Disclaimer:
This story contains scenes of a sexual nature between tenagers. If this is not to your taste, or is illegal where you live, or you find it morally offensive, then read no further and leave now!!
The story is purely imaginary and bears no resemblance to any living person or persons as far as I know, much as you or I might wish!
Other stories of mine may be found under 'Prolific Authors' at Nifty.
Comments are always welcome at johnvenn1945@yahoo.co.uk *******************************************************
Screw The World by Alexander
There were fewer than twenty people at Steve's funeral. My mother, his parents and sister, a few friends of ours, and me, sat alone on the front row of the pews, isolated and inconsolable. Letting the bland soporific voice of the priest eulogise over someone he'd never met wash over me, I contemplated our life together.
Steve and I had known each other all our lives, being born just a few months apart. His family lived next door to mine and right from the outset we shared everything; clothes, cribs, bath times and meals. Even families when the need arose.
As toddlers, we learned to walk together, shared our toys, learned to talk. Through nursery school and junior school we would always be found arm-in-arm, whispering our secrets to each other and keeping ourselves apart from the rest of the world.
To begin with our parents were delighted that we were so close as it meant only one pair of eyes were needed to watch over us. At junior school, they were glad that we could watch out for each other, share problems and complain about the teachers.
We watched each other grow, comparing our bodies as they changed - first from babies to toddlers, then from toddlers to little schoolboys, and from there to pubescent boys, acne- ridden teenagers and finally to men.
It was my father who tried to change things between us at first. At the age of about eight or nine, he decided that we were seeing far too much of each other, which in his opinion, wasn't good for either of us.
"They make me feel uncomfortable," he said once during an argument with my mother, "It doesn't feel right how they shut everything and everyone out all the time. And what they get up to, God alone knows!"
The result was that we stopped sharing bath times and meals, the sleep-overs became less and less frequent and we were watched carefully. This didn't stop us however - all we did was to hide away and take care that we showed our love for each other out of the sight of the grown- ups. Even at that age, you can learn how to be devious and secretive when you have to.
As I got older, my father began to knock me around if he thought I'd been with Steve too much, or we'd escaped from his watchful eye once too often. It was after one such thrashing, even through my tears, that I heard him yell at my mother 'that no son of mine is turning into a fucking queer, pansy, poof, and a whole lot of other words I hadn't ever heard before and had no idea what they meant except that they didn't sound nice.
It was soon after this that he left us, whether because of me I never knew, and never bothered to find out. The good thing was that Steve and I soon returned to our old ways after he'd gone, my mother resigning herself to the fact that I was easier to manage and less troublesome if she left us alone.
By the age of eleven, we had grown taller and our bodies were filling out. We couldn't both fit in the bath tub together any more, but showering was just as good anyway. The most spectacular change, we both agreed, was with our 'little soldiers' as my mother called them. They were no longer so little, and the skinny bag-things which hid behind them dropped down and instead of being tiny walnut-sized things became the size of small eggs. You also got a nice tingly feeling too when you felt them with your fingers - a nice warm sort of feeling which always made you happy. Whenever one of us felt miserable or fed up, a gentle hand on your soldier and eggs soon made you feel better. You could always tell when you were better 'cause the little soldier got hard and stiff, standing out like a gun.
Changing to the big school at eleven years old was a shock to us both as for the first time we were with much bigger boys who liked to tease and bully us for no reason. It wasn't nice, but it wasn't a really big problem though as we still had each other.
We also learned the meaning of some of the words which my dad had used about me. They weren't nice either. Steve and I had to pretend not to be friends sometimes, and even hit each other so that the others wouldn't pick on us and call us names. We always made up afterwards though, making our soldiers stand to attention and salute each other.
During the year we were 12, we'd made a den in the woods near our houses, and fitted it out with stolen bits of carpet and wooden boxes for seats. On warm days we would take all our clothes off and hold each other tightly, pretending we were little kids again, especially if we'd had a rough day at school. The best bit was when we held our things and rubbed them up and down. The good feelings were even better than before, especially when we did it to each other. If you did it for long enough, your body would go all sort of stiff and funny and then shake as if you were ill or something. That was the best feeling of all.
