I’d been going to hardcore punk shows since I started university three years ago.
There were two totally different hardcore scenes in my city — the river divided the bright shopping centres from the seedy industrial complexes and there was a distinct culture for each side of the bridge.
The scene I was introduced to, had an emphasis on clean and moral living. Most of the guys were vegetarian at least and quite a few, like me, were straight-edge — entirely sworn off alcohol and drugs.
The other side of the bridge had a rougher scene; no all-ages venues and a reputation for drugs and violence. There was a large skinhead population and, although I knew in the modern day it was rare to meet a true racist thug I still knew those guys weren’t the kind of people I wanted to be friends with.
Every few weeks an international — or at least not local — band would come to town. For that night the two scenes would converge on a single venue, No Way Out.
It wasn’t a way to mingle and make friends, it was a way to size up opposition. You couldn’t be friends with guys from the wrong side of the bridge. That’s just how it was.
I was at No Way Out the Friday night when I had my first kiss.
A major American band were headlining and a couple bands from down South had come up for the occasion. The first two bands were local, a ska one from the other side of the bridge and a straight-edge one from ours. The organisers try and keep representation equal to reduce the risk of fights.
It was the third band of the night so the crowd had passed through the awkward standing phase and were now dancing like maniacs. A healthy fight pit had developed, the crowd pulling back from the stage to leave a semi-circle of free space where guys were throwing punches. I was proud to see they were all guys from our side of the bridge — straight-edgers are always the first to rock out because they don’t need beer to get them in the mood.
I was feeling really pumped, and it was my friend Pete’s band up next — I wanted to be in the mood by the time they got on stage, all warmed up and ready to fight. Pete was at the front of the crowd, not throwing punches in the fight pit — not yet, that would come after he’d played and was on a high from the music — but he was moving his whole large body with the beat and surging forward to chant along during the chorus or break down.
I edged my way passed him, bouncing my head up and down and rocking my body with the beat, then threw myself past the protective boundary of the crowd and out into the fight pit. I ran forward, spinning my arms like a windmill, two-stepping with my feet. I felt pretty proud of myself for all of five seconds before someone else windmilled passed and knocked me straight backward.
Before I could hit the ground my head and shoulders were caught in strong hands, and a guy was hauling me back into the protective ring of crowd. He had me in a headlock with his other arm around my waist and was actually dragging me like I was a dead weight.
I scrabbled with my feet trying to get standing and he helped me, straightening up so my body was hauled upright. In the process his hand around my waist dropped down inside my shorts and I felt his fingers brushing the top of my boxers. My cock instantly jerked to attention.
What the hell? Was that deliberate or an accident? I glanced down and saw the bright intricate tattoos across his arm — a full sleeve from what I could see. I really like tattoos and I pay attention to them, especially since I got an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlour, and I was sure I’d never seen these before.
“You okay there little guy?” He grunted against my neck and I could smell the cigarettes and stale beer on his breath.
“Yeah,” I muttered, twisting my head away from the smell. I realised his fingers were moving, gently stroking across the sensitive skin of my abdomen. What? Right here in front of everyone?
Two fingers slid under the waistband of my boxers. My whole body trembled. I was having trouble breathing, totally focused on the hand which seemed to be sending electric shocks through my groin.
I twisted my head around to see who this guy was, and nearly choked. There was no way we had ever met before, he was totally hot. I would have remembered him.
He was looking down at me with a smirk and the most intensely blue eyes I had ever seen. His eyebrows were dark and heavy, framing those gorgeous eyes. I felt a tug in my stomach, something like nerves. He was staring straight down at me, looking right into my eyes and his expression changed as if in surprise.
I heard a yell over the noise of the band and the crowd — “Let him go.” I looked up to see my friend Pete pushing his way through the crowd, skimming around the edge of the fight pit to get to us. He looked pissed.
My captor immediately let go of me, and I took a small step away from him, hunching my body and tugging down the hem of my loose shirt in the hope that I could hide my erection. I heard him mumbling, “Settle down.”
“Get your fucking hands off him,” Pete spat out. He hadn’t looked at me, had walked up to the guy who grabbed me and was getting right up in his face. It was my first real chance to look at that guy — he was tall, in bleached skinny jeans and a ratty white wife beater. He had a shaven head. Oh fuck.
People were watching. I saw the fight pit had broken up and the crowd was slowly gathering around us. The band were still going. It was loud and probably the crowd wouldn’t hear what Pete was saying. But everyone could tell a fight was about to break out and they were picking sides.
I really didn’t want to start a fight. I was feeling sick just thinking about it. “Pete,” I said, leaning into his ear so he could hear me over the music and I wouldn’t have to yell. “It’s okay, he was just helping me up.”
“I saw the way he was handling you.”
“What?” I stammered, feeling my face flush. He’d noticed? I glanced over at the skinhead who had helped me up. He had his chin ducked so he was glaring out from beneath his dark eyebrows — it was a popular pose with guys from their side of the bridge, defiant and insolent without being openly hostile. It made his eyes even more hypnotic.
“I was just helping your little friend up before he got stood on,” The skinhead growled. I grabbed on to Pete’s beefy arm and tugged, wanting him to head back to our side of the hall. The crowd was tightening up, skinhead guys gathering behind their friend, glaring at Pete. “Maybe next time I won’t bother.”
“You keep your filthy hands off him,” Pete spat back. I could feel his body stiffening with anger, and his face was dark red and blotchy. I wanted to think he was angry because he was defensive of me, but truthfully he was just always looking for a reason to start something with the skinheads
When I looked behind me there was a bunch of our guys getting ready to fight, too — Pete’s band, Rob and a couple of my other friends. I swallowed. How could I stop this?
But then the band finished their song and the lead singer — not one of our guys, they were a band from down South who had come up in support of the main act — growled into the microphone, “Break this shit up.” He was pointing at us. He was probably only a couple years older than us but he was on stage and that gave him authority.
Pete continued to glare as if he hadn’t heard the singer, but his drummer Skeeta put a warning hand on his shoulder. The skinhead jerked his head in the direction of the stage with raised eyebrows, as if to say ‘can’t argue with that’, and turned his back. His gang of friends left with him. I lost sight of them in the crowd.
Pete drew in a long steadying breath and turned to me. “You okay Eli?”
“Of course. He wasn’t hurting me, you know that.”
“Skinhead cunts,” He grumbled, but his heart wasn’t in it. His face was red and blotchy with anger but he also was chewing his bottom lip which he only did when he was really stressed. “That guy’s no good, I don’t want you talking to someone with a rep like his.”
I didn’t know what to say to that so I didn’t say anything. I was feeling awkward, not wanting to make things worse but not really knowing how to making anything better.
Pete threw an arm over my shoulder and led me away from the stage. “Come out back and help me get ready?”
Pete would let me hang out with his band at practices and backstage. I couldn’t play instruments worth a damn but I loved hardcore music and being part of the scene — Pete had introduced me to it in my first year of uni and I’d been hooked ever since. I thought of him as my best friend and, even though big guys weren’t my type, I’d been nursing a crush on him for years. I loved hanging out with him and his band.
We had to edge around the crowd to get to the stage and the door, but once inside the back area it was empty and the sound of the crowd was shut off. I followed Pete down the narrow corridors to his band room. There were some of their instruments in the room and a lot of stored junk.
“Eli, I need to talk to you,” He said as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it. I just stood there in the small room, looking around at the band posters.
His voice sounded strained. “Listen, you know when that skinhead guy was touching you…”
“Forget it, he was just helping me up, it’s not worth talking about,” I gabbled. I didn’t want to be the cause of a fight.
“He had his hands all over you and it made me really angry, and – ”
“I know,” I cut in. “But I don’t care, he’s just a jerk and not worth starting a fight over.”
“Listen to me, Eli,” Pete demanded. He took a step forward and rested his meaty hands on my shoulders. He was a lot taller than me, my eyes were level with his collar bone and I had to look up to see his face. He was looking at me with a slightly glazed expression, still biting his lower lip. I could feel his body trembling. “Eli, it’s not that. When I saw that guy touching you, putting his hand down your pants.”
I blushed in shame and turned my head but Pete kept talking.
“I got so angry I wanted to punch him, I wanted to hurt him real bad. And it’s not because he’s one of them touching one of ours. It’s because… Because I don’t want anyone to touch you like that. Anyone but me.”
He drew a deep breath and put his hand on my chin to turn my face back toward him. When he spoke again his voice was very soft and there was a note of pleading in it. “Eli, promise me you won’t let anyone else touch you. The thought of it…”
“Are… Are you saying you want to be my boyfriend?” My voice was so strangled I didn’t recognise it.
