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Jimmy the Love-Virus.

By John T. S. Teller.

Part twenty-six.

The airplane sways immediately as it's taking off, and my tummy goes into a roll; but as soon as we're in the clouds, I feel fine. Helen will be back at her own home now. She waved me off when Akhtar picked me up, and was returning home as soon as I'd left. The five days we've spent together have been wonderful, especially after I told her about Benjamin. Seeing her so happy eased the guilt I was feeling at betraying Robert. That will never be completely gone, but I know I was right to do it. I can live with my guilt now.

It's just turned eleven, and the plane descends and lands at Pope John Paul Airport, and taxies to the unloading bay. I'm excited. Robert said he would be waiting for me, and as soon as I'm clear of the aircraft, I text him.

ME: The eagle has landed. Luv u. XXX

I've just got through customs when I get a reply.

ROB: Which underpants u wearing? Luv u. XXX

ME: Guess. LOL. Willie is having a fit. *smiley face* XXX

ROB: Eccles is 2. Hurry. XXX

I have only hand luggage, and I'm at the meeting point before I can answer. Rob, dressed in his Crombie and yellow silk scarf, because it's quite cool, is leaning against a pillar with a wide grin on his face. My heart misses half a dozen beats. God, how I love him! We hug, big style; a long-lost relative's hug. The taxi driver is a nutter, and we're at our apartment on an old street just a stone's throw from Szczepanski Square before I've had time to get to Eccles. Rob pays the driver, and humps my holdall through a long, well-worn, stone-flagged tunnel, that goes through the ground floor of the building. It's the entrance to a block of antique, five-storey apartments that look like something out of a film. I giggle when he takes me into the entrance and through the alley, and I'm amazed that in the quadrangle in the centre of the rectangular block of apartments is a tree that must be at least a hundred years old, and is so big that the branches brush the windows around the inside of the quadrangle.

Rob grins. "What are you giggling at?"

"This place. It's like something out of a film. Will we be safe here?"

Rob leads me up seven steps - so well worn by countless feet using them that they're worn into smooth curves on the edges – and to the strangest contraption I've ever seen.  It's a lift, and it measures no less than two metres by one, and has a gate on it made of iron and brass bars, so highly polished by wear, that it, too, has corners that are worn by so much use. Rob pulls at a lever, and pulls back the heavy steel gate, and when we've crammed into it, he slams it shut, and the sound echoes through the building. In the corner of the lift, almost invisible, because it's so dark in here, are some big brass buttons, and he presses one, and, after a lot of clanging noises, it smoothly and slowly inches its journey upwards until it comes to a sharp, noisy halt, four floors up. Rob mauls the gate open, we get out, and he mauls the gate shut. Immediately it closes, almost ghostlike, it goes back down again. Unlike my trainers, Rob's leather-soled shoes echo as we walk along a high corridor to a massive apartment door, which Rob opens with a massive brass key, and he lets me go in first. I stare at the interior. Its worlds apart from what I'm used to. The floors are wood; the walls are almost bare; and the furniture is as sparse as the few rugs on the floor; and the ceiling is about five metres high.

Rob sweeps his hand in an expansive arc. "Make yourself at home, lover. This is history: real history, and not something you learn at school. This is the real Poland that existed long before the Germans invaded. The Nazis razed Warsaw to the ground, but the German in charge of this part of Poland loved the place so much, that he managed to persuade the hierarchy not to do the same here. Which would you prefer... your block of flats, or this place?"

Rob has a point. I wander over to a large window and look down into the quadrangle courtyard with the massive tree growing in the middle of it, and I begin to feel the ambience of the place: a sense of history, and also a feeling of sadness, because of the horrors I'd seen in the archive films we'd watched about Auschwitz, and the Jewish families who had been turfed out of apartments exactly like this one. I turn away, and Rob's nowhere to be seen. I stroll into the bedroom, where he's lying on the bed with his hands behind his head. The blinds are drawn, and he's grinning like a Cheshire Cat.  I look at him, and walk back out.

