Growing Friendship
The taxi ride home was pure luxury, and I knew very well how hazardous my short cut was, especially this late. His parting invitation was to drop in anytime I wanted company or just to talk.
It gave me a good feeling to think I maybe had a friend, someone I could just be myself with and I slept very well—still wearing the shorts after taking a short release of the front to give myself my nightly hand job. It was fun to just lie there and fantasise. My only sexual experience to date was with Mister Jones, who’d enjoyed jacking me off after the caning, and his other ‘fun’ after caning me, fucking me over the desk he’d just caned me across. Yeah, a right bastard. Strange thing though, a fuck after being caned had actually had a soothing effect on me.
For a long time I simply lay in the dark thinking about the evening, about Dave, and his friendliness. It struck me that he wasn’t short of money, but that he was, perhaps, as lonely as I am. I must have slept eventually, because the clock radio startled me awake at my usual time.
It was still raining as I set out for work, the weather forecasters talking about flooding in some of the low-lying areas of the city. At least my work clothes—jeans, shirt, and hi-viz waistcoat—were dry. I dug out a more waterproof jacket and took the bus. Here’s the rub, the bus actually takes longer to reach my employer than it takes me to walk my ‘shortcut’. A route I couldn’t have used now anyway because it went through a dip and across a stream which had come down in full flood.
The radio was talking about a ‘wall of water’ sweeping through it at about the time I would normally have been on the, now destroyed, low bridge …
“You missed the flash flood then,” my supervisor said as I clocked on.
“Yes,” I turned to head for the locker room to hang up my coat. “I had to take shelter in a shop near here, and then ended up needing a taxi to get home. I was bloody soaked long before I got halfway home.”
“Lucky then.” Brian, the super, said. “Look, I’ll give you a lift this evening. I have to go past your place anyway, and they say this rain is going to be with us for a couple of days.” Showing me the front of his newspaper, he said, “It’ll be a while before you can take your usual route again I think.”
The photos in the paper suggested he was right. The little ‘river’ that separated the ‘old’ town and the ‘new’ town—actually ‘new’ around a hundred years ago—the Quant stream had done a number, bursting out of its concrete ‘channel’ with a vengeance. It had carved a path through the dip like a tsunami, tearing out gardens, footpaths and damaging the houses on both sides.
“Looks like GBS will score a bit from it,” I commented as other staff gathered round the paper.
“Us and the builders!” Laughed another guy. “Glad I’m in the new development up the hill! Even our road looked like a bloody river!”
I headed for my work area thinking I’d been incredibly lucky. The image of Dave in his rubber gear kept distracting me through the day, but, as I said, in this job there isn’t a lot I can screw up.
It was a couple of weeks before I was able to visit Dave at his shop again, with a small gift of thanks. Getting a lift home each evening meant I no longer walked past the shop entrance twice a day, and the damage to the lower end of the lane meant I had to use a different route anyway. I’d sent him a note by email to thank him, but not had a chance to see him to thank in person because, as expected, we were swamped with work by everyone suddenly needing material for rebuilding or repairs.
Pressing the door buzzer, I was nervous, not sure of my reception. His response to my email had been polite, but nothing more.
“Hi, come on in,” his smile was warm and welcoming. Again wearing rubber, it was a different outfit—sailor fly jeans of heavy rubber and a loose latex shirt open almost to the navel. “I thought you might be avoiding me.”
“Avoiding ..?” I waited as he shut the door, and locked it. The reception was exactly as I remembered it, but the dummy now wore a couple more items of bondage gear. “Why ..? Oh!” I grinned. “No, just haven’t had a chance to call is all. It’s been busy at work, and my landlord never fixes anything in my flat, so I’ve been busy mending a bad leak in the roof, a broken downpipe and a blocked drain … I get a lift home with my boss and in the mornings … well I still can’t use my shortcut, so I’ve been using the bus.” Holding out the gift I’d brought, I smiled, “I wanted to give you this—a thank you for taking me in the night of the flood. And the taxi ride.”
For a moment he hesitated, then he smiled, accepting the bottle of expensive wine.
“You didn’t need to do this, you know.” For a moment he looked as if he was going to hug me, but held himself back.
As I said, I’m fucking useless in any sort of social situation and as for anything intimate …
“But I wanted to show my thanks. You probably saved my life …” For a moment I hesitated, then I threw caution to the winds and put my arms around him and hugged. “I worked out that if you hadn’t invited me to stop, I’d most likely have walked right into the path of the flood.”
