By Simon Stone
This is a story involving gay males and as such should not be read if the subject matter is likely to cause you offense. All comments or criticisms are welcome and will be answered. Many thanks to my editor Kit who's help and enthusiasm has been invaluable.
This story is copyright of the author and may not be distributed or reproduced without the authors consent.
Please send any comments to: simon-stone@excite.com
Simon
Chapter 2
I stayed with Kelly while she
waited for her dad to drive over and pick her up, using the time with her
to catch up on her busy personal life. At the same time I was dropping
not-so-subtle hints that maybe Martin deserved another chance. She
was about to tell me how her parents almost caught her with Joe in their
bedroom, just prior to his time with her coming to an end, when we were interrupted
by the loud beep of a car horn.
I declined her offer of a lift home, not just because I was in no hurry
to return home, but also because her father scared me. I don't know
how her dates dared face him, but of course most of them probably never had
to face that ordeal. Kelly enjoyed, perhaps out of necessity, keeping
her parents in the dark over her life outside their four walls.
With Kelly gone, I faced a dilemma. I wanted to stay away from home for
as long as possible, but what with the interruptions in class, hanging around
in the Art room was no longer a possibility and now just as I stepped out
of the shelter of the college the heavens decided to open, the clouds which
had hung over the place all day finally deciding to fulfill their potential.
There weren't that many places in town where someone with no money could
hide out, at least none that provided a roof over your head and the reassurance
that you wouldn't be accused of loitering. In fact , I could think of
only one, and so it was that I spent the best part of an hour slowly making
my way around the musty-smelling room that passed for our local library.
Given the look of the place, a sort of mix and match collection of the past
three decades of decorative taste, you might justifiably have thought that
nothing much of interest was housed there. You might reasonably have
expected that the more interesting books would have been saved for the smarter
and much more modern libraries in neighbouring areas. Surely the best
books would not be in a place which people mainly used as a large umbrella
in bad weather, or as a shortcut because the building stood on the corner
of the two main streets in town.
But no, this library was surprisingly well equipped, I guess because it
has none of the extras offered by other branches. It had no internet
access, no videos to rent or CDs to borrow; all it had was books. So
it had become a dumping ground for every spare novel, every space-consuming
oversized reference book and every expensive hardback that was thrown at
it.
On a good day, I could spend forever there just wandering from shelf to
shelf, picking out books that caught my eye and then leaning back in one
of the comfortable chairs that were dotted around the place. Forgetting
all about my life as I became caught up in the story in front of me.
I did most of my work for college there as well, finding it easier to concentrate
in a place where there wasn't much else to do, as opposed to home where the
easy distractions of television, computer games and music called out to me
constantly.
This however was not a good day. I hadn't had a thing to eat since
lunch time, and with no money on me, buying something from the nearby late
night store was not an option. I toughed it out as long as I possibly
could, until my stomach's fight back became so audible that every rumble seemed
to echo around the otherwise silent room. I half expected a librarian
to appear behind me and tell me to 'Sshh'.
And so it was that I was now back home. Home sweet home. That's
the theory anyway, but the reality was a little different. I was already
cursing my luck as the showers which had threatened to soak me if I hung around
outdoors had seemingly given up and now the sun was even daring to show itself.
I tried sneaking indoors, switching my whole body to stealth mode as I lifted
the door upwards while pushing it slowly open. I hoped that the upwards
force I exerted on it would stop it catching the bottom of the door frame
and giving out the telltale screech that usually alerted everyone in the house
to the arrival of guests.
It seemed to work, surprisingly, and I entered the house without any of
the usual fanfare, for a moment anyway. I should have realised when
I felt the breeze hit my face that somewhere in the place another door or
window was wide open but it didn't register quickly enough, and so as I let
go of the door the rush of air caught it, slamming it shut. I jumped
at the loud bang and then closed my eyes as my face screwed up into a grimace.
I'd been busted, and any minute now I'd be rushed by some member of my family.
