Bailey had been on Grindr for all of a week and his inbox was full. Not that anyone knew they were messaging Bailey Smith, the 19 year old Western Bulldogs stud, rising star of the AFL, and social media sensation, known competition-wide for his flowing blonde mane-slash-mullet, piercing blue eyes, rosey red cheeks, chiselled body and talented footballing ability.
As far as the folks on Grindr knew, they were messaging 'B', a 19 year old uni student doing a commerce degree while working part-time at a South Yarra café. According to his bio, Bailey liked sports, because, well, duh; was into fitness, a gimme after just one look at him; and was straight but curious, "lowkey wanna experiment."
Although, his early experiences on Grindr had him seriously second-guessing that desire. They involved getting hit on by chubby "bears" and literally countless uninvited dick pics popping up in his inbox. And hey, he was an open-minded guy, so to each his own was his view, but neither men old enough to be his dad and massive, horse-sized images of cocks were not something he was after.
There was one guy, who simply went by Max, who Bailey thought there was potential with. They talked a bit, were both in the same area, both were at home on a Friday night while their mates were out. But it all unravelled when Max persisted with asking Bailey to send photos of himself.
"Just one selfie, pls x" read Max's messages. But it was the one thing Bailey couldn't do. Not over the internet. Not on a gay dating app.
And so that went down the drain, too.
Bailey had nearly given up. He wasn't gay, but he could now understand why any gay footballer would have such a hard time coming out. Even just finding another guy given his identity was proving to be nearly impossible. But he was bored. Mind-numbingly bored. Isolation was driving him crazy. He hadn't left his townhouse in weeks, save for a few last-minute trips to 7/11 and Coles. So he was sprawled on his couch in his sweatpants and an over-sized tank top, the same position and the same clothes he'd been in all day. It was all very un-Bailey-like, as he took such pride in his appearance.
He'd scrolled through the entire Instagram, checked his House Party app to see if his team-mates were up to anything, and replied to all the unopened messages on Snapchat. Still bored.
So he brought up Grindr. The same handful of guys who had dominated his page were still there, but in the corner was a picture of a torso and a pair of swimming shorts. That was it. No neck, no legs, and no face. Which was unfortunate given the body was seriously impressive. Just the right balance between toned and muscular, slender but built. An athlete's body. Bailey recognised one from a mile away given he saw 40 of them every single day at training and in the changerooms and showers.
What made the body stand out wasn't the attractiveness of it. The abs, the pecs, the light dusting of pale hair scattered across the chest and down his treasure trail did not overly appeal to Bailey, though it did make him question whether it was a better sight than his own body. No, what stood out to him was that it was how normal the picture was. It seemed like the type of picture any of his mates, or he himself would put up.
It wasn't a corny mirror photo, or a guy clearly tensing to show his muscles so hard he nearly shits himself. It was just compelling enough to catch the eye, but modest enough to make you want to find out more. That modesty is exactly what Bailey needed if he was to dive deeper down this curious, experimental rabbit hole.
Bailey saw the name under the picture simply said, 'J', and he was 21, and Bailey felt relief that he wasn't the only person with enough trust issues to not put even his full first name on his profile. When Bailey clicked on that profile, he was slightly disappointed to find there were no other pictures. Just a larger version of that torso shot. And his bio was even more enigmatic: no words, no description, just three simple emojis: a basketball, a plate of spaghetti, and a surfing guy.
Okay, so he had good taste in food, played a sport, and liked the outdoors.
'That'll do,' thought Bailey. Because honestly, compared to the other proverbial fish in the sea, it was a very low bar.
His mind was a blur as he sent the first, "Hey". It was the first time he'd made the first move on Grindr. When he downloaded the app and set up his account, within minutes his inbox was blowing up – he was in inner city Melbourne, after all – and he didn't even have time to suss out which guys were worth talking to and which ones weren't because he felt so obliged to just respond to all of them.
He put his phone down and channel-surfed the tellie. Fox Footy was showing a replay of a game that he himself had actually played in last year, and before long, he forgot Grindr even existed as he was consumed by a match he'd already participated in and the outcome already determined. So much so he didn't actually notice the initial vibration of his phone. But at half-time, he checked his phone and saw a Grindr notification that read: Message from J.
Oh shit.
