We were all out together, late, celebrating another friend’s birthday. We’d danced. We’d drunk. We’d laughed. At around 2am, I wanted to leave. The others had left earlier, somehow I felt free as a bird. So I stayed out late on a puff on tina, maybe a few puffs and I picked up a drunk straight boy, Andre. A friend in my group of friends. I had a vague thought about Club 80, but, kind of knew, once I got home, a joint, I wouldn’t venture out again.
Andre and I knew each other kind of well. It was only because of locality that we were thrust together; he lives in Carlton, we decided to share a taxi.
Andre’s cute, sexy really. Strawberry blond hair, blue eyes, athletic, lean, muscular. He had on an acubra and a black singlet. His face was in shadow under the peak, as he smiled at me bleary-eyed in the back of the taxi. We’d all done drugs, we were messy.
He used to smile when I checked out his sizeable bulge on the dance floor; dance away, float on the music. He's got solid thighs that fame a bulge worth looking at.
“What are you like, drunk,” I said. He looked so funny, eyes half closed, grinning, flushed red, sweating.
He laughed. “I become a bit of an exhibitionist,” he said. He’d misunderstood the question, but the answer was interesting.
Andre was one of the fringe straight boys of our group. He’d started off as a school buddy of one of the gay boys. He screwed one of our girlfriends’, for a time. A Greek girl, before she headed back to the homeland for good, never to be seen again. They’d had an on again off again relationship, which lasted long enough for Andre to endear himself into our group without too many problems.
He looked sexy.
“Do drugs make you horny?” I asked. My confidence was up.
He smiled self consciously and pushed down on his lap, subconsciously, and laughed. “All I need now is a joint and he’d be talking to me.” He looked down at his crotch, then looked back at me and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, you know what I mean.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve got pot.”
"Sweet."
The taxi stopped in front of my place. Andre gave the taxi driver a bunch of notes and then got out with me. The taxi drove away.
I looked through my keys, more by feel than by sight. It was dark.
"So, is this what it's like?"
"What?" I said. I flicked the keys through my fingers, not really concentrating on Andre.
"To pick up another guy," said Andre. "Take him home. Get to his place."
I found my key.
"The anticipation?"
I headed to the gate. "Usually, we'd be stealing looks at each other, at this stage." I looked back "You know, make sure you picked right." I took him in with a long gaze. "Weren't too drunk, too out of it, whatever."
I pushed the gate, it squeaked. The hibiscus stroked the top of my head. "Duck," I whispered. I stepped to the door and dropped my keys, just as I went to push them into the lock.
"Fuck," I said.
"Dropped your keys, mate?" he slurred. Then he giggled that drunk boy giggle.
My fingers caught the ring of metal, by my foot. The front door key has a plastic trim thing, just for such occasions. It's fatter and curvy. I held it tight between my fingers.
Just one lamp was on. The fire was still burning. I threw some more wood on, some smaller bits to make it burn. I got the mull bowl and sat down with it on the big couch. Andre was unsteady on his feet. He stood in front of the fire, naturally.
"So the big gay house, hey?"
"The big gay house," I said. I reached for cigarettes. "I haven't heard it referred to as that for a while." The (ex)party house still had a reputation in some parts. I licked the edge of the cigarette and it fell apart.
"All you guys were out tonight," said Andre. "That's a rarity."
I didn't think that was true. I pulled a bud from the bag. Shane was out more, than David or me, but we were out often enough. "All toey, I guess," I said. I looked up, as I started to grind the mix, gazing at Andre's jeans. I looked up.
He smiled. "Shane picked up."
"Matt." I smiled back. The mix was done, I put the grinder down.
"Well, David did?"
"Maybe?" I picked one of Shane's old business cards and the red scissors. "He said he wasn't coming home. Staying with a friend." I cut the roach. "Maybe?" I rolled the thin strip of card up and slid it into the rolling machine.
Andre's eyes were half closed. He bounced on the balls of his feet. Click. A perfectly cylindrical joint rolled out of the top of the rolling machine.
"Sure wish I picked up, speaking of toey." he rubbed his hands down his thighs, as though he wanted to be rubbing something else.
I handed him the joint in one hand and a lighter in the other.
"I've got porn. David's not home. I can tell you he'd love you to jack off in his bed."
Andre lit the joint and inhaled deeply. He inhaled a second time.
"That's the best offer." He exhaled in a balloon of smoke. "I've had all night," said Andre. He sucked on the joint twice more, before he handed it back to me.
He rotated in front of the fire. Nice chunky arse. his jeans fitted him well. Well defined crack up the middle.
"Relieve the tension," I said.
Both his hands slid in front of him.
"Guys who don't jack off are like girls on the rag. They get moody and bitchy," said Andre. "I know I do, if it's been a few days."
He squeezed his shoulders together and pushed his arms straight gown in front of him.
"Gay or straight," I said.
He rotated back to face me, clasping his hands behind him.
"If you say you don't wank you're a liar," said Andre. "A fool if you say that you do."
I could see his cock out to the left in the front of his pants.
"Why? Because somebody will want to touch it?" I said.
He slid his hands in front of him, intertwining his fingers.
"I can't imagine any dude who does not masturbate." He pushed his hands against the front of his jeans. "I don't care how much sex they get, guys are still going do it, cause there is something special about jerking off." said Andre. "You can totally control the pleasure, you can fantasize about that dude you saw at the mall, or that babe you want to fuck, whatever. It's just a major part of EVERY guys sex life." He smiled. "I mean why the hell would anyone deprive themselves of man's greatest pastime?"
He had a big, sexy grin on his face. I was getting turned on. I wanted to say, go on then.
I handed him the joint. I'm sure the bulge in his pants was getting bigger, as he took the joint. He put it to his lips and looked down his front, as he inhaled. He leant back against the mantle piece and exhaled the smoke towards the ceiling, pointing his crotch out. I lay back in the couch. His jeans were definitely fuller. He watched me gazing at his crotch, with that flushed, expectant look on his face.
He handed the joint back to me.
"So, what now?" he said in a husky voice. He cleared his throat, holding my gaze.
He held the joint out to me. A dragged hard and lay my head against the back of the couch."I dunno. I'm fucked." All I wanted to do was suck Andre's cock. Hey, I'm only human.
My neck felt good, all of a sudden, with the weight of my head taken away. I could have just closed my eyes and drifted off.
"You know, my shin really hurts," said Andre. "Where I banged it."
He tried to pull the leg of his jeans up, but couldn't. The next thing he had his jeans around his ankles. Pale blue Y-fronts. Muscled legs.
I nearly laughed. Kind of a nervous reaction. I stuffed the joint in my mouth and drew in long and hard. I didn't know what to say. It seemed like such a cliché.
"You got any detol?" He had blood on his right shin.
I got detol water and cotton wool things. Andrea sat on the coffee table. His jocks kind of loose. His cock lay down and to the right. I took the back of his calf with my hand, it was warm and thick, muscular, smooth and pulled his leg forward and bathed the graze. He flinched and inhaled. I gazed down his thighs to his legs disappearing into his underwear. I dabbed the wound. His balls pushed out the blue cotton, big and round. His cock pushed at the material, round like a cransky sausage.
"Oh," he moaned.
"Sorry," I said. I could feel the warmth of his body near mine. "I don't think you need a bandage." Once cleaned, he had just a red mark on his skin.
"Thanks."
"Done," I said.
He stood up in front of me. I could smell his sweat. I sat back on the carpet and freely gazed at the tasty bulge in his briefs. He looked at me through his peripheral vision, all the time pretending to be looking at his damaged shin.
He pulled his jeans up. "Feels better."
