by Drew Hunt
One thing had led to another, and after Natalie had covered Paul’s sex in latex, he had entered her soft yielding moistness.
As it had been some time since Paul had had the pleasure of being intimate with a woman, it didn’t take long before he spent himself in the sheath. As far as he had been able to tell in his post-coital haze, Natalie had also derived pleasure from the coupling.
Rolling out of the bed, Paul rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stumbled into the bathroom. Even a cursory scan of the small tiled room left no doubt this was a woman’s house. Glass and plastic bottles, lipsticks, powder compacts and goodness knew what else seemed to cover every flat surface. It was a world away from the orderly neatness that ruled at Trevor’s. Paul shook his head, wondering why he was thinking of his former house-mate right after climbing out of a beautiful woman’s bed.
“You finished in there?” Natalie asked from the other side of the door. The handle turned, but Paul had bolted himself in. He’d unconsciously begun locking the bathroom door when he stayed at Trevor’s and hadn’t yet got out of the habit.
* * * *
As it had grown rather late in the morning before they’d managed to get themselves dressed and downstairs, Natalie suggested they have a light breakfast. Paul was playing in a cricket match back home in Littleborough that afternoon. Natalie also raised the option of having lunch at a restaurant she knew that was about half-way between their two villages, making it clear she’d be paying.
“I don’t like the idea of you treating me, it’s not—”
Natalie drew herself up to her full five feet seven inches. “You’re not one of those unreconstructed male chauvinists, are you?”
Privately Paul had to admit he probably was. He’d been brought up in a very traditional environment where women stayed at home, brought up the family while the husband went out to work. Goodness knows what his parents would make of the likes of Trevor. Paul mentally slapped himself. Why did he keep thinking about him?
* * * *
They were seated in the conservatory dining room at the rear of the restaurant. The roof and all but the bottom couple of feet of the walls were glass. As the day was bright and sunny, the room with its dark mahogany chairs and tables covered in white linen cloths was brightly lit. Being Sunday, the room was almost full to capacity. A family with two noisy children were in one corner. Paul was relieved they hadn’t been seated next to them. Their table, midway along the far wall, was opposite that of two older men who were talking quietly whilst eating their roast beef. Paul decided he’d also have the beef.
Natalie started a discussion about the laws on Sunday shopping. Paul thought it was a shame people wanted to treat the day just like any other.
“Most people work during the week and can only do their shopping on a Saturday or Sunday.”
“Most supermarkets open late these days, and some even stay open twenty-four hours, something else I don’t approve of.”
Natalie rolled her eyes. “You are unreconstructed. It’s not as if your objection to Sunday opening is because of religious observance, you don’t go to church regularly, do you?”
Paul shook his head, but remembered Eric’s funeral, his mind zeroing in on Trevor’s solos. To divert himself he looked over at the two men sitting at the next table. They’d finished their meals and had pushed their plates aside. They seemed to be discussing what to have for desert. Paul noticed the taller of the two, probably in his mid-sixties, would occasionally touch the other’s hand that was resting on the tablecloth. Paul got the impression they were a couple. He smiled at the thought that two people their age still were in love. He also began to wonder if they’d been together all their lives. The difficulties they must have faced back then…
“It’s a disgrace!” Natalie hissed.
“Huh?” Paul’s attention snapped back to his lunch companion.
Natalie looked as though she were sucking on a lemon. “Those two queers parading their perversion where decent people can see.”
“Shush, they’ll hear you.” Paul took a quick glance at the two, who fortunately seemed to be oblivious to the conversation going on less than ten feet from them.
“I don’t see any harm,” Paul said.
“What? Surely you can’t think it’s right to…to—” Natalie’s voice was rising.
“Stop it!” Paul, said louder than he’d intended. The conversations that had been going on around them paused as people looked over at them. Even the kids in the corner fell silent. More quietly Paul added, “I’ve always believed in live and let live.” This, he realised, wasn’t exactly true, but since getting to know Trevor his views had undergone a real shake-up. “One of my best friends is gay. You couldn’t find a more loyal or genuine person.”
Natalie shook her head. “It’s wrong, against God.” Natalie aimed a look of total disgust at the two men. Paul didn’t dare turn to face them, they couldn’t be in any doubt now as to what he and Natalie had been discussing.
Fortunately their food arrived shortly afterward. Paul found he’d lost much of his appetite. The two ate in silence.
“Is everything okay?” The server asked about ten minutes later.
“Fine!” Natalie snapped.
Paul looked up and frowned at Natalie, then turned to the young female server. “Yes, thank you.” He hoped his smile was genuine. “Could we have the bill please?” He just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.
* * * *
Paul was bowled early on in his innings. He mistimed a simple cover drive, the ball nicking his bat and being drawn onto his wicket. Despondently he made his way back to the pavilion, Thommo shooting daggers at him from the non-striker’s end. He didn’t care. Escaping into the dark and musty interior, he slumped onto the nearest bench and closed his eyes.
His parting with Natalie hadn’t been friendly. Paul had always hated unpleasantness.
“I can’t believe we’re falling out over something as insignificant as this,” Natalie had said as she got into Paul’s car outside the restaurant.
