Provincial South Wales. Nice scenery.Presumably this was why my best friend was choosing to marry here instead of at her home in Surrey. Plus her husband to be was Welsh. Always helps. Anyway, a joy for her to be able to have it in the rolling hills and valleys (I'd promised to try and not pronounce that word as if it were two: val-leys). Pain in the ass for me to drive. Have you tried the M4 on a Friday evening lately? Don't bother. You'll still be there at midnight.
It wasn't shy of that when I reached the hotel. I'd phoned her earlier outside Reading. And again outside Bristol. And Cardiff. I'd told her not to bother staying up to meet me and to get her some sleep before her big day and we'd meet up for breakfast. No problem there. All good. Found the place. Apparently it had a country-house feel. No idea. It was pissing it down and pitch black when I arrived. I grabbed my small case and my suit bag from the back seat and legged it into the lobby.
I checked in, deciding that either my flirting technique had crumbled, my gaydar was on the fritz or the blue-eyed night clerk had simply become immune to townie wankers. Either way, within ten minutes of signing my name I was asleep in a wonderfully expansive bed.
The next day it was exactly as you'd expect on a wedding day. Organised chaos with none of the organised. Luckily my girl and I were able to have some breakfast in peace – even if only because her mother was predating any hapless bearer of worry or stress. Alice looked serene. She always did, damn her. We held hands in silence for a while, no words needed to be said. She knew what I would say, and I knew what she'd say back. So just us and smiles.
But the morning moved on and she had to start the arduous task of prettifying and primping. I have to say, even as a GBF, the art of the war paint has always been lost on me. I've always thought that women look their best as natural as possible and not caked in an inch of slap. But what do I know? I prefer a hairy cheek to a powdered brow.
Despite nominally being 'chief bridesmaid' (ho ho), I only really had to turn up at the church. Everyone else had a pre-emptive role. Not me. Straight onto centre stage. So I made my way back to the room, taking a few minutes here and there to admire the dark wood of the stairs or an old timber or read a plaque under a painting. Back in my room I wondered idly if I'd manage to get laid this weekend. I knew some of Alice's other gay friends were coming down – but they were all solid committed couples. Good for them. I rather fancied some Welsh beef. No idea if the grooms lot included any or if I'd be relegated to a visual buffet. If so, I could pass some time with some self-administered attentions.
Before I did, I thought that I'd best let my suit out of its bag and let it breathe a bit. Or was that wine? Anyway. I unzipped and pulled out the dark fabric. The only place to hang it really was on the coat hook on the back of the door. All good. Belt, check. Bowtie, check. Dress shoes, check. Jacket, check. Waistcoat, check. Trousers … No check.
You know that feeling you get where it feels like your stomach is sinking through the floor but the contents feel like they might rise upwards all at the same time? Yep. That's the one. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Double check the suitbag. Double check the case. I ran out to the car. No trousers. I looked at my watch. 10:45. I only have to get to a shop. Ideally just trousers. I didn't particularly need a whole new suit. Dammit. I ran back to reception. Night clerk was nowhere to be seen (rather obviously). Instead a wide-eyed girl was behind the desk.
“Hi. I'm in a bit of an emergency. Where's the nearest clothes shop?”
“Sorry?” Her voice was milk-maid cute.
“I need to buy a pair of trousers.” I saw her look down at my legs which were clearly not naked. “For the wedding. Today. Here. This afternoon.”
“Oh. Righto. Well ...” She launched into a potted geography of the local area, punctuated with snippets of her own very local history and that of various neighbours, school friends and family members. Eventually she disgorged that there was a gentleman's outfitters in the small town about fifteen minutes away. I thanked her and left, texting Alice, knowing that it'd make her laugh. Her response seemed to suggest that it did.
I screeched out of the car park and, following a mixture of landmarks mentioned by the receptionist and vague half-rotted sign posts I made it. Small high street. My mum would love it. Proper shops. Hardly any major chains. Certainly no Starbucks or Pret A Manger. I found the place alright, opened the door and stepped in. Or maybe I should say stepped back in time … It was like something from my childhood. Hell, it was like something from my grandparents' childhood.
Over to my right stood a long low counter, glass-fronted. There were shelves of shirts, gloves, even braces and what looked like garters. The smell … It smelt ageless and timeless, but slighty sweet. Something deeply masculine. I felt my crotch twitch slightly. Oh yeah. Old Father Time was standing behind the counter, a white tape measure across his shoulders, his attention fully focussed on whatever it was he had laid out on the counter.
I cleared my throat, and he looked up, startled.
“Excuse me, I need to buy some plain black formal trousers. They're for a wedding. Today. This afternoon.”
He nodded once and, without speaking, went for a collection of trousers hanging from a rail. He eyed me once, somewhat speculatively and handed them to me.
“May I try them on?” As much as I'd like to trust his olde worlde time-honoured experience of eyeing up customers and selecting a perfect fitting item for them, I was damned if I'd let him have one over on me.
He gestured toward a door at the back of the shop. “Yoreth!”
