Footy

SEAN (19)

Sean usually had to work on Saturday evenings. Wearing his uniform, he would wait outside mansions or public buildings while the Suttons partied with their friends and acquaintances. It was boring. Sometimes, he was the only chauffeur waiting. At other times, only the drivers for government high-ups would be there. But he’d discovered something that almost made up for the hours he spent waiting—reading. He’d never been a great reader before. His father had thought reading was effeminate, elitist. He’d thought thinking was effeminate. Sean had found a second-hand bookshop on Brunswick Road. He’d tried every kind of book, as long as they were cheap. The people and the worlds in the books had been a revelation and an escape. He wasn’t a man to whom hope came easily. All his life he’d struggled just to survive. To be invited into others’ lives, to experience how they lived, helped nourish the belief that perhaps he might escape. His secret fear was that he would turn out like his parents. For the first time in his life, it seemed possible that he would not.

The Suttons were generous employers. The General saw to that. When Sean had to work on Saturdays or Sundays he was given double pay as well as time off in lieu. Sean found it strange that the General, who had been born rich, cared about Sean’s welfare, while his wife, who had been born poor, did not. Sean wasn’t taken in by the eastern suburbs accent Lady Sutton affected. He knew she came from the same places he did.

The autumn weather was still perfect. The unpleasant heat of summer had faded. On that Tuesday, his day off, Sean decided to go to the beach. He put on his board shorts and pulled on his jeans over them. At ten o’clock, the air was still cool, and St Kilda beach was more or less empty. Sean had a thriller by some dame called Dorothy Sayers. The paperback wasn’t in good condition, but it was perfectly readable. He found it fascinating to see what the world was like from the other side of the class divide. Lord Peter Wimsey seemed a nice bloke, though. Not too up himself. Sean wondered what it would be like to be rich, never to have to worry about how much money there was. And Wimsey seemed so close to his man, Bunter, too. Sean pondered what it would be like to be close to the General. To his surprise, Sean had found that he liked the General. There was no way he’d want to be a friend of Lady Sutton.

Inevitably, his thoughts drifted to his employer’s son and to what had happened between them. He felt suddenly very alone. He had no one to talk to about the new feelings that had been unleashed in him. He didn’t think he could talk to his brothers about it. And he had no real friends. The habits of self-reliance and lonely survival were hard to shake. He shook his head to clear it. What had happened was just a one-off. He wasn’t gay or even bi. He ignored the small dissenting voice in his head.

He spread his towel out on the sand and stripped off his biker leather jacket, his t-shirt and jeans. He examined his body with satisfaction. He had been slim as a boy, always hungry, because there had never been enough food. But after he got his first job that paid enough, he’d acquired barbells and weights. Half his flat above the Sutton’s garage was given over to his gym. He’d found a weathered body-building book by Arnold Schwarzenegger in the second-hand bookshop, and had begun to work out religiously. His shoulders and arms had grown. His waist had trimmed down. The board shorts were loose on him. He was wearing nothing underneath them. Unable to stop himself, his mind turned back to that evening with Jasper, and he had to abruptly turn over onto his stomach. Dammit, he cursed himself, why am I being such a dill about this?

He pulled out “Have His Carcase” and started reading. Later he went in for a swim. He noticed that the people on the beach seemed to be mostly male. One or two of them stared openly at him, and he could see the desire in their eyes. A sense of power surged through him. He was turning these men on. He resolutely ignored them. He wasn’t interested. But inside his board shorts, the soft sway of his cock slowed. Back at his gear, he found that two guys had spread their towels close to his. They were oiling each others’ backs and gossiping.

“Jerrold met him at The Peel. I always say that nothing good comes from blokes you pick up in a bar. Those relationships never last.”

“Yeah. So how is Jerrold?”

“Pretty rooted. He was on the phone to me for hours last night.”

“Forget the old lover in the arms of a new one.”

“You have to meet him first.”

“Exactly. And where else do you find a new bloke? It’s back to the bar. So how do you find a Mr Right who lasts if you only ever meet people at bars?”

