The Gas Man Part 1
Originally posted on Patreon on 6th May 2022
While writing this piece, I have sat here wondering just how to explain the love affair between The Gas Man and myself. Despite loving each other in our own unique way, it was ultimately hard for us both, I think, to effectuate and therefore sustain a relationship. This story doesn’t have a happy ending for us as a couple. Neither he or I could have predicted what the next 4 years of our lives with each other would be like. Despite the heartache, blowing up my life (again), shitting and pissing myself during sex on several occassions and the times we spent apart and longing for each other, I wouldn’t change it. We also had the best sex of our lives, despite the unintended pissing and the shitting.
In December 2017, I had left my ex-husband and moved back in with my parents and was forced to navigate Dating Apps for the first time. Well, sort of the first time. For the best part of the previous year my ex-husband and I had finally agreed to actually do the ‘open’ part of our open marriage. But using the apps when there isn’t that impending fear is very different to using them when you are looking to actually find a partner. The doom-scrolling of trying desperately to find someone, with each swipe the possibility of finding someone to share your bed, let alone share your life, seems to drift further and further away.
The thing about dating in the past few years is, as horrendous as it is, there is an upside to the churn rate of The Apps being like working in a shit HR department at a shit call centre; there is always someone new and eager to come and replace the old person within a week. That person after the latest awful adventure was The Gas Man.
He stood out when I was scrolling. Laying down on his bed with the cheekiest smile you could imagine, with a stupid Peaky Blinders hat but before every prick decided that they would embody some East End gangster by wearing one. Great music taste, a mixture of Hip Hop and things like Nick Cave, which to a music elitist like me is catnip. We matched instantly, and chatted for hours. He asked me to go to a house party with him that coming Friday. Now normally I would have said fuck yourself, because what is more boring and anxiety-inducing than going to a house party where you dont know a single person and you are also on a first date. Also it’s in St Albans, the poshest place I knew maybe after Kensington. But I was in my try-anything era so I said yes.
Friday came around and I got all dolled up and waited. And waited. It got to about 11pm and that is when I took my makeup off and got into bed. As soon as this happened The Gas Man sent me a message on The App, asking if I was still up for coming out. I told him in no uncertain terms that I was up for going to a house party, and that I thought he had stood me up. He told me he had sacked off the house party and that he was out in St Albans, and the thing was he didn’t actually have a phone. In fact he was messaging me off his friends phone via the app. I should come out and meet him there. At 11pm.
It was at this point I should have realised that Gas Man was a fucking flake and I should have told him to grow up and get a phone and leave me alone. But I was horny, very interested and honestly a little bit desperate. After all the only bites I had had recently were a jackhammering taxidermist museum guy, someone who wanted to eat my farts and a guy from Clapham who had a babyarm dick and an incest festish.
I told him that I wasn’t about to put my makeup back on, get ready and come out to the pub when it was already closing time, but he could pay for a hotel and meet me instead. We both realised that this would have to be done on faith alone as he had no phone. He would order an Uber on his mate’s phone, screenshot it to me, and we both solemnly swore we would meet outside the hotel in 30 minutes time. I scrambled about and put some eyeliner and lipstick on, my standard black bodycon first date dress and fur coat, no knickers. Knocked on my parents bedroom door to tell them I was going out at nearly midnight to meet a man and jumped in an Uber.
I got there and he wasn’t there. I decided I would wait 20 minutes. It was February and absolutely fucking freezing. I chain smoked, doing a little side step dance in my bright baby pink AirMax 90s and fur coat, looking ridiculous and slowly freezing to death. Just as I was about to give up, a Prius pulled up and a guy, about my height if maybe a tiny bit shorter, got out. Wearing a camel Burberry coat, jeans, good trainers and that Peaky Blinders hat. He came over and said, “oh good, you smoke too.” His. Voice. Melted. Me. To. Death. Think Danny Dyer but more masculine and deeper, maybe Ray Winstone but a pitch lighter. We pressed the buzzer on the hotel, a literal skyscraper that dominates the skyline in my town. The voice said “fully booked sorry”. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind that this was a possibility. We both creased up, and he put his arms round me to keep me warm whilst I found another hotel for us. He effortlessly managed to cuddle me, chain smoke 2 fags and and pay for the new hotel on my phone. I was already completely intoxicated with him. He held my hand in the Uber and didn’t let go whilst we checked in.
