Page 4 of His Dirty Obsession
We rarely went longer than a couple of months in our ‘relationship’ without one of us calling the other. It was something we’d fallen into a while back, both of us having an insatiable appetite for sex and having no one to satisfy it.
Richard had a high-flying corporate job, and finding the opportunity to hook up wasn’t easy. The company he worked for had pegged him for a promotion a while back, and he was being discreet, not wishing to upset the apple cart, so to speak.
Me? Well, I didn’t really go out. I was a web designer and spent many of my days and nights in front of a computer, which left me little time for going out or meeting people.
I’d met Richard, or Dick as I liked to call him, through a mutual friend at a party my sister had dragged me to. You know the type; they think because you’re gay, you’ll hit it off with every other gay guy around. Granted, in this case we’d got on like a house on fire, but that was beside the point. We’d become firm friends until one night, about four months after our meeting, we’d got incredibly drunk and talked about our sex lives, or lack thereof.
We’d been talking about what we were missing out on and how we wished we could find someone. One thing had led to another, and later that same night, we’d ended up in my bed, mutual hand and blowjobs relieving us both. From then on, it was a fairly regular occurrence, right up until Xavier moved in.
I’d more than enough material in my spank bank now and hadn’t felt the need to call Dick since.
Clearly, he’d missed me if his call was anything to go by.
“I need some relief, baby.”
“Quit with the pet names, Dick.” It was an arrangement that benefited us both, nothing more. No nicknames, no feelings—just sex. A mutual relief valve for us both.
“Didn’t really think that would work with you, but it was worth a try. Idoneed you, though, Ben. It’s been a while, and I could really do with seeing you. I have this itch that I can’t scratch on my own. I need your hands and that talented mouth of yours. How about I ‘come’ around in about an hour?”
The emphasis on the word ‘come’ left me in no doubt about what he wanted.
“I don’t know, Richard. I have a stack of meetings today and an urgent job for a dance studio I need to finish.”
I really wanted to put him off. After Xavier had moved in, Richard hadn’t been around. I selfishly didn’t want him to see Xavier. Richard had a habit of latching on to people, and once he saw Xavier, it’d be no different.
He’d fawn over him, flirt with him and before long, they’d be best buddies.
No, I’d keep Xavier to myself for a while longer.
“How about tonight then? I know you don’t go anywhere. I could bring food. What do you say? Please say yes.”
I rolled my eyes. He certainly knew how to turn on the guilt, but the answer was still going to be no. Maybe one night when I knew Xavier wouldn’t be in. Perhaps that would work.
“I can’t, not tonight. Look, Richard, I’m sorry, but just not right now.”
“Is there someone else? I mean, it’s OK if there is. Just let me know.”
“There’s no one else. I’m just really busy, slammed with work, you know?”
“Yeah, I get that. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me. See you, Ben.”
Before I could say anything more, he’d hung up, and I knew I’d upset him. I felt like a complete shit. He’d been a good friend to me, not just the sex, but before that. He’d been the friend I needed.
I sighed and fired off a text before I could stop myself.
Ben: Come around for lunch. I’ve got some of that bread you like. I’ll make us fancy sandwiches.
I waited, and within a minute or two, I had my answer.
Richard: I’ll be there at 1. Crack open the Prosecco. I have news too.
I texted back my reply, just in time for my first call of the morning. I’d need to reshuffle my meetings for the rest of the day. Prosecco and Richard meant I probably wouldn’t get much work done this afternoon after all.
True to his word, Richard turned up at one on the dot, holding a bottle of Prosecco and a takeaway bag from our favourite deli.
“I thought I’d bring this too,” he said, waving the paper carrier bag in the air. “I know you said you’d make food, but what I have to tell you needs celebrating.”
I opened the door wider, and he strolled in, making his way into the kitchen. Immaculately dressed as usual, his black pinstripe suit was as sharp as ever, and a royal blue tie with a perfect Windsor knot completed the look. I had to admit he looked good. And he smelt good too, his expensive cologne filling my nose with hints of pink pepper and bergamot. I inhaled deeply. It was a heady fragrance, and I almost forgot my decision to stop whatever this was with him.
