Our Secret Wedding: Sky High Scaffolders, #1

CHAPTER ONE

Friday

CONNOR

IT WAS PURE CHANCE that Connor witnessed the incident that changed his life. He wasn't spying, stalking, or prowling around in the shadows but walking with a group of guys from one bar to the next. The night smelled like a Friday night. Fried food competed in the warm evening air with spicy Indian cuisine, spilled beer, and drying piss.

Connor was overwhelmed by the need to lighten the load, to rid himself of at least one pint of alcohol-rich urine. He wasn't the only one. Dark patches lined the streets where trails ran from dim alcoves into the gutter.

It was illegal to do that on the streets. Illegal and nasty, and Connor wouldn't have approved of it in daylight. But he'd had too much to drink already, and this was just what blokes did, especially in that run-down part of town — an area of cheap bars, takeout food, and overflowing litter bins. No excuse; Connor would've been ashamed of himself if it weren't for the alcohol destroying his brain cells. Correction: if Connor were sober, he wouldn't expect to pee in the street.

The boys went on ahead, and Connor fell behind without making a comment. They wouldn't notice his absence for a minute. He stepped toward an alleyway. It was quite wide and well lit, not some dark, little passage, but not the main sidewalk, either.

Connor's dick wasn't in hand, and he hadn't got into position yet when he noticed two blokes move toward each other in such a way as women and men come together. There was an intimate moment going on.

And it was 2016, so it wasn’t like it was a shock.

They weren't in the Middle East; no one was going to be beheaded or thrown from a tall building. It was not immoral, and there was no law against it. Those dudes could get married if they wanted to. Connor wasn't offended by public displays of gayness, but even so, it was still fairly unusual to see gay guys gazing into each other's eyes like that.

Connor didn't want to watch them, especially not with his dick out. It didn't seem right. He wasn't that desperate and could hold it until arriving at the next bar, where he'd use the toilets like a civilized person. By doing the decent thing, he'd also respect the couple's privacy in their special moment.

And that was when he realized he recognized one of the guys.

Of course he recognized him.

Connor had worked alongside him earlier that very day.

They'd known each other since they were four years old.

They were once in the same class at school.

Two and a half decades of friendship never prepared Connor.

And it was like watching car-crash TV; he couldn't turn away.

Unable to help himself, he stood transfixed, gawping at the spectacle, an unfamiliar sight to Connor. The men's lips pressed together tenderly, with open mouths. Connor could see clearly enough from where he stood.

My best mate, Lee, has his hand on another man's rear. Oh my God, what the fuck else would Lee do with this guy? My best friend. Was he hard already?

That detail, Lee's crotch, was not visible from where Connor stood. But he definitely saw a man-to-man, mouth-to-mouth, gay kiss. All too soon, it was over.

They weren't going for a tongue-tangling make-out session; they were talking again, moving, stepping apart. Whatever they said, only a low-pitched buzz made its way to Connor, along with louder shrieks of laughter from the street, muffled music, and the clinking of glasses.

Oh my God, they are going to walk straight toward me.

Connor turned to face the wall, hoping Lee might not recognize him or at least believe Connor had not just witnessed the hand-on-ass incident and open-mouthed kiss that had just taken place.

Aware of someone walking toward him, from the corner of his eye, Connor noticed Lee take off in the opposite direction.

On reflection, Lee often avoided nights out with the lads, and when he did join in, he rarely stayed out late. There was always an excuse, such as having to get up early and study for his degree. After what he'd just witnessed, Connor wondered if it was all just excuses because Lee had man-hunting motives. He was hardly likely to be pulling dudes to take home for adult fun during a night out with a bunch of their macho work colleagues.

After the chance revelation, there was no way Connor could contemplate staying out late drinking, socializing, and flirting with drunken girls. Not when he needed to process what he had just seen.

He raced down to the next pub and immediately went to relieve himself in the room designed for that purpose, with the full intention of heading straight home. Someone planted a pint of Czechoslovakia’s finest amber nectar in his hand as he emerged into the crowded, noisy bar. The lads were buying rounds that night, and in Connor's absence, they'd ordered a drink for him.

Maybe a little drink might help. Minutes later he'd finished that pint, said his goodbyes, and was outside, walking home. Staggering, actually. Staggering and pondering. Thinking all the way back to the French trip.

