12

PAUL WAS IN LONDON FOR THREE MORE NIGHTS, AND ON TWO OF them I snuck out to see him again. Angie assumed that I was seeing ‘my friend,’ and I didn’t disabuse her of the notion. Nobody needed to know. Paul would leave London, and that would be that. A fling that we would both remember, nothing more. No expectations. What happened in that small, airless room was sealed off from the rest of the world. I fucked him and fucked him and fucked him, and when I thought I couldn’t fuck any more, I fucked him again. I felt as if we were on a journey somewhere—tunnelling down to the center of the earth, to the promised land, to perdition, I never really thought about the destination. I knew that I was hooked, addicted, obsessed by Paul, that I wanted to fuck him forever, and during those intense moments inside him, time seemed to stop, everything was suspended, we stepped into eternity.

That’s what a tight, furry arse can do to a man. Paul had fucked my brain just as effectively as I had fucked his hole.

But of course, we weren’t on a journey, we hadn’t stepped outside time, and what we did in that hotel room had repercussions beyond the beige walls and the overused mattress.

The summer was coming to an end, and the month of waiting for Adrian was almost up. We kept in touch by text and occasional phone calls, and I told him that everything was on track, that I’d obeyed all three rules and was ready to commit myself to a relationship with him on the appointed date. No, I hadn’t looked at another man. I hadn’t thought of anyone but him. He put me to the test, he had every reason to do so, and I triumphed, like the hero of a romance.

A couple of days before the deadline, it was my son’s nineteenth birthday, and Angie organized a family dinner party to celebrate. We never said this to each other, but we knew this was the end of our lives together—Alex would leave for university at the end of the month, Nicky was starting her final year, and Angie and I were going our separate ways. New beginnings for everyone, and with every new beginning, there is an ending. The kids knew, but we hadn’t discussed it. I suppose Angie had answered all the basic questions. Nobody asked me anything.

I should have figured out that something was amiss when I noticed the table was set for five, but it didn’t really register—I was too busy making small talk with Alex, asking him about his courses, his accommodation, what sports he planned to do. I’d be driving him up there, so we had lots to discuss about packing and so on. Plenty of distractions. Nicky hadn’t arrived yet, she was out catching up with friends and was expected any moment.

The doorbell rang.

‘That’ll be Nicky,’ Angie called from the kitchen. ‘Let her in, would you?’

I grumbled something about not bothering to use her keys and went into the hall.

The shape I could see through the textured glass was not my daughter.

My stomach cramped, and I thought I was going to be sick.

‘Hi, Joe.’ Paul, of course, was smiling and looking at me with those big brown puppy-dog eyes. ‘Nicky here yet?’

‘No, she’s . . . I’m not sure.’

He walked past me into the house. ‘Hi Alex. Hi Mrs. Heath.’

Angie came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘Hello Paul. Please call me Angie.’ They kissed each other on the cheek—familiar, affectionate. Part of the family. I’d walked into a movie halfway through, and I didn’t understand the plot. Everything was wrong. The floor seemed to be tilting, the walls sliding.

‘I didn’t know you were coming, Paul.’

‘Oh, yeah.’ The flashing white teeth, the easy confidence. ‘Nicky asked me ages ago, and as I was down in London for a conference.’

‘Didn’t you mention it when the two of you went out for dinner the other night?’

Shit. Caught out. What am I supposed to have done? That’s right. I took pity on a stranger in London, we had a drink, and a quick bite to eat, that’s what I had told Angie. ‘I suppose you must have told me, Paul. Sorry, brain like a sieve.’

‘That’s OK.’

He sat on the sofa next to Alex, and they started chatting about computer games. I saw him, now, as my children’s peer, separated from me by decades, by a generation, by social taboos. Had those nights in his hotel been a dream? Was I losing my mind? Is this the same person, sitting here very much at home in my family life, chatting to my son, the same person who sucked my cock, who took me up his arse again and again as if his life depended on it? Who told me that he loved me? Who stared into my eyes while I came inside him and told me that he fucking loved me?

‘Drinks, anyone?’ I needed something to do. My hands were beginning to shake, and my voice sounded weird in my head. ‘Alex? Nicky?’

