Wrong Side of the Bridge Ch. 01

I lay down on my bed and breathed out, closing my eyes and trying to forget the noise and the fact that I still had to face this house tomorrow. I was still really aroused and I considered watching some porn but there was no point -- my thoughts were constantly drawn to Damien and that was enough to get my dick pulsing.

He was hot, there was no point in denying it. I told myself that thinking about him now wasn't like cheating on Pete, that maybe it was even a good thing -- I could masturbate and get it out of my system, move on with my life without being aroused by some skinhead.

I screwed my eyes up tight and imagined the pumping of the bass line was cars in the distance as I stood in the street with Damien, his hard dick pressed against my butt and his breath whispering in my ear. His arms were around me and his hand toyed with my collar bone. This time I didn't run away.

My jeans were wet and clinging to my body. I unzipped and pulled my boxers down my clammy thighs, so my dick could leap free and dribble pre-cum along my leg.

I started circling my collar bone, thinking of the low growl in Damien's throat as he possessively touched me. I pushed my hand down the collar of my loose shirt until my fingertips brushed against my nipples, and the sensitivity of the cold swollen peaks made my body jerk in delight.

I gripped my dick and stroked slowly, imagining it was Damien touching me, that his hands were gliding across my chest and his hand was wrapped around my throbbing dick. His own dick was pressing against my butt and he was jerking me hard, saying my name over and over and whispering that I was so sexy, that I could have him any time.

I imagined Damien licking my ear lobe then tilting my head to his for a possessive kiss, his lips hot and hard and demanding as he tweaked my nipples and jerked my dick so hard I came in heavy globs across the street, splattering the pavement and out shoes and his hand.

As I imagined it, my dick jerked and splashed semen across my belly -- it was surprisingly hot on my rain-cooled abdomen, and I could feel the warm stickiness of it seeping into my wet tee.

I knew I should go and shower but I didn't want to leave the sanctuary of my room and my warm hazy Damien thoughts. I was panting as I pulled my jeans and boxers the rest of the way off and struggled out of my clinging wet tee shirt. The orgasm had been a good one -- I'd stored my arousal up when I was around Pete, and it was damn hard to keep resisting sexy Damien.

I dropped my clothes to the floor with a wet sucking sound then pulled my blankets up over me and my bulky headphones so I could fall asleep.

My university exams finished and I went straight to working full-time at the tattoo parlour. Defiant opened at 10 and closed at 4 most days and I loved the work so it didn't feel that much like a 'real' job.

It was two weeks since I'd given Pete my first blowjob and I'd seen him a couple times since. He acted just like a mate at shows but he'd invite me around to his house to watch band practice or play Tekken and the visits always ended in me getting him off. He never offered to reciprocate and I didn't know how to ask.

I still couldn't get the hang of how Pete wanted me to touch him. I kept trying to get better but I just couldn't seem to do what he was asking, it seemed like I could never give him a blowjob the way he wanted. But he liked to let me to get him off with his hand, then push my head down onto his dick so I could swallow his load. It still tasted bitter and acidic but I was getting used to it.

Then the Sunday after I finished exams, he pushed me too far.

We were in his room as usual, having eaten two whole bags of Salt and Vinegar chips and played Tekken Tag until our salty fingers hurt. Pete put down his controller with a loud sigh and flopped down on his back, arms sprawled out over the mattress.

I laid down beside him and stroked his coarse unkempt beard before resting my fingers on his chin and moving my face in for a kiss.

"Hey Eli," He murmured against my lips. "Wanna touch me?"

I nodded and reached into his basketball shorts for his semi-hard dick.

I was stroking and kissing him when he made a deep grunting noise and rolled over on his side. He put his hands on my shoulders and looked right in my eyes.

"I love you, Eli."

Just like that. He said it.

I opened my mouth but closed it when I realised I had nothing to say. My mind was completely blank. This image of sexy Damien, lying on the chair in my tattoo parlour, came into my mind and I lost my train of thought.

Pete must have taken my silence as some kind of affirmation because he smiled and leaned in to kiss my unresisting lips. The kiss was gentle and first, but grew more assertive until he was holding me by the back of the head and pushing his lips hard against mine, his tongue forcing its way inside my mouth.

