Brent nodded. “Well, it was good to hear from you. I wasn’t sure that you’d ever call me.”
“Well, here I am,” I replied. Brent waved me into his living room where the TV was paused. Friday Night Football was on—it was a derby game between Manchester City and Manchester United. Though I’d used a game as a ruse to come to Manchester and the club, I didn’t watch much. My viewing usually consisted of what I caught of a match at a pub. I didn’t have a favorite team, and I didn’t cheer for anyone unless the crowd at the pub insisted I root for their team. I did know that derby games were a big deal for those who followed football.
Brent motioned to the sofa before he dropped into an armchair nearby and unpaused the match. For the next forty-five minutes Brent made lots of excited noises as the players passed the ball, tackled each other, and very occasionally got the ball into the back of the net. When the blue team scored a goal, Brent jumped to his feet and cheered at the top of his lungs. Then, if it was red kicking into the net, he would stamp his feet and groan with disbelief.
Meanwhile, I slowly lost the will to live as I thought about the choices I’d made. Exhaustion hit hard. If I were at home, I’d already be asleep. Of course, if I were at home, I would have to listen to dad blather about saving that poor boy’s soul. By the time the match ended, despite fighting against it for fear of being rude, a loud yawn escaped my mouth which I’d only just managed to catch in my hand.
“Mate, you look knackered,” Brent said.
“Yes, sorry about that,” I replied sleepily.
“Not much of a footie fan, eh?” Brent asked.
I shrugged. “I can be. Just tired. Was it too obvious?”
Brent laughed. “Pretty much. At least you lasted the whole match. Anyway, I’ll get you a sheet and a pillow.”
Grateful for his offer, I smiled up at him. “Thanks, I appreciate this.”
Brent waved away my gratitude. “Hey, don’t mention it. I’m just glad you’re here and not out in that mess. It seems to have turned nasty.”
Brent left the living room, rooted around in the cupboard down the hall, and then returned with a pillow and sky-blue bedsheet. I noticed that it was the same color as Manchester City’s kit, but was too tired to bother to ask if it was a Manchester City bedsheet.
“Well, goodnight,” Brent said before leaving the room.
Chapter Eleven
I lay back on the sofa thinking about how many mistakes I’d made today. I pulled the sheet high, missing my bed. The sofa wasn’t very comfortable, and it was a touch too short for me. After around half an hour of tossing and turning as I listened to the rain come down heavy, I managed to fall asleep and had a wonderful, romantic dream of Damon.
The tropical beach was beautiful with the setting sun. The sun was green, not yellow, which didn’t seem to bother me too much. There was a man standing close with a monkey at his side. The monkey wore a tie, but nothing else. I wanted to ask the monkey where he got his tie, but I didn’t think it would be appropriate. He didn’t seem to want to talk to us. Damon didn’t acknowledge the monkey either, but for some reason I knew the monkey knew us.
“Do you, Ridley Leonard Chandler, take Damon Beelzebub Martel to be your lawfully wedded buddy, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, till death do you part?” the registrar conducting the service asked.
I smiled lovingly at Damon as I said, “I do.” I couldn’t believe it was happening, finally.
The monkey chirped and nodded sagely, like he was there to approve of our union since my dad wouldn’t attend.
“And do you, Damon Beelzebub Martel, take Ridley Leonard Chandler, the mindless idiot who went up against his father in such a stupid manner, to be your lawfully wedded buddy, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, till death do you part?”
Damon smiled at me, and his blue eyes turned red as he stated, “I do.”
The monkey screeched and no one reacted. Suddenly, I wanted to ask Damon why there was a monkey at our wedding, but I couldn’t bring it up with the monkey standing right there.
“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you buddy and buddy. You may kiss the idiot.”
Damon leaned in and his lips brushed over mine. As with every kiss with Damon, it turned passionate. I closed my eyes and savored the feeling of Damon’s warm, soft lips though warnings were starting to go off in my head.