“Yup.” Pete made an odd choking noise and, suddenly, he was lowering his head to mine and I felt his lips against mine, the prickling of his beard and moustache and the big swoop in my stomach which told me yes, at last, I was having my first kiss.
As soon as Pete’s lips touched mine there was a loud banging in the corridor, and he leaped away from me. The door to the band room opened and the rest of the band members walked in. I looked at Pete and he was blushing furiously but not looking at me. He turned to greet his mates and I, confused, bent over the bass case and fiddled with the buckles.
Skeeta was complaining about leaving his best drum sticks in Pete’s car so I grabbed the keys off him and headed out, wanting to get away from that tiny room and clear my head.
The back stage area let out onto the car park so I headed out there.
I knew Pete’s white Corolla well, even though he lived on the other side of town and didn’t give me rides often. I headed straight to it, found the sticks in the backseat and turned back to the hall.
“Hey, you play drums?”
It was the skinhead from before. He was leaning against the wall, smoking. Alone.
“No, my friend Pete. My boyfriend,” I amended. My belly had done a flip when I’d looked at him, and I was very aware that we were alone here with no-one else within shouting distance. Maybe I was as paranoid about skinheads as the rest of my friends were, or maybe it was those deep blue eyes which were making me shiver.
“That fat hairy guy is your boyfriend?”
“He’s not fat,” I defended instantly. I glared at the skinhead. He was smirking. That was pretty rich coming from him, he wasn’t the skinniest guy himself — he had muscular, defined arms but that ratty singlet clung to him and showed a distinct pot belly. That stupid singlet, with its frayed hem and clusters of little holes revealing smooth pale skin beneath…
I didn’t want to stare at his belly so I drew my eyes up to his face. I noticed for the first time that he had stretched ears, flesh tunnels through his lobes about 000 gauge, a centimetre wide — smaller than mine, but as big as you’d want to go with a shaven head and no hair to stop your ears looking like cup handles. Perfect. He was so hot.
I forced myself to look away, thinking of a skinhead like that was a good way to get myself bashed. I adjusted my grip on the sticks and hoped the guy hadn’t noticed me staring at him.
There was an awkward silence, then I heard him say, “I’m Damien. Like The Omen.”
I looked back at him, to see he had extended a hand to shake. His right arm, the one without tattoos. But I did notice some scabs on his fingers and inner elbow.
It seemed oddly formal to shake hands, but I reached my right hand out too. “Elijah, like in The Lord of the Rings,” I felt my face going red as I stammered, “I mean, like the actor who plays in the Lord of the Rings.”
Damien gripped my hand in his and shook once then pulled out to turn the handshake into a fist pump. I realised what he was doing and mirrored the movement but a moment too late, I was gripping air for a few seconds and I fumbled the fist pump. I felt myself blushing even deeper — I was such a loser!
I gabbled to hide my confusion. “I’m sorry Pete was acting like a jerk before, he was just worried you were hurting me.”
Damien barked out a laugh. He tilted his head forward in that characteristic way, all intense blue eyes under dark eyebrows. “That’s not what he was worried I was doing to you.”
I coughed and looked down at my battered Chucks, not at all sure where this conversation was going. “What do you mean?” I asked, because I knew that’s what Damien was waiting for.
“Your friend was worried I was going to lay a hand on that virgin ass of yours. He’s damn right to be worried, too.”
Suddenly my heart was beating too fast and I felt dizzy. I gaped at the sexy skinhead I had never seen before tonight, wondering what kind of game he was playing. Was he baiting me into a gay bashing? I thought I’d kept it pretty well hidden. For that matter, was it obvious I was a virgin?
I didn’t know what to do or think, but I sure as hell knew it wasn’t a good idea to come out to some angry skinhead from the wrong side of the bridge when there were no friends around to protect me. So I just stammered a rebuttal, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yes you do,” He growled in reply, and cupped his crotch in the hand that was holding a cigarette. I felt my stomach tightening and my body involuntarily shuddering in arousal as I looked at that intricately tattooed arm, the hand cupping the large bulge in his tight white jeans, the way the cigarette tip glowed and drew attention to his crotch in this dim light. I was sure the image was one which would be seared on my mind forever.
“I gotta take these sticks in, my friend’s band’s up next,” I stammered, and I bolted past Damien to the hall’s back door.
He called out my name as I reached the door, and I saw him moving like he wanted to catch up with me, but I just ignored him.
He was hot, there was no denying it. But he was also trouble, and my best mate had just kissed me. I tried to just forget about him — I’d probably never see him again anyway.
But a part of me hoped I did. Oh, he was hot.
The day after the show, after my first kiss, Pete called me to chat. I thought he’d want to explain what happened but he didn’t mention it and I didn’t know how to bring it up. But he did invite me to band practice the next day.
I loved going to band practice at Pete’s house. I’d sit around while the guys jammed, bringing over food and they’d teach me cords and show me stuff they were working on — I think they really liked having an audience.
Pete lived in a room detached from his parents house and his parents were cool with him playing loud music. There were four members in the band, and with all their equipment including a complete electronic drum kit it was a tight fit in the small room.
I’d normally sit and watch from Pete’s bed, really just a mattress on the floor of the room with a heap of blankets on it. The tv was propped up at the end so you could sit on the bed or lie flat on your stomach to play PlayStation.
After practice I stayed behind to help clean up — that was normal enough, but I was feeling nervous because it was the first time I was alone with Pete since he’d kissed me. We tidied up chip bowls then he challenged me to a game of Tekken. I flopped down on the bed and grabbed a controller.
I was sitting with my legs tucked in front of me so I could rest my chin on my knees, and Pete lay down beside me on his belly. I could smell his sweat from playing the bass so hard in the warm room, I realised he smelled really manly and it was turning me on. I tried to ignore it but I was getting a bit of an erection just smelling him, so I was glad I was crouched up and my dick was hidden.
We played a couple rounds then Pete put his controller down on the bed and lifted up onto his forearms, and wiggled out of his shirt. He had to wriggle around to get the shirt off from that uncomfortable position and I couldn’t help but glance down, watch as his skin got exposed. His track pants were slung low and I could see the top of his butt crack.
I made myself look back up the screen and willed myself not to do anything embarrassing in front of my buddy. He picked up his controller and we resumed play, then he said, “You could get more comfortable, if you want.”
I missed a button and his character got in beneath my defences. I tapped pause. Nervously, I started struggling out of my tee shirt. I pulled it off and dropped it onto the mattress beside me. I picked my controller back up and looked at Pete. He was looking at the screen, trying to win, but he kept glancing at me to check out my tanned chest and arms.
We played a couple more rounds and I kept winning. Pete wasn’t very good. Despite the fact he owned the game he didn’t seem to have learned any moves and seemed to just be button mashing. At one point he started wriggling his hips, like he had an itch on his belly he wanted to scratch but didn’t want to take his hands off the controller. I looked down and saw that his motion was edging his track pants down further, exposing more of his butt crack with its smattering of dark hair.
I only realised I was staring when Pete caught me at it. He met my eyes and I felt myself blushing dark again. I tried to discreetly move my hips to ease the pressure on my dick which was now definitely hard. I could feel my palms getting slippery on the controller with nervous sweat and my heart was beating so fast I could feel it in my throat. It suddenly seemed like the room was very small, and very hot.
I looked back at the screen in time to see my guy getting knocked straight over, solid KO. I wrinkled my nose up in annoyance but Pete started cheering, he leaped up onto his knees and did a kind of victory dance with his arms up in the air. His chest was covered in dark curly hair and there was a thick bush of hair beneath each arm pit. He was standing on the knees of his trackies and they were now so low on his hips that I could see the top of his pubic bush.
He was fist pumping then turned and caught me staring at his crotch. I tucked my knees up tighter to try and hide my erection, but Pete grabbed me by the shoulders and pushed me backward onto the mattress. I don’t think he meant to be rough but he was a big guy, and the force was enough to knock the breath out of me. I sprawled out on my back and he clambered on top of me, staring down into my face.
I licked my lips nervously and Pete’s eyes narrowed as he focused in on the movement. He lowered his head and pressed his mouth against mine, hard. His lips were slightly parted and I think I whimpered when I felt his warm, scratchy mouth pressing down onto me. He tasted like salt and vinegar potato chips.
