Then I felt his tongue on my toes and then I felt it move up my leg. I looked at how I had folded my clothes neatly by the side of his single bed. My mother would have been proud, to a certain extent at least.
[background]

After *** left and said she really wasn't coming back this time, I went a bit mental. There were several consequences of this; an STD, I think, a lingeringly tedious addition to sulphate sprinkled amphetamines (alchohism having predated this particular trough by a bad half decade or so), and homelessness. At the time, I waltzed through life with a jaunty smile and a spring laden step. (now, with my own set of screwdrivers, plates and properly catalogued pornography, I have black fear of anything; odd huh?)
So I found myself living in hotels for a while. I tried sleeping in a park, really I did. But there was just something so, so, unamusing about it. I'd stay in a hotel, pay for a week or so, win some cheap trust then extend my stay saying my cheque book had to come over from England; could I stay a week or so and then pay when it arrived? You can only do this so long and I felt the whole time a sort of edgyness which made me paranoid everytime I thought of how many drugs I had in my backpack, and the tales of brutality I had heard about the local police force.

[the end of the background]

Anyway

One spring day, the sun as tentative and as enticing as the first kiss of a new love, I walked down the cobbled streets of the old town. The plane trees were still in the gentle breeze. The people of the town milled and scurried past me warm hearted and their gossip curled around the floors of the streets, curled up my legs and sidled, warm, into my ears. An oldish man (50, maybe, if you were in a good mood) stopped me.

He asked me whether I was looking for somewhere to live

I said I was

He said that was lucky, as he was a landlord.

He showed me a sordid, lonely looking bedsit. I asked about the price. I said I couldn't afford it (probably without listening to the price first). He asked me for lunch and said we'd talk about it over lunch. So I found myself in a large, parquet floored appartment over looking some tidy gardens.

I noticed he closed the windows carefully as we went in,and unfurled the bunched lace curtains from the oak shutters till they hung loose over the windows.

And I noticed that he locked the door and I told myself to be careful. But half a bottle of hock later, my hand trembled only slightly as I lit my post prandial cigarette. I had not eaten for two days and put it down to hunger.

We talked about him. He talked about Japanese condoms (the best you can get, apparently. strong but thin). He talked about his love of MMF thresomes which he had with his cousin (typical bloody foreigners eh?). They had to go to her place out in the hills as she made too much noise in his flat, and he had to be careful.

Then he told me I was very thin, and very pale (er, drugs, duh!). He said he knew the rent was a lot, but we could come to some agreement. I remember I was sitting at the big oak table on a stool. I put my hands gently on the lace of the table. I remember how the lace felt. I was young, tired and hungry. He said he liked my feet and would like to see them.

I knew exactly what I was doing as we each undressed. Then he suggested we go to his room. I carried my clothes, making sure I rembered where my rucksack with my meagre posessions was, and, more crucially, where he had hidden the key to the door (in the cutlery drawer; people always put their keys in there).

I felt extremely stupid as I follwed him to his room. I am really ugly, and skinny and shy. He told me to lay down on the bed. I did so, face up. I wondered why the bed was single, but did not think more about it.

"There's no way I am sucking his cock" I thought to myself. "There's just no way".


I wondered if I would bum him. I thought, probably not.

He said in rather formal language that he wondered whether he could kiss my feet.

I did not know the local phrase for 'fire away' but said "sure".

He started to kiss the soles of my feet. I was a bit embarrassed on account of how I must surely stink, but figured it was up to him to complain. I felt his tongue on the sole of my foot, then I felt his tongue on my toes and then I felt it move up my leg. I looked at how I had folded my clothes neatly by the side of his single bed. My mother would have been proud, to a certain extent at least. Thinking of my mother triggered an involuntary laugh, but I managed to stifle it by pretending it was a groan of pleasure. I was cold, tense and, obviously, unaroused.

When he got to my knees, I put my hands on his thinning hair. He stopped and looked at me. His tired eyes, hung in deep bags, were sad.

"At least you know you're alive" a little voice in my head said to me. I haven't heard that voice for years.

He told me he wanted me to bum him. Then he rolled off, and so I stood up so that the least part as possible of our skin was touching. He lay on the bed, I imagine in what he imagined to be coquettish manner. You can't really be coquettish when you're trying to have sex with someone over twenty five years younger than you though. His back was to me and he scrunched up his legs so that he was holding his knees against his gut. I didn't mind the flab or the age or any of that, though his grey haired back was offputting.

As were his balls.

They looked like the skin you get on cheap chicken breasts from a bad supermarket; grey and pimply. I wondered how I was going to get out of bumming him. I didn't mind how he looked at all; I am just not gay.

" I need some more wine" I said. When he went to get it, I dressed speedily. When he came back, he saw me clothed. I said I was sorry and he cried. I tried to hug him but he tried to turn the hug into a kiss so I left. That was that.

That was about 12 years ago. It's odd how time passes.
(sirolimus, Fri 5 Dec 2008, 17:26, 6 replies)

What a beautiful and romantic story.
*sniffs*
( girlinthehole, Fri 5 Dec 2008, 17:30, closed)

awww
If your novel is only half as well written as that I'll buy ten copies.

I wonder what happened to him and whether he eventually found someone to plug his geriatric poophole.

Sorry, killed the mood :/
(Suddenly, zebras Safe and sound for eternity, Fri 5 Dec 2008, 19:51, closed)

O Charles,
I do ever so enjoy your stories. Reminds me slightly of Thomas Pynchon.
(The loquacious linguist, Fri 5 Dec 2008, 22:56, closed)

*so much click*
A pleasure to read as always.

I do feel slightly ill now though:s
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Sat 6 Dec 2008, 11:19, closed)

This made me feel like I was eating a bucket of KFC
Felt increasing uncomfortable as I worked my way through it, yet I couldn't help but finish. Beautiful rhetoric.
(thecurriedavenger, Sun 7 Dec 2008, 6:08, closed)

Now look what you've done. The next time you see balls, you're going to think of hideous, disgusting KFC and get put off balls forever!
(Musuko, Tue 9 Dec 2008, 14:29, closed)