Dedication

For Anna, who helped me carry this story to

term and bring it, red-faced and howling, into the
world; and for Shelley, who taught it its first words
and smacked its bottom when it was naughty.

Chapter One

I know it’s just fucking, Larry and me. That’s

what all his mates at college say, only they say it
fancy, like “Well, quite clearly it’s not his

brains

Lawrence goes for,” and “God, when is he going
to tire of slumming it with this moron?” I just smile
at them, ’cause they’re his mates, and it’s all right.
It doesn’t matter what they say about me, just as
long as they’re nice to Larry.

Larry never says nothing like that. He’s got

class, Larry has. He’s clever and all. He works at
the University, teaching people about paintings. I
like paintings. Art was the only thing I could do at
school, that and cookery. Domestic Science, they
called it. Steve Hunter used to have a laugh about
that, saying I’d make someone a lovely wife one
day, until I got fed up with it and hit him, and after
that he never said nothing about me no more.

That’s the other thing I’m good at. Hitting. My

PE teacher, Mr. Sanders, said I should get into
boxing. He wanted to give me private lessons and
not charge for them or nothing, but my mum
wouldn’t let me. She said from what she’d heard,
boxing wouldn’t be the only thing he’d be teaching
me, but she never said what she meant, even
when I asked her. I was dead surprised when he
got sacked for being a kiddie-fiddler. So I started
going to a gym instead and sparring around with
the lads, but I never took it serious or nothing.
Larry says that’s just as well, ’cause I’m scary
enough already.

People always ask how me and Larry met,

and Larry tells this really complicated story how
he thought he was going to be mugged or raped
or something, and then I came along, and
everyone always laughs, but it wasn’t like that,
really. See, I’d just been to the pub with Daz and
Phil and a couple of other lads. We was
supposed to be cheering Phil up ’cause he’d
broken up with his girlfriend, Leanne, who works
on the checkout at Lidl, but some of them were
pissing me off going on about poofs, so I left
early. I got caught short on the way home, so I

stopped to have a wazz in the street. I mean, I
checked to make sure there wasn’t no one there
before I got my cock out. I didn’t want to shock no
one.

But it took a while, ’cause I’d had a few pints,

so by the time I was almost finished, this bloke
had turned into the street. I could hear his
footsteps, so I looked up, ’cause I didn’t want no
one sneaking up on me when I had my cock out,
and there he was. I mean, it was Larry, but I didn’t
know that then. I just saw this really pretty guy in a
posh suit. He had browny-blond hair, like straw
that’s been left out in the rain—I don’t mean it was
messy or nothing, it was just that mix of colours,
like it couldn’t make its mind up if it wanted to be
yellow or brown. And his face was kind of
delicate, and he was really little. Way shorter than
me. Skinny too. I like them skinny. And he was
looking at my cock. So I smiled at him, ’cause he
was pretty, and then I zipped up and headed his
way. Which was my way home, I mean. I wasn’t
planning to make a pass or nothing, ’cause I
could tell he was too posh for me.

“Shit,” he said, and he started backing up like

he was scared or something. “Ah, sorry. I didn’t
mean to—”

I wasn’t sure what he was on about, so I smiled

again. He looked like he was about to piss
himself, and I didn’t like it, you know? It’s not right,
people being scared like that. “You look like
you’re about to piss yourself,” I told him when I got
close.

“Shit,” he said again, and he sort of leaned

against the wall and closed his eyes like he
wasn’t feeling well, so I stopped and leaned over
him.

“You should let me take you home,” I said,

’cause I was worried he might not make it on his
own. “Nice-looking bloke like you, stuff could
happen. You meet all sorts on these streets. I saw
a bloke getting the crap beat out of him last week
just a couple of streets from here.”

“You want money?” he said, and he was

shaking a bit. “I’ve got money.”

I didn’t say nothing for a bit, ’cause he was

confusing me, and I don’t like making a prick of
myself. See, you keep your mouth shut, most
times people don’t realise you don’t know what

they’re on about. So I just took his arm and set off
down the alley, ’cause that was the way he’d been
going. He came along with me all right, but he
was still shaking. “You live near here?”

“No! Er, yes—please don’t hurt me!”
I didn’t say nothing for a bit, ’cause I didn’t

understand why he thought I’d do that. I thought he
must have had a lot to drink.

“Your mates shouldn’t of let you go home on

your own,” I told him. See, he’s just a little thing;
you’d need about three of him to make one of me.
“You’re such a little thing.”

“Oh God,” he said, and his voice was all thin

and shaky, like the rest of him. “Look, take my
wallet, please?”

So I stopped while he got his wallet out, and

he had his driving licence in there, so I read his
name—Lawrence Morton—and his address.
“Fifteen Bewdsley Close, Cambridge. That’s that
posh bit near the river,” I said to prove I’d read it. I
tried to give him his wallet back, but he had his
eyes shut again, so I put it in my pocket. I think he
needed to get to bed. “I’m going to get you home
and in bed,” I told him.

He wasn’t walking too good, so I put my arm

round his skinny little waist. I could have snapped
him in half. “I could snap you in half,” I said, and I
smiled so he’d know it was a joke, but he still had
his eyes shut.

We went down the back ways ’cause it’s

quicker and I wasn’t sure how long he was going
to be able to stand up. I mean, I could have
carried him easy, but I thought he might have
thrown up on me, and I didn’t fancy that, no matter
how pretty he was. He was all pale and shaky still.
“This it?” I asked when we got to number fifteen. It
was a nice place—one of those terraced houses,
all tall and thin with no front garden and a skylight
into the basement. Pretty windows.

“Yes—please, you’ve been really kind helping

me home, but I’ll be fine now,” he said, but he
looked funny when he said it, so I didn’t think I
ought to leave him till he was safe inside. His
hands were shaking, and the key skidded on the
lock, so I took it from him and opened the door.

“You didn’t ought to drink so much,” I told him

as I went in. I thought I’d better make sure he had
a glass of water or something, or he’d be feeling

like crap in the morning. He looked funny, like he
was going to run away or something, which would
have been a bit weird as there I was in his house
and him still standing on the doorstep. I grabbed
his arm and pulled him in after me, in case he
was so drunk he’d forgotten this was where he
lived. “You got a kitchen?”

“Yes—this way,” he said, like he’d just woken

up, and he darted through a door. I was surprised
he could move so quick, him being drunk and all,
so I let go of his arm and just followed him into the
kitchen.

He was standing by a knife block with this big

knife in one hand and a phone in the other. I
thought, he’s going to have trouble trying to dial
one-handed. “I’m calling the police,” he said in
this funny high voice.

I didn’t get why he wanted the police, but the

knife in his hand was shaking all over the shop, so
I went and took it off him before he could hurt
himself. Then he sort of collapsed down on the
floor and said, “Please don’t hurt me” again.

“Okay,” I said, and I took the knives over to the

other side of the kitchen and got the biggest mug I

could find and filled it with water. I held it out to
him, but he had his eyes shut again and didn’t
take it. “You should drink this. Then you won’t feel
so bad in the morning.”

He looked up, and his brown eyes were all

wild-looking. “No drugs!”

“Good,” I said, ’cause drugs and stuff are really

bad for you. I put the mug down where he could
reach it and sat cross-legged on the floor so I
could keep an eye on him, ’cause he was
freaking me out a bit. It wasn’t very comfortable. I
got big thighs.

“Please go,” he said. “Just take my money—

take anything—and go.”

I didn’t get why he wanted me to take

something, but he seemed really worried about it.
So I looked around, and he had a bowl of fruit on
the side, so I grabbed an apple, ’cause I always
get hungry after I’ve been drinking. “I’ll take this,
okay?” Then I left him there, but I took the knives
and I hid them in the hall cupboard, just in case.

When I got out in the street, I could see there

was a light on in the next-door house, so I
knocked on the door. It opened on the security

chain, and I could see a thin slice of a woman in a
dressing gown the colour of marshmallows. I
thought, good, she’ll take care of him. “Sorry to
bother you, but I just brung your neighbour home
and he’s not looking too good. I’d of stayed with
him, but he told me to go.”

Her eye went all big as she looked at me

through the gap. “And you are?”

“Al Fletcher. I work down Scudamore’s. I pull

the punts in when the tourists have finished with
them.” I don’t do the guided tours, ’cause my boss
Harry says I’d scare off the customers and sink
the bloody punt. Plus I’m no good at remembering
stuff, like which bridge is s’posed to be
mathematical and why.

She nodded. “I’ll get my husband to go round.”

And she shut the door.

I wasn’t sure if I should wait or not, but then I

remembered I still had Lawrence’s wallet, so I
stood there by the front door, eating my apple. I
was wondering what to do with the core when a
bloke came out, nearly as tall as me but not so
built. “You still here, are you?”

I didn’t say anything, ’cause he could see I

was. I don’t think he meant it as a question.

“What happened? You two have a fight?”
That made me laugh. If I’d tried to fight

Lawrence, I’d have probably killed him.

I don’t think he liked me laughing. “Try anything

with me and you’ll be sorry, mate,” he said as he
pushed Lawrence’s door open. “Bigger they
come, harder they fall, you remember that.”

He was all talk, though. I could’ve had him

easy. Knockout in the first round. But I didn’t say
nothing, ’cause if you say stuff like that, some
blokes think you’re asking for a fight, and I didn’t
want to knock him down. I wanted him to look
after Lawrence. “I can’t go in,” I told him.

“You what?”
“He told me to go away. I think he’s a bit

pissed. Can you give him this? It’s his wallet.”

“I can see it’s his bleeding wallet. Why’ve you

got it, then?”

“He said to take it, but I think he’s just drunk. I

don’t think he really wants me to have it.”

“You don’t bloody say. All right, give it here.”
I gave it to him, and he went into Lawrence’s

house, so I went home.

Next day, I’d hauled in a punt and was

mopping out the water from the bottom, ’cause
they’d been playing silly buggers with the punt
pole, and I heard this sort of cough behind me. So
I looked round and it was Lawrence. I checked,
but he didn’t have a knife in his hand.

He was still looking like he was going to piss

himself, though. “Er, Al?” he said. “That is your
name?”

I smiled and nodded.
“I appear to have made the most awful fool of

myself last night,” he said, his face all red.

I thought he must mean the stuff with the

knives. “You just had a few, that was all,” I said,
’cause I didn’t like to see him looking so unhappy.
“Wasn’t your fault. But you ought to get one of your
mates to walk you home next time.”

He wasn’t looking as posh as he had last

night. He was wearing a sort of crumpled blue
jacket. Linen, I think it was. Or cotton, maybe. No
tie. He had his hands balled up in his pockets and
his shoulders hunched, and he looked so sweet

standing there, his dirty-blond hair all over his
collar. Made me want to push it back and kiss his
neck. I wondered what he’d say if I told him that.
He’d probably freak out again, I thought.

He coughed again. “Thank you for giving back

my wallet. And for taking the trouble to make sure
I was all right. That was kind of you, although I’m
not sure I’ll be able to face my neighbours for a
while.” He laughed, so I guess he didn’t mean it,
really.

“’S all right,” I said.
He was drawing patterns in the dust with his

feet. It was making his nice shoes all dirty, but he
didn’t seem to mind. “Can I, ah, buy you a drink
after you finish work?” he asked, giving me a
quick look, then staring down at the dirt again. “To
make up for being such an awful bother?”

I wanted to tell him he wasn’t a bother, but I

wanted him to go for a drink with me more, so I
just nodded. “Six. ’S when I finish.”

I hadn’t seen him smile before. It was lovely,

like my sister in her wedding photos or her kids at
Christmas. So I smiled back, and then I got on
with my work.

He wasn’t there when I finished, and I thought

maybe he’d changed his mind, but he came
running up looking worried after I’d hung about for
ten minutes or so. “Al, I am so sorry. Got grabbed
by the Praelector just as I was leaving college.”

I laughed, ’cause it sounded funny. He smiled

back at me. He’d changed into a pale cream shirt
that made his hair look blonder and a navy jacket.
He looked really posh again. I looked down at my
work clothes, which was a Scudamore’s T-shirt
and jogging bottoms, ’cause they dry faster than
jeans when you get them wet. “Do I need to get
changed first?”

“No! No, you look great.” He blushed a bit.

“And we’re only going to the pub.”

“I’m all sweaty,” I said, ’cause it’d been a warm

day.

He went even redder. “It’s all right—we can sit

outside if you feel uncomfortable.”

We went to this place down the river. Punters,

it’s called. Used to be the Red Lion, but it’s gone
all trendy. We sat outside and looked at the river,

except I kept looking at Lawrence, and half the
time, he was looking back at me. “Um,” he said,
holding a glass of wine in his little hand. His nails
were really clean. “Tell me about yourself?”

I just shrugged and had a swig of my pint,

because I never know what people want to hear
when they say that stuff. And it’s not like anything
about me is interesting or nothing.

“Have you always lived in Cambridge?”
I nodded.
“Do you live alone?”
I nodded again.
So then he gave up on twenty questions and

started telling me about himself. I liked hearing
him talk. I thought he had a lovely voice. He talked
with his hands, too, waving them about like he
was doing sign language. He told me about
teaching History of Art, about how the students
didn’t get stuff, like making Jesus bigger than the
saints in the pictures because he was more
important.

“I used to think that was funny too,” I said. “But

my art teacher explained it to me. It’s like this
modern art stuff, innit? You’re showing what stuff’s

like inside, not on the outside like a photo.”

“Yes! Yes, that’s it!” He smiled at me and

leaned over the table, and I felt a bit funny, so I
had another swig of my pint.

“Did you know you have the most incredibly

sinister smile?” Lawrence said after a bit. He put
his elbows on the table and leaned over toward
me again. “It’s that scar by your mouth—sort of
twists. I think that’s what really scared the shit out
of me last night—your smile.”

I frowned, because why would anyone be

scared of a smile? “You got a lovely smile,” I said,
because I knew that was true. He went all pink.
“Are you a poof?” I asked. I didn’t think he’d mind.
And even if he did, there wasn’t nothing a little
bloke like him could do to me, so that was all
right.

“Er, yes. I hope that’s not a problem?” His ears

went so red it was like they was sunburnt, and he
leaned back a bit.

“Nah. I’m a poof and all.”
Lawrence laughed. “You know, you’re really

rather refreshingly direct.” He didn’t say nothing
for a minute, just put his elbows on the table again

and played with the beer mats. “So, have you, er,
got a partner?”

“Nah. I had this bloke, Ryan, but we split up.”
“Oh. What was he like?”
I had to think about it. See, I could have drawn

him a picture easy, but I didn’t have a pencil.
“Little,” I said. “And pretty.” I smiled, remembering,
’cause I’d thought Ryan was really pretty, but
Lawrence was much prettier.

“Oh,” said Lawrence. His shoulders went a bit

stiff. “That’s the sort of men you find attractive?”

I didn’t say nothing, because there Lawrence

was sitting in front of me and he was perfect, but I
knew I couldn’t say that, because it’d get
awkward. I knew he wouldn’t fancy me or nothing.

He was building card houses with the beer

mats. I couldn’t do nothing like that. My hands are
too big and clumsy, ’cept when I’ve got a pencil or
a brush in them. ’Course, Lawrence couldn’t
bench press the table we were sitting at, neither.
“Would you… Would you consider going out with
someone like me?” he asked without looking at
me.

Someone like him? That was all right,

because then we weren’t talking about him.
“Yeah, but someone like you wouldn’t go for a
bloke like me.”

