Joe discovers what he really needs

It was another hot and sticky August night in London. The heatwave that had enveloped the city a fortnight earlier showed no signs of letting up and even though it was almost midnight, the temperature was still in the low teens.

Joe lay restlessly on his couch in only his sweatpants, drinking a beer. He was idly scrolling through profiles on Grindr, finding nothing to interest him. He knew he should try to get some sleep, but he was horny and needed something to release the tension. On another night, he might have found some internet porn to wank off to, but he was bored with that too.

It was all very different three months earlier, when he and Lee were still together. They had met three years previously and got on pretty well as a couple. Lee was a genuinely nice guy, kind and considerate, even putting up with Joe’s occasional moodiness without complaint. He was good-looking too and friends remarked that they made a great couple. The sex was good too, at least for a while, before things became more complicated.

Despite all that, Joe never really felt that he could commit unconditionally to the relationship. As things moved on, Lee was increasingly looking for more than Joe could give him. There were awkward moments between them when Lee would tell Joe he loved him, and Joe could only manage a mumbled “me too” in reply. In company, Lee would happily refer to Joe as his “boyfriend” a term that made Joe wince, although he tried not to show it. Even Joe’s mother thoroughly approved of Lee, describing him as “a nice lad”, much to Joe’s irritation. Whatever it was that Joe wanted, needed, it wasn’t a “nice lad”.

They fell into a routine of spending three or four nights a week together at either Lee or Joe’s flat. Lee cleared out a couple of drawers and some wardrobe space, but Joe left little more than a toothbrush behind him and didn’t encourage Lee to leave more than that at his place.

The end, when it came, came quickly but quietly, and it was Lee who had the courage to end it. The trigger was the contentious subject of living together. Lee wanted them to get a place together and mentioned it many times over recent months. Joe’s response was either to change the subject or simply pretend he hadn’t heard. Lee came over to Joe’s one evening and said they needed to talk. He appeared calm and rational, although Joe knew him well enough to recognise that he was barely holding it together.

“We’re not going anywhere.” he said, his voice cracking. “I want a partner I can settle down with and find a nice home together.” he continued. “You’re somewhere else, and I can’t wait any longer for you to work out what it is you want.” Joe’s reply was simply a feeble “I understand.” He was secretly relieved it was over, but felt guilty that he hadn’t been the one with the courage to end it, despite him knowing long before Lee that it was over.

Anyway, Lee had since found someone new, Jamie, who was by all accounts a nice guy. Mutual friends chose their words carefully when discussing Lee and Jamie in Joe’s company, not realising that Joe was secretly relieved that Lee had moved on, not least because it relieved him of some of the guilt he had felt about how he had treated his former lover.

Mulling this over, Joe stood up, walked to the window and lit a cigarette. He had hit Grindr hard since Lee left and had little difficulty finding one-night stands. Joe was thirty years old, but in good physical shape, thanks to three visits to the gym every week and five-a-side football on Tuesday evenings. He was no preening ‘muscle-Mary’, but had nicely defined pecs, abs and biceps, thanks in part to his manual job working in an electrical supplies warehouse. He was also well-endowed and wasn’t shy about sending pictures of his cock to guys he wanted to hook up with. Best of all, he was ‘fresh meat’ on Grindr, which won him lots of attention. After the break-up, Joe had given himself a change of look by shaving his head. His mother was upset and said the zero-crop made him look like a thug, which Joe happily took as a compliment.

Joe’s fourth-floor council flat overlooked the elevated railway lines running into London Bridge Station. The arches in the viaduct housed a number of small businesses, one of which was Carter’s Auto Servicing and Repairs. It was Carter’s that attracted Joe’s interest, for some reason. It was pretty much a one-man operation and Joe used to see the guy opening up most mornings as he walked by to catch his bus to work. In fact, Joe got into the habit of leaving the flat a few minutes earlier than necessary to do so.

