Never Too Late To Explore - 14. Wiped Out

Eric opened his front door, dumped the bags on the floor, and collapsed into his chair without bothering to take his coat off. He felt knackered; completely and utterly done-in. A mug of tea would have to wait until he caught his breath. He hadn't done so much in a day for decades. A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips. God, it showed how restricted his life was when a round trip of thirty miles assumed the proportions of an expedition. He did it all on his own though. That was something to be proud of. A satisfied smile appeared briefly. And it all went well, which was even more of a surprise. He let his head relax onto the seat back. A short nap was what he needed. His ankle ached, but apart from that he was unscathed.

A few minutes later, Eric roused himself to put the kettle on and go to the loo. Before he did either, he took his coat and scarf off and hung them up. Then he bent down and dragged the bags closer to his chair. For all they didn't weigh much, carrying them over the station bridge made his arms ache. Looking at them with a mixture of puzzlement and satisfaction, he left to go upstairs. Once the kettle boiled and he returned with his mug of tea, Eric admired each of the plant plugs in turn. He managed to fit fifteen of them into his bag. Only just though, and he spent much of his time on the way back checking they were OK. It would be just his luck to have returned and found several crushed and snapped. Fuchsia, geraniums, lobelia – the small, summer-flowering variety, violas, and a pansy or two made up his haul.

They were all vigorous, healthy plants. He inspected each before he bought them. The geraniums would spread, and the fuchsia cuttings ought to grow rapidly to form centrepieces for his raised beds. He sighed. The plants wouldn't go far once he spread them out. Some of the perennials tempted him, but they were too large and beyond his reach financially. Eric hauled himself to his feet again. It wouldn't do to keep the plants indoors. He carried them outside and left them on the paving just next to the front door. The next fine afternoon, he would plant the first ones in the bed where the bulbs had mostly finished flowering. There was plenty of room for both sets of plants.

He hurried back indoors – it was cool in the evening breeze. He reached for his other bag. His hand was inside the bag when a vision of the younger Rob's face appeared, close-up, in his mind's eye. His search for the other man's surname hadn't yielded anything yet. It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't continually feel the name lurked tantalisingly out of reach. Every time he tried to bring it to the front, the name evaded his grasp. It was completely maddening. He shook his head and returned to his bag. It didn't hold much: only that day's free paper and a small pack of the cheapest charcoal crayons the art shop stocked.

In the absence of any other ideas for the lads' present, he decided to give them a sketch of his bulbs. The daffs looked good and his few tulips revelled in the nice weather. He needed the charcoal to give the pictures more texture and structure. A wishy-washy splash of colour was not what he wanted. If his friends wished to frame what resulted, they could. Even the cheapest plastic frames were beyond what he was prepared to pay, and he knew something that cheap would stand out for all the wrong reasons in their house.

Eric sat quietly, takings gulps of his now cooled tea, while he mentally added up how much he'd spent. Delving into his trouser pocket, he produced what remained out of the forty pounds he started with. He shook his head again, this time in disbelief. The money almost evaporated in front of him during the course of the day. He studied what was left in his hand; eighteen pounds for the plants, five for the charcoal, and one-eighty for his half of bitter, plus the six-seventy for his train fare left eight-fifty. He counted up, checking every coin before he put them back in his pocket. It would be a very long time before he repeated the trip. He didn't regret it; not at all. But it was frightening how quickly he could spend money on non-essentials. He reminded himself that without Andy, his day-out would've been unthinkable. The young man spent so much time and effort with him, he had to change his ways, painful though some of it was.

Without warning, a name popped into his head: Johnstone. Rob Johnstone. Was that it? He chewed it over. Although it sounded likely, he wasn't convinced. Why? Frowning in concentration, the old man methodically went through the names of the blokes he'd worked with over the years. Some were lost completely; others, he recalled without any trouble – those were usually the men who made their mark on his existence in some way. He slapped his knee in frustration. So why wasn't Rob in that group? Because his earlier self never admitted the man was important, of course. He bit down on the regret that welled up, threatening to fill his mouth with bitterness.

Sure enough, he recalled one man. Mark Johnstone: thickset, only a couple of working brain cells, and a bigot; then as now, from the little he saw and heard of him about town. So were there two Johnstones? It only took Eric a second to dismiss that. It happened, but he would've remembered that. Another dead end. He decided to leave it alone; worrying away at things never helped. His stomach rumbled loudly which was hardly surprising since his cheese sandwich had long since gone. He got up to make himself a plate of toast and scrambled eggs – something else new in his world.

Andy lay in bed, sweaty, satiated, fulfilled beyond words. He listened to the faint sounds of his fiancé moving around downstairs: opened cupboards, crockery, running water. Hopefully, he was getting the fish ready to cook. They'd finished the sexplay; when he re-appeared downstairs, things would be back to normal. God, he loved occasionally having sex whilst being directed solely by Adam. For him, a lot of the piquancy came from the rarity. It might be six months or more before either of them felt the urge to go down the same road. He needed to clean up. The remnants of his own cum were tangled up in his pubes, and Adam's two loads were seeping down inside to his entrance.

