The train home was quiet. Marcus’s little scene flew around my imagination. Hammering it into the laptop I was aware that its erotic charge had been in his relation of it, the way he led me through. Starting off with an almost casual ‘just between us boys’ confession that then took a sharp turn into something altogether different. That he had excited himself in the telling enchanted and excited me. Had he made it up for me or more likely, embellished an actual occurrence? Either way I didn’t care.
The following day went along it’s usual lines. I went to the second hand bookshop that I used as my private library. Set over four floors across two old, pretty shabby shop premises, it was a warren of rooms, cellars and odd claustrophobic spaces. Walls of books that seemed set to collapse at any moment towered over you. They bowed under the weight of everything from gilt and leather bound antiquarian tomes to endless shelves of pulp and pan edition paperbacks. Old fruit crates piled with vintage magazines, periodicals yellowing ephemera and old music scores were stacked wherever floor space permitted. On the ground floor behind a windowed mahogany partition was the antiquarian section and James’ office.
James, who inherited the place from his grandparents was an old mate from Uni days and for a while, an on/off lover. The place was a second home to me, a sanctuary from sanctuary.
We were hard up students back then. Stocktaking, one stiflingly hot summer in one of the shops’ musty attic rooms, he’d peeled off his t-shirt to cool down. The sleek contours of his torso glistened with sweat as he hoisted boxes onto the upper shelves. Motes of dust swirled in the shaft of sun under the skylight.
He was compliant, sensual. I still remember his crisp well educated voice, ‘I thought you’d never get there’ before pressing his mouth to mine. I sucked his silky smooth cock, rubbing my wet lips over its engorged head and holding his balls tightly in my hand, milking him until, groaning loudly he came in a series of short jabbing thrusts. Releasing me from my cut off denim shorts his elegant cool cracked when my own swollen piece sprang up at him. ‘That is so fucking big Josh! It’s like, it’s so…’ He fell to lapping at my balls while rubbing over the head, ‘So fucking big, you are one beautiful fucking monster Josh. Fuck me with it. Just take me.’
I obliged, pinning him down, cracking a lube sachet and driving it into him the way he wanted. We were on the floor, doing it like animals. He urged me on, bucking back against me, arching his back and craning his head, engaging me with pleading eyes. ‘You’re going to make me come again, punch it into me until I come. Josh, fuck me, fuck me, ffffffuu…’ We came together, collapsing in a sweaty tangle of spent force. We lay there in the heat, our heads on a stack of old NMEs, naked, just stroking each others bodies until we were both hard again. He put his cock against mine, it was almost like static crackled between the two. It was a perfect time.
‘Not finished the latest medieval bonkbuster yet?’
James took a vindictive delight that my single minded ambition to take the world of journalism by storm had been derailed by an increasingly lucrative sideline in knocking out erotic historical fiction for the womens’ kindle market.
‘Just on the last chapters old boy, working on a credible excuse to get my heroine safely back to France’.
Muttering something about Eleanor of Acquitaine he laughed, ‘Credible’.
‘Am I sensing sarcasm James darling? Or has the shop developed a selectively sneering echo?’
‘Coffee?’ Still amused he dissapeared into the back room.
If I was honest he still did it for me. Public school arrogance and aloofness always did. Which was why I suppose the thought of Marcus playing dominant over his friend flicked my switches.
Later in the park, part of me wanted Marcus to appear. I knew he wouldn’t. He had given me his number as we’d left the cafe. The ball was mine to play,