Three's Company

THREE'S COMPANY or Rosenkrantz and Guildenstern are Alive and Well and Living in Dulwich

Kenneth smiles, while his friends, Bob and Saul twitter on as they always do, about their conquests, their affairs, whom they have had or who have had them during the past week. Kenneth ignores them and dips his fingers in the perfect circle of spilled beer on the table and idly distorts the shape. He elongates the bottom half so that it becomes a chin. He puts some frizzled 'hair' on the top and gives the face two jug ears. He draws a mouth, down turned so that the face looks ugly. He changes the mouth, tips the sides up, smiling, but it's still ugly. A bit like his own, he thinks. Ears too large, eyes too big, shaggy black hair, mouth OK but too easily down-turned so that people are often put off by what they think is his somewhat forbidding look.

Bob and Saul are the cute ones, the pretty ones, though in different ways. Bob, dark, with almost Latin good looks, smoky black eyes that seem deep enough to get lost in, a mouth with lips that suggest a range of activities, all pleasurable. Saul, blond curls but not pretty-pretty, his chin too firm for that and a body well-muscled naturally, certainly not in the gym.

The two of them continue to swap experiences what they did or what was done to them, not leaving out the smallest detail, explicit, interspersed with comments. "No!', "He didn't!", "All the way?", "What did it feel like?", "You slut!", "How big?" - this last in a tone of exaggerated amazement, answers followed by a peal of laughter. Some of the stories sound so exaggerated that Kenneth sometimes doubts their truth, but both Bob and Saul appear to take them at face value. They provide piquancy to the rather flat beer which is what they normally drink.

Only Kenneth stays silent.

It is always the same, every Friday night. He wonders why he bothers to turn up week after week. But they are his friends, friends ever since school, ever since they found out that they all three of them were gay, in the sixth form, ten years ago. They were the only three there so that, in spite of their differences, they formed a closely-knit group against the rest of the straight, and largely homophobic rest. When they left school to go to college they stayed together even though that college had a larger gay population and there was even a LesbiGay Society which they joined. Bob and Saul studied Social Sciences, Kenneth, Information Technology.

Bob and Saul had a high old time at college but then Bob and Saul have a high old time wherever they are, even, so they say, amongst the non-gay sixth formers at school. Kenneth is not envious. The only person he has ever really fancied is a guy called Frank, Frank Webster. Frank is just too too gorgeous. Seriously good-looking, short curly black hair. light blue-grey come-to-bed eyes under black eyebrows, a slightly sulky mouth which transforms like magic whenever he smiles into beauty.

I love you, Frank, thinks Kenneth. Yes, Kenneth is besotted with Frank, and has been ever since he first saw him. And that was when? Kenneth thinks back to the day two months ago that Frank suddenly appeared at the doorway to the office where Kenneth used to, and still does, work.

"Ken," said his boss, "this is Frank Webster. He's new. Teach him the ropes. He'll soon pick things up, but I want someone I can trust to look after him."

Teach him the ropes? There were so many things that Kenneth would have liked to have taught him. In his mind's eye and afterwards in those long pensive hours when Kenneth was alone, he thought of what he would really like to teach. To induct him into fun games which involved removing his clothes slowly, languorously - or on other times, in one mad button-bursting, zip-tearing scramble, or perhaps playful wrestling bouts in which the hands might drift into erogenous areas, purely by accident of course but which might be returned. Kissing, allowing his lips to brush regions of naked skin, across expanses where hair sprouted, where flesh quickened and hardened and could be taken into willing cavities, or where his own could find a moist. dark place to....

"Eh up, Kenneth, you lost in a daydream? It's your round," cuts in Bob's voice.

Thoughts of Frank have given Kenneth an erection and he doesn't want to display it walking across the room to the bar. "I bought the last one," he objects, hoping they are tipsy enough to accept his lie.

"Come on, Ken lad," says Saul. "You're not adding much to the conversation. You might as well lubricate our throats so that we can do the talking."

"Poor Ken," says Bob. "Nothing happened to you as usual. No exciting tittle-tattle."

Suddenly Kenneth is annoyed. Why should they assume that - even if it were true? "Of course I had someone," he snaps. "Just that I don't want to brag about it all the time."

