Sunday, April 29, 2007


“She could never remember that I don’t like onions,” Glen said, brandishing his beer at Chloe. She smiled, all teeth that never quite cancelled out her pout, and pretended to dodge Glen’s attack. He smiled back, waved the beer two more sweeps at her for good measure, drew it back and pulled a half-forced and shy kiss from her before looking at me again. He smiled, almost as sweetly, at me. “But she was so beautiful that I didn’t mind coming back every time to ask for a new sandwich, or to risk another mess-up.” Chloe pursed her lips, which created a dent and brought the top of her bottom lip down into a further pout.

“You asked for onions every time,” she said, and Glen and I felt that she was genuinely hurt for a moment and exchanged glances (it’s your fault; no it’s yours), before she blushed and looked at Glen as if she’d just noticed that she was in love with him, her eyes open below the irises, and the smile of someone who’d just received a large bouquet of flowers.

“It’s a good thing you’re beautiful,” Glen said, and kissed her again, deeply, with his hand cupped over her cheek, stroking the jaw. It was like watching children play red-light green-light, something you must watch, and you must watch with a hapless grin. They were, in short, adorable. “Or you would have been fired a hundred times over.”

“Yours was the only sandwich I ever messed up,” she said. “I couldn’t think when you came in.”

“I still don’t like onions,” Glen said, with an exhale, turning to me.

I sat up straight, having forgotten that I was there, that it was my question that they were answering, and that it might be my turn to ask another. Luckily, Chloe pushed in.

“You’re an attractive man. Are you gay?”

“What?” I said, in a guffaw as if people didn’t always assume this of me. “No.”

“We don’t care,” Glen said.

“I’ve just broken up with a girl actually.”

“Uh-huh,” Chloe said, waiting for the because-I’m-gay portion of that statement to arise.

“No, look, everyone thinks I am when they meet me and I’m not. There’s nothing wrong with it, but I’m not.”

“But you’ve gone there, surely,” Glen said, cupping his girlfriend’s hand.

I looked back and forth between them and took another sip of my drink. It wasn’t any of their business, but somehow I felt like telling the truth, politely.

“Well, most people have.”

“And…,” Chloe said.

“It wasn’t bad, but I prefer women.” I was a little upset, suddenly, about this line of questioning, the perfect straight couple addressing the imperfect, broken-up-with, slightly bisexual stranger, attractive though he may be. “And you, Glen?” I asked, finally finding my revenge. “Have you ‘gone there’?”

“Yes,” he said. Chloe nodded as if she was agreeing that he had a degree from university. I took another wide dip into my drink, the coolness of it slapping my uvula like a punching bag. They stared at each other meaningfully, little naughty glances between them. I got the attention of the barman and ordered another scotch and soda.

“On us,” Glen said to the barman, waving at an imaginary bill in front of him. I tested him with a look. He returned it, a stare with slow blinks. I bit my lip. I pulled at the inside seam on my trousers, an erection, an uncalled-for one, in there. Chloe stood up, said something in Glen’s ear that made his bottom lip slide out, and made for the ladies’.

“Do you like Chloe?” Glen asked.

“Sorry, mate, I know she’s your girlfriend, but, let’s just say you’re the luckiest guy in this town, possibly the world.” I turned away from him and held my drink to my mouth, biting the glass idly after a sip, and taking another. He noticed me doing it and grinned. I was no longer Alex White, former mail room employee and current middle manager in a software company, owner of two Weimaraners and a goldfish named Tom, officially in mourning of the wasted three year and seven month relationship with a woman from Ealing who had beautiful eyes and a shoddy waistline, but the toy of a man named Glen and a woman named Chloe, and there was very little to be done about it. And all I’d wanted was a large scotch and soda with a packet of crisps.

Glen’s gaze sloshed away from me and his eyes went as bright as they could be. I followed them to Chloe, returned from the toilet, though such a word could never be associated with her. She must have just gone in to do some charity work and give the other girls makeup tips by osmosis. She glided to us, a pink streak, though she wore blue, and lit to my left. I was now between the two radiant, otherworldly angels, my back curving me into the bar and my right arm across my lap.

“Alex,” she said.


“Turn your head for me, alright?”


