The Blue Cat

by Roland Graeme

  I had escorted Geoff to the front door and in fact had my hand on the doorknob, when I sensed a hesitation on his part.

  “Before I go—I have something I’d like to say to you,” he said, in a blunt, soldier’s kind of way.

  “And what might that be?”

  “The problem is I don’t quite know how to say it.”

  “Well, you don’t have to mince words with me, do you? You can feel free to speak your mind.”

  He seemed reassured, but still a bit lacking in self-confidence. “That’s good to hear. The fact is—”

  “Come on, don’t censor yourself. Just tell me.”

  “You and I are mates, aren’t we?”

  “I’d like to think so. Aren’t we?”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “I like having you as my mate,” I prompted him.

  “I like you, too.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Nothing. Except…maybe…well, you’re a toff and I’m just an ordinary bloke.”

  “I beg to differ with you. I don’t find you ordinary at all.”

  “Yeah, but you’re still a viscount.”

  “So what, Geoff? What difference does that make? When have I ever acted like a toff around you?”

  “Never, thank God.”

  “Damned right, I haven’t. Because I don’t think in those terms about most people, and I certainly don’t think that way about you and me.”

  “Yeah, but what goes on here, in the privacy of your own home, is one thing. What goes on outside, in public, might be something else. Your people might feel differently about it.”

  I winced at his choice of phrase. My people, indeed! “Suppose we leave them out of it. What fucking business is it of theirs, anyway?”

  “None, I guess…if you say so.”

  “I do say so.”

  “Then…if you really don’t care about what they might think…what I’m getting around to…what I’m trying to say, is…I have certain feelings for you.”

  My heart leaped. “What kind of feelings?”

  “You know. Man to man feelings. Sex feelings.”

  “Just sex?”

  “More, maybe.” My soldier was flustered and actually blushing. “Don’t make me have to spell it out.”

  “I won’t. As long as you know that I feel exactly the same way about you.”

  “Do you?”

  “You must know I do.”

  He seemed relieved. His tense posture eased a bit. “Well,” he said, after a pause. “I really do have to be going.”

  “You needn’t rush off on my account. You can stay if you want to. I mean, just hang out,” I added, awkwardly. “We could talk or go out to a pub, then come back here and I can make us some dinner—or whatever.” It was the whatever that I now desperately wanted, and I was sure I was doing a very poor job of concealing the fact.

  He smiled at me in an oddly conspiratorial way, as though the two of us had been plotting something together.

  “I’d like that. I really would. But I do have another engagement tonight.”

  “A modelling job?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “I’m jealous,” I dared to say.

  His smile broadened. “You needn’t be. I don’t flirt with the artists I pose for or let them flirt with me. It’s not professional. I’ve broken that rule with you. I could phone the agency and see if one of the other guys could fill in for me—but that wouldn’t be very professional, either.”

  “No, it wouldn’t be. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

  “I’m free then.”

  “Let me take you out to dinner tomorrow night,” I pleaded, “then we can talk—or not talk, if you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter, as long as we’re together.”

  “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow night, then. Shall I come here?”

  “No, why don’t you let me pick you up, at your place?”

  “If you want to go to the bother.”

  As befuddled by sexual excitement as I was at the moment, I had sufficient self-possession to do a bit of scheming. I didn’t know where Geoff lived, and now I was going to find out. If I drove us on our dinner date, it would make it easier in the course of the evening to pop the question. Your place or mine...A question I had every intention of asking.

  If Geoff suspected my duplicity, he didn’t show it. He wrote his address on the back of one of his business cards and gave it to me.

  “Why don’t I swing by your place at eight then?” I suggested. I wanted to make it at seven or even at six, but that would be showing my hand. As it was, I was sure he could see how eager I was.

  “That’ll be brilliant.”

