A Technician Calls

The next day was to prove a red-letter day for Richard, although it started badly. Probably due to the previous night's bomb explosion, the air conditioning in Richard's office was on the blink, to his annoyance, so he sent out for a technician to sort it. Richard was working at his desk in his shirt sleeves. His tie and jacket were draped over the back of a chair. Despite its being November, it was a bright, sunny day. Without air conditioning, the glass, steel and concrete office was disagreeably warm. Only a few of the double-glazed windows opened. Opposite him, the television screen was live. The Governor of the Bank of England was pontificating about the state of the Pound Sterling. Presently the day's news and other information from the UK and all over the world began to flow in to him, as it always did. Richard picked up the phone. He called me.

My phone, in my temporary office at the Ministry of Defence, rang. "Well, fuck me five times!" Richard sounded very amused. "Guess what?" Arabella [Richard's much-disliked Socialist birth-mother] wasn't responsible for blowing up my car!"

"You mean that you had her Citroen 2CV blown up without any justification?"

"I had plenty of justification; just being Arabella, and being so politically-correct, is enough to provoke and justify homicidal thoughts in others, I should have thought. But no; not for the reason that I had in mind. She's been on TV: she thinks it was the South African Secret Service, who must be targeting her: nothing but the best for Arabella! In reality they have no interest at all in that zany old hippie. Anyway, no harm has been done; she doesn't suspect me."

"So who did blow up your car?"

"The IRA, or so the police think: there might conceivably be a link to Eamon, the Essex-boy Irishman. They're checking him out. He was really upset about the way in which he considered that I had treated him, for some reason."

"You mean, fucked him, used him and then chucked him away like a Kleenex tissue, perhaps?"

"I suppose," said Richard unconcernedly.

"In other words, and always assuming that the CID has actually got it right for once, you are getting careless: you underestimated him. He did note your car number. He had worked out that you were Army or ex-Army; and he somehow traced you back to Knightsbridge Green. Not such a dimwit as you seemed to think!"

"Perhaps not: and he does apparently have relevant experience."

"What is this relevant experience?" I asked.

"He evidently had IRA sympathies in the past and yes, he used to help a heroic, admired PIRA cousin to make bombs while on family visits to Belfast. That is presumably where he gained his knowledge of bullet wounds."

"Give me the name and I can have him checked out."

"You'd be too late. The IRA cousin was called Declan McEvoy, a nasty little yoblet who lived in Herbert Street in Ardoyne. He blew himself up with an ingenious explosive device of his own invention a couple of years ago. Good riddance!" Richard snorted with laughter and then bid me goodbye. He explained that the air-con technician was due any moment.

The technician, when he arrived, proved to be a good-looker with a pleasant manner. He looked neat and soldierly, with fair short curls and a centre parting, and had served in the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers (REME). The sun was now high in the sky and Richard's office was warmer than ever. With Richard's permission the young man stripped to the waist before he began tinkering with the air-conditioning, to reveal a very good upper body, with a six-pack chest and powerful arms glittering with fine golden hair. Richard found muscular arms very attractive, and he was strongly drawn to fair-haired men. "That's for me," thought Richard. He decided to take a direct approach:

"You look really fit! Do you box or wrestle? I've done both in my time!"

The technician, who turned out to be called Andy, modestly disclaimed any expertise in either sport.

"But I work out a lot. You see, I have another job - apart from the day-job - and I need to be very fit for that."

"And what might that job be: nightclub bouncer?"

Andy looked embarrassed, and then laughed.

"Actually I'm a male stripper. You know: hen nights and that sort of thing. I know it sounds really naff, but the money's good; the tips are lavish, and it pays for a lot of extras! I got recruited by someone who spotted me at the Marshall Street swimming baths. I used to be a volunteer life-saver there. They saw me standing around in trunks and I was invited round for interview. Within five minutes of arriving I was bollock-naked, and within fifteen minutes I was signed up!"

"Yeah, I bet!" Richard laughed sardonically. "So you're strictly for the birds? But you don't let them touch you, of course?"

"I try not to, but they're forever grabbing my cock and wanting to nosh it! And, at the performances where I don't strip completely, I'm always finding indecent proposals, telephone numbers and the like tucked into my jock-strap along with ten and twenty pound notes. And some of the men are nearly as bad!"

"Men?" asked Richard, appearing astounded. Privately, he was thinking "what a great idea!" His erection was already stiffening.