His heart started racing. What the fuck was he thinking? Why the fuck did he think this was a good idea?
Paranoia through the roof, he mentally prepared himself to open the conversation and see this mysterious J fellow end up one of his Bulldogs team-mates, catching him out chasing cock and using it to blackmail him, or send it to the club and end his career. Images of trying to reassure his parents that he wasn't gay, his church that he wasn't gay, the media that he wasn't gay ran through his mind.
He swiped and clicked into the app to read J's message.
"Hey, what's up?"
- - -
Bailey and J messaged throughout the rest of the night, mainly engaging in small talk. Bailey explained his love of sports away with a passion for water-polo. It was a fool-proof foil, until J started asking which local water-polo club he played for, and how the game worked – questions Bailey had literally no idea how to respond to. Quick Google searches afforded him the briefest of information, enough to suffice for J's curiosity about Bailey's "sport." For J's part, he was a basketball fanatic. He made at least two references to Michael Jordan, they swapped tales about enjoying Kobe Bryant during his career, and how J loved to get out of Melbourne and head down the coast to surf every now and then.
It was, by the length of the Bass Strait, the most enjoyable conversation Bailey had had on Grindr so far. He was no closer to knowing if this guy he was talking to had a face like a squashed crab, but he seemed like he could be someone he could be mates with, at the very least. Someone he could divulge his homoerotic fantasies to on the very rare occasions they floated through his mind.
And they were very rare. Maybe once or twice a month he'd have a recurring dream about one of his team-mates catching a look at his cock, or having a threesome with one of his best mates, fucking a girl together while they made eye contact and hi-fived each other. And with each dream, he'd jolt awake with a throbbing cock against his thigh, then have to wank one out to those very same thoughts until he blew into a tissue like a 14 year old boy.
Everything else in-between was the usual 19-year-old guy stuff: all tits, ass and pussy, sometimes all three in his girl-on-girl fantasies.
So the homoerotic shit was rare.
Rare, but still common enough for him a) to freak out about what they meant, and b) to do something about them.
Which reminded him, why was a guy so similar to himself on Grindr?
"I'm bi, man," came J's response to Bailey's question. Because of course, not every guy on Grindr was a straight dude trying to come to terms with some weird thoughts he was having. In fact, he was pretty sure he was in the overwhelming minority on that one. The majority were all bi or gay guys who seemed to know what they want and had the confidence to try and get it. Bailey respected it, and was actually kind of envious of that freedom and that self-assuredness in who they were.
"Oh yeah, nice" was all Bailey could muster, pretty certain he'd offended J with the question, like it wasn't fucking obvious by J's profile why he was on the app.
"Yeah just kinda experimented through high school and shit and dated a chick for ages, but only really just figured out I liked guys as well in the last year and a bit."
Bailey was relieved at J's reply, the openness and honesty, but also how not dissimilar their situations were. If anything, it sounded like J was once exactly where Bailey currently sat: fresh out of a relationship with a girl, confused as fuck, and wanting something more. Or maybe not more, but something else. He only hoped, for his own sense of identity, that he wouldn't end up following J's trajectory and becoming comfortable with the idea of wanting cock, because, just... no.
"Fair enough, I'm like, straight."
And Bailey wanted to slap himself in the face for that response, because really, how could J possibly respond to that? Then his phone vibrated as a message from J popped up in the chat.
"But you wanna know for sure you're straight?"
Oh, that's one way to go about it.
Bailey actually smiled to himself at J's confidence and directness. It was as though J already knew him, like he was living in his brain and experiencing all the tormented thoughts Bailey had been having the last few months. Admittedly, Bailey felt pretty certain it was just the delusion and delerium of the quarantine that was behind these mind games he was playing on himself. But J was right: regardless of why the seed had been planted, it had been planted, and Bailey now wanted to see what it led to.
"Yeah pretty much, but I dunno, it's weird," Bailey replied.
"What you mean?" came the instant response from J, a current tingling down Bailey's spine at the thought of J sitting there, phone in hand paying as close attention to their conversation as he was.
"Like, I dunno why I need to know. I've always been straight," and Bailey included a thinking-face emoji, careful not to inject too much of his personality into the conversation, despite the fact he knew in reality there was no way J could know who he was.
