Ben is Shown the Ropes

BEN IS SHOWN THE ROPES?

This is a stand-alone sequel to "Ben is taught about discipline", and like that one, it's a tale of the early nineteen seventies, with an eager young man leaning lessons about man-to-man sex.

Until my first term at a provincial English university, I'd been a naïve virgin, aware of my homosexuality, but unable to express it. But soon after the beginning of term, I'd become friendly with another student and through a happy accident we found out we were both interested in bondage; he in tying me up and me in being tied up!

That mutual interest eventually led to a wild and wonderful weekend of gay sex with four different guys who got me to suck their cocks, to fuck me, tie me up, spank me, torture my nipples, beat my balls and shower me with piss. Unfortunately, to my great regret the weekend was a one-off, leaving me with no means of contacting the blokes concerned again.

This was in 1971 and I didn't know how to connect with other gay men in either the university or the town, and there were few gay clubs even in much bigger cities than this one in those days, and there was obviously no internet and no Grinder. My fellow male undergraduate seemed overwhelmingly heterosexual, and every public mention of homosexuality just repeated the worst pseudo-scientific lies about it. After all, this was happening a mere three years after the repeal of the punitive Victoria-era British laws that criminalized homosexual acts. Gay men had been forced into a penal closet for a hundred years and were only slowly making their way out.

So, after that wonderful weekend, I kept my head down and concentrated on class work for the rest of the term, afraid I'd never get another chance to live out my newly expressed sexuality. It was the same story at home on the Christmas holiday, where I didn't dare talk to my family about any of this and could only sit quietly as my old school mates boasted about the hot girls that they claimed to have hooked up with at their new work sites or university parties.

The answer to my prayers didn't arrive until the fourth week of the new term, in the persons of two chatty cleaning ladies that I sat behind on the bus from college. Ignoring their conversation while staring glumly out of the window at the rain, I suddenly tuned in.

"Oh, Jimmy's a nice enough boy, and he does my hair just the way I like it. Mind you, if I was his mother, I'd tell him to stop acting so fruity. I know this homosexual business is legal these days, but still, he's asking for trouble with that long hair of his and those outfits he wears, not to speak of that naughty mouth of his."

I sat there, pretending to concentrate on the view from the window, while longing to hear more about him, which luckily her friend also did.

"Jimmy's really bad sometimes. Last week I told him my nephew Eddie had moved to a new place on Merton Street. Well, right away he says, 'Maisie, he'll be around the corner from the Queen Alexandra pub. Tell that adorable boy not to go there on a Saturday night when the queens are there. They'll be lining up to tear him away from that pretty girlfriend of his,

I must have looked shocked because he starts giggling and says he's just joking. But when I got home, I made sure to warn Eddie, I don't want my poor nephew to get a reputation."

While the ladies got on to another topic, I got off at the next stop and walked a mile back to the Public Library, checked in the city directory and found the address of the "Queen Alexandra". I swore to myself I'd walk through its doors that weekend.

But back in my room in college later that day, I wondered how easy would it be to attract other men, particularly those older, dominant types that I longed for? After all, I'd been innocent before that first weekend, when I'd been taught by older, more experienced men. The thought of actually going out and finding other men for sex was daunting. I didn't know what to say or how to act: I was shy; I lacked the ability to make small talk in social situations and preferred to meld into the background. How would I compete with less awkward and possibly cuter looking boys?

I stared at my naked, six-foot tall self in a mirror, wondering what guys would think about me. My wide shoulders and long torso, dark brown hair, and blue eyes looked OK, but what about the sticking-out ears, prominent nipples, outsized balls and a fat bum that must look out of place on my skinny frame?

Then there was the matter of man's most important body part! From my admittedly small experience of erect penises, I didn't think I had too much to be ashamed of. I was a "grower" rather than a "shower" but I was at the age where my dick was half or fully hard most of the time.