He looked up then. “Why not?”
“Someone like you’d want someone he could

talk to. Not someone thick as pigshit.”

He looked at me like I’d told him he was a

wanker or something. “We’ve been talking just
fine.”

I had to think about that. ’Cause it was true,

we’d been talking for ages, and he didn’t look like
he was bored. I smiled. Then I remembered what
he’d said and wondered if I should stop smiling,
but I thought, what the hell.

“The last thing I want on a date is intellectual

conversation,” Lawrence carried on. “I get

quite

enough of that at work—bloody Hardwicke with
h i s

well, of course, if you want to take the

simplistic view of the Renaissance

.” Lawrence

put on a funny voice for that bit. I thought he
probably didn’t like that Hardwicke bloke much.
Then he downed his drink in one. I probably
should have told him to slow down, ’cause of how
he’d been last night, but I didn’t want to make him

not like me so much, so I didn’t. “Come back to
my place. We’ll get a takeaway—you like
Chinese?” I nodded. I love Chinese. He laughed.
“You’ll probably need to order the banquet for
four, the size you are.” He got up, and so did I,
and then he said, “And while we’re there, maybe
you can tell me what happened to my kitchen
knives? I haven’t been able to find them since last
night!”

So we went back to his place, and we had a

Chinese takeaway, and we watched old Charlie
Chaplin films. I like them ’cause you don’t have to
be clever to get the jokes. I never thought
someone smart like Lawrence would like them
too.

And it got a bit late, and I thought, well, Larry’s

a poof—see, he said I could call him Larry, ’cause
nobody else did—and he keeps smiling at me, so
maybe I should make a move? So I put my arm
round him and pulled him close, but he sort of
shivered, so I let go again. I didn’t want him to
start shaking like last night.

“No, come back,” Larry said, and he snuggled

into my side. I liked that. Then he reached up and

kissed me, and I liked that more, so I put my arm
round him again and pulled him onto my lap. He
laughed. “If we tried this the other way round,
you’d flatten me,” he said, and then he kissed me
again. So I didn’t have to try and think of nothing
to say. I liked the way his kisses tasted—all
sweet-and-sour sauce and white wine—and the
way his lips were so soft, but his chin was rough
with stubble.

“Where did you get this scar from?” he asked,

rubbing his thumb along it. It tickled when he got
to my lip.

“Beer glass.”
“Were you attempting to drink from it at the

time?”

“Nah. Some wanker in the pub din’t like my

face.”

Larry’s eyes went wide. “So he shoved a glass

in it? Christ!”

“’S all right. I broke his jaw.”
“God, I bet you did.” He laughed. “You know,

you’re really not the sort of person I’d want to
meet down a dark alleyway.” I didn’t say nothing,
’cause where we’d met last night had been down

a dark alley. Maybe he wished we’d never met?
“Joke, Al, joke,” he said, stroking my face, and I
felt better.

We kissed again, and I shoved my hand up his

shirt so I could feel his chest. Larry hasn’t got any
chest hair, and his skin felt so smooth and soft I
was worried I was going to scratch it with my
rough hands. “Oh, that feels good,” he said, like
he could read my mind.

Sometimes I wonder, if people get really

clever, can they read minds? But I don’t think
Larry can read mine. Not really.

I put my other hand on his arse and pulled him

in tight, but it wasn’t so good with stuff in the way.
“Get your clothes off,” I said, and it probably
sounded a bit rough, but there wasn’t nothing I
could do about that, I was so turned on.

Larry sort of shivered again, and scrambled off

my lap. It felt cold and empty without him. I pulled
off my shirt while he was unbuttoning his, and
Larry’s eyes went really wide. I guess he’d seen
my tats. I got them all over my chest, plus the
spider’s web on my neck that he’d seen already. I
got more on my back too, but he couldn’t see

those.

Larry got his trousers and underpants off really

quick, and climbed back on my lap, his cock
bobbing. It was a nice cock, thicker than you’d
expect but not so long you’d gag on it. He didn’t
kiss me, just ran his hands all over my shoulders
and chest. “God, you’re a work of art all by
yourself,” Larry said. “I mean, even without the
tattoos you’d be amazing, but with them—where
did you get them? I’ve never seen designs like
these.

They’re

reminiscent

of

Australian

aboriginal art, but there’s a subtle difference—it’s
intriguing.”

I liked that he liked them. “There’s this bloke

on Orwell Street. I told him what I wanted, and he
done them for me.”

“You designed them?”
“Nah, I just drew a picture on some paper and

told him what colours I wanted and stuff. It was
him what done the tattoos.”

Larry smiled. “That means you designed

them.” He started to kiss me all over, which felt
really nice. I grabbed hold of his arse with both
hands, squeezing it and pulling his arse cheeks

apart. I think he liked that, ’cause he sort of
moaned and started kissing me harder.

I still had my jogging bottoms on, but they were

stretchy enough I didn’t need to take them off to
get my cock out. I wanted him to ride me, but I
didn’t think he’d want to do that on a first date, so I
didn’t say nothing. So I rubbed our cocks
together, and he wrapped one of his little hands
around us both, and then I forgot all about doing
anything else, ’cause it felt so good. I used my
hands on his arse to move him up and down,
rubbing up against me, and he made those little
moaning sounds and threw his head back. I
wanted to bite his neck, mark it, but I didn’t think
he’d like that, so I bit and sucked at his chest
instead where no one would see it. His skin
tasted sweet, like white chocolate and fortune
cookies.

“Oh!” he gasped, and I felt his hot spunk hitting

my chest. It was so good, watching him come. He
didn’t look like a teacher no more. He looked wild
and happy. I could have watched him all night.

When he’d finished, he put his arms round my

neck. “Oh God, that was… You didn’t come?” He

looked worried.

“’S okay, I’m close,” I said, and I started

jacking myself off.

“No, let me.” He slid off my lap onto the floor

and put his mouth on my cock, and it felt like
heaven. I think I grunted a bit. He started bobbing
his head up and down, moving his tongue over
the head of my cock every now and then.
Watching his pretty little face, his lips stretched
round my cock, was better than the best porno I’d
ever seen.

“Going to come,” I told him, but he didn’t lift off.

I tried to move his head, but my hands weren’t
working so good, and I shot in his mouth. He
swallowed me down, except for a little bit that
dripped from the corner of his mouth.

When my breathing had steadied, I said, “You

should of made me wear a condom.”

“Statistically, unless I had an open cut in my

mouth—which I don’t—the chance of transmission
this way is very low,” Larry said. He sounded like
a teacher again. Then he looked a bit worried.
“Um, are you positive, then?”

“Nah, my mum makes me get tested regular,

but I always use a condom anyhow.”

“Thank God for that,” he said with a little laugh.

“I’m not normally this reckless, believe me.”

I pulled him back up into my lap so we could

kiss, ’cause I liked kissing him, but then we
remembered at the same time that I was still
covered in spunk, so we didn’t get that far. “Would
you like a shower?” Larry asked, still half on my
lap and half off.

“’S all right. I can have one at home,” I said,

’cause I didn’t want to be a bother.

“Actually, I was rather hoping you might stay

the night? I have to get up for work, and I’m sure
you do, but, well…”

I hope I wasn’t scaring him, ’cause I think I had

a big grin on my face. “All right,” I said. I got up,
lifting Larry up too. “Let’s shower.” Larry laughed
and told me to put him down, but I could tell he
didn’t mind, really. So I carried him upstairs to the
bathroom, and then I put him down on his feet on
the bathmat. He was still laughing when he put his
arms round me and kissed me. He’s good at
kissing, Larry is, even when he’s laughing.

There wasn’t a lot of room for both of us in the

shower, so we had to stand really close together.
Larry said he wanted to wash me, so he soaped
me up with about half a bottle of this expensive
shower gel that smelled like wood and leather. By
the time he’d rinsed me off, we were both hard
again, so we jerked each other off in the shower,
and I got spunk all over me again. It was magic.

We felt really sleepy after that, so we went to

bed. Larry’s got this really big bed. Emperor size,
they call it. It takes up most of the space in his
bedroom. I had to laugh at the thought of little
Larry sleeping in there all on his own—but when I
thought about it more, it didn’t seem so funny. I
didn’t like to think of Larry being alone. “You
must’ve been waiting for someone like me to
come along,” I said. I meant, because of the big
bed.

But Larry looked at me all funny and said,

“Yes, I think I was.”

Chapter Two

So after that we kept on seeing each other,

and Larry started asking me to these University
dinners and stuff. He said he’d buy me a suit, but I
told him I had one already from when I used to
work as a bouncer. “Why did you give that up?” he
asked. “I’d have thought that kind of thing would
be perfect for you.”

“Din’t like the hours. It’s nice, working outside

in the day and hearing the birds and stuff.”

“You’re just a big softy inside, aren’t you?”

Larry smiled at me.

I shrugged. If anyone else called me a softy, I’d

deck them. But I didn’t mind Larry saying it.

The night of the first dinner, Larry was all

keyed up like I used to be before a fight. I didn’t
get why he was nervous, ’cause he must have
been to loads of them, so I thought about it, and I
thought it must be ’cause of me. “Are you worried

about your mates seeing you with me?” I asked
him.

“No! No, Al, of course not!” He smiled at me

and gave me a kiss. “I’m looking forward to it.”

So I kissed him back, and we ended up on the

floor and had to really rush to get changed in time
after.

When we walked into this big hall with the

fancy woodwork, everyone stared at me and
Larry. I wasn’t sure if it was ’cause of me or
’cause we were two poofs, but there was loads of
other blokes without girlfriends, so maybe they
were used to poofs.

We walked past this tall bloke going bald on

top, and he looked at Larry and me and said, “My
God! Since when have gorillas been allowed into
Hall?”

Larry sort of huffed. “Really,

Doctor

Hardwicke,

one would have hoped that an English don would
have been able to come up with something a little
more original and pithy.”

I know he said pithy, not pissy. I asked him

afterward.

Larry carried on. “May I introduce you? This is

Alan, a very close friend of mine. Al, this is Clive
Hardwicke, one of the English fellows.”

He meant one of the University English

teachers. Not that Clive was an English bloke,
although he was that too.

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, and I smiled at

him. He looked a bit worried.

“Ah, likewise, I’m sure. Don’t let me keep you

from your seats.”

So we sat down, and they said grace, but it

was in Latin, so I don’t know how we was meant
to understand it. It seems daft, praying something
when you don’t know what you’re saying. But
maybe they were all clever and understood it, and
it was just me. So I just said my own grace in my
head, which was much shorter.

“Do you know which cutlery to use?” Larry

whispered to me.

I thought maybe he hadn’t been to one of these

dinners before after all. No wonder he’d been
nervous. I mean, no one expects anything much
from me, but a clever bloke like him wouldn’t want
to look stupid. “You just work from the outside in,” I
whispered back. “My mum taught me that. I’ll tell

you if you get it wrong.”

Larry laughed, but I guess I must have missed

the joke. That happens a lot, so it didn’t bother me
or nothing. I just gave him a big grin.

After dinner we had tiny little drinks of port in

tiny little glasses. I was worried I was going to
crush mine with my fingers, so I just held it and
didn’t drink it or nothing. I met some more of
Larry’s mates, and they all asked me what I did
and where I’d studied, which didn’t seem very
clever as I don’t think I look like I’ve got a degree
or nothing.

Larry was in a good mood when we left. “God,

did you see their faces? The entire evening?
Especially Hardwicke. I don’t think he’s been so
shocked since the college started admitting
women!”

“Yeah, I’ve had other blokes who went out with

me so they could shock their mates or their folks,”
I said, ’cause it was true.

Larry stopped dead in the street, and I

wondered if he’d had too much of that port to
drink. And then I thought, nah, no way, the glasses
were so tiny you’d need about a hundred to get

pissed. Though he is kind of little and he gets
pissed easy. “Al,” he said, “you know that’s not
why I’m with you, don’t you?”

“I don’t know why you’re with me,” I said,

’cause I didn’t.

He looked hurt. “Why are you with me?”
That was easy. “Because you’re pretty and

you’re clever and you know about paintings and
you like Charlie Chaplin.”

Larry gave me a big smile. He grabbed my

arm and we carried on walking. “Well, then. I’m
with you because you’re gorgeous and kind and
we have the same taste in comedy.”

“Okay.” I was pleased. Usually people can’t

think of more than one reason why they’re with
me. I know he didn’t mean it about me being
gorgeous, ’cause I got a face like a squashed
potato, and I know he likes cleverer stuff than
Charlie Chaplin, but it was sweet of him to say it.

We did sixty-nine that night. Larry went on top

so he didn’t get squished. He’s really good at
sucking dick. I wondered if he’d got exams in that
too, and I had to stop sucking him ’cause I was
laughing.

“What’s funny?” he asked with a smile like he

was getting ready for the joke.

I told him, and he laughed too. I like it when he

laughs, so I tickled him, and he tried to get away,
but I grabbed him round the waist and lifted him
off the floor, and then he couldn’t stop laughing.
So we gave up on sixty-nine and just rubbed off
on each other, nice and slow, and then we
cuddled up in Larry’s bed and went to sleep.

In the end, I spent so much time round at

Larry’s house that he said why don’t I move in?
So the next Sunday, I got all my stuff together and
I borrowed a van from my boss and drove it
round. We hung my punch bag up in the
basement, and Larry had a go at it, but he can’t
punch for shit. I told him that’s okay, ’cause he’d
got me to look after him now. And then we ended
up kissing and stuff, and I had him over the boxes
my weights were in and was late taking the van
back. I didn’t get into trouble, though. The boss
just said I’d better get my lazy arse in to work on
time tomorrow, and I did, so that was all right. I

didn’t tell him I’d been late because I’d been
fucking Larry. I thought he might be more cross if
I’d said that.

Larry’s got this loft conversion. It’s a big, open

room with these huge skylights and the walls
painted blue like the sky in winter the morning
after it’s snowed. First time I went up there, I just
stood in the middle and turned round, looking at it.
I guess I probably looked a bit stupid. Larry came
up and hugged me and laughed. “You like it?”

“It’s amazing,” I said. “It’d be perfect for doing

painting and stuff in.”

“Really? Why don’t you do that, then? Use it as

a studio. I’d love to see some more of your art.”
Larry had his hands on my chest, so I guessed he
was talking about my tats.

I shrugged. “Haven’t got any stuff. I mean,

apart from my sketchbook and that. Didn’t have
room for it, my old place.”

“We’ll get you some. There’s an art shop on

King Street. They should have most of the things
you need there.”

“’S expensive.”
“So? We’ll call it your moving-in present.”

I felt a bit bad. “I haven’t got you nothing.”
“Oh?” Larry looked up at me with big eyes. I

started getting hard, ’cause he’d put his hand on
my cock. “You haven’t got anything for me?
Anything at all?” He gave me a little squeeze. “I
think you’re wrong about that,” he said. “I think
you’ve got something for me right here.” Then he
stopped talking, ’cause I grabbed his arse and
pulled him against me hard and kissed him.

So we never got to the art shop that day. But

we went soon after, and I got all kinds of stuff—a
proper easel and brushes and paints and
canvases and all that crap. I didn’t let Larry pay for
it all. I think he was relieved.

