by Zack
Trevor threw his head back and Gil saw his eyes, slitted with unbearable pleasure, taking in the sight of his cock pulsing against the inside of Gil’s cheek and making it bulge with each downward push before it disappeared as Gil throated it. Suddenly, the boy began panting arrhythmically, head banging back on the arm of the sofa.
“Here I go… aaahh… yesss… ooh yessssss —”
Gil, clasping the root of Trevor’s cock in a firm grip, hammered his head furiously and then slipped lubriciously back to cup the flaring head between his lips, the better to let Trevor release and enjoy the hot flood of jism that came in eight or nine jerks—he lost count—gulping down the salty-sweet cum as it flowed in powerful spurts.
When Trevor had finished, Gil spent another minute gently lapping at the softening cock, relishing the post-cum juices, then fell forward so his head rested against Trevor’s still heaving stomach. Trevor reached a hand out and, in the first touch of affection, rubbed the short hair at the nape of Gil’s neck and behind his ear.
“That was really nice,” Trevor lisped. “And unexpected. I’ll have to eat my sandwich later now.”
Gil gave a light chuckle, snuffled against the boy’s tummy. “Well, you just gave me my lunch.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yeah. It was unexpected as well… nice, though.” He looked up, caught the green eyes, definitely smiling now.
“Are you cut or uncut?”
Gil raised his head, and settled back on his haunches. “Uncut. Why?”
“Oh, it’s just I thought all American guys were circumcised.”
“I guess many are—not that I’ve much experience of that beyond seeing a few of the guys at school in the locker room.”
“Next time, it’s my turn.” And with that Trevor swung his legs down, yanked up his briefs and pants, and stood to zip up. “Hell of a bee-jay. Look, no sticky mess.” He checked his watch. “I’d better let you out. My mate will be back any minute.”
Gil stood up and rubbed the ache from his knees. He followed Trevor into the sound transfer bay, appreciating the flex of his buttocks in pants that were tight round the butt but trendily baggier as they fell down his legs. Must get myself a pair like that. Trevor pulled a multi-part pad from a shelf and quickly penned in the details of the two tapes, ripping off the third copy, which he handed to Gil. “That’s for Alan… or shall I keep it for him here? He’s bound to pop in again soon.”
“You keep it. I dunno when I’ll see him next.”
Trevor led the way to the door, but just before unlocking it he startled Gil by turning on his heel and reaching up to kiss him on the lips, while fondling Gil’s semi-erection. “Hmmm…” He leaned slightly back, “I think I’ll enjoy a taste of that. Or maybe, if you get here a bit earlier lunchtime one day, we might fuck?”
Gil smiled, matching gaze for gaze. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Out on the street Gil felt a bit strange. For one, his groin ached with unrealized lust, but also the weird encounter with Trevor had left him slightly shaken. I’ll make it up to Mike tonight, he muttered under breath. And seeing as how I’m feeling right now, he won’t know what hit him. I’m so fucking horny I’d have him here in the street!
He gained a degree of pleasure in working out from a map he’d picked up, which also showed the London Underground routes, that his best way back was to walk down Shaftesbury Avenue to Piccadilly Circus. There he could take the Bakerloo line north to a station called Baker Street ( Sherlock Holmes, or something…? ) and change there to the Jubilee line. He even managed the darned funny British money at the ticket booth in Piccadilly Circus station with a degree of panache.
Consulting the map again, he saw that a large green area lay only a short walk from Swiss Cottage station, and followed the suddenly quiet tree-lined back streets between big, detached Victorian houses, past one familiar sight—a Holiday Inn—to Primrose Hill. Gil spent a happy two hours exploring the park, with its panoramic view of the city stretched out to the south, the pathways lined by quaint looking lanterns, before making his way back to Aberdare Gardens, where Mrs. Smith opened the door to his ring.
Not long after, Mike came home, face flushed boyishly with success. He quickly dragged Gil into their bedroom and spilled out that he had found work as a third assistant director to replace one who had suddenly fallen ill, on a movie shooting at Pinewood—“No less!”