"What makes you doubt it then?"
"Just havin thoughts ya know ?"
And before J even replied, Bailey knew that J knew. You don't go from dating a girl to then embracing your attraction to dick without having at least some of the same thoughts Bailey was having somewhere along the way.
"Yeah I get ya. So you need to find out if you like cock," and wow, OK. Bailey felt his face flushing with heat just at the sight of the word 'cock' in his message. And now it was getting weird. And he shouldn't have done this. He shouldn't be talking about cocks with another guy. He should just say bye to J, and delete the app. Maybe get on Tinder instead and find a girl who will break quarantine rules to come suck his dick.
Which is why he was so confused when he typed a simple, "yep" and pressed send. Like his body and his brain were at a disconnect and his fingers were just a runaway train he had no control over.
"I can help with that."
The flames raging inside Bailey somewhat mellowed with J's reply. He didn't know what it was about this headless and legless torso that had such a calming, reassuring influence on him. Grindr had caused him nothing but anxiety and even more uncertainty from the minute he got the stupid app, yet here he was, actually enjoying a conversation with someone, physically smiling at his phone screen as he typed away shit he'd never told anyone and never thought he ever would.
"How?"
Bailey's question was met with nothing but a wink face, and shiiiiiit, he'd be lying if he said his cock didn't twitch ever-so-slightly in his pants at that. At J's ability to somehow reach into Bailey's mind and fill it with the right words and the right sentiments to get Bailey through a conversation he might otherwise never have had the balls to get through.
"What do u have in mind ?" Bailey still wasn't willing to engage in any monkey business over Grindr, so there would be no wink faces, no 'haha''s, and no flirting in return.
"Could come over? Have a few beers and just go from there?"
The offer should've scared Bailey. But dressing it up with beers like he would any weekend with his mates, and the "go from there" hinting at something with enough wriggle room to get out of it if he decides against it turned out to be the perfect invitation.
But shit – his parents were home, and he didn't even know what this guy looked like? If he was even who he said he was? What if that torso wasn't his, but actually some Insta model while the real 'J' was someone he wouldn't wanna do anything with even if he did decide to take that step? A buzz from his phone allayed some of those concerns.
"Wait, can't tonight. I've had a few drinks and my Uber's fucking up." Bailey exhaled in relief. It meant he had at least 24 hours before he had to worry about this eventuating.
"Tomorrow night?" Bailey found himself responding, wanting some clarity but also secretly hoping that J's interest wasn't diminishing the longer the conversation went. Despite his discomfort at putting all his eggs in this mysterious J's basket, he was probably more uncomfortable with the thought of not having J to guide him through this whole Grindr thing.
"Yeah, I'll have the place to myself." And it all became so very real for Bailey. He was going to drive over to a total stranger's house. And potentially do... something... with him. Have a romantic date? Kiss him? Who the fuck knew. As they said their goodnights and Bailey laid in bed later on, struggling to drift off to sleep with pure adrenaline and nerves and anxiety coursing through his body, Bailey convinced himself that at worst, he pussies out and deletes the app without offering an explanation to poor J; and at best, he goes to J's place, they hit it off, sink a few beers, and he finds himself a bisexual mate to talk to whenever he needs to. Nothing more, nothing less.
- - -
Bailey woke up the next morning to a, "You still down for tonight?" text from J. He confirmed his reluctant interest, before the pair began a chain of messages that lasted throughout the day. At first it was shallow, light-hearted stuff. Where Bailey had gone for a run that morning, what series J was watching on Netflix. But it gradually evolved into a more serious conversation when J began talking about his basketball.
"Kinda scared to go back to it when this shutdown is all over tbh," he sent to Bailey.
"Why's that?"
"Everyone will be looking at me. I'm like the benchmark in my team. I smashed it last year and they'll all be looking for me to be even better this year. It's BS." J was venting now, which honestly, Bailey was fine with. As long as it took his mind off the nerve-wrecking plan for later that night, he was cool with it. And truthfully, he could kind of relate to J's struggles. As arguably the most promising young player at the Bulldogs, Bailey felt a ridiculous amount of pressure to perform this year, and a teeny, tiny part of him was relieved when the AFL season was called off temporarily, because it meant he could just relax. Not all eyes would be on him with unfair expectations of what he could do. He wanted to divulge this to J, to put his mind at ease, but his paranoia and that 0.000001% chance that this could be a giant stitch-up aimed at exposing Bailey's maybe-kinda-not-really gay side made him hesitate with opening up that much.
