Ben Halpern and his bit on the side

Freedom and double freedom thought Ben. Just to make the point he pressed the accelerator sending his dad’s van speeding through the red traffic lights. Harry Halpern  & Son, Plumbing and Domestic Heating Engineers it said along the sides: Ben was the & son. He glanced at his watch. 10 a.m. three jobs done and provided the old man kept to his word, the rest of this Saturday was Ben’s The sound of horns to his left and the obscene gesture from first one, then another driver, left him in no doubt as to his  his standing in the world at that particular moment. It was a bit of a shaker though to discover that elderly ladies of his grandmother’s age were so well versed in the matter of graphic hand gestures.

He continued eastwards out of Eastampton, choosing the B road rather than busier route. The A road would be chocker now with people driving to visit the Skelthorpe Motor Museum. The museum was a pride and joy to many in the Co-operative borough.

‘It will soon be bigger than Beaulieu,’ went the proprietorial claim.

But Ben was unmoved by this civic pride. In truth Ben was restless. The parochialism and decency others saw in his hometown, Ben knew as a suffocation of his spirit.

Small towns, once proud and self-governing and solidly working class now wore the aspect of dormitory respectability. The coal mine where his  grandfather had spent a working lifetime and a half, was long closed, with the prospect of being turned into some kind of theme park by 2024. Again his foot pressed the accelerator. Ahead lay the heath and woodland, which marked the  beginning of Skelthorpe. Now Ben deliberately reduced his speed to more easily appreciate the familiar canopy of trees that turned the B road into a kind of arboreal tunnel before it gave way to a stretch of heath land; and later,  finally yielding to the built up parts of the borough, became woodland again for a hundred yards or so. If he ever broke free of Skelthorpe, this bit of it he would surely miss.

The sudden need to pee forced Ben to turn off the road into the small familiar car park. An equally familiar adult tricycle in flamboyant purple and yellow, ridden by a young guy of about his own age, was just in front. The tricyclist was a well-known figure in Skelthorpe and as usual Ben gave a friendly toot. Usually the rider wore a suit. But today he was in the all red strip of the Clarion Socialist Cycling Club.

The morning sun had already tempted a lot of people to gather, to stroll, or jog in the heath and woodland. A group of determined enthusiasts were running on the spot in various types of running gear. One day Ben promised himself yet again, he would follow their example and even run the obstacle course. With a bit cheery bullying from one of their number the group set off like a happy crocodile. Ben dashed in the opposite direction towards the toilets next door to the little café that served the best greasy spoon breakfast in Eastamptonshire.

His relief when he got to the urinal was long and loud. Only then Ben noticed that a lad of about  19 or 20, was giving him the once over. Instinctively Ben used his hand to shield his dick form view. But the admirer simply took a pace backwards and began licking his lips. Footsteps echoed as 2 men sauntered in laughing and joking. It only took the 2 men a minute or so to piss and leave. The lad quickly resumed his position at the urinal and began an exaggerated play of flicking the last drops of non-existent piss from a semi-hard cock. This was the point where Ben should have simply left. But he did not. This, and men were not really Ben’s scene. But what the hell. His shrug confused the lad at first until Ben’s hand fell aside to reveal a cock of a good 7.5” Daring himself, Ben slowly pulled back his foreskin.

I can’t believe I’m doing this he thought and very nearly followed the two men out of the building. Still confused but now hopeful, the lad moved the few steps to one of the cubicles, pausing at the door to wave his cock before disappearing inside. Ben stood as if lost and looking for directions. The sound of approaching footsteps broke the spell of indecision. He darted into the next cubicle, convinced now that the whole world was on cottage watch.  Ben felt his  pulse pounding in his ears, like it did that afternoon when he just knew that he and Carrie would end up in bed together for the first time. Until last week they were definitely an item, with his girlfriend showing every sign of getting very serious.  Thankfully though she dropped him for the real love of her heart.

“I understand Carrie, I really do,” Ben assured her, only just managing to sound notes of unbearable loss.

He unbuckled his belt and allowed his work jeans to puddle at his feet. Why the hell not? A nice looking bloke wanted his cock. It will mark my escape from the possibility of Carrie and kids Ben decided.

The white tiled cubicle wall was full of explicit messages and a poorly drawn penis dripping cum. Two entire tile bricks was missing. Ben had heard since being at school that messages like these were simply wiped from the tiles every few days. His occasional use of the urinals and his even rarer need to step into a  cottage for a shit, confirmed the truth of it. Maybe his dad should put in a quote to the County council Environmental Health department to replace the missing tile bricks?