I could feel his sweaty bare chest pressing against my skin, his hair crunchy like how I’d imagine a bed of moss to be, whenever he shifted his weight slightly his body rubbed across mine and that chest hair sent tickling sensations all over me. I could even feel his armpit hair, thick warm nests against my shoulders from where his arms were spread out across the bed over me.
Pete kissed me for a few minutes then leaned back on his elbows. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” He grinned at me, and my heart leaped. “You’re so hot Eli.”
He slid onto his side on the mattress, facing me. I rolled over so I was on my side too and timidly raised a hand to his beard, stroking a finger over the rough stubble. It felt wiry, like egg noodles. I could never grow a beard and I’d often wondered what they felt like, to grow one or to have it rub against your skin. I was fascinated with the way the short hairs parted and shifted around my finger, I couldn’t stop staring and stroking.
Pete grinned at my obvious arousal and said, “You like my beard, don’t you?”
I nodded nervously and glanced down at the thick curly dark hair on his chest, then blushed when I heard him start laughing.
“I can tell, you know,” He said huskily as he leaned in close to me and licked along below my ear. “You always look at my beard and stare when I’m taking my shirt off.”
I laughed nervously. I had thought I hid it well. But it didn’t seem like he was about to beat me up.
I let my hand slide down his neck to his beefy arm as my eyes wandered freely over his body. His belly was rounded and his thick biceps were covered in red textured bumps, like shaving rash or ingrown hairs. Dark curly hair covered his whole chest from collarbone to belly button. I wanted to bury my face in it, to see if it was as soft as it looked.
Pete pulled me back to him for a kiss, and as we kissed his hands started roaming my body, stroking my smooth tanned skin and moving to play with my nipples. His fingers stroked across my left nipple and my whole body jerked at the sensation, it was like a sharp electric shock. I whimpered into his mouth and clutched at his chest, my fingers twining through his chest hair. It felt thick and a bit dry and scratchy, totally different to anything on my own body.
I found one of his nipples and stroked it the way Pete was touching me, and he moaned aloud. He grabbed my hand and, in one sudden movement, shoved it down beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. My hand touched his dick and I gasped in shock while Pete let out a loud moan.
“Do that again,” Pete muttered, although I was having trouble hearing him through the ringing in my ears. I couldn’t believe I was finally doing this.
My hand had frozen from the shock of touching that hot column of flesh. I swallowed and tried to steady my trembling, to think past my dizziness and focus on touching a penis for the first time in my life.
I pulled his stretchy waistband down and stared at Pete’s pulsing cock. It was fat and sort of torpedo shaped, uncircumcised and thick with veins. When I wrapped my hand around it, Pete groaned and collapsed backward. I looked up at him in alarm but saw there was a giant goofy grin on his face and his eyes were half closed.
His dick felt totally different to mine — I was uncut too but my own foreskin barely covered the tip of my erect penis. Pete had so much foreskin that it extended well past the tip of his penis. I wanted to see his head so I gripped his shaft firmly and ran my hand down. The excess of foreskin gathered up around his shaft and made it feel soft and squishy.
There were bubbles of skin around the underside of the head, like tiny pimples. I ran the pad of my thumb over them, across the sensitive skin where his foreskin met the head, but I couldn’t feel the bubbles. I stuck my tongue out to see if I could feel them that way.
Pete groaned loudly and I suddenly became aware of what I was doing — I was so focused, I hadn’t realised I’d just licked his dick! I felt myself flushing up. I looked into Pete’s face and saw his expression clouded with desire. He was so clearly aroused, it made my stomach lurch in delight. He wanted me?
I held his dick firm in my hand and started stroking, guiding the loose foreskin up and down his shaft, trying to reveal as much of the head of his penis as possible each time. I watched my tanned hand stroking Pete’s dick, watched the foreskin moving and the dark purple head being revealed then hidden again. It was hypnotic.
I thought about licking it again, but I was nervous. What if he wanted me to suck it? I could barely fit my hand around it. Instead I wriggled my body around to lie beside Pete, pressing my chest against his side and resting my head on his beefy arm. I kept stroking his dick and when he looked into my face and met my eyes he smiled lazily and kissed me. Just like that, I was kissing a guy and stroking his dick.
He broke the kiss to whisper, “Eli, you’re so hot. It’s so great when you touch me.”
I grinned and kept stroking his penis. I was filled with excitement and pleasure at the way his breathing changed.
“Eli, faster baby,” He grunted then kissed me harder — grabbing the back of my head and pulling me into him so our lips were sliding over each other, so soft yet solid.
I sped the motion of my hand up, it felt different to jerking myself and at this angle a different muscle group was being used, my arm started getting tired and I switched to my left arm for better access. Pete rolled his head around and groaned in pleasure so I knew he didn’t mind.
It felt like his dick was getting harder in my hand and I wondered if maybe he wasn’t fully hard, that that was the reason it seemed like he had so much foreskin. But then I felt his body tensing up and realised he must be close to orgasm.
He stopped kissing me but kept his grip on my head, his fingers caught up in my long hair and pushed my head into his shoulder as his body jerked and he came. I had to twist my head to see, but I watched as ropes of gloopy white semen burst out of his cock. The first spurt hit just above his belly button and it was quickly followed by two more, one on his treasure trail and one in his pubic hair. There were some dribbles which got on my fingers, too.
I watched as the semen seemed to melt into his dark curly hair. At first that semen had seemed all connected, ropes of goo which was thinner in places and more like blobs in others. But now it was cooling it was more transparent and liquid, like a glaze over Pete’s hairy belly with only some globs visible caught in his curls. I wondered what it would be like to lick it out of his fur.
“It’s cum,” I heard Pete grumble into my ear. “You’ve seen it before.”
I met his eyes and he was grinning. I stammered, “I’ve seen my own, but never… You know…”
“I know,” He replied simply, and pulled my face in for another kiss. It was long and slow and I suddenly became aware of my own dick, pulsing and dribbling in my boxers and desperate for attention.
I wondered if Pete was going to touch me now, how I should go about asking. I was nervous again, nor sure how to ask or even if I wanted him to touch me — I wanted to get off, but I didn’t want him to laugh if my dick was too small or not want to touch it because it looked so different to his.
I started panicking and my mouth went dry. I stammered an incoherent sentence. “Do you, uh, do you want to, um.”
Pete looked at me through half-closed lids. “I wanna watch you jerk, Eli, that would be so hot.”
My hand was sticky with Pete’s cum but I reached down to my pants anyway, pulling at the waistband of my loose shorts. My dick twitched at the thought of being touched but I was having trouble breathing, I was really nervous.
I looked at Pete for reassurance, but he had his eyes closed and was lowering his head back onto the bed and jiggling his body around like he was getting ready to sleep. I guess he wasn’t actually waiting to watch me touch myself.
It was half passed ten and dark outside, but Pete hadn’t invited me to stay the night and I definitely wasn’t going to shake him awake to ask if it was okay. So I put my shoes and tee shirt back on and headed for home.
I lived in the suburbs just beyond the downtown area. It was easy to catch a bus in to town and quite close to Pete’s house, but to get back to my house from Pete’s I’d have to swap buses downtown because the only direct route looped around across the bridge to the other main shopping hub. I didn’t like waiting around ages for buses, so I generally caught one into downtown then walked the rest of the way from there.
I usually tried to keep an eye on my surroundings when I walked home in the dark, but tonight my head was swirling with thoughts of jerking Pete off — there was the warm glow at causing him such great pleasure, but I was also anxious about whether I should have stayed or if there were things people normally did after handjobs that I was meant to have done but just hadn’t known about.
I was pulled from my thoughts when I heard someone calling my name. I was just passing an old downtown shopping complex and the voice came from the shadows under it. When I looked over I could see the glare of a cigarette but I couldn’t see who was there so I just stood there in the street.
He was yelling out something about not wanting me to walk home alone and I replied without really being aware of my words. I decided to keep walking — and walk fast — when the guy came out of the shadows.
In the streetlamp light I recognised Damien, the sexy skinhead who’d hit on me at the show last night. He was in a singlet and tight bleached jeans again, displaying his hot tattoos. I felt my stomach flip and my cock starting to swell at the sight of him — I couldn’t help it, tattoos just do that to me. I looked down, hoping to hide my delight at seeing him.
When he spoke again, his voice was low and slightly gravelly from the smoke. “You going home from a gig? It’s a bit early to be heading home, isn’t it?”
It was past eleven so it wasn’t that early, but I didn’t know what to say and I didn’t want to mention Pete so I just said nothing. What if Damien wanted to hurt me? If I just walked away now, would he stop me?