Instead he settled for some clichés.
"Aw don't let everyone else stop you from enjoying your basketball man. I'm sorta the same in my waterpolo team, it's just team sports, you've got the guns and then you've got the rest. We the guns ;)" And oh God, he hoped J found him as endearing as he was aiming to be.
"Haha very true. I didn't know you could really dominate as a player in water-polo, thought it was more for role players and shit, I dunno I could be wrong, don't follow it tbh. No offence. You know the rules better than I do is what I meant x"
Aaaand that was Bailey's cue to put the phone down and ignore the message.
Two hours later, he responded with a, "Sorry my phone died and I was out."
The diversion worked as J moved on from the water-polo subject to talk about what Bailey's favourite beer was. Bailey just smiled, his cheeks flushed again as he texted J back and forth. He felt a wave of calm wash over his body, a sense of reassurance that J, the headless, legless torso profile pic, was the right guy to place his trust in. He didn't need to give him his social security number or credit card details, after all. But tonight would be the night that he, Bailey Smith, professional athlete with nearly 100,000 followers on Instagram, would reveal his deepest and most vulnerable secret to someone for the first, and hopefully only, time.
- - -
Bailey was dressed fairly casually all things considered. After all, it wasn't a date. Not quite. Though it wasn't exactly two mates hanging out, either. He had a plain tee underneath a plain black sweater, and sweatpants with Nike sneakers on, his blonde mullet swept neatly over one shoulder, thoroughly washed while he practically drowned himself in Guess cologne.
As he got in the car and drove from his home in South Yarra to Kew, to the address J provided, a sinking thought dawned on him: he was about to go to a stranger's house, all alone, having told nobody where he was going. And fuck, why the hell was he driving when he knew he was going to need at least two or three beverages to get through this evening?
'Shit, shit, shit,' Bailey muttered to himself as he drove through the Friday night traffic, just after the rush of peak-hour. Thankfully it wasn't far from South Yarra to Kew, but it didn't change the fact he now had the dilemma of having his car at a random's place, while he himself could end up stabbed by said random and buried in some backyard in Kew and nobody would even know.
As his GPS warned him he was approaching his destination, and he saw the house in question, a fairly simple but modern and stylish grey-and-white two-storied home – 'so J's a rich prick,' Bailey thought to himself – he came up with an idea. Driving past the house he knew he needed to stop at, he found a vacant parking space three doors down from it. Sitting in his car, beginning to work up a sweat from sheer panic and the chaos of fulfilling a commitment he was now second-guessing, he texted J.
"Hey, out the front, can you come out? Wanna make sure I'm at the right place."
Bailey didn't need to make sure he was at the right place. He knew he was. There was no mistaking the big, brazen number plastered across the letter box at the front gate of the home, or the Kia SUV in the driveway that J had told him he drove. What Bailey needed was to see that J was in fact a 21 year old who, while probably clothed given it wasn't exactly summer weather, had a figure that would match the eye-catching torso in his Grindr pic. Only once he was satisfied he was not a serial killer would he set foot on J's property.
He sat in the car and peered left and right up the footpath, looking for a sign of the enigmatic J, and he noticed things. He noticed a German shepherd behind the gate of a neighbouring property barking at Bailey's car. He noticed two women walking strollers while chatting away, the required 1.5 metres apart. He noticed James Worpel, the footballer from the Hawthorn footy club on the phone, which he found strange, as he'd met James a couple of times on and off the field and never knew he lived in Kew, though it kind of made sense.
He didn't have time to think of it anymore before he was distracted by the vibrations from his phone ringing in his lap. He swiped and answered.
"Hey, where are ya?" J asked on the phone.
"Yeah I'm here, I'm comin'," Bailey replied, half-focused on J's voice and half-focused on James Worpel standing in what looked like his driveway, on the phone... talking... to... wait a minute...
"Alright I'm at the front gate," came the sounds of J's voice in distinct synchronisation with James Worpel's lips moving.
'Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck,' Bailey whispered to himself hurriedly, heart throbbing so much it actually began to hurt a little.