Instantly, Bob and Saul's expression focus intently. "Tell us," says Saul. "Tell us everything."

But Kenneth regrets what he has said. His erection has died down now so he gets up and takes the three empty glasses to the bar where the barman, a grizzled misanthrope who is perversely known as Happy Sam, fills them, seemingly reluctantly and accepts Kenneth's money. Why did I say something so stupid, wonders Kenneth, and takes his time going back to the table where his friends, who have obviously been discussing him, sit waiting expectantly.

"Out with it, then," says Bob, when Kenneth has taken his time putting the glasses carefully on the table and has resumed his own seat. "Who is he? Where did you meet?"

"Just a guy at work," says Kenneth casually, hoping that he can get his way out of his problem by dismissing the whole thing as something trivial. He tries out a pause but it's no use.

"Name. Vital statistics," demands Saul. "Length of cock. Staying power. How many times a night. You did get him to stay the night, I trust."

Kenneth almost panics. He ponders briefly whether to admit he'd lied but can't quite bring himself to do so. "Frank," says Kenneth. "Tall, six foot and a bit, I guess. Dark-haired. Beautiful grey-blue eyes." He is lost in his imagination. Now he roams into fantasy. "Hair on his chest which catches the light. Flat stomach and a trail of silkiness which leads down to heaven."

"How big? How big?" moans Saul.

This is going too far. Kenneth of course has never seen Frank's dimensions. In his imagination it's wonderful but he doesn't like to commit himself. He contents himself with smiling in what he hopes will be construed as an eminently satisfied manner.

"Just the one time?" asks Bob, implying that sex with Kenneth is something that isn't likely to be repeated.

Kenneth essays a contemptuous glance and takes a long drink. "What makes you think that?" he asks. "We're going out steady."

That brings them up short. Neither Bob nor Saul have ever had anything that could be construed as someone regular - well, not lasting more than a week anyway.

"Yeah," says Bob in a tone which expresses disbelief.

"In fact," says Kenneth, "he's taking me out next Friday. It's my birthday and he wants us to go up west. The theatre and slap up restaurant afterwards. He's so thoughtful and caring. So I guess you'll have to do without me next Friday."

"And virile?" asks Bob as if 'thought' and 'care' aren't nearly enough.

"You'd better believe it," says Kenneth, nearly draining his glass.

"When are we going to meet this perfect guy?" asks Saul.

"Let you get your grimy hands on him?" says Kenneth. "I should think not." He finishes his beer, Both Bob and Saul reach out for his empty glass.

"Same again?" they say.

"Why not?" says Kenneth.

So in their eyes Kenneth is officially 'married' and now looks forward to spending the following Friday, his birthday, alone in his bed-sit, probably with the lights out as his room faces the street and anyone passing by (Bob and Saul on the way to the pub for instance), can see if he's at home. The prospect depresses him. If only he hadn't started that silly lie, he would at least have had some company on his birthday. Now the prospect is dreary. He wonders whether he could ring up Bob and say that Frank has gone down with the flu and perhaps they can meet as usual at the pub.

And then the miracle happens.

Frank somehow notices that at work on the Friday morning Kenneth looks morose, isn't his customary 'life and soul of the party' (Huh!) and comments, "What's the matter. Ken?"

"Nothing much," says Kenneth gloomily though he is overjoyed that Frank has been interested enough to see that he's not in the best of spirits. "Just that it's my birthday and I've nowhere to go." Kenneth cringes. He sounds, even to himself, so lame and wimpy and really, really pathetic. But he's said it and he can't take it back. "Of course it's no big deal," he adds and that makes it sound even worse.

Frank looks at him with those blue-grey eyes, eyes that make Kenneth's guts liquify, his legs turn to jelly and his prick harden embarrassingly. He's sitting at his desk behind his computer so that, at the moment, is not a problem.

"That's sad," says Frank. "I know, what about coming out for a drink after work? I know I'm not very special but at least I'm company."

Oh you are, you are special, thinks Kenneth. And he's being asked out on a date with Frank. Mustn't appear too eager, he thinks. "I'd love that," he says immediately becoming overeager. "I suppose you don't fancy going up west and having a meal. Perhaps we could take in a theatre as well. My treat." For a moment he wonders whether he has gone too far. Will Frank think he's behaving oddly.