Sean had been staring at the two men as he tried to hear all the words of the conversation. He found himself under their scrutiny. The predatory way they examined him was unsettling. He took off his shades and glared at them, narrowing his eyes to cold, aggressive slits. They abruptly looked away, and began to whisper together. Sean found that his pleasure at being at the beach had disappeared. But it seemed cowardly to give up and go home. He went in for another swim. In the water, his sense of dissatisfaction vanished. After half an hour, he came out of the sea and washed the salt off himself at the shower-head next to the pier. He took off his board shorts under his towel, and tried to ignore the surreptitious glances. He felt like giving the full show, letting his towel drop so they could really get a thrill. He despised them. Fucking homos. Anyway, anybody who wanted him had to have something wrong with them. Sean didn’t stop to think that he’d had the same reaction to his girlfriends, which perhaps one reason why the liaisons never lasted. With a self-satisfied grunt he pulled on his jeans. He enjoyed the feel of going commando. He roared off on his bike faster than he normally would, taking pleasure in the tingling sensation he got in his back from all the blokes he imagined were looking at him.

He went home and lay on his bed. And, unbidden, into his mind came the recollection of Jasper under him, his ring tight around Sean’s cock, the firm male muscles of his body, the blond hairs on his neck. He undid the buttons of his fly. He still had no boxers on. He stroked himself to orgasm, his eyes closed, the pictures of that evening vivid against his eyelids.

Towards eight, he finished “Have His Carcase”. Bored, he stared at the walls for a while. Then he worked out. All afternoon, the name “The Peel” had jiggeted around his head. He had no idea where the pub was. In the end, driven by his curiosity, he went into the Sutton’s mansion. He knew where the telephone book was, in the kitchen. He didn’t have access to the internet. And he was far too embarrassed to phone directory enquiries.  It took him a while to find, because its real name was “The Sir Robert Peel Hotel.” It was in Collingwood.

The General was pottering about the kitchen, making himself a sandwich. “G’day, Sean! How are you?”

“Good, sir. And you?” Sean was always ultra-polite with his employers. He felt it proper, no matter what he thought of them.

The General had a clear drink on the table next to him. Gin, Sean supposed, and felt a sudden pang. His own father had been a cheap brandy or bourbon drinker. Even now, seeing an older man with a glass of spirits made his muscles tense up.

“What are you doing tonight, Sean?”

Going to a gay pub. Sean almost laughed as he thought of the General’s face if he said that – especially given his reaction to his son’s gayness. “Going to a pub, sir.”

“Ah, those were the days.” The General’s tone was wistful.

Sean shot him a quick glance from under his eyebrows. For a moment the disturbing thought came into his mind that the General might invite himself along. But the older man must have sensed Sean’s reluctance, or recognised the impropriety of doing that.

As Sean left, the address firmly in his memory, he said, “Have a good evening, sir.”

“You too, Sean.” The General didn’t look at him as Sean slipped quietly out of the kitchen door.

Sean dressed carelessly, merely putting on a clean t-shirt and some undies. He was just going to look, after all. He wasn’t planning to meet a bloke. He was bored, that’s all. But before he left his flat he stopped and inspected himself in the mirror. His eyes were blue-grey, inherited from his mother. His hair was a dark brown, thick and curly. He’d inherited that from his father. There wasn’t much he could thank his father for. His chin was his uncle’s, pointy and firm. His lips were his mother’s, too, and that made him smile wryly. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a smile on her lips. And that last time, they’d been blue.

The face in the mirror smiled back at him. Sean didn’t think he was handsome. But he was OK. Not that it mattered. He had no intention of looking for nookie at the The Peel. He was just curious.