The mysterious 'J' on Grindr, that torso, who was bisexual and admitted he liked cock... was James Worpel?
What. The. Fuck.
Bailey wanted to sink into the chair of his car and disappear off the face of the Earth. There was no way he could show himself now. Not to another footballer, not to someone who knew who he was and who he had plenty of mutual friends and contacts with. He was so fucking angry that he'd allowed himself to even consider trusting a guy with something he was already beating himself up about. And that James would actually lie? All that shit about him being under pressure with his basketball, a sport he didn't even fucking play?
It was different to his own lie, or rather manipulation of the truth, about being a waterpolo player.
It was.
It was totally different.
OK, it wasn't any different. They'd both lied, and the moment Bailey processed that, the clearer it became as to why. They were professional athletes. Just as Bailey was 'Bazlenka', the cult figure of the Western Bulldogs who could ill afford any connections to Grindr activity, James was 'the Worpedo', the cult figure of Hawthorn who had probably been avoiding any connections to Grindr activity for at least a year longer than Bailey, if there was any truth to their conversations at all.
So the Worpedo was into guys.
As Bailey's head was spinning, with a million thoughts racing through his mind, he realised his phone had stopped ringing, and looked up to see James was heading back through his gate. Bailey could leave this, could just pretend he was never there, block 'J' on Grindr and go about his heterosexual life as he had done for nineteen years. Or he could confide in James, divulge the truth to James, and maybe even... get naked with James?
It was now or never.
He undid his seat-belt, got out of the car and appeared on the sidewalk from behind a tree, now in plain view of James if he bothered to turn around. He was heading back inside the house, Bailey could actually get away with having found out who 'J' really was without revealing his own identity.
So he was stunned at himself when he randomly wolf-whistled with a blurted out, "Hey!" and began jogging up to the gate to James' property. He heard the iron gates creak open, and saw James re-appear, peering his head around the front wall to make direct eye-contact with Bailey. It was too late for Bailey to even feel any nerves. This was it, it was happening, and he couldn't back out now.
"Uh, hey man, hows it going?" James said awkwardly. Bailey could tell instantly that James recognised him.
There was a knowingness in his eyes as they glared into Bailey's, and a change in his demeanour from the slightly anxious, on-edge guy waiting for a date at his front gate, to the confident alpha he was known around the footy world as. Bailey recognised it, because it's what he'd been doing ever since he'd been having these thoughts that were distinctly un-alpha.
"I'm uh, just in the area, how 'bout you?" Bailey stuttered, looking down at the ground and twiddling with his fingers, not looking obvious at all. When he looked up, he saw that James' demeanour still hadn't changed. He was still in macho mode, and Bailey wondered if James had actually put two and two together yet.
"Yeah nice, just waiting for a delivery," came James' suspiciously-instantaneous response.
Well, clearly he had not put two and two together.
Or maybe he had and was just completely pussying out now that he knew he was dealing with another footballer.
Or maybe he just didn't wanna do this with Bailey.
Bailey's stomach did a loop at this thought, because now that he was here, standing a few feet from James, gazing at his fellow athlete head to toe, his sculpted calves, his veiny, muscular arms under his baggy T-shirt, he was suddenly less nervous, and more interested, and he wanted that interest to be reciprocated. But James was either playing dumb, or really was just dumb, so the onus was going to be on Bailey if they were going to take this any further than James' driveway.
"Delivery hey?" Bailey heard himself mutter, his heart-racing as he tried to contemplate his next move with a brain that was basically in shocked shut-down mode. "Did you order it on Grindr?"
And hey, that wasn't a bad line, Bailey thought to himself, considering it was spilling out of his mouth without a millisecond's thought.
James' face dropped. He went pale. His mouth opened, like he was attempting to formulate some kind of words but nothing was coming out.
"I, uh, nah – ah, what?" He stuttered, face turning a pale white to a flushed crimson as he felt himself get hot under the collar, reaching a hand up to run through his hair only to realise his near-buzz-cut level shortness made it a pointless endeavour. He cracked a knuckle on his finger, rubbed his nose. Was fiddling like an addict going cold turkey. "You?" He asked simply, finally coming to terms with the reality of this truly bizarre situation.
