Chess-Mate00:12 Apr 23 2009
Times Read: 1,048
Contains some adult themes
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As I look back at the events that helped form who I am, it occurs to me, that it was a game of chess that had got me into male on male sex.
Up the road from where I live on the Wirral, in the U.K.; there is New Ferry, on the main road into Birkenhead.
I used to register as unemployed, back when I was seventeen or so, then walk over the road, to look in the window of the model shop and price the sci-fi orientated plastic kits that I couldn’t afford.
Then one sunny afternoon I’d called in, ostensibly to check out some paint prices whilst ogling the shelves and the latest kits in.
The glass counter, at waist height, generally had the storeowner behind it, to my left and that day ahead of me, was a young-man. He had been wearing short-sleeve check-shirt worn loose over light-fawn corduroy trousers, thick-framed black glasses: and had black hair, thick and tousled.
He had a slight build, brown eyes and acne.
I noticed a lot, as I had approached where he stood and rambled, as I do.
Yet, that aside, the young fellow knew more than I did about models and such things. Furthermore, there’d been a real spark of interest between the two of us.
So, I’d lingered.
And, as customers had come and gone, I’d stayed and chatted.
I’d learnt he was on holiday from Uni and helping his Dad in the shop: and when time wore on and I decided to go, I’d realized that I would go back to see him.
So it was that two weeks later, after signing-on, I had gone back to the shop.
I’d opened the door, causing the bell above it to ring. He’d looked up as I’d entered, directed his eyes to his Father behind the counter on his right, then smiled, his eyes downcast.
It was obvious he liked my company, as well.
I approached his end of the shop and started talking, much to his Dad’s annoyance I’d guessed, as he tutted away several times.
And, after awhile, I hadn’t noticed his spots, just his smile: and, I had noticed the way he held my gaze, just that little bit more than necessary.
Finally, at about half-three in the afternoon my friend’s father had announced, “I’m going out. I have an order to see to.” In hindsight, that remark had been prophetic.
But, I digress.
As soon as the door closed behind his Dad, my new friend grinned, “His order is probably at the bar. He likes to have a half of mild with his friends at this time of day.”
As the door closed on the traffic outside, I had turned back to him and grinned.
He looked back at me and grinned in return.
“So besides models of space-craft, what do you like?” He asked me.
With my both my hands on the counter-top, I stared into his eyes.
“Reading, walking, writing, chess…” I’d begun, quoting the list of hobbies I’d put down on a C.V.”
“You play chess?” He’d asked curiously.
“Uh huh?”
“When I close up, do you want to come back to my folks and play a game of chess?” He had asked, and then added, “They won’t be back for a couple of hours.”
‘Why not?’ I’d mused: ‘might be interesting?”
Less than an hour later, he was shutting up shop and we left the shop. He locked up and we walked round the block to the car park, where his dirty old olive-green Triumph.
“It gets me around,” he justified, with an airy wave of his hand.
I had just smiled my response, as he unlocked the car door, then leant across and opened up the passenger door.
He started up the engine once I made myself comfortable, then reversed the car and manoeuvred his way out of the car park and into the traffic.
And, as we had driven towards where he lived I had been filled with a sense of expectation, such was the tension between us.
The journey had only taken about fifteen minutes where he lived, in one of the poshest parts of The Wirral, in a large bungalow on the corner of an estate.
He’d parked the car in the driveway, then walked slowly to the front door, looking over his houlder to look at me following him, as he turned the key and entered.
“Won’t be a second…” he informed me, as he turned to the alarm on his left and turned it off: “Now c’mon in.”
I had followed him into the front room where the furniture looked classy and the wood of the sofa suite and welsh dresser and cabinets looked well clean on a late sunny afternoon.
Patrick, I think it name had been Patrick; he got the board and pieces out, then set them down on a small poof, in front of the armchair, where he intended to sit.
“You set ‘em up and I’ll make us a cup of tea. Okay?”
“Uh huh, sure,” I’d responded, sitting cross-legged on the floor and placing the first pawn in place.
“You okay with tea, or prefer a cold drink?” He had asked me, from where he stood in the doorway.
“Tea, no sugar,” I answered as I had continued to put the chess pieces in place.
“We’ve got at least an hour or so,” he called from the kitchen.
He had been referring to his folks, of course.
Minutes later, Patrick was back with two cups of tea. He had passed me a mug of tea, which I’d taken, then sat down in the armchair before me.
“So, let’s get on with it,” he had announced with a smile.
I had placed a white pawn in one hand, then a black in the other.
Putting my hands behind my back, I asked: “Black, or white?”
He got comfortable in his plush velveteen covered armchair, then leant forward, with his elbows on his knees, fingers clasped and his chin resting on them.
He stared intently, for a moment or so, and then said, “White.”
White it had been: and had moved first, a knight as I recall.
There’d been connection between us: something I learnt of more of later, desire.
His eyes met mine for a second: then he’d said, “Your move.”
Not quite a virgin, I had still been inexperienced.
He had reached for something, perhaps moved a piece, I don’t know: but I do remember how I’d felt, the moment the back of his wrist brushed against mine and his skin touched mine. It’d felt electric.
Now the air was filled with expectation.
I had gone to move, but hadn’t. I’d just sort of let my piece hover the board, for a moment or so.
“We could make the game more interesting, if you want?” he said and I turned my head a little, to look at Patrick questioningly.
“The loser could suck the winner cock,” he said with a smile and a raised eyebrow, which I assume was there because he was reticent about my response.
Yet, I quite liked the idea.
And, though my mouth hung open for a second or two, I had said, “Yes, sure.”
As each piece was played and my line of players lost to him grew longer, my nervous anticipation turned to excitement: I was losing and soon would suck cock.
Pretty soon I was down to three pieces, whilst he had more than a third of his pieces left and I’d looked up at him from where I sat cross-legged.
He had been grinning, from ear to ear.
And, I recall turning to pick up my drink, knocking it back and licking my lips slowly.
We’d continued to play and, as time passed I found myself down to one piece, a king.
It’d then taken him less than ten minutes, to pin my piece down to a corner and though I’d shifted it again and again, the end was inevitable: “Check-mate!”
At that point, Patrick had sat forward in his chair, looked directly at me and smiled.
“Your move,” he’d said, rubbing at the crotch of his trousers.
COMMENTS
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DigitalStaR
01:24 Apr 30 2009
**smiles**