3
FRANK
Profile changed and approved.
Impulsive optimism had won out.
The website instantly threw up profiles of men seeking men in his area; it seemed, arranged by distance from him. Frank placed his tablet down on his bed beside him; he wasn't going to initiate contact with any of these men. At this point in his life, he could only imagine Ash coming back.
The second most likely scenario would be finding a new girlfriend. Even though he'd just hit approve, Frank couldn't believe that men really met men in that way for anything other than quick and anonymous sex. And that most definitely wasn't what Frank wanted. He'd be terrified. He knew he probably wouldn't meet up with anyone at all anyway.
With his coffee mug emptied, he decided it was time for a shower. He got off the bed and plodded to the bathroom, where he remembered Ash's toothbrush still taunted him every time he opened the bathroom cabinet. Why keep two toothbrushes in your bathroom? One for eyebrows and one for teeth? One to hold in each hand? One to stay in the bathroom, another to use at the kitchen sink? One for scrubbing the toilet?
Inside the bathroom, Frank opened the cabinet and picked out the offending implement. He threw it on the floor outside the bathroom door, so he would remember to take it downstairs later and chuck it out with the trash.
He shed his clothes and stepped into the shower.
Under the steaming jets, the water massaged his scalp and rinsed some of his stress away while he thought about the profile that he'd just launched live on the Internet. He couldn't believe any man would actually contact him or arrange to meet up. If he imagined it, he thought, he should be ready with his best and worst case scenario. Know what he wanted and know his boundaries. He hadn't seen anyone other than Ash in ten years so he couldn't imagine starting over, regardless of whether it was with a man or a woman. Using condoms, for example, people still did that, didn’t they? He hadn't bought any in years.
Some of them on that site were definitely looking for quick, sexy hookups, and Frank didn't disapprove of such behavior, but he couldn't envisage his first time with a man being like that. He also couldn't picture himself dating a man, having never done it before. He met up with men, hung out with men, worked with men.
But dating?
How did that work?
Who bought the flowers?
Did guys go to dinner together?
How many dates were usual before guys slept together?
Out of practice in the art of seduction, he couldn't really imagine dating a woman either.
While his fingers trailed through the soapy suds on his chest and down his hard, flat stomach, he wondered what it would be like to feel another man's hands touching him in this way. Progressing rapidly downward, he imagined his hands not on himself but another man's body.
His cock twitched and grew when a hand approached it.
He stroked.
So intimately familiar with his own dick and no stranger to seeing other men naked and hard in porn, Frank knew what he wanted to do with a guy. To touch him and taste him; to hold another man's erection.
With more soapy shower gel, he washed down his legs and feet, going through the motions of his usual morning ablutions. He took a more leisurely approach, knowing he didn't have to rush out to work.
He enjoyed the sensation and view of his hardened cock standing out, and of imagining another man present: they'd watch each other shower and admire each other's erections without actually touching. Just watch, wash, and wank.
Frank wiped his soapy hands over his rear and folded his fingertips into the crease. As he wiped his fingers down toward his sensitive hole, he submitted to the urge to handle his erection. He palmed it with his other hand.
If he met the right man, he'd like to do this with him; to touch each other this way. Frank pushed a finger inside and let out a moan; it sure felt good. He could do this to a guy: bring him to his knees with his fingers inside him and a hand on his cock, because Frank knew that experience himself. It felt good, and at that moment Frank wanted his thoughts to become a reality more than anything.
Moaning and squeezed his dick a little bit harder, he fucked into his palm, imagining someone else's dick in his hand and another person's fingers wrapped around his cock.
Moans mingled with the sound of the bathroom extractor fan and the water pounding onto the base of the shower tray.
Frank would love to suck a cock too. At the thought of it, Frank let loud a primitive groan while coating the shower wall with cum.
He held on to the feelings of ecstasy, knowing they'd wash away soon with the soapy suds, the shampoo, and the evidence that clung to the tiles on the wall. He pulled out his finger and washed his hands again.
Having come, he would've liked to drag the imaginary companion closer to him to hold each other while they recovered. They'd feel great, satisfied with their bodies pressed close. Even as the height of ecstasy subsided, the desire to hold a man in his arms didn’t fade.
In the way he once did with Ash.
There was no more “with Ash”, though; the thought of her made Frank open his eyes.
With close to one hundred percent certainty, he realized he no longer wanted Ash here with him. Their relationship had stagnated. Despite his difficulty acknowledging it, at first, she'd done the right thing by breaking them up. If they were meant to be together, their relationship would have moved on faster instead of staying in a comfortable situation.
With the shower hose unhooked, Frank directed the water jet at the tiles to remove his ejaculate from the wall where it clung and glistened. As he watched, it loosened its grip from the white ceramic squares and slid down the glossy, vertical plane. The evidence of his arousal floated, creating a glutinous island near the drainage point. A floating island of jizz that refused to drain away.
Standing in several inches of water, Frank had been aware for a few days that the shower did not drain away at its normal rapid pace, but most mornings he'd be in and out too quickly to give it much thought. Having lingered much longer this time, giving the water a chance to build up into a shallow pool, Frank realised he had a home maintenance job on his hands.