As I looked at my naked self, I occurred to me that one of the blokes from the sex weekend had sent me to the bathroom to clean myself out with an enema hose before he'd consider fucking me. With no such thing to hand and sharing a college bathroom with three other guys, I lived on thin soup for the next few days until Saturday evening came around. That night I waited until the other guys had left for the dining room, then headed to the showers and stood under the hot water for minutes on end, shoving soapy fingers up inside me to ensure I was as clean inside as out.

There couldn't have been any one more nervous in the whole of the south of England than me as I walked through the doors of the "Queen Alexandra" later that night. At first I thought it looked like any other local pub on a Saturday night, but soon enough, even though I was no expert on gay life, I noticed subtle differences, proof that Jimmy the hairdresser hadn't been pulling the cleaning lady's leg.

In most pubs, men will take a quick glance at other men as they enter. But, by the time I'd reached the bar, most of the male customers (and there were no women) subjected me to serious looks of appraisal, frankly checking out this brand new face. This was the first time I'd been so aware of being openly cruised, and I responded by putting my head down in embarrassment and staring at the floor, raising my eyes only long enough to order a pint of the house bitter.

As the landlord pulled my pint, I was surprised by the directness of his glance.

"I don't remember seeing you here before, sonny, welcome. A nice young man like you shouldn't have any trouble making friends here tonight."

Then he winked and wished me a lucky night as I edged my way into the crowd, carrying my beer into a quiet corner before daring to glance up at the crowd. It was a diverse group by age; a few younger men while the rest ranged from their late-twenties to quite elderly. Aware of some of them continuing to stare, I dropped my eyes to the floor, nervously gulped down my beer and before I knew what I was doing, I'd swallowed the whole pint.

I edged further out into the room and found myself standing next to a well-dressed older gentleman sitting at a table. He smiled up at me, and asked me if I'd been there before. When I confirmed that this was my first time at the pub, he looked sharply at me and asked if I'd noticed anything unusual or different about the other customers. I said yes and admitted that those very differences were the reason for my being there.

"Dear boy, I'm glad to hear you say that. The occasional naïve straight boy will wander in here and turn unpleasant or hostile when he eventually cottons on to the fact that Saturday night is a special night for a certain kind of man. I was pretty sure you were one of us, but my gaydar's not totally foolproof."

He smiled, said his name was Gilbert and asked mine. He had such a pleasant, grandfatherly air about him that I sat down with him and soon not only told him that my name was Ben, but shared lots of details about me, including my sexual leanings. It was freeing to talk honestly for the first time to a sensitive listener about gay things.

Apparently I'd stumbled onto one of the most popular people in the pub, which resulted in meeting a lot of the men who were there that night. One or other of them would regularly come over to say hello to him, giving them an excuse to inspect the evening's "fresh young meat" sitting with their old friend.

While they checked me out, I did the same with them. That didn't get me anywhere, however, since I didn't know the proper way to approach them, what to talk about, or how to figure out if a guy was really interested. A lot of them clearly not interested in a new young stranger, others were pretty homely looking, and those that that I did find attractive usually seemed to be taken already. I began to worry that my evening was going to be a bust.

Then, about an hour into my evening, a tall, dark, middle-aged guy arrived on the scene, wearing a form fitting short sleeve shirt showing off muscular arms and a spray of thick black chest hair poking out from under his collar. A full beard of the same black hair and striking green eyes completed his look. I was left weak at the knees; he was close to my sexy ideal!

I stared over in his direction, but he didn't return my interest at first, since by the time I'd caught sight of him a young blonde was already speaking to him. I watched jealously as they talked for a couple of minutes, and was surprised (and secretly pleased) to see the blonde look disappointed and edge away. But then I was even more disappointed when the stud struck up a friendly conversation with a man his own age.

While silently bemoaning the sad fact that a man I considered the hottest in the pub wasn't interested in younger men, I heard Gilbert telling me that he didn't want to monopolize my attention, and that I should cruise around to find someone.

"A boy your age has needs", he said, "and you shouldn't ignore them, especially when there's lots of willing hands to help you out."

I did what he said for the next half hour, but increasingly felt that my evening was jinxed. None of the blokes I liked seemed to like the look of me and I couldn't raise much enthusiasm for the ones who showed interested in me. I knew I was being picky; but I still kept looking and hoping for the best.

