A second submission to the Winter Holidays contest. Thought I'd have another dabble in Gay Male, although it does slip from that category a little at the end of the piece. However, Lit being what it is, I think GM is the right place for it to find a home.
Competition entries are required to be stand-alone submissions, which this one is, but I do leave it at a point where you can ponder on what the new year has in store for James. There's scope for me to add scenes to this one -- although they won't be in the GM category, and as it stands at the moment I don't have any plans to do so.
Anyway, blah-blah-blah. I hope this scene meets with some approval out there. Feedback is appreciated. I hope I've spotted any errors in the text as I've gone over it [repeatedly]. If there are any glitches remaining, I can only apologise.
Thank you in advance for reading.
GA -- Ranong, Thailand -- 29th of November 2014.
He watches me. I know he's doing it. I can feel the weight of his stare. It's very unnerving, disturbing on a level I can't articulate. But it's always like this around him, has been for eighteen months. I just wonder how it can be that nobody notices my discomfit when we're all together. Being near him elicits so many complex emotions to deal with: lust, betrayal, all manner of clandestine urges. I'm repelled and drawn simultaneously. It's exquisite agony being so close, even though I despise the man -- or rather it's that I hate myself for being so weak.
However, as much as I loathe both of us for what we're doing, the secret we share fills me with corrupt delight.
Christmas Eve in the bosom of my family, nearly everyone I love is around me, the absentee exception being our son, who's abroad with his new wife. The tree is decked, lights flicking on and off to some random timing tweaked into their circuitry. My wife Clara is twittering on, as she does. She always has something to say, something or someone -- usually me -- to organise. Clara is one of life's micro-managers, which means every aspect of our lives is controlled to the last detail. This time it's about entertaining our son-in-law while she and our daughter are out at the carol service.
"Don't slope off to your study," Clara instructs me, emphatic. "Talk to Simon, don't bloody well abandon him."
Stern stuff indeed, my wife doesn't bandy profanity around, and the use of "bloody" is quite strong by her standards. She accompanies her warning with a look, peering over the rims of her spectacles like a severe and old-fashioned schoolmarm who'll slap my legs if I disobey.
If only she knew. Dear
God
but there'd be ructions! Carnage on an Olympic scale.
Still glaring at me, Clara adds, "We shouldn't be long. Two hours at most. We'll be back at around half-past midnight."
I avoid looking at Simon, my stomach lurching with self-loathing even as my dick thickens and swells.
Two hours is more than enough. It won't take a quarter of that time.
"Come on, mum," Cassandra is saying. Our daughter glances at her watch and then says to her husband, "The kids are asleep. Could you put their presents under the tree? The bag is in mum's room."
There's more from Cassandra to her husband, the woman is as bossy as her mother, but I'm not paying any attention, I'm in turmoil inside thinking about what's going to happen when the women leave.
My wife and our daughter jibber-jabber on about inconsequentials: vegetables that will need peeling tomorrow, the weight of the turkey and, "
Where-did-I-put-those-bloody-car-keys?
" as their voices recede down the long passage to the front door.
Then the door slams and all is silent in the house.
Simon and I are alone.
My throat works as I swallow heavily, throat dry as a crow's nest. Neither of us speaks for a full two minutes, not until the Mercedes headlights sweep the windows, the signal that Clara and Cassandra are driving away, the big car taking them down the long driveway to the gate, to the city, on towards the cathedral and
Silent Night
.
Of course it's Simon who breaks the silence. I can't bring myself to look at him when he says, "I'll just go up and take a shower, James. That drive down was hellish."
Simon has just only just arrived after being up in Newcastle for the past week. He works as a consultant chemical engineer for one of the big pharmaceuticals, a career that will earn him huge sums but which meant he had to undertake a nightmare journey home on Christmas Eve, eventually reaching the house at 10 p.m.
At Clara's insistence, with Simon away, our daughter and the children descended on us four days ago.
"It'll be Christmas come early," my wife had said. "Cassie can settle the little ones in and then we'll all be ready when Simon gets back. We can have a lovely time of it."
