Alec | By : GerryTaylor78 Category: S through Z > Will & Grace Views: 1664 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Will & Grace, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Alec
or Country
and city clinch
I first met
Alec at a local pub. Our common link was a girl we both knew. He was really
there with a pal of his and looked tired and bored out of his mind. When it was
my turn for a round, he came up to the counter to give me a hand with the
drinks.
‘Thanks for
the help,’ I said.
‘Not at
all. I had to stretch my legs and get away from the effin’
noise.’
‘Not your
scene, then?’
‘Normally,
yes, I suppose so. It’s just that I had a hard week and to cap it all the effin’
car wouldn’t start when I came out of work. I’m totally shagged and it’s only
Friday night.’
‘Then why don’t you leave and get a
good night’s rest. Tomorrow’s another day,’ I suggested.
‘I can’t
really,’ he replied. ‘Your man,’ indicating his pal with a flick of his thumb,
‘said he would drop me back to me cousin’s where I am floppin’ for the night.
And I have to collect the car in the morning from the
garage.’
‘You’re not from
Dublin?’
‘Naw, the
midlands.’
‘And your
man?’
‘Aw, he’s
just a mate from work. He knows one of the girls.’
‘Well, come
back to my place for an early night.’
‘Naw,
that’d put you out and I need to get something to eat,’ but as Alec said it, he
wasn’t arguing too much against the idea.
One
down!
‘No prob,’
I replied. ‘Have something at my place. It’s only three streets away and I can
drop you anywhere you want in the morning.’
‘If you’re
sure it’s no bother.’
Two down,
one to go!
‘No
bother.’
‘Let’s
skedaddle after this round.’
Three down!
Pickup
complete!
Twenty
minutes later, we were walking back to my place. Alec’s mate had his eye on one
of the birds and was relieved to be relieved of Alec, who had called his cousin
on the mobile and said he was crashing elsewhere.
We picked
up a pizza at the Italian take-away on the corner and a cassata that they
had on special offer. As we walked along, the slightest drizzle of rain in the
air, Alec said, ‘You know. I haven’t been picked up in 15 years. Do you make a
habit of this?’
‘No. But
you looked so out of it there, bored to the teeth. And I really hate the pub
scene. Too much smoke. And this is only an invite to stay the night in the spare
room, if you only want only that, and half a pizza to boot thrown
in.’
‘Sorry. I
didn’t mean to be shitty,’ and putting out his hand he said, ‘Alec Dunne,
plumbing and heating specialist extraordinaire.’
We shook
and I saw a wirey guy in his early to mid-thirties, with hair cut back to a dark
fuzz and fine bright eyes. I felt honest calluses on his hands. He could be
easily imagined with a hard hat, a check shirt and a loose hanging tool belt.
But there was something more than the working class stud, he had worry sitting
on one shoulder and responsibility sitting on the other.
We had
arrived just then at the gate entrance of my apartment block, so there was
really no time to continue on the life story, either his or mine. Juggling with
keys, I let ourselves into my pied-ŕ-terre or rather fourth and top floor
apartment kindly left to me some years previously by an aunt hastily looking for
heaven.
I put the
pizza to warm up in the microwave and the softening cassata to firm up in
the fridge. Alec was wandering around the apartment, his hand slightly touching
the furniture, taking in the double radiators and the view of the
river.
So, I said,
‘If you are tired, go in and take a shower. It will freshen you up. There is
loads of hot water and there is an extra robe on the back of the door,’
indicating the general area of the bathroom.
It is
surprising, at times, to members of the non-gay community how easily picked-up
strangers are introduced into the lives of those who live an entirely different
sexual orientation.
He looked
at me and pointing a finger, he followed the general direction of his finger,
and off he went.
‘I’ll shout
when the pizza is ready in about four or five minutes, so don’t worry and don’t
take too long,’ I said to the disappearing figure.
While Alec
freshened up, I took an already open half bottle of white Orvieto from
the fridge. A couple of place settings, dishes from the rack, and the
Carpenters, extolling the virtues of Juantanamera in whispers on the
stereo, set the scene.
Five
minutes later on the button, Alec appeared in a robe just as I was cutting the
pizza in two. The black stubble fuzz on his head glinted in the light, his skin
pink from the shower and, in the robe, he appeared more stocky than in fact he
was.
‘Welcome
back,’ I said and gave him a kiss on the cheek, with a cloth in one hand and a
pizza slicer in the other. He brought up his two hands, took my face in them,
and placed a second kiss on my lips. Dew dropping from the heavens was never as
light. A petal falling from a rose was never more pure. A feather was never more
ticklish.
‘Let’s
eat,’ said I.
‘Let’s
eat,’ said he.
During the
meal, I looked at him as he looked at me. He sipped at a half a glass of the
wine.
‘I’m not
really a heavy drinker.’
‘I love
white, and particularly Italian white, and especially this Orvieto,’ I
said, as I half-raised a glass in toast.
