TIGERS DON'T CRY - Chapter Three
In the harsh environment of a British pub kitchen, young Nate will have to come to terms with his growing attraction for one of his male colleagues.
For those curious to read from the start:
TRIGGER WARNING - Strong and sexual language. Explicit sexual content.
My brother Louis and I went out for a pint to a local pub called The Royal George on Saturday night. The buzz of voices, laughter, the clink of cutlery, the bright lights and warm colours invaded my senses. We’d played a game of pool and scarfed our burgers with chips; I would have enjoyed myself more if my thoughts didn’t keep veering towards odd places, like the recurrent memory of a man’s chest and the play of light and shadow over the muscles on his lean body, the definition of his abs and the colours and lines of his amazing tattoos. I made a show to pay attention to Louis, who was telling me a boring story about his fantastic ability to sell carpets. My phone buzzed as I reached for my beer. Cam had sent me a text.
‘Nick’s off his tits. It’s his birthday and he didn’t even try to curb his drinking. Don’t count on him for the opening shift tomorrow. Ethan has offered to cover thank fuck.’
I read the words on my phone screen and, as soon as my eyes landed on the E word, my heart skipped a beat. I bit my nails and exhaled slowly.
Fuck. This is fucked.
‘Are you alright, Nate?’ Louis was looking at me from across the table, grey eyes soft with concern. We didn’t look too much alike, he and I; he was, if not tall, at least of decent height, quite muscly and with an air of cool. What we shared was the colouring. We had the same grey eyes, like our mam’s, and wavy light-brown hair - only Louis had his cropped short. My hair was a messy mop. I had it shaved on the sides to have a semblance of tidiness but my fringe was scruffy, long and particularly useful when I wished to hide my expression as I did now.
‘Fine,’ I said.
Louis’ eyebrows furrowed, ‘You’ve been acting weird for the past week. The other day you ran to your room without even saying hello and didn’t come out all evening.’
My brother was twelve years older than me. Dad and I had a cold, formal relationship. Whereas Louis had him around up to when he was twenty, I was eight when our parents divorced and Dad, who had been there for me only to tell me how much of a weakling I was, hadn’t really cared to form a deeper bond with me. He’d remarried a woman fifteen years younger and his efforts to be present in my life consisted of a thirty-pound voucher for my birthday and a naff card for Christmas. I didn’t miss him. In his stead, my brother had been the ever-present male figure in my life. Despite his blockish looks, he had a gentle personality and was very protective of me. He even spoke like he was my dad.
‘I had a difficult day at work, that’s all.’ It wasn’t a lie, just a partial truth.
Louis sighed, ‘I’ve been saying for some time that you should look for a different job. I get that you don’t want to go to uni, even if you know I think you’d do great.’
I raked my hair with both hands, ‘I don’t want to talk about uni.’
‘Alright.’ He made a pacifying gesture. ‘What I mean is that you should find something that asks less of you, or at least reduce your shifts. You’re always knackered.’
‘I looked around and what I've got is the best available in terms of pay for someone with no skills like me.’
‘You’re forgetting the furniture shop,’ he said with a half-smile. ‘We’re hiring.’
I sulked, ‘I am not going to work in the furniture shop.’
Louis chuckled, ‘Really, though? Breaking your back in a stinky kitchen with Cam shouting all day long is better than working with us?’
‘Your manager pays the under twenty-five a misery. You’ve worked there for years and you take only an extra pound-fifty more than I do! Plus, let’s face it. Pam’s offering part-time. If she had a full-time position going, I’d think about it.’
‘I’m just worried about you,’ he said gently.
I didn’t know how other people had it going with their siblings - some of my mates didn’t get along with theirs but I fucking loved my brother. He was my rock and, lame as it was, we hung out together all the time.
‘I know man. Thanks. I’m fine, honestly.’
Louis smiled, ‘Fancy another pint?’
I snorted, ‘Best not. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’
That night, I dreamed of Ethan. We were in the changing room, both wearing the work’s uniform. His hands travelled down my arms, warm and a little rough, to slide over my apron, reach my groin and cup my hard dick. Ethan pressed himself against my lower back and, even in a made-up situation my mind had concocted, a strong cocktail of fear and arousal coursed through my body when his erection pressed against my butt. I’d say no, that I was scared it’d hurt and that I would break, but then his hot tongue would slide along the top of my spine, wetting my nape and neck over and over. In the meantime, his strong hands stroked my length over the black fabric. It felt so good and, even though I was ashamed and fearful, my dick throbbed. I woke at four fifteen, the alarm blaring in my ears, to find a thick patch of cum in my underwear.