But I didn’t want to walk away, not really. Damien was only a couple metres from me and in the silence of the night I could hear his steady breathing and the way he dragged deep on his cigarette. When I looked up he was staring intently from beneath those dark brows, his mouth quirked.
He took another slow drag of his cigarette. His eyes didn’t leave mine and his expression was so intense I had to look away, down at the glow of his cigarette. He moved his hand away from his face and I found my eyes tracing along the bright curves and points of his tattoos. I itched to get close and have a good look at them.
I love tattoos and I loved how the look on Damien. When his bicep flexed it made the bright shapes move in fascinating ways. He rested his arm against his rounded belly and the light fell across his tattoos. It was all I could do to not stare like a zombie.
If felt my dick getting harder in my shorts and I had to swallow to get saliva back in my mouth. I moved my hand to hook through a pant loop in the hope I could hide my erection, but it only served to remind myself that just that evening I’d had my friend’s dick in my hand. Now here I was gawking at a skinhead like a slut.
“Let me walk you home.”
I shook my head to clear it and muttered, “I gotta go.”
He didn’t make any move to stop me. I tried to forget the way he looked in just his singlet and jeans in the street lamp but the memory stayed with me, stronger and more arousing than the memory of jerking my friend.
Pete invited me to his house two or three times a week — it was crazy to think that just three weeks ago I was having my first kiss, and now I had a steady boyfriend and was jerking him off nearly every day.
I’d see him at hardcore shows on the weekend but he never acknowledged me as his boyfriend — if anything, he seemed to be avoiding me. I’d finally built up the courage to get a haircut, lose all that shaggy hair and try to look more manly. I didn’t know if Pete had even noticed it. That made me sad but I didn’t have much time to dwell on it — I was busy with work and preparation for my final university exams.
I work at a popular tattoo parlour called Defiant. We get customers from both sides of the bridge because we’re known to be clean, quick and skilful. I was getting a bit of a rep and now I was requested more than some of the artist’s who’d been there years. The work helped keep my mind off Pete.
And keep my mind off Damien. He’d come into my work on Saturday, just walked right on up to me where I was killing time at the counter and asked me to give him a lip piercing. Even thinking about the experience made my dick harden and made me want to swoon, I had to push the thoughts aside to keep from having a heart attack. Pete and I were sharing something, and that mattered so much more than any hot skinhead.
But Damien was obviously out and his friends didn’t care. Sometimes, alone at night, I’d wonder if Pete would ever be willing to come out and announce me as his boyfriend. But I tried not to think like that.
Finally on Friday afternoon I got a text from Pete. There was a show that night and he wanted us to meet at his place and go together..
I was nervous on the bus to Pete’s. My nerves only increased when I peeked in the door of his detached rooms and saw him alone.
“Hey,” I said.
Pete was lying on his mattress in a tee shirt and boxer shorts, tapping away at his laptop keyboard. He looked up when I spoke and grinned widely.
“Eli! Come here!”
I walked over and knelt on the mattress beside him and he rolled onto his side and opened his arms to me for a hug. I got down on my side awkwardly, trying to co-ordinate myself around his beefy arms. I didn’t know if he wanted his arm to be around my neck or my shoulder and I shifted around uncertainly until Pete grunted his annoyed amusement and I just sopped moving.
He grinned and grabbed me around the neck, pulled me in for a kiss. It was open-mouthed and wet and Pete kept his hand on my neck as if afraid I’d pull away. When he finally pulled back so we could breath, he muttered, “So glad you’re here Eli!”
I grinned at him, feeling a rush of happiness. Pete grinned back and grabbed my hand, pushed it down to his crotch. I gasped as I felt his hard dick, jutting out of his fly.
“Give it a rub,” He groaned. I looked down at my hand, curled around his purple torpedo penis. When I glanced up at his laptop I saw the blank desktop. It made me wonder if he’d been watching porn and hurriedly exited the window when I arrived.
I started moving my hand up and down, twisting slightly as I moved from the base to the head. I watched Pete’s generous foreskin moving around, bunching up and growing tighter but never quite taut.
Pete dropped his head back onto the mattress and let his mouth fall open as he moaned. With the hand on my neck he nudged me downward and I let him. I was fascinated by the way his foreskin moved — partly disgusted, partly curious. It didn’t look like the dicks in porn, or like my own skinny pale shaft. Pete’s dick seemed like it never got fully hard, just stayed squishy and fat.
I scooted down on the mattress, resting my weight on my knees so my hands were free. I stroked Pete’s dick with one hand and with the other I played with the dark wiry bush of hair that was sticking out of his fly. He was moaning and making small thrusts with his hips. It seemed like he was really into it.
Pete’s boxers were loose cotton, the hems sat away from his thighs so I could see up inside them. When he thrust his hips they gaped open.
I rested my head on his thigh and have a clear view up his boxer leg at his balls hanging in their wrinkly sack, shifting around as I played with his dick. I could also see his crack, dark and tempting. I loved playing with my hole when I masturbated and I couldn’t wait to give Pete the same kind of pleasure.
I grabbed his dick again and Pete grunted his delight, thrust his hips harder than ever. That made his butt lift up so I had a clear view in at his dark hole.
I sucked my finger into my mouth and, still stroking Pete with the other hand, I let my hand slide along between his thigh and his boxers until I could feel the warm flesh of his crack. It wasn’t hard to find his hole, and when I started teasing the sensitive skin there Pete let out a loud groan.
I grinned in pride. But the next moment Pete was sitting up and grabbing my hand, pushing it away from his boxers.
“What?” I said in surprise.
Pete wrinkled his nose at me. “Don’t do that Eli. Just rub or suck me. None of the gay stuff.”
He flopped back down on his back. I realised my hand was still on his dick, but now I wasn’t remotely aroused. I felt cold and shocked and hurt. Gay stuff? What did he think I was, what he was? He wanted me to suck his dick but didn’t want any ‘gay stuff’?
I sat there frozen until Pete bucked his hips and grunted, “Come on baby, come on.”
Like a robot I resumed stroking — what else could I do? But my heart wasn’t in it. I hardly even felt a stirring when Pete called out my name as he came.
As soon as he’d had his orgasm Pete stuffed his dick back into his boxers, batting my hand away. He got up and pulled off his tee shirt, wrinkled his nose as he looked at the splashes of semen wet and sticky on it, and threw it into a pile in the corner. I just sat there as he got dressed and trimmed his beard, then we left for the show together.
There was a small crowd already gathered outside the venue and happy voices and laughter could be heard rising from the hubbub. Normally I felt really amped and excited when I stood outside a hardcore show — I knew that there was a good night of movement and music ahead of me — but tonight I was just feeling a bit flat. Pete had hardly talked to me the whole way there and I didn’t know what to say to him.
As we waited at the traffic lights before crossing the last road before the venue, Pete turned to me and said, “Listen Eli, it’s not a great look if we turn up together. People might judge and I’m not ready for that yet. Do you want to walk around the block and then come over like you’ve just arrived?”
I gaped at him. He’d said we could go to the show together. Had he just wanted a quick handjob and nothing more? He was already turning away and I didn’t know what to say except okay.
But as I watched him crossing the street and waving to his friends, I felt more isolated than I ever had at a hardcore show. These people, and especially Pete, were supposed to be my friends. So why the hell would they care if I was gay?
I thought about crossing the road and joining the crowd but I just didn’t have the energy. I turned away and walked home.
It still wasn’t late — it was an All Ages shows and they always started in the early evening so young drivers could get home before their license curfew. The street lamps came on as I trudged through the streets, the bustle of traffic and light of shop windows slowly dying off as I approached the less popular downtown area.
My spine started tingling as I approached the shopping complex where I’d seen Damien last week. There was a part of me that just really wanted to see his hot body, to have him hit on me and make me feel sexy again.
There was definitely light from under the overhang of the shopping complex, and I could see figures standing in a group there. There was some music playing, a recording of a hardcore band I didn’t recognise with a mean-sounding gravelly vocalist. I found myself slowing, squinting through the gloom to see if Damien was among the group.
“Hey, Elijah!” It was Damien’s voice. My heart was beating fast before he even called out his second sentence. “Come over here, have a drink!”
A door was open and light spilled out from it, showing the four men gathered under the building’s overhang. Damien was there, grinning and holding a beer in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. He looked different than the last time I saw him. I didn’t know the other guys. They definitely weren’t from this side of the bridge.
“These are my mates,” Damien said, walking forward and draping his tattooed cigarette arm over my shoulders, pulling me into his body and gesturing toward his friends with his other hand. “Scaz, Bazz and Toss.”
