Meeting Gerren

Now, I really have to state from the outset that I really didn’t want to be best man at the wedding. It was only because the groom had served with me in Afghanistan where I was his commander, and he had become involved in an act of foolish bravery where I was awarded a medal. Something I really didn’t like talking about. The guy was one of those quiet soldiers who didn’t talk much about himself or about the girls he was involved with and it came as a surprise when he contacted me after one of those regiment reunions where I tried to be best friends with all the guys under my command.

For some reason I never found out, the bride wanted her wedding to be in some place near to Lands’ End that she thought was romantic. That it was nearly three hundred miles away plus from her home and most of the guests didn’t seem to enter her mind. It was what she wanted and daddy was prepared to pay all the costs of the ceremony, feast, travel and accommodation for his precious little girl. The travel was in a mini-bus, with a driver for seven of us and it was a very tight squeeze for me sitting at the back and trying to stretch my six foot six frame and be comfortable. Not only hat but enduring the totally inane chatter of the brides’ three maids for nearly six hours was too much. Not only that, but the hotel room was totally inadequate having been given a five foot nine inch bed that was too small even lying diagonally. It also being a May Bank Holiday meant that the hotel, an old railway hotel high on the hill of St Ives in the form of a castle was full, and I couldn’t change rooms or get a bigger mattress. Daddy had paid and apparently not enough for changes.

I had rented the tuxedo, and appropriate top hat, which cost a fortune, again being my extreme height and large muscular build was a struggle to find. All in all, I was not enjoying myself. Oh yes, there was a decent gym but it was only open during restricted hours.

At this time back in May 2016, I was 35 years old, gay, out and stubbornly single. I had been looking for a guy who interested me mentally and physically, but there was one problem. I preferred tall guys and if possible a guy taller than myself. At six foot six there were not a lot of gay guys around who were taller than me. My height attracted many gay guys and straight girls to me but they were not the sort I liked. I had a few good and exciting gay friends who I’d fuck around with but most of the guys I’d meet I’d fuck them the once and that was it.

My lack of a lover was the despair of my very supportive parents. They were both single children of their parents and so they had no brothers and sisters and so I had no uncles, aunts, or cousins. I was also a single child and was gay. I was out to them when I was still in my teens, and it was never a problem. Even when I followed my father into the Army as an Officer Cadet in Sandhurst, the only advice I got from him was to be very careful about my sexuality, advice I followed scrupulously. Over the years I rose in the ranks to colonel before I gave up my commission, my father also rose up to become a lieutenant general. My mother was a Scot from a well to do family firm of lawyers and solicitors in the market town of Dingwall. There was some inherited wealth from the family that my mother a significant share in and gave her enough income to buy a substantial house near Billingshurst in West Sussex. At the age of 21 I received a legacy from my great grandfather enough to have my own house built near to my parents and to own some farming land from which I received annual cash from a local farmer.

After serving twice in both Iraq and Afghanistan and receiving two bravery medals, I was pulled from the front line and appointed as a military attaché in succession in Brasilia, Lisbon and Canberra, working just over two years in each. I gt tired working in the stuffy atmosphere of diplomacy and resigned my commission and took up working in Internet security for the Home office at an outpost in Farnborough, not too far from home. I also started bulking my body into something more appealing, which unfortunately attracted more of the queenly variety of gay guys.  

Well what eventually happened that weekend in boring St Ives certainly changed my life and so much more for the better. The weather forecast for that day before the wedding was bad. It was the second day of the visit and I hadn’t slept all that well for the second night in a row. We had attended the wedding rehearsal in a field in a place that seemed an eternity from the hotel, taking more than an hour to get to the location and had been given the next day off. They had predicted mist and fog and for it to be cool under cloud, but against what I thought was my better judgement; I went for a walk in what turned out to be a gloriously sunny day. The town was only half full and we were walking through the cobbled streets of the town with the girls excitedly looking in every shop window along the way and visiting inside nearly every one. I had walked ahead of the group and was about thirty metres in front when there was a scream behind me and raised voices. One of the girls was on the ground and there was a guy not from the group who was busy apologising and trying to assist her to her feet. I couldn’t see the man at first as he had been surrounded by the other guys shouting at him as he was trying to apologise. Then I saw him and my body shook. He was perfect. Good-looking, built with generous layers of muscle in the right places, and tall, not as tall as I would prefer but tall enough. What impressed me were his manners, making sure the girl was ok and constantly apologising, and his looks and body. I instantly wanted him. The guy was distratcted by a shopkeeper who was asking him questions, but the guys hustled the girl away from the scene and I walked away from the scene with them. We had turned a corner in the road and I looked back in the hope that the guy was following but the rough manner that the guys had treated him didn’t give me any hope that he was following. Still I had hoped but it was not to be and we walked back to the hotel. Back in my room I could still see his image in my head and I jacked off to thoughts of me with the guy in the hope that shooting a big load and emptying my balls would help me sleep.

