When I Lost

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When I Lost _ PART FIVE

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When I Lost _ PART FIVE

My father once told me a great piece of advice, "You should never feel pity for what you eat."

He was so right.

I loved my father - though he was straight, obviously.

Never feel pity for what you eat! That makes so much sense. You might read it as, "Don't eat anything you might have pity for," a vegetarian credo. Or, "No regrets; just do what you want," a 'who dares wins' mindset. I like to think of it to mean, "Give it to the cunt. Don't hold back." I don't tend to feel pity. If it hurts, it hurts; that's not my problem. If it didn't want it to hurt then it shouldn't have got itself impaled on my thick hard meat. Stands to reason.

My Dad was such an insightful fella. He knew stuff and how useful it would be to his son some day. That's what I like to think.

"It's like BBQ: Don't like the smell of BBQ? Don't BBQ!" That's another of his sayings. He was a strong character and I always knew he wanted me to inherit that. He didn't like whining or self-pity. He used to say, "Do you believe in the power of prayer? Well I don't. It's bollocks." That was his religion.

I loved my Dad. We fell out later, cs he was straight, but I really loved him. I mean, he was a fucking idiot.

"Don't be fair; keep control." - Dad again. He didn't think life is fair. It's not available. We just pretend it is, sometimes, just to persuade ourselves for long enough to get the job done. Everything serves a function and once it's served its function it can be dispensed with. I guess that's why we fell out, once I didn't need him. I guess he understood that. He never said anything; once I stopped speaking to him, he never tried to contact me. To be honest, I don't know if he's still alive. Mum's dead, obviously. She went first. She died in the spring after I was born, so I never knew her. Dad never said much on that score. I think I asked when I was little. Dad said she was an angel now. I didn't ask again, because if she was an angel, well, that was settled wasn't it? It was as if she's never really been alive.

Dad had several brothers. One of them, Dan, had a habit of running up and picking me up and throwing me around like a ball. Once he even did actually throw me - we were on a beach and there was a piece of string which served as a net. He threw me over it and another brother caught me. Just like a ball. I didn't like that and I started to cry but they carried on until they got bored, which was quick.

The brothers were often around. Dad liked to hang out with them. They liked it because it was away from their lives (which I don't remember much about). When they were together they'd laugh and fight like they were still kids at play. I was in the middle. They treated me like I was a small version of one of them, like a pet, sort of. They made jokes I didn't get.

When I told him I was gay Dad just laughed. "Tell it to the marines!"

I still don't know what that meant.

We didn't mention it again.

The brothers had all moved on by then and we were living together, alone.

I moved on soon after.

I never heard from him once I'd left.

•

"What do you want me to do?" - David asked me that a day or so after I'd fisted it.

We were walking in the park. David had been running. It could throw handstands and all that. I was impressed. I loved having a boyfriend who was like that; all physical, and intellectually, well, stupid. I'd decided David was no genius, and I'd decided that I liked that. I liked that - Jack liked that.

I snapped back, "Do? What can you do? What can I do? You don't want me to do what I want to do."

"I don't want your fist up me, I said, cs I just don't want permanent damage!"

"Permanent damage? I'm not going to do permanent damage."

David scoffed. "Pull the other one! I can tell you'll just go on pushing me further. I know you. You'll say, Just a bit further. I'll end up in hospital answering embarrassing questions... you don't care."

"Oh now I can see where we're going," I said. "This is where you say I don't care about you and then you ditch me! Is that how it is?"

"Do you care?"

"Of course. Do you?"

David hugged me tight. "Of course I do."

I didn't believe David, but it didn't matter one way or another: I hugged it back; this was mine now, for as long as it lasted. I just knew I didn't want to share it with anyone. That was my bottom line. If David ever went with anyone then that's us finished. I don't put up with any shit like that.

Perhaps I should have told him.

