by Drew Hunt
“I guess you’ll have to make a move,” I said.
“‘Fraid so,” he replied.
Walking over to the window to draw the curtains, I saw the glow of the streetlights reflected in the puddles on the roadway. It must have been raining steadily for a while.
I turned to Mark in his thin T-shirt. “You can’t go out wearing just that. I’ve got a jumper and an old raincoat upstairs. Will you let me go get them for you?” Before Mark could object, I ploughed on. “I outgrew them, so they’re no good to me…and you’d be doing me a favour by taking them and—”
“Thanks, mate. That’s really nice of you.”
I went upstairs and dug out the promised items. They fit him quite well.
“Thanks, Simon, these’ll be a big help.” I didn’t really give much thought to his statement at the time, but after he’d gone I wondered if he had many clothes.
“I’d like to do it again sometime, but…” I looked down at my shoes, “I don’t earn much so I can’t say when.”
Mark touched my cheek. “Looking forward to it.”
We bade each other goodnight and I shut the front door and returned to my seat on the sofa. After looking at the discarded plates on the TV tables, I got up again and took them into the kitchen. While going through the usual domestic routines, I pondered on the evening’s events. I wondered what Mark really thought of me. He couldn’t have been too disgusted, as he’d agreed to stay longer than he had to. I imagined he occasionally got strange requests from his clients, so I didn’t think mine would have been too weird for him.
Feeling a little tired after the day’s events, I put the fireguard in front of the fire, turned off the lights and went upstairs to prepare for bed. Undressing in the bathroom prior to getting into the bath, I looked at myself in the mirror and thought, You’d have stood no chance with Mark if we’d met socially. The pneumatic drill was at work again, burrowing even deeper.
After a soak in the bath, I got out and dried myself. Stepping into a pair of boxer shorts, I stood at the sink and brushed my teeth.
Once in bed, I looked at the cover of the book I was reading, but decided I wasn’t in the mood, so I switched off the bedside light and settled down to sleep.
Naturally my thoughts drifted back to Mark. I wondered what he was doing now. Would he have gone home, or to wherever he slept, or back to Gamble street to pick up another customer? I heard the rain splatter against the window, so hoped he’d gone home. I drifted off to sleep with thoughts of Mark’s warm body that had—for a short time at least—been held next to mine.
Chapter 2
Getting to the library at 8:30, I walked into the main office, signed in and generally went through the usual motions of starting the workday.
Mary breezed in just in time.
“You’ll be caught out one of these days,” I cautioned in my mock parental voice.
“I know, I know. I got chatting to the milkman and lost sight of the time.”
“Is he a dish?” I asked.
“About fifty, thinning hair and suffers from B.O.”
“My kind of man,” I joked.
“I’m sure you could do better than him. Anyway, he’s got a wife and three kids. He was telling me about his youngest, Amy I think. That was what almost made me late. She’s got herself in the club. Seems she and her boyfriend thought if they did it standing up, she wouldn’t get pregnant.”
I frowned. “She won’t, will she?”
Mary looked at me with astonishment written all over her face. I couldn’t hold my serious countenance any longer and began to grin at her.
“Bloody fool! It amazes me what they teach the kids at that comprehensive, it really does.”
“Kids today.” I croaked out in my grandfatherly voice.
“Absolutely!” Mary said, sweeping past me to change the date on the stamps that we used to indicate to the readers when their books were due back. That task accomplished, she announced, “Shall we open up then?”
“Yes, might as well let the madding crowds in.” I went to the doors and unlocked them, swinging them back with a dramatic flourish. Of course there was no one waiting to gain admittance.
“Bloody fool!” she repeated. “You seem pretty happy today.”
“Yeah, I’ll tell you about it later,” I replied. “Though I’m not sure you’ll approve.”
She raised an eyebrow. I could quite easily predict what her reactions would be. First would come shock. Then she’d wonder at my boldness. Next would come a short period of silence as she processed the information. Then she’d worry I’d put myself in danger. Finally she’d ask if I was going to repeat the experience.