"Me," Bailey said with a boyish smile that made James' gaunt face suddenly spring to life with a faint smile of it's own.
"You, uh..." James repeated, eyes locking on Bailey's needing that confirmation of the pink elephant on the drive way that neither had explicitly addressed.
"Me." Bailey repeated back to him.
And then there was movement. James was reaching back to open his gate, and Bailey politely followed him down the driveway up to the front entrance of the house, and then before he knew it, he was inside James' foyer, a bunch of sneakers and birkenstocks lining the wall right by the front door, but other than that, it was spotless. Everything was neutral coloured: light and dark greys walls, timber décor, beige ceilings and rustic ornaments. Bailey looked at James, and yeah, it all made sense. A guy as objectively attractive as James obviously took pride in his appearance, and that extended to his home.
"Did some cleaning today," was the first thing James had said since they were face to face on his driveway, the silence becoming rather awkward for Bailey who could feel himself heating up, the realization that he was actually in James fucking Worpel's home, and they were both into dick (well, at least potentially into dick) was sinking in for Bailey. The thought of it was actually more daunting than the reality of it, because really, it was just a 19 year old footy player in the home of a 21 year old footy player, and had they been maybe the same age and played for the same club, they'd probably even be mates. And so as he stood uncomfortably in the foyer with James, Bailey was constantly switching between an assured calmness that this was normal, and lingering doubt and panic this was totally fucking insane.
Once again, it was going to be up to Bailey to take the lead to break the ice, which at this point was thick enough to sink the Titanic ten-times over. Which, truthfully, is not how Bailey anticipated this night going. After all, he was supposed to be meeting up with an experienced guy whose been through this whole bi-curious thing, or whatever the hell it was. He was supposed to be easing Bailey into it, talking Bailey through it, not shitting the bed and getting Bailey to clean it up!
Bailey hoped that at some point, James would identify with the confident 'J' that had lured Bailey into believing he was The Chosen One, so much so that he would drive to his fucking house without a fucking face-picture. But until then, it was on Bailey...
He swallowed hard and with a choked voice, broke the silence with a, "So do I get a tour of the place?"
- - -
Bailey had been at James' house for an hour by now, and weirdly enough, when he looked down at his phone, he was surprised that it had already been an hour, because he hadn't looked at his phone the entire time.
He hadn't needed to.
After James showed Bailey around the house, giving them plenty to talk about like bathroom furnishings, vertical garden-beds and bi-fold doors, he'd got a bit of his spring back in his step. After all, it was his house. If anyone should've been uncomfortable, it should've been Bailey, and while he was sure his guest was uncomfortable, James was determined not to be the most uncomfortable of the two. He was going to out-alpha his alpha guest, and if that meant faking an assuredness until he made it, then so be it.
"Want a bevy?" James asked as they stopped in the kitchen and broke apart, both guys simultaneously having that moment of, shit, this isn't so bad. He pulled out two cans of craft beer from the fridge and handed one across the bench to Bailey and started talking about their mutual mates.
It felt natural, so natural they lost track of time, and how many beers they had. As James swallowed the last of his third and Bailey cracked open his third, they swapped stories about the drugs their mates were taking at Beyond the Valley over New Years, about how isolation had driven them crazy, what they'd binge-watched the hell out of on Netflix (for Bailey it was 'Tiger King', for James it was 'the Last Dance.') Every time the conversation swirved back around to anything remotely-related to footy – whether it was what training they'd been doing in quarantine, other players they knew, any miniscule memory from being at their clubs – an awkward silence broke over the pair. It was the only time there was any tension, and they'd both figured out how to swirve the conversation back away from the unavoidable truth that they wanted to avoid: they were both footballers, and they had met on Grindr.
If anyone was willing to bring it up and lay it all out on the table, it was James. He'd been with guys before, and had actually told a few of his Hawks team-mates with sworn secrecy that he was into guys. They'd helped create alibis for him so he could have discrete hook-ups with local guys, and always made sure to make very obvious note of his "interest in chicks" when at the club around the rest of the boys. It had helped James be more comfortable with the discovery he'd made about himself and his sexuality, if not more open about it.
And James wanted that for Bailey, but he could tell he was just not there yet. There was still this semblance of shame written all over his face every time he was reminded of his occupation and his image as Bazlenka, the gun footballer and larrikin that girls wanted to be with, and boys simply wanted to be.