Frank hosed himself down one last time and then turned the water off. He got out of the shower cubicle, leaving the pool of water to trickle away slowly. He grabbed his towel from the towel rail, wiped himself down not too carefully, leaving plenty of water droplets on his body. Living through an English September heatwave, it was nice to feel cool whenever possible.
In no hurry to get dressed, he wrapped the damp towel around his waist and went downstairs in search of more coffee.
While Frank pottered around in the kitchen listening to the morning’s news on the TV, he heard the sound of the key in the door.
"Ash?" he muttered, too quietly for anyone else to hear.
No. That was ridiculous; she'd be on her way to work at O'Donnell's, the family firm she owned with her brothers.
Frank stepped out of the kitchen into the hallway in time to see the door swing open. "Maria?"
Maria looked as surprised to see him as he was to see her. "Good morning, what are you doing home?"
He'd totally forgotten, his cleaner worked on Thursdays, although he thought she came later in the day. He wouldn't really know what time she came as he was usually at work. "Okay, sorry, I forgot it was Thursday. I'm taking a sick day, but I'll get out of your way, Maria. Give me a couple of minutes to get dressed."
Coffee abandoned, he went directly upstairs. On his way to the bedroom, he stepped over the toothbrush that still rested on the landing floor where it fell. It reminded him of the state in which he’d left the bathroom. He didn’t like to think of Maria cleaning the remnants of his jizz from the bottom of the shower tray.
Entering the bathroom instead of the bedroom, he turned his attention to the shower. It was almost clear of water, just a fraction of an inch remained around the drain. However, it remained filled with sudsy bubbles and the unmistakable evidence of his self-pleasure: telltale globules of cum. From experience, he knew it didn't always break down that easily.
Exactly what Frank didn't want to happen happened after he aimed a jet of water at the offending lumps. The water level rose; the solidifying jizz-island rose atop the water, and the soapy bubbles multiplied.
A sense of urgency seized him.
In a minute, Maria would climb the stairs to clean the bathroom. Was that something she normally did first?
For heaven’s sake, Frank needed to call a plumber to sort out this blockage.
In the meantime, he scooped his hand into the water, but like a slippery fish, the spunk slipped away, evading capture.
Operation cum-clear-up required a creative solution. Finally, Frank identified the most effective course of action. He took the towel from around his waist and swept up the remaining jelly, simultaneously soaking up water too. Then he wrapped the drenched towel complete with evidence of the morning's expulsion inside a dry mat from the bathroom floor.
Before taking the laundry downstairs to the washing machine, he slipped into his bedroom and dressed in the first clothes that came to hand: plain white T-shirt. Denim shorts.
Standing in the kitchen, Frank picked up a banana, and ate it while waiting for the kettle to boil so that he could make another cup of coffee. "I'll be in the shed if you need me, Maria. Not that you would."
The vacuum cleaner and cleaning products were already out, and Maria had hands in the washing up bowl. "No problem. I won't need you, Frank. You're never normally here when I come to do the cleaning. Do you mind if I have the radio on?"
"No, you go ahead."
He opened the back door. Behind his house comprised more workshop than garden. Frank wasn't interested in cutting lawns or tending flowerbeds, though he did use the outside space as an overflow area for woodworking. Ready to go out to his shed and holding onto his coffee, Frank tucked his iPad under his arm. It never crossed his mind someone would respond so soon, if at all, but he intended to check.
In the privacy of his outside room, Frank was surprised to see some messages already. “Hiya.” and “Looking?” appeared as one-word messages next to blurred images of guys who'd taken selfies in mirrors.
With no idea how to reply, or whether he'd want to, he put the tablet down.
Playing with wood usually helped clear his mind, Frank liked the look, the feel, and the versatility of the material. Most of all, he loved the smell. The aroma of freshly-planed shavings and sawdust pleased him: a different scent for each tree species. He didn't even object to the smell of chemical treatments that he used upon his pieces.
He turned his attention to his workbench. Strips of wood were clamped into position, awaiting the next stage in their transformation from tree to bespoke furniture. Hours could and frequently did fly by when Frank attended to his wood. Sawing, carving, and bending it into shape. Planing, sanding, and painting — he was quickly lost in the activity.
The shrill sound of the phone pierced the morning, with a most unwanted ringtone. The one he'd set up for just one person on his contact list. One person he didn't want to speak to. But he had to answer, or else curiosity would punish him.
"Hello." Frank tried to sound nonchalant.
"Hi, Frank. Are you all right?" Ash sounded concerned.
"Yes. Why shouldn't I be?"
"I heard you weren't at work." Of course she did. Her brothers were scaffolders too, Frank had even worked for the O'Donnels from time to time. They weren't exactly in competition with SHS. More like in partnership, as most of the guys had worked together over the years. The two companies passed a lot of work or men across to each other, and it was always suspected that they fixed prices between themselves when they were up against each other in closed tenders. "Look, can I come round?"
"No." He surprised even himself when he said it with such firmness.
"We need to talk," she pleaded.
"I'm pretty sure I heard enough when you broke us up. If it's about your toothbrush, Ash, I think I can dig it out for you. But you know, they advise replacing them every three months." He wondered if Maria had picked it up off the floor yet. And then felt guilty about being so slovenly. "And Maria's here doing the cleaning."
"I need to talk to you, Frank. Please, say you'll meet me in the café."