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The Samurai in Autumn	By : fundamellie Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pet Shop Boys Views: 1856 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrity I am writing about. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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It is most likely that I am going to remember the night which is the subject of this account as being the strangest in my long lasting friendship with Chris. That friendship, as is widely known has lasted for 21 years but had never before, and I repeat never, strayed into the uncharted area of seemingly mutual attraction, let alone physical intimacy.

It all began on a lazy afternoon the two of us spend in my country house in Durham. Chris and I had been there on and off during most of the summer, writing songs for our next album that finally turned out to become “Release”. The reflective and at times gloomy mood of it had to a certain degree subconsciously set by the sparse countryside so typical for the north of England. The summer was over and we were heading right for the heart of autumn with the second week of October just about to end. The sky hung low and grey and dull over the fields and woods that surrounded the house in all four directions but the flickering fire set ablaze in the open fireplace in the main living-room made the gloom seem almost cosy and enjoyable in the evenings. The day of which I write was a Friday, not terribly cold but uncomfortable with the threat of rain, which only came down some time after midnight. As is my usual custom in the afternoons, I had gone for an extended jog after Chris and I had had lunch and had just returned from an hour and a half of total quiet and solitude that had kept me company on the paths and streets cutting though the vastness of these rough lands. I let the door fall shut behind me, leaning against it for a few seconds, eyes closed, catching my breath again. It felt quite nice to fell my heartbeat and pulse slowing down after the exercise. One always feels so nicely exhausted and refreshed at the same time after a jog, a feeling quite similar to one one has after sex.
A familiar voice interrupted my drifting thoughts.
“Y’know, you look kinda cute like that. Sweat through and all.”
Hearing those words gave me quite a start and when I opened my eyes I saw Chris standing halfway down the staircase at the end of the hall. He still looked down at me, grinning. It was not that I wasn’t used to Chris little teasing comments but something about this remark unnerved me. Suddenly I was only too aware of how I must look: Standing there wearing muddy training shoes, a pair of not very fashionable sports shorts and a dark blue T-shirt that bore at least two huge darker stains. One going down my chest and the other on my back. Face flushed and sweaty and he said something about looking cute? Why on earth did I feel so self-conscious all of a sudden? Chris and I had shared more that one dressing-room over the years, he had seen me in worst conditions, he even knew me naked. For some reasons this thought didn’t help to put me back at ease. The couple of seconds it had taken those thoughts to cross my mind seemed like an eternity and I caught myself still staring stupidly up at Chris, who was still grinning. I cleared my throat and grabbed the towel I had placed on a shelf next to the door. Actually I was quite glad to use it to cover up my face with it for a few seconds as I felt the uncomfortable heat of a blush creeping over my cheeks.
“I’m going to have a shower,” I muttered as I made my way up the stairs and past Chris, who went downstairs behind me.
“Don’t let me wait in the studio for too long,” he called out after me. I almost ran up the last couple of steps and headed directly for the bedroom where I banged the door shut and stood right there, frozen to the spot for a moment. My head was spinning and I was getting angry with myself. For God’s sake, why did I act like a teenager who just had been teased? I tried to dismiss it all as some silly over-reaction but a part of my brain insisted that there was more to it that the usual teasing. I kicked my shoes off, got out of my clothes and, still annoyed, threw them all on a tiny heap in a corner of the room. I went over to the wardrobe to get some fresh clothes and stared at the reflection of myself I saw in the almost man-sized mirror attached to the middle door of that extravagant affair of an Edwardian furniture.
A man approaching his 50s with rapid paces stared back at me. Almost bald, the left-over grey-white hair chopped to an 8mm cut. Eyes that looked somewhat tired. The few stone overweight I could never quite manage. The greying patchwork of hair on my chest and even the pubic hair was greying, but at least the legs were okay: thin but well muscled from the years of long jogs. I grimaced at the me in mirror.
“At best you’ll get labelled okay or bearable,” I mused “but cute? No chance.”