With his arm around me his cigarette was trailing smoke in my face — usually I’d make a deal out of it, but Damien’s body was so firm and warm and welcoming I found I’d lost any spark of defiance.
Damien’s friends nodded after their introduction, but I had no clue which was which and just smiled nervously.
“We know,” Said one of the guys, he had a bright red mohawk and messy black chin scruff. “You work at Defiant, right? You’re the reason Dazza’s been hanging round there so much.”
He slapped Damien jokingly on the elbow and I realised that must be his nickname. I frowned at his words but Damien was grinning. What? He met my eyes and I realised how close he was, how easy it would be for him to tilt his head down and slide those sexy lips of his over mine.
“You want a drink?” Damien asked. His voice was pitched low and his breath tickled my skin. I was half way through shaking my head when Damien let go of me so he could fish around in a large portable fridge on the ground in the centre of the group. He pulled out a six pack of Coke cans, still attached in their plastic rings.
I don’t normally drink Coke — I don’t like the caffeine — but it seemed like Damien had bought the cans especially for me, so I took the one he offered. When he stood up again I realised what was different about him — he was wearing glasses. They were thin black rectangular frames which balanced out his heavy eyebrows. Beneath them his eyes were blue, but not as dark and intense as I was used to — I guess he wore tinted contact lenses to make them seem more impressive.
He also had the remains of a black eye, a deep purple circle around his left eye and a small cut on the cheek. His face was friendly and open, but his bruises made him look fierce. There were tiny freckles across his nose and cheeks.
I realised I was just staring at him, and he was grinning down at me with a raised eyebrow. I blushed and looked away.
“So this is a cool place to hang out,” I tried to joke to cover my embarrassment.
Damien indicated the open door, the electric light making a set of stairs visible within. “I live here.”
I nodded. My mouth was dry and I took a sip of my Coke, it tasted like the metal of the can it came in.
“So you’re straight-edge,” Said the red mohawk guy. He nodded at the black crosses drawn with thick pen on the backs of my hands. “Why don’t you make those permanent?”
I wasn’t sure if he was making fun of me — nursing a beer and telling me to get drug-free tattoos — but before I could think of a reply, Damien put his arm around me again and announced, “I reckon he should, those straightedge tattoos are hawt.”
He drawled the last word but he winked at me too so I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or his friends.
“You got any tattoos at all?” He asked me.
I shook my head, then added, “They don’t look any good on my skin.”
“I bet lots of things look good on your skin.”
I nearly choked on the mouthful I was drinking. My heart was racing. I took another sip and barely managed to swallow.
Damien’s friends laughed appreciatively. What the hell? They all seemed to be grinning like nothing was wrong, like it was totally normal for big bruised skinheads to hit on skinny nerd guys. I couldn’t imagine this kind of obvious flirting being accepted in my scene.
“You okay?” Damien asked in a rumble of amusement. “You seem real nervous.”
He had his arm around me and was holding me close enough that I could feel his body heat through his thin cotton singlet, feel his chest with every rise and fall of his breath and his fingers holding protectively to the bare skin of my upper arm. No kidding I was nervous.
Damien and his friends were quiet for a few moments, the stilted conversation stopped. I wondered if I’d interrupted their normal conversation or if they liked to drink their beers and just listen to music in silence.
Damien started rubbing his thumb in circles on my arm, gently squeezing with his fingers like he was giving me a massage. He kept shifting his hand further up my arm until his fingers were under the hem of my sleeve and he was squeezing my bare shoulder. I knew he was staring at me but I couldn’t bring myself to lift my eyes from the ground. Every cell in my body was focused on that hand stroking me.
“Maybe we should be heading off,” Mohawk Guy said and raised his eyebrows meaningfully at his friend.
Damien didn’t make any move to stop them. Instead he bent his head down so his lips tickled against the top of my ear and whispered, “They want to give us some time alone together, Elijah.”
I gasped but there was Coke in my mouth and I started choking on it. Some of the sticky liquid spurted out of my lips and across my chin and shirt. I started to wipe at it with the back of my hand. Damien let go of me and put his beer down, reached for my face with an expression of mixed concern and amusement. I pushed his hands away roughly.
He put a hand on either shoulder to calm me and when I tried to shrug them off he only gripped on harder. I looked around at his friends — Mohawk Guy had a wary eye on us. I didn’t want to cause a scene so I whispered just loud enough for Damien to hear, “Get your hands off me.”
Damien held firm to my shoulders and ducked his head so he was looking at me from under his dark eyebrows, twisting me so I was forced to meet his eyes. “We both know you want me.” He said quietly. “Why do you keep pushing me away?”
He was stronger than me; there was no way I could push him off. And besides, a part of me wanted to be here — to have Damien holding me, staring at me intently and acting like I was the hottest boy in the world.
“You know I have a boyfriend…” My voice came out traitorously quiet. Damien was so close, his sweet beer breath blowing on my face.
His voice was so low I’m sure his friends couldn’t hear him at all over the yells of the radio. His voice was low and deep and seemed to vibrate deep inside me.
“I can make you forget him. I can make you scream my name until I have to cum in your throat to stop you. Can your boyfriend do that? Because if he can, I don’t know why you’re here right now.”
“Holy crap,” I gasped.
“I get what I want. And I want you,” Damien growled. His face was so close to mine. I focused in on his lips. I realised I could just tilt my head up, just the tiniest lift of my chin and I’d feel those lips brush against mine…
“I gotta go,” I muttered. Damien kept holding onto me. I looked into his face, only inches from mine. His expression was blank.
He sighed and let me go.
I was hurt by Pete’s rejection and even more so when a week passed without me hearing from him. Finally on Saturday after work I found a text from asking if I wanted to come over tonight. He was my best mate, so of course I agreed.
I went into his detached rooms to find him lying on his back on the bed, playing a brick of a GameBoy. He was wearing the same tee as last night and there was some breakfast remains on it, but his face lit up as he saw me and that made him beautiful to me.
“Eli! Come here, baby,” The term of endearment sounded natural.
I sprawled out on the bed — really, the mattress on the floor — beside him, stretching out so my head was beside his and my feet were alongside his calves.
“You’re really tall.”
“Yup. I’m a big guy. I eat little Elis for breakfast,” Pete rolled onto his side to face me and made a snapping motion with his teeth. I laughed and jerked my head away. Pete grabbed the sides of my head in his hands and suddenly I wasn’t laughing.
I stared up into his eyes and noticed for the first time that he had long dark lashes. I watched as those eyes focused on mine, as his face slowly moved closer to mine and my lower lip trembled in anticipation of the kiss.
Suddenly Pete’s eyes flashed and he bit my nose.
“Ow, what the fuck!”
“Yummy Eli, I’m gonna eat you!” He pushed down on my shoulders and rolled on top of me so for a few moments all his weight was on me and I was aware of just how big and heavy he was.
Pete raised himself up on his elbows, shifting his weight so he was straddling me with his legs on either side of my hips.
“Hey,” He whispered. And now he wasn’t playful anymore. He kissed me, leaning his face in close to mine and opening his lips, pushing down against me so I could feel the weight of his body behind that kiss.
I moaned against Pete’s mouth and raised my hands from where they were lying dumbly on the ground, wrapped my arms around his neck and tangled my fingers in his curly hair.
Pete hummed low in his throat, and broke the kiss to whisper against my lips, “Sexy Eli.”
My insides glowed. I could feel his erection growing and pushing against my thigh.
“Touch me, Eli.”
I nodded my head quickly, feeling my mouth go dry in excitement and nervousness.
Pete rolled off me and onto his back. With one hand he pushed down the waistband of his grey sweatpants so the elastic band snapped up under his balls.
I gasped at the suddenness of it. A moment ago I was feeling the thrill of Pete’s kiss and now I could see his semi-hard dick and his furry balls, lolling there begging for my attention.
There was no force that would stop my hand from reaching out and closing around his dick. As soon as I touched it, it throbbed and started swelling. Pete moaned.
I stroked his dick like I had the first time, long strokes which pulled the foreskin down to reveal a circle of his purple dick head then hide it again. I wasn’t sure if his foreskin was gross or I if liked it.
“You should lick it,” He groaned.
I hesitated. I didn’t have any idea how to give head, and I was only just coming to terms with how it felt to have another guy’s dick in my hands. I just kept stroking it, and nuzzled my mouth against Pete’s for a kiss.
He tangled his hand in my wavy hair and gently pulled my face away from his. When he whispered his breath was hot against my lips. “Come on Eli, I know you want to lick it.”