•

There's a small piece of open space near where I live, a little crescent-shaped area where there's some grass and a low wall surrounding a few seats. There's a public toilet and some bushes. The bushes are all full of rubbish. It's quite bad. There's bottles and tissues and old porn mags and condoms and bits of cardboard, bits of wood and other packing. I often find a piece of clothing there as well. Tshirts often seem to get left, underpants, jackets. People just chuck anything down. I quite like seeing what they throw away. I like to see what they have left, and I think, I wonder what happened here?

Now when I go back I always remember what happened, and I just retch. It makes me literally sick. I remember the flies buzzing about. I remember entering the toilet on the men's side. I don't know why I went in; I knew what it was like: Pretty foul. I wanted a piss, I guess, though it was better to piss in the bushes outside. I guess I'm not being honest.

The smell was pretty bad. I don't remember exactly; when I go back there to take a look it's always the smell which brings it all to life; the smell of animals and people and rotten food and shit.

Past the entrance, the first thing you see is the wide steel urinal, permanently filled with a pool of dark orange liquid, cigarette ends posed together round the drain. Down its dull surface, stained yellow and green, a constant dribble of water runs in narrow courses from the dark flush pipe along the top, occasionally these burst into a more energetic flood which threatens to spread the swill from the channel all over the floor.

There's two cubicles.

The light is quite strange because it flows in from a continuous stripe of murky windows above head height, just below the ceiling. It gives the place a treacly colour, and a dinginess that seems to affect time, slowing down your movements.

I stepped up to the channel carefully, on my toes to avoid getting too much of the mess on my shoes, opened my flies, and got Jack out. He was quite excited. I peed - I just about managed - folded him back and pushed him down. Then I turned to wash my fingers.

There's a sink fixed to the end wall. A piece of polished, but nevertheless opaque metal, attached above the sink, serves as a mirror, or would if it had ever been ever wiped. A thick curl of dried phlegm stuck to it.

The sink itself was relatively clean.

There's a single chrome tap with a large button on top which releases a huge rush of cold water for a few seconds when pushed, usually splashes your front, and then it stops before you have properly rubbed your hands. Very annoying.

When the tap stopped, I heard a noise, a shuffling noise that came from inside one of two cubicles. I knew, from previous visits when I had curiously investigated their possibilities, that none of the doors locked, but they were both shut.

I pushed one with my fingernail. Inside was a wreck. The cistern had lost its lid. The toilet had no seat and it was obviously blocked: dank piles of used paper filled the pan. The roll on the wall itself was empty, and underneath it was a large hole into which more paper had been stuffed.

I almost retched but Jack was interested. Jack liked the smell of what other men had done here. My trousers were tightening round my buttocks due to Jack hardening up and pressing-out the front. That's a feeling I like.

I could tell the cubicle next-door was occupied. I could hear something: a weird silence within which there seemed to be a quiet, expectant, breathing sound.

I worry about things not being right.

I pressed on the second door with the tip of my finger. It swung open easily. I was looking at the broad big black-leather jacketed back of a man standing in front of the toilet. He had late-shaved, dark hair. His thick legs spread and his hips pushed forward in the way that guys do when they are pissing, or getting some. As he pushed rhythmically his boot heels rose momentarily. His right arm extended up and his hand spread on the wall so that he could steady himself, jacket splayed out like a dark wing. His other hand was on the head of a guy who was sitting on the bog, blowing him.

The man half turned to see me. He was bearded. His look of irritation should have been enough to make me withdraw quickly, but as he turned I could see the blonde hair and pale face of the guy giving the blow job. David - I immediately knew. As the man turned, David leaned forward, desperately trying to keep contact with the man's dickhead. David's eyes were on the man's dick solely, and didn't look at me. David only cared about the man's dick, tongue outstretched, grasping the man's ballsack, which hung outside his jeans, to pull him back. One hand curled around the man's right buttock with a forceful grip.

The man looked at me, "Gi's space mate... " - I was dumbstruck - "You'll have your turn."

I backed out. The man pushed on the door and closed it in my face with a bang.

David was a fuckaround.

