A Wynters Tale

Disclaimer ======================================================= This is fiction, in as much as anything can be. Amongst other things it is about homosexuality. I assume that you are accountable for your own actions, so if you read this in spite of there being some reason that you should not, you are responsible for whatever consequences come to pass. Copyright ======================================================== PsyFon reserves the right to be the identified as the author of this work and asks that you not seek to profit from this or derived works. Archive it, send it to friends, make hard copies and use them as kindling. Just don't steal it. (Wow, a copyright notice, the ultimate conceit!) Comments ========================================================= If you have any thoughts or comments about this story I would love to hear them. Flames go to the null device. My email address is psyfon@mindless.com URL:mailto:psyfon@mindless.com Other Stuff ====================================================== I don't know whether this is finished or not, to be honest I'm not sure anything ever is. There might be some more. I might write something else. Who Knows? ==================================================================

A Wynters Tale By PsyFon psyfon@mindless.com

The front of the house looked weathered, red bricks pitted and discoloured, ravaged from to long a time at the coast's temper. As I waited for sounds of movement from inside my eyes scanned the newly painted front door, there were faint brush lines in the dark, almost ruby red gloss; idly, I wondered what colour it used to be. I had hoped for more luck here than the last place, but it seemed no one was home. Grasping the brass door knocker again I gave it one more try, oiled but rarely cleaned, the tarnished metal did not squeak or grind. Nothing happened, there were no voices or noises, no slamming doors or heavy footfalls, nothing to indicate life beyond, no one answered. Disappointed and almost turning to leave, I was surprised to hear the handle turn and see the door move away to my left. A nondescript twenty something stood in front of me. "Hi," I said, "the sign in the window says you have a room."

"Yeh, it's fifty a week, in advance," he had a soft voice. I wondered why he was letting the room. "That includes bills and the use of a washing machine. You do your own food."

Fifty was fine and I said as much. Glancing quickly at Kate who was sat by my right leg I said, "I have a dog," sounding just a little apprehensive.

"House trained?" he asked. I answered that she was, since she is, though that was not my doing. I had never seen her crap in a house since she began to tag along with me a couple of years ago; maybe she was born with manners, I don't know. Kate's mostly Collie, mostly good natured, about five or six and not very demanding, my kind of pet. I was pleased that he hadn't given me an outright no. "And not viscous?" he persisted.

"No, really - you won't know she's here," I hoped that I sounded convincing. He looked at Kate and smiled. Kate wagged her tail, just a little, enough to say hello and no more.

"`K, you want to see the room then?"

"Absolutely!" I knew that I sounded surprised, but I didn't care. I smiled at my prospective landlord.

"Through here, it's the front room with the big bay window." He turned and walked towards the interior of the house, stopping a little way in, he opened a door on his left and ushered me through with Kate padding behind. As soon as I saw the room I knew that I wanted it, and not just because it was going to be difficult finding somewhere else that would take both Kate and I. It was large with a varnished wooden floor and a sheep skin rug of obscene proportions. Apart from a wardrobe and a couple of old, but comfy looking wing chairs there wasn't much else in there, just a writing desk by the door and a bed in pieces in the middle of the floor. "About the bed," he said, his eyes cast to the ground, embarrassed.

"That's okay. If you don't mind I'd just as soon you put it in your attic." I hate beds, I haven't been able to sleep on them in years. He had better not insist on leaving it in the room. What a waste of space.

"Oh, ah," he paused, thrown, "OK! S, So you'll take it?"

"Yeh," sounding more assertive than I felt, "it looks fine." I had already reached for my wallet and produced two weeks rent which he managed to slip into the front pocket of his jeans with just a little difficulty. The rest of the world might be disappointed, but I'm sure he would find life more comfortable if he didn't wear them a size too tight.

"Th.. thanks," he had a polite stutter, the kind shy people make when they can't believe their luck, it didn't fit with his tight jeans. "By the way, I'm Michael."

"My name's Wynters, Thomas Wynters, but I prefer Tom." I sounded curt, I hadn't meant to.

"I'll call you Tom then." He smiled nervously with his head cocked slightly to the right, most likely trying to decide whether he had let the room to someone of whom his mother would disapprove. "W - well.. I hope e - e - everything's OK."

"Really, the room's just what I want," it wasn't the reassuring tone I had intended. Obviously he couldn't place me, at least privacy shouldn't be much of a problem.

With a look that didn't quite make it to mild revelation Michael said, "Oh, I nearly forgot. There's a house key in the desk draw and a couple of empty cupboards in the kitchen." Then he cleared his throat and looked down at Kate. With genuine concern he asked, "Has your dog eaten? I've meat and gravy left over from dinner. He's welcome to it."

"No, no she hasn't. Thanks," Kate obviously had a new friend. "Her name's Kate."

"Oh, right - sorry. I'll put a bowl of water on the kitchen flaw as well. If that's all right?"

"Thanks," I smiled, "she'll appreciate it." Sure that she would.

"I'll get the bed first," with that Michael made several trips up the stairs, finally leaving me alone in the room with my pack and a little more floor space. Being a slave to her stomach Kate had wandered off to find where the scent of cooked pig and gravy was coming from. I knew she'd found it when, a short while later, I heard lewd slurpings that I hoped were from her. If they weren't then I wouldn't be asking my landlord to eat out any time soon. While Kate filled her stomach I stood in the middle of the room looking out of the bay window. The winter sun was slowly sinking below the ocean and the sky was a water colour of reds and oranges. It's funny, or ironic, or something. People say how romantic it is to watch sunsets by the sea. They say how inspiring it is to see the sky a rainbow of incandescent glory. It just makes me feel small.