There is a moment's pause and Kenneth dies from embarrassment. Then Frank says, "Sure. I'd like that. I'll have to go home first to change. I haven't been to the theatre for ages."

They discuss what play they'd like to see. Shakespeare is a bit too - well, Shakespeare and a musical, perhaps, too 'gay'. They decide on a comedy which is witty and has had good reviews and Kenneth rings up and books two tickets. He can't believe this is happening. Before the day has finished, he has gone through various scenarios which start off with holding hands over dinner, pressing legs while sitting next to each other at the theatre, inviting Frank back to his room for coffee and falling into his arms - and then the clothes ripping, the kissing and rubbing and penetrating and ...

"I'll meet you at eight at the tube station," says Frank, breaking into Kenneth's reverie.

"Lovely," says Kenneth and wonders if he has gushed.

He rushes home, showers, cleans and deodorises every orifice, perfumes himself and then decides he may smell like an overactive whorehouse so washes most of it off. He arrives at the station with half an hour to spare. He stands waiting patiently, thinking, wondering, imagining, fantasising. It begins to get dark and the street lights pop on, one at a time along the road.

"Well, well. Here's the birthday boy." A voice jerks him out of his reverie.

Shit, he thinks. Saul and Bob are on their way to the pub.

"Where's the boyfriend?" asks Bob.

"Fabulous Frank," adds Saul.

"I'm meeting him later," says Kenneth.

"Can't wait," says Bob and appears to settle down to do just that.

Kenneth panics. "No we're meeting up at Leicester Square underground."

Suddenly he sees Frank coming along the street towards them. It is too late to slip into the station and hide behind the ticket machines.

"Hi, Ken," says Frank, smiling. Does it sound like the greeting of a boyfriend? Frank pauses and stares at Bob and Saul. They stare back at him. Kenneth decides he will have to make introductions.

"Frank, this is Bob and Saul."

"I hear you two are off to the West End," says Saul. "Celebrating."

"You realise you're kidnapping our Friday night audience," says Bob.

Frank looks bewildered.

"I sometimes have a drink with them on Fridays," says Kenneth.

"Every Friday," says Bob.

"I thought you said. . ." begins Frank.

"Come on," says Kenneth. "We don't want to be late."

"Bye," calls Saul. "Don't let him take advantage of you, Frank."

They sit in the underground side by side but not touching and Kenneth can see Frank's reflection in the black windows opposite. They talk about work. Kenneth wonders whether this has been a good idea.

Suddenly Frank says, "Are they gay?"

The remark comes out of the blue and for a moment Kenneth doesn't know what he's talking about.

"Your friends, Bob and Saul. Are they gay?"

"Er - yes," says Kenneth. "I've known them since school." He wonders if this is the right time to say, I am too, but he hesitates too long and the moment is past.

Frank doesn't say anything.

They talk about work again.

The play is good. They both enjoy it and laugh. Occasionally Kenneth feels Frank's leg brush his as their bodies move when they laugh, but there is no pressure and Kenneth doesn't do anything.

Afterwards, in the restaurant, with its intimate tables and shaded lights, they talk of the play. They have a bottle of wine and the atmosphere is cordial. They tell each other some things about their past. Kenneth talks about college and Frank of his university. He has been to Bristol. He enjoys playing football and Kenneth can picture him in his tight shirt, his hair wind-blown, his face ruddy from the wind and fresh air, white shorts, muscled legs with some dark hairs emerging, his crotch clasped in the white material. He gets an erection. "I'll have to come and watch you play," he says but Frank doesn't actually ask him for a specific match.

"I've enjoyed this evening," Kenneth says. He wonders whether to lay his hand on Frank's which is resting on the table. It is just a few inches away. He could so easily reach across and touch him, feel his soft skin the hard bones underneath but he doesn't dare.

They finish the meal and travel home again on the underground. Now a sort of constraint seems to fall on them. Kenneth knows that, when they reach their own station, he will not be able to ask Frank back to his room.

