Love in Chippstown

Third: Touch

“Do you reckon he’d have his suspicions?” Owen raised a question right after I opened the fridge, to get a cold beer for the night. My skin caught that chill temperature of the fridge, making me want to close its door immediately. Owen came over, wholly unexpected. Yet, I was sure why; he missed me. My plan for the night was to stay home, stay naked, and watch as many dirty yet titillating videos I could find on the internet as possible until I passed out. Of course, Owen had no idea about that, and I hoped not to tell him while we were together for the whole night.

I caught what he just said, but I was just not sure what or how to respond. Dad was totally unpredictable. Nevertheless, thirty per cent of the time, he always relied on his actions according to his stupid, unknown hunches – still not a good thing or trait about Dad, though. I swear, if you were living in that house, you’d be dead even before knowing you were being killed because of my father.

Getting the situation that Dad’s head was way too swamped with the position alone, I doubted he would have suspicions about this situation I had with Owen. I even doubted that he thought of me, or my health. Or my dreams or desires. Or anything at all about me. Dad was many bad things, and I wasn’t surprised “caring” was on his dictionary.

Anyhow, I answered Owen the soon I bent over and had a grip on a couple – that’s two, if you wonder – of cold beers on my left hand with the same words I had in my mind, “I doubted it. Dad’s too busy to think of such.”

Then, I turned to my back, where I caught Owen’s puzzled face, subsequent to closing the fridge. I had enough of its coldness, but not as Baltic as outside. I led the way to my room while I waited for his turn to say something in order for my likeness of this conversation to carry on. I had settled the drink down on the coffee table inside my room, not minding the bit of mess around it, and turned the lights off as well, however, there was not a single word from him. I turned around and I saw not even a shadow of Owen. Flabbergasting, because I swore at the moment he did tailed me. By the time my face crumpled, I voiced out his name in a question, “Owen?”

No one replied. It felt as though a moment ago I was talking to his ghost around the kitchen. After that silence, knowing there were two persons inside this home, I began to tremble a bit and took my way back to the kitchen. Then that was where I found him, standing fixedly like a statue right in the very front of the fridge. His arms were crossed and his brows were somewhat meeting in the centre, intensely focusing his eyes on the photo attached by a fridge magnet on the door. The photo was my family photo – a complete, and maybe the only one, family photo of the Harris. It’s got my mum and my older brother there. And it was the only photo that was on the fridge, so, those eyes being completely locked on that was a bit, well, obvious. But, curious.

“Owen?” I came again in question, but now it had my utter confusion. I slowly took my steps again when it was stopped for a moment after I saw Owen’s figure that was left in the hushed, unlit kitchen. One or two steps before I reached his side, I talked again, feeling rather awkward about the words I was going to say next, “That, that is my family.”

Of course, it is! I thought and told to myself after I said those words to Owen. I mean, it’s pretty apparent that I got my face and Dad’s there!

“This,” he began to utter a word while also pointing a finger at one of the faces on the image stuck on the fridge’s door. It took him a few more seconds before he continued with his words and breaking his rigid eyes on the photo. He gradually turned to me, and, oh, mate, I knew I caught a drop of tear on the brief moment the dim moonlight from the window briefly passed on his face. “Is he your brother?”

“Yes, he is. But he moved away 5 or 6 years ago,” I answered without delaying a second. I thought it might finish up our conversation. I didn’t like to talk about my family at that point. I wanted him and me to have our own discussion concerning something else.

“All right,” Owen almost whispered the words to himself, then gave me a smile a short after. And I was absolutely lost in bewilderment. Did he know my brother?

Erasing that moment in my head, I gestured my whole body and asked him politely, “Come on, mate.” I was relieved that he followed me this time to the room without asking another question about my brother or anything related to the family photo at all. I wasn’t much of a family person back then.

We spent an hour or two watching the telly in my dimly lit bedroom – the telly’s screen was the only source of light inside the room. Most of the time flew with our peals of laughter catching those rather did-not-see-that-coming retorts of Philomena Cunk, the oblivious reporter of Cunk on Earth. I wondered if someone ever told him that he laughed so attractively. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him whenever we hit those funny responses from Cunk and guffawed on it. Anyhow, we came across that series whilst we randomly browsed, looking for a good one. We had a couple more beers, which were now lying in disorder on top of the coffee table along with those empty bags of crisps. And none of us tried to create a conversation that was off the series we watched, and I just loved every moment of it. I never had that kind of time with someone before. I felt free and so happy.

Until the series died and the next one was something about animals in the wild. We kept on watching it, though, but there was no laughter or smiles or any sort of happiness around. It just died. Owen and I suddenly fell into out-and-out silence. It felt as though both of us heard the tragic news that left us either distressed or appalled.

My eyes were fixed on the telly’s screen, trying to get into my head what was it like to be that colourful bird flying freely on those blue skies just as I was seeing when I caught a small touch on the end of my fingers. A small touch that triggered my heart. Now, it’s racing. I moved my eyes and there I saw Owen running his fingertips on my hand, suggesting something rather different than just holding them tight. I exactly knew what it was, and, although I felt nervous, it enticed me. As it continued, it also began to run on my forearm.

The smiles on our faces came back, no boisterous laughs. I looked at Owen. A seductive smile was on his face and after looking back at my eyes, he turned to my silent lips. Then, to my neck, tilting his head a bit, still with that beam. The running touch reached my arm, where now he included his palm on the touch. And as it lasted long, a mild pinch started to grow on the touch, similar to getting massages. I liked it, anyway.