I emptied my pack and began to make the room somewhere that I could call mine, at least for a little while. Around eleven thirty Michael trotted up to bed with a simple good night. Kate appeared and curled up in a corner after having spent the evening seducing him, another notch to her tail. Alone, I lay on my sleeping bag and looked out of the window at the night sky, I could hear Kate breathing regularly and I envied her. Untroubled by intellect or doubt and spared the curse of regret, sleep found her easily. I was not to be so lucky, sure enough the thoughts of Robert came in their usual way, unbidden. He had died five years ago when a gas main and spark had sent both of us careering into oblivion, but he was dead and I was not, though I fancied that if we were side by side the casual observer might be hard pushed to tell us apart, even now. Of course he'd be thinner than he was and I doubted that he had aged at all well, but in the important ways we were the same, sorrowful twins eternally joined, except that Robert was dead and I was, I was here, alone, with my stomach in knots.

We were about six or seven, possessed of naive passion and exuberant glee. We shared a room in a children's home. When we were smaller both of us had been requisitioned by the state to protect us from harm. We disagreed with one another and fought over whatever we felt needed fighting over, but Robert and I were evenly matched and we settled little that way. As we grew older we fought less, attended the same schools and played with many of the same friends, got picked on by the same bullies and annoyed the same teachers. Together we learned to swim and ride a bike, to swear and lie convincingly. By the time we were nine we were best friends and you generally found one of us close on the heals of the other, brothers in everything but name.

A month or so after Robert was ten we saw our first pornography. There were three of us, Robert, my self and a friend from school called Pete. The magazine was rain soaked and crumpled, we had found it behind a fence. I can still remember our fascination with the pictures and our exclamations of, I don't know, shock, excitement, curiosity? We knew about kissing and stuff like that, so we were only mildly surprised to see that the people in the pictures had their tongues in each others mouth, but none of us had been expecting to find pictures of a woman with her tongue stuck up another woman's bum. We hadn't been prepared to see another with two absolutely gigantic willies up her fanny and another in her mouth. The pictures were skin, glossy and anatomical, harbingers of wonder and deceit. We were shocked and excited and curious. For a good part of the day the three of us talked and babbled excitedly, making lewd gestures and saying how yuk it would be to do that with our willies or tongues.

That night, away from Pete, as we lay in our beds waiting for sleep, Robert and I were whispering in our usual way, about what tomorrow might bring and about what we had done that day. We started talking about the pictures, about what we had seen. I don't remember how we got to it, but I was the one to ask the question, "So, you want to practice?" I paused, "y'know kissing"

"What, like in the pictures," he'd replied nervously, eagerly.

"Yeh," my heart had begun to beat a little faster. I knew that we shouldn't be doing this. I knew that it was supposed to be boys doing it with girls and that was that. "To practice," I repeated. There was a little toing and froing, mainly about who would move to whose bed and how whoever moved shouldn't make the floor boards squeak. We knew the punishment for being found talking. I suppose we knew that if we were found in the same bed the punishment would be worse. In the end I hitched over to the very edge of my small single so that Robert could worm his way in beside me. When he did I complained that he had messed up my tightly tucked blankets. We lay facing each other in the gloom, both expectant and feeling just a little silly, two boys behaving like girls - yuk, what would our friends say? Slowly we brought our faces close and bumped noses, we giggled, turned our heads slightly and brought our closed lips together.

`Umm, I don't think we're doin' it right," Robert had whispered as he moved his head back. "We should open our mouths," opening and closing his mouth like a fish, "like this."

"You look like a fi...," I didn't get a chance to finish as Robert planted his mouth on mine and stuck his tongue in as far as it would go. I don't know how it happened, but within seconds we were locked to each other, drool coating our chins. Lost in the excitement I ground into Robert and he ground into me. We were humping each other in a frenzy, him on top. My hands moved down his cotton clad back to his small bum and I pulled his groin into mine. I didn't know why and I didn't really care, I just wanted my hands on his skin. We were lost to each other, to bodies that had engaged the auto pilot without telling our brains where the off switch was. Our hands found the buttons of our pyjamas and we fumbled excitedly, trembling we removed whatever we wore exposing smooth chests and our immature sex. Naked, we hugged closely and kissed inexpertly. We lay on top of each other and ground our erections together, our breathing becoming ragged and urgent as our hands explored each others body and our tongues tasted each others mouth. This was a good game, an exhilarating game, not like war or hide and seek. We were excited without quite knowing why and neither one of us could have stopped if we had wanted to. We were so wrapped in the other's heat and passion, in the softness of prepubescent skin, in the faintest aroma of sex and sweat that was free from the smell of testosterone induced musk, we had forgotten about the need for stealth and care. So carried away were we with the thrill of the new, the forbidden, we didn't even hear the door open.

