by Liam Livings
“I don’t want to touch anything. I know you said a dirty weekend, but I didn’t think you meant this.” I looked around the room and noticed a small stuffed fox on top of the dark wood wardrobe.
“Unpack. I’ll make us a coffee—you’ll feel better after a coffee. Come on, meet me halfway on this. Isn’t it just nice to get away?”
I unpacked my clothes slowly while he made us coffee.
He handed me the drink. “It’s instant, I’m afraid. I don’t think we’d have much luck asking for a coffee maker or a cafètiere in this place. The cream and sugar should mask the coffee for you.”
We sat in silence, sipping our drinks. The only sound was the bed creaking as I moved on it awkwardly.
“Fancy christening the bed?” he asked, the familiar glint returning to his eyes.
“Maybe later. I’m not in the mood. All I can think about is her downstairs, listening for the bed creaking. It’s like having some rude dirty eavesdropping granny next door.”
“She’s deaf. She knows we’re together. I let her know.”
“I did notice. I was mortified. Literally mortified. Why did you have to do that? You could have been a bit more subtle?”
“I booked a double. It’s the twenty-first century. I’m not apologising for who I am.”
“Neither am I. I just don’t think you have to be so… in your face about it. I thought you were going to do her a drawing or something.” I laughed. The humour and image of Bobby drawing a diagram to show how gay sex worked anatomically was too much to keep inside.
“What?”
I explained, and he laughed.
He knelt on the bed and then leant across to kiss my neck. He nibbled at my ears and made his way to my mouth, reaching for my groin now he was opposite me.
I pulled back and removed his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s just not doing it for me.”
He returned to kissing my neck, then said, “Come on. Once you get going, you’ll enjoy it. A bit like riding a bike.”
I said nothing as he continued to kiss and bite my neck and ears. I did feel something stirring in my underwear.
“Nothing too fancy, come on, get ’em off.’ His glinty eyes proved too much to resist. My body went limp as he undid his trousers and pushed them, along with his underpants, until they were around his ankles. “Come on, get ’em down.” He reached for my fly and unzipped it. I copied what he’d just done with his trousers.
He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling at his cock. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, seeing I was far from in the mood. “How about this?”
Bobby pushed himself on the bed so he was sitting opposite me, kicking off his trousers and underpants. He wrapped his legs around me, pushing his cock into my eye line, and continued stroking himself. I started to copy him, gradually getting more and more into the moment. Just as I was getting into it, he put my left hand onto his cock and said, “Pull hard, quick.” At the same time, he grabbed me and copied my movements, all the time staring into my eyes with that twinkle and a slight lick of his lips. Soon it was over, for him, a sticky white trail on my chest. He released his grip on me and we lay back on the bed, the room filled with a slightly salty, sweaty smell. I gently put his hand back on my cock, to finish what he had started, but he pulled away and quickly the moment was lost.
Bobby’s arms were behind his head, his T-shirt riding up to show his belly button. “The benefits of having a boyfriend—it’s on tap!”
We dozed on the bed for a short while, he spooned me, cuddling me from behind, gently playing with my belly button and kissing my neck.
I woke. Bobby was in the shower. Dressed, he reappeared from the bathroom with a wide smile. “Shall we go out and see what this place is like?”
“Why not.” I jumped in the shower, washed, then threw on my clothes, and we left.
The town centre had something I’d never seen before—a Primark with a beach view. The town had echoes of its former glories, when it would have been a destination for Victorian Londoners seeking air, sea, and recreation. A couple of tower blocks loomed over the beach, casting shadows on the sand. The lido was now disused, covered with graffiti, and filled with groups of teenagers huddled in their hoodies, handing around rolled up cigarettes between them.
We found a small gay bar set back from the seafront wall. It was the ground floor of a large yellow concrete block of flats. A small and tattered rainbow flag blew in the wind.