‘Let’s ask our guest first, Joe,’ said Angie in a rather schoolmistressy voice. ‘Paul, what’ll you have?’

‘A cold beer, if you’ve got one.’

‘Me too,’ said Alex. Oh Christ, they’re becoming buddies.

‘Not sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll have a look in the fridge.’ There were a couple of bottles in there, but obviously not enough. ‘Tell you what, I’ll just nip down to the shop and get some more. Won’t be a second.’ I needed to get out, and a merciful fate had thrown this opportunity my way. I could easily get away for half an hour without attracting attention. Long enough to compose myself, to recover from the sickening shock.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Paul, springing to his feet. ‘I left my toothbrush in the hotel and I need a new one.’

‘I’m sure we’ve got one you can use,’ said Angie.

‘It’s OK.’ He put his coat on. ‘Ready when you are, Joe.’

There was no escape. I picked up my car keys. ‘Won’t be long.’

I waited until we were halfway down the road before I said anything.

‘What the fuck is going on, Paul?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You told me that you and Nicky had split up.’

‘Yeah. Well you wouldn’t have fucked me if I told you we were still together.’

‘And you are together, are you?’

‘Yes. Of course we are.’

I looked sideways at him. He was slouched in his seat, hands folded in his lap, looking very pleased with himself.

‘Jesus Christ. I could fucking kill you.’

‘But you won’t.’ His voice was calm.

‘What? Why the fuck shouldn’t I? You little bastard. You lied to me.’

‘You got what you wanted. You fucked me.’

‘What I wanted? Good God, Paul, it was you who wanted it.’

‘And who’s going to believe that?’

He turned to look at me, the threat in his eyes obvious.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I just wonder what people would think if they found out.’

‘Nobody’s going to find out.’

‘That’s right. Not if you keep on fucking me.’

‘What?’ This couldn’t be happening.

‘We could do it now. Park the car somewhere.’

‘Are you out of your mind?’

‘No.’ He reached over and squeezed my cock, which responded instantly to his touch. ‘Stop the car. I can suck you off at least.’

‘Fuck off.’ I hit his hand hard.

‘Stop the car and get your cock out, or I will tell Nicky everything.’

‘You wouldn’t.’

‘I fucking would.’ His voice was a spiteful hiss now, his eyes narrow, and he grabbed my balls hard.

‘Shit!’ The car swerved. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

We’d reached the supermarket. The car park was nearly empty at this time of the evening. ‘Park over at the far end.’

What could I do? I wanted to cry, to run away. I also wanted to feel his lying mouth on my cock. I wanted to fuck his throat, to make him choke, to shoot my sperm into him.

I stopped and turned off the engine. Paul was already unzipping my fly. I didn’t resist. I knew it was inevitable.

‘This can’t go on, Paul.’

‘Yes it can. It has to.’

‘It’s insane.’ My prick was out now, painfully hard. Paul caressed it, brushing it with his fingertips. He knew exactly how to turn me on.

‘No it isn’t. It’s what we both want.’

I couldn’t speak.

‘Tell me you don’t want it.’ He gripped my cock at the base, making a ring of thumb and forefinger. I felt like I was going to shoot. My mouth was dry. No words would come out.

‘You see? You want it as much as I do. We’re going to keep on doing this. You can come up to see me, and I can come down here to see you. We can get a hotel again. It’s easy. That way, nobody needs to find out.’

‘Paul, please.’

But his lips were on me now, and as my cock slid into the familiar warm wetness of his mouth, I put my hands on his head and caressed him until I came, pumping my jizz into his receptive throat.

We were business-like afterward.

‘Come on then. Beers and a toothbrush.’

We discussed the best brands, the best value. We had a cheery word for the young woman at the checkout. We drove home quickly and in silence.

The evening went well. I suppose I drank a little too much, but that was preferable to having a full-scale panic attack. I couldn’t eat much; the sight of Paul sitting close to Nicky, giving and receiving little caresses and signs of intimacy, nauseated me. If I had been a smoker, I’d have gone through a pack of 200.

I helped Angie clear the plates and volunteered to do the washing up.

‘You sleeping here tonight?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘OK. You’ll have to come in with me then. Nicky needs her bed.’

‘What about Paul?’

‘He’ll have to make do with the sofa bed.’