The consequences were severe. It had been all to obvious what we were doing. The care staff interrogated us separately, we were made to stand for hours in the hope that one of us would blame the other, but I knew Robert and he knew me, we kept our silence. Through the tears and fear induced by threats, by promises of things that we hoped would not come to pass, we said nothing. When the psychology didn't work they tried a beating or two and when that didn't work they tried public humiliation. On a simple level I knew that they didn't want truth, but compliance, because if it was truth they wanted, they need only look. I knew that our friendship would last forever, forged in the brutal silence of our defiance, in the knowledge that we would each die for the other, whatever that meant. We were young, naive to be sure, best friends.

Being bright boys, not quite precocious and certainly not geniuses, but bright, we shared our homework, our pocket money and as we got older our difference from the rest of our world. Our lack of parents, our curiosity about other boys and to a lesser extent girls, our loneliness. Sometimes when the nights seemed too long and far too dark, one of us would silently scoot across to the other's bed and cuddle. Often we didn't speak, content in a simple warmth and unquestioning affection, we took care to be in our own bed by morning. For some reason, no one else was ever placed in our room, even though there were four beds.

As we moved through senior school our cuddling changed from just being about comfort and affection to need. Ever since that first time when we were caught we had been curious about and excited by each other. Together we discovered masturbation and sperm, oral sex and finally, one lazy summer afternoon when we were fifteen, we screwed each other in a nearby wood. By then we knew what we were and so did some of our friends. We were lovers, brothers, the only family the other could, or would want to remember. No vows needed to be exchanged and no contract signed. Robert had given me a small photograph that pictured the two of us and written on the back. It wasn't a long verse and even then it seemed far too profound to have come from the heart of a teenager, bright though he was.

We said for always. We meant for ever more. Though death respects no promises. A liar it makes us all. Should the reaper have it. To end our life long vow. Through sorrow's nights I'll keep you. Soothe your fevered brow. 'Til for me you weep your last. For always, For ever more.

After both of us turned sixteen we were living in a flat with the smallest amount of supervision required by the state, on our way to good University places that we got though hard work, scholarships and a little luck. He did Physics and I did Maths, we argued about the nature of existence and worked on each other's assignments. We would hike, climb and cycle through the local hills when we had the time. Our respective schedules often kept us apart and so we loved what free time we had together all the more. When I was twenty three I was designing code to evolve neural search heuristics and Robert was doing something groovy with imaging systems.

Near the end of the year, after Christmas drinks with colleagues, we were making our way home through crowds of late night shoppers. From no where there was a thud, breaking glass. I remember hitting the floor heavily and then frantically looking for Robert, my mind becoming mush as my brain died under load. It seemed like forever before I found him, but I doubt it was more than a half or three quarters of a minute. I knew he was dying, the glass in his neck said that much. It severed something that just wouldn't stop bleeding. I tried to stem the flow, but I couldn't, it was useless. For the first time in years I was powerless, I knew the way events were going and I could do nothing but watch. I saw him drift off into unconsciousness, his eye lids dropped a little and his green eyes were fixed on something I could not see. I felt his last breath. I held him as he died. In the chaos no one stopped to help. His blood coated my clothes and his head lay motionless in my arms as I sat and wept hopelessly, for my self, for my lover, for everything that would not be.

-0-0-0-

"So, what do you do?" Michael asked. We were sat in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil. It was a grim Saturday. "I mean, you go out in the morning and come back before six, but I don't know what you do."

"I work," I wasn't being deliberately gruff, really I wasn't.

"There's a surprise," just a little curtly. "I'm just curious, that's all."

"Or nosy," I shot back.

"Can you blame me? You make corpses look sociable."

"I like my privacy," Now I was being difficult.

"I hope it's better than your company," dripping sarcasm. Michael glared at me.

I looked out of the window and sighed, "I work at the refinery," I answered vaguely, deliberately so.

"That wasn't so hard was it?" After a short pause, his voice quiet, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that to sound so mean."

"`sok," I lied. "I s'pose I had it coming."

"Honestly, I'm not being nosy or prying. I'm just curious about this quiet bloke I've let a room to," he smiled, quickly, nervously, just enough to turn the corners of his mouth. The kettle boiled and I poured hot water into both mugs. I slid Michael's black coffee across the work top and waited for my tea to brew.

"So you're wondering whether you're sharing a house with a mad man?" I asked.

"It'd crossed my mind, yeah," Michael was not joking. He sipped his coffee, his lips barely touching the surface, "but then I guess you're in the same boat."

"Not really, you're obviously no mad man."

"How would you know?" Michael asked. He sounded annoyed, just a little. "We've barely spoken since you arrived." This was true. In the month I'd been lodging with him I hadn't gone out of my way to speak to Michael, but then I don't go out of my way to speak to most people. That's just the way I am, I keep my own company.

Ignoring Michael's dig at my quietness I answered, "Kate won't leave you alone. I admit that she's nothing more than a cheap whore when it comes to her stomach, but she spends most every evening with you. She couldn't be that wrong." Right on cue, at the mention of her name, Kate looked up to me from the floor.

Changing the subject Michael asked, "They don't mind you taking her to work?" He smiled and patted the dog, for her part Kate sat, stuck her nose in the air and chuffed happily.

"No, no they don't. I s'pose I've been lucky," I said.

"I'll say. What does she do all day?"

"Sleeps mostly, with security at the main gate," I said giving Kate a stern look, "and bums sweets from who ever's around." For a while we were silent, my eyes cast to the upward.

"So," he said. "anything planned for the day?"

"Nothing much," I smiled, "I thought I'd take the dog along the beach later."