“That’s quite a jump up from gofer.” Gil felt envious.
“We call ’em runners here, and yes, isn’t it?” He did a quick spin of triumph. “I’ve no doubt I’ll be brilliant. Be directing in a couple of years.”
Gil wished he had his friend’s sense of self-confidence.
“And, what’s better, I get to choose my own runner.”
“And…?”
“I checked it out with Jim at the Union, and it seems, because so many movies are getting made in London right now, what with big Hollywood stars coming over, that there’s a shortage. So… it’s you.”
Gil looked stunned for a second. “Wow! Great. That’s fantastic. Thanks.” And he wrapped his arms around his third assistant director in gratitude.
“Mind,” Mike said sternly, “you have to obey my every order.”
“Your slave, sir, in everything.”
They kissed, a suddenly long and lingering kiss that promised yet to be fulfilled passion.
Mike murmured, “God, I love you, Gil Graham.”
“Hmm, when you’re not making out with someone else.” Even as the words came out, he regretted them with a stab of guilt, and renewed his promise to make it up to Mike later.
Mike pulled back slightly from the embrace. “Let me look into your beautiful gray eyes…” He gave Gil a half-smirking, half-loving grin. “Huh, you’re a fine one to talk. But there it is. We’re both young, fit, appallingly horny guys, and suckers for other young, fit, and hopefully appallingly randy guys.” Then he went unusually serious. “But it won’t come between you’n’me, Gil. Whatever we get up to, I’ll always want you… down here,”—pointing at his bulky package—“and up here,”—tapping the side of his head—“and most of all right here”—brushing his chest.
Gil was too choked with emotion, too filled up with love, to respond, other than to lean back in and renew the deep kiss, crushing Mike in his arms, as Mike dug his nails into Gil’s back.
The following evening Mike drove them over to Kentish Town to the Red Cap pub. They were in his father’s white Alfa Romeo Giulietta. “Did you notice the appropriate license plate?” he asked. Gil hadn’t. “HRN 762 Y spells out ‘Horny,’ so that’s what I call the car.” Mike had already explained that the sporty vehicle was his idea, and that his dad rarely drove anywhere, preferring trains to get him about the country for concerts.
“It’s just that Jim, the Union secretary, hangs out here on the gay night they have, and it’d be useful to say hello and give him a chance to chat to you. Reinforce getting the Union thing sorted properly.”
The Red Cap was only moderately busy, although it filled up later on. At the back of the bar a small dance floor thumped to the sound of disco and a few guys threw some moves in the restricted space. Gil found Jim to be a pleasant man in his fifties with what he recognized from watching episodes of Star Trek as a soft Scottish accent. He restrained himself from uttering a “Beam me up, Scottie” gag. The short conversation seemed to go well, and Jim assured him the affiliation ticket would be through within a week; in the meantime he could go ahead with work at Pinewood.
“I’ll ring the shop steward and let him know,” Jim said. Then he and his boyfriend—only slightly younger than Jim—made their farewells and left.
“Fancy a dance?” Mike asked, between sips of his beer.
Gil shrugged apologetically. “Not really. Let’s finish thes
e and go as well. We could still make it in time to take in a movie up West.”
Mike nodded acquiescence agreeably, then frowned slightly as he looked past Gil along the bar.
Gil felt a slight nudge and turned to be accosted by a man leaning sideways, regarding him with a piercing look of undisguised and gnomic interest, smacking his lips wetly.
“Hah, hah,” he chuckled throatily. “What a beauty.”
“Uh, hi…”
“Absolute beauty. I can promise you a night—a very long night—of unbridled passion, thrashing about on my rug. You’ll never have enjoyed anything as much, I can promise you that, my beautiful baby.” He squeezed Gil’s nearest arm, salivating. “Phwoar, lovely firm young flesh. I’ll take you back to my place and strip you off and get you going like a boiling pot in no time and you’ll realize you’ve never been fucked properly before I can tell you and when I’ve given you a nonstop hour or oral and sucked all the juice out of your delicious cock you’ll just be begging for more fucking.”