There had been quite a stir at college when it was discovered that my mum
was the woman giving interviews on daytime talk shows on how to achieve perfection
in your life. I found the whole thing embarrassing, knowing full well
that the so-called perfection my mother described was little more than a pipe
dream. There was many a time during the heat of an argument when things
weren't going my way that I'd threaten to write my own little expose on life
with the perfect parent and how it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
Imagined tales of daily beatings and mental torture were often recounted
in my attempts to blackmail my way into a winning position.
Anyway, as soon as the door slammed, Mum swung out from behind the kitchen
door, a glass of wine in one hand and some form of food in the other.
She seemed all dressed up for some reason, which I didn't take to be a good
sign. I prayed we didn't have guests.
"Where have you been? We've been waiting for you," she said,
sounding stressed
That was a blatant lie, as they've never waited for me in my life.
The closest they came was probably before I was born, two days overdue, and
even then she was threatening to have labour induced, probably spending both
the days squeezing her stomach in a bid to force me out on time.
"Come on. Everyone's in the garden."
"I've got work to do," I lied, although I knew it would be in vain.
My parents didn't believe I did anything educational outside of college,
and probably not much while I was there either. The one disadvantage
of doing it all at the library being that nobody actually saw me do any work.
"It can wait. You haven't said Happy Birthday to your sister yet."
I wanted to say that was because I'd been brought up to not lie, but any
negative comment would have gone straight over my mother's head. Nobody
in my family could conceive of anyone not loving Patricia, being as she was
perfect.
"Can I get changed first?" I asked, switching my escape plan to something
I should have focused on at the start.
I decided I should make it look like I wanted to join in, that I would love
to celebrate Patricia's birthday, and that I just have a few dozen things
I had to do first.
It didn't work. I'd left it too late, and her suspicions raised, my
mum was not about to take any chances. After all, a perfect woman needed
perfect children to complete the perfect picture.
"No, come on you can get changed later."
For a moment she sounded quite harassed, and I almost felt a twinge of sympathy.
Knowing her, she'd been preparing for this birthday for weeks, putting more
effort into it than any team of caterers or events organisers could muster,
and even the slightest deviation from plan would seem like a failure to her.
Plus it was at moments like this that I remembered my favourite thought, that
being that the daughter Patricia would bear the brunt of all future wedding
plans our parents came up with.
Stepping out of the kitchen, carefully holding her glass and food in one
hand my mother took hold of my arm by the elbow and pulled me forwards, pausing
only to let me drop my bag to the floor.
"Just say hello to everyone. It won't take you five minutes."
I wondered just who 'everyone' was as I was pulled towards the kitchen.
I soon found out.
The kitchen led out through a back door into the garden, which on this late
summers evening had been turned into a venue for a family and friends get
together. The place was packed with people I recognised, half recognised
and didn't have a clue about. A few waved as they spotted me through
the kitchen window. I'd expected maybe a couple of aunts and uncles,
my grandparents of course, maybe even a few cousins, but not this. How
had I missed the preparations for this? I didn't ignore my parents that
much.
There must have been thirty or forty people out there. The requisite
food to feed them and enough drink to ensure their time here was remembered
as a warm, funny blur of drunken laughs, was all housed in a kitchen which
until now had always seemed large, but even so, it couldn't comfortably hold
this amount of provisions. Every surface was covered with trays, bottles
and glasses. I didn't dare move with any great speed for fear of sending
something crashing to the floor.
"You said you weren't planning anything big," I said.
My increasingly distracted mother handed me a tray, which she proceeded
to load with various snacks and bite-sized treats.
"I wasn't. It started off very small and just evolved."
She was like a dervish now, turning this way and that, piling more and more
food onto my tray while doing the same to one she had picked up. She
had been a waitress before she met my dad, a fact made evident by the way
she could balance a glass on a tray perfectly while she rushed around, never
once looking like she would spill a drop.
"Now take that and that outside, and make sure everyone has something."
She handed me the other tray, taking her glass from it as I struggled to
hold both metal plates without dropping everything. As I stepped tentatively
towards the open door, she swept up another couple of trays, each holding
a dozen or so glasses of what I assumed was wine, and walked coolly ahead
of me out into the crowded garden.
