Part Three

 

A Touch of Spring Frost

 

Coughs have a lot in common with dictators, give them an inch and before you know it they’re taking over your life. It was best to keep them firmly down. Gazing out of the car window I concentrated on suppressing my rising cough rather than on viewing the scenery. Some dictators of course refused to be suppressed.

“Let it out, for heaven’s sake, before you choke.” Thomas glanced briefly away from the road on which we were motoring homewards. “You know what they say; love and a cough can’t be hid, and that shade of blue does not become you. Did you make an appointment with the doctor as I told you to?”

“I don’t need to see a doctor,” I croaked as I tried to stop the cough from erupting. “I’ve got a cold that’s all, I’ll just have to weather it. You don’t see a doctor when you have a cold.”

“I don’t have a weak chest.”

The coughs demand for release became too much and I gave in, proving the wisdom of Thomas’ proverb. Paroxysm over, I wiped the water from my eyes and tried to keep the hoarseness out of my voice.

“Its just a dry tickle, I need a drink of water or a mint to suck. Besides, with one thing and another I’ve hardly had time to make medical appointments have I.”

If I were expecting sympathy, which actually I was, I was sadly disappointed.

“I told you to do it this morning before we set off. You had plenty of time while I was rearranging my appointments at work. The surgery will be closed by the time we get home. You’ll make an appointment first thing in the morning, and if you don’t I’ll make it for you. I’m not having you go down with pleurisy again, or worse, pneumonia. You’ve been living what amounts to rough for the past month, not eating, not sleeping and drinking far too much. You’re ripe for a serious illness. Hot bath and bed for you the moment we get home.”

I glanced at him, his face, outwardly at least, was as calm as ever, but something about his manner had changed since we started the journey home from bluebell woods. It was as if he’d slipped into another skin, an all-together chillier one. We’d reached the car and he’d pulled me into a close embrace and kissed me deeply. I was just about to suggest we go back into the woods and do something thoroughly indecent in celebration of spring, or perhaps even do it on the bonnet of his car, when he’d opened the car door and swatted my behind, saying briskly, ‘get in, we’re going home. It’s time for us to put our lives back in order. You’ve got things to sort out and put right. It wasn’t only me you upset with your impromptu disappearing act. Colin and Amanda have been distraught, all our friends have. Then there’s work. You can’t just expect to reappear without consequences. Incidentally, my man, speaking of consequences we’ll be talking about the state of your finances at some point. In particular a little matter of a new credit card applied for and used without my knowledge.’

There had been an ominous ring to his words, in fact not so much a ring as a definite loud clanging. I’d forgotten about the damn credit card. I’d taken it out on impulse because it offered an introductory interest free period of credit and I’d wanted to buy an expensive new audio system for my car. As soon as the purchase had been made and the payments were in progress I’d cut the card into pieces and disposed of it so I wouldn’t be tempted to use it again. I had not planned on Thomas finding out. I sighed, so much for that. The fact I’d virtuously cut up the card would cut no ice with him. He was strict about rule breaking and the rule was I didn’t accumulate debt via a string of different cards, as I’d done in the past. I was allowed one card and one only, and he kept his eye on that. I tried to apologise and explain about the card, but he sternly told me that he would designate a time and place for discussing the subject and it was off limits until then.

Another cough began to build and I made a concerted effort to swallow it, knowing it would only add grist to a certain someone’s mill, but it was uncooperative. More than uncooperative, after refusing point blank to be swallowed, it spent the next five miles of the journey spitefully reverberating around the car’s interior. My plans for a kiss, cuddle and something frisky in front of the telly looked unlikely to come to fruition.

Eyes watering copiously I slouched in my seat. I could probably manage the kiss, as long as I didn’t start coughing. I could definitely manage the cuddle, I’d missed cuddles so much, but I was too knackered for the something frisky. Sex was becoming a distant memory. We hadn’t even indulged the night before, too emotionally wrung out by our reunion to do anything but curl up in each other’s arms and sleep. It was what we needed. Morning might have brought some action, but thoughts of the journey to bluebell woods had taken precedence over thoughts of sex and killed libido.

Thankfully, by the time Thomas pulled up on the drive at home, I’d gotten my cough back under control and was feeling much better.

Bob rushed to greet us as soon as we got indoors, well perhaps rushed is an exaggeration. He staggered stiffly to his feet and lurched out from beneath the hall table where he’d been snoozing the afternoon away. I bent to affectionately scratch his ears. I really had missed him when I was away. In a wild attempt to recapture his lost youth he flopped playfully on top of my trainers, swiping an arthritic paw at the hem of my jeans. I indulged him in his favourite sport of fencing, finger to paw. Our sparring match was rudely interrupted.

“Never mind playing with Bob, up you go, the water is hot enough for a bath. The steam will help ease your congestion.”

“In a minute.” I continued to parry with Bob. I was gaining the upper hand and I couldn’t give up now. I also had every intention of gaining the upper hand where Thomas was concerned by evading the hot bath and bed that he seemed hell bent on. I wouldn’t have minded so much if the bed part had a more active connotation that included both of us and some innovative positions from the gay man’s Kama Sutra. I flinched as a claw suddenly carved a mark on the back of my hand. I conceded the point. “Touché, Monsieur Moggy.”

Bob relaxed, confident of victory, and I took advantage, carving a Z in his orange flank with lightening speed. He purred happily, gallant in defeat. In gentlemanly fashion I helped him get back on all fours and stroked his soft fur, then yelped, startled, and in turn startling Bob, as Thomas carved his own particular mark onto my flank.

“Now, Andrew. When I tell you to, not when you decide it’s convenient.”

Straightening up I glared at him defiantly. “I’m fine, honestly, I don’t...” I jutted my hips forward as his hand struck my rear for a second time.

“It seems that in your case actions speak louder than words.”

They say a word is enough for a wise man, but wisdom had never been one of my strengths. I opened my mouth to protest again, but the only sound that issued from it was another yelp as his hand contacted the same spot on my backside yet again. Damn the man. I’d lost sight of how persistent, and heavy handed, he could be in situations like this.

“Don’t even think about arguing with me. Now, am I going to have to apply more action to your stubborn rear or are you going to do as you’re told?” His tone of voice was deceptively mild, it should have warned me, but a month of living alone had tragically blurred my perception and I completely misread the situation.

“For Pete’s sake.” I crossly rubbed at the smarting spot on my left buttock, “it’s only a little cough. I don’t know why you’re fussing about it and I don’t see why I have to be despatched off to bed like some little kid.”

Removing his jacket he hung it neatly on a coat peg and then began pushing up his sweater sleeves in a purposeful way. Bob glanced up at us, and then wisely headed for the kitchen. Instinct reasserted itself on my part. “Okay, okay, keep your hair on. I’m going.”

I sulkily headed for the stairs, thumping up them two at a time in order to prove just how lithe and fit I was, an action regretted as I reached the top and a burning shaft of pain in my chest caused me to double over and cough so hard I thought I was going to hawk my lungs up onto the carpet.

Thomas was immediately beside me. He helped me into the bedroom seating me on the bed, and rubbing my back soothingly until the spasm passed.

“Better now?” He stroked my hair back from my forehead.

“Much, thanks.” I managed a small smile, though my throat and chest felt unpleasantly raw from my hacking.

“Good, I’m pleased to hear it.” Leaning forward he very gently kissed my cheek; it tickled, like the touch of a butterfly. In sharp contrast, a crowd of wasps suddenly decided to hold a protest march on my bare bottom, at least that’s what it felt like. It still had the power to surprise me the speed at which a comfortable looking man like Thomas could move.

