Obsession
A Sniffies encounter.
Written by T.G. Knight
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 3:20pm
Hey bud. What's up
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 3:51pm
You free tonight?
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 4:37pm
Need that ass
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 5:01pm
You around?
I don't think I should. Not again. But it's looking dire on the apps. Why the fuck did I ever move out to bum-fuck nowhere?!
Moving from Shoreditch to the Home Counties made sense when all we talked about was settling down and having kids. It made sense.
Three years later, divorced, single, and blue-balled.
I'm losing my mind.
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 5:02pm
Hey
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 7.01pm
I miss that sweet pretty mouth of yours.
He is persistent, I’ll give him that. The thing about the counties is that the gays are still around. I see them checking me out at the gym, or the quick up-down glance as they walk past me with their husbands in arm. But that's it. These county gays are all coupled up and monogamous.
When did gays become so fucking hetero?!
Your husband can keep you. I just need you to push my head into the pillow, fuck me into oblivion, and send me off while the thought of you still drips from me.
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 7:22pm
Hey
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 7:22pm
You alright?
Missed call: Ryan Sniffies 7:25pm
He was fucking hot. If I was to describe my ideal guy, he would be it. Tall, built like Shrek pre-transformation, but with the face of Shrek post-transformation.
The DL “straight” tradie type. Had a girlfriend, which he had made sure I knew about. But he won’t kiss, because “I’m not fucking gay, mate!”
Several times now, he has bent me over and fucked me senseless, making me forget my own fucking name while my eyes rolled back and my vision blurred. Rough enough to make me feel alive.
There was something about him, though. Something I couldn’t put my finger on but made me question if I would want him to know where I live.
Missed call: Ryan Sniffies 9:20pm
Fuck. I need it tonight, and I know that he will hit the fucking spot.
Sender: Me 9.22pm
Hey. You ok?
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 9.22pm
My balls are heavy
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 9.22pm
What you doing tonight?
Sender: Me 9.25pm
Nothing.
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 9.25pm
That means that throat is free for a load?
Sender: Me 9.27pm
Can be. Same place as last time?
Sender: Ryan Sniffies 9.27pm
I can be there in 15
Sender: Me 9.27pm
Me too.
I pull into the parking lot and can see a shadowy figure standing by the gate of the field. The bright red cherry of his cigarette burns in the darkness. I get a few feet from him and, without saying a word, he turns on his heels and slowly starts walking deeper into the shadows, towards the small opening in the shrubbery. His silhouette is illuminated by the moonlight, and I see the cherry fly into the grass as he flicks his cigarette aside.
He pushes past the branches and disappears. I reach up to move the same branch, and I can see the dark figure standing there. All 6’2” of the man towers over my 5’6” frame. I wasn’t expecting to see him just standing there, waiting. Every time we’ve met, he has always kept at least five paces in front of me until we get to “his spot.”
I step through the shrubs, but he doesn’t budge, forcing me to step backward into what I can only imagine is a holly bush, as I feel the leaves scratch at any part of my body they touch.
“I don’t like it when you ignore me,” he says. His tone has a slight sense of humour to it, but not enough to ease the tension that has suddenly built between us.
Before I can take a breath to respond, he turns and starts walking through the trees, weaving in and out as if he is following a non-existent path.
We walk in silence for a few minutes, my eyes not leaving the broad shoulders of the ex-rugby player turned construction worker in front of me. We take so many turns I wouldn’t have a clue which direction the car park is. He told me last time that he has spent so much time in these woods that he has basically memorised them. He knows where each fallen tree is, where the badger pits are, and the ruins of the WWII bunker he calls “his spot.”
You can’t really call it a bunker. Only about half of the concrete walls remain, with a small section still covered by the crumbling roof, blocking the limited light from the new moon and making it so dark you can barely make out what’s right in front of you.
My eyes try to adjust to the darkness as I feel a large hand reach for my chest and, with some force, push me backwards against the wall. The impact knocks the breath out of me for a moment. I feel the calloused hand against my throat as it pushes me to the ground, and I fall onto my ass.
The adrenaline of the moment has started pumping through my body. I can feel the hairs on my body stand on end at the same time as my bulge throbs against my jeans. My eyes, still trying to adjust to the darkness, not being able to tell if they are open or closed.
I hear him unzip his jeans, and I feel the warmth of his body radiate against my face as he steps closer to me, my body pressed hard against the cold concrete wall. His musk fills my nostrils, the sweet mixture of sweat and man, as his hand returns to my face, his thumb finding my mouth and pushing in, forcing it open as wide as possible.
“Open wide faggot” his voice deep, his words sharp as he pulls his thumb out of my mouth. I wait expectantly for his cock to meet my lips, but nothing happens. I move, trying to find him with my open mouth but he isn’t there anymore. Suddenly, his hand connects with my left cheek. The burn of the slap makes my ears ring.
“Are you going to ignore me again?” his words muffled by the ringing in my ears.
I go to respond, but before I can speak, his cock forces me back again. My head hits the wall. His hands grip both sides of my face, controlling my face as he hits the back of my throat. With each motion, my breath catches and my gags get louder, my body reacting faster than my thoughts.
“I control if you breathe again”
My body strains for air, my chest tightening as erotic panic mixes with adrenaline. My head trapped between him and the wall. My nose buried deep into his pubic hair, his musk the last breath I was able to take. My hands grab at him, trying to push him away but he doesn’t move. My throat constricts around his cock as it desperately tries to take a breath.
As I grip his thick thighs, he lets out a low grunt and the pressure releases as he unloads down my throat, and I gasp sharply for air as he pulls back.
I feel a warm spray across my face as his load continues to shoot across me. My face a salty mixture of tears, sweat and cum, feeling it drip down my chin and onto my own crotch. Which is still bulged as my erection struggles against my jeans.
I try to steady myself, my body still tense, lungs dragging in air
I hear the zip again, followed by a sudden flash of light from his lighter. For a brief moment, I see his face as he lights his cigarette. His eyes look darker than before, almost black, making the smirk on his face seem even more sinister.
His eyes lock onto mine as the corners of his mouth twist further, just as the flame disappears, plunging everything back into darkness.
This story was written as part of a Naked Men Talking Writing Workshop, in response to the prompt "Obsession". Copyright remains with the author - this story cannot be republished or distributed without the consent of the author.
Gareth Johnson