Feel Safe

Geoff was drunk. That had been his rationalization for coming in the first place, and it had certainly been a pretty good one. But now he just wanted to get out and away. He came out of the bar and ducked into the shadows of the alley so that he could puke. And he did puke, leaving a wet splashing of his beer and partially digested food against the brick of one walk Then, instead of feeling any real relief from the drunk which had begun some six hours before. Geoff felt as if he were going to pass out. He sank to a sitting position within the darkness of a loading space off the alleyway, his head resting against the cool metal of a trash can. All that seemed suddenly important was his will to stay conscious long enough to get to his car and get the hell home.

Geoff could now curse himself for coming. How many times in the past had he been here—drunk each time—wondering what twisted warpings of his mind pulled him to this run-down area of town, to the smell of leather, to the smell of stale beer, urine, and male sweat.

And why did he come? He came because it somehow excited him: those eyes that followed his entrance, watched his every move as he disappeared into the shadows of a corner to watch and be watched. Geoff never spoke except for a low, almost brusque whispering for a beer. Those who approached him, he quickly discouraged. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to discourage them, it was just that he didn’t know how he’d handle things once it got beyond the state where he’d expressed a definite interest. For what happened after you accepted their talk, exchanged meaningful glances and then exited into the night?

Geoffs imagination had more than once taken him beyond the mere standing in the bar. In his daydreams (his cock usually bared and fisted by his suede-sheathed hand), he’d left the bar, gone to dimly lit apartments, laid on semen-smelling beds and felt the chains on his wrists and ankles. He’d swallowed the stiff meat jabbed down his throat, had gagged and choked on the thick white slugs of male cream. He’d sprayed his own ejaculated mess onto his belly, turned leather black with the run of his cum.

But this alleyway was the reality and so were the shadow’s that appeared suddenly in the mouth of it. Geoff pulled himself reflexively into the confines of his little niche, his sudden animal instincts sending their alarms. He had momentarily thought they were after him, had followed him from the bar, would now find them helpless and trapped to unavoidably do their bidding. What would they do to him? Was how he had imagined it actually how it would be? He’d heard of deaths, of mutilations. He could easily imagine himself the next victim found (how many days later?), nude and castrated in this alley.

Two figures moved deeper into the shadow’s, coming closer. The fear Geoff was experiencing was real: its bitterness supplanting the rancid taste of his vomit in his mouth. Geoff recoiled further. Had anyone actually seen him, they would have probably been amused by this rather well-built young stud cowering in the shadows like some small child afraid of the dark.

The two newcomers stopped. There was a muted conversation between them. They moved even closer toward Geoff. Geoff could now actually tell who they were. Not that he knew either of them personally, but he’d seen them in the bar. The one guy was big, muscular, hairy chested, with a bull-like crotch stuffed into black leather pants. The second was a little fairy that had come into the bar about ten minutes before Geoff had made his exit.

Geoff had actually been surprised to see him. The little flit just didn’t belong. He looked out of place. There had been hostile stares directed at the kid, but he had ignored them, had visibly eyed more than one bulging crotch, licking his lips in invitation,

Geoff had simultaneously despised and envied the little fairy: jealous because the kid was actively cruising, while Geoff was afraid to do just that. Now the kid was out in the alley—he and the butch stud—thinking they were alone. Geoff could envy the kid his guts, wishing he had some of them to match.

Anyone looking at Geoff would have suspected he had no lack of guts. He certainly looked as if he could handle himself, but that was the problem, Geoff had gone through his life merely looking the part of someone you didn’t mess with and get away with it. Oh, Geoff had done his share of pushing people around in various school sports, but he’d never gone so far as to actually provoke a brawl. Geoff was basically ail bluff: and he knew it. He still could shiver with the memory of that construction worker who had tried to pick a fight with him in a straight bar. Everyone had afterwards (after a called policeman had cleared out the troublemaker), commented on Geoff’s self-control. It had been, unknown to them, a necessity for Geoff to keep his self-control. Geoff had been convinced the guy could have easily creamed him had it come to actual blows.

Geoff was brought back to the immediate reality by the sound of flesh colliding against flesh and a resulting muted scream. The big guy had knocked the other one to the ground and was now towering over him,

“Damned right you’re going to eat my cock,” the butch was grunting, his hands fumbling with the thongs that laced up the leather at his crotch. “And you’re going to eat it when and how I tell you to.”

The downed youth mumbled something that Geoff couldn’t hear. Geoff watched as the snake-like poker was released and allowed to jut upward between the stud’s muscular thighs. He continued to watch as the big man clamped the smaller one’s head between ham-like hands and held tight while his thick, iron-hard inches fucked the face and the slobbering mouth.

It was over quickly, the butch grunting out his spunk with a series of bull-like bellows. Completed, he yanked his cock free of the head.

“Damned little queer!” the leatherman said, his opened palm again knocking the kid full-length to the pavement. “Come on back when you learn how to give better head than that.” He was still stuffing his cock back into his trousers as he strolled cockily out of the alley and hack into the bar.

