Paddy McGuinness was tired. He had spent his day combing shops fruitlessly for new objects of interest to brighten up his dreary flat. A man of little taste himself, he usually resorted to Ikea, but had encountered a gang of youths several times now while wheeling his flat packs to his car, and felt that Croydon could no longer be the place for him. Sauntering towards one of Essex's particularly grey looking antique shops, he gazed blankly at a pair of porcelain dancing figures, his masculinity ebbing away with each passing second. A bell rang as he opened the door, but nobody appeared to be inside. Paddy McGuinness' mind began to wander, as he stopped in front of an old candlestick, noting to himself that its measurements were of a suitable girth for anal penetration.
"I see you've noticed my candlestick," said a voice.
Paddy McGuinness looked up to see a figure moving a few metres away. David Dickinson emerged from the shadows where he had been perfectly camouflaged against a tan coloured English walnut claw and ball buffet sideboard server with rope trim.
Paddy McGuinness was flustered. Paddy McGuinness considered himself a confident man, cocky even, who was comfortable with his sexuality and his body. But David Dickinson made him feel shy. With every glance of those brown eyes he felt himself mesmerised by his undeniable charm.
"I, uh… Was just looking for some ornaments," he said, lamely.
"So you too find pleasure in objects?" David Dickinson asked, lingering seductively on the word 'pleasure' while he gently cupped an ornate cream jug. He trailed his finger slowly along a cabinet as he prowled towards Paddy McGuinness.
"Oh yes," breathed Paddy McGuinness, his eyes flickering again to the candlestick, "and these are cheap as chips," he added, seeing the tag: 'Candlestick (used), £75p.'
David Dickinson smiled. "I reckon I'd give it to you for free. I've seen you on the tellybox. You're the real deal, aren't you?"
Paddy McGuinness dropped his shopping bags, moving closer to the magnetic David Dickinson.
"Aye that's me alright," he gasped, his desire for David Dickinson almost overwhelming him. "Aren't you a bobby dazzler?"
And suddenly David Dickinson was upon him, his brown face swallowing up that of Paddy McGuinness, his spectacles pressing painfully into his cheeks as he devoured all in sight. Kissing him back hungrily, Paddy McGuinness began to tear off David Dickinson's many pocket watches: they stood between him and his prize. Unbuttoning Paddy McGuinness' Marks and Spencers suit, the snappiest Autograph had to offer, David Dickinson let out a deep chuckle of delight that made Paddy McGuinness tremble.
"Take me out, David" he whispered urgently, "take it all out."
"You remind me of my big toe…" David Dickinson growled, finally exposing Paddy McGuinness' hairless chest and greying underpants, "because I'm going to bang you on every piece of furniture I own."
David Dickinson's raging erection stood desperately awaiting Paddy McGuinness' touch. His own cobra was alert and ready for action.
Grabbing a pot of furniture polish from atop a nearby cake stand, Paddy McGuiness unscrewed the lid and lathered it onto David Dickinson's tumescent member, majestically quivering in the stale air. David Dickinson could wait no longer. Before he knew what was happening, David Dickinson wheeled him about, pinning Paddy McGuinness aggressively against a mahogany wardrobe and binding an antique skipping rope roughly around his wrists.
"Holy moly," Paddy McGuinness exclaimed, gripping the rope tightly as David Dickinson entered him.
"I likey," Paddy McGuinness shuddered into the wardrobe door.
"Speak up, Son" David Dickinson cried, the pleasure almost too much for him.
"I likey," Paddy McGuinness screamed, his voice echoing around the antique shop as the furniture rattled with the force of David Dickinson's thrusts, until David Dickinson found release.
Swiping the candlestick from the side David Dickinson forcibly inserted it into Paddy McGuinness, plunging it repeatedly between his pale buttocks while his little hand clasped around Paddy McGuinness' neglected trouser snake. David Dickinson's withered hand felt like sandpaper but Paddy McGuinness was in heaven, his climax staining hundreds of pounds worth of Edwardian hardwood furniture. Gasping for breath, he pulled his hands free from the ropes and turned to face David Dickinson,
"'Id take you down my love chute again any day," he exclaimed, enthralled at the strength of his conquest's willowy yet sun-battered arms.
"Then take me out, show me a good time," " David Dickinson rasped, eyeing the throbbing phallus of Paddy McGuinness over his spectacles, as if he was valuing a newly won, priceless auction piece.
"I know somewhere," Paddy McGuinness whispered, wiping beads of sweat from his furrowed brow, his throat almost closing at the excitement of his idea.
"Do tell," David Dickinson said, gripping Paddy McGuinness' face in his clammy palms.
Paddy McGuinness pushed the used candle out of David Dickinson's hand and pulled him into a naked embrace, their sweat co-mingling, the detritus of their lovemaking littered around the dank shop.
"David, I'm taking you to the Isle of Fernando's."