To add to my general sense of frustration, the tall dark stranger always seemed to be on the opposite side of the room from wherever I was. If I did manage to catch his attention, all I'd get in return was a dead-eyed gaze. I wanted him so badly: but having seen him brush off that young blonde, I figured I didn't stand a chance with him. My dreamboat liked men his own age, not callow boys like the blonde and me.

At the point of giving up and trying again another night, I went to tell Gilbert I was going to leave, only for him to introduce me to an attractive couple of guys called John and A. Both in their late twenties, they were good looking, with dark hair, mustaches and gorgeous tans that they'd just got on a recent Spanish beach holiday.

When they heard that this was my first time at the "Queen", Al immediately announced that I deserved a proper welcome. He put his arms around me, held me in a bear hug, and squeezed tight while kissing me on both cheeks before handing me over to his partner. He also threw his arms around my body, but rather than a bear hug, he grabbed my bum while his tongue passed through my lips into my open mouth.

It felt so good to be manhandled and kissed that I didn't want him to stop and clearly aware of the electric effect he had on me; he took his time before letting me go and even then stood smirking at the way I blushed. I became acutely aware of people watching and if I weren't embarrassed enough, he announced in a loud voice while walking away,

"Nice bum, Bennie. It'll get you in a lot of trouble, if you're not careful."

I was left staring hungrily after him, with a rock-hard cock tenting my jeans, as Gilbert laughingly told me that they had the same effect on everyone,

"They're naughty boys, both of 'em, they go around creating chaos and then wander off as if they had nothing to do with it!"

After ruefully agreeing with him, I turned to get one last pint before heading home. But as I did so, I came up against my "dreamboat" standing in the way. Fearful of being reprimanded for staring rudely at him all night, I looked down at my feet, After all, who wants some punk kid mooning at them all night! Expecting to be told off, I was shocked when I heard him say,

"Don't be so embarrassed when someone touches you, laddie. Sexy boys like you are going to get manhandled, get used to it."

I couldn't take in what he'd said right away, obsessing instead over his deep baritone voice and a strong Scottish accent that sounded as sexy as he looked. My mind was racing. He'd said I was sexy, so did that mean I had a chance with him after all? Probably not! It took a few seconds before I mumbled the first thing that came into my head,

"Thank you very much, sir, I'll keep that in mind."

I noticed a slight smile crossing his lips when I called him sir, but it was quickly replaced by his normal stern expression as he gazed down at my crotch.

"Well, talking of minds, it seems your cock has definitely got one of its own."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked back to the other side of the room, where he resumed his conversation with a distinguished looking grey-haired man. I was left totally confused. What was he up to? Did he really think I was sexy or was he just playing with me, messing with the mind of a stupid boy who'd been visually stalking him all evening?

After arriving at the pub with high expectations, this confusing interlude felt like the final straw. My dorm room fantasy had turned out to be nothing more than that. Feeling confused and depressed, I decided to give up for the time being and try again next weekend. However, before heading back to college, I had to dispose of the three pints of bitter I'd drunk that evening, so I excused myself from Gilbert, and headed to the Gents. As I walked in, I was shocked to see the stern Scottish stud already standing at the urinals. I kept my eyes down as I stood next to him, hoping he didn't think I'd followed him in there, and concentrated on my desperate need to piss. I stared down as a long stream of recycled beer flushed down the drain, and only after it had run its course and I'd zipped up, did I dare to glance over at the Scotsman and get the shock of my young life.

He was standing at the urinal, bouncing a fully erect dick up and down in the palm of his hand. I stared in awed silence for a moment or two, until his deep, commanding voice forced me to drag my eyes upwards and look into his eyes instead.

"I've seen you staring at me all night. And since I saw your hard cock just now, I thought I'd show you mine. Are you going to do something about it or are you one of those gossipy fags who're afraid of cocks?"

My mouth fell open, but no sound came out; this was almost too much to cope with. Seeing I was tongue tied, he spoke again,

"You stared at me all night, but never came near me. Are you just a fucking cock-tease?"