The monkey had gone silent. I felt a cold draft and something odd. I couldn’t place the odd feeling, but I knew it was wrong. Maybe I should have left with the monkey and gone home to my dad. For some reason, I thought I shouldn’t be here.
When I opened my eyes again, the room had morphed. We were on our honeymoon, in a huge luxury room, one like I’d never stayed at before. There were rose petals spread on top of the white bedsheets. Damon undressed and I spied a monkey tattoo on his chest. It looked odd, like the monkey who’d attended our wedding. He tugged at my clothes, letting them drop to the floor. The balcony windows in the room were open and red curtains flapped in the warm breeze. I could hear the sound of the ocean, the waves lapping over and over against the sandy shore. A blue light flashed in the distance and I knew it was the monkey warning me of something. The light flashed again, but I ignored it.
A room steward came in and shut the curtains, blocking the light. Damon and I stood there naked as the steward assessed us.
“You’ll be fine, just don’t let the monkey watch.” And then the guy left.
I lay down face first on the bed on top of the red rose petals. I turned my head to look at Damon. His smile seemed a little too bright.
“I’m ready for you.” My voice cracked a little as another light started flashing.
Damon crawled onto the bed and stretched out over me as he kissed me on the back of the neck. Then, I felt Damon slide in. There was no pain from him slipping into me, only pleasure that somehow reminded me of blue skies. Or maybe the blue from the Manchester City kit.
Somehow, I was able to turn and look at him, but he’d morphed into something hideous. He looked almost like Brent, but had snake eyes and a forked tongue that slid out and waved all over the place. I wanted to get away. My stomach started to hurt as I fought the hold. The monkey was screaming then everything went silent.
I bolted awake and froze. Something had me. Someone had my dick in their hand. It felt wrong. More warnings went off. Was this real. I listened for the monkey but all I heard was heavy breathing.
I flashed open my eyes and couldn’t believe what I saw. Brent knelt next to the sofa. His hand was wrapped around my cock, which was hard.
I groaned, angry at myself for making another stupid decision. Physically, Brent’s hand on my cock felt so good, not as good as Damon’s hand, but it was appealing in a way that made me sick to my stomach. Mostly, I didn’t want this. Not with Brent. Not now, maybe not ever. I was happy with Damon. The admission hurt my heart, making it squeeze. I sat up straight and brushed Brent’s hand away. My erection started to fade.
“What’s wrong?” Brent asked.
“Brent…no, I don’t want this,” I tried to yell, but it came out as garbled mutterings from my sleep-addled brain.
Brent smiled then lifted a brow as he pointed at my cock. “That’s not what your dick is saying.”
I pulled the sheet up, covering myself. “I can’t help a physical reaction.” I reached down and tugged up my underwear. “If you start touching my dick it’s going to get hard. That doesn’t mean that I want you.” I couldn’t believe I even had to say anything. “And I was asleep. What made you do that while I was asleep?”
Brent’s brow furrowed as he tried to process my words.
“Are you seriously saying that you came all the way from Birmingham to Manchester just for a free bed for a few nights?”
I nodded, thinking that maybe I was the dumbest person in England, maybe the world. “Yes, that’s right.”
“And not because you’re attracted to m
e?” Brent asked me softly, not doing a very good job of hiding the hurt from his voice.
Brent was upset, it was obvious. But what was I supposed to do? Lie to him? Besides, it wasn’t Brent who had been woken up in the middle of the night only to find a near stranger holding his dick.
I nodded again. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. Is that so hard to believe?”
Brent clenched his fists and then stood up. “Right. I didn’t give you my number so you could get a free night on my couch. If you’re not going to suck my dick or let me fuck you, then put your cock away and get the fuck out of my flat.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but I should have known better. I stood up, zipped my fly, grabbed my coat, and my bag. Fuckity fuck fuck. As soon as I walked out of the front door, Brent slammed it.
So, there I was, back to square one—actually negative one. I had no place to stay for the night, no bed to rest my overly exhausted head in, and I wasn’t in Birmingham where I might know someone, and I at least had an idea where things were. Coming to Manchester had been a mistake, a huge mistake.