I was pulled up off the bed, my jeans and briefs were pulled down and I was belly down over his lap even before the touch of the kiss on my cheek had faded away. His hand spanked a stinging lecture onto my backside. “You appear to have completely lost sight of the fact that when I tell you to do something, particularly on matters pertaining to your health and well being, you do it immediately without gestures and without back talk. Is your vision clearing with regard to that very basic tenet of our relationship?”

“I hate you, Thomas, I...”

“I asked is it clearing?”

He punctuated the last word with a tremendous spank that left my buttocks vibrating with the after shock.

“Yes, Thomas, it’s clearing, it’s clearing.” I spoke hurriedly beginning to feel alarmed. They say the first blow is half the battle, from the way his hand continued to smack my rapidly heating bottom and smack it hard, Thomas was after winning a complete war.

“Let’s help clear it a little more shall we.” He suddenly stopped spanking and leaned over me, reaching to pull open the drawer on his bedside cabinet. “After all, is it not true that whatever’s worth doing at all is worth doing well?”

“You’ve already done it well enough with your hand, you rotten bastard.” I struggled, trying to push myself up off his lap, but he held me firmly. “Thomas, please,” I immediately moderated my tone. The paddling I’d got at the caravan had been refreshed by the hand spanking I’d just received, leaving my bottom more than sore enough already. “I don’t deserve to be paddled, not just for saying I don’t want to go to bed. I don’t want to be on my own. I’ve been on my own for over a month, don’t you even care about how lonely I’ve been?” I wish I’d phrased it differently. He hit the roof, metaphorically speaking at least. Alas the paddle that made contact with my behind was anything but metaphorical.

“How DARE you say that to me!”

Thomas rarely raised his voice, but here he was yelling, really yelling at me. Somehow it was worse than being spanked.

He continued in a normal, if stern volume. “How dare you say that to me, Andrew. Did you care when you upped and left like the proverbial thief in the night? Did you care about how lonely, how worried, how upset I was? Over a month you were gone, a month without a single word to let me know where you were, how you were. Our friends, family, your workmates, your boss kept phoning to ask if I’d heard anything. They must have wondered what I’d done to drive you away. People were constantly whispering behind my back. I felt like the chief suspect in a murder case without a body. You could have written, faxed, emailed, telephoned, this is the age of communication for heaven’s sake. Just a word or two on a postcard would have sufficed, just to let me know that you were at least alive, but did you? NO. You were too busy wallowing in alcohol.” He smacked the paddle down firmly, “booze is another thing we’ll be discussing in depth very soon.”

Closing my eyes I clutched hard at the duvet trying not to cry out as my backside began to generate enough heat to smelt steel. The pain became unbearable especially when the wood paddle began to concentrate attention on the lower portion of my bottom where buttocks curved into thighs. I finally stopped fighting the punishment and submitted with a release of tears, which triggered another bout of coughing. He immediately stopped the paddling, though any relief I might have felt was quickly dissipated when he made me do the last thing on earth I wanted to do…sit up until the spasm passed. It was like sitting on a hot grill.

“I didn’t deserve that.” As soon as the cough retreated, I pulled away from him and lay down on my stomach, keeping my head turned away truly shocked that he’d paddled me for what amounted to nothing. “You punished me at the caravan, you shouldn’t have punished me again, not as hard as that.”

“I’ll decide what you deserve, Andrew, and by the by the paddling at the caravan was for your behaviour at the caravan. The paddling I’ve just given you was for blatantly ignoring the basic principles our relationship has been built on. Hopefully it will serve to refresh your obviously jaded memory with regard to them.”

He walked briskly out of the bedroom, returning a minute or so later with a damp flannel to wipe my face free of its accumulated secretions. That done he freed my ankles from their tangle of socks, jeans and briefs and then pulled me roughly to my feet, peeling my rugby top over my head and casting it aside, leaving me un-erotically naked.

“I’ve started running a hot bath for you, the steam will do your chest good and you can soak the bandage off your arm, that way it won’t pull at the wounds. I’ll re-dress them afterwards if necessary, they’re not too deep they should soon heal. I hope you understand that such behaviour is never to be repeated. If you require pain I’ll deal it in a manner that doesn’t involve blood loss and won’t leave permanent scars.”

I stared at him. There was a definite sharp hint of frost in his voice and a matching coldness in his eyes. I didn’t like it.

I spoke challengingly. “You hardly seem overjoyed to have me back. It makes me wonder why you bothered seeking me out at all.”

He met my gaze without flinching the frost in his voice turning to pure ice. “The truth is you expected me to seek you out. The proverbial knight on a white charger riding to the rescue at the eleventh hour, no questions asked, no payment expected. We’d return home and given the sad circumstances the incident would never be mentioned again. The slate wiped clean without penalty. I’m disappointed in you. You should know me better than that. All else aside, I needed to find you. I needed to know you were safe. I was worried to death.” The ice cracked slightly, “and I’m not made of stone, I have feelings, vulnerabilities. I needed to know why you left me. I know what I am, Andy, and pretty I am not. I wondered whether you’d met someone younger and more attractive and hadn’t had the courage to tell me. If that was the case I needed to know for definite, I needed closure so I could move on with my life.”

Hot shame swept over me as I realised in depth what a misguided, selfish, inconsiderate bastard I’d been. Guilt is a funny thing. It can be misdirected in many ways, blaming yourself for things that are not your fault, as I had done with Issy, and blaming others when the fault is yours, as I was now doing with Thomas. I should have apologised to him, tried to explain the confused emotions and warped logic that had driven my actions. I had never intended to hurt him, never, the only person I had wanted to hurt was myself. He would have listened and understood. I didn’t. I let sulky resentment at being disciplined take charge of me and headed voiceless for the bathroom, a case of me running away again.

He followed. “Do you need any help?”

“I’m neither infant nor geriatric. I don’t need your fucking help to take a bath.” I made to shut the door in his face.

He stopped it with his foot, giving me a look that seemed to go on forever before saying crisply; “I’m beginning to wonder what you do need me for. Perhaps while you’re in there, you should give it some thought.” He turned and went downstairs.

I shut the bathroom door just short of slamming it.

Stepping into the deep Edwardian style bath I eased myself down into the pine scented water, hissing as my horribly sore bottom made contact with something that was only marginally hotter than it was and hissing yet again as the water seeped through the bandage into my self inflicted cuts making them sting. What a stupid mess I’d made of things. I lay back, sinking into the warmth, resting my head against the back of the bath and closing my eyes in an effort to shut in the tears that were welling up.

The heat and scented steam should have relaxed me, but they didn’t, for one thing my poor backside was prickling in a most un-relaxing way, and even worse was the uncomfortable prickling going on in my mind. Maybe I didn’t need Thomas after all. I could certainly live without the discipline he meted out. Maybe now I’d finally started to face up to the past, it was time to think about the future and maybe it didn’t include Thomas laying down the law. I sighed and regretted it as my ribs ached and a faint rattle from the vicinity of my chest indicated that my bronchial tubes were tuning up in preparation for an orchestral performance. I hadn’t felt this bad for a long time.

 

It was a bad hangover, definitely a bad one, like I was coming back from the dead. I forced myself to swim through the waves of cloying darkness and open my eyes despite the pain that I knew would occur as soon as the light made contact with my retinas. I felt disoriented sensing even before sight confirmed it that I was in unfamiliar territory with no recollection of how I’d gotten there.

“Hello there, it’s nice to see you awake again.”

The man sitting by the side of the bed removed his half moon specs, giving me a small smile as I forced up the lead weights that had replaced my eyelids.

