CHAPTER 5
Bruno
The first thing I hear is a lengthy groan. Through the dense fog I realise it’s come from me. My eyes open as I slide into consciousness and I’m suddenly aware of my surroundings. I’m also now aware that I’m alone. Maybe he’s in the shower. I stretch myself out, undoing the kinks of a heavy night’s rest. I’m lucky like that, I always sleep like a bloody log.
I touch my lips and immediately remember I’m not wearing the mouth splint that stops me snoring like a fuckin’ walrus. Oh God, did I disturb him? Did he go and sleep in another room? This thought jolts me further into awake mode. I’m racking my brain. No, I remember things now. I remember wrapping myself around him—I remember him pulling my arm tight across his torso as I spooned him from behind. I remember his palm stroking over the fur on my chest. I remember soft kisses, I remember brushing his fringe off his forehead. I remember my hand slipping inside his furry arse crack as we slept face to face—fuck, I loved touching him there. That beautiful spot is like the epicentre of his manliness. I remember the powerful connection I felt as I stroked his tight little hole. I don't reckon I took my fingers off it the whole night. Yeah—we were definitely together. He never went anywhere.
Sitting up, I scan the room, seeing it in the light for the first time. It’s still pretty dim in here. There’s a small window, but it’s partially plugged up with the air conditioner’s exhaust hose. My eyes land on Bradford’s office chair. He’s neatly folded my clothes and placed them on it, putting a fresh towel on top. It’s so bloody sweet of him.
Oh, does this mean something else? Is he prompting me to get ready and fuck off?
No, surely not, he was so keen for me to stay.
Shaking these stupid thoughts out of my head, I haul my weary arse off the bed and wrap the towel around my waist. When I open the study door, the warm, humid air from the rest of the apartment hits my body at exactly the same time the smells of cooking invade my nostrils. Fuck, I could eat a horse right now . I pad quietly in the direction of food. Cos this is an old apartment, the kitchen isn’t open plan—it’s in a cramped little room of its own. I stop in the doorway and spot Bradford with his back towards me, diligently working on several pots and pans at the stove. Morning sun’s blaring through the window above the sink, casting a completely new kind of light over the man I’ve just spent twelve fuckin’ amazing hours with.
Bradford is topless, wearing nothing but a sexy little pair of shorts. They’re different to the ones he wore last night. The flimsy blue fabric chews right into the crack of his bearish little bum. Fuck, I’m such an arse pervert. I’m absolutely obsessed with them, and Bradford’s is no exception: two chubby squares of firm muscle, enough to make my mouth water just looking at it. God, it was awesome with my face down inside there last night.
Behave, Bruno. You can’t fuck him over the bloody stove.
Yes, I could… Jesus, that would be so hot! Fuck, my cock is starting to swell. I’d better stop touching it.
Bradford’s short hair is neatly brushed to the side, kinda like how it was at the bar last night. He’s got a few grey hairs at the temples and they blend really nicely with his natural dark blond. I spend a few moments looking at the profile of his thick beard. It’s full and bushy; all nicely shaped with greys sprinkled through it. His back is smooth, except for a fuckin’ hot hairy welcome mat. It’s spread over his lumbar region and it creeps down below the waistband of his shorts. ‘Look what I’ve got hidden under here,’ it says, like it’s advertising for his arse.
Right now, I’m turned on to instant wank-level by his manly beauty. But I’m also touched as all get-out that he’s obviously in here doing this cooking for me. I mean, there’s no other explanation for it. Not unless that arsehole boyfriend has come home. I duck my head out and spot the other bedroom door open. Craning my neck a bit, I can see the bed is empty. Nup, this hot little bloke is in here making me breakfast. Me. Leaning back in the doorway, I watch him there, still working like a bloody Trojan, still completely oblivious to the fact I’m standing here. “Fuck!” I groan. I’m surprised by how intense I sound, but I’m just not used to this.
Bradford jumps a bit, then turns around, spatula in hand. I see a huge flash of fear cross his face. “I’m sorry, is this too…” he glances back at the stove. “Um, do you need to leave?”
The uncertainty I see in him crushes the fuck out of me. I go to him straight away, pull him tight against my body and kiss the top of his head. His hair is still damp from the shower, rich with the smell of coconut shampoo. “No, I don’t. I’m just—” I tilt my head back and look into his eyes. For the first time I’m fully hit by their vivid steel-grey colour. It’s like there’s a storm brewing inside them. “No man’s ever done anything like this for me, Bradford.” It’s not too far from the truth. Definitely no bloody hookup has ever managed more than to kick me out once they’ve blown their load and wiped the lube off their arse.