Maybe it was the sheer fact she had returned that had almost everyone looking
at us, although it was more likely to have something to do with the way that
she coughed dramatically as she exited the house. The cough was so loud
that I thought a lung might at any minute pop out onto the tray. In
a bid to attract the attention of the few people who hadn't heard her imitation
asthma attack, she shouted in a voice that was a few decibels louder than
was necessary.
"Look who's here."
She side-stepped, leaving me to face the attention of the crowd. With
a fixed smile, I braced myself to face the onslaught, banal answers to dull
questions at the ready. I was grateful for the occasional interlude
when someone I didn't know just wanted to take something to eat and didn't
want to ask me about college, or other more personal questions.
I dreaded being asked what I was doing, if I had a girlfriend, and if I remembered
some embarrassing incident from childhood that they had obviously committed
to memory and which they'd most probably recorded for posterity.
Eventually, the crowds around me subsided, splitting into their own little
groups, and I was left with two empty trays, well, two almost empty trays.
For some reason one of the small canapes had proven to be rather unpopular,
and so I was left with a small cluster of them on either tray.
My parents approached me, accompanied by Patricia. A look of horror
swept over my mother's face when she saw the tray. Scooping up the uneaten
appetisers in a napkin, she stuffed them in my dad's jacket pocket.
"What are you doing?" He asked, moving away before Mum could stuff
more food into his pockets.
"I'm not having people thinking my food wasn't a success."
I backed away as she tried to stuff a couple of the treats into my mouth.
"Just try them, they're nice."
"That's why nobody else will eat them."
"What do they know? Most of them think pepper is a spice too far,"
Mum said as she turned to Patricia and tried to offer her some, but she too
wasn't having any of it.
"Well at least tell people they're your favourite. If they don't like
them they'd better go home thinking somebody else does."
"I'm not pretending anything," pouted Patricia, ever the helpful daughter,
"Get Steven to do it, he likes being the odd one out."
In that moment I tried hard to think of a time when having a sister hadn't
annoyed me, and I did try, really. But no matter how hard I tried to
think of something, all I could come up with was one possibility. Once,
a very, very long time ago, so long ago that it was just a vaguely dim memory
that may even have been imagined, she said something that had seemed nice.
I'm not sure what it was, and to be honest I doubt my own memory. Maybe
she was being so sarcastic I just didn't see it for the insult it was.
Patricia was a year older than me, and had always seemed built for life
as a single child; she just couldn't adapt to being one of two, or maybe
that was me being charitable and she really was just psychotic.
"Enough, the pair of you," Dad snapped.
"I didn't do anything," I protested.
"You would have soon enough," he replied as he took the trays from me and
set them down on a nearby garden seat.
"Now smile, everybody smile," Mum asked as she placed one hand on
Patricia shoulder and one behind my neck and turned us both around.
I struggled to get away from her grip, as I was perfectly able to turn around
on my own and I didn't need help. Out of the corner of my eye, I could
see Patricia doing the same, equally resentful at being treated like a five
year old. But then we faced forward and saw what, or rather who, we
had been turned to meet - our grandparents.
Immediately, both Patricia and myself straightened up and smiled, turning
into the worlds greatest grandson and granddaughter in an instant. If
there was one thing guaranteed to turn us into the perfect family it was the
sight of grandparents. Not so much out of respect to our elders or
a love of our family, although that was a part of it. No, the main reason
was a sense of competition with our cousins and with each other to be named
favourite grandchild. That may not be the most saintly of motives, but the
results were the same; perfectly behaved, kind and considerate, we
were the modern day version of the Waltons.
Realising how futile it would be to compete with Patricia while she was
basking in the glory of being the birthday girl and guest of honour at the
party, I decided not to go all out for popularity. So I merely played
nice, smiling at everyone, answering questions politely.
I agreed that yes, I had grown and that everything was well in my world
and in general put my grandparents minds at rest that I wasn't about to end
up on the front page of the local newspaper involved in some drug or crime
or sex scandal.