‘They’re not sharing then?’

‘I don’t think so, do you? I’m not quite comfortable with that yet. I suppose we should be. What do you think?’

I wanted to laugh hysterically. ‘I think they’d have trouble fitting into that little bed. It’s barely big enough for one.’

Angie lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘I bet they’d manage. We did, didn’t we?’

I felt faint, as if I’d got up too quickly from some strenuous floor exercise at the gym, and had to hold onto the edge of the sink. ‘Yeah, yeah.’

‘You OK, Joe?’

‘A bit pissed, I think. Sorry. Not used to it these days.’

‘You’re a cheap date, love,’ she said, and pinched my bum. I flinched. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to try and seduce you.’

‘I didn’t think you were.’

Angie shrugged and looked away, but I caught the sorrow in her eyes.

And so, after falsely cheerful goodnights, we made our various ways to bed. Alex in his room, Nicky in hers, Angie and I sharing the bed for the first time in months, and the last time ever.

And downstairs in the living room, like the troll in a fairy story, the monster in the cave, was Paul.

I was still, listening to the creaks and noises of the house, the gurgling of the pipes. I don’t think Angie slept either; her breathing was too shallow, too quiet. I could not forget the last time I had sex in this bed—with that French guy, the black one. What was his name? I could remember the feel of his skin, the passion with which he kissed me, even the details of his cock and arse, but I couldn’t remember his name. I went through all the French names I could think of. Stephane, Guillame, Etienne, Yves—no, that was the guy by the pool at Nice, the one who gave me drugs, and I remembered the smell of pines, the murmur of the bees, and I fell asleep dreaming of sunshine and sand.

Paul didn’t try anything stupid. He didn’t creep upstairs in the night or ambush me while I was having my morning shower. He and Nicky left after breakfast for a day of shopping and sightseeing, and then he was leaving town on an evening train. He said nothing of our previous conversation. Perhaps there was some shred of decency left in him, or at least guilt. Shame. Self-disgust. All the things I was feeling.

The first text came the next day: thinking of you Paul xxx and a photograph of me, naked, asleep in his hotel bed.

I deleted it and didn’t reply.

Then: When can I see you? Next week? xxx

They came every hour, then every half hour, and when I had enraged him by my silence, he wrote, How is Adrian by the way? Bet you haven’t told him about us.

The realisation came, with a horrible inevitability, that he had gone through my phone while I was sleeping, he’d read texts and emails that I’d been too stupid to delete, and he’d doubtless taken note of numbers that might come in useful. My correspondence with Adrian was all there.

The catastrophe, so long anticipated, had finally come. And it was not what I expected. It was not my wife or children finding out that I was sneaking off and fucking guys from the Internet. It was my almost son-in-law, my daughter’s boyfriend, my son’s new best friend, a devious, evil little cocksucker, who was threatening to expose me to a man I loved, a man whom I don’t deserve, a man with more decency in his little finger than the whole lot of us put together.

After playing with fire for so long, I got burnt.

I didn’t know what to do, and so I did nothing. I didn’t confront Paul; I sent him a couple of placatory texts and made a vague plan to see him later in the month. I didn’t tell Adrian anything; I’d just lie and see how far it got me.

Our date was tomorrow.

Work, gym, home, bed, no sleep.

Our date is today. Tonight.

Work, work, work. Our date is in an hour.

I nearly cancelled, pleading some unforeseen crisis at the office, but Adrian called to confirm our meeting, so much joy and anticipation in his ridiculously accented voice, and I couldn’t do it. ‘Can’t wait to see you,’ I said. ‘I’ve waited so long for this.’

‘Me too.’ He sounded husky and very horny. ‘I’m nervous.’

I wanted him, I wanted the life we were supposed to have, the future that could have been mine. But I knew I couldn’t have it. I didn’t deserve it. Happy endings don’t happen. Even if Paul is killed in a freak accident, something will still go wrong. I will have started another relationship by lying. I will be found out.

‘I’m nervous too.’ Oh, Adrian, you have no idea. I want to cry. I want to throw up. I want you to forgive me, or punish me, or just forget me.

I picked him up from the gym and took him to a restaurant on the South Bank. It was a beautiful evening, and we had a table overlooking the river. The perfect setting for what was supposed to happen—something we’d remember and treasure forever.