One theme of the fun was Adam denying him permission to cum until the very last moment. He managed it by losing himself in the action or sheer willpower. Just as well he did, or his earlier chastisement would've been repeated. When he did cum, the climax made him see stars with the intensity from the delay. Adam paused in his fucking long enough to feed him the glistening result.

Andy smiled to himself and squirmed on the sheet as more aftershocks rippled around his system. Starting in the region of his deflated cock, they coursed through his body, finishing at his open, still-pulsing hole. The rubbing briefly accentuated the glow and tingle from his backside.

A pocket of trapped air escaped in a soft, wet fart. Cum seeped down from his hole towards the sheet. He wanted to catch it, but his body still didn't obey him as it should. Where was the towel? He recalled his fiancé grabbing it from under him to mop up the worst of the mess. Porn aside, neither of them believed in sucking anything which had just been in their bowels. That was one possible command Adam was happy to take a pass on. After another couple of minutes, Andy manoeuvred himself to the edge of the bed. He stood up and tried to tighten his internal muscles in the hope of preventing any further leakage. He also instinctively clenched his buttocks. A throb reminded him that wasn't the best thing to do.

As he staggered to the en-suite, Andy tried to find the balance between squeezing his bum cheeks and possibly dripping cum onto the bedroom carpet. It was surprisingly difficult to achieve. He set the shower going. Adam hadn't long since finished his, so it would only be a minute or two before the water reached the right temperature. He looked forward to replaying some of the evening's action while he washed down.

Picking up his shower gel, Andy noticed the used jockstrap in the linen basket. Then he spied the butt plug in the bath, awaiting a thorough cleansing. His mind wandered almost back to the start of the scene. Getting into the shower, the torrent of hot water was a tonic. He stood there, letting it cascade over him as his inner eye took over.

On receiving the final text from his partner, he stood in the hallway, ready to open the front door at the earliest opportunity. Dressed in a yellow fashion jock, the only other item he wore – if that was the right term – was a black silicone buttplug. He felt both incredibly turned-on and distinctly vulnerable, though he knew he had nothing to worry about in that respect. Lying flat, the jock's pouch appeared opaque; when worn, the thin, stretchy material concealed hardly anything. His package was shadowed, nothing more.

Andy luxuriated in the steamy warmth of the shower stall, soaping himself while he stroked his chest and played with his nubs.

Despite his best endeavours, his mind wandered as he waited for Adam. He surfaced to see a figure through the frosted glass of the front door. He hoped first that it was Adam; then second, his fiancé hadn't been waiting too long. Andy lunged to open the door, sexual excitement spiking. The jock pouch felt suddenly damp. He found Adam standing on the boot scraper in exactly the right place to conceal most of his near-nakedness. Their neighbours weren't that close, but if anyone spotted him at that moment, the gossip would take weeks to die down.

“You kept me waiting!” Adam strode inside, closing the door behind him. “What were your instructions?”

“To open the door immediately you arrived.” He flushed pink.

“And did you?”

“No.”

They both knew what was coming next as they'd planned all the possible options.

That was the cue for him to bend over the kitchen table, arse up, clinging onto a cushion he placed there earlier. Adam was still in his work clothes, having removed nothing. That contrast between himself and the other man sent another charge to his cock.

In the shower, Andy pressed his wet, soaped hands against the globes of his arse, savouring heat that didn't come from the water alone.

Afterwards, Adam whispered a question in his ear and waited for his reply before continuing. His buttplug was removed carefully, but then it turned out, he'd forgotten the lube for Adam. That resulted in a few more heated words, but the lube was found nevertheless.

Andy paused in washing himself. Was the missing lube deliberate? Yes, of course it was. He grinned. That would've been enough cause on its own; only he pre-empted it by dropping the ball right at the start. It was difficult to see through the front door so they both thought that was a likely catalyst. He reached for his washcloth and thought yet again of Adam's mother. To them, this was a mild game of planned S&M; in Felicity's case, it amounted to serious assault. What did her husband do to her that resulted in the bruises on her face? He and Adam would discuss very soon what might be done to help her.

His hand wandered down to his cock and gave it a few strokes. Already plumped up by the hot water, the organ became alive once more, filling out rapidly.

The first fuck of the evening had been all about Adam. Andy recalled the scrape of a trouser zip against his backside as Adam banged up against him on each stroke. Still fully dressed, the other man didn't bother to do anything other than free his tool. The sex was forceful, hurried, and erotic as hell: him hanging onto the table, while the other man tweaked his nips and chewed on the back of his neck as he thoroughly mastered him.

His hand got going again.

“Are you playing with yourself in there?” Adam knocked hard on the bathroom door.