Bradford smiles at me, and the gratitude in his expression crushes me all over again. It’s so out of place and I need him to realise this. I lean down and kiss his lips, letting my hand slip from his shoulders to his welcome mat. Working my fingers under his waistband, I discover he hasn’t got any underwear on. God, he’s So. Fucking. Hot. I stretch my hand down further, running my palm over the soft furry surface of his butt cheek, squeezing it in a way that my fingers delve right inside his crack.
Bradford moans instantly. “I’m gonna wreck breakfast if we don’t stop now,” he murmurs. “It’s your call.”
“Fair point. Can’t have me ruining all this hard work of yours.” I give his arse a final squeeze, letting my fingers get another prod at that sexy little hole of his. Coming back up to stand, I stretch out my weary arms, neck and shoulders. “Breakfast it is, then. I’m happy to stay here and help you, but you’re all nice and showered and I’m bloody rank.”
Bradford chuckles, leaning forward and burying his face in my armpit. It takes me by surprise, triggering an awesome throb in my dick. Tingles shoot down my spine as Bradford begins to sniff deep and hard. The rush of air and the gentle brushing of his nose against my bushy pit have me shuddering. “Oh, fuck,” I gasp, as he begins to lick in long, firm strokes. Bradford seems to like my reaction and he snickers quietly as he moves across my chest. Back and forth he goes, slowly sucking each of my nipples into his mouth. “Oh, shit. Oh, my fucking God .” I’m moaning like a bitch and I don’t care. The nicest fucking feeling is raging through my body as his tongue expertly works each hardened little tit. It’s so fucking amazing that I nearly protest when he suddenly stops. The rude shock disappears when I feel his beard, lips and nose submerge in my other armpit. I’m panting. My dick is now starting to ache.
“You’re all man, ” Bradford mumbles, as his nose sniffs in huge lungfuls of my scent. The second his tongue starts to lick up and down, my dick flexes and my arsehole clenches tight. I want to jerk myself till I paint his entire body with my come—it’s that fucking good.
Bradford finally stops, rubbing his beard and mo around my pit, then grinning up at me. “I could do this all day, you know. But go wash off your beautiful musk if you think it’ll make you feel better. I’m gonna be another five or ten minutes here.”
“Uh, I’m assuming we’re still alone?” I tilt my head in the direction of the lounge room.
“Oh, yeah. No sign of him. He’ll be passed out in some other apartment with whatever guy he went home with. I can guarantee it.”
“Good.” With that, I pull my towel off and tug down on my foreskin, stretching out my firm prick. Bradford’s eyes fixate on the spectacle between my legs and he lets out a loud growl. It’s time for me to behave, I know. As a parting move, I reach over and fondle the ring in the end of his dick through the fabric of his shorts. He’s well and truly reaching a full and fabulous stiffy, and as I wiggle the jewellery he gives a sexy little whine. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear from you,” I mumble. “I’m never gonna be able to keep my hands off this, you know.”
While I’m making my way down to the bathroom, it dawns on me what I’ve just said. It’s fuckin’ cocky of me to expect a repeat performance of last night. I’m well aware of both our situations. Waltzing off into the sunset is not on the cards with Bradford. But I definitely want to fuck him again. Many times.
I go to shut the bathroom door once I'm in there, but then I think twice and leave it wide open. It’s an invitation—I'm imagining how hot it would be if Bradford put breakfast on the back burner and joined me. But I also kinda like the thought of that boyfriend coming home and seeing me here—standing in the open shower, my big bear body and thick cock on full display. I don’t want to fuck him, not in the least. He just rouses the protective alpha lurking beneath my calm exterior. I don’t like him. I don’t like his smarmy, self-righteous attitude. I definitely didn’t like the way he pushed Bradford around. Yeah, of course I’d been listening to their whole bloody confrontation—how could I not? How could my attention not have been captured when I spotted that gorgeous little bear sitting there all by himself last night?
As the hot water pelts down on my back, I feel the tension in my shoulders give way. My body relaxes completely and I allow my cock to blast a heavy stream of piss against the shower floor. Oh, fuck, I forgot where I was. What if Bradford walks in on me? Would he be disgusted? Maybe he’s a kinky little cunt and he’ll be all turned on. He certainly couldn’t take his eyes off my dick when we were standing at the trough in the dunnies last night. I fucking loved the way he got hard as he watched me.