‘Carter’ (or whatever his name was) was probably in his late 30s, about 6’2” tall and pretty well built. He always wore the same thing: heavily oil-stained dark blue overalls and either dark brown rigger boots or beaten-up old black army boots, with the legs of his overalls always tucked into the boots. Recently, because of the oppressive heat, Carter had taken to stripping to the waist and tying the sleeves of his overalls together to hold them up. Underneath, he usually wore either a tee-shirt or singlet, or occasionally nothing. His arms and shoulders were heavily tattooed. His hair was receding, but what remained was always closely cropped. His face was clean-shaven at the start of the week but covered in stubble by the end.

Joe took in all these details as he walked by slowly. On one occasion, Carter saw him and returned his stare for what Joe thought was a long time, forcing Joe to look away as he feared provoking an aggressive “What the fuck are you looking at?” No such response came and, subsequently, he seemed to get a casual nod when their eyes met. Recently, Carter had been joined by a lad in his early 20s who worked there three days a week. Joe surmised that he was a motor engineering apprentice studying for his NVQ at the local FE college.

As Joe gazed down on the arches, Carter’s was in complete darkness. He had occasionally noticed a dim glow inside late in the evening and wondered why, but assumed that someone had simply forgotten to turn a light off.

On one morning recently, Joe observed that there seemed to be an issue with getting into the garage, with Carter checking all the pockets in his overalls for keys, finding none and then disappearing behind a stack of worn tyres in the corner of the yard. He emerged with what Joe presumed was a hidden key and opened up.

Joe persuaded himself that a walk might help him sleep and pulled on his trainers and a tee-shirt. In a minute he had crossed the street and was standing outside Carter’s. Without thinking, he vaulted over the fence into the yard and quickly went behind the stack of tyres. After a few moments he found the spare key in an old coffee jar.

Joe emerged cautiously, making sure that nobody could see him, but the street was deserted. He unlocked the door and slipped inside. The only light was that from the street light outside, shining through an arched window above the garage doors. As Joe’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could make out the workbench, tool chests and other workshop equipment.

Joe entered the makeshift office in the corner of the workshop. Inside was a small desk, filing cabinet, a sink and a fridge. Behind the office was a door that led to a small toilet. Joe spotted a coat rack on which were hung some old dirty overalls, and a couple of pairs of old boots on the floor beneath. He buried his head into the overalls and breathed in the smells, a heady mixture of oil, sweat and, at the crotch, piss. He could immediately feel himself getting a hard-on.

Joe pulled off his tee-shirt, trainers and sweat pants and pulled on the overalls. They were a tight fit, so he assumed they must belong to the apprentice, not Carter. He pulled on a pair of rigger boots, but not before smelling them first. He walked back out into the workshop, massaging his hard cock through the fabric of the overalls. Reaching around the back, he discovered that the seam beneath his backside was ripped open for some length.

Joe sat down on the dirty floor, his back propped against the leg of the workbench. He pulled out his cock and began to massage it gently, fantasizing about having sex in this place, but not wanting to come too soon.

Suddenly, he heard voices and the click of a key in the padlock, unlocking the gate to the yard. Fuck! He jumped up and looked for somewhere to hide. The only place was a gap in the back corner of the workshop at the end of some steel shelving loaded with auto parts. He pressed himself against the back wall, sweating with a mixture of fear and excitement.

The door to the workshop opened and two men entered. One of them switched on a single light and Joe could see that it was Carter. He was wearing dirty camo trousers, a white singlet and his old army boots. The other man was younger, probably mid-twenties, with a shaved head. He was wearing classic skinhead gear; a black polo shirt, bleachers, yellow braces and black 20-hole DMs.

Carter and the skinhead grabbed each other and began to kiss. It wasn’t gentle or passionate, but rough and aggressive. Carter spit into the skinhead’s mouth and pushed him down until he was kneeling on the floor, his face level with Carter’s crotch. The skinhead massaged the bulge in Carter’s camos before undoing his belt and flies. Carter pulled out his cock, not fully hard but already 9” long and impressively fat.

The skinhead greedily took the cock in his mouth, gagging as it hit the back of his throat. He sucked furiously while Carter held the back of his head. Carter then slipped the braces off the skinhead’s shoulders so that they fell down by his sides and pulled off his polo shirt. He then pulled off his singlet, revealing his broad, hairy chest.

Joe couldn’t believe his eyes: here was the fantasy he had played out in his mind happening right in front of him, although the skinhead was taking his place. Joe could have shot his load right there and then, but knew he could never do so silently, and anyway, he wanted to see more.