We lay down on the bed and a weird nervousness came over us both. I had only bought a huge bottle of water with me and my meds, so I downed a load of water and talked about being ill, something I never do because it is incredibly unsexy. But he listened. We had both had similar upbringings, both incredibly working class, and the same outlooks on life. We couldn’t stop talking; it was exactly how the best first dates go. He skinned up some hash (something I can never get hold of now I am no longer 15) and we went outside to smoke it. He wrapped his arms around me as I felt that warm, fuzzy, floating feeling of getting stoned. Once we got back inside we lay back down and he pulled me towards him. He put one hand on my face, and kissed me. I don’t know how to adequately describe a kiss like this, but you know when you kiss in unison, one person's lips move on top first then below, your tongues graze each others without it being sloppy or too wet, just pushing trying to get deeper and to convey how much you want each other. This isn’t vore, don’t worry, but you almost want to consume each other getting faster and your lips push harder, and I move my hand towards his dick but he grabs my wrist to stop me.
This is exactly what I had been craving. Not since my ex-husband had I been with someone who knew exactly what it meant to be properly Dominant. There are no stupid names to call each other, no ridiculous teasing, everything felt natural. He undid his belt and told me to suck his dick. I leaned over his side, and went to grip his dick and jerk it off but he yanked me back and asked me if he had told me to use my fucking hands. I could feel myself getting so wet. I needed this, to be controlled, to be smooth-brained, to not think, to just be told what to do. I put my hands to my sides and continued to just use my mouth. The Gas Man loves to do BJI (blow job instructions) and deep throat training. As this was my first time meeting him, I had no idea this was one of his main fetishes so I just assumed he was well into this blowie.
By this point, my well applied lipstick and eyeliner was all over my face, my hair was everywhere, I looked like a cross between Courtney Love and Myra Hindley on their worst nights. He pulled me up to him and told me I looked so fucking sexy and how would I feel if we recorded me, on my phone (as he didn’t have one) and that way we could look at it again and again when we wanted. I had taken nudes and short videos before but nothing like this. All horned up, I agreed enthusiastically. I got between his legs and slide down the bed and got to fucking work.
By this point, The Gas Man was getting me to go deeper, telling me he wanted to hear me choke and gag, he wanted to see my dribble. Now, apart from the fact my meds make my mouth as dry as the Sahara, my gag reflex is good but not perfect. I remembered a little tip about digging your thumbs into the palms of your hands to refocus so that I wouldn’t throw up. It worked so I carried on pushing my lips around his dick, working my tongue up and down and listening for his voice telling me to push it down my throat. Gas Man knew all the tricks so every time I tried to evade he would tell me to stick my fucking tongue out so there was no option but to get it right at the back of my mouth and down my throat. Although this was hard work and I was gagging and spluttering, hearing his voice encouraging me and telling me what a good girl I was made me feel invincible. Feeling his dick slide down me was amazing.
Just as I was getting in the swing of things, he made me stop. He pulled me up to the middle of the bed, and I begged him to fuck me. He told me no and hung my head off the side of the bed. I was ready to be throat-fucked again but he said very clearly; “I want you to eat my arse Charlotte, fucking rim me girl”. I can’t even remember how he had positioned himself, whether he was sitting on my face or he was standing above me, but I went to town. I knew this felt good for him. I pushed my tongue flat against his arsehole so it was covering all of it, and licked it firmly, fast then slow. Circled it, flicked it back and forth before shoving it up there as far as I could, listening to him make those sounds of pleasure, and making sure I was repeating the things that he responded to.
We switched back to a weird sort of 69, him throat-fucking me over the bed, and him rubbing my clit, I really had no control over my gag reflex at this point and we had been going for hours now, and it was one gag too far. I do my kegels everyday but having been catheterised for long periods of time, drinking loads of water and just being a woman I s’pose, I pissed myself. Because I hadn’t eaten since about 6pm that night, it had to be about 3am and I had only drunk water, I could pass this off as squirting (something I am actually capable of). I quickly made some noises and said, “oh, I've cum everywhere.” This sped things up and The Gas Man finished all over my face. He gallantly offered to sleep in the wet patch, and I winced a bit, but fuck it, I figured I might not ever see him again.
He spooned me in his huge arms, which I thought might feel weird or awkward as we had just done some immense sex stuff and we also had only met each other that night, but it felt so natural. He obviously fell asleep instantly and snored like a fucking train. Despite me having had a fistful of sedatives and muscle relaxants I couldn’t sleep. I sort of drifted in and out listening to my playlist quietly, in his arms.
About 8am, I was hungry and knew I wasn’t getting any sleep. I messaged the girlies, walked to Sainsbos to get some coffee and snacks thinking about the absolutely wild time I had had and how I wanted more. The girls wanted all the info so I tried to fill them in as best I could,but how can you fit all that into a message?
I got back and woke him up, asked him if he wanted anything to eat but he said he had to get back as he had a job on, but he would call me that night. We got an Uber into town, so I could drop him off and he could sort himself out, get cash, that sort of thing, and I spent the rest of the Uber on cloud nine.
He didn’t call me that evening, or the next, or even for the rest of that week. That pretty much sets the tone for the rest of Charlotte and The Gas Man saga for the next 4 years. But he was under my skin, in my brain, everywhere, and I couldn’t get him out.