The noise was more insistent now, as the dark-jacketed man got closer to his climax. I could hear the familiar licking grunts of David's mouth servicing him. I thought it would soon be over, but then I heard some more noise and more grunting. I went to the other cubicle and climbed up on the bog.

The smell was appalling. How could they do it in that stench? But then, I knew David. I knew what he was like.

Now I had a birdseye view:

Now the man was fucking it, my David turned to face the wall, bent forward over the seat, shirt pulled up over a smooth white back, trousers pulled roughly down, white bottom exposed, one hand wanking, the other held out to the cistern for support. His golden hair was shaking. The man pumped it hard for several seconds, holding the buttocks, or holding the waist.

It was rough fucking, and David, bracing on the cistern and walls, took it hard, moaned repeatedly, "Oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah..." on and on and on and on - just like he did with me.

I couldn't see the cock sliding in and out because the man's head was in the way - I was looking at his scalped dark hair - but I could see the way David reacted with each push and how much David was loving it. My David.

Now can you see how it happened?

For christsake.

I mean, I like it when we're together, but this ... just made me sick.

Obviously he wasn't looking up so he didn't see me and he was grunting so much I knew he wasn't thinking, "ohh where's my boyfriend?" He was totally enjoying the screw and, as the bloke fucked him more and more insistently, slapping his cold hard buttocks from time to time, I could tell from his breathing and his rythmn, he was cumming inside David's cute arse pretty soon.

The bloke started groaning and giving it to David harder and more quickly until suddenly he stopped, moaned loudly, held it in hard and then pumped it once slowly, pushing it back in as deep as it would go and let it empty its load into David.

I got down from the toilet, plucked the wad of bogroll out of it's hole in the cubicle wall and crouched to spy on the view. I saw the bloke's dick flip out of David's cute backside and David pull his pants back up. The bloke disappeared and David turned so that I was looking at his fly. Kind of without thinking I banged on the wall and poked my finger through the hole to attract his attention. He started to bend down. I stood up, releases my fly and let Jack out. Jack went through like a ferret. I felt David's cool palm wrap round, then his hot lips and tongue. He gave Jack a good one.

When I cum I shot it over his face I think. Jack was really grateful for the attention. I felt David licking and sucking Jack completely clear of all the juice my balls had to offer. I recognised the work of his beautiful mouth. When he kissed it I recognised his hardworking lips. Jack vomited. I almost cried out. Then I pulled Jack back through the gloryhole, covered in David's spit. I zipped and left quickly, before David had a chance to see me. I didn't want him to know.

"Cubicle's free!" I mumbled as I left. There was an unhappy-looking guy in tight trousers and a bomber-jacket loitering by the door. I wondered just how many unwashed cocks like mine David would be servicing today.

When I got back to my place I was still angry. I wanted to break up with him, but Jack didn't seem to agree. Jack was angry, but horny angry, hard angry once the cum had built up in my balls again, which was real quick. Fact, I was waiting for David to come home to fuck him into kingdom come, not because he deserved it, but because Jack was that excited it just had to be done.

•

I woke in some pain from my hardon which seemed to be more rigid than I had ever experienced it and Jack truly ached from the duration it had been like that. I had fallen asleep in front of the telly - how tragic is that? - and I was hungry as well as aching for a fuck. David was supposed to be home. I wondered what he'd say he'd been doing. I looked at the clock and then considered wanking - if he wasn't home soon I might have to. Eventually he did come in and Jack was at him like there was no tomorrow. David showed no signs of fatigue. He let me pile-drive into his face and then obediently assumed the position. When I left him, my cum was dribbling out of his raw hole and he was collapsed in a heap.

"You ok?" I said.

He didn't answer.

"You ok? I said," I repeated.

He still did not respond.

"Are you going to answer?"

"What?" he said at last. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine." He smiled. "What about you?"

"I'm great," I said.

"That's good," he said.

