Junction X (14 page)

I couldn’t say what I wanted to.
Yes. I’ve wanted to touch you, to feel your skin under my palms, to put my fingers into your hair, to touch your mouth and see your eyes close when I…

So I just said. “Yes.” I glanced toward the garage doors, terrified that someone might have seen us, then moved to shut and lock them behind me. When I turned, he was there—close and warm and in my arms. I couldn’t stop. God help me, I couldn’t. I was in my own garage, with my children and my wife on the other side of flimsy wooden doors, and I pulled that young man into my arms and I kissed him as if it was our last moment together instead of our first. Oh God. Just the memory of that—which I count as our first kiss, for I have no real memory of the one before—is enough to make me hard every single time I recall it. I was a man fresh from the driest burning desert and desperate to drink. I was a glutton, and I pulled him to me with both hands, feeling that I could devour him. There was no gentleness in that kiss; we were rocks, crashing against each other.

My hands slid down his back and he curved towards me with a groan. Down my hands moved and I swear they were shaking, even then, even though I had lost myself in his mouth. They slid down over the curve of his backside and my legs went weak. To hold him like this was everything—and yet not enough. It could never be enough. Frantically, I pulled his shirt from his trousers, the cotton cool against the heat of my palms. I plunged my hands under it, seeking his skin, but touching it broke the spell, and I pulled away from his lips, breathing as hard as if I’d run from the Junction.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “Please. Please.” His hands were on my shoulders, clinging with the tips of his fingers, as if he’d fall if he let go.

I muttered incomprehensible rubbish, the sort of nonsense spouted by people with backbone. “We mustn’t. I’m sorry.” I even made the pretence of moving away, but I didn’t mean it. I wanted to make him decide, and I’d do whatever he wanted, whatever it was. My heart nearly burst when he pulled me to him, closer and closer still until there was nothing but a double layer of cloth between us from chest to hip.

“No. We
must
.” His voice was surprisingly fierce. “Who knows when we’ll get another chance?”

This time the kiss was softer; my eyes closed as I surrendered to him, his hands moved up to tangle in my hair, and I was bolder, exploring the smooth warmth of his torso. I could feel the waistband of his trousers—tantalisingly loose—skimming the edges of my palms.
I could slide my hand into his trousers,
and he wouldn’t care.
The way he clung, the way his breath was hot and thready against my cheek, I knew that he wanted me to touch him just as desperately as I wanted to do so. The thought of his naked backside being mere inches from my hands was enough to make me feel my heart would stop.

I lost all sensation of time. I know now, for I looked dazedly at the grandmother clock in the hall when I finally went in, that I was only in that garage for five minutes at the most, but it could have been a year.

Finally our lips separated, and I rested my mouth on his forehead, kissing and tasting him, salt and delight. I still couldn’t find the words—my mind was too full of now to consider the future—but he put his hands on my chest, finding my nipples through the proper shields of vest and shirt and touching them, almost too gently while I held him, trapped between my senses.

“I should go,” he said.

For a second, I gripped him around the waist. “Yes.” I paused, and then added a vital word. “Alex.”

I heard him chuckle. “Yes,” he echoed.

I took his face in my hands, moving my fingers over his chin and lips, and I kissed him again and again. We gradually parted, each movement taking us further away, our eyes never leaving each other’s.

“I don’t know,” I said, answering a question he hadn’t asked, except with his eyes. “I’ll…I’ll let you know.” It was Sunday, and I had little chance of seeing him. “Your after-school club. On Wednesday. I’ll pick you up.”

We shared the secret then; his eyes lit with a wicked fire. He darted forward to steal another kiss as brief as the first and then unlocked the doors. I watched him run down the drive.

+ + +

Valerie was running on about something to do with Claire when I stumbled up the side steps and into the house. She paused as she passed. She was rubbing her hands together and I could smell lily of the valley. One whiff of that scent still takes me back to that moment and that numbed delirium.

“Your hair is a mess,” she said. “What
have
you been doing?”

My insides went momentarily cold until I realised it was almost a rhetorical question. I spun around to the hall mirror; I’d locked the garage in a daze and hadn’t even thought to check my appearance. Where Alex’s fingers had curled into my hair they’d left it standing up at the sides, giving me the appearance of a man who’s had a mild electric shock.

I forced a laugh, hoping she hadn’t seen the nerve rash which was springing up on my neck. “It was hot and we had the windows wide open.” It was a pretty feeble lie, but she just rolled her eyes and continued up the stairs.

I want to write about how I felt that afternoon, because even if I can’t translate that breathless euphoria, I can at least recall it. I
want
to, but it’s almost impossible to put into words. To say that my belly was full of fluttering insects sounds stupid and trite, but there was a tightness that had my heart thumping hard for a long while that afternoon and evening. I was so on edge that I jumped at every little noise, and unable to eat, I pushed my cutlet around on my plate until it was cold.

“The children are full of ‘Alec this’ and ‘Alec that,’ and yet you’ve not mentioned the day once,” Valerie said as we undressed that night.

“It was a day out with the children,” I said glibly, having practised many lines during the hours since Alex’s lips had left mine. “Not exactly thrilling conversation.”

In bed, I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling instead of reading, my thoughts full of Alex and the way he had tasted, the way his skin had been hot under my hands. My cock hardened and, to disguise it, I bent my legs. If Valerie wondered what I was thinking, she didn’t say. After she turned the light out, she curled up against me. For the first time in my married life, I was glad that she was not the sort of wife who would initiate sex. Eventually her breathing slowed, and she rolled away as normal to sleep on her left side. I was left alone in the dark with even darker thoughts.