I stared at him in confusion. He looked vaguely familiar yet I was convinced I’d never met him before in my life.

“Where am I, and who are you?” At least that’s what I tried to say, but my vocal chords refused to fully cooperate, and all that came out of my mouth was a series of hoarse grunts, which left me exhausted with the effort. He must have had a knack for strange languages, because he seemed to understand. Laying aside his glasses and the book he’d been reading he spoke gently. “Don’t you remember me? I gave you a lift two nights ago.”

A little glimmer of memory returned, the pouring rain, the car, and gratitude for a brief respite from the weather, then a blank. I struggled to sit up and immediately began coughing painfully, feeling as if someone was attempting to pull out my lungs with a corkscrew.

“Lie back against the pillows, young man. Don’t over exert yourself.”

Ignoring him I pushed back the duvet and swung my legs over the side of the bed. A strange rattling sound reverberated around the room, and to my dismay I realised it was coming from my chest as my lungs struggled to function. “Hey,” I gasped as he firmly scooped my legs back into bed. For a comfortable looking man he had a surprising turn of speed and strength. It was a bit like a tortoise suddenly turning into a thoroughbred racehorse.

“I told you to stay put.” He lifted me back against the pillows and covered me up, “please be good enough to heed me.”

Only the fact I was still struggling to breathe prevented me telling him to get stuffed, or words to that affect.

“Facts are stubborn things, young man, and the facts are these: you are going nowhere, you are ill. The doctor says you need rest, antibiotics, good food, more rest, warmth and more rest, and rest is what you’ll jolly well have. It seems obvious you have nowhere specific to go. According to Doctor Robertson you show all the signs of someone who’s been living rough for a while. There’s nothing spoiling so stay in that bed.”

I was astounded by his audacity. “Look, mister...”

“My name is Thomas, Thomas Hall.”

“Look, Thomas Hall,” I paused to gather breath. “While I appreciate your kindness, I think I can decide for myself when...”

“Young man...”

“Andrew,” I wheezed, “Andrew Benson.”

“Andrew,” he said gently. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to make decisions. I’m warning you, stay in bed unless you want to risk incurring my displeasure.”

I was thoroughly taken aback. In fact I was flabbergasted. I sank back against the pillows totally unsure of how to react. I searched his face for signs of humour, but there was nothing to suggest he was joking. An unexpected but welcome distraction came in the form of a large marmalade cat. It jumped up onto the bed, misjudged the edge, and plunged back to the floor, reappearing seconds later looking unperturbed. I smiled despite myself. The creature was comically inquisitive, as it thoroughly looked me over from its deep orange eyes. “Hello,” I croaked, weakly lifting a hand towards it.

The cat’s ears twitched and drew back a little at the sound of my rough voice and it glanced at its owner as if to say, ‘what manner of creature is this?’

Thomas smiled, “Bob’s been waiting for you to wake up. He’s a sociable boy, he likes to have company in the house.”

Bob, the name suited him somehow. He seemed to think I was safe enough and stuck his head under my hand. I stroked him, childishly pleased when he settled himself on the bed, tucking his paws neatly under his chest and purring loudly.

“Do you want me to chase him, not everyone is attuned to cats?”

I shook my head, croaking,” no, he’s fine, really.”

“Good,” Thomas nodded approval. “He can keep you company while I make you some lunch...oh don’t worry,” he affectionately tickled the cat under the chin as it mewed at the word lunch, “I won’t miss you out.”

As soon as the man left the room I took the opportunity to get up. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed was effort enough, but nothing compared to persuading them to actually support me. They felt like wet spaghetti as I heaved myself to a standing position. It was a mistake, the room spun wildly and it was only sheer bloody mindedness, and a good grip on the headboard that kept me upright. I swallowed hard willing my legs to stop shaking beneath me in such a pathetic manner.

Gazing around the room I wondered where he’d put my clothes and the few possessions I’d been travelling with, one item of which I was particularly interested in. My sight fell on a small, old-fashioned wardrobe across in one corner. It seemed a good bet it would contain what I sought.

It wasn’t a big room, not in theory, but after taking a few unsteady steps I felt I had stepped through a C. S. Lewis wardrobe into a room that had expanded into Narnia size proportions. Less than halfway to my goal I was sweating and shaking so violently I thought I was going to throw up. Worse, the searing pain in my chest seemed to be expanding and filling my entire body, making it a real chore to breathe. I began to panic, sinking to my knees with my lungs desperately labouring to function. Bob circled me, meowing loudly as if sensing my distress and trying to alert someone to it.

“Hasty climbers have sudden falls,” a serene voice cut though the sound of my gasps and wheezes.

Thomas wasn’t quite Aslan, but at that moment he was more than an adequate substitute. He picked me up and effortlessly carried back to the bed where I collapsed exhausted against the pillows he plumped up behind me. I had never felt so ill in my life.

Seating himself on the bed he took hold of my hand and began to circle his thumb around my inner wrist, I didn’t have the strength to pull it away, besides, it was oddly pleasant and soothing, distracting my thoughts from the discomfort in my chest and the deep ache between my shoulder blades. Closing my eyes I began to calm down and some of the pain eased.

“Better?”

I found the strength to nod.

“It would appear,” his voice was suddenly stern. “That where you’re concerned, words go in at one ear and out at the other, well, you’ve learned the hard way the truth of the maxim, he is no man’s enemy but his own. Still,” he patted my hand, “it’s never too late to mend.”

I opened my eyes and stared at my riddle talking benefactor in bemusement. He obligingly translated. “I told you to stay in bed and you took no heed of my advice, which was given only for your benefit. You found out your wilfulness was ill advised, and thus that you were your own worst enemy.” He gave a sudden broad smile that lit up his face. “I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive me, I’m rather fond of proverbs. I collect them and I do strongly feel that one should at least try to use the things one collects, instead of just keeping them out of sight under dust covers.”

I felt suddenly overwhelmed by the whole situation, by this eccentric stranger’s kindness, and by my own undoubted weakness. Dangerously near to tears, which I fought to control, I rasped. “I don’t want to impose on you. Give me a night or so to pull round, and then I’ll get out of your hair, as well as your spare room.”

“Andrew, I will tell you when and if you’re imposing, until that time the subject is non existent.” He indicated the tray he’d brought up, “I’ve brought you some soup, nothing too heavy, just something to start building your strength back up.”

“Not hungry, thanks.”

“Just a few spoonfuls.”

I shook my head. “I’d like a drink though, I need one.”

He reached for the glass and carafe, which stood on the bedside table. I took a small sip of the water he poured, my hands shaking so violently the water was in danger of spilling onto the covers. “My bag, I had a holdall when you picked me up, where is it please?”

“In the wardrobe along with your clothes, which I took the liberty of laundering, its quite safe I assure you.”

“Please, would you mind getting me it?”

He gazed at me in an uncomfortably shrewd way. “If you want the bottle of brandy that was in it, then I’m afraid you’re out of luck. The top hadn’t been replaced properly, hence the need to launder your clothes. Besides alcohol is the last thing someone in your condition needs, especially at this time of the day. More importantly, the antibiotics you’re on specify no alcohol to be consumed during the course or for several days after. Now, let’s give your body something it does need, food.

“Was there any brandy left in the bottle, surely it can’t all have leaked?”

“Tell me, Andrew, are you an alcoholic?”

“NO.” I glared at him indignantly, feeling my face flush hot denial. I drank too much at times it was true, but I wasn’t an alcoholic, not yet anyway, though a small voice in my head whispered that I was well on my way to helping them out when they were busy.

“In that case forget the brandy, as I said the antibiotics prohibit alcohol. You need food.”