I got Larry to pose for me first off. It took awhile

before I got any sketches done, though, ’cause
every time he got his kit off, we ended up fucking.
Then Larry had a good idea. He said we should
fuck first and do pictures after, and that worked
pretty good. I love looking at Larry when he’s just
been fucked. He gets this smile on his face that
doesn’t go away even when he’s nearly asleep,
and his whole body gets kind of softer.

I knew he’d get hacked off if I asked him to

stand up for me, so I got him to pose lying down
like he was asleep. I got the outline drawn, and I
was filling in the detail of his face when he started
making these snuffly noises, and I realised he
was asleep. That was good, ’cause I didn’t have
to worry about him getting bored no more. Larry
slept for ages. I guess he’d been working too
hard. I got sketches of him done from all different
angles, and when my hand started to cramp, I
went and kissed him to wake him up just like
Sleeping Beauty. Although I guess with me it was
more like Beauty and the Beast.

I thought Larry might want to fuck again when

he woke up, but he was dead keen to see my
sketches. He seemed to really like them. “These
are fantastic!” he said. “Very reminiscent of early
Lucian Freud—it’s a damned shame you weren’t
able to study at the Slade. Although come to think
of it, maybe it’s just as well—you seem to have
such an instinctive grasp of perspective and
composition, I’d hate to see that homogenised
out of you. Look—like this one—why did you put
the book there?”

I shrugged. I’d just thought it would look nice.

Like, there was a gap there that was book-
shaped? But I didn’t say that, ’cause it would’ve
sounded silly.

“And this one—such economy!” Larry looked

at me, and I guess I must’ve looked kind of blank.
“I mean, you haven’t used many pencil strokes,
but you’ve nevertheless created a strong image
out of them.”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “My arm was getting kind of

tired.”

Larry smiled at me. I wanted to kiss him, but I

stared at him instead, ’cause I wanted to
remember that smile, it was so perfect. Like he
was looking at something really beautiful. Even
though it was just my ugly mug.

Then he frowned and looked at his watch,

except it wasn’t there ’cause he still wasn’t
wearing anything. “What time is it?”

I got my watch out of my pocket. I don’t wear it

while I’m painting ’cause my mum gave it to me
when she won on the bingo and I don’t want to
ruin it. So I take it off when I’m sketching too, so I
won’t forget when I get my paints out. “It’s quarter
to eight.”

“Bugger, bugger, bugger!” Larry hurried over

to where he’d left his clothes. His cock was
jiggling about, and it made me smile.
“Department meeting at eight, dammit! Need to
get a bloody shift on.”

“But we haven’t had dinner or nothing,” I said. I

didn’t want him to go. I wanted to pick him up and
kiss him and do other stuff too.

“I’ll have to skip it,” Larry said. “Damn, damn,

damn. Where the hell are my socks?” Larry was
out of the house by ten to eight. He works too
hard.

I cooked up a big pan of pasta so he could eat

some when he got home, ’cause he doesn’t eat
enough. It’s no wonder he’s so little.

The next day, I didn’t have work and Larry

didn’t neither, so we had a lie in. We got a big
window in our bedroom that faces east or west,
whichever side the sun gets up on. I can never
remember stuff like that. But it’s great, when it
comes through the curtains and falls on us, all
warm ’cause we got red curtains. Larry and me

picked them out together.

Larry’s really sweet when he first wakes up.

Not when it’s a work day, ’cause he gets a bit
grumpy then ’cause he has to hurry. But when we
got a day off, he wakes up really slow and happy.

I always wake up horny, and that morning I was

hornier than ever, ’cause we hadn’t done nothing
the night before, ’cause Larry had been too tired
after his meeting. So when he snuggled up to me,
I pulled him on top of me so he could feel how
hard I was. I like the way Larry smells in the
morning, all warm and a bit sweaty, but clean too.
Larry always has a bath before bed. He uses
posh soap too, stuff you have to go to a special
shop for ’cause they don’t have it in Sainsbury’s. It
smells sort of woody. Larry says it’s sandalwood,
and it’s called that ’cause of the Latin name. They
don’t make sandals out of it or nothing.

“Mmm,” Larry said. “Someone’s up bright and

early.” He pressed his hips down so his cock was
rubbing against mine. Then he started kissing all
round my neck. I liked that a lot. I liked it even
more when he moved down to my chest. He was
being a cock-tease, kissing everywhere but my

nipples, but I didn’t mind, ’cause I knew he’d get
there in the end.

Then he surprised me by going straight down

to my cock, but I wasn’t going to complain about
that. Larry’s got a great little mouth. He can’t get
all my cock in it, but that don’t matter, ’cause he
does great stuff with what he can manage.

Larry had his hand on my balls, rolling them

about. I love it when he does that. He pulled off a
bit and swirled his tongue around the head of my
cock, looking up at me while he did it, ’cause he
knows that drives me crazy. It was great, but I
wanted to touch Larry. I wanted to make him feel
good too.

“Turn around,” I said. “Put your arse in my

face.”

Larry scrambled round on the bed till he had

his knees either side of my chest. Then he bent
down and put his mouth on my cock again. It was
magic, him sucking me off with his pretty little
arse in my face. I could feel the muscles flexing as
I grabbed hold of his arse cheeks, and when I
shoved my tongue in his crack, his hand tightened
on the base of my cock so hard I nearly came

right then.

I knew I was getting to him, ’cause when I

started rimming Larry, he pulled off my cock again
and went, “Oh God!” really breathy. I kept licking
him, and he kept panting, and he was working
away at my cock with his hand, but all jerky, like
he couldn’t control what he was doing.

I felt really close, and I wasn’t sure if he’d mind

if I came all over his face, so I said, “Jerk yourself
off while I rim you,” and he took his hand off my
cock and put it on his, and then he was coming
straight away, his whole body shaking. I had to
hold his hips really tight so I could keep my tongue
on him.

When he’d finished he said, “Oh God!” again,

and then he sort of flopped down on me and put
his mouth on my cock again, and he only had to
suck three times before I came.

We had bacon and eggs for breakfast. Mum

reckons it’s not healthy, but we only have it on
days off, so I guess it’s okay. And it makes the
kitchen smell great. I made sure the yolks were all

runny ’cause Larry likes to dip his toast in. “You
know what we haven’t done?” Larry asked when
we’d nearly finished.

I didn’t say nothing ’cause there was lots of

stuff we hadn’t done. I hoped Larry didn’t want to
get into weird shit like PVC, ’cause that stuff
gives me a rash.

“We’ve never gone punting!” Larry said, and

he smiled at me.

I smiled back, ’cause I was kind of relieved.
“We should get a picnic together and go—it’s

a glorious day out there,” Larry said. Then he
frowned. “Unless it’s a bit too much like a
busman’s holiday for you?”

“Nah,” I said, ’cause we can walk down to the

river easy from Larry’s house. We don’t need to
take a bus.

“Excellent! Tell you what, I’ll go to Marks and

Spencer’s and get in some supplies. Got to do
things properly!”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by doing things

properly. When my mum used to take me and my
sister on picnics, she just used to make ham
sandwiches and bung them in a bag. She used

the square pink ham you get from Sainsbury’s,
not the posh stuff Larry buys that tastes like real
meat. So I thought it was probably good he didn’t
want me to do the shopping.

When Larry came back from Marks and

Spencer’s, he had four bags of stuff. Some of
them was clinking. “I got some champagne, to go
with the strawberries,” he said. He looked really
happy about it, so I didn’t tell him I don’t like fizzy
wine much. There was so much stuff that in the
end we decided just to take the champagne and
strawberries and have a picnic on the Backs after
we’d taken the punt back, ’cause you’re not
supposed to moor punts up or nothing.

When we went down to Scudamore’s, my

boss said, “Bleedin’ ’ell, I thought we were getting
a break from your ugly mug today.” I laughed, but
Larry didn’t. My boss let us jump the queue for
punts, though, so Larry cheered up a bit then.

I thought Larry’d want me to do the punting, but

he grabbed the pole and got up on the back of the
punt. “Haven’t done this in years,” he said. He
was smiling like he was all excited to be doing it
again. “Wonder if I’ve still got the knack?”

I had to smile too, ’cause he looked even littler

with a great big pole in his hands. Then I thought
about that some more and I started to get a stiffie,
so I grabbed the bags and asked Larry if he
wanted me to open the wine and the strawberries.

“Wait until we get out along the Backs,” Larry

said. “Actually, no—you might as well get it open
now.” So I got out the champagne and popped
the cork off. It went in the river and started
bobbing about. I was worried about littering, but
Larry said it was okay ’cause corks come from
trees and are natural and stuff. Only he used
longer words than that.

Larry wasn’t doing too bad at punting, but it’s a

good thing he’s little, ’cause he forgot to duck
when we was going under Silver Street bridge. I
think it’s ’cause we’d started heading for the side,
and he was worried we’d get stuck. But I gave a
shove off the side, and we was all right. I warned
Larry before I did it. I didn’t want him to fall in or
nothing.

The next bridge is made of wood. I always

thought maybe it was a temporary one and they’d
build a proper one when they got round to it, but

Larry said no, it’s a mathematical bridge. That’s
the one I can never remember about. I thought
maybe if Larry explained it I might be able to
remember this time. I looked, but it didn’t have
any sums on it or nothing.

“It’s the design,” Larry said, “Popular legend

has it that when it was built, no nuts and bolts
were used in the construction, because of the
precise mathematical design. As you can see, it’s
got them now, but they’re supposed to have been
a later addition.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I wouldn’t trust a wooden bridge

built by a mathematician neither. You want to get
a proper carpenter in to do that kind of stuff.”

Larry laughed. I did too, ’cause I like seeing

him laugh.

When we got out at the back of King’s

College, I poured out the champagne. I like King’s
College. It’s the one with the really posh chapel
that looks more like a cathedral. I always thought
chapels were supposed to be really small, but you
could fit a whole row of houses from Larry’s street
into King’s College chapel. There’s this huge
patch of grass next to it, going down to the river. I

don’t do landscapes, but if I did, I’d do this one.
Even the bridges are really pretty down the
Backs.

“Al, you’re woolgathering! How about passing

me that champagne?”

I was wondering how Larry was going to

manage to drink wine while he was punting. He
had the glass in one hand and the punt pole in the
other, which was okay to start with, but when you
pull the pole back, you need to move your hand on
it. Larry shifted his hand down by sort of jerks, and
he ended up spilling most of his champagne, but
he seemed happy enough about it. “Like riding a
bike!” he said with a big grin on his face. “Oops—
bugger! Ah. Top-up?”

So I didn’t have to drink much fizzy wine after

all, ’cause Larry kept spilling his, so that was
good. But he drank enough that he got a bit
wobbly, so I said, “All right if I have a go?” and we
swapped over. I didn’t want him falling in. When I
got up, I was a bit worried, ’cause I’m a bit big to
stand up in a boat, but punts are really flat, so it
was okay.

Punting’s dead easy, ’cause you use the pole

to push off with, and when you’ve done that, you
can use it to steer with. So you don’t have to think
about two things at once. I didn’t try and hold a
glass while I was doing it, though. Larry got a bit
giggly, and he got me to open my mouth so he
could throw strawberries at me. But we had to
stop ’cause Larry can’t throw for shit, and people
in other punts were complaining about being hit
by strawberries. Even though they was Marks and
Spencer’s strawberries.

Up past King’s is this stone bridge with big

stone balls on it. Larry said it was Clare Bridge. I
said I hoped they’d stuck those balls down
properly, ’cause I didn’t fancy one of them coming
down on us when we went underneath. Larry
thought that was really funny, but I don’t think he’d
have been laughing if half a ton of stone dropped
through the bottom of the punt.

We got up as far as the Bridge of Sighs

before we thought we ought to turn back. Larry
said the bridge was named after a famous one in
Venice, and that he’d take me to see it one day.
The one in Venice, he meant. But I know people
often say they’re going to do stuff for you when

they don’t really mean it, so I didn’t get my hopes
up or nothing.

After we took the punt back, we had our picnic

up by Trinity College. It’s really pretty there, with
trees leaning down into the water like they’re
having a drink. Larry had a bit of a headache, so
we sat in the shade of one of them. There was
lots of students around, reading books and eating
sandwiches. Lots of them had their bikes with
them, just lying on the ground ’cause there was
nothing to stand them up against. “It must be
great, being clever,” I said, ’cause I’ve often
thought that.

Larry smiled, though he had his eyes closed.

He’d finished eating and was lying down, with his
jacket rolled up as a pillow, getting all crumpled.
“It’s all relative, you know. And being clever
academically doesn’t mean you’re any good at
other things.”

I don’t know about that. I think you need to be

clever for most things. Except maybe seeing that
it’s good to be clever. I think maybe that’s easier
if you’re not clever. “Like what?” I asked.

“Oh, you know. Life. People. The important

stuff.”

I thought about that for a bit. I wanted to ask

Larry what he meant by the important stuff, but his
breathing sounded like it was getting slower, and
his nose sort of twitched like he was about to
make one of those snuffly noises he makes while
he’s asleep. So I kept quiet and leaned back on
my elbows, looking at the trees and the river and
Larry, and I thought about how glad I was I’d
walked him home that night we met.

Chapter Three

Once I’d sketched Larry, I wanted to do a

proper painting of him. It was kind of difficult to
choose what pose, but I went for the one where
he’s all sprawled out on the rug. You can see his
cock just resting on his thigh, like a little animal
that’s gone to sleep. I like seeing him like that,
’cause I know I’m the one that’s going to wake
him up.

I like waking Larry up with a kiss. Only, you

know, it’s not always his mouth I kiss him on.

I think Larry likes that too.
I didn’t let Larry see the painting of him until it

was finished. And then I pretended it wasn’t
finished for a while longer, ’cause I was worried
he mightn’t like it. But then I thought, this is crazy, I
got to get this over with, so when he came home
from work one day, I dragged him straight up the
stairs to look at it.

Larry was laughing and saying, “Al, could I at

least put my briefcase down? Maybe change my
shoes?” And then he saw my picture of him, and
he didn’t say nothing for a really long time. I was
shitting myself. I thought he hated it. I thought he’d
never let me paint him again, and if I couldn’t do
that, I didn’t want to paint nothing ever again.

But then he just grabbed me and held me with

his face in my chest, and when he looked up
again his eyes were all shiny. “How did you…?
No, don’t try and tell me—words would just
cheapen it.” I was glad he said that, ’cause I’m not
that good with words. I thought he was going to
cry, but he was smiling too, so I guessed he didn’t
hate it too much. “Is this really how you see me?”

“’S what you look like,” I said, only I guess I

kind of mumbled it.

“You have to do more of these,” Larry said. It

sounded like he wanted me to do them right now.
“Not of me, though.” He smiled sort of funny. “Will
you hate me if I ask you not to show this one?” I
thought that was a daft question. I couldn’t never
hate Larry even if I tried. “I almost hate myself,” he
said, “But it’s just too…too private. It’s wonderful,

Al—really wonderful. You need to do more
paintings like this, with—with other models, and I
guarantee you they’ll be a huge success.”

My stomach felt a bit funny, ’cause I’d never

really thought of showing other people my
paintings anyway. But I didn’t want to disappoint
Larry. “Okay,” I said. “But I don’t know where I’ll
get guys to model for me.”

“Oh, students,” Larry said, like it was obvious.

Which it probably was, to him, ’cause he’s clever.
“Offer them a few pounds an hour just to sit
around with their clothes off, and they’ll be on you
like flies. I’ll put a notice up in the Porter’s Lodge
tomorrow.” He smiled at me. “After I see
someone about having this framed. You have
signed it, haven’t you?”