For a second or two he hesitated, then his arms went round my waist and he returned the hug.
“I wondered when I saw the photos.” Holding me against him he chuckled. “It’s going to cost you, you know.”
“Cost me …?”
“Yes!” He laughed. “The price is a kiss. On the mouth, right now, and right here.”
“A … kiss? On the mouth?” I’ve never kissed anyone other than my mother when I was a child, on the mouth. I could feel my cock swelling at the thought. “Okay.” I grinned. “Better show me what to do … I’ve never …”
His mouth met mine before I could finish and after a few seconds of lip to lip suction, I felt his tongue explore my lips. Automatically I opened my mouth, shut my eyes and let him drive the kiss as his tongue explored mine and invited a response. Instinctively I did. It was a wonderful feeling to be held like this and kissed in this manner.
Breaking the kiss, he held me close, grinning.
“You sure that’s your first kiss?” He was holding me tight, and the scent of his body, the warm latex, and the lingering taste of his mouth were doing things to me. I wanted him to kiss me again.
“First with a guy,” I replied, blushing furiously.
“But not, I hope, the last with this guy.” Hugging me, he said, “Come upstairs to the flat. I think a glass of something while I make supper for us …”
“Sounds good,” I reluctantly released him. “Thanks …” As I followed him up the stairs, I gushed, “I’ve been wanting to … but as I don’t walk past anymore, and I wasn’t sure you’d …”
Entering the living room, he turned. “You weren’t sure I’d what?”
“Want to see me again …” I mumbled.
Suddenly I was in his arms again and getting the most possessive kiss imaginable.
“That answer your question?” Holding me tight to his body, he stared into my eyes. “Let’s get this out in the open. I’m Gay. I’m a rubber fetishist—rubber bondage in fact, or anything sexy in rubber. I wear rubber most of the time when I’m working. I own a bespoke rubber bondage gear company, and I’m holding in my arms a man who was washed into my life in a downpour, stripped in front of me, put on a pair of rubber chastity shorts and wore them when I could, if he’d refused, have given him something else to wear, opened his heart to me probably without realising it, and has come round now with a bottle of wine that probably cost him half his weeks wages … and he tells me he wasn’t sure I’d want to see him again? We’ve even been abused by the same sadistic bastard at school.”
“I …” His kiss cut me off again.
“You going to tell me you aren’t Gay? That you don’t like me holding you? Or kissing you like this?” His mouth met mine again. “Maybe my wearing rubber bothers you?”
“No, Im not … I mean none of that bothers me.” Swallowing I pecked his mouth. “I know I’m Gay, but … it scares me and I hated what the creep did to me …”
“I scare you? Or being Gay scares you?” His smile was tender.
“Being Gay … I got a lot of shit at school, and I get it at work too … and then there’s … well I find rubber a big turn on …”
“Is that all?” Hugging me tight, he kissed me gently. “Then we’re going to have a lot of fun teaching each other to love being Gay and you to love being a rubber man.” He frowned suddenly. “Did you say your flat’s got a leaking roof?”
“Yes, but what’s …”
“Is the flat damp? Mouldy?”
I thought about it. “A bit, in the bathroom. That’s where the leak is.”
“Then you’re moving out as soon as you can.” Kissing me again, he growled. “And don’t argue.”
Supper was good. Fresh rolls, fetched by me from the bakery in the High Street, a delicious selection of cheese and cold meats—and the wine I’d brought. I know nothing about wine, and it turned out I’d managed to choose a very good one.
On the sofa, my shoes off, wine glass next to me, and Dave curled up on the other end, I was surprised to feel so comfortable. I hadn’t felt this way since my childhood and before our family fell apart. Dave was just easy for me to talk to. For once in my life I didn’t have to guard my tongue in case I said something someone found stupid, or could tease me with, or perhaps use against me.
“Time I went home, Dave. I have to work tomorrow and the last bus goes in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll get you a taxi, Tom.” Dave uncurled and stood. “I know where the bus drops you and that’s a bad area at this time of night.”
“It’s not that bad, Dave. I’ve never had a problem …”
“Because you’re never out at this time of night. Don’t argue, Tom. Call it my treat, if you like, or my paranoia.” Making the call, he gave the address and hung up. “Right, he’ll be here in fifteen minutes, but before you go, I’ve got a little gift for you, and I want you to give some thought to something over the next day or so.”
Before I could say anything he disappeared into another room. Wondering what he was doing, I got my jacket and put it on as he returned holding a small package.