I felt as close to sulking as someone in my condition was capable of. “I told you, thanks for the offer, but no thanks, I’m not hungry.”

“You misunderstand,” he reached for the tray he’d brought up and balanced it on his knees. “I wasn’t asking you. I was telling you. You’re underweight. Malnourished was the word the doctor used. You need some meat on your bones. I know eating probably has little appeal just now, nevertheless, you will take a few spoonfuls.”

I felt myself flush at his peremptory tone, “what gives you the bloody right to...”

He killed my fledgling tirade. “You became my responsibility the moment you vomited all over my car, and me, after which you all but collapsed into unconsciousness. That responsibility will remain mine until such time as you are in a fit condition to resume it for yourself. Currently, you have rather severe pleurisy, the result of a long neglected chest infection, and as such you’re in no state to go anywhere, least of all to trudge damp streets or doss down in germ-laden hostels. I won’t have your death on my conscience, now that truly would be an imposition upon me.”

Scooping soup onto the spoon he held it to my lips, which I kept stubbornly closed. No one was going to force feed me, least of all some bossy espouser of proverbs. I studied him. He was, relatively speaking, a plain man, homely, except for his eyes which were housed under bushy brows. I looked more closely. I’d never seen human eyes such a vivid shade of green. He had nice hair too, dark blonde and expensively cut, it was obviously a vanity.

“Tell me, Andrew,” the bossy espouser kept both the spoon and his extraordinary eyes steadily focused on my person, “as a matter of interest, have you ever been spanked?”

My face flushed pink and I felt my eyes grow as round as the proverbial saucers. I was dumfounded by the sheer effrontery of the man. Who did he think he was, trying to intimidate me with the implied threat of a spanking? All the same, an inexplicable nervousness swept over me. There was something about the way he spoke that made me decide I had nothing to lose by at least trying the soup. I opened my mouth and swallowed the spoon contents. It was good and I was actually very hungry, but a few mouthfuls later I’d had enough, shaking my head as he scooped up another spoonful.

He nodded, setting the bowl aside. “Well done, Andrew, it’s a start. You’ll manage a little more next time I don’t doubt.”

Later I was to learn a proverb that summed up Thomas perfectly: gentle in manner, but resolute in action, in other words the iron hand in the velvet glove.

“It’s time for your antibiotic,” he reached for a blister pack of tablets on the bedside table, pressing one out onto the palm of his hand and holding it out. “Do you think you can manage to insert it, or do you want me to continue to medicate you?”

I blushed almost purple as it hit home what he meant.

“You’ve been all but out of it for two days,” he spoke matter of factly, “and in no state for oral medication. You needed the antibiotics urgently, and I’m not qualified to give injections so therefore this was the best way. I’m not embarrassed in the least, so there’s no need for you to be. I’m a competent nurse in my way. I cared for both my parents in their latter years. I’ll telephone the chemist this afternoon and see if I can get the rest of the prescription changed back to an oral one now you’re marginally back in the land of the living.”

“I’ll wait until then.”

“No,” he kept those verdant eyes fixed on me, “it’s vital that you keep on top of that infection, and that means not missing so much as a single dose of medicine. If you can’t, or won’t do it yourself, I’ll do it for you, is that clear?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have more front than Brighton?”

“It has been hinted at upon occasion, now, what’s it to be.”

“I’ll do it myself.”

“Fine,” he handed me the suppository and a disposable surgical glove from a box on the bedside cabinet. “I’ll wait outside the door, call me if you need to.” He paused for a moment, impaling me with a sudden sharp look, “and don’t seek to deceive me, I’ll know.”

Scooping up Bob, he left the room.

I stared after him. What an arrogant bastard, and how had he known that I was thinking of shoving the damn thing under the bed, anywhere but where it was supposed to go. It was ridiculous really. I’d had bigger and stranger things than a pill inserted into my rectum, but still I railed against the idea. He’d never know if I hid it, I stared at it, and then at the glove, would he?

The glove seemed to magically mould to my hand. Damn the man, the sooner I was fit enough to escape him the better. I was beginning to fear I’d been sucked into a Kathy Bates film. However, Misery didn’t begin to describe my feelings as I laboured to medicate myself. Just the effort of turning on my side and rearranging the nightshirt I was wearing left me in serious straits. By the time I’d managed the evil deed, I was shamefully close to crying with the toll it took of me.

He briefly knocked and re-entered the bedroom just as I flopped exhausted against the pillows.

“All right?”

I obviously wasn’t and he sat on the edge of the bed wiping my sweating brow with a cool moist tissue, discreetly wiping away the tears, which had forced their way out of my eyes. “You should have called and asked for help, you know what they say, pride goes before a fall.”

It was said in a tone of compassion rather than censure and without thinking I shakily held out my hand, wrist uppermost, he immediately took it, repeating the comforting thumb circling motion of earlier, extending it to the palm of my hand.

“I’m doing it next time,” he said quietly, as I slowly gained ground in my bid to breathe more normally.

It was a statement and I have couldn’t cared less, because as far as I was concerned there wouldn’t be a next time. I was going to die at any moment, so ill did I feel.

I closed my eyes, conscious only of two things, the pain in my chest and the stroking of my hand. I tried to concentrate on the latter, slowly drifting back into a world populated with dark shadows and distant sounds.

From time to time the shadows and sounds took on clearer dimensions and I glimpsed the face of the stranger who had taken me in, much as one would take in a sick stray. Perhaps that’s how he and Bob got together. I smiled slightly as a vision of the craggy faced cat swam into my fevered consciousness. Perhaps Thomas Hall specialised in rescuing waifs and strays. Some people did. It fulfilled a need in them, a need to nurture.

Fatigued in mind, body and spirit, I allowed myself the luxury of rest in warm, clean surroundings. I hadn’t rested in a long, long time, never feeling worthy enough to deserve comfort and peace.

 

The next time I properly surfaced the sun was streaming in at the window, pooling on the bed. It had that melted butter shade so typical of early autumn, retaining within it a lingering remnant of summer’s opulent spirit.

Cautiously easing myself into a sitting position I felt every muscle in my body quivering with weakness, my chest tightening with the effort, but at least the pain had diminished a little and I felt more alert.

Reaching for a glass of water from the bedside table I saw the book left open from the night before, and memory stirred. As I had lain drifting in and out of sleep, Thomas had read to me. I had felt inexplicably comforted by something I had not experienced since childhood. I couldn’t recall the content of what was being read, just the action of reading, which was perhaps just as well. I grimaced slightly as I noted the book title, Beowulf, not exactly a light subject. The previous evening had been the first time I’d been fully aware of his presence in any real sense, but I suspect he’d been there for several nights, reading aloud to me, keeping me company, and keeping an eye on me.

Tears stung my eyes, fool that I was. I blinked them away, it was time to be letting this man have his life and bedroom facilities back...as well as his cat. I smiled as the door was head butted open and Bob ambled in, leaping onto the bed promptly disappearing from view as he misjudged the end. He just couldn’t seem to get it right. Undeterred, he tried again, making a successful landing this time. I scratched behind his ears, “well, Bob, it’s been nice meeting you, but I think I really ought to be getting along now.” He stopped purring to give me an odd little look, and then with a small shake of his head he jumped off the bed with a thud and disappeared.

Feeling a little better while sitting up in bed is one thing, retaining that feeling while trying to support yourself on legs that seemed less than user friendly was quite another.

Once again I reached the centre of the continent the room had turned into feeling thoroughly wretched and out of breath, my heart hammering as if I’d run a Marathon and then to cap it all, the dam cough started. I utilised the floor as a stretcher, lying down on it and closing my eyes, until the spasm passed.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

I opened my eyes to find a tray-bearing figure gazing at me over the top of half moon glasses with a distinct air of disapproval.

