Mark was pissing me off. For more than one reason. He was fucking (or being fucked by, I imagined) this gorgeous creature Todd. And they had schoolgirl crushes on each other, apparently. And I was being the adult in the room on top of it all.
Yeah, I was pissed. But I had this thought that Mark just needed this to solve something, to prove something...I wasn't really sure what. He and I had been very active with other guys, but always together and always just for fun. Neither one of us had ever considered there would be something more with any of them. Not like Ilya and Stephen who were managing to have a three-way relationship with Nathan who was, to be fair, adorable.
But Mark and I knew we could never do that. So when Todd came to our flat, I had wondered briefly if that was what Mark was looking for, for some kind of equilateral triangle. But it quickly became clear to me that Todd was there only for him. And Mark wanted it to be just him. I was just the extra cock in the room.
So what could I do? I couldn't throw away more than fifteen years, now could I? I was going to be the better person. I was going to let this be fucked out of him, to be crass. Or at least that's what I hoped.
But in the meantime, every morning that Mark went off to Todd for whatever they would do together that I had no interest in hearing about, I would lie in bed and seethe. I would work myself into a state. I tried various ways to calm down, to keep from wrecking something, to keep from dissolving into tears. I would jerk off while watching too much porn, I would throw myself into my work and think too much. All that too-muchness didn't really work. The jealousy, the sadness, the anger would just creep back.
It's not like Mark wasn't around. We had sex, we were affectionate, but I could tell his heart wasn't in it. It was so obvious. He thought he was putting on a good show, but I could tell that his thoughts and his cock were always focused on Todd. Fucking Todd and his huge cock and his yoga body and...well, you can see how annoyed I was.
One afternoon about a month after those two started their thing, I sat in the institute and felt sorry for myself which then made me angry, so I decided to fuck off from my brainy work and go out. Ilya and Stephen and Nathan were all busy, so I decided instead to get a little drunk and just be around people I didn't know.
I went to this bar – this 'drip' bar, as my younger colleague Seth put it – in Soho called the Spaniel. Ridiculous name. But it was actually a nice place, all soft fabric and quiet music and lots of nice-looking people of all kinds of sexualities and genders and colours. I had been there before and liked it. I liked the ecumenical approach: all were welcome.
I sat at the bar which was this long, smooth, blonde wood expanse and asked for something that was a martini but wasn't. The gorgeous bartender who was tall willowy and gave off hints of male and female, looked at me quizzically. They said, “Uh...not a martini?”
I smiled my best smile and said, “Sorry...I'm in a mood. I want something different that's also kind of the same. Be creative.” This was my life, after all.
With that permission, they turned and began to stare at the bottles on the shelves behind the bar. I looked around the space, at all the young lovely people, and some more my age. It had been a while since I had been out on my own at a place like that and I felt strange. But a little part of me, if I'm honest, was excited. I wondered who I might meet. I wondered if I might make a friend, and I wondered if I might make a friend who wanted to fuck. Because I had decided that if Mark could be fucked by that god of a man, then why the hell couldn't I? I know, childish. Playing with fire. I knew that of course. But I was in no state to be reasonable.
But everyone there seemed to be intent on their conversations that were no doubt more interesting than me. Yeah, I was feeling sorry for myself as well. Ugly.
The bartender, who had been mixing and shaking finally turned to me and presented me with a martini glass with something the palest yellow colour. It had a single blueberry floating on top. They said, “That's a...martini that's been to...Spain via Tahiti. Hope you like it.”
The server was gorgeous, I realized and despite the fact that their gender was indeterminate, I was attracted. I wondered what it might be like to have sex with someone like that. But they turned away before I had a chance to wonder any more. I suddenly felt very conventional.
I sipped my drink and was amazed. It somehow was a martini, but it had hints of...sherry? That was the Spain part. But something slightly fruity and slightly...coconut. Tahiti. Just hints, as if they had added a few drops of a few things.
So I sat, enjoying my drink, feeling both relaxed and lonely. The place began to get busy, my bartender moving faster and more efficiently. I ordered another, enjoying the little buzz in the back of my head. Just as they put the second glass down, I was aware of someone sitting down beside me. For some reason, I was afraid to look.
But a voice said, “Mind if I tuck my bag in there...?”
I turned and met a pair of brown eyes, then I saw waves dark hair all around those eyes that ended at a delicate-looking neck, then a subtly sculpted brownish, absolutely gorgeous face. His eyelashes were long, almost as if he had makeup, but I could tell they were just his. He had a big floppy bag in his hands so I realized what he wanted.