“Just a little something I think you’ll like.” Handing me the bag, he grinned. “Open it when you get home.”
“You shouldn’t be giving me gifts, Dave.” Tucking the bag into my ‘map’ pocket inside the coat, I asked, “What do you want me to think about?”
“This.” The kiss and the embrace took me by surprise. Still holding me close, he said, “I want you to think hard about living here. Take your time, and think carefully about it, and while you’re at it, think about what you’d really like to do for a living. Promise?”
“Live here? With you?” Part of me wanted to say ‘yes’ immediately, but the other part of me was still terrified of admitting being Gay …
“Think about it. Take your time. There’s a spare bedroom if you want it.” Pausing he watch my face before adding, “Or we can share a bed. Like I said. Take your time and think about it. Don’t rush. Think about what you want, not what I might want. What do you want?”
“Dave … I …” Holding him, I tried to get my thoughts in some kind of order.
“Just think about it. In the meantime, get onto that landlord of yours and tell him to sort that leak. Tell him the mould is affecting your health, okay? And have a think about what sort of work you’d really enjoy doing.”
“That’s easy—but I don’t have any qualification for it, and I haven’t the money to get them … I …” He stopped me.
“Tell me next time, and what you say about being no good at anything … Bullshit!” Kissing me again, he said, “Your taxi will be here any minute.” He grinned. “I gave him the flat address, not the shop, so follow me.” Leading me downstairs by a different staircase, I found myself in a recessed door on the street, not in the lane. He laughed as he closed and locked the door behind us. “The flat’s a bit bigger than the shop—because I divided the original shop and let out the bit facing the street to a travel agency.”
I had to laugh, I’d walked past both this entrance and the agency daily for a couple of years now, and never guessed. Before I could reply, the taxi arrived and Dave opened the door.
“Budge up, I’m coming too,” he said greeting the driver. “Thanks Mick, take us to 135 Appledore Street, please. I’m seeing Tom home tonight.”
At the flat, I opened my side door and was surprised to see Dave get out as well. As I walked round, he paid the driver and said something to him, then joined me at my door.
“I’m coming in with you, Tom,” he said as the taxi pulled away. “I want to see your home and this mouldy bathroom. Mick will be back to fetch me in about twenty minutes.”
“Not much to see, Dave. It’s basically a bedsit!”
“So? Show me.”
Opening the street door, I ushered him inside, closing the door behind me and made sure it was locked. It is that kind of area. On the top floor I unlocked my flat door and flicked on the light.
“Welcome to my home-sweet-home.” I said, my sarcasm showing. The flat is basically an L shaped living room with a kitchenette and a shower and toilet filling the angle in the L. My bed is in the ‘foot’ of the L. I’ve made it as comfortable as I can with some nice pictures. A coat of paint, I’ve sanded and sealed the floors and have some worn rugs, and the furniture is all stuff I’ve refurbished in my evenings.
“Snug, at least.” He commented. “And you keep it nice.”
“I try. It’s all I’ve got these days—and I do most of the repairs myself. The landlord doesn’t.” I shrugged. “The roof needs replacing, all I can do is keep patching it. Working for GBS has its advantages.”
“Well I have to say you do it damned well then.” He glanced around my furniture, most of it worn, but nice, again my efforts to restore and keep it looking good. “You know, GBS don’t know what they’ve got in you.” Hugging me, he kissed me briefly. “Show me this mould.”
“You really want to see it?” I laughed. “In here. The leak in the roof is directly above the bloody shower! That’s why I didn’t spot it earlier.”
He studied the blackened area round the small extract vent.
“That’s not good, and I bet the ceiling above this is growing mushrooms.” He said back in the living room. Glancing out of the window, he sighed. “Damn, Mick’s back. Think about what I said at home.” Putting a card on the table, he took my hand. “Call me when you’ve thought about it, okay?”
I let him out and watched the cab drive off, then I went back upstairs and sat staring at nothing while I savoured the feeling of emptiness now he’d gone. Eventually, remembering the package I retrieved it. Inside were six rubber thongs, each with a seriously thick latex pouch and strong waist and under strap. Cunningly made clips attached the waistband to the reinforced top of the pouch and held everything in place. They were all coloured, red, white, black, blue, yellow and silver. I laughed, suddenly feeling on top of the world.
Still grinning, I stripped, pulled out the white thong and put it on. It was a perfect fit, the pouch giving my tackle comfortable support, and looking as sexy as hell.