He rolled again until he was on top of me, his arms on either side of my head and most of his weight pressing down on top of me. I could feel his hard dick pressing into my thigh, slipping against the fabric of my loose shorts.

"Let me fuck you," He whispered into my ear.

I froze. "Um, Pete," I began.

He returned his mouth to mine and sucked at my tongue, stealing the breath from my lungs so I couldn't talk anymore. He ground his hips against me, rubbing his dick up along my thigh. He moaned low in his throat and the sound made his lips vibrate slightly against mine.

He shifted his weight so he was propped up on one arm with his big stomach pressed into me and his right arm free to roam my body. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my jeans and started tugging like he could pull them right off my hips.

I shook my head until I got my face free of his and said, "No, Pete, I don't think I'm comfortable with this."

"Come on Eli. I love you, I wouldn't hurt you."

His voice was coaxing and I really wanted him to like me, I wanted to be able to please him at last. I relaxed and let his fingers scrabble at my fly. But he didn't even go for my dick, he popped the button on my fly and started dragging my pants down with one hand and groping at my butt with the other -- he didn't even want to touch me, he just wanted sex. I felt a jolt of panic and wrongness.

"No, Pete," I said more firmly and pushed against his belly. He was too big for me; my hands did nothing to shift his bulk.

Pete grabbed my head to kiss me again but I shook my head free. He was scaring me now, I'd said no and he was still pressuring me. He hadn't even touched me, and now he wanted to fuck me -- it was too sudden, too unexpected.

"Let me go Pete, I'm not ready," I said, half-jokingly. When he didn't respond and just kept rubbing against me, I got scared. "Seriously Pete, let me go."

He grabbed my head to try and kiss me again and I freaked right out. I pushed at him with my hands and wiggled my body around, trying to get away from him. He was so much heavier than me and his body had me trapped.

"Eli, Jesus, what are you doing?"

"Let me go!"

Pete grunted and, finally, rolled over so I was free. I took a heaving breath and zipped myself back up with trembling hands. I didn't look back at Pete as I rushed from his room.

I didn't hear from Pete for over a week and I started worrying I'd ruined our friendship, that I'd lost my only friend. I thought about calling him but I didn't know what to say -- wasn't sure if I should apologise or ask for an apology.

Without university homework I just went home after work each day and sat alone in my room, ignoring the sounds of my flatmates getting drunk. I loved tattooing but it was scary to think that this was all my life would be from now on. It would be a lonely life if I didn't fix things with Pete. I'd have to call him or see him at a show, tell him I appreciated what he'd told me and that I just wanted to take things slow.

Pete's band were playing at the local all-ages venue Friday night so I went along, determined to make things up with him.

There're always groups of people hanging around outside the hardcore shows, inside is just for listening to music but outside is where people actually socialise.

There were yells from a couple of people I know through the tattoo parlour, but I just nodded and kept looking.

Of course when I found him he was surrounded by people, lots of straight-edgers making in-jokes. I pushed my way into the group until I got a clear view at him, and when he met my eyes I grinned nervously.

"Eli, hey! How are you?"

I grinned like a fool but couldn't think of anything to say. He was still my friend!

He had his arm around a short girl with dyed black hair who I had never seen before. Pete tilted his head toward her and said, "This is Kelly, my girlfriend."

Girlfriend?

I stood frozen to the spot, unable to form words. Kelly was grinning and reaching out her hand, to shake or fistpump. I pretended I didn't notice. She had a gap between her two front teeth and was wearing a pale pink headband.

I was vaguely aware of another conversation going on in the group, but for me time had stopped and the whole world was focused down on this one moment and the loud pounding of my heart as I stared at my boyfriend with his arm around a girl.

"You work at Defiant, right?" She asked with a friendly smile. I wish she wasn't friendly. It would make it easier to hate her. "I've been thinking about getting a tattoo."

I nodded, and looked at Pete. He wasn't meeting my eyes, was instead looking at some of his friends with an expression of unconvincing interest which made me suspect he was actually listening in on us.

"Pete doesn't have any," Kelly continued on as if she would happily hold an entire conversation on her own. "I'm surprised, so many of the boys here have tattoos! I haven't been to a punk gig before, I'm excited. Pete's been trying to convince me to come see him play for months."

