The Gas Man Cometh.
(With apologies to Flanders & Swann)
By
George Gardner
It was one of those days. For a start, it was Monday. Mondays are not good days at the best of times and this one looked like it was going to be a real stinker. I vaguely became aware that it was uncharacteristically cold in the house when I awoke. It didn't take long for the realization to dawn that the central heating had probably broken down. Well, it was November - when else would it break down? I struggled reluctantly out of bed, got dressed as quickly as I could at that time in the morning, and went downstairs to peer groggily at the boiler. Sure enough there was no sign of life. Even the pilot light had gone out. I tried the re-ignition procedure but the boiler stubbornly refused to light. Cursing under my breath, I rummaged under the stairs until I found the old electric fire I kept in case of just such an emergency and then dragged it through into the living room where I plugged it in and waited patiently while it fizzed and buzzed into radiant action. I fished the Yellow Pages out from its resting place under the sofa and looked up the appropriate section. When I dialled the number I was rewarded with a pre-recorded message informing me that I was in a queue and that my call would be answered as soon as an operator became free. It then began to play music at me. I had a quiet fume to myself as I waited. Don't you just loath these automated services?
After about five minutes of seriously distorted Beethoven a human voice came on the line. I explained my predicament. Was I a pensioner, the voice wanted to know? Or disabled? Children under school age at home? None of the preceding applied so it was established that I wasn't a priority. Freezing your bollocks off doesn't count if you're otherwise sound in wind and limb and unencumbered by offspring. Someone would call later in the day or, possibly, tomorrow if they got much busier. It's this cold snap, the voice explained. Really? Well, I'd never have guessed. I thanked it but I didn't mean it, hung up the phone and went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea.
With nothing much to do I turned on the TV and stared at it for a while. There's not much else to do with daytime TV. No point in engaging any cognitive functions as it's mostly mindless pap anyway. I daredn't go out as it was a raging certainty that if I did for as much as five minutes the gas man would have been and gone and left one of those "Sorry You Were Out" cards lying behind the front door. I wasn't looking forward to the visit as all the previous engineers I'd seen from the gas company had been rather disappointing in the attractiveness stakes being....... well, I mustn't be cruel. Let's just say they were not my type.
At all.
Not in a million years.
I'd go straight first!
Sorry about that........ .
I rattled about in the house until five thirty in the afternoon. I was bored out of my skull and more or less confined to the living room as that was the only place where it was warm. I had just about given up hope when there was a knock at the door. I leapt out of my chair and hurried to answer it before he had the chance to escape. It's amazing how fast these guys can write out a card, post it through your letter box and disappear.
There, standing on my doorstep, was possibly the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. My jaw nearly hit the deck when I saw him. This couldn't possibly be the gas man - no way! Or had hypothermia set in? No, he was holding up his ID card and he was definitely The Gas Man. He was tall, about 5' 10", and well built with short, dark hair and beautiful brown eyes. He was wearing a navy blue woolly pullover and those drab green military style trousers with lots of pockets and flaps and things. I let him in and sneaked a quick gape at his rear end as he passed me in the hall. It was just as gorgeous as the rest of him, nicely rounded and just begging to be patted. I directed him through to the utility room where the defunct boiler lurked. It wasn't even that old either. It had only been installed two years previously and it had had it's annual check-up six months ago. He plonked his tools down on the floor and removed the outer cover. I hovered around and savoured the sight of him.
"When did it conk out?" he asked, looking up at me.
"Just this morning," I replied. "It was okay last night but it hadn't lit when I got up today."
"Did you check the timer?"
I swallowed, embarrassed, because I hadn't. I went off and checked it but it was set correctly and the time it showed was right, too. Relieved, I went back and reported my findings to him.
"Okay," he said. " Let's have a look."
"D'you want a coffee or tea or something?" I asked as I suddenly felt I needed something to keep my hands occupied.
"Thanks. I could murder a cup of tea," he said, fishing a large screwdriver out of his toolbox.