For a moment I was expecting something Lovecraftian, but then the door opened and … wow. I wanted Welsh beef and I had it in all its glory. Picture the descendant of miners, bred from men honed by nature to hew rock from the very belly of the earth. Picture him free, straight-backed, bathed in sunlight, full of glory and pride and confidence you could bounce steel off.
“Hi. Please, come through.”
His voice was oddly soft, his accent lilting, his manner stopping just short of deferential.
I nodded to the old man who harrumphed and went back to his books. Moving toward Yoreth I couldn't help but look him up and down, and up and then down again, trying not to wonder at what might lurk in the centre of those black trousers.
“Sorry, he's not very cheery at the best of times.”
As we passed through the doorway into a smaller room, a kitchen at one end and two curtained off stalls at the other, I continued. “Is it the strangers in a small town thing?”
Yoreth laughed. “Possibly. He's just … well, odd.”
“Relation?” I was damned if I could see a resemblance.
“Great uncle. Family business. I'm the only boy left.”
I grinned. “No pressure there then.”
He smiled right back, laying his eyes on top of mine. “I doubt I'll be giving anyone another generation, either.” Oh?
He obviously saw the expression on my face and nodded. Oh.
I grinned and held up the trousers. “Well, I suppose I really should try these on.”
“You don't mind if I, uh, stick around in case you need any, uh, further assistance, do you?”
“I wouldn't want to stop you from getting a good handle on things.”
He winked and stepped forward. Without warning he pushed his hand into my already swelling cock and groped it hard. I reached up and pulled him into a firm kiss. His mouth met mine and parted, allowing our tongues to duke it out fiercely.
I could feel the hunger in him almost as much as I could feel his arousal jabbing into me. Everything seemed to be built on the same proportions as the rest of him and I slid my hand from his neck to his chest and down to his belt.
He moaned slightly and pulled away. “Wait … wait just a second.” He stepped backwards, and peeked through the door before closing it. He straightened, but didn't move any closer to me. Instead he slowly began unbuttoning the white shirt he was wearing.
Button by button more skin became visible. Hairy, defined pecs gave way to his rippled stomach and the start of the Adonis lines the closer he came to his hips.
He unflicked his belt, pulled and released it before gently unclasping the waistband of his trousers. Down he pushed the zip and down he pushed the black material.
I wasn't wrong. What was clearly outlined by the soft cotton fabric of his boxers would make any size queen squeal. I'd like to add that I'm not, and that I didn't. But within seconds I was in front of it, kissing its head, feeling the heat under my lips before engulfing its thickness.
Although the boy was hung, and built like a Norse god, he clearly had virtually no experience with men. In what felt like minutes he started trembling and I heard his breathing become hitched and frantic.
I'd barely got started and already he was about to finish. I pulled myself off of his glorious cock and stood, not allowing my body to touch his until his panting had calmed down.
“That's just a taster.”
“Huh?” His eyes were almost crossed, his cheeks flushed and hot.
I risked sliding my hand down his sweaty chest and gently cupped his balls. “You want more?”
He nodded, dumbly.
“You free tonight?”
He started to open his mouth, his lips twisted downwards. I increased the pressure on his balls and repeated my question.
He nodded again.
“Holston Hall. You know it?”
“Good. I'll be there. I want you to think about that, think about me. Then tonight meet me there.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “Just come to the damn house. Come and find me. And then … we can continue what you started.”
Before he could respond I leaned into him, thrusting my tongue into his mouth again, making him taste the flavour of his own cock. I was desperate to fuck this Welsh stud, but I wasn't going to let him know how it was going to turn out.
“I can count on you, right?”
Another silent nod.
“Good. Now I need to get back to the wedding. You might want to get dressed. Although its a damn shame to cover that body up.”
He stepped back, rebuttoning and fixing and tucking in, all whilst looking at me, almost staring me straight in the eyes.
“Shit, you're beautiful, Yoreth.”
I saw him smile a little. Of course he knew that. He'd known it for years. But, hey, I'm a great believer in greasing the wheels. As well as other things.
“I'll take the trousers. They'll do. Besides, I only have to wear them until you arrive and take them off.”
I moved toward the door, trousers slung over one arm, but I was careful to hold them in front of me, certain that Great Uncle Buck out there wouldn't appreciate seeing my hard on stretching at my jeans. Or maybe he would. Who knows.
“Yeah?” One hand on the handle, I paused and turned back toward him.
“I don't know your name. Who do I ask for?”
He almost exploded.
I couldn't contain the laugh.
“I'm kidding. I'm kidding!”
Finally he let out another booming laugh. “Jesus. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“You're going to be a lot of fun. Come here.”
We kissed again, but I felt my pocket vibrate. And continue vibrating.
“Hello? Yeah. Forgot my damn trousers. No, I found exactly what I was looking for. Mm-hmm. Coming back now. Sure. See you soon.”
“Mmm. My best friend. She'll just love you.”
His eyes widened. “She will, huh?”
“I have to go. Do I see Willard about paying?”
“Will- Oh. Yes. He'll sort you out.”
“I doubt it.”
I paid, received my trousers but no smile or any further word, and left the shop.
Idly, I wondered if Yoreth would show up tonight. I was hoping so.
I was looking forward to making him squeal.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than Lushstories.com
with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.