Patrons trickled in throughout the morning. The miserable weather no doubt encouraged some people to just come in for a bit just to shelter from the rain.
We had the usual crop of students doing that last minute bit of research, needing to look up a few references for the essay that would be due in that day. We also saw a couple of local historians who wanted to consult the microfiche records of the local paper. Two old age pensioners shuffled through the doors. The first wanted to find out what he could about a murder committed half a century ago. The second wanted to research his great uncle Frank, and whether or not he had won first prize for his onions in the county flower and produce show twenty-five years ago.
All pretty mundane stuff, but that was what I liked. Predictability, order and onions. The local historians knew what they were doing, so needed little help from me. The guy checking on the prize-winning onions wasn’t really sure what to do, so required more assistance. It seemed there was a long running family argument about whether Uncle Frank came in first or second. The things families argued about! I was able to find out he had actually got a ‘highly commended.’ No doubt this didn’t satisfy either of the warring factions, but there it was in print, and so at least that particular argument was laid to rest.
The day progressed pretty much as most days do in the glittering world of non-fiction. As Mary and I took different lunches we couldn’t talk then. I would have to wait till a lull in the rush.
It wasn’t until half past three that the section was empty enough for me to feel I could spill the beans about the previous evening without being overheard.
“Want to know what I did last night?” I said to Mary as I sidled up to her left side, using my best master spy voice.
“I’ve been wondering what has improved your mood today, and the bit about me not approving has me intrigued.”
“Well,” I coughed, looked around again to ensure I wasn’t going to be overheard and said rather too quickly, “I spent the evening with a male prostitute.”
She laughed. I looked sternly at her.
“You didn’t!” she said a bit too loudly.
“Not so loud! I did. Honestly.”
She was stunned. I didn’t think much would shut Mary up, but this did. She stared open mouthed at me for a few seconds. “Well, I’ll go to the foot of our stairs.”
Despite my nervousness, I had to smile at her old-fashioned turn of phrase.
“What was it like? You were safe weren’t you? Did he hurt you? Will you do it again?”
I gave another quick look around. No one was paying us any attention. “To take each of your questions in turn, it was pretty nice. In fact I felt good about it.”
Her eyes widened in surprise.
“Yes I was perfectly safe. We went to my place. All we did was sit on the sofa and kiss and cuddle. No, Mark—his name was Mark—didn’t hurt me at all. I felt nice and warm and tingly inside.” I closed my eyes to try to recapture some of the pleasant feelings of the previous evening, but I couldn’t. I opened my eyes; the doubt was already beginning to settle in. “It’s a pity I had to pay for the experience though.” I sighed.
Mary gave me a hug.
“Thanks.” I returned her hug. “Even though we agreed on a couple of hours he stayed later, and didn’t want any extra money.”
“That
’s, uh, good?”
I wanted to tell her more about Mark. Maybe talking about him would help recapture the good feelings. “I fed him. I don’t think he’d had a decent meal in a couple of days. He was wearing a thin T-shirt on top, so I gave him an old jumper of mine. It was raining, so I also made him take an old raincoat. Honestly, Mary, I don’t know where I got the courage to go out and do it, but I’m really glad I did.” I paused, then said, “But I didn’t give him my recipe for Yorkshire pudding.”
She looked at me strangely for a few seconds. Then the penny must have dropped and she tilted her head back and laughed.
After she quieted, she asked, “Will you see him again?”
I shrugged. Part of me thought I’d pushed my luck the first time and it would be impossible to recapture the magic of that night. Another part of me thought I was weird and sad and creepy to be willing to pay for my happiness. And a third part thought what the hell. Next time you can afford it, go for it!
“I’m surprised, I really am. But if it makes you happy, then I suppose that’s okay. Simon, you will be careful though, won’t you? If you got hurt, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“I promise I’ll be careful.” Silently I added, Careful with my heart, too.