I'm sitting on the windowsill, overlooking the courtyard when he comes to me and puts his arms around my neck. He asks, "Are you ok?"

I don't look at him. "Not really. Can we rent a modern apartment instead of this?"

Rob sits on the windowsill, facing me, and lifts my chin, and looks into my eyes. "Jimmy. It was a long time ago. We can't change history. What happened, happened, and the best way to make things better is to remember, and then get on with life. Before that war, people made love in these apartments, and they've made love in them since. Life goes on. Love goes on. The fact that you feel as you do is beautiful. It shows that you care. I care, too, but life really does have to go on. Unless, that is, all these buildings are knocked down and replaced with modern shit. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

I shake my head. "No. Sorry, Rob. I can't explain it, really. The moment I saw these buildings, and the moment I walked in here, I sort of felt connected. I suppose you're right. Does the bed squeak?"

Rob gives me an evil grin. "It did last night, when I had that young Polish lad in it."

I laugh. "Was he good?"

"He was very good. Almost as good as a young man I know from the UK."

I kiss him passionately on the lips, and then pull away. "And which young lad from the UK would that be?"

Rob pulls a funny face and raises his eyebrows. "The one who's in my arms; the one I've missed like mad for a week."

I'm giggling now, and Willie is almost painful. "I think he's missed you, too."

Rob laughs, and grabs me, and takes me back to the bedroom, and I get on the bed, and he's on top of me and crushes his lips against mine, and his tongue flicks into my mouth, and begins to create a frenzy of passion throughout my whole being. He can't wait for us to get undressed. Instead, he pulls me up so I'm straddling his chest, and his fingers frantically open my jeans, and he rips them down enough that Willie is fully exposed. Warm hands; warm lips; deep throat; and I eject almost a week's supply of myself into him, and not a single drop escapes. As soon as I recover, I'm down onto my Robert, and Eccles is all mine; rewarding me with his essence. Only when I'm sure he has no more honey to give do I go and lie beside my beautiful lover, and stroke his face and stare into his eyes. "Well? Was the Polish boy as good as me?"

Rob grins. "Nah. He was a waste of space compared to you. I don't think I'll bother with him again. (Rob looks at his watch.) We've got about an hour before we have to leave. Do you want a nap, or do you fancy making the bed creak properly?"

We're giggling like madmen as we strip as fast as we can, and the bed not only creaks, it literally bounces for the next forty five minutes as Rob fucks me from behind. I climax so many times that my senses are reeling, and then the final hard thrust of Eccles deep into me, and Rob's love juices spurting up my insides end our lovemaking. Then we shower and dress, and go back down the well-worn stone staircase, rather than the lift. Both of us have smug grins on our faces.

We walk the short distance to the bookshop where Rob is to do his book signing, and I'm impressed that a queue has already formed in the street. For the next two hours, I watch my man doing the business. He's good; he's damn good, and almost two hundred people walk away with a signed copy and a warm handshake! They've met their hero. Little do they know that their hero, as well as the best writer, is the best lover in town, and that not long ago, he had his penis buried deep into my tunnel of love. I wonder what they'd say if they knew he'd just fucked me? Some of them would be fine with it, especially the young man who also bought a copy of B** S****** (many others did, too), and had Rob sign both books. He couldn't have been more than seventeen, and I noticed him fawning over Rob as he chatted to him in English. I'm surprised at the number of young people who are buying. In fact, most of them are under thirty-five, and many are late teens/early twenties. I'm not being totally ignored. I'd positioned myself so I could see everything he did, after Rob introduced me to the owner of the bookshop and explained: `he's studying psychology, and this trip is his reward for Student of the Year at our local college'. The crafty sod had it all worked out. I didn't mind; I was treated exceptionally well after the explanation. Coffee and biscuits at my very own small table, and lots of meaningful grins from Rob, while he's plying his wares, are all I need, and the two hours fly by. It's almost five in the evening when Rob finally manages to get away, after the local newspaper has taken a number of photographs of him, and he's done an interview with the local reporter.

I'm holding Rob's hand as we walk around the main square, and he asks, "Are you hungry, little man?"

