They come in again, about five o'clock. Good, I think. They're nice to look at, in between customers. When they get to the front of my queue, I don't treat them any different. Why would I?
"Alright?"
"Alright, yeah, you?"
I scan their items and ring up their total.
"£8.65. Anything else or is that you?"
"That's me, just -- listen, it's completely fine if you say no, but I wondered if you wanted to get a drink after your shift."
"Are you asking to get a drink with me or are you asking to buy me a drink?"
"What's the difference?"
"You know the difference."
"Do you have a girlfriend or something?"
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't."
"Hmm. Maybe we shouldn't, then," they tap their card on the reader. "I don't know if I can trust myself."
"I finish at seven."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"See you at seven, then."
"See you at seven."
I refuse to think about it at all until the end of my shift.
They meet me outside, leaning against a low wall, their legs straight out in front of them.
"Hello."
"Hey."
"Rest of your shift alright?"
"Not bad, not bad, can't complain. Where do you want to go?"
"You know the pub on the corner?"
"Yeah, sounds good. Let's walk and talk."
They get up and we start walking, hands in our pockets.
"You changed?"
I'd changed out of my uniform into dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt.
"I wanted to look sharp."
"You look good."
"I don't smell good, I smell of sweat."
"Come here," they grab my arm to stop me walking, lean close to my neck and take a deep breath. "No, you smell good."
"I can't believe you just sniffed me."
"You smell good, though."
We walk in silence the rest of the way to the pub.¬
It's an old man pub, no two ways about it. They're sitting in twos and threes at tables dotted around the room, all white hair and jowls, but they don't look up right away, because for a moment we pass as the kind of lads they expect to see there. They don't realise we are different kinds of boys. My date orders two pints of light ale for us at the bar and the bartender looks at us properly, then looks back down at his taps.
We sit around the corner and I watch them skim the foam off their pint. They're so pretty it makes my stomach hurt. I want to stare at them uninterrupted for a few minutes at least, just taking in the way their forehead melts into their cheeks and then their jaw, so firm and so soft and something else I can't name.
"What are you looking at?" They raise an eyebrow at me.
"What?"
"You're staring at me."
"I'm just looking at you."
"You're staring."
"Well, you're not bad to look at."
They look away from me and look down into their glass as they take a sip.
"What, are you nervous or something?"
"No."
"Good, because you're the one who picked me up."
"Yeah, I did."
"What took you so long?"
We stare at each other, both too competitive to let the other one score a point. There's a slow, burning feeling in my stomach, and I feel like I know how this is going to end, and I want to fast forward to that part. I kick their foot under the table. They kick mine back and grin to themself. I smirk into my pint and take a long drink.
"Am I reading this right?" I ask.
"What are you reading, sweetheart?" they said, and I feel a faint blush rise in my cheeks.
"I'm thinking you want to make small talk with me until we finish our drinks, and then you want me to go to the toilets, and then you want to follow me."
"Sounds about right."
So we talk about my job and how long I've worked there, and we talk about how hot it's been lately, and the roadworks and how they're making the buses run slow, and we take swigs instead of sips between sentences. When my glass is empty, I stand up from my chair.
"See you in a minute?" I ask, and they nod. I don't turn back to see if they watch me walk to the toilets.
I let them into the stall and they're on me immediately, grabbing a fistful of my shirt. I wrap my hands around the back of their neck and kissed them hard, as they push me against the wall and hold me there. Their tongue pushes into my mouth and I push mine back, the kiss much rougher than it is tender.
I feel a bulge pressing between my legs and reach down to touch it, running my fingers over it. I move my other hand to their throat and squeeze, just a little. They moan into my mouth, a soft and needy whine that they try and play off deeper. I tug at their belt and unbuckle it with one hand, pulling away from the kiss for a second to murmur a question.
"Can I?
"Yeah, fuck yes."
I reach into their jeans and squeeze their dick, trying to gauge its size. I bite their bottom lip hard and pull away, lowering myself onto my knees. They run their fingers through my hair and tug at it at the crown of my head, as I pull their strap out from their jeans and stroke its length.
"That's it, on your knees."
They reach their other hand to rest on the wall for balance. I'm caught in the space between their body and the wall, nowhere to go. I suck them into my mouth, inch by inch, hearing their breathing get heavier, the pressure on my scalp brighter as they tug on me.
"Fuck, that's it, suck my fucking dick. I knew you were faggy since the minute I saw you. That's it, take me all the way, baby," their voice is quiet, breathy and desperate, each sentence broken up with little moans. "Fuck, just like that. I knew you were faggy but I didn't think I'd get you on your knees in the pub toilets after one drink. Don't stop. Do you want me to fuck you in this cubicle? Is that what you want?"