I nodded again. It was hard to pull my head back up from the nod because it felt like my brain was a lump of concrete weighing my neck down.

I began to talk but my voice was so croaky it scared me so I stopped and swallowed and started again. "You've been dating Pete for long?"

"Not that long, only six months. Guess that is long after all! We met through church, he plays bass for our youth service band. I was pretty nervous about coming tonight, I thought everyone would be scarier!"

I barely managed a grin before turning and walking away from her. The crowd of people had grown tighter so I had to drop my shoulder to push my way out but I didn't care -- I had to get out of there.

Pete didn't bother to follow, just stayed there with his arm around his girlfriend.

My mind was swirling and as I walked away from the club, out into the cool dark streets. I felt my stomach heaving and I hunched over a bin to puke up my lettuce sandwich dinner.

Pete called on Tuesday. I wanted to ignore my phone out of spite but then I thought he might be calling to apologize. He was my only friend and if he could explain what was going on then I was willing to hear.

His voice was warm and friendly as he greeted me on the phone and asked why I'd left before seeing him play on Friday. I stumbled over my tongue. How could he not know?

I finally managed to mumble out, "Your girlfriend?"

Pete sighed. "I knew you'd make a big deal out of it."

"It is a big deal," I said. I hoped Pete couldn't hear how much my voice was shaking. "She said you'd been together months. And you said you were my boyfriend, you asked me not to be with anyone else..."

"Like there's anyone else who would want a whiny little fag like you," He interrupted me. I couldn't believe he'd just said those words and I sat in silence, trying to wrap my head around it. Then he sighed and added in a softer voice, "I'm sorry Eli, I didn't mean that. Kelly's my girlfriend, but she's Christian so, you know..."

"So she doesn't put out like I do?" I choked. I was starting to cry and I hated myself for it, for letting Pete hear me being just as 'whiny and faggy' as he thought I was.

"Come on Eli," Pete's voice was reassuring but he also sounded a little frustrated like he thought I was being unreasonable. "You know you can't be 'out' in the scene, the guys would beat you to death. What do you expect me to do, prance around holding your hand?" Pete's words made me cry even harder. I tilted my phone so the mouthpiece was up by my forehead and Pete wouldn't hear me crying.

"Come on Eli," He said again. "Come over and we can talk about this?"

I didn't bother replying, but ended the call and lay face down on my bed to cry.

It was like I was in mourning. It was a week before I left the house for anything except work.

It wasn't so much that I missed Pete like a boyfriend -- I should have realised he never cared, that he only wanted me for sex. But I missed having a friend.

No-one at the shows really liked me and I hadn't made any effort to connect with my co-workers. I didn't have anywhere to go after work but it was no fun at home either, my flat was a mess and every time I left my room I had to deal with my loud and useless flatmates.

It was good that I could focus on my work, get absorbed in tattoos -- it was the only time I could be free of thoughts of Pete and his girlfriend, though the ache of the betrayal was like a knife permanently lodged in my chest.

By the Friday after meeting Pete's girlfriend, I was so miserable and lonely I allowed myself to think of Damien.

When I'd been with Pete I'd had to push away thoughts of the sexy skinhead, but now I was alone I couldn't deny myself the attraction and the fact he seemed interested in me too. I didn't have to feel guilty anymore.

Damien wouldn't want to be my friend, but maybe that was for the best -- maybe what I needed right now wasn't a boyfriend, but someone to make me feel sexy and make me cum. Maybe, if I made it clear with myself that it was just sex, I wouldn't get hurt again.

So I left my house alone on that Friday night and headed away from the usual drunken Friday flat party and off toward the old shopping complex downtown where I knew he lived.

There were lights on in the second story of the building but I didn't know which rooms would be his. I tried knocking on his door but got no response -- would he even hear me up that flight of stairs, assuming he was home?

I'd never thought to ask for his number, and I didn't want to stand around in the street shouting his name.

The loneliness was more intense now it came on a wave of disappointment. I couldn't go home, I couldn't face lying alone with my thoughts and the pounding of the flat's stereo. I left Damien's doorstep and just wandered into the dark streets, aimless.

I was just wandering when I saw him, leaning up against a wall and smoking. I couldn't believe it. Damien?

