Mick POV
The week seemed to drag; the usual club things had to be done: inventory, payroll, sacking a bar staff member who turned up drunk, interviewing potential new staff. It never ends. In the back of my mind, I still had the image of Andy’s fat cock.'
I had deleted most of his texts. I didn’t want Ry to come across them while using my phone. I knew he didn’t check my phone, but sometimes, if we were out and his battery died, he would use mine. I had saved a couple of pics in the hidden photos, but I doubt he would look there.
It was Thursday afternoon when I got another text from Andy. The message came through just as I was finishing up the weekly inventory count in the stockroom. My phone buzzed, and I knew before looking who it was. That little kick in my chest had become familiar over the past seven days.
Andy: Hey. Miss me?
I stood there among the boxes of spirits and mixers, phone in hand, reading those three words over and over. I should have ignored it. I should have pocketed the phone and gone back to counting bottles. Instead, my thumbs moved across the screen of their own accord.
Me: Been busy.
The response was almost immediate.
Andy: Liar. You’ve been thinking about me all week. I know you have.
My jaw tightened. The arrogance was infuriating, and yet Andy wasn’t wrong. I’d been thinking about him constantly, while I was in bed with Ry, while I was watching TV, while I was doing the stocktake.
I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I finished counting the last shelf of spirits, my movements deliberate and slow, as if the physical act of tallying inventory could somehow quiet the noise in my head. It couldn’t.
My phone buzzed again. Then again. I ignored it for another five minutes before pulling it back out.
Andy: You still there?
Me: I’m working.
Andy: So you’re avoiding me.
I wasn’t avoiding him. That was a lie I was telling myself. Avoiding would have meant blocking his number, deleting his contact, or taking some decisive action. What I was actually doing was prolonging this, drawing it out, letting it build up like pressure behind a dam.
Me: I’m not avoiding you. Tomorrow night. Will you be there?
The question hung there, and I realised I’d just committed to it without meaning to. Tomorrow was Friday. Of course, he’d be there. The reply came through before I could overthink it.
Andy: I’ll be there.
I set the phone down on top of a box of vodka bottles and pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. What the hell was I doing? I’d just confirmed plans with another man while I had a handsome husband at home whom I loved. The rationalisation came quickly; it was just a drink, just conversation. Andy would show up at the bar like any other customer. Except that wasn’t true, and I knew it.
I picked the phone back up. Andy had sent another message while I was standing there.
Andy: Can’t wait to see you, handsome. I’ve been thinking about that kiss all week too.
The words hit me like a physical touch. My breath caught, and I had to lean against the shelving unit. My cock was already responding, hardening in my jeans.
The stockroom suddenly felt too small; my fingers hovered over the keyboard, knowing I should put the phone away, should walk out of this room and back into the bar where things made sense. Where I was in control.
Instead, I typed: What kiss?
It was stupid. It was a test, maybe, or a way of pretending this was all just some game I could step away from whenever I wanted. The response came through so quickly it was like Andy had been waiting for me to ask.
Andy: The one where you forgot about your husband for thirty seconds. The one that’s been on my mind every single day since. The one I’m going to give you again tomorrow, only this time I’m not going to stop.
Fuck, my stomach clenched. I read the message three times, each time feeling the weight of it settle deeper into my chest.
I stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Every rational part of my brain was screaming at me to put the phone down, to walk away, to pretend this conversation had never happened. But that wasn’t what I was going to do, and I knew it.
Tomorrow night, I typed back. Just a drink.
The response was instant, almost mocking in its brevity: Sure. Just a drink.
I shoved the phone into my pocket and stood there in the stockroom, chest heaving as I’d just run a marathon. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a harsh white glow that made the space feel clinical and sterile. My cock was still half-hard in my jeans, and I had to adjust myself before heading back out to the bar.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of routine. I checked in with Donna, my bar manager, who held down the fort when I wasn’t there. She looked magnificent tonight, rocking a towering purple wig that completely commanded the room.
When I got home, Ry was already there. He was cooking; he was a driver for a Tour company, mostly day trips around Melbourne and Geelong, but he didn’t have anything booked for the day. He was usually busy on the weekends, whether it was a wine tour down at Mornington Peninsula or a Great Ocean Road Tour, he was gone most of the day, sometimes not getting home until midnight.
