by Lee Quail
Raw snatched them from Edward’s hand, popped them into his mouth and swallowed them down with the juice. “Satisfied now?”
“Do things right first time and you’ll be fine.”
“It’s all Angie you know that, don’t you. She’s trying to match-make us and it’s not working. She thinks I should get myself a lover. She wants me to come out to the world and I’m not ready.”
“Angie means well. No harm in what she’s doing.”
“She seems to have a kink for gay boxers.”
“Maybe it keeps her safe.”
“How long have you been boxing?” Raw asked, sipping the remainder of the juice.
“I don’t box anymore.”
“Not the answer I’m looking for.”
“Since childhood.”
“Me too. Damn, this is good,” Raw bit into a slice of the roast. “Won any titles?”
“A few. Nothing to write home about. I’m not in your league,” Edward said.
“If you were in my league I’m sure I would have recognized you.”
Edward stared at Raw with an expression of bewilderment and resignation. Raw purposely looked for gaps to belittle him.
“First thing in the morning I’ll drop you off wherever you want to go,” Edward said. “I’m going to bed. I’ve had enough of you belittling me. Turn off the light before you sleep.”
Edward turned to leave and before he reached the door, Raw called out. “Wait!”
Edward stopped but kept his gaze on the door.
“Thank you,” Raw said, removing the sheet.
Edward faced the door. Still silent.
“I’m a prick,” Raw said, trying to get off the bed. “You helped me today and I’m a fucking moron for not recognizing it.”
Slowly Edward turned around. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I think it’s better if we parted ways right now. Pass my trousers and shirt.”
“Not going to happen, buddy,” Edward collected Raw’s clothing hanging off the chair and folded them across his arm. “You’re here for the night. Get some rest.”
“Hey! My clothes.”
Edward headed for the door and closed it behind him.
For a few moments, he stood on the top landing, breathing heavily. His heart thumped loudly.
The day had turned into a nightmare.
***
Raw climbed off the bed and stumbled to the window, opened the curtains and stared out at the lake across the road. The lights around the lake trembled in the cool breeze. Ducks and geese quacked. The odd car passed by.
He had failed miserably.
This is what he did: turned people away from him in his fanatical endeavour to stay safe. He had no reason to treat Edward with disdain. Charming. Resilient. Sexy and warm, Edward. Maybe one day Edward will find the man of his dreams, he thought.
Right now, Raw needed to concentrate on his plan to purchase a studio and change it into a boxing gym. Register with Boxing South Africa, buy equipment and start training potential champions.
One hurdle at a time, his brain cautioned.
His father would be upset. He’d probably try to dissuade Raw. Dangle a carrot before him to make him stay. Raw wouldn’t bite.
Feeling anxious, he opened his room door quietly and tiptoed across the landing, passed Edward’s main bedroom and down the carpeted stairs to the living room area.
A grandfather clock stood along the far wall and it reminded him of the antique grandfather clock in his Grandad’s house. One with a bird that peeped out to announce the hour.
Along the one wall hung a series of framed certificates. He inspected them one by one. Awarded to Edward Canton, first divisional group, junior boxing champion of the year, Under 15. 2005. Senior boxing champion of the year, Under 21 Lightweight Boxing champion for (GYM), 2010. Africa Boxing Union Welterweight champion – 2015. A lintel ran across the wall displaying the medals and trophies attesting to Edward’s skill in the ring.
Raw felt tingly. Edward had said nothing about this. Why hide such accomplishments? Why play down all these achievements?
“You too - couldn’t sleep?” Edward announced from the doorway. His voice startled Raw who covered his nakedness with his hands immediately.
“I was looking at your boxing pedigree,” Raw said.
“So I gathered.”
“You didn’t say much about this. You’re a serious goddamned boxer. This is amazing. But why hide it?”
Edward handed him a white nightgown and sat on the polished wooden floor cupping his knees with clasped hands.