"I'm bloody starving. What's the food like?"

He grins at me. "It's good, if you know where to go. Come on; one of the best places is right by our apartment."

"Is it Faulty Towers grub then? (I feel his grip on my hand tighten, and see the stifled smile on his face.) Why are there so many young people around here? And why are you holding my hand so tight?"

"Krakow is a university city, and I'm holding your hand tight because I'm so proud that I'm with the most beautiful boyfriend in all Poland. Besides, if I let you go, you'll be off with one of these young men who keep giving you the eye."

I pretend I don't know what he's talking about. But I do. It's the reason I took Rob's hand in the first place: a message to tell the not so few blokes who had been giving me the eye as we walked together, to `fuck off, because my beautiful Rob is all I need'. "I haven't seen any. I think you're imagining things. You always did have a strange imagination."

Rob laughs.  "There's nothing wrong with my imagination. Not long ago, I made love to Jordan in a crappy apartment in Poland."

I suppress a giggle. "David was good, too. I like his stuff. It tastes like cabbage soup."

We're still giggling when Rob guides me into a restaurant right next door to our apartments, and we take a seat by the window. A beautiful young girl comes to us, and speaks in perfect English. We order drinks, and she's gone, leaving us to look at the open square, and cars parked crazily outside. I'd noticed Rob eyeing up the waitress, and I ask, "Would you?"

Rob grins, and ignores me, and orders our meals for us when she comes back, and then tells me that we're off to Auschwitz at ten in the morning. The meal is good: a tender steak and all the trimmings. Rob has wine, and I have a Coke. He settles the bill, winks at the waitress, and leaves her a good tip. That was for me. That was his answer. I grin, and we leave.

Sukiennice Hall is a wonder: dazzling bright lights and Baltic amber. It reminds me of Aladdin's Cave. Trinket boxes of amber, with perfectly preserved insects trapped within the fossilised resin take my special fancy. They're expensive; but I want two of them; one for mum, and one for Helen, and I buy them. Rob doesn't argue, even though he knows that mum's and Helen's gifts will cost me half my monthly allowance. He senses that I really want them, and when I've paid for them, he gives me a special hug.

Hand in hand. That's how we walk about in the main square; and to hell with anybody. This isn't Willow Row with the priggish old sod looking through the curtains. Here, we're lovers, and the world knows it. This is good. This is how I want to be with Rob; free to show my affections for him, and as the weight of hidden love falls from my shoulders, so, too, it falls from Rob's, and he puts his arm around my shoulder, and I wrap my own about his waist. Another meal at ten. I share Rob's wine. Back to the apartment; up in the antique giggling lift; the laughing massive key; the creaking, bouncing bed of love and sex; and then, when Rob has drifted off to sleep, I go and sit at the window and look down on the courtyard of history. We've become part of it, but no one will ever know. It doesn't matter. I know it, and that's all that matters, and I cry for those who were robbed of what I have, and I promise myself that I will always try hard not to be a bigot or a racist.

Back to the bed, which is now partly illuminated by the dim lamps in the courtyard. Rob is well away. I kneel by the bed, take his hand, lay it flat, and caress it with my cheek, and then I kiss the open palm. This is my man, the love of my life, who, bit by bit, is changing me into a new person. Krakow and this apartment is the place where the chrysalis opens and a new life is born. I christen it with more tears that fall gently into Rob's palm.

-----------

Jimmy is awake, staring at the ceiling, and seems strangely subdued as I rouse myself. He looks at me with his beautiful blue eyes, and I can see the love in them. He strokes my cheek with his finger, and then plays with my lips. There's not the amusement in him that usually accompanies our waking moments, and it bothers me. "A penny for your thoughts?"

Now he smiles - a sort of wistful smile - up at the ceiling. "Thank you, Rob."

"For what?"

"For everything. For smiling at me when I walked over your lawn; for your texting; for coming to see me play cricket; for making me shy and tongue-tied when we first met properly; for your understanding about me and Chris; for the meals at Castleton; for doing what you have for Mum and Mrs R and Sam and everybody; for taking me to Portugal; for making me love your Mum; for bringing me here; and a million other things you've done for me."

