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YOU KNOW HE'S SUB, DON'T YOU? - PART FIVE
I didn't hear from Jake. I kept looking at my phone. You know. All next day. Finally I went out, feeling frustrated, and who should I see but Po, Po Mostafa walking towards me. I turned a corner and he turned a corner at the same time and there we were there facing each other along this short narrow lane - like the gunfight at the O.K. Corral, yeah? He was wearing his football kit (the authentic pale yellow and blue Arsenal away-stripe with 'Ozil' and 'Emirates' across the chest and a big number 10 in blue), trainers - the lad uniform - showing off his muscley brown arms and legs, and a tee that hung on his pecs. I tried to avoid looking at him but he shouted at me, "Oi, J-sub!" That was one name they had for me, since the joke-not-joke was that I was Jake's sub now, see. Which I was. But now probably wasn't. But we had both been pretending to the gang that it was only us pretending and that we weren't really a thing - except that we were; we were meeting up everyday and I was sucking him and licking his bollocks and we were kissing and fondling and everything, except fucking. Except that now I didn't know if we were or not or if he'd moved on! It was so-oo complicated! "Come 'ere!" said Po. He paced forward slowly from his end of the lane and I trotted towards him reluctantly. Since the story was that I was-not-was Jake's sub I had to be this kind of sub guy for everybody; pretending like I was obeying them and doing stuff (any non-sexual thing), playing into the myth-not-myth and, basically, all it meant was I didn't get bullied - which was kind of the main story for me. It was like, me being sub was my trademark and how they thought of me. It was a kind of acceptance, and I became a kind of member of the gang by default, this mascot type of thing that gets patronised and humiliated and ridiculed, a lesser in the pecking order but who never gets beaten up. Looking back, I don't feel good about it, but it got me through the day, so. But I wasn't happy about it.
And I thought, you know I thought that if I became Jake's true boyfriend, because we were having true sex like fucking like real gays, then he'd be like this real man who'd stand up for me. Cause he already was a real man; he'd got the body and the maturity, everyone thought so. And we'd be a couple and no one could do anything about it cause they'd have Jake to answer to. But I didn't factor in that Jake was straight. That didn't occur to me. I mean I knew he was straight, or something, but I just didn't factor it in. I ignored it. Because I looked up to him so much, I just didn't think he'd hurt me, I thought he was my protector, because he liked my blowjobs. Does that make any sense?
Po was walking more and more slowly at the end of the lane and staring at me like he was being more than patient and I was wasting his time. He was still unsure about me. Like the fight: he had beaten me easily, but when Jake stopped him from hurting me good and proper (he had been about to kick me and might even have broken my skin or something) it made him feel like he had been made to look weak (even though it's a good job or he would have got into trouble!). And I had insulted his brother and he never got to get me for that. So he was always a bit more bitter than the others when he called me a cocksucker - like it wasn't really a joke. And he never wanted me to suck his cock (which was enormous) because I think it was like I wasn't good enough. I think that's the reason.
So I walked more quickly and I got right up to him, or nearly, and said, "sup?"
Since I'd been kissing Jake I'd been noticing guys lips a lot more. The way they opened and the way they pressed together and how they covered up his teeth and then uncovered them again when he smiled. And dimples in their cheeks when they smiled. And how you sometimes saw their tongues when they licked their lips - which they did a lot it seemed, unconsciously. Po wasn't smiling but his lips looked soft and also sort of sugary and made me wonder what kissing him would be like. And what would it be like if he put his tongue in my mouth. What would it taste like?
"Your nob's sticking out," said Po, matter of factly. His lips were already thinner than Jake's and now he pressed them together disapprovingly like he was team manager. Like, he knew everything and never did anything bad? I really hated him, I mean really hated him. He was a cunt, I thought. "Is it? Oh sorry." I answered him sarcastically, but not like I was bothered. But I do think I had been dressing more provocatively since I'd been with Jake. Though what is 'provocatively'? It depends what you think of everything doesn't it? Cause since Jake was into me it felt, I mean I felt sexy and I couldn't help but show it: I opened my shirt another button and I wore my trousers a bit tighter than I had, tightened up the belt so it showed my shape better; and also I pulled my trousers up so the seam went up my backside like it was cut really deep and showed off my bottom, and my crotch was tight; and I liked the way my clothing felt right up against me and the way I could feel it rubbing over my skin there when I walked. Right in there. Like. You know. Rubbing against me and making me feel always, aware of my skin. So, yeah, it was a bit slutty! So, yeah, my dick really was sticking out probably; plus I had a semi from thinking about Jake, Jake kissing me, and Jake's cock. I think I was missing him.
