By The Shore

Discussion in 'Fictitious Stories' started by flaneur, Aug 16, 2010.

  1. flaneur

    flaneur Member

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    Part 1:

    I could feel her eyes boring into me. I thought "Lady... I know," and caught her dead on with a wink - square in the face - before she could pull her glance away. I smirked at her jolt, out of time with the train's shudders. Her ass had actually left the seat with the shock; her neck twisting in whiplash to the car crash of my wink - that's gotta hurt!

    She kept her head turned to the side, her long neck exposed and her cheeks visibly reddening as I looked at her. She was old enough to be my mother; young enough to keep her looks. High cheek bones, silky, dark brown hair in natural waves glistening in the bright mid-morning sun flooding into our carriage. She was Italian, maybe; wearing a knee-length floaty summer dress with her long, tanned legs crossed, falling into white heels. A vision of beauty. She must have known her own power, her power over men - yet her neck lay still exposed to me. "Lady," I thought, "I know."

    I stood up - slower than necessary - and stood just a little too close to her still-seated frame while I fumbled with my bags in the overhead compartment. I'm 6'3 and was totally aware of how close the crotch of my jeans was to her face. I let my sweatshirt ride up in the knowledge it would show off the top of my boxer shorts - maybe a little skin - just to give her a tiny peek. I knew she was looking. I didn't really need anything up there, but these little games, you know, the mind games you play with curious strangers, they're what keeps you sane on these long journeys. I took a tub of hair gel and made my way to the end of the carriage, all too conscious of the faces on the train, the faces of strangers. That was what I'd be seeing at the end of my journey, I guess, the face of a stranger.

    I finished my piss, washed up and took a look at myself in the full-length mirror (these long-journey trains are pretty swanky, I thought). Like I said, 6'3, blonde, green eyes, good skin other than the few occasional zits - forgivable at 20, I guess - and pretty broad shoulders; and that's just what nature provided. I pulled up my sweatshirt, with the top of my boxers coming through low slung jeans. Daily cardio exercises followed by 100 sit-ups a day let me maintain a 28" waist with abs that popped on command. Even better, the secret weapon was inside the boxers; my piece de la resistance - not that anyone had ever resisted...

    I took my seat again, hair gelled a little into spikes. Pretty unnecessary, I had given up on the flirting. Actually I hardly made eye contact with the woman again, caught up in my own thoughts. Ally, what was he going to be like? Last time I saw the guy we were short and overweight; but time had been kind on me - maybe too kind. What if he was the same ugly little kid? What if he was so totally different than when I had last seen him? Seven years had passed and I was headed south, on a train, to meet my old best friend - now a stranger - apropos of one phone call.

    The train pulled into Newcastle station and the summer dress and heels clicked towards the door, a little white case rolled behind. I guess it was the fact I hadn't knocked the wind out of her by playing any more games that gave her back that womanly confidence - the train picked up again and I was sent off from Newcastle station with an overblown air-kiss from her lipsticked bocca. I met her mouth with a smile from behind the glass.
     
  2. flaneur

    flaneur Member

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    Part 2:

    "Hey m8 gd 2 hear it. Will b at th station wen u get here. X"

    My fate was sealed and so was the carriage. I had texted Ally to let him know I had changed trains at London, that everything was on schedule: I would be in Brighton within the hour.

    My heart was in my throat by the time I got to the station. Every doubt about how Ally and had amplified in that hour, and carrying my case on my left shoulder as I stepped off the train. People washed past like individual questions: will we still be able to chat?; tell each other everything?; what music does he like?; will we still gel like we did? I hadn't seen the guy in seven years. He visited once, slept over at my house, two years after he had moved away. His dad got a new job down south nine years ago and uprooted the whole family from Edinburgh to Hove. Ally and I hadn't kept in touch after he left, no pictures, nothing; then one phone call just four days ago... I didn't even give myself time to think, just kept moving forward, moving forward.

    He stood in the middle of the waves of people; stoic; smiling. The doubts flooded past him and off into nothingness. He had the same massive grin and that was all I needed to see. The same grin - except his teeth now fit his mouth.

