uni. I started taking care of her and lucked out with a job at the Symposium. I've been working there ever since. It got me into great shape too."

The story was, broadly speaking, true. E.J. had studied at University down south and did move back when he was twenty-one but E.J. neglected to mention that was nearly a decade ago now.

"It certainly did," replied Martin; "You look amazing."

"So do you," E.J. reciprocated.

"So your brother, he's in the army? Do you guys work out together?" Martin asked, fascinated by the motions involved in getting to know someone and he was an only child so he was keen tunderstand the sibling dynamic.

"Oh, we used to," E.J. said with sadness in his voice. It was the same sadness Martin had heard when E.J. had mentioned his mum so Martin was prepared when E.J. said; "My brother... well, he died in Afghanistan five years ago."

There was a sadness in his face that hadn't been there before and although Martin was an only child he felt a sense of what it must be like to lose a sibling – it was written in the melancholy of E.J.'s face.

"My family has grown smaller over the years," E.J. said, exploiting the use of oxymoron. "But enough of my cheery family life, what about you? Tell me about you."

Martin flinched as he was pushed to open up about his life. With E.J. having been so open and honest Martin felt scared and guilty to have to lie. After all he could hardly tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

What Martin did not say was; "Well since I'm a seventeen year old boy who's in final year at high school, I'm reading Othello for my higher English, I'm a virgin, I don't have a clue what I want to study IF I go to university nor what I want to work as if I don't go."

"I'm kinda... stuck just now." Martin replied. "I think I want to do more higher education but don't know what so, erm, I'm working part time now." Martin felt wholly embarrassed to sound so lame.

E.J. covered for him, feeling sorry for his obvious discomfort.

"Hey, they don't make it easy to decide what to do with the rest of your life," E.J. said; "Don't worry about it and hey, if you ever want to work somewhere else I could put in a good word for you."

Martin looked up and into E.J.'s green eyes, kind eyes they were.

"I'll bear that in mind," Martin replied; "Would that mean I'd owe you a... favour?" he asked.

They were finishing their meal now and it seemed the time had come for desert.

Martin could not help but think about the future. He thought how a few short weeks had brought him a job, a man who he anticipated calling his boyfriend after tonight and sex... with another person. He was making assumptions of course; that E.J. and he would start having a physical relationship but alcohol was a social lubricant and he saw the way E.J. looked at him. In truth, Martin looked at E.J. the same way.

Martin felt deeply attracted to E.J. – he could imagine looking just like him in ten years and desired to be just like him too. Perhaps his thoughts had run away with him, because the next thing Martin felt was E.J.'s hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go into the living room," E.J. whispered in his ear.

He might be big and young but his fair share of wine had gone straight to Martin's head. Geez: never drank, never had sex, never been kissed – Martin felt like the lamest seventeen year old ever.

In the living room, E.J. let go of Martin's hand and turned to face him. E.J. leaned in and kissed Martin on the lips.

Their lips were warm and wet, meeting several times until Martin let out a sigh. Alcohol rubbed out any signs that he was woefully inexperienced. Then, E.J. parted his lips and pushed out his tongue. At first it only licked Martin's lips until Martin registered he should open his own mouth and let it in.

Martin's own tongue now lashed out and together the men wrestled orally until their breath was spent again.

E.J. manoeuvred Martin towards the sofa and the kissing resumed, now with arms wrapped around each other's bodies; exploring necks and shoulders, back's and hips and finally their groin's met. E.J. rather enjoyed frottage, even though their skin was not bear he could feel Martin's throbbing member pulse against his.

Martin's hands were on E.J.'s hips and E.J. slid his hands up Martin's flat stomach, brushed his nipples while resisting the urge to tweak them and then rested on his shoulders. A moment later, E.J. pushed Martin onto the sofa. The sofa gave off a satisfied sound of cushiony goodness but Martin had to fight the urge to throw-up from the sudden postural change.

E.J. leaned over Martin and moved his hands to the younger man's groin, massaging what was inside through the fabric of his trousers and underwear.

Martin tossed his head back, enjoying the sensation of another man's hand on his penis. A moment later he realised E.J. was knelt between his legs and E.J.'s hands were pulling down the zipper. It was barely more than he could stand. E.J. felt the same way.

Martin's zip came down, the belt was unbuckled the waist unbuttoned and for good measure E.J. undid the first few buttons on Martin's shirt. And then a few more for extra measure. E.J. pulled open Martin's trousers to fully expose the black briefs that scarcely contained a big bloated cock.

