13 Shame

Martin didn't know how miraculously he did not encounter any of the hotel employees on his way to the exit. Maybe they weren't that vigilant at this time, or maybe they just disappeared for few minutes. Only at the exit door a young man in the hotel's livery asked:

"Would you like a taxi, sir?"

Martin did not immediately realize that the words were meant for him.

"Sir?" a hotel employee called him.

Martin flinched, surprised and ashamed. He couldn't look up at hotel employee as he replied:

"No thank you."

"Have a good night, sir."

"Thank… thank you. Good night."

Cool air swept over his burning face, restoring him a bit of freshness. Lamps and neon lights illuminated the streets, but Martin noticed that the sky was no longer black, but gray. What time could it be? Two in the morning? Three? At this time, the buses stopped running, so he had to walk home, which should take him forty minutes from this point of town… More like eighty as it stands. He wished he had taken a cab after all, because every step was a pain for him.

But the streets weren't empty. It was Saturday night and the young people were spending it at parties. He wasn't the only one whose pace was uncertain and his face pale. This allowed him to summon up his courage and, hoping that he wasn't screaming with his whole body, for which he was used that night, he caught a taxi, which had just dropped off a drunk couple stuck together.

He stuck his head to the car windshield and closed his eyes. He forced himself with all his might not to think about what had happened that night, for he was afraid that his troubled emotions would explode and give him another cause for shame. He bit the inside of his mouth and counted the minutes to his quiet, peaceful, and human-free apartment.

With relief, he got out of the car at the address indicated. Now, like never before, he really appreciated that he had moved out of the house with his new job. He did it because he wanted to be on his own, and he also saved two hours a day traveling. Not that he didn't come home in the morning when he was still living in the family home, but sometimes his mother couldn't sleep and waited for him. If she saw him now, she would know something had happened, and there are things you just can't tell your mother.

Entering his little apartment, Martin sighed. He was tired and sore, but more than sleep he needed to wash that night off his body. He undressed in the bathroom, throwing his dirty clothes into the washing machine right away, and only now realized that he was not wearing underpants. He couldn't believe he had forgotten them while he was getting dressed at the hotel. He excused himself in front of himself that after such experiences everyone had the right to make a mistake, but the fact remained - he left evidence of his presence at the crime scene. Whoa! Even if Steve was too drunk to remember what happened, the men's underwear that definitely didn't belong to him would give him a lot to think about.

Martin groaned painfully. What a fool, he thought to himself. A complete idiot. Now it was too late to do anything about it, and all that was left for Martin was to pray that Steve wouldn't get the facts together. It happened, the evidence of the crime remained. Now, there is nothing Martin can do about it.

With a heavy heart, he entered the tub, intending to take a shower, but his legs gave way under him. Steve really sucked all the energy out of him. Martin sat down huddled and let the tepid water flow over himself. As for the sucking ... The sight of his own penis being battered with Steve's mouth made him shiver despite the warm stream.

The water was washing him, cleansing him slowly, relieving him of tension. She let him lower his guard and relax a little. Beneath her warm stream, he rested his forehead on his knees and wrapped his arms around them. He didn't want to remember what happened today. He did not want to remember or think about anything. He wanted to stay in this pleasant position forever. He felt his muscles loosen more and more.

Then something terrible happened, something that shook him again that night. He felt a thick and sticky liquid coming out of his ass.

"Shit," he swore, hitting the side of the tub with his fist. He had completely forgotten that he had allowed - no, he asked himself! - Steve to come in him. Could there be a greater humiliation for a man? Martin was frustrated and furious, but not at Steve but at himself. It was he who invited him in when Steve tried to hold back. "Shit!"

He really liked what Steve was doing with him that night. Despite the pain, despite the perverse situation - or maybe because of it - he really liked it.

Martin spent all Sunday in bed too tired and in pain to even go out to dinner. He had a slight fever which he treated with the remedies he had at hand. But his physical ailments were nothing compared to the storm of emotions and thoughts that raged within him.

Tomorrow he will have to go to work. He will definitely meet Steve there. And then what?

Martin admired Paxton for a long time as a gifted driver and a real guy who was a role model for him, but he never looked at him as an object of physical worship. Martin had never felt anything physical when he saw any man. His body was unresponsive when he was in the gym or in the shared shower. A guy has always been a guy, a friend, a colleague, an opponent, but never an object of sexual desire. Even Steve, whose handsome face and slender body made an aesthetic impression on him, had never caused such reactions in him before. Now, as soon as he remembered the strong hand that wandered over his body, the fingers that plunged into secret recesses, the lips that whispered these seductive words and sucked his nipples and penis, the warm breast touching his torso, piercing, lustful eyes ... Martin wasn't sure if he would be able to stay calm when he saw the man again. On the contrary, he felt tortured knowing that he would not keep this peace.

But how will Paxton react? Drunk or not, he'll find enough evidence in his bedroom to know what happened. He may not immediately associate with whom, but he should quickly figure it out. There were only three of them at the party after the party, and Karl did not leave Anna's side. By elimination, only he, Martin, remained in the equation.

Damn it!

It was all abnormal, it was sick. And yet, as Martin remembered the passages of the night before, his hand stretched by itself towards the penis. His battered body had enough memory to demand more. The exhausted Martin hid his face in the pillow with a firm determination that he would sleep until Monday morning and definitely throw Paxton out of his head.

He fulfilled the decision only halfway. He slept a long time, but he dreamed of Steve's touch all the time.

Monday has come as inevitable as every Monday has come before. Only this time it was the most stressful Monday morning Martin had had in his entire life. The young mechanic had no idea whether he was going to his own execution or face the terrifying lion which virtually made no difference. He hadn't expected anything from this day but torment.

"It's weird seeing you at work today," Allen greeted him.

"What? Why?" Martin blushed, having a terrible feeling that everyone knew what he was doing with Steve.

"When Steve starts partying, he is usually gone for days. Since he took you, I expected you to have such a hangover that you wouldn't get out of bed."

Did Allen know they left together? Whence? Was he suspecting something?

"No, it's okay," he assured, trying to keep his tone of conversation casual. "I got sick yesterday. I've already cured my hangover " he said.

It is true that only a moral hangover, he he added in his mind, but who would pick on the details?

The chief mechanic laughed.

"Anyway, Steve also showed up strangely early and makes exceptionally good times today."

"Really?"

"See for yourself."

They left the hangar, which overlooked the track. Two red and yellow cars raced on the asphalt, slowing down only on the corners so as not to fall out on the gratings. At first it seemed as if they were going at the same speed, but it soon turned out that the first was moving away from the second.

Steve rode in the first one.

Martin saw the driver on the track more than once in practice and he was always good, but what he was doing on the track today was pure virtuosity. Steve rode as if inspired.

Martin's heart was beating wildly. Watching his exploits was a real feast for the eyes of every racing fan. Paxton seemed to be racing against the devil himself instead of participating in regular training.

It was just beautiful.