About Back and Forward

by Syd McGinley
14 pages / 5200 words
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

Dave doesn't bottom, but with Paul, the rugby player he's sleeping with, the rules get blurred a little. They swear their relationship is casual at best, but both Dave and Paul will do things for each other that they wouldn't for anyone else. Are they just a pair of guys having some kinky hijinks, or will their relationship become a model of give and take… and love?

Sample

I’m not a foot guy, but kneeling in front of him had its own supplicant feel. He had long thin feet with a few pale golden wires on each big toe. I tugged one hair with my teeth. He twitched.

“Pampering, boy, not teasing.”

I tugged again. “I may be on my knees but I’m not your boy,” I snapped.

He grinned.

His extra height made him think he was in charge no matter how often I proved he could be my bottom. It went back and forth between us. He claimed I only won when he was already wiped from rugby. He was tired today, but I’d let him win. At least he wouldn’t be able to use that excuse again. Lose a battle to win the war, I reminded myself. Besides, he deserved a reward today. Positive reinforcement.

We’d always wrestle for who gave it up. If we stuck together, I’d tell him about my college wrestling scholarship, but for now I said, "Only Greco-Roman, Paul—not WWE flash." I longed to body slam suplex him and watch his surprise, but I played fair. Although he was bigger and stronger, he had no technique. Good instincts, but once pinned or caught in a roll-up he’d be stuck for a counter and he’d try to cheat—fishhooking was his favorite desperation move—and I’d sneak in a move a trained wrestler would recognize. So far I’d gotten away with it.

I squeezed his little toe hard and he opened his eyes. He was beat from his match, wrestling me, and getting his leg over. He rotated his wrist so I could see the play of first the extensors, then the flexors. Those muscles always caused the first pulse quicken, the first “I’m gonna have him” moment with any guy I fucked. It was true with him. I saw his arm reach across for a pint, his wrist extending from a dirty rugby shirt.

I’d never knowingly met a rugby player before, but I had the French team calendar in my bedroom. I was in my “just drinking” bar and it was full of the expat Brit team who’d stopped off after an away fixture. I usually steer clear of my fellow ex-pats. Several sweaty obnoxious Brits were destroying my rugby illusions by the time I saw Paul’s arm stretch across the bar, and I decided to stay. It was a challenge picking up a post-match player surrounded by his mates, but if I didn’t act then, I knew I’d have to find their next match. I’d feel desperate, groupie-like, and I have better things to do on Sundays than watch men thunder around in muddy herds. I like my rugby players fresh from the shower and ready to do as they’re told. It was surprisingly easy to catch his eye and end up side by side in the head. We said a few inane things and Paul shook himself off more elaborately than necessary. Even for an uncut guy. He gave his foreskin a squeeze as if he were milking it, and bluntly said, “I expect service.”

I laughed. “SOL, buddy. That’s my line.”