I was so fed up with the bed that I moved the mattress onto the floor but it didn’t help.

We had planned to go out that evening to a local restaurant as ‘Daddy’ was paying and it was fine except that I was still with the bores. I was sat at the top of the table and keeping my part of the conversation to a minimum and drinking the reasonable wine when one of the guys asked if a guy at a table but one from us was the “dude” that knocked over the girl in the street. I immediately looked over and sure enough it was him. My body shivered at the thought of seeing the handsome guy again and I saw that he was with two guys. I wondered if he was a partner to one of the guys or if he was alone. I saw that they were looking over at me and obviously talking about me. Then they changed seats around, and the other two guys held hands with each other. That was a message that was very clear. Then the handsome blond guy got out of his chair and walked to the bar. He was behind me and I couldn’t see what was happening but before I knew it, he was standing at our table with two bottles of wine and offering it as an apology for what had happened that lunchtime and “would we accept the wind as an apology”.  Of course we did and he walked back to his friends at their table. I couldn’t help but smile and we all toasted him across the table in between us much to the amusement of the people dining there. I gave the handsome stud a huge smile, hoping he’d notice. It was the closest I had been to him and he gave off an aura of confidence and I noticed that his cologne was special and expensive and he looked better much closer to me. Now I really wanted him.

The people between the tables left and I was able to get a much clearer view of him. Damn! I needed to get closer to him and talk to him. I took a chance and headed to the toilets in the hope that he’d follow me, but it was the elder of his two friends that came in. Like me he didn’t pee at the urinal, and he stood next to me at the wash basin. I introduced myself, telling him that I was Stephen, with a ‘ph’ and not a ‘v’, and that I was visiting for a wedding where I was to be best man. The guy introduced himself, but it went through my head and said that he was married to the other guy in the party and my desired object was single, local, but worked presently in London, and basically, we left it there. When I returned to the table the party was ready to leave and so we went to the guy’s table to thank our benefactor for the couple of bottles of wine. It was then that I shook his hand, the first time we had touched and there was a shock of electricity that passed between us. We said our goodbyes and as I passed the owner of the restaurant, I has handed a business card with the guy’s name and contact details. I looked at him and he was carefully watching me and so I tapped the card against my nose gave him a smile and wink and put the card in my wallet. We went downstairs and were laughing and joking when I felt that I had to go back and at least talk to the guy. I’d be a fool not to. I was so attracted to him, and his friends were gay and so therefore so must he, though there was every chance that he was a gay friendly straight man.

In the restaurant they were still at their table and so I approached and offered them coffee and a liqueur on me as a thanks for the bottles of wine he had bought earlier, they agreed and after I had ordered, I sat down next to the guy, our legs touching with him not making any attempt to move, in fact I think he was pressing his keg against mine more firmly.

We introduced each other again, David was the older of the couples and his husband was Geoff, a good-looking humpy sort of guy, and the blond was Gerren, it was such an unusual name that I had to ask again. David, with whom I had the earlier chat in the rest room, announced that I was Stephen with a ‘ph’ and not a ‘v’ and that I was the best man at a local wedding. By now, our arms were touching each other and again no movement away and I asked what they did in Cornwall. The three of them answered simultaneously with one word: “Live”. I think it was a local joke. I then discovered a building contractor, a landowner cum farmer and a geologist. It was the latter that interested me the most. The guys finished their coffee and liqueurs, and I offered them another but the guys turned me down. Geoff and David go up to go and to pay their proportion of the bill with Gerren telling them that he’d pay for the extra wine. Having paid, the guys came back to the table to say their goodbyes and I heard David tell Gerren not to worry and that things would turn out to be fine and to have some belief, and they went on their ways. Now I was alone with this guy Gerren.

He offered to walk around the harbour area with him and I agreed. We stopped to pay our respective bills and we walked down to the road level. For the first time I’d noticed what a wonderfully clear and warm night it was, and I asked Gerren what he was worried about and belief. He muttered an unconvincing reply about his work situation in London and I let the matter drop. We walked around the harbour to the far end. I was surprised that there weren’t many people around except at the pub, which was overflowing with customers. Gerren showed me the sights of the coast as much as I could see describing things in his rich softly spoken Cornish accent which I instantly loved. I took the chance of putting my arm across his back at waist level and there was no movement away, in fact, I felt him move closer.

Suddenly he looked at his watch and he explained that he had a taxi soon. He called on his phone and asked to be picked up outside of the pub which was agreed. And we walked back around the harbour wall, and I admired the boats bobbing in the water in the moonlight. It was a little romantic. I’d explained about the wedding the next day and hoped we could meet again before I travelled back to West Sussex. His taxi arrived and he insisted that the cab take me back up the hill to the castle. In the taxi we talked about the best man role at the wedding and the location at the bride’s insistence and the taxi driver said that he’d been hired to drive guests from the hotel to the location. I however, was to travel with the groom to the wedding in a separate car.