I turned and was swallowed whole by a new religion, one of peace and sex and shameless beauty in the face of all obstacles. She kissed me like a shot of sweet morphine and I swam in it, pressed my fingertips to the bottom of the pool and kicked my feet in the air. Her breath was ambrosia, her lips, candied and strong, were at once on all parts of my body, transcending my mouth. My cock went from maybe to its surest moment and pressed into my forearm like an angry mob.

She stopped and winked at me, looked around me to Glen and gave the slightest nod. A hand went around my glass and put it on the inside of the bar. I hastily untucked my shirt and put my jacket on. “Come on then, Alex.” A male voice to my right said. It was someone I knew. Glen. I stood up slowly, grasping the back of the chair and exited the pub with my eyes down, following the floor as well as I could, as I could only see, could only concentrate on three feet of information at a time.

Glen hailed a taxi and I was put in between them as if I was being kidnapped. Glen could manage an address for the driver and I was astounded at his dexterity and facility of language, humbled by it, for I couldn’t evoke my own name anymore. A hand came around my neck and turned my head to the right. It was Glen, a blur of masculine perfection, his kiss a sock across the jaw, a red melee of domination and spirit. He quickly unlashed his belt in his trousers, and fumbling, took my hand to his cock through the top of them. His kiss halted and he timed a move against the driver’s glances, waited, then pushed me down to his cock by the back of the neck. He straightened himself out, pushed his trousers down below his hips and held it out for me. I dove on it gratefully, because my purpose was clear, to serve the beautiful, and I rearranged myself on the seat so I could put more effort into it, one knee on the cushion, one foot on the floor, pushing with all its might by the toe.

Glen organised my rhythm, pushing me down and suggesting me up, finally just fucking my mouth, though I fought to enhance it with my tongue, struggling to impress him. A hand washed up the back of my thigh, made a turn and came down the other, and again, and again, each time making me quiver as it, for the briefest moment, made contact with the area behind my balls. My cock pushed at my trousers, cried sad holy murder to the zip, and fought again. Glen’s cock, as perfect as the rest of him, thickish and thunderously hard, battled my tonsils for space, my jaw aching in self-righteous martyrdom. When he came, a tensed and battering-ram final set of thrusts into my throat, he yanked my head to his face, invaded my mouth and spelunked his funk into his own. Pure gold to him, as it was, deferentially, to myself.

He looked again at the driver and then, sweating and succulently, at his girlfriend, and placed me back in hostage-position, leaning forward again, my erection nagging me like a loose tooth, begging to be nudged. “Here, please,” he said. And for a moment I had no idea what he was talking about.

We piled out of the taxi. Glen stood outside of it and paid the driver with a twenty pound note, his legs apart on the pavement. Chloe took my hand with camaraderie, sympathy and affection. I couldn’t look at her. If I looked, I’d come. She lead me to her door, my knees awobble, my brain fog and dust. She squeezed the hand, produced a key and used it.

It wasn’t a flat. They owned the entire fucking thing. To my left was a salon, straight ahead an enormous kitchen and pantry, upstairs, heavenly opulence in an opal sheen, only imaginable in film and fantasy. They looked around nervously, Jesus fucking Christ, there’s help, and lead me upwards, to the palace that no doubt lay above. Chloe’s arse strode and arched the steps like a temple itself, Glen and I below to worship it. The idea of me getting a leg over this girl seemed like blasphemy, but I would only do as she asked, could not deny an angel her desire and whim. Glen followed me closely, his hands checking the merchandise occasionally, a rub of my arse, a dive between the thighs. Chloe strode the hallway with confident ownership, the rugs certainly chosen by her, the colour of the paint itself her decision. Opulence that only shows true in the cultured. I was now dazzled by the environment and almost slapped away a hand on my cock through my trousers, wanting to say that it was for Chloe. It was Chloe, of course, and looking at her briefly, the idea of her under me, filled by me, made me stop in the hallway to get my bearings. She knew, of course and kissed me briefly, saying “Come on and fuck me, Alex.” I looked shocked at her and she glowed a bit, all fluorescent in pink to contrast the yellow light.