    "Hey man! How was the journey?" He said loudly, excitedly. The grin was really all that hadn't changed: he was about 5'9, really dark hair down past his shoulders in messy waves, and really skinny. He had a white t-shirt with a deep V-groove down to his chest and tight black skinny jeans. A tattoo on his left bicep rolled out from under the rolled-up sleeve, in cyan, yellow and deep red. He looked like a rock star. Where I had buffed up to lose weight, he seemed to have lost it all in a growth spurt. His voice had lost the Edinburgh accent I had kept; now with a soft English refinement. He held out his hand to shake.

    "Good, it was really good, quiet, you know?" I didn't know what to say. We had never shaken hands before now.

    "I would offer to help with your bags but you don't look like you need any help!" he said, slapping my bicep. I didn't really understand at first. "You've bulked up, man. Not the overweight kid I remember," he said, then let out a genuine laugh through his grin. I laughed too and we walked towards the taxi rank. His face had softened too. I didn't know what it was - but his features had somehow become both more masculine and more feminine, together.

    Now let me tell you - I'm not slow on the uptake, never have been. Did pretty well on my exams, got into a decent uni and on my way to a degree; but this was all too much - trying to keep up with this figure from my past all-grown-up; trying to figure out why now? Why had he called me to come down? At least he was cheerful - he sounded so grave when he called me; on my parents' house phone line, the one he must have known by heart like I knew his. I hadn't received a call on that line for years; not since mobile phones took over. It was archaic.
     
  3. Cynix

    Cynix Member

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    I like your style of writing, but I can't even put my finger on what exactly made this such a pleasant read so far ^^
     
  4. flaneur

    flaneur Member

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    Hey Cynix, thanks so much! Glad you're enjoying it so far buddy. ;)
     
  5. guy_072332

    guy_072332 New Member

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    the begining of another great story man. good job as per usual
     
  6. flaneur

    flaneur Member

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    Part 3:

    I really love exploring a new place. However, I'd never been so wrong in my estimate about any town. Usually visiting somewhere like Aberdeen with my football team or Paris with my ex-girlfriend, I knew something of the city before I went. With Brighton, well, you know the reputation. The gay city and nothing else, right? I had been there less than 24 hours and already my perception of the place had been proved wrong.

    I sat on a bench by the shore, staring out at the ocean, finally allowing my brain to mull over the time I had spent here. Things with my old best friend had gone great lastnight - we got back to his place, spoke to each other for a little while in the living room, then I was asleep on the couch before midnight. I was pooped and my buddy had to be at work at 8am.

    But just talking to him, man, it was like nothing had changed after that initial awkwardness. "Call me Alex," he said, "I've outgrown Ally." He had always hated his full name, but he seemed to be reclaiming it. I made some joke about how he would be Alexander by middle age. I thought: it was like we had known each other our whole lives - then I realised, in actuality, we had.

    So we woke up early this morning, got the bus to the city centre and I went exploring down tight alleyways, colourful street markets, the famous pier... so many beautiful people. Such a beautiful city, in fact. Those old buildings in pastel shades; and I've always been attracted to the sea.

    A blonde girl in a white dress sat on the opposite side of the bench, holding an ice cream cone. She turned to me and asked: "Do you beat your wife?"

    I laughed - I was wearing a white tank top to make the most of the early-summer sun. "I'm not married," I said, and showed her the backs of both hands, wriggling my fingers.

    "Me either," she said, "I'm Erica."

    "Craig," I said, and we shook hands.

    "You're just visiting, right?" she asked.

    "Yeah, just down to see a buddy," I said.

    "Thought so... the straight boys never stay," she said. I gave her a puzzled look, and she replied to my tacit question: "Living around here, a girl has to have a strong straight-dar!"
     
