Gilliflowers (34 page)

I was quiet during dinner and only picked at my food. Shane asked what was wrong, but I couldn’t tell him. If I did he would claim I was whining about the alcohol restriction again and he’d be right. I was secretly angry with him, and Dick too, blaming them for the loss of possibility. I shrugged off the question and laid claim to tiredness.

Dick said I was probably suffering from a bit of post project depression. He often felt flat after completing something he’d worked hard on. He reiterated how beautiful the pond looked and Shane backed him saying I’d done well to see it through and he was proud of me for persevering. Their approval should have lifted me, but it didn’t, though I acknowledged it with grace.

When dinner was over and cleared up from I used tiredness as an excuse for an early night, choosing to go upstairs to read and watch telly in bed rather than join the men folk in the lounge.

I didn’t stay alone for long. Dick came up. He’d made me a cup of tea. It was a sweet gesture, but my taste buds trembled at the prospect of having the thick muddy liquid swilled over them. How many bags had he shoved in the cup? I’d need a fucking power hose to blast the tannin stains off the inside of it. I took a couple of sips and set it aside.

Settling at the end of the bed he gave me a little smile, gently asking, ‘what’s wrong, hun? Tell me.’ I claimed to be fine, but he was having none of it. It was obvious I had something on my mind. He wanted to know what it was, an order not a request. I claimed it to be nothing major, just me being me, and therefore an idiot, and then I got tearful. Pulling me into a cuddle he astutely asked if my downturn in mood was to do with Derek.

I explained about Derek’s invitation to the pub and my feelings about it. He sternly said I was making assumptions based on my own reluctance to accept my teetotal status. If I really wanted to pursue a friendship with Derek then I had to take the risk and see how things panned out. If he were a friend worth having he wouldn’t give a damn whether I drank or not. I didn’t agree. Dick’s a good kind man, but he’s from a different class to me and doesn’t fully understand the working class ethos.

He casually remarked that Derek was a good-looking man and just as casually asked if I fancied him as well as liking him. I told the truth. I didn’t. Yeah, he was a handsome bloke, easy on the eye, but there was no sexual pull at all. I’d enjoyed his company. I liked the fact we could talk on the same level and have a good laugh. As I write it occurs that perhaps I saw him as a potential substitute for Lee, someone to fill the gap I felt had been left now he’d moved on to a different stage in his life.

Dick’s next words left me gobsmacked. He said while he didn’t want to stop me having friends he thought it probably wise for me not to pursue a friendship with Derek. Why?

In his words: ‘you might not fancy him, babe, but I have a strong suspicion he fancies you. If I’m not mistaken he wants more than a drinking pal. I suspect he’s hoping for a fuck buddy to lose his gay virginity with.’

When I could speak again I pointed out Derek was married with two young kids.

Dick pointed out that a lot of gay and bisexual men got married in an effort to fit in and feel safe, even if they didn’t consciously know it. They repressed feelings that were ‘out of the norm.’ When he’d watched us working together he noticed the looks Derek kept giving me. He was interested.

He hypothesised that maybe Derek was at a stage of life where he was ready to deny denial and give his gay/bi side an outing and where better to visit than the territory of someone young, attractive and safely spoken for, but hopefully up for a bit of extramarital experimental sex…he paused and asked if Derek DID know I was spoken for?

I confirmed he was aware I was in a gay relationship. When he came to the house and we chatted he asked if I was married or living with someone. I told him the truth.

I was gay and partnered. I didn’t go into detail. I didn’t say I was double partnered, just partnered.

I didn’t accept Dick’s theory at first, but the more I thought about it the more I realised he could be right. When I’d made known my sexual orientation Derek had seemed more interested than fazed, saying he’d wondered if I might be gay. Straight men usually prefer to zone out such information and hurry the conversation on to neutral topics. He asked questions about how old I’d been when I realised I was gay and how many boyfriends I’d had. He made a joke of asking if it was true that gay couples tended to have more open relationships than straight ones. I said it depended on the couple. Like their straight counterparts some were swingers and enjoyed swapping partners while others wanted a more conventional form of commitment.