“These last few hours have been about you. Only you. I didn’t want to spoil your selfless moments.”
“Tell me your best fight. Against who?”
“Charley, “The Knife” Gladstone. Four years ago. Southpaw of note. The last fight I won.”
“We all lose sometimes. Personally, I’ve had enough of losing.”
“Losing should make you try harder next time. After The Knife, there was only one more.”
“What happened? Did you quit?” Raw asked.
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“What happened?”
“Let it go. Just leave it.”
Raw raised the palms of his hands. “Okay, just asking. No need to snap.”
Edward stood up and stretched. “I’m going to crash. Stay up as long as you want. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight, stud,” Raw said, smiling at Edward, half cursing himself for using the word “stud”.
After a long session of deep reflection, Raw headed off to the spare room and once again tiptoed across the upstairs landing. Instead of walking towards the spare room, he stopped at Edward’s door standing slightly ajar.
With two fingers he pushed the door open wider. No sound.
Pushed wider still.
The cold moon bathed the bed in a tube of silver light. It fell across Edward’s motionless form beneath the duvet and settled on the serenity of his face.
Raw stepped into the room and stood at the foot of the bed, watching Edward as he slept. A groan. A slight shift of the body.
Impulsively, Raw touched Edward on his arm and lightly drew a line down to the palm of his hand.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
Edward’s fingers jerked but Raw remained steadfast. Slowly he peeled away the duvet and rested it below Edward’s knees.
Edward’s physique had all the right qualities: A spoonful of hair on his chest with a dark treasure trail from his bellybutton to his groin. The tattoos, beautifully crafted on every square inch of his stomach, chest, neck and arms, especially the one dedicated to his mother; “Forever yours, mom”, outside a red rose on his neck. The veins in his arms protruded as though about to break through skin.
“You’re amazing,” he whispered.
Edward’s lithe, hairy thighs and groin sent ripples up Raw’s spine. His manhood lay sleeping against his left thigh and Raw reached out to touch it, but pulled away from temptation. He pulled the duvet cover over Edward, stepped back, and headed towards the door.
The question seared itself like a hot iron in his mind and bugged him until he fell asleep. Seeing Edward naked and vulnerable in sleep, turned him on. It would be so easy to lock up his ego, stubbornness and conceited arrogance in a suitcase, and throw away the key.
If only the fear of being hurt again would go away.
***
The instant Raw left Edward’s room, Edward turned to lie on his stomach. His cheek rested on the comfortable pillow. Eyes wide open. Raw had touched him. His heart thumped so hard.
He too questioned himself. He needed someone in his life there could be no doubting it. If Raw had touched his cock as he pretended to sleep, they’d be having sex now.
Raw had mistreated him over the last few hours, would it have mattered if they had lustful sex? Make of each other a one-night stand? Edward’s mind said yes, it would have mattered because he didn’t do on
e-nighters, besides, he wanted more, much more from Rawson Curisco.
In the morning Edward woke up earlier and made scrambled eggs on toast. He brought it up to Raw on a tray and placed it on the bedside table. Opened the curtains and the sun’s rays streamed in across Raw’s face. He grumbled and coughed and stretched then opened his eyes.
“Good morning,” Edward greeted cheerfully. “I thought you’d like a small breakfast before leaving.”
“Jesus, you want me out fast.”
“I made scrambled eggs on light toast. I‘ll leave you to it.” Edward said, heading towards the door.
“Edward, I was thinking last night, why don’t you come to Curisco’s and check it out. We could do with someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“You’re a boxer. You can coach. It’ll be a blast.”
Edward’s expression of indifference changed. He clenched his fists as if to control the anger swelling deep inside. “I told you, I don’t box anymore.”
Raw sipped at the orange juice. “But it doesn’t mean you can’t come by to check out the gym.”
“Why this sudden interest in me now, Raw?”
The question caught Raw off-guard. Birds of a feather came to mind. “I’m trying to suss you out. Believe me, whether you come to the gym or not is neither here nor there. I don’t care.”
