Tomorrow's Clown (2)

As Rob joined the other members of the band outside the stage door at the Methodist Hall, he assured the minister that there would be no unnecessarily rowdy goings on after the dance, and that they would tidy up their mess before they left.

He sighed with relief when the hall’s maintenance man came along, rattling off a series of complaints about the lighting and sound system.
‘The vicar’s just gone to sort out that bloke,’ Rob said, thumbing at the stage door. ‘Do you need a hand with the records?’ he asked Andy Kaye, one of Charlie Grayston’s record sales promoters.
‘Nah!’ Andy replied scratching his groin. ‘Just here for a quick drag, while my brother sorts out the electrics.’
‘Did the vicar go through your play list to weed out the bad ones?’ Gareth Selwyn-Parry, the band’s drummer wheezed through a woodbine. ‘He’s been at us, boy.’

Andy laughed. ‘Cor, likely! He nobbled Grayston before I got the job. No Death Discs, like ebony Eyes; No blasphemy like, A Hundred Pound Of Clay; And definitely; No filthy black stuff like that Twist. I hope you boys are doin’ them!’
‘Natch!’ Padric siddled up behind Rob and fake humped Rob’s ass until the minister popped his head round the door with a quick-change-act smile. ‘Sorry! Vicar. Just bump startin’ him.’

‘Those boys had better not cause trouble,’ The minister snapped, worrying the belt over his black cassock. ‘You come highly recommended to the Church Council, by Mr. Grayston. You don’t want to let him down with riffraff rowdy-ism, now do you?’

The term ‘rowdy’ made Padric sprang to mind immediately, and Rob recalled how over the past few evenings they had spent most of the time in Grayston’s bed, talking, thinking, fucking. Sharing the kind of smokes you don’t get at the corner shop, and more fucking.
But as they went back in to wait for the kick off, yet another and deeper craving overtook Rob. He thought once more of Johnny Barton and wanted him there at that moment. He and Rob had made such plans together, big plans, taking the music world by storm; bigger than Cliff and the Shads. Hell as big as Presley!

‘There’s a good crowd already,’ Gareth said, peeking out at the floor.
‘And more comin’ in all the time,’ Andy Kaye shook his shoulders and practiced his stage smile. ‘Well, I’d better get those bastards warmed up.’

She was wrong about Johnny Barton, his mother was, Rob told himself as he fretted over a microphone stand, and the slow build up to live show dragged slower. Johnny wasn’t trouble, well not bad trouble; good trouble; he was just misunderstood. Rob laughed to himself, he knew it was nonsense. Johnny Barton was big trouble from start to finish, he always had been. But he wasn’t causing him any harm. Only pain.

‘And who gives a fuck about what Miss Tight-knickers Glass thinks anyway?’ Padric interrupted the flow of Rob's thoughts; he was squaring up to the group’s bass guitarist, Tom Barton, Johnny’s equally good looking younger brother. ‘She doesn’t know us,' Padric yapped, 'and she doesn’t know nothin’.’

Rob wasn’t going to interfere, this he left to Gareth; or anyone else too fucked up to laugh at life, they could sort out the mess. What Rob had with Johnny, Padric and the rest could never have. ‘Oh! Give over O’Casey.' Rob finally gave in and pulled Tom Barton from him. 'You exposed yourself to an old maid, you pervert! You could be on a charge, mate, so belt up and get ready for the off.’
‘It was just my finger, see,’ Padric chuckled, sticking his index finger through his flies, ‘honest!’

Around eight o clock the lighting changed and a smattering of applause came on cue. The curtains opened and the Bobby Barton Boys strolled into their piece.
There was the briefest part of a second when Padric’s lead guitar was completely silent. Then he let it sing with a couple of strums as all the lads of the group instantly joined Rob in giving out the recognisable whoo-woe of a death song tribute to Buddy Holly. The crowd at their feet errupted in cheers. And when Rob sang ‘Snow was a-snowing, Wind was a-blowing, When the world said good-bye Buddy..’ the rafters of the hall lifted at its joints.

‘I told them not to sing that dreadful sort of death thing,’ the minister sulked to Andy Kaye off stage.
‘Look, mate, they are a hit! The kids love them. Even with a duff tune like that, they are slaying them. You’re made,’ Andy enthused.
‘Still, I told them,’ the minister said to Miss Glass, who nodded adjusting her hearing aid.
‘Oh! Hey, Bobby!’ His daughter cried out beside them. ‘His voice kinda sounds like Sam Cooke and he looks like a dark Bobby Vee,’ she said to a friend.
‘Both, but better!’ The friend gave a giggle then a squeal.