At the castle Gerren saw me out of the car and offered his hand to wish me good night. Oh Christ, however much did I want to kiss this handsome and kind and considerate man? We promised that we’d stay in touch and I watched his cab drive away, smitten by this guy. I wanted him so much. Not only naked and in my arms, but simply to know him and to know him more. In my room I stripped off and lay on the mattress on the floor and tried, unsuccessfully to sleep. A good want thinking of him and imagining him naked with me didn’t help. There was something about the hotel, the room or something in my head that prevented me from sleeping. If I did sleep I wasn’t aware of it. I had sent Gerren a simple text message and he replied. At least I had his number on my phone.

The next day, Saturday, was the wedding. Oh God why did I ever agree to come and be the best man to a guy I hardly knew and most probably hero worshiped me. I was tired, hated the room and bed I was in, hated the company I was with and would have just loved to have been with this handsome guy I had known for an hour if that. I ate a big breakfast for energy and drank almost a gallon of coffee to stay awake and drove to the wedding with the groom who was more nervous than I was. Somehow, I got through the ceremony, didn’t lose the rings and got through the reception by reading the telegrams or emails, that I had been handed and gave my speech referring to the people who had taken the trouble to send a message and telling stories I remembered and the grooms small if slight connection to them. I did my duty dancing with the bride, and her utterly boring maids of honour wishing that I was asleep or dancing with a naked Gerren.

I went back to my room way too early, stripped out of the straitjacket of a suit and lay down on the mattress and utterly failed to sleep. God how much I ached for a body to hold onto and how much I wanted it to be Gerren’s.

The next day, Sunday, I really couldn’t face the world. I skipped breakfast and tried during lunch and early afternoon to call Gerren, but his phone was out of signal. Thinking that he had lost interest in me I sent a text asking him to call me and hit the hotel gym after which I increased the pain on my body by swimming and catching some sun on my body watched over by envious middle-aged and elderly men and women who had most probably forgotten what an orgasm was like.

Then, glory be, he called me. I was so happy, that for the first time I looked down the hill and appreciated the view of the town and the harbour where we had walked two nights earlier and suddenly it was a marvellous place as tired as I was. I wanted to see him, but he couldn’t come to see me. He’s had Sunday lunch with his family and had drunk way too much to drive safely. Gerren did offer to see me the next morning and I told him how much I hated the hotel and the room I had been given. He invited me to lunch the next day and to stay the next night with him. I could have his spare room. If I had his hand in mine at the time, I’d have bitten it off. I was so grateful. He even offered to drive me back to London on the Tuesday. What a fucking man! Anything, and I mean anything to get away from those boring narrow-minded girls and the compliant straight guys with them and six or seven hours in a cramped mini bus again. Gerren’s offer made the farewell meal with the newly-weds a lot more bearable. Again, I sat through boring speeches about people I didn’t care for and for whom I would never shed a tear for with gritted teeth and thinking to myself, never again, never again.

Unbelievably, I hardly slept again and the thought of being with the handsome Gerren didn’t help as I just couldn’t get him out of my mind. The next morning, I packed my bags and left them at the reception to be picked up a little later. There was no bill to pay as ‘daddy’, had paid for everything and I had no extra’s, unlike it seemed many of the other guests staying under ‘daddies’ generosity. I made my way into the town of St Ives and along the cobbled streets noticing the shops that I wasn’t interested just a couple of days before when I first saw Gerren and came to the place where I had first saw him. We had agreed that we’d meet there at ten that morning. He was coming into the town to pick up some local crafts for a work colleague to take back to London. I leaned against the whitewashed wall, looking out for him and my heart leapt when I saw his blond hair bobbing amongst the crowd coming towards me. When he saw me, he gave the most welcoming smile and again I resisted the desire to kiss him there and then. Within a handful of minutes Gerren and I left the shop with the present and were back in the pub’s carpark, with me for some reason on the driver’s side. He threw me the keys and told me to drive.

There was no way I was going to drive any vehicle through the narrow streets with very tight bends and so I threw the keys back at him and he drove me back to the castle hotel. I picked up my bags and put them in the boot of the car and he set off. Suddenly all the tiredness seemed to leave my body as he drove through the lanes and roads to his home which I was ever so anxious to see. I had a feeling that I was being driven all over the place as we had gone a lot more than the ‘five miles from St Ives”, that Gerren had told me about at the harbourside. Then suddenly he turned off the narrow road onto a track with grass growing in the centre of the pathed road and through a clump of trees and thick bushes for about fifty meres and suddenly there was a granite-built house of substantial size.

“Welcome to my home”. He enthused.