Andy laughed and shrugged. "Oh yeah! Mostly stag nights and rugby club parties: they find the idea of having a male stripper or exotic dancer very funny indeed. I often end up sharing the stage; dancing, or rather cavorting, with a few gigantic, naked, drunken rugby forwards who reckon that they've mastered the technique. That's genuinely funny! Trouble is, like the girls, they can get carried away."

"How, carried away?"

"Well, the last time, it was at some rugger club in South London (he pronounced it 'Sarf Landon'), the boys nearly managed to gang-bang me! They were all as pissed as farts, of course. I had to run for my life: I drove home in my jock-strap!"

However Andy did not sound very traumatised. In fact, he was chuckling.

"Anyway, they were really apologetic the next day. They paid me extra and the price of a new uniform. I reckon they did now want the story getting into the tabloid Press!"

"No indeed," laughed Richard. "But perhaps not for the reasons you might imagine. Think of the teasing that they would get from all the other rugby clubs. 'Here come the Middlesex!' would be the least of it. What did you say about a uniform?"

"I often come on stage in an RAF Regiment uniform. It's very smart and it seems to turn the girls on, even before I take anything off. Unfortunately it also turned on the boys at the rugger-club. They got really excited!"

Phwoar. Richard's imagination was now working overtime. His cock was as stiff as a lamp-post. Maybe Andy could be hired for 4 Coy, 5 Para's next mess night? Perhaps not, on reflection. Even tolerant Colonel Bob might draw the line at that. Anyway, Andy's next remark put paid to that:

"Trouble is, it's all coming to an end. I've got to give it up!"

"Why, if you enjoy it and it earns extra cash?"

"My fiancée has made it a pre-condition of our marriage that I stop stripping. I keep telling her what a lot of money I make and that it will have paid for our honeymoon. But she regards it as 'immoral earnings,' and doesn't like the idea of other women looking at my body."

Richard decided to throw his cards on the table.

"I'm not surprised. You're fucking beautiful. How d'you feel about men admiring you? Cos I do: I want to have sex with you, now! What's your fee for that?"

Andy burst out laughing. "You're quite a card! And you're not bad-looking, yourself. I was going to charge you £30 an hour for sorting out the air-con and anything else you wanted. Suppose you add another £40 on top of that? It'd have to be cash, of course. I don't make out receipts for 'sexual services rendered!' We'll call it 'Andy's last fling.'"

Richard said "It's a deal. But sort out the air-con first."

That is what Andy duly did. Meanwhile Richard thought of the superior fucking facilities of his flat upstairs; literally above the shop. That was where he should take Andy. It would not do to shock his PA, Ms Mensah, however. When Andy had finished and was putting his tools away tidily in his bag, Richard called Ms Mensah. 

"Ms Mensah, I'll be stepping out for a short while. But I'll only be in the flat. There is a problem with the air-con there too. I will admit this gentleman and stay with him while he fixes it."

Ms Mensah immediately volunteered to take Andy up to the flat and supervise him.

"No thank you," said Richard. "Not a good use of your time."

Richard had a private lift from his office to the flat. It only held two persons. This, he and Andy now took. In the lift, he kissed Andy on the mouth. Andy hugged Richard and did not try to get away. Richard felt a terrific warmth flow from Andy to him. Good!

In the bedroom: "Strip for me, Andy. I want to see you; all of you!"

Andy grinned, and obligingly stripped, showing a great ass and really good legs. He had an all-over tan. Mostly he was waxed, but a bush of golden curls, neatly trimmed, adorned his crotch. He had extremely sexy bare feet. Richard wanted to kiss them. Richard was so excited that he could not keep his hands off Andy. Then he began kissing him all over. Andy started to laugh uncontrollably.

"I'll give you something to laugh about," chuckled Richard, playfully roughing him up.

"Hey, you should get naked, too," laughed Andy. "Get on the bed."

Nothing loath, Richard lay on the bed, while Andy removed his shoes, socks, and shirt. Richard was now barefoot and naked to the waist. Andy, who was clearly entering into the spirit of the thing, flung himself on Richard, kissing and caressing him. Richard was by now getting really excited.

Finally, mischievous Andy, keeping his eyes on Richard's face, slowly unzipped Richard's trousers. Richard grinned up at him. Andy slipped a hand inside and lightly felt around. He encountered Richard's balls and his cock, which was in an advance state of excitement. To his delight, Andy found that Richard was wearing no briefs that day.

"You're going commando!"

"I do sometimes; it can get damned hot in that office!"

Andy pulled off Richard's trousers and threw them aside. He stretched Richard out on the bed and kissed him again.

"You've a really great body: you should be a stripper too!"