“Hey, you’re home early,” Ry called from the kitchen, glancing over his shoulder as I stepped through the front door. The smell of garlic and olive oil filled the space, something Italian, probably. Ry had a thing about cooking on days off; he said it kept him grounded when he wasn’t driving tourists around the peninsula.
I set my keys on the hall table and moved toward the kitchen, trying to arrange my face into something normal. “Finished the inventory faster than expected.”
“Good timing then,” Ry said, turning back to the stove. He was wearing one of his casual shirts, the blue one that brought out his eyes. I had always liked that shirt. “I’m making pasta. Should be ready in about twenty minutes.”
“Sounds good,” I said, and I meant it in the abstract way one means something when one’s mind is somewhere else entirely. “I’m going to jump in the shower; I feel grimy after the stocktake,” I told him.
While I was walking up the stairs, my phone pinged. I knew it was Andy. How’s your husband tonight? He asked. I sent a text back telling him not to talk about my husband.
He sent another text, I bet this tastes better than Ry’s, there was an attachment, fuck I thought, I clicked on it, and it was video, he was in a toilet cubicle stroking his erect cock, fuck it looked so long, it had to be at least 10 inches, there was a drop of pre-cum coming out of the slit of his dick, he sent another text: if you’re a good boy, I might let you taste this tomorrow night? I couldn’t help myself; I quickly sent a text back: “ Oh, fuck yes, please.
I quickly jumped in the shower; Ry would be wondering what was taking me so long if I didn’t hurry up. The shower was hot, almost scalding, and I let the water pound against my shoulders as I tried to wash away the evidence of what I’d just done. My skin was still flushed, my heart still hammering.
I replayed the video in my mind, Andy’s hand moving over his thick cock with deliberate slowness, that drop of pre-cum catching the light. The arrogance of it all, the casual dominance, the certainty that I would be waiting tomorrow night like a dog on a leash.
The worst part was that Andy was right.
I soaped my chest, trying not to think about what that cock would feel like. I failed. The water ran down my face, and I ducked under the spray, holding my breath until my lungs burned. When I came up for air, my resolve had only fractured further.
I dressed quickly in clean clothes, pulling on track bottoms and a T-shirt. When I came downstairs, Ry was on the phone to Jess. He was laughing about something. See you tomorrow night, babes, he said.
Ry hung up the phone and turned to me with a grin. “Your brother wants to catch up for a couple of drinks before his shift tomorrow night, he told me. I told him I’d meet him around eight.”
Tomorrow night. Friday night. The night Andy would be at the bar.
“That’s good,” I said, just tell him he better not turn up to work drunk, though; I’ve already sacked one person this week for that. I moved to the kitchen island and pulled out a stool. My voice sounded steady, which felt like a minor miracle.
Ry set a plate of pasta in front of me, steam rising from the perfectly al dente linguine coated in a rich tomato sauce. “No, it will only be a couple of drinks; I have to get up early Saturday morning for a trip to the Yarra Valley wineries. I twirled pasta onto my fork, the motion automatic. Ry was talking about the wineries, something about a new Shiraz they’d be tasting at Yering Station that had just been released, but the words seemed to come from very far away.
All I could think about was tomorrow night at eight o’clock. Ry would be meeting Jess for drinks. Ry would be gone.
“You listening?” Ry asked, and there was amusement in his voice.
“Yeah, of course,” I said, forcing myself to focus on his face. He looked genuinely happy, relaxed in a way I hadn’t felt in days. The guilt twisted something in my chest, but I pushed it down and took a bite of pasta. It was good; Ry was a much better cook than I was.
“You seem distracted lately,” Ry said. I’ve just got a lot going on at work with all the staff changes; the drag queens have been practising a new show, and we’ve been thinking about hiring a couple of go-go boys for Friday and Saturday nights, so there is a lot going on.
Ry nodded, accepting the explanation without pushing further. He twirled his own pasta onto his fork and took a bite, seemingly satisfied with my answer. The kitchen settled into the comfortable silence of two people who’d shared enough mornings and dinners that words weren’t always necessary.
Except they were necessary now. There was so much I wasn’t saying, so much I was actively hiding. The guilt sat heavy in my stomach, mixing with the pasta in a way that made me feel slightly sick.
I finished eating mechanically, rinsed my plate, and excused myself to the living room on the pretence of catching the evening news. In reality, I pulled out my phone the moment I was alone and scrolled back through Andy’s messages.