He started pressing on my head so it was forced down his body, I didn’t know what to say and I did kind of want it, so I let him direct my face back down to his crotch.
His dick was sticking out of his thick curly hair, purple and pulsing with only a circle of dark wet head visible amidst the foreskin. I gripped it in my hand and begun stroking it again.
I met Pete’s gaze and held it as I lowered my whole mouth to encompass his cock head. His face was contorted in pleasure and he kept making little nodding movements so I knew it was okay. His head didn’t taste unpleasant, just rubbery and soft and a little sour. I’d watched lots of porn, of course, and I knew not to bite and to get as much dick in my mouth as possible and bob up and down. So I tucked my teeth under my lips and lowered my head down, letting Pete’s wide dick slide into my mouth until I felt like I was going to gag.
When I pulled my mouth back up I let my tongue circle around his piss slit and the smooth ridge I could feel where his head met his shaft, smoothed down by the soft rubbery skin covering it.
Pete was making little humming noises and I started to move my head back down his dick. But he grabbed a handful of my hair and used it to hold my head still and whispered, “Use your lips to pull the foreskin up and down.”
I nodded my head as quickly and as much as I could with his dick still in my mouth, then tried to do what he’d told me — I kept sliding up and down his shaft, but this time kept his foreskin in my lips so I could slide it up and down with the motion of my head.
After a few minutes Pete stopped me again, and told me the same instructions. I let my mouth slide off his dick and said, “Aren’t I doing it?”
“Just — just try and pull the foreskin up and down when you move,” He demonstrated with his hand. I tried again, focusing on grabbing the soft rubbery skin with my lips and pulling it down so I could feel the hard column of his dick beneath, but it wasn’t long before Pete was stopping me with his hand in my hair and telling me I was doing it wrong.
I was starting to get frustrated and anxious. I kept trying to please him and I didn’t know how to do what he wanted, I felt like I was doing what he asked. I wasn’t enjoying it anymore. But I kept going because I wanted to get it right.
After a while my jaw started hurting and Pete wasn’t making noises anymore. I wasn’t sure what to do. I looked up at him but I didn’t meet his eyes, he was looking up at the ceiling and his expression was hidden by his beard.
I finally just pulled my mouth off his dick and lay with my head on his belly and stroked him hard and fast like I had last time, and soon enough he was groaning and grunting and trying to push my head back down to his crotch. My mouth hurt and I was sad so I didn’t want to try giving head again.
When he came, his semen shot straight in the air and landed across my hand and all through his pubic hair. When I wriggled up beside him Pete didn’t kiss me, he was already lulling off to sleep.
I was too confused to stick around so I just got off the mattress and left.
There wasn’t a direct bus to my house from Pete’s but I didn’t feel up to a very long walk. It started raining when I was waiting at the bus stop pole and there was no shelter.
The connection bus never came. I waited an hour in the rain for a bus that should run every fifteen minutes, then I gave up and walked home.
As I walked the dark streets home my head was swirling. I’d known I was gay since I started high school, but what if I was wrong? I’d fantasized about a dick in my mouth for years and now I actually had the chance to experience it I was unhappy. Did this mean I wasn’t really into guys?
I walked through the same run-down downtown area I passed through on the way home from hardcore shows, and the thought just made me more miserable as I remembered Pete and all the good times I’d had at shows because of him.
It was getting dark but at least the rain had finally stopped. I passed the building where Damien lived and didn’t even glance sideways — it was barely dark, and I’d only seen him there a couple of times late at night.
I was already passed another block of shops when I heard heavy running feet behind me. I ignored it. Then suddenly there was a warm arm wrapped around my belly and I was being pulled back into a strong chest. I saw the intricate colourful tattoos on his arm.
“You’re fucking wet, come inside and dry up,” Damien growled against my ear.
“I’m fine, I’m nearly home.” Damien had the strangest effect on me, like golden syrup in my mouth making my words thick and slurred. I could hear myself mumbling and wondered if he even understood a word of what I said.
“Come on Elijah, you’re freezing.”
“Eli,” I mumbled. Damien had his body pressed fully against my back and his warmth was leeching through into my cold flesh.
“I like Elijah,” His voice was low and husky. He rested his right hand on by chest and started circling his fingers lazily around my collarbone, hooking the collar of my shirt down so he could touch my bare skin. I could feel trails of warmth across my skin where he touched me.
I realised I was shivering. I also realised Damien had my arms pinned at my sides and his hands on me — he could do anything he wanted.
Just a few moments ago I was miserable and thinking of Pete, but now my whole life was Damien and the feel of his hands on me. It was like being brought to life by electric shock.
I looked down at his tattooed left arm clamped tight around my waist and had déjà vu of the first time I’d seen him, when he put his hand down my pants at a show. Only this time my tee shirt was so wet it was sticking to my skin and my nipples were clearly poking out against the thin cotton.
Damien gently brushed his lips against my neck then nipped at my skin with his teeth. A moan escaped my lips before I was aware of it.
I watched as Damien’s tattooed arm dropped from my waist to my crotch, his fingers firmly stroking across my dick through my wet jeans. A bolt of electricity shot through me at the contact, the shock and joy of his hand on me made my stomach clench up so my body leaned forward and my butt rubbed into him.
The fingers at my collar spread out until Damien’s whole hand was touching the bare skin of my chest. His hand skidded against my wet skin. Where his skin came in contact with mine it felt like delicious fire. I moaned again and leaned my head back against his shoulder, getting an intoxicating whiff of his engine grease and sweat smell. I must be soaking him with my wet clothes and the rain was pouring onto us but he didn’t seem to mind.
Damien flicked his tongue out to touch against the flesh of my earlobe, stretched taught around my tunnel. I whimpered. I was feeling overwhelmed by the scent and warmth and nearness of him, it was a heady high I’d never before experienced in my drug-free life. I was sure I could feel his hard dick pressing up against my butt and the thought made me moan.
Damien whispered and his lips brushed lightly against my neck with each word, “I love those noises you make.”
The words shocked me into realisation of my situation — I was standing in the middle of the street in half darkness, this sexy guy touching me. I was just standing there letting him. I could still taste Pete’s spunk in my throat and I was still letting this skinhead touch me.
Guilt swept over me. “I can’t do this,” I muttered, struggling to free myself from Damien’s arms. He resisted for a moment then released my arms and pulled his hands off me.
I couldn’t look at him so I just ducked my head down and hurried off. I didn’t hear his heavy boots on the concrete and I wondered if he was just standing there, watching me go.
My flatmates were having a party when I got home. I was exhausted and I just wanted quiet. There was pounding music in the living room and I had to push past strangers to get to my room. A couple were leaning up against it, making out.
“Excuse me,” I said loudly, but they just ignored me. I stood indignantly dripping water on my own carpet, raising my voice louder and louder. Finally they noticed me, and shuffled over so I could get at my door.
As I closed the door and turned the key behind me, I felt relieved for the hundredth time that I had thought to install locks.
Closing the door did nothing to shut off the noise. My windows were rattling from the bass and the noise of the crowd was often punctuated by loud piercing laughter.
I sighed and pulled my heavy noise-cancellation headphones out of their plug to my computer and pulled them onto my head.
I lay down on my bed and breathed out, closing my eyes and trying to forget the noise and the fact that I still had to face this house tomorrow. I was still really aroused and I considered watching some porn but there was no point — my thoughts were constantly drawn to Damien and that was enough to get my dick pulsing.
He was hot, there was no point in denying it. I told myself that thinking about him now wasn’t like cheating on Pete, that maybe it was even a good thing — I could masturbate and get it out of my system, move on with my life without being aroused by some skinhead.
I screwed my eyes up tight and imagined the pumping of the bass line was cars in the distance as I stood in the street with Damien, his hard dick pressed against my butt and his breath whispering in my ear. His arms were around me and his hand toyed with my collar bone. This time I didn’t run away.
My jeans were wet and clinging to my body. I unzipped and pulled my boxers down my clammy thighs, so my dick could leap free and dribble pre-cum along my leg.
I started circling my collar bone, thinking of the low growl in Damien’s throat as he possessively touched me. I pushed my hand down the collar of my loose shirt until my fingertips brushed against my nipples, and the sensitivity of the cold swollen peaks made my body jerk in delight.
I gripped my dick and stroked slowly, imagining it was Damien touching me, that his hands were gliding across my chest and his hand was wrapped around my throbbing dick. His own dick was pressing against my butt and he was jerking me hard, saying my name over and over and whispering that I was so sexy, that I could have him any time.