  He leaned toward me and took my head between his hands, exerting a light pressure. His lips nuzzled mine. I closed my eyes, the better to concentrate on what I was feeling. Simultaneously, his palms clasped my cheeks more firmly and his mouth pressed more urgently against mine. Our lips parted and his tongue invaded the interior of my mouth. I felt him push me back against the wall of the entranceway. His thighs, hard with muscle, were now tightly jammed against mine, keeping my body in place, trapped between him and the wall. The motion brought our crotches into contact. I had a hard-on and I could feel that Geoff did, too.

  We continued to kiss, both of us emitting muffled sounds of breathless, animalistic pleasure. With his mouth pressed so firmly against mine, it was impossible for me to draw a full breath. I thought I might pass out from the lack of oxygen, but I didn’t care. The feeling of helplessness, the slight dizziness, was part of the pleasure. Luridly pornographic fantasies flashed through my head—of Geoff tearing my clothes off, throwing me down and having his way with me, right there on the floor. Of my mouth roaming over that superb body of his, licking and sucking him, biting him even, everywhere. Of his cock penetrating my mouth and my ass and using me for his pleasure. I could feel my penis pulsing with desire as it silently begged for freedom from the confinement of my pants.

  At last, though, Geoff ended our kiss and released me, backing away.

  “Fuck, yeah!” he exclaimed. Now, when he looked at me, there was a bright gleam in his eyes. There was nothing shy or hesitant about him now. “Fuck…that was hot!”

  “My sentiments, exactly. I don’t know if I can wait until tomorrow night to get some more of that.”

  “Me, either. But tomorrow night…you can have anything you want, and no need to rush.”

  “Oh? Be careful what you offer. I may hold you to that.”

  “I expect you to.”

  He kissed me again, quickly and roughly, this time, then he was gone.

  The next twenty-four hours were torture for me, although part of the agony I experienced was the exquisite pain of anticipation. I had a date, with a man I desired. I tried to keep busy, but I found myself becoming a compulsive clock-watcher, counting down the hours that would still need to elapse before I would see Geoff again. Worse, like some silly twit of a teenager, I caught myself worrying about what I should wear and even what brand of cologne I should put on.

  For God’s sake, I told myself, as I ransacked my wardrobe in search of a suitably seductive outfit. He’s seen me dressed casually to the point of slovenliness, with paint and chalk and charcoal smeared on my clothes, and I’ve seen him stark naked. It’s not as though clothes are a crucial part of our relationship!

  More than once, I was tempted to strip down, lube up and jerk off. Instead, I forced myself to find ways to distract myself and take my mind off sex. I might as well have stopped breathing or tried to force my heart to cease beating.

  At last, it was time to get ready for our date and depart. I drove my trusty Land Rover, which was old and dented, but got the job done.

  Geoff lived in one of a row of working-class flats, a bit rundown, but respectable enough. All right, there’s the latent snob in me emerging, for all my smug attempts to suppress it! I slowed down in the
middle of the block, first to find the number, then to look for a parking place on the street. As things turned out, I didn’t have to worry about it. To my surprise and delight, the front door opened and Geoff came bounding down the steps.

  “I was watching from the window, keeping my eye out for you,” he confessed. “You’re a few minutes early.”

  “So are you.”

  “I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

  We were both eager and making no effort to conceal the fact. The evening was off to a promising start.

  “This is a sweet car,” he commented, as he got in beside me and we drove off.

  “It’s practical. There’s enough room in the back to haul my painting things, when I have to.” I couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “Maybe you were expecting a Rolls Royce?”

  “Or a Jaguar,” he retorted. “Some sort of a toffmobile, for sure.”

  I’d made reservations at a nice restaurant, but one that wasn’t ostentatious. I didn’t want to overwhelm Geoff with a vulgar display of spending money on him on our first date. He seemed to like the place and there was nothing wrong with his appetite—or with mine. We ate with shameless hunger, talking and laughing in between bites, and we treated ourselves to dessert along with our coffee.