+ + +

I never particularly understood the concept of time dragging before that week. I’d had flashes of it. Waiting at the church, waiting for exam results, that sort of thing. But, I’d never waited for a day to come with such desperate longing. It was beyond anticipation. My blood pressure went through the roof, I’m sure of it; every time I thought of the tiny sliver of time that I would spend with him on Wednesday, I’d get restless, unable to sit in my office seat. I won’t go into details, it’s pointless—but three days felt like three weeks.

That Wednesday, as I cruised slowly down the last stretch of the dual carriageway and turned towards St. Peter’s, it seemed I hadn’t seen Alex for so long that it felt like a reunion. Ridiculous, I know, especially as I had caught glimpses of him in his garden from my bedroom window, but that’s how it felt.

It wasn’t until I parked the car a short distance from the school that I realised the idiocy of what I was up to. Anyone could wander past; anyone might see me and wonder what I was doing. But I didn’t move. I was already immured in lies and was planning for further deceits. Although I didn’t have a cover story in case anyone saw me, I was confident that I could come up with one if needed.

I was, at least, a little protected, because the main school had already finished and only a very few students were leaving. They paid no attention to me as I sat there, my stomach in knots.

A strong rap on the off-side window made me jump. My head whipped round to find Alex grinning on the other side of the glass. He pulled open the door and slid in. “Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t resist. You looked so worried.”

I was disarmed by his smile; he could always do that without the slightest effort. I longed to greet him as I would have a proper lover, to pull him along the seat and kiss him. I could see by the look in his eyes that what he wanted me to do this, too.

“I wish it was dark,” he said.

The heat in my groin intensified at the suggestion. Yes, I thought. Yes. When it’s dark we’ll be able to… I thought back to the night Phil and I had parked in the building site. There was no way I would have that opportunity—you don’t suddenly take a young man driving late at night—but the nights were already drawing in; winter would soon be here, and it would be pitch dark by seven. I’d never longed for the winter so much.

“Me too,” was all I could say. I started the car; he gave a soft sigh, but it caught in his throat, like he was holding something in.

“Are you all right?” Instinctively, I reached and touched his thigh between gear changes.

“I am now,” he said. “I wasn’t sure, you see. If you’d…if you would…”

“If I’d be here?”

“Don’t talk.” He took my hand and pressed it against his crotch. “Just…”

“I have to change gears,” I said, but my fingers flexed and kneaded the hardness under my hand. I couldn’t breathe.

“Let me.”

That’s when we started that game, and it took a little practice. I drove, although how I did, that first evening, I will never know, while he unzipped himself and slid forward, changing gears for me. It was madness, blissful madness, I know. Dangerous for more than just the fear of discovery, but worth every second. I fumbled through the maze of his Y-fronts and found his cock. I remember making the most stupid noise, a sharp intake of breath with a groan of pleasure, but all Alex said was, “Yes.”

I couldn’t do much more than fumble and squeeze. I certainly couldn’t do two things at once, and I soon ran out of road and had to regretfully pull my hand away to negotiate the roundabout. I couldn’t go home, couldn’t force myself to take the third exit, so I came around again and sped up the dual carriageway. There were six miles between The Avenue and the London Road, and there were no pedestrians. I already had a cover story as I straightened the car and set her at a steady thirty-five.

He came closer, like I hoped he would. “Look,” he whispered. “Look what you did.”

 
I glanced down, forcing my hands to keep the car straight. His cock was clear of his trousers and liquid was seeping from the tip.

“I’m going to do it the moment I get home,” he said. “And think of you. I wish I had your photo. I’ve wanked and wanked so much since Sunday. I wish I could kiss you. I wish you could kiss
this
.”

 
There was a sensation like pins and needles in my buttocks and I could feel my balls tightening as he talked. He leaned back, brazen, but from the outside he looked like he was just sitting there looking forward at the road ahead. He held his prick lightly in his left hand, giving me a bird’s eye view of what I wanted to see. He wasn’t masturbating but just pulling the foreskin gently up and down.

“Alex…”

“Say my name. Say it.”

“Alex…Alexander.
Alexander
.”

He gave that sigh again and reached over, unzipping me. I loved his name. I loved the way the L sounded—I almost had to lick my lips to say it the way he wanted me to. It was a double handful of a name, an eroticism all its own. His hands struck my skin and I jolted; the car swerved, making me thankful for the lack of traffic.

“I have to go around over the bridge.”

“That’s all right. Just don’t crash.” He reached into my trousers—less clumsily than I had, since he could look at what he was doing—and wrapped his fingers around my cock. Somehow, I pulled the car over onto the slip-road as my cock exploded in his hand. My legs were shaking as I slammed both feet onto the pedals.

“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “This was stupid.” I couldn’t imagine what he thought. What if we’d crashed? Unable to face him, I did myself up.

After I’d made myself decent, he took my hand. “You’d better drive,” he said.

He changed gears for me as we pulled back onto the road and over the bridge. All the way back to The Avenue, his hand never left mine except to change gears. His fingers stroked my palm. It was almost as wonderful as the feeling of his hand on my cock. He was talking with his fingers—and I knew that it was all right.

 
He jumped out when we got back to the house, opening the garage doors. I drove in, and he flew into my arms for one long perfect minute, his kiss saying everything we’d been unable to. We’d had so little time. Then, always the sensible one, he broke away from me. “The car’s no good. Not for that.”