I imagined Damien licking my ear lobe then tilting my head to his for a possessive kiss, his lips hot and hard and demanding as he tweaked my nipples and jerked my dick so hard I came in heavy globs across the street, splattering the pavement and out shoes and his hand.
As I imagined it, my dick jerked and splashed semen across my belly — it was surprisingly hot on my rain-cooled abdomen, and I could feel the warm stickiness of it seeping into my wet tee.
I knew I should go and shower but I didn’t want to leave the sanctuary of my room and my warm hazy Damien thoughts. I was panting as I pulled my jeans and boxers the rest of the way off and struggled out of my clinging wet tee shirt. The orgasm had been a good one — I’d stored my arousal up when I was around Pete, and it was damn hard to keep resisting sexy Damien.
I dropped my clothes to the floor with a wet sucking sound then pulled my blankets up over me and my bulky headphones so I could fall asleep.
My university exams finished and I went straight to working full-time at the tattoo parlour. Defiant opened at 10 and closed at 4 most days and I loved the work so it didn’t feel that much like a ‘real’ job.
It was two weeks since I’d given Pete my first blowjob and I’d seen him a couple times since. He acted just like a mate at shows but he’d invite me around to his house to watch band practice or play Tekken and the visits always ended in me getting him off. He never offered to reciprocate and I didn’t know how to ask.
I still couldn’t get the hang of how Pete wanted me to touch him. I kept trying to get better but I just couldn’t seem to do what he was asking, it seemed like I could never give him a blowjob the way he wanted. But he liked to let me to get him off with his hand, then push my head down onto his dick so I could swallow his load. It still tasted bitter and acidic but I was getting used to it.
Then the Sunday after I finished exams, he pushed me too far.
We were in his room as usual, having eaten two whole bags of Salt and Vinegar chips and played Tekken Tag until our salty fingers hurt. Pete put down his controller with a loud sigh and flopped down on his back, arms sprawled out over the mattress.
I laid down beside him and stroked his coarse unkempt beard before resting my fingers on his chin and moving my face in for a kiss.
“Hey Eli,” He murmured against my lips. “Wanna touch me?”
I nodded and reached into his basketball shorts for his semi-hard dick.
I was stroking and kissing him when he made a deep grunting noise and rolled over on his side. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked right in my eyes.
“I love you, Eli.”
Just like that. He said it.
I opened my mouth but closed it when I realised I had nothing to say. My mind was completely blank. This image of sexy Damien, lying on the chair in my tattoo parlour, came into my mind and I lost my train of thought.
Pete must have taken my silence as some kind of affirmation because he smiled and leaned in to kiss my unresisting lips. The kiss was gentle and first, but grew more assertive until he was holding me by the back of the head and pushing his lips hard against mine, his tongue forcing its way inside my mouth.
He rolled again until he was on top of me, his arms on either side of my head and most of his weight pressing down on top of me. I could feel his hard dick pressing into my thigh, slipping against the fabric of my loose shorts.
“Let me fuck you,” He whispered into my ear.
I froze. “Um, Pete,” I began.
He returned his mouth to mine and sucked at my tongue, stealing the breath from my lungs so I couldn’t talk anymore. He ground his hips against me, rubbing his dick up along my thigh. He moaned low in his throat and the sound made his lips vibrate slightly against mine.
He shifted his weight so he was propped up on one arm with his big stomach pressed into me and his right arm free to roam my body. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and started tugging like he could pull them right off my hips.
I shook my head until I got my face free of his and said, “No, Pete, I don’t think I’m comfortable with this.”
“Come on Eli. I love you, I wouldn’t hurt you.”
His voice was coaxing and I really wanted him to like me, I wanted to be able to please him at last. I relaxed and let his fingers scrabble at my fly. But he didn’t even go for my dick, he popped the button on my fly and started dragging my pants down with one hand and groping at my butt with the other — he didn’t even want to touch me, he just wanted sex. I felt a jolt of panic and wrongness.
“No, Pete,” I said more firmly and pushed against his belly. He was too big for me; my hands did nothing to shift his bulk.
Pete grabbed my head to kiss me again but I shook my head free. He was scaring me now, I’d said no and he was still pressuring me. He hadn’t even touched me, and now he wanted to fuck me — it was too sudden, too unexpected.
“Let me go Pete, I’m not ready,” I said, half-jokingly. When he didn’t respond and just kept rubbing against me, I got scared. “Seriously Pete, let me go.”
He grabbed my head to try and kiss me again and I freaked right out. I pushed at him with my hands and wiggled my body around, trying to get away from him. He was so much heavier than me and his body had me trapped.
“Eli, Jesus, what are you doing?”
“Let me go!”
Pete grunted and, finally, rolled over so I was free. I took a heaving breath and zipped myself back up with trembling hands. I didn’t look back at Pete as I rushed from his room.
I didn’t hear from Pete for over a week and I started worrying I’d ruined our friendship, that I’d lost my only friend. I thought about calling him but I didn’t know what to say — wasn’t sure if I should apologise or ask for an apology.
Without university homework I just went home after work each day and sat alone in my room, ignoring the sounds of my flatmates getting drunk. I loved tattooing but it was scary to think that this was all my life would be from now on. It would be a lonely life if I didn’t fix things with Pete. I’d have to call him or see him at a show, tell him I appreciated what he’d told me and that I just wanted to take things slow.
Pete’s band were playing at the local all-ages venue Friday night so I went along, determined to make things up with him.
There’re always groups of people hanging around outside the hardcore shows, inside is just for listening to music but outside is where people actually socialise.
There were yells from a couple of people I know through the tattoo parlour, but I just nodded and kept looking.
Of course when I found him he was surrounded by people, lots of straight-edgers making in-jokes. I pushed my way into the group until I got a clear view at him, and when he met my eyes I grinned nervously.
“Eli, hey! How are you?”
I grinned like a fool but couldn’t think of anything to say. He was still my friend!
He had his arm around a short girl with dyed black hair who I had never seen before. Pete tilted his head toward her and said, “This is Kelly, my girlfriend.”
I stood frozen to the spot, unable to form words. Kelly was grinning and reaching out her hand, to shake or fistpump. I pretended I didn’t notice. She had a gap between her two front teeth and was wearing a pale pink headband.
I was vaguely aware of another conversation going on in the group, but for me time had stopped and the whole world was focused down on this one moment and the loud pounding of my heart as I stared at my boyfriend with his arm around a girl.
“You work at Defiant, right?” She asked with a friendly smile. I wish she wasn’t friendly. It would make it easier to hate her. “I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo.”
I nodded, and looked at Pete. He wasn’t meeting my eyes, was instead looking at some of his friends with an expression of unconvincing interest which made me suspect he was actually listening in on us.
“Pete doesn’t have any,” Kelly continued on as if she would happily hold an entire conversation on her own. “I’m surprised, so many of the boys here have tattoos! I haven’t been to a punk gig before, I’m excited. Pete’s been trying to convince me to come see him play for months.”
I nodded again. It was hard to pull my head back up from the nod because it felt like my brain was a lump of concrete weighing my neck down.
I began to talk but my voice was so croaky it scared me so I stopped and swallowed and started again. “You’ve been dating Pete for long?”
“Not that long, only six months. Guess that is long after all! We met through church, he plays bass for our youth service band. I was pretty nervous about coming tonight, I thought everyone would be scarier!”
I barely managed a grin before turning and walking away from her. The crowd of people had grown tighter so I had to drop my shoulder to push my way out but I didn’t care — I had to get out of there.
Pete didn’t bother to follow, just stayed there with his arm around his girlfriend.
My mind was swirling and as I walked away from the club, out into the cool dark streets. I felt my stomach heaving and I hunched over a bin to puke up my lettuce sandwich dinner.
Pete called on Tuesday. I wanted to ignore my phone out of spite but then I thought he might be calling to apologize. He was my only friend and if he could explain what was going on then I was willing to hear.
His voice was warm and friendly as he greeted me on the phone and asked why I’d left before seeing him play on Friday. I stumbled over my tongue. How could he not know?
I finally managed to mumble out, “Your girlfriend?”
Pete sighed. “I knew you’d make a big deal out of it.”
“It is a big deal,” I said. I hoped Pete couldn’t hear how much my voice was shaking. “She said you’d been together months. And you said you were my boyfriend, you asked me not to be with anyone else…”
“Like there’s anyone else who would want a whiny little fag like you,” He interrupted me. I couldn’t believe he’d just said those words and I sat in silence, trying to wrap my head around it. Then he sighed and added in a softer voice, “I’m sorry Eli, I didn’t mean that. Kelly’s my girlfriend, but she’s Christian so, you know…”
“So she doesn’t put out like I do?” I choked. I was starting to cry and I hated myself for it, for letting Pete hear me being just as ‘whiny and faggy’ as he thought I was.