Suddenly there was a clatter as Joe knocked over a broom that had been propped against the wall behind him. Carter and the skinhead both stopped and looked directly at him.

“What the fuck?” said Carter as he ran over to the corner and dragged Joe out of his hiding place. “How the fuck did you get in here?” Carter noticed Joe’s still hard cock and the pre-cum stains on the overalls.

The skinhead looked confused by what was happening, but also spotted Joe’s arousal. “Looks like he wants to join in!” he said. “Why don’t we give him a going over?” Without replying, Carter pushed Joe face down onto the workbench and walked around in front of him. He forced his cock into Joe’s mouth and started to fuck it, causing Joe to gag. At the same time, joe could feel the skinhead’s hands on his arse, tearing the ripped seam in the overalls open a bit wider. The skinhead knelt down and plunged his tongue into Joe’s hole, spitting and licking it out until it was dripping wet. He then stood up and licked his fingers before shoving a couple into Joe’s hole and moving them in and out.

Playing a submissive role was quite alien to Joe. Sure, he had occasionally been fucked, but his Grindr profile described him accurately as a ‘Top’ and most of his pick-ups seemed to want him to take charge, as had Lee who was a confirmed bottom. Now Joe was being fucked at both ends by two guys who were ‘punishing’ him for intruding on their session. Perhaps he should have felt humiliated, but instead he was turned-on more than he ever had been before.

Carter pulled a sachet of lube from his pocket and threw it down on the bench. The skinhead picked it up, opened it with his teeth, and smeared it over Joe’s hole. He unzipped his bleachers and pulled out his cock, lubing it up before pushing it roughly into Joe’s hole. The two men pounded away at Joe’s willing mouth and arse for maybe ten minutes before pulling out. Neither had come yet.

Carter pulled Joe off the bench and pushed him to the floor, where he lay on his back. He stood over Joe and started to piss on his face, chest and crotch. The skinhead grinned broadly when he saw this and began to do the same. Joe, still in the dirty overalls and rigger boots, was now soaked in sweat and piss, but still had a raging hard-on for both men to see.

Carter picked Joe up from the floor and threw him roughly onto the bench, this time on his back. He lifted Joe’s legs and forced them apart, pushing his big cock against Joe’s hole, which was now wet and sloppy after being fucked by the skinhead. Carter slid his cock into Joe’s hole and began pounding it fiercely. At the same time, the skinhead opened the zip in his bleachers that ran all the way from the waistband, front to back, exposing his arse. He jumped up on the bench and knelt facing Carter, his arse pressed into Joe’s face. Carter and the skinhead began to kiss roughly as Carter continued to pound Joe’s arse, while Joe, knowing what was expected of him, licked out the skinhead’s hole with his tongue.

After another ten minutes, The skinhead jumped off the bench and began to wank Joe off as Carter continued to fuck him. Joe could hold back no longer, and groaning loudly, he showered himself with an explosion of cum. Carter rubbed his hand in the cum on Joe’s chest, pulled his cock out and began to massage Joe’s hole with his hand, easily slipping four fingers inside. He then walked around the bench so that he was facing the skinhead, with Joe’s head beneath both their cocks. They began to kiss again while wanking each other off until both came together, covering Joe’s face and head in their cum.

Carter stuffed his cock back into his camos and walked away from the bench, into the office. He returned with three cans of beer and an old towel for Joe to clean himself off with. He handed beers to Joe and the skinhead, who were both now sitting on the bench beside each other. All three cracked their beers open and began to drink, exhausted from the rough, intense sex and still sweating.

Carter looked at Joe and said, “I know you. You’re the bloke who passes by every morning when I’m opening up. I Always wondered if you were up for it... I guess you were!” He broke into a broad grin and all three men laughed. They introduced themselves to Joe. The skinhead was called Matt, a regular fuck-buddy of Carter’s, whose first name was Luke, although everyone just called him by his surname.

His beer drunk, Joe began to gather up his clothes and trainers. He started to change but Carter said “Keep the overalls and riggers. You look good in them. Wear them when you come back for more.” Joe knew that he would.