It seemed like all I was doing lately was making one mistake after another. I needed to get hold of my life and get rid of the runaway crap that was making me screw up. I had to change and start making good decisions.
I scrolled through the contacts list in my phone and deleted Brent’s information. Then, I rooted through my rucksack until I found the small scrap of paper with Brent’s mobile number written on it and threw it into the dustbin.
After walking down two flights of stairs, I paused before heading out into the rain. Huge drops pelted the pavement, making deep puddles in the macadam. Damn, did it always rain in Manchester? Where was I going to go? Well, really, I only had one option left.
I pulled my mobile phone out of my coat pocket and clicked on my grandad’s number. Sadly, it had been years since I’d talked to him. I sent Christmas cards, and a card for his birthday, but I’d been an idiot and not called or run by. The phone rang eight times. I’d almost given up hope when he answered.
“Hello? Who is this?” Leonard’s voice cracked as he talked. He sounded sleepy, like I’d woken him up, which I probably had. It was the middle of the night and I was an idiot.
“Hi, Grandad? It’s Ridley. I’m in a little trouble.” My throat squeezed and I closed my eyes. I was in a fuckload of trouble and had no way out.
“Do you know what time it is, Ridley?” Grandad asked with a yawn.
I didn’t. I checked my watch, finding out it was one in the morning. Oh, shit, I was fucked.
“One…in the morning,” I said.
“One!” Leonard yelled. “So, can I safely assume that if you’re calling me at this ungodly hour, it’s because you have a very good reason to do so?”
I nodded even though I knew the old man couldn’t see me. “I need your help. Dad…we had an argument, and he’s kicked me out. Grandad, please…can I stay at your place for a few nights? I’ve got nowhere else to go.”
Leonard sighed then coughed. “And I suppose I was the first person that you thought of calling, was I?”
I replied honestly. “No, you’re the second. The first one…it didn’t work out very well.”
Leonard sighed again then gave another cough and cleared his throat in the way old men sometimes did. “Alright, well, at least you were honest with me. You can come and stay. Truth be told, I’ll be grateful to have some company. So, when should I expect your arrival?”
The question made me cringe. “Maybe two or three hours from now?”
“Two or three hours? Where in God’s green earth are you?”
“I’m in Manchester.” The words slipped out as a whisper.
“What are you doing in Manchester?”
“I don’t know, Grandad. I don’t know what I’m doing at all.”
“Well, I will see you when I see you then,” Leonard replied before hanging up the phone.
I put my phone back inside my coat pocket, pulled up my hood and stepped out into the cold, wet, night air. I walked as fast as I could back towards Manchester Piccadilly station. I was happy I had a place to stay until I made it to the station and realized there was no night service for the train. I had no way to make it home—well, back to Birmingham—until morning. What was I going to do?
Chapter Twelve
After staring at the board for five minutes, I called Grandad and told him I wouldn’t be there until the next day. He was disappointed but his offer still stood. I hunkered down in a dry spot, holding my bag close as I drifted in and out of sleep. I got in an hour, maybe an hour and a half. I caught the first train out at five in the freaking morning, feeling worn out like a stray dog with no food. Three and a half hours later after one long, tiring train ride and a thankfully much shorter journey by bus, I finally arrived at my grandad’s home. I was exhausted but relieved that the rain had stopped for my final part of the walk. I rang the doorbell and felt even more relieved when Grandad answered.
Leonard Chandler was a very short man who had a wrinkled face and a kind smile. The few little wisps of hair that remained on his head were all white. He didn’t chastise me for being later than I’d said I would. Instead, he waved me in.
“You’d better get in before that rain starts again. You sleep at all, eh? Probably not. I’ve prepared a bed for you in the guest room. It’s not much, but it’s better than not sleeping I guess. Is that right? Is that right?” Grandad cackled and shook his head, laughing at his own joke I was either too tired to get or would have never thought was funny in the first place.
I followed him to the guest room, relieved to have a place to sleep even if the room was packed to the ceiling with newspapers on one wall.