An hour-and-a-half since Bailey had been at James' house, he was already onto his fourth beer. They were going down like water. Probably because he hadn't drunk in so long being in isolation with no mates around. And the fact he was so overwhelmed by nerves and a desire to be comfortable that he was necking drinks like his life depended on it just to get that level of comfort he desired.
James could tell that Bailey was tipsy – no, drunk – when he came back from the bathroom to find Bailey, holding both his phone and his beer, scrolling down the screen with an intense focus. As James got closer, he realised Bailey was looking at photos of James on Instagram. Bailey was frozen on a shirtless picture of James from BTV, one that James could tell was actually a tagged photo from four months earlier.
"Had a little stalk, did we?" James whispered into Bailey's ear over his shoulder, startling the younger lad who was unaware of James' presence.
"I, uhhhh," Bailey fumbled, phone dropping on the floor as he picked it up, got an instant head-spin, then recollected himself enough to grin and clear his throat. "Yep!" He said cheekily, like a kid who took a slice out of the wedding cake and isn't sorry for doing so.
"And?" James asked raising an eyebrow.
"I'm a fan." Bailey replied, though instantly realised what he'd said. "Not of your playing, I meant of your looks – but, like, the way you play too, of course I'm a fan, but, like –" he fumbled over his words, wishing he could just stop speaking, until James stepped closer to him, bringing their faces so close their noses were practically touching and wrapping a firm hand around Bailey's neck, holding him in place by his surprisingly soft, silky mullet.
"Ssssh, just relax, bro." And with that, James just leaned in and kissed Bailey, holding him steady as they pressed their lips together, the air dead silent save for the heavy breathing of the two lads. James could feel the tension, the initial shock of being kissed making Bailey's actions rigid and nervous, becoming more forceful and getting his tongue involved until Bailey's lips opened and accepted the invitation, welcoming James' tongue into the heat of his mouth. Their tongues collided, and it was so sexy and intense and wet and warm that Bailey couldn't help the low moan that escaped his body and entered James'.
He pulled away swiftly, staring at the floor in embarrassment.
"God, this is –"
But James was having none of that, grabbing Bailey and pulling him back in for another aggressive make-out session. He was determined to break down the walls that Bailey, as a curious straight guy whose never done anything with a guy, would inevitably put up. If that meant making out with Bailey so hard and for so long he gave himself a pash-rash, then he was willing to do it.
Both boys had their eyes closed, lost in the feeling of the other man's mouth against their own, until James opened his, cock twitching in his pants as he realised he was kissing Bailey Smith, their faces mere inches from each other, noses rubbing against each other, mouths connected by flesh and spit. James took the moment to use the free hand that wasn't holding Bailey's head secure to reach down and pull his waistband down, an unusually difficult task with only one hand, it turns out. He settled for nudging the pants around the tops of his thighs, the waistband tucked under the curve of his butt cheeks. It was just enough that he could get a hand down around himself, feeling his cock throb to life as it was encased by his palm.
He ran a hand over his shaft a few times, pumping it to full hardness and swiping up the pre-come oozing out of his tip, then using it to lubricate his palm and make the sliding motion that much easier. It caused him to moan into Bailey's mouth, loudly, and more aggressively than he intended for it to be, and Bailey, so jarred by the sudden loss of control by the older guy, pulled back.
"Hey, hey, chill," James said in a hushed tone, bringing both hands, including the one that was just stroking his junk in his pants, up to rest on each of Bailey's warm, perfectly-pink cheeks. Holy shit, his skin is so soft, James thought to himself as he cradled Bailey's face in his palms. "Don't have to do this y'know," James said, voice tapering off as the thought of Bailey actually not wanting to do this sank in. He didn't want Bailey to feel that way. He wanted Bailey to want this as much as he wanted it, and the nerves and the fear and the judgement and the paranoia about the other's motives all faded into obscurity now that he was here, with Bailey, holding him, so close to making him his own.
Bailey didn't answer, but his bulging, ridiculously-blue eyes gazed into his own, piercing his soul and helping James to realise that this boy was too beautiful to hurt in any way. If he didn't want to go any further, James would never, ever, imagine trying to make his case to continue.