Edward laughed. Raw had returned in full sequential order.
“You laugh?”
“That’s the Raw I’ve come to know. An egoistic hotshot. A pompous and priggish arsehole.”
“Thanks. Will you come by?”
Jesus, the nerve of this guy! “I’ll think about it but I can’t promise anything.”
4
Raw waited.
He continued his life as expectantly normal for a boxer whilst in training. Trained six hours a day. Cardio and weights. Sparred with different teammates. The anger in his eyes replaced the anger of his gloves outside the ring. He practiced control and never allowed his anger to inhibit him socially. He existed in a world where men did not sleep with men. Where men kept their hugs and kisses inside the gym, not in a bed. He existed in a world where reality and truth were at the forefront.
His sparring partner, James Breed, cushioned the anger hidden in Raw’s fist. James made sure his arms were pliable, relaxed and ready to spring back after each blow from Raw’s red gloves, smashing and bouncing and punching in a dance of extreme speed and power.
He woke up with the sparrows to run and build stamina. Staying fit ensured success in the merciless interclub boxing matches. Twice a month Curisco entered Raw and his team in matches. It broke their spirit, and each time, whether win or lose, Raw kept his spirits high. Never allowed the team to feel unworthy.
One had to love the ring to share the camaraderie and still go home to one’s family, and show love.
With each passing day, he’d wait anxiously for a call from Edward. Each time his phone rang, his heart skipped a beat.
Raw never to pursued any man. Half of the problem lay in his stubbornness and the second half lay in his attitude to coming out fully. The thought of it instilled disquietude in his soul bordering on dread. He would not be forced to come out of the closet; he’d do it in his own time, at the right moment. He dared not risk the estrangement of his family or his team. The shame alone would kill him. No one at Curisco’s knew he liked men, and he intended to keep it that way for as long as possible.
In a jungle filled with male hormones, he found himself surrounded by lustful eyes. In clubs, he’d cruise the most lonesome figure. Not too drunk, not too sober. The moment their gaze met, he’d look away and later, with much bravado, brush past his prey on the way to the bar or the toilet and smile as he passed his perfect pirate companion.
He had heard all kinds of banter regarding coming out. Some were happy they had crossed the bridge. Their lives now whole and intact. Others had tragic endings. Others, like Raw, believed society frowned upon and rejected him.
No. He would not gamble with coming out. Not yet. No matter how hard he tried to shake it off, the night he spent at Edward’s apartment stuck like glue to paper in his mind.
Without love, Raw’s life mimicked a one-dimensional re-occurring nightmare. Hence, as much as Raw needed boxing in his life, he also needed friends.
In one corner stood Angie, his lifelong family friend, more like an Aunt. In another corner stood a man whom he had cruised and bedded, and cruised again and bedded again until they had developed a “friends with benefits” routine. This friend, a member of the boxing fraternity, also had not come out fully. They texted each other to make a date, or hang out at a café or cruise the bars and clubs.
Two days after seeing Edward, Raw received Caine Smit’s text. Raw grabbed his phone and hoped it would be Edward.
Want to do something tonight? I’m free, bro. Not working.
Raw returned with: Sure, sexy bud. What you have in mind?
Maybe hit Dean’s Bar.
Awesome. I’ll meet you there around 21.30.
Caine made an impressive figure. His bulky frame imposed with a strong straight back and broad chest. Well-endowed with hair and sexuality and his eyes penetrated with a mesmerizing quality.
Dean’s Bar, in Melville, served dinner to the hungry on one level, allowed patrons to quench their thirst and get drunk at the bar on the second level, and played loud music in a disco on another level for those who wanted to tap their feet. Jimmy Dean posters created an atmosphere of mischief and many customers were ready to play to the beat of their sexual whims.
Raw waited at the bar for Caine to arrive and had downed three tequilas when he heard Caine’s raspy voice behind him.