A comment I made that 'I should be so lucky to have something that fun happen
to me', didn't go down well and so rather than further put my foot in it,
I made my excuses and went to fetch another tray of drinks from the kitchen.
I breathed a deep sigh of relief as I walked away. I'd extricated
myself from what was rapidly turning into a Patricia love fest with all four
grandparents competing over who had bought her the best present.
I entered the kitchen, slipping past a couple I didn't really recognise
although who at a push I would have said were friends of my parents.
I grabbed a couple of glasses from the kitchen table. I gulped down
the contents of one, exhaling loudly as the liquid warmed my throat.
The drink was stronger than I'd expected and my face flushed as the warmth
from the alcohol spread, seeming to seep across my chest. I sipped the
second glass, not feeling quite brave enough to down it in one go. I
jumped, almost dropping the glass as a hand squeezed my shoulder.
"Suprise," a female voice whispered.
I turned around smiling, taking another glass from the table and holding
it out to the owner of the voice I'd recognised in an instant.
Joanne, my best friend. I looked her up and down; she'd obviously
dressed up for the occasion. She never needed much of an excuse,
her idea of dressing down involved wearing a pair of pressed jeans and a
top, which she still managed to make look like the type of thing she could
wear to a job interview.
Joanne was tall and athletic with short ash-blonde hair. She excelled
at pretty much everything she did, and she did a lot. Her current craze
was anything and everything sports related, her height and bulk allowing her
to excel at several field sports as well as tennis and basketball.
The coach at college badly wanted her to focus on one sport rather than
spread herself among too many events, but Joanne was always quick to point
out that she did it because she enjoyed it rather than through any great
desire to compete at anything above a friendly level. Personally, I
think she knew she didn't have the killer instinct necessary to really be
the best, and so instead decided to do it for fun rather than risk disappointment.
Anyway, Joanne knew what she wanted out of life and it wasn't an Olympic
medal or a Wimbledon title. For as long as I'd known her, which was
approximately four years, she'd had her heart set on being a doctor, and nothing
seemed to change her mind.
That was one of the things I loved about her; she was constant, good old
Joanne. You always knew where you were with her, and that comfort zone
was reassuring.
I've always believed that everyone should have someone in their life who
the mere mention of brings out a smile and a warm feeling inside. That's
what I call a best friend and that's what it's like with Joanne. In
many ways she's like Kelly. They are both queens of popularity
it's just that they are completely different types of popularity.
Kelly's is based on how good you feel when you do something that meets her
approval. There's just something about her that makes it seem like an
honour if she even speaks to you. It's a completely subconscious thing,
she puts no effort into it at all.
Joanne, on the other hand, seems to make keeping other people happy her
calling in life. Everyone has to love her and so she has to do whatever
it takes to make that happen. I have actually seen days and even weeks
go by where Joanne hasn't had a moment to herself. She spends all her
time going from one friend to the next, making sure each one spends some time
with her, like an over-anxious parent determined to spend quality time with
their children because they are afraid of them growing up to hate them.
"Thank you. It's a nice party," Joanne said as she took the
glass from me. "Where's Patricia? I've got a card for her."
"You shouldn't have bothered," I said while thinking 'she even has
to make my family like her'.
"It's her birthday, aren't you going to be nice to her for one day?"
"Not if I can help it. Do you remember my last birthday?" I
said, my eyebrows raised and an indignant look on my face. Joanne laughed
at the memory.
"She didn't mean anything by it. It was a joke."
"Sixteen years since Steven escaped from the zoo written across a four foot
wide banner. That's some joke."
"It was hand made. Think of the effort she put into it, and I mean
at least she remembered. I'll bet you didn't know it was her birthday
until your parents reminded you."
"Can you stop defending the girl who claims to be my sister."
"If it makes you feel any better, it's not a nice card."
She gently tapped the blue-enveloped card against her thigh in time to the
music, which someone outside had turned up. What had been a vaguely
audible thump of a drum beat now had a tune, and if you listened hard enough,
the occasional snatch of a vocal.
"Don't think I believe that for a second," I answered sarcastically.