"Can I tag along?" Michael sounded just a little to eager, I pretended not to notice.

"Sure, you'll need some boots or good shoes and a waterproof coat."

"Oh, are we going far?"

"We'll be about four hours or so and the weather won't be great."

"What time'll we be off?"

"Elevenish, if that's OK."

"Yup, eleven's fine." Michael got up and walked toward the kitchen door. "I'll see you then." With that he was gone. I fished the tea bag out of my mug with my fingers and uttered some expletive in answer to the scalding water, you'd think I'd have learned to use a spoon by now. I looked at Kate and asked her whether she thought Michael was up to today's trek, but she showed utter disinterest.

Just before eleven there was a knock on my door, "Tom, you ready?"

"Nearly," I answered, "it's open." Kate wagged over to great Michael and I finished tying my boot lace.

"Why'd you sleep on the floor?"

"My draconian landlord won't provide a bed," I smiled broadly.

"Yuh right," Michael looked at me expecting an answer.

"Back pain," I answered, "I found that sleeping on the floor cured the problem, so I do."

"Can't say I fancy the idea my self," he grimaced.

"It depends on the floor," I said, "the rug you have in here makes life bliss."

"I'll remove it," he grinned with just a hint of the devil. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"C'mon - lets go before I give you any more ideas."

The three of us left for the beach. It was actually more dunes and marsh, but I like to think of it as the beach. The day was a cold one with mid February sun dripping through high cloud and a wind that cut right through you. Kate didn't seem to mind and bounded ahead sticking her nose into everything. Michael ran around with her and was conned into throwing a piece of drift wood, but I think Kate bit off more than she could chew and eventually settled down to trot beside the two of us as we talked. "You like the coast?" Michael asked.

"Well sort of, I've just always lived close to the sea. I s'pose it's habit more than anything else," I smiled wanly, "but sometimes, god it makes me feel so small, like I don't matter. You know what I mean?"

"Yeh, well I think," he trailed off.

"And you Michael, you like the coast or have you just not got round to leaving?"

"I've never really thought about leaving, my friends are here."

"I haven't seen many people round at the house," I said. "I just assumed you were the quiet type."

"You haven't been looking," he grinned. He was right, I hadn't been paying much attention to anything but my job and that barely held my interest. Michael continued, "I'm no party animal though."

"You work?" I asked.

"I'm a graphic artist, most of what I do is electronic, but occasionally I'll take a short trip to where ever I need to be."

"You use computers a lot then," it was more a statement than a question.

"All the time, I couldn't get by without them," Michael looked thoughtful. "So what do you do at CarbonTech" he asked smiling.

"Fetch, carry, make sure nothing blows up, you know, whatever needs doing?" I answered, "it's mainly routine stuff."

"Really?" he sounded surprised. "You don't look the type."

"The type?" I queried.

"You know what I mean," he paused, "you don't look the hard hat, oil man type?"

"I'm not. I've done other things."

"Like what?" Michael asked.

"Whatever paid the rent I s'pose."

He persisted, "and what paid the rent?"

"Computers mainly."

"D'ya build them, write software, what?" he asked, his interest aroused.

"I, ah, designed intelligent systems, sort of," I hoped he'd drop the subject.

"So why'd you stop?" he asked a little incredulously. "You can't tell me there wasn't money in it."

"I got bored."

"Bull! Why'd'ya stop?" he almost snapped

"Back to being nosy I see."

"And you're being evasive. Hell you brought it up that you know computers." I'd managed to frustrate Michael again. "God you are so uptight." I looked across towards the ocean, he was right, I was uptight. The cloud had thickened and the strong North Westerly had begun to whip across the coast something mean. I told Michael we should think about making our way back. "I s'pose you're right," he said, "it's getting chilly." For a while we walked in silence. When it began to sleet Michael asked, "You move around a lot then?"

"I never stay in the same place to long."

"How long's too long."

"D'know, two, maybe three months."

"Sounds lonely."

"Sometimes," I said. Loneliness is a fact of my life, of everyone's life and not particularly tragic, at least that's what I tell my self, even though I know better. "Kate's good company," I said flatly.

Five or ten minutes later, sounding a little fed up Michael said "I just don't get you Tom."

"There's nothing to get."

"Really!" He looked at me and I knew he was going to pursue what he had started. "What are you running from?"

"Look!" I snapped "You're my landlord not my counsellor and I don't do psychobabble."

"That's a given," he sounded dejected, "you barely do conversation," he held up his hand, "I know, I know, you like your privacy."

We retraced our steps, the wind picked up still further and the sleet turned to rain, it left us both soaked and shivering in no time at all. I didn't say much and neither did Michael. I hoped his silence was a result of the weather and not my gruffness, but I knew better. From time to time I would look up from my feet and glance across at him. Sometimes he would be looking at his feet and sometimes he would be lost in thought with his head turned away from me toward the sea. On one or two occasions though, our eyes met and he would give me the biggest celluloid smile that changed the whole shape of his face, making it appear more round as his by now rain lashed cheeks moved toward his large, deeply set eyes. They were the darkest brown with flecks of green, beautiful to the point of being cliched. Self consciously I grinned and snapped my eyes back to my feet, crassly over concerned with not acknowledging Michael's smile to enthusiastically. Even in his silence his smile said it all, I was glad that he didn't seem to bare a grudge or sulk.