After Dick’s revelation the possibility of a friendship with Derek looked not just unlikely, but impossible. To contact him would be to suggest I might be available. It wouldn’t be fair on him. I wasn’t interested in being a sexual experiment. If he was indeed gay or bisexual then he needed to find a way of owning that aspect of himself and squaring it with his marital situation. He seemed genuinely fond of his wife and he obviously adored his kids. His face lit up when he talked about them.

It must be hard for men and women who come late to an understanding of their sexual nature for whatever reason. To feel trapped and unfulfilled must be painful, especially knowing the only way to be free is to hurt someone who believes you to be something other than you are and for whom you care, if not love.

In a way Dick’s words made the decision I’d already made easier to accept, but I still felt down and out of sorts with him and Shane.

Switching off the telly Dick insisted I go downstairs instead of skulking in the bedroom.

As soon as we entered the lounge Shane looked at Dick and dryly said, ‘have you told Lady Chatterley your theory about the gardener’s lustful designs?’ I pulled a ha-ha face and informed him Mellors was a gamekeeper not a gardener. He said ‘same difference’ and dragged me onto his lap. I tried to resist, but not with any conviction. I have a love/hate relationship with his lap. I hate being bent over it with my arse mooning the ceiling, but I love being seated on it for a cuddle.

Dick snootily informed Shane his ‘theory’ had more or less been proven because the gardener had asked Lady Chatterley to give him a ring so they could arrange to go out for a drink. Shane’s response was to rap a question at me. ‘Did you say no or do I have to say it for you?’ It made me a bit cross, but I confirmed I wouldn’t be calling Derek. He said ‘good boy’ and rewarded me with a kiss that took my breath away.

And that was that. A quiet evening followed.

The garden pond is pretty. Its water is shallow and yet deep. It has aspects beyond the obvious. It holds memories of a friendship unrealised and an affair that could never be. The fountain sends ripples across the surface of the water. They seem to warn of potential heartbreak. If Dick’s theory is sound and Derek is undergoing a sexual awakening then I hope he can find a way of finding himself without hurting and losing what he loves.

I could take a side road into rant land here and sound off about religious bigotry still permeating and poisoning society with its view that gay men and women should repress their nature and live a lie, and that sex in general is tainted with sin, but I won’t. This pup has yapped enough for one day. No handy excuse has presented itself and so it’s time for me to get ready to go out for dinner.

It’s gorgeous weather here at the moment. It won’t last. It never does, but if it does being British I shall be forced to complain about it being too hot and the gardens wilting from lack of rain.

I had an episode last Sunday. It was triggered by an ad on the Internet for the Halifax bank. The ad comprises of strong white lettering against a bright blue background followed by a cascade of pound coins falling down. It was the rapid flickering of the coins that triggered me. Before I knew it I was twitching and trembling as if someone had tasered me.

To my annoyance Shane banned me off the computer for a couple of days afterwards, to give my brain chance to balance out he said. We rowed, or at least I did. He just sat there with his arms folded while I complained about him making too much of it. When I’d done he promptly doubled the ban from two days to four, as punishment for questioning his authority. If ever there was a moment to submit gracefully that was it, but no the houseboy’s big mouth continued unabashed. It sarcastically demanded to know whether I was banned from touching pound coins, in the same way as I was banned from touching alcohol, seeing as they had in effect caused my episode. A stern discussion on the subject of boy to Daddy etiquette followed. He can be very caustic when he wants to be. His words can burn a message of disapproval just as hotly as his hand on my backside.

Dick’s away at the moment, he’s down south visiting his family. He was only supposed to go for a couple of days, Sunday to Tuesday, but his mother was taken ill with severe stomach and back pain, so he prolonged his visit. She’s in hospital having tests done. Dick is hoping it’s nothing serious. I’m missing him while enjoying having Shane’s undivided attention both in and out of bed.

We went to the pictures last night to see the new Batman Dark Knight film. I’ve wanted to see it for ages, but I don’t like going to the cinema on my own, so I was touched when he offered to go with me. I can’t say I enjoyed the film as such. I found it edgy and disturbing and not least for Ledger’s creepy psychotic Joker role. I didn’t come away feeling uplifted. Shane was surprised too. He’d been expecting something comic book silly rather than film noir.

