The hobbit who wouldn’t leave

His name was Tim but the poor guy was so short that my housemate couldn’t help but nickname him The Hobbit almost instantly. He was at least two inches shorter than me when I was bare foot and I’m only 5’2″. I guess you could say it was a mercy fuck; it must be hard for a guy that short to get laid. Not that he was by any means a little person. He was just exceptionally short.

We had been drinking since the afternoon, celebrating J’s birthday. We drank our way through various venues before we ended up at a nearby pub. One by one the girls departed for their husbands, children, cats and dogs until only J and I were left. She was drunk like I had rarely seen but in a good mood. One of those moods where you strike up conversations with perfect strangers and invite people to stop and sit with you.

In this instance, Tim stopped and began to speak to us but in her expansive mood, J indulged him, encouraged him even to stay and chat. A carpenter by day, he was the singer in a band by night and had performed at a wedding earlier in the evening. He offered to buy us drinks and while he was at the bar, J announced she was leaving.

“You can’t leave now. He’s buying us drinks.”

“So? I don’t want it.”

“But that’s mean. You can’t do that.”

“I don’t care, I’m going.”

And a minute later her husband was standing in the entry and J was walking out the door.

“You can’t leave me here!”

“So, come with us.”

“But that’s mean.”

“I’m going lovely. Bye.”

When Tim returned, she was gone and I was left to explain her suddendisappearance.

He was funny. He did make me laugh but the lack of height, while perfect perhaps for nipple play, was not stoking my lady loins. We continued to drink and laugh and it was getting late. When the pub’s house lights came up it seemed inevitable that I would have to invite him back.  And that’s the type of ridiculous logic that continued to get me into trouble when I started dating properly, but more on that later. So, I made a deal with him.

“I have a guitar in my apartment. If you can play me a song and sing and it sounds good, you can have a drink with me. If not, you have to leave.”

It was a stupid deal that didn’t fool anyone. Unfortunately, I had left that afternoon without my fob and key and I had no choice but to ring my housemate and ask him to let me in.

He answered the phone quickly so I assumed he was awake. When he stepped out of the lift at ground level and saw me standing there with Tim, his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He was not impressed but I think he wanted to laugh more than anything.

Once upstairs, he went straight into his bedroom and I grabbed the guitar as I led Tim out onto the deck. I closed the sliding door behind us.

Turns out that he could in fact play and sing, very well in fact. I had made a promise, so I was committed to giving him that drink and more besides.

We started fucking on the deck before I decided it was better to retire to my bedroom.

What he lacked in height he made up for in length and girth. His cock was surprisingly big and it actually felt really good. Sometimes the nights with the lowest expectations turn out the most fun.

The next morning was a whole different story. We had drunk a lot and he had continued to drink in the apartment while I had stopped. Trying to get him to wake up and leave was much more difficult than I had anticipated.

I shifted in the bed. I checked my phone. I got up to pee. Nothing seemed to disturb this guy and it was getting close to 9am. This was beyond what I was willing to tolerate. In desperation, and with my phone on silent, I text a friend and asked her to call me with an emergency. Then I switched my phone back to loud, lay it down quietly on the bedside table and pretended to be asleep.

When it started ringing a few moments later, I acted startled and sleepy. I didn’t study drama at uni for nothing.

“Hello?”

On the other end of the phone, my friend began to tell me that her house was on fire and her arm had fallen off.

“What? When?” Long pause to let her continue to tell me about the emergency that wasn’t happening.

“Where are you?” Pause. “Are you OK?” Pause.

“OK, yep. Yep. Alright, give me half an hour and I’ll be there.” Pause.

“OK. Yep, I’ll be there soon.”

I hung up and turned to Tim who had finally stirred beside me.

“Sorry, you need to go. That was my friend and she needs me.”

I got back something between a groan and a question.

“What time is it?”

“About 9.30.”

I didn’t apologise. Not once. He was in my apartment and had long overstayed his welcome. I wanted him gone.

It was obvious once he finally rallied himself that he was still drunk. The task of him getting out of bed, finding his clothes and pulling them on was excruciatingly slow. I watched on impatiently, inwardly urging him to pull on his shoes faster, and get going.

At the door, I didn’t ask for his number and he didn’t ask for mine. When I tumbled back into my sweaty, sex sheets, I picked up my phone and called my friend.

“What the fuck was that about?”

 

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