Ridley Uncovered

by Peyton Miller

  I’d allowed Damon to suck my dick, but could I really take the next step and suck Damon’s? If I couldn’t, what would that make me? Well, one thing it would do was make me an incredibly selfish lover, and that was not something I wanted to be.

  “Well, you’re supposed to put my cock in your mouth and suck it,” Damon said.

  I took hold of Damon’s cock with my right hand and put the tip inside my mouth, tasting him. It wasn’t bad at all. I let my lips slide lower and pulled back. I began to suck him in earnest as I jerked him off.

  “Ow! Your teeth! Please be careful. No biting allowed,” Damon said.

  I felt bad and said, “I’m sorry,” around a mouthful of dick. It came out more like “mur murmy.”

  Damon chuckled. “That’s okay, but please, do continue. Your job is at stake.”

  I did continue, sucking down, this time taking great care not to rake my teeth over his cock, especially when I took more into my mouth.

  “Ah, yes…mmm…that’s more like it…,” Damon said, and then gasped.

  I was surprised to find I enjoyed sucking cock. I liked the taste of Damon’s dick but even more than that, I loved hearing Damon’s moans of pleasure. I loved that Damon seemed to like having his cock sucked too.

  “Please…use your tongue,” Damon begged.

  I did as Damon requested, although I didn’t really have a clue what I was doing. With Damon’s cock still inside my mouth, I ran my tongue up and down the shaft and continued to toss Damon off.

  “That’s good…oh, fuck,” Damon whispered. “Now, just the tip! Tease the tip with your tongue.”

  I moved my head back a little so that only the very end of his cock was inside my mouth. Then, I circled the tip with my tongue, moving faster and faster. I tasted precum and moaned. I wrapped my whole hand around Damon’s dick and took advantage of my position by stroking Damon’s cock more vigorously.

  “Oh, God! Jesus fucking Christ!” Damon blasphemed happily. “That’s it…that’s…so…damned…” His voice was strained as he spoke.

  There was a knock on Damon’s door.

  Damon sat up straighter and leaned forward, which resulted in more of his cock entering my mouth. The man was quite the mouthful.

  Damon also hooked his foot around the chair that was behind me and pulled it in, so now I had less space to work with under the desk.

  “Yes?” Damon called.

  “It’s me, Bethanne.”

  “Oh, Bethanne. Please, do come on in,” Damon called out.

  What the fuck? Come on in?

  Bethanne opened the door, her voice coming closer as I guessed she stepped in. “Thomas Payne, the contractor from Datadine Package Solutions, has just arrived. He’s waiting for you down in reception.”

  Could Bethanne not see me from where she stood? Was her view of me blocked by the chair that Damon had pulled in or did she see me and just not care that I was sucking her boss’ cock?

  I decided to see how much of Damon’s dick I could manage. I took it in as deep as it would go and held it there for as long as I could, sucking on it.

  “Oh! God!” Damon said.

  “What?” Bethanne said.

  “Oh, God! He’s early,” Damon groaned.

  “No, he’s not early. He’s five minutes late,” Bethanne said.

  “Late? Really? My, my, how time flies. Well, you can tell him that I’ll be down in a minute or two.”

  “Very well.”

  Under Damon’s desk, I pulled off then sucked down again, going deep.

  “Oh, Bethanne?” Damon called out.

  Again?

  “Yes, Damon?” she asked.

  “Maybe you should tell him that I’ll be down in five to ten minutes instead.”

  “Yes, sir,” Bethanne said and this time I heard the door close.

  “You fucking tease,” Damon said.

  I pulled off and licked the tip of his cock before looking up at him. “Tease? You invited Bethanne in here.”

  “She couldn’t see, I made sure. Now get to work and make me come.”

  I dove in, sucking down on Damon before pulling off. Damon held my head still and pumped up twice before he came. His seed was warm and slightly salty as it bathed my tongue. Not too bad. I did my best to swallow it all without gagging, remembering that Damon had done the same for me at the club.

  I thought he was going to ask me to leave. Instead, he yanked me out from under the desk, set me on top and pulled at my pants. I was already very excited, so his touch almost made me come. He unzipped my pants, and dropped his head, sucking me in just as I blew my load. It felt amazing to have him suck me. No question, the man was talented.