“Can I get you a drink? Hot chocolate?” Leonard asked.
I shook my head. “No, thanks, just sleep. I’m pretty wiped—tired. If it’s okay, I think I’ll just sleep.”
Grandad nodded and yawned. “Well, me too. I never got back to bed after you called. We can discuss what happened between you and my son later.”
I nodded, wishing I could avoid it all together. “No problem.”
Grandad left the room and closed the door. I curled up in the guest bed, trying to relax. The bed had a musty smell to it, but I was safe and warm and out of the rain. Really, the smell wasn’t as bad as I remembered, and Grandad was nice. I felt a little guilty thinking he stank. Maybe that was a little bit of altered memories left over from my teen years. Dad and Grandad didn’t really get along. They fought, and back then, I was totally into pleasing my dad. Heck, I was still into pleasing Dad which was why I gave him my paycheck each week, and why I didn’t tell him I was gay.
I slept like a rock, waking close to two in the afternoon. I was so thankful I hadn’t woken to find someone jerking me off. I shivered at the memory of Brent holding my cock. I’d been stupid thinking I could find a place to sleep at a stranger’s house. I was also too dumb to understand Brent had given me his number for one thing only. I’d been at the club in the bathroom with Damon, maybe Brent thought I was one of those guys who fucked everyone. Heck, Damon was my first everything, but Brent hadn’t known that.
After a stop by the loo and a quick brush of my teeth with my finger and a little toothpaste I found in Grandad’s medicine cabinet, I headed into the kitchen. Grandad was there with no pants or underwear on, his dick sticking out, looking like a sad potato mixed in with white scraggily hair. I wasn’t sure if I should turn around and leave, or stay. He turned and saw me, his lips broadening into a smile.
“Ah, just in time. I’ve just made some tea and porridge. Please, do sit down.”
“Pants,” I whispered.
“What was that? Speak up, young man.”
“Your pants. You forgot your pants.”
“Oh, hmm, I was wondering what had happened.”
He found them on a chair next to the refrigerator. I glanced away as Grandad bent over, pulling his pants up. After a few seconds, I looked over to se
e Grandad acting like nothing had happened.
“Thanks for letting me stay here.” I wasn’t damaged from seeing him naked from the waist down, but I wished it was something I hadn’t witnessed.
Grandad waved away my gratitude. “Oh, please. It’s nothing. Now, eat up.” He placed the porridge on the table and pointed at it. I sat and drew in a slow breath through my nose, loving the scent. My stomach gurgled loudly. Grandad always made good porridge. He added cinnamon and nuts along with sultanas and honey. I wasn’t sure why the cooking gene had not transferred to Dad. The porridge I ate at home was thin and runny with the taste of wet paper.
I took the first bite and moaned. Grandad placed a plate of bacon between us and motioned with his fork. “Eat some.”
The meal was simple but heavenly. I hadn’t eaten dinner, and breakfast hadn’t happened either. I only had two quid left after my side trip to Manchester. I should have called Grandad last night, but stupidity had won.
After we finished eating, Grandad stood and told me to follow him to the living room. Grandad had brought in two cups of tea for us along with a plate of biscuits. I sipped mine, noting it was too cool, but I wasn’t going to complain. The biscuits were a plus, and no one had sexually assaulted me here. I could deal with cool tea.
Once he settled in his chair, Grandad looked me in the eyes. “Now, tell me, what happened?”
How could I explain what had happened without revealing I was gay? If it did slip out, would Grandad understand or would he take his son’s side against me? Though it would be a difficult conversation, I felt I had to try and explain. I needed someone to understand.
“I came home from work and Dad was in the living room…um…with one of his weird prayer groups. There was a young man with him…younger than me, I think. Maybe eighteen? Anyway…Dad was convincing him he shouldn’t be gay—that it was just a choice and…um…how did he put it? It was the wrong choice to make. The worst choice. That there was no greater sin.” I stopped speaking because I thought I’d said enough. He didn’t need to know everything.
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