Geoff emerged from his hiding place, walking unsteadily over to the figure now hunched in the darkness. The kid was lucky he hadn’t gotten more than just a little knocked around.

The kid sensed Geoff s presence, moving quickly so that his arms wrapped Geoff s legs, his hands trailing upward to feel Geoffs crotch.

“Want sucked, stud?” the young man whispered there in the darkness, his fingers trying to release the snaps concealing Geoff’s cock. He succeeded in pulling open the fly and reaching Geoff s prick. He pulled the meat out into the fresh air. Geoff was vaguely surprised to find his prick was hard.

“Yeah, suck it!” Geoff instructed. He was no longer as drunk as he had been. The sight of this kid sucking the butch giant’s hard (along with Geoff’s previous puking), had sobered Geoff up quite a bit. And he was now hornier than hell.

“You’re going to have to make me do it, stud,” the kid said quietly.

Geoff knew what was required, could intuitively sense it. He put his left hand around to the back of the boy’s head, cupping it. With the opened palm of his right hand, he slapped the boy across the face, moving quickly to stuff his fat dick up the throat that had opened to groan. Geoff fucked that moaning mouth to climax, leaving the kid just as his predecessor had done, knocked to a prone position on the asphalt.

Geoff was not quick to return to the Iron Grill after that evening. He had actually succeeded several times in convincing himself that he hadn’t enjoyed the experience. What worried him, of course, was that in all instances when he did allow himself to fantasize the incident, he was the most turned on when he imagined himself as the kid getting slapped around in the alley and then being forced into eating hard man-dick.

Geoff went back to the regular bars to relieve his horniness, back to associating with people he knew, for a face he could feel safe around. Brad was one of those people. Geoff liked Brad, liked him because Brad looked butch enough to have made out in any of the rougher leather bars. Brad could also be forceful in bed without making Geoff think it impossible to extract himself from that dominance. Brad wasn’t the type, however, who would have taken advantage of anyone even if he could have done so. He was just that type of person who was butch without acting superior or mean in the bargain.

Geoff liked the way Brad fucked him, taking fast, heavy strokes that hammered Geoff’s sweating body into the bed. Geoff liked the way Brad would straddle Geoff’s chest, lift Geoff s head to accept the fucking of hard cock. Geoff liked the way Brad would suck him, taking his own sweet time, teasing Geoff almost to the point of madness before allowing him to come. Of all the people Geoff tricked with, Brad came the closest to giving Geoff complete satisfaction. But even Brad somehow was unable to take Geoff all the way.

Complete enjoyment was only to be found back at those rough, dimly lit bars. Geoff knew, even when his ass was preparing to accept Brad’s load, his own pecker getting ready to pop its mess into Brad’s masturbating fingers. it could be better elsewhere.

Brad grunted his last atop Geoff, feeling his hands filling with Geoff’s simultaneously erupting cum. The two shuddered out their last, look a shower, and gravitated to the living room to recover their strength for any rematch.

It was in the living room, on the piano among other snapshots, that Geoff caught sight of a photograph which had previously missed detection in his initial desires to get to the bedroom.

“Judo?” Geoff asked, thinking the loose white uniforms were easily recognizable.

“Actually karate,” Brad answered. He’d been mixing drinks in the kitchen and now brought Geoff one. “I’m second from the right in the back row. Don’t I look the butch stud, though?”

Geoff, however, wasn’t momentarily interested in where Brad was in the photo’s layout. He was much more interested in the individual seen squatting on the end of the front row. Geoff pointed out the kid with his finger.

“Would you believe that’s our instructor?” Brad laughed. “I sure as  hell wouldn’t just by looking. I mean, doesn’t he look like some typically limp-waisted fruit? But that kid has got enough trophies to make anyone think twice about counting his credentials. You know him?”

“No.” Geoff answered, knowing with unmistakable certainty that the kid in the picture was the same kid in the alley, the some kid Geoff had hit and then used to suck off his prick. That weakly little faggot, a karate expert? He couldn’t be! Or could he? Maybe that was why he had so easily been able to come strutting into a bar as notorious as the Iron Grill. Maybe that was why he had no qualms about accompanying even the roughest motorcycle stud into the darkness of an alley. Maybe he knew that he was in control and could assert that control whenever his partner overstepped the accepted limits. Was that the secret of living in that exciting world of the Iron Grill and those other bars just like it, of feeling safe while participating in the violence?

“When did you decide to take up karate?” Geoff asked finally.

“It’s getting to the point where everybody had better take up something like karate if they want to survive. Anymore a guy can just be sitting in a bar or standing on the street corner and have some asshole pull a knife on him.”

“This instructor of yours? Do you know if he has any beginning classes opening soon?”

“You seriously interested?”

“I think so,” Geoff said. His cock was already beginning to harden in his anticipation of returning to the Iron Grill at a time when he would be able to do more than just stand as an observer on the sidelines, numbed by a fear that kept him from any actual participation. “Yes. I really do think I am interested.”