We got back before three looking like drowned rats. Kate had the appearance of a mall treated stray, her fur hanging lankily. I pulled my boots off and rushed for an old towel that I kept in my room, but it was to late. When I returned to the kitchen Michael was giggling helplessly on a stool and Kate was shaking her self violently. The kitchen was soon a wash with second hand rain water and smelt of wet dog. I cursed while Kate grunted ecstatically, her feet splayed and her nose stuck in the air. I swear that sometimes she goes out of her way to make work for me. I got down on my knees and began to dry her back while Michael recovered him self and removed his wet clothes, leaving them to drip dry on the radiator. He didn't just take off his coat and boots, but removed everything save his boxer shorts which clung enticingly to his rounded buttocks. I knew that I was probably staring, but I didn't care. From where I was knelt I could see that it was unfair to think Michael non descript. He stood about five feet nine with an almost imperceptible slouch. I suppose he exercised regularly since his arms, legs and chest were muscled, but in proportion to his slim build. While his stomach wasn't going to be described as a wash board, it was firm, with a line of fine brown hair that ran from his naval up to his chest and down, disappearing into his shorts. I caught my self wondering whether Michael had an all over tan and forced my self back to reality. I continued to dry Kate and wondered whether he had noticed me gawking.

After drying off and making tea we wasted what was left of the day with idle conversation. For the first time I spent an evening in Michael's sitting room. We didn't say much, since I did my usual thing, which was read. Michael strummed on a guitar, occasionally he'd scribble some notes on paper or place a mug of chocolate at my side, when he did we would stop what we were doing and chat for a while. We talked about his musical aspirations and about how they would remain aspiration unless his guitar playing improved. About why I liked Housman, Poe, Science Fiction and dogs. Time passed quickly as it always does with good company. It was almost a shock when I found my self alone in my room stroking Kate gently while we had another one sided conversation in which I did all the talking.

"So," I said to Kate, "what do you think?" She remained motionless, breathing steadily, not moving her head from my chest.

"About what! Yuh right. You know I'm talkin' `bout Michael."

"Well you're the one that spends most every evening with `im."

"I wasn't staring, I was distracted."

"I think you'll find you're the one that drools young pup, not me."

"Hmph, I suppose you don't remember the black lab from...."

"Friends my arse, you were besotted."

"`k, I'll leave it, but d'ya think we should move soon."

"I like it here as well, we'll see."

-0-0-0-

Whilst walking home to what I hoped would be a weekend of communing with my bed I tried to find some part of my body that didn't ache in a way that it usually would not, but it was futile. I had spent the day ninety feet off the ground in sub zero temperatures and a grisly force seven. It was Friday, a week or two after Michael and I had been out walking. Since then I had ended up spending more time around him. Instead of being alone in my room, I would find myself reading or watching TV in the lounge when he was there. We would chat, drink coffee and generally pass the time without doing much at all. Towards the end of the evening, if the whether wasn't bad, we would sometimes take Kate for a walk.

As I neared the gate of the place that I had all too rapidly come to think of as home someone tapped me on the shoulder with a "How's your day been?" that was far to cheerful for my liking.

"Wha, exc," I stuttered and turned to see Michael, Kate left dirty paw marks up his coat. I smiled in spite of my self. "Hard, I could do with a few less like it," I grouched.

"You look done in," it was a statement of fact. "Eaten yet?"

"No, no I haven't. You?" I asked.

"No. You like Peppers, Garlic and Chicken?"

"Err.. Yeh. You makin' tea?"

"That's the idea, so don't take to long in the shower. You can help make the sauce." Michael opened the front door and walked through to the kitchen. I showered and changed taking care not to dawdle, it had been a while since I had cooked with someone and I was looking forward to it. In the kitchen I found Kate sitting in the middle of the floor looking toward the smell of dead animal. I doubt that she cares about what kind of dead animal it is, just so long as some, but preferably most or all of it is headed for her stomach.

"So," I said. "What can I do."

"Weeelll," Michael hedged, "it's sort of cheating, but I can't be bothered to mess around. You can open a can of tomato pure. Usually I'd make my own, but..."

"Right," I said, moving to get the can opener while Michael continued talking about how he'd usually use real tomatoes and not to worry, because with the right amount of herbs we'd never know about the pure. I didn't like to tell him that I wasn't the most discerning eater in the world and that I was hardly likely to notice the difference. If I had been paying attention as I pulled the small can from the cupboard would have noticed its lid bulging slightly. If I had been paying attention when I clipped the can opener to the lip of the lid perhaps I would not have begun to open it. Moments later, it came as a complete surprise when the slightly off contents arced upwards out of the tiny hole coating the three of us and a good deal of the kitchen in a gloopy red mess. For a moment I stood still, my hands on the side, saying nothing. With a quiet, "Fuck!" I turned to assess the mess. There was a not so neat arc of tomato pure from ceiling to floor, vaguely reminiscent of an arterial spray. I looked at Michael and he looked back at me, he seemed more than a little bemused. I reached to my eye and began to rub gently, the concentrated tomato was beginning to smart. Still neither of us spoke, we just stared at each other not quite knowing what to say.

"So," he said grinning and wiping some of the gloop that matted his hair, "you want to do the ceiling or the floor."

"Err... well," I stuttered moving toward the tap so that I could soothe my eyes, "I'm not sure I trust my self up a ladder at the moment."