The video was still there in my hidden folder; I’d watched it at least a dozen times since this afternoon. Each time, my body reacted the same way: that sharp intake of breath when I first saw his cock, the way my dick got hard instantly, fuck I couldn’t wait until tomorrow night.
We watched the news and then a new show on Stan called “Tip Toe” about a gay guy living next door to a crazy homophobe, it was a good show.
By the time Friday rolled around, I felt like I was vibrating out of my own skin. I’d managed to get through the day without completely falling apart, though it had been close. Twice I’d caught myself staring blankly at a stack of invoices, my mind entirely elsewhere. Once, I’d almost called Donna the wrong name.
The bar filled up gradually as the evening progressed. The usual crowd filtered in: regulars who knew their drinks, groups of friends out for a good time. I moved through it all on autopilot, pouring drinks, making change, deflecting flirtation like someone who’d been doing this for years. My attention was fractured, though, constantly tracking the door, waiting.
Eight o’clock came and went. Ry texted around 8:15, a photo of him and Jess at the 86, a club up the road, having a couple of cocktails. Jess was due to clock in at work at 9pm before the rush. I was busy serving Ricky and Stefan when I noticed Andy coming up the stairs. I quickly made their drinks before Andy came up to the bar.
Andy moved through the bar with that same confidence I remembered, the kind of ease that suggested he’d walked into a hundred rooms exactly like this one and expected to own them all. He was wearing dark jeans and a fitted grey shirt that clung to my chest, making my mouth go dry.
Our eyes met across the bar for just a fraction of a second before Andy looked away, settling onto one of the high stools near the far end of the bar. The message was clear: he was here, he was waiting, and he was in control of the pace.
The conversation around me seemed to be happening underwater. Someone was ordering a round of shots. Someone else was asking about the new drag show lineup. Donna was calling out an order of cocktails for one of the new bar staff to start making.
I moved up to where Andy was sitting at the bar and asked what he would like. “I think it’s more about what you would like, don’t you, Mick?” He laughed.
The words hit me like a challenge, and I felt my jaw tighten. Andy was doing it again, flipping the dynamic, making it clear that despite my being the one behind the bar, despite this being my establishment, he was the one pulling the strings.
“Your drink is a Whiskey, neat,” I said, keeping my voice level. “Same as last week.”
“Good memory,” Andy replied, leaning back slightly on the barstool. His blue eyes tracked me as I reached for the Jameson, and I was acutely aware of every movement I made, the way my hand wrapped around the bottle, the angle of my body as I poured, the deliberate care I took setting the glass down in front of him.
Our fingers brushed as he reached for it, and the contact sent a jolt of electricity up my hand, I’m going to go outside on the deck; come and join me when you’ve got a minute, he said.
I watched him stand, the movement fluid and deliberate, and felt the pull of it like a hook in my chest. He moved toward the deck doors with the kind of confidence that suggested he had no doubt I would follow.
The rational part of my brain, the part that sounded like Ry’s voice, screamed at me to stay behind the bar, to find something urgent to do, to pretend I hadn’t heard him. Instead, I caught Donna’s eye and nodded toward the bar. “I’m taking a quick break. You’ve got this?”
Donna gave me a knowing look, one eyebrow raised slightly, but she didn’t question it. She just moved into position behind the bar with the efficiency of someone who’d covered for me a hundred times before. I was grateful for her discretion, grateful that she didn’t ask questions I couldn’t answer.
The deck was cooler than the inside of the bar, and Andy smiled as I walked up to him. Hey, he said.
“Hey yourself,” I replied, keeping my voice low. The music from inside pounded through the glass doors, muffled but insistent. Around them, a few smokers lingered in small clusters, but they were far enough away that the conversation felt private.
Andy was wearing a grey, fitted shirt, the kind that made it impossible not to notice the breadth of his shoulders and the defined lines of his chest. He held his whiskey loosely in one hand, his blue eyes tracking my approach with that same calculating intensity from last week.
“Jess is having drinks with Ry; he’ll be here soon,” I heard myself say. The words came out defensive, like I was establishing boundaries even as I was crossing them.
“I know,” Andy said simply. “You told me that already. Do you think your husband will show up here?” I doubt it, I told him. He has to work early tomorrow morning. He told me he was going straight home after meeting Jess.
Andy moved in and kissed me. I kissed him back but pulled away after a few seconds. “We can’t do this out in the open,” I told him.
“Can’t we?” Andy’s voice was low, amused. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair back from my forehead, the gesture casual but loaded with intention. “No one’s paying attention to us.”