The pub was on the corner of Gertrude St and Brunswick St, right in the center of the alternative, counter-cultural neighborhoods north of the city. Sean didn’t remember seeing it before, but he had in fact been to gigs in pubs all round there. He parked his bike outside the pub. For several moments, he couldn’t bring himself to dismount. He wasn’t a coward. He’d faced his father when he’d gotten old enough. He protected his younger brothers. He’d fought to make a space for himself, where he could be safe from his parents, and from their memory. But this was different. He sat on the bike, reluctant to leave its familiarity. A group of men climbed out of a taxi and went into the pub. They were laughing together. They didn’t seem too scary. Sean smiled sarcastically at himself. C’mon, you pussy. You’re only going to look. If someone asks, you can just tell them you’re straight. Another mocking voice murmured in his inner ear, Of course you are. That’s why you liked rooting Jasper so much. He hadn’t had a root since then. He shook his head to clear it. Just go in. Have one drink. Look around. Leave.

Inside it looked like any pub in that area. Tatty, worn, dirty. But not threatening or hostile. There were posters for homo music, whatever that was, for drag shows, for bands who didn’t look gay, for AIDS benefits, rallies. One or two pointed graffiti about the Prime Minister. And a room filled mostly with men. Sean sauntered over to the bar, and ordered a brandy and coke.

He leaned against the counter and surveyed the room. His heart was beating fast. He wasn’t afraid, but he felt the strangeness of his situation. He sipped his drink. No one took the slightest notice of him. It was as if stray men were perfectly normal. Sean was a little disappointed. He’d half-expected to be able to turn down approaches. To be ignored when he’d wanted to do the ignoring was humiliating and chastening. He turned back to the bar and sipped some more of his drink.

“Your first time?”

Sean jumped. He turned a hostile glare on the man next to him. “No,” he said coldly.

The man shrugged. “It’s no drama, mate. Everybody has to have a first time.”

“Yeah, well, it isn’t mine.” Sean knew he was being churlish. He couldn’t help himself. ‘Mine’ came out as ‘moin’.

“Mine was when I was just seventeen. I was so fucking nervous. I’d never been inside a pub before, never mind a gay pub. I couldn’t have any alcohol. I was allowed to have sex with men but not drink. I suppose that’s right, though. I know I wanted it.” The ‘it’ clearly wasn’t alcohol.

“Did you find it?” Sean was interested in spite of himself.

“Yeah.” All the same, the tone of his answer suggested that he hadn’t.

There was silence, taut and uncomfortable.

“Will.” A hand appeared in front of Sean’s stomach.

Sean could think of no reason not to shake it. “Sean.” He flicked his eyes over his companion. Will was taller than Sean. His eyes were the color of toffee, with long almost girlish lashes. His hair was a matching brown, thick and curly, and shining with health. His nose was big, and had been broken, so it curved down towards the tip. It made his face interesting, distinctive, sexy. His body seemed good, not heavily muscled, but pleasing. Sean knew only two other male bodies to compare it to. It struck him all at once that what he really wanted was to have Jasper here next to him, his green eyes glowing, his blond curls shiny in the obscurity. He felt lost, sad, alone.

“You OK, Sean?”

Sean turned to look at Will. Will’s face was concerned. Sean was used to bullshit-artists, fakes ready to sell you anything, any idea, if it suited their agenda. He’d found the worst were the born-agains pretending to care about him, but really only after another convert to their happy-clappy rubbish. At least he knew what this man was after. “Yeah, I’m good.” He let a minute slip by. “Thanks, mate.”

“Another brandy and coke?” Will was no longer looking at him.

“Nah. I have to ride home. Thanks. Just a coke.”

“Where do you live?” Will was watching him carefully. It came to Sean that Will cared much more about this encounter than he appeared to on the surface.

“Toorak.”

Will raised his eyebrows.

Sean was annoyed. He was sick of this reaction. “That’s where my employer lives.”

Will just went on staring at him.

“I’m a chauffeur.” The admission was dragged reluctantly from him. He was angry with Will that he’d been forced into it. Yet it wasn’t Will’s fault. Reluctantly he added, “For General Sir Roger Sutton.”

Will nodded to show he knew the name. “I used to drive wedding cars for a while. And then taxis. When I was a student.”

Sean recognized the intent behind the words. He liked Will better for it.

“It is my first time,” he admitted, wryly. “My” slipped towards ‘moi’. Sean didn’t know, couldn’t know, just how hot Sean’s accent made him to Will.

