The Cuckoo’s Call – by Ian A.

The car horn sounds, again. This time I look, parting the slats of the blind at the window of my tenth floor office. There he is waiting in the parking lot. His long, thin legs are tightly sheathed in denim, ending in black pointed boots. The white shirt is open at the neck and the double cuffs hang loose. Smoke from a cigarette swirls around his neatly drawn beard and his hair is teased into a loose quiff. He stands in his usual louche fashion. I’m getting hard just watching him. He knows I am at the window and he knows what is happening to me.

Grindr – that’s how we met. I was fucking petrified but as we got talking he put me at my ease, made me laugh. He also excited me, he felt a bit dangerous, risqué. That night, back in my hotel room, I was hooked. I smiled as, kneeling in front of him, ‘Hello Boys’ appeared indelibly inked into the helmet of his cut cock. As I took the shaft into my mouth the slight smell of ammonia and taste of salt, from his less than fastidious cleanliness, excited me.

It was two years ago that I met him. My wife started dying a year later. I said goodbye to her last week. I’ve gone back to work earlier than perhaps I should. However, I needed to keep out of of his way but there he is, in all his glory.

I felt weak as the tumour started to do its work. Watched as she got thinner, as the strength left her. Wept at night as I could hear her whimper with the pain in her legs as her circulation started to fail. She’d been so brave but her sobbing cut right through me.

You could say he was respite but I’m not sure what I would have called him before. I just wanted to suck him, fuck him. He is so beautiful but then so was my wife. Am I able or allowed to love them both? Did I actually love them both?
I tried to justify the relationship to myself on the grounds that I had physical needs that had to be met but then again my sex life with my wife was fantastic until she got ill. Why would I turn to anybody else? Least of all a man?

As I watched my wife’s coffin being lowered into the ground I felt so guilty. It was her death that finally triggered the sentiment, not her illness. I could feel him, somewhere behind me, among the mourners. I’d asked him not to come but he was there all the same, always on the edge of my vision. He tried to be discrete but I knew he would not able to resist.

“Who am I? Oh, I know the bereaved husband. A fine man, such a shame what he has been through. Now who are you? Aunt Jean, that’s lovely. How about another schooner and you can tell me all about him and his wife.”

I could just hear him ingratiating himself with the mourners, everybody’s new friend.

As they lowered my wife’s coffin, I heard him cough from a couple of rows back. I could pick out his cough anywhere. Then a whisper. Was there also a giggle?

As the coffin inched towards the bottom of the grave I got hard. My cock strained against its prison as I said my final good byes. I couldn’t do it properly, I was too distracted. The fucking bastard, turning up like that, fouling my final memories of her.

A double toot this time. He is getting impatient. I inadvertently check the bulge concealed within my jacket, feel the metal through the fabric before closing the office door behind me.

As I leave the building I see that he is sitting crossed leg on the bonnet of his car. When I appear he unfurls his long legs and slides off the car.

‘Hey gorgeous,’ he shouts.
‘I’m not feeling particularly gorgeous.’
‘Get in the car. Maybe I can cheer you up.’
‘Doubt it.’
‘No really. I’m sure I can…’
‘Take you hand away please.’
The car fires up.
‘I said take you’re fucking hand away.’

He parks the car around the back of a fast food restaurant before turning to look at me. His hand cups my cheek, his fingers tracing the bone before running to just under my ear lobe. I can feel myself starting to dissolve.
He kisses me, puts my hand in his lap. When did he undo his flies?

‘Look what you’ve done to me.’
I say nothing, just hold his gaze. Then he starts to gently steer me towards his lap.

‘Now, I think it’s time for some fun. You know how much you love my friend here. I know you’re sad but I can do so much more for you.’

I hear him giggle as my my tongue touches his tattoo.

‘That’s right. All the way in and then perhaps we can discuss the little matter of what you’re hiding in your jacket.’

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