by N Fourbois
This vignette is based on a real incident. The reader may judge for himself where reality ends and fiction begins.
You can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I visited the fish and chip shop this year. For me it is a sign of blatant mismanagement in matters domestic if I do. The experience I enjoyed might encourage me to do so again. The local chippy is an extremely well run business. In the evening it is staffed by young people, boys and girls, who not only work hard, but are always efficient, polite and pleasant to encounter. They wear a white uniform top and dark grey or black trousers, and their heads are covered with navy blue ball caps in obedience to hygiene regulations.
This particular evening I was served by a young lad whose blond hair peeped through the cap's fittings. Whether it was natural or dyed, I could not tell. More obvious was the stud in his right ear. About my height, he had blue eyes, a rasping adolescent voice to die for, a pleasant face, almost cheeky, except that this chippy didn't do cheeky. He took my order, shovelled the chips into the usual plastic foam container and I said "Would you put it in a paper bag, please?" He proceeded to attempt to open a plastic carrier. "Or a plastic bag," I added drily. From that moment he lost it.
The lad started giggling. Conversation became impossible, but non-verbal communication took over and I too began to giggle. We looked at each other and the tears started to roll down my cheeks. We grinned inanely, oblivious of any other customers or staff in the shop. It was as much as I could do to say 'thank you' before turning to leave the shop. About to go through the door, I heard him say "Excuse me, sir. You've forgotten your change." I had given him the exact money. He pressed a card into my hand, saying in a low voice "I finish in ten minutes." I automatically looked at my watch and making my second attempt to leave the shop, I read the card. It was the normal shop business card on which was printed 'You were served by Chris' and in handwriting 'PTO'. I flipped the card over and saw a mobile number.
It was one of those warm windless evenings in autumn, so typical of the Indian summer we were enjoying this year. Still confused about what had just happened and feeling the tears of mirth drying on my cheeks, I decided to cross the road and eat my chips sitting on a bench in the churchyard. Chris must have watched me, but I didn't turn round for the look on my face must still have been too silly for public display. The dark outside provided a little cover which was frustrated by the streetlights. I found my bench, sat down and daintily set about consuming my chips. The churchyard was well lit. Once upon a time it had been the meeting place for the less desirable element living in the area, but once the local councillors' attention had been drawn to them, combined action from the police and the church had put a stop to any nonsense. Whereas it had been possible to walk round the church, now a tall and strong iron fence and improved lighting had been erected across the south east corner which made it easy for police to trap any vandals or druggies. Now all was peaceful and the south side had been left for lovers with no home to go to.
I thought back to my experience in the chippy. Slowly it was occurring to me that if that wasn't one big 'come on' signal, what was. I also realised that I hadn't be left untouched. That's why I had giggled as well, and I could still feel the moistness in my undergear. I chubbed up, which made it worse. I thought. I looked at my watch. Five minutes until he finishes. I looked at my watch again. Four and a half. I had to admit to myself that I fancied him. By now I was really hard in my trousers. Then out loud I said "Bugger it!" A standing dick has no conscience, my brother had always said to me and he was right. I took out my mobile and dialled the number on the back of the card.
"Chris? It's Mike. You know, the giggly customer you gave your card to." I heard another burst of giggles over the phone. "I'm sitting on a bench in the churchyard."
«I can't talk now. Bad signal. I'll be out in a couple of minutes. Don't go away.» The phone click off. I ate a one or two more chips.
He didn't keep me long. I saw him approaching in his chippy uniform sans ball cap. He was stunningly good looking. I could see that even under the inadequate lighting. I adored his yellow thatch. He sat down next to me. I offered him a chip. "No, thanks, Mike. You kinda go off them when you work in a fish and chip shop." We chatted. I noticed he had no stud in his left ear.
"How old are you, Chris?"
"Eighteen." I didn't believe him, but I'd asked the question. (It later turned out he was telling the truth.) I knew something was going to happen between us. I just didn't know what. He put his hand on the inside of my thigh. "Mike, you're hard." I couldn't deny it. He unzipped his trousers. "Put your hand in there." I did so and weighed his bollocks in my hand. Loose and large. His cock was hard and pointing north. He kissed my cheek. "You taste salty."
"Dried tears. From when we were laughing in the shop."
"We can't do this here. Are you up for it?"
"What's 'it'?" I asked, not naïvely, but I wanted to know what I was letting myself in for.
"That's really up to you." He took my hand and led me off. An old dear glared at us in disapproval as we walked past. We glared back in disapproval as she let her dog poop on a flowerbed. There were sounds of merriment coming from the church hall. A beetle drive was in full swing. It kept the senile delinquents off the streets at night. We ended up on the forbidden south side of the church. "No one will disturb us here." He gently pushed me up against the wall. "Your lips are greasy."
"I've been eating chips. Remember?" He remembered and burst out into another fit of giggles. I burst out into another fit of giggles. It was five minutes before we could resume our snog.
It seemed only seconds before he worked me up into that state where he could have done anything with me. I felt him undo my belt, unzip my trousers and drop my 2(x)1 st briefs. He was on his knees and had my left testicle in his mouth. I could not control myself for long and he soon took my load in his mouth. He stood up and we shared it. "Okay, my turn now."
I made every effort to do my best as I gave him head. He made me work before he released his load and again we shared. Then suddenly it was all over. "Do you work on Saturday, Chris?"
"No, just Monday to Friday."
"Do you want to meet?"
"You're not dating me, Mike, are you?"
"Wot? After being blown like that? Of course I'm bloody well dating you."
"Okay, but it might be a bit more than a BJ next time."
"Bring it on," I boasted.
The following morning as I walked through the churchyard on my way to the bus stop, I noticed my packet of chips in its paper bag was still there on the bench. Not even the magpies had found them yet.
© N Fourbois 2015
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