“I never thought of it,” I said, ’cause I hadn’t.
“What? You’ve got to sign it! Do it now!”
So I got my brush and I signed it, Alan

Fletcher. I did it small, ’cause I didn’t want to ruin
the picture or nothing.

Larry kissed me. “We’ll hang it in the

bedroom.”

No one’s ever hung one of my pictures in their

house before, ’cept my mum. I felt so proud, it
was like when I brought home my first pay packet.

We had Larry’s family round for dinner a few

weeks after I moved into his flat. I didn’t think they
liked me at first, but then Larry’s mum said she
could see I’d concentrated on my physical
education, which I thought was nice of her, though
Larry didn’t smile or nothing. Larry’s mum looks
just like him, all little and pretty, except she’s
older, of course, and she doesn’t smile as much.
Least, not when she’s looking at me. His dad’s
kind of little too, but his hair’s getting thin, and
he’s got a face like he’s been pissed off about
stuff for so long it’s stuck that way. I’m glad Larry
doesn’t look like him, ’cause how would I tell if he
was really pissed off about stuff or if it was just his
face?

Larry’s sister Alicia came too. She’s younger

than him and even littler, but she’s not as pretty,
which must be kind of tough, her being a girl. She
looks more like Larry’s dad, except she’s not
been pissed off about stuff for long enough for it

to stick yet. And she’s a girl, so she’s got all her
own hair. She’s a lawyer. I like lawyers. I told
Alicia I had a great lawyer when I got stitched up
on this assault charge when I was working as a
bouncer. He got me off all right. Alicia said she
did mostly road traffic and family law, and anyway
she didn’t do special rates for family and friends.

We were sitting round the table eating pasta

bolognaise and salad, and they started having
this conversation about people I didn’t know, so I
stopped listening. I started trying to work out if I
could bench-press the whole of Larry’s little
family, or just him and his mum and his sister, or
maybe him and his dad and his sister, and it
made me smile. Then I realised everyone was
looking at me.

“I just asked you, Alan, what was your opinion

about the trend towards modernisation in the
performance of the classics?” Larry’s dad said,
with his lip curled up all funny.

I think he thought I wouldn’t know what he

meant, but I did, ’cause Larry and me had gone to
see this weird Greek play only the last week
where this guy pokes his eyes out ’cause he

found out his wife was really his mum, and they
did it in all jeans and stuff. So I just said, “I think
it’s okay. I don’t think you should diss actors just
’cause they can’t afford proper costumes.”

Then Larry laughed, but his family all looked at

me like I had sauce all over my face or something.
So I wiped my mouth, but it was clean anyhow.
But I made sure I was extra careful eating after
that, just in case.

Larry’s mum and dad went home straight after

dinner, but his sister stayed so she could have a
row with Larry. They did it in the kitchen, and I was
in the living room, so I couldn’t hear much. They
weren’t shouting like my mum and stepdad used
to, but sometimes I heard bits. I heard a couple of
words like “taking advantage” and “just using” and
I worried she’d make Larry think he couldn’t trust
me, but he argued back, so I guess he didn’t
agree with her.

Then she said, “You can’t possibly

love

him,”

and I didn’t want to hear no more, so I turned on
the TV and watched some program. I don’t

remember what it was about.

When they came out of the kitchen, Larry and

his sister weren’t talking anymore. She had this
sort of tight look on her face, and Larry looked all
sad. After she left, I put my arms round him and
just held him. I knew he’d tell me about it if he
wanted to.

He sniffed. “I just wish they’d accept that we’re

happy

. You’re happy with me, aren’t you?”

I said “Yeah,” ’cause although I wasn’t feeling

happy right then, most of the time he makes me
happier than I’ve ever been in my life.

“I don’t see what the hell our living

arrangements have to do with them,” Larry said.

“I could move out if it’d make it easier,” I said,

but I didn’t want to. I just didn’t like seeing Larry
sad.

“No! No, you’re staying here,” Larry said. I got

that. He’s a grown man; he don’t want his family to
push him around and run his life. Sometimes you
got to make a stand on something, even when the
thing itself isn’t that important. It’s like the
difference between paintings and photos—it’s
what you don’t see in the photo that matters.

But I kind of wished it was the photo that was

real this time.

We went to bed, and I fucked him extra gentle,

and afterward, he cuddled up and said, “You
know why I’m with you, don’t you, Al?”

’Cause my head was still full of the paintings

and the photos and which one was the truth, I
didn’t really think before I answered. “You like the
way I fuck you,” I said. I mean, I didn’t say it nasty
or nothing; it just came out.

I knew I’d said something wrong straight away

when he sat up in bed and looked at me like he
did the night we met. “Is that what you really
think?” he asked.

I didn’t say nothing, ’cause I was worried I’d

make it worse.

“Al? Is that all it is for you? You just like the way

we…fuck?” I was going to say, he said “fuck” like
it’s a dirty word, but I guess it is, isn’t it? But he
said it like that anyhow.

But the question was okay; I could answer that.

“I like everything about you, Larry. I like the way
you look and how you’re so clever, and I like it
when we laugh together and watch TV together. I

like going to art galleries with you and hearing you
get all bitchy about some of the artists. I like
watching you when you’re doing marking, ’cause
you get these funny looks on your face. I like
watching you sleep and hearing that snuffly noise
you make. I like waking up with you at weekends
and spending the day together, just doing stuff
like walking round town and shopping and
cooking and stuff.” I kind of ran out of breath after
that.

For a moment, I thought he was going to cry.

“Is there anything you don’t like about me?”

I had to think. “Well, it pisses me off a bit when

you finish up the milk and don’t say nothing.”

Then he was laughing, but he still looked a bit

weepy. “Al. Listen to me. I love you, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, and I put my arms around him

and pulled him back down against me.

Chapter Four

Larry came back from work one day and told

me he’d been teaching his students about
tempera, and had I ever tried painting with it? And
I said no, so he said we should mix some up and I
could give it a try. He had a recipe and everything.

Tempera’s what they used to do paintings with

in the old days, back before they invented proper
paints and paint shops. You make it with eggs,
but the paintings don’t smell bad or nothing. So
we got some eggs and some pigments, and on
my day off we had a go at making tempera. It was
kind of like cooking. We had to separate the yolks
from the eggs, ’cause you don’t use the whites,
and then squeeze them out into a bowl. You dry
them off with kitchen towels first so they don’t slip
out of your fingers. I laughed a bit when I did that,
’cause they felt a lot like bollocks. I told Larry, and
he thought it was funny too.

Then we had to prick them with a pin and

squeeze out the insides, and it didn’t seem so
funny no more.

We added a couple of teaspoons of water and

the pigment. It was dead easy, really. I mean, we
had to wear masks and stuff while we was
grinding the pigments, ’cause that stuff’s nasty if
you breathe it in, and measure it all out careful,
but there wasn’t nothing to it, really. It’s funny what
they make the pigments out of. Some of them are
made out of bugs and snails and stuff, which is a
bit gross, but most of it’s just posh mud.

I had to get the panels ready to paint on first,

but I did that a couple of weeks earlier while Larry
was at work, ’cause it takes a few days and Larry
gets bored easy. I used hardwood panels, little
ones, ’cause I wanted to paint miniatures of Larry.
I thought that would be funny, me painting little
Larry in miniature. I didn’t say that to Larry,
though. I thought he might not have got the joke.

I used rabbit-skin glue to size the panels. I got

it from the art shop. I don’t know if they use real
rabbits in it. It seems kind of a shame if they do,
but then it’s not like there’s a rabbit shortage, is

it? And maybe they only used rabbits that
would’ve died anyhow. I had to boil the glue up in
a pan, and it stunk worse than my sister’s kids’
nappies. Even when they was ill. So I was glad
Larry was out all day. I had all the windows open,
but it still whiffed a bit, so in the evening I cooked
up a curry really slow in the oven so Larry wouldn’t
notice nothing.

I primed the panels with chalk gesso, just like

they would’ve done in the old days. I had to sand
them down after. It made them really smooth. Like
Larry’s skin. I thought about what that’d be like,
painting on Larry’s skin, and I got so hard I had to
jerk off ’cause I couldn’t concentrate on nothing.
Then I looked stuff up on Larry’s computer. You
can get all sorts of body paints. Some of them
even have flavours. So I put in an order.

I didn’t wait to ask Larry first. I was pretty sure

he wouldn’t mind.

When we finally got down to making the paints,

Larry got kind of uptight when we was measuring
out the water and stuff, ’cause he thought we had
to do it exactly how the recipe said, but I knew the
texture wasn’t right for what I wanted to do with it.

So I just put in what I thought was right, and it
worked a treat, and afterward Larry came and put
his arms around me while I was painting with it.

“You know,” he said, “you never cease to

amaze me.”

I didn’t say nothing. I thought he’d tell me what

he was on about if I waited.

“Here you are, a damning indictment of our

education system, only one GCSE to your name,
and you’re mixing up tempera like a modern-day
Michelangelo.”

I felt kind of hot and prickly when he said that,

sort of half in a good way and half not. “I’m not
Michelangelo,” I said, ’cause I know my paintings
are okay, but they ain’t nothing special.

“Mmm,” Larry said in my ear. “Michelangelo

wasn’t anything like as sexy as you. Are you
nearly finished there?” He put his hand inside my
T-shirt and started feeling up my pecs. I wasn’t
finished with the layer, but I figured it could wait a
bit, ’specially when he started squeezing on my
nipples.

I put down my brushes, and I got hold of Larry

and pulled him toward me. My cock was hard

already, so I grabbed his hips and pressed him
against it. “Oh yes!” he said, all breathy, and he
shoved his hands back up my T-shirt. I yanked it
off, ’cause I wanted him to suck my nipples. He’s
really good at that.

I think Larry knew what I wanted, but he made

me wait. He bent his head down and kissed all
round my chest, and then he nuzzled into my
armpit. I thought it probably smelled a bit strong,
but he didn’t seem to mind. He kissed me there
too, and then he licked me, right where the hair
was. It felt way better than you’d think it would, but
I still wanted him to suck my tit. Just as I was
about to say something, Larry started to circle my
nipple with his tongue. It jumped up almost as
hard as my cock, and I ground up against him. He
started sucking on my nipple, and it felt great, but
it still wasn’t enough. “Want to fuck you,” I said.

Larry pulled his mouth off my tit, sucking all the

way so it got even bigger. His hair was all
mussed up, and his lips were shining red. “How
do you want me?” he asked. “From behind? Bent
over the workbench?”

“No, I want to see your face,” I said, ’cause I

had a plan. I hadn’t had a plan before we started
this, but it just came to me sudden. I wanted to
paint Larry how he looks when he comes, so I
wanted a good view of his face so it’d be fresh in
my mind, though I don’t think I could ever forget
that, really.

So I let Larry go, and he took his clothes off as

quick as he could. I pulled off my jogging bottoms,
and that’s when I remembered we didn’t have any
stuff for fucking up here. “We got to go down to
the bedroom,” I said. “Get the lube.” We weren’t
using condoms no more ’cause we’d both had
tests and come back negative.

Larry had all his kit off by then. “Isn’t there

anything round here we could use? Aren’t oil
paints, well, slippery?”

I know Larry’s way cleverer than me, but that

didn’t seem like such a good idea. “Uh, yeah, but I
really don’t think you’d want them up there.
They’re kind of toxic.”

Larry shuddered. “Fair enough. Just use spit,

then. It’ll be okay.”

I wasn’t sure, ’cause he’s such a little guy, and

my dick ain’t small. Then I remembered the boiled

linseed oil I got for when I’m using oil paints. You
get different effects if you mix it in. “I got this,” I
said, grabbing the bottle. “This’ll be okay.”

“See?” Larry grinned at me. “I knew you’d

come up with something.” He put his arms round
me and kissed me while our cocks rubbed
together. Then he lay back on the floor, all
sprawled out and waiting for me. I nearly dropped
the bottle, I was so keen to get down there on top
of him. He pulled up his legs so I could slick him
up and stretch him out a bit, and my dick was
aching, I needed him so much. “Put it in,” Larry
said, so I used some more of the oil getting
myself ready, and then I lined up with his hole and
pushed.

Larry always looks so little, folded up beneath

me. It makes me kind of scared I’m going to hurt
him. I pushed in really slow and gentle, so he
could stop me if he needed to. “Yes, yes—don’t
stop!” he said, and I thought it was probably okay.
He was still hard, so I guess it couldn’t have hurt
that much.

When I was all the way in, I stopped for a

minute, just so I could feel him around me. I felt

like the luckiest guy in the world. But then Larry
said, “Move! Now, for God’s sake!” so I started
thrusting in and out of him, and when I do that, I
always get carried away, going faster even if I
don’t mean to, and soon I was slamming into him
like my dick was a fist and Larry was a punch
bag. “Yes! God, just like—yes!”

Larry’s face was all pink, and his hair was dark

with sweat. He looked beautiful. I told him to wank
himself off, and when his hand wrapped round his
dick, it felt like it was around mine too, and I
couldn’t help, I started coming ’cause it was all so
fucking amazing. And then Larry went “Oh God!”
and he was coming too, shooting his load up
between us.

I just kept looking at his face, and it was the

most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

I got the egg tempera pictures finished in the

end. I did one miniature of Larry all normal, just
smiling, and one of his face when he comes.

Larry really liked the normal one, and he put it

up on the mantelpiece so everyone could see it.

He made me promise never to show anyone

the other one.

Ever since I moved in with Larry, my mum had

been on at me ’cause she hadn’t met him yet. So I
was going to ask her round, but Larry said we
should take her out somewhere. Somewhere
proper. So we took her for afternoon tea at the
University Arms hotel. Larry thought it would be a
nice place to go. I thought my mum would
probably rather have us round for tea in her front
room, but Larry said he wanted to take her out
proper.

I liked that idea because it was like he thought

we was proper, you know? Like, not just fucking.
So I told Mum where we was going, and she said
“Bleedin’ hell, that’s posh! Do I have to buy a
bloody hat?” but I asked Larry, and he said we
wouldn’t need hats or nothing for afternoon tea.

So that afternoon, Mum got them to let her

work a split shift at Sainsbury’s, and I went and
got her, and we met up with Larry at the University
Arms. Mum was a bit nervous about what she

was wearing, even though she bought it special
from her catalogue. “Are you sure I don’t look
cheap, love?” she asked me when I picked her
up.

“I think you look really pretty, Mum,” I told her,

’cause she did. “I like you in pink. It looks nice with
your hair.”

“You think so, love? You can say what you like

about that girl at the salon, her with the piercings
in her God-knows-where—and don’t think I don’t
know what I’m on about, ’cause she goes to the
swimming pool same as me and I’ve seen them
—but she knows her way around a bottle of
bleach. You don’t think these heels are too tarty?”

“Anyone calls my mum a tart, I’ll deck them,” I

said.

Mum gave me a hug. “That’s nice, love, but we

don’t want ’em thinking it neither. And we
definitely don’t want you up on another assault
charge. Sod it, I’m wearing ’em. Take me as I
come, that’s what I always say.”

Larry was waiting for us in the entrance of the

hotel so we’d be able to find him okay. I was really
proud of him, ’cause he’d dressed up all nice for

my mum. He had on a creamy shirt that toned in
with his hair and made him look really pretty, but
no tie or nothing, ’cause he knew I wouldn’t be
wearing one. I don’t like wearing a collar and tie if
I don’t have to. They don’t really make them for
guys with necks as thick as mine. Larry was
looking at a picture hanging on the wall and he
didn’t see us come in. “Larry,” I said, and he sort
of jumped and twisted round at the same time,
and I worried he’d get a crick in his neck. “This is
my mum,” I told him.