Adrian looked beautiful. He’d tried a little bit too hard to look smart, with a black shirt and a loosely knotted gold tie, and he ended up looking like a waiter, which made me weak at the knees. His hair glistened with some kind of product. His eyes were shining.

When we were seated and the drinks were ordered, he reached across the table and took my hand.

‘I’ve waited so long for this.’

‘Me too.’ I wanted to run.

‘I know it was ridiculous, all the rules and stuff. We should have just . . . you know. Dived in.’

Oh, Adrian, why didn’t we? And then I would have been safe, and none of this would have happened. Paul would never have happened. But it’s too late. ‘Yeah, that would have been nice. But,’ I shrugged and stroked his thumb. Tears were forming in my eyes. He took them for tears of joy.

‘Hey, it’s OK. Don’t start. You’ll set me off.’

Pull yourself together, for Christ’s sake. You’ve come this far. Brazen it out. Lie, as only you know how. Play the part.

‘Sorry. I’m not usually like this. Thank you for waiting for me.’

‘It’s OK. And, you know, I had stuff to sort out as well.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. Unfinished business.’ He stared out of the window. The Thames was at its most beautiful, a huge, slow gray snake winding past towers and trees, under bridges.

We didn’t speak for a while. Drinks arrived. We said cheers. The mood had turned. No longer joyful. Tense. Electric. He’s about to tell me. Someone called Paul rang me.

‘There’s something I need to tell you, Joe.’

Over before it’s even begun. Well done, Joe. You really fucked this up, and you won’t get another chance. Stupid fucking idiot.

‘What?’

‘I broke one of my own rules.’ He was still looking out the window, not at me.

‘Oh really?’

‘I saw my ex. I had to sort a few things out with him about money and stuff, and . . . ’ Something caught in his throat, and he had to take a drink. ‘We ended up in bed.’

‘I see.’ A light was dawning—an insane hope that I was somehow off the hook. I could play this up—make him feel really bad—blow it up so big that it matched the scale of my little indiscretion with Paul. ‘Go on.’

‘I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t say no. I’d had a couple of drinks. It just . . . happened. I’m so sorry.’

I didn’t say anything for a while. Not because, as Adrian no doubt thought, I was furious or upset, but because I couldn’t trust myself to keep the note of triumph from my voice.

‘Well, Adrian,’ I said, reaching for his hand again, ‘nobody’s perfect. Not even you.’ He looked at me at last, blue eyes pleading. ‘Not even me,’ I added.

We held hands in silence.

‘I . . . ’ I fucked my daughter’s boyfriend, over and over again. ‘I may have made a little slip-up as well.’

Adrian laughed. ‘Go on.’

‘It was stupid.’ What do I tell him? Inspiration! ‘I ran into a really old friend at a family wedding. He was my best mate when we were young, and I haven’t seen him for years and years. We got drunk, and we got talking, and he told me about himself, and I told him about myself, and we ended up in his hotel room, very pissed, and we went to bed and kind of . . . fooled around.’ I squeezed his hand. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘We’re here now, with all our mistakes and our imperfections. But we’re together. Right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then there’s nothing more to say.’

The waiter brought the food. Perfect timing. I could have kissed him. It was very good food and nice wine, and the sunset was lovely, and Adrian was everything I could ever have dreamed of, funny and intelligent and sexy as hell. We talked about our childhoods, our families, jobs, everything. There were no awkward silences and a lot of laughter. I forgot, in the euphoria of the moment, that Paul could destroy everything with a single text.

Disaster could be coming through the airwaves right now. Adrian’s phone would buzz, and then . . .

But not yet. We finished and paid and went back to Adrian’s flat. It was nothing special—a two-bedroom place above a dry cleaners that he shared with a Slovakian girl who worked nights. It was neat and tidy and in need of redecorating. Given a couple of weeks, I could get the place looking really nice. Some replastering, a lick of paint, and a few pieces of decent furniture. See? I was already moving in.

The bedrooms were at one end of the landing, separated by a tiny windowless bathroom; the kitchen and the living room were at the other.

‘Do you want a coffee or anything?’

‘No. I just want to take you to bed. Come here.’