“Cheers, go ahead.” I took a sip of my drink and watched him lean down and tuck his bag between us.
He stood up and perched himself on the padded stool. His legs were long in tight black trousers. He had a perfectly white silky shirt on that seemed to flow all over his torso. His hands were surprisingly delicate. He fiddled with his phone for a moment, then put it down decisively. He looked at me and gave me a soft, wry smile. He said, “I'm starting to hate my phone. It never has anything good to say.”
I had to laugh. I was delighted. I said, “Technology rarely does.”
His little grin got a little wider. “What are you drinking? It looks delicious.”
Holding the glass out in front of me as if I hadn't seen it before, I said, “I don't think it has a name. I asked this fine person to make me something different.” I indicated the lovely bartender who was standing in front of us, clearly waiting for this new person to order something.
He turned and said, “Can you make me what he's having?”
The server looked at me with a sly expression, as if they knew something I didn't, but then turned and began to concoct another of the magic yellow creations.
I sipped mine and then heard, “I'm Aravind.”
Turning again, Aravind was looking directly at me, his hand extended. I put my glass down and took it in mine, surprised by how warm it was, how strong it felt. “Trevor.”
The bartender put a glass down in front of Aravind who took it and we toasted with a little clink. He took a sip, his eyes still taking me in. He put the glass down and said, “Delicious.”
His phone buzzed and he looked down at it with irritation. He said, “I better turn this thing off...” So he did and turned back to me, as if waiting for an answer to a question he hadn't asked.
I said, “I never turn mine on when I'm out.” I was going to say something about 'but not if my partner is expecting me to answer', but I decided not to. And I wasn't surprised I didn't.
Sipping his drink, Aravind said, “Very sensible.” He stopped and seemed to be considering something before saying, “My partner is trying to get a hold of me and...well...I don't want to talk to him.”
There was so much information in that statement. He had a partner, things were not going well, and he didn't want to talk to him. I was struck by the vulnerability of it. And I was struck by the symmetry. I said, “Well, my partner probably won't be called me.”
Aravind's eyebrows slowly rose and he cocked his head. “Why is that?”
Deciding that we were in fact having this conversation, a conversation that only seems to happen in bars between strangers, I tried to formulate a way to describe the situation I was in with Mark. I finally said, “He's busy fucking someone he's become infatuated with and I'm letting him because I love him.”
I almost couldn't believe I was so blunt and I could tell if I continued I would be crying. I gulped some of my drink instead.
To my amazement, I felt Aravind touch my hand for a second. Just a light pressure from his fingers. He said, “I'm sorry, Trevor.” He stopped and then said, “I would be furious.”
I turned and his eyes were somehow wider. “Yeah, I'm furious. We've been together for more than fifteen years and we've had lots of fun with other guys together, but this is the first time he's become emotionally attached to one of them.”
“One of them? So you two were together when he met him?”
I decided not to tell him about Mark's adventures with Ravi. Adventures which, I realized, made it possible for this situation to happen. I said, “Yeah...but I realized right away that they were into each other. I guess that's the risk of threesomes.”
Aravind nodded and took a sip of water that the lovely bartender left in front of us. He said, “Yes. That is the risk of threesomes and open relationships.”
I could tell there was some stories behind his words. I said, “Are you and your partner open?”
With a sigh, he said, “Yes. And it was me who wanted it.” He stopped and looked at me for a second. “Do you really want to hear this?”
“It's only fair.”
He nodded. “I suppose. Our problem isn't with us being open. Oh, right...we're having a problem. I should have started there. Our problem is, believe it or not, with whether or not to have a child.”
A little startled, aware of yet more symmetry between his situation and mine, I said, “Yeah. I know about that conversation. Mark wanted children, but I didn't. But we came to an understanding about it. Our best friends have a child so we're uncles which we both love.”
Wistfully, Aravind said, “I'm glad you could at least work that out.”
“Yeah. I suppose that's something. So which is it you want?”
He winced and shook his head. “I don't...I mean, I love kids. But I've never felt it was something I wanted for my life.”
I raised my glass to him and said, “To not having children.”
He laughed suddenly. It just seemed to burst out of him and I could see a side of him, a younger, energetic side of him peek out behind the heaviness of his situation. “To not having children.”
For a minute or so we didn't say anything, as if we had run out of conversation. Then the willowy bartender passed and Aravind said, “Two more, please.” He turned to me with a grin, “I took the liberty...”