"Alright, so it's a nice card, but I only ever see her once every how long?
Months maybe. That's not enough time to work out if she really is the
devil or not."
"Don't be so cruel," I answered back.
"Sorry," Joanne said, suprised that I'd apparently stood up for Patricia.
''I'm sure the devil has feelings too, and he doesn't want to be compared
to Patricia."
I waited in the kitchen while Joanne took Patricia's card out to her.
I was promised this was a task which would only take a minute, but it was
already taking quite a bit longer than that.
Joanne seemed to be managing to be talking more to my sister in five minutes
than I'd done in a month. From the looks of things, she was also managing
to convince my grandparents that if grandchild adoption were possible they
should be first in line.
My parents, who were already pretty much sold on the idea, were being reminded
that they still hadn't called in at the solicitors to see if it was possible
to trade in one child for another. The only consolation I could take
from this was that if necessary Patricia would be included in any deal that
was made, the two of us for one Joanne.
As I waited for Joanne to return, guests wandered in and out of the house
in search of food, drink and the bathroom. I became official waiter,
and if not for the fact that everyone was so polite, I would surely have found
myself planning revenge on my parents for turning me into unpaid slave labour.
I was considering whether or not to risk going out to drag Joanne away from
entertaining my family. It wasn't something I wanted to do, as I figured that
they wouldn't want her to leave. Also, with me out there, no longer waiting
for her, the one reason why she would have to eventually say good-bye to
them would be gone.
Just then, into the kitchen stepped a tall, fairly good looking man.
He was well dressed and older than me, probably in his thirties. The
sort of guy who, based on shallow preconceptions, appeared to be some kind
of high powered businessman. He was the sort of man who wouldn't have
looked out of place in an advert for long distance phone calls, playing the
father who phones home from some overseas business convention to talk to his
wife and child. For all I really knew, he was a plumber who liked wearing
expensive suits when not at work, but first impressions told a different story.
He turned and scanned the room, seemingly looking for something which at
first glance he hadn't been able to locate. I considered asking if I
could help, but I really couldn't be bothered with being deliberately helpful.
I decided it was bad enough being pleasant to people who came in looking for
assistance, without extending the courtesy to those who didn't ask.
I leaned back against the kitchen counter and took another glass from one
of the few trays that hadn't been emptied by thirsty guests. I was starting
to get used to the taste of the wine, and although it was still too bitter
to be really enjoyable, I had begun to appreciate the kick it provided.
I had decided it was easier being nice to people when half drunk and now,
thinking about it, maybe it wouldn't kill me to be nice to this guy.
He was, after all, a guest and technically being the only member of the household
in the immediate vicinity, I was the host.
"Are you looking for something?" I asked.
I finished the drink and placed the empty glass on a tray behind me.
As I did this, my hand knocked against one of the other empty glasses on the
tray. The domino effect as it hit the other glasses around it, sent
them all crashing down onto the metal tray, creating a crescendo of noise
that made me wince.
Why couldn't people be more careful where they left stuff instead of just
piling it all up ready to fall? I wasn't even safe in my own kitchen
now, and I somehow managed to turn this all around and blame Patricia.
After all, it was her party and therefore if not for her I wouldn't be stood
here being humiliated in front of smartly dressed guests.
"It's alright. I'm fine," he answered while looking past me
at what must have been a disaster site on the bench.
I hadn't turned around, but the noise had been enough to tell me that it
wouldn't be pretty. Luckily, no-one I knew had seen me cause the damage,
so I could blame it all on someone else if it came down to it.
"Another drink?" I asked.
"No thanks."
I wondered if he was declining out of sobriety or just a reluctance to allow
me near anything breakable again.
"Are you sure you don't need anything'?" I asked, thinking that having gone
this far, I may as well make an extra effort to be helpful.
"No, really, I just came in to get out of the action for a while."
"Why, what's going on?" I asked as I walked over to the window.
Standing just outside was my aunt Fiona. She was chatting to two men,
both of whom had the look of deer caught in headlights.
