The Big Teeth Guy

I met this guy in a club, one that used to be held in some railway arches just near King’s Cross Station. I think it’s moved on since then, but I haven’t been for a couple of years.
There’s a group of us there, and we are all dancing, but I decide to go for a wander and check out the talent. I am walking through the quiet seating area when I see this guy sitting on his own. He is cute, quite young looking, skinny with short brown hair. I sit down next to him.
It takes a few seconds to get his attention, but eventually he notices me smiling at him, and he smiles back, a tight lipped smile.
“Having a good night?” I ask.
“Yes, not bad,” he says, and that’s when I see his teeth. His teeth are huge, long and wide and sticking out of his mouth at an angle. But when he stops talking and closes his mouth again they are gone.
We chat for a bit about this and that, we find out that we both love cycling. He is from Australia, although is accent is not that strong, and he has been living in London for a couple of years. Every time he speaks I see the teeth. I think it’s a shame, because he seems like a decent guy, and he’s quite good looking when his mouth is closed.
So I decided to persevere, and I buy him a drink.
After a while we wander through to the main room where my friend’s are dancing. I introduce this guy to them. I can see them checking him out, and of course they spot the teeth too. It’s impossible not to.
We all dance for a bit.
“What do you think of him?” I ask one of my friends. “He’s quite cute apart from the teeth, don’t you think?”
“I am so glad you said that,” she says. “We were wondering if you had noticed.”
We have a bit of a laugh about that.
So the evening goes on, dancing and chatting, and eventually I kiss him. He is an ok kisser, the teeth don’t seem to make any difference, surprisingly enough.
As closing time approaches, my friends decided they are going to go back to someone’s flat for a chill out. I am not really in the mood for that, so I ask this guy if he wants to come back to mine. He seems keen enough, so we get our coats, leave the club and get ourselves a taxi.
Actually I am not staying at my flat, because I live on the other side of London. One of my friends has given me a set of his keys so I can crash in his spare room. It’s not far away, the taxi only takes a few minutes. We chat during the journey. He strikes me as a bit wet. His voice is all soft, and he doesn’t actually have much to say for himself in the cold light of (very early) day.
Back at the flat, we go straight to the bedroom and start to kiss. I push him over onto the bed and put my hand up his T-shirt, rubbing his body. He feels toned.
We kiss a bit more, but he doesn’t seem to be doing much, he just lies there. I stop for a second and look at him.
“Take your T-shirt off,” I say, and he does. His body is nice, thin but athletic looking.
We kiss a bit more.
“Take your jeans off,” I say, so he does that too, and then lies back on the bed. We a kiss for a bit longer, but this doesn’t really seem to be going anywhere. I’m getting bored now, and don’t know how to progress.
So I stand up and take my clothes off, down to my pants, and then get on the bed next to him and we kiss. I put my hand down the front of his pants, and I can feel he is semi-hard.
“Let’s take these off,” I say, pulling his pants down to reveal his cock. It’s fat and pink, kind of hard but not totally there. I start to rub it, pulling his foreskin back and forward, looking for a response. He just lies there, eyes closed, silent.
I go in for another kiss. Now I am getting annoyed. I push him over and look at his arse, which is nice, young and smooth, but when I start to play with it he rolls away from me onto his back.
After a bit I pull my own pants off. I am really horny, and I can tell this is going to need more drastic action. I’m hard.
“Suck my cock,” I say, and he screws up his face and looks uncomfortable.
“This is not really how I had imagined it would be,” he says.
I sigh.
“Maybe I should just go home,” he says.
“You don’t have to go home,” I say. “We can just go to sleep.”
So we try that for a while, I lie there and hold him. I am not too tired, still feeling quite high and awake. I play with his nipple, one last chance at getting somewhere, but nothing.
He gets up and goes to the toilet. When he comes back into the bedroom he says, “Maybe I should just leave,” and stands there, looking at me, teeth bared.
“Please, you don’t have to, let’s just go to sleep,” I say, although I am kind of hoping he will go.
He gets back into bed and snuggles up into me in a spoon formation.
We lie in silence for a few minutes.
“I should go home,” he says. “Do you want me to go?”
“Well maybe you should just go,” I say. I am at the end of my tether now, I’m not horny any more and I just want to try and get some sleep.
So he gets up and puts on his clothes.
He apologises that things haven’t really worked out, and I say it doesn’t matter, that it was nice to meet him, which is a lie.
He writes down his number on a scrap of paper.
“Call me,” he says. “Maybe we could hang out.”
“Erm, maybe,” I reply, trying to sound as non-committal as possible without being rude.
With that he leaves. My friend bumps into him on the street on his way back from the chill out party, and they chat briefly. My friend tells me this the next day, I tell him what happened and we have a laugh about the whole thing.
I don’t phone him of course, although I do spot him cycling up Charing Cross Road a couple of months later. His mouth is closed, so I don’t see his teeth.