First Impressions (2 page)

It was Kathy, and I contemplated not answering, but she’d only call ‘round in a few minutes if I didn’t. Her dance studio was only a couple of streets away. She wouldn’t stop chattering, so I agreed to meet her for lunch, if only to get her off the line. I hung up and checked for messages. There weren’t any. I wanted to throw the phone out of the fucking window.

***

“
So come on then, who is he?” Kathy scooped up a huge spoonful of ice cream, staring at me with wide eyes as she let it melt in her mouth.

“
I thought dancers were all meant to be anorexic,” I grumbled.

“
Nah, we need to keep our strength up. Besides, I can always stick my fingers down my throat afterwards.” She winked to let me know she was teasing. “Come on then, spill the beans. I want a name.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” How the fuck did she always know?

“
Oh come on, Jez, you can’t fool me. I haven’t seen you like this since... What was his name? Stan?”

“
Don’t remind me of that arsehole.” I really knew how to pick them, always drawn to the most unsuitable, emotionally unavailable men. The sex would be great, and I’d start to think that he could be the one. I’d start to open up and he’d draw away. Desperate to make things work, I’d suggest that he move in; he’d leave. I’d pretty much given up looking, and had spent the last couple of years relying on my own hands and a string of one-night stands.

“
So go on, then. Name?”

I sighed. “I don’t know his sodding name, all right? He’s just a bloke on the train with terrible taste in socks and I think I’ve just made a huge bloody fool of myself, okay?”

She looked at me with raised eyebrows, a smile dimpling the edges of her mouth.

“
I’m sure it’s not that bad, sweetie. You want to tell me about it?”

I found that I did, after all, because it all flowed out in a jumble of anger and lust, and I caught her looking at me with what I took to be amused sympathy. She actually giggled when I told her what I’d done with the drawing, but then clapped her hand over her mouth and patted my arm.

“
Oh, hon, it’s okay. He’s probably just a bit shocked if you’ve never even spoken to him before. Are you sure he’s gay?”

“
I don’t know. I thought so, but he doesn’t give much away.” I’d gone and gotten it all wrong, hadn’t I? He probably had a wife and two-point-four children tucked away in suburban bliss. Not that I hadn’t ended up seeing married men before. Like I said, unsuitable and emotionally unavailable is like catnip to me.

“
I would suggest just striking up a conversation, but it’s a bit late for that now. I expect he’ll phone you after work. He’ll be too busy during the day. He’ll wait until he’s got some privacy.”

Maybe Kathy was right, but I still kept clutching the pocket with my phone in, and it felt like my stomach was trying to tie itself up in knots. I spent the afternoon savagely cleaning my studio in the punishing heat, and stormed off home with a head full of recriminations.

***

The next day I almost chose a different car, but I wasn’t about to let some jumped-up office boy scare me away from my usual seat. So I threw myself down on that broken spring and looked anywhere but straight ahead. I could still see his fucking socks, though. They were bright pink, like the ones I’d drawn, and they assaulted me from my peripheral vision, reminding me of what an idiot I’d been.

My phone buzzed. A text. I took it out of my pocket, my hands trembling. Unknown sender. It just said,
“Hi Jez.”

I looked up. He was smirking at me, phone in hand, one eyebrow quirked upward. It was that expression I thought I’d imagined, the first time I saw him. My stomach flipped over and I fumbled with the keys in my haste to reply.

Hi. Don’t know your name.

It’s Steve.

Steve. A perfectly ordinary name after all. The kind of name I could imagine writing on birthday cards. The kind of simple syllable I could imagine crying out as I shot my load.

Hi Steve.

You want me to model for you?

He re-crossed his legs as I looked up at him, inclining his head slightly. I wanted to close the gap between us and force those legs apart. I wanted to bite those pouting lips. I wanted to find out just what he had hidden under those pinstripes. I wanted to hear him whimper his need as I teased him mercilessly.

I typed,
When?

Tomorrow? I can come to yours.

I pictured him sitting on my bed, in just a pair of socks, his legs crossed primly while he sucked my cock. I wonder if he knew what he was letting himself in for.

