Tiago

Big dark backroom. Big dark lad.

“It’s a street bar. The lights are so bright you could land a plane by them. And so the fact that Tiago has had his hand round my cock out in the bar for the last thirty minutes, well, it has become known. Not saying we’ve had an audience, but…OK, we had an audience.

“The bar manager is a friend, and maybe that’s a good thing. His name’s Enzo by the way and he’ll reappear in the story. But not yet.

“Enzo’s a big lad.

“But not yet.

“The route to the bathroom? Pitch black. Black as tar. There’s a hand at my belt, guiding and pulling. Lifting, so the denim presses hard at my cock, and keeps it in play if that were needed. It isn’t needed. Tiago’s been showing me that he knows what he is doing for half an hour now and I don’t feel any need to escape.

“I get the drift of the plan, his broken English, Gael’s hints and half sentences and smiles, and some international sign language being enough. ‘English boy bends over now’?

“Yes, English boy bends over.

“Somewhere there’s a lightbulb. Not a big one. Just enough. We’ll call it a bathroom, and there’s plumbing. Let’s not call it a store room, or a sex den or a scene from a Halloween movie. But it isn’t Martha Stewart either. It isn’t Condé Nast Traveller.”