"You want to stop?" James asked again, in an almost whisper, faces so close to each other that Bailey could feel James' breath as he spoke, and wow, how did he smell so good after five beers? Maybe it was just Bailey that was that drunk that everything about James seemed alluring in this moment.
Bailey shook his head, as best as he could in the confines of James' caring and understanding hands.
James swallowed heavily, taking a second to look down at his feet, where his were spread with Bailey's in between them. He was drunk, no doubt about it, but he had to approach this the right way.
"What do you want to do?" He asked finally, breaking the silence and sliding a hand down until it was cupping the back of Bailey's neck, under his flowing locks, the movement almost loving in it's gesture.
"Anything," Bailey said, followed by a gulp, as though he was reconciling with the implications of his words, recognising the inhibitions he would have to separate himself from, and the ramifications it could have on his life.
"Anything?" James asked, eyebrows raised, as if himself doubting Bailey's sincerity. 'I'll do anything' is a pretty common figure of speech, but just like 'I could kill you' doesn't mean you're actually going to kill that person, 'I'll do anything' doesn't mean you'll do anything that person wants.
Bailey pulled himself out of James' grasp, reaching back to hoist his shirt over his head, revealing what could only be described as the most perfect-looking body James had ever seen. All smooth, tanned skin like he was some Alexander the Great impersonator, perky, pink nipples that were hard from the chills he'd had from the moment James started kissing him, perfectly-toned muscles that were not too-ripped, but still enough to pass as an adonis. And no hair, save for some very light whisps of sandy blonde hair trailing from his belly button down into his pants. As James just stared, mesmorised by Bailey's young teenage body, Bailey stood upright and leant back, ensuring James got an even clearer view of himself.
"Anything." Bailey said almost cockily, the confidence in him rising, and Bailey actually realised that he was glad that James wasn't a totally seasoned gay guy. He wanted someone experience, who knew his way around a cock, sure, but Bailey enjoyed getting to play off James' apparent nerves and awe. He was still human, after all, who still got hypnotised and paralysed by his arousal. Bailey, as a recently-graduated teenager who wanked his way through high school, could attest to that. And the balancing act of control the two guys were playing was undeniably hot, not being afraid to show the other their vulnerability, but also not being afraid to take the assertive role of power when the other was vulnerable. It made Bailey so fucking horny he wished he was stripped down even more than he was right now.
He made to dig his fingers into his own waistband, getting ready to shed his pants as well, before James lunged forward and grabbed his hands with his own.
"Don't."
And just like that, James was back in control with Bailey following his lead. They were both certain this role would change throughout the night as they grappled more and more with how turned on by each other they clearly were. Bailey looked up in confusion, desperate to be naked, to show himself off more to James.
"Let me," James said, pressing their foreheads together before hurriedly bringing his hands down to Bailey's waistband, pulling them down in one swift go, the fabric sliding down Bailey's smooth, slick thighs and bunching at his ankles. All that stood between his body and Bailey's cock was the thin fabric restraints of his white Calvin Klein briefs, and as much as James just wanted to see what was under them – an already-obnoxious looking bulge, from first glance – he wanted to tease Bailey, to see how much he could test his desire, to make sure that his 'anything' meant anything.
James didn't say a word, tried to act as though he wasn't completely spellbound by the crazy-attractive sight of Bailey's bulge, his bare thighs, the irresistable contrast between the bright white of Bailey's CK's and the tanned bronze complection of Bailey's skin. Instead he just used his index finger, pointing it at Bailey's sternum, pressing in until Bailey got the message and walked backwards, letting James steer him where he wanted him to go. The backs of Bailey's knees hit the couch, and James forcefully, out of nowhere, shoved Bailey backwards, the younger lad falling onto the couch, landing on his ass until he was sprawled out across the couch, one leg on the ground while the other was spread open and lifted up onto the couch, almost inviting James between them.
All James could do was stare down at Bailey, unintentionally posing all seductively like he was in a Playgirl centerfold or something. He licked his lips and let out a deep growl he had no idea he was capable of as his eyes narrowed in on Bailey, who looked apprehensive at the foreignness of this feeling – being so open and exposed and slutty. And James just offered that confident, sexy smirk and a twinkle in his eye.
"You have no idea what you're in for tonight."