Page 23 of Rhymes with Metaphor

Then Reg went down on his knees in front of him on the cold tiled floor.

Reg rolled his tongue over the glistening head of Joel’s cock.

Doing it for the first time with Joel standing was risky when neither of them knew how his body would respond to being blown, let alone being blown in a public place.

In particular, this public place. Reg filled his mouth with Joel, and Joel, who was usually so quiet, made a quick sharp sound, and Reg tasted salt on his tongue.

He pulled off and saw Joel leaning his head back against the stall, hands trembling and slack, eyes closed. But he opened them when Reg let go.

“Keep going?” said Reg.

Joel nodded quickly, unable to form words.

He wasn’t going to last very long. The sound of Joel’s harsh, staccato breaths filled the stall.

Joel, on the verge of bubbling over, put one hand on the top of Reg’s head to steady himself.

Reg felt like water was closing over him, sounds muffled and echoey.

Joel wasn’t quiet. He made a noise between a sob and a wail when he came in Reg’s mouth, and he folded forwards, knees buckling.

Reg kept him upright and held him in his mouth until he was finished before pulling off and spitting into the toilet.

On the stall wall beside Joel’s hip, someone had written in marker 2341 ostentatio .

Reg took the stick of novelty coal out of his pocket and drew a checkmark on the stall wall beside Joel’s other hip.

Then he tucked Joel’s cock, still a little hard, back into his trousers and carefully zipped him up.

He gathered Joel against him and hugged him.

“Well done,” Reg whispered, patting Joel’s shoulder. “Now, sort yourself out.”

Joel tucked his shirt in and ran a hand through his hair as Reg attempted to brush the dirt off the knees of his trousers.

As they walked out, he could still taste Joel, sticky as candy floss, his stomach was whirling, and the left knee of his trousers was damp.

Joel could barely walk, right foot and left trying to lead him in different directions.

Reg put his splayed hand in the middle of Joel’s back and steered him to the car.

Joel collapsed into the passenger seat, and stretched, extending his arms above his head, then put his hands over his face, fingers spiderwebbed across it.

“What just happened?” said Joel.

“Someone gave you head in a train station toilet.”

“That’s what I thought.” Joel started laughing, verging on hysteria, doubled over in the passenger seat, hands still pressed to his face.

Reg started the car and pulled out of the car park.

By the time they reached the B4265, Joel had composed himself. “Where are we going?”

“I want to take you to Dunraven Castle,” said Reg.

“Another castle?”

“The castle’s been demolished, but the walled gardens are still there. I used to go when I was younger than you are now. I want to show it to you.”

As Reg drove, the sky changed from solid white to dark grey, and rain began hitting the windshield in long streaks.

“Are you going to take me to Dunraven Castle, or are you going to take me at Dunraven Castle?” said Joel.

“You’re too young to be making an innuendo like that.”

“I don’t feel too young,” said Joel. “Not after what you just did to me.”

By the time they reached Dunraven, the rain was clattering down. Reg pulled into the empty car park. The wind was gusting hard enough to shake the car. The visibility was so poor, the channel was obscured.

Reg sighed. “Better not get out.”

“Afraid I’ll get wet?”

“You don’t want to relapse,” said Reg. “No need to court pneumonia.”

They sat in silence, watching the rain streaming down the windows hypnotically, reminding Reg of driving Joel home the day he’d found him at the fountain.

“Are you going to fuck me?” said Joel.

“You’re not ready.”

“I was ready for a blow job,” said Joel.

“It’s not the same.”

Joel looked through the windscreen. “What if I asked you to. Would you?”

When Reg said nothing, Joel looked at him. “You fucked Flip.”

“Flip and I are the same age.”

“We’ll never be the same age,” said Joel. “Does that mean you’ll never?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Am I your boyfriend?” said Joel earnestly.

“Do you want to be?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are.” Reg reached across the seat and caressed the soft hair at the back of Joel’s neck. “You’ve just had your first blow job. Cool your jets.”

They were nearly home when the rain cleared, and the sun made an appearance.

“Do you want to turn around?” said Joel.

“I’m taking you to another special place now.”

Reg drove them to the pebble beach, parked, and got out. Joel got out too, and Reg wondered, from the way he was walking, if he was still feeling the aftereffects of the train station. They walked to the top of the beach and looked across the water.

“It’s beautiful,” said Joel.

The beach had always been a special place for Reg, but more so now he was seeing the wonder and curiosity in Joel’s eyes.

He led Joel down the terraced slope of rounded stones, from lightest grey, where they were always dry, to thundercloud grey where they were covered at high tide.

Unlike Joel, Reg had mastered the art of walking down the slope of shifting stones without turning an ankle, and he had to catch hold of Joel’s elbow and steady him before he toppled.

The only sound was the wind gusting, the waves, and the clinking of the stones shifting under their feet.

“What are those round depressions?” said Joel, pointing to the hollowed-out areas in the slope.

“People excavate them to sunbathe in on hot days. The deeper down the stones are, the cooler they are.”

As they walked along the edge of the water, Joel bent and picked up a stone shaped like a seashell.

“There are a few stones like that,” said Reg.

“It’s a fossil. Looks like a mollusc.” Joel rinsed the sand off. He went on his phone and looked up something. “I was right. It’s a mollusc. Common name: Devil’s toenail.” He put it in his pocket.

“Here’s another.” Reg picked it up and showed it to Joel. “Mine’s bigger than yours.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that,” said Joel.

“Ha ha.”

Joel looked across the channel. “Is that France?”

Reg laughed. “Geography isn’t your subject, is it?”

“No.”

“It’s England. That town across the way is where John Cleese was born.”

“Who’s John Cleese?” said Joel.

“Good god, Joel. Where were you raised?”

“Canada.”

In the car on their way home, Joel said, “I want to do it again. Is that normal?”

Reg laughed. “Yes.”

“I want to do it right now,” said Joel, looking at him. “Here in the car.”

Reg laughed again. “I’m driving.”

Joel kept looking at him. His leg started jiggling, so Reg put his hand on Joel’s leg to settle him, curling his fingers around Joel’s inner thigh.

“That’s not helping,” said Joel.

“I am not giving you head in this car. There’s not enough room.”

After they got home and rinsed the sand from their feet with the garden hose and went inside, Reg cornered Joel in the hallway and pinned him face-first into the wallpaper and pressed himself firmly against Joel from behind.

Joel welcomed the experience, bracing himself against the wall and arching back against Reg.

Reg allowed himself three hard thrusts against Joel’s ass and then embraced him.

Any more than that and he was in serious danger of coming himself.

“That’s what it feels like,” said Reg and patted his side.

He released Joel then, but Joel stayed where he was, leaning against the wall in the corner.

“Now, let’s go out and get dinner,” said Reg.

“I’ll...get changed,” said Joel.

“What you’re wearing’s fine,” said Reg.

“No, I...”

“Oh,” said Reg, realization dawning. “I’m sorry, cariad. Go on. I’ll wait for you here.”

A few minutes later Joel came downstairs looking terribly dignified. “Reg.”

“Hmm?”

“If you’re not going to participate...fully, don’t do that to me again.”

“Understood,” said Reg.

And nothing more was said.