  He protested when I picked up the check, but I won that argument.

  “You’re my guest, Geoff. I invited you.”

  “Very well, but you’re going to have to let me treat you, next time.”

  “I hope there’ll be a next time. I’ve enjoyed this.”

  “So have I. And I’m still enjoying it.” He was smiling at me in a way that was definitely flirtatious and I felt a bit flustered. I couldn’t imagine why. I was no novice, after all. It was hardly the first time I’d flirted with an attractive man.

  It was still early. “How about a nightcap?” I suggested.

  “Lovely.”

  “We could go to a pub or back to my place. I’m well stocked and the bar is always open.”

  “Your place then.”

  I was hoping for that answer, the right answer.

  The evening had turned cold and rainy. It was good to get indoors and it was better yet to be indoors with Geoff. I lit the fire in the sitting room and offered him a brandy.

  “Large or small?” I asked.

  “Make it a small one,” he suggested. “As long as you keep refilling it.”

  “I’m not that much of a drinker, myself.” Even as I made this claim, I contradicted it by pouring out a generous amount of the brandy into each of two large snifters. This, after all, was a special occasion.

  I took the oversized throw pillows from the sofa and set them on the floor, in front of the fireplace. Geoff and I sat down and relaxed, enjoying our brandy.

  “Do you mind if I take my shoes off?” Geoff asked.

  “That’s a strange question, coming from a man who’s been in this very room balls naked on more than one occasion. Go ahead and take off anything you like. I want you to feel at home here.”

  “I do, although it does seem strange to be sitting here in my clothes, instead of just my robe—or less.”

  I shed my own footwear and we got comfortable, basking in the heat of the fire. As we talked and drank, I began to feel almost too warm. I unbuttoned my shirt cuffs, pulled its tails free from the waistband of my trousers and finally unbuttoned the shirt all the way down the front. That felt better.

  I suppose I should be ashamed of the fact that, despite the mellow mood, I was making some mental calculations. I was ninety-nine percent certain that Geoff and I were going to have sex with each other. My thoughts were preoccupied with the other one percent. If I got slightly drunk, I could point out that I was in no condition to drive Geoff home, but then he might want to call a taxi. In that case, I could use the rain as a ploy and urge him, instead of going out and getting cold and wet, to stay the night. He could sleep in the guest room.

  Even as I formulated this last possibility, the absurdity of it struck me. Geoff and I were both adult men and unattached, responsible to no one. If we wanted to make love, we would, with no need for coyness or silly game playing to lead up to the act. The only real question was which of us would make that all-important first overt move.

  “You have the most peculiar look on your face,” he observed.

  “Do I?” I felt flustered, as though he might be able to read my thoughts.

  “Yes. You look like a man who wants to say something, but doesn’t know exactly how to say it or how it might be received.”

  “Very astute of you.”

  I was stalling, but my guest mercifully let me off the hook. Geoff emptied his snifter, then set it down.

  “Oh, that is good brandy,” he said.

  “Want some more?”

  “No, thank you. Not right now. What I would like is to see the rest of your house. How about giving me the grand tour?”

  “I’d be delighted to. Where would you like to start?”

  “Upstairs, in your bedroom,” he said, impishly. “The tour can begin and end there, for now.”

  “I can’t wait to show it to you.”

  “Good. There, now,” he said, in a half-soothing, half-mocking tone of voice. “That wasn’t so fucking difficult after all, was it?”

  “No, thank God. I thought I’d burst if I had to stay in suspense much longer.”

  “I’d like to see you burst,” he told me, lewdly. “But in a way I think you’ll find enjoyable. Let’s find out, shall we?”

  I led him upstairs with a haste that one might consider indecent. In my defence, though, I must say that he followed me with alacrity.