E.J. rubbed the hard-on through the briefs for several minutes and only stopped because he sensed Martin was getting close to cumming – all too soon.

E.J. pushed his hand up Martin's body to reveal a toned physique that he greatly admired. Then his hands slipped around the waistband of the briefs; E.J. leaned forward and caught a whiff of sweaty musk from the cock and balls inside. He was keen to see it now, so E.J. pulled down the front f the briefs so the cock could pop out.

It really was a big dick. E.J. suppressed jealously only because it was just a fraction of an inch of bigger than his own – itself an eight inch behemoth. Unsatisfied with his progress so far, E.J. gripped the sides of Martin's trousers and underwear and gave a gentle tug, gentle enough to prompt Martin to lift his hips – then E.J. pulled them all the way down to Martin's ankles.

E.J. was tempted to suck it – he leaned over and gazed into the eye but Martin wasn't with it enough for either of them to appreciate it and it felt wrong. A handjob would be satisfactory for them both though.

E.J. put his hands on the back of Martin's calves, feeling the tone of the hard muscle before moving them up to feel the tone of an entirely different muscle. E.J. gripped the cock firmly and moved his hand up and down slowly. His pace quickened as his other hand floated to Martin's balls and caressed the hairy gonads. Martin's cock trembled under E.J.'s touch as pre-cum was used to lubricate the head; E.J. realised the pleasurable result of concentrating on Martin's bellend and soon it was slippery with pre-cum.

"Oh fuck," was the first thing Martin had said in the fifteen minutes since he'd sat down.

It was followed by a tightening in everything below his bellybutton and even E.J. could feel it coming. Martin's balls burst – cum shooting up onto his exposed chest and abdomen and then spurting over E.J.'s hand as the force began to subside.

Martin's hands had been gripping the edge of the sofa tightly as he was wanked off and as release finally came his grip slackened. He'd been gagging for this since the afternoon – since he had been stripped and brought to erection in front of all those people and now he had cum in front of E.J. It felt really good.

E.J. slid his hand up Martin's torso again and smeared the cum all over his chest, his nipples and the treasure trail of his tummy.

"I'm making a proper mess," E.J. laughed; "Sorry about that. I'll go get you a towel."

When he returned, Martin had pulled his trousers and underwear up.

"Here," E.J. said as he offered the towel.

Martin mumbled thanks and cleaned up without saying anything. E.J. was worried he had overstepped the mark, gone too far too soon but it wasn't that. So what was it?

Once he was clean and his shirt was buttoned and tucked in and his trousers were all fastened up again, Martin's hand came up and gripped E.J.'s belt, pulling him closer. He wanted to return the favour but when he looked up and E.J. finally looked into his eyes, really looked, he realised what was wrong.

E.J. laughed but not cruelly, "You're hammered mate."

"No, no I'm not," Martin answered in the slow deliberate tone of someone who was trying not to sound drunk.

E.J. removed Martin's hand from his belt; "You're a lightweight. But I choose to find that endearing."

Martin smiled appreciatively but a little embarrassed.

"It was a whole bottle of wine. What else was in it, vodka and apple sours?" Martin asked with the uncontrolled laugh of someone half-cut.

"I'll call you a taxi," E.J. said. He turned when he got to the living room door; "It's not that I wouldn't love to do more or have you stay just... not yet, yea?"

"Yea," Martin agreed.

E.J. came back having made the call, fidgeting with the phone in his hand. They had five or ten minutes to kill now that thankfully were filled with a natural and easy conversation.

"There will be a next time, right?" E.J. asked.

"Defiantly," Martin replied and felt more sober by the second.

A txt to E.J.'s phone and toot from outside signalled the taxi's arrival. Martin was grateful he's thought to bring cash to pay for such a convenience or he would have had more explaining to do to his parents than he was comfortable with. As it was, he was confident he could sneak in the house without waking him – they knew he had planned to be out late.

E.J. showed him to the door at which they kissed again – nice and tender.

"There was one other thing," Martin said before he stepped outside.

The door was open to alert the taxi that they had hear; the crisp autumn air chilling with the gentle breeze that carried it.

"What's that?" E.J. asked.

"I've been meaning to ask since we met," Martin added.

"Hmmm?"

"What does E.J. stand for?"

E.J. laughed and replied: "Ewan Jamieson. Which is why I prefer E.J., ok?"

"Ok. G'night."

E.J. felt happy as he watched Martin approach the taxi.

Martin felt happy too.

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