If Clara said it was so, then it normally was. Not that I minded at all, I had no objections, and it wouldn't have mattered much if I did -- my wife and daughter would poo-poo any dissent, overruling me was a common trait they shared. It was also Clara's idea for her and Cassandra to go to the carol service that night, her plan including me staying at home to look after Simon.
"You'll give me ten minutes..." Simon adds as he leaves the room. It's a command he's just issued, an order he expects me to comply with. "...I'll be ready and waiting, James."
Oh God, he knows he's got me with that statement. My cock hardens fully when I hear his silky voice telling me he'll be ready. I can picture it: the awful tumescence huge and swollen, the cock-head angry and the gnarled and knobbed shaft all criss-crossed with veins. Simon's gorgeous cock all primed and ready for me to suck.
As always, I murmur, "I can't, Simon. Please..."
But he just sniggers and walks out of the room, confident. He knows I'll be there at the allotted time. Indeed, I check my watch almost as soon as he's gone. My erection is tight inside my trousers, excited anticipation swelling my cock while the Christmas tree lights flicker and the scent of woodsmoke from a downdraught in the chimney tickles my nostrils.
***
I sip whisky and watch the flames dance in the grate as a log spits and a glowing ember flies, the quick firefly glow falling spent to the hearth, its arcing velocity abruptly halted by the fire-guard. The carpet remains unburnt, a conflagration is avoided, but I'm mindless to the sound and the potential for disaster contained by the wire-mesh screen, my mind instead filled with the moment it first happened. I've thought on it often since, sometimes losing an hour to pondering, and I'm still no wiser as to how Simon just seemed to
know
. After all, I didn't know it myself until the second I saw him so beautifully exhibited.
It was during the holiday in a rented villa in Portugal, which I paid for of course.
In accordance with my wife's wishes the entire extended family were invited, with Simon and Cassandra and their brood already there, our son and his fiancé-at-the-time due in the next couple of days.
On that afternoon, eighteen months ago, the women and children were at the beach. I was in the kitchen while Simon was in the pool. I'd thought about a gin and tonic and had just been slicing limes when propriety demanded I ask Simon if he'd like a drink.
My world shrunk the instant I saw it, a cinematic effect that zoomed my attention right on Simon's penis. I can't explain why, I'd never before had any inclination towards another man's cock.
Out on the decking I'd called to Simon, who by then was under the shower next to the pool. He'd stripped off his swimming shorts, bare buttocks contrasting a startling white against his tan, this long dick swinging into view when he turned at the sound of my voice.
My stomach flipped a second or two after he half-turned, my innocence smashed to smithereens, like a crystal glass dropped to the floor.
The dense mass of it simply
hung
there, the sight of that fire-hose between his legs sending a thrill through me, a raging of desire that was instant and all-consuming.
I gaped at Simon's member, vaguely aware of my own modest appendage thickening in response.
Time warped to Matrix slowness. I could appreciate every detail: sun warm on my shoulders; my fingers sticky with lime juice while diamonds reflected off the surface of the pool. The blue water sloshed through the filter, gurgling and sucking while the only other noise came from a gentle background tinkling of a wind-chime near the patio door. Simon had turned off the shower at my approach, water pooling at his feet while I stared at his cock, the need to touch my own erection growing more urgent the longer I gazed.
Then he turned round to face me square on, the enormous jib both a threat and a challenge.
Awestruck, I noticed he was hairless down there, waxed or shaved bare, his cock all the bigger because of it. I glanced up into his inscrutable face, expression unreadable. My son-in-law was an enigma, a complete stranger, someone I'd never set eyes on before.
When his eyes bored into mine it was like he was reading my soul. Simon recognised my desire before I knew it myself. I shivered when he simply smirked at me, his hair in rats' tails over his forehead, torso shining, that magnificent cock twitching and growing without him laying a hand on himself.
"Touch it, James," he breathed.
That voice was a sigh of the wind, a whisper I thought I'd imagined.
My throat worked and my cock pulsed as I stood there and watched Simon's erection form to a full-blooded hard-on.
"You want to," he shrugged, the action causing his erection to sway. "Come on. Just do it. Touch it ... And then get down on your knees and suck me."
I have no clue as to how he knew, but he was right. I did want to. I wanted to feel him in my hand. It was so