“It’s not insignificant.” Paul hadn’t wanted an argument.
“I can’t believe you’d take the side of those two perverts over mine.”
Paul had started up his car and pointed it in the direction of Natalie’s village. They’d previously agreed that she would come to watch him play that afternoon, but Paul didn’t want to be around her at the moment.
“I doubt very much they’re perverts.” Paul’s resolve not to argue was waning.
“Please. Everyone knows homos prey on young innocent boys and turn them queer like them.”
Paul’s hands had tightened on his steering wheel. He had also begun to grit his teeth, too.
“Now they want to be allowed to get married to each other and have the state recognise it. It’s disgusting.”
Paul snapped. “Shut up! I don’t want to hear it!”
Natalie had glared at him, but fortunately decided to remain quiet. He had continued to stare at the road ahead. It had been the longest ten miles he could ever remember driving.
Eventually the silent ride was over. Paul had drawn up outside Natalie’s cottage, but had made no move to get out himself.
If Natalie had been surprised she’d been taken home, rather than to Paul’s cricket match, she hadn’t shown it.
“Give me a call when you’ve come to your senses.”
Paul didn’t reply until Natalie had got out of the car and had been about to shut the passenger door. “Goodbye, Natalie.”
Driving back to Littleborough, Paul had been surprisingly calm. He’d known he couldn’t live with himself if he continued to see someone whose views were so fundamentally different from his own. Idly he’d wondered if he’d be able to confide in Trevor.
After a few miles of consideration he had concluded he couldn’t.
“You okay?”
Paul opened his eyes and saw a concerned Pete looking down at him.
Sitting up, Paul rubbed at h
is eyes. “Woman trouble, that’s all.”
Pete smiled. “Oh right. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.”
“Something like that.”
“You want to go sink a couple once the match is over?”
Paul thought about it, but decided he’d had enough alcohol for one weekend, so declined. “But you’re welcome to come round to mine to just kick back if you want.”
“Nah, can’t. I promised I’d meet someone later.”
“Oh?”
He smiled. “I hope my luck with the fairer sex will be better than yours.”
Pete had found himself single again when his ex found another man and asked for a divorce. He’d been devastated at the time, and only recently had begun to date again.
“Good luck, mate.” Paul got to his feet, slapped Pete on the back and left the pavilion in search of his car. He was suddenly tired, the thought of an early night becoming more and more appealing.
* * * *
He didn’t know why, but one evening he was returning from a meeting and found himself parking up outside Trevor’s house. Dismissing it as merely forgetting that he no longer lived there, Paul was about to drive off when he thought what the hell, and turned off the ignition. He’d not seen Trevor in quite a while. Obviously the bloke had moved on and was getting on with his life. Paul felt the need to reconnect.
Pressing the doorbell, he was soon ushered inside. Trevor insisted on cooking for him, Paul discovering for once he was hungry.
After they’d eaten, Trevor invited him into the front room. It was as if he hadn’t been away. The two sat talking for hours, though afterward he couldn’t recall much of what they’d talked about.
* * * *
Things only seemed to get worse for Paul as the summer continued. He found it increasingly difficult to concentrate at work, he wasn’t sleeping, and to cap it all, his mother was threatening to come pay him a visit.
Sitting at the lunch table one day, staring at his half-eaten meal, Sandy piped up. “Come on, spill. You’ve been behaving like you’ve lost a shilling and found sixpence for weeks now.”
The old-fashioned phrase, much beloved by his grandmother, raised a ghost of a smile.
“I’ve just been out of sorts. It’ll pass.”
Sandy stared at him for a few moments, then, pointing a carrot stick at him, announced, “You’re coming round to my place tonight. I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”
“No, I—”
“It’s not up for debate. You’re coming. I’ll cook.”
“Nut cutlets. What a mouth-watering prospect.”
* * * *
As Sandy was a lesbian, Paul knew there was no ulterior motive to her invitation. He found himself soon able to unwind, despite the somewhat unorthodox menu.
“Don’t you ever get sick of salad?” Paul asked as she dished up at least three different varieties of lettuce, along with some brown circular shaped objects that only bore a slight taste resemblance to beef burgers.
“It’s good for you.”
“So is jogging, but I wouldn’t want to do it three times a day.”
Sandy smiled. Paul was surprised she hadn’t returned with a witty come back. “So, tell me what’s been bugging you recently.”
Uh oh. That explained the lack of a snappy response. “Well, uh—”
“I hope you know you can trust me. We’ve been friends for a long time now.”
“I know.” Paul took a big gulp from his wine glass, “Hey, this isn’t half bad. Knowing you it’ll be from an organic winery where rustic yokels will have lifted up their skirts and trod the grapes as part of some weird fertility ritual.”
“Stop trying to change the subject.”
Sandy’s tenacity was relentless, making Paul squirm. “I don’t really know.”
Slowly, over the course of the meal, he recounted the events of the past few weeks, being as honest as he dare. Sandy’s gentle but probing questions increased his discomfiture.
After he’d finished telling his tale, Sandy sighed. “Oh, Paul, it’s so obvious.”
