Hole in the Wall extract [Gay Version]

Just three minutes to go.

Henry’s computer time confirmed the hopeful news the office clock had already told him. He put his coffee cup to his lips—his “blowjob lips”, as Patrick often joked—and sank the final grainy dregs. He dared to stare at his computer once more, seeing little more than a vague collection of numbers and graphs that began to blur as they always did at this time in the afternoon. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, letting his half-closed eyes drift over the office partition. The words “suck it up” had been etched into the corner of his cubicle; his little reminder that the bores of an analyst were usually worth the pay. Usually.

“Gearing up for the weekend, Clark?”

Henry almost fell off his seat as Mr Gordon’s thunderous voice hit him from behind. He turned in his chair to glance up at the large man above him—a pair of powerful, pale blue eyes making him feel even smaller in his seat. The pepper-salt business manager wore one eyebrow up, studying the young analyst with a hint of humour in his moustache.

“No, Mr Gordon. Just taking a moment to consider the forecast analytics.” Henry forced a slight smile, trying not to let his tiredness show too much.

The boss studied him for a moment longer. “Of course,” he finally said, placing one of his huge hands on Henry’s shoulder. “Now, mister Henry Clark, before you disappear, I was hoping you could do me a favour this weekend.”

“Uhh, yes Mr Gordon? What is it?”

The bigger man edged his way further into the cubicle, his broad shoulders taking up half the wall space.

“I was hoping you could come in tomorrow to finish off the Smart-Tec paperwork from Wednesday’s consultation. We’re up to our necks in it with Susan having left, and I could really use a hand getting things nailed down before Monday.”

A pained groan resounded in Henry’s head, exploring different excuses before Mr Gordon had even finished his sentence.

“Could I count on you, Henry?”

Henry put on his best ‘hands tied’ face. “Uhh, actually this weekend isn’t great for me, Mr Gordon. I already committed to plans for Saturday, and I don’t think I’d be able to get out of it at short notice… Sorry.”

Mr Gordon’s eyes gave a twitch of disappointment, continuing to study Henry from above as he usually did. Henry sat below him with a shrug on his face, hoping his boss couldn’t read minds. His ‘plans for Saturday’ consisted of nursing a hangover with a big bag of salted chips. Patrick, his gay friend, had organised drinks for later on tonight, and no doubt he’d have many a tequila shoved down his throat. Saturday overtime would be Hell.

Mr Gordon gave an understanding tip of his head. “Alright, Clark. Enjoy your weekend. I’ll see you on Monday.” He clapped Henry on the shoulder with another bear paw, complementing his leave with a patriarchal wink.

Henry sighed and ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. He opened his laptop case, beginning the process of packing up his things while thinking in relief about how he had just narrowly escaped a painful few hours with The Walrus—a nickname aptly given for both Mr Gordon’s classy moustache and his fondness for The Beatles.

It wasn’t that Henry disliked Mr Gordon; in truth he was about as good as any boss could be. But still, he was his boss, and Henry wouldn’t maintain workplace professionalism for a second longer than he had to.

———————————————————

Patrick pulled opened the door with his usual flair, his cheeks already as rosy as his favourite ‘salmon’ dress shirt.

“Well helloooo,” he sang, dancing into a hug with a bottle of schnapps in hand.

“You’re looking pretty jolly already,” Henry commented with a grin. Patrick bowed, continuing his little jig before taking up Henry’s wrist and pulling him inside.

“Jollier than you, mi amigo,” he winked. “Now stop diddling about and let’s get some tequila in you.”

By the time the clock struck midnight, Patrick’s group of five were thoroughly drunk and squished into the back of a taxi, headed for town. Henry and Patrick were sandwiched between Mike and Jerry, who were both lean enough to only take up half a seat each, with Stanley in the front next to the driver. Henry himself wasn’t gay; but as usual, a drunk Patrick had talked him into coming to town—this time to his favourite gay bar: Little Kitten.

The line for entry was long as it always was on a Friday night, and they had to wait a good twenty minutes queuing before the bouncer finally let them inside. Down the stairs to a basement dancefloor, the place was packed. Strobe lights and stripper poles were both being put to maximum usage, and Henry couldn’t help but smile at the enthusiastic dancing display for an ear-thumping Livin’ La Vida Loca. It wasn’t Henry’s first time here, but it was never his first pick of bar. The men were always aggressively sexual, and it had become a common occurrence for his “pinchable buttocks” to be grabbed or slapped when he moved through the crowd. Still, there was usually an abundance of single women at the Kitten; and though Henry was rarely successful in bringing one home, he still enjoyed the pursuit and lack of straight, male competition.

The night went quickly. Much tequilas and schnapps; much dancing; much banter and laughing. Patrick was high in spirits as he was high on them; and with his generosity of shots, Henry had reached a plateau where he would find himself wandering the dance floor in a euphoric stupor, beginning even to enjoy the male attention he was receiving, getting checked out in regular, not-so-subtle glances. Though he wasn’t particularly attracted to guys, he had found it to be a hot thrill when he was grabbed by a stranger. Since he was a teenager he’d always appreciated the look of a well-formed dick, and he’d even let a couple of guys suck him off in the past. Still, he was reluctant to admit that to anyone, even himself, that he had any gay tendencies. He’d heard the term ‘bi-curious’ thrown around by Patrick; and from the de***********ion, he supposed it suited him. Not gay—just an amateur dick connoisseur. He usually rolled his eyes and resisted half-heartedly when Patrick declared he’d be dragging him back to the gay bar for their Friday night shenanigans; and though the first time seemed a bit awkward and scary, he’d come to like Little Kitten. He’d even wondered if he could risk a night of experimentation without his cover being blown. Maybe if someone made a move on him, he might…

“Hey there, pumpkin,” came a familiar voice in his ear.