Ben Ryder - Englishmen 3 - Released Page 2

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  sudden jolt and my foot slammed down where there was once pressure. I leaned to the side and dragged my feet until I came to a stop. Looking down, I could see the problem. The chain on my bike had snapped and was hung over the gears in a knotted mess.

  After a couple of futile efforts to reconnect the chain, I removed the mangled remnants and looked around for the nearest exit from the park. As I walked the bike, I searched for the nearest subway entrance. I walked two blocks from the park before I saw a number six in a solid green circle and headed toward the entrance. I pulled the bike onto my shoulder and readied myself to tackle the stairs leading down to one of the few clean platforms in the city. I stopped at the top and slipped my emergency subway card out from my iPhone sleeve and made my way down to the large map on the tiled wall.

  Since I was new to the city, I didn’t yet have my bearings of Manhattan. But I had at least become proficient in tracing the lines of the subway map. My finger followed the green line down from where I was, somewhere on the Upper East Side, down to the nearest station to Hell’s Kitchen. Fifty-first Street station looked to be my best bet, though I’d have to switch to the E Train to get across Midtown. I could walk the rest of the way, but since my ride had been cut short, the extra exercise wouldn’t go amiss. I headed down to the end of the platform in the hope the last car wouldn’t be as busy as the rest of the train.

  The next train arrived, and the final car was about halffull, so I weaved my bike to the very back to stand next to the window that would usually peer into the next car. But since this was the last car of the train, all I could see through the window was the dark tunnel behind. It was a

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  little awkward in the limited space available, but I managed to stand my bike in front of me as if it were some kind of framed barrier.

  I surveyed my fellow riders and noticed most of the other commuters in the car were dressed in expensivelooking clothes. This wasn’t particularly surprising, since I’d boarded in one of the most affluent areas of the city. The passengers took sideways looks at my sweaty shirt and polyester bike shorts, and gave me room to move for fear that I might track some of the oil staining my right leg onto their business wear.

  Once settled, they returned to doing whatever they did on the train. Kindles were pulled out of bags, newspapers unfolded from under arms, and phones slipped out of briefcases. No one was interested in what anyone else was doing, and they kept their focus on anything that would make it easier to avoid eye contact.

  Except for one rider.

  He stood around six feet, the same height as me, and wore a very extravagant-looking dark-blue suit perfectly tailored to his masculine build. A solid, matching dark-blue tie ran down from his neck against a crisp white shirt. He was clean-shaven with remnants of a recent tan that made him look fresh and rested. But I couldn’t put an age on him. He was handsome, with strong features and a hint of dark stubble just under the skin. If I had to guess, I would have put him in his late thirties, but it was difficult to tell. His hair was close-cropped near his ears, but slightly longer on top, and neatly groomed. The back and sides faded from black to solid silver, starting at the temples. He looked as though he may have grayed prematurely, as his hair still had

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  a luster to it, like it was still very healthy. It had none of the dry, unruly look of older men. His eyes looked down, but I could see them dart between my legs and to the brown leather briefcase he was holding. From my years of cycling, I had a lean torso, but my legs were well built from the distances I rode back in London. As I watched, I noticed he was taking longer looks, running his gaze from my ankles to my thighs through the frame of the bike. I was suddenly very taken with the compliment that he obviously was cruising me. It had seemed like forever since a man looked at me that way. It might have happened in the previous three years, but I’d trained myself never to acknowledge it, as the resulting arguments with Richard wouldn’t have been worth it.

  His eyes briefly met mine, and he quickly looked away, realizing I’d caught him. I grinned as I remembered this game from my younger days. The moment another gay man looks at you for that split second too long always reveals his sexuality. It took me back to the time when I actually felt I was a good-looking guy, capable of playing and winning this game. But that was before Richard stripped me of any selfconfidence.

  I tugged my bike at an angle toward my waist, and rested my crotch on the cross bar, making my package a little more pronounced. He would look again; I was almost sure of it.

  The train began to slow as we approached the next station. I could see the platform was packed with people soon to bundle onto the train. The silver-haired man peered around to find a space to reposition himself away from the door. As I’d expected, he glanced my way again. He looked directly at my swelling crotch and the semi hard-on that had

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  grown beneath the material of my shorts. He raised his glance to my face. I met his eyes and revealed no expression other than acknowledgement that I was still meeting his gaze.

  The doors split open to a crowd of people who looked ready to knock down anyone who dared to get in their way. He shifted himself to the side and skirted around the back wheel of my bike, finding the small space behind me, between the window and me. The new commuters who boarded the train gave me looks that said I’d been incredibly inconsiderate to bring a bike on the train during rush hour. With every seat taken and the aisle full, the train took off again as people swayed, holding the grips above their heads.

  Something touched the back of my leg. I knew instantly from the cool material that it was his briefcase. I also knew he’d pressed it against my skin to see if I would flinch or turn around. If he was wrong about me, a simple brush with his briefcase would be a hell of a lot easier to explain than finding his hands on me. My heart began to beat faster as I rolled the dice.