We walked inside and waited until our eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. A pool table stood against the far wall, and a bar ran the length of the left wall. Bobby greeted the barman, who wore a tight white vest and low-slung stonewashed jeans. His He-Man-sized arms strained the tiny vest.
The barman said, “All right guys, what can I getcha?”
We stood at the bar sipping our expensive, and rather tasteless, trendy bottled beer. Bobby was chatting to the barman—Tomaz, or Tom. He was from Poland, but had lived here for a few years, working in various bars.
“What’s it like, this place, when it gets going?” Bobby asked, taking in Tomaz’s arms and vest.
“It not like London, but it get busy at the weekends. Rest of the time, it pretty dead, though.” He asked if we wanted another drink, our bottles by now empty. Then he asked why we had come to Margate for the weekend, from London.
“It’s a dirty weekend.” Bobby smiled, stroking my hand on the bar.
Tomaz chatted to us about the different nights they had at the pub. That night a drag queen was due to perform near midnight. “She’s the best round here. She does it for many years. Used to do London bars, but she retire here. She want a quiet life after her partner, he die.” He walked away to serve some other customers.
I sipped my bottle and noticed the pub had filled since we’d arrived. A few other couples sat at the bar stools along from us. Some men were playing pool. A few of the corners now had groups of men. I noticed the slightly light-headed feeling after my second drink… I think it was my second one; I may have lost count, noticing the alcohol on an empty stomach.
Bobby said, “What do you think of him?” He nodded to Tomaz as the man bent down to collect some beers from a fridge. Tomaz’s bum looked well sculpted in his jeans; I couldn’t deny that.
“Cute. In a builder-from-a-porn-film way. I bet he’s got a pair of dungarees he wears without a T-shirt, one strap undone.” I sipped my drink.
“We could ask him back?”
“What, back to the hotel?”
“What do you think? I don’t want him to teach me Polish.”
“I don’t know. I thought it was about us having the dirty weekend. Not anyone else.”
“It can be whatever we want it to be. Something to spice things up.” He winked, smiling. “Another beer? Or do you want some shots? Come on, we’re on holiday.”
I shrugged. The shots appeared on the bar: tequila, salt, and lime lined up. After a few more, Bobby started snogging me. We kissed at the bar; he put his hands inside my jeans and underpants, and started to squeeze my bum. Frustrated from the unfinished business earlier, I responded, then put my hand under his T-shirt to stroke his chest.
We stayed like that for a while, until we came up for air and another drink.
“What about him?” Bobby asked, pointing to a young twink leaning over the pool table. He was dressed head to toe in a white-and-red Adidas tracksuit. It drowned his tiny frame.
“Don’t fancy him.”
“Him?” Bobby pointed to a man in a tight checked blue-and-white shirt with brown chinos, leaning against the bar. A pink jumper draped over his shoulders. He had wavy blonde hair slicked back.
“I bet he’s got a wife and three kids. I can tell them a mile off. He’s just a tourist for the night. Away from home and getting his fix before he goes back to the little lady.”
“Shall I ask him? See if you’re right?” Bobby started to walk towards him.
I grabbed his shoulder. “I don’t fancy him anyway.”
“Who
, then? There must be someone here tonight you wouldn’t mind getting to know better.” He looked around and nodded at Tomaz, who brought us two more bottles of beer.
I scanned the pub. “Not from here. None except you.” I smiled, hoping the sugary ending would close this conversation.
“Let’s sit over there.” He pointed to the corner opposite the pool table where a few men danced half-heartedly to the music while others sat on velvet benches against the walls, behind tables, sipping their drinks.
We had enough of sitting and watching people dance, finished our drinks, then danced for a while, getting more and more into one another. I felt really horny. All I could think of was getting back to the hotel to relieve the tension, never mind the weird old lady. I adjusted myself in my trousers as I tried to burst forth.
“Do you want a hand with that?” Bobby asked, reaching into my groin.
I smiled at him.