We knew by now that what we did must be kept a real, deep secret because we'd get beaten up badly if anyone ever found out. But we liked it, and couldn't stop doing it.
Sex Education lessons were a revelation to us. At last we learned a bit about what was happening to our bodies, and that our penises got stiff so they could be put into a woman's vagina and seed come out to make babies. No one thought to tell to us how good it felt when you made it go stiff and rub it. We were also told that you should never, ever, let anyone touch you in your private area, neither should you touch anyone else there, even if you were playing. Worst of all, we were told that it wasn't even good to play with yourself too much. Steve and I thought this was stupid because if you did it nicely and gently, it made you feel good. And in any case, we'd always done it and nothing bad had ever happened to us.
By the time we were 13, we had decided that we were definitely queer - at least as far as each other was concerned. Other boys didn't concern us except for a mild interest in their bodies once in a while if they were ahead or behind us on the route to maturity.
We'd lost our den in the woods after someone discovered it and totally wrecked it. We found other outlets though and we spent our free time fishing, hiking and riding our bikes on long country rambles.
Don't get me wrong - sex didn't rule our life, it was just a natural part of it in much the same was that fishing or hiking was. We were happy just laying on our backs on the grass, staring at the sky side by side, chatting about anything that took our fancy.
The next thing that stands out in my mind was the day of The Bike Ride. It was late summer and we had left home early, bags packed with essentials such as crisps, fizzy drinks, chocolate and so on. By lunch time we were miles away from home exploring the leafy lanes enjoying the solitude and beauty of the countryside - and the company of each other. Almost without warning, the sky darkened and it started to spot with rain. Being dressed only in T-shirts and shorts, we searched for shelter before it started to rain properly. Luckily we came across a derelict barn, but not until after the rain came down in earnest and by the time we stumbled inside, we were soaked to the skin.
It wasn't long before we had a fire going, and had stripped off our shorts and shirts to get them dry. Shivering slightly, we sat cross-legged in our underpants trying to get warm. So that we kept warm, we stretched out together, cuddled up close, legs entwined and chests squished against one another. We weren't into kissing too much then, but an occasional peck on the lips, or even a gentle suck on the nipples was OK.
I kissed Steve on the lips softly and stroked his back. We looked into each other's eyes, and satisfied with what we saw, hugged each other and relaxed.
"Screw you!" Steve laughed, disturbing the doze I'd dropped into.
I opened my eyes and watched as Steve slipped his underpants off to give his erection some space.
Not having any option, I took mine off and cuddled Steve closer to me, our boners carefully placed between us.
"That's nice!" I whispered in Steve's ear as I clasped my hands behind his neck.
He kissed me on the lips firmly.
"I feel randy!" he giggled as he wriggled his cock against mine.
"Me too," I answered. Until then, I hadn't even thought about it, but the sight of his beautiful and familiar nakedness, and the feel of his dick pressing into my navel soon changed that.
Steve began to hump me, slowly and easily. I dropped my hands down to his butt and gently kneaded them, urging him on. Leaning down, Steve kissed me again, but this time with his tongue searching out for mine.
When Steve was in this sort of mood, we had some of our best times together.. Knowing each other so well, we had no inhibitions about trying new things or exploring each other's bodies. It was during one of these magical, loving sessions that we'd sucked each other for the first time a few weeks before. If people knew brilliant it was, calling someone a cocksucker was more of a compliment than an insult we agreed!
We squirmed and writhed on the floor for ages, frantically embracing and kissing hungrily, our cocks mashed together as if making love on their own.
Eventually Steve calmed down a little and began to hump me passionately. He was looking into my eyes and smiled happily as he settled into a steady, wonderful rhythm. It was at times such as these that we enjoyed ourselves the most. Initial frenetic passion spent, we could love each other with tender care and unspoken wonder at how much pleasure we could give each other.
I sensed Steve's body tense up and his thrusts take on a more desperate urgency. As his back arched and his mouth fell open, I matched his bucking with mine as he raced towards his orgasm.
With a final, gasping drive, he collapsed on top of me, his dick throbbing hotly against mine. And there was something else too - a wetness spreading out between us. It wasn't piss, I could tell, it was thicker somehow, and slimier. Steve gave me a puzzled look and rolled off. We both stared at our bellies, and there it was! A thin sheen of glistening goo. Instantly we knew what it was.