Aunt Fiona was well known for her views on relationships, and she believed
that being single, even for a moment, translated as being condemned to an
eternity of spinster hood. So she went from one man to the next, switching
between them at the slightest sign of discord for fear of being caught unawares
and dumped without anyone to fall back on.
"She's a bit full on,'" the guy said from across the room, not daring
to venture closer for fear of being spotted by the maneater herself.
"She can be. Have you tried telling her you're married? She's
normally pretty good around men who are spoken for."
"I tried it but she didn't believe me," he said as he held up his
hand. "No ring, see? I even tried telling her I was gay but that didn't
seem to have any effect."
"No, she sees that as a challenge," I replied,shaking my head. "Fiona
believes gay men are just waiting to be converted, and that she's the missionary
to do it. You'd be suprised how many she gets as well."
"Really?"
"She confuses them. Asks them if they've ever gone out with a woman,
and if they say no, she says 'how can you know you don't like it then?'
If they say they have, she says they can't possibly be gay. Either way,
she trips them up and pins them down until they say yes."
In the garden, one of the men Fiona was talking to had made a break for
it. I almost felt sorry for him as she chased after him. She
waddled along, her high heels sinking into the soft grass, her drink in one
hand and handbag in the other. She was like a woman possessed.
I turned back to the guy in the kitchen.
"You're safe now, she's off down the garden."
He stepped forward towards the window, moving slowly, as if he wasn't too
sure if he should trust me or not.
"I'm sure she's a lovely woman, but I've made it this far without one, and
I don't feel like switching sides this late in life," he said as he
stood beside me.
I tried not to look suprised by his admission. He didn't think it
was a big deal and so I shouldn't either, although inside I was thinking
'I'm stood next to a gay man'. Like he was some kind of rare creature,
an albino panda or something.
"So you weren't just trying to put her off, you really are...?"
"Yes. The name's Jeff by the way," he said.
He held out his hand. I shook it, trying not to look at him
directly for fear that he would instinctively know that I was gay as well.
If he was here, he had to have something to do with the family and I wasn't
risking them finding out.
I decided I needed another drink to calm my nerves and refresh the buzz
the alcohol charged me with. I took a half filled bottle of wine from
the kitchen table and filled two glasses. I offered one to Jeff, who
refused initially but gave in at the second offer. I gulped down my
drink and refilled my glass, hoping if I was quick enough it would go unnoticed
and I wouldn't look like a total drunk.
"So which one is the birthday girl, do you know?" Jeff asked, nodding in
the direction of Patricia and Joanne.
Quite a crowd had gathered around them by now. My parents and grandparents
were still there of course, but their numbers had now swelled by quite a few
other relatives and unknowns.
Joanne was as usual the main attraction, arms all over the place as she
tried to emphasise whatever story she was telling the crowd around her.
Joanne always could tell a story; stories and jokes were her forte, and were
skills I'd never been able to master to any great extent.
"The short blonde one," I said without thinking.
That was Patricia all summed up in two words - short and blonde. Joanne
was big and happy; I was tall and awkward, and Jeff was smart and touching
my backside.
He was touching me. Actually, groping me was probably a more accurate
description. I side-stepped away, more out of shock than anything else.
As I turned to face him, he looked even more embarrassed than I did.
"Sorry, I think I've had a bit too much to drink," he said sheepishly.
'So have I,' I thought 'But you don't see me going around planting
my hands where they shouldn't be.'
"It's alright. No harm done," I said, deciding to be diplomatic
about the whole thing.
I looked him directly in the eyes, something I'd been trying to avoid.
He was attractive in a James Bondish kind of way. His eyes were brown,
a very dark brown which matched his hair, and he needed a shave, his stubble
casting a shadow over his jawline. He smiled a half smile and I have
to admit, for a momentI was kind of taken with him. Maybe it was the
drink affecting my judgement or the fact that I couldn't really afford to
decline any kind of offer. It's not like I was fighting men off.
But I started to wonder if maybe I hadn't made a mistake backing away from
his touch.
'It definitely must be the drink', I thought as I remained where I was.