“I bet he could give us a hand.” He indicated with his eyes a man stood against the wall near the pool table. He wore brown cowboy boots, boot-cut blue jeans, and a white shirt covered in rhinestones. He held a blue denim jacket over one shoulder. Sadly, it matched the colour of his jeans. It had all been going so well until then.
I raised my eyebrows.
“He could give us both a hand. Imagine him in bed with us, skiing with both hands, one of us in each hand. Pretty sexy, eh?”
The image flicked into my head, and part of me—it was very clear which part of me—was instantly turned-on by the prospect. Another part of me was worried about how it would work, since we were a couple and the Rhinestone Cowboy was nothing to do with us. A threesome when you’re single is one thing. A threesome with a boyfriend is something else entirely, something I’m not sure I want.
Bobby squeezed me. “So you do like the idea. I’ll go over and see what he thinks.” He stood.
“No, please don’t. Not tonight.”
He sat down. “Have you had a threesome before?”
“What do you think?”
“I’d say no, the way you’re behaving.”
Silence hung between us. “I have, as it goes. Quite a few times actually.”
“Well, actually, what’s actually wrong with this time, actually? This time, when we have our very own gay cowboy to buck about on all night.”
“Tempting as it sounds, I’ve never done it with a boyfriend before. Which you would know, since I’m your first boyfriend too.”
“You’re my first proper serious boyfriend too. I thought it would be fun to try it out together. Okay, but how different can it be? Sex is sex, right? You’ve had enough to know that, surely?”
“I’ve had plenty, as much as you. But not with a boyfriend, and I think that’s something different, special, to be treated differently.” I told him about the time I’d had a threesome with a couple, how I’d felt like a spare prick, and how weird it was seeing their family photos around their flat, smiling together with each other’s parents, wearing suits at their civil partnership, after I’d just shagged them both, in various ways, during an afternoon one summer. “I knew one of them was more into it than the other. He kept cheering me on in the middle, telling me to do it harder, while the other one sort of looked on. At some points he just sat there, like a ball boy at a tennis match.”
“Thought you said you were the spare prick?”
“I was, at some points. It was awkward, the whole thing from start to finish. When I’d had enough, I left. It was the longest hour and a half of my life.”
“It took you all that time to realise it wasn’t good, and leave?”
“Look, it was someone to get my rocks off with. We did it a few times, three at the most. Drinking between and other stuff. But once I’d finished that last time, I knew that was it, I was off. If they’d asked me to go before, I’d have gone. Like I said, one of them was well into it. He practically kept cheering me on.”
“Was every threesome like that?”
“Course not. The best ones were when I met two guys in a club, couldn’t decide which one to go home with, and suggested we just didn’t choose, and hey presto, I was up all night, getting lucky—two for the price of one.”
“Fuck me, you really were shallow when you were younger!”
“It wasn’t that long ago, actually. I just remember the worst ones were with a couple. I felt awkward, and it wasn’t anything to do with me, really. I was just a plaything for the evening. But I remember thinking how do the other guys go back to their normal couply relationship after one of them has watched me fucking the other on their coffee table. That’s what’s stopping me going home with someone tonight. I don’t want that in our relationship. Okay?”
Bobby nodded, then kissed me. He stood, tweaking my nearest nipple on his way up, then walked to the bar.
Well, that didn’t go too badly. Could have found myself in any number of compromising situations if I hadn’t nipped it in the bud. Although my mind wandered back to the skiing image with the Rhinestone Cowboy, and for an instant I regretted turning him down.
