A Softcore Life

It was New Year's Day. Midnight had long since gone, and I was sitting on a sofa with my best friend Alex. His boyfriend's family had hosted the party, and they were all upstairs, either fast asleep or passed out. That included Alex's boyfriend Karl. The two of us had vowed, as we often do, to keep the party going for as long as we could. It had been 2010 now for five or six hours, and we were comparing war stories. And when I say war, I refer of course to our love lives.

I thought I'd win this game, being the token single friend, and a bit of a lush at that, but Alex both surprised and impressed me. Sure, he had been with the same man for two years, which to me seemed an incomprehensibly long time to be in a relationship, but he'd had a lot of fun before settling down. I was halfway through telling my kinkiest story (it involved a tutor from my university days and a bout of spanking), when he interrupted.

"Sorry," he slurred, "but I can beat that."

"Go on then," I said, a little miffed that he'd butted in. I loved my spanking story.

"This one guy I dated really liked watersports."

"Huh?" I was drunk, so forgive me if I was a little slow on the uptake. "What does jetskiing have to do with sex?"

Alex looked at me like I was retarded, and made a "pssss" noise. I slowly figured it out.

"You pissed on him? Ew!" A second later: "Awesome! Did he piss on you?"

"Yeah."

"How was it?"

Al shrugged.

"Warm. Wet."

I sniggered into my wineglass, saw that it was empty, and reached for one of the bottles on the floor. There were several.

"Top up?"

"Fuck yeah," Al held his glass out. "Karl had better be in the mood to be drunkenly raped when I go up there."

"Who wouldn't," I joked, but it's probably true. Al is possibly the gayest man I have ever met, but he is also cute as a button and a randy bastard. The two of us are a great example of how terrible timing can result in great friends. We’d met online, back when I was living in Montreal and craving English boys. We arranged to meet up when I got back, for a drink. I’m fairly sure that I’m not the only guy in the world for whom “a drink” is code.

When I eventually came home, Al had started seeing Karl. Karl and I just happened to be at the same university, and so I kept running into the two of them more or less on my doorstep. While I didn’t care too much for Karl (he was handsome, but bored me to tears), I instantly loved Al. Not in any way that was romantic, or even sexual. It was more one of those happy, inexplicable occurrences where you meet a kindred spirit. I found myself wondering how I could have gone all those years in my hometown with him just roads away, living almost identical lives.

"I'm glad we never did it," I said out loud. "We couldn't talk like this if we'd done it."

"You're right," Al said. "You'd have got yours then be gone with the wind. Fuck and run."

“What?”

“You know,” he tilted his head and raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “It’s what you always do. If we’d got together, it would have been for one night only. That’s your expiry date.”

"I don't always do that," I protested. But it was no use, he was right. Al challenged me to count the number of sexual encounters I’d ever had in my life. I told him that I was far too drunk and not equipped with the appropriate machinery to do that sort of arithmetic. The corners of his mouth twitched, which meant that he knew exactly where he was going with this.

“Fine,” he said. “Just tell me how many of those encounters took place within the context of a relationship.”

“Two,” I said lamely after a moment’s thought. Both back when I was eighteen, when having a boyfriend had seemed the only way to prove to my parents that being gay was not just a phase.

“What’s your point, anyway?” I asked. “You know I’ve never been that fussed about having a boyfriend. I like my life the way it is.”

“I know you do, and I’m not about to start telling anyone they need a partner. But sex on tap is pretty nice.” Al paused and finished his wine. I was about to say that I had no complaints on that front, but the truth was pickings were pretty slim, and had been for a while. I had more or less exhausted our town’s supply of single gay men who weren’t illiterate or deformed.

Al looked into the bottom of his glass. “And…”

“And what?”

He wouldn’t quite meet my gaze as he spoke.

“I just think that maybe you’re closing yourself off from an experience which is pretty great.”

I knew then that he wasn’t talking about just having someone to take round to Mum’s for Sunday lunch or have on my arm at parties. He was ever so subtly referring to the confession I had made earlier that night, while playing “I Have Never”, a game I excel at.

I have never been in love.

“I know, I know,” he said, before I could protest or get defensive. “It’s just not happened for you. But perhaps… you could be more open to the idea?”

“You sound like my mother.” It was true. For a woman who had once been horrified by the idea of her son being gay, she seemed even more against the prospect of having a son who was twenty-two and permanently single.

“Who needs love when you have lovers?” I asked.

“That doesn’t count unless you’re French,” Al told me. “Why don’t you make a resolution?”

“A New Year’s resolution,” I echoed, “to fall in love? Al, even my heart isn’t so robotic that I can just tell it what to do.”

