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Even The First - PART TWENTYTWO
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Even The First - PART TWENTYTWO
I felt like I'd spent a lifetime waiting. I'd done a wash, for the sheets. I was pretty bored. I was going to cook dinner but there wasn't much to cook with, and anyway Vince said he'd phone out. I'd been for a short walk. I went to the park and worked out on the frames there. Then I'd jogged about a bit, hoping I wouldn't see anyone who knew me.
I didn't.
When eventually Vince did come home I was by the door, ready to pounce! and I was all over him and he was all over me. I don't know which of us was more frantic. We'd been in contact all day and telling each other what we were going to be like. So when Vince got in we were both ready for it and we were both ... just really really up for it. When I pushed my hand down the front of his suit and found his cock fat with juice and his pants slimed with precum.
Vince gripped my chest with incredible strength, fondling my tit forcefully like it was a woman's breast whilst fucking me, blowing his smokers breath, his stomach tense and rippled and his buttocks pressed right together to purchase the maximum penetration. I could feel his hard deep up me and when he came I could feel his warm jizz pumping through it like a petrol nozzle set to fill the tank. As usual, he was vocal when he screwed, talking dirty and then crying out to god when he orgasmed.
When the Indian meal arrived Vince wrapped a towel round his waist, though his prick still showed through it, and answered the door. He handed the food to me and I took the brown paper bags through to the kitchen to lay it all out whilst he paid.
We sat at the table with silver-foil trays of Indian strewn about in front of us ... the way Vince dug into the naan bread, baring his teeth like a wolf! Those teeth had been biting me ... biting me repeatedly, my shoulders, my nipples, my neck, my legs - whatever was nearest his head - whilst we were fucking.
We ate and ate, largely in silence. When the food was all gone we were that full we couldn't move! We just sat there letting it all bump it's way down into our stomachs. Vince had a beer and I had a coke to help it move along. We were both sweating and quiet. There was sweet yoghurt for afters. When that was done we just went to the sofa and snogged; I straddled him, rubbing my hardon against his, but frankly, we weren't up for it. We weren't tired; we were just too full up to.
He stopped me molesting him shortly after I started, and held out his left arm for me to curl into.
"S'convenient, y'know, you being here. S'like having a fantasy boyfriend: Always there. Always up for it. Always waiting. So ... there's no rush. I could get used to this!"
He lit a cigarette. It was quite an operation. First, with his left arm round me, he leaned forward to pick up the pack which he put in his other hand just next to my ear. Then he took one out and threw the pack back down on the table and leaned forward to pick up his lighter. Each time he leaned forward I had to lean forward as well, pulled by his arm, his strong inflexible bicep against my neck. With his right hand now holding the lighter he transferred the cigarette from his left hand to his mouth, brushing my nose accidentally.
"Sorry babes," he said. "Didn't mean to."
Then he lit up, dragging in and puffing our fast and repeatedly til the bright tip was well established. That only took a second. Then he threw the lighter down and grabbed the cigarette out of his mouth and held it, resting his hand on his thigh. He inhaled the smoke from his mouth to his nose, like he did, again, then, turning to kiss me, blew it out into my face. It caught me by surprise. I coughed and coughed, until I had to sit up and really cough it out. We both laughed but I said, "Why'd you do that?"
"Sorry man," he said. "That was stupid. You ok now?"
I nodded.
"I won't do it again. Sorry. D'y'think I smoke too much?"
"I think it's sexy," I said, even though I was red-faced.
"Tha's good," said Vince, taking another drag and puffing the smoke away from me to one side, "'c's I don'think I'm g'nr stop."
"Why?"
"I like it too much. Why would I stop doing something I like? Like I'd stop doing anything I like. Like I'd stop doing you! Wouldn't make any sense."
I leaned back into the couch of his arm, averting my face when he took yet another drag.
"But what about all that fitness thing," I said, "the peak of physical performance thing, for kickboxers?"
"Yeh. That. ... I don't get too obsessed."
"But ... I mean ... you are pretty obsessed ... aren't you?"
"Well how'd'y'mean?"
"Well, there's the poster and all that training, and ..."
"What else?"
"... nothing, I guess."
I felt stupid. I didn't want to reveal that I had been looking around and trying on his glittery kickbox shorts.
"A'have to admit though I'm not used to eatin'like this."
"Don't you like the food?" I said. "Wasn't it what you like? What are you used to eating?"
"Basically, less," said Vince, "and in any case, you're the one who's fitness obsessed."
"I just keep myself ... yeah I suppose you're right!"
We laughed.
Vince stretched and burped.
"I can't move," he said.
I changed my position. I was getting cramp.
"The army must've made you fit."
"It did," I said. "I mean, I remember thinking I was already so athletic, then they take you and put you through this course and you almost die and you think, I'm going to die. It's a shock." We laughed. "Then you realise you've got this superb development and then, when you walk down the street, you feel like, man, I can do anything. I can endure anything. I can beat anyone in a fight; anyone I choose. And everyone can sense it and they give you all this respect. It's brilliant."
"And they teach you all that?"
"All that what?"
"You know what; stuff."
"What are you getting at?"
"Could you kill a man?" he said.
"Certainly."
"Have you ever killed a man?"
"No knowingly. How'bout you, in one of your fights?"
"No, I've never killed anybody."
"Not even close?"
"I've kicked the shit out of a few."
"How many?"
"Lost count!" said Vince with a broad smile.
"D'you enjoy it?"
"Yeh, I guess. I like kickbox; that's why I do it."
"Makes sense," I said, stupidly.
"So was you fully trained like all the rest?" continued Vince.
"Sure. There's basic. Everyone has to be operational 'ncase needed and ... I went on rec's."
"So you had a gun and went out shooting it."
I laughed. "I guess. Why d'you ask?"
"Just interested, how someone like you got into something like that. Did you want to fight?"
"Not much."
"So, what?"
"I wanted a job, like anyone."
"Yeh but it's not any job."
"It's secure."
"Not if you get shot!"
"I didn't think of that. I ... liked that I'd be fit and with a bunch of men and if nothing happened I'd be paid and if something did happen ... well ... you know."
"You'd be dead. Or paraplegic."
"No ... I mean, I'd be, like, a hero. And people would, look up to me, wouldn't they? Respect."
"That kinda makes sense," said Vince.
"Yeah, but it turned out not. I was wrong. Cs in the end ..."
I paused and held my breath. I felt my face contort, like the surface of a puddle distorted by a breeze.
Vince stroked my hair and I felt his breath, like he was breathing for both of us, and I realised that he was saying, "sshhh," soothingly, like I couldn't speak.
And then he said, "Hey man, I'm sorry."
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END OF Even The First - PART TWENTYTWO