Andy's mouth opened in surprise, then he started to cough with the water. Temporarily blinded, he turned the shower off and grabbed a towel to dry off.

A few moments later, he could speak. “No. At least, not now.”

The bathroom door opened. He was met by a broad smirk. “The fish and I are getting lonely downstairs. Care to join us?”

His eyes narrowed. “You cooked it already?”

Adam raised an eyebrow. “Nope. I could've, but I thought I'd leave it to you. Just as well or it'd be cold by now.” The smirk returned.

It was countered by a glare which Andy kept up only for a few seconds. “Give me five minutes to get dressed and I'll whip something up.”

“That's what I like to hear.”

Adam watched as his partner brought two steaming, fragrant plates of haddock and tomatoes to the table – the one which he'd put to a rather different use earlier. He felt a faint stirring in his chinos. Nothing more; which was hardly surprising given the two vigorous bouts of sex in as many hours. Much as he enjoyed the first, he loved the longer, more giving nature of their second encounter. And he got naked for it. Having sex while he was fully clothed fulfilled in part a fantasy they both harboured. He smiled to himself.

“What?” Andy gave him his food.

“Just wondering whether we'll ever make love in my office.”

The other man flushed pink as he sat down. “I imagined that when you rutted me here. God, how I managed not to cum, I don't know.” He winced as he settled in the seat.

“Sure you don't want a cushion?” Adam got a finger in return which made him snort. “OK … I'm looking forward to this fish. It looks great. We both worked up an appetite. In fact, let's have a good bottle of wine as well.”

As he got up, he leant over to kiss his fiancé. “Thanks for everything.”

“It was my pleasure. Literally.” Another kiss.

Wine poured, Adam tasted the food. “Wow … And this took how long?”

Andy shrugged. “Fifteen minutes or so. Once you rousted me out of the shower.” He grinned. “Weren't you timing me?”

“No, actually. As for later on, maybe you'd better take the lead for anything? I'm done.”

“Really?” Andy ate ravenously. “There's an offer I can't refuse.”

“Good.”

They both concentrated on eating.

Eric still felt tired but the plate of scrambled eggs gave him some much needed energy. He'd be early to bed nevertheless, and tomorrow would be quiet. Clutching a digestive biscuit, he sat down at his computer table and opened up the internet. He formed a habit, even in the short time since the connection was put in. Clicking on one of the gay news sites, he stared at its front page. Normally he found the ads annoying – sometimes downright intrusive – but this time a couple caught his eye. They advertised 'Pride' events in two cities. Puzzled, he looked more closely and saw a number of other similar ads for cities not only in the UK but also abroad – most notably, the US.

He gathered 'pride' had a special meaning in the gay community, but he couldn't remember what exactly. In search of an answer, the old man clicked on one of the links. It didn't answer his question. He did however get the idea it was a regular event and one to which people looked forward. The photos appeared colourful and noisy, with everyone apparently having a good time. Some of the revellers were in fancy dress. Or that's what he assumed. He tried to ignore hints he'd read on the websites about the various gay … subcultures, whatever that meant. So much near-nudity made his eyes pop. What were people thinking? Not for the first time, Eric wondered about his prudishness. When he was growing up, the swinging Sixties didn't exist. The tight-knit rural community he lived in continued on, barely changing in its attitude to sexual matters in decades, never mind a few years. Even on the hottest days he didn't strip off his singlet, and shorts were unheard of.

What was it like to take part in a Pride event? Did those who went have to be young and attractive? Eric stared at the screen. Yes, he saw some older people and others who wouldn't win any prizes at a beauty contest. The most he might do would be to stand and watch. … Who was he kidding? All the places mentioned were far away. Still, he resolved to ask the lads about Pride the next time he saw them.

“Eric's birthday is pretty soon.” Andy helped himself to a spoonful of Greek yoghurt to go with their fruit salad. “D'you think we might do something for it?”

“We could. In fact, I'd love to, but it's his birthday.”

Andy raised an eyebrow.

His fiancé put his glass of water down – they drew the line after the second small glass of wine. “Don't you think you should ask Eric first? Not everyone enjoys being made a fuss of on their birthday.”

“Unlike me, you mean?”

“I'm just as bad. But I doubt the old man's ever done anything for his birthday.”

“That's sad.”

Adam shrugged in response.

“You do have a point though. I don't want to be back at the start when I came across as an arrogant tosser.”

“'Came across'?” A smirk appeared.

Andy glowered at the man opposite. “OK, smart arse. I was an arrogant tosser.”

“And now you've improved beyond imagining.”

They both laughed.

“Any suggestions?”

Adam looked blank. “A quiet supper somewhere local? I don't suppose he'll want to travel.”

“OK. I'll have a look.” He got up and started clearing everything away.

Adam stretched. “Right, what's this subject that was too hot for the phone?”

Andy sighed. No putting off the discussion about Felicity any longer. “Let's take it through to the living room. We might as well be comfortable.”