Tears are beginning to seep from Jimmy's eyes, and roll down his cheeks. I decide not to wipe them away. Instead, I take his hand and bring it to my lips, and kiss it softly. "I love you, Jimmy."

He turns his head to me, and more unashamed tears escape. But he's smiling now. "I know you do, and that's why I'm so happy. Knowing that someone loves you is so important. It is to me."

This is Jimmy's private time; his deep inner thoughts, and I decide to say nothing. Words would break the spell of this enchanting moment, and no more words are spoken before we embrace and share our mutual love, without sex, and it's only during breakfast that he comes out of his melancholy, and grins when the same waitress serves us, and he asks if I would. I give him the same answer I did last evening; I ignore him, and smile at her, and leave a large tip when we leave.

This taxi driver is a nutter, too, swerving in and out of the traffic on the single carriageway road that leads to Auschwitz. After ten miles, I've had enough, and tap him on the shoulder, and tell him to stop at the next village. He pulls over, half onto the narrow pavement by a small store, probably thinking I need to buy something. I shove Jimmy out of the car, throw the driver 100 Zlotys (half the agreed price for the round trip) and tell him he's a fucking lunatic. He doesn't argue, just shrugs his shoulders, puts the car into gear, pulls down the road a short way, half enters a side road, does a tyre-screaming 180 degree turn into horn-blaring traffic, and the last we see of him is his two fingers sticking out of the side window as he heads back to Krakow, and another unsuspecting victim.

Jimmy's sitting on the shop step. He grins at me. "What now, Mr Angry."

My shoulders shake as I laugh at his remark. "Shall we catch a bus?"

"I think we'd better. Or we can stay here all day. I don't mind. Can you speak Polish?"

I laugh. "Not enough to ask where the bus stop is."

Now, I'm bent over double, laughing, and soon, we're both in tears laughing at the ridiculous situation. The next half hour is pure comedy, and not once do we stop laughing. Jimmy goes into the shop and buys two apples, and asks the old lady who serves him if she speaks English. She doesn't. We leave the shop and saunter along the road, munching on our apples. Then we come to a bus-stop; a covered one with two fat old ladies wearing headscarves, sitting with a multitude of carrier bags at their feet. I start to giggle before we get there, and Jimmy stops, bent over laughing as I go to them to enquire if they speak English. He's still there when I return and tell him that neither of the two fat old ladies wearing headscarves can speak English, either.

With tears running down his cheeks, he asks, "What the fuck are we going to do now, Rob?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Just wait for a bus. It's got to be heading in the direction of Auschwitz. We'll ask the driver when we get on."

More tears from Jimmy. "Wait till I tell Sam about this lot. He'll piss himself laughing."

The two fat old ladies wearing headscarves are taking up most of the four seats in the bus shelter, and what little room is left is occupied by more carrier bags. I decide not to ask them to remove them.  It just isn't worth it, so we stand and wait for the bus, which we know must be coming because the two fat old ladies wearing headscarves are waiting. Or are they waiting for a bus? For all we know, they could be waiting for a taxi, or a tractor, of which there are plenty trundling slowly along this narrow road. Jimmy and I chat about the situation, which only leads to more laughter, and more tears. Now, the two fat old ladies wearing headscarves are giggling with us. And this is when Jimmy plays his ace card: he tries to get the two fat old ladies wearing headscarves to understand what we want, by standing in front of them and gesticulating with sporadic verbal interjections.

"Auschwitz?" says he pointing up the road. He gets two nods. He does the acts of turning a steering wheel and a conductor giving out tickets. "Bus? Broooom broom: ting ting." He gets two nods, and two big grins, and two fat fingers pointing behind us.

I turn, and see a ramshackle old bus coming towards us. The sign on the front says `Oświęcim'.

"Bloody Hell, Rob, I wonder how far that is from Auschwitz?"

I laugh. "Oświęcim is Auschwitz, Jimmy. Come on, let's help these ladies on board, and I'll sort the rest."