We continued with our duties until closing time. Bidding each other goodbye at the main door, we went our separate ways home.
* * * *
I got back to the empty house, looked around and decided I’d have a bite to eat. I wasn’t very hungry, so after heating up a few leftovers and eating them standing up in the kitchen, I went back into the living room and settled in front of the television news. I cuddled up with a big cushion. It wasn’t a patch on snuggling up with Mark, but beggars can’t be choosers, as my Gran would say—though I sincerely doubt she was talking about cushions and male prostitutes when she came up with that particular pearl of wisdom.
My mind drifted to thoughts of Gran. She’s the closest relative I have. I love mum and dad, but I just don’t have a close connection to them. But Gran—my mother’s mother—is so in tune with me, it’s scary at times. I remember coming out to her, trying to explain to the old dear how I felt about other men. The term gay didn’t seem to explain things to her.
“Yes, love, I know you’re happy,” she’d said.
Eventually I’d just said, “Gran, I prefer to sleep with men. I honestly don’t think I’d want to lie down with a woman.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she’d said, waving a hand in dismissal. “I slept with your Auntie Flo for years: Auntie Flo was her sister; there were three brothers and two sisters in Gran’s parents’ three-bedroom house. Bless the old dear: she hadn’t got a clue what I was talking about. As I’d stood there deciding whether to try and explain further, a twinkle had come into her eye. “Don’t look at me like that. I know what a homosexual is. There was a talk on Woman’s Hour on the wireless a couple of years ago about it. I was only pulling your leg. I don’t mind who you love, so long as you truly love them.”
“Aw, thanks, Gran, you’re the best,” I’d said as I gave her a squeeze and a kiss on her cheek.
My attention came back to the TV news: more killing in Northern Ireland. However, my mind soon drifted again.
I couldn’t really remember my grandfather. He’d died when I was about five years old. He’d worked in a coalmine since he was a teenager, and the coal dust had gotten into his lungs. I had vague memories of a white haired old man coughing so hard I didn’t think he’d ever be able to catch his breath. Mercifully he died quietly in his sleep, I think it was a heart attack, not directly related to his lungs. Gran didn’t talk about him much, and I didn’t like dredging up bad memories for her.
I never knew my grandparents on my father’s side. A few years before I was born they died in a car accident while they were driving through Scotland.
The closing credits of the evening news brought me back to the present. Finding nothing else worth watching on the telly, I switched it off and put on a cassette.
I’d grown quite fond of classical music. I was able to borrow tapes from the ‘audio-visual’ section of the library, so I didn’t have to lay out much expenditure on music. The hi-fi was a housewarming present from the folks back home. To the accompaniment of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony, I got out a relatively recently published book on the moons of Jupiter that I’d borrowed from the library. I’d thought about getting a telescope, but a good one was out of my price range. Also, living in a town meant there was too much light at night to be able to see much. The book did say a good pair of binoculars was as effective as a reasonable telescope, and much cheaper. I’d have to give that some more thought.
I’d changed tapes a couple of times before my eyes began to droop, so I performed the usual nightly rituals before climbing the wooden hill to Bedfordshire, as Gran used to say to me when I spent the odd weekend at her house when I was little.
Chapter 3
The next couple of weeks passed with mundane regularity. Putting out the dustbin on a Monday, doing several loads of washing on a Saturday. Things at work also carried on at their usual pace. The same faces, the same kinds of enquiries from readers thirsting for knowledge. All was comfortably plodding along in my little boring world. And also unchanging was my lack of a boyfriend.
I craved the physical comfort and security I could only gain from being close to another male. His smell, his warmth, the feel of his body close to mine. I needed all these and so much more.
