Since our offices are in the same neighborhood, Richard & I used to hit each other up for lunch from time to time. We agreed on a Wednesday reunion after almost half a year not seeing each other. Both sides got needs to attend to, I guess.
We chose a place that was convenient in both proximity-sense and trying to avoid colleagues of ours-sense. After a 30 minutes of bun cha & catching up (he brought up Johann as some conservative fascist, which is kinda true), sex talk came in the way.
He told his taxi-driver pick up story again (which is also a rather hot fantasy) and caught my eyes staring. He flushed. He mumbled. He cracked a smile that was a bit awkward but adorable. I bet he was a cutie when he was my age. I moved my fingers under the table as if they were walking on his thighs. He tried to grab my bulge when I stood up and called for the bill.
Next thing I knew was that we were inside the restroom of a fancy hotel nearby. “I’ve got 20 minutes,” he panted as he was quickly removing my shirt. “Me too,” I replied. He then sucked my nipples hard, sat down on the toilet seat and sucked my already hard member.
The first time we hooked up was at my place, during lunch break. The 2nd time was in a mall restroom, also during lunch break. Lunch break is convenient. Lunch break is supposed to set you free from the morning workload but still snap you back into the reality hard enough to stay fresh and awake during the afternoon session in the office. Maybe that’s why lunch break quickies work.
What I don’t like about it isn’t that fact that he managed to cum and I did not, but it was what he said afterwards:
“You’re still the same,” he said it with a halfway smile, more like a disappointment.
“What’s the likelihood of people changing after puberty?” I replied.
It was cheeky and immediate enough but what I wanted to tell him was that he still smelled the same, that medicine smell, probably because of all those pills he’d been taking. That smell stained in my undies that we switched one time, until now. What I wanted to tell him was that his stories of a grumpy Indian boss were getting old and no one wanted to hear how much he suffered at work, all the time.
I wanted to tell him that his tongue sticking up and shoving in my throat wasn’t my idea of kissing and was rather creepy, that his oral skill wasn’t really any good since there was too much pressure on the head. I wanted to tell him that he’s still that whining man in mid-life crisis. “I hate my boss”, “This is crazy”, “I’m panicking”, “But what if they rape me when I go to the saune?”, “We’re crazy, you’re crazy” and all. And those came mostly after the lunch break quickie so often that I wanted to throw a punch at him.
And he still asked me to forward my CV to him for the 3rd time for the freelance translation job that never came. The only thing new is that he put on some weights (so did I) and his conversation was a bit more interesting with him introducing me to the concept of “missing middle” in social development and “tax inspectors”.
Richard, as much as I consider you a friend, you’re in no place to expect me to change.