I stared at it for an impossibly long time before quickly slipping my briefs down my legs and chucking them in my laundry basket.
I’d debated if I should start wearing my uniform at home to avoid getting changed in front of Ethan altogether. What dissuaded me was the fact that I hated my work uniform. Whenever I had it on outside the pub kitchen, it felt like I was in there. Even if it was freshly laundered, I could smell the frying stench on me, as if the cooking fumes had permeated through the fibres of my clothes and soap could do nothing about it. Also, as it often rained in September, I risked getting soaked and having to work all morning with the damp fabric pressing on my limbs.
At the back of my head, somewhere where I didn’t like prodding too much, I knew that if I started wearing my uniform at home, I wouldn’t have a reason to stay while Ethan was getting changed. I liked to gaze at his body and see his reaction when he noticed I was looking – he’d peer at me with that usual challenge in his eyes. By the fourth morning shift we did together, as we got changed in the same room, there was frustration written all over his features.
Part of me enjoyed the thrill of it all, the illicit glances we threw at each other throughout the shift. At the same time, I was afraid to go a step further. I thought to myself that as long as it stayed that way, an exchange of meaningful looks, an admiration, it wouldn’t have mattered.
It didn’t mean anything - it was only the petty game of someone bored and overworked. Ethan was like Lynn: something nice to think about. Only, a serious lot more disturbingly intriguing.
This undefined state of push-pull was not meant to last, though. Something had to give, sooner or later, and that something was Ethan’s endurance.
At four thirty-five on Sunday morning, Ethan stood in front of the backdoor. The glow of his phone screen, a lone light in the dark hours, brushed over the flat of his cheeks, nose and strong forehead. He was better looking than I remembered.
I swallowed with a dry throat and mumbled, ‘You ‘lright bruv?’
He lifted his chin, ‘Alrigh’?’
I unlocked the backdoor, heart pounding and mind swearing at all the Saints. I was excited. Stupid fucking twat! Stupid, stupid! Absolute stupid!
We got to the changing room and I was reduced to a hastened heartbeat, a pair of sweaty, trembling hands and a fuckton of uncertainty.
Ethan put his bag down slowly and, once again, there was expectation in his eyes. He licked his lower lip. It was a quick, imperceptible movement but enough to send my mind into orbit. I was reacting to this: my dick prickled into hardness.
Fuuuuck! I am gay! At least a little, for sure! Shit! Fuck!
I turned around and gave my back to him, forcing my quickened breathing to subside. I took off my hoodie and removed my T-shirt. Calm down. If you leave you’ll make it even more awkward.
It was when I lowered my jeans and stood in the middle of the room with only my briefs on that Ethan exhaled a long, pained groan.
‘OK. This is fucking with my head.’
I turned around to look at him. Ethan had his nose burrowed in his hands and his eyes scrunched shut. ‘Man, sorry but I’m going to get changed in the bathroom from now on. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.’
I frowned, ‘Why?’
He scoffed, ‘You know why.’
I rubbed my heated cheek, ‘I don’t, actually.’
Ethan clenched his jaw, ‘Right. So, I’m imagining shit. OK. Well, I’m gay, alright? I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I keep it to myself when I’m in predominantly straight, blockish places like this. And yeah, I make people believe I’m straight as well if I think it’s convenient. I had a lot of bad situations happen in the past and I prefer not to divulge if I don't have to. In any case, my sexuality doesn’t really pose a problem because when I know a guy is straight, I very easily cut myself off from thinking of them that way. Most of the time, anyway.’ He sighed. ‘You’re my type, alright? And, let’s face it, you’re throwing me glances, man. I don’t know if you’re doing it on purpose but yeah, it's giving me the wrong idea. Let’s just keep it civil, shall we? I don’t want to get in trouble for sexual harassment in the workplace and shit.’ He grabbed his bag and left the room, the door slamming behind him.
I covered my face with my palms and tried to breathe slowly, heart thumping like crazy, ‘He’s gay? What the… whaat?’
Ethan had brought the ambiguity of what had been going on between us on the reality table in the span of a few moments. It was as if his words had slapped me back to Earth.
For some reason, I'd imagined this situation would go on for months on end until Ethan left to go back to his original job. I figured, like in some agonising fantasy, that it would all cruise up in the air to forever be just that. Air. Ungrippable.
I was wrong, like, massively. In the real adult world, people didn't let this kind of stuff drag on. It wasn't like the movies at all.