I’ll Be Back

The heat last night made it impossible for you to work or think. London has been gloriously hot for the past three days. But in your flat you were getting restless. You back was sticking to your chair – that’s how hot it was. Besides, you’d been working all day and you hadn’t had sex since Sunday, when you’d gone to see the Vorticist exhibition at Tate Britain (not very interesting, though the Watercolour exhibition had been, but by then all you wanted was sex) and then cycled across Vauxhall Bridge to the sauna. You’d met that sweet Greek guy, Costas, who liked to kiss and was a hungry cocksucker. And although you weren’t feeling particularly horny last night, you did like the idea of getting naked, having a swim, and maybe getting your cock sucked.

On the top ledge in the steam-room it’s about as hot as it can get. You’re loving it. You’re feeling relaxed and unconcerned about how you might look, naked, with one leg up on the ledge. Everything felt like summer. At last. Summer as it should be. And you even stepped out at some point and stood under the cold shower and it didn’t feel that cold because all day the sun had been shining down on everything, making everything warmer, softer.

Back in the steam room the guy walked in and immediately came and sat next to you. Sri-Lankan brown, that dark brown with smooth skin and thick, straight hair, and without much build-up or staring or circling each other, you’re playing with each other’s cocks and kissing. You like that when a guy is up for kissing – you’ve said this before – but the importance of the kiss can never be overstated. When everything starts with a kiss, the rest can be foretold.

Earlier there’d been a very cute guy – two, in fact – who’d been so focused on your penis that they weren’t really interested in anything else. Not touching. Not kissing. Just cock. That kind of mono-interest bores you. It’s like being stuck at the beginning of a story with no motivation to continue, like starting a car and then it doesn’t go anywhere. You discover that there are no tires, no wheels, and although the engine is running, you’re actually standing on four piles of bricks. And you ain’t going nowhere.

With the Sri Lankan guy you were going places. He liked to kiss and he was a good kisser and he was into circular breathing. The audience was interested. An audience is always a good thing. An audience that participates is even better, but there was just a lot of watching and wanking going on, which is fine, because you and the Sri Lankan guy are so into each other that you don’t really need more people. At some point he leans over and sucks your cock, but now that you think of it you can’t quite remember how that was – maybe he didn’t do it for long enough, or maybe the kissing was what mattered. The kissing was what you were into. At this point in time, this point in your life, kissing is what you need most.

When you put your finger between his legs and went for his arsehole, an arsehole that was shaved and smooth and not too tight, an arsehole that welcomed your finger, you knew you had him. He was yours. At some point you would go to a cubicle and fuck. His legs were open wider now, and another guy on the lower ledge reached out and played with his cock while you fingered his hole and the two of you kept kissing. That definitely was the thing you liked the most, and the thing he did well. His mouth was soft and open and there was that lovely feeling of washing each other and licking each other and feeding each other. Everything was in the mouth.

He leaned forward when you stroked his back. Leaned forward and pushed his arse out so that you could get to his hole from behind, and all the time you were kissing, kissing and playing with his hole that kept opening up to you, barely any resistance, and now you were fucking him with your finger and you were smiling at each other, his beautiful white teeth, and you smiled back. This was such joy you thought you might laugh. His cock was in your hand and yours in his. You didn’t even notice the heat in the steam-room. All there was was him and his lovely thick cock (cut) and his smooth arsehole and the way he kissed and that smile, that smile that told you that this was just the beginning, that when you got to the cubicle upstairs you would get to put your cock in his arse and breath into each other’s lungs.

“I’m just going to get some water,” he said, getting up off the ledge, wrapping his towel around his waist. “I’ll be back.”

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