“So you’re my Alan’s fancy man, are you?”

Mum asked Larry. “I must say, it’s the first time
he’s ever introduced me to one of his boyfriends.
Not that I haven’t

met

them, mind, but it’s the first

time he ever done it proper. I always knew he was
that way, though. Do your parents know you’re
that way, Larry?”

Larry’s eyes went big, so I gave his hand a

squeeze. I don’t think he knew which question to
answer first. He smiled at her. I smiled too.
Everyone likes my mum. “It’s a pleasure to meet
you, Mrs. Fletcher,” Larry said in his posh voice.
He held out his hand for Mum to shake.

“Oh, it’s Mrs. Jones now, but call me Lizzie,

love, everyone does. I wasn’t never a

Mrs.

Fletcher anyhow, though I won’t tell if you don’t!
You don’t mind if I call you Larry, do you? That’s
what my Alan calls you. He talks about you all the
time when he comes round these days—not that
it’s as often as he used to, mind, but I know what
it’s like when you’ve got a new bloke!” Mum
laughed. “Alan tells me you work at the University,
Larry. Teaching. My granddad was a teacher
—’course, it was all different in them days.
Teachers got a bit of respect, or the kids knew
what was coming to them.” Mum’s eyes
narrowed. “Do your students give you respect,
Larry?”

“Er, yes, I suppose so. Well, you know.” Larry

looked a bit nervous.

“I’m glad to hear it, love. Now, are we going to

go have a cup of tea, or are we going to stand
around nattering all afternoon? Don’t know about
you, but I’m spitting feathers, as my old Nan used
to say!”

We had tea in the lounge bar. We had to walk

through this circular room with the biggest

chandelier I ever seen. “I’m glad I’m not having to
sit underneath that thing!” Mum said. “I’ve seen

Phantom of the Opera

—I know them things aren’t

safe!” She jabbed Larry in the ribs with her elbow,
and he stumbled and nearly fell over a table. I
probably should’ve warned him she does that.
“Oops! Sorry, love! Don’t know my own strength
sometimes!”

Larry laughed, though, so it was all right. “Well,

I think I know where Al gets his impressive
physique from, at any rate,” he said in his smooth
voice, the one he uses when he wants people to
like him. He was rubbing his stomach a bit, but I
don’t think he was really hurt or nothing.

“You reckon? There’s nothing of me in that

boy. Not a bleedin’ thing. When the midwife give
him to me, I said ‘Take him back, I asked for a
small one!’ And she goes ‘Sorry, love, round here
all sales are final!’ and hands me a flippin’
elephant! Bleedin’ massive, he was. If it’d been
up to me, I’d still’ve been on the gas and air three
weeks later. He’s the spit of his father, though,
bless him.”

“Al never really talks about his father,” Larry

said, looking at Mum all interested.

“He was a boxer. He’d just got out the nick for

GBH when I met him down the pub. I was a
barmaid back in them days. He’d broke some
copper’s nose—well, I ask you! Should of known,
shouldn’t I? Bloke who goes round beating up
coppers ain’t the sort you want to be settling down
with. Poor sod didn’t have two brain cells to rub
together, neither.”

“Mum,” I said, ’cause I didn’t like her talking

about my dad like that.

She gave me a hug, and I felt better. “His heart

was in the right place, that’s what I always say. He
always came round on your birthdays if he
remembered, din’t he, love? And give me money
and stuff, when he had it, which wasn’t often, but
not for want of trying, was it? Now, where do we
sit? You two lovebirds go on the sofa. Cuddle up
a bit, don’t mind me!”

“Mum,” I said, ’cause I felt a bit funny cuddling

up with Larry in public. It’s daft, ’cause I’m dead
proud of him—I mean, he’s the one who ought not
to want to be seen with me. I guess I’m just a bit
shy. So we sat on the sofa but a bit apart, and

Mum had the chair on the other side of the table.

“So where is he now?” Larry asked. “Al?” I’d

been looking at the windows, which had stained
glass in them like a church, except just in little
round panels in the middle, not the whole window,
and was wondering how they stained the glass
and whether I could have a go at it. I had to think
about what Larry meant.

Mum knew, though. “Alan’s dad? Gawd

knows. Ain’t seen him in years.”

“Oh? But what about Al’s nieces and

nephews? Doesn’t he want to be involved with his
grandchildren?”

“Oh, Lauren’s kids ain’t nothing to do with him.

I met her dad when Alan was a toddler, we got
married and everything. He lives down in London
these days—reckons the money’s better. He’s a
plumber. Gave my pipes a good seeing to, didn’t
he?” Mum laughed, and so did Larry. “Lazy
bugger, but at least he always sent the Child
Support regular. Now, are we having the works, or
just tea and a slice of cake?”

“Oh, I thought we’d go for the full afternoon tea,

if that’s all right with you?” Larry said all polite like.

“I’m sure Al can help us out if we have trouble
finishing it all.”

“Too bloody right! Et me out of house and

home, this one did, didn’t you, love? I swear, the
day he moved out, the Tesco’s down our way had
to lay off half their staff!”

We had sandwiches cut in fingers and posh

cakes and scones with jam and cream. Mum said
she wouldn’t be able to eat for a week afterwards,
but I was still a bit hungry. I don’t know what they
did with all the crusts from the sandwiches.
Maybe they put them out for the birds after
everyone had gone home. I hoped so. It’d be a
shame to waste them.

Afterwards, Mum and Larry and me went for a

walk down on Midsummer Common. It’s really
pretty down there, with the trees and the river and
everything. There were kids playing football and
Frisbee with their dads.

“You’re quiet,” Larry said to me. “That means

you’re thinking of something.”

I think I’m quiet lots of times, but it doesn’t

mean I’m thinking about nothing. But I was that
time. “My dad brought me down here sometimes

when he came to visit,” I said. “We used to kick a
football around a bit while Mum was looking after
Lauren.”

“She took a lot of looking after, the little

madam,” Mum said. “I was glad enough to get
one of you off my hands for an afternoon!” She
gave me a dig in the ribs with her elbow, but I’m
used to it, so it didn’t hurt or nothing. “Oh, but you
were no bother, love. Always happy with your
pencils and your paints, weren’t you? Some of
them pictures weren’t bad.”

“I’ve seen some of Al’s pictures, and I think

they’re very good,” Larry said. “In fact, I’ve got a
friend who owns a gallery not far from here, and
I’m thinking of asking him to take a look at them.”

“You’re never!” Mum stopped walking, she

was so surprised. “Get away!”

Larry smiled at her. “Oh, Al’s not just a pretty

face.” Then he stopped smiling, ’cause Mum had
dug her elbow in his ribs again.

“

Not just a pretty face?

Gawd, you crack me

up, Larry, you really do!” Mum was laughing like it
was the best joke ever. “Bloody hell, I think I wet
myself. Not just a pretty face! Sweetheart, you

know I love you, but Gawd! I’ll never forget the
time Lauren’s Chloe asked if you was an ogre
like Shrek!”

I laughed too, ’cause I remembered that. Larry

didn’t laugh. He was rubbing his side. He
muttered something, but I didn’t hear it.

Larry didn’t seem to want to talk to my mum

much after that. When we said goodbye to her,
she said, “Now, Larry, you seem like a nice bloke
and all, so I’ll give you fair warning: mess my boy
around, and you’d better stop shopping at
Sainsbury’s. Unless you fancy a bit of rat poison
in your fruit and veg.”

I was worried Larry would be pissed off with

Mum, but he seemed to cheer up after that.

That night, we were cuddled up in bed, and

Larry asked me, “Do you miss your dad?”

I nodded. Then I remembered it was dark, so

Larry wouldn’t be able to see me. I mean, he
probably felt my head move ’cause he had his
head on my chest, but he probably couldn’t tell if it
was a yes or a no. So I said, “Yes.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” His

voice made the hairs on my chest tickle.

“When I was thirteen. I showed him my

paintings and stuff, and he was dead proud of
me. He taught me some boxing moves and said
he’d see me next birthday, but he never turned up.
Mum reckoned he must’ve been back in the nick.”

Larry kissed my chest. “My poor darling.”
“I kept hoping, but he never came again. Not

on any of my birthdays. He’s probably dead or
something.” My chest felt all tight when I said it.

“You don’t know that,” Larry said, and he

scrambled up the bed a bit and looked at me, but
he didn’t turn the light on, so I don’t think he
could’ve seen much. He kissed me on the lips
that time, so I pulled him on top of me, and we
kissed some more. I got hard like I always do
when Larry’s on top of me, so we rubbed off on
each other, really gentle at first, then harder and
faster. I never met anyone who made me feel like
Larry does. I don’t mean just the fucking. He
makes me feel special, like I’m not just a set of
muscles and a big cock. Larry ground down
against me, and it was fantastic, so I grabbed

hold of his arse with both hands and pressed him
into me again. “God, I’m not going to last long,” he
said.

I thought that was good, ’cause I wasn’t going

to last long either. I didn’t get to say it, ’cause
Larry kissed me, pressing his lips into me like he
wanted to eat me up, and I pushed up against him
again and again, our cocks bruising each other,
and then I was coming, and I groaned into his
mouth, ’cause it felt like heaven. Larry rubbed
against me till it was almost too much, almost
painful, and then he said, “Oh God!” and he
spurted hot come between us, mixing it with mine
on my belly.

Chapter Five

I wanted to practise faces a bit, and seeing as

it was just practice, I thought I might as well just
draw my own face. I mean, it’s got eyes and a
mouth and a nose just like everyone else’s, even
if it is a bit squished. I thought it wouldn’t matter
that I’m not good-looking or nothing.

So I got out a mirror and started drawing. It

was weird at first, but when I got into it, it wasn’t
like I was drawing me, if you know what I mean. It
was like it was just another face. So I did a
sketch, but I wasn’t happy with it ’cause I thought
I’d made my scar too big. I mean, it ain’t small, but
it ain’t that big neither. So I had another go.

After a while, Larry came up to see what I was

doing. I told him it was just practice stuff, but he
still wanted to look at it. So I showed him my
sketches. “These are great,” he said. “Are you
planning to do anything with them?”

“Nah,” I said. “I was just going to bin them.

They’re just practice.”

“You can’t do that!” he said like I’d told him I

was going to go to one of his posh college
dinners with no tie on.

I shrugged. “’S not like anyone’s going to want

to see them.”

“I want to see them!” Larry handed me back

the first one I did. “I’m keeping this one,” he said,
looking at my second sketch with this funny smile
on his face.

“You don’t want that,” I said. “’S bad enough

you got to look at the real thing.”

“What? Al, what on earth are you talking

about?”

I didn’t say nothing. I mean, Larry’s really

clever, and we’d been together for months. He
must’ve noticed what an ugly mug I got by now.

Larry stepped closer. He still had that funny

smile on his face, but he looked a bit sad too.
“You know what I like about this sketch? I like all of
it, but the eyes are particularly good. You’ve got
wonderfully expressive eyes, and you’ve captured
them beautifully here. There’s the tiny furrow

between your brows you always get when you’re
concentrating—just a suspicion of it, really. I don’t
suppose everyone would notice it… And here, at
the corner of your mouth—that bit that quirks up
when you’re pleased about something. A sort of
embryonic smile.”

I shrugged. “Don’t like my smile.”
Then I wished I hadn’t said it, ’cause Larry

stopped smiling. “Let me guess—some

idiot

once told you it was sinister?”

I didn’t say nothing, ’cause it was him what had

said it. I think he remembered he’d said it.
Sometimes Larry says stuff like it’s a question
when it’s not really. I don’t think he does it to be
confusing on purpose. It’s just the way clever
people talk.

“Al, listen to me. You have a wonderful smile.

No one who knows you could think anything but
that.” Larry reached up and ran his fingers over
my face. Even my scar, and my nose where it’s all
squashed. “Don’t ever think I don’t like the way
you look. I love the way you look.”

My chest felt all funny, like it needed Larry

against it, so I put my arms round him and hugged

him tight.

Larry was right about the students wanting to

model for me. Larry’s always right. We had so
many, I got to choose the ones I wanted, which
was good, ’cause a lot of those students really
aren’t that fit. I think they don’t get enough fresh air
and exercise with all that studying and all. But
Larry knew which ones were into rowing and stuff,
so I knew which ones to choose. Larry always
says he likes to look at fit bodies, so I thought if I
did those, he’d like them even if no one else did.

One of them was this Japanese guy, Ren. He

was short like Larry, but he had lots of muscles.
You could have made two of Larry out of Ren,
easy. It’s not the kind of thing I go for, but I thought
he’d be interesting to paint ’cause he was so
different to Larry.

His skin colour was really tricky to get right. It

was really nice, ’cause he’d been out in the sun
with his shirt off and got a tan, but it was a
different shade from when I get a tan. More
warmer. So I had to play around with the colours a

bit, ’cause I didn’t want to make him look like he’d
got jaundice. My nephew Jayden, that’s my sister
Lauren’s second baby, he had jaundice when he
was born. They had to shine a special lamp on
him to make him get better, but it wasn’t to give
him a sun tan or nothing, ’cause that’s bad for
babies. I know ’cause I asked the nurse.

I got Ren to pose standing up for me, so he

could show off his muscles. When he flexed, he
looked kind of mean, and I didn’t want to paint
mean, so I got him to pose with his back to me.
He was really good at keeping the pose and
everything. I got him to come again ’cause it was
working out so well.

I think it was the third or fourth time Ren posed

for me that it all went wrong. Larry said later he
called out, “Al, I’m home! Are you upstairs?” But I
didn’t hear him, ’cause it was two stories down,
and I guess I was concentrating. I was finding
Ren’s arse really tricky to get right, so I was
crouching down behind him looking at it really
close.

I guess Larry came up to look for me, ’cause

all of a sudden I saw his head as he got to the top

of the steps. So I smiled at him, but he didn’t
smile at me. He was looking at Ren, ’cause he
was in front of him. I mean, Ren was between me
and Larry, with his back to me and his front to
Larry. Larry went a bit red, and Ren said, “Oh,
hello, Dr. Morton.” His hands wobbled a bit, like
he wanted to cover himself up, but he didn’t want
to get out of the pose.

“I’ll—I’ll come back later,” Larry said.
I didn’t want to see him go when he’d only just

got in. “Hang on, I’m nearly finished. I just got to
finish his arse.” I was looking at it carefully, ’cause
the light was kind of tricky on the curves of it and I
wanted to get it right. So I didn’t see Larry go, but
I heard him walking down the stairs. He was
walking really slow, like he was tired or
something.

I wanted to go after him, but I didn’t think Ren

would want to wait around. So I worked on Ren’s
arse till I’d got the lines just right, then I put down
my pencil. “Thanks, Ren.”

“Anytime!”
I gave him the money for modeling, and he

gave me a kiss, which I wasn’t expecting.

’Specially as he hadn’t got his kit back on. “I, uh, I
gotta talk to Larry,” I said.

Ren said, “Okay, same time on Friday?” I

nodded. He smiled and said, “Give me a call if
you need me back here sooner. For anything.”
His voice went all funny, like he had a sore throat,
and then he gave me another kiss.