"Fucking Hell!" Steve whispered as he tested it with his finger.
He looked at me, his face registering a mixture of surprise and delight. Bringing his sticky fingers to his nose, he smelt it, then offered it to me.
"Spunk!" we laughed together, embracing in shared joy.
"At last!" he whispered, still awed by what he'd done. "Fucking ace!"
It took another month before I could do it, despite frantic and frequent attempts both alone and with Steve. To my immense delight, I got the longed-for result late one night in my bed, a fact that I shared with Steve a few minutes later by text. We also confirmed it the next day in the field behind the school, wanking ourselves to the first of many very satisfying cums.
One thing I regret about my relationship with Steve in those early days was that we never really talked about it. We never replaced the word 'friend' with 'lover', even in our most private and intimate moments. We had been together all of our lives and knew all there was to know about each other. We took our comradeship for granted, knowing that we would be together for always. Sadly, we never got round to telling each other that we were deeply in love. We knew it of course; the unasked for kiss, the secret smiles and the late-night phone calls confirmed all we needed to know. But the word was too much for us: I know that now. It'd been ingrained into us from an early age that love can only be between people of opposite sexes, and to even consider that two boys, or even two men, can love each other was simply beyond comprehension. And it was this that led to the big problem during our last year at school. Steve had stayed over at my place for the week-end and had left on Sunday afternoon to go home. My mother and I spent the evening watching TV together, but I could tell she was edgy and unsettled for some reason, several times I caught her staring at me.
"What?" I asked eventually.
"Nothing," she replied quietly. Then went on, "Well, there is actually. It's you and Steve."
I felt myself blush crimson at the mention of his name, and a million thoughts flashed through my mind: "She's found out about us", "No, she must know by now", "What have we done?", "She's going to try and stop us seeing each other", each thought being worse than the one before.
"You are more than just friends, aren't you?", she said looking straight at me.
I blushed even deeper and just nodded in reply. Whether she objected to our relationship or not, I instantly decided, she can't do anything about it, I wouldn't let her.
"How long have you known?" I asked in a whisper, staring at my shoes.
"Always, I suppose," she said. "But I began to take real notice after that row with your dad. I saw how you changed whenever you were together, happier somehow. And neither of you have had girlfriends chasing after you."
She seemed a bit less tense now that the subject was in the open and was actually smiling at me a bit. There were lots of questions I wanted to ask her, but didn't have the nerve, or the words.
"What do Steve's mum and dad say?" I asked nervously.
"Like me, they're confused, a bit upset in some ways, don't understand, and angry sometimes. They don't know what to do."
For the first time, I felt sorry for her. How she'd lived for all these years thinking what she did, is beyond me. And how badly I'd let her down by not talking about it. "All I want to say for now," she went on, "Is that I don't know what you do together, and I don't want to know. But whatever happens in the future, I'm on your side. It won't be easy for either of you but I'll always be here for you. And you'll need to be careful around Steve's parents, they're not very happy and I don't think they'll be as accommodating."
I was shocked to the core by her complete acceptance of the situation. I smiled at her weakly and looked at her, amazed.
"Neither of you can change who you are, I suppose," she went on. "And I don't think I would want you to anyway. But you and Steve will have a problem with his parents. It was his mother who brought it up last week and she's not very helpful."
I didn't say anything back: I couldn't think of anything helpful to say, instead I smiled at her again and mouthed an "OK."
Smiling back, she relaxed completely and said, " I think we both need a cup of tea." As soon as I could, I went to my bedroom and sent a text message to Steve asking him to ring me back asap.
It was an hour later that my phone rang. Steve was upset, badly upset. Our parents must've agreed to talk to us both at the same time as apparently his mum and dad had had the same conversation with him that my mother had with me, only it had gone very badly. They didn't even try to understand, just ranted and raved at him, accusing him of doing all sorts of obscene things, some of which we'd done, other not.
"How'd it end?" I asked, seriously worried for him.
"Dunno really," he said. "I told them to fuck off and leave me alone I think!" He laughed bitterly.