I wasn't even considering how I could escape this situation. Having
said that, I always had been more comfortable around men who weren't my own
age. I was allowed to be an idiot around someone older, because they
were the ones who had to be smart and mature. I could be an awkward
kid because compared to them that's just what I was. I compared how
I felt now with the fear I'd felt in Martin's company. I couldn't decide
how big a part the alcohol was playing in my new-found confidence.
I held my nerve and continued to look him in the eye, neither one of us
breaking the stare. This was about as brave as I got. I couldn't
do anything but wait and wonder how I'd react if he tried anything again.
"I don't want you thinking I'm some kind of dirty old man," he said,
looking away for a moment and then returning to my gaze.
"You're not that old," I said without thinking. There was all
my tact and diplomacy gone as the alcohol loosened my tongue.
"Is that a compliment?"
He seemed a little hurt that I'd thought he was at all old, but I hadn't
meant anything by it so I didn't feel guilty.
"I don't know. I'm just saying you're not that old."
"Well, I don't normally go around grabbing people."
"I don't normally jump like I did," I replied.
The words were out of my mouth before I realised what I was saying.
"Really?" Jeff answered, his eyebrows raised.
I quite liked the feeling I was getting, the feeling of being with someone
who might actually be interested in me. It all made a nice change from
unrequited love and stupid crushes.
"Really."
I smiled and Jeff smiled back. In the back of my mind there was a
little voice asking what I thought I was playing at. I was flirting
with a man old enough to be my dad. A man old enough to be my dad standing
in my house. Even worse than that, he was a man old enough to be my dad, standing
in my house in full view of just about every member of my immediate and distant
family. The only way the whole thing could be any more scary would
be if it was televised.
I had to do something. 'Just walk away,' I thought to myself.
That was the sensible thing to do, so why wasn't I doing it?
It's not even as if I wanted to be with him. The only real reason
why I was doing this was the fact that he seemed interested in me. There
was no real attraction on my part, just a feeling that I should grab what
I can while it was on offer.
Jeff stepped closer, and this time I didn't move away even though much of
my drink-induced courage had left me. I felt perfectly sober now, sober
and unsure if this was what I really wanted or just one huge mistake.
I told myself I wouldn't know until after whatever was going to happen, happened.
So I remained where I was and prepared myself for whatever Jeff was going
to do. My heart thumped as he took another step towards me. This
must be what it feels like to live dangerously, and I couldn't tell if I liked
it or not.
"Maybe we could go somewhere a bit less public, just to talk," Jeff
said quietly, placing his now empty glass in the sink.
"Maybe," I responded coyly.
For some reason I was keeping up the innocent act, when really all I could
think about was what it would feel like to kiss him. Would I enjoy it
or would the nagging doubts that hid at the back of my mind rise to the forefront
and spoil it?
He smiled at me again, and suddenly all the negative thoughts and doubts
about what I was doing were beaten into retreat by the prospect of a cheap
thrill. Maybe nothing would happen. Maybe all he wanted to do
was talk, but even if that was the case, I would still have this moment when
anything was possible.
"What would you do if I touched you again?" Jeff said, his voice barely
a whisper.
"That depends."
"On what?" he asked, moving closer to me.
"On where you're planning to touch me."
"All over."
"In that case I'd have to say.....shit."
My heart jumped as the door banged against the wall and Joanne came rushing
inside. I stepped back quickly, moving as far from Jeff as I could in
the seconds I had between Joanne storming into the kitchen and her first words
to me.
"Steven you've got to come quick. Something bad has happened, something
really bad."
It was my mother who tracked me
down first; Mary, housewife, mother, part time charitable events organiser
and published author. That last credit was thanks to the efforts of
a neighbour in publishing, who unbeknownst to my dad, had dreams of stealing
her from him, or at least borrowing her for a few nights. The
neighbour had taken a half joking idea she came up with, on how to be the
perfect woman, and turned it into a minor literary hit. Mum was now
halfway through coming up with a title for her sequel, and was undecided
as to how exactly to follow on from the subject of perfection. She was also
worried that the saying about everyone having one book in them was in fact
true.