I was going to ask him not to do that again,

’cause I’m with Larry, and anyway if he’d got a
sore throat he shouldn’t go passing his germs
around, but then I saw Larry had come back up
the stairs. I gave him a big smile. “Hey, Larry,” I
said. “I’m all done. Ren’s just leaving.”

Larry had this pissed-off look on his face, so I

thought maybe he’d been talking to Dr.
Hardwicke again today. “Good. Dinner’s ready.”
After he said it, he pressed his lips tight together
and watched while Ren got his kit back on. Ren
didn’t try and kiss me again.

We went downstairs and ate. Larry made

risotto, but it was a bit burnt. Usually he’s a better
cook than that. I guess he just had a really bad
day at work. “You should’ve let me cook,” I said.

Larry gave me this tight little smile. “I didn’t

want to interrupt you. From what I could see, Ren
was keeping you

quite

busy.”

“Yeah,” I said. “His arse was kind of

interesting.”

He didn’t say much after that.
After we had our tea, we went and watched

TV. There was some boxing on one of the
satellite channels. Usually we cuddle up on the
sofa, but that night Larry didn’t seem to want to.
So we sat at opposite ends. I didn’t like it so
much, but I know some guys like their space, so I
didn’t say nothing. Even though Larry doesn’t
usually like space. When the adverts came on,
Larry sort of huffed and said, “I’m going to bed.”

I got the remote, and I was going to switch the

TV off, but he said, “No, no, you stay down here
and watch the rest of the fight.”

So I did, but I didn’t enjoy it like I usually do.
When I got to bed, Larry looked like he was

asleep, so I didn’t try to cuddle him or nothing. I
knew he’d had a hard day. So I just got into bed,
but I couldn’t get to sleep, and I didn’t want to
wake him up by moving about when my legs got
restless, so I went back downstairs and put the

TV back on. That just made me more restless, so
I went down to the basement and I punched the
shit out of my punch bag, and after that I came
back up and fell asleep on the sofa.

When I woke up next morning, I was still on the

sofa. Larry was already dressed. He was rushing
around and muttering like he was late for work,
and the kitchen smelled of burnt toast.

I tried to grab him and give him a kiss, but he

wouldn’t let me. “Sofa comfortable, was it?” he
asked. His voice sounded a bit like it does when
he talks about Dr. Hardwicke.

“Not really,” I said. “I got a stiff neck.” I yawned

and rubbed it a bit. Usually when I get a stiff neck,
Larry gives it a rub, but I guess he didn’t have
time.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, and then he was

out the door. I felt sad, ’cause it was like we
hadn’t really spoken or touched or fucked or
nothing since he’d been at work yesterday. But I
know he’s got a really important job, and he has
to work hard.

I hoped he’d have a better day and be back to

normal when he came home, but he was still really
quiet when he got back for dinner. I cooked pasta,
but he didn’t eat much. Then he said he had a
meeting to go to, and I shouldn’t wait up.

I waited up anyway, but it’d been a really busy

day on the punts, so I fell asleep on the sofa. I
don’t know when Larry came home, ’cause he
didn’t wake me. I woke up at six a.m. and went to
bed, but Larry was fast asleep, so I didn’t like to
wake him.

When he was still really quiet and wouldn’t let

me touch him or nothing on Thursday, I knew
something was really wrong. Something bad. I
tried to think what it was, but I guess I’m not very
good at thinking. I was going to ask Larry, but his
mum rang. She always rings on Thursdays,
’cause that’s my night with Phil and Daz at the
pub, but this Thursday I didn’t feel like going out or
nothing.

I don’t know what they spoke about, ’cause he

went into the kitchen and shut the door, but I don’t
think she cheered him up or nothing. He was even
quieter when he came out. I wanted to say

something to make it better, but I’m no good at
that. I can never think of what to say. So I tried to
cuddle him, but he wouldn’t let me.

I couldn’t stand it, so I went out to the pub

anyway. Phil was there with Leanne from Lidl, but
they had a big fight and split up again. Daz said
he found out she was cheating on him. I don’t
know how people can do that. Either you want to
be with someone or you don’t.

Then I thought, what if they don’t want to be

with you?

I probably drank a bit too much after that,

’cause I felt a bit pissed when I got home. I knew
Larry’d be asleep, so I just slept on the sofa
again. I think I made a bit of noise when I got
home, ’cause I think Larry came out in his
dressing gown. But maybe I only dreamt that,
’cause if he’d really come out, he’d have asked
me to go to bed, wouldn’t he? And he didn’t, he
just frowned, so I think it was just a dream.

Friday morning Larry was gone before I woke

up. I felt really bad. Not just hung over. I felt like I

wanted to smash something, and it scared me,
’cause I never feel like that. Work helped a bit,
’cause I had stuff to do, but my boss kept telling
me not to look so bloody scary ’cause it was bad
for business.

When I got back home, I remembered Ren

was due. I didn’t feel much like painting or
sketching or nothing, but then I thought, maybe if I
painted something really good, Larry would like
me again. So I worked really hard on it. I was just
putting away my stuff when Ren came over to me.
I’d thought he was getting his kit back on, but he
hadn’t. He was still in the nude.

“Can I see?” he asked.
“Nah,” I said. “I don’t want no one to see it till

it’s finished.”

Ren smiled. “I could make it worth your while.”
I was thinking about that, ’cause I thought he

meant he’d pay me to see it, and that was really
weird ’cause I was paying him to pose for me,
and I thought the sums were going to get really
difficult, and then he kissed me again.

I hadn’t realised till then how much I’d missed

being kissed. Larry and me used to kiss all the

time, but just lately we hadn’t kissed hardly at all. It
was nice, the kiss was, and I guess I started
kissing him back.

And then I thought about Phil, all upset

because Leanne from Lidl was cheating on him,
and I thought about Larry being all upset, and I
wanted to smash things again. I pushed Ren
away. I did it gently, though, ’cause I didn’t want to
hurt him.

That was when I saw Larry was there, at the

top of the stairs. I don’t think he must’ve called out
or nothing when he came home this time. He had
this look on his face that made my throat feel all
tight.

“Let me guess,” he said really quietly. It

sounded like his throat was hurting too. “It’s not
what it looks like.”

I thought about that. What it must’ve looked

like was me kissing Ren without his kit on. So I
didn’t say nothing, ’cause that was what it was.

“I’m… I’ve got to go,” Larry said, and then I

heard him running down the stairs.

“Oops,” Ren said.
Something went

snap

in my head, and I took a

step forward.

Ren’s eyes went really big, and he walked

backwards a bit. “Hey, calm down, all right? Look,
I’m going.” He grabbed his clothes and started
putting them on. I don’t think he noticed his T-shirt
was inside out. “No need to pay me, okay? On the
house. I’ll see myself out.”

He grabbed his shoes and ran down the stairs

with them. I heard the front door go so quick he
must’ve still not got his shoes on when he went
outside.

I sat on the floor and looked at my picture of

Ren. For a moment, I wanted to throw it out the
window, but I thought Larry might be cross. So I
just went downstairs and waited for Larry to come
home.

I waited a long time. It got way later than Larry

normally comes home. I’m not sure how late it got,
’cause in the end I fell asleep on the sofa, but
Larry still never came home.

I didn’t feel like going in to work next day. I

called my boss and told him I was sick. I thought

maybe if I waited around the house, Larry would
come back. I didn’t know what to do, so I called
my mum, but she was working.

I didn’t know where Larry could’ve been. I

thought maybe he’d had an accident or
something and was in hospital or dead, and that
was why he never came home. I didn’t know how
you found out about stuff like that. I thought maybe
I should ring the hospital or the police or
something, but Larry and me, we’re not family or
nothing. I thought they probably wouldn’t tell me.

I thought maybe I should ring Larry’s family,

because if something bad had happened to him,
the police would have told them. So I looked up
the number and called them, but it just went to
Larry’s mum’s voice on the answerphone. I didn’t
know what to say, so I didn’t leave a message. I
thought if I left a message asking if Larry was
okay, and he’d just stayed out at a mate’s or
something, he’d be really mad at me for making
his mum get all worried. I didn’t want him to have
something else to be mad at me for.

So I just stayed in the house all day. I didn’t

really feel like eating nothing, but I thought maybe I

should, ’cause Mum always says it’s really
important to get three meals a day, even though
she’s always on a diet. But when I looked in the
cupboard, we was all out of bread and stuff, so I
didn’t bother.

I didn’t know what to do. I watched TV for a bit,

but I kept forgetting what I was watching. Then I
put on a Charlie Chaplin DVD, but it just made
me sad. I didn’t feel much like painting or nothing,
even, but I thought maybe if I drew Larry from
memory it’d make me feel better, so I went up to
the studio to get my stuff, but I forgot Ren’s picture
would be there.

There was all kinds of stuff going round in my

head. It wasn’t nice stuff. It made my chest hurt
and my eyes go all funny. I think if Ren had been
there, I’d have hit him. I don’t know what I’d have
done if Larry had been there. I think I’d have
wanted him to hit me, because it would have hurt
less.

When it got dark I didn’t want to stay in the

house on my own no more, so I called up Phil to
ask if he’d go for a drink with me. Then I
remembered it was Saturday night, so he’d be

out anyway. I went up to the pub on my own, and
he was there with Daz and some other blokes. I
think I had a lot of beers. I don’t remember
everything that happened, but there was this
bloke what kept getting in my face, and I think we
went outside, and then his mates were
everywhere, and there was three of them on top of
me, and I think I passed out.

When I woke up I was in A&E, and Phil was

sitting by my bed. My head hurt. So did lots of
other bits.

“Bloody hell, Al,” Phil said. “You look like shit.”
I thought that was fair enough, ’cause I felt like

shit. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not sure. I swore blind to the fuzz it was them

what started it. Think you might get a Drunk and
Disorderly. Least nobody glassed no one. You
hardly hit no one, anyway. It was like you couldn’t
be arsed. If I get my hands on that posh tosser
boyfriend of yours—bleedin’ hell, Al! Lie the fuck
down!”

“You shouldn’t ought to say stuff about Larry,” I

said, but it came out a bit funny ’cause my head
felt like someone hit it with a sledgehammer, and I
was trying not to be sick. I lay back down.

“All right, keep your hair on,” Phil said. “If you

ask me, though, he’s being a—all right, all right,
I’m not saying nothing more, right?”

The doctor said I didn’t have to stay in no

more, so Phil took me home, back to Larry’s
house. I thought maybe Larry might be there by
then, but he wasn’t. “You want me to take you
round your mum’s?” Phil asked.

I didn’t want my mum to know I’d been in a

fight, so I said no. Phil hung around a bit and did
some shopping. Then he made us beans on toast
’cause that’s all he can cook. He had to go
shopping first. “You going to be all right if I leave
you?” he asked afterwards. “’Cause I’m s’posed
to be over at Leanne’s.”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I said. I didn’t want him to

get in trouble with Leanne from Lidl, ’cause they’d
only just got back together last night. So he went,
and I thought I’d be okay, but the house felt really
empty with only me in it. Which is weird, ’cause
Larry doesn’t take up a lot of space.

Then the doorbell rang. I went to answer it, and

it was Larry’s sister Alicia. “Larry’s not here,” I
said.

Her eyes went really big. “God, what

happened to you?”

I shrugged. “Had a fight. Too many beers.”
She gave me a funny look. “Friday night?”
“Nah. Saturday. I waited in Friday night and all

Saturday, ’cause I thought Larry might come
back, and I didn’t want to miss him.”

She sort of pressed her lips together. “It was

you I wanted to talk to, anyway. Going to let me
in?”

I was wondering what Alicia would want to talk

to me about. I didn’t think it was anything I’d want
to hear. But she was Larry’s sister, so I let her in.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?” I asked.

“No, I’m fine.” She took her coat off and slung it

over the back of the sofa. “Are you cheating on
my brother?”

That made sense that she’d want to talk to me

about it. “No,” I said.

Alicia stuck her chin out. She’s got quite a big

chin for such a little woman. “He thinks you are.

He told Mum, and Mum told me.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I wouldn’t cheat on Larry.

Even if he never kisses me again. Not unless he
tells me it’s all over.”

“Do you love him?”
I smiled, ’cause thinking about how much I love

Larry always makes me smile. Even when it hurts
my chest too. “Yeah. I love him more than
anything. Maybe not more than my mum, ’cause
she’s great and she’s my mum, but the same.
Only different.”

Alicia had a funny look on her face. Maybe she

thought my smile was sinister too. “So what’s the
story about this student, then?”

After she said that, I didn’t have to worry about

my smile upsetting her no more. “You mean
Ren?”

“Probably.”
“He kept trying to kiss me. And then he did

kiss me. And that was when Larry saw us.”

“That’s all it was? Just a kiss?”
I sort of shrugged. “Yeah. But Ren still had his

kit off from modeling.”

“But it was just him kissing you? You didn’t

want to kiss him back?” Alicia was looking at me
in this scary way like she could see right through
me. I think maybe they teach them that in lawyer
school.

I looked down at my feet. “I was kissing Ren.

But only for a moment, ’cause Larry hadn’t kissed
me for days, and I missed him. Then I pushed him
away, and that’s when I saw Larry was there, and
he said he had to go. I don’t know where he went.
Then I told Ren to piss off, ’cause I’m with Larry.”

She sighed. “I think you two need to talk to one

another. Come on, I’ll take you to him. My car’s
outside—I think you’ll just about fit in.”

We got in Alicia’s car. It was a Volkswagen

Golf. I fitted in easy, once I’d put the seat back a
bit. It took a while to get out of Cambridge, ’cause
of the one-way system, and then we went down
towards Trumpington.

“Don’t talk much, do you?” Alicia said.
“Nah. I leave that to Larry. He’s better at it than

I am.”

She just smiled then and didn’t say nothing. I

got thinking again. I wasn’t sure what she wanted
to happen, ’cause she was being nice, but I knew

she didn’t like me. “You don’t like me, do you?” I
said.

“What? Excuse me, but here I am, driving you

up to my parents’ to meet him. You think I’d do
this for someone I didn’t like?”

That confused me. “I thought you wanted us to

split up. You said I was taking advantage of
Larry.” I forgot she didn’t know I’d heard her when
she was talking to Larry in our kitchen.

“What? Wait a minute.” She didn’t say nothing

for a bit while she went round a roundabout. “I
think you’ve misunderstood me.”

I nodded, ’cause I do that all the time with

people.

“I admit, I didn’t think it was a good idea at

first, you and Lawrence. But… Look, I think you
make him happy. And he’s certainly not happy
now. And I don’t think you are either.”

I frowned, ’cause did that mean she thought

we’d split up? And if we had, how come I didn’t
know? Then I thought, I better wait until I see Larry.
He’s good at explaining stuff. And he’d definitely
know if we’d split up.

Alicia pulled in at this big posh house with a

gravel driveway that crunched under the tyres. We
got out of the car, and she rang the bell. I
wondered why she didn’t have a key if this was
her mum and dad’s house, but I didn’t want to
ask. It was an old-fashioned bell that you had to
pull on a chain. A bit like an old-fashioned toilet. It
had a nice chime, though.

We waited, and then Larry’s mum opened the

door. Her face went all sour when she saw us.
“Alicia, in heaven’s name, what are you doing
here with

that

?”

Alicia stuck her chin out again. “We’ve come

to see Larry,” she said, and I smiled ’cause she’d
called him Larry.