I decided I liked him. “I'm glad you did.”
We sat for another hour or so and had two more drinks. Those magical martinis had a club hidden in them somewhere that subtly beat us over the head because by the time I was ready to leave, I was not quite drunk, but certainly teetering on the edge. I could tell that Aravind was in the same state.
I drained my glass and said, “Well...this has been lovely...but I need to get back to Fulham. Where do you live?”
He stood up and I could tell he was swaying ever so slightly. “Manchester...”
“You've got a long journey ahead of you!”
He laughed and said, “Yeah. But I have a little flat in Camden Town for when I'm in the City.”
“What do you do?”
“I'm a producer at the BBC. What about you?”
I stopped, my brain feeling fuzzy. I managed to say, “I work for an institute...I'm a physicist.” He looked a little startled. I said, “What? Can't physicists drink martinis?”
This time he laughed even louder. He manage to say, “No, I'm more surprised there are gay physicists.”
He had a point. I was the only one I knew about. “Gays can be smart, don't you think?”
Again, he laughed. With a little twinkle in his eyes, he said “You're funny.”
The words were like a flirtation and I realized I liked it. I just smiled and picked up my leather satchel. We walked a little unsteadily out into the street. It was after nine but there were still cars whizzing everywhere. I suddenly wanted to be in Heath and Reach in front of Ilya and Stephen's fireplace. I said, “I'm going to get a cab...”
I walked closer to the road, looking either way. Nothing. I turned and said, “Maybe I'll take the Tube.”
Aravind was standing just looking at me. It was such an intent look I almost felt naked, and not in a bad way. Butt not in an easy way.
Deciding to walk toward the Tube station, I was moving closer to him when he grabbed my hand. He somehow pushed me against the brick wall of the shop next to the bar. Pressing his whole body into mine, he said, “What if you came back to mine...?”
Then he kissed me. I know we were drunk and all, but it felt as if I hadn't kissed in years. It felt easy and intense, casual but deep. His tongue was strong, his lips warm and, after a few moments, I felt that both of us were hard, our cocks squashing together. And I noticed that his was at least as big as mine. It's not that that was the only thing I wanted, but just that I rarely – aside from that fucking Todd – encountered cocks as big as mine.
But it felt so good, so fucking good. We kissed and tortured each other, essentially fucking each other's cocks right there on the street, slurping and nibbling on each other's mouths. I ran my hands through the soft waves of his hair. He slid his hand down the back of my trousers and massaged my ass which made me groan.
But he suddenly pulled back, his head shaking. I was almost gasping from need. I said, “Aravind...I want so fucking much to come to yours...but I can't. At least...not tonight.”
He gave me this look and said, “I hope if you do I'm not just some payback for what Mark is doing?”
I knew he had a point. I pulled him close and kissed his nose. “I'm not sure. Ask me again when I'm sober. But I do want to see you again...” And I ran my hand down his chest to the very healthy bulge in his trousers. I slide my fingers in and felt it. I wanted to at least feel it before the night ended. It was long and not too thick. Probably longer than mine. I so wanted to pull it out and suck him off right there in the street, but I knew I couldn't let the drunken adolescent in me take control.
He moaned into my mouth and said, “Fuck...your torturing me!” He stood back, adjusting his shirt. “No. We need to stop.”
I said, “Yes. But Aravind...I was serious. Are you still in the City this weekend?”
He looked down at his shoes then back at me. “Yes. I told Sandor I needed a few days to think. So...I guess this is me thinking. I'll be in town until Monday. At least.”
I found myself grinning. “What about Sunday then? The afternoon?”
We both stared at each other as if we suddenly became aware not so much what we were arranging, but the implications of it for both of us. Without a word, he took out his phone and then handed it to me. I entered in my details and then, as I watched, he texted me. I didn't look at the text, but put the phone in my pocket. I picked up my bag and looked at him again.
He suddenly pulled me close and kissed me. Less intensely, but deeper. He stepped back and gave me this look, this laser-focused look that I don't think I will ever forget.
--
I did manage to get a taxi in the end. I had watched Aravind walk the other direction and I found myself admiring his lean body, his strong, but not too plump ass as he walked.
Mark was asleep when I got into bed. I kissed his cheek and lay back, staring at the ceiling. He turned and threw an arm over my chest, but didn't wake up. It felt as comfortable as it always did. I turned and picked up my phone. I remembered Aravind's text and when I read it, my cock started to come alive. It said, “I wanted you to suck me off in the street.”
