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Hialmar

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PREFACE

Addition: When I first posted this story, I was unaware, that @VRGoh had posted a story with same title more than three years earlier. If you are looking for that one, you'll find it here: https://musclegrowth.net/topic/3937-ménage-à-trois/

 

Ménage à Trois

Chapter one

The club was in a city quite a distance from the sleepy town where he worked, and he assumed, that he wouldn't be recognised. He had checked in at a cheap hotel a few hours earlier, and bought a pizza on his way to the club. Ten year old high rises and seven hundred year old church spires accompanied a neo-gothic fire lookout tower (from a hundred years ago) and a rather uninteresting art nouveau observation tower in the skyline. The lakes met the sea, and the canals emptied into the river. Night fell over the city: Rosy clouds and a golden horizon turning into a navy blue sky, and the reflection in the waters changed accordingly.

He had been there before. The dress code was less strict than in some other places, which allowed him to pick a less obvious style: A black t-shirt, camo trousers, a pair of shiny steel cap boots from Underground, and a cheap leather jacket – a pick and mix of the actual clone styles. It was in stark contrast to his formal, but unasserting, style at work, and he felt less restricted.  More liberated. More of a man. He took the tram. What was he expecting? A fun night out, in contrast to the humdrum life of the town he called 'home' (though his parents' place was called 'home' too, and the university city several miles in the other direction had been his 'home' for several years). Perhaps a blowjob. He didn't expect to find a partner: The fleeting conversations and superficial flirts at the club weren't particularly conducive for that, unless you lived in the city and befriended a regular circle of friends there. 

The tram reached an area of old brick buildings. Lots of graffiti. In the 1970s, there had been discussions about demolishing the entire block, but nothing had happened, and the punk scene and nascent environmentalist movement had moved in. The turn of the millennium had led to gentrification, but some of the old clubs and shops had managed to remain in their old buildings. He passed by a shop selling second hand vinyl records and a hipsterish café. A cellar office for Friends of the Earth side by side to a startup-company programming apps. A shop called Mods and Punks, and an LGBTQ bookshop, but they were closed for the day. A poster on a wall, worn by weather, with the message: PROTEST TOMORROW!

Smoking wasn't allowed inside, and it wasn't unusual to find members of the club standing outside, smoking. Two men of his own age – in their early thirties and dressed in navy uniforms – were smoking cigarettes and glanced at him as he approached the club, but the man who drew all his attention was a tall man entirely dressed in black leather. The glossy trousers clung to his powerful legs, and enhanced the visual impact of the leatherclad man's extremely muscular quads, hamstrings and calves. Motorcycle boots glistened in the electric light, and a black leather jacket covered a wide torso, titillating his imagination about what might exist inside the jacket. One thing was obvious – the leatherman's chest and shoulders were very wide, and his waist seemed to be narrow. The sparse light from the streetlights were not enough to guess the other man's age, but he was clean-shaven, and didn't have any of the moustaches frequently seen on leather-daddies over the age of 60. The presence of the other man set a handful of conflicting feelings in motion: Awe and delight, arousal and intimidation, and the disappointing realisation, that the other man was way out of his league.

"New here?", the man in leather asked, and puffed on his cigar.

He had to clear his throat, before he answered.

"Been a member a few years, but I live quite a distance from here, so I'm not able to frequent the place often."

"I know the situation. Well, not personally, but it's not unknown to have distance-visitors here."

The man eyed him silently and confidently.

"Let me know, if I can help you to shape up your wardrobe. I know a few affordable stores. See you inside."

He entered, waved his membership card and bought a beer. The place was dimly lit, as usual. A few lads in rubber. Not his thing, and he didn't entirely understand what they got out of that style, but to each their own... Army style could either look cheap or turn its wearer into an action hero. He could observe both cases here tonight. Old leather daddies looked cute in a grandfatherly way rather than sexy, and having a conversation with them could sometimes deepen your wisdom. The skinheads looked incredibly hot, and some of them obviously worked out a lot. A pity, that he would never dare to sport that style himself. He swallowed as two men in leather, his own age, walked by: Hot, but not as hot as the man who had stood at the entrance.

Then he could sense a whiff of a cheap anti-perspirant, possibly Lynx, and the smooth synthetic fabric of a tracksuit against his hand. He turned around. A scallylad, possibly five years his junior, stood close to him. His head was buzzcut, and he was wearing a cap. His plump cheeks could have hinted at pudginess, but, on the contrary, the tracksuit couldn't hide the hard and firm (but not narrow) waist, and a stocky sort of V-shape undoubtedly built through hard work at the gym. He was holding a pint of stout, his eyes were glittering of elation and his Adidas tracksuits revealed a tenting bulge. He watched the scally in surprise and disbelief, as he slowly recognised the pug nose. Seven years ago, when he had just left university, he had served as a geography teacher further north-east. He had been worried over the bullying of a short and thin 19 year old, and actively did everything in his might to stop it, but he had had so many students since then. It couldn't be? This confident, apparently working-class, short brickhouse of a man couldn't be the shy, slim-limbed son of a shopkeeper and social worker he had taught seven years ago? But the nose...

The scally grinned in a cheerful and cocky smile:

"Hello, Mr. Smith. It's me, Harry. Don't you recognise me?"

"Harry? Uh, you look... different."

A smug expression came and went around Harry's mouth, and the glow in his eyes intensified.

"Cool, innit? Life's awesome. Didn't know you swung my way?"

"Never got much of a gaydar, to be honest, and I'm not drawn to kids."

The cocky glow in Harry's eyes deepened, and the twenty-six year old moved one of his big hands to cup the tentpole in his tracksuit bottoms.

"I'm not a kid, Mr. Smith. I'm a man. Do you like what you see?"

He could feel movement and a presence behind his back. He could sense the scent of leather and cigar smoke. He turned around. It was the tall man who had stood by the entrance. He could hear Harry say:

"This is the teacher I told you about, Master. The one I had a crush on. Can we bring him home? May I keep him?"

* * *

Chapter two is found here: https://muscle-growth.org/topic/14054-ménage-à-trois-chapter-two/

 

Edited by Hialmar
linked chapter two, consistency, added preface
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2 hours ago, GymFox90 said:

Nice! Happy New Year! 

Can't wait to read more. 

Thank you. We will see where the turn of events take our three protagonists. Just give me some time to write.

If any of you natively Anglophone readers could give me an advice, it will hasten the arrival of the next chapter: Is it "preoccupied by", "preoccupied to", "preoccupied with" or "preoccupied of"? Prepositions doesn't translate easily between different languages, as some of you might know. If there is a difference between American English and Commonwealth English in this regard, I would prefer Commonwealth, for the sake of coherence.

Edited by Hialmar
writing advice
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