I glanced over his shoulder. Andy was right, the smokers were absorbed in their own conversations, their backs turned. The music from inside was loud enough to mask quiet conversation. Still, the risk made my chest tight.
“I mean it,” I said, but my voice came out weaker than I intended. “People know me here. They know Ry.”
“And?” Andy took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving my face. “He’s not here right now, is he? He’s at the 86 with Jess, probably three drinks in by now, completely oblivious to what his husband is doing.”
Yeah, you’re right, but Jess is working tonight. I don’t need my brother seeing me kissing a stranger; he and Ry are thick as thieves. Andy smiled, and there was something almost predatory in it. “Your brother won’t see anything he doesn’t want to see. People rarely do.” He leaned back against the railing, completely at ease. “Besides, you’re not kissing a stranger, are you? You know me now.”
My stomach twisted. There was a logic to what Andy was saying that I couldn’t quite refute, even though every alarm bell in my head was going off. I did know Andy now, in some fundamental way that went beyond the hour we’d spent talking last week.
I knew the taste of his mouth, the feel of his hand on the back of my neck, the weight of his attention. That knowledge was both intoxicating and terrifying.
“This is a bad idea,” I said, but I wasn’t moving away.
“The worst,” Andy agreed, and then I was kissing him again, softer this time, deeper, his tongue touching mine. He pulled me closer by the neck, fuck I was lost in his kiss. We must have kissed for over a minute. I looked around, and no one was looking, but the bar had started to get busy again. I have to get back behind the bar, I told Andy. That’s fine; I’m not going anywhere, he said.
I turned and headed back inside, my lips still tingling from the kiss. The bar had indeed gotten busier, the Friday night crowd swelling with the kind of energy that came with the start of the weekend. The first drag show of the night was ramping up, queens moving between numbers, the music pounding through the speakers at a volume that made conversation difficult.
Donna caught my eye as I slipped back behind the bar, and I could read the question in her expression without her having to ask it. I ignored it and focused on the line of customers waiting for drinks, letting the familiar rhythm of pouring, mixing, and serving pull me back into something approximating normal.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it. Then again. And again.
I was in the middle of making a cosmopolitan when Jess appeared at the bar, still in his street clothes but with his work shirt slung over his arm. He was late, sorry, he said. Ry didn’t want me to leave.
My stomach lurched at the sight of my brother, his expression carrying that particular blend of exasperation and affection that came from having just spent the last hour with Ry.
“Mate, he was being ridiculous,” Jess continued, setting his shirt down on the back of the bar stool. “Kept saying he wanted to stay longer, that you never take him out anymore. I had to practically drag him out of there.”
I nodded, forcing my attention onto Jess even as I was acutely aware of Andy’s presence on the deck behind me. The glass doors were right there, the boundary between two worlds so thin it might as well not exist.
“Yeah, well, you know how he gets when he’s had a couple,” I said, reaching for a clean glass. Yeah, well, maybe you need to take some time off and take him out; he misses going out.
I forced a smile, though it felt strained. “I know. I’ll sort something out.”
Jess studied me for a moment, and I had the uncomfortable sensation of being read, of my brother seeing through the careful facade I’d constructed. He had that look he got sometimes, the one that suggested he knew more than he was saying.
“You good, mate?” he asked, pulling his work shirt over his head. “You seem... I don’t know. Off.”
“I’m fine,” I said, perhaps too quickly. “Just tired. It’s been a long week.”
Jess didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop, moving to clock in at the till. I turned back to the drinks I was making, grateful for the reprieve. My phone buzzed again in my pocket, and this time I couldn’t resist pulling it out just enough to see the screen.
You look hot behind the bar
I didn’t respond, just kept serving customers. About 30 minutes later, the crowd wanting drinks seemed to slow down, and I told Jess I was taking a break. I poured another Jameson and took it out to the deck. Andy was still there, looking at his mobile. “ Well, look who’s back, he quipped.
I set the whiskey down on the small table beside him and settled into the chair across, keeping enough distance that we weren’t quite touching. The deck was quieter now, most of the smokers having drifted inside to catch the drag shows. The night air was cool against my skin, a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating from my body.
“Thought you might need a drink,” I said, though we both knew that wasn’t why I’d come back out here.
Andy picked up the glass and took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine. “Your brother’s here.”
“Yeah. He was late.” I watched Andy’s mouth curve into a smile, and something twisted in my chest. “He said Ry didn’t want to leave the 86.”