I enjoyed the drunkenness and the sensation of not having to worry about anything for a while. I’d had the conversation with Bobby, so now that was an end to it. Once we were back at the hotel, he’d want more sex, so this time I would definitely make sure I got properly into it. The people on the dance floor were moving to a dance version of a song I’d heard in the charts recently. I couldn’t remember its name but could hum the chorus. I hummed it to myself, and took a sip of my beer, watching a woman dancing with another, their handbags on the floor. Two men jumped up and down as the next song started—a dance version of “Mamma Mia” by ABBA. They lip-synced all the lyrics, and at the chorus, one looked to the right while the other stood behind him, looking straight ahead, mimicking the familiar ABBA move. They swapped positions at the next chorus. They ran off at the end of the song, jumping up and down as they made their way to the bar. I looked over to the pool table. Couple of women stood opposite a couple of men—challenging them to a game, I presumed. One of the women tossed a coin, and then the game began. I became engrossed in the drama unfolding before me, as two obviously expert pool players—who happened to be female—thrashed two guys. The Rhinestone Cowboy was gone, nowhere to be seen. Which was a shame, because despite not wanting to get to know him more intimately, he had improved the view, leaning against the wall, his jeans tight enough to show he was a very fortunate man in the trouser-filling department.
My bottle was empty. I estimated Bobby had been at the bar for twenty minutes. I walked around the pub looking for him. He wasn’t by the pool table, or the dance floor, or at the bar. It was hardly a huge London superclub, this little bar. I went to the gents—for myself, obviously, not to look for Bobby.
Bobby stood next to the hand dryer, talking to the Rhinestone Cowboy. I didn’t want to sound like a nagging boyfriend but was surprised to find him there, so I said casually, “There you are. I wondered where my drink was.” I smiled at Rhinestone Cowboy.
“All right, I bumped into Dave while I was drying my hands. Got chatting. Told him how we’d been admiring him leaning against the wall in the pool room.”
“Very impressive,” I said. “I like the shirt—suits you. And I can see you’re no stranger to the gym.”
No stranger to the gym, who says that? Why did I just say that? I don’t talk like that. Not normally.
“Dave said he’s up for coming back to ours. A bit of skiing with us.” Bobby winked and mimed skiing with his hands.
Dave added, “I’ll even keep my cowboy boots on if you want.” He reached out to my face and pulled me towards him. “You’re even cuter close up. This is going to be fun.”
I pushed him back. “I think there’s been a mix-up—we don’t do that sort of thing. Not that you’re not very handsome.” Where was Sky when I needed him? With his steady guiding hand? I shook myself mentally back to Dave. “Very impressive even. But it’s not for us, is it, sweetheart?” I looked at Bobby.
I stayed strong and resolute. “We’ve talked about this. No. Come on, let’s go home. I’m tired.” I took Bobby’s hand and led him out of the gents’ toilet, leaving Dave standing by the hand dryer.
Dave shouted after us, and everyone in the toilet heard too. “Give each other a good fuck for me, will you, boys!”
And we were gone. Outside the club, into the cold night air.
I started walking in the approximate direction of our hotel. I wasn’t too sure where it was, but I wanted to get away from the bar.
Bobby followed me and started to say he was sorry. He told me it wasn’t such a big deal, just a bit of fun.
I stopped walking. “A bit of fun? I told you what I thought. I gave you my answer, and still you couldn’t leave it, could you?”
“I just thought—”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t think you thought at all. If you’d have thought, you wouldn’t have done it. Okay, so you bumped into him in the toilet; that happens. You could have chatted to him, saw what he was like, and I wouldn’t have minded that, a bit of harmless flirting. I really don’t care. But you didn’t need to go and tell him he could come back to ours. Not after I’d just told you I didn’t want that, not now, not tonight.”
“I thought we could have it all. The perfect combination. Us as a couple, together—the breakfast in bed, going away for a weekend, living together, coming home from work, how was your day. But also have the odd bit of spice to mix it up a bit every now and again.”
“But that’s not what I want. Not at the moment. I’m cold, and I’m walking home. Coming?”
We started to walk again. Bobby told me about his ideal scenario in his head—which I pointed out he’d never shared with me before then—where we had a perfect relationship but it didn’t get staid like so many of his friends’ had. He explained it had seemed the perfect solution when he thought of it and mulled it over alone.