“That’s not what I meant. Just get out there more, you know? Shake it about a bit.”

I wondered suddenly if Al had his own reasons for wanting me to do this. Did he see me the way some of my other friends did? The ones that had found their true loves pretty early on and were now all moved in. Like I was the Peter Pan of the group, stubbornly refusing to grow up and get a civil union and adopt a rainbow child from some war-torn country.

“Are you tired of introducing me as your single friend?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he feigned outrage. “You’re my fabulous friend.” The sheer queerness of this statement made me cringe and laugh simultaneously. This caused me to spill my wine.

Al glanced at his watch as I was ineffectually trying to lick some of the Chardonnay from my wrist.

“Time for bed,” he sighed. He pulled his drunk ass up off the sofa and gave me a hug. “Just promise me you’ll think about it?”

“I will,” I nodded, and smiled, then turned him around and gave him a gentle push towards the door. I could hear him calling Karl’s name as he climbed the stairs, and I felt sorry for whoever was crashing in the bedroom next to theirs.

I also felt what may have been the tiniest pang of envy. When I went into the last empty guest room, the bed I crawled into was as cold as the grave.

In which I just say no

"No" is not a word that I like to say very often. I feel that it is a closer of doors, a narrower of minds, and a killer of ideas. I'm much more of a yes man, to borrow Danny Wallace's popular coinage. Throughout my adult life I have made a conscious effort to try as many new things and be involved in as many new experiences as I possibly can.

So it was as much of a surprise to me as it was to anybody else when I found myself turning down offers on Saturday night that, at any other time in my life up until now, I would have snapped up. Hungrily, eagerly and greedily.

"Do you party?" One man asked me in the club. He was of course not inquiring as to whether I like a drink and a dance. He wanted to know whether I partake in ecstasy. I don't, although a dalliance with cocaine was one of the more colourful highlights of my lost year at university.

"Sure!" I would have said, on any night before this one. "How else to make a balanced decision about the dangers of drugs?"

I believe my actual response was a mumbled, "No, thanks", and a shimmy in the opposite direction.

In another bar, me and Al made some new friends in Lou and Rachael, a lesbian couple. We were chatting away when Lou cut in:

"Do you like Charlie?"

What is this? I thought. I felt the urge to look for hidden cameras.

"I'm aware of his work," I said, "but I'm not a huge fan." She seemed disappointed.

Later, Al and I were dancing. A large portion of the night had been spent jiving to some of our favourite songs, but by now the music had evolved into that 3am flow of senseless base. I noticed out of the corner of my eye, a guy watching us. He was tall, and as he danced his way over I could see that he was quite handsome. Al and I carried on as if we hadn't noticed, but we both knew what he was doing. He was looking at Al, then me, then back to Al, and so on. He was weighing us up like pieces of meat. And he evidently made his choice, because I felt a strong arm around my waist.

"No chance, wanker," I said loudly, dipping out of his grasp and pulling Al towards the bar. "What a guido, right?"

Al looked at me, then back to our new friend, who was still standing on the dancefloor, and still watching us. There was no denying it. He was very hot.

"Go." Al said.

"No," I said, for the third time that evening. "Bros over hoes, remember?" *

In the past, I would have chased any dragon that promised to keep the party going. I would have fallen into bed with just about any man who showed the slightest bit of interest. And I would have ditched friends to do so. I'm starting to think I'm growing as a person - but don't tell anyone. It might just be a phase.

J. x

* I am obviously kidding. I totally slept with him.

Let's start this year with a bang

First off, let's get all this guff out of the way - Happy New Year! What are your resolutions? Mine is to actually write the book I've been yapping on about for months. I've included an extract below for your amusement. Hot or not?

When I first wake up, my head is pounding and I have no idea where I am. This definitely isn't my hotel room, I know that much. I turn my head to the left, and two things happen: first, my headache subsides, and second, my cock twitches in arousal at what I see. Fast asleep next to me is what I can only describe a He-Man: sandy-coloured hair in an Army-style buzz cut; a strong, handsome profile with long, delicate eyelashes, and full lips which are currently forming a sleepy, sensuous pout. His broad, masculine chest rises and falls gently, and I can't resist the urge to reach over and glide my hand lightly over his strong, defined stomach. A sheet lies over his waist, but I can still see the outline of his cock, semi-erect beneath the cotton.