“Guilt,” Andy said simply. “He can feel something’s off with you. People can sense when someone’s slipping away from them.”
Ry isn’t slipping away; our relationship is solid, I told him.
But you’re still out here talking to me, Mick. What does that tell you about your relationship?
I opened my mouth to respond, but Andy held up a hand, cutting me off before I could speak.
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t do that thing where you try to convince me that everything’s fine. We both know better.”
The words landed hard. I shifted in my chair, suddenly aware of how exposed I felt out here on the deck, how thin the glass doors were between me and the bar, between me and my brother who was currently clocking in for his shift.
“You don’t know anything about my relationship,” I said, but the protest sounded hollow even to my own ears.
“I know you’re out here with me instead of behind the bar,” Andy replied. He set his glass down on the table and leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “I know you’ve been checking your phone all week, hoping it was me. I know that when I kissed you before, you didn’t want to stop. You know nothing, I told him.
I got up and left the deck and went back to the bar. I tried to keep busy by serving customers and letting other staff take a break. The crowd inside were cheering hard for the Drag queens on stage. I noticed Andy walk past, heading to the toilets. He turned his head and nodded and winked at me, telling me to follow him.
Fuck I thought, I should just stay here and keep busy, except it wasn’t busy at the moment. I told Jess I was going to the toilet and rushed to follow Andy. I noticed the last cubicle door was slightly open. I opened it and fuck Andy was all ready with his pants down, stroking his hard cock, it was truly a thing of beauty, thick and long, I couldn’t stop staring at it.
I locked the door, he started kissing me, it wasn’t a slow kiss this time it was hard and fast, he kissed me deeper, one hand gripping the back of my neck while the other wrapped around his own cock, stroking it deliberately, making sure I could feel it pressing against my hip. My breath came in short gasps as Andy broke the kiss just enough to speak against my mouth.
“Get on your knees,” Andy commanded, his voice low and rough.
Every rational thought screamed at me to stop, to pull away, to walk back out that door and pretend this had never happened. But my body wasn’t listening to reason anymore. My body was listening only to Andy.
I sank to my knees on the grimy bathroom floor, the cold tile biting into my skin through my jeans. Andy’s cock was right there, inches from my face, and up close it was even more impressive than it had looked in the video. The head was flushed, fuck it was so thick, I licked the head and mouthed up and down licking the shaft, fuck it was nice. I licked and sucked on his balls. They were so big I could hardly fit one in my mouth. He was seriously gifted.
Andy groaned above me, his hand tangling in my hair as I worked his cock deeper into my mouth. The taste of him was salty and masculine, and I found myself wanting more, pushing further despite the size of it, despite the way my jaw ached with the stretch.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Andy breathed, his hips thrusting forward slightly. “Take it deeper.”
I gagged, pulling back for a moment to catch my breath, but Andy’s hand on the back of my neck was insistent, pushing me back down. There was no tenderness in it now, no pretence of anything other than what this was: raw, desperate need in a bathroom stall at my own bar.
The tile bit into my knees, cold and unforgiving. My jeans were soaked with pre-cum from my own arousal, and I couldn’t remember sex with Ry ever feeling this good.
Andy pulled out, his breathing ragged, and I gasped for air, my throat raw. Before I could fully register what was happening, Andy was turning me around, pressing me against the cold tile wall of the stall. My jeans were being yanked down, and my mind went blank with a kind of white-hot anticipation.
“You want this?” Andy’s voice was low, almost a growl against the back of my neck.
I couldn’t speak, could only nod, my forehead pressed against the wall. I heard the sound of a wrapper tearing, felt Andy positioning himself, and then….
The door to the bathroom banged open.
“Oi, mate, you in here?” It was Jess’s voice, unmistakable and far too close. “We’re getting slammed out there. Need you back on the bar.” I managed to tell him I’d be right out, and I heard the toilet door close.
Fuck that was close. I quickly pulled up my jeans and told Andy I had to go.
He quickly dressed, and I opened the door of the cubicle.
Oh fuck, shit no, Jess, my brother, was standing right there, and he was fucking angry. Andy stepped out behind me, and Jess just looked between the two of us and shook his head, you are fucking piece of shit, Mick…..and slammed the door behind him.
To be continued……
What a POS, sale on cricket bats this week guys!
NO!! You can't end it right there! That Maxwell has been giving you lessons in driving me crazy . . .