He crouched down so that he faced the other lad through the large rectangular opening.

“Er, what now,” he whispered, amused at how daft he must have sounded.

“What do you like doing?”

“Er umm”

“A virgin cottager,” grinned the other. “Look, just put that rod of yours through the hole and I’ll show you all you need to know.”

What if this lad was an undiscovered psycho; a sort of Hannibal Lector, who bit his dick off before swallowing it? Shivering Ben Halpern surrendered his most intimate possession to another male for the first time since he was 15. Unseen lips kissed his dick making him shiver again as a touch every bit as delicate as Carrie’s stiffened his manhood and pushed back his foreskin.

Ben sighed with pleasure as lips swallowed his dick and a tongue ministered to the underside of his shaft with a particular delicacy. With each touch he spoke Carrie’s name to fired imaginings of her pert and firm breasts. Ben trembled. His cock trembled as he realised that being given a blowjob by Carrie had never felt anything like this. He was vaguely conscious of moaning and slapping his palms on the cubicle wall and began thrusting his dick into the warm mouth as if it were Carrie’s cunt. Hips propelled by increasing need, Ben panted gratitude as the experienced male on the other side of the wall still kept pace with the impending climax.

Suddenly, something clicked in Ben’s fevered brain and all thought of Carrie suddenly disappeared.

“O Christ mate. More! More! Aaaaagh! Aghaaa! Aghaaagh!” From head to toe Ben shook to visions of the hunky lad as he fucked shafts of cum down his throat. It felt almost as good as being drunk.

“Gosh. Thanks man that was something else.” They were crouched facing each other through the hole in the wall. The features opposite smiled seriously despite the slightly comic addition of cum to his features.

Sensuously, the lad licked his lips. “Your cock is great. Suck me off now will you?

Ben’s mind began to clear. His panting slowed.

“Well er. I…I haven’t got time.”

“Show me your arse then.”

The intense plea had a slight begging tone which almost dissipated the last of Ben’s light-headedness. For an instant his post orgasm smile transformed itself into a sneer. The dark haired lad shrank back in fear.

“Why the hell not,” said Ben with a shrug, his sneer gone. He saw the fear disappear in an instant.

The lad was relieved to see the return of the embarrassed smile and watched intently as Ben turned his back and leaned forward to show his sexy rear to maximum advantage.

“Very nice,” came the appreciative comment.

Ben reached behind him and parted his smooth arse with its slight dusting of hair, for closer inspection. He felt a light touch and realised that he was suppressing a flinch so as not to scare the lad again. Am I really doing this he wondered, as he listened to murmurs of delight; Really letting a bloke touch my arse? But there was more: kisses and briefly a tongue delving into his hole. It was Ben’s turn to mummer in delight, even as a realisation of his high standards of personal hygiene came reassuringly to mind.

“Don’t move,-please.”

Ben did not move. Intrigued he continued to hold his arse cheeks apart. His realisation of what the lad had in mind came a split second before the panting sounds of one lost in transports of desire to do more with Ben’s arse than was prudently possible filled the cottage. Soon, thick passion filled cum was landing on his arse and trickling into his manhole. He vaguely registered words of thanks as the lad rushed away but was more preoccupied with the lack of anything with which to clean his bum of another man’s seed. At least he was only wearing a pair of Marks & Straight briefs and not a decent pair of boxers.  

Minutes later as Ben left the cottage, he ran a gauntlet of oaths from a man who had been outraged by what he had overheard, but had stayed nonetheless to listen.  A woman in her thirties coaxed a crying child from the café. She caught Ben’s eye as she bungled the infant securely into her car. Ben sounded his horn in salute to her as he drove out of the small car park. He was relieved to find himself wondering if the woman wanted another child and how he might be of material assistance to her, if she did.  He turned back onto the B road. On the other side of the road a long line of Military Police, mounted on beautiful horses click clopped by. Every Saturday morning the newest trainees were taken from the RMP Mounted Training unit at Belleview Barracks, across the borough, to the western boundary of Skelthorpe and on back to barracks again.

Ben squinted against the sun. He slowed down. A little way ahead the figure clad and helmeted in Clarion Cycling Club red was stooping unsteadily beside the purple and yellow tricycle. A momentary loss of balance and he would surely fall into the road.