After several typically uneventful days at the knowledge factory, I decided I needed a second Mark fix. I wasn’t half as nervous this time as I headed towards Gamble Street. I just hoped he’d be there, and not with another customer. I really didn’t want to imagine what he’d be doing with other people. I rounded the corner, and thankfully there he was. My heart lifted.
Jeez, I thought, what’s wrong with you? Surely I can’t be developing feelings for this guy.
I was able to damp down these feelings quite easily; I’d had plenty of practice. I played a game with myself, it was a self-defence mechanism. The percentages rule was what I called it. I’d read that approximately ten percent of the male population was gay. I wasn’t too sure how they arrived at this figure, I just accepted it. The way my game worked was to remove those guys who were attached one way or another. Many gay men married women. Then there were those few lucky sods who managed to find a long-term boyfriend. Let’s say attachments ruled out half of the gay population. These men were off limits to me. I absolutely could not be the ‘other man’. I couldn’t live with myself if I was the cause of a relationship breaking up. So by my calculations I was left with five percent. How many of these men were interested in forming a relationship? I had no idea of course. I surmised some men were content being alone. Then I guessed others preferred a long string of one-night stands. No commitment, no strings. The thought of this turned my stomach. I wanted—no needed—someone long term, permanent. Where did this leave the percentage tally? Let’s say two percent.
It really doesn’t matter if all the above figures were wildly inaccurate because the final determining factor was the killer. How many of these remaining men would be interested in someone as plain and uninteresting as me? I picture a decimal point with a frightening number of noughts, and just give up on the idea of ever finding someone.
Mark’s welcoming smile had me instantly snapping out of my morose mathematical maundering. “Simon! Come for a return match, aye?”
I nodded, too embarrassed to speak. Mark gave me a quick hug.
Conversation on the way to my place was much easier this time. I knew he enjoyed movie musicals. We had also touched on the subject of books. Hey, I’m a librarian, what did you expect me to talk about? We both enjoyed biographies of famous people. All of this inconsequential chat lasted until we got to the house. As I shut and locked the door behind us, I asked if I could take his coat…my old coat. I was glad to see he was wearing it. It was now mid September, and the number of
cold days was increasing. I’d been anticipating this moment ever since the last time I’d seen Mark, yet now it was here I grew shy. Mark seemed to understand. He sat on the sofa and patted the seat next to him. I smiled and complied with his unspoken request.
Quite quickly our arms were around each other again. I grew a little bolder.
“Can I kiss you?” I was able to ignore my incorrect grammar.
“I’d like that.”
His head moved closer, and we engaged. The feelings that were running through my body were so difficult to describe. A warm, light-headed and all-over tingle.
After a short while I pulled back. “I went shopping the other day and should have a few goodies left. Have you eaten?” I asked, then winced at my stupid comment.
“Thanks, that would be nice,” Mark replied, obviously choosing to go along with my odd behaviour.
We both got up together. I didn’t want to break the body contact completely, so I held his hand and Mark didn’t seem to mind. We went into the kitchen to see what was available. I suggested what British Rail would call an ‘All Day Breakfast’: bacon, sausage, mushrooms, tomatoes, and fried bread. I also scrambled a few eggs.
We decided to eat at the table in the kitchen. Our knees would often touch as we sat there and, when this happened, we would look up and smile at each other.
I loved watching Mark eat. He could really put away his food. I delighted in the fact I was able to help him in some small way. After all, he was helping me as well, by allowing me to hug and kiss him—although he wasn’t shy about hugging and kissing me back.
After the meal was over, Mark offered to help with the cleaning up.
I refused. “You’re my guest, and guests don’t do the washing up.”
Besides, I thought to myself, I’ll do it when you’ve gone, it’ll take my mind off things.
I’d lit the fire in the front room on our arrival, so a nice blaze greeted us when we retired to the sofa. We’d decided to listen to some music. Since I knew Mark liked classical, too, I offered to play the Beethoven Pastoral symphony that I’d still not returned. I was pleased to learn Mark was pretty knowledgeable about the piece.