As he set about the boiler I picked up the kettle and tried to get it under the tap to fill it. There wasn't enough clearance due the accumulation of washing-up in the sink. Washing-up day is Wednesday. Well, a single guy on his own doesn't need to wash up every day. I certainly don't. Call me a slob if you like but I'm clean enough to be healthy and mucky enough to be happy! There's something almost pathological in the tidiness of some gay men. Spotless homes. Ornaments arranged with geometric precision, that kind of thing. Me? Housework only happens to me when I can't avoid it any longer. Thank God I never inherited that tidy gene. But my home is one which is frequented by friends who consider it to be "welcoming" or "lived-in" or just plain "homey". They are straight friends, mostly of a married persuasion and therefore denied the luxury of Congenital Male Untidiness.
I redistributed the crockery in the sink enough to get the kettle filled and plugged it in to boil. There were some gruntings and metallic grating noises coming from the utility room so I poked my head around the door to have a look. The guy was lying on his back, full length on the floor, with his head under the front of the boiler. The thing should really have been mounted higher up the wall but the installers had had a problem with the flue outlet when it was fitted and, as a consequence, the unit was only a couple of feet off the floor. I gazed, enraptured, at the crotch of his trousers. They fitted him snugly and the bulge produced by his cock and balls was very appealing. I could also see that he had a nice, flat stomach and a broad, deep chest all of which conspired to make my temperature begin to rise. Sensations in my own trouser department warned that my temperature wasn't the only thing rising so I withdrew hurriedly before anything embarrassing happened.
The kettle finished boiling and I made two mugs of tea. Taking a deep breath, I walked through into the utility room. Bits of boiler were lying neatly laid out on the floor. A rather sooty face smiled up at me.
"Thanks, mate," he said as I handed him his mug. "This is a bit of a bugger."
"Is it bad?"
"Nah," he said. "The way they've mounted the thing is making it hard to get at the problem."
"Is this your last call?"
He nodded as he sipped his tea. "Yeah, thank God. Those arseholes who fitted these new systems want shooting for some of the bodge ups they've made."
"Been a lot of problems around here, then?"
"This is the fourth day in a row I've been out to one of these," he said. "They've all been down to bodged installation."
Good old British Craftsmanship, I thought. Gone the way of the dinosaur.
I sat down on an old kitchen stool which lived in the utility room and we chatted for a while as we drank our tea. His name was Brian, it turned out. He was thirty-six and he lived locally. I warmed to him as we spoke because, as well as being stunningly good-looking, he was also a nice guy. Quite a rare creature, beauty with depth. I always feel a bit guilty about leching after men who are outgoing and friendly with me - don't ask me why - and I was trying to be good. I'm quite a lot older than him, I reminded myself, and he's here to help me so stop lusting after what you can't have, you silly old faggot.
He finished his tea and got back to work.
"How long, do you reckon?" I asked
"About an hour, if we're lucky," he replied. "Are you in a hurry to go out?"
"No, nothing like that," I said hurriedly. "Just wondered."
I didn't mind at all. Having him around didn't half brighten the place up. I made a strategic withdrawal back to the living room and flopped down in front of the TV. The Simpsons were on BBC 2 so that kept me amused for a while. halfway through Farscape, which followed, I heard the pump on the heating system gurgle into action. I got up and went through to see if Brian had succeeded in his efforts. He was still lying half under the boiler but it was alight and roaring happily.
"That's got the bastard," he muttered.
"You've done it?" I asked.
"Looks like it," he said, still underneath.
I watched as he wriggled about as he made some final adjustments and then he slid out and sat up. His face was now covered in soot and sweat but this only served to make him look even more appealing to me. There was a strange, pained expression on his face for a moment.
"Oh shit," he said, screwing his eyes shut and lowering his chin almost on to his chest.
"What's wrong?" I asked. I wondered if he had hurt himself or something.
"Sorry, mate," he groaned. "I - I'm going to piss myself."
As he spoke I saw a small wet patch slowly spread in the crotch of his trousers.
"Oh shit!" he said again and then the patch grew rapidly, spreading down around his backside and, more slowly, up the front of his trousers. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I had never seen anything so stimulating in my life. I had a full hard-on by the time he got control of his bladder again and I just couldn't think of anything to say.
"I'm sorry," he said again, quietly ashamed. "I should've gone to the sodding loo an hour ago but I wanted to get done. I'll clean it up."
"Don't worry about it, Brian," I said. "Please."
He stood up and looked down at his sodden trousers. The wet fabric clung more tightly to him and I could clearly see the outline of his underpants and his dick through his trousers. His dick appeared to be partially erect, too.