Who are you, I wonder, but part of me doesn't really care. I'm just glad that in my drunken state last night, I still managed to go home with this stud. I let my fingers drift upwards to his chest, and lay my palm flat against one of his pecs. It's rock hard, and I'm fast approaching the same. My mystery man remains fast asleep, but the corners of his lips twitch into a smile. Judging from the almost visible rate at which his cock is swelling under the sheet, he must be in the middle of a very dirty dream. I massage one of his nipples between my thumb and forefinger, revelling in the sensation of it responding to my touch, hardening to a bright pink point, and I am about to let my hand drift lower when a cough from behind me takes me by surprise.

I turn around, and I very nearly laugh in surprise and delight. To my right is another naked man, built like a brick shithouse, much like the first, but darker in appearance. His hair is jet black, and one heavy curl falls over his eyes. His olive skin is stretched tight over a vascular frame, and if I had to hazard a guess I would have said he was Hispanic. And probably a bodybuilder.

Again, I ask myself; what the hell did I do last night? I can't remember getting up close and personal with any one person in the club, let alone two. This swarthy hunk certainly doesn’t seem too surprised to find a six foot one Brit in his bed, stark bollock naked but for a St Christopher and a smile.

He nods towards our sleeping friend, as if to say; “Wake him up”. I wonder if either of these gentlemen actually speak English, but the thought is only on my mind for a second. By then, I’ve seen this second man’s cock. Thick and veiny, it is crowned by dark hair and my right hand instinctively reaches over. I wrap my hand around him and his handsome, stubbled face breaks out into a leer. I delve under the bedsheet with my left hand and feel for the sleeping man’s cock. It is warm to the touch and slick with precum; I glance over and see that he is now awake, blue eyes staring up at me in lust. He bucks his hips slightly and I tighten my grip. The man moans, and his partner runs a strong hand down my lean torso, cupping my balls, and then stroking the length of my shaft with his middle finger. My entire body trembles at this briefest physical contact, and with both hands I begin to gently tug on both men’s cocks.

The early morning silence of the bedroom is broken by our lazy, lustful grunts. I pick up the pace, and soon all three of us are out of breath, skin glistening with a fine layer of sweat. The Latino continues to stroke my cock in time with my own hands, and his fair-haired partner massages my chest, then my stomach, then my inner thighs. The Latino comes first, with a deep groan; he turns onto his side and shoots hot semen all over my stomach. I keep a firm grip on his cock, squeezing every last drop from him, all the while pumping away at his boyfriend, who thrusting into my hand with increasing fervour. A few moments later, his eyes clench shut and his soft, pink mouth forms a perfect ‘O’. He comes in total silence, ejaculating so hard that a drop hits the base of his throat and then runs down his chest. The sight of this is too much for me, and I give in to the pleasure of the darker man’s hand. I begin to fuck his fist, grabbing a handful of his thick dark hair and pulling him in to kiss me. His stubbled upper lip grates against my own as our tongues push and grind against each other. The other man leans in and bites my earlobe, something which I must have revealed last night as something of an erogenous zone for me. With his hot breath in my ear, and his lover forcefully kissing me, I feel my entire body tense up. And then I am coming like mad, hips bucking like a fucking epileptic, and my entire chest is covered in spunk.

All three of us lie back, panting uncontrollably. I don’t know how much time passes by; maybe I pass out for a little while. When my brain starts to function again, I realise that both men are lapping up the semen from my chest and stomach. This tickles slightly, and a lusty giggle escapes from my lips. The fairer of the two men kisses me sloppily on the lips, then hops off the bed. A moment later I can hear him singing in Spanish in the shower.

Time to go home, I guess. I’m reluctant to leave this bed, especially with the Latino still so enthusiastically caressing my balls. When I eventually stand up, my legs are shaky at first: no doubt a result of numerous cocktails and a night of sexual acrobatics. Damn, I wish I could remember! I locate my underwear on the sofa in the next room, then track down my t-shirt and shoes. But I’m buggered if I can find my jeans. I search the apartment, before spotting them, on the other side of the locked patio doors, on the verandah. Evidently I’d been in a rush to get my kit off, and I could hardly blame myself; my two new friends were a pair of sexy beasts.

The Hispanic stud comes out of the bedroom, still naked, to unlock the door for me. His cock hangs pendulous and spent between his legs, and for a moment I am hypnotised. He smiles warmly at me, and it’s all the thanks I need. English is overrated, I decide.

I kiss him innocently on the cheek, then give his cock a gentle squeeze, and walk out into the sunshine. The notion occurs to me that I have no idea where I am. How big is Ibiza, anyway? Luckily, I turn a corner and see a familiar stretch of sand and sun loungers. My hotel can’t be any more than five minutes walk from here.

I can't stop myself from grinning as I stroll off into the glorious morning in last night's clothes. Not only has this been the best holiday ever; it's been a fucking great year.

Erotic? Cringeworthy?

J. x