"Oh please sir, that's not it. I think you're so sexy but I didn't think you were interested in boys like me."

"Well, I am, you bloody fool. And if you're not a tease, how about proving it by sucking on this?

Somehow I managed to squeak,

"Oh God, sir, yes please, I'd love to. I want your cock more than I can say."

"You'd better, because I'm going to shove it up your ass too. You ready for that?"

"Oh yes sir, I am."

Just at that moment, hearing footsteps approach down the corridor, he pushed me into a stall, locked the door behind us and shoved me back against the partition. Putting his hand over my mouth to keep me quiet, he listened for a moment as two blokes entered. But then, once he heard them carrying on their conversation, clearly unaware of the two of us, he replaced his hand with his tongue.

John had French-kissed me a few minutes earlier, but this was something else entirely. I could hardly catch my breath as his tongue explored every corner of my mouth, then roughly licked my cheeks, my jaw, my neck, my ears, and even my eyelids, before returning to my mouth.

While his tongue worked its wet magic, his hands were fondling my ass cheeks and I could feel his stiff cock pressing into my groin. I stood totally still, not moving as I willed him to take total control. The moment he heard the blokes leave; he whirled me around and sat me down on the toilet seat. I looked up as he fumbled with his zipper and opened my mouth wide, eager for him to shove his dick between my lips.

He went in fast and deep, choking me, then pulling out for a second or two before going in again, this time a little slower and not quite as deep. Weeks of me practicing for this moment with bananas and cucumbers meant that I was more or less able to cope as he worked my throat. But apparently he intended this was just a short introduction, since he soon dragged me back up onto my feet, held me close and whispered in my ear.

"You took that pretty well, not like some so-called cocksuckers who don't even open their fucking mouths. To tell you the truth, looking at the crowd tonight, I've either fucked 'em already or they've brushed me off in the past or they're dogs or too bloody old. But you're a good looking boy who does what he's told. This is your chance, kid. I'll wait at the back door for five minutes before I bugger off home. Be there if you want more of this."

With that, he turned and exited the stall. Desperate not to lose him, I waited just a few seconds before making my own exit from the Gents. Feeling guilty about not saying goodbye to Gilbert, I headed straight across the main room and opened the back door where the stern Scotsman was waiting. He nodded at me and stepped away without a second look, expecting me to follow along.

He walked quickly ahead of me, down a series of badly-lit back alleys that ran behind rows of Victorian brick houses. He walked so fast and took so many turns that it was difficult to keep up, and I thanked heaven when, after five minutes of the chase, he stopped at a back gate.

He led me through a small garden and through a door into a kitchen, and stood in half darkness, with the only light coming from a streetlamp in the alleyway. He stared at me in the gloom, and leant back against the edge of a kitchen table. He unbuttoned his trousers, pushed them and his underwear halfway down his thighs, and exposed his thick, uncut cock to me for the second time that night.

"Well, don't just stand there; you're a cocksucker, so bloody well get on with it."

I did his bidding instantly, dropping to my knees as his dick bobbed up and down in front of my face. Leaning forward to get a noseful of his testosterone-heavy body odour, I grabbed hold of his cock with my hand as my tongue licked the sweat off his balls, I swallowed them both, then snuffled down to lick his thighs, and in between his legs, soaking his taint with saliva.

High from the scent of his furnace-hot body, I looked up from between his legs, glad to see him closing his eyes and smiling. Soon my eager tongue had given him an idea. He pulled my head out from between his legs, turned his body around, leant over the table top and pushed my face into his crack, replacing the taste and smells of his groin with those of his ass. I wasn't crazy about the idea of rimming, but with no alternative, I put my tongue to work. He must have taken a bath before heading out to the pub, since other than a lingering trace of soap; his backside tasted the same as his front; giving off the aura of a sweaty, sexy male.

I licked up and down the hairy crack, corkscrewing my tongue into his hole. He soon let go of my head, since he could feel my enthusiasm and that he didn't need to force me I kept licking until he eventually turned around. After all, as he'd said, I was a cocksucker, and his cock needed to be sucked.