Page 39 of Hard Tail
The dog growled as if in confirmation. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard its owner growl too.
“You want the Cock—over the road, love,” the barmaid said, not unkindly.
“Thank you,” I squeaked in tones a three-year-old girl would be embarrassed to own, and fled. Once outside, I checked myself to make sure I still had all my limbs, and leaned against the wall, breathing hard.
Then I checked myself again. Nope, definitely no skin-tight, sparkly disco-wear or even anything remotely rainbow-hued. Did I have “poof” written on my forehead? Or had the patrons of the Ship developed a highly tuned gaydar by virtue of their close proximity toone of them pansy bars?
Perhaps I should acquire my own pit bull—that’d confuse them. On the other hand, Wolverine would probably eat it for breakfast.
Right. Time to stop faffing about and get in there. For one thing, there would be safety in numbers. Steeling myself, I took a deep breath and headed over the road—looking both ways first, of course, as it would be the height of irony to escape gay-bashing in the Ship only to be knocked down crossing the road.
As I approached the Cock, a couple of trendy-looking lads who looked barely old enough to drink walked past me, laughing, and disappeared inside. Feeling that if they could handle it, so could I, I pushed open the door to take my first, tentative step into the gay world.
I suppose, subconsciously, I’d expected something offQAF—hot, steamy and full of young blond boys with oiled pecs and shiny shorts dancing around poles, that sort of thing. This was—well, it was just an ordinary pub, really. It had ye olde oak beams on the ceiling, a polished wood bar with some nice carved bits, and behind it, all the colourful drinks you could think of and a couple of hundred more besides. Blokes sat at tables, drinking and chatting; others propped up the bar. There were women, too, and not the sort I’d have picked out on the street as lesbians—they had long hair, some of them, and were wearing makeup and nice clothes. One of them even had a skirt on. Everyone looked, well,normal.
Just as I was wondering if I’d taken a wrong turn and somehow ended up in a completely different pub than the one I’d been aiming for, I felt a touch on my arm and looked around to see the bruiser in the leathers from outside. He was smiling at me, showing a gold tooth that toned in quite nicely with its nicotine-stained brethren. “’Ullo, ’andsome,” he said gruffly. “Buy you a drink?”
I panicked. “Thanks, but…I’m meeting someone. At the bar. Got to go.” Flashing him an apologetic and somewhat guilty smile, I scuttled away and started trying to elbow my way into the suddenly dense crowd around the bar. Some of them elbowed back. A frisson ran through me at the thought of being surrounded by—in physical contact with, even—so many gay men. Men who had sex with other men. Men who might even want to have sex with me… Oh, God. Suddenly I needed a drink more than ever.
Eventually I managed to find a square inch of bar that wasn’t already occupied. I leant on it, feeling a little flushed, and tried vainly to make eye contact with one of the barmen. I realised I was standing next to a stocky young man with a mop of orange hair that looked worryingly familiar.
The owner of the hair turned to see who was crowding him, and my stomach lurched.
Oh, God. It was Adam.
He gave me a slow smile and a long look up and down, although as we were literally hip-to-hip he couldn’t have seen much of me below the chest. “W’nna dr’nk?” Actually it came out even less clear than that, but he helpfully made drinking-up gestures with his hand so I got the picture.
I thought about saying no, I’m fine—but I was leaning over the bar with my wallet in my hand.ObviouslyI wanted a drink. “Er, yes, thanks. White wine.”
Apparently effortlessly attracting the attention of a large, tattooed barman with a squeaky voice, Adam bought me a large one. He held up both hands to ward off the tenner I waved in his direction. “’S all right. Come ’n’ sit down?”
I took a hefty swallow of my Pinot Grigio, coughed a bit and followed him like I was marching to my own funeral. What the hell was I going to say to him? If he told Matt he’d seen me here, Matt would tell Jay—and more to the point, Matt wouldknow. He’d think I was such a hypocrite—for God’s sake, I’d more or less told him the day we met I didn’t mind him being gay. As if I was doing him a favour by generously offering not to behave in an overtly bigoted manner.
And God, what if Jay told Mum…? No, he wouldn’t do that. Would he? Oh, God. Why the hell did I ever come here? I took another hefty swig of wine.
Adam led me right through the pub and out the back door to a beer garden I hadn’t realised existed. It was small and squarish, with high fences and a pergola to disguise the fact it was in the middle of the city. Trailing plants I strongly suspected were artificial hung from the wooden beams, sharing their space with fairy lights. I hoped the irony was intentional. Most of the tables were full, but Adam found one unoccupied in the darkest corner of the place, which suited me. I sat down on the wooden bench. Adam sat opposite me and grinned. “C’mere of’n?”
“No, actually, I’ve never been here before…” I took another mouthful of wine to buy some time. My glass was already two-thirds empty, and I was starting to wish I hadn’t been too keyed up to eat anything before I came out. Would he believe me if I said I’d just wandered in here by mistake?
“Saw you lookin’ at Matt’s arse.”
I nearly choked on my wine. That’d probably be a no, then. God, had I really been that obvious? “I’m not—I mean, I was married. To a woman.” I gulped down some more of France’s finest, hoping it’d either show me some way out of here or kill me quickly.
“Arr.” Adam nodded, as if I’d just told him my life story. Then he grinned again and stood up. “C’mere.”
“Where?” I yelped.
“‘Ere.” He beckoned me to him. Hypnotised by his smile—and more to the point, too nervous to let him go off without me—I followed. We ended up in a dark corner around the side of the pub, next to a couple of metal barrels and a passed-out drunk who was snoring gently. “C’mere,” Adam said again.
A soft grunting noise caught my attention, and a shape in the shadows resolved itself into two gentlemen getting to know each other rather intimately. I suddenly realised why he’d brought me out here. “I don’t think—”
He grabbed me. Where I still had my wineglass in one hand, Pinot Grigiot sloshed over my arm—and possibly the drunk—as I struggled in vain against Adam’s lecherous grasp. “I’m not—”
“Yeah, y’are.” Adam planted a sloppy, beer-flavoured kiss on my lips, and as his stubble rasped against my skin, I finally admitted to myself that yes, I really was. And maybe he wasn’t who I really wanted, but oh, God, he tasted good and his body felt amazing against mine. My arms seemed to be working of their own volition as they wrapped around him and pressed him closer to me—I could only hope the level in my wineglass was low enough by now I wasn’t soaking his back. Adam’s erection ground into my hip, and God, that wasn’t where I wanted it, not at all. My back was solidly against the wall of the pub, but I managed to shift position until our cocks were pressing against one another through our clothes. “Arr, ’s right,” Adam murmured in my ear before sucking the lobe into his mouth.
Were ears supposed to feel this good? Why hadn’t Kate ever—ah—God… I let out an inhuman sound as I felt Adam undoing my flies. And then his hand was on my cock and oh, fuck…
I was panting like I’d run a marathon and God, it felt good. But then he stopped and backed away. “W-what?” I managed.