"I haven't pissed my pants since I was twelve," he said. He looked straight at me and added. "It doesn't feel that bad either. Sort of horny."
I swallowed hard and gaped at him. He couldn't be - could he?
He placed his right hand on his dick and gave it a slow, firm stroke. He looked at me again. The front of my trousers was out like a pup tent.
"Looks like it's doing something for you, too, Alec," he said. "I'm game if you are."
Apparently he was. I was game. Was I ever.
"Er....what had you in mind?" I asked. "Sorry for staring but I've never seen anything like that before."
"Well, you get wet, too, and then we'll see what happens," he said with a grin.
Deliberately wet myself? Was he serious? Apparently he was. I knew some guys were into this but I'd never tried it. The sight of him pissing himself had turned me on, it's true, but would I be able to do the same? Brian hunkered down against the wall and watched me expectantly. I checked the bladder controls and found that, whilst there was sufficient content, the raging hard-on was probably going to prevent voiding. I though about my income tax return for a moment and my erection lessened. I perched myself on the old stool and let a little experimental spurt of urine leak into my pants. It wasn't enough to soak through my trousers but it did feel curiously good. I let some more go and this time a little wet patch appeared to let him see I was complying.
"Oh yeah," he breathed. "That is nice, Alec."
Encouraged by his reaction, I let go a good squirt which trickled between my legs and tickled my balls as it ran down to my backside. I looked over at Brian. He nodded and let some more of his own urine flow into his pants. This set me off and I let fly a huge jet which soaked my trouser front almost up to the waist. Brian got up and came and stood close to me.
"Let's do it together now," he said softly. "I want to see you piss in your briefs. Please?"
I didn't protest or resist as he undid my trousers and shoved them down. I stood up and let them fall to the floor. I stepped out of them and reached out for his belt. He smiled warmly at me as I undid it. I loosened the button at the waist and slowly slid down the zip of his fly. I pushed his trousers down and he, too, stepped out of them but not without a bit of help from me as he was still wearing his shoes which had to be removed first. That done, he gently put his hands on my waist and pulled me in tight against himself. Our semi-erect cocks came together through our soggy briefs. His were grey and very brief indeed. Mine were blue and less revealing. Both were soaking wet. He moved his head closer to mine and I realized that he was going to kiss me. I willingly let him and returned his kiss. As our lips met for the third time I felt the warm tickling as his cock pissed between us. It was an incredible sensation and I wallowed in it for a moment or two and then relaxed and let my own flow mix with his. By the time we were both empty our cocks were fully erect and straining. I leant back against the stool and let him stand between my legs. I reached out and gently cupped his balls in my right hand. He smiled warmly at me and placed his hands on my shoulders. I ran my hand along the length of his shaft and it thrust out even more strongly against my touch. It was the most amazing thing I had seen, his cock imprisoned in those, brief, grey, sodden pants. The fabric around it's head glistened where pre-cum was leaking into the cotton. He moaned softly and squeezed my shoulders gently.
"That feels so good," he whispered. "You're good at this."
"I've...er... well, truthfully, not had a lot of practice," I said ruefully. "Not like this."
I worked slowly but steadily on his cock. Us older guys have learned a thing or two - like not rushing at it and having it over too soon. I knew this wasn't going to last too long as we were both really fired up but there might be more later, if I was lucky. He placed his hands on my cheeks and leant down and kissed me again, with some real fire behind it. His tongue pushed gently between my teeth and I kneaded his cock a little harder. I knew he was about to come but I would draw it out as far as I could. He thrust gently against my hand as I stroked him and his kisses became more and more frenzied as he built to his climax. He was breathing heavily but I didn't increase the speed of my strokes until the very last minute. I felt his cock stiffening for the final release and only then did I stroke him hard and fast. He put his arms around my neck and clung on tight. I heard him breath in sharply and then his cock began to pulse inside his pants and I felt the warm semen run over my fingers as he shot his load. It was quite a load, too. When he stood back there was a long, whitish streak on the thin, grey material.
"Wow!" he said. "Oh God that felt good! Where did you learn to handle a dick like that, Alec?"
"Just experience," I said smugly.
"I don't think I'll be as good as you," he said, "but I'll do my best, mate."