We help the ladies on board, and then do multiple trips to get their carrier bags, and put them on the two empty seats in front of them, and pack them between their legs, and then we sit opposite them, and grin. They grin back at us. Grins are becoming our universal language, and the driver gets one as I pay him for two tickets to "Auschwitz'. Thankfully, he speaks a little English, and I make sure the bus will take us all the way. Apparently, we will have just a short walk (three kilometres!) to the main camp from where the bus turns round. Apart from our two old ladies with headscarves, there are only four other people on the bus, and they all grin as we do the business of getting on, and then, with the grinding of gears, the old bus trundles off towards Auschwitz. It's only gone about two kilometres when it stops for our two ladies to get off. Jimmy shoves me aside (he's sitting in the window seat) and helps the two old ladies with their carrier bags. Jimmy tells me to stay put, so I do, because it's like Fred Carney's Circus as they disembark. I'm watching through the window as our two old ladies - after Jimmy has made sure they're safe with their gear - grab him, and kiss his cheeks repeatedly. It's a poignant moment for me. Here we are in the middle of a foreign country, and Jimmy's charms are as obvious to these two old dears, as they are to so many people everywhere we go. This boy I love so dearly has a universal niceness. He gets back on the bus and takes his seat, and the two fat old ladies with headscarves blow kisses to him as it drives away, and I know for a fact that they'll never forget him.

When we reach our destination, the driver tells us where to go to get to the main camp, and for the first ten minutes of our walk, we're laughing about what has gone on, but our amusement dies away naturally as the first signs of the death camp become apparent. On the side of the road we're walking on, are railway lines, and I explain to Jimmy that they were laid by slave workers the Nazis brought in from all over Europe, and which they then extended to Birkenhau to make it easier to kill so many people in the crematoria there. We reach the main camp, and Jimmy is surprised at the many hundreds of visitors, and the dozens of coaches that are parked up, and, during our tour of the camp, he holds my hand and tries to be withdrawn from the group of which we are a part. I understand. This is not a `group thing' to Jimmy. The tour takes about an hour, and then we're out into the freshness of the cool day. Jimmy hugs my arm, and says little. We take a taxi to the camp at Birkenhau, some three kilometres away, and stroll through it on our own. Just a few wooden huts that housed the prisoners are still intact, and we stare into them. But neither of us venture into them. And then the long walk past the hundreds of bare foundations, where many more huts once stood, but have now been demolished, and on to the remains of the crematoria, which the Nazis blew up to try and hide their horrible, vile deeds. Finally, on the walk back, after we've looked at the memorial tablets, we make our way towards the watchtower that dominates this place, but Jimmy pulls me to the place where the railway line ends, and he stops.

"Is this the place where the trains stopped, Rob? Where the women and kids were separated from the others, and taken straight to the gas chambers, and where the Germans were with their dogs? (I tell him it is, and he turns to me with tears flooding from his eyes.) Hold me, Rob, please. I need to hold you."

And I hold Jimmy close to me and allow him to sob into my chest. This is a strange place. Some people, like me, can go through it and find little to connect them with it. Others, like Jimmy, are deeply affected by the experience, and feel connected to the horrors that went on here, so deeply, that for some of them, it becomes an epiphany, and, as I hold my lover to me, I very much suspect that it will be so to Jimmy, and that he'll never quite be the same person he was before he came here.

------------

There's a crowd gathered round a man whistling classical music in the main square in Krakow, and I lead Rob towards him. It's a cool night, but I'm warm enough with my leather bomber jacket with fleecy lining, and Rob is wearing his Crombie and silk scarf, as usual. He has that ability to look posh anywhere he goes. Class. That's what he is. We're walking in our normal Krakow manner: Rob's arm on my shoulder, and mine around his waist. The irony isn't lost on me. In the 1940's, we would be put in the death camp we've visited today, for exhibiting our homosexuality. Now, we're almost normal. The world, despite its many failings, has come a long way, and I'm thankful for it. I love my man, and I'm not ashamed to show it any more. Well, here I'm not. Back in the UK, we'll have to revert to type: `type' being heterosexual, unless we're in a place of like-minded people. The main square is beautiful, with it's orange lights and thriving cafes, and a man comes out of the window high up in a building and blows his trumpet and stops half way through his tune, because he's enacting a man who was doing it, and who was shot with an arrow halfway through his bugle call to arms a few hundred years ago. And when he's finished, Rob leads us to an empty table outside one of the cafes, and to seats where we can look out into the bustling square. We order, and we're served by another lovely young lady: a Romanian she turns out to be, after Rob has put on his charms, and quizzed her. I giggle as I watch him. He's quite a ladies man. He looks at me, and grins. I grin back. "Would you?"