  7. flaneur

    flaneur Member

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    Part 4:

    "Sure babe I'm free - what pub are you in?" Erica asked over the phone. Ally - I mean Alex - had talked me into calling the hot girl I had totally found a connection with by the beach. He was really into my story, right across the table; had laughed really hard at the straight-dar joke. He had met me once he had finished work and we had gone to the pub. It was incredible - my first drink with the guy I always thought I'd share my literal first drink with. The bar was picking up a little, being a Friday night - a nice little place, dark decor and furnishings; we sat half-way between two levels of the bar on a huge staircase. Alex told me little bits about his life - it rocks - and his job - it sucks. He asked me about guys we used to know; guys I hadn't really hung out with since he left. The whole dynamic changed without my best friend. I changed.

    By the time Erica joined us, we were onto our fourth beer and the place was packed.

    "Hey, good to see you again so soon!" I said, standing up to hug her. I pulled away quickly, opening her up to my friend. "This is the guy I'm visiting," I said, "Alex - we grew up together!" They shook hands and she sat down between us.

    "Hey, don't I know you from somewhere...?" Erica asked Alex, then her eyes lit up, "Oh damn, man, The Shallotts!"

    They seemed to light up together at this word. Alex had that excited grin again when he said "Got it in one! I'm the drummer."

    "You guys played at Jess Albert's house party right? I spoke to James for a little bit outside after your set! I work for the Argus," she said, almost reverent.

    "What are you drinking?" I asked her.

    "Thanks Craig - a white wine please!" She said before launching back into questions about the band. Alex winked at me as I made for the bar.

    Now it felt exactly like when we were kids. This was the natural progression for our friendship, I guess. Ally was always more assertive, more popular than me - not that either of us was popular, but he was the one people spoke to first. More personable, I guess. Now with Alex, I felt like I had regressed back to little fat Craig standing behind little fat Ally. He was stealing my girl - and it was hilarious! I guess we had both developed on our own into guys that girls wanted to know, and we were still friends. We made an awesome team, maybe more than ever! "Two Stella please, bud," I said, "and a white wine - a large one!"

    "...So the guy was all like 'nah...a photocopied press pass won't get you backstage,' when Madonna herself walked through the backstage area, shook my hand and said 'she's with me' - she remembered me from the interview! I mean sure, it was two hours before, but MADONNA!!" Erica was a journalist with some incredible stories - especially after a good few rounds of drinks. And Alex... Alex just knew how to keep a table entertained! They each held court while I sat there, pretty mesmerised.

    "Okay," Alex announced after laughing at Erica's last story, "my round."

    Erica turned to me now and said: "So how are you finding our little city?"

    "You know, I kind of like it!" I said, "It's beautiful, the people seem pretty nice, and I don't mind seagulls either!"

    "And being in a gay bar? That must be pretty new to you," she said. I looked around - I hadn't even noticed the groups of people around us: girls with short hair playing pool; guys closer than I was used to seeing; some kissing. "Then again," she said, "you grew up with a gay guy, you can't be so shocked by it all!"

    I really didn't get it. Erica pre-empted my question once more by nodding over to Alex by the bar. "Come on, I told you: straight-dar!"
     
  8. flaneur

    flaneur Member

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    Part 5:

    By the time we were standing outside the gay bar and hugging Erica goodnight, the music was blaring like chainsaws and I had no idea how much we had drank. Alex's inner Scot came out when he started buying two shots of whatever crazy spirit whim specified with every round: tequila, vodka, Tuaca. Erica declined as she had some vague "work" to do that night.

    "I'll call you tomorrow Alex, yeah? See ya, Craig," said Erica as she hit the burgeoning Friday night streets and was gone. Neither Alex nor I could remember whose round it was - nor how many rounds we had had. We off in the opposite direction towards his place - our night, we agreed, was over.

    "Haha, dude!" Alex hiccupped, "It's when the air hits - then you fuckin' know!!"

    "Yeah, know where you came from man!! I can hear your old accent coming back to haunt you!" I laughed. He fell into me a little, stumbling as we laughed, his arm grazing my lower back.

    It took me a second to register, just a split second, but between feeling his hand on me and looking down at his hysterical grin, I heard Erica again: "You grew up with a gay guy..." and he pulled away.

