The Bully

What could I possibly say about Rome that hasn't been said or written before?

It's hot. It's crowded. It's got people trying to sell you selfie-sticks wherever you go.

Lots of buildings. Some of them pretty old.

Lots of Catholic priests. Some of them pretty hot (but most of them pretty old).

Honestly, most of the trip is a blur. Being herded on and off the bus, getting driven from place to place, Florian stressing out the entire time over stragglers messing up his tight schedule. Somehow, we managed to see all of the major historical landmarks and museums in a couple of days, but I don't remember even half of them.

We stayed at a hotel outside the city, which meant a forty minute bus ride every morning and evening. At least our room had an actual separate bathroom this time, so I could take a shit in peace. Matthias and I pretty much left each other alone. Sharing a room wasn't too bad, but it was also pretty uneventful. There was no repeat performance of his solo action at the Milan hotel. Bummer. I suspected he jerked off in the bathroom, behind closed doors. I know I did plenty of times, although it did little to relieve my mounting sexual frustration.

By the end of the week—our last day in Rome before we'd start the drive back—I was

so

fucking horny. My balls ached, actually ached. I felt sure they would explode. Probably pretty soon.

During the tourist trap visits and bus rides, I often caught myself staring at Leander, sadly aware it would be inappropriate to touch myself on a full bus. As I'd come to expect by now, Leander ignored me—except on that last day, when he turned to Robin with a smirk. He whispered something. They both laughed. This did not bode well for me; they had something planned, and I was pretty sure I wouldn't like it much, unlike my other activities with Leander.

I shook it off. Whatever fresh torment they had in store for me, there was nothing I could do about it. I was determined not to let it ruin my last day in Rome. A giddy atmosphere had settled over the bus; we would finally be allowed to roam free that evening, for a glorious total of four unsupervised hours. Strict rules applied: cellphones on at all times, don't wander too far from the bus, stay in groups of twos or threes.

Fuck all that, though. No one wanted to hang out with me during their precious free time, anyway. I'd leave my cellphone on but I'd wander where I liked. I needed this. After Florian had told us where the bus would be dropping us off, I did a quick online search. To my delight, a gay bar popped up within walking distance.

I'd never been to a gay bar before, so I had no idea what to expect. The internet reviews told me the place was 'clean'—whatever that meant—with a 'relaxed, openminded atmosphere and a young, slightly alternative crowd'. Which sounded great to me. I was gonna have some

fun

, even if it killed me (or, more likely, even if Leander and Robin killed me afterwards).

After a twenty minute lecture in which he explained the rules again, and again, and

again

, Florian finally released us onto the streets of Rome. My classmates stayed together in a loose pack, and I trailed along. Once Florian and the other teachers were out of sight, the group split up. Cigarettes came out, obscenities were shouted, and everyone started going their own way.

Leander and Robin sauntered off, talking and laughing. Again I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. I shook it off. What had I been expecting? And why did I even care? Pining for a straight guy's cock isn't a good look on anybody.

Time to turn over a new leaf. Screw Leander. I didn't need him. I could get me some hot, gay, Italian cock instead.

***

I got lost on my way there, sort of on purpose. I'd looked forward to my first time going to a gay bar for so long, had let so many expectations build up in my head. Now that it was finally happening, I got cold feet. I walked up to the bar... and then past it, down the street. Turned around. Back to the bar... and past it. Repeat a hundred times.

From the outside, it looked like an ordinary building. No big windows to see inside, no tables out, nothing to suggest this was a gay bar. I suppose in a city overrun with catholic priests, there's a need to be 'discreet'.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door. It didn't budge. Then I noticed the sign saying 'TIRI'. I took another deep breath,

pulled

the door, and stepped inside my first gay bar.

Not too crowded. Loud, though—a Eurovision hit assaulted me straight away, at top volume. Some couples (single-sex couples!) sat scattered throughout the bar, in cozy nooks. One bigger group in the back, rowdy, a mess of empty and half-empty glasses on their table.

Gulp

. Okay. Okay. I was doing this. The hardest part, coming in, was behind me already.

You got this, Jonas

.

I made my way over to the bar, trying to act casual while at the same time trying to check everyone out. I picked an empty stool—only one other guy sat at the bar, an older man. Pretty sure he checked me out, too. It creeped me out a little, if I'm being honest, and I briefly wondered if going off on my own without telling anyone where I was going had been such a great idea after all.

