Wear Me Down Wear Me Out

This is a work of fiction. The setting is England, London, and is based on a night when I was visiting and had just missed the last-but-one train. I spent my time wondering what might have happened if there wasn't one more train to come.

The Crisis

I tarried too long at the pub, catching up with some old friends. By the time we all said goodbye, I glanced at my watch and realized I had very little time before the last train of the night.

Hurrying back to the station, I arrived with a little over a minute to spare, but after losing precious seconds fumbling my ticket in the gate and then having to battle my way up the stairs just as a crowd of drunk alighting passengers came down towards me, I knew my efforts were in vain. Before I had reached the top step, the doors closed, the guard's whistle blew, and the train trundled off into the darkness without me.

After confirming that yes, I did indeed just miss the last train and no, there definitely wasn't another last train coming along behind it, I exited the station and stood on the pavement to consider my options.

The Encounter

Presently I noticed a man walking along the pavement towards me. He had brown hair and was medium height. He had an athletic build and clearly looked after himself. He wore a t-shirt and smart jeans. On his feet were polished leather shoes. He walked with a confident stride.

As he came close he noticed my gaze and slowed. He stopped next to me, and paused, appearing to be evaluating me in some way.

After a moment, he said: "Alright, mate. You look lost. Anything I can do to help?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so, thanks. Last train has gone, and I'm just deciding whether to find a taxi or brave the night buses to get me home."

"Ouch," he winced. "Bit of a conundrum. No other options - no partner or house mate you can call to get a lift?"

"No, unfortunately I live far away, and alone. And no, no partner at the moment."

"Well," he said with a touch of a smile, "I could offer you an alternative. I live nearby, and have an extremely comfortable sofa, so I've been told. Come back to mine, I'll fix us something to eat and open a bottle of wine. You can stay the night and jump on a train home in the morning."

"That's very kind," I said, "but it wouldn't feel right taking advantage of the hospitality of a stranger."

"We're only strangers at the moment," he said. "Might become friends after an evening of getting to know one another." He looked me up and down. "And it's not entirely selfless. I should warn you that I do have an ulterior motive. Like I say, the sofa is yours if you want it, but you could join me in my bed instead and let me have you for the evening. I can promise you won't soon forget it."

"Ah!" I said, as his intentions became clear. "Well, I am flattered but I'm sorry to tell you that I'm not gay."

"I didn't say you were. But maybe you're curious. Or maybe you're just the sort to try any new experience, whatever comes by. Or maybe you just want to prove to yourself you're mentally strong enough to resist my charms for a couple of hours."

I chuckled at his boldness, it was hard not to. I'd never been curious in that way - not really - and while I did relish new experiences, this wasn't one I felt the need to check off the list.

"I would be very grateful to accept your offer of a place to crash, but I hope you won't be offended if I say the sofa would still be my choice."

"Well," he grinned. "Maybe after a couple glasses of wine I can wear you down."

I appreciated his honest approach, and while my own bed was calling it was either an expensive taxi ride or a sequence of increasingly-sketchy night buses away. This was a far better option for me, and I was confident I couldn't be tricked into anything I didn't want to do.

The Flat

As he promised, his flat wasn't far. After a five minute walk we reached a stylish, modern block - one of those aimed at the young executives in the city. We climbed two flights of stairs, and arrived at his door.

Shoes came off in the front hallway, and he led me into the kitchen. It was spotlessly clean and well-organized. He took two wine glasses from an under-cabinet rack, a bottle of white wine from the fridge, and poured two large measures, passing one to me. "It's a small flat, but let me show you around anyway."

Back out of the kitchen door and along, the hallway ended in a small sitting room. A low table contained a record player and a rack of vinyl. A big-screen TV was on one wall, faced by a large sofa with plump, cushioned seats. "This would be you," he said. "I'll provide a duvet and a couple of pillows."

Beyond the sitting room was a short corridor. "Office on the left, bathroom on the right," he said, pointing at the doors on either side as he walked by. He led me to the door at the end.

"And the bedroom", he said as he opened the door. We both walked in.

On one side the wall was taken up with fitted wardrobes, with full-length mirrors on the doors. On the other side a large double bed stood against the wall, flanked by a matching pair of bedside tables. A weights bench and an exercise bike sat at the far end in front of a large window. Beside the door was a chest of drawers. The room was neat and tidy, much like the rest of the flat. There was a smell of fresh laundry.

"As I said, you don't have to sleep on the sofa - this is the other option. I can guarantee you a cozy night either way, but one would be a little more stimulating than the other. And not just for me, although to be clear

my

pleasure is my primary goal."

I looked more closely around the room. On the near bedside table was already prepared a bowl of condoms and a couple of bottles of lube. I wondered whether I was the first lonely traveler invited to stay, or whether this was a nightly affair for my new friend.

"Well," he said, "I'm going to get some pasta on to boil. Want to give me a hand?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but turned and walked back to the kitchen. There was the sound of a cupboard opening and closing, and shortly after the sound of running water.

The Decision

I stood in the bedroom and considered my options. There were two paths ahead, and I wanted to be sure I took the correct one. The one he was obviously pushing was something I had never sought out, but I recognized that there was an opportunity here that could so easily be missed, and if missed may never be encountered again. He was right, I did generally seek out new experiences - but offering my body up as a plaything to someone I'd just met was not the kind of thing I sought. A free dinner and a place to stay should be repaid in some form, but this seemed something of an over-payment!

I thought about the night ahead and what it could hold. From two distasteful travel options I now had two tempting sleeping options. Either the bed, or the sofa.

I tried to imagine myself lying on my back there on that soft-looking duvet, or maybe up on my hands and knees, with him kneeling behind me, holding me firmly by the hips. I imagined raising my head and looking into the mirrors, watching him thrusting steadily into me. I imagined myself writhing, desperate, and impaled. The sounds that would fill the room, as he had his way with me. When he was done I would collapse on the bed, soaked with sweat, exhausted. I wondered whether I would feel satisfied or frustrated. I thought about the heat of our bodies as we lay nestled together until we both drifted off. Then waking in the morning to the sun glancing between the curtains. And waking refreshed, ready to go again.

Or a night on the sofa. Calm, peaceful, relaxing. Getting up in the morning before my host was awake, dressing quietly and slipping away to the station. Head back to my empty house, with my life unchanged. Simple, and uncomplicated.

I drained my glass and returned to the sitting room.

I stripped down to my underwear, folded everything and placed it in a neat stack on the sofa.

I padded softly into the kitchen. He was standing in front of the oven, his back towards me. There was large pot on the lit hob. He had just poured in some salt and was replacing the shaker next to a matching pepper pot. There was a container of dry pasta on the side, shortly to be added. A jar of tomato sauce stood ready.

I stepped up behind him and placed my hands gently on his hips. He tensed slightly, and paused in his actions.

"There's one question I must ask," I said. I removed my right hand and placed it gently over his crotch. He flinched slightly, pushing backwards into me. "How... big are you?"

"Average," came the reply after a moment's pause. "A little over five inches."

I moved my other hand, sliding it underneath his loose t-shirt, spreading my fingers and placing my palm flat on his toned stomach, holding him firmly against me.

"Then, I accept. Your hope was to wear me down, but instead I'd rather you concentrate on trying to wear me out."

Here I removed my hand from his crotch, reached forward and twisted the gas burner off. I replaced my hand, more firmly this time, and gave a small squeeze. I could feel something there beginning to stir.

"But the food can wait, "I said. "I rather think I'd like to get started."