The other man grinned at Sean. “There’s a first time for everything.”

The trace of innuendo would have made Sean feel uncomfortable before. Now it just raised his pulse. “Yeah,” he said, looking straight into the warm toffee of Will’s eyes, where desire flared. Will reached out and started to fiddle with the zip of Sean’s leather jacket. His hand was perilously close to Sean’s stomach, to his groin. Warmth washed through Sean’s body. He was unable to pull his eyes away from Will’s. It had been weeks without any sex but what he had been prepared to bestow on himself. The prospect of a body under him, next to him, filled him with an intoxicating need. Will wasn’t Jasper, he wasn’t even a woman, but Sean didn’t care. He reached out his own hand, and undid a button on Will’s shirt. He left his hand casually resting against the other man’s hard chest. “What do you do?”

Will shrugged. “I’m a stockbroker.”

“Oh.” Sean had no wish to go all googly over Will’s job. He wasn’t going to cream his pants just because someone was rich. And Will was obviously rich. Diesel jeans, Ralph Lauren Polo shirt, expensive shoes.

“That went down like a lead balloon, right?” Will’s smile was dry.

Sean couldn’t help it – he smiled, much more warmly than he had meant to. “You could have lied. Said you were a... mechanic? A carpenter?”

“I don’t like lying.”

Later Sean would remember this. Will never actually lied to him. He just concealed the truth.

Will was still playing with the zip on Sean’s jacket. He gave it a small tug. “C’mon, let’s go. My car is just around the corner. Where’s your bike?”

“Outside.” Sean’s heart was pounding. This was it. This wasn’t something that happened almost by chance, like it had with Jasper. This was real. He was choosing to go home with another man.

They went out into the autumn night, still warm, but with the hint of winter on the air.

“Just round there. It’s a BMW convertible.” Will pointed back up the street, away from Brunswick St, towards a small cobbled laneway.

Sean zipped up his jacket, fastened his helmet and pulled on his gauntlets. He pulled out into the traffic, did a u-turn, and waited. The nose of a silver BMW with a black canvas top inched out into the mid-evening traffic, and headed off towards Carlton. Sean followed. They stopped outside a Victorian two-storey terrace a block or two from Lygon St. Will locked his car, and waited against it as Sean parked his bike and put the chain on it.

Will’s eyes were warm, and the curve of his mouth filled with promise. Sean decided that having toffee-colored eyes was unfair. No matter how warmly he smiled, his eyes never had that warmth. But logic didn’t help. Will’s smile made his stomach flutter, his heart beat, his cock swell. They were barely inside when Will pulled Sean close and kissed him. No girl Sean had been with had taken the initiative like this. It turned him on enormously. Will’s tongue was warm, and explored every part of Sean’s mouth. Sean pushed his mouth hard against Will’s. Their tongues collided and twisted together.

Will pulled away, breathing hard. “C’mon, mate. Let’s go through to the bedroom.”

Will pulled Sean down onto the double bed. He kissed Sean’s neck and nibbled his ear. Hunger grew in Sean, an insistent intoxicating need for sex, and underneath it, a wish for something else, something much riskier and more stirring – love and affection and friendship, an end to loneliness.

Will’s mouth moved down over Sean’s t-shirt. He found the nub of Sean’s nipples and chewed on them through the fabric, until the shirt was wet. Sean didn’t know what to do with himself, with his hands, with his body. He couldn’t remember ever being so aroused.

“Wait!” he grunted.

Will stopped and looked up at him.

“I want to do that to you.” Sean started to unbutton Will’s shirt. He rubbed his hand over the dark coarse hair on Will’s chest. He moved his mouth over Will’s warm body and took Will’s nipples between his teeth.

“Bite them,” whispered Will.

Sean did. He could feel the jolt of pleasure and pain shoot through Will’s body.

“Harder!” Will’s voice was pleading, urgent.