I ordered a vodka coke (#YOLO) from the bartender, who was surprisingly young and totally dreamy. He had one of those schizophrenic haircuts, where it's buzzed short on one side and long on the other. Big brown eyes. Tiny studded earring glittering in one ear. Fucking

dimples

when he smiled and he set my drink down. "Prego."

I paid for my drink. The cute bartender winked at me. "Where you from? English?"

I told him I was not English.

"Lots of English," he went on, nodding. I don't think he was really listening. He was too pretty to be annoyed at, though.

I took a big sip of vodka-coke. It immediately set my throat on fire. I tried not to let it show.

"You stay long?"

"Last night here," I managed.

"Oh." His eyes flickered down, then back to my face. Looking me over, and not too subtle about it. I took another sip, my hard beating fast all of a sudden. No one had ever checked me out like that before.

"My shift doesn't end for another two hours."

My fast-beating heart sank. "I need to get back before—"

Dimples. "But maybe, I take a...

quick

... smoke break now, huh?" He winked at me. He actually

winked

at me. I never knew people did that in real life. I definitely never expected it would be so sexy.

My heart rose again—guess that's why it's called 'an emotional rollercoaster'. My mouth had suddenly gone dry. I took yet another sip. Okay, maybe it was a gulp. It didn't help. Not sure what I expected from a drink that was mostly alcohol and sugar. I swallowed down the rest of it and grimaced. It tasted awful; this had been my first alcoholic drink, and I'd ordered it mostly because I thought it'd make me look cool.

Meanwhile, the cute bartender headed towards the back door and pushed it open. He looked at me, showing dimples again. Tilted his head just so, a clear invitation for me to follow.

I set down my drink—practically

slammed

it down—and scrambled to get up off the chair. Either the bar moved or the vodka had gone straight to my head, because I nearly keeled over. Probably would have taken the chair down with me. The dizzy spell passed and I managed to stay on my feet. I rushed towards the back door and ducked through.

***

The outside air was cool—the sun had begun to set while I was dragging my feet—without being chilly. For a second, I wondered where the bartender had gone, seeing only an empty alley. Then fingers intertwined with mine and someone pulled me to the side. I stumbled over some trash, fell right into the cute bartender's arms. Peak romcom moment. He steadied me, his hands resting lightly on my arms.

"Mh. You're handome, English."

"I'm not E—"

He tilted his head like a puppy. "With the glasses. Smart. I like smart guys."

"Well. I'm not really all that sm—"

He kissed me.

It was an okay kiss. All right as far as first kisses go. You always remember your first, even if it's just

okay

and not particularly memorable.

It could've been worse, is what I'm saying.

His lips were surprisingly soft. I'd expected a guy's lips to be... harder? Okay, look, so whenever I fantasised about Leander kissing me, I imagined him coming in hard and hungry, biting at my lips, our teeth clacking together. Him grabbing the back of my head and shoving his tongue down my throat. I know that's not fair to the Italian bartender, all right? Get off my back already.

While he kissed me—softly, his tongue shy against my lips—his hands worked their way down to my ass. I expected him to grab it, was sort of hoping for it. I didn't expect him to be so goddamn

gentle

.

Still, being kissed, being touched like that... it made me hard.

Really

hard. When he moved forward and I felt his dick grinding against mine, a jab of pain reminded me how blue my balls were. (Another thing I never thought was real!) One hand slid from my ass to the front. I nearly came in my pants, and all he was doing was pressing his hand against my dick.

And then he was gone, and my lips were kissing air.

I whined. I wanted his hand back on my bulge.

Scuffling footsteps, grunts.

I opened my eyes, hadn't even noticed I'd closed them in the first place.

Leander.

I blinked.

What the fuck was

Leander

doing here? And why the

fuck

was he holding the poor bartender in a chokehold? The Italian guy struggled, but Leander was bigger. And stronger. Leander was whispering furiously into the guy's ear. The bartender stopped struggling as this went on. He looked up, glared at me. Nodded once.

Just like that, Leander let go.

The bartender staggered towards the door, red in the face. He suddenly rounded on Leander, as if ready to fight again—then took a good look and turned to me instead. I don't know how I must've looked; my heart hammered in my chest and my face was on fire. I couldn't say a word.