I told him how my evening had gone, making it sound as light as possible - which it was compared with his. We also agreed to bunk off school the following day for the first time ever so that we could talk about it.
The morning was spent wandering the country lanes sorting things out between us. There was no way, we agreed, that we could, or would, ever stop seeing each other. That was a given. We also agreed that we were a partnership, a couple, a team that was just as important to us as our families were, if not more in Steve's case.
By mid-afternoon we'd talked ourselves out and were sat in the lee of a dry stone wall, staring into space.
"You OK?" I asked.
"Yeah. Suppose so," Steve said moodily.
I put an arm round him and hugged him tightly. He responded instantly and rested his head on my shoulder. We lay there for ages comforting each other.
"I suppose that's it, then." Steve said.
I panicked. He couldn't mean ....... ? Seeing the grief on my face, he leaned in and kissed me fiercely and painfully. Not sexually in the slightest, but with a deep and tender devotion.
"That's it," he repeated. "It's you and me against the fucking world."
I was never made welcome in his house after that. They didn't ban me or anything, just ignored me as much as possible. Conversations were stilted and monosyllabic.. Whether it was due to acute embarrassment or an intense dislike for me, I neither knew nor cared.
Steve spent more and more time in my house, even sleeping over on some school nights. In respect for my mother, we never did anything that might offend her, even sleeping in separate beds. This I knew pleased her, and she was quite content to feed us when he was around. I also knew that relationships between her and Steve's mum and dad were at an all time low, but somehow they managed to keep talking - just about.
Our sexual needs we managed to satisfy more or less in the snatched times when one or other of our homes was empty, although neither of us was ever really comfortable in his place, the thought of a sudden return of his parents putting quite a severe dampener on our ardour somewhat as you can imagine.
At 16 we both left school and within a few weeks had found work - him on a building site and me in a garage. Life was OK on the whole: we had money in our pockets, we had come to a difficult, but working sort of truce with his parents and we could spend all the time together we wanted - provided we were out of their sight.
The major drawback was that the ability to share our bodies became a problem. The opportunities were rare and infrequent which frustrated us both more than we would care to admit. I think that my mother sensed this too, as one evening I delicately broached the possibility of Steve and I getting a flat together. Surprisingly she was very sympathetic, thought it was a good idea and offered to help in any way she could.
And help she did. Somehow she found a small one-bedroom flat for us and even managed to persuade the landlord to rent it to us - provided that she acted as guarantor for the rent! A week after my 17th birthday we moved in, much to my mother's delight and the disgust of Steve's parents.
We celebrated our new-found freedom by having a few cans of beer and a take-away, sat shoulder-to-shoulder in our sitting room watching TV. That first night we were both anxious about going to bed together. Anxious and excited at the same time. We both wanted the same thing but for some reason didn't want to be the first to admit it. In any case, I was worried that the minute we got down to anything serious, someone would come bursting into our bedroom and discover us!
Leaning over, I undid the button on Steve's shirt and slid my hand inside, gently fondling his nipples in a way I knew drove him wild. He stretched out his legs, put his arms round my neck and kissed me deeply, our tongues entwined. All inhibitions were gone now, and with an almost feral wildness we undressed each other and rolled on the floor, embracing and hugging hungrily.
Wordlessly, Steve picked me up off the floor and led me to the bedroom, leaving ours clothes pooled where they fell, and the TV playing to itself.
We'd shared beds together hundreds of times I suppose, we'd felt each other's body times without number, but that first time in our own bed, in our own home was unforgettable. As we slid under the duvet, arms round each other, we grinned broadly.
"At last!" I sighed, gazing into Steve's lustrous eyes.
"Mmmmm!" he mumbled back, cuddling up closer.
We kissed and cuddled for a while, stroked each other's hair and looked at each other. After 17 years I still got a thrill and a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach every time I looked at him.
"Happy?" he whispered.
"Happy!" I replied, kissing him again before he noticed the tears in my eyes.
"When I was eleven years old," I said quietly, "And my old man had smacked me again, I dreamed of you and me running away and living together somewhere. I never thought for a minute that one day ........"
I left the sentence unfinished and let the tears flow.
Steve wiped them away with his tongue and kissed each of my eyes.