“Come on Eli,” Pete’s voice was reassuring but he also sounded a little frustrated like he thought I was being unreasonable. “You know you can’t be ‘out’ in the scene, the guys would beat you to death. What do you expect me to do, prance around holding your hand?” Pete’s words made me cry even harder. I tilted my phone so the mouthpiece was up by my forehead and Pete wouldn’t hear me crying.
“Come on Eli,” He said again. “Come over and we can talk about this?”
I didn’t bother replying, but ended the call and lay face down on my bed to cry.
It was like I was in mourning. It was a week before I left the house for anything except work.
It wasn’t so much that I missed Pete like a boyfriend — I should have realised he never cared, that he only wanted me for sex. But I missed having a friend.
No-one at the shows really liked me and I hadn’t made any effort to connect with my co-workers. I didn’t have anywhere to go after work but it was no fun at home either, my flat was a mess and every time I left my room I had to deal with my loud and useless flatmates.
It was good that I could focus on my work, get absorbed in tattoos — it was the only time I could be free of thoughts of Pete and his girlfriend, though the ache of the betrayal was like a knife permanently lodged in my chest.
By the Friday after meeting Pete’s girlfriend, I was so miserable and lonely I allowed myself to think of Damien.
When I’d been with Pete I’d had to push away thoughts of the sexy skinhead, but now I was alone I couldn’t deny myself the attraction and the fact he seemed interested in me too. I didn’t have to feel guilty anymore.
Damien wouldn’t want to be my friend, but maybe that was for the best — maybe what I needed right now wasn’t a boyfriend, but someone to make me feel sexy and make me cum. Maybe, if I made it clear with myself that it was just sex, I wouldn’t get hurt again.
So I left my house alone on that Friday night and headed away from the usual drunken Friday flat party and off toward the old shopping complex downtown where I knew he lived.
There were lights on in the second story of the building but I didn’t know which rooms would be his. I tried knocking on his door but got no response — would he even hear me up that flight of stairs, assuming he was home?
I’d never thought to ask for his number, and I didn’t want to stand around in the street shouting his name.
The loneliness was more intense now it came on a wave of disappointment. I couldn’t go home, I couldn’t face lying alone with my thoughts and the pounding of the flat’s stereo. I left Damien’s doorstep and just wandered into the dark streets, aimless.
I was just wandering when I saw him, leaning up against a wall and smoking. I couldn’t believe it. Damien?
I ran toward him. He was wearing a leather jacket and his shaven head shone in the light of the street lamp he was under.
He looked up as I got close and I froze in my tracks. It wasn’t Damien. It was some stranger with a face like a pug dog.
He was staring right at me and holding his cigarette in his hand. I stammered an apology and started back tracking, heading toward the other side of the street. But the skinhead disengaged from the wall and started following me. I didn’t like the look on his face.
“Little boy,” He called out. His voice was harsh and sneering. “Little boy, who you looking for?”
I started walking faster, holding my head high and trying not to panic. I heard his steps gaining on me and I got scared.
“Were you looking for a real man, a man to fuck you, little faggot?” He called out loudly and I was shocked by how close he sounded. I dropped all pretence and just started running.
I could hear him laughing and I tried to block out the sound as I raced down the street, feet hurting in my worn canvas shoes which really weren’t meant to deal with sharp impacts. I could hear his heavy booted footsteps behind me and I tried to run as fast as I could, toward the shopping complex and its promise of better light and inhabited houses.
I was in sight of the bright street-lamp lit shopping complex when his hand grabbed my arm. I tried to keep running but he was too strong for me, he pulled roughly on my arm and I fell backward and straight onto my butt.
The skinhead jeered in laughter and squatted down, dropping a knee so it landed in my stomach. When I tried to push myself back to my feet the skinhead smacked me hard in the face. The blow slammed my head onto the concrete. Bright red lights popped behind my closed eyelids.
He hit me again, this time with a heavy slap to my ear. The noise was loud and the ringing continued longer than the pain. I felt disoriented like I was going to be sick. The skinhead shifted his weight so his knees were on my elbows and I couldn’t move my arms or lift myself up. I tried to kick him in the back but I couldn’t lift my legs high enough, and when I kept struggling he hit me again.
I stopped struggling and focused on breathing in and out. I was trying to think of a way to get out of this. I tried to not cry.
I heard a zipper undoing and turned my head and so I wouldn’t see what happened next. But the skinhead grabbed my head and forced my face back up toward him.
The next moment I felt warm liquid splashing onto my face and I scrunched my whole face up in shock. He was peeing on me! The urine was warm and it ran up my nose so I was choking and trying to breathe through it but without opening my mouth. He was still holding my head so I couldn’t get away.
I pushed off the ground with all my strength but I just couldn’t get away from him. His knees on my elbows hurt so much that my arms were going numb and I was scared if I moved too much he would hit me again.
I started crying, tears running past my tightly closed eyelids. I wanted to die, I was so humiliated and grossed out.
Finally the guy’s stream ran out and he shook his dick a couple times so the last few drips splattered across my neck and tee shirt. He just stayed squatted over my for a few moments. I kept my face screwed up and hoped this would be over soon.
The guy roughly yanked my head backward so my neck was stretched out and the back of my skull hit the concrete. He hunched over and I felt something rubbery and wet slipping across my face. I hoped it wasn’t what I thought it was.
He shifted his weight so his knee caps crushed my elbows onto the gritty concrete and it was all I could do not to cry out in pain. I felt the rubbery thing jabbing at my mouth again and I clenched my teeth tight shut. The skinhead barked out a laugh and started poking at my mouth with his fingers, trying to push my lips and teeth open. I tried to pull away but his hand on my head was too strong. The taste of his fingers on my lips was muddy and foul.
“Suck it,” He growled. I managed to jerk my head sideways, it ached where my hair was pulled but at least I was away from his dick. “Suck it, you worthless piece of shit.”
He hit me in the side of the head. His fist must have been balled up with the knuckles sticking out because the pain was sharp and precise and blinding. White lights strobed in circles behind my eyes like watching ripples on the surface of a phosphorescent sea. The pain made me choke and cry out and the punk took the chance to push his dick in my mouth.
His skinny penis tasted like musk and lint and urine, he couldn’t seem to get it into my throat while his legs were spread out to pin my elbows down so instead he just rammed it against the top of my mouth and wriggled it around there. I was gagging and crying and urine was running into my nose and down the sides of my face.
“Come on, you useless piece of shit,” He yelled, and spit flew out of his mouth and hit my forehead. “Suck it. What the fuck are you good for if you can’t even suck cock?”
He bucked his hips up so his dick slid along the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t stand it anymore.
I bit down, hard.
The punk bellowed like a bull and grabbed onto my mouth with both hands, trying to force my jaw open. His fingers were sliding all over the inside of my front teeth and it ached, like he was going to pull my teeth out from their roots.
When I didn’t let go he started hitting me again, over and over. The side of my skull, my face, my neck. Again and again his fists collided with my skin and I heard the dull fleshy thuds as if they were far away, cancelled out by the ringing in my ears. I was so dizzy I felt like I was going to throw up and the pain in my head was comparable only to the pain in my arms where his weight was on me.
I was vaguely aware of releasing my jaw when the pain got too much. He kept hitting me with both hands, the motion of his arms causing his body to rock so his knees forced my elbows again and again against the gritty concrete.
Just when I thought I was going to pass out or throw up, I heard footsteps. Heavy boots, running.
A voice growled, “Get off him you munter.”
The weight was gone from on top of me but I could only lie on my back and concentrate on breathing. My whole body seemed to throb and I wondered if I’d pass out. There seemed to be something wrong with my ability to get air in my lungs, but it could just be the panic and sobbing. I clenched and unclenched my fists to get blood back into them. Squinting through my stinging swollen eyes I could see the haze of a street lamp above me. Then a face there, a shaven head which the haze of light surrounded like a halo.
I barely had time to cringe before I recognised it as Damien, not my attacker. I tried to smile at him but my lips weren’t working properly, they felt heavy and tight.
I croaked out his name, though the sound was so quiet I would be surprised if he heard me. Then he was crouching down over me and I couldn’t move my head to look for fear of puking, but his hands on me were gentle and I felt the warm rush of relief and gratitude. I was alive. Damien saved me.