Because I’m thinking about Giles.
I’m thinking about Giles in the shower.
I’m thinking about Giles naked in the shower, his dick hard and thick and not at all unpleasant to look at.
Not that I’ve ever found penises unpleasant to look at. I would never have considered myself so insecure of my sexuality that I would react badly to looking at other penises. I’m not the kind of guy who avoids looking at cocks in porn. I also think I can objectively say whether a dick is attractive or not. And yet, there was more going on inside me when I saw Giles’ erection as he stood up in the showers.
I was wondering what it would be like to touch it. I was wondering what he would say if I just reached out and squeezed it. I was wondering what he would think if I told him that his dick was an attractive dick, and that was my possibly not-so-objective opinion.
And I’m still thinking about all these things as Daisy continues to relay a story about her day at work. Apparently she and her colleagues got locked in a meeting room after the door jammed and they didn’t get out for hours…
“But it was okay because we had over one hundred and fifty bottles of fruit smoothies and juices. We would have survived.” Her eyes pin on me expectantly.
Oh, she wants me to laugh.
I should laugh.
“Ha!” I bark and it sounds exactly how I didn’t want it to sound. Loud and awkward. Her eyes harden. “Sorry,” I mumble and reach for my bottle of beer to busy hands and mouth.
We’re sitting at an outside table on a busy terrace for one of the bars in Leicester Square. It wasn’t a very imaginative spot to suggest for a drink, but I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired when Daisy said I could pick where we met. I just wanted to be close to the Tube in case it all went horribly wrong. And while there are swarms of tourists and clocked-off workers drinking around us, we have a table of our own and it’s not as noisy as it would be if we were inside. There’s a cool breeze easing the worst of the afternoon heat but still I’m grateful that I took a shower after the gym.
Oh, fuck, that shower.
Now I’m thinking about Giles’ dick again.
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head, trying to shift the visual.
“So, how long have you worked there?” I ask Daisy.
“Oh, about five years now.”
“You must like it,” I comment.See, I can do this.
“Yeah, I said I did,” she tells me with a pointed look.
“Well, I like my work too,” I say. “I think it’s important to enjoy your job.”
“Do you own just the one restaurant?” she asks me taking a sip of her white wine spritzer.
“It’s a café,” I correct her. “And yes, we just have one location. My family own lots of different hospitality businesses though. My grandfather has a restaurant in Sardinia. My uncle owns a pizzeria in Stockwell, and a second cousin has a couple of bars in North London.”
“So it’s really the family business,” she says with a smile that looks forced. “You don’t wish you could do something else?”
Her question lands abruptly, uncomfortably. Or maybe it’s the way it was asked, with eyes blown wide to make them look innocent.
“No, not really. I mean, twenty years ago I would have taken a career as a professional footballer over running a café, but I didn’t quite have the ball handling skills. At least not on the football pitch.” It’s a lame attempt at a lame joke and I’m not surprised when she doesn’t laugh. But still I’m a little hurt.
Giles would have laughed.
“And do you actually, you know, make all the coffees and sandwiches and stuff?” It’s that loaded tone again.
“Yeah, that’s sort of what working in a café means.”
“Yes, but if you’re the manager, can’t you just leave that to everyone else?”
I blink at her and grip my bottle of beer a little tighter. “I don’t want to leave it to everyone else. I like making coffee. I like chatting to customers. And I make a mean panino.”
“Panino?”