Gil was overwhelmed at this unpunctuated flood of filth, and Mike was no help, nearly doubled over with laughter. Oddly, although the squat little fellow repulsed Gil, with his straggly, curly hair, and a fertile bushy beard that made him look like one of those wicked gnomes some people favored in their backyards, the brilliant twinkle in his eyes had a mesmerizing effect. Even though he was horrified and not a little frightened at this outpouring, he had to admit that the satyr had caused his dick to twitch. Why on earth was that?
“Erm, I’m with someone,” he tried.
The hedge of foliage above the man’s eyes lifted high enough to disappear under the tangles of hair and the sprightly eyes took in Mike, whose giggles subsided abruptly. “Heh, hah, hah. More the merrier I say and you’re not a bad looking specimen yourself, shove your front out so I can see it oh yes oh yes you’ll both do…”
“There’s another ‘beauty’ down there on the dance floor,” Mike blurted. He grabbed Gil’s arm and began dragging him toward the door. “I’m sorry we have to leave, you know how things are…”
The rollicking satyr chuckled happily to himself as he watched the boys make a hurried escape. “Don’t know what you’re missing, lads. Never mind.”
Turning back, the last thing Gil saw before stumbling through the pub door was the little fellow reach out and down first Gil’s abandoned lager and then Mike’s lonely pint. He smacked his lips again appreciatively and then slid farther down the bar to run a hand over a rounded bubble butt encased in tight jeans. “Hah, hah. Absolute beauty…”
CHAPTER FOUR
Bad Times, Good Times
Almost every night they took in a movie somewhere in London: art house films at the National Film Theatre, Hampstead Everyman, Golders Green Classic, Academy in Oxford Street, or across the other side of town to Notting Hill and the old Electric on Portobello Road; more commercial fare in the West End’s big theaters— Empire, Warner, Odeon on Leicester Square, Plaza and Paramount in the Haymarket. Sometimes they walked the short distance to Kilburn to catch some re-run at the old Odeon, mostly because Gil loved its 1920s Art Deco, gilt and plush auditorium.
Gil had never enjoyed movies so much as with Mike. They shared whispered remarks about each film, one nearly finishing the other’s comments, so in tune had they become.
A week later the boys were finally ensconced in their own apartment, which in many respects was identical to the ground floor of Mike’s parents’ house, only mirrored. The lease was unfurnished, but the vacating journalist had left behind a “few bits and pieces” he didn’t want to take with him and Mike’s mom had given them some essentials, like drying cloths (tea-towels, she called them), bath towels, sheets, blankets, and bed pillows. They had no bed yet, something that Mike suggested they fix on Saturday.
The lack of a proper shower disappointed Gil. The bath tub’s mixer taps did boast a chrome hose running up to a shower head fixed to the wall, which he could unhitch from its mount. But since it also lacked a curtain, it wasn’t practical to use as a shower. Still, at least he could rinse his hair with clean water and shower off the suds standing up as the tub emptied down the alarmingly gaping plug hole. Better still, it was an old, deep, wide, and long enameled bath with plenty of room for them to share. Which is usually what happened, and often enough when they got up to dry, more than grimy suds went down the drain.
They spent a happy Saturday morning at Heal’s, a big furnishing store on Tottenham Court Road, bouncing up and down on the numerous double beds and arguing over the merits of each. Gil became acutely aware of the dubious glances thrown at them by—judging his age—the senior of the two store attendants in the bedding department.
Eventually, they reached agreement on an expensive, modern looking Swedish design: a king double, but with split Dunlopillo mattresses so that either side of the upper halves could be raised to different levels. The older man came over and lifted his narrow chin haughtily. “May I be of help?” The delivery may have been unctuous, but disapproval at their antics was written clearly in the man’s expression.
Gil knew Mike well enough to know that this wasn’t going to go well. He greeted the man with one of his bright, broad smiles. Oh no, moaned Gil to himself. “Thank you, yes. I think this one will do nicely.” He turned to Gil. “What do you think, dah-ling?”