The familiar light blue van came to a halt along side Oliver and a man in grubby jeans and a smudged blue tee shirt got out He was about 5’11 with short, spikey brown hair with blonde highlights.  Oliver was right. They knew each other by sight.

“Want any help mate?”

“Thanks. I wouldn’t mind. A puncture and I’m making a right pig’s breakfast of it.”

With difficulty Oliver stood up. “Thanks,” he repeated glad of a helping arm. In a swift move the friendly stranger opened the van’s nearside door and helped Oliver sit sideways on the seat.

Oliver rubbed his aching legs mildly pissed off with himself for needing the assistance. If he had checked his tricycle properly he might have noticed signs of weakness in the tyre before setting off.

“ Can mend a puncture,” he announced self consciously, “but the crouching down is a bit of a bind.”

The man smiled up from his task. “I noticed none of those smug MPs thought to help you. I’m Ben by the way. As in ‘the and son’ bit of the Harry Halpern and Son. Heating and Plumbing Engineers ” He gestured towards the side of the van by way of explanation.

Oliver shook the outstretched hand.

“Hi. I’m Oliver Groves. I’ve seen you driving around.”

Eyes as brown as Ben’s hair twinkled beneath blond hair, cut in a short style that seemed to emphasise the smile that held Ben for what felt to him like an age.

 “I’m not bloody surprised Oli. Ever since I was daft enough to agree work for my dad, I’ve done nothing but drive through every nook and cranny in Eastamptonshire. Still, it brings in the dosh and pay’s my meagre wages. Anyway, it is nice  to actually meet you at last.”

“Likewise,” Oliver agreed.

It didn’t take Ben long to mend the puncture.
”There. Should be as good as new now.”

“ Thanks a lot Ben. Much appreciated. I cycle most everywhere for the exercise. It does my legs good.”

“Here. Let me do it,” offered Ben as Oliver lent forward.

Before Oliver could protest Ben was rubbing his aching legs.

 “I’m at a better angle to do it,” he added quickly, aware that Oliver was made self-conscious by his action.

“ Are you related to the Leader of the County Council, by any chance?” Ben wasn’t really interested in the question he asked, but he had  succeeded in removing the tense expression in the tri -cyclists face; and anyway, he recognised the name.

Oliver was simultaneously embarrassed and pleased for the senior Groves who had sat on the County Council since 1984.

“He’s my father, Councillor Ray Groves.”

“Ah. I thought I recognised the name.”

Oliver’s embarrassment was compounded when asked what he did for a living. He had to admit that he worked for the council. The inevitable jokes about nepotism followed: and as he always did, Oliver went to some pains to say that he was the Convenor of the County Council’s assistant secretary and not involved in making council policy.

“Besides,” he added quickly, “the Convenor has no executive power.”

“She’s a nice woman,” Ben responded. “I was dating her daughter for a while a couple of years back. We met at uni. It was the nearest I’ve ever come to dating a nun. - If you get what I mean.”

Oliver laughed self-consciously.  Ben really seemed to know how to ease his aching legs.

Oliver’s leg’s stopped aching under Ben’s surprisingly effective ministrations.

“I’m fine now,” he said. Thanks, that was nice.. and a great help.”

Ben stood up and as Oliver did the same he decided not to offer assistance unless it was asked for. It was an act of considered omission, which Oliver noted.

Two pairs of brown eyes gazed at each other.

“Fancy going for a jar or two sometime during the week?” Ben asked lightly.

 A little unsteadily Oliver mounted his tricycle.

“ Yeah. That sounds like a good idea. But not tonight, though.”  

After a moment’s thought Ben spoke. “That’s fine with me. The other day I was doing some work in this pansy bloke’s house and he invited me to his house warming tonight. A really nice bloke. But I hope I’m not his only guest.”

“My very best friend is gay,” said Oliver almost whispering and still taken aback as he remembered yet again what had happened with Liam on the night that Skelthorpe’s poets and writers met in the council chamber.

“Besides, lots of my friends are gay, and just so as you know, so am I.”

“Hell, don’t think I’m a queer basher Oli. I swear, honestly I’m not. I was just surprised when he asked me that’s all.”

As the pair parted they arranged to meet. Quite what each made of the other they were not entirely sure.

“Oh and by the way Ben. My friends call me Oliver, not Ollie.”