I thought for a moment Larry’s mum was going

to close the door, so I put my foot in it like my
mum taught me. She did a Betterware catalogue
for a bit when she was out of work, so she learned
all this stuff. Larry’s mum looked at my foot, and
then she sniffed and let us in.

“This way,” Alicia said. She grabbed my arm

and took me across the hall to a sitting room. It
was really nice, with a big old fireplace and huge
windows looking onto the garden.

Larry was sitting on the sofa looking sad. He

was wearing these clothes I’d never seen before
that didn’t suit him. I guess he must’ve left them
round his mum’s when he moved out. He looked
up when we went in. Then he looked again and
his eyes got really big. “Christ, Al, what the hell
happened to you?”

I shrugged. “’S nothing. Just had a bit of a

fight.”

Larry’s dad was reading a paper. He looked

up once, and then he rustled the paper really loud
and went back to reading it.

“Right,” Alicia said. “Lawrence, I think you owe

Al an apology.”

Larry went bright red. “What?

Me

?”

“Did it never even occur to you to

ask

what

was going on?”

I was a bit confused, so I said, “What was

going on?”

Alicia smiled at me. “Nothing, Al. That’s the

point.”

Larry got off the sofa. “So… You and Ren…

That’s nothing?” His face was all tense.

I wanted to hold his hands or hug him or

something, but I wasn’t sure he’d let me, and I
didn’t want to find out for sure. “I was just painting
him. He tried it on, but I told him I was with you.”

“I saw you… You looked like you were…” Larry

looked at his dad and didn’t finish, even though
his dad didn’t look up from his paper or nothing. I
was frowning, ’cause I was trying to work out what
he thought I was doing with Ren, but then he said,
“And then you were kissing him.” His face was all
tight, like he might cry, and I felt really bad ’cause
it was my fault.

“I told him to piss off. You missed that bit. I

didn’t want kisses from Ren.” I wanted Larry. “I’m
sorry I kissed him,” I said, and my voice went a bit
funny.

“So…you never…” Larry looked over at his

dad, but he was still reading his paper. I don’t
think he’d turned the page for a long time, though.
Maybe it was a really interesting article. “You
never did…anything else with Ren?”

I knew he wasn’t talking about me painting him

and stuff. “Why would I want him when I got you?”
And then I got worried, ’cause I wasn’t sure if I still
had Larry or not.

“Why?” Larry’s eyebrows went really high.

Then he looked around at his sister and his dad
with his paper and his mum standing there
looking sour at us. “I think… I think we should go
home.”

I smiled again, ’cause that was all I’d ever

wanted, Larry home with me.

“Lawrence?” his mum said, all sharp. “Surely

you’re not going to just take his word for it?”

Larry stuck his chin out. It made him look a lot

more like his sister. “Yes, because I trust Al not to
lie to me.”

She made this funny tutting sound.
Larry looked at me. “Al, have you ever lied to

me?”

I thought about it. “There was this one time you

cooked a curry with all fresh spices and stuff, and
you asked if I liked it, and I said yeah. But you
know about that one, ’cause you said, ‘You’re
lying, aren’t you? It’s crap, isn’t it?’ Then you tried
some and said, ‘Oh God, that’s awful!’ and we
went and got a takeaway instead.”

Larry was smiling by the time I finished

speaking, and he turned to his mum. “See? I

always know when Al’s telling me the truth.”

His mum sort of sniffed. “Nigel? Aren’t

you

going to say anything?”

Larry’s dad put down his newspaper. “It’s his

own grave. Let him dig it.” Then he picked up his
paper again.

I didn’t think that was very nice, but Larry just

gave this tight little smile and said, “Fine. You’ll be
very welcome to the funeral.” Then he took my
arm and said, “Let’s go home.”

When he was putting his shoes on out in the

hall, he looked up at me, not smiling or nothing,
and said, “Al, I’m so sorry I doubted you. Did you
get badly hurt?”

I shrugged. “Nah. I been beat up much worse

than this before,” I said, ’cause I had. “I think I
might be up on a Drunk and Disorderly, though.”

“Don’t worry,” Alicia said. “You’ve got a good

lawyer.”

So Larry drove us home, and I put my hand on

his leg all the way, and he didn’t push it off or
nothing, and when we were on the straight bits

where he didn’t need to change gear and stuff, he
put his hand on mine. When we got back home, I
couldn’t wait to get close to him, so as soon as
we got in the front door, I pushed him to the wall
and shoved my hands up his shirt and kissed him.
Larry didn’t try and pull away; he just kissed me
back. It wasn’t just nice, it was fucking fantastic.

We kissed until we had to stop to breathe, and

then I rested my head on the wall above Larry’s
head while he nuzzled into my chest. Then he
looked up. “I’ve been an idiot.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “You’re still way cleverer

than me.”

Then Larry laughed, and we kissed again, and

I got his trousers undone, and he pushed my
jogging bottoms down and said, “Oh God, I’ve
missed this.” Then he went all serious and
stroked my face where it was bruised. “Are you
sure you’re up for this?”

“Take more than a few bruises to stop me,” I

said, and he smiled. I wanted to fuck him and
suck him and do everything all at once, but I
couldn’t wait that long, so I grabbed hold of both
our cocks and rubbed them together.

Larry gasped, and then he said, “Not here!”

and he grabbed my hand and took me into the
sitting room. “Have you any idea just how much
I’ve grown to loathe this sofa while you’ve been
sleeping on it?”

“No,” I said, ’cause I thought if anyone should

hate the sofa it should be me. I was the one who
kept getting a stiff neck.

“Well, I’m reclaiming it.” He lay down on the

sofa with his trousers undone and his cock
sticking out, and he looked so fucking gorgeous I
wished I could’ve painted him like that. But I
thought Larry would probably rather I did
something else. So I knelt down by the sofa, and I
took him in my mouth, and he moaned and
bucked up like he couldn’t control himself. I love it
when Larry can’t control himself. I moved my lips
up his cock, sucking all the way, until I came off
him with a pop. Then I licked all the way up and
down his shaft, teasing that little spot under the
head that always makes him go mad. He was
gasping and moaning and saying stuff like, “Oh
God, oh God, oh

God

!” so I figured he was

enjoying it.

But then he grabbed my head and pushed, so I

knew he wanted me off him. I looked up, and his
face was just beautiful, all pink and shiny. “I want
more of you,” he said, so I lay down on top of him,
careful to keep my weight on my elbows so I
wouldn’t squash him, and I pressed my cock
against his. “Oh Christ, yes!” he said. “God, don’t
stop!”

I could’ve told him I wasn’t planning to stop.

But it felt so good I don’t think I could’ve said the
words. I kept rubbing against him, feeling the heat
of his body and breathing in the scent of him that
I’d thought I’d never smell again, not like this, and
then I felt him shudder underneath me, and I
rubbed harder, and then I was coming all over
him, my spunk spurting out like I was marking him,
making him mine again.

We were all covered in sweat and spunk, but I

thought I’d never want to wash again. “Let’s go to
bed,” I said, and Larry smiled at me, and we went
upstairs to our bed, and he kissed all my bruises,
and then we cuddled until we fell asleep.

Chapter Six

Larry got his mate to come and look at my

pictures, the one with the gallery up by
Midsummer Common. His name’s Toby, like the
jugs my great-grandma used to collect. My mum’s
got them now. They’re a bit funny-looking. They’re
painted to look like people, and they’re shaped
like that too, but they’re all really fat guys with old-
fashioned hats on, a bit like Captain Jack
Sparrow in

Pirates of the Caribbean

. I like those

films. I think Will Turner looks a bit like Larry,
though when I told Larry that, he burst out laughing
and said something about love being blind.

Toby’s a bit funny-looking too, but in a different

way to the jugs. He’s got the biggest nose I ever
saw. I kept staring at it without meaning to, but I
don’t think he noticed. Toby said he reckoned he
could put some of my pictures in his gallery and
people would pay money for them, which seemed

daft, ’cos it’s not like they’re art or nothing. He
said he was really into postmodern primitivism. I
said I was glad he liked my stuff as well as that.
Toby laughed and winked at Larry, but I don’t think
he was making a pass or nothing. Toby’s got a
bloke already.

Toby was right about people buying my stuff.

He had this posh evening do, with fizzy white wine
in little plastic glasses, and Larry and me went.
Larry bought me a new shirt ’cause he said I
ought to look posh. It was a nice shirt, but I think
I’d need more than that to look posh. I didn’t tell
Larry that though, ’cause he looked so pleased
when I wore it.

I asked my mates Daz and Phil if they wanted

to come to the do. Daz said he wasn’t into art, but
Phil said there’d be free booze and art’s just a
load of pictures of women with their tits out, so
Daz changed his mind. I told them there weren’t
any women in my pictures, but they said that was
okay ’cause there was bound to be other stuff in
the gallery.

When we got there, I kept watching Toby to

see how he’d manage with those little

wineglasses and his big nose, but I never
managed to catch him drinking. We saw my
pictures up on the wall right next to all the art.
Some of my pictures had stickers on them saying
“sold”, even though some of the ones by other
people didn’t. My mates were well impressed.

My mum came too. She wore that pink top she

got for when we went out for tea at the hotel. Her
eyes went really big when she saw my pictures,
and I was worried she might think they was a bit
rude. “Bleedin’ ’ell, love, have you seen the prices
he’s put on some of your paintings?” She gave
me a jab with her elbow. “If I’d known you was
selling for this much, I’d of brought some of them
pictures you drew me when you was a kid so he
could flog them and all! I’ll tell you what, I’ll be
expecting a bloody nice Christmas present this
year!”

I like buying my mum stuff. I said, “What do you

want me to get you?”

“Oh, love! I was joking! Don’t you bleedin’

dare

! This is your money, and I’m dead proud of

you! That’s all I want.” Then she saw the table with
the food and stuff. “’Course, I wouldn’t say no to a

glass of that shampoo and a couple of horses’
doovers.”

“Of course, Lizzie,” Larry said, and he took her

arm and took her over to the table and got her a
drink and some olives and some really tiny
pizzas. I felt all warm inside.

“Gawd, in’t he a gentleman?” Mum said when

she came back. “You’d better watch out, love, or
I’ll be nabbing him for meself!” Then she laughed
and went to dig Larry in the ribs with her elbow,
but he smiled and dodged out of the way. “Bloody
’ell, he’s a quick learner, ain’t he?” Mum laughed
so much she spilt her wine. It’s a good thing it was
white wine so it didn’t stain the carpet or nothing.

There was this posh bloke who came to the

show who was spending ages looking at one of
my pictures. “That’s my picture,” I told him. “I
painted that.”

The posh bloke gave me a funny look, and

then he said, “I suppose you must be one of these

savants

,” and then he laughed.

I laughed too, to be polite, but Larry heard too,

and he got really huffy, so I had to take him away
and get him another drink and some little bits of

toast with fish paste on. I asked Larry what the
word meant, and he said it means genius, which
confused me, ’cause I know I’m not that bright,
and even if I was, why was Larry all pissed off?
But then Toby came round and gave us some
champagne and said how marvelous my pictures
were doing, and Larry was all right again, so I
didn’t bother asking what it was all about.

Daz found lots of pictures of women to look at

and a lot of glasses of wine, and I had to take him
outside after a bit and sit him down with a glass of
water. He’s not big like Phil and me, Daz isn’t.
He’s little like Larry, so he gets pissed easy. But
he’s not as pretty as Larry. When I came back in,
Phil was looking at one of my pictures with a funny
look on his face. It was the one of Ren, with just
the back of him showing. The one I’d worked
really hard on to get his arse right. I don’t like that
painting much anymore, but Toby said it ought to
be in the show and Larry said, “Well, at least the
bloody thing will be out of the house.”

“Mate of yours?” Phil asked. He had to clear

his throat before he said it.

“No,” I said. “He’s a student at Larry’s college. I

just paid him to model. He kept trying to get off
with me, though, so I didn’t do no more paintings
of him after this one.”

“Oh, right… He’s the one what caused all the

trouble? But you never…?”

“Nah. I got Larry,” I said.
“Oh. Right.” I thought he’d go off and look at

some more pictures of women, but he just stood
there. “Even with him being all…?” he said after a
bit.

I wasn’t sure what he was on about. “All what?”
Phil went a bit red. “Well. You know.”
I grinned. “’S me, remember? You got to spell

it out.”

Then Phil went really red. “Um…”
“You think I should of got off with him?” I asked,

’cause I couldn’t think what else he could have
meant. I was a bit angry with Phil for suggesting
that.

Then Daz clapped us both on the back. “Got

off with who?”

“No one,” Phil said. “You feeling better now?

Come on, then, let’s go look at some more girls.”

I think maybe Phil had had too much fizzy wine

too. Or something. I asked Larry about it later,
and he said it was definitely

something

. Then he

took his shirt off, and I forgot to ask him what he
meant.

Toby gave me a cheque for my paintings that

sold at the do. It was more than I make in six
months pulling in punts. I didn’t know what to
spend it on, ’cause my mum said she didn’t want
me to buy her nothing. So I was going to buy Larry
something, but he said I should spend it on
something I always wanted. So I bought a cat. I
asked Larry first, because it’s his house and all.
The cat didn’t cost much, because it was from the
Cats Protection League and they don’t have posh
cats there, only ordinary ones. I didn’t want a posh
cat. I got Larry for when I want posh. I bought a
litter tray for the cat, and some food bowls and a
scratching post, and then put the rest of the
money in the bank. I thought maybe I could buy
Larry something later when he wasn’t looking.

We went together to the cat place, and there

were all these cages and the cats were yowling
like someone was stepping on all their tails at
once. It was kind of cute, but Larry started

frowning like he was getting a headache. I asked
him what cat we should get, and he said it was my
choice, so I got this little black one called Minnie. I
think the cat place must not have known Minnie’s
a mouse’s name. I thought maybe we should
change it, but then I thought, if Minnie doesn’t
know, either, then it’s probably okay. I got her a
pretty pink collar and a little tag with her name on
and our phone number in case she gets lost.

Minnie’s really cute. She’s little and she’s

dainty, and she likes to curl up on my lap when I’m
watching the telly.

I guess I like her ’cause she reminds me of

Larry.

Chapter Seven

One night when I got in from work a bit late,

’cause it was really nice weather and everyone
wants to take the punts out when it’s sunny, I found
Larry just sitting on the sofa staring at a blank TV
screen. At first I thought maybe he’d forgotten to
turn it on, but then I thought, no, Larry’s not stupid.
He’d have noticed. So instead of going for a
shower like I usually do when I get home, I sat on
the sofa next to him, sweaty shirt and all, and I
asked him what was wrong.

“Sometimes I hate this place,” he said, still

looking at the TV. It was still switched off. I hadn’t
switched it on or nothing.

I looked around. I didn’t think the house looked

so bad. It wasn’t messy or nothing, and the walls
were a nice colour. White with a touch of apple,
they called it in the shop. “I think it’s kind of nice,
but we can move if you want, Larry.”

He laughed a bit at that, but he still didn’t

sound happy. “No, the house is fine. I mean
Cambridge. The University, not the town.”

I was glad he’d said that, ’cause that would’ve

been my next guess. “You want to tell me about it?
Not that I’ll understand or nothing, but I’d like to
hear you tell me.”

“There’s not much to understand, really.” He

sighed, and I put my arm round him. That usually
makes him feel better. “You know what we do to
students here?”