My hand is working my foreskin up and down as I piss, and my cock is getting hard really fast. I feel like I’m marking my territory, staking my claim on that sexy fella out in the kitchen. My fantasies are running wild. I’m so fucking horny. There’s an ache in my prostate and it’s travelling right up the inside of my dick. I would fucking love to come right now, but I’d better stop. This wank has gone way too far. Bradford’s put so much hard work into making breakfast, and I can’t be in here spraying the shower with my spunk.
Fuck it, I am definitely going to con him into another night of hot sex—A.S.A. Fucking P.
Back out in the cosy little lounge room, a beam of light pierces through the small window, shining a weak glow over the dark space. I hear a thumping sound and spot Brendan lying quietly on his bed, his wagging tail hitting the cushion underneath him. Crouching down, I give his neck a ruffle and he nuzzles against me. More pats turn into a furry hug and I’m instantly in love. It’s no wonder he and Bradford have such a strong bond. “Hey, matey,” I whisper in his ear. “You keep looking after that fella for me, OK?”
I waste no time getting back into my clothes. I’m not the kind of man who likes putting on yesterday’s tighty-whities, but I was hardly in a position to bring an overnight bag. After I’ve tidied up the room, I walk over to turn off the aircon, then hesitate. Should I be doing this? Is it overstepping the mark? I doubt he’ll want to come back in here, will he? After thinking about it for way too long, I decide that Bradford’s power bill is more important and I hit the switch.
Out in the living room again, I spot Bradford ferrying plates to the small dining table. He glances towards me and a shy smile forms on his lips. His eyes flick from my fully-clothed body to his near-nakedness. “I guess I’m a bit underdressed now,” he says.
“I think you look fuckin’ woofy, mate.” And he does. Bradford is the perfect teddy bear—chunky, chubby, hairy and solid as fuck. When he turns to go back to the kitchen, I slide my hand over his arse once more and give it yet another squeeze. The little grunt he gives makes me wanna rip those fuckin’ nylon shorts right off him.
“Take a seat, Bruno,” he calls over his shoulder. “Just grabbing the coffee.” As I settle at the table, he comes back in with a small stovetop percolator. “I’m assuming you’re a proper Italian and you like it strong.”
“You’d be right, there.” I watch as Bradford empties the entire contents into the mug in front of me. “Aren’t you having any?”
“Nah,” he says, taking a seat. “I never drink it.” I notice he has a teapot next to him. “I buy it for Jarrod.” He winces visibly, then immediately starts shuffling dishes heaped with food. “There’s beans and mushrooms and pane di casa . Oh…” He stands back up and runs into the kitchen, returning with another plate, which he places in front of me. “And these. Italian sausages from the continental butcher.”
“Coincidence?” I say, smirking and raising an eyebrow as I take one of the snags and offer the plate back to him.
“Oh, no thanks. They’re both for you. I don’t, um, eat meat.” There’s an uncomfortable expression on his face. “I buy the sausages for…” He dips his eyes and hangs his head slightly.
A fast picture forms in my mind. I’m seeing a man whose confidence has been beaten down so far that his self-esteem is shot to pieces. Sure, Bradford’s well aware of his sexual appeal—he was like a fucking tiger last night. But in the harsh light of day, it seems to me that his sense of worth doesn’t extend much further than the bedroom. I fucking hate to see him like this. He’s more amazing than most guys I’ve ever met, and I’ve found this out in only a matter of hours. I don’t want to patronise him. I’m agonising over whether to say something.
In a snap decision, I grab his hand and squeeze hard. “Mate, we both have partners. You should never feel you have to apologise for mentioning his name. And I really am so fuckin’ stoked that you’ve gone to all this trouble.” I rustle up the warmest smile I can manage. I want to tell Bradford I hope that cunt of a boyfriend I almost met appreciates everything he does for him, but I stop myself. I’m not sure I could deliver that line politely.
Bradford’s clearly a whiz in the kitchen. His mushrooms are slathered in olive oil, garlic and fresh herbs. His beans aren’t bog-standard Heinz, they’re the giant Greek variety and he’s added chopped fresh red chilli to the tomato sauce. And outside of an Italian cafe, I have never had coffee this good. As I help myself to the beans and mushrooms, Bradford passes me a small dish of shaved fresh parmesan. I sprinkle a ton of it over my piled plate, then notice Bradford does the same. “You still eat cheese, do you?” I do a quick double-take. “Sorry, just curious. I don’t mean to pry or anything.”