The group and Rob were getting the idea, so they went into more Hit Parade stuff, and the Rock ‘n’ Roller hits had the floor full to bursting.
‘What are you doing?’ Rob asked the minister as their first session ended with rapturous calls for more.
‘Nothing that concerns you, young man. I told you, no filth, now the plug is going to be pulled.’
‘Are you insane,’ Padric nearly exploded, his sweat leaping off him.
‘They’ll riot, man!’ Gareth threw his hands out at the auditorium floor.
‘Are you threatening me?’ The minister cocked his head, ready to call for the police, but he was distracted by the treasurer.
‘A clear 88 guineas profit, that's just so far; even allowing for repairs,’ she said, looking at a tear in the tatty old curtain.
‘And the word seems to be attracting more in.’ The maintenance man grinned. ‘We’ll have to put up the full signs and close the doors!’
‘Or we could just go,’ Padric answered.

He sounded less disinterested, but the minister was still worried. ‘Oh! Let them finish, John,’ Miss Glass fixed the aid in her ear. ‘Besides I like this one,’ she said as Nat ‘King’ Cole’s Cappucina blasted from Andy Kaye’s turntable.
‘So do I,’ The minister broke into a smile, and went back out to look at the boys and girls jive about.
‘Sorry,’ Padric stood amazed, leaning on his guitar. ‘What was that all about? Like, what just happened there?’
‘I think we just broke through!’ Rob laughed.

‘Rob’s cool,’ Padric said to Will and Helen when they popped backstage. There was an awkward silence from Will at the mention of Rob. It made the whole scene dive, but Padric told him to chill out or ship out.
‘Listen Will,’ Helen kissed him on the cheek, ‘Susan and Ed have come in, I’ll go and bring them up.’
Will gave a couldn’t-care-less shrug, as he looked around for Rob. But there was no sign, and he certainly wouldn't be caught dead asking after him.
Georgie Maxwell tapped Will’s shoulder and almost caught a slap as Will swiped round. ‘A Coke,’ Georgie smiled, handing over a bottle with a straw hanging out of the top. ‘It’s hot here tonight.’
‘Yeah! Hot.’ Will sneered. ‘I need a slash.’ Will said as he walked off.

Georgie smiled over at Padric, who gave him a blank look before talking to some else. So Georgie tailed after Will.
‘Why did you sound like that, Will?’ Georgie questioned Will as they stood at the ancient trough in the men's toilet.
‘Like what?’ Will’s disgust with a man talking to him in a toilet on plain view.
‘Like you don’t want to know me.’
‘That’s because I don’t,’ Will said, all but spitting in Georgie’s face. Again Will walked off, this time into one of the cubicles. But he didn’t lock the door behind him.
‘Will?’ Georgie said at the slightly open door.
‘No talk, just get in here and suck my dick.’ Will pulled Georgie over to the toilet seat and slammed the cubicle door shut as he undid the zipper on the tight trousers of his shiny Italian Cut Night-Out suit.

The dirty smell of old wet socks and rank unflushed urine mixed with Ella belting out That Old Black Magic, going down and down and round and round, as the toilet's outside door opened and closed and Georgie twisted trying not to gag on Will’s meat.

Georgie did a good job too. With a professional’s will power he drove down hard on Will’s eight inches, resting momentarily at his hairy bush, then pulling back to wipe the saliva from his chin and catch a breath before going at it again.
‘Turn,’ Will whispered, and dragged Georgie to his feet. He dropped his own trousers and shorts then bent down at his knees to get swifter access to Georgie's soft, downy, pink arse. Will yanked a hold of Georgie’s trousers to pull them fully down. When he was happy with Georgie's position, he took Georgie’s cock and balls, drawing them back toward him so he could lick them. With a squeeze he fitted them all into his mouth.
Georgie groaned out loud, shaking until Will released him from the pain.
Licking into the crack before his face, Will fingered at the pucker. Then he spat at it and fingered it some more.
Georgie half turned, looking to be fucked.

Will stood up, forcing Georgie up against the seat and bending him over further for better access, and so their clothes wouldn’t rattle as he banged him. Then he squeezed his semi-hard cock to make it stiffer and drove it into Georgie.

Their whimpers sprayed softly with the gurgles of the waterworks, but Will’s stamina failed him. He flopped out of Georgie after less than a minute.
Leaning over Georgie’s back, Will pulled his head back by the hair. ‘Fuck me,’ Will demanded. ‘Lick my arse and then fuck me good, man.’
Sitting in the cubicle next door, Rob listened and forced himself not to watch through the peepholes. Bent over his knees, his head held in his hands, a spinning sick feeling griped at his throat.

Rob staggered from the toilet and back up to the stage. He barely noticed Helen waving to him as she waited for Will to come out. Only the sight of Susan cheering him made a smile break over his face in a nervous twitch. Even that disappeared as he caught Ed Maxwell’s eye. Ed stood behind Susan, smooching her up to the tune from a film, a US film that hadn’t even been released in Britain - yet the thought of a romantic moon river melted her into his arms. Ed melted too, but he still managed a leery glance for Rob.

