Chapter 5 - Gay Dave, Saturday

5.14
5.15
5.16

I wish I’d not stayed over. Much as I hate to be a shag-and-leave type of guy there’s nothing worse than being trapped in someone else’s bed, unable to sleep. It’s no surprise, my sleep is fragile at the best of times, and it only takes the tiniest of things to upset it. I don’t remember the last time I slept in someone else’s bed. That’s not to say there haven’t been people in mine, but even then I’ve been awake before the sun, and certainly before my bed mate. I don’t know him well enough to know whether he’ll be awake bright and early, or if he’s the kind of person that can sleep in all day. I could be here for hours, clinging to the side of the bed counting the minutes on the clock. I can’t start fidgeting for at least another two hours - nobody gets up before 7am on a Saturday - and leaving now isn’t an option: by the time I’ve stumbled round looking for my clothes I’ll have woken him up, and probably both sets of neighbours as well. I knew I should have left, but three-thirty in the morning isn’t the time to start contemplating a cab home, especially when you’re pretty drunk.

5.41
5.42
5.43

There I was thinking I didn’t fancy him. Funny how evenings can take unexpected turns. I was all set to give the barman my number when Steve beat me to it and asked me back. By then I’d gotten to like his smile and was intrigued to find out just how hairy that chest was, so I said yes. I wish we’d just jumped in a cab though - there’s only so much anticipation you can stand , if you wait too long people are sure to change their mind. And a night bus is certain to cool anyone’s ardour. He said it wasn’t far, but what I think he meant was that he’d spent all his money on dinner and couldn’t afford a cab. I was happy to pay, and said so, although obviously not forcefully enough as I found myself hanging round a bus stop, not dressed for it, and in no mood for the drunken teenagers who were teasing each other and bickering over their remaining cigarettes. The boys I can handle - their scowl might be worse than the girls, but I’m a big bloke and although I’ve never been in a fight I’d like to think that if I had to I could use my size to scare someone away. Or maybe not. But girls are different - they know they could never take you in a fight, so they mess with your head - find your weakness and pick at it until you can’t stand it any more. I was maybe being drunkenly paranoid, but two gay men on a bus seemed to be asking for trouble.
I was wrong - no one gave a shit about us. They were too busy texting people and laughing about the replies to even notice we were there, and got off several stops before us anyway. Seven or eight stops later we got off to, and even in my drunken state I realised it was pretty dumb to not know where you were, especially in the company of someone you hardly knew. There was an outside chance I could end the night in bits in a nearby river, or locked in a cupboard under the stairs until someone missed me. But those kind of thoughts are easily dismissed when you’re drunk and horny.
The walk from the bus to his house ensured that I was completely lost - it was one of those areas of completely identical houses, with seemingly identical cars and no way of telling them apart. Do they call this kind of thing suburbia still? Turns out he lived in a nice little terrace house - lots of original floor boards, which would no doubt give me away if I tried to creep out of bed. Nicely decorated, and not full of all the crap I seem to have accumulated. Not exactly minimal, more obsessively tidy. I was worried he’d ask me to fold my clothes when I’d taken them off, but in the end I left them scattered up the stairs and he was too busy getting out of his own to worry about where I was putting them.

6.03
6.04
6.05

I wonder where the bathroom is? I could do with a pee, and it might just wake him up if I stumble round the house enough. I’m trying to remember the layout, but it’s all a bit of a drunken blur. I expect it’ll be upstairs, but I’d hate to wander in and disturb a sleeping lodger. He never said he had a lodger, but you never know. He never said he had both nipples pierced, which just goes to show you never can tell. Perhaps a sly tweak of one of them would wake him up? It’d probably start something I don’t want to get into though - I just want a shower and a shave, coffee and toast, then a long nap in my own bed.
At least I can remember his name. There’s nothing worse than getting all camp and calling some one “love” or “gorgeous” to cover up the fact you’ve completely forgotten their name. I wonder if I’ll see him again. Maybe he won’t want to. Maybe I won’t want to. Nah, it was fun, I’d do it again. And I’m not exactly overwhelmed by better offers at the minute anyway.

6.24
6.25
6.26

Well, I found the bathroom. It wasn’t exactly tricky - there are only two other doors upstairs, and as the one to the bathroom was already open it was a bit of a giveaway. I did just peek into the other room, just to check for lodgers, but it looks like a study. There’s certainly a computer in there and loads of paperwork, and the usual spare room kind of crap.
I managed to wake him up when I got back into bed, although he didn’t open his eyes, just mumbled to himself and pulled me into a cuddle. So now I’m not only awake but I’m trapped. And I can’t see the clock as my head is pulled into his chest. Turns out that hair went all the way down, lots of it too. It smells warm, and makes me feel surprisingly comfortable. Perhaps I could fall asleep after all?

Or not. Now I’m not only awake, but I’m hot and my arm has gone dead. And that chest hair is tickling my nose. I’ve tried fidgeting but he’s dead to the world. I wonder what time it is? It looks lighter out, well, the tiny bit of the room I can see over his shoulder looks lighter. Well, lighter than when I’m blinded by his chest. Perhaps I should bite him. That’d wake him up. In a proper bitey kind of way. Not foreplay, but a proper bite. Draw blood. Oh God I’m trapped in a strangers bed and I’m going mad.

OK, I turned myself over, but I couldn’t get away. His arm followed me across the bed, which makes me think he’s more awake than he seems. Now he’s nestled in behind me, his breath warming the back of my neck. It’s not altogether unpleasant. I could even get to like it. And there’s something restful about the rhythm of his breathing. Maybe I could get used to this after all…..