“Lying on the floor,” I said weakly, “I fancied a change, you know what they say, a change is as good as a rest.” Rolling onto my front I got myself onto all fours and prepared to make for the wardrobe, which reputedly held my clothes.

“Youth must have its fling, I suppose.” He set the tray down on the chest of drawers by the side of the bed, “and as far as today is concerned you’ve had yours, now back to bed with you please. We’ll start introducing exercise in due course.”

“I need my clothes.” I stubbornly laboured onwards. Walking on all fours wasn’t as easy as Bob made it look, my respect for him grew, and he did it without coughing like a one-man chest clinic.

“Youth and age will never agree, certainly not in this case. You’re going back to bed, and if you leave it again without my express permission, you’ll be a very sorry youth indeed.”

I let out a squawk of utter outrage as he scooped me up as easily as he would have scooped up Bob and put me firmly back to bed, drawing the covers up and tucking them around me. “I’ve brought you some breakfast.”

“Stuff breakfast,” I wheezily kicked the covers off and swung my legs out of bed. “I want my clothes. You’ve been very kind, but I’m okay now, and I’m out of here.”

“I beg to differ, Andrew,” he put my legs back into bed. “You’re not fit enough to leave. You still need antibiotics, you’re anaemic and the doctor wants to check you over again in a week. He’s a busy man and he can’t really spare the time to track you down in order to do so, and the national health budget doesn’t run to hiring private detectives qualified in health care.”

“I’m fine,” I growled, swinging my legs out again, “I don’t need to see him again.”

“There’s a remedy for everything but death,” he folded his arms and gazed at me from eyes that suddenly looked like a winter sea. “You’re going nowhere until you’re fit enough to do so.”

I suddenly felt panicky. Having someone tell me what to do was something I was unused to. I’d been answerable only to myself for a long time. He continued, “you’re going back to bed, you’re having some breakfast and you’re going to cause me no more trouble, is that clear?”

I stared at him in disbelief. The man was a fucking terrier he never let go. My temper surged and before I knew it the tray with the breakfast things was on the floor and I was marching across the room towards the wardrobe, which was beginning to assume something like the qualities of the wartime Swiss border. I feared I’d never reach it.

I say marched, because in my mind that was exactly what I was doing. In reality I reached the end of the bed and hung onto the bedstead as the room spun and I began a painful bout of coughing, which made me wonder why God had lumbered us with so many ribs and every single one of them prone to agonising pain at times like this, it was a serious design fault.

“Silly, obdurate man.” Thomas guided me back to bed, “trying to run before you can walk.”

I lay back against the pillows watching as he gathered the spurned contents of the tray together, mopping up the mess I’d made. “Sorry.” I offered apology.

He reached out a large hand and kindly patted mine. I almost cried, especially when he walked out without saying anything. He should have yelled at me and called me an ungrateful bastard.

I apologised again when he reappeared with a freshly prepared tray, setting it down on the chest once more.

He gazed at solemnly. “I’ll allow for one tantrum in the circumstances. You’re a proud and determined young man and you don’t like being beholden. I understand. However, I’m a stubborn man too, and as I said before, I will tell you when you’re imposing. Enough nonsense, let’s get some food into you.”

“Not hungry thanks, just get my things and I’ll be on my way.”

“There’s a proverb that says desperate diseases need desperate measures,” he sat down on the side of the bed. “In your case the disease appears to be a quite extraordinary dose of obstinacy, which is hampering good sense. Now, I have told you several times, you are not well enough to go meandering around damp autumn streets. I also warned if you persisted with wilful and reckless behaviour that you would regret it.”

I swallowed slightly, although he was taller than me by a good couple of inches he wasn’t what you’d call a big man, but he was strong and somehow very imposing. I was suddenly rather nervous. I was also something else. I was excited. I could feel it in my guts and balls; a flickering quasi-sexual undercurrent, such as accompanied a desired danger like riding a huge roller coaster or bungee jumping. It confused me and I resorted to aggressive defensiveness. “Just get me my damn clothes and I’ll fuck off out of your space, then we’ll both be better off.”

“A man of words and not of deeds,” he pulled back the covers on the bed, “is like a garden full of weeds.” Before I could so much as blink, he reached for me and manoeuvred me face first across his lap. I squawked an obvious protest and demanded to know what the hell he was playing at.

“I think you’re pushing for me to prove I’m more than a man of words, Andrew, that I can perform the deeds to back up the words. I can. You’ve tried my patience to its limits this morning. I thought we’d agreed you were my responsibility until such time you were able to resume it for yourself. I’m not in the habit of having to repeat myself, so I’ll try and get the message across once and for all.”

My eyes widened and I flushed with embarrassment as my nightshirt was briskly folded back exposing my bare bottom. Though God knows why I should be embarrassed, after all he’d seen and cleaned my backside often enough in the past few days. I then got the shock of my life, almost jumping out of my skin as his hand contacted my buttocks with a resounding crack.

“When you leave here to resume your wandering,” his left arm secured me around the waist, while his right hand delivered a second yelp inducing slap to my bottom, “you will do so with a clean bill of health, is that abundantly clear, young man?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” I tried unsuccessfully to reach a hand back to protect my backside, sucking in my breath as his hand cracked down harder still.

“I asked you a question, and I suggest you reply in the affirmative or else I’ll assume you’re disobeying the edict that the question was posed around and be forced to take even sterner action.”

“It’s clear.” I hastily gave the affirmative response, anything to get out of my startling and vulnerable position.

“What’s clear?”

Temper flared again and I yelled, “it’s clear that you’re a sadistic pervert!”

“Not the answer I was looking for I’m afraid.”

A fourth searing smack shocked my backside. It was swiftly followed by a fifth and then a sixth. I gave in and gasped out what I hoped was an acceptable answer. “I don’t leave until I get a clean bill of health from the doctor.”

He patted my smarting bum, “and are you going to stop being awkward and do as you’re told from now on?”

“Yes.” I ground the word out from between gritted teeth. With my bare bottom on hot display I really didn’t feel I was in an ideal position for arguing.

“Good boy. You’re catching on fast.” Lowering my shirt he returned me to bed, drawing up the covers and tucking them around me.

Bob made an appearance, jumping onto the bed and looking from one to another of us in a questioning way. I stroked him with a hand that was trembling, and not just with weakness. I shifted slightly, conscious of my stinging cheeks rubbing against the sheet. My facial cheeks were also stinging, flooded with indignant heat. “I could have the law on you for that. It was an assault.”

“I’d like you to have some breakfast first,” he picked up the tray, “then if you wish I’ll bring up my mobile phone and you can call the police and report being very mildly spanked. No doubt the tale will quickly find its way from a police desk to a reporter’s desk. I’m sure the tabloid press will be very interested in the story of a gay hitchhiker being given a spanking by the gay man who picked him up. They won’t be a bit interested in the fact the spanking was well deserved and given from concern and aimed at correction, rather than for sexual gratification. Fodder for the masses, they’ll love it and rest assured neither of us will shine well.”

I stared at him silently for a moment, then moistened my lips, “you’re gay?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think I am?”

“You had several copies of the Gay Times in your possession along with some interesting magazines on male anatomy plus a leaflet about Aids tests, sadly all rendered unreadable due to the leakage in your luggage. Now to breakfast.”

“I don’t have HIV, my test was clear, and I’m not hungry.” I scowled at him, reaching a hand under the covers and slightly raising myself to rub my buttocks, “and it didn’t feel very mild.”