"Ever since that night I had a bust up with my mum and dad," Steve said, "I knew that one day I would leave them and live with you. It was only a matter of time. Screw the world!" he added finally.
"Screw the world!" I agreed and slid my hand into his groin.
"Wait," he said as I grasped his erection. "I've got a present for us."
He leaned over and reached into the cupboard between the two single beds.
With a glint in his eyes which I knew from long experience meant that he'd thought of something new to do, he handed me a package.
Curiously, I tore the paper off and revealed a bottle of baby oil. He grinned wickedly as it dawned on me what it was for.
"We've talked about it lots of times, but we've never done it," he said hoarsely. And now I want to do it. Like a bride and groom on their wedding night, we are going to loose our virginity together!" he giggled.
Like him, I'd thought about it too, but we'd never been in the right place at the right time. But now we were. It was the ultimate demonstration of our love for each other, and suddenly there was nothing else in the world I wanted.
"Stick it in me, quick, before I change my mind," he giggled.
Hurriedly I covered myself in the lightly scented oil and watched as he carefully oiled his butt and hole. Laying on his back, he raised his legs and invited me in.
It took a couple of botched attempts before I found exactly the right spot, and pushed. Much to my surprise, it went in easily, the first inch spreading his hole wide open. I stopped as I heard him gasp with pain and was about to take it out when he muttered, "Wait! Give it a second or two."
At a nod from him, I ventured a bit further, pushing my cock down a millimetre at a time, watching his face contort with pain and desire.
"Is it all in yet?" he said as I paused for a breather.
"Almost. There. Now it is."
He smiled happily and slid his hand down to check.
"How's it feel?" I asked.
"Good. You wouldn't believe how much I've wanted this, and how long I've waited!" he said quietly, his eyes moist.
"You and me both, brother. You and me both!" I tried a few tentative strokes and asked him if it hurt. He shook his head..
He bent his knees up further and I melded my body with his as my throbbing cock penetrated him deeper. Carefully I slid in and out of him, awed by the fact that he'd given his body to me in such a secret, loving way.
"Coming," I gasped before I'd even got used to being inside him.
"Leave it in," he stammered. "Let it go!"
"Oh My God!" I cried as I spasmed and ejaculated painfully, way before I planned to.
I left it there as long as I could then eased out gently and hugged his deliciously sweating body tightly.
"Thanks!" he sighed, "That was fucking good. We should've done it ages ago!"
I wiped the tears away from his cheeks and licked my fingers dry.
"Pain or pleasure?" I asked with a twinkle in my eye.
"Pleasure! Sheer fucking pleasure!" he laughed.
"Want me to blow you?" I asked.
"No need, look."
Pooled in his navel was a puddle of semen. He must've cum when I did without my noticing. Leaning down, I licked it up and swallowed.
"Now we really are married!" I laughed. "You've had mine and I've had yours.. But I'll kill you if you get pregnant!"
It wasn't much later before it was his turn and it was just as he'd said. In all the years we'd been friends, we had never been so close as we were then - all the trials and tribulations we'd suffered meant nothing any more, it'd all been worth it.
After that first memorable night, we soon settled down into a comfortable routine. We each had a set of our own friends with whom we went out a couple of times a week, but the times we liked the best were when we locked the front door at night, dimmed the lights, drew the curtains and relaxed together. Fully dressed or naked, he always gave me an erection whenever I looked at him, and that butterfly feeling in my stomach - neither of us felt complete unless we were together.
For three years we shared our lives, bodies, dreams and love. Friends came and went, work was sometimes shitty, money was tight, but at the end of the day, wrapped in each other's arms, nothing else mattered. As far as we were concerned, the world had been royally screwed and we were glad.
We must've been too happy because it all came to a sudden, catastrophic end one bright summer's day. Even now I can't remember anything much after the Police came to my work place and told me. There'd been an accident on the building site where he was working and a pile of scaffolding had fallen on top of him, killing him instantly. The following days were spent in a disbelieving trance. My mother wanted me to move back home, at least for a while, but I refused, still believing that Steve would walk through the door and wake me from my nightmare.
