Free Shameless by Paul Burston

were watching you through your computer screen and laughing quietly at your misfortune. It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “mind fuck.”
    John flicked in and out of the various gay chat rooms and felt his erection dwindling. He took another slug of wine and lit another cigarette. Five more minutes, then it would have to be that porn video.
    A message flashed up. It was him. “Hi,” it said. “Feeling horny?”
    John stubbed out his cigarette and typed furiously. “Very. How about you?”
    “Yeah. Sorry I’m a bit late. Playing squash with a mate. Worked up quite a sweat.”
    John felt his cock harden. This was even better than he had anticipated. He stabbed at the keyboard. “So what are you wearing?”
    “Just a jockstrap. You?”
    John typed in “Calvin Kleins,” then decided it sounded too gay. He quickly deleted the words, replacing them with “Same here.”
    “Cool,” came the reply. “You like to get fucked from behind or on your back?”
    John reached for the poppers and inhaled deeply. For someone who claimed never to have had gay sex before, “CuriousCute28” certainly knew all the right things to say.
    Martin couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed himself quite this much. It felt odd to be feeling so happy after the events of the past few days, but then admirers with Rob’s many attributes didn’t come along very often. He was so attentive, such good company, so good-looking, and such a good listener. This last quality was especially welcome. Caroline, bless her, had made her excuses and left shortly after Rob appeared, slipping Martin the remains of the coke as she hugged him good-bye. Since then, Martin hadn’t stopped talking. It was partly nerves, he was certain, but he just couldn’t seem to stop. He talked about his job, how he hated it, and how nobody respected him at the office. He talked about Caroline, how he loved her, and how she was the best friend a gay man could wish for. He talked about his father, how he meant well, and how his arrival in London next weekend was certain to end in social embarrassment if not complete disaster. And he talked about Christopher, how he had lied and cheated, and how his sudden departure had left Martin feeling foolish and miserable and barely able to carry on—until tonight that is, tonight when he had met Rob and was feeling on top of the world.
    Rob smiled and nodded. Martin thought he resembled one of those advice columnists they trotted out on daytime television shows, only a far better listener and far better-looking. He really was extremely handsome, so handsome in fact that Martin wouldn’t have minded at all if Christopher and that Italian hooker with the beautiful arms had strutted into the bar at that precise moment and spotted him sitting here feeling fabulous with this gorgeous man lending a sympathetic ear. Besides, Rob’s arms were every bit as beautiful as Marco’s, and Martin was certain that Rob didn’t spend every day in the gym or make his living sleeping with ugly old men in exchange for vast amounts of money, which he never paid any tax on. He was sure that Rob had a proper job, one that involved a certain degree of responsibility. He just didn’t know what it was.
    Had Rob told him this already? Or had they not got around yet to the subject of what Rob did for a living? Did he know anything about Rob at all, aside from the fact that he smiled a lot and was clearly a match for Marco any day of the week? Had he really been talking about himself all this time? Oh God, was he being boring? Maybe he should make a joke about it, say something like “Well, that’s enough about me. So what do you think of me?” Would that work? Would it sound funny? Did lines like that ever sound funny? Or was it already too late? Did Rob have him down as an alcoholic, egotistical bore? Or worse, had he written Martin off as some kind of drug addict? Maybe the constant sniffing had given him away. He could always say that he