Settling the breakfast tray on his knee he said, “believe me, Andrew, it was very mild, as you’ll discover if you don’t make a reasonable attempt to eat a little of the second breakfast I’ve prepared for you this morning.”

“Has anyone ever…”

“Told me that I have more front than Brighton, yes actually, you did. Now, are you going to make an effort to eat something or do I need to put you back over my knee and prove just how hard I can smack a young man’s recalcitrant backside?”

To my shame I suddenly burst into tears. He quickly set the tray aside and without thinking I reached my arms around him sobbing into his chest as he soothed and cuddled me.

“It’s all right, Andrew,” his voice was kind. “I admit I can take a little bit of getting used to. I’m a touch old fashioned and I’m rather fond of things being done my way, but only because it’s the right way. You really are not fit enough to be living a nomadic life at this time of year. If you’re really so keen to escape my guest room and my company, it might be wise to start building up your strength by eating breakfast.”

“I can’t.” I sniffed, making no attempt to pull away from the embrace. It had been a long, long time since I’d had a cuddle and I was enjoying it. The men I usually encountered weren’t much interested in cuddling. They wanted sex, plain and unadorned, a receptacle to empty their balls into with hard thrusts and few words. One of them had done it bareback against my will, hence the HIV test.

“You can, just a little, a few spoonfuls.”

“I really can’t.”

“Why ever not, Andrew?”

“Because Bob’s eating it.”

“What!”

Bob raised his head from the bowl of creamy porridge he was enjoying in order to give his owner a look, which said, sorry, but I just couldn’t help myself. Thomas was not amused. “That’s you on shortened rations for the rest of the day, Robert Hall, make no mistake.”

Bob’s reaction was to put his head in the bowl again, wolfing the rest of its contents, obviously making the most of his available rations. I glanced up at Thomas and suddenly we were both laughing.

“I can’t tell you how nice it is to see you smiling. You have a lovely smile.” He stroked my overlong fringe back from my eyes, “did you know you often cry in your sleep, it’s quite heartrending.”

“Must be a guilty conscience.”

“What have you got to be guilty about?”

“Those magazines you found in my luggage weren’t mine, I nicked them from WH Smiths.”

“Naughty boy, you need taking in hand,” he playfully tapped my knee and then smiled. “So we’re agreed, you’ll behave yourself and stay until the doctor says you’re fit and healthy again?”

I gave a nod, feeling suddenly shy, “okay, but only because I like your cat and he seems to need my company as a break from you.”

“Fair enough. Now, let’s try for third time lucky where breakfast is concerned and then it’s a rest for you.”

I gazed at him solemnly repeating a collection of words that popped to mind. “The best physicians are Dr. Diet, Dr. Quiet and Dr. Merryman, or so my gran used to say.”

His eyes shone delighted amusement, “yes indeed, and as soon as I’ve tended to your breakfast that goes straight into my notebook. I do believe I’d missed that one, thank you very much.”

I rested my head against the pillows watching him leave the room, absurdly pleased that I’d given him a small gift in the form of a proverb I hadn’t even realised I knew until it unexpectedly resurfaced in my mind. Strange, the things we retain without realising it, but then the mind is a repository with many hidden corners and secret chambers.

 

The days passed and I got to know my benefactor a little bit better. I discovered that by profession he was an optician and he owned his own practice, situated immediately next door to the Edwardian house in which he lived. He’d bought the neighbouring house when it came on the market, converting it into business premises in order to combine continuing to work with caring for his parents as they aged, thus allowing them to stay in the home they loved. He had been the late and only child of people whom he’d obviously adored and who in turn had adored him. Caring for them in their latter years and helping them retain a sense of independence had been a privilege rather than a burden he said. It was as I thought. Thomas Hall was a man who had a need to nurture; it was an ingrained aspect of his personality.

I learned that he’d been a keen rower and cricketer in his university years and some way beyond, until running a business and caring for his parents had taken precedence over all else. His latter day sporting activities went some way to explaining the surprising strength and flexibility that lay beneath his comfortable looking exterior. He still played summer Sunday cricket upon occasion and did the odd afternoon of rowing on the river Ouse.

I liked to hear him talk about his activities past and present. I prefer other people’s lives to my own. He asked me very little about my background and I offered even less, saying simply I’d always had itchy feet and liked to keep moving around. A lot of homosexual men and women have wandering feet. It comes from a lack of acceptance and welcome. I guess he thought I was another young man who had been rejected by his family on coming out, and had consequently lost direction in life.

As he literally only had to walk out of his front door in order to be at work I saw a lot of him. He checked on me regularly during the day, nursing me in his determined and bossy, but essentially kind way. I began to look forward to the evenings when I’d have his company for a longer space of time. We’d watch television together and talk or play chess and cards until he decreed that it was time for me to settle down and rest, whether I wanted to or not.

 

October merged into November with a slow, steady grace, which saw the leaves on the cherry tree outside the bedroom window drift down into the garden below, leaving the branches all but naked except for the odd, stubborn leaf. I gradually regained health and strength and despite my best intentions began to feel at home with Thomas and Bob.

 

Doctor Robertson smiled with professional brightness as he took the stethoscope from his ears, “that’s excellent, Andrew, nice clean tubes without a hint of a rattle. I’m giving you a clean bill of health.”

I swallowed down a slight resentment at my rattle-less tubes, resisted a rude desire to tell the good doctor where to stuff his clean bill, and thanked him for the time spent in treating an unregistered patient. Glancing out of the bedroom window I watched as the last crisply withered leaf detached itself from the tree and floated adrift on the breeze.

I straightened my clothing while Thomas saw the doctor out, and then I began packing my belongings into a holdall that still smelled faintly of brandy. I hadn’t had a drink in over a month, and it hadn’t bothered me, but suddenly I longed for one. Sensing I was being watched I glanced up to find Thomas standing in the bedroom doorway. He was wearing his work suit, a smart dark brown pinstripe, well cut, if rather old fashioned.

I broke the silence. “I’ll be moving on now, let you have your life back. I’ve got friends to see and things to do. Thank you for everything.”

He smiled, saying softly, “I see you’re grasping your freedom with both hands. At least I know you’re as fit as you can be. Hopefully you’ll take better care of yourself and remain so.” He moved forward holding out a hand, “goodbye, Andrew, and good luck. It’s been a great pleasure having your company.”

I shook the hand, feeling my throat constrict at how easily he was letting me go. I’d begun to imagine he felt something for me beyond charity. He followed me downstairs into the hall where Bob trotted towards me winding about my ankles, purring in that rusty friendly way of his. I bent to scratch his ears. “Bye, Bobby,” I whispered. “I’ll miss you.”

A wash of thoughts and emotions swept over me as I straightened up and looked at Thomas who was holding out my jacket. I actually didn’t like him at all. He was too dictatorial. I took the jacket and shrugged it on, giving an experimental cough as I did so, half hoping he’d start fussing, and demand I go upstairs for a rest at once, as he usually did. He didn’t. Well, it didn’t matter, because I really did not like him. He was too old for me, and not at all good looking or handsome, despite those wide, almond shaped eyes of verdant green fringed with thick dark lashes. No, I zipped up my black bomber jacket. He was not attractive at all. And he was so damn sure of himself, arrogant in fact, albeit in a calm understated kind of way. I’d never heard him raise his voice. He had a mellow voice, almost musical.

I picked up my bag, glad to be moving on and away from this odd, domineering man, but domineering in a way I had to admit rather thrilled and also strangely reassured me. When I thought about it, he was usually right about a lot of things, not that I’d ever let him know. Oh dear God no! Give a man like Thomas Hall an inch and he’d assume control of the rest of my life and it wasn’t as if I even liked him. I coughed again.

