Excerpt from He Follows:
Where would he go, a man like that? Maybe if he could see where a man like that went, how he spent his day, Martin might learn something. They say that one of the most effective ways to change your life was to hang around with people you wanted to emulate, at least, that’s what he had read in Karen’s copy of How To Be The Person You Want To Be.
A strange instinct took hold of Martin. What if he just followed along? Competing thoughts jostled for attention in Martin’s head. On the one hand, it was silly and foolish to go traipsing along after a strange man like some deranged stalker. On the other hand, at least it was something to do, something to break up the long day of wandering around the city feeling like a homeless person, wallowing in wave after wave of guilt.
Martin stood, his chair scraping across the concrete of the café floor. He left a note on the table, wiped his mouth with a napkin and hurried out of the café, into the park, following the path of the mysterious man. As he followed at a distance, he decided he ought to name the man. What kind of a name would he have? Nothing like Martin, it would be something dynamic, bold; Chad or Brad or Storm or something along those lines. No, thought Martin, it would be something less obvious; a classic name, like Joe or Tony or Jack. Yes, Jack, that was about right.
The first thing to say about Jack was that he walked quickly. In fact, he was more of a strider than a walker, and he set a good pace through the park, scything through the ranks of commuters, joggers and strollers, heading for the far side. In order to keep up, Martin had to increase his stride beyond what he was used to, and by the time Jack and he reached the other end of the park, Martin was breathing heavily and in danger of regurgitating his pumpkin spice latte and half muffin. Jack momentarily slowed his pace as he left the park, enabling Martin to catch up, but the respite was only temporary. Turning sharply to the right, he headed along Leonidas Way, past the flower sellers and the newspaper vendors and then stopped abruptly at a bus stop.
Martin was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected Jack to stop there; a man like that catching a bus? Surely he would have a BMW to climb into or a chauffeur to bring his limousine round? Slowing his pace, Martin paused at the flower seller’s stall, pretending to peruse a selection of peonies. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bus approaching and Jack holding up his arm in a bold, commanding way. Martin waited until the bus was almost at the stop, then he moved swiftly, or at least, as swiftly as he was able. Two women were hurrying to catch the same bus and he allowed them to go in front of him. He hopped on behind them, showed his all-day bus travel pass and took a seat near the front of the bus. He couldn’t watch Jack from his new seat, but he was near enough to the front to jump off when the time came.
He had settled into his seat and was allowing the gentle progression of the bus ride to lull him into sleepiness when he noticed Jack striding to the front of the bus.
Martin stirred himself and tensed ready to jump out of his seat. He waited until the bus had stopped and Jack was half way through the door before propelling himself forward. As soon as he set foot on the sidewalk, he dropped to tie his laces, looking up surreptitiously to see which way Jack had gone, before resuming his trailing activity.
They were in a residential part of the city, full of three and four story apartments and Jack was marching in quick time along the sidewalk, looking up at a row of red-brick buildings as though trying to find the right one. Martin was struggling to keep up, increasing his stride beyond what was comfortable, and then, suddenly, he was obliged to come to a direct halt. Jack hopped quickly up a flight of steps to one of the buildings, buzzed the intercom and disappeared inside.
Before he had time to think, Martin had wheezed up the same stairs and squeezed through the slowly-closing door into the hallway.
The door shut behind him with an accusatory click. Martin was breathing heavily, from the exertion required to catch up to Jack and from the guilt and fear currently overloading his brain. What on earth was he doing? This wasn’t his apartment building. He shouldn’t be here.
He heard a door opening further along the hallway. Driven by curiosity, he tiptoed down the hallway just as the door closed lightly shut. He paused outside, looking left and right. There was no-one around. He pressed his ear close to the wood and could hear voices, male and female. As he leant on the door he realized that he was accidentally opening it with his shoulder.
Through the opening, he could see a man in a suit holding hands with a woman. As they walked away into another room, he saw her black nightdress slip over her curves and caught a glimpse of her naked butt. He leant a little further on the door, and it opened wide enough for him to go through, if he had the guts.
At that moment, Martin heard the door to the building opening. Panicking, he stepped quickly into the apartment and quietly closed the door behind him.
Crouching by the door, he tried not to make a sound.
From elsewhere in the apartment, he heard giggling and low conversation. He looked around. The place was beautifully decorated and on the wall were three portraits: two of a gorgeous blonde woman and one of a man. Martin frowned. He recognized that man. It was Pete, Pete, his co-worker at the Hercules. This must be his fiancee’s apartment. Rhea was her name, she came to one of the bank parties, he remembered she had been the subject of office innuendo for several days. So this mysterious man was having an affair with Rhea?
Feeling a little bolder, Martin ventured into the apartment a little further and along a corridor towards where the voices were coming from. Kneeling down, he crept towards an open door. Holding his breath, he risked a look. It was a bedroom. At the end of the bed sat Jack, his eyes closed, legs spread. He was naked to the waist and between his legs knelt Rhea. She was entirely naked and her blond ponytail bobbed up and down with a hypnotic rhythm as she worked on Jack’s cock. Martin gazed open mouthed at her perfect body, her slender waist, her smooth butt, and the dark inviting shadow between the curves of her thighs. He could feel his own cock stirring. Suddenly Jack began to groan and move on the bed, opening his eyes. Martin ducked back behind the door, holding his breath, expecting to be caught at any moment. He waited, but the door was not thrown open and he heard a new sound, a moaning and a sighing. Taking a deep breath, he risked another peek.
This time Rhea was facing the door, but her eyes were also closed. She was straddling Jack, and as she rose and fell, impaled on his cock, she was making deep guttural noises and high pitched squeals. Her breasts, full and pert, were rising and heaving as they fucked, and were glistening in the light through the window. Martin’s cock was hardening and he couldn’t resist reaching down and touching the bulge through his trousers.
Without warning, Rhea opened her eyes and then swung one leg off the bed. He caught a glimpse of her naked lower half walking towards the door. Panicking, he backed out into the corridor and hurried, stumbling a little. There was a firm slam and he turned back, expecting to be discovered at any moment.
There was no-one in the corridor. They hadn’t followed him out and he hadn’t been caught. The bedroom door was now firmly closed, however. Closing his eyes and sighing with relief, he hurried out of the apartment, closing the door gently behind him and walking quickly down the corridor, letting himself out of the building.
