Deryk: Be Careful What You Wish For……

The Past

As an only child, with neither the guidance or example of older siblings, nor the responsibility for younger ones, you learn to be self-reliant and to enjoy your own company a lot of the time. Some kids create a fantasy friend with whom they can share “being alone”. It’s all perfectly normal. Or so they say.

In my case, I had a fantasy younger brother and his name was Deryk. However, he was no daytime playmate; I only ever conjured him up at night. But in my imaginings, he was always getting into scrapes of one kind or another, from which I had to rescue him. Once, I recall, he was stuck up a tree and too frightened to climb down; another time, while messing about by the river’s edge, he fell in and I had to wade in and fish him out! These rescues, although superficially innocuous in nature at first, were always curiously tactile; I would have to carry him, hold him, soothe him and make him better. And more often than not, I would need to take his clothes off in order to do it!

Deryk was physically everything I wanted to be at that age but wasn’t. I had curly, ginger hair and brown eyes; he had wavy black hair and deep blue eyes. I had pale, freckled skin; his was soft and tanned. Unlike me, he also had a wide mouth with well-pronounced lips…..in fact, he was really “cute” and ironically, years later, my first love affair would be with an 18-year old just like that. But that’s another tale.



As I grew older, Deryk kept reappearing – always at night – but the scrapes from which I had to rescue him became more and more physical, occasionally even violent. Deryk’s wounds were usually around his groin or thighs, so that I had to take his trousers off, exposing his soft flesh and his white underwear, which I usually had to remove in order to dress his wounds.

In reality, of course, I still hadn’t discovered what sexual arousal was. I had caught furtive glimpses of some of the other boys in the gym changing room and in the showers, most of them better developed than me, but I was painfully self-conscious and shy at that age, so these exposures of Deryk’s most private parts were not understood. In one scenario, he had been dragged by his arms, backwards across the gravel playground by some school bullies, tearing his trousers half-off and leaving bruised and bleeding scars over his buttocks. In private, I would delicately turn him over and remove his already ripped trousers and underpants, to reveal his soft, round and bleeding backside, which I would carefully wash and dab dry – before kissing him better!

By the time I had discovered the miracle of erections and what happened when you played with them, my adventures with Deryk had taken on a new dimension and the final act in his frequent rescues usually involved a naughtiness I already knew to be high in the catalogue of grave sins.

But time moves on and Deryk eventually drifted away. I grew up and discovered the untold wonders of gay sex and at last I understood what my fantasies had all been about. However, I still missed not having Deryk around and I always wished that I had had a real younger brother. But then they do say, “Be careful what you wish for….”

The Present

In the heart of London’s Soho, there is a particular gay bar I often walk past. From the street, you can see the guys sitting at the tables, some quietly on their own, some in heated, happy chatter with friends, and I always imagined it to be a great place for people-watching, as well as for “making new friends”. Up to now, of course, I had no reason to go inside, as I was perfectly happy in my relationship. Or so I thought. More recently, however, in the spring my 12-year relationship had come to an end and I was alone again. It was now winter and having more-or-less got over the trauma of being dumped 8 months earlier, I was today feeling in a good mood and I was passing that same bar.

It was early evening but already it was dark and from the street I could see that it wasn’t very busy. Most people hadn’t finished work yet and there were just a handful of guys in there, most of them sitting alone. The softly lit interior looked friendly and inviting. So I went in.

Not having the confidence to join any of the solitary guys at their tables, I took a stool towards one end of the bar. The barman was rather nice. He was very young but had a round, friendly face; he had a shock of dark blond hair and pale blue eyes, which smiled at me from behind the bar as he came over and said,

“What can I get you?”

I smiled back and thought, “Well, you for a start!” He was tall and slim and he wore a crisp white pilot shirt with short sleeves that showed-off his well-developed biceps. His skin was soft, slightly tanned, and I figured that, being blond, he probably also used the tanning beds at the gym. Either that or he had just come back from holiday in Mykonos! He also wore tight black trousers but because he also wore a small waiter’s apron, I was deprived of the view of his package.

I thought for a moment and then spotted some Smirnoff Ice on the bottom shelf of the glass-fronted fridge behind the bar, so I said I’d have one of those. My tactical suggestion proved successful, as he had to turn around and bend over to get one. I watched as he bent over and his black trousers stretched across his gorgeous, round backside. In the spot-lighting above the bar, I could see the tantalizing outline of his briefs through his trousers and my stomach did a little somersault. The moment seemed to freeze in time, as I traced my fingers along the line of his underwear; over his cheeks, around his buttocks and into the dark cleft of his……

“There you are!” he said, “Do you want a glass?”

Shaken from my reverie, I declined and I was just about to pay him when I was conscious of the presence of a figure wearing dark blue jeans and a black leather jacket taking the stool to my left beside me. “Hello,” the figure said, chirpily. “Mind if I join you?”

Well, you don’t say no, do you! So I replied, “Be my guest.” It’s just one of those expressions but I immediately realized that I had effectively offered him a drink, because he then said,

“Thanks. I’ll have a Tuborg lager.” But then he added, “But let me get these, as it’s a special occasion.”

Slightly puzzled, I turned on my stool to get a better look at him. He was in his late 20’s and medium build; although he was sitting down by now, I guessed he was about my height, maybe a bit taller. He had wavy black hair, cut in an old-fashioned college style with a parting and it seemed to flop forward over his forehead, rather boyishly. He had luxuriantly strokable eye-brows and deep-set “come-to-bed” eyes, which were a rich dark blue. His face was ever-so-slightly craggy but otherwise his skin was smooth and had a natural tanned look. He had also carefully cultivated a “shadow-beard”, like a 5 o’clock shadow but very dark, very short and very shaped. It made him look like a rather sexy lothario.

As he settled on the bar-stool, his dark blue jeans stretched tightly over his thighs and, glancing down, my eyes traced the stitched seam of the V-shape between them, to his round and well-packed crotch.