I took him in my arms and kissed him, at last, on the mouth. My hands ran over his back, feeling the width of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist. Our tongues thrust and parried, our lips slipped and sucked, as we pulled each other’s clothing aside, reaching in to touch warm skin, hair, muscle.

We danced a clumsy waltz down the landing and toppled onto Adrian’s bed, me on top of him. Our groins were pressed together, both of us hard. I took in few details of the room—bare walls, a set of dumbbells in the corner, toiletries, a rack of clothes—heard the traffic outside on the main road, a siren approaching then passing, the voice of a drunk shouting across the street. This could be my future, this room, this man, this bed. I wanted it so badly that I held onto him with my arms, squeezing him tight, pressing into him as if I could stop him from slipping away.

‘Hey! Ease up a bit! I can’t breathe.’

His face was red, veins standing out on his forehead and neck, but he was laughing. I rolled off, and threw my forearm over my eyes. ‘God, I’m sorry. It’s all been a bit too much, the last month. The anticipation. Now it’s actually here I feel . . . I don’t know.’ The truth was I was close to panic; disaster could strike at any moment, and this little vision of paradise would disappear like a puff of smoke.

‘Is it a disappointment?’

‘Christ, no.’ I rolled onto my side and looked into Adrian’s face. His beauty caused me pain. He was not a movie star or a model—I could imagine him working on a farm or in a garage—but he was the man for me. I knew then that I had feelings for him, not just desire. Perhaps it was because he’d been so hard to get; he’d been right to make me wait. But I think it was more than that. After all I’ve told you about my sex life, you may find it hard to believe that I actually believe in love. That I’m a romantic soul. ‘Oh yeah, you’re so romantic that you had sex with the delivery man, a couple of prostitutes in France, your daughter’s boyfriend, and every Tom, Dick, and Harry on Craigslist,’ you’re saying. But that was different. That was me finding out what to do with men. It was all preparation for this moment, when I fell in love.

‘I want to say something, Adrian.’

‘What?’ He was stroking my stomach, feeling the muscles under the skin, and his hand kept straying lower.

‘I don’t want to start with any misunderstandings between us.’

‘OK.’ His hand stopped. ‘Go on.’

‘I’m not sure that I’m a very nice person.’ What am I doing? Am I going to sabotage this before it’s even begun? ‘It’s been so long since I’ve been with someone that I really care for . . . I think I’ve forgotten how to do it.’

‘Come on. You’ll be OK.’

‘I’m not sure if I can be honest anymore.’

‘Try.’

‘What if there are things about me that you don’t like?’

‘Nobody’s perfect, Joe. Not you, and definitely not me.’

‘But you’re such a nice guy, Adrian. You’re happy and friendly and you’re just . . . you tell the truth. You’re a decent person.’

‘And you’re not?’

‘No. I don’t think I am.’

He was silent for a while, thinking things over.

‘We’ll be together. That’s all that matters.’

This was my chance to tell him everything. On the one hand, I’d have the moral satisfaction of doing the right thing. On the other hand, he’d probably throw me out and never see me again.

‘Thank you.’ I kissed his beautiful mouth. ‘I don’t deserve you.’

‘Then try to.’

That was enough talking for now; I’d almost fucked everything up by trying to be a Boy Scout, and now it was time to accept that I’d never live up to such high ideals, I’d just have to make the best of what I’ve got and face the consequences when they come. If Paul marches in like the bad fairy and destroys everything, so be it. I can’t stop him. I can just live in hope.

We were making love again, our mouths locked together, our hands all over each other. Adrian pulled my shirt up and my trousers down. Soon it was getting so awkward that we had to undress properly.

‘Strip for me, Joe.’

I did as I was told; I’d learned how to do that. Some of that experience was useful. I pulled my shirt over my head, and ran my hands over my chest and stomach. Then I pulled my trousers down, until all that was left was my pants. I told you I like nice underwear, and this pair was brand new, a sort of Burberry check. The front was stretched and slightly wet.

‘Turn around.’

I turned slowly, letting him see every bit of me. His hand was down his pants, squeezing his cock.

‘Now come here.’

I stood right in front of him, and he drew my cock out of the leg of my pants. It sprang up and nearly jabbed him in the eye. He held it and looked up at me.