‘So you’re
not one of these wild men from the midlands,’ I commented.
‘Well, I’m
only twenty five miles out of the city, so I commute in to the west side each
morning and, still living at home, it sort of cramps my wild
style.’
‘So, what’s
the story?’ I asked.
‘Nothing
special,’ he replied. ‘two brothers and a sister, now all married. The parents
have a grocery shop which just ticks over. I went to technical college here in
the city and that is where I was picked up by my former partner fifteen years
ago,’ he said with a smile. ‘that’s just over now. Have to find a new life and a
new love, if the Fates are kind.’
‘I think
the Fates like us to lend a helping hand. What happened with the partner and
yourself?’
‘I suppose
he just got restless after all that time and want to move on or move to someone
else. I can tell you it hurt like hell when he said it was over. I rang him a
couple of times to see…well, to see if…,’ Alec’s voice trailed
off.
I stretched
across a finger and ran it along the palm of his hand. Touch in a time of pain
is a great healer, even if that touch is not your lover’s. Alec took my hand and
proceeded to kiss the back of each finger.
‘Can we?’
he asked.
‘Of
course,’ I replied and took his hand and led him into the
bedroom.
There are
eighty plus erogenous zones on the human body at the last count according to
some experts. Not every one is possessed of all of them. Lucky the person with
six to ten. Alec was starved of sensation and touch, of love and affection and
tenderness. He was starved of sexual release and almost self-poisoned with
pent-up sexual emotion.
He had not
come in ages since the break-up with his partner. Every single pore of his body
was a nerve ending of sensation, every single hair a conduit of unrequited
tension, every single nook and cranny of a shaking body reacted to touch, and he
gasped and groaned as he tried to hold on to a sexual release that was more
capricious that an uncontrollable mustang of desire.
First and
foremost, Alec wanted to be held. Then, he wanted to feel the closeness of
another. These two actions could have been done by anyone a friend, a mother, a
relation, a lover. It is the first part of love to know that you belong and are
close to and protected by another. It is not sexual love. It is more basic. It
is more primitive. It is almost like a child in the womb or a baby in
arms.
The first
overt sexual act was not the feel of the hardness of his penis against my body,
nor the warmth of his balls, nor the pounding of his heart which I could feel
under the palm of my hand whenever it pressed on his chest and pecs. The sexual
act was the longing in his eyes. The brightness was fiery, demanding and yet
pleading, asking and answering at the same time.
The second
sexual act was my kiss on his lips and chin and jawbone, kisses that extended to
his ears and their lobes, to the nook between jaw and neck, over his cheeks and
to his eyes and brows and lips, to a forehead with the smallest beads of sweat
on it, to a hairline and down the nose, to the waiting lips again.
He gave the
strangled cry of the lover who cannot find the words but has no need of them to
express the pleasure being felt. His tongue tried to find my lips which
continued on their wandering caresses. His hands touched my back as if to find
reassurance that he was still on earth and that the caresses were not of some
more heavenly dimension. He groaned and clutched me tightly. This was the second
part of love between lovers as God meant it to be.
‘Please, please,’ Alec whispered
bringing my hand down to his swollen manhood. The touch of my hand on his pubic
hair was galvanic after the shower. Pulses of electricity ran up each follicle
of hair. His balls tightened, the foreskin of his cock was fully back, a drop of
transparent lubricant was filling the tip of his urethra which my fingers
smoothed over the throbbing head. The glans was now fully moist and the helmet's
corona at the top of the thickly shafted cock was at its most
sensitive.
‘Please,
please,’ Alec begged again, asking for a release which would bring him back to
earth yet at the same time send him heavenwards in ecstasy.
My lips
covered the tip of his cock, barely touching the glans with my lips and letting
the rough skin of his top shaft feel the passing edges of my incisors. I ran my
tongue around the corona and a cock, that had been hard, now went rigid.
My fingers
traced the thousand mile walk down the shaft as his cock and his scrotum
contracted yet again, hard up against his body. My tongue worked its way around
the corona once more for luck and Alec gave a cry of air being forced from
lungs, of passion going over the edge, of a heart beating too fast, and with a
groan caused by that type of passion not felt for a long, long time, he released
into my mouth the pent-up turbulence of his seed with its slightly salty protein
taste.
Alec
shuddered and gasped. He clung to my body and to my shoulders. His arms were
small boa constrictors around my body and he shuddered and gasped again.
‘Jesus! Oh,
Jesus! I thought the top had come off my cock. I have not come in two months.
Thank you! Thank you!’
I held him
for ten minutes.
Mundaness
returned into our lives, and I brought over the cassata in two
bowls.
‘Now, let’s
start at the beginning. Tell me all about yourself, the real you,’ I said.
The story
took seven years in all to unfold, years of joy and tears, of desire and love
and tenderness, during which time we were referred to by our friends and
acquaintances as ‘partners’. A country and city clinch and embrace was never
more evenly and better matched in space and time.
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