That first night, after getting some groceries and eating a quiche rewarmed in the microwave, he poured himself a glass of red wine and sat on a little chair next to the window. He had turned off the light on the table and was enjoying the restful sight of the greenery, that contrasted so much with the noisy traffic on the street side of the flat. After a while he heard some muffled laughter coming from somewhere below, and then he saw a couple of young men, boys really. They must have been nineteen years old. They were wearing jeans and dark t-shirts and each held a bottle of beer. They were joking and laughing and then one took off his shirt, followed almost immediately by the other. They sipped their beer and talked. George could not hear what they said. What do boys talk about at that age? Girls, cars, motorcycles...? At thirty-two he felt much older, a different generation. It would never have occurred to him, when he was their age, to get a tattoo, especially not such extensive tattoos. One of them, the blond, had an abstract pattern in dark blue or black ink all the way from his neck, over his shoulder and down his right arm to the elbow. The other had a large green lizard across his chest.
Their shirts were off because of the heat but also, George thought, just to show off their decorated bodies, which were, needless to say, also taut and muscular. Since he worked out regularly at the gym he knew that he was probably just as strong as they, but even so, a thirty-year-old body does not have the glow of such younger ones.
He sipped his wine and thought that it would be nice to be down there in the greenery. They had flopped down onto the grass and were leaning back against a lichen-covered squared stone that remained from some earlier building, perhaps, or had been the base of a sculpture now long-gone. George imagined the feeling of the cool stone on their bare skin. They had finished their beers and tossed the bottles into the ferns.
What happened next startled him. The boy with the chestnut hair reached over casually and without saying anything at all, leaned forward and bent sideways and started licking his companion's chest. The blond did not seem at all surprised, but instead put his right hand on his friend's head as if to urge him to continue. The brunette not only continued licking but reached down to the other boy’s crotch and began to caress the denim.
George felt a warm feeling in his own crotch. This surprised him and alarmed him a little, because as a straight man he didn’t think he’d be aroused by two boys together. Two girls, of course. That was his favorite. He had a large collection of videos of girls and women, some downloaded and some on DVD, back in his place in Boston. But he had never actually, in real life, seen two women make love. Kissing, yes, at parties, rarely. Now, though, he was riveted by the sight down below in the evening light.
Now the blond’s jeans were unzipped, and the other boy was stroking the white cotton briefs, grasping his friend’s erection through the fabric. In videos, George enjoyed very much seeing a girl’s fine hand press against the crotch of her partner’s panties, making a patch of damp appear. But the sight of an boy’s erection being caressed through the nubby white cloth was new and fascinating.
Was it the jet lag? It could mess with one’s mind, George thought. Or the prospect of being without his girlfriend Jennifer for two months? Or the wine? Or did he just feel somehow liberated by being in a new place? Something was making him feel very horny. He was far from home and no one could see him. His own hand was already feeling his erection through his chinos. His heart was beating harder, and it seemed to skip a beat when the brunette, who was now on his knees, grasped the elastic band, pushed the cotton down, and released the swollen cock, which spring to full attention.