  In whorish anticipation of this moment, I’d gotten the bedroom ready for action before I’d left to pick up Geoff. I had turned down the bed invitingly and put fresh linens on it. On the nightstand, in full view, was a clean rolled-up hand towel. I’d left on one small table lamp, strategically positioned so that it cast a soft, warm glow across the centre of the room, leaving its perimeters in deep shadow. Just enough light fell on the bed itself to permit any occupants to see what they were doing, without going into clinical detail.

  As soon as the bedroom door had closed behind us, Geoff turned and took a firm hold on both of my arms. He pushed me against the wall. I was still wearing my shirt, but it hung loosely and unbuttoned around my torso. The pressure on my arms as he held them splayed apart opened it wider, exposing my chest and belly.

  He moved in closer and pushed his body forcefully against mine. It was a replay of what we’d done the previous day. Our crotches rubbed against one another. His mouth claimed mine, the kissing violent in its hunger this time. Geoff’s fingers dug into my biceps and his thumbs pressed into the crooks of my elbows. I thought for a moment that he was trying to get into some sort of an aggressive scene that I might not be ready for during our first time. I was trying to come up with something to say or do to cool Geoff off and make him back down a bit, when he began to raise my arms above my head. Suddenly, I realized his real intention and I stopped myself from resisting.

  The moment my underarms were exposed, he bent his head down, nuzzled his face into one of them and kissed it, inhaling deeply. “Yeah,” he said, in a husky tone of voice. “You’re nice and sweaty, from sitting in front of the fire.” He licked my armpit, then inhaled its aroma again, letting out an inarticulate little moan this time, as though my body scent was some exotic perfume. He slid his face upward and buried it in the nape of my neck, rubbing his lips and cheeks back and forth over the flesh of my shoulder and arm.

  He backed off a bit, not letting go of my arms, but moving his bulk away from me just far enough to ease the pressure and also so he could look me in the face. He was smiling in that seductive way again, although in a sense it was redundant. He had already seduced me long ago.

  “Let’s get naked,” he suggested.

  “Yes, let’s.”

  He released me and moved a
way from me now. He stood in the middle of the room and spread his legs far apart. The pose exaggerated his crotch—to the extent that was even possible. He was grinning, but it wasn’t one of the friendly, boy-next-door smiles he’d treated me to up until now. This time, he had the hint of a satyr-like leer on his face. It was as though, consciously or not, he was out to prove to me that his repertory of poses and facial expressions included those that were provocative, if not downright X-rated.

  He reached for the bottom hem of his polo shirt and pulled it up with a motion so quick and rough that I honestly thought he might rip the garment.

  There was his chest, exposed once again to my appreciative gaze. It began at the broad expanse of his shoulders and curved downward and inward to his tight waist. A fan of dark body hair covered his massive pectoral mounds then funnelled down quickly into a trickle that ran over his belly, past his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his briefs.

  I stood there and felt the heat in the bedroom rise as the awareness of our mutual desire passed between us. It seemed to crackle in the air, like static electricity. I took my already open shirt and pulled it off, standing bare-chested as well, but feeling compared to Geoff like the before photo in some advertisement for a training supplement. I kicked off my shoes and took off my socks. Next, I lowered my trousers and stepped out of them. I sent them flying across the floor.

  He moved over to me and took hold of the top edge of my briefs. He yanked downward, forcing them over my hips and past my half-hard cock, which sprang out from its confinement like a jack-in-the-box.

  “Like I said,” he murmured, looking down at my penis. “Let’s get naked.”

  I thought I detected a hint of a dare in his voice. I could sense that he wasn’t a wham, bam, thanks for the fuck sort of a guy. He wanted to draw out the pleasure for both of us by indulging in a little preliminary teasing and foreplay. I forced myself to slow down and keep my growing desire under some semblance of control. Slowly, taking my time, I put my own hands on the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down, inch by revealing inch. Now we were both able to step out of our undergarments and kick them aside. We stood close to one another, our chests almost touching, our eyes fixed on one another, our lips sharing a secretive, conspiratorial smile.