‘At last, Joe.’

‘Yes. At last.’

He started sucking—he was very good—and my mind went blank, floating on the sensation. I kept having to remind myself that this was Adrian, the man I wanted to be with, the man I love, and not some random stranger, not . . . no, don’t think of him, don’t let him into your mind . . . not Paul. No, keep him out, he doesn’t belong here, you must not let the thought of him make you even harder in Adrian’s mouth.

I pulled out, horrified by the idea that I was about to come with Paul’s face on my mind.

‘Lie back, Adrian. I want you.’

‘I’m yours.’

I undressed him, slowly and carefully, revealing the wonders of his golden body, the pale fuzz on his torso and legs, the tattoos, his thick cock curving upward, landing on his belly. I started kissing him on the lips, down to the jawline, the neck, across the collar bone, the chest, until I reached his pink nipples. I sucked each in turn while gently wanking him. He moaned and squirmed.

‘Oh Joe . . . oh God, Joe, I want you inside me.’

And of course I wanted to fuck him, I’d thought of nothing else for a month, for six months, ever since he first touched me, it was to this point that everything had been leading, the moment when we take possession of each other, when sex means something more than just friction and lubrication and release.

I held him in my arms, rubbing my cock against his round arse, and if I could have pushed into him then and there, all might have been well.

But of course there are always preparations that need to be made.

He bounced over the mattress and dived down to one side, where he kept condoms in a shoebox. ‘There you go.’

I tore open the packet with fumbling fingers and started rolling the rubber over my cock, which, for some reason, was going down like a punctured balloon. I wrestled with the condom, stretching the mouth of it open to bag the head, but nothing worked. My dick was soft. The blood had gone—where? To my head? My heart? I felt numb and slightly faint. This could not be happening.

‘Joe?’

‘Sorry . . . I can’t seem to get this on.’

‘Want me to try?’

‘Sure.’ Of course the touch of his hands would do the trick, the idea of him preparing for his own penetration. It’s worked before. With all the men I’ve fucked, I’ve always loved that moment when they know they’re going to get it. And when I’ve been on the receiving end, it’s been the exquisite anticipation of pain and surrender. I’ve always been hard to the point of discomfort. When I fucked Paul I was a steel bar. When I fucked that boy by Graham’s pool, I stayed hard even though I was full of drugs. Christ, even the delivery man . . . none of them as beautiful and beloved as Adrian.

He tried, I’ll give him that. But it was clear that nothing was going to work. My cock shrivelled up and went pale.

‘Are you OK, Joe?’

I wanted to cry. ‘I’m fine. I don’t know what’s come over me. This has never happened before.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’ve built this up into something more than it really is.’ He leaned back on the bed, one arm behind his head. ‘Look, I really don’t mind.’ His own cock was going down now, from disappointment I suppose. Shit, this was all wrong. I should have been inside him, making him mine, pledging myself to him with every thrust. Think about that, Joe. Think about your cock sliding in and out of Adrian’s beautiful arse, parting those golden cheeks, claiming him.

‘I do. I mind.’

‘There’s not much we can do about it. Sometimes these things just happen. Maybe we’re not . . . ’

‘Don’t say that. Whatever it is. We are meant to be together. We will be. I just . . . ’ Shit, my voice was wobbling, and I was close to tears. What was this? Fear? Remorse? Guilt? I have everything I could ever want right here; I don’t deserve it, but I’ve got it. I’ve come through the trials and tribulations, I’ve made my mistakes, God knows I nearly blew it all, but I won the prize. Now I just have to take it.

‘It’s OK, Joe. Really it is. It happens.’

He reached up and stroked my back, trying to comfort me. Oh hell, why now? Why does fate keep tripping me up like this? I still didn’t trust myself to speak.

‘I tell you what,’ said Adrian, ‘we can take a break. Let’s watch TV, or have a bath, or something. Or I could give you a massage. You liked it before, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’ I wanted to tell him everything that the massage had meant to me—what it had started—how I’d followed it up by letting some guy suck me off. And then another, and another, a long chain of consequences that led me back to Adrian. But I couldn’t speak.

‘Lie on your front,’ he said, ‘and let your mind go empty.’