Richard laughed. "I did some very odd holiday jobs when I was at college, but I never thought of that!"

"You should have! You'd have been bloody brilliant! You'd have driven everybody wild!"

"Men as well as women?" asked Richard teasingly.

"Definitely!" chuckled Andy. 

Then he went down on Richard. He kissed and licked Richard's cock, while running his hands often and lightly over Richard's torso, neck and face. Andy started to suck Richard's balls, and nibble his scrotum, Finally, he gently but firmly thrust a finger up Richard's ass-hole. At the same moment he swallowed Richard's cock to the root.

Richard screamed, and, he reckoned, was in shock for a few minutes. Later he said that his scream had not just been because of the sensation, startling and wonderful though that had been. It had been so unexpected that the innocent young Andy should do any of this or know about Richard's g-spots! Possibly he was not as innocent as he appeared? Anyway, it was time to show him who was top and to give him a good fucking. Richard kissed Andy and rolled on top of him, reversing their positions.

"I wanna fuck you."

"You might have to fight for it!" chuckled Andy and started to struggle.

Most male on male couplings are a bit of a wrestling match; this one was more so than most. Andy, laughing all the while, fought playfully and did not submit easily. Finally Richard mastered him; spread him; rimmed his man-hole; lubricated his own cock, and slowly slid inside. It was a tight fit, but Richard was a strong man and firmly forced his way in. Andy gave a cry, gasped and almost fainted.

"Fuck me, he's a virgin!" thought Richard, with surprise and pleasure. It was always a pleasure - a privilege, even - to initiate a young man into the joys of sodomy. "He's mine now!"

Richard started to thrust like a jackhammer. At the same time, he wanked Andy to orgasm with his right hand. They reached what Richard called "that wonderful moment when he finally loses control, surrenders, and I own him completely." Richard celebrated his conquest by withdrawing and spilling his sperm over the back of prostrate Andy, kneeling astride him.

"I felt," said Richard, "as if I had been in combat and had conquered. And here I am at one with the old-fashioned straight seducers. People like the Prince de Ligne and Casanova thought that the conquest of a woman was a great honour, similar to being decorated for valour. I feel the same about possessing a good man. Yeah, it was a battle honour."

Richard, however, was in for a surprise. They had showered and, still naked, were lounging on the bed bantering, when Andy suddenly sat up and said in a different, and coldly serious, voice:

"Can we talk business now?"

"If we must," said Richard.

He was instantly on the alert. All at once Andy seemed to lose his cockney accent and sounded quite posh. Although still bollock-naked, he also seemed more confident and mature. Richard looked at him curiously. There were no tell-tale tattoos or other distinguishing marks. Andy's skin was lightly tanned and almost without blemish. But he was still wearing his watch. It was on his left wrist, with the face on the inside. Moreover the face was hidden by a detachable cover: a good-quality officer's waterproof military watch, in other words. "He's an officer in someone's army, or he was until recently; not an 'other rank.' What does he want with me?" Quick as a flash, Richard dived for his bedside cabinet.

Andy suddenly found himself looking down the barrel of a revolver. Any genuine civilian; including, probably, many criminals, would have had a panic attack at this point. Moreover, Richard was giving Andy his famous, intimidating Look.

Andy was not panicked. He was obviously used to firearms; even if he was not to Richard and his ways.

"Richard," he now said quietly - no longer 'Sir' - "Please put that down. Or at any rate apply the safety catch. It makes me uncomfortable, staring at that thing when I want to talk seriously."

"Who and what are you really?" asked Richard.

"Relax. I'm not a terrorist. But I have been economical with the truth. Please put that gun down. It isn't necessary. You know as well as I do that you could probably kill me with your bare hands if you really wanted to. Obviously, I hope you won't. I'd put up a fight, but you'd almost certainly win in the end."

Richard smiled grimly and nodded. He continued to fix Andy with his baleful Look but he lowered the revolver.

Andy came straight to the point. "Basically, I want to work for you!"

"Well, you have a novel way of securing an interview! I do possess a personnel recruitment officer, you know. You can collect a form from him on the way out. Send it in with your CV etc and we'll see."

"I've done that. I received the usual polite 'thank you for your interest' letter and no follow-up, despite my making a few phone calls. Look, you have been advertising a project in the Middle East, in which you are the consultant and for which you need a contractor; something that I could easily take on. The contract still hasn't been awarded. Yet I was not even contacted about it; much less invited to tender! So I decided to go to the top, which is usually the best policy, secure an interview with you, and gain your attention by whatever means."