  Damon sat up, his smile wide. He leaned in and kissed my lips before he adjusted himself.

  “So, how did I do? Do I still have a job?” I asked.

  Damon laughed. “You do know I really was joking when I said that your job was on the line, don’t you?”

  I nodded, trying to look cool, but feeling way out of my depths. I’d been more or less sure it was a joke, but it niggled at the back of my mind, worrying me all the time I’d been sucking his cock. I knew it was illegal, and he did too, but I guess he trusted me not to be a dick and report him.

  I didn’t like my job at all, so getting fired wouldn’t have been a loss, but I needed the money and finding another job would be harder than doing a half-arsed job in my current menial role…especially if it had to be a job that I had to enjoy doing.

  I nodded enthusiastically—perhaps overly so. “Oh, sure! I knew that.”

  Damon’s eyes narrowed before his lips turned up. “Okay, so long as you know I didn’t mean it, not really. That’s not what this is about.”

  I didn’t want to ask because asking meant knowing. But the words slipped out and I couldn’t stuff them back in. “And just what is this then?”

  Damon stayed quiet, and then a hurt expression crossed his face. “What is it? I like you, Ridley. I mean, I’m deeply attracted to you.”

  I couldn’t believe the words. “Really? You like me? Why?”

  Damon’s lips curved up. “Are you fishing for compliments?”

  I shook my head again. “No, that’s not…. It’s just most days I don’t even like myself. So, why the hell should you like me? Besides, you barely know me. So far, we’ve spent more time sucking each other’s cocks than we have talking to each other.

  “Well, you may have a point about us not knowing each other too well but I would really like to get to know you. Can I take you out to dinner tonight? My treat.”

  Damon’s brows went up as mine went down. I could take him up on his offer, but it would be very public. My dad’s church wasn’t huge, but it was one that grew then shrunk then grew again. A lot of people knew who he was and could know who I was.

  Damon saying it would be his treat hadn’t mattered. Of course, if it were me treating Damon, I would have barely been able to afford two of KFC’s cheapest value meals. But him paying didn’t matter, I couldn’t do it.

  Part of me—well a lot of me—wanted to say yes but I couldn’t. I shook my head, sadness filling me. “No. No…I can’t do that. I’m sorry.”

  Disappointment crossed Damon’s face. “What, you don’t like to eat?”

  “It’s not that. I do like to eat, but not…”

  I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud. I didn’t have to as Damon guessed what it was that I couldn’t bear to say.

  “But not with me,” Damon said softly.

  Pain knifed me and I jerked my gaze to his. It sounded so bad when I heard Damon say it. I had to explain. There must be some way I could make Damon understand why I was so terrified.

  “Yes. No-no, no, no. Not that at all,” I scrambled, struggling to put my thoughts into words. “At least, not in public, anyway.”

  Damon lifted his brows. “So, you’ll suck my cock in secret, but you can’t eat a plate of spaghetti Bolognese with me at a five-star restaurant tonight?”

 
; My shoulders caved in and my brows knit tightly. Tears filled my eyes. Damon leaned in, studying my face.

  “Oh, damn. You haven’t come out yet, have you?” he asked.

  I stared at the floor as I nodded. This was beyond humiliating. The picture painted was stark and made me realize what a total baby I was.

  “Why haven’t you? What’s stopping you?” Damon’s question was another reminder that my life wasn’t my own. “Is that why you didn’t give me your number—your real number?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He caught my chin again and brushed his lips over mine. It felt right to be kissing him but so wrong too. I was a world-class asshole. Why couldn’t I take this leap and just be myself?

  My father would be deeply disappointed if I came out. And then he would be angry. My dad would pray to make me straight, maybe even engaging his congregation, perhaps even putting up town notices. I shivered. Conversion therapy was a real possibility. I wasn’t yet ready to explain to Damon the ins and outs of my shame. And worse, I wasn’t sure whether I felt a greater sense of shame about who I was or about who my father was. Desperation filled me as embarrassment took over. This wasn’t what I wanted, but what I wanted had never mattered.

