Nick Meets Tommy
I got hammered with Nick, last night. We went out to a bar and drank, not my favourite way to get hammered, but none the less. It was what it was.
I was thinking about Steve, I don’t know what Nick’s reason was?
Lovely Steve. I wanted to tell him I wanted to have a relationship with him, but not monogamous. I wanted him to be mine, and me to be his, you know, for the most part, but not exclusively.
I wanted to think about how we had got to this stage with each other. And what, going out with Nick to a noisy bar, you think is an odd way to go about it? Sometimes, I think I need a distraction to take my mind off the subject/problem at hand, to be able to make a decision about that subject/problem. Stop thinking about it, and the answer comes to you.
But, you know, I wasn’t completely sure what the problem was? What? I tell Steve I don’t want to be monogamous and he replies that he doesn’t want to see me anymore? When did it become a problem to state one’s needs? And if he said that, well, that would be his truth.
Conclusion, I must like the guy more than I am willing to admit? But, I don’t have a problem admitting that. More than I realise.
Nick and I staggered home, across the Carlton Gardens one foot in front of the other. That is all you have to do to get your drunk arse home, right, one foot in front of the other.
I had bottles of red wine in the kitchen. Nick soon had a couple of them open. “What? You think we need more than two?” That was Nick’s reply when I questioned him opening two at once.
Tommy was over for a while. He just wandered in in his running gear. “Saw the door open,” he joked.
“Did we leave the door open?”
“This is him!” exclaimed Nick. He laughed his laugh.
“Who?” said Tommy.
“Come and sit with me.”
“Okay,” said Tommy. He looked nervous. And with Nick in full, drunk flight…
“Red wine, red wine get him red wine.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, wine for Tommy, I insist. Wine for Tommy.”
Nick got a large glass and filled it with wine.
Tommy sat next to Nick dutifully.
“So, Tommy, you’ve been jogging?”
“Yes.” Tommy twitched his neck, I think through nerves more than through injury.
“Do you have a saw neck?” said Nick.
“No.” Tommy grimaced. “Not really.”
“Sit here.” Nick indicated between his feet. “Here, sit here.”
“No, I am…”
“I have magic hands, sit here, sit here.”
“I don’t think…”
Nick grabbed Tommy by the arm and, practically, forced him onto the carpet in front of him.
Nick played with Tommy's hair.
“I don’t know…”
Then Nick massaged Tommy’s shoulders. “How’s that?”
“It’s, oh, um, that’s good, actually.”
“Magic fingers, I told you,” said Nick.
Tommy moaned.
“Drink up,” says Nick. “The wine helps you relax.”
Tommy skulled his wine. I think it was nerves.
“You look like you take care of yourself.” Nick rubs his hands down over Tommy’s chest.
Tommy jumps. “I try to.”
“I see him jogging regularly,” I said.
“You feel every in-shape,” said Nick.
“If you aren’t in shape at 18, when are you going to be,” I said.
Nick puts on an Asian accent. “You lyke ‘appy ending, Mtar Tommy.”
“I don’t know…”
“You no lyke.”
“I’ve never had one.
“You vont no until you try eet.”
“Oh Nick, stop it,” I said.
“Drink up, drink up.”
Tommy sculls the rest of his wine.”
“More wine for Mr Nick.”
“No,” said Tommy.
“Take no notice of him,” said Nick. “Fill his glass.”
I fille all of our glasses.
Nick slipped his hand into Tommy's shirt and squeezed his nipples. Tommy was a bit pissed by this stage.
Nick whispered to Tommy, not so quietly, read slurred at him. “I want to slide my hand into your pants.”
Nick continued to massage Tommy’s shoulders.
“Hey thanks, for the wine.” He got to his feet. “And the great massage, but I really have to go, my parents should be home and that’ll wonder where I am.”
I thought Tommy looked scared. And then he was gone.
I think Nick scared him, I reckon, asked him too many gay questions.
"He's only 18, Nick. Just turned."
"Old enough," said Nick.
“Don’t you remember when you were his age?”
“Yeah, I had two married guys in the street screwing me regularly.”
“Okay, wrong question,” I conceded.
Nick swigged his red wine.
I drank my wine too.
"I'm doing that one," said Nick. "I'm having his cherry..."
"His cherry?" I repeated. I laughed. "What kind of expression is that?"
"I want him," said Nick.
"Maybe," I said. "I reckon he'd be up for it, if you take your time."
Nick’s famous for rushing things, grabbing what he wants with both hands.
"Wham bam..." said Nick.
"No, he's a nice kid. Be kind to him, you idiot."
Nick shrugged. “Besides, it’s you he wants.”
“Bullshit!”
“Why do you think he’s over here all the time,” said Nick. “And those photos he let you take? What about those?”
“It’s nothing..."
“Na-ah!” Nick was shaking his head.
“We were messing around.”
“He wants to mess around, alright, don’t you see the way he looks at you.”
“He does not.”
“Does too.”
Nick was smiling that I'm-right-and-you're-wrong smile that he has. Grrr!