We arranged a time for me to meet him at the station. I asked him to wear his brightest socks. He chuckled when he read that one, giving me a salacious grin.

I bounced around all day, not able to settle to anything. I counted the hours, then decided to go home early and give the flat a well-overdue spring clean, stopping at the local drapers to buy some fresh sheets. It was still a bit of a mess once I’d finished, but at least it was aired and most of the surfaces were presentable.

The last thing I did was change the bedsheets. I imagined pushing him down on his hands and knees. I wondered what he’d taste like when I licked the sweat from his back. When I swallowed his spunk. When I pushed my tongue inside him. I felt like I needed a cold shower. Instead, I took a pile of stinking clothes and bedding down to the launderette. While the machines turned slowly, I went out to buy a takeaway pizza and enough beer to stop my brain buzzing.

I still ended up having to wank myself to sleep.

***

I was down the station a full twenty minutes early, which was a miracle considering how long I’d spent in the shower and trying to figure out what to wear. In the end I threw on the same old painting clothes he always saw me in. It’s not like I had much choice in my wardrobe, and I figured Steve would have to take me as he found me.

The thought of him “taking me” made my head spin and my blood pound. At least the baggy T-shirt hid my arousal from the others waiting on the platform, even if it couldn’t conceal my twitching movements as I paced up and down.

I almost didn’t recognize him. He stepped in front of me, a different person with his crisp black jeans, tight red T-shirt, and tousled, curly hair. It didn’t really click until he smiled that lop-sided grin of his.

“
Hi, Jez.” He sounded confident, predatory, and I suddenly realized how little I knew about this Steve. He was taller than I’d expected, almost as tall as me, and he moved with a cat-like grace as he flicked a piece of gum into the bin beside me. Slightly slimmer than I’d guessed under the suit, but with the kind of arse that made me want to reach out and grab a double handful. I felt under-dressed, and way out of my league.

“
Hi.” I attempted a smile but my mouth didn’t want to co-operate. My hands started shaking so I shoved them in my pockets, trying to look nonchalant. “It’s this way. Come on.” I didn’t look back, but soon saw him from the corner of my eye, keeping pace with my strides.

“
I didn’t realize it would feel so much like the city this far out.” I could see him looking around, taking in the sari merchants and halal butchers squeezed in amongst the betting shops and pawnbrokers. I wondered how much he liked slumming it, and if he’d be shocked by the peeling paint and stench of mildew in my building.

“
Where are you from, then? The stockbroker belt?” I hated those stuck up little dormitory towns, nestled in their phony countryside of golf courses and riding schools.

He just chuckled, and although I wanted to shove him away for laughing at me, the sound got to me, somehow: made me want to hear it again, made me wonder if it would sound that good with my head resting on his chest.

“
Yeah, well, that’s where my folks moved a few years back. I had to move back in after uni. Just staying there until I’ve saved enough for a deposit somewhere closer to work. It’s not my sort of place, either. Much more interesting around here.”

He lived with his fucking parents. Christ. This was starting to feel like a huge mistake, but I couldn’t deny the pull he had on me. I decided to keep my mouth shut. I didn’t want to find out anything else that was going to upset my preconceived notions. I wanted to picture him as an unattainable stockbroker in his spacious designer apartment, not some office junior living with his folks.

Not someone I really could risk trying for.

***

“
Cup of tea? Coffee?” I offered, wanting to do something useful with my hands rather than watch him checking over my bookshelves with a smile I couldn’t interpret. He was probably laughing at my taste in pulp sci-fi and horror.

Steve turned around, eyebrows raised.

“
I’m fine, thanks. Let’s just get on with it, shall we? Got your pencils all sharpened?” He kicked off his boots and I caught a glimpse of day-glo blue, orange, and pink stripes before he distracted me by pulling his T-shirt over his head. I was arrested by the sight of him, the dark hair lightly sprinkled over the wiry frame, making a T-shape between his nipples and right down to the waistband of his jeans. Gulping hard, I wondered whether I should even bother with drawing him first.