To say I was inflamed is not strong enough. I imagined that very thing. I imagined myself on my knees, his pants open, that long tan muscle in my mouth, him pressing it deep. Then my imagination took off. I wanted to fuck him, I wanted to watch my dick slide into that lovely strong ass. I wanted us to kiss while I filled him.
I started to stroke. I didn't care if Mark was awake or not. But then he was. Without a word, he turned and put his head on my stomach and let me push my cock into his mouth. I put my hands his head and pushed him down, jerking my hips up. He choked a little, but took me. Because I was so excited, I reached a peak really fast and gripped his head tightly as my cock exploded in his mouth. I could hear him moaning and whimpering and I knew he was pumping his own cum all over the bed.
We did't say a word. Which was fine with me, because the whole time I had the image of Aravind's eyes in my head. Somehow it was the most erotic thing I could think of. Not his long dick, or his slim, strong body. But those eyes
Mark seemed to sink back into sleep really fast. I kissed his forehead a few times and lay down feeling sated.
--
Sunday morning I felt like I was preparing for my first date all over again. I was nervous and got up too early and made breakfast. Mark stumbled in looking tired. He sat down and wordlessly accepted the coffee I gave him. I let him finish his eggs before asking, “When are you...well...going out?”
He knew what I meant. He knew I did't even want to say the name, much less even imply what they might be doing, in or out of their clothes. I could tell he was trying to be casual when he said, “Oh, around one.”
So when Mark went to get dressed, I texted Aravind saying I would be at his flat by 1:30. The secrecy of it excited me. I wondered if Mark had felt that when he and Todd started fucking, and started falling for each other. I decided I didn't care.
Mark left, kissing me very sweetly which somehow felt awful. I had a shower and got myself excited, stroking my dick, but holding myself back from unloading in the hot spray, wanting to be optimally excited for whatever Aravind and I did.
I had the mad thought of buying flowers but realized that was just my fantasies talking. This wasn't a first date, it was a hookup, pure and simple. Wasn't it? But that was fine with me. What else could it be, given that I didn't know him at all except for the fact that he was gorgeous and wanted to fuck me? But I was nervous as well, wondering if the alcohol had impaired my judgement. We had come close to having sex on the street, after all.
I hopped in a taxi and it crawled, as usual, to the City, then to Aravind's little building on a quiet street. He buzzed me in and, as I stood in front of his door, feeling ridiculous, I almost turned around disappeared into London, making all this just go away.
But the second the door opened, and I saw his lovely face, his sensuous lips and his intense brown eyes, I remembered.
“Hi.”
He gave me a little smile and said, “Hi.” He paused, looking at my whole body for a second, then said, “Come in.”
Feeling assessed, but in the best possible way, I stepped in.
“Wine? Water? Tea?”
He pointed to a little sofa and I sat, looking around at the small room. It really was a pied-a-terre, barely big enough for one. But tastefully done up and comfortable. I said, “Oh...I think tea might be best. Let's do this once sober, yeah?”
A bigger smile appeared on his face and I watched him in the adjoining kitchen as he made us a pot and put it on a tray with some biscuits. It was delightfully old-fashioned.
He sat down beside me and put the tray in front of us. I was fascinated as he poured tea and put milk in. I thought we were in a film from the 1950's. He handed me a cup – not a mug – and said, “My mum used to do this every Sunday, so it feels right.”
I took a sip and said, “You're mum has good taste. Canadians don't do the whole tea thing much.”
He nodded and said, “I thought you sounded mid-Atlantic. Where?”
I told him about Ontario and university and a whole bunch of things. I was surprised how easy it was to be open with him.
He told me about growing up in Manchester and I got the sense that being a brown family in a place like that in those days wasn't easy. I imagined that maybe it still wasn't.
After a while, he took the tea things away and I felt like we had done the preliminaries and we were still hot for each other. At least I was for him. I kept glancing at the place where thigh ended and his ass began.
He sat down again and very deliberately took my hand and kissed it. He said, his voice all soft and creamy, “So...what shall we do?”
My answer was to lean forward and kiss him. His lips were luscious and soft. His tongue, when it slid into my mouth, was hot and insistent. He leaned into me, his arms encircling my torso and our mouths got more intense, working hard. I kissed my way down to his neck and licked up to his chin which made him gasp.
I felt his hand start to massage the growing bulge in between my legs, so I spread them, shifting forward, pulling him closer. He managed to unzip my trousers and fished out my now rigid cock, which felt surprising for some reason.