"Which you have certainly succeeded in doing: I'm quite impressed! Do you often do this?"

"For the record, I've never been fucked by a man before today. You're the very first!It was pretty mind-blowing. But I was determined to go through with it. I really want that project!"

"You must want it badly! I think you'd better tell me everything," said Richard ironically; "Cigarette?"

"Please."

Richard produced a packet of Peter Stuyvesant, a lighter and an ash-tray with the Para Regiment emblem on it. Andy noticed this and smiled. He lit, inhaled and blew a cloud of smoke.

"This is about the only time I ever smoke; after sex, I mean," said Andy.

"Ditto," said Richard.

"Okay," said Andy. "I'll come clean. I really was in the REME, but I was an officer. I've got a BSc and an MSc. I came out of the Army about three years ago and started my own business. I not only work for Andrew Nicholson Electro-Tech Services plc; I own it. I am Andrew Nicholson. I thought that it would be fun and challenging, running my own show in the UK, but it isn't. The endless admin and paperwork almost kill me. I was on anti-depressants for a while. For adrenalin I do a bit of sky-diving. I run and work out. I play a bit of squash. But it isn't enough. Then I heard on the army grapevine about your operation: security with a bit of mercenary work, and the chance to travel. That's for me, I thought." 

"Funnily enough, that's what I thought when you stripped off your shirt." Richard was smiling again. "'That's for me,' I mean. That Middle Eastern job is not exciting. It's contract work, installing and maintaining a security system on a new oilfield. It's a biggish project: I'd prefer to be in partnership with some large, established company. I cannot risk a mess-up. Are you capable of doing that scale of thing?"

"I've done it for Army bases in Northern Ireland, Cyprus and Germany; so, yes, I should be able to handle that scale of project. It's complicated, as I'd be the first to admit, requiring a range of expert inputs."

"Okay, well; despite the favourable first impression, you'll still need to produce a serious project proposal and undergo interview with some of my experts. But I'll give you a friendly nod if you get past the interview stage."

"Thanks! In that case it's been worth it!" smiled Andy, without specifying which element he meant by 'it.'

Did 'it' include being fucked? Ricard wondered.

"And may I give what is intended to be a helpful piece of advice, from one former Officer to another?"

"Yeah, go ahead," said Richard.

"I'm not a terrorist, but I could have been. I managed to bluff my way into your confidence; into your bedroom; getting you naked and getting you alone, because I took off my shirt; because I am not bad-looking and because I had worked out what your weak spot was: the kink in your armour, so to speak. It's here."

Andy grabbed and squeezed Richard's cock. He held it, and Richard's undivided attention, for the next few minutes. Richard started to get hard again.

"I didn't even need to have met you. I'd done my background research. The fact that you had been in 4 Coy, 5 Para made it a racing certainty that you were gay and Army rumour seemed to confirm it; tough, sporty macho-man though you are. Then there was the fact that, though you clearly loved the Army and had won the DSO, you had decided suddenly to resign your commission. I guess that someone had warned you that your cover might soon be blown. If further confirmation were needed, your excitement at my imaginary story, which you swallowed; hook, line and sinker, about being a male stripper and nearly being gang-banged at a rugger club was pretty obvious. You got an erection just thinking about it. And you're known to be cocky, confident and a born risk-taker. In fact, you're too confident; you seem to be getting careless. And last night's incident in your underground car-park suggests that security in this building could be improved. So, please be more careful. I'll write to you and suggest a few improvements to security here: starting with a panic-button in the bedroom, at no extra charge. Because I'm hoping for a contract, I have your interests very much at heart!"

"How do you feel about having had sex with me? Don't you hate me now? That could be a problem if we were working together." It was impossible to tell whether Richard was joking.

Andy looked at him. "Do I look traumatised? My ass is a bit sore, but that's about all. Actually I've wanted to try it out for years, but I was always too timid and afraid of the Army finding out. So, no problem! It was a shock to the system, but I enjoyed it. I'd even like to do it again some time. But that will have to stop after my wedding. That part of my story is true. I really am engaged. It wouldn't be right then."

"In that case, we should make the most of the time at our disposal," said Richard. He thought, but did not say, 'And a year or so after the wedding, you'll be back for more, if I'm any judge.'

A couple of days later, Richard and I were lunching together. Chuckling happily, he told me all about his encounter with Andy.

"That's two people in two days who have told you that you were getting careless: me and Andy. So please take heed and be more careful," I said.

"James, you can be really fucking boring, sometimes," said Richard. "Cheers!"

(To be continued)