‘Is there something wrong?’ Gareth asked when he saw Rob.
‘Sad movies always make me cry, didn’t you know?’
‘Shit, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!’ Padric said, and almost seemed concerned.
‘We needn’t talk about this shit right now,’ Rob smacked some colour back his cheeks and practiced one of Andy Kaye’s stage smiles. ‘We’re on.’

Once more the lights dimmed and Andy gave them a big build up, this time the cheers started even before the curtains parted and they blasted out a speaker-shattering instrumental with motorbike sound effects from Rob and Tommy.

The mix of instrumental and vocals gave time for Rob to think, time he’d rather have done without. But the thoughts just wouldn’t leave him.
As he waited he recalled Padric step up three urinals away from him, and how he jerked his cock out from his open flies with one easy pull. He glanced at Rob quickly - too swift to be an improper look, but enough for mutual recognition.
Though it had only been a couple of days since they first saw each other in passing at that same cottage, Rob had dreaded seeing Padric there alone. And the thought of seeing his exposed, podgy chest did little to make Rob’s heart miss a beat. Yet he knew the chances were more than fair that they’d meet there again; if he and Padric were there for the same thing.

As they stood alone in the public lavatory Padric had reached into his old grubby work shirt, flicking at his nipples, then he started licking lips. There was no doubt now why he was there.
Rob stood back a little from the urinal’s modesty board, so that Padric would do the same. He might as well see what was on offer, after all. There, on view, the thin trail of wispy red hair that clung to his chest led down in a broken line to his exposed sweaty ballsack and thighs.

The last rumbling strains of the riff warned Rob to stand centre stage for his first solo, a few girls screamed as he pulled the microphone forward, telling them that he was like a lost ship, alone on the sea of heartbreak.

But in his mind's eye he saw that Padric had opened out his trousers and showed his once white y-fronts pressed down his hairy thighs. The way Padric had eased out his dick and balls, showed that he was no novice at this game, Rob realised that. They looked at each other across the dark, empty toilet.

Now Rob had to decide; did he really want sex - any kind of sex - so much that the fact Padric’s body did little for him had simply ceased to matter. There was no second thought. If Rob had to pretend he wanted Padric, to get some hands-on attention, his next move was clear. And he made it, he drew closer.

Padric peeled down his trousers and underwear even further and stood naked from his belly to his knees. This wasn’t exactly the body of a beautiful and muscular Greek god. But somehow his thick dick in plain view was more than enticing. It was already half-way hard too, even before Rob laid a finger on it. best of all, the tell-tale I’m-A-Man tattoos across Padric’s arms attracted him.

Rob looked Padric up and down, as he also slipped his trousers down slightly, taking only a few seconds to get right close up to Padric. His dick hard and his hands investigating Padric’s body, Rob stopped for a moment; there was something in Padric’s eyes that made Rob put one hand at the back of Padric's head and draw him forward for a kiss.

To his surprise Padric responded with a soft, feminine ease, blending into Rob’s lips with real feeling and warmth. Rob pretended it meant nothing to him, laughing as Padric’s eyes fluttered closed.
But having a naked boner rage in front of this strong, beefy lad from the factory stores made him fall silent then put some real feeling into his own kisses. Better still, feeling Padric’s prick throb with such energy to even the lightest of his touches, thrilled Rob. It was a tremendous power to give as well as receive willing pleasure from another man.

And the simple fact that this all too willing youth also smelled of old oil, footballer’s muscle liniment, and surging lust gave Rob’s pleasure a keener edge.
Rob laid a gentle squeeze on Padric’s tight ballsack. Padric winced slightly, but more in surprise than in dislike. As he inched across Padric’s chest and down toward his fat knob-end, Rob wondered what other little joys would surprise this lad - and him.

The feel of Padric’s warm skin against his own in the rapidly chilling toilet, forced a shiver to creep over Rob, it also spurred him into action.
With a swift bend at the knees Rob was soon wrapped around Padric’s rock hard knob. If anything it seemed to swell up further in his mouth. So hearing Padric’s puppy like whimpers increase rapidly made Rob pull back almost as soon as he’d got laid into sucking him. But even in the darkening shadows, Rob could see Padric’s face plead with him not to stop.
Padric placed his rough, dirty hands either side of Rob’s head and gently stroked his cheeks with the thumbs. Rob ignored the tenderness offered, and set back to bringing this lump of a lad to climax. With Rob’s experience firmly in control, it didn’t take too long. Even with a few breaks to toy with Padric’s balls and hint at some play with his sweaty arse, it built quickly until it just couldn't be held back.
The sound of Padric’s whimpers resonated in Rob’s ears, and the salty sour swell of Padric’s cock filled Rob’s senses as it bloated then exploded in a mass of pent up seed .