  I put one hand behind my back, palm facing out, and rested it on the top of the cheeks of my ass. It was suggestive, but also could be an innocent resting pose. I waited for him to make his move.

  Sure enough, when the train hit a rough bit of track going around a bend, he lurched forward as though he’d accidently lost his balance and planted his crotch against my palm. I cupped my hand and held the bulge. It was thick and had weight to it. The guy was obviously well hung. I massaged it a little and felt his cock grow even more. I kept my eyes forward on the packed car. Everyone in the seats

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  was preoccupied with their Kindles, newspapers, and phones. Everyone else standing was facing away from us, in the direction we were traveling.

  There was a warm feeling on my left ass cheek. He’d taken hold of it and was slowly squeezing. With his cock now completely hard, I casually leaned forward over my bike as if to check the chain again, allowing him to push his groin harder onto me.

  The train slowed again as we approached another station. I looked out the side windows and saw a tall scruffy black man and an equally disheveled white man standing so close to the edge of the platform that the clumps of their matted hair were blown back by the slowing train. The carriage was packed, but the two obviously homeless guys managed to slip on through the second set of doors. Despite the early hour, they both clearly were drunk and didn’t even attempt to hide the tops of the whiskey bottles sticking out of the pockets of their dirty coats. Their raised voices sounded like they were arguing over something. Everyone in the back of the car slowly looked in my direction so as not to be pulled into their argument. I felt like every set of eyes was on me, so I straightened up, only to realize that my cock was now hard. I quickly leaned forward again, hoping that the bottom of my dangling T-shirt would hide my erection. I knew the silverhaired man had backed away too, as I could no longer feel the pressure of his body against mine.

  “You need to step the fuck off!” one of the scruffy men shouted.

  The white guy stepped up his argument and started shouting at the other while pushing a hand into
his chest. Like the spectators following the volleys of a tennis match, every head turned away from me and back to the two men

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  arguing, obviously concerned they might soon be in the way of flying fists. “You must be out yo’ damn mind! Who da fuck you think you is?”

  The seated passengers drew in their legs, while the standing passengers shuffled down the car in my direction, clearing open space for the men, who looked like they were about to start laying into each other. The other passengers didn’t take their eyes off their newspapers or phones, pretending they were unaware of what was going on, hoping that remaining perfectly still might somehow make them invisible. We all knew there was nowhere to go until the doors opened at the next station, hopefully only minutes away.

  A finger pulled at the elastic of the back of my shorts. The man with the silver hair was taking advantage of the distraction. I reached behind me again and let my hand open. But this time my fingers found the soft, bare flesh of the throbbing cock that he’d pulled from his fly. I closed my hand around it, to hide it as much as to touch it. If anyone looked at me, I’d look like a man hiding a knife behind my back. Thankfully, the other passengers were still focused on the voices rising with every insult the two men hurled at each other.

  His cock twitched in my hand for attention. It must have been at least seven inches, and thick. The tip of my middle finger and the tip of my thumb barely met as I grasped it.

  The two homeless men began to scuffle, pushing each other toward the closed doors as they gripped onto each other’s coats. A punch was thrown and a collective gasp of horror from the women echoed through the car. No one stepped in to separate them. No one was going to risk injury

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  to get involved in a fight like this. Even the people who pretended to be somewhere else looked to the ends of the carriage for escape in fear of being caught up in the fight.

  A finger slipped into the back of the elastic again. With one swift pull, the silver-haired man hooked down the back of my shorts. No one was looking at us, but I knew what we were doing was crazy. The waistband at the front of my shorts held firm against my hips, but if he pulled his finger down any lower, they would have dropped, and my T-shirt wasn’t long enough to hide it. I held the tip of his cock to the skin of my ass cheek and felt his precum wipe against my flesh.

  My heart began racing, and I could feel beads of sweat running down the side of my temple. The two men at the other end of the car were still clinging to each other’s coats. As one swung the other toward the closed doors, there was a sound of a heavy clunk. One of the whiskey bottles in their pockets banged against one of the vertical hold bars. The noise gripped everyone’s attention. It would be only a matter of seconds before the bottle broke and one of the men discovered a potential weapon. No one wanted to be around a drunken man brandishing jagged glass.

  While the rest of the train was distracted, I felt the tip of his cock reach my asshole just as everyone swayed forward. Gradually, the train slowed as it entered another station. I felt the snap of elastic on the top of my ass and all contact with him was gone. For the first time, I turned to look behind me.

  He was smiling as he zipped up his fly and buttoned his jacket, instantly concealing his hard-on.

  21I looked through the window and noticed we’d arrived at

  the 51st Street station, and the train doors opened. Hoping no one noticed the distinct bulge in my shorts, I struggled with my bike to be among the first to get off so I wouldn’t be a hindrance to those wanting to move away from the fight. I didn’t look behind me at the man with the silver hair, as the car was too crowded to turn around. The doors opened, and I was jostled as people urged me to move quicker for fear the doors might close before they could exit the boxing ring.

