Easter Sunday
Steve and I were feeling a little wobbly by Sunday night, by the time the day slipped away and the night returned. Jangly, not exactly back in our own skin. Reality wasn't completely back in focus, the twitches hadn't exactly subsided.
Ben left not long after midday. He didn't say much, just the walk of the zombie as he grabbed his things, thanked us and headed for the front door, all in one, seemingly, fluid movement with little eye contact.
Steve and I spent the afternoon smoking pot and snorting what was left in the bags. Greedy piggies. It was Steve's idea, he had that look of hunger in his eyes since we'd gotten up. He found the bags, he collected all the crystals together and then crushed the life out of them with the edge of his credit card, until we had two quite substantial lines there in front of us on the coffee table.
Our sense of touch was still tingling in our skin. I squeezed Steve's nipple and he spasamed and said he needed air, a change of scenery, needed to walk and see people, light and movement. Maybe we could catch a movie at the fuck bar. You know, out somewhere but contained, safe within our impairment.
We each kept checking the other, as we headed down the street, with big eyes and a giggle and gulps for breath. Your own tribe in its own world. Juiced and toey. A sense of anticipation, a secret mission, who knows who we might see.
The club was kind of busy, plenty of bodies moving in and out of the shadows. We got coffee, such as it is, and, I'm sure, looked a bit spaced as we nearly tripped over each other as our eyes grew accustomed to the dimmed light.
Some movie was on, which didn't seem familiar at all, so we downed our coffee and headed up stairs. I felt more a sense of adventure than any down and dirty need to find cock. It was just nice being out together, spinning our orbit a little wider than normal.
Do you walk around together, or split up? Always the questions for boyfriends at fuck clubs. We didn't decide and ended up doing a combination of the two. A couple of times I turned to say something to Steve and he'd taken another corridor and was gone.
I love those conspiratorial meetings on the corners and in the shadows that only boyfriends can have. I love the knowing looks from the other punters when they realise they have a couple in the mix. They look at you differently, they regard you as a novelty, as it's no longer a long and solo journey for all those involved. The search of the lonely.
I love the nods, the winks and the conferrals and they recognition on the single punters faces as they realise that they are being sized up by two.
We headed into the dark downstairs between the barrels hand in hand. We slid along the wall of tins, listening to the breathing, the scuff of shoes and smelling the sweat. The heaving mass, you could almost feel the energy pulsing.
Nobody spoke, it was not the place or the time for conversations.
I could vaguely make out heads and outlines. I could barely see a line of men lining up behind someone at the front who was letting out muffled groans. Some of the men in the distance, at the front of the line, were saying "yes, yes." The line crept forward at a slow pace.
I could sense that Steve was looking the other way. He grunted softly and I slid my hand down to the front of his pants to find another hand already inside his jeans.
"Who's that?" I whispered.
I could feel Steve's head turn to me. "Don't know."
"Slut." We both giggled.
Steve moved and groaned some more. I felt down to find the top of a head, feeding. Thick hair, chain on his muscular neck.
"The Italian guy," I whispered.
Steve grunted in acknowledgement. He leant his head on my shoulder and I could feel the rhythm of the sucker through the movement of Steve's body.
"Do you want to be my boyfriend?"
"Is he that good?"
"I'm talking to you."
"Huh?"
"Do you want to be boyfriends?"
"Um, oh... aren't we?"
"You know, officially? I know we've been doing a very good impersonation of boyfriends, but we've never said it, never actually said the words."
"You picked an interesting time to ask."
"I feel... ah, ah, ah." Gulp. "Feel close to yoooouuuuu... oh, ah. Free but together. I can have anything and be anything with you by my siiiiidddddde... oh, oh, oh."
"Yes, I want to be your boyfriend."
“I want to be yours, too,” he whispered.
Steve leant over and kissed me. I put my hand up to his cheek and felt his soft skin as I ate his soft lips.
"I love you," whispered Steve, for the first time, breathlessly, in between our kissing, as his body rocked on another man's lips.
“I love you to,” I said.
