No Speed Bumps

John Raymond H

He always seemed tense and about to explode. Aggressive in the way he approached all things. But, somewhat contrarily, agitated and fidgety. Extraordinarily intelligent and single-minded. An iconoclast. Self-contained. And driven. And his loyalty and fearlessness were legendary. A mass of unresolved contradictions that if harmonized might have made him less. You were drawn and repelled, at once.

John Raymond was department head. At 32.

He was stimulating and usually exciting to work with. A perfectionist. Who was impossible to please. Everyone tried but kept their distance. His temper was legendary - when things weren’t going well.

The first time I really had anything to do with this strangely complex and contradictory guy was a couple of years ago in what has become jokingly known in the department as ‘The Great Ideological Struggle’.

Remnants of the public service left (with John as a youthful and next generation starter) were fighting the proposal of a particularly draconian redundancy package in my own section. And it had come down to a round-the-table meeting of department and section heads. Finishing with a couple of particularly acerbic attacks directed at our department head. This led me to a rather theatrically-explosive defence, which was not unenjoyable!

We went back to my section in more than a mild state of euphoria. John put himself in my chair, kicked off his shoes, and got his white-socked feet up on the desk. I could smell their freshly-laundered cotton and the faint scent of sweat. He pulled up his trouser legs, one at a time, revealing heavy muscular calves, thick with wiry blond hair.

My seemingly imperceptible reaction provoked ‘They’re ok?’

‘Fine. Good.’

‘I beg your pardon!’

I shrugged my shoulders.

‘Oh. Missed that one. … So you with anyone at the moment?’ He was razor-sharp on the uptake.

‘No, you?’ Almost as a retort – he’d been that unsettling.

‘Was with someone for a couple of years but then she wanted kids. And I wasn’t ready.’

A pause, no reciprocity. Did I give away too much? Yep.

‘So you’re interested in a bloke now’

‘Kinda.’

‘What’s that mean?’

‘He’s not really available.’

‘With somebody else?’

‘Nope’

‘Straight!’

‘Yeah’

‘Oh Christ. … Sorry mate’

‘No problem. So if you ever need to get out of going to hell by doing some really ugly purgatory-typed penance … .’

He roared with laughter. The risk had paid off.

‘At least we can be mates’ – signaling the empathy.

…

Gradually we began to lunch. And blocky talk became something quieter and more serious. We read similar things. And traveled a lot and in the same way. Liked similar kinds of people. So lots of similarities but not too many. The connection developed.

…

Social things followed. Which was exhilarating for me. But confusing too as I began to knowingly drift into imaging more. At parties, he’d have his arm round my shoulder, particularly after a few drinks. … Apart from anything else, I think he probably liked to confuse people. Or just jerk them round a bit.

…

We’d been out at a pub. Beer had been the enemy. I remember the warmth of his big firm muscular body lolling against me. His warm breath occasionally on my neck.

…

He couldn’t drive. As usual. But this time I took him back to my place. And into the spare room. He rolled back onto the bed, as if in slow motion. I couldn’t leave. Just stood there watching him breathing … slowly in and out.

Then after a few minutes ‘Oh fuck I’m horny’. He put an arm over his eyes. ‘I could do some of that ugly penance now if ya like. It’d be ok’.

I weighed everything up.

And nervously unbuckled his belt and opened his fly. He lifted his hips for me to get his jeans down. And his arms up, for his tee-shirt over his head.

…

A thick short cock, with a fat throbbing vein down the left side. He was dribbling pre-cum, almost continuously. The taste got me achingly rock hard. And the strong odour of jocks sweat made me crazy to cum. Which made me take his dick more down my throat - to get his fleshy balls right up against my face. The smell of his bush overwhelmed my senses.

After a few seconds, he blew. And blew. And blew. With a final long slow deep groan. And then he seemed to drift off to sleep.

I slowly striped him. Smelling his feet as I got his socks off. And momentarily sucking his fleshy muscular toes.

And then, inspired by his own determined character, I quickly undressed and slide between the sheets behind him. And wrapped myself round his body. But no reaction. I stroked his thick silky blond hair, and down his broad neck. And felt over his full warm furry pecs and arms. The thick wiry hair of his legs almost grazing my skin as I rubbed my thighs against his. My balls tightened and I was squirting cum over his hairy buns. He laughed quietly, more to himself. Not asleep!

After half an hour, he rolled around, turned me over onto my stomach and got on top. He opened my legs with his knee and wiggled his butt around as he forced his cock into my crack. And then into my hole. All the time pre-cumming ‘lube’ and making it easy to work his dick in.

‘Mmmmm’ as the rhythmic thrusting got faster and faster. ‘Aaaaahhhhh’ as he unloaded.

…

John was extraordinarily beautiful as well as handsome. In that Leonardoesque way. Always groomed to perfection. Usually in navy blue suits that spiked up his blond hair and golden honey-coloured complexion. In a way that seemed suspiciously calculated. But still the prefect foil for his blocky character.

…

Then he stayed over a couple of times. And it became more the norm.

‘What do you reckon’s happening about us mate?’

‘Penance seems to be becoming something else.’

‘Yep’

…

And he’s still my partner.