    "Come on! I'll race ya! Let's see whose the jock now!" He laughed, pulling ahead of me in a game I knew I'd easily win. His scrawny ass was mine.

    He had a six yard advantage over me by the time I started running and I creamed him, getting to the bottom of the straight road a good couple of minutes before him, holding onto a lamppost and catching my breath.

    "Damnit Craig!" he said, "I forgot you're not a stupid kid anymore!" as I grabbed him in a headlock right on the street.

    It took a good half hour or so before we got to the end of his street. It would have been half that time had we not been messing around the whole time. "Down here," Alex said, as he walked down a dark alleyway just minutes from his front door, "gotta take a leak."

    I heard him unzip and a strong jet hit the brick wall in front of him. There was something about that noise, the brush against my back, the question of why I was here still unanswered... alcohol had just made it all hilariously obvious. I laughed out loud as I whipped out my own dick and pissed against the same wall, only a metre or so along from Alex.

    I remembered the last time we pissed against a wall together - such an absurd memory! We were 13-years-old. He was visiting Edinburgh for one night with his parents to see his grandfather and we were locked out of my house - pissing in unison against my dad's garage in defiance of my parents not allowing me to have a latch key. We slept that night top to toe like we did when we had sleepovers as kids, but the atmosphere was different that time - we were both a little taller and we didn't really fit in one bed. Puberty was setting in. I remember Ally pulling the bedcovers off me, laughing, while I changed into pyjamas...

    "Come on man, stop gawking and finish off! You've been pissing forever," Alex shouted, laughing that same laugh an octave lower.
     
  9. flaneur

    flaneur Member

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    Part 6:

    I stood in the living room in the quiet openness of being alone for the first time that day. I was trying to open the bed covers to lay them down on the couch. Erica was pretty cool, I thought. Alex too, even after what she had said to me about him. I mean it didn't bother me, but it was on my mind. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was just using it to get her into bed.

    I heard laughing behind me - Alex had come from the kitchen holding a pint of water. "Is that the best you can do? You're so wasted Craig!" The bed covers were a crumpled mess on the floor. I smiled up at him, half laughing at my failed effort, half embarassed. The lights were off and with that hair; with the tight shirt; with the strange masculine femininity of his face...

    "Come on man, screw the effort!" he said, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me up the stairs. Alex hammered his fist on the locked door of his parents' room as we walked past and we were in his bedroom. Stacks of old CDs, new magazines; candles half burnt and lanterns; shelves with books; and he handed me the water glass as he sat on the bed.

    "Just like when we were kids, huh?" he quipped.

    "Exactly like - except with beer!" I said, as he took off his shirt and trousers. He was in a white tank top and loose white boxer shorts. I started doing the same, leaving on nothing but my blue boxer briefs. He wasn't really looking at me as he climbed under the covers of the double bed, but part of me wished he was. I got in next to him, my head on the pillow next to his.

    Do guys our age even do this? I thought, in the silence. My dick was stirring - it was Ally, sure, but was it really him anymore? For a guy I mean, he was... he was pretty hot! Neither of us spoke for five minutes, but I wasn't sleeping. Maybe there really was a tension, both of us near naked in his bed; maybe it was all in my head.

    "So," Alex said, booming through the silence, "I guess you've worked out why I asked you to visit."

    It all made sense right then. Erica was right. His parents were gone. I knew why he wanted me here while his parents were gone, at least. "I think so," I said, under my breath.

    "My dad's in Bolton for a conference this week. Mum's been at her sister's for three weeks," he said. I was fully hard, I felt my dick pushing straight outwards through my boxers. Shit. I couldn't move my arm through the tension, but I just wanted to grab him.

    "I just needed you here, you know?" he said, pushing himself over to me. I shifted my weight, now facing him.

    "You're the only one that could really understand and not question it. It's not easy when your parents are divorcing..."

    Divorcing...!? I realised too late just as his body came in contact with my stiff cock: I got the signals mixed.
     
  10. Cynix

    Cynix Member

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    Wow... now there we have a cause for some emotional mess... hopefully it won't turn out serious
     
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