“Would you like a drink of water before you go, Andrew, it sounds like you’ve got a dry throat there?”

I shook my head and was just wondering whether I could fake a reasonable faint when he opened the front door. He obviously didn’t want me to stay.

“Thanks again for everything.” I stepped outside into air that had a definite edge of frost to it.

“I’m more than glad to have helped, Andrew. Take good care. Let me know if you ever need or want anything else from me. I’ll be here.” He paused for a moment and then said, “you definitely have somewhere to stay tonight?”

I nodded, “bye, Thomas, you take care too.” Turning up my collar I walked away without looking back.

 

I trawled the shops looking at things I couldn’t afford to buy because I hadn’t worked in a while and my bank account was barren except for an ocean of red ink. I hadn’t told Thomas quite how rock bottom skint I really was; even going through the charade of offering him money for all the care he’d shown me. To my secret relief he’d crisply declined. I owned nothing but debt and the contents of my holdall. After losing my last job for turning up drunk I’d impulsively left my miserable rented bedsit and taken to the road hoping to find a new job and a new start in another town. I’d always been fairly lucky at finding something. Not this time though. I was on the downward spiral, fast running out of money and luck.

I moved to a variety of towns where instead of jobs I found bars where my youthful looks got me picked up a few times, but not by anyone who wanted to keep me. Anyone who says it’s romantic to sleep beneath the stars probably has a nice five-bedroom house on standby for when the romance wears off. All I’d had, if I was lucky, was a bed in a YMCA hostel.

After window-shopping I went for a walk in the park. The day moved on. It got dark, it got colder, and then it snowed. There I was sitting on a park bench in a fucking snowstorm, like a tramp without a flea to call a friend. I had no job, no money, and no friends to go to. You don’t make friends when you wander from place to place. You meet other sad people like yourself, people who are trying to escape from something and you share a few words, sometimes a drink or a needle or maybe sex and then you move on and you never see them again.

Tears stung my eyes. I reached into my jacket pockets searching for something to wipe them away with. Not only did I not find a hanky but my fingers touched against something secreted deep in the lining, something that made my tears flow even faster. I hastily took my hands out of my pockets utilising my sleeve as a tissue to soak up self-pity. My only prospect seemed a return to prostituting myself for a few drinks, a bed and a meal. ‘If you ever need or want anything else...’ his words echoed in my mind.

 

Somehow he didn’t look surprised to see me.

“Did you leave something behind?”

Only my fucking heart, I thought sarcastically while trying to affect an air of casual calm.

“No, it’s just,” I swallowed, “my plans fell through. The friend I hoped to stay with had to go away at short notice. I wondered if I could stay...” I stopped, embarrassed and suddenly tearful. What the hell was I playing at, imposing on this good man?

“Of course, all you had to do was ask. Come in, Andrew, you look absolutely frozen.”

I took a deep breath, gave a shaky smile and stepped inside, setting my holdall down on the floor. Bob materialised, butting my ankles and making loud purring noises of welcome and I bent to pet him. As I straightened, the room suddenly dipped and wavered in a disconcerting way and I swayed. A hand was immediately at my elbow securing and steadying me.

“So much for looking after yourself, you’ve obviously not had a thing to eat or drink today, and as the saying goes, nature abhors a vacuum. You’ll be making yourself ill again, you foolish boy.” He lowered me onto the bottom stair, pushing my head down between my knees until the faintness wore off. “You need someone to take care of you, Andrew, because you certainly don’t take care of yourself.”

The faintness passed. Taking a deep breath I got to my feet, slipped off my jacket and flung it over the end of the banister. “I don’t like you, you do know that don’t you?”

“Of course,” he pointed at the coat hooks and I immediately hung my jacket up properly.

He continued, “it goes without saying that you find me loathsome, but as they say, any port in a storm and it is a pretty bad storm out there. I have no doubt from those wet clothes that you’ve been mooching about in it all day. You need a hot bath, go on, go up. I’ll get you something to eat and drink.”

“I don’t want a bath, thanks all the same.”

“I’m not asking whether you want a bath. I’m telling you to go and take one.”

“I’m fine, really…hey!” I finished on a yelp as a hard smack landed on the seat of my damp jeans.

“Tell me, Andrew,” folding his arms he gazed at me steadily, “why did you come back?”

I shrugged, dropping my gaze to avoid his. “I told you, my friend...”

“No,” he interjected, “that won’t do. There was no friend. In all the time you stayed here you never once mentioned friends or family. You said you knew no one in this area when I asked if I could call anyone for you; so don’t persist in lying to me, or to yourself. Why did you come back here?”

I struggled as I tried to find words to fit feelings, ending up getting angry. After all, what right had I to expect anything from him? I took refuge in temper. “I don’t fucking know. You’re an uptight, pernickety, overbearing bloody pain in the arse. I’m sorry to have imposed on you. I’ll go.” I turned to grab my jacket and promptly tripped over Bob, sprawling full length on the hall floor. Bob gave a screech and streaked off like a rocket.

“Is he all right?” I heaved myself onto hands and knees. “I haven’t hurt him have I?”

“He’s fine, don’t worry.”

Thomas offered a hand to help me up. “He likes you. I’m sure you’re already forgiven.”

“Do you like me?” The words blurted from my mouth as he drew me level, well, almost level with him. I felt like a kid with a crush on a teacher. A look passed between us, a look that finally acknowledged the chemistry that had been slyly building between us. Our lips met in a passionate kiss. It felt good, very good. Somehow I’d known he’d be a great kisser. A fire of arousal spread through my body. I don’t know who fumbled with whose buttons first. I only knew that suddenly we were both shirtless running our hands over each other’s bodies. He grabbed my hand staying it, as I greedily reached for the zip on his trousers.

“Bed, let’s go to bed, darling. You might be young and supple enough for the hall floor, but I’m not and I want to enjoy you in comfort.”

 

I awoke next morning to find the room bathed in that strange ethereal light that indicates a substantial amount of snow has fallen overnight, a kind of soft mistletoe sheen of milky grey.

I mused pleasantly on the previous evening’s activity. It had been good, more than good it had been fantastic. I had never experienced sex like it. He had completely dominated me, expertly manoeuvring my body for his own pleasure and consequently pleasuring me in ways I had never imagined. I had loved every moment of submission to his attentions.

He had also introduced me to the concept of sensual spanking, the antithesis of a painful discipline spanking. They were two different components of the same drive, he explained, each one serving to underpin the power dynamic that was developing between us. Just thinking about it excited me and made my cock harden.

However, while I might be drawn to Thomas Hall in some odd way, I didn’t really like him. It seemed important to remind myself firmly of that fact, but he was warm and cosy to cuddle up to on a cold, snowy morning, especially when you were naked. Actually, being naked in his bed was something I’d fantasised about for weeks past and the reality outstripped the fantasy by several leagues.

I cuddled still closer to him inhaling the arousing musky scent of our combined body juices, a masculine perfume of sweat and semen.

He stirred, murmuring a sleepy greeting and I kissed him, shyly at first and then more assuredly as he made known his pleasure. Waking up to someone who really wanted me was an aphrodisiac in itself. Sex was less intense than it had been the night before, but more emotionally intimate as we made love face to face in the missionary position. It made me feel special to be tenderly kissed and have sweet endearments spoken to me during the act of sex and I suddenly understood what ‘making love’ really meant.

 

Afterwards I lay sated and content in his arms. “Why didn’t you ask me to stay yesterday?”