The meal is excellent, and again we share a bottle of wine. During the meal, we chat about the day. Our talk is a mixture of hilarity, and solemnity. We've experienced both today. But our mood is generally good.

Rob orders another bottle of wine, and then looks at me. "Have you enjoyed the trip, Jimmy?"

I can tell by the tone of his voice, and the look on his face that the question isn't a casual one; and I think deeply before I answer.  "Yes, I have, Rob. It's been fantastic, even though Auschwitz was upsetting. I've learned so much here, and I love the place. This trip has been different than the one to Portugal. I know it's entirely different as a place, but just travelling with you, I mean. Portugal was fun, but this place has made me realise that there's so much more to life than just fun. I think I've grown up here. Is that bad?"

Rob's beautiful eyes bear into mine, as he sips his glass of wine. I can see that he's pleased with my answer. "Nothing is bad about you, Jimmy. You are growing up. I see it every day I'm with you. I'll always love the cheeky young sod who walked across my lawn, and that cheeky young sod will always be part of the whole, thank goodness, but you're maturing beyond your years. You're going to be a very special man, and I reckon I'm the lucky one to have you. I love you, Jimmy, and I love our special love story."

I stare into the eyes I love so much. "And I love you, Rob."

The meal is over. The waitress comes with the bill. Rob pays it, and then puts a rolled-up 100 Zloty note in the top of the wine bottle. The waitress looks at him, puzzled. Rob winks at her. "It's for you, sweetheart. It's a message in a bottle."

I can't stop giggling as we do our Krakow walk back to the hotel; up the worn steps and into the noisy antique lift; to the massive wooden door and the massive brass key; into the sparse, historic apartment; to the noisy bouncing bed, where we make beautiful love for hours.

And in the morning, after breakfast, we get a taxi to the airport. Rob's flight to Italy is later in the day, so I have to return home, alone. But, strangely, it doesn't bother me one bit. Krakow has given me confidence in us. I know that in less than a week, my special man will be back in my arms, and I have things to do. I have an education to look forward to, and then a life together with Rob.

As I walk through customs, Rob grins at me, and shouts, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

I shout back. "Leave those Italian boys alone!"

He laughs, and shakes his head. "I'll tell you about them when I get back." He winks. "You know what I mean."

I laugh. "Bring Gianno back with you. He's twelve years old."

Back to earth and a smiling Akhtar; and we chat happily as he drives me back home. He drops me off, and I see the lawn and the letterbox I love with every beat of my heart, and which began this love story. I turn the key in the lock, and go in. Thankfully, there's no one there to greet me. I look around at our home, and I feel the warmth of it envelop my soul. I grin to myself.  Rob has got me down as VIRUS on his mobile, and, sometimes, he calls me his Love Virus. Well, Rob, Jimmy the Love Virus is an incurable one, so you'd better get used to having it for the rest of your life. I ring Carl and arrange for Rob and I to stay over at Castleton on the weekend he gets back, and then I text Jordan. And then I ring Sam, my buddy. God, I've missed him!

He answers the phone immediately. "Hey up, you bastard! Are you back?"

"Yes, I'm at home. Are you coming over?"

"I'll be round in the shake of a dog's dick. Put the kettle on, you queer bastard."

I laugh. "Fuck you! Just get your arse over here!"

"On my way, Lover Boy."

