Wood Worker

I looked back at the screen in front of me and muttered, “I guess.”

He pulled a book from the shelf. I glanced up and saw that it was a collection of photos of men being intimate together: not having sex, necessarily; mainly massaging and caressing each other; licking, kissing and biting parts of each other’s bodies.

It was a good choice. I couldn’t have recommended better viewing material for him if he’d have asked me.

He leafed through the pages, pausing occasionally when he saw something he found interesting. He didn’t say anything for a minute or so and I wasn’t sure how to break the silence. I still wasn’t sure of his motives. He seemed interested in something happening between us, 
as he had earlier, but he might just be playing with me.

Eventually I said, “Well, maybe I should start making a few offers to straight guys. Sounds like it could develop into a pretty cool hobby…”

He laughed but out of the corner of eye I saw his crotch move slightly as if his cock had reacted to my suggestion.

He asked, his tone becoming more serious, “What would be in it for you, though?”

Again I wasn’t sure how far to take this. I just stared at the screen. If I offered myself up a second time and he backed off, I would feel utterly ridiculous. And he was easily the kind of guy who would do just that.

Eventually I looked up at him distractedly, like I’d been immersed in the e-mail. I said, “Uh… sorry?”

He laughed again. “No – ignore me. I was being nosy. I just had this idea – probably from stuff girls have said – that sucking dicks is really disgusting… that you’d have to have some kind of payback if you did it for a guy…”

I smiled. “To be honest, I’ve never found it even remotely disgusting… quite the opposite… so I wouldn’t be expecting any payback.”

He said, “Really?”

I nodded, noticing that the bulge at the front of jeans was becoming less symmetrical. The left of it was protruding more than the right side. His cock was developing in size beneath the blue material.

He put the book back on the shelf and walked a few paces away towards the door, taking a look at some of my other books.

He went on, “I hope you don’t mind me asking this kind of stuff…”

I said, “No. I don’t mind. It’s one of my favourite hobbies, so I know a lot about it.”

He chuckled and then asked, “So what do you actually like about it? I mean, is it the fact you’re giving another guy pleasure… or is it the taste or feel or whatever of the guy’s cock in your mouth?”

I looked up at him. He’d turned to face me again and was grinning, his face now looking a little red. He added, “If you don’t mind me asking…?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No, I don’t mind.”

I wondered how to answer. Whether to be coy and vague, or whether to give him full details.

I settled for the latter: “Erm… I guess the fact he’s enjoying it turns me on a bit… but I mostly like the feel of his cock getting harder in my mouth when I move my lips up and down it. The taste’s pretty good too: especially when I move my tongue over his bell-end, licking it and sucking on it.”

He stared at me, agog, and I noticed the lump to the left of his fly press outwards like it had swelled suddenly in its confinement.

I went on, “And I love the feel of his balls banging into my chin as he holds my head steady and fucks my mouth…”

I looked back at my e-mail and said, as if it was a totally casual question, “Do you think you’d ever want a gay guy to do that to you?”

He didn’t say anything and I looked over at him.

His face was a lot redder and his expression had become more serious, just as it had in the bathroom.

Then he sort of half-smiled and backed away from me.

He said, his eyes intense, “Well… I dunno…”

He walked backwards all the way to the doorway like he thought I was going to jump on him.

I shrugged. “If you don’t mind me asking…?”

He looked serious again and then said, “Actually… I’d better get on… I’ve another job after this…”

And he turned and disappeared up the corridor.

I stared after him at the empty doorway. This was a strange situation to be in and I wasn’t sure how to proceed.

His behaviour had convinced me that, contrary to my earlier presumption, he wasn’t trying to tease me. Nor was he a queer-basher.

He was straight guy who wanted to experiment but kept finding himself out of his depth. He clearly enjoyed talking about men having sex and was obviously fascinated by the fact that he had a reasonably attractive gay guy of a similar age to him in such close proximity. The anticipation of something happening between us was obviously exciting him.

It was when he was confronted by the reality of something happening between us that things became too much for him. He must have liked the prospect – his jeans had betrayed that fairly unequivocally – but his own fears were holding him back.

I returned my gaze to the screen, staring at it like it might hold some clues as to what I ought to do.

I didn’t want to do anything that would frighten him off, but at the same time I didn’t want to do nothing and to have him feel that I wasn’t interested in him.

I pondered various possibilities, considered several different approaches, hearing him sawing again and putting the wardrobe back together.

Then, after a couple of minutes. I got up and went through to the bedroom. He was kneeling on the floor, chiseling a square hole into the base of the wardrobe for one of the side panels to fit into.

I said, “Look…”

He looked up at me.

I went on. “Erm… if you want more tea – or anything else – just let me know. I won’t, like, force anything on you. But if you want something, just say and you can have it.”

He stared at me with an expression that verged on shock. I smiled to try and reassure him and, after a few seconds he said, clearing his throat, “Okay… yeah… thanks…”

I went back to the computer, wondering what he would do.

There was silence for about thirty seconds while he thought about what I’d said.

I thought, “Oh Jesus. He’s totally traumatised now. If that’s your best chat-up line, Thompson, then God help you.”

Then he started chiselling again and I returned to my e-mails. I felt disappointed but hadn’t seriously expected him to respond. This was too much for him. What had been an interesting diversion for him and his mates – jokes about how it would feel to have a gay guy suck you off – had proved to be a step too far when he’d been confronted with the reality of it.

So I got on with my e-mails, trying to ignore the sounds from the bedroom.

After about half an hour, he came back down the corridor and stood in the doorway.

He said, brightly, “One reconstructed wardrobe ready for use, sir.”

I was surprised. “Already?”

He held his wood chisel to his lips and blew sawdust from it. “Just doin’ my job, guv.”

I smiled and stood up. “Didn’t you need to get more wood or something?”

“No, it was all there. I just put it back together. It’s got a dovetailed frame now, though, so it’ll be a lot more solid.”

We walked down the corridor to my bedroom. The wardrobe looked exactly the same as it had before the collapse, but as soon as I opened a door I felt how much more sturdy it was.

He said, “You could lock about five of your victims up in that now. It wouldn’t budge…”

I smiled at him again. I liked his sense of humour.

He asked me for a dustpan and brush to clean up the mess but I told him I’d sort it out later.

Then he bent down to gather his tools back into his tool-belt and I checked out his broad back, sweeping down to his thin waste and solid, round arse. He had a beautiful body and I couldn’t help but feel slightly envious of his girlfriend.

He stood back up and hesitated before putting his tool-belt back on. He looked uncertain about something and I thought maybe he’d lost one of his tools.

But then he said, “Actually, I couldn’t quickly use your bathroom again.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

He threw his tools down onto the end of my bed and walked down the corridor to the bathroom. I felt a bit embarrassed about his hesitation. He was obviously afraid I’d misconstrue his request and follow him in.

I expected him to close the door this time but he didn’t. And I was even more surprised when he started making conversation from the bathroom, drawing me into a dialogue.