"Besides, he's not always over here."
I was thinking about Steve, I don’t know what Nick’s reason was?
Lovely Steve. I wanted to tell him I wanted to have a relationship with him, but not monogamous. I wanted him to be mine, and me to be his, you know, for the most part, but not exclusively.
I wanted to think about how we had got to this stage with each other. And what, going out with Nick to a noisy bar, you think is an odd way to go about it? Sometimes, I think I need a distraction to take my mind off the subject/problem at hand, to be able to make a decision about that subject/problem. Stop thinking about it, and the answer comes to you.
But, you know, I wasn’t completely sure what the problem was? What? I tell Steve I don’t want to be monogamous and he replies that he doesn’t want to see me anymore? When did it become a problem to state one’s needs? And if he said that, well, that would be his truth.
Conclusion, I must like the guy more than I am willing to admit? But, I don’t have a problem admitting that. More than I realise.
Nick and I staggered home, across the Carlton Gardens one foot in front of the other. That is all you have to do to get your drunk arse home, right, one foot in front of the other.
I had bottles of red wine in the kitchen. Nick soon had a couple of them open. “What? You think we need more than two?” That was Nick’s reply when I questioned him opening two at once.
Tommy was over for a while. He just wandered in in his running gear. “Saw the door open,” he joked.
“Did we leave the door open?”
“This is him!” exclaimed Nick. He laughed his laugh.
“Who?” said Tommy.
“Come and sit with me.”
“Okay,” said Tommy. He looked nervous. And with Nick in full, drunk flight…
“Red wine, red wine get him red wine.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Yes, wine for Tommy, I insist. Wine for Tommy.”
Nick got a large glass and filled it with wine.
Tommy sat next to Nick dutifully.
“So, Tommy, you’ve been jogging?”
“Yes.” Tommy twitched his neck, I think through nerves more than through injury.
“Do you have a saw neck?” said Nick.
“No.” Tommy grimaced. “Not really.”
“Sit here.” Nick indicated between his feet. “Here, sit here.”
“No, I am…”
“I have magic hands, sit here, sit here.”
“I don’t think…”
Nick grabbed Tommy by the arm and, practically, forced him onto the carpet in front of him.
Nick played with Tommy's hair.
“I don’t know…”
Then Nick massaged Tommy’s shoulders. “How’s that?”
“It’s, oh, um, that’s good, actually.”
“Magic fingers, I told you,” said Nick.
Tommy moaned.
“Drink up,” says Nick. “The wine helps you relax.”
Tommy skulled his wine. I think it was nerves.
“You look like you take care of yourself.” Nick rubs his hands down over Tommy’s chest.
Tommy jumps. “I try to.”
“I see him jogging regularly,” I said.
“You feel every in-shape,” said Nick.
“If you aren’t in shape at 18, when are you going to be,” I said.
Nick puts on an Asian accent. “You lyke ‘appy ending, Mtar Tommy.”
“I don’t know…”
“You no lyke.”
“I’ve never had one.
“You vont no until you try eet.”
“Oh Nick, stop it,” I said.
“Drink up, drink up.”
Tommy sculls the rest of his wine.”
“More wine for Mr Nick.”
“No,” said Tommy.
“Take no notice of him,” said Nick. “Fill his glass.”
I fille all of our glasses.
Nick slipped his hand into Tommy's shirt and squeezed his nipples. Tommy was a bit pissed by this stage.
Nick whispered to Tommy, not so quietly, read slurred at him. “I want to slide my hand into your pants.”
Nick continued to massage Tommy’s shoulders.
“Hey thanks, for the wine.” He got to his feet. “And the great massage, but I really have to go, my parents should be home and that’ll wonder where I am.”
I thought Tommy looked scared. And then he was gone.
I think Nick scared him, I reckon, asked him too many gay questions.
"He's only 18, Nick. Just turned."
"Old enough," said Nick.
“Don’t you remember when you were his age?”
“Yeah, I had two married guys in the street screwing me regularly.”
“Okay, wrong question,” I conceded.
Nick swigged his red wine.
I drank my wine too.
"I'm doing that one," said Nick. "I'm having his cherry..."
"His cherry?" I repeated. I laughed. "What kind of expression is that?"
"I want him," said Nick.
"Maybe," I said. "I reckon he'd be up for it, if you take your time."
Nick’s famous for rushing things, grabbing what he wants with both hands.
"Wham bam..." said Nick.
"No, he's a nice kid. Be kind to him, you idiot."
Nick shrugged. “Besides, it’s you he wants.”
“Bullshit!”
“Why do you think he’s over here all the time,” said Nick. “And those photos he let you take? What about those?”
“It’s nothing..."
“Na-ah!” Nick was shaking his head.
“We were messing around.”
“He wants to mess around, alright, don’t you see the way he looks at you.”
“He does not.”
“Does too.”
Nick was smiling that I'm-right-and-you're-wrong smile that he has. Grrr!
"Besides, he's not always over here."
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