Page 1 of Blurred Boundaries

1

MICHAEL

—Coastline by Hollow Coves

Getting a blowjob from a stranger on my first day in a new country was not what I had in mind when I boarded my flight this morning.

My biggest concern was how to survive on my own without knowing anybody in the country. It’s my first time flying solo, so to speak. Up until now, I always had someone to keep me company. My ex-fiancée, Rita, was there whenever I was in Abuja, and my best friend, Roland, whenever I visited London.

Rows of red rooftops appeared through the clouds as we descended into Prague. I remember staring out of the plane window and thinking the city looked calm and peaceful.

Maybe I will love it here.

I landed with a very solid plan: locate the apartment the university generously provided for me, take a long shower, and don’t brood—after all, I’d given Roland the “no brooding” speech at the airport just hours ago.

To help myself stick to the plan, I decided to walk around the city centre, pretending I’m emotionally stable. But somehow, despite all that careful planning, I’m now in the toilet stall of a place called Friends Club, and there’s a cute-as-a-button guy in a red shirt on his knees in front of me.

Okay, fine. I admit, I looked up gay bars during my flight, but in my defence, the trip from London to Prague is short enough that I didn’t want to commit to a movie. Ever since Roland told me he’s attracted to men, something curious has been sitting at the back of my mind. For the record, I’m not a copycat. If Roland decides to stick his hand in fire tomorrow, I won’t follow suit. But heartbreak is doing strange things to my brain, making me ask questions I have never asked before; new ideas are now feeling less outrageous and more like possibilities.

The club music is loud, thumping through the toilet walls, bass vibrating under my feet, but I can still hear the metallic clink as Red-Shirt Cutie unbuckles my belt and pulls down my jeans.

When I walked into the club earlier, we had noticed each other immediately—not hard to do when we’re the only two black men in the place. I think he is Ghanian, or maybe Nigerian like me, and that small familiarity made it easier to say yes when he offered to buy me a drink.

Maybe it was the whisky warming my chest, or I’m just very good at talking to people, but the conversation came so easy between us. I found myself leaning closer so we could hear each other over the music, shouting one minute and laughing the next; my body relaxing around him, my brain short-circuiting every time his hand brushed against mine.

So, there was no protest from me when he suggested we move the party to the toilet. My dick even twitched at the idea, a thrill running through me at the prospect of having a one-night stand. I’ve never dabbled in debauchery or clandestine hookups before, never been reckless enough to sneak into a toilet with a stranger whose name I don’t know. I have always been sensible and predictable. But damn it, I am thirty-two years old, newly single, and in a foreign city where nobody knows me or expects anything from me. For the first time in a long while, my choices belong entirely to me, and I believe one ought to live a little.

That’s the exact thought running through my head when Red-Shirt Cutie scoots closer and presses his face against my crotch. His warm breath seeps through the thin fabric of my boxers, effectively dragging me straight out of my wandering thoughts.

“Fuck,” he rasps, nose nudging against my cock. “You’re huge.”

And will you look at that, my cock is already rock hard inside my boxers. Nothing has really happened yet, but this already feels like an out-of-body experience. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of my boxers and drags it down to join my jeans around my ankles. My cock springs from its confines. Cool air from the cramped toilet’s vent system brushes over my skin; my cock bobs between us, happy to be free.

Red-Shirt Cutie pauses for a second, looking up at me through his eyelashes and gives a tentative lick to my slit, causing a shiver to shoot through me, from my shoulders all the way down to my toes.

“Have you been with a guy before?” he asks, wrapping his hand around my dick and holding on to it like it’s a microphone.

“Nah. First time,” I say, but my voice comes out breathily and thinner than I expect. “You?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and the smile he gives me lights up his whole face.

And wow, he is gorgeous. I know I’m staring at him in a way that would normally make me apologise and avert my gaze, but this time I can’t seem to tear my eyes away. I’ve never looked at men like this before, not long enough to notice tiny details, and definitely not long enough for casual appreciation to turn into intense observation. But now my eyes keep tracing his face, like I’m trying to commit it to memory before I can even understand why it matters.

His skin is a rich and even brown, so smooth that it seems to soften the harsh bathroom lighting instead of being ruined by it, the glow of it standing out against the red of his shirt. His strong jaw is dusted with the faintest shadow of facial hair, his lips are full in a way that compliments the high cheekbones framing his face, and his dark eyes seem to shine brightly under the stark light. He looks young and handsome, in a way that should intimidate me, but it draws me in instead of pushing me away.

I have never noticed the curve of another man’s mouth before, never thought of how a smile can feel generous, starting at the lips and spreading outward; never paid attention to the way someone’s eyelashes rest against their cheeks, but I’m noticing now. I’m noticing everything—how breathtaking he is.

“Is that a problem? This being my first time with a man?” I ask, so he doesn’t think I’m weird for staring at him like a creep.

“Never a problem,” he answers easily, stroking my throbbing cock in his hand once. “But you are into this, right?”

“Very,” I say quickly.

That seems to be all the reassurance he needs because his hand wraps around my cock fully, thumb brushing across my slit twice before he starts stroking me slowly. I can already feel heat crawling up my spine, my knees wobbling as a delicious sensation spreads through me. He’s either paid everyone off to avoid this stall, or he doesn’t give a fuck about who might come in, but he sure is taking his time.

“Fuck,” I try to say, but it comes out as a moan instead.

Pleasure detonates from my cock out into every corner of me, leaving me hyper-aware of every nerve ending I didn’t even know I possess. He continues stroking me languidly, letting each stroke stretch out just enough that my entire body starts trembling, my chest rising and falling unevenly, my breath coming fast while my cock pulses eagerly in his hand. It’s crazy how he knows exactly how to touch me. Then he dives on my cock until I hit the back of his throat, gag reflex nowhere to be found. The warmth, wetness, and the incredible feel of his mouth merges into a single, overwhelming tingle that makes me feel like I’m unravelling from the inside.