Wood Worker

I said, “How would you prefer to interpret it?”

He smiled and looked at me, shaking the last few drops of piss from his cock.

He seemed totally comfortable with me being there watching him at the toilet. His lack of self-consciousness in front of me was surprising and slightly arousing.

He said, “Well I’m not a religious guy…”

“But if you interpret it sexually, the expression on the face of the guy standing up isn’t really one of pleasure…”

He nodded. “No. He’s serious. But it’s just that he isn’t play-acting. I keep telling my girlfriends the same thing. Just because a guy doesn’t put on a show, doesn’t mean he’s not enjoying it…”

He turned to look at me again and I smiled.

I said, “Maybe he’s straight…”

He started tucking his cock back into the front of his jeans. I watched him doing it and he watched me watching him, grinning at me.

“straight guys enjoy getting head, too.”

“Not from other guys, though.”

He laughed. He got his cock into his white briefs inside his fly and started buttoning himself up. His cock was so big it made a mound in the front of his briefs and he had to pull the sides of his fly together to be able to fasten it.

He said, “All guys like blowjobs, and it doesn’t matter who the mouth belongs to. I work with a lot of men… it’s a running joke…”

I smiled and he grinned broadly at me. The way this conversation was heading was turning me on.

He started rolling up the sleeves of his checked shirt. Maybe he was getting as hot as I was.

I said, “I guess straight guys prefer girls sucking them off, though?”

He shrugged. “I guess. To be honest, not very many girls are into it, so I wouldn’t know. None I’ve dated have been, anyhow!”

He laughed again. He seemed relaxed but was clearly leading me on. I was feeling really horny by now and wondered if he was. There was a large round bulge at the front of his jeans, straining at his button fly, but he was a well-built guy and it didn’t necessarily mean he was getting hard.

He finished rolling his sleeves up and glanced down at the toilet bowl beneath him.

He said, still smiling, “Should I flush this, or d’you wanna go?”

It struck me as an odd thing to say and I was about to tell him to flush it. But then I caught his drift.

I said, “Yeah, I’ll go.”

We changed places in the bathroom: I stood in front of the toilet and he stood in the doorway watching me.

My cock was totally hard and I guess he knew it. He just wanted to see it; wanted to confirm that I was aroused by the implicit suggestions he’d been making.

And I wanted him to see it. To know that I was up for doing whatever he wanted.

I unzipped myself and reached in through my fly to try and pull my stiff cock out of my boxer briefs.

He said, “I’m Adam, by the way.”

I smiled. “Oh yeah. I’m Rick.”

I pulled my cock out, seven or so inches of it curving upwards with the foreskin fully retracted. My cock was a similar size in its erect state to his when it was limp.

I looked over at him. He was staring at my cock with a serious expression on his face.

I gently masturbated my foreskin a few times in front of him. Just in case he hadn’t got the message.

He looked up to my face maintaining the same serious, perhaps even slightly fearful, expression.

Then he laughed and said, “Anyway - I’ll have mine with milk and two sugars, please, mate,” and walked back towards the bedroom.

I waited for a minute to see what he was going to do; hoping that he might be taking off his clothes or something.

But then I heard the sounds of him tearing pieces of wood from the wardrobe and sawing apart the dowels that had been holding it together.

I thought, “You fucking tease,” and tucked my cock, which was by now half-limp with the realisation that it had been cheated, back into my underwear.

I flushed the toilet and walked back towards the kitchen. I glanced back along the corridor as I waited for the kettle to boil again and saw him in the bedroom. He was kneeling down with his back to me, measuring some of the pieces of wood with a metal tape-measure.

I felt really pissed off. He’d led me on to find out if I was gay. Maybe he was a queer-basher and would return later with his mates to beat me up. Or maybe he just liked the fact he was attractive and enjoyed proving to himself that he could turn guys on as well as girls.

I made a couple of cups of tea and took one through for him.

He looked up at me and smiled. I just put his tea down and said, “I’m gonna do a bit of work. If you want me I’m just down the hall, okay?”

He looked a bit surprised and said, “Oh, right. Okay.”

Then I left him to it. I was feeling angry and slightly humiliated but I didn’t want to show it. I didn’t want him to see that he’d had any effect on me.

I walked through to the computer in my sitting room and got back on replying to the e-mails I’d been working on before he came.

He left me a minute or so and then appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame and drinking his tea.

I looked up. “Yeah?”

He said, “Nice flat.”

“Thanks.”

He grinned at my monosyllabic response. Then his eyes wandered around the room, looking at the ornaments and the artwork.

He walked over to my bookcase and picked up a statue someone had brought me back from Greece. It showed two Athenian men apparently fighting but in a position which strongly suggested that they might be having anal sex.

He said, “I don’t think I could get into that.”

I was going to say something sarcastic like, “How fascinating,” but thought I’d end up looking like a drama queen. That he’d either think I was being petty and ignore me, or would get pissed off and leave me with a broken wardrobe.

So I was civil with him and asked, “Get into what… fighting?”

He shook his head. “Naah. Bum stuff.”

I said, “I don’t think they’re doing that. The Ancient Greeks weren’t into it, apparently…”

He nodded. “Yeah, but the statue’s meant to imply they might be.”

We didn’t say anything for half a minute or so; he just wandered around the room looking at anything with homosexual connotations, apparently intrigued.

Eventually, I said, “I thought you said that straight guys tend to be flexible about their sleeping partners…”

He nodded. “Well, like I said, I think most guys would enjoy a blow job no matter who’s giving it. Blow jobs are a limited currency; you take them where you find them. But I don’t think it would work for other stuff. And bum sex would be way too far…”

I was interested as to where this might be heading but still dubious as to his intentions.

I said, “So you think most straight guys wouldn’t refuse if I offered them a blow job?”

He laughed and came around to where I was sitting. He said, “Well I can’t speak for every single one, but I think the majority would be up for it… I mean, who in their right mind is going to say no to getting a mouth around his dick?”

He stood near me, his crotch level with my face, looking along the book shelf that was on the wall above my computer. Like before, I was aware of his faintly sweaty, masculine odour and had to admire the shape his cock and balls made in the front of his jeans; the large bulge they made as they pressed against the fly.