“Oh fuck,” said Steve. “Hold me.” I put my arm around him, as he shuddered and gasped and his head shook, as he came in the other guys mouth.
Ben left not long after midday. He didn't say much, just the walk of the zombie as he grabbed his things, thanked us and headed for the front door, all in one, seemingly, fluid movement with little eye contact.
Steve and I spent the afternoon smoking pot and snorting what was left in the bags. Greedy piggies. It was Steve's idea, he had that look of hunger in his eyes since we'd gotten up. He found the bags, he collected all the crystals together and then crushed the life out of them with the edge of his credit card, until we had two quite substantial lines there in front of us on the coffee table.
Our sense of touch was still tingling in our skin. I squeezed Steve's nipple and he spasamed and said he needed air, a change of scenery, needed to walk and see people, light and movement. Maybe we could catch a movie at the fuck bar. You know, out somewhere but contained, safe within our impairment.
We each kept checking the other, as we headed down the street, with big eyes and a giggle and gulps for breath. Your own tribe in its own world. Juiced and toey. A sense of anticipation, a secret mission, who knows who we might see.
The club was kind of busy, plenty of bodies moving in and out of the shadows. We got coffee, such as it is, and, I'm sure, looked a bit spaced as we nearly tripped over each other as our eyes grew accustomed to the dimmed light.
Some movie was on, which didn't seem familiar at all, so we downed our coffee and headed up stairs. I felt more a sense of adventure than any down and dirty need to find cock. It was just nice being out together, spinning our orbit a little wider than normal.
Do you walk around together, or split up? Always the questions for boyfriends at fuck clubs. We didn't decide and ended up doing a combination of the two. A couple of times I turned to say something to Steve and he'd taken another corridor and was gone.
I love those conspiratorial meetings on the corners and in the shadows that only boyfriends can have. I love the knowing looks from the other punters when they realise they have a couple in the mix. They look at you differently, they regard you as a novelty, as it's no longer a long and solo journey for all those involved. The search of the lonely.
I love the nods, the winks and the conferrals and they recognition on the single punters faces as they realise that they are being sized up by two.
We headed into the dark downstairs between the barrels hand in hand. We slid along the wall of tins, listening to the breathing, the scuff of shoes and smelling the sweat. The heaving mass, you could almost feel the energy pulsing.
Nobody spoke, it was not the place or the time for conversations.
I could vaguely make out heads and outlines. I could barely see a line of men lining up behind someone at the front who was letting out muffled groans. Some of the men in the distance, at the front of the line, were saying "yes, yes." The line crept forward at a slow pace.
I could sense that Steve was looking the other way. He grunted softly and I slid my hand down to the front of his pants to find another hand already inside his jeans.
"Who's that?" I whispered.
I could feel Steve's head turn to me. "Don't know."
"Slut." We both giggled.
Steve moved and groaned some more. I felt down to find the top of a head, feeding. Thick hair, chain on his muscular neck.
"The Italian guy," I whispered.
Steve grunted in acknowledgement. He leant his head on my shoulder and I could feel the rhythm of the sucker through the movement of Steve's body.
"Do you want to be my boyfriend?"
"Is he that good?"
"I'm talking to you."
"Huh?"
"Do you want to be boyfriends?"
"Um, oh... aren't we?"
"You know, officially? I know we've been doing a very good impersonation of boyfriends, but we've never said it, never actually said the words."
"You picked an interesting time to ask."
"I feel... ah, ah, ah." Gulp. "Feel close to yoooouuuuu... oh, ah. Free but together. I can have anything and be anything with you by my siiiiidddddde... oh, oh, oh."
"Yes, I want to be your boyfriend."
“I want to be yours, too,” he whispered.
Steve leant over and kissed me. I put my hand up to his cheek and felt his soft skin as I ate his soft lips.
"I love you," whispered Steve, for the first time, breathlessly, in between our kissing, as his body rocked on another man's lips.
“I love you to,” I said.
“Oh fuck,” said Steve. “Hold me.” I put my arm around him, as he shuddered and gasped and his head shook, as he came in the other guys mouth.
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