“Oh, no. you’re fine. Ask away.” He smiles up at me eagerly. He seems so keen for my approval, and it’s sweet as fuck. “I'm not a full-on vegan,” he continues. “My boots are even leather. I have a lot of guilt over that, but it's been impossible to find synthetic steel-caps that aren’t only in online shops.” As he pushes the food around on his plate, I see a blush forming on his cheeks. “My stupid wide feet. I have to try on a whole lot of shoes before I find the right ones.”
“Mate, your feet are so fucking hot I nearly sucked your toes while I was ploughing that arse of yours last night.”
Bradford looks up at me, a huge grin plastered over his face. “I would have moaned hard enough to crack the walls if you’d done that.”
Mental note taken for future reference . I’d carry on this dirty talk a lot longer, but I’m too busy gulping down every skerrick of food Bradford’s putting in front of me. I feel like I have to pace myself in case I look like the pig I really am, but Bradford is holding his own. He’s scoffing down hearty serves and chomping on thick slices of crusty bread and butter. Clearly that’s why he’s not a stereotypical skinny vego, but I love that about him. All the while, he’s encouraging me to have seconds and even thirds. My God, this is a man after my own heart.
“What’s that?” I say, pointing to a plate of weird scrambled eggs that Bradford seems to be hogging to himself.
“Oh. You won’t want this. It’s, um… scrambled tofu. I would have made us some eggs, but I” — he pauses for a fraction of a second — “didn’t realise I’d run out of them.”
Hmmm. Let me guess why. “Mind if I try a little bit of it?”
Bradford looks surprised and immediately passes the dish over. “You might wanna sprinkle on some of this.” He hands me a bottle of something called Maggi Seasoning. “It’s like soy sauce on steroids.”
I admit that in nearly fifty years, I’ve never had scrambled tofu. It’s nothing like I expected. Bradford’s cooked it with heaps of herbs and spices and shredded spring onions, and with the sauce added, it’s amazing. “Jesus,” I say with my mouth half full. “You’re a top-shelf cook, mate. How long have you been vego?”
Bradford smiles shyly. I wonder if it’s something he avoids talking about with people. I wonder if he cops shit for it. But surely he can see I’m genuinely interested. “I’ve always been a huge wimp when it comes to animals,” he says. “I’d never really thought about what meat actually was till I was nine and I read a book called Aldo Applesauce . The boy in the story was a vegetarian and his parents were really supportive about it. So, I told mum and dad I wanted to do the same thing.”
“And were they? Supportive, I mean?”
Bradford’s ribs jiggle with a laugh that I can’t really hear. “My mum and dad were bourgeois types who worked in the arts. They thought it was quite cool. Or amusing, at least. They never imagined my diet would last, but it did, and then my sister followed suit. She wanted to be exactly like me when she was little. God knows why.” He stops a moment to skol down the last of his tea. “I’ve tried being vegan a few times, but it always plays havoc with my guts.” Breaking eye contact, he stares down at his empty plate. “Sorry, that was a really boring story.”
“You don’t bore me in the slightest, Bradford. I could listen to you all day.” Well, at least when your mouth wasn’t stuffed with my cock.
It’s almost like Bradford is reading my thoughts. He grins as he stands up and lazily adjusts his cock and balls, even though we both know he’s not wearing underwear. “Well, I’ll give you a bit of respite before you think twice and change your mind.”
Bradford protests when I get up to help clear the dishes, but I’m not having a bar of it. As I watch him busily stacking everything at the sink, I find myself hoping that our time hasn’t come to an end. The last thing I want is for him to feel like I’m wearing out the welcome mat, but we’re at a crucial point now. I have to act fast. “So… what are your plans for the morning, mate?” I hope that sounds vague enough.
Bradford turns to me, wiping his hands on a tea towel. “Um, I was going to take Brendan out for a stroll .” I see him glancing over my shoulder. “We don’t use the ‘W’ word till it’s actually happening.” He grins, then pauses before continuing with less certainty. “You’re more than welcome to come, if you don’t have to rush off.”
The way he bashfully delivers his offer goes straight to my soft spot. “That’s exactly the invite I was hinting at,” I murmur. Gathering him into a bear hug, I breathe deeply, sniffing in as much of his scent as I can get. The warmth of his skin soothes me so fucking potently that I want to drag him back to our little nest in the study and spend the entire day there.
Instead, I let go of him, then plant a kiss on his lips. It’s just a brief kiss, but the tenderness of it speaks loud and clear. I need more of this. I need a shitload more. Leaving Bradford to go get himself ready, I wander back out to the lounge room and plonk my arse on the couch.