"You dress like a fag," Po said. Then he said, "I gotta wear loose clothes cause I have to. I couldn't wear tight like that. My cock is too big." I already knew that. "It would look disgusting," and he put his hand across his crotch and cupped it; he was holding it and he was fondling it and looking at me for some kind of reaction. "What do you think?" Then he lifted his shorts by the waistband so that they rode up and it was outlined clearly, almost came out the bottom. It was pretty massive. Too big to have it permanently showing like that. Not that I looked. I tried not to. "It's too big," he went on like it was some kind of complaint. "Bet you couldn't swallow that. You couldn't take it I don't think. Because it's too big." "Because your mum!" I said. And he went red because, I realised, he thought it was an insult but he didn't understand how it was an insult. He was angry and embarrassed at the same time. That made me feel a bit clever. "Bet you're right," I said, "but I bet I could take it up my arse!" I don't think he knew if this was for real or just another 'clever' insult! It's strange just how fuckin'stupid some people are! "Poof," he replied. "I should too; then you'd wish you kept quiet!" There was a brief pause whilst we both absorbed what he'd just said. Po took a breath and said, "All I mean is, take a look at yourself. You're SO gay. I mean, so-o gay, the way you dress, your hair -" "What's gay about my hair?" "Fuck knows mate, but somehow it is. And that way you walk. And what's this?" He reached out and touched my shirt, which was white and soft and very clean. He pinched a bit of the cloth on my pec, and almost pinched my nipple - I didn't flinch - then tugged it slightly before letting it go. The fold stayed as a slight mark, as though the tug remained. As I looked at it I caught sight of his chest beneath his footie shirt - stretching the word 'Emirates'. Those his nipples? They were pointy, clearly visible beneath. "What you looking at?" "Your gay shirt!" I said. "It's not a gay shirt. It's Arsenal." I laughed. "You're the faggot," I said, brazenly. Po snorted at the ludicrous absurdity of the idea. "Yeah. Right." He kicked the pavement. "But you're still thinking about my cock." "What, cause it's so humungous and huge?" We both laughed, though he laughed a bit more reluctantly. Po continued, "So where's you going anyhow? Jake?" "No. What about you? Won't you be late for football practice?" I knew he hadn't any practice to go to, obviously. But he liked the kit. He shook his head, looking at me thoughtfully like he was trying to work me out. He sighed again. "So you haven't noticed how blokes look at you?" "W-what?" I mean, I had noticed but some reason I liked that they were looking at me, cause sometimes it was a look of contempt but sometimes I thought they really fancied me. It was ambiguous. And I thought, 'Yeah I'm gay. So what?' And I liked that. "Aren't you embarrassed?" Po continued. "Look I'm trying to help." "You're the one worked up about it." "You know what I mean. People would respect you more if you were more ... I mean, why can't you be a bit more athletic? You'd be much more attractive if you were more athletic." I was about to say, 'What do you care if I'm more attractive, or athletic?' But I stopped myself cause I suddenly felt a twinge of alarm, that he was not what I had thought previously - you know - that he might actually be, like, you know, attracted, to me cause then when he, like, touched my arm and sort of steered me round - it was like electric, all over, in my body, cause the way he touched me suddenly felt like he was attracted despite what he said, like an energy of some sort was entering my body and telling me he wanted it; the gentle soft touch of his fingertips kind of gripped me like I was a piece of paper he had caught in mid-air, and I started walking with him, in the same direction - the direction I had been walking before. It was like he held me in an armlock but also like a tight embrace, like he was fondling me through the ridges and furrows on his thumb- and finger-prints, like through that single point of contact he was supporting or steering or controlling the entire weight of my body. And somehow I could feel his whole body through those fingertips on my arm - every step when his heels met the ground, every movement of his knees, the sway of his hips, of his shoulders, the way his stomach was flat and his chest and buttocks filled with strength, how his head rocked on his neck, the way his ears were outlined by his hair and his eyes had a kind of vacant-yet-determined look that seemed to mean he would not let me go ... My dick was so stiff it actually hurt. I thought, "Is he going to come on to me?" I thought he might at any moment but at the same time he was holding me at arms length! "I heard from Jake," he said. "You heard what?" "He said you're done." "What he said?" "Yeah. He's finished with you." "Yeah? Well never was, and you believed it," I attempted a laugh. "We was kidding. It wasn't true! Any of it! We was playing you. You ask him!" "Yeah. I did. Look I don't care either way if you give him his jollies." "Is that what he said?" "Yeah. Course. He tells me everything." "I bet you he doesn't." Po grinned, "So there was something ..." I realised I'd tripped up. "Look," he continued, "it's like I said. If you're sucking his cock it's just what everyone thinks so, and he's happy so, and everyone knows your a cocksucker so ..." I felt downcast, like I had been a fool. "We're mates," he said, meaning him and Jake; "That's how it is. We tell each other." I don't know what he meant by that. "But I reckon you got too close. Am I right?" I looked down. "Too close? He's straight. He won't fall in love with you. He doesn't want you. He just wants a blowjob. That's all he can cope with. He might have got confused but he won't stay confused." So did Po know about our little failed attempt, Jake and I?
As we were walking I was concious of his soft brown knees as they bent and straightened and of his toes as they advanced each step, and of the bulge like a big fold in his shorts. He was still talking but I had zoned out a bit cause it was all a bit much and I was wishing Jake had fucked me and when I zoned back he was talking differently, "You're not alone. But you got to play the game. You expose yourself and you'll get hammered." I looked at his face. He was serious; his eyes were glistening and dark and suddenly I knew what he meant. His lips were even narrower as he firmed them to speak against what appeared to be a slight quiver as he grabbed my arm and gripped it painfully. He looked me in the eye. "If you tell anyone," he said, "I will take you apart."
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END OF YOU KNOW HE'S SUB, DON'T YOU? - PART FIVE