The assistant’s eyes enlarged in mute shock.
Gil tried looking anywhere but at the senior man, then caught the young assistant’s knowing smirk behind his colleague’s back. He whipped his eyes away to one of the wide windows overlooking the street. “Sure, it’s good,” he mumbled.
As Mike drew breath to continue, the shrill ring of a telephone cut off his next witticism. The older man, stepped back smartly. “Sorry, sir, I must attend to that call.” He turned to his young colleague peremptorily. “Jones, please be good enough to take over for me.” And with that he strode off toward the back of the bed furnishing area.
The young man approached, straightening his necktie. The store suit sat well on the older assistant, but Gil noticed that this guy liked his close-fitted to his lean frame. He smiled, not quite removing the touch of smirk. “Excellent, choice, both. The Limelight Galaxy King. Pricey at one hundred and twenty-five pounds, but brilliant quality. We do offer a hire-purchase agreement; one third down and the balance over twelve months at an unbeatable two-and-a-half percent.”
Gil’s mind lingered on his use of “both.”
Mike returned the smile pleasantly. “That won’t be necessary. We can pay cash… that will include delivery to Swiss Cottage?”
“Oh yes, no problem at all.”
“The twin mattresses are good and strong?”
The young man hesitated before answering, raising one eyebrow ever so slightly. His tone sounded decidedly conspiratorial. “Depends on how hard a hammering you’re intending to give them… sir, but I’m sure they’d cope if three of you were hu… jumping up and down on them.”
Mike eyed the store assistant with frank amusement. “Only three?”
Gil suddenly struggled to stifle a bubble of laughter.
To his credit, the guy acted unfazed. His regard took both of them in. “As you can see, it’s big enough for several, if… if that’s your interest. What name and address shall I put down in the book for the delivery?”
They strolled across to the sales desk and Mike told him. “Ah, very nice area. I have a friend who lives nearby, on the other side of the Finchley Road in Belsize.”
“Well feel free to drop in of an evening, why doncha?” Gil said. He wasn’t sure why he spoke out so boldly, but he suspected of himself that he didn’t want Mike dominating the business.
Mike’s eyebrows arched in amused surprise. The guy glanced up from his writing. “American accents are so… well, interesting, I think.” He smiled and co
ntinued filling out the sales slip, efficiently taking Mike’s credit card and milling it in the small machine.
“We can deliver on Monday. What would be a good time, morning, afternoon, or evening up to seven?”
“We should be back by six, so before seven?” Mike said as he signed the credit card slip.
“Fine.” He handed Mike back his card. “I’ll come along with the delivery van. The beds come flat-packed, so I could stay on and help you… erect it… if that would be a help.”
Mike half turned to Gil, inquiringly.
Gil shrugged, returning the look. “Why not. Many hands make light work, I reckon.”
“Then I’ll see you gentlemen Monday evening. My name’s Dave, by the way.”
“Well, thank you, Dave,” Mike said softly. “You’ve been most helpful.” He gave the assistant one of his most winning smiles, the sort that made the recipient feel as though the sun had just come out from behind a cloud. “I only hope we can repay your kindness in some way.”
Out on the street again, as they made their way down toward Tottenham Court Road tube station, the two boys suffered a fit of the giggles. “Jeezus, Mike Smith, do you have to pick up every good-looker you come across?”
Bursting with laughter, Mike retorted, “I thought he was cruising us, if you don’t mind. Anyway, I didn’t cum across him… at least, not yet.”
“Meanwhile, I guess it’s the sleeping bag on the floor for a couple more nights.”
“As long as I get to ride on top of you, then,” Mike retorted, neatly dodging the flying kick Gil aimed at his rear end.
Sunday, they were both on call at Pinewood for a special effects shoot. The big studio complex at Iver Heath lay some sixteen miles from Swiss Cottage, out beyond the airport in the countryside of “Buckin’m’sher.” Mike was again at the wheel of his father’s “Horny” Alfa Romeo.