He took my hands and lifted me off the stool. Then he turned us around and he took my place so I could stand between his legs this time. My dick was throbbing dangerously by this time and I knew I wouldn't last long. I told him this, hoping he wouldn't be disappointed.
"That's okay," he chuckled. "In or out?"
I didn't know what he meant at first but I quickly worked out that he wanted to know whether I wanted him to make me come in my pants or not. I was curious about this so I opted for "in". I adopted the position he had taken and he began to work on me. He was very gentle and, even though he had already come, he was still giving his all to me with the kisses and caresses. All too soon I felt the moment of no return approaching. He read the signs correctly and he did, in fact, manage to produce a crashing orgasm that nearly made me black out. My dick jerked again and again under his hand and my own semen almost matched his for volume. When I was fully expended he pulled me in close and hugged me warmly, gently stroking my back and raining little kisses on my face and lips. The guy was being really nice and I suddenly didn't want him to leave. Ever.
"That was great," he whispered. "I never felt like this before. You're nice, Alec."
"So're you, Brian," I said, ruffling his hair. "I like you," I added after a moment.
"Really?" he asked.
That was odd, I thought. He hadn't struck me as being in any way insecure.
"Yes," I said firmly. "Actually, I liked you before any of this happened. You're a nice fella, Brian."
"Thanks, Alec," he said quietly.
I ruffled his hair again.
"Okay, how about this, then?" I said. "We'll go upstairs and get showered. I'll lend you a dressing gown - 'cos none of my clothes'll fit you - then I'll run your trousers and pants through the washer and I'll get you something to eat."
He smiled shyly at me.
"That sounds nice," he said. "I better finish off putting the covers on that thing, too."
"You can leave that till tomorrow, can't you?"
"I could come back, I suppose," he said.
"Or," I said with all my courage, "You could stay."
He looked up at me and his beautiful young face was filled with uncertainty.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly as I thought I'd overstepped the mark with him. "I'm not trying to push you, Brian."
He looked down briefly and then he smiled up at me.
"I'd like that," he said. "I can't remember the last time anyone made a meal for me. All I usually get is a quick fuck and then bye-bye Brian."
I stared at him.
"You think guys'll be falling over themselves to get me," he said, "and you'd be right, Alec, but that's as far as it goes. Once I've done what they want that's it, they don't want anything to go any further. Maybe a few days later some guy'll think he'd maybe like to have me again and he'll come on to me and it'll be drinks on him, if I like, but I just tell him to sod off. I want more, Alec. I like sex, sure I do, and I'll go with a guy if I fancy him but I'm always hoping that, maybe this time, he'll want the same as me."
He paused and looked straight into my eyes.
"They never do, though. I don't give up anyway."
I put my hand on his shoulder.
"Don't give up, Brian," I said. "Maybe one day you will find the right guy. I thought I had, once. We were together for nearly six years. Then a younger model came along and........"
He put his hand on top of mine and squeezed it gently.
"Maybe I've already found him," he said softly.
"What? Me?" I chuckled. "I'm too old and crusty for you, my lad. Besides, how d'you know I'm any different from the rest?"
He looked up at me and his soft, brown eyes burned into my soul. "You're different," he said firmly. "You're being nice to me after the sex."
He rested his head against me and put an arm around me.
"Anyway," he went on, "It's up to me whether you're too old or crusty and I don't think you are. I want to be with you, Alec."
"But....."
"I'm not pushing either," he said with a soft laugh. "Let's just see what happens, shall we?"
I agreed to that with some mixed feelings. I'd been on my own for a long time. Would I take to having someone around me again? Oh well, time would tell. There was one thing I wanted to know, though.
"When you wet yourself," I said, "Was that really an accident or were you sounding me out?"
He smiled and looked away for a moment.
"It was really an accident," he said. "But when I saw you had a hard-on I thought, what the fuck? I liked you, Alec, as soon as I saw you or I wouldn't have come on to you. I mean that."
I believed him. And so he stayed that night and many more afterwards. We've been together now for ten years and I've never been happier. We play the wet game from time to time and our relationship has grown deeper and stronger as time has passed. Brian has been devoted to me and I, for my part, have loved and continue to love him with all my heart.
To those arseholes who installed the boiler - God Bless You, Chaps!
Copyright 2003 George Gardner