After a couple of minutes, Bradford comes in wearing a t-shirt and holding running shoes and socks. As he rounds the couch and takes a seat, Brendan hops off his bed and disappears down the hall. He’s back in an instant, tail wagging, carrying his harness in his mouth. I watch with fascination as he circles the coffee table, drops the harness and sits tall in front of Bradford.
“Wow,” I say. “Do they teach him to do that at guide dog school?”
Bradford grins at me. “No, I trained him. As soon as he notices me come in here with my shoes, he knows it’s time.”
Once Brendan is all ready, Bradford takes off down the hall and returns with a backpack. He stops when he gets near the closed door of the spare bedroom. “I can’t hear the aircon. Did you turn it off already?”
“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be going in there again.”
“Oh, no need to apologise. That was really thoughtful of you.” He turns around and begins darting from the kitchen to the master bedroom and back down the hall again. It’s amazing when I think about it: all last night, all this morning, he’s been doing stuff with so much ease that I’ve almost forgotten about his disability. He doesn’t hesitate or seem unsure about anything. I’ve noticed how he holds his hand out a bit as he moves, brushing against surfaces to judge distance. Now and then, he looks down at the floor when he walks, not just with a flick of his eyes, but with a full movement of his head. It’s never really occurred to me how someone with tunnel vision might need to do this. I want to ask him a ton of questions, but maybe it’s a discussion we should leave for another time.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” he says, reading my mind. “I’ve got to stick to these routines. It’s impossible for me to get things done otherwise.”
“Mate, I’m beyond impressed. You don’t pissfart around half as much as most of us and we’ve got no excuse.”
“Believe me, I’d take ten times longer if I had to try and find stuff. If something’s not in its place, I’ve got a frustrating search on my hands. It’s certainly a hassle liv—” he cuts himself off. I look at him intently. I want him to finish his thought. After a moment, I see a flicker of trust in his eyes and he smiles. “A hassle living with someone who leaves the place in a bloody mess.”
I can’t even imagine what this poor man goes through.
***
Bradford and Brendan know this suburb inside out. As we make our way through the streets of Bondi, I notice the little things Bradford does—how he pauses with Brendan to listen for oncoming traffic, how he crosses streets at quieter spots, how he follows Brendan’s lead if there are any obstructions, how he manages the ground when it becomes dodgy. “Isn’t it much harder getting over these surfaces without a cane?” I ask, after we’ve passed a bad section of footpath.
“You know, I really thought that would be the case. But right from the start I had no trouble connecting with Brendan’s movements. If the ground isn’t even I’ll feel it through him. Plus, if I’m desperate, I’ve got enough vision that I can tilt my head down and squint.”
It takes us about twenty minutes to reach the southern part of Bondi Beach Park. Bradford leads us straight through, then down the steps and the ramp onto the beach. “Fancy a wade in the surf?” he says as he squats and unties his shoes. “You might wanna roll up your jeans.”
I can sense the excitement in Brendan as the two of them charge forward. I walk a few steps behind, admiring the way they pretty much skate across the wet sand till the waves begin lapping at their ankles. Bradford looks over his shoulder and smiles at me, his expression as sunny as the weather beating down on us. Even if I never get to see him again, this moment is something I’m always gonna remember.
As I sidle up to Bradford, my feet soothed by the swirling water, he takes off Brendan’s harness. Straight away, the yellow lab starts to romp through the shallows with unbridled enthusiasm. “I’m not supposed to do this,” says Bradford, “but he loves it so much and he always stays really close by.”
I slide my arm across Bradford’s shoulder and I feel him lean against me. The pure and simple joy that grips me is all the courage I need. “Bradford?”
“Yeah?” He turns towards me. The sunlight floods his face and for the second time today I find myself lost in his stormy grey eyes.
“Do you reckon we could take a stab at being… you know… good friends?”
“I dunno, Bruno,” he says coyly. “Would it involve occasional benefits?”
“Shit, yeah.”
“Well, then I’d like that a lot.”
“So, you’ll swap numbers and let me call you?”
I study Bradford’s smile. It hasn’t faltered once since we got to the beach. Gone is the fearful person I saw earlier this morning, and in his place is a man who is open and unguarded and totally sure of himself. Bradford’s gaze drifts back out to Brendan, and he watches fondly as the lab clowns around in the surf. “So long as you remember this isn’t some Jennifer Aniston rom-com,” he replies. “I don’t want to be left on tenterhooks all week waiting to hear from you.”
Not a bloody chance, mate.