It didn't happen though, and never would I realised as I watched his coffin disappear through the purple curtains of the crematorium, The curtains drew across and I stared for the last time at the casket which held the body of the person who had meant more than life itself to me. I walked past his mother and father without a glance, brushing away his mother's hand as she tried to comfort me. With tears running down my face, I walked home blindly..
Opening the flat door, I searched in vain for Steve. His clothes were there, his bed was unmade and there were the remains of a take-away we'd shared the night before, still in the kitchen. But no Steve, and the flat was cold and empty.
I sat down and wrote the story of our life together so that he wouldn't be forgotten. I want it given to his parents so one day they might realise what a truly beautiful son they had. To me he was the world, and it had screwed him. And me.
For the next two weeks it was as much as I could manage to struggle in to work and feed myself: my flat became dirty and uncared for and Steve's possessions stayed just where he'd left them, a permanent reminder of the life I once had and enjoyed so much. Eventually I was so reluctant to go home after work that I took to stopping off for a drink in the pub that Steve and I used once in a while. We both had many friends there but I chose to sit in the corner, nursing my drink and blindly watched the world go by. I was polite to those who actually took the time to speak to me but didn't encourage long conversations. Not, that is, until I met Jason.
Jason was one of the boys we had known at school and had grown up with; we weren't ever the best of friends and it wasn't until after we'd left school that we even discovered he too was a member of that tight and secretive little community that preferred the company of other boys and men to those of females. I would have discouraged him too were it not for the fact that he probably knew me and Steve better than anyone else - from a distance he'd watched us grow up together and was one of the few that understood.
"God, you look rough!" he said smiling as he sat opposite me with his pint of lager.
I nodded in reply and took a sip of my beer.
"So, what are you going to do now?" he went on, adopting a more serious tone.
"Dunno. Nothing, I suppose. Just carry on."
"Bollocks!" He said. "You gotta do something, you're losing friends and, if you'll excuse me for saying, but you look a total wreck. When's the last time you shaved?"
I shrugged my shoulders.
"Right, time for action. Wanna go to a party tomorrow night?"
"No, thanks. I don't feel like it. Maybe later."
We changed the conversation after this and before long I found myself actually listening to him and answering in words of more than one syllable. But I wasn't going to any party, no matter what he said.
The following night, after giving the pub miss for once, I was sat watching TV when there was a ring at the door. I'd hd very few callers since Steve had gone and I jumped in surprise. When I opened the door, I saw Jason, dressed for a party and carrying a case of beer. Without talking, I walked back, sat down and carried on watching the TV.
Jason close the door, sat in a chair so I couldn't avoid looking at him and said, "Party time! Come on!"
"I told you I'm not going to any fuckin' party," I snapped.
"Too late!" he grinned. "You're already here. Catch."
He threw me a tin and opened one himself. Three or four tins later, I looked at him and smiled slightly.
"Thanks!" I said quietly. It was the first thing I'd said since he came in the door.
"That's OK," he replied. "This's the sort of party I like. Quiet and peaceful."
I smiled a little more and took another beer. I knew what he was trying to do, and wasn't interested. I began to think of the number of times Steve and I had sat just like this, watching Tv with a few tins of beer and getting slightly drunk in the comfortable silence.
Suddenly, I just couldn't take any more. Without any warning I burst into tears and sobbed bitterly at the memories. Jason didn't move; he just looked at me, sympathy showing on every muscle on his face.
"Feeling better now?" he asked once I'd stopped blubbing.
I nodded, wiping the tears from my eyes with my shirt.
"Do you think this is what Steve would want for you?" Jason asked, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Look at this place. You were so proud of it once, and now ......"
I looked around properly for the first time in weeks. It was a mess. A pig sty. He was right, Steve would be truly pissed off. Not only with our home, but me too. But then, why should I bother if he wasn't around?
"Tell me to piss off if you want," Jason went on. "But do you think Steve would really want you to turn into a hermit? To have no friends, to live like a tramp?"
I shook my head, knowing what he said was true.
"Right," said Jason brightly. "Enough. Let's get drunk!"
And we did. The last thing I remember is Jason putting me on my bed, as drunk as ever I'd been.