"Huh, yeh I can agree with that." Michael found a couple of rags from draws and filled a bowl with hot water. Both of us set to work, occasionally stopping to laugh at each other, at the very idea of being painted red by a can of mulched tomatoes, at the absurdity of the universe. Later over dinner, after the two of us had managed to clean our selves and the kitchen, Michael asked, "You want to go out later, have a beer or two?"

"You think I'm safe?" I asked, just before choking on a little rogue pepper.

"Well now that you mention it," Michael stared at me expectantly. The silence expanded into an uncomfortable pause while I wondered why Michael was inviting his lodger on a date. I had just assumed he was gay, I hadn't asked and he hadn't said one way or the other, but then why would he, it was none of my business. A date, who was I attempting to kid? A drink's a drink and not much more, a way to pass the time in the company of someone you don't mind, or if you're really fortunate someone that you may even like. As usual the conclusions I jumped to said more about how I thought about the world than the way it really was.

"I could do with a pint," I answered. "Where're we going?"

"The Hope and Anchor. It's where I usually drink, not too rowdy with a half decent juke box."

"Sounds good to me, I'll put the kettle on." We drank our coffee and cleared the pots. Then I said goodbye to Kate who gave a look which left me in no doubt that she thought I owed her at least a walk and probably more than a little pampering.

"So," I said, five minutes or so after leaving the house, "how far's the Hope?"

"Coupl'a minutes from ere," Michael occasionally dropped an H or two and in spite of my self I found it sweet, probably because I knew that he wouldn't usually. "I have to get some cash first though," he continued, "it's not too far out of the way."

"`K," I agreed. We arrived at the Hope just before nine. Michael was evidently a regular who had been missed recently, the barmaid wasted no time in telling him so, Michael apologised profusely and promised her a pint. "What'll ya have Tom?" he asked.

"Pint'o Becks 'ad be nice."

"Guinness and a Becks please Anna, oh and you may as well get that pint now. `sit still a Krony?"

"Yeh," she answered, "Whose ya friend?"

"Tom, meet Anna. Anna, this is Tom? He's what you might call the silent type."

Looking at me with green eyes and just the hint of a smile she asked, "New in town?"

"I've been around a few weeks, Probably won't stop too long."

"Shame, There's ya' Becks. You want any Peanuts Michael?"

"Thanks," I said as Michael declined the nuts. Several of the customers, some of whom I knew from work, gave Michael and I the usual hello how are you pleasantries while we waited for the Guinness to do its stuff. When it had, we excused our selves and moved to a table by the juke box which was nothing more than a computer terminal stuck to the wall. Nothing was playing. "`s funny," I said, "but this place doesn't look like it should have a juke box."

"Yeh, I know what you mean, I haven't quite figured out why Mary had it installed. I think it's her attempt to move with the times." Michael inserted a couple of pound coins and pushed some numbers, soon enough, but not so loud as to drown conversation, Placebo's Nancy Boy began to play.

"See anything you fancy?" Michael asked as I scanned the list of albums over his shoulder. I couldn't quite decide whether he'd intended the double entendre so I let it pass. For whatever reason, but probably nostalgia as much as anything else, we ended up placing enough money in the thing to buy several rounds and picked everything from The Stones' Paint it Black, through T Rex, The Sex Pistols, Blondie, Timbuck Three, Billie Idol, The Damned and Nirvana. It had been a while since I'd heard most of them and I was ready for the history lesson. We came to a stalemate in a game of Which is better, unable to decide between The Smashing Pumpkins, P J Harvey or Marilyn Manson.

"Well," Michael said, "better show `em we've got a sense of humour as well." With that he selected Tom Jones' Delilah and I couldn't help but smile. "Your turn," he said waiting while I scanned the list for something suitably crass that wasn't ABBA.

Scrolling through the song listings I saw Gloria Gainor's I Am What I Am, which certainly qualified as crass and not ABBA, but I couldn't put that on since I was likely to dissolve into tears. When Robert and I were teenagers it had been one of those defiant songs that helped us through the worst of the teasing and abuse, a confirmation that there was someone else who would stand and say I'm here, live with it or fuck off. Like so much that I dismiss as trite, there's more truth than I would like to admit. When I found something suitable that wouldn't reduce me to a blubbering wreck I grunted a delighted, "Uh huh," smiling as I selected The Weather Girls' It's Raining Men, Michael was impressed. With the company and the beer it seemed that Anna was calling time before I knew it and Michael was telling me to sit tight while they got rid of whoever shouldn't be there. We had already drunk a little to much and it made drinking a little more seem like a good idea. We stayed `till two, chatting with the staff and the permitted few. I don't know why, but I was surprised at just how friendly most everybody was toward Michael and, because I was with him, me. We left with Anna, escorting her home, not that we were capable of anything other than stumbling and giggling. After leaving her at her door, I barely remember crawling into bed and a drunken slumber.

-0-0-0-

The youth looked to be about fourteen, five three, not a couch potato. He was banging on the front door. It had been nearly a month since I'd got far too drunk with Michael in the Hope and Anchor, I was returning from the beach after having taken Kate for a run. "Can I help you?" I asked smiling as I walked to the front door.

"Is Michael in?" just a little nervously.

"He wasn't when I went out."

"Fuck!" and then, "Uh, s, sorry.." Which surprised me since I'm not used to youth apologising for claiming expletives as their own, just as I had done twenty years earlier.