Catching me looking, he gave a sly smile and started to unbutton his fly with maddeningly slow fingers, obviously enjoying giving me a show. Oh my God, his underpants! They were as bad as the socks. No, they were worse: ghastly, tight orange and lime stripy briefs that bulged enticingly and just shouldn’t have been so fucking sexy.

“
You want me to leave these on, too?” Steve asked, hooking a finger into the side and stretching them out so that they pulled even tighter against his dick.

“
Yeah, okay, uh, you sit there.” I indicated the armchair. “Just like you do on the train.” Shit, why hadn’t I asked him to take them off? I had to draw him now, all the time imagining what he had hidden away under those God-awful stripes. He was fixing me with a come-hither gaze that I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist for long. I wanted to ask him to look away, but my mouth seemed to be too dry to form any words.

It didn’t go so badly after all, because once I had the pencil in my hand everything else flew away, and my mind was absorbed in the task of translating the lines, curves, highlights and shadows of his body onto the paper. It was only as I was finishing, and I noticed him starting to fidget, that my cock began to stir and I wondered what would come next. I wasn’t sure that the fantasy version of events would work with the real Steve; I couldn’t picture him all innocent and submissive like I’d imagined.

“
Okay, I’m done. You can move now.” I stared down at the sketch as he got up and walked toward me. I could smell him as he stood over me, my breath hitching on the mixture of soap and musk with a bright tint of lemon.

“
That’s fantastic. Do you do this for a living, then?” He sounded genuinely impressed, and I tried to look him in the eye, but my gaze was snagged by the very obvious swelling in those dreadful briefs.

“
Yeah, look, I should pay you for the modeling.” I wanted to get it out of the way before anything else happened. I wouldn’t want him to think that I was paying for sex.

“
No need, it was my pleasure.” He flashed me that filthy grin again, stepping even closer so that he was standing between my legs.

“
I always pay my models,” I insisted, knowing that my capacity for rational thought was dwindling as my blood rushed south.

“
I’m sure I can think of some other way you could compensate me.”

With that, Steve hooked his fingers in either side of his briefs, pulling them down so that his cock pinged upward, thick, veined, and already leaking pre-come. I found myself salivating, reaching out to cup his buttocks with my hands and take that beautiful prick into my mouth. But I only got the tip of my tongue in contact before he pulled back with a shimmy and a chuckle, leaving me gaping like a fucking goldfish.

“
Hey, wait a minute. There’s no rush, is there?” Before I knew what had happened he was on his knees and we were kissing, his hands in my hair as mine roamed over his naked back. He tasted warm and welcoming, with a mere hint of mint lingering in his mouth. “I just love your hair,” he said between nibbles to my lower lip, tugging on my locks in a way that made me arch my head back, hissing. “It’s like a mane. Makes you look like some kind of wild-man.”

Steve fell on my neck, scraping the skin with his teeth and sucking up marks, his busy fingers tugging up my T-shirt. I helped out, pulling it off over my head and lifting my hips as he wrenched down my jeans. I found myself idly wondering at what point I’d lost control of the situation, but let’s face it, I’d probably never had it in the first place. But it felt right, somehow, and I went with it, asserting myself enough simply to grab hold of his hair when he swallowed my cock. This wasn’t how I’d imagined it, with me thrusting into his prim mouth and shocking him with my easy mastery. No, he was deep-throating me like a pro, one hand playing with my balls, the most delicious humming and moaning sounds escaping him.

Looking down at those long lashes against his cheeks, at those succulent lips wrapped around my cock was almost too much. I squirmed, panting, sweating, and desperately trying to hold back just for a little bit longer. He’d be leaving soon anyway, and I wanted to eke out this sweetness for as long as I could.

More than anything, I realized that I wanted to hold him and taste him. I wanted to see his expression and hear the sounds he made as he came. I pulled him off me, saying, “Please. Steve. Here.” Hooking my arms under his, I hoisted him up onto the sofa so that he was straddling me, and I could take both our cocks in one spit-slickened hand. I found his lips again. This time I could taste myself in his mouth, the flavors mingling in an exquisite cocktail. I felt his hand join mine, heard him moan, saw him pull away all flushed and sweaty, saw him gazing at me with shining eyes like he thought I was something special.