At the turning where they split up, they stand for a moment awkwardly, then Frank says, "Thanks for the evening. It should have been my treat, it being your birthday. Some other time perhaps."

"I'll see you on Monday," says Kenneth and turns, walking quickly away down his road.

"He's quite a dish," says Saul.

It is the following Friday and the three friends are in the pub.

"Why don't you bring him along?" asks Bob.

"Then you wouldn't be able to discuss him," says Kenneth. He has been wondering all week how the night out with Frank might have changed their relationship, but Frank is just the same, friendly, companionable but not overly so. Kenneth is disappointed of course but he tells himself that all his plans with Frank were just fantasies only. Frank is not the one for him, probably straight anyway, and if not, what could he possibly see in Kenneth?

What really pisses him off is that he has to keep up this farce with Bob and Saul. He curses himself that he ever started it, and now he even has to embellish the details.

"How was the evening?" asks Saul.

"Blissful," says Kenneth. "The play was good, the meal delicious."

"And afterwards?"

"Well, you know," says Kenneth.

"No we don't," says Bob. "A swift tumble in the sheets and then farewell?"

"Certainly not," says Kenneth outraged. If it were to ever happen it would never be like that. "He stayed until morning, of course. We were late to work."

"How many times?" asks Bob.

"I didn't count," says Kenneth, his smile suggested that it is almost impossible to reckon.

"And what happens now?" asks Saul.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, where does the relationship go?"

Where indeed? Kenneth doesn't want to commit himself, but to leave the question hanging there is more than he can bear. He makes an outrageous statement. "We're thinking of getting a flat together," he says.

The other two whoop their appreciation. Bob buys a round of drinks. Saul toasts him, holding the pint of beer high. "To both of you," he says. Kenneth thinks he can almost detect a hint of envy in his tone.

"Who would have thought it would be you who formed the first stable relationship," says Bob. "I'd have put my money on Saul."

"Nothing's really decided," says Kenneth hastily. He doesn't want a wedding and a housewarming party arranged by his friends. "It's early days yet. You never know what might go wrong."

"No," says Saul. "You're the sort of guy that ought to settle down. You're not one of us one-nighters, flibbertigibbets. You deserve it." He raises his glass again and drinks. "And with such a hottie too."

Oh God, thinks Kenneth. What on earth have I done?

"When next we see him," says Bob. "We'll tell him what a good catch he's made. He must realise what a fortunate guy he is."

No, screams Kenneth silently. Somehow I must stop this.

"You seeing him this weekend?" asks Saul.

"No," says Kenneth. "He's visiting some relatives." This is a lie. Frank has told him that he's playing football on Saturday. Though he hasn't specifically invited Kenneth to watch, he has mentioned where it's to be held and Kenneth is determined to be there.

The talk that evening is solely of Frank and Kenneth. Not once do Saul and Bob's adventures get mentioned. Kenneth forfeits his immortal soul with the lies he tells.

Kenneth gets to the football ground just after kick-off time. It's only a minor league match, against a team from south London. When he arrives, they are already on the field, kicking the ball around. Kenneth immediately spies out Frank. He is just as he imagined him. His football kit shows off his body, emphasising his broad shoulders, his shorts, if anything shorter than he'd imagined and showing more of his thighs. He moves with an athletic grace which isn't apparent when he wears his normal everyday gear. When he has the ball, he weaves through the opposition as if they didn't exist. As he nears the goal, two hefty backs block the way. With a twist of his body Frank changes direction and kicks the ball to one on his own side who scores. But it is Frank's goal really and the team know it, giving him as much congratulation as the actual scorer. Kenneth wishes he was there on the pitch and could give Frank the acceptable hug. Did someone actually give him a kiss?

Frank is seen as the most dangerous player and the opposition gang up on him so that he is mobbed whenever he gets the ball. He is forced to get rid of it almost immediately. Kenneth can see him getting more and more frustrated as the game proceeds. At last he gets the ball and skilfully avoids two players. The home crowd cheer as does Kenneth. Frank speeds up the field. An opponent rushes in from the side, a big, beefy guy. He makes a wild kick which is directed more towards Frank's legs than the ball. Frank falls and a cry goes up. The referee blows his whistle and red cards the offender. Frank is on the ground, his team mates standing around looking down at him.