  “Look…I can’t explain. Not yet. It’s complicated, okay?”

  There was a slight edge of anger in my voice which I wished wasn’t there.

  Damon held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll drop it. We’ll keep this as a purely sexual and secretive relationship…for now. But someday—someday soon, I hope, you’re going to explain it to me over a nice Italian meal…in public, with many strangers looking at us. Or else....”

  “Or else what?” I asked.

  “Or else you’re fired,” Damon said, with a smile on his face.

  I hopped off his desk and zipped up, shaking my head as I chuckled. “We’ll see. Anyway, can I go now? I’ve got a lot of filing to do and my boss’ boss is a real ass.”

  Damon’s eyelids narrowed and he chuffed out a dry laugh. “Sure, that sounds important. Well, don’t let me keep you. You’d better be going or tongues may start to wag in the office and we wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

  I caught his gaze, unsure if he was teasing. I saw a hard glint behind his eyes, and I was concerned I’d hurt his feelings. I wasn’t ready to give Damon everything he wanted, not yet.

  I opened Damon’s office door and stepped out, quickly closing the door behind me. Bethanne barely even looked at me as I walked right past her. I wondered if she thought about me not being in Damon’s office when she’d come in or if she was that oblivious.

  After work, I stopped in at the local pub and drank a pint of cheap beer. It was a dark guest ale called the Bishop’s Sceptre. I thought that it tasted like piss. I’d never actually drank urine before, so I didn’t know, but if I had to guess, I imagined it tasted something like this.

  I preferred the taste of fruity cocktails, but one time when I’d made the mistake of ordering one in a local pub, I’d regretted it almost immediately.

  After I’d taken a sip of the delicious beverage, a chubby skinhead type had approached and begun to laugh.

  “What the fuck is that? You a fuckin’ poofter?” the dude had asked.

  It probably hadn’t helped that the drink had been served in a tall, effeminate glass—at least that’s what the skinhead had said. I rolled my eyes—like glasses could be male or female. It definitely hadn’t helped that the drink was pink.

  “It’s not mine, it’s my missus’s drink. I’m just minding it for her,” I’d lied.

  “Oh, yeah?” the dude had asked. “And just where is your missus?”

  “She’s in the shitter. Having a shit,” I’d responded before thinking it was probably unnecessary to add the part about my fictional wife having a dump.

  “She’ll be back soon then, will she?” A wide smile spread across the skinhead’s face. It was an ugly grin which revealed revolting yellow teeth.

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. She has irritable bowel syndrome, so it could take her up to an hour. Good job that I didn’t order her a cup of tea, I guess.”

  I stood up and walked to the bar, looking at the beers on offer. After randomly selecting one that I had at least heard of, I returned to my table and took a drink of the vile shit.

  That was the last time I’d ordered a cocktail in a local pub. Nothing was fixing my mess, and after I finished my third revolting pint of ale, musing life and everything that had come to pass with Damon, I left the pub and walked home alone. I was tipsy, but not any happier. I wanted to be confident and tell Damon I would date him, but I was afraid.

  I opened the front door wishing I were alone, but Dad was there, like usual. Maybe Dad only tortured poor and confused people between the hours of nine a.m. and three in the afternoon before coming home to me. I almost chuckled but stopped myself. Depression filled me. How the heck could I ever escape.

  “Good evening, Ridley! You’re home late. Stop off at the pub again?”

  “How did you know? Are you psychic?” I was being an ass.

  Dad laughed, the sound grating on my nerves. “Well, not quite. I can smell the beer from here! You do like your pints, don’t you? How many did you have this time? Three? Four?”

  I shrugged. “Something like that.” Escape from this existence was too far away. I wanted to be free and ale helped.

  “Did you have any food with your alcoholic beverages?” Dad asked, the smile on his face broad. Did anything ever make him unhappy? One thing would, and I had no doubts about that, but I’d keep it safely hidden in my mind.

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Dad nodded. “Thought as much. Well, lucky for you, I saved you some Irish stew. It’s in the microwave. Enjoy.”

