And so to part two. Do you want more? Let me know and I will provide. Otherwise this little story will remain mine alone. I don't mind that, but I can only spend time on developing it if there is an audience...
Is there?
Mandijerri
Rediscovering John, Part Two: Getting Ready
"Hello, beautiful." Francois said as John woke.
Light was streaming through the window and Francois leaned over and kissed him. He was naked apart from a shirt, not done up. John reached out and ran his hand automatically up the inside of the man's leg.
He smiled.
"I called Maurice, so don't worry." Francois laughed as he stumbled across the room trying to pull on his socks. "Stay here today. You were not right last night. Comment vous sentez-vous maintenant?"
"Headache." John whispered, rolling onto his back. "Mauvaise."
"We need to get you to the doctor, no?" Francois smiled coming over and kissing John on the forehead. "These headaches are becoming too regular. You want some tablets?"
"Please."
Francois disappeared out of the room and John could hear him in the kitchen. Opening cupboards, running some water into a glass. Waiting until it was cold enough because he knew John liked his water cold...
He still didn't know where he was.
And if Francois hadn't told him his name last night, he still wouldn't know who he was.
And yet...
And yet...
He knew this morning ritual. Knew this was the way Francois dressed, all out of sequence. Shirt on, unbuttoned, socks, hair next, then pants and trousers. Shirt buttoned and trousers done up before a major search for shoes...
How did he know this and nothing else?
Tears came to his eyes as Francois came back into the room with tablets and a glass and his dick at half mast...
"Baby!" He said, setting the glass and tablets down on the bedside table and sitting on the side of the bed, pulling him into a hug. "What's wrong?"
"Light." John lied. "Hurts..."
"Wow." Francois smiled, kissing him and going over to close the blind on the world. "It must be bad if you want to be in the dark! Take the tablets yes? You seen my shoes?"
"Behind the sofa." John said as he leaned over and took the medication.
How had he known that?
He knew nothing about this man, this house...
This relationship.
Yet he knew that his shoes were behind the sofa. He had thrown them there last night after they had come back from Alex and Gina's...
Who were they?
Abigail's parents.
Abigail and Thomas's parents.
Why couldn't he remember?
The tablets scraped down his throat and he turned back on the pillow, letting the feathers come up and wrap around his head. As if their softness could compensate for the emptiness there.
Francois came back into the room carrying his shoes. He had found some pants from somewhere and was now filling them to the edge of their design limits. He always did get horny in the morning and the longer he spent getting dressed the hornier he got...
How the hell did he know this?
Why could he remember moments from their life together but not remember the life?
What was wrong with him?
"Frank..." He whispered, using the hated English name that had become their pet-name.
"No-one fucks with Frankie and Johnny!" They had laughed at the end of one Pride march. Stumbling through the homo-loving streets of London (for one night at least), bottles of Bud' in hand. "The hardest gays in London!" They had shouted to the city, and no-one had disagreed with them...
"Oui?" Francois asked as he slipped on a pair of beige chinos and stepped into his shoes.
"Je t'aime." John whispered, because it felt like the right thing to say... and it was true.
"Toujours et à jamais, ma douce." Francois smiled.
Always and forever.
And he meant it, and he always said it and...
Was he dying, was that it?
Is this what it felt like when you were dying?
The tears didn't stop, but he pulled the duvet up over his face as Francois buttoned up his shirt and he always did that. Buttoned it up, from the bottom. John did it from the top, like most people...
But Francois, Frank, doudou...
There was a love here that tore at his heart, and yet he couldn't remember it!
He could remember pieces. But he didn't have them all, didn't know where they had gone...
"I have a meeting with Chanel Four this afternoon, so I won't be back until at least eight, is that alright?"
The sexiest man on television.
John remembered that. One of the weekly magazines, `What? Now!', had presented Francois with the award only last week. They had both been there. He had been so proud and Francois had been so fucking sexy!
And they had fucked.
In the car the magazine had sent for them.
In the toilets at the Grosvenor House Hotel.
In their room in the same hotel later that night.
In the morning before breakfast.
In the toilets at the BBC...
He nodded, and smiled under the duvet and Francois pulled the duvet away from his face.
"Call the doctor, yes?"
"Yes."
"I love you, John."
And he did.
And he pulled him into a kiss that promised sex and lust and a love that would wrap him up for eternity.
But he couldn't remember where they were!
He could remember the man, but not the house.
The life, but not where they lived it.
Maybe he was going mad?
Perhaps this was what a breakdown felt like?
He reached out and stroked Francois' leg again. Squeezed his arse. A ritual he had always done. One that they both expected and both needed.
"Promets-moi." John whispered.
Promise me.
"Le monde et il est à vous."
The world and it's yours.
Another ritual and Francois smiled that half-cocked smile that just made him look like a model looking out from the cover of a top-shelf magazine. Enticing you onto a website that would fulfil the fantasy...
But Francois was his.
He remembered that, at least.
The fantasy was his man.
Francois Allen-De Frise.
And he was John Allen De Frise.
He was Allen. Francois was De Frise.
It was coming back.
He smiled as Francois left the room.
He was remembering.
The pain in his head was still just as bad, but at least he was remembering.
"Call me if you need anything. Whatever the time!" Francois called as he left the house.
John took the mobile from the bedside table and slipped it under the pillow. The man was gone, but the connection remained.
He was not alone.