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By *amiec OP Man
5 weeks ago
Dunfermline |
When Jamie had dropped out of college after only a few months. At first, he'd convinced himself it would be brilliant. No lectures, no assignments, no pressure. He imagined spending his days at home, sleeping late, messing around on his computer, watching TV, and generally taking life easy while he figured out what to do next.
His mother had other ideas.
"Until you find a job," she'd told him, arms folded, "you're not lying around this house doing nothing. If you're not earning money, you can at least do something useful. Go and volunteer somewhere. It'll give you something to put on your CV and might even impress an employer when you finally get a job interview."
Jamie had tried arguing, but it was pointless. His mum had already made up her mind.
There was no chance he was going to spend his days stacking donated clothes in a charity shop for free. He'd rather keep looking for excuses than old jumpers. Then one afternoon, while trying to buy cans of lager from the corner shop, he spotted a poster pinned to the noticeboard.
Men's Club Volunteers Wanted.
Help serve tea and coffee. Friendly company. Dominoes, card games, old movie afternoons and more.
Jamie read it twice. It didn't sound too demanding. A few hours indoors making tea for a bunch of pensioners while they played games couldn't be that difficult. It certainly beat sorting through bags of unwanted clothes.
The following Tuesday he found himself standing outside the community hall, wondering if he'd made a mistake. The building was older than he expected, with peeling paint around the windows and a faded sign above the entrance. Through the open door came the murmur of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter, and the unmistakable click of dominoes being slammed onto a table.
Inside, the room smelled of biscuits and furniture polish. Half a dozen elderly men sat around tables playing cards or dominoes, while another group argued good-naturedly over the ending of an old war film playing on a television in the corner.
It wasn’t nearly as gloomy as he'd imagined.
The organiser, a cheerful woman spotted Jamie hovering awkwardly by the door.
"Hi, can I help you’ she said with a warm smile.
“Eh I was hoping to volunteer”, mumbled Jamie
"Oh that’d be lovely. I’m Margaret, let me show you round. Don't worry, they don't bite”, she smiled.
A ripple of laughter came from one of the tables.
Margaret led him into the hall, weaving between groups of men deep in card games and lively conversations. The room buzzed with friendly chatter, the rattle of teacups and the sharp clack of dominoes being placed on wooden tables.
Most of the tables were full, but one man sat on his own in the corner, carefully arranging a line of dominoes as if he were setting up a puzzle.
"There you are," Margaret said. "Go and keep George company. He's forever complaining nobody wants to play him."
The man looked up.
He was probably in his early seventies, though Jamie wouldn't have guessed it at first glance. He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders. His silver hair was neatly cut, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief.
George smiled the moment he saw Jamie.
"Well now," he said. "Margaret, if I'd known volunteers looked like this, I'd have been coming here years ago."
Margaret rolled her eyes.
"Behave yourself, George."
"I am behaving." He grinned.
Jamie laughed awkwardly as he pulled out the chair opposite him.
"I'm Jamie."
George held out his hand. His grip was surprisingly firm. "George."
For a moment they simply looked at one another.
Then George grinned.
"So, are you any good at dominoes, or am I about to spend the afternoon pretending to lose so you don't feel embarrassed?"
"I've played a few times."
"Confident. I like that." George began shuffling the tiles. "Mind you, confidence usually disappears about ten minutes after I start winning."
Jamie raised an eyebrow.
"Are you always this modest?"
"Oh, I'm much worse once you get to know me."
Jamie couldn't help smiling.
George pushed half the dominoes across the table.
"Go on then. Show me what you've got."
As they played, George chatted easily, asking about Jamie without making it feel like an interview. He wanted to know what music he liked, whether he'd ever had a proper job and what had brought him to the club.
When Jamie admitted he'd dropped out of college, George simply nodded.
"College isn't for everyone," he said, placing a domino with a satisfying click. "Took me years to work out what I wanted to do. Some people spend their whole lives pretending they've got it figured out."
There was something about him that made conversation effortless. George was quick with a joke, generous with a compliment, and had a habit of looking directly at Jamie whenever he spoke, as though whatever Jamie had to say was genuinely worth hearing.
After a few hours and countless cups of tea, George announced he’d need a pee, giving Jamie a lingering look before heading toward the toilets. As the minutes ticked by, Jamie’s initial curiosity shifted into a gnawing sense of worry. George had been gone far too long. Biting his lip, Jamie stood up and walked slowly toward the toilets, his heart hammering against his ribs, George was old, what if he’d fallen?
The toilet was silent, save for the hum of the fluorescent lights. Jamie stepped further inside. That was when he heard it, a heavy, ragged breath coming from the far end of the row of cubicles.
Jamie froze, creeping closer. From behind the closed door of the last cubicle , a low, guttural moan escaped George’s throat. It wasn't a sound of pain, but one of intense, desperate pleasure.
Jamie leaned in, unsure of what was happening. Then, George’s voice broke through the silence, strained and thick with lust.
"Fuck... Jamie..." George groaned, his voice trembling. "God, Jamie... I'm gonna cum... I'm fucking cumming!"
The sound of a sharp, final gasp followed, accompanied by the slapping of skin against skin and the heavy, wet sound of cum splashing against the door. Jamie stood paralysed, his face flushing. The raw hunger in George's voice sent a jolt of electricity straight to Jamie's groin, leaving him breathless and aching. Overwhelmed and terrified of being caught, Jamie backed away silently and hurried out of the hall, the echo of his name on George's lips ringing in his ears.
By the time Jamie reached his house, he was vibrating and couldn't stop shaking. He just hoped his mum was still at work. He bounded up the stairs, three at a time, struggling to unfasten the button of his jeans. Not wanting to waste any time he shimmied his jeans down his thighs, just enough for him to slide his pants down as he collapsed onto his bed, the sheets cool against his heated skin, but his mind was trapped back in that toilet.
He closed his eyes and could almost smell George, could almost hear that desperate, needy moan. Jamie reached down, his fingers wrapping tightly around his hard cock. He began to stroke himself, his movements fast and frantic.
He imagined George in that cubicle, imagining George's hand gripping his own shaft, imagining that same voice whispering his name into the silence.
"George," Jamie whimpered, his hips arching off the mattress.
He pictured George's face twisted in pleasure, the way his muscles must have tensed as he came. The mental image acted like fuel, pushing Jamie closer to the edge. He gripped himself harder, pumping his cock with firm, desperate strokes, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps.
As the pressure built to an unbearable peak, Jamie let out a cry, his body shuddering violently. He slammed his hips down into the mattress as he erupted, thick ropes of cum splashing across his stomach and sheets. He lay there for a long time, panting and spent, the ghost of George's voice still haunting his thoughts.
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