Rob rings at ten, and we spend almost an hour on the phone while Jimmy plays golf on the Wii System, and when we end the conversation by joking about `Gianno', I join Sam on the Wii. It's almost midnight, and me and Sam are tired. His eyes are drooping. I put the control down, and look at him. "Are you coming to bed?"

He gets up. "I thought you'd never ask."

"Come on then."

We giggle our way upstairs, and when we're in bed, I lie, looking at the ceiling. And I begin to giggle again.

"What are you fucking laughing at again, you daft bat?!"

I turn my head, and look at Sam. He's grinning from ear to ear. I give him a naughty look. "I'm missing Rob. You couldn't do me a favour, could you?"

Sam laughs. "Fuck off!"

It takes us ages before our laughter recedes to chuckles, and then Sam's arm comes underneath me, and he hugs me to him. I rest my head on his shoulder, and snuggle into him. Sam begins to giggle again.

I look up at him. "What the fuck are you laughing about now?"

He kisses my forehead. "I need a wank."

"Arseprints in the sand?"

"No. That Sandra with the big tits that lives in Connaught Street. She's been giving me the eye while you've been away."

"You fancy her, then?"

"Fuckin' hell, yeah!"

"Well, you're not wanking in this bed!"

"Why? This is our bed, not yours and Robs! Fuck you then! I'll go the bogs. Fuck you, you queer bastard!" Sam gets out of bed, and goes to the toilet. He's quite a while before he returns with a big grin on his face. "She was fucking good! I put it up her arse."

I pull the bedsheets back. He gets in, and cuddles me again, and I snuggle up again. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"We could have killed two birds with one stone."

"Woddya mean?"

"You could have stuck it up my arse, and pretended I was her. Then we'd both have been satisfied."

"Fuck you! I don't want your shit on my dick, you fucking pervert!"

We begin to laugh, which turns into hysterics, and I have to get out of bed and rush to the toilet before I piss myself. When I get back, Sam is grinning. I slip in beside him, and snuggle again. His arm comes around me. I look up at him. "I fucking love you, Sam."

He squeezes me. "I fucking love you, Jimmy. Now fuck off to sleep willya!"

It's not long before he's snoring. I listen to his even breathing, and think how lucky I am. Even now, while Rob is away, I'm in the arms of somebody I love, and, just as important, somebody who loves me.

I'm restless, and I can't quite get off to sleep. A week without Rob is a long time. In fact, I'm feeling randy now. I want Rob, but he's not here. I slip out of this bed and go to our bedroom, and lie on the bed. I look around at the familiar things, and then I lean over and open my drawer. The four dildos are nestled in their box. I select `Rob', and some KY.

An hour later, I go back to Sam, and snuggle into him. The Sandman is coming, and I welcome him with a smile on my face. Life really is beautiful when somebody loves you.

The end.

Epilogue.

When this story was edited to my satisfaction, I printed out a copy, and with Jimmy snuggled into my arms on the sofa, I read it to him. Oh yes, I did tell you that Jimmy and I had no secrets. He's told me that Mum knows about Benjamin. Of course I forgave him! Did you think I wouldn't?! He was right to do it, wasn't he? It was while we were at Mum's one day. Jimmy said he wanted to go for a walk, so we did, and went to the bridge over the stream where Mum took us to make our wishes. We sat on the bridge with our legs dangling above the stream, staring down at the swirling waters, and I knew Jimmy had something important to tell me. And, dear readers, I knew what he was going to tell me before he did it. You do sense these things, don't you? Anyway, he blurted it out to me, and then sat with his chin resting on his chest, waiting for me to tell him what an utter shit he was to betray my trust. I didn't burn his arse. Instead, I put my arm around him and hugged him, and then I told him that what he had done was the bravest thing he could ever have done; sacrificing his whole future for my Mum's well-being. I didn't sleep very well that night, not because I was troubled, but because fate had delivered to me the most beautiful and wonderful person in the world. This young guy, who chose me for his partner/friend/lover, even though he comes from the so-called Under-Classes, is the greatest person I've ever met, and it's an honour to be loved by him. He's so good-looking, he could have had anyone he wanted. Am I lucky or what?