I awoke the following morning feeling ill. Not just nor normal sort of ill, but hungover ill. Every part of me ached and dimly aware that I was still dressed, opened a tentative eye and looked around me, trying to piece together how I'd got here. Jason, I vaguely remembered, Jason and me getting pissed. Thinking he must've gone home after making sure I was ok, I made my unsteady way into the living room to find something non-alcoholic to drink. To my utter amazement, the first thing I saw was Jason having a cup of tea. The second thing was that the living room, and what I could see of the kitchen through the open door, has been cleaned and tidied.
"Tea?" he asked, getting to his feet. "My guess is that you need it!"
It took me an hour to get myself together and understand that Jason hadn't drunk nearly as much as me quite deliberately once he'd seen the state the flat was in. And more than that, he'd actually stayed up most of the night cleaning it. My first thought was Steve's clothes, which much to my relief I saw had been neatly folded and placed on the table.
"Next thing, bath and shave," Jason grinned. "But you're on your own there. I ain't doing that for you!"
He did go as far as running the bath and laying out my shaving stuff for me, and much to my surprise I actually enjoyed relaxing in the water and then shaving. Once I was cleaned up I felt a lot better and after dressing in clean clothes, drifted into the living room to see Jason.
"Thanks," I said again.
I knew that I'd needed someone to jerk me out of the fit of depression I'd allowed myself to sink into, and was grateful that Jason had taken the trouble to help me, but I couldn't put my feelings into words and I just hoped he understood how appreciative I was.
"New start?" he said, looking directly at me.
"Yeah, I guess."
"Right. Let's start on your bedroom; it's the only place we haven't sorted yet."
That was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. Together we took all of Steve's possessions and laid them out on the bed. All-in-all, there wasn't a great deal to show for a life, but it was all I had. I kept all of his music discs, TV and radio etc. of course, but his clothes were a problem as every time I starred at them, I remembered the last time he wore them, where we were and what we were doing.
"Best thing to do is for you to sort out the things you like, the things which give you good memories, and keep them. The rest I will sort out for you."
I didn't know what he meant by 'sort out' and I didn't want to know, but it was a good, sensible idea and I went along with it. The things I decided to keep, I folded carefully and put in 'his' chest of drawers.
Over the next few weeks I gradually rebuilt my social life and took more of an interest in the world around me. Work became satisfying once more and I started to actually enjoy it again. Jason I saw almost every day, either in the pub or at the flat. He even stayed over a few times and we had some good sex together, but we both knew that as a 'couple' we would never make it; as friends we were OK, better than OK in some ways, but we weren't compatible enough to share a home. A man who was, however, came from a surprising source.
I was at work one day when a young Asian guy came in, about my sort of age, to sell his car and I was giving it the 'once over' to make sure it was re-saleable when I took a good look at his and struck up a conversation with what I saw as a good-looking man.
It worked out that he was a student at the local college and had just arrived in the town. He needed the cash from the sale of his car to put the deposit down on a flat he had yet to find and set himself up.
"If you like, we'll meet after I finish work and try to sort something out for you," I volunteered much to my surprise. "I have a few friends who may be able to help." Then I had a thought and qualified my offer, "If you don't mind meeting a few gay people I know, that is."
He stood there for a moment or two with a strange look in his face, as if thinking. My first thought was that he was anti-gay and I'd pissed him off, but then he smiled and replied, "That's fine. I was wondering where to go to met people."
We exchanged a look which said more than words could have done, and I extended a greasy hand.
"Mark!" I grinned.
"Andresh," he answered shaking my hand, ignoring the grime.
Initially the idea was that Andy would move in for 'just a few days' until he found somewhere for himself, but after a week or so things started to change. The first thing was that I felt sorry for him sleeping on a temporary camp bed on the floor and we shared my double bed, and honestly I had no other motive than that. But things being what they are .... !
Gradually we grew to know each other and discovered that we got on well. Well enough for me to offer him a home anyway, which he took up with heart-felt gratitude.
He will never replace Steve of course: no one could do that, but thanks to Jason and my other friends I now have a second chance at life. So far Andy and I are happy sharing our lives, and the icing on the cake came when my mother said she liked him, and wished us luck. I also discovered another prejudice of Steve's parents, which in an odd sort of way didn't surprise me - the only thing I was sure of was that Steve would have liked him and approved and that's all that mattered....
The End