The boy spat on the ground. "Crazy English."

"I'm not Eng—"

The door to the bar slammed closed.

I wheeled around, ready to scream and ask Leander what the fuck he was doing here, why he was

following

me. He was gone. I staggered away from the wall and saw him casually walking down the alley without a backward glance.

What. The. Fuck.

By now, I was shaking. I considered going after him, but what would that accomplish? Leander and I weren't exactly on speaking terms. Of all the nasty things I'd imagined he could do to me over years of being bullied, I'd never have guessed cockblocking would make the list. If that was what happened.

Was

that what had happened? Had he followed me around, all evening, just to make sure I wouldn't... hook up with anyone else?

That I wouldn't suck anyone's cock but his?

I realised I might have gotten in over my head, when I became Leander's suckslut. It was a little disconcerting, to be honest, if not downright scary.

I also realised that if he came back right now and whipped out his dick, I'd drop to my knees in a heartbeat and thank him for the privilege.

***

I eventually made my way back to the pickup point, where our teachers were waiting. During the bus ride, I couldn't get what had happened off my mind. As I'd come to expect, Leander wasn't paying any attention to me at all. I tried to make smalltalk with Matthias, but he was a bit incoherent, even more drunk than I was. It's a small wonder we got back to the hotel without anyone puking all over the bus, really.

Dinner was a raucous affair—it was our last evening here, after all. I'd sobered up a bit and thought of confronting Leander. If I got a moment alone with him, I could surely talk to him about what had happened, right? Just a civil conversation.

Yeah, no, I wasn't as far gone as to believe

that

would ever happen.

It was a moot point, anyway. I'd never get a moment alone with Leander; Robin didn't leave his side. And why the fuck was Robin eyeing me like that? He looked away when he saw me staring back, whispered something to Leander. Leander laughed.

I had a bad feeling about this. Call it a premonition if you want (or, you know, don't, and people won't call you a pompous ass). Since we'd left on this trip, neither of them had made a move—not counting Leander's cockblock earlier tonight. Why? What were they up to? I tried to push it from my mind, but a sense of unease lingered.

A lot of the guys were getting together in one of the rooms, having a mini-party, drinking and probably smoking weed. I passed Mr Florian on the way to my own room; his pained expression told me this was yet another hotel our school was soon to be banned from. I think he was on his way to the bar.

Matthias was in the room when I got there. Maybe he didn't feel like partying. Maybe no one had invited him, either. He didn't greet me. Fine. I didn't really feel like talking.

I plonked down on the bed. Sighed. What kind of sick game was Leander playing with me? He wouldn't give me any, but then when I finally started moving on, he wouldn't let me get any from anyone else? The bastard didn't own me.

Are you sure about that? He might as well, the way you keep pining after him.

My dick was getting hard, but this time that only made me angry.

Fuck you, brain.

Nobody owned me. I did what I wanted.

The slosh of some liquid pulled me out of my head. Matthias had produced a bottle of Martini and was taking a swig. When he noticed me looking at him, he held out the bottle to me, his arm crossing the space between our beds. "Want some?"

"Uh. Sure. Yeah. Thanks."

We passed the bottle back and forth a few times in silence. The Martini tasted cheap and sweet. It went down easy—too easy. Soon the bottle was half-empty, and I was pleasantly drunk again.

And I noticed something else. Maybe it was wishful thinking, maybe it was the alcohol, but each time Matthias and I passed the bottle, he brushed his fingers against mine. At first I thought it was nothing, an accidental touch. It kept happening, though, again and again. Since we started drinking together, neither of us had said a word.

But. Each time I passed the bottle to him, his fingers would linger on mine a bit longer.

My half-erection from before had grown full-size. Guess I was so sexually frustrated that even finger-touches turned me on now. I tried to subtly glance down. The bulge in my pants was very noticeable. Matthias wouldn't be looking at my crotch, though. Or so I hoped.

I cleared my throat. "Not partying with the others?" The words sounded distant and slightly slurred. It felt like someone else was talking, and I was just a spectator. Okay. Maybe I was a bit farther beyond

tipsy

than I'd realised.

"Obviously not," he said with a shrug. He didn't slur but talked louder than usual, and his face was flushed.