He gazed at my arm, and I gazed at his hand on my arm, next, he said in his sexy voice, “Did it ever occur to you that you have a strong arm?”

“I always have a strong arm,” followed by a small chuckle, partly crowing over the muscles on my arm. I didn’t have to deny it, though, it was visible. And while I was happy that Owen mentioned it, I commented, acting muddled, after glancing at the hairs on his forearms, “I wonder how much hair you’ve got all over your body.”

We both chortled at it at the same time before Owen asked in return, and I halfly knew it was coming so it wasn’t that surprising, but I honestly did not know how to respond, “Why? Do you really want to find out?”

“No, no–nothing. I j-just, well–”

“Oh, so you don’t want to find out,” Owen interrupted my blabbering mouth, breaking the touch yet he still had that smile. I could kiss him at the moment if I wasn’t afraid to take the first step.

“No, of course, I do!” I said with a straight face, then it took me a second to realise what I just said, so I followed, rambling my words, “Wait, w-what am saying? I-I mean, no, but–”

“Come one, Jackie, hush now,” he rushed towards me while also pulling my shoulder closer to him. While knowing it was going to happen, I never held back and just went on with it. For the third time since we met, we kissed again. Yet at the moment, it wasn’t like any other kisses we had. There was brushing each other’s lips as if we were both mad, and our tongues extended to touch each other’s. We even tilted our heads on opposite sides just to press and brush each other’s lips fully. I was so into it that our kiss turned out inaudible. Obviously, I never had this kind of kiss before, however, I had to tell myself that I was in love with it. It heated my body in a way sunlight or fire couldn’t, and it felt so heaven. I wished this never stopped.

As our crazy tongue kiss continued, there was a build-up on our current position on the sofa. Without breaking our lips, Owen left his seat totally and sat on my lap, pushing me against the backrest. I liked that Owen didn’t waste a second before he massaged his arse back and forth on my tallywacker. His hands commenced to run from my abdomen under my shirt up to my chest, pulling my shirt up and revealing my whole upper body. As he moved his hands upward, he rested both of them on my cheeks, still not letting go of the kiss, while my hands were on the back of his head and the other massaging the back of his shoulder.

Until he went to take off his shirt really quickly, which freed our lips for mere seconds. And while I had the chance to talk, I told him, partially gasping and missing his lips, “No one ever called me Jackie before.” I was waiting for a moment to tell him that after I heard him address me with the name Jackie.

“Shut up, Jackie,” he pushed me again on the backrest and we pressed on on kissing and touching each other. Why did I never have this when I made out with a few girls before?

Then Owen started to move his lips down on my chin, then to my neck. My good man, I thought there wasn’t a single pore on my neck that his tongue and lips never missed before he moved to my chest, particularly in between them – he loved that spot, and to my muscled belly. He was kneading my pecs while snogging on my abs before he unbuttoned my trousers, opened and pulled them with force. I was watching him the whole time while my right hand was on his head and the other rubbing myself, and he gave me a smile after looking at my hard thing. He brushed his lips around my tallywacker while I still had my pants on and, oh, my, I was killed by an electric shock. A good shock, I should say.

Finally, he pulled off my pants and that was when everything became so much better. With his knees down on the floor and with the rub of his lips up and down, starting from my willy up until my head, I felt very warm and it just made me look up, close my eyes and let out warm and soft, groaning breaths under my nose. I never felt this way before.

The pleasure around this sofa went on until Owen and I heard a crashing sound coming from outside the room. I was certain the front door was locked when I let Owen in earlier and we had no cats or dogs to make such a loud thud. Plus, I didn’t think of anything in the sitting room that could make such a sound on its own.

So, suggesting that someone was outside, my first and only guess was Dad, we immediately got up and fixed ourselves. I pulled up my pants and trousers back swiftly and arranged my shirt, then sat lazily on the sofa like I normally do. Owen, however, knocked himself on the armrest of the sofa while on his way to get his shirt he had thrown earlier to the foot of my bed where he let out a big Ow! that I surely was discernible even from outside of this room. Although tensed by almost getting caught if somehow Dad decided to walk in, we both had the time to giggle the very moment after Owen hit himself.

A moment later, the door of my room swung open and Dad emerged. My back straightened. I could say he was rather knackered to his new date, seeing that his eyes were somewhat red and puffed. There was also a pain that I sensed on his face.

A physical pain.

“What are you doing?” he pumped a question instantly the soon he opened the door. He had time to search the room because I didn’t answer right away, feeling dread, and that was where he saw Owen. His face crumpled and he never looked back at me. “And who are you, mate?”

I turned my head to Owen and I was relieved to see that he was wearing his shirt. He was standing blankly at the side of my bed. I wanted to laugh at how shocked he looked, yet, instead, I turned to Dad, “We’re watching.”

“Well, turn it down, now!” Dad meant the volume of the telly, prolyl he wanted a good night's rest. I turned it up a bit when Owen hurt himself. Dad was about to close the door when he added a warning, “And careful stepping in on the door. Hurt meself hard.”

It took quite a moment of silence before Owen and I broke into a hushed laughter, which, by the way, was hard to contain, towards Dad’s misfortune. It just made Owen’s trip on the sofa way funnier, and we couldn’t help it both. But, while having that genuine laugh, part of me also felt a bit of rage and guilt for allowing a man to get into my front even for a short time after seeing Dad’s face. I knew Dad more than well, and he’d never tolerate me loving a same-s*x person. He just wouldn’t.