"`S OK, I'm Tom - I live here," extending my right hand I motioned to Kate, "and this is Kate." I began to unlock the door.

"Uh, yearh, Michael said he rented a room."

"So, was he expecting you?"

"N, no - look do you know when he'll be back."

As I was stepping inside I answered, "Haven't got a clue."

"Can I wait?" he asked.

"Where?"

"Here," his voice rose a tone or two and he creased his eyebrows with frustration at me being so obtuse.

"I `spect so," deadpan, slowly pushing the door shut. I was enjoying making his life difficult.

"No, I mean, shit! Look I meant inside," with an air of finality which said he was getting pissed at me. He put his hand on the door to stop me closing it.

"Oh right!" I said feigning divine enlightenment. "So who are you?"

Realising I hadn't the foggiest idea who he was the youth replied, "Uh yeh, sorry, I'm Andy, Michael's cousin."

"You could be anyone."

"But... Look I really am Michael's cousin and I can prove it."

"I'm all ears," I said grinning.

"Well, you've bin ere a coupl'a months or so, you don't talk much and Michael says that you carry on cranky cos you want people to think that you're a miserable sod, but you're not. You told him a totally sick muppet joke which was really funny and he says you're brainy and kinda' cu..." Andy stopped, he had begun to turn a bright shade of red. After just a short pause he continued. "Anyway, how would I know all that if I didn't know Michael? Oh and he doesn't think you like spending so much time on your own."

"So," I said not wanting to let it drop, "My landlord thinks that I'm kinda' cute and lonely?"

"Um, look, I didn't mean to tell you that."

"Come in, I s'pose you can make your self at home."

"Thanks," he said, "you won't tell Michael that I told you he thinks you're cute will you?"

"I'm sure I can keep his secret? So you just popped in to see Michael?"

Andy had picked up his bike from where it leaned and was bringing it into the house, as he walked through the door with it I raised my eyebrow and he answered, "Well I was kind'a hoping to do my bike, Michael lets me take it out back, but he's not much 'elp"

"Oh right, what's wrong with it? I asked

"It's shagged!" Andy explained, "Some dipshit reversed into it and then drove off," He sounded more than a little despondent, "I carried it a mile and a half to get here, I'd have taken it home, but that's way down the coast and no one's in `till nine."

"Well," I said looking down at the bike which Andy still held, "They missed the frame, chain stays. You'll need a new rear mech, wheel, chain and if that doesn't go with the yer chain rings, you'll need to replace those too."

"Bastards! Shit! So you know bikes?"

"Yeh, a little? Look, I'm off for a shower, I s'pose you know what you can and can't do?"

"Yeh, cheers."

Under the shower I set about my usual efficient cleaning. For a long time I have made nothing of it. It's simply something that I do so that I don't smell. Years ago I might have let the water run and warm my back as I fantasized, but I haven't done that in ages. Maybe it was Andy's slip of the tongue, but as I rubbed soap across my chest and stomach I found my self thinking about Michael, about the way his muscled thighs disappeared into the legs of his boxer shorts and about how those shorts clung tightly to his small rounded buttocks. About the way the downy looking hair spread across his stomach, just a little. From somewhere in the steam I could almost feel the pert resistance of his erect nipple between my fingers, I could almost hear the faintest of sighs as I ran my hand across the front of his tented boxers. I leaned against the wall, my left hand dropping from my stomach across my erection to my balls cupping and rolling them one at a time. With my right I stoked the length of my erection, slowly, deliberately, applying just a little more pressure to the head than the base. When I felt Michael caress my cheek with a soft hand I closed my eyes, content in the steam and hot water. As always Robert waited, keeping his promise even in death. I sobbed with grief and guilt and fear. Always is a long time, especially when I'm the one to do the living, but unlearning Robert or the emptiness that's left isn't going to happen. I finished my shower hastily, I didn't bother to attempt to masturbate, the mood was broken.

I spent the day with Andy in the garage at the rear of the house attempting to make what was left of his rear mech serviceable. Before today I had barely noticed that the garage existed. Inside there were a couple of bike stands, an old Scott that looked just about intact and enough tools to do the job. Andy said he was certain that Michael had bought the stuff for him to use, since no one had ridden the Scott in the last two years, it showed. In spite of my self enforced reserve I warmed to Andy. He was bright, funny and talked a lot, he liked learning how to fix things and he hated football. Michael came back at six and chastised the two of us for forgetting to eat dinner, he bought us pizza and coke. Andy stayed the night and we watched an old Hammer flick before going to bed.

-0-0-0-

Andy had left for home just after eleven, heading for a late Sunday lunch and the home work he'd put off as long as he could. Across from me Michael was fighting with a laptop. As his consternation with the misbehaving gadget grew his brow furrowed and his mouth opened and closed slightly as he ran his tongue across his teeth. Occasionally he'd stop and sigh or utter some odd expletive. I'm sure that when he's concentrating Michael forgets to breath properly, because sometimes he'll give little grunts as he expels air that has been trapped in his throat. Drumming up any semblance of interest in the short story before me was proving impossible, I could read it in my room, but then I'd just spend the time thinking how I would prefer to be sat across from Michael. Since I couldn't manage to read I got up and made mugs of hot chocolate for both of us. "Thanks," Michael said setting the laptop aside as I put a mug down at his feet.