I did as I was told. Adrian knelt beside me, rubbing oil into his hands. With the first touch, I felt something snap inside me—not my shoulder this time, no trapped nerve, but something deeper. I felt helpless and hopeless, as if nothing would ever matter to me again. I saw myself getting dressed and leaving, a handshake, perhaps, nothing more, and it was so vivid that I had to open my eyes and look at the room to convince myself I was still here.

‘Relax, Joe. Everything’s going to be fine.’

‘Is it?’

‘Just shut up for a while. Let me do this.’

His hands took over, and all I could do was breathe and respond to his touch. There was pain sometimes as he pushed into a muscle, there were moments of euphoria as he made long stroking movements. Everything was limp now, not just my dick . . . I couldn’t even feel my dick. It must have floated away, and if I closed my eyes, I could see it rising through black space like a strange pink bird flying.

I woke up when Adrian straddled me, I don’t know how much later, and I felt the heat of his ass at the base of my spine. His hands never left my back, my neck, my scalp, and my temples, he kept massaging, but now he was moving too, pressing himself up and down on me. He shifted again, and now he was lying on me, his cock hard, slipping in the oil. At least one of us wasn’t impotent. Well, he can fuck me. I’ll just lie here and take it. I owe him that much at least.

He leaned forward and kissed me on the side of my face. ‘Oh, Joe . . . you turn me on so much.’

All I could say was ‘Mmmmm,’ because obviously he didn’t turn me on that much, quite the opposite in fact; faced with so much love and desire, I just froze.

‘I want you now.’

I twisted my head round so he could kiss me. What could I do? I wanted to flee.

His cock was thrusting between my buttocks, finding its own way.

We kissed more, his full weight on top of me, yet I felt weightless, like a spaceman.

The tip of his cock pressed against my hole—a brief, slippery contact, but something happened.

‘Oh!’

‘What?’

‘Do that again.’

He understood me, and placed himself against me, pressing a little this time. It worked. The flow of blood was reversed. I raised my hips, pressing back against him, and he almost slipped inside. Adrian rolled off me and replaced his cock with a finger, pushing it in. And that was it: I was hard, as if Adrian had simply pressed the ‘on’ button. I lifted my arse up to meet him, and then he was fully inside me. My cock lengthened and straightened, and it felt as if it would go on forever, a foot long, a yard, a mile.

Adrian gripped it. ‘There you are. Welcome back.’

‘I could come at any second.’

‘Not yet. Wait.’

Swiftly, skillfully, he rolled a condom onto himself, lubed up, and got into position. I shifted onto all fours.

‘Ready?’

‘I’m ready.’

He pushed in fast and hard, but there was no pain, just relief. My cock stayed hard, and I held off for long enough to allow him to establish a rhythm, fucking me with a kind of precision, his cock hitting my prostate with every stroke. He knew exactly what he was doing.

It was too much to stand for long, and without being precisely aware of when it began, I was soon shooting all over the bed, without even touching myself. All I had to do was press back against him, to let him fuck me with that strange efficiency, and there was no need for hands.

Adrian came inside me, pounding into me, our muscles fighting against each other to maintain the position, the exact alignment that had brought us both to this moment.

It was over. He pulled out, discarded the condom, lay beside me until we got cold, and climbed beneath the covers and slept.

And this is now—this moment that might be the first or the last, when Adrian and I have fought our way to a kind of peace, a respite from the battle, and we can sleep together, our bodies joined, our selves merging.

It may last for an hour, a day, or a week. I can’t see beyond that. Outside this room, there is a world that has claims on me, there are enemies lying in ambush, and there is the fear that, somehow, I can’t do what I want to do. I can’t give Adrian what he needs. I’m not the man for the job. I’ll be found out.

But at least for now, I can sleep without dreams, and when I wake up, he will still be there, in my arms, and I in his. Perhaps we’ll wake up in the night to fuck again, or in the morning to plan a new day, a future.

Perhaps, in fact, this is all a dream, and I’ll wake up alone in Nicky’s bed.

Oh, Adrian, please stay. Don’t be a dream. Be real, and let me be real, and let me have this chance. I can’t go on without you. This is it, make or break.

Adrian, I love you, I have always loved you, and I will always love you, if only life will let me.