She drifted to the floor right there in the hallway, the back of her fingers coasting my stomach and hooking into my trousers. She took me down with her and twisted, arch-backed on the floor, her thighs spread. I sat on my knees for a while and stared down at her, examining her, toes to the top of her head. Glen knelt next to me and leaned forward, lifted her dress and hooked his fingers in her underpants. They slid over her hips, revealing a trimmed, diminutive triangle of hair, above swollen pussy lips, her clit a crimson tongue between them, peeking out. Glen left her underpants on one foot’s toes and bent to smell them. He buried his face in the crotch and visibly sucked her scent inside. She had my trousers open, pulled them forcibly over my arse and my cock flipped up like a bicycle kickstand. She pushed her index finger into the precome and slid it around the tip like it was medication, a soothing to my aggravated cock. Of course, it was only the opposite, what was dry, now suggestively wet and ready.

I spread her thighs more, twisted my hand around her pussy and entered her with reverence and modesty, prodded by Glen’s fingers toying with my ass. My hand curved her neck and went into her hair, pulled her mouth to mine again, and we did not so much kiss as share the space, the intimate blood-breath of a couple in fuck. I ground into her, my entire body waving into her, my knees apart and bitten into the floor. Glen watched beside us, his pants down below his waist, his cock, a flag of perfection, halfway to hard again, his lips on his girlfriend’s forehead before sitting back to watch the show.

I began to shiver above her, my arse clenched and tingling from effort. Glen jumped up and walked down the hallway, stepping over us as if we were a curled rug. “Are you having fun?” Chloe asked when Glen was out of earshot. I answered with a deep, sucking kiss with a bit of a moan, some stirring, deadly affection for her. Glen returned, naked and muscular, a chest of soft hair descending to a treasure trail that would save any lost woodsman, and leaned against the wall for a bit, watching us. I looked at him, Chloe’s mouth at my ear, her breaths ragged. Glen wiped the side of his face. I waited until his eyes were in mine again and descended his body with them, landing on his cock, curved in the air like an enchanted cobra. He smiled once more, turning his face as though I’d just said something wonderful and surprising. He exchanged a look with Chloe and she stopped my hips with her hands.

She kissed me and rolled over under me before sliding out. I was heartbroken, my hips still bent as if she were there. I turned, finally, to a seated position, posing as best I could for the both of them and watched Chloe turn and lean over the railing, her legs spread, arse in the air and tiptoed. I know I grimaced with pleasure, but waited for Glen to take his position. I waited and waited. “Alex?” Chloe said. I jumped up, held her hip, pushed my cock down and entered again. Glen gasped. He was stroking himself. He approached me and with my head turned, I felt him come around my back. He’d gotten a bottle of lube. He squeezed some out and I was helpless and shocked. He held my arse in place, pressed against me and entered me without ceremony or comment. I wailed, pain and unbelievable pleasure, and smoothed my thrusts.

I seesawed against them, pain, pleasure, pain, pleasure, a slap and then a reward and then a slap. My senses drifted away. My eyes could only see Chloe’s skin. My mouth could only taste Glen’s come. My ears heard naught but desperate panting. I could smell only pussy juice and sweat. And I felt the rush of cyanotic pleasure, some dredge of it never seen before, concentrated and crystallised. “Fuck, that’s fucking… wonderful… that’s… FUCK! God God God God GOD!” I yelped and trembled between them, my feet jumping on the floor. I held fast and waited for the world to right itself, ready to plunge over the railing, for it would never happen like that again, until Chloe twisted around me. Glen pushed me to the floor, reentered and fucked hard, my knees sore and shifting my eyes on Chloe’s fingers, dragging across her clit. I grimaced for her, spread my knees wide and lay down on my chest. She shift to our sides and continued to toy her clit, slow and thorough.

“Let me know, sweetheart,” Glen said, his heart in it. She nodded.

“Now,” she said. Glen slipped out of me, rushed to her and lay his mouth on hers. Her neck arched and so did his, two elegant curves in a complement, and their bodies rattled. She squealed and he caught it, comforted it, even as his body locked against hers. They came beautifully, her fingers drawing art out of her pussy, his cock shooting wide splats into her stomach. They fell down and spooned on the floor. I found my clothes, kissed both their cheeks and left them, envious and in love with them both.

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