Date: Sat, 6 Nov 2010 22:34:13 -0300 From: Mike Nifty <firstname.lastname@example.org> Subject: My Boy Paul - part 3 My Boy Paul - part 3 By email@example.com (cc-by-sa-2.0: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/) A soft voice: "Mike. Mike??" Paul gently shook my shoulder. "I have to go to work, and you should go home to finish your nap." I lazily opened my eyes, and arched my back, my shirt lifting up my abs. Mostly smooth - just a dusting of light brown hair enough to accentuate the work I put into them. I never played sports, but I did work out. I guess my athletic appearance made guys less likely to think I'm gay. Yay stereotypes 9_9 "Mmmmmmmkay" I growled. "Oh god, I'm sorry man. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you." "It's fine. Your body's really.. comfy, and smells good," Paul blushed a bit, speaking fast, as though I might not hear what he was saying if he got it over with quickly. "I guess I shouldn't stay out late tonight. Early to bed for me." "Well, enjoy open mic night. Maybe if I get off work early I'll come for a bit later." "Sweet, that'd be awesome!" We parted ways, my hazy head still wondering what was meant by 'smells good' - I guess he couldn't help but smell me, right? I was actually a bit crushed he couldn't come to open mic night - was that a rejection? Didn't he even want to be friends? But maybe he really did have to go to work. And he even said he'd try to come later. I brooded the rest of the way home, and tossed myself into bed. Tossing and turning, I couldn't sleep - Paul was camping inside my head. Again, I grabbed a pillow, and imagined he were mine. A few hours later, I showered and got ready to go out. I tried to make sure I looked good even though I knew I'd be overdressed. Open mic night attracts hippie-types - wearing a shirt without holes was dressing up, much less a collared shirt under a cashmere V-neck, dark-washed straight-leg jeans and leather shoes. On the way, I met up with Emily, and we went off together, me lugging her guitar and a new rainstick the whole way. I didn't mind. Really. Still, it was always fun to hear her play, and the little bar had a great group of regulars who always came for open mic night. I made sure to get a seat at the back but facing the stairs up to the bar in case he came - I'd be able to see him, and we'd be able to talk without disturbing the music. One of the regulars, a football player on the university's varsity team came over - we have become sort-of friends over the past while. Between sets we'd talk about surprisingly intellectual subjects. He wansn't just there to meet girls (although he did date one girl who sang weekly), he actually loved the arts. Eventually he asked me who I was waiting for; I guess I had been keeping one eye on the stairs the whole night. I didn't want to talk about it so, I just shrugged it off. "It's nothing, I'm just tired." Not a complete lie, but David knew me better than I thought. "I guess I'm just looking forward to Paul coming. If he gets off work, I guess." David prompted me: "New friend?" With a sigh, I confessed "I hope so. Actually, I hope more than that. But I don't know how fond he is of me. I fell asleep while he was reading to me today, which is kinda disrespectful, and..." "Hey, stop it. You're a catch." He looked me in the eyes. "Really. Just run with it." I smiled and gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "Hey! It's not my fault I'm a dumb jock - all I know are sports metaphors!" David protested in jest. A quiet voice from beind me interrupted our laughter: "I'm gonna get myself a drink." I turned to see Paul heading back towards the bar - he must have come in using the stairs at the back of the building. "That's my cue." David smiled. I got up to shake his hand goodbye, but he gave me a hug, whispering "Go for it, man. Seriously. You can do it" before he abruptly released me and bounced down the stairs two at a time. Paul was still waiting for his drink, and looking at him, I suddently felt parched, so I grabbed my wallet quickly from the bench and joined him at the bar. "I'll have half orange half cranberry." (I don't drink alcohol.) Paul had the same, plus vodka. He gave me a mock salute & imitated a pirate: "Ye has good taste, little one, but yer missin the most potent part." "Who are you calling little one?" I laughed, and we headed back to the bench. We ended up sitting far enough apart that we weren't touching, but close enough I could feel Paul's body heat against my arm and leg. Which did nothing to help my nerves, or the tightness of my jeans. I drank quickly and tried to relax, studiously watching the performers - I didn't want to be seen staring at Paul, even though that was the only thing I really wanted to do. In between the performers, Paul went up for another drink, and another, and yet another. He offered to get me something. "Just water this time; I've had enough sugar." When he came back, the previous performers had packed up and left, replaced by one woman and her guitar - no mic. As she started in, we could barely hear her voice. As it rose to the song's climax, a haunting melody fell over the bar, and the mood became subdued. Paul relaxed, sinking into his seat and actually closed his eyes to better absorb the music with a little grin on his face. I wanted to put my arm around him, but I thought that might scare him off. As she reached the end of the second song, Paul made that decision for me by leaning over just enough to rest his head on my shoulder. Instinctively, I pulled his head to my chest, my arm around his shoulder, and shifted down on the seat. Christ, he smells... perfect. A hit of shampoo leftover in his hair, and the woodsy smell of man. Until now, I had had my cock under control (well, mostly), but the combination of touching and smelling and the music, now fading, did me in. To make matters worse, Paul slipped a hand down to my knee. On purpose, just a coincidence - I don't know, but the effect was the same. I needed an emergency "bathroom" break. Propping Paul back up straight, he opened his eyes and frowned at me. I guess it's not just my stomach that's comfy - but I needed a break. Off to the washroom for me. I tried to take a piss, but that woodie wasn't taking a break. After a few minutes' respite from Paul's smell, and the feel of him curling up on me, I got soft enough to do my business, and headed back out. Back out to find Paul finishing off a double of vodka. His second double of vodka since I left, it looked like. He saw my stare, and giggled a bit, then turned back to the concert. We sat quietly for the final set of the night. It wasn't great, but maybe I was just missing Paul curled up at my side. He didn't say a word, and didn't make eye contact the whole time. At the end, we waited a bit before leaving. I put a hand on his back and quietly asked if he wanted to stay, or head home. He wanted to head home, so we were off towards my apartment. I asked "So, where do you live, anyways?" - hoping we could walk together part of the way. "Oh, I wanted to hang out at your place for a bit. Is that OK?" Of course that was OK! I grinned. "Yeah, man. Of course." Paul's face lit up too. Coming inside, Paul looked pretty timid, and uncomfortable. I figured he just didn't feel at home here. "Can I get you something?" "Yeah, a beer, if you have one." I was surprised - was Paul trying to get drunk? But I guess if he wanted one, and I wanted him to feel at home, he chould have it. Paul had grabbed a chair, and I took the couch. He nearly chugged it, then set the bottle down heavily and - without meeting my eyes - moved to the couch beside me. With his head down, he quietly seemed to confess. "Can I stay here tonight? I don't want to go." I figured he meant that he didn't want to go to his home. Not my place to pry. "If you want to, sure." "K, thank you" came the whispered reply. I got the sense Paul was done for the night. He was a bit tipsy, shall we say, and we had both had long days behind us. I steered him towards my bedroom, and he plopped down on top of the unmade covers. Leaving him to get himself ready for bed, I got changed in the bathroom. When I came back, Paul had kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned his jeans, and fallen asleep already. With his dishevelled appearance, and sprawled across seven eighths of the bed, I figured he really did look like he had fallen from the sky. Not an angel perhaps, but certainly some kind of person I'd never encountered before. I covered him up and slipped in the opposite side of the bed. Not trusting myself, I turned away, and concentrated on sleeping. Despite my aching hard-on, darkness came quickly to my mind.