  My head was still reeling from the thrill of what I’d just done. I decided not to change trains and worked my way through the station and up the stairs. Once outside, I leaned my bike against the wall and stood to one side, out of the way. I couldn’t believe how reckless I’d been!

  But I was smiling like a Cheshire cat.

  My arm vibrated for a few seconds before I realized a call was coming through. I tugged my iPhone from its case. “Dominic?” I heard through a fuzzy line. I instantly recognized the voice. It was my best friend from home. We’d known each other for a decade and were inseparable before Richard arrived on the scene. Sadly, we’d barely had any contact at all over the last three years. He and Richard didn’t get along at all, which made every social gathering or event awkward, to the point that he often left early or made excuses so he wouldn’t have to attend. He’d tried to warn me about Richard early on, but, like so many other things, I was deaf to it. While it was great to hear his voice again, I felt a little embarrassed too.

  “Hey, fella! How’s it going?”

  “Me? I’m fine. What about you, Mr. Big Shot New York?”

  22“So far, so good!” I said enthusiastically before I paused

  and changed to an apologetic tone. “Look, I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to see you before I left. It was all quite rushed, and I had to get out here for the job. Plus, I needed to get away from Richard.”

  “Dominic, I completely understand.”

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  “I never liked the guy anyway. You’re well shot of that uppity prick!” he exclaimed in his old way, like no time had passed and nothing had ever changed. I loved him for it. “Anyway, forget all that. Guess what?”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve finally found yourself a man. I refuse to believe it!”

  There was an audible pause. “He’s on his way,” he said simply.

  “Oh? So that’s your news?”

  “Well, since you did a moonlight flit across the Atlantic and didn’t have a chance to catch up before you left, I’m coming to you instead!”

  “Seriously? You’re coming to New York?” I couldn’t hide my excitement.

  “Yep. I’ll be there on the seventeenth. I’m only going to be there for two nights before I drive up to Canada.”

  “Canada?”

  “Yep. Long story. Listen, I’d love to see you while I’m in New York.”

  My heart swelled. I may have been embracing my new life, but an old friend would remind me what I was like when

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  I was younger, single, and full of confidence. “I can’t wait. It will be like old times!” I beamed. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see the silver-haired man standing behind me. In daylight, he looked even more handsome, and I saw my guess that he was in his late thirties was correct. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there. He held out a scrap of paper. As soon as I took it, he turned away and flagged down a passing cab. Before I could react, he was gone.

  “Dominic? Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m still here. Must be spotty service,” I said, covering for my momentary lapse. “I’m sorry it’s not a longer trip, but it’s better than nothing. Listen, I have to run, but I’ll e-mail you the details.”

  “Okay, looking forward to it,” I said, meaning every word.

  “Have fun and don’t get yourself into trouble out there!”

  He hung up, and I was left smiling. Trouble? If only he knew about my subway ride.

  Still, I was thrilled that I would see him soon. Excitement over his visit merged with the anticipation over the paper in my hand. I unfolded it, expecting to see a phone number. Instead I found a note.

  “The Ramble. Tonight, at midnight.”

  IT WAS 8:30 a.m. when I arrived at The Domain, a thirty-sixfloor building that housed the offices for the New York Daily Ledger, as well as dozens of other businesses. Our offices

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  were on the thirty-fifth floor, which boasted spectacular views of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows. Every staff member at the paper shared the view, as the entire office was open plan, without a cubicle or dividing wall in sight. The one exception was the office in the
corner, which belonged to Clive, the editor in chief. He had a large, glass-fronted office that invaded the corner space like a clear cube. Though Clive’s desk and all of his files were there, it was mostly used for meetings of support staff and workers. From what I’d seen, Clive spent the majority of his time in the main office talking with the reporters, columnists, art department, and the copywriters. Unlike my last editor, Clive was very much a hands-on kind of guy that liked to be in the thick of every aspect of the paper.

  Most of the desks were nested by department. Reception sat at the entrance behind two large glass doors bearing the bold, italic logo of the New York Daily Ledger. The reporters had fourteen desks that sat together in the center of the space, each kitted with a laptop, PC, and phone dock. The art department, advertising, and copywriters sat on the far right, next to a row of high-tech printers, copiers, and scanners. Along the wall running opposite the windows were two banks of six TV screens, each broadcasting one of the major America news channels, in addition to the BBC, Al Jazeera, and The Weather Channel.

  The twelve columnists and bloggers, who also ran the online edition of the paper and its social media, sat on the far left, near Clive’s corner office. There were six sets of two desks, each abutting the next. This was where I sat, opposite the Travel writer, Jackie.

  25Jackie had been with the paper for about six months

  and was an absolute scream. She was also British, which helped take the edge off the odd pangs of homesickness I suffered. After stints as a flight attendant and working in international promotions for a major beer company, she was more than qualified to write about travel destinations. She’d been so many places, even I didn’t know where some of them were, and I considered myself fairly well traveled.