Sean ground Will’s nipples between his teeth. He thought he tasted blood. His own erection was excruciatingly uncomfortable inside his briefs, squashed up and painful. He ached to fuck Will. He could feel Will’s hard-on pressed against him. He pulled Will’s shirt the rest of the way off, and started to undo the fastening of his belt. He was in a hurry. He dragged off his t-shirt, undid his own jeans and tugged them off.

Will reached for the drawer next to the bed. He handed Sean a tube of lube and a condom. He pulled down his pants and kicked them off. He lay back on the bed, his eyes glowing with lust, his cock stiff and vertical. “Fuck me, Sean.”

Sean didn’t know what to do. He tried to turn Will over. That was the way he and Jasper had had sex.

“No.” Will arched his hips. “Like this.” He wrapped his legs round Sean’s waist.

Sean snapped on the condom and squirted lube onto himself.

“Put some lube in me, Sean. Jeez, man, fuck me!”

Sean hesitated only an instant. It seemed OK to put his cock in this man’s butt, but he felt a moment’s distaste about putting his finger in there. This hadn’t happened when he and Jasper had fucked. They hadn’t used any lube. They hadn’t used a condom. He wondered now, suddenly, uselessly, whether he had hurt Jasper. He poured some lube on his hand. Hesitantly, he rubbed it onto Will’s pucker.

“Push it in, mate. Make me nice and slippery. I want you in me, mate, bamming into me.”

Sean pushed his finger into Will’s body.

“Oh that feels good.” Will pressed his body against Sean’s hand, to take him deeper. Sean could feel the Will’s warmth, the tight casing of Will’s ring. “Put your dick in me. Fuck me deep. Fuck me!” Will’s voice was insistent. Will’s arousal fuelled Sean’s own desire.

Sean pressed his sheathed cock against Will’s ring. He pushed against it. It resisted.

“Kiss me, love.” Will’s tone was urgent, almost desperate.

Sean bent forward and pressed his lips against Will’s. He pushed his tongue into Will’s mouth. Unable to resist his need, he pressed into Will’s body. He felt Will’s ring stretch to take him. The feeling almost took him over the edge. It felt exactly right and perfect.

Will groaned. “Oh God, oh fuck, do me, fuck me!”

Sean started to thrust in and out. The effect on Will was entirely satisfactory. He writhed and grabbed the sheets. Sean’s arousal, impossibly, grew. He wanted to possess this man, to take him, to pleasure himself in this way which broke every taboo. He felt the exquisite sensations of orgasm rise in him. As he came, he couldn’t prevent himself from clutching Will close and gripping him tightly in his arms. At that precise instant, he felt profound gratitude. In a moment, though, as he came down from the post-coital high, he felt his skin flush with shame and embarrassment. He pulled away, and turned his head to one side.

There was a long silence, and then Will spoke. His voice was quiet, shaded with pain and anger. “It’s usual to make sure your partner comes too, you know.”

Sean turned to look at him. He knew his own anger was unreasonable. Will had been nice to him. He reached out his hand and snugged Will’s cock. He knew how to do this. He did it to himself. He didn’t kiss Will or touch any other part of him. And when Will had climaxed, Sean wiped his hands on his crumpled t-shirt and dressed without a word.

“Here’s my number. Ring me.” Will gave Sean a piece of paper with a mobile number on written on it and just the name ‘Will’. No surname. Without speaking or meeting Will’s eyes, Sean slipped the paper into his pocket.

As Sean exited through the bedroom door, Will said almost inaudibly, “Thank you.”

Sean turned to look at Will, his nude body stretched out across the bed. Will’s eyes were slightly mocking, and hurt, but there was a raw need there too, a need that Sean understood only too well.

“It was good. Thank you, Will.” Sean’s honor demanded no less. And when he’d said it, he was glad he had.

When he got home, he took out the piece of paper with Will’s number. He stared at it for a long time, scrumpled it up, and threw it in the rubbish bin. After only a few minutes, he retrieved it, and taped it to his desk.

He slept well for the first time in weeks.

<<Chapter 18

© 2009 Nigel Puerasch. All rights reserved.
Romantic m2m novels and short stories