Page 2 of Rubbing One Out

Ben sighed. Ryan was twenty-one, eager, and thought Ben was the answer to his gay prayers. Ben wasn’t fond of people using his full name, but Ryan had fallen into the habit of using it because he said it sounded sexier. Ryan was tasty in a Billy Gilman kind of way, but he wasn’t to Ben’s liking. Ben had a fetish for dark, sexy eyebrows and lean, sinewy bodies. Ryan played fullback in the local rugby team and was rather beefy.

Ben ambled over to a particularly quirky display of antique candelabra and lamps. His cottage could do with a new light for his bedside table. His old one had fallen over and cracked after a rather riotous bout of hook-up sex with an old friend with benefits. Darrall had been rather creative in his endeavours to prove he could suck his own cock. The pair of them had been in hysterics when it had all gone masterfully wrong. Flailing limbs and acrobatic contortions were not conducive to the layout in Ben’s cosy bedroom.

He picked up a couple of items, perusing them with interest then setting them down. He didn’t think he was in the market for a blown-glass lampshade, no matter how pretty it was when the colours sparkled in the sunlight. Behind him, Ryan was trying to sell an antique walking stick to an older man. Ben grinned.

Ryan’s sales patter could do with a little finesse. Ben didn’t think saying “This will help you with those old bones of yours” would endear him to the customer, especially seeing who the customer was. Albert Finkelstein was a crabby old blighter at the best of times. Ben sniggered when Albert replied testily, “Now look here, you whippersnapper, that’s enough of that ageist talk. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Still chuckling, Ben reached back to the rear of the shelf, knocking something over by accident. The item fell to the floor with a clang, and Ben froze. The shop had a firm Damage Me, Buy Me policy and he didn’t think he wanted…a brass lamp.

He bent down, casting a furtive glance at Ryan, who still looked as if he was feeling the wrath of Albert’s sharp tongue. Ben picked up the lamp in his gloved hands and scrutinised it carefully. It looked undamaged, thank fuck. The price tag said twenty pounds and Ben certainly didn’t think he was in the market for something quirky, which had no real purpose.

It was a charming brass piece, Ben acknowledged. It bore no visible hallmark and was delightfully designed with a small chain anchoring the lid to the handle. He weighed the heavy little piece in his hand, growing fonder of it as the seconds passed. There was something about it captured his imagination, reminding him of the Aladdin and the Genie tale from 1001 Arabian Nights.

As a boy, Ben had loved hearing those tales when his mom had read to him at night. At one time in his childhood fantasies, he’d gone through a stage of pretending to have a flying carpet. Luckily, his more practical father had managed to get to him before he leapt off the garage roof to prove he could fly. At the time he’d been upset at being thwarted, but as an adult, he realised that the two-storey fall would’ve probably killed him.

Casting a glance around the store to see no one was watching, he rubbed the lamp furtively. You never know, right? He was disappointed when nothing happened.

Another childhood story shot down in flames, he reflected in disappointment. Maybe there was an art to it, even some magic words to be said.

“Open Sesame,” he whispered as he rubbed the lamp again. Nothing. Maybe it didn’t work because he was wearing gloves.

Ben huffed. Even though it didn’t work, the lamp had grown on him. He had to have it. The feeling of possession was overwhelming.

Perhaps he could use his masculine wiles to talk Ryan down from the tag price. After all, what was the point of being a sex bomb to a younger man if you didn’t use it to your advantage?

He walked over to Ryan, who’d extricated himself from his tricky situation but looked a little worse for wear.

“Geesh,” Ryan muttered as he gave Ben a slow, approving appraisal from top to toe, all six foot two of him. “Mr Finkelstein is a crabby arsehole sometimes. All I wanted to do was tell him about this fancy walking stick.”