I leaned back and let him unbutton my shirt which he peeled off me. He ran his hands over my chest, tweaking my nipples, then pinching them before leaning forward and sucking one of them. It was my turn to gasp. I wriggled out of my trousers and he hauled my briefs off, then I watched him, almost impatiently, tear his own clothes off.
We were suddenly both standing, looking at each other, the tips of our cocks just touching which felt insanely exciting. He leaned into me and it seemed to set something off in me, as if a button had been pushed. Our mouths collided and I felt his arms go around me and he pulled me in, mashing our cocks together.
It all became a blur as we kissed hungrily and I took hold of his nicely muscled ass, gripping his flesh and grinding myself into him and after that it was like we were frantic. I pushed him onto the sofa and fucked his mouth, enjoying him gagging a little, then he pushed me backward and did the same thing, then we tangled ourselves up so we could swallow each other at the same time, but then, somehow, I was on top again and he took hold of my cock and stroked, saying through clenched teeth, “Fuck me, Trevor. I want you to fuck it all away...”
I wasn't sure what he was talking about but the fuck part I understood. But he surprised me by pushing me off him and dragging me to the tiniest bedroom where he produced some lube and then I knew what to do. He got on his hands and knees and almost blind with excitement, I took my now slippery cock and, taking him by the hips, not-very-gently stuffed it into him.
He gasped and swore, then he sat up and turned to me and we tried to kiss but it was too awkward, so I reached around and started to stroke him, using his cock for stability as I pounded him fast and hard. I hadn't felt so inflamed in ages and he seemed to be as excited as I was. He said a few times, “Harder you pussy, fuck me harder!”
Each time I took the intensity up, he seemed to want more, but I couldn't last. It was impossible. I finally almost yelled and kept fucking, but the power of my orgasm almost made me fall over and I could feel myself spurting into him, a seemingly endless amount and I had a crazy fantasy that my body would deflate as I filled his ass with cum.
To my amazement, he pulled away from me and pushed me backward. He looked directly into my eyes with that dark brown beam and said, “Fair is fair.”
So he dug into his ass and got his fingers all coated in my cum and used it to lube himself. I spread my legs and let him skewer me, let me push my thighs back and pummel me hard, and fast and in a couple of minutes he let himself go. I could feel his body shake, I could feel his cock pulsing inside me. He leaned down with a long moan and kissed me, still making sounds until his kisses got softer and his body seemed to let go and he stopped moving. Just breathing. Our breaths seems to be in sync. His cock still felt like a steel rod in me, but I liked it. Marks' cock is lovely, and Todd's huge pole...well it was Todd's and that was complicated. But Aravind inside me in that moment? I liked it a lot.
With a long sigh, he slowly pulled himself out and lay down beside me. He turned, his hair all damp, his face a little sweaty. Our bodies seemed to smell like a thousand things. He said, “That's what I hoped you would feel like.”
I had to laugh. “Yeah? And how is that?”
He kissed my chin, then said, “Oh, like that. You give as good as you get. You like symmetry, don't you? I bet it's part of your work somehow...”
I was astonished. I had never had someone give me such a accurately perceptive comment about me based on how I fucked. Or on anything about me. I did like symmetry and it was part of my work. How the fuck? I kissed him for a moment, then, our lips almost touching, I said, “Yeah, it is. And I do. Can you read minds?”
He grinned while kissing me, then said, “Oh, no. My grandmother could, I think, but not me. I just like figuring people out.”
We lay for a while, our bodies cooling, the inner fire we had slowly going out. But what amazed me was how much I didn't want to leave. How comfortable I was. Because we weren't twenty, we didn't need to start all over again, but we both seemed to want to be all wrapped around each other, talking idly and being quiet, kissing softly. That felt adolescent and in the best way of being adolescent: the feeling of not wanting the moment to ever end.
Eventually, at around five, I decided I did need to go. I knew that Mark would be home around six and I didn't feel like explaining – or lying – about where I had been. Not yet, anyway.
Once my clothes were back on and Aravind had kissed me a bunch, extracting a promise to make another plan for when he was back in London which, he thought, might be sooner rather than later, I went out to the street and found a taxi. The ride back home felt surreal, as if I had woken up in another world. Everything felt different. Everything was different.
I didn't know if it was because of Aravind, or if it could have been anyone, but what was suddenly very clear and very painful and very necessary was that Mark and I needed to have that other conversation. The one I told him we needed to have if he didn't want to come home. Only it turned out it was me.
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