"Ahh." I couldn't think of anything else to say. Neither of us spoke for some time again. I reached out with the bottle. Matthias didn't take it, abruptly stood up instead.

"Gotta take a piss." He passed my bed, unsteady on his legs, and stumbled into the bathroom.

The clash of the toilet seat, followed by the splatter of urine. Too loud, somehow. I turned my head—and noticed he hadn't closed the door. I stared. Wasn't very subtle about it, either. I had never watched a guy piss before. Matthias' dick was pretty impressive when flaccid, too. It took all my willpower not to reach out and touch myself.

Matthias shook off and stowed his dick away—taking his sweet time with it. It seemed to be growing bigger as he handled it. Was he getting hard? I glanced up—he was staring back at me.

Oh shit

. I quickly looked away, face burning.

Footsteps coming closer. I expected him to walk past again—then my bed creaked, the mattress shifting under his weight as he plopped down beside me. He sat close; our legs were touching, and our arms. The skin-on-skin contact made my cock ache.

Matthias took the bottle from my hand, his fingers warm against mine. He took a swig. Set the bottle down.

"So." His voice sounded husky. He cleared his throat. "Are you really gay?"

My skin tingled all over. No one had ever asked me that, I realised. Nearly all the guys in our class called me a faggot, but it was just a word they threw around as an insult. I don't know how many of them actually believed it was true. I didn't know what to say to Matthias, didn't know what was happening between us right now. Part of me insisted coming out to one of my classmates would be a terrible idea—which is kinda hilarious when you think about it, seeing as how the guy who bullied me the most already had definite proof I was gay.

Fuck it

.

"I think so," I croaked. "Yeah." I didn't look at Matthias when I said it. My hands, folded in my lap, seemed a lot more interesting. I expected him to call me a faggot, to recoil, to jump off the bed.

Instead, he put his hand on my leg, hesitant, almost shy. I turned my face to chance a look; he was biting his lip, staring down into his lap. He leaned into me, his side pressing against mine.

His eyes flickered up t0 my face, then away again. "But, like, how do you know? I mean, how can you be

sure?

"

While he spoke, his hand crept up my thigh. He stopped short of the little tent that had formed in my crotch area, but he would only have to extend his pinky to touch it. What did he want me to say? That thinking about guys when I jerked off made me come so much harder and faster than when I thought about girls? That I

really

enjoyed sucking dick?

"I dunno," I said. "I dunno if anyone can ever be completely sure, you know? Like, I read it's something fluid, not fixed." I turned towards him. My bulge pressed against his fingers, not entirely by accident. He didn't move his hand. Looked at me. Brought his face closer. My eyes fluttered down, taking in his slightly parted lips—and the enormous bulge that had appeared between his legs.

Without thinking, I reached for it. He was so hard, and so thick. I wondered if I'd even be able to wrap my hand around it. Matthias gave a small gasp, right as our lips touched.

My second kiss today—my second kiss

ever

. It was... different. Also slow, but more from hesitation. Not soft, like the bartender's kiss. His tongue slipped into my mouth, probing and pushing with unmistakeable strength. I tasted something sweet; the Martini.

All the while he was kneading and rubbing my dick through my shorts, and I did the same to him. It felt good—so good, I worried I was gonna cream my pants before we really got something going. I grabbed his dick, pulled it towards me as far as I could, stretching the fabric of his shorts.

He moaned, our lips still locked together. I squeezed. It felt weird holding a dick that wasn't my own. Familiar, but different, especially since he was so much thicker than me. Matthias jabbed his tongue down my throat and gave me a squeeze, too.

There was a knock at the door.

Matthias pulled back with a jolt. He stared at me, mouth and eyes wide.

Seeing him so spooked, I felt the urge to say something reassuring. The door was locked, no one would know he'd had his hands on my dick, something like that—but he'd already gotten up off the bed, was rearranging his junk so his boner wouldn't show. Wouldn't show

as much

, anyway.

Loud banging now. Whoever was out there really wanted us to open up.

While Matthias went to open the door, I glanced at the alarm clock. Almost eleven. A sense of worry gnawed at me. Alcohol-fogged mind or not, this felt off. Hotel staff wouldn't be banging on the door like that. Teachers? Maybe. Only if something really urgent was going on.