Two members of the St John's Ambulance Brigade carry him off on a stretcher. Kenneth makes his way to the side where the ambulance men are examining him.

"Is he OK?" asks Kenneth as he gets there. Frank is holding his leg, his face twisted in pain.

"It isn't broken," says one of the ambulance men. "Just bruised."

Frank sits up and sees Kenneth. "Ken," he says. "How did you get here?" He tries to get to his feet but cannot put any weight on the injured leg and he gasps.

"You'll need rest, mate," says the ambulance man. "Can someone drive you home?"

"I'll do it," says Kenneth. He supports the limping Frank to his car.

"Are you sure you don't want to call into the hospital?"

"Just get me home," says Frank.

"Give me the directions."

Frank lives in a ground floor flat a few streets from Kenneth. He had never realised they were so close. Compared to Kenneth's bed-sit, the flat is a palace consisting of living room, bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. It is almost elegantly furnished in an old-fashioned style. Kenneth would like to ask about the thick carpets and Victorian furniture but feels it isn't the time. He helps Frank into the bedroom and he lies down on the big double bed with a sigh of relief. Kenneth arranges the pillows so that he is comfortable.

"Could you get me a drink?" asks Frank.

"What do you want? Tea, coffee, a beer."

"A beer," says Frank. "And some Paracetamol. The first's in the fridge, the other's in the bathroom cabinet."

Kenneth takes the opportunity of standing in the kitchen, imagining he lives here, that he and Frank are cooking breakfast after a night together. He gets out a can of beer and he pours it into a glass, slowly so that the froth doesn't flow over the top. Then he goes into the bathroom and sees the shower, picturing the two of them standing in the hot spray soaping each other. He gets out the bottle of analgesics from the cupboard and hurries back to the bedroom.

Frank has been trying to take off his boots but it is too painful. He is lying back, his mouth twisted in pain.

"Here, let me do this for you," says Kenneth.

He undoes the laces, opens the boot as widely as possible and, with great care, tries to get it off without hurting. He is almost successful. Only the last movement forces a groan. Kenneth removes the sock and exposes Frank's foot, white, and puffy round the ankle. Kenneth wants to kiss it but of course doesn't. Frank gasps with relief as the boot is off.

Frank takes a gulp of beer and swallows some tablets. "Didn't you want a beer, Ken?" he asks.

"Later," says Kenneth. "Let's get the other boot off." He does so. "What about your kit.

"I'll manage," says Frank, and tries to struggle out of his shirt. It is difficult as he has problems sitting up. Kenneth helps him and reveals his chest, covered with a fine sprinkling of dark hair. Frank pushes at his shorts and Kenneth feels a spurt of desire. He helps Frank lift his hips and pulls off the shorts. He hopes he won't embarrass Frank and remembers an old joke. "Best removed by a good, strong yank," he says with an American accent.

Frank laughs. He is naked except for his Y-fronts. Kenneth notices - how can he help not being able to - the bulge at his groin.

Frank lies back with a sigh. Kenneth hands him back his beer.

"Do you want something to eat?" asks Kenneth.

"Not at the moment," says Frank. "Get yourself a beer and sit with me."

When he gets back with his own beer and the rest of the cans, there is nowhere else to sit so Kenneth sits on the bed beside Frank. He hasn't covered himself with the bedclothes and is still as good as naked.

"Don't get cold," says Kenneth, though he doesn't want him to cover up that beautiful body.

"I can't bear anything on my leg," says Frank.

They both drink and for a moment there is silence. It's now or never, Kenneth tells himself.

In a eruption of daring that far outdoes anything Kenneth has ever done before, he reaches down and lays his hand on Frank's forearm. There it is, his arm strong and black haired under the palm of his hand just as he had imagined in the restaurant. Not daring to look him in the face, Kenneth stares down at the plain beige carpet. Frank does not move his arm away though. Time passes. It seems an age but perhaps it is less than a minute. Kenneth wonders what to do next, either nothing or something has to happen soon.

