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The Lonely Eyes

A short, first attempt at this genre for me. Forgive me if it's not perfect
I don’t remember all of it, as my first time went fast and hard, but I do remember the thrill and the passion and the insane ecstasy.

I’d known about my orientation from an early age, I knew in my heart that I was not meant to love women, but that didn’t mean I didn’t yearn for those long, drawn-out romances that one often saw on the silver screen. And it certainly never occurred to me that I would give something as significant as my virginity away on a one-night-stand, as archaic as that sounded, but I felt different and I liked doing things differently.

I hadn’t even registered his name, but I did register the scrape of his rough hands against my sensitized skin, and I did register the emptiness in his eyes as he held me close. I’d met him at some bar in Hackney, one of those places that I was often warned against entering, but for some reason- be it fate or just a burning need for a little recklessness- I went in anyway.

He occupied the corner seat, right up against the wall. His face was tired, his posture resigned, and I could almost feel the melancholy radiating off of him as he nursed some foul drink. He must’ve been at least ten years older than I was then, but to my teenaged mind and body, his broad shoulders and distinctly masculine face were irresistible.

The dating game obviously wasn’t new to him, but he seemed hesitant, as if disbelieving as I cautiously took the seat next to him. I observed a lighter band of skin around his left ring finger, and gave him a grin, which was returned at half the intensity.

“Sam,” I said, holding out my hand.

“Liam,” he replied, taking it. His grasp was strong and his hands work-worn. Based on his attire, I would’ve guessed that he was a construction worker of sorts, the type that spent the day coated in hot sweat, lifting work materials and was probably strong enough to pin anyone he wanted to a bed and fuck their brains out.

Up to this point, I hadn’t really considered the ‘what if he wasn’t queer’ question yet, but based on his apparent interest, I wasn’t going to question what I hoped was sincere interest.

We chatted a little, and I was right- he was a construction worker, recently divorced and beaten down by the economy, the typical middle-aged sort who felt like life had little to no meaning any more. I returned his dead pan comments with a cheerful spirit that surprised even me, but they were fueled by the baritone laugh that would escape him whenever I said something especially funny.

He got me a few drinks, and by the time we were leaving the bar, I was leaning against him for support. The blood was rushing in my ears, and I remember we stopped a few times for hot, groping kisses behind parked cars and street corners.

After he let us into his small apartment, I vaguely noticed how neat it was, and then I was partly-led, partly-carried, partly-dragged into a bedroom where an unmade cot sat invitingly in a corner. We fell onto it in a heap, his hands all over me, grabbing at buttons and zippers, clumsy with passion, lips hot and red from the kissing and nipping. I was divested of my clothes faster than I could ever remember being undressed, and then his weight was poised right above my naked body, hands wandering everywhere. My breath came in gasps, words were beyond any capability, and I could only tip my head back and groan pleasurably when his mouth found my nipples, drawing them into the hot, wet confines of his mouth, tugging and pulling them till I was thrusting my hardness against his in desperate frustration.

Foreplay past in a blur, it could have taken an hour and I would have been none the wiser, but I could just barely remember soft pleas breaking from my lips, wanting more from him, all from him. Before long, he had me on my front, warm hands applying something cold to my behind, his cock sheathed in a rubber condom sliding haltingly into my tight, previously untouched entrance. His rough hands were rubbing up and down my sides, sending shivers everywhere, one of them going up to grip my left shoulder hard, leaving marks and making me whimper some more.

“Shh… shh…,” he whispered. His right hand tipping my head sideways, lips coming back to mine to keep me quiet and direct my attention from the burning pain at my hole. The attention was sweet and tender, he knew exactly what I needed and he gave me that, waiting a while for me to get used to it.

When I did, he went hard, his hips snapping to life, driving the thick column of his cock deep inside me. All I could do was hold on tight to the sheets and scream as the thick head of his cock slammed against that spot deep inside me and made sparks flash behind my closed eyelids.

“Yeah boy, fuck… you’re so tight… fu-fu-fuck…” His raspy, breathless words were moaned against my ear, stoking the fire in my cock, and my hand went down to jack it quickly. I felt the pre-cum spewing from my slit, and I felt the pressure building up inside me, I knew I wouldn’t last long.

“Ungh! Ungh- I’m gonna cum…I’m g-gonna-!” I shrieked, and I felt my cum literally being fucked out of me, as his pistoning dick continued slamming into my clenching asshole.

My young body had never experienced such intense sensations of pleasure and pain before, and I passed out cold.

The next morning, I woke up to this foreign environment, feeling confused and dazed and as I sat up, I felt the sting between my legs and the wet spot on the bed where I’d come. I looked around for my absent lover, but only a small envelope on his pillow showed any sign of him. A neatly written ‘Sam’ on the front indicated that its intended viewer was me.

Inside, I found about a hundred and fifty quid in ten and fifty pound notes, and a letter.

Dear Sam, thank you for the lovely night. I would’ve loved to wake up with you, but I had work. You’ve breathed some life back into me, and I just wanted to let you know that I feel grateful, even if it was just business for you. Come back to the bar sometime, I’m definitely up for seconds. - Liam. (P.S. help yourself to any food in the flat, and there’s some coffee in the pantry too).

I stared, slightly dumbfounded, at the letter for a moment, then back at the money in the envelope. My mind instantly put two and two together, and my jaw dropped as I realized he thought I was an actual gigolo!

My face flushed red, and I couldn’t decide whether I should feel offended or not by this development. In the end, I got out of bed and dressed – gingerly – and went on a search around Liam’s flat for a spare pen.

Dear Liam,

It was a lovely night for me too, but I just wanted to let you know that it was a first for me, and I’m not what you think I am. I just happened to walk into the bar when you were there last night. I hope I can see you again, it was a special night for me. Love, Sam.

I added my phone number and email as well on the back of his letter, then I left it as well as the envelope with the money on his dining table. Then I picked up my coat and shut the door of Liam’s flat behind me. His landlady gave me a weird look as I exited the building, but I couldn’t care any less. Last night had been great, and I couldn’t wait to see Liam again.

Sadly though, I never did hear from him again, but I have gone on to find love, heartbreak and lots of great sex in between since that first encounter with a man with lonely eyes.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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