The lights in the Methodist Hall dimmed for a slow smooch when the lads drew close to the microphones beside Rob, their soft tones backing him up. He reached out to a few of the girls near the stage, and got a barrage of squeals as he all but whispered: I love how your eyes close whenever you kiss me..

Still it was the memory of Padric’s arms heaving him up and hugging him to his chest that Rob thought of. For brief moment his arms around him once more. With a hug Rob had cuddled into him, and suddenly he felt warmer, somehow safer even in a public toilet. Or at least it felt good to have another man’s arms about him, wanting him near.
Rob enjoyed breathing in the lad’s scent, yet even then all the while Rob had made believe it was Johnny Barton with his motorbike oil and his smiling grubby youthfulness.

They were still alone in the creaking gasps of the toilet, surrounded by a darkness that only a neglected municipal pit could show. Rob didn’t want to go home, so he breathed on the side of Padric’s neck. ‘You still horny?’ He knew he was, as they cuddled, for Padric's cock showed he had recovered his lusting desire for sex. ‘Your cock’s getting nice and hard again,’ Rob whispered into Padric’s ear.

Padric turn his face to look at Rob's, and moved as though to kiss him, his eyes already flickering shut. But Rob backed away. Padric stared at him, then smiled. Without a word Padric was on his knees doing his best to bring pleasure to Rob through his cock. He wasn’t particularly experienced, and his teeth made too many intrusions, but Rob made the most of Padric’s mouth and throat, forcing the lad to gag.
‘Yeah!’ Rob said softly to a dank wall as his pinned Padric back against it to get a better angle for thrust.

Padric gagged repeatedly but kept at it, occasionally pulling back to kiss the back of Rob’s cockhead gently. ‘Is that good?’ Padric appealed for confirmation.
‘Fine,’ Rob said without looking down, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on the wall. ‘You can do something better, maybe.’ Now Rob did look down at the shadowed eyes looking back up at him. ‘Get up!’ he said, and Padric clambered up. ‘Lick my arse,’ Rob commanded.
Padric looked like a poleaxe was about to crush his skull.

‘If you want to fuck, you’ll have to do it.’ Rob was begining to get angry, then he recognised that look of utter disbelief on the lad‘s face. ‘Just like you would your girl’s pussy!’
But Padric stood there looking blank.
‘You know,’ Rob demonstrated, ‘like with a girl’s cunt.’

A sign of utter panic shot over Padric’s face, ‘But I haven’t ..’ He shrugged and shook his head. Yet as Rob turned to expose his smooth backside and run Padric’s hands over the soft globes, Padric knelt and began to bury his face in Rob’s crack. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Padric cried out. ‘Look at that. Look at me!’ he laughed at himself,
‘Try to find the hole, then give some spit,’
‘Man,’ Padric laughed again, ‘this is fucking crazy.’ Then he tried to catch a look from Rob, ‘Your arse tastes nice, not like..’
‘Shit?’ Rob laughed too. ‘Spit; work it in. More. But gently. Put plenty of spit on your cock,’ Rob instructed Padric, who did exactly what he was told. ‘Now get up and ease it in.’ Rob arched to give Padric as much help as he could, even then he fumbled, not really knowing what they hell he was doing. Then with a little encouragement from Rob’s hands, Rob gasped as Padric slid into his hole. ‘Slow at first, just let me get used to it. Yeah, nice.’ Rob turned his head away from Padric and gazed into his own imagination. ‘Now deep and faster, get your own pace.’

Padric need no more instructions, he was away. ‘Man! I just knew it would be,’ Padric gasped, ‘this fucking great,’ he gasped again, ‘is it good for you.?’
Rob ignored the question, he just drifted on a series of grunts and sighs as he felt a man pile drive his cunt. He yanked at his dick, and more than once felt like shooting off his load. But Padric was really getting into him, and taking his time enjoying what he had. ‘I’m going to cum,’ Rob said with a sense of urgency, and Padric stopped fucking.

‘Where will I cum, man.’
‘Just keep on doing what you're doing and tell me when you're busting your jizz.’
With that it didn’t take long, Padric fucked harder and he screamed out Rob's name as his load swelled and burst out. Rob too cried out, as his vigorous jerks on his cock gave him a trembling orgasm that left him weak at the knees.

Despite the glare from the small spotlights for the stage, Rob realised he had spotted Will with Helen, and Georgie tagging along behind, there in the crowd just below him .
He gave a signal to rest of the lads for change in the running order of tunes. ‘Here’s a song that should act as warning for you; be sure you can trust him,’ he said to the girls swooning beneath him. He pointed out at the crowd and said as the slow riff began to build up its momentum, ‘You’d have no wish to be Tomorrow’s Clown.’