I took the clothes out of the wardrobe – a fresh pair of Hugo Boss jeans, a simple black shirt, matching socks and my usual white CK underpants. Then I went into the bathroom without looking at the mirror again. I stepped underneath the shower and turned the tub to hot. The water came down on me like some wicked rain, almost scalding my skin but I left it on for it felt like the heat was clearing my mind. Somehow I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had come across a nest of wasps by accident. I stood there motionless for a while, my head turned upwards to face the spray of water, my arms dangling down pliantly. In a flash I saw Chris standing up there on the staircase gazing down at me with that special Lowe-grin that was half wickedness and half… What? Fun? Scorn? No, that didn’t quite hit it. It was more like Chris had been trying to dare me. Dare me doing what? Saying that I though he looked rather cute as well? But what a word was that to describe how grown men thought about each other? Cute!
Even after all these years it still crossed my mind from time to time how gorgeous Chris could look with his huge hazel eyes and his typical grin. How attractive he could be when he laughed his low, chuckling laugh and spoke with that ladish Blackpoolian accent. He had been such a skinny boy back then on that 19th August when I first met him. So skinny and with a mop of soft auburn hair. Now his hair was always firmly cut down, usually to a military 3mm and it had started thinning as well, which left the otherwise youthful Mr Lowe with a receding hairline. But his body was more muscular these days, shoulders broader, arms and legs firmer. Oh dear, I was drifting off again. The trouble was, these thoughts were turning me on this time. Severely.
What if…? Yes, what if that something in Chris grin, in his words that had so unnerved me had been a hint at the fact that he, too, found me attractive? At least at times?
“Without his Ibizian call-boys, or what?” I thought with wry humour.
I knew I was being silly entertaining such thoughts but still I couldn’t shake the images my overactive imagination send through my mind. Chris naked – those hairy arms and legs. Chris naked with a rock-hard erection. I tried to picture what that would look like – his pink, thick dick, bouncing up to almost vertical position, surrounded by thick, dark, curly hair. I felt the tension rising in my loins, an heat equal to the one of the water rushing through me to collect in the lower parts of my abdomen. My mind continued to produce those sexual images as if I had never fantasised about anyone else but my partner. I pictured Chris kneeling in front of me, grinning that unnerving grin again for only a moment before he closed his mouth over my own erection. Thinking about his hot mouth and slicky tongue working on my penis got me almost instantly hard. I encircled my pulsing dick with one hand and immediately began pumping it with hard, fast strokes. Just skip the foreplay, boy, I’m beyond that already. I had to bite my lip to prevent a loud moan escaping from my throat. I feared that Susan, my sister, might hear me should she be passing the bathroom just now. After a while I drew back my foreskin and massaged the head of my penis with my thumb. I began to tremble slightly and leaned against the tiled wall behind me with eyes closed. While I still continued the frantic strokes, pushing my hips forward as if to push in deeper, my other hand went upwards to stroke and squeeze one nipple, then the other. I imagined Chris tongue lapping at them while he was wanking me hard. His mouth sucking my nipples in, his teeth nibbling at them. Part of his earlier words came back to me. “Y’know, you look kinda cute like that…” The thought that Chris could say these words to me in a situation like that send me over the edge. A shiver went up my spine, the tension in my thighs, my balls and my loins was almost unbearable for a short moment. I felt my knees going weak. Then it felt like a surge of electric energy was flashing though me. I didn’t know whether the void in front of my eyes was black or white and I was shaking badly now. I came so hard it literally knocked me off my feet. My head span for I don’t know how long and the sound of the down pouring water and my own harsh breathing were the only ones in the world. When the fog of the orgasm slowly lifted from my mind, I found myself halfway down the wall, half sitting. I felt hot and dizzy and immensely embarrassed. The smell of sex was over-powering around me. I climbed back to my feet and switched the tub to cold. I poured quite an amount of scented shower gel into the palms of my hands to wash me clean. The touch of my soapy hands send little waves of guilty pleasure though my body, which I tried to ignore. I stood underneath the cold flood of water until I was shivering. Then I swiftly cleaned the walls of the shower cabin and turned the water off. Stepping out of the shower felt like admitting what I had done and I blushed again. I tried to put my mind on other things – business matters, the news, anything boring enough to stop me indulging in my little fantasy any longer. I dried myself quickly and got dressed, still ignoring the mirror in my bedroom. I had to go downstairs to face Chris now.
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The Samurai in Autumn