  It was like Dad was a freaking chipmunk, happy as could be. I smiled at my father, wishing I could tell him the truth but knowing he couldn’t handle it.

  “Thanks.” I was upset about my non-date. I wanted more, but how could I date Damon and live with my dad?

  “So, what’s your new boss over your department like?”

  I shrugged. “He’s a dick.”

  Dad shook his head at me. “Oh, Ridley. Do you have to be so coarse? If you were kinder, you might find that the world would be nicer to you.”

  Maybe calling him a dick hadn’t been the right thing. Just saying the word and thinking of Damon was causing me to get hot.

  “Sorry, Dad.” I tried for a jovial smile, I wasn’t sure it was convincing. Deep inside, my heart was aching. Did I hate my dad? There were many reasons why I should. For one, without even meaning to do so, Dad had made me hate myself and feel ashamed of who I was. The words of his sermons, his rantings, his life work to “cure” gay children, it all made me feel like damaged goods.

  Although in some ways it might be easier to do so, I couldn’t bring myself to fully despise Dad. I’d never really known my mum, Elizabeth Chandler, a true beauty my dad called her. She’d died when I was only three years old. There’s this ghost of a memory trapped behind other recollections that tugged at me in those moments between sleep and wakefulness. I’d seen photos so I knew she had the same shade of hair I did. She had a great smile too. Maybe that was a true memory, or it was from photos, but one thing my dad never wanted me to forget was she was beautiful and full of love. I wished I’d had more time with her.

  My father had done his best to raise me single-handedly. That made it hard to hate him. He’d done the best he could. Dad had made so many mistakes—some of them fucking huge ones, but he was the only parent I’d ever known. Besides, mum’s death must have been really tough on him. I guessed it the case since Dad never really seemed to want to talk about his emotions. He would push my questions away if I asked, just stating she was sweet and kind, a true beauty. Once, I caught Dad staring at her photo. When I asked if he was okay, he got so angry he almost hit me. I never broached the subject again. I guess her death had been hard on him and he was distraught.


  Dad came into the kitchen before I could escape to my room. “So the pints you drank, you didn’t spend all your money there, did you?”

  “No dad, I didn’t. It was happy hour, so it wasn’t expensive.”

  “Well, good, good. So we have four kids that need camp.”

  I knew it was coming and wished I were stronger. Saying no would feel so good, but it was kids, and hell, he would stare at me with those eyes if I said no.

  “Can you spare fifty quid?”

  He’d already taken one hundred and eighty this week. That would leave me with enough to buy a few pints. I’d have to take lunch to work and skip my morning scone and coffee trip. I nodded and pulled out my wallet.

  “Sure dad. Here you go.”

  “Thanks, son. You’re a real champ. Those kids will be happy now. They’ll have a chance at life.”

  Depression ate at me as I headed to my room to eat the bowl of Irish stew. It was Dad’s special recipe: Step 1 – Buy a can of Irish stew from Kwik Save or Lidl, whichever was cheapest that week. Step 2 – Pour the foul looking substance into a bowl. Step 3 – Bung the bowl in the microwave for two to three minutes. Step 4 – The job is done, time to gross out your friends and family. Even dogs would turn their noses up at the stew and they routinely eat their own vomit.

  As I ate the Irish stew, I found myself strongly doubting anything inside the awful mush had ever been in Ireland. I was hungry, so I ate the swill anyway.

  Thoughts turned to my sexy boss and the wonderful Italian meal I could be having with him. If I’d only been brave enough to say yes when Damon had invited me.

  After finishing the last mouthful—the last I could stomach, anyway—I lay on my bed with the lights off and the curtains drawn. I put on my headphones and listened to music. The headphones were a necessity if I didn’t want my dad to make crude or embarrassing remarks about the sexuality of the singers.

  Even though my iPod was set to Shuffle, my favorite Scissor Sisters track was the first to be randomly selected. As I listened to I Can’t Decide, I silently sung along to the lyrics and wriggled in the bed, kind of dancing as the music played.

  As the track finished, I felt a little better, but only a little. Despite how much I loved the song, lines such as “My heart feels dead inside” did sometimes strike a nerve with me.