Ben laughed. “Yeah, I heard him. He has a way with words, that’s for sure.” He leaned over the counter, hoping his Paco Rabanne aftershave tantalised Ryan’s nostrils. He’d also undone one of the buttons on his shirt to let a peek of his dark blond chest hair peek through. He knew he filled out his black jeans well enough, and his blue eyes seemed to be a draw for most men.

I’m such a man-slut, he thought wryly. Ryan’s gaze was drawn to Ben’s chest as he licked his lips.

“I found this over there,” Ben gestured to the lamp, then the shelf, “I wondered if I could get it for less than the price tag? It’s a cute piece and reminds me of when I was a kid. Childhood memories are such a special thing.” He grinned and noticed with satisfaction something he was doing certainly buzzed Ryan’s drill. Ben ran his hand through his short, styled hair slowly, like he was the guy in the Paco Rabanne commercial. As if.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Ryan hedged, his gaze drawn to Ben’s hand then back to his chest. “My dad would probably kill me if I let it go for less. He brought that back from a trip to the Middle East.”

“Huh.” Ryan’s dad Glenn was rather a stickler for the rules. Ben stretched his arms up, making sure it made the most of his torso, and his shirt lifted a teeny bit to show pale skin beneath. Ryan’s eyes bugged out. “I thought perhaps you could make an exception for me. Seeing as how we’re friends.”

Ryan’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “I guess, perhaps I could take a fiver off the price. But no more, or honestly, Dad will skin me.”

Ben considered the offer, then grinned. He didn’t want to be responsible for anything bad befalling Ryan. He might not want to date the guy, but he was cute. “Done.” He reached out to shake Ryan’s sweaty palm. “Thanks for that.”

Ben took out his wallet, removed a dirty ten and a five-pound note and laid them on the counter. “I have just the place on the mantelpiece for this. It needs a bit of a polish, but I’m sure with a touch of Brasso, it’ll come up sparkling. Although I have to say, I quite like the old look. I might dust it off and leave it at that.”

Ryan rang the sale up and passed the receipt and the lamp in a paper bag over to Ben. “You must have quite a collection of stuff now. You’re always in here.” His voice held a tinge of longing. “Um, is it only the items in the shop you come in for, or is there something else drawing your attention?” The underlying something or someone didn’t escape Ben. He felt like a heel, but he needed to head this off at the pass before Ryan got the wrong idea.

“I’m always on the prowl for unusual stuff. It’s why I love this shop so much. My parents were big collectors, so I grew up with it. And…” he hesitated, “forgive me, but I’m not interested in any sort of relationship right now if that’s what you’re asking?”

“Oh, no problem,” Ryan stuttered, turning crimson. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. I mean I didn’t think you’d be interested…” He trailed off, looking rather woebegone. Ben had to give the kid some sort of ego boost.

He leaned over the counter and patted Ryan’s shoulder. “You’ll find the right guy one day because you’re a real catch. You’re cute, friendly, and you’re young. Men will be queueing up to take you out one of these days.”

Ryan eyed him moodily. “This is Wickham,” he said gloomily. “I don’t even know any other gay guys around here.”

Ben winked wickedly. “Then let me educate you a little.” He pulled out his wallet and retrieved a tatty card. “Here, this is a place I know in Winchester, not too far from here. It’s a cool spot, not a dive, so you’ll be okay there. Tell the bouncer—his name is Steve—you know me, and he’ll look after you.”

Ryan took the cards. “Honestly? I don’t go out much, so I have no idea what to do.” His face turned hopeful. “Say, would you come with me the first time? As friends?”

Ben cleared his throat. He supposed he could show the baby gay the ropes a little. “Sure. Maybe next weekend? Gives you time to see what’s in your wardrobe. You know, tight jeans, tight shirt, and all that jazz. You can’t go wrong.” He turned to leave, bag clutched in his hand. “See you next weekend then, Ryan. I’ll give you a call. I have the shop number.”

“Cheers,” Ryan called out as Ben headed out. “I’m looking forward to it.”

As Ben cycled home with his treasure, he hoped Ryan hadn’t read more into his offer.