“Hey, lover!” Caine kissed Raw on the cheek and took a seat beside him, ordered a Jack Daniels and caught up on small talk.
“Anyone here worth watching?” Caine looked around the bar. “Not much talent.”
“The barman,” Raw said. “He’s hot chilli sauce. Looks like James Dean with his café combed up.”
The half-naked barman liked the attention his body attracted. His lean six-pack could easily be in front of Raw’s mouth with his tongue sweeping over each hill and valley. A tattoo around his chest read: Vereoux Vita Non Mors Mortis.
Caine called him over and the barman smiled as he sauntered over in a mock James Dean swagger. Caine beckoned him closer with a quick finger gesture. James Dean came closer and Caine lightly ran his finger over the man’s tattoo. In his most charming, seductive voice, he said, “Now tell me, what does this mean? Vereoux Vita Non Mors Mortis.”
Not being schooled in Latin, Caine horribly mispronounced each word. James Dean corrected him and also translated: “I fear life, not the death of death.”
Caine stared into James Dean’s blue eyes for a single, weirdly stoned moment.
Without warning, Caine gripped his shoulders, pulled him in and kissed him square on the mouth. James Dean didn’t pull away, instead, he lingered for a few moments then stepped back.
“Nice,” Caine said as someone called the barman for service.
“Jesus, Caine,” Raw whispered.
“What?”
“Can’t take you anywhere, not even the second time to apologize.”
“I know, right. But hey, James Dean is fucking faultless. I could suck his cock all night. But you saw him first, and you know I’m teasing, so you can have him.”
Raw knew Caine well. At the end of the day, James Dean would be going home with Caine. At the end of the day, Raw didn’t have the right pick-up lines and would be going home alone, to wank in the shower or on his balcony, to porn on his Apple tablet.
Suddenly, a card, from James Dean, appeared on the counter in front of Caine.
My name’s Carl. I’d love to sleep with you sometime, but not tonight. Here’s my number.
Raw turned away and smiled secretly. Carl’s phone number meant that Caine could call him anytime for a date, but not tonight.
Tonight it wo
uld be Caine and Raw in a wrestling match. Raw’s wrestling skills were admirable, but he didn’t identify with the sport, however, he had no option but to dominate Caine otherwise Raw would end up being the bottom.
The red room in Caine’s apartment meant he’d had more guys than Raw could care to know. Caine provided a promiscuous lust, nothing more. He didn’t care about pain or numbness, in fact, he endorsed it. The room, kitted out with a double bed and velvet duvets with satin sheets and sex toys lining the walls, like whips and an array of different dildo’s and a Nikon D7000 camera on a tripod, intrigued Raw. He found the room both satisfying and mesmerizing and it gave him an instant hard-on.
Later, after Raw had dominated him, Caine asked, “Howzit going at the gym?” Both men lay naked on the mat.
The red light on Raw’s skin dispensed an aura of mischievous evil. Raw lay on the mat, hands above his head, cock throbbing, and his pubic hair wet with cum.
“Not so great. I want to get out of there. Start my own gym.”
“You’ll need money and a partner.”
“Money’s not the problem, I have enough and I don’t need a partner.”
“You’ll have to build it up from nothing – that takes balls and courage my man,” Caine said, getting up and pouring himself a glass of wine. “Want a glass of wine?”
“Wine’s not good for me. Headaches.”
“I could help with the gym. I have an eye for business and a solid background in turning a small business into a success.”
“I’ll see. Maybe you could help me, but not as a partner, maybe a consultant.”
“Not gonna happen kiddo. It’s either partner or nothing. Think about it. I’ll be here when you have an answer.”
5
Angie stood outside in the pouring rain pressing Edward’s buzzer. She waited a few moments more and as she turned to leave, the intercom crackled.
“Who is it?” Edward asked.
“It’s Cercei Lannister, darling. Open up. I’m getting wet and cold here.”
The gate opened and Angie stomped through. Edward met her in the corridor.