Debbie and her mob and Paula have moved into their new homes. We've sorted out a shop on the High Street for Pauline, and with some fantastic help from Kathleen Pretty, everything is falling nicely into place. Trust me readers, you wouldn't believe the change in that girl! The stroppy-arsed teenager has great potential. Well, I'm not surprised. Her Mum, Debs, is made of great stuff, and Pauline is just doing what Debs could have done had she had the chance. The new shop opens in two weeks time, and a famous author, whose latest book is making an absolute fortune, has been booked to do the opening ceremony. I've not charged her.

Paula still works at Tescos, and I still get plenty of stuff that's `fallen off the back of a lorry and I'm to ask no questions'. But she won't get divorced. She still loves Jimmy's father. I can't work that one out apart from the fact that love makes people do all sorts of strange things. Jimmy has disowned him though. He won't allow me to even mention his name.

Carl and Charles are regular visitors to our home, and we stay at their place sometimes. They've become our favourite friends in the homosexual world we live in. While we're with them, we use the Plough Inn, regularly, and Jimmy enjoys an ever-extending fan club there, and he teases me something rotten when his admirers never miss an opportunity to talk to him, even to the point that I'm completely ignored. But not by Jimmy, I'm not. His eye contact with mine while he chats tells me that there's only one true love in his life, and I'm that one true love. In fact, I love him more for his flirting. It's a part of his character to try and make me jealous, but I never bite. As a matter of fact, as part of this game we play, when we go to bed, I always make him beg for mercy after he's been `unfaithful' to me. And I always win that battle.

Jordan? Ahhh... Jordan! Now that's a battle Jimmy wins. And, to be absolutely honest, dear readers, I'm not sure that Jimmy and Jordan haven't had it off behind my back. Not that I'm jealous, because, strangely, the thought of Jimmy and Jordan having it off doesn't faze me one bit. In fact, if I'm truly honest, I find it a bit of a turn-on to think that they might have been up to something during the times they spend together without me around. And that's happened a few times when Jimmy has invited him to stay the weekend. When I ask Jimmy if he's having it off with Jordan, he just gives me a big, silly grin, and says nothing, and no matter how much I interrogate him, he remains silent. All I can say is that Jordan seems to be developing into a very happy young man. So, your guess is as good as mine as to whether they are or not. LOL.  

So, dear readers, that's about it. Oh, yes, Jimmy wants to learn to drive, because he says he can't wait to get behind the wheel of my car to go cruising for `talent' with Sam. I told him to `fuck off', and that I'll buy him and Sam a Fiat 500 between them. They thought that was funny, but they don't know that I'm serious. LOL. I'll buy him a blue one, and put some pink ribbons around it, and have it delivered to our door on his birthday. I can see his face now when he sees it. LOL.

And, finally, here is a video Jimmy and Sam made on his new laptop to go with their story, and which he's persuaded me to put it on my channel on Youtube. Sam did a couple of stay-overs, and Jimmy slept with him in `their room' while they were making it, which I was quite pleased about, because it gave Superman a respite from overdosing on Kryptonite. I found it quite amusing actually. They were both giggling like lunatics at times, and because I can hear them from our bedroom, I also heard Sam giving Jimmy a cuddle because some of the parts were upsetting to him. During the daytime of the week it took them to make it, I was ordered to keep them supplied with coffee, and I was told to keep away while they were working on it. I did as I was told, but I was curious. When it was eventually finished, Sam gave me the middle finger, and then left with a big grin on his daft, beautiful face.

Later that evening, Jimmy got the laptop out, and we sat on the sofa together to watch it, and, dear readers, I have to admit that I sobbed all the way through it, because this was our story as seen through my Jimmy's eyes. Think about it: one can talk about it; one can write words about it; but how often can you actually see what is going on in the mind of the person you love? I reckon this is the nearest one can ever get to doing just that. So, to finish off this tale, here it is; our story through Jimmy's eyes. Enjoy. Evanescence - You.

Other stories on Nifty by J.T.S.Teller: Boys can be lovers, too.