“Huh?”
Setting down her wine glass, she reached over the coffee table and took Paul’s hand. “This won’t be easy for you to take, love, but—” Sandy shook her head, then locked her gaze on Paul’s. “You’re in love with Trevor.”
At first Paul was shocked. Then there was a brief moment of humour. Anger was the next emotion on the roller-coaster. Paul tried to pull his hand from Sandy’s, but she held on.
“Think about it.”
Paul didn’t want to. He shook his head. “I’m not gay.” Of that he was absolutely certain. “I know I didn’t hit it off with Natalie, but I had no problems in the bedroom department. I was up for it, uh, in more ways than one. I…No, no. You’re wrong, I can’t—”
“Paul.” Sandy squeezed his hand. “Think about why you broke up with Natalie.”
“That was just because she was saying unpleasant and totally stupid things about a friend.”
“Yes, but before your house was flooded and you spent time with Trevor, you had very similar views to hers.”
Paul squirmed. He hated to admit it, but she was right. “That doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.”
“No, not within itself it doesn’t.”
“There then.”
“You said a minute ago that you weren’t gay. I agree, I don’t think you are. But human sexuality, human emotion isn’t as black and white as many people think. Or rather as many people would like to think. I could go on for hours about how people are forced to be pigeonholed into roles that don’t necessarily suit them. They agree to such roles because it’s what society expects. “
“But, I—”
“Paul, I’m not expecting you to agree with my assessment of what’s been at the heart of your, uh, unease. Or at least I’m not expecting you to admit it right this minute.”
He just sat there. It was as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Either that or the wine had been spiked, causing him to feel disconnected from reality. He felt cold, even though the room was plenty warm enough.
Sandy launched into an explanation of the Kinsey scale of sexuality, and how few people were totally straight or totally gay. “It might shock you to learn that I don’t entirely discount the possibility that I might find a man with whom I could settle down. It’s unlikely, but not impossible. I suspect as far as Kinsey is concerned you’re a one or a two. That means you’re predominantly heterosexual, it’s far more likely that you’ll settle with someone of the opposite sex. But there’s a small chance you could find yourself compatible with someone of the same sex. And in Trevor you’ve found that someone.”
Paul still didn’t say anything.
“Look, you’ve had enough for one day. You need to go home and have a very serious think. I imagine at the moment you’re trying to discredit everything I’ve said, telling yourself it doesn’t apply to you. And who knows, you might be able to pull it off. But if you do, I bet you’ll be right back where you started. Right back in the middle of all your confusion.”
Sandy got to her feet, Paul found himself automatically doing the same. She gave him a tight hug, followed by a kiss on the cheek.
“You’ll sort it out, I know you will.”
“Thanks,” was all Paul could find to say.
“Will you be all right driving?”
Paul nodded his head.
“Okay, then. I’m sorry I had to put you through all that, but I couldn’t see you suffering any longer.”
“You knew? Before I even told you tonight?”
“I had a fair idea, but I needed you to confirm it.”
“Oh.” That didn’t make him feel any better.
* * * *
It took two weeks of wrestling with his conscience, denying, refusing to face facts, and plain old avoidance of the issue, before Paul was finally able to admit to himself that maybe there was something in what Sandy had said.
“Come off
it, mate, you love him,” Paul said, looking at himself in the mirror. The reflection scared him. He looked drawn, there were dark circles under his eyes, small nicks on his cheeks where he’d cut himself shaving. “Bloody hell.”
Paul did his best to smarten himself up, though he wasn’t all that confident of his success.
Feeling more nervous than he’d ever been in his life, he drove to Trevor’s. Approaching a road junction, he almost rammed into the back of a car that had suddenly braked in front of him.
“Fuck, get a grip.”
By the time he’d parked up he was shaking. Most of him wanted to turn the hell round and go home. But he knew he couldn’t cope with the agony of denial any longer. He just wanted to hold Trevor, kiss Trevor, even make love to Trevor.
“Whoa!” Paul said aloud. Then under his breath he added, “Where the hell did all that come from?”
Feeling as though he was ready to toss his dinner, Paul made his way up Trevor’s garden path, and with shaking fingers, pressed the doorbell.
There was no answer. “Oh, shit no.” Paul didn’t think he would have the bottle to go home and come back another day. In frustration he banged on the door’s wooden panel.
“Hold on a minute!” Through the textured glass Paul could see Trevor approach. Opening the door Trevor looked surprised to see him. “Paul, uh, it’s not—”
“I have to speak to you. It’s important.”
Trevor hesitated. Paul prayed he wouldn’t turn him away.
“Uh, you’d best come in then.”
As they made their way down the short hallway, Trevor tucked his shirt into the waistband of his jeans. Obviously he’d had to dress hurriedly to answer the door.
“Take a seat. I’ll be—”
“Did you manage to get rid of whoever was—” A naked man walked into Trevor’s living room. Seeing Paul he halted. “Uh, sorry.”
“Paul, this is my old friend, Gary. We were, uh—”
“I—” Paul swallowed. He felt like the bottom had just fallen out of his world.