"`S'ok," I smiled, "not going well then?" it wasn't quite a question.

"No, not really, my heart just isn't in it."

"I know what you mean," moving across to the window. I looked out at the early April sky, but it was leaden with the threat of winter. The month could have been February.

"Yeh," I heard Michael sip his chocolate. Out of the blue, "So you'll be gone in a month or so."

"Err., Sorry," I said, my voice rising a little, I was more than a little shocked. I had mentioned nothing about leaving to Michael, only Kate. It had been a long time since I had felt so settled, in my own unsettled way.

"It's just that," taking a slight breath, "the other week," he paused, frowning maybe, "you said that you never stay around for more than two or three months. I was thinking about having to let the room again."

"I haven't given it any thought," I continued glumly, "if you need the room I can be gone soon enough." I turned from the window and looked at Michael, I hadn't been this nervous in a long time, I felt just a little nauseous, there was a lump in my throat.

"No, sorry - um - look," Michael was as flustered as I'd seen him. "What I mean is," he cast his eyes to his lap and sighed heavily, "Andy told me that he said I think you're cute," smiling without a trace of humour, "he wasn't going to say anything but felt guilty about it."

"Yeh, he said that," I confirmed.

"Um, so you don't mind?"

"Should I?"

"Well, I uh.," Michael was lost for words.

"We're makin' a pigs ear of this, aren't we."

"Aren't we just, We sound like a couple of teenagers," Michael sighed, standing he took a pace towards me. "Aw hell! Look Tom, I don't know what happened to you. I don't know why you think you have to be alone. God I'm not even certain that you're into blokes, but if you leave I'll miss you."

"W... I. er.," my voice cracked. If I knew what to say I couldn't say it.

"K," he said, "lets keep this simple. You're gay, right?" I nodded. Michael smiled and his brown eyes seemed to become all the more round. With what I took to be relief and glee he said "I thought so. You like me, - yes?" I nodded again. Michael said nothing else, but crossed the room to where I slouched, my bum resting on the sill. I didn't, I couldn't look at him. I fixed my eyes on my feet and I could feel my palms slick against the wooden sill, my heart boomed through my chest. With his thumb and finger under my chin Michael gently made it so that we were looking into the others eyes. I bit my lip and swallowed nervously. He simply raised the back of his hand to my left temple, caressing the side of my face and running his index finger across my trembling bottom lip. Still I could say nothing, Michael leaned in to me and kissed me tenderly on the lips. It lasted for just a second, even though I knew it was going to happen I didn't respond, I was so overwhelmed. He brushed my hair from in front of my eyes and smiled softly saying, "s-all right Tom, the world hasn't ended." Then he kissed me again with what I took to be a gentleness born of concern that I might shatter in pieces on the floor, all the while his hand supporting my chin in the way he would if I were a crying child having fresh tears wiped away. When our lips touched and I felt his tongue brush my lips, in spite of my fear I broke my paralysis and ran my own tongue across the bottom of Michael's front teeth, his lips. He tasted of chocolate and sugar as I supposed I did. We embraced and I inhaled his scent deeply, our fingers exploring the others face. For the first time in years I felt close to someone.

"Michael," I said, "I ah, look, th, this isn't a good idea."

"Why not?" looking straight into my eyes challenging me to come up with a reason.

"God," I wanted to weep, to run, to be anywhere but here. "It just," I sighed with exasperation, "Michael, I like it here, I like you, I spend most of my time watching you," I looked away from him, "but, it's been a long time for me, I'm not sure I can do this."

"You and me both, that's no reason," his tone left me in no doubt that there was no avoiding this conversation.

"Dammit, stop making this harder than it is," I retorted angrily.

"You're the one doing the melodrama Tom, not me," Michael said softly, "I like you too, I want you to stay around. You're funny 'n good looking and I'm tired of sleeping alone. I think you are too." I sighed heavily, but said nothing. "What happened to you Tom, tell me, I want to know."

"Michael I, I'm sorry, I'm behaving like some self obsessed fool aren't I?" I moved to the couch with the discarded laptop and gestured for Michael to sit beside me. "'K," I said as I leaned back into the sofa, "his name was Robert." I told him about how we had grown up together, I started at the beginning with how we shared a room. As I talked I looked straight ahead rather than at Michael, so that I could finish what had been started and not turn into an incoherent wreck. I thought that talking about what had happened would be easy now that there was some distance, but it wasn't. Somewhere along the line, I don't know where, Michael took hold of my hand and held it between his. As I told him about Robert dying I noticed that, save for the glow of a mercury lamp, it was dark outside. "It's been five years and I still think of Robert most nights," I said in a monotone, "I wish I wouldn't. At first I felt depressed or hopeless and then angry, but I don't even feel angry any more, just numb and alone, cold to the core." For the first time since I had begun my story I glanced at Michael and then at my hand held in his. "Sometimes," I continued, "I don't know why, but I think I'm alive by virtue of indifference, most thing's I do are pretence, existence rather than life." He didn't say anything at all, I suppose there wasn't much to say. He just looked at me with those soulful brown eyes as tears rolled gently down his cheeks.

"Cum'ere," he said it no louder than a whisper and wrapped his arm around me as I lay my head on his shoulder. We lay there in the gloom and warmth in silence, until we were forced to move sometime later when Kate decided to expel the gaseous contents of her bowels.