“You didn’t say you wanted to stay.” His lips softly brushed against my hair, “and I needed to hear it from you. I wanted it to be your choice and your decision. Why did you come back?”

“Velcro,” I said solemnly.

He understood what I meant. Somehow I knew he would.

He gave a small laugh. “Velcro, I like it. I’m the hook to your loop. I felt that too. Let’s hope we bond as strongly as that worthy material.”

He kissed me thoroughly, and then patted my rump, “go and have that somewhat delayed bath now. I’ll make breakfast and then we’ll talk. There’s one proverb I don’t agree with, and it’s the one that says silence gives consent. I need to know you fully understand what I’m about, and what our life together would entail. I think you do know, but we need to be sure, for both of us. Go on, my beautiful boy, do as you’re told and have your bath.”

I opened my mouth to argue, and then shut it again, what was the use, as ever he’d issued an instruction not a suggestion. It was a bad habit I’d have to try and break him of.

 

I never did break him of that particular habit. He continued to issue instructions and ultimatums, which led to consequences, though the latter became less frequent as I learned that obeying the instruction in the first place was usually better all round. That said there were some habits I retained in spite of his very best efforts, one of which was falling asleep in the bath. Bad enough in moments of rude health, but much worse when weakened by a month of chronic self neglect.

I awoke from my dream of yesteryear with an almighty start, floundering like a salmon in its dying throes, as pine flavoured bath water invaded my mouth and nostrils. I instinctively grasped for the side of the bath to haul myself up, but my wet hands couldn’t gain purchase. I slipped back under the water, my sleep drugged body feeling heavier than I had strength to control. Oh God, I flailed around desperately, I was going to drown in a Radox bath, still at least my corpse would smell nice.

The bathroom door flew open and Thomas’s frost sharp voice cleaved my panic. “A drowning man will clutch at a straw. Unless he’s named Andrew, in which case he’ll clutch at a bath sponge and hope that someone hears him choking and gurgling. How many times have you been told about napping in the bath?”

I was briskly pulled clear of the water, smacked once on my poor beleaguered backside, swathed in a huge bath towel and escorted back to the bedroom still coughing and spluttering. He sat in the rocking chair gathering me safely on his knee.

“Sorry,” I rasped, when able to speak again. “I just closed my eyes for a moment, didn’t realise how exhausted I was, must have drifted off. You were right. I should have made that doctor’s appointment. I feel horrible, Tom, really rotten. I think I’ve got another chest infection starting up.”

“I know, pet, I know,” he gathered me closer on his lap. “However, no matter how rotten you feel, drowning yourself in the bath isn’t the answer. We’ll sort out that doctor’s appointment first thing in the morning.” The frost had melted from his voice and my heart lightened. The cold snap was over.

“Besides,” he said with a touch of wry humour, “not even death by drowning could save you from the retribution you have coming for letting yourself slide into this state.”

I gave a weak smile and snuggled closer against him, still shivering from a mixture of fright and a gradually rising temperature. The words he’d said prior to me going for a resentful sulk in the bath came back to me, ‘I’m beginning to wonder what you do need me for?’

Well, one thing was for sure, he was handy to have around as an antidote to drowning in the bath. And, when I thought about it, drowning in the bath wouldn’t even be an option if it weren’t for Thomas. If providence had not decreed that Mr Proverb man pluck me from the side of a rain soaked road, I would have died of pneumonia in a winter ditch almost two years earlier, my instinct to survive fatally eroded.

Every time I attempted to move on from the pain I carried inside, I lost a little more direction spiralling down into uncaring, self-hating, self-neglect. He had helped put in place the means by which I could reattach myself to the world. He had given me the purpose and structure I had probably always craved, and a sense of being safe. He had helped me reclaim my life. I had forgotten all that, or at least pushed it aside the night I fled in self-absorbed panic.

The month at the caravan had been a nightmare and not just because of the maggots crawling from the corpse of the past, but because I had found myself without anchor once more, set adrift and shocked and frightened by how quickly the horizon disappeared from sight.

The misery of the nights when I’d sat drinking in a futile attempt to keep bad memories at bay pressed in on me afresh and I began to cry. I’d fled without thought for anyone, trying to escape something that needed to be confronted and running from the one person who would willingly have helped and supported me. I’d totally disregarded his feelings and sensibilities. No wonder a hint of winter had touched his manner.

He was right. I had expected him to come rescue me from my self-destructive impulse and had grown angry and resentful when he didn’t come as quickly as I wanted him too. Moreover, I had expected a warm welcome with no repercussions. I’d shove the past back into a drawer and neither he nor I would mention it again. My vision cleared and I saw it for what it was, wishful thinking.

When he’d told me to have a bath, it was less about bathing and more about re-establishing authority. He was resetting the parameters of our relationship, which been disrupted by my foolish flight. I knew what our relationship was about, the way it worked, and escaping consequences was not one of them. I didn’t always like the consequences. I didn’t like being disciplined, but I did like submitting to an authority I respected and trusted.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I broke trust between us. I nearly lost myself again, nearly lost us. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I tilted my head back to gaze at him. “I can’t do it, Tom. I can’t do life on my own, I just mess it up. I don’t want to be on my own.”

His fingers pushed a path through my damp hair, “you’re not alone. I’m here and I love you. I think it will be a good idea for us to arrange some professional counselling for you. You suffered a terrible trauma and you need unbiased help to put that part of your life into perspective. It’s the only way you’ll be able to move on from it in any healthy and positive sense. As for us, you and I, I’m taking you back in hand, Andrew. I think we need to redefine some boundaries after everything that’s happened. I think you need the security offered by a firm structure. You can take breathing for granted, all else you’ll refer back to me until I deem you ready for a bit more self-government again. The first priority is to get you well again and then, my bad boy, we’ll have a good long chat about certain things.”

His words sounded horribly ominous, all the same, nestled in his arms I felt suddenly at peace. I was home and safe. Just like Issy. I was where I wanted to be. I gazed at him solemnly. “East west, home’s best, even if it is inhabited by a domineering ogre with rampant megalomania.”

“Don’t go kidding yourself that you’d want it any other way. You’re many things, my darling, but vanilla isn’t one of them. You like being taken charge of, by me at least. Now, let’s get you dried off and tucked up in bed. I’ll bring you something to eat and then you can rest.”

“I suppose a damn good shafting is out of the question?”

“All in good time,” laughing, he swatted my hip. “I’m just as eager as you are. However, I prefer to have sex with someone who has a fighting chance of riding out an orgasm without expiring from lack of breath.”

 

I was still awake when later he climbed into bed beside me. He looked sternly over the top of his half moon specs.

“I seem to remember telling you to go to sleep.”

“I was waiting for you.” I snuggled against him. That was something else I’d desperately missed during my reckless sojourn, having someone to cuddle up to in bed.

“Well, I’m here now, so go to sleep.” He kissed me, “shall I read to you?”

“Depends what it is?”

He reached for a book from the bedside table and held it out. I read the title aloud, “Tacitus, The Annals Of Imperial Rome.” I grinned at him, “tell me that annals is an archaic spelling of anal and that Tacitus is a centurion pig-bottom slut describing how he gets shagged by a succession of royal bum boys and I might actually consider letting you read it to me.”

“Behave yourself. It isn’t like that at all,” he tapped me smartly on the hip with the book.

“Then I’d rather drink a bath full of Pine Radox.”

“It has no nutrients, so we’ll stick with food for the mind...‘When Rome was first a city, its rulers were kings. Then Lucius Junius Brutus created the consulate...’

As he read a wave of intense sleepiness swept over me, as of course was his plan, the bossy sod.