I can't control myself when I'm angry. Everyone knows that. But I did my best to remain calm when he went all distant like this. I really, wanted to challenge him, demand to know what he had been like doing; demand to know how many cocks he had drained into him. Instead I let it go because, basically, Jack wasn't interested, and - look, I don't want to change my memory of it by embellishing the truth with made up stuff just so that it'll make one or other of us look better. We both screwed up and, let's face it, he didn't do anything that spectacularly wrong, in gay terms, as such. I should have kept my temper ... but, I could smell all the other men on him; I could taste them, their sweat, their mouths and their cum; I could taste where he has mouthed their arses.

He was sitting on the floor, his shitty dripping bottom resting on a bathroom towel I'd got for him. I bent down and stroked his back. I reached towards his bottom and gave him a little pat.

"I'm going to shower," I said.

He didn't speak.

"David ... I ... " but I stopped myself from saying anything else. Truth is, Jack stopped it, because Jack wanted it and don't want me saying anything against it with my big mouth. All Jack wanted was to fuck it.

I put my hand on David's head and rocked it. He didn't react. So I went for my shower. Jack wanted me to fuck it.

In the shower I didn't see when David came in because I had soap in my eyes. All I heard was his voice, "You raped me," he said.

"What?!" I said, washing my face quickly.

I opened my eyes. He was standing in the doorway, looking at me.

"When?" I said.

"Just now."

"Don't be ridiculous. You wanted it."

"Just cos I didn't say so don't mean I wanted it. You've never given me any choice."

I washed the soap off as quickly as I could.

"What the fuck? You're totally into being fucked. You ... how can you say?"

He handed me a towel. I grabbed it and started drying myself.

"You need a shower," I said. "You stink, and you're covered in I don't know what."

He stepped into the shower and proceeded to let the hot water rinse his skin. He always showered seductively, the rivers and streams caressing his curves, rubbing the suds over his chest and between his legs, shaking his head like a puppy and poking a soapy finger up his arse. He massaged his junk vigorously before pulling back the foreskin and fingering it clear of any gunk. I watched, draping my towel in front of me so that he couldn't see Jack was hard yet again.

"So you don't want when I fuck you?"

"Yeah, cause you care what I fucking want all of a sudden!"

I couldn't believe it.

I wanted him to dry off so I could throw him on the bed and plough him once more before falling asleep - nb that's how I get my good night's rest.

"You were so violent when you fucked me just now. Like you hated me while you were doing it. But you enjoyed hating me. That's the definition of rape."

"No to isn't," I snapped. "It's the definition of a solid fuck and you loved it. Honey, you need to stop playing games," I said, "before you get hurt."

I was getting that close to actually becoming violent, I think, in retrospect. The anger inside me was pretty intense and I was controlling because Jack insisted. No other reason. If it wasn't for Jack ...

I stepped towards the cubicle, "Here, use my towel."

"It's wet."

I threw it at him. He caught it and started to use it on himself. When he wrapped it round his head and started drying it I grabbed at his junk and pulled him towards me by his penis. He yelped and laughed as I put a palm round his waist, bringing it to rest gently on his soft rounded buttocks before he threw the towel aside and put his lips on mine. His soft rounded lips. Jack slid up between us, drawing a line of precum across David's tummy.

"Oop," he said.

"Do you want me to rape you again?" I asked.

"That's a funny question!" he replied.

"Is that a yes?" I said.

But he didn't answer. I slid Jack between his legs to rub it's neck comfortably on his balls. I knew that would turn us both on wild. I pushed him up against the tiles and humped him like that before manhandling him roughly back to bed where I grabbed his arm and held it whilst ramming him from behind. His loose hole took it easily. He was lying face down and didn't attempt to please himself whilst I found him some more of my milk. I kissed his neck. He tasted of, he smelt of, sex, and everything fuckable the world had to offer.

"You ..." I whispered meaninglessly.

"Me what?" He said.

"You and sex. You and sex. You and sex. That's all there is. You and sex."

He laughed.

"You only like me cos I'm young."

"You aren't young."

"You only like me cause I'm young enough."

"I don't know why I like you," I said. "You sure as fuck don't deserve it."

But Jack didn't care.

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END OF When I Lost _ PART FIVE