Who would think it? Construction workers were not gay, and Connor thought that was a fact. He would have put money on it, up until that very night. Obviously loads of guys were gay, and that was okay. On the TV, in films, in sitcoms, and in pop groups. Not just celebrities. Ordinary local men were visible at night in the bars and restaurants too. Just not among their crowd of blokes.

Construction workers were not gay, and if they were, they weren't scaffolders. Wives, girlfriends, and women in general together constituted one of the five major topics of conversation. The number one top talking point was always football. If guys weren't talking about women or sport, Connor would be willing to bet money they were talking about work, money, or cars and often some combination involving two or three of these favorite subjects.

Scaffolders were a macho bunch of straight guys, and as he walked home, Connor felt pretty foolish. He'd assumed gay men chose other careers. Teachers, nurses, and whatever it was people did when they worked in offices wearing smart suits.

Lee looked no different than any other member of the scaffolding crew. Sexy as fuck. His image teased into Connor's mind. Sizzling hot. Ripped. A physique to drool over, abs that teased, and biceps that begged to be touched. Heavy manual work did that to a guy, and scaffolders were all built like that.

Connor had always admired his friend in a way that went way beyond bromance, but never thought his feelings could ever be returned.

CHAPTER TWO

Saturday

LEE

SATURDAY MORNING, AND as on every day of the week, Lee awoke early. It was difficult to suddenly break the weekday routine of getting up with the sun just because there was no work at the weekend. He snuggled down to enjoy the warmth and comfort of the pillows and the soft cotton sheets for just a little longer. Lee didn't have to jump out of bed and into the shower in a hurry. Instead, he lay awake, mulling over what happened the night before.

His hand rested on his morning wood. He needed relief but of the taking a piss variety. Afterward, he'd probably celebrate the start of the weekend by taking himself in hand in the shower.

Shame how things turned out last night.

Lee sincerely hoped he'd meet The One. Ever hopeful, optimistic that one of those guys out there would be The One, even if last night was not to be.

Lee refused to accept that the perfect man for him didn't exist. Even if he hadn't found him yet, he was damn sure somewhere in England there lived a gay man who was right for him. A decent guy who also wanted a serious, monogamous relationship. It was not too much to hope for.

He couldn't believe all men were shallow and only after one thing. Lee only wanted one man. Promiscuity and an inability to commit couldn't be inherently a gay thing. Straight men got married and committed to one woman, after all. And some of them were faithful. Surely the only thing that makes gay guys different is that we fancy guys, Lee reasoned. But I'm doing something wrong and meeting all the wrong types.

Take Craig, last night's date. Lee had known him quite a while, and Craig was a nice guy, but he absolutely refused to be a one-man man. He wasn't interested in commitment. Just fun. At least he was honest. Lee rejected the offer of a hook-up but respected Craig for his honesty. They parted as friends without benefits.

Lee would be devastated to find out a boyfriend was sleeping around behind his back. He didn't want someone sleeping around, whether behind his back or in front of him. Closer to thirty than twenty years old and at an age where most of his work colleagues were settling down with wives and kids, he was done playing the field; had his fill of experimentation, and he'd fucked in every fucking position.

Lee wanted the same as his straight friends. The gay man's version of the same. A partner with whom to share a life, a home, and create happy memories.

And he wasn't averse to a lot more fucking in every fucking position, but with someone special. Someone who genuinely wanted to make a go of things long-term.

The morning bathroom routine followed its usual pattern. Lee did what he had to do in the shower: he soaped up, rinsed down, and did it again for good measure but nothing more. The loneliness that engulfed his thoughts chased the morning horn away.

Without drying himself, wrapped in a towel, Lee went into the kitchen to get his morning coffee intake underway. He welcomed the slight breeze through the open windows, which cooled his skin where water droplets still clung. The September temperature was set to soar through the day. They called this unseasonably warm spell an Indian Summer. Lee had no plans apart from laundry, shopping, and studying. He might sit in his underwear with the curtains closed and his feet in a bucket of cold water for some of the afternoon.

One day he might invest in air-con.

The knocking at the front door made him jump.

He expected no one but the post or a delivery. It could've been an envelope that didn't fit through the letterbox, or an online impulse purchase, which Lee had forgotten about.

Still wearing only the damp towel secured around his waist, he expected to see the usual postal worker in her uniform. Lee opened the door just a few inches wide. An Amazon delivery driver could arrive dressed in almost anything, but probably not a matching towel. Imagining how surreal it would be to open the door to a guy dressed exactly the same as him, Lee peered through the crack.