Terrified and feeling a pulse throbbing at his temple, Kenneth begins to stroke the arm with the palm of his hand. Now he thinks Frank will inderstand what he is, realise with horror what he's after. Now he surely must react in appalled disgust. Still Kenneth keeps on with that simple stroking gesture in a state of such abject fear it crowds out his feelings of lust. But Frank does not pull away and reject the touch but neither does he respond. Finally Kenneth manages to look up at Frank's face. His eyes are wide and expressionless showing the white all round his black pupil, his mouth slightly open, his breath coming in short, almost noiseless gasps.

Quickly because he lacks the courage to stop now Kenneth moves his hand to the bare thigh that is lying next to his own jeaned one. Frank's leg, the good one, jerks almost as if with an electric shock but he does not draw away. The throb of panic obliterating rational thought Kenneth slides his hand in under the leg of Frank's Y-fronts, finding first the balls loosely covered with hair, then the prick lying between them, soft and flaccid. He watches expressions of doubt and pleasure compete in Frank's expression. Uncertain what to do next Kenneth imitates the strokes he uses when he masturbates himself. When Frank's prick stiffens in Kenneth's hand it seems like a token of complicity, of approval. The skin of his penis feels soft over the rigid centre. Kenneth holds it in his clenched palm.

Then Frank reaches across his own hand and with a gentleness which is surprising places it on Kenneth's jeans at the bulging groin. With delicate fingers he pulls down the zip, fumbles into his underwear and finds his cock. There is no expression of emotion between them. They do not kiss. They do not hug. Their subsequent orgasms are purely physical.

When it is all over, Kenneth fetches a towel from the bathroom and they clean up. They do not discuss what has happened. Kenneth prepares some food, beans on toast which is all that Frank seems to have in his cupboard. They drink more beer.

"Do you want me to get you some food in for tomorrow?" Kenneth asks as they eat their meal.

"It's all right," says Frank. "There's someone coming round. She'll bring all I need."

"She?" The word is out before Kenneth can stop it.

Frank nods to the bedside cabinet. There is a photo in a frame which Kenneth hasn't noticed before. It shows a girl with long hair and a wide smile."

"My girl friend, Alice," says Frank. He does not sound embarrassed though Kenneth is mortified. He wants to leave.

"I'm sorry," he says. It is not exactly clear what he is sorry for but his look takes in everything, including the soiled towel still lying on the floor. "Do you need anything more tonight."

"I'll be OK," says Frank. "Thanks, Ken - for everything. I'll see you on Monday at work."

Kenneth runs out, his head buzzing with mixed emotions. He has had sex, of a sort, with Frank. Now he learns that Frank has a girlfriend. Why therefore did he allow what has just happened? What does it all mean? Kenneth goes home and worries the rest of the weekend.

On Monday at work Frank limps in and is roundly congratulated for his dedication to the job. He then announces that he is engaged to be married. Further congratulations. He does not meet Kenneth's gaze.

The following Friday as usual Kenneth, Bob and Saul meet up at the pub. It is quite crowded but they find their usual table. Kenneth buys the first round. He is smiling when he brings over the three pints.

"How's Frank?" asks Bob.

"Fine," says Kenneth. "Totally, utterly fine."

"Still love's young dream," says Saul.

"Probably," says Kenneth. "He's getting married in June - to a girl."

Bob gasps, almost choking on his mouthful of beer. "Frank's bi?"

"Sort of," says Kenneth.

"What a waste," says Bob selfishly, as if he himself has been done out of a trick.

"How do you feel?" asks Saul, more concerned.

"Fine," says Kenneth. "I'm absolutely all right."

The truth is he has fallen in love with a computer programmer called Phil Summers from the Information Technology section at work, who is ordinary looking, wears glasses and returns the emotion. They have already had sex on three consecutive nights this week and it has been great, full-blown, complete. It is only tonight when Phil goes to his computer club that they are spending the evening apart. Anyway, Phil will come round to Kenneth's bed-sit later and will spend the night. They are already making tentative plans to move in together.

When he tells them, Bob and Saul come out with various comments: "No!', "He didn't!", "All the way?", "What did it feel like?", "You slut!", "How big?"

Friday nights are almost back to normal again.

Date started: 15, Sunday February, 2004 Number of words: 5,010 Today's date: 16, Tuesday March, 2004