We’ve been invited over to Leo’s house for dinner this evening. I’m not keen.

Shane made the decision we’d dine with Captain Pugwash and whichever of his sidekicks happens to be there. I’ll make the best of it though, seeing as Shane made an effort to please me last night when I know he would have preferred to chill in front of the telly.

Eileen is away on holiday. I’m keeping an eye on her house. I was convinced it was getting broken into yesterday morning. I saw a man with a ladder going round the back. Donning my security guard hat I galloped over to confront the burglar bounder, who turned out to be the new window cleaner. He’s new, having just taken over the round, so he was unknown to me.

I felt a fool, but he thought it was funny. Shane didn’t. He went into scold mode when I told him I’d acted the part of potential have a go hero. He denounced me as a reckless little idiot. If I thought there was anything suspicious I should have called the police, not gone pounding over there like Bulldog Drummond. My immediate thought was who the fuck is Bulldog Drummond, some kind of doggie do-gooder? I felt obliged to investigate. According to Google he was a fictional gung ho private detective. The stories were written in the twenties and thirties. I thought I might be interested in reading some of them, but decided against it after finding out more about them. They’re a product of their day and some of the attitudes and language used to describe minorities was uncomfortable to say the least. Such things are best left back in time.

I suppose Shane had a point about my action being foolish, especially these days when people seem willing to stick a knife in someone just for the way they look.

Where’s Batman when you need him to clean up the streets eh!

Time to get ready for dinner. I hope leather back Jak isn’t at Leo’s. With a bit of luck his wheel will have suffered a puncture and he’ll be stuck on a side road somewhere.

Shane decided to indulge in a bit of Sabbath ritual this morning. No, he didn’t go to church. He worship-washed his car, or at least he supervised me while I washed it.

I then made lunch while he sat on a kitchen chair and supervised. After lunch we did some gardening, or at least I did. He lay on a sun lounger and supervised while reading the paper. I got my own back when the hose I was dousing the flowerbeds with ‘accidentally’ slipped. His face was a picture when I water cannoned the Sunday Times right out of his hands. He was left holding margin scraps. I nearly pissed myself laughing.

He called me a bloody menace and came after me saying he was going to tan my arse. By the time he managed to overpower me and gain possession of the hose we were both soaked to the skin. It was fun. We ended up in bed. I love having sex on a sunny summer afternoon. It feels so good. Shane is still sleeping, bless, I wear him out sometimes.

Dick called this morning to say he’s coming home tomorrow. His mother was

diagnosed with kidney stones. She had some kind of sound wave treatment to break them down and he said she’s already feeling much better. It’ll be good to have him back in the lair.

Jak was at Leo’s last night along with Mike. They’re becoming something of a regular trio. Jak was wearing his usual spray on trousers and a leather vest top. He’s obviously never heard of cotton or polyester. He’d cause a stampede if he walked into a field full of cattle. They’d panic and think he’d come to harvest them for their hides.

The vest showed off his sinewy tattooed arms and also revealed some faint red lines on the parts of his shoulders left exposed by it, whip marks by the look of them. He’d obviously played a recent scene. He was also still collared, his neck adorned with a narrow band of black leather with a metal ring on the front.

Leo hadn’t bought any substitute wine for me to try this time. He’d bought Shloer red grape juice instead, which I don’t mind drinking, though I’d obviously prefer fermented grape juice. He served it with a flourish in an IKEA wine glass, announcing he’d finally got round to buying a set especially for me, because he knew how much I liked them. Oh funny. I levelled a cold look at him, but he just grinned and winked.

Jak asked what the joke was, but Leo said it was private, which annoyed him. He made a point of saying how delicious the wine was and it was a shame I wasn’t
allowed
to taste it. I made a point of pointing at his collar and saying if he was good I’d borrow a leash and take him out for a walk after dinner so he could do his business. Shane made a point of sharply telling me to cut the chutzpah. Jak smirked and said ‘yeah, be a good boy for daddy.’ Mike immediately told him to button it with Leo adding for him to keep it buttoned. Play must have been ongoing between them because Jak did as he was told, demurely lowering his lashes in acquiescence. He and I then made a point of ignoring each other.