Hi, Connor said with a grin. It's not too early, is it? I didn't get you up?

Lee swung the door open.

Connor walked in. His gaze swept down the naked torso and damp towel, and Lee noticed. It was an appraisal he'd expect from his gay friends or strangers in a gay club rather than from any of his straight friends and work colleagues.

What's the matter? You've forgotten what my six-pack looks like since yesterday?

It had been a hard hats, shorts, and boots day on site on Friday afternoon. The health and safety guy would have done a dance if he caught them without their shirts, but no one ever got fired for a uniform infraction when on small, local sites of the type where Lee most often worked.

In his mind, it amused Lee to think how his working life seemed like a gay guy's wet dream. His gay friends would comment on it sometimes. Especially in the summer, on construction sites. A camera crew could film his team doing their job, putting up a scaffold, and sell it as gay soft porn. Without a dick in plain sight, the vista was mostly mouthwatering, scantily clad, ripped guys. Tops off and shorts hanging low on their hips. Complete with sun-kissed, bronzed skin and their fair share of tattoos. All bulging muscles, wet with sweat as they worked, shifting the poles into position and tightening the clamps and couplers.

Connor pushed through to the kitchen. If you're going to invite guys into your home when you're dressed like that, you've got to expect them to look. Or should I say, undressed like that?

What are you doing here so early? I thought you were more civilized than this? Lee followed Connor into the small kitchen, perplexed. Connor frequently showed up at Lee's home, but usually with prior warning and never this early. But every now and then, Connor overstepped the boundaries of their friendship, acting as if they were best friends. Weird behavior that went back fifteen years to the French incident.

Mostly civilized, and then occasionally, I have to let the animal out. He glanced at the countertop, and as if inspired by what he saw, he added, Hoping for coffee, right now.

Lee pulled a second mug from the dishwasher, all clean but yet to be unloaded, and set about preparing coffee for two. We've all got that side to us.

So you just got up? Are you alone? Or am I interrupting something?

Lee grinned; the answer was easy to come by. If I weren't alone I wouldn't have let you in. You can check upstairs if you want.

So you didn't get lucky last night?

No. More like unlucky. What about you?

I might have. Well, I sort of got lucky, but not in that way. I went home alone, but I had stuff to think about. And I had to drink a lot of water and digest a handful of anti-hangover medicine at four-hour intervals. You know how it is. Connor perched on one of the two stools in the kitchen and rested his elbows on the countertop.

Then I don't know why you're here so early. You should be in bed with a bucket nearby instead of looking cheerful and awake.

It was a Friday night. You know how things are, Lee. Were you drunk last night?

Lee poured two large mugs of coffee and went to the fridge to get milk. Why are you so interested in what I did last night? It wasn't that exciting hence I'm up early, no hangover, and no one came back for a slumber party.

Just asking.

Lee spooned sugar into their drinks and stirred them. He knew how Connor took his coffee. What is the matter with you?

To be honest, mate, I've hardly slept. Well, the alcohol helped me sleep, and so did jacking off, but that kept me awake too. Thinking about it. You know.

Connor came to a halt, put his fingers through the handle of the mug, and brought the drink to his lips. The steam clouded in front of his face. Even with milk added, it was too soon, too hot to drink.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Hiding behind the cup in front of his face, he looked at Lee through the cloud of steam. It kept me awake, wondering what it'd be like with a guy.

Lee suddenly felt very exposed and underdressed for this conversation. It wasn't his imagination; Connor was ogling him. A gorgeous man, but a straight one.

A straight man who he worked with.

The son of his employer.

For fuck's sake, Connor was his supervisor at work. They rarely worked together, but when they did, Connor was Lee's boss. Why bring this confession of gay-curiousness to Lee's door? No one at work knew about Lee, including Connor.

Connor looked down into his beverage. We can say anything to each other, can't we? We've been friends for a long time.

Lee wasn't sure how to answer and hoped he'd misheard. So, what's up?

I've been thinking about gay sex for most of the night.

Lee felt he'd been punched in the stomach and hit over the head with a scaffold pole while not wearing a hard hat. He looked away. What was this ambush all about? Did Connor know something? And how did he find out? But more importantly, what next? Was Lee going to lose his job? Would he work on a scaffold again once the truth was out among the trade?

Why? Lee asked after the silence lasted for what seemed to be far too long, but was probably only seconds.

I've never done it, Connor replied. Perhaps it's something I should knock off the bucket list.

Seriously?

"I've been