I ran toward him. He was wearing a leather jacket and his shaven head shone in the light of the street lamp he was under.

He looked up as I got close and I froze in my tracks. It wasn't Damien. It was some stranger with a face like a pug dog.

He was staring right at me and holding his cigarette in his hand. I stammered an apology and started back tracking, heading toward the other side of the street. But the skinhead disengaged from the wall and started following me. I didn't like the look on his face.

"Little boy," He called out. His voice was harsh and sneering. "Little boy, who you looking for?"

I started walking faster, holding my head high and trying not to panic. I heard his steps gaining on me and I got scared.

"Were you looking for a real man, a man to fuck you, little faggot?" He called out loudly and I was shocked by how close he sounded. I dropped all pretence and just started running.

I could hear him laughing and I tried to block out the sound as I raced down the street, feet hurting in my worn canvas shoes which really weren't meant to deal with sharp impacts. I could hear his heavy booted footsteps behind me and I tried to run as fast as I could, toward the shopping complex and its promise of better light and inhabited houses.

I was in sight of the bright street-lamp lit shopping complex when his hand grabbed my arm. I tried to keep running but he was too strong for me, he pulled roughly on my arm and I fell backward and straight onto my butt.

The skinhead jeered in laughter and squatted down, dropping a knee so it landed in my stomach. When I tried to push myself back to my feet the skinhead smacked me hard in the face. The blow slammed my head onto the concrete. Bright red lights popped behind my closed eyelids.

He hit me again, this time with a heavy slap to my ear. The noise was loud and the ringing continued longer than the pain. I felt disoriented like I was going to be sick. The skinhead shifted his weight so his knees were on my elbows and I couldn't move my arms or lift myself up. I tried to kick him in the back but I couldn't lift my legs high enough, and when I kept struggling he hit me again.

I stopped struggling and focused on breathing in and out. I was trying to think of a way to get out of this. I tried to not cry.

I heard a zipper undoing and turned my head and so I wouldn't see what happened next. But the skinhead grabbed my head and forced my face back up toward him.

The next moment I felt warm liquid splashing onto my face and I scrunched my whole face up in shock. He was peeing on me! The urine was warm and it ran up my nose so I was choking and trying to breathe through it but without opening my mouth. He was still holding my head so I couldn't get away.

I pushed off the ground with all my strength but I just couldn't get away from him. His knees on my elbows hurt so much that my arms were going numb and I was scared if I moved too much he would hit me again.

I started crying, tears running past my tightly closed eyelids. I wanted to die, I was so humiliated and grossed out.

Finally the guy's stream ran out and he shook his dick a couple times so the last few drips splattered across my neck and tee shirt. He just stayed squatted over my for a few moments. I kept my face screwed up and hoped this would be over soon.

The guy roughly yanked my head backward so my neck was stretched out and the back of my skull hit the concrete. He hunched over and I felt something rubbery and wet slipping across my face. I hoped it wasn't what I thought it was.

He shifted his weight so his knee caps crushed my elbows onto the gritty concrete and it was all I could do not to cry out in pain. I felt the rubbery thing jabbing at my mouth again and I clenched my teeth tight shut. The skinhead barked out a laugh and started poking at my mouth with his fingers, trying to push my lips and teeth open. I tried to pull away but his hand on my head was too strong. The taste of his fingers on my lips was muddy and foul.

"Suck it," He growled. I managed to jerk my head sideways, it ached where my hair was pulled but at least I was away from his dick. "Suck it, you worthless piece of shit."

He hit me in the side of the head. His fist must have been balled up with the knuckles sticking out because the pain was sharp and precise and blinding. White lights strobed in circles behind my eyes like watching ripples on the surface of a phosphorescent sea. The pain made me choke and cry out and the punk took the chance to push his dick in my mouth.

His skinny penis tasted like musk and lint and urine, he couldn't seem to get it into my throat while his legs were spread out to pin my elbows down so instead he just rammed it against the top of my mouth and wriggled it around there. I was gagging and crying and urine was running into my nose and down the sides of my face.

"Come on, you useless piece of shit," He yelled, and spit flew out of his mouth and hit my forehead. "Suck it. What the fuck are you good for if you can't even suck cock?"