“Teach them stuff?”
Larry laughed again. I didn’t like the way it

sounded. “What we do is take the brightest kids,
the ones that were always top of all their classes
back in school—kids who, all their lives, have had
people telling them they’re brilliant. And we shove
them all together in the hissing, spitting cauldron
that is Cambridge, and we say to them, so you
think you’re one of the clever ones? Well, you’re in
Cambridge University now. You’re not one of the
clever ones any more. If you’re

lucky

, you’re one

of the average ones. A simple application of the
law of averages will tell you that now, in fact, half

of you are the

stupid

ones.” I stroked his hair. He

was shaking a bit; I didn’t get why. “And then we
give them a lecture timetable and a book list and
say, off you go, get on with it. Oh, and by the way,
everyone at home is expecting you to get a First
because

they

still think you’re one of the clever

ones. And if anyone complains about the way we
do things, well, we’ve done it that way for
centuries, and anyway, you can’t make an omelet
without breaking eggs.” He didn’t say nothing for
a moment, and then he spoke again. “Nobody
ever warns the eggs they’re going to get broken.
They say, ‘We’re making the finest omelet in the
world, come and be a part of it.’ And then they
take the eggs, and they break them and use them
up, and then they throw away the shells.”

Larry’s face was in my neck, and it felt kind of

damp. So I thought maybe there was more to it
than he’d said, and despite what he’d said, I
didn’t think it had nothing to do with eggs and
omelets. ’Cause nobody gets that upset about
omelets. Or eggs, even. Maybe someone had
said Larry wasn’t clever or something? But that
didn’t seem right, because Larry’s really smart.

My head was starting to hurt, so I just asked him.
“Larry, did something happen today?”

Larry sniffed. I gave him my handkerchief. It

was mostly clean, and he always says he doesn’t
mind a bit of my sweat anyhow. You get hot
pulling in punts, so I sweat a lot at work. “A boy in
college tried to kill himself today. A maths student.
He’s in Addenbrookes now.”

Addenbrookes is the hospital in Cambridge. I

got my face stitched up there after that bastard
glassed it. I had to stay in for a few days ’cause
they were worried about infections. The nurses
were really nice. They called me Big Al. “Is he
going to be okay?”

Larry nodded. “Physically, yes. They caught

him in time. Thank God for text messages.” He
laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. “Suicide note in
text-speak—can you imagine?” He sort of
hiccupped. “I’m going to see him in hospital
tomorrow. I wanted… I mean, he’s not one of my
students but I just thought…”

“You want me to come with you?” I asked,

’cause he looked really upset. “I can get the day
off. My boss knows I don’t ask unless it’s

something important.”

“Would you?” Larry asked. He looked like he

needed to be kissed, so I kissed him, and then I
kissed him some more, and we ended up with our
hands down each others’ trousers. I thought Larry
needed more than that, though, so I pushed down
his pants, and I knelt down and took him in my
mouth. “God yes!” Larry said, as I swirled my
tongue around the head of his prick. His taste
went even saltier, ’cause his prick was leaking, so
I took all of him into my mouth and sucked. He
made a funny noise, sort of like a dog when it’s
startled, and shoved into my throat. “Sorry!”

I was okay, though, so I didn’t pull off or

nothing. I just kept sucking, and then I used my
tongue again, and then Larry was saying, “Stop!
Al, stop.”

I stopped ’cause he’d asked me to but kept

my mouth around his cock. I was a bit hurt, ’cause
I’d thought I was doing okay.

“C-can’t talk, when you’re doing that,” Larry

said, his voice sounding all strangled. He
breathed hard a couple of times, then he said, “I
want to see you jerk that fat cock of yours off while

you’re sucking me.”

I like it when Larry talks dirty. I pushed down

my jogging bottoms, and I got my cock out. It felt
hot in my hand as I got my mouth back round
Larry’s cock and started to wank off.

“God, you’re amazing,” Larry said. “So big and

beautiful and strong… Oh yes!” Then I did that
thing with my tongue that he likes, and he didn’t
talk no more, just kept gasping and moaning. I
had to concentrate to keep my hand moving on
my cock, ’cause all I wanted to think about was
the way Larry’s cock felt in my mouth, all smooth
and hard with the veins standing out. When I
moved up to tease that little spot under the head, I
felt it jerk and throb, and then Larry moaned really
loud, and my mouth filled with spunk.

I swallowed it all down. I love the feeling of a bit

of Larry being inside me. Then Larry sank to his
knees, and I held him tight. “But you haven’t
come,” he said after a moment. And then he put
his hand over mine on my cock so we could wank
me off together, and it only took a couple of
strokes before I was coming all over his hand.

Then Larry grabbed the box of tissues and

cleaned us both off, and I held him while he
kissed me.

Later, we were all cuddled up on the sofa with

the TV on this time and the table all scattered with
takeaway boxes, and Larry suddenly said, “Can I
turn this off?”

I said yeah, of course, ’cause it was only some

comedy repeat on Dave. I like watching the
repeats ’cause it’s easier to get the jokes the
second time, but I didn’t mind missing this one.
So we sat looking at the blank TV screen again,
and I was kind of hoping this wasn’t going to be
some new thing of Larry’s, ’cause it wasn’t very
interesting, when he started speaking again.

“Did you ever think of killing yourself, when you

were younger? I did.”

I didn’t like Larry saying that. “Don’t say that,” I

told him. I put down the special fried rice, and I
grabbed his arms.

“It’s true. I—I tried it once. When I was

eighteen.”

It hurt, hearing him say that. It really hurt. Deep

in my chest, like I’d taken a punch to the heart.
“Larry, promise me you won’t never try nothing
like that again,” I said, and my voice sounded all
funny.

Larry looked up at me. His eyes were really

big, like cups of coffee. “No—I mean, God, no, I’m
not going to do anything like that! Al, listen to me,
that was years ago. I swear I wouldn’t do that
now.”

I sniffed, and he gave me back the

handkerchief I lent him earlier, but it was kind of
soggy, so I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and blew
my nose on a paper napkin. “Why did you do it,
then?”

“Oh…pretty much for the same reason

Matthew did, I suppose. The student, I mean. I
was stressing out over exams, everyone else was
taller and better-looking and more confident than I
was and, well, the gay thing really didn’t help.” He
looked at me. “Al, I promise you, it’s not going to
happen now. I’m fine with who I am. If I wasn’t me,
well, I wouldn’t have you, now would I? And I love
being with you.”

So I thought it was probably okay, but just in

case, I hid the kitchen knives again.

I put them in the airing cupboard this time.

Under a pile of towels.

I thought Larry would probably remember to

look in the hall cupboard.

So I got my boss to give me the day off, and

we went to the hospital next day. Larry drove,
’cause it’s a bit outside town.

The kid was in a private room. I had a private

room when I was in Addenbrookes with my face.
One of the nurses said it was so I wouldn’t scare
the other patients, but she said it like it was a
joke, so I laughed and split two stitches.

His mum and dad were there. His mum was

smiling, but it didn’t look right, and her eyes were
all red. I think it must be awful to have your kid in
hospital ’cause he tried to kill himself. I know my
mum was upset when I was in with my face. She
always tried to hide it when she came to visit, but I
heard her talking about it with one of the nurses,
and she was saying stuff like “another three
inches further up and he’d have been blinded, and

what the bleedin’ hell would he have done then?”
So after that I stopped being a bouncer, and I
started working on the punts. The pay’s not so
good, but I don’t like it when my mum gets upset.

The kid didn’t look too ill. Just really, really sad.

He was lying in bed, and he had a drip in his arm,
and his other arm was all bandaged up. I guess
he tried to cut himself. Or maybe took an
overdose with a really blunt needle. I had a mate
who shot up heroin with a blunt needle, and he
ended up with blood poisoning and nearly died.
But after that he stopped taking drugs, so it was
all right in the end. Which is funny, ’cause you’d
never think blood poisoning was a good thing,
would you?

Larry smiled at them all. It was the same smile

he uses for Dr. Hardwicke, not the one he gives
me. “Hello, Matthew. And you must be Mr. and
Mrs. Cartwright? I’m Dr. Morton from Matthew’s
college. I lecture in History of Art.” He held out his
hand, and Matthew’s dad shook it. “And this is Al
Fletcher.”

“Nice to meet you,” Matthew’s mum said, but

she was looking at me like it wasn’t really all that

nice. “Is, er, your friend a member of college
staff?”

“No, Al’s an artist. And, ah, he’s my partner,”

Larry said. I like it when he calls me that.

I don’t think Matthew’s mum liked it. “How…

lovely. Is that how you met? Through…art?”

Larry said “Yes” just as I said, “No, we met

when I was having a piss in an alley.”

I felt a bit awkward about having said that, but

then I saw that Matthew wasn’t looking so sad
anymore, so I didn’t feel so bad.

Larry sort of coughed. “Mrs. Cartwright?

Maybe you and your husband would like to go and
get a cup of coffee, or something? I’m sure you
could do with a break while I have a chat with
Matthew.”

Matthew’s mum gave me a look, but his dad

said, “Yes, why don’t we, Helen? I’m sure
Matthew’s fed up with us moping around his
bedside by now.” So they went, and Larry sat on a
chair by the bed, but I stayed standing by the
window, ’cause I didn’t know the kid.

“I just came to see how you’re getting along,”

Larry said.

“Oh,” Matthew said. He had a nice voice, sort

of posh but not too posh. Like Larry’s. “Okay.”

I was looking out the window. It didn’t have

much of a view. Just hospital buildings. But I could
see blackbirds flying in the sky and pigeons
perching on TV aerials. I wondered if they made
the picture go fuzzy.

Larry took a deep breath. “And I wanted to tell

you, it gets better. I know right now it feels like
exams are the most important things in the world,
but they’re not, trust me. Ask Al.”

I looked round then, ’cause I heard my name.

Larry sort of jerked his head at me like he wanted
me to say something, but I wasn’t sure what he
wanted me to say. But I thought I’d better say
something, ’cause they were both looking at me.
“I got zero on a maths test once,” I said. “The
teacher said he’d wanted to give me a minus
number, but the computer wouldn’t let him.”

Larry smiled, and even Matthew did a bit, so I

guess I hadn’t said anything too stupid. “But
you’re still happy, aren’t you, Al? It didn’t ruin your
life, did it?”

“Nah. Don’t need maths in my line of work, do

I?” I smiled, and the kid’s eyes went wide.

“Al, would you mind waiting outside?” Larry

said. So I went out in the corridor. There were lots
of nurses walking past, and they all looked at me,
and one of them asked if I was looking for the
Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery department. And I
said, no, thanks, I’d already been. Then one of
them said “Big Al! What are you doing back
here?” and I saw it was Cheryl, one of the nurses
from when I had my face done.

“I’m just visiting,” I said.
“Glad to hear it. Oh, is it that poor student

you’ve come to see?”

“Yeah,” I said. “My partner’s in with him now.

He knows him from college.”

She sort of tilted her head and looked up at

me. “You? With someone from the University?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You’d never of thought it, would

you? His name’s Larry, and he’s really clever.
He’s a professor. History of Art. He likes Charlie
Chaplin.”

“I bet he does! How on earth did you two

meet?”

I thought of what Larry said when Mrs.

Cartwright asked, so I said, “Through art.”

Cheryl laughed. “Oh yes? Got an exhibition

coming up, have you? Art by Al?”

“No,” I said. “That was a few months ago. At

Midsummer Fine Arts, up by the common. But
they still got some of my pictures in the shop. You
got to look for Alan Fletcher, ’cause that’s what I
sign them as.”

“You know, I might just do that,” Cheryl said.

She was still looking at me with her head sort of
on one side. I was just about to ask her if she’d
hurt her neck when Mr. and Mrs. Cartwright came
back, and then Larry came out of Matthew’s
room. He looked really tired. He smiled at Mr. and
Mrs. Cartwright, but I could see it was hard work.

“Did it go all right?” I asked when we were

walking down the stairs after we’d said goodbye.

“Oh… I think so. I hope so. You just never really

know, do you? If you’re reaching someone or just
talking at them.” Larry rubbed his eyes like they
were tired. “God, that was exhausting. I need a
drink.”

So after we drove back into town, I took him to

Punters, and we sat outside the pub and looked

at the river, just like we did the day after we met.
Except Larry didn’t feel much like talking this time,
so I talked instead. I know now I don’t have to
worry about sounding stupid in front of Larry,
’cause he already knows me. So I talked about
the tourists who went out in a punt last week and
got their pole nicked by students when they went
under Clare Bridge and had to paddle back, and
the ones who came back all soaking wet ’cause
they’d fallen in the water. Which isn’t as easy as
you’d think, as punts are about as stable as you
can get, for a boat. But that thing they show on
comedy programmes, where the guy gets the
punt pole stuck in the mud and doesn’t let go and
the boat goes on without him, that actually
happens. I’ve seen that lots of times. I told Larry
about that too.

My voice was getting a bit croaky after all that

talking, and I’d finished my pint, so I asked Larry if
he’d like another glass of wine.

“Oh…no.” Larry sighed and tried to smile at

me. Then he finished up his drink. “Let’s just go
home and eat.”

So we went home and I cooked us a fry-up,

’cause I could do that quick and it didn’t need any
fancy ingredients or nothing. But I didn’t do any
eggs, ’cause I thought Larry might not want to
think about them getting broken right now.

After that we watched some Laurel and Hardy

DVDs I got Larry one time when I went to the
shops and I saw they was going cheap. I was a bit
worried when the film we were watching turned
out to be a scary one, ’cause I didn’t think Laurel
and Hardy did scary, but Larry cuddled up to me
on the sofa, and I put my arms round him. He felt
more fragile than usual, so I was careful not to
squeeze him too tight.

When the DVD finished, I said, “Do you want

to watch another one? A non-scary one?”

Larry kissed my neck, right on the spider-web

tat. “No. Let’s not.”

So we switched off the TV, and Larry climbed

on my lap with his knees either side of me and
kissed me some more. His lips were soft and
smooth and a bit greasy from the fry-up, and he
kissed me really deep. I put my arms round his
waist and held him tight, like I wasn’t planning
ever to let go. I wish I could do that—hold on to

Larry all the time and keep him safe.

I wasn’t sure if he’d want to fuck, ’cause he’d

been so down earlier, but pretty soon I could feel
his hard cock pressing into my stomach. I love the
feel of Larry’s cock. The rest of him is kind of little
and delicate, but his cock’s big and strong. It
always gets me going when I feel his hard cock
jabbing into my belly. I’ve got to see it, touch it.

It wasn’t easy undoing his trousers with him on

my lap, but I’d had a lot of practice. His cock
jumped up, all salty and musky-smelling, the tip of
it moist. I wanted to taste it, so I slid down
underneath him until I could reach it with my
mouth.

I sucked him for a few minutes, and the flavour

got better all the time.

Larry kept panting and moaning, but then he

put his hand on my jaw so I knew he wanted me to
pull off for a moment. “Not…not like this,” he said.
“I want to come with you inside me. How do you
want me?”

“Sit on me,” I said, ’cause I love it when Larry’s

on top and I don’t have to worry about hurting him
or nothing.

There’s a little box on the mantelpiece where

we keep some lube, ’cause we got fed up having
to go up to the bedroom all the time. So Larry
went and got it and slicked himself and me up,
and then he climbed back onto my lap. He
lowered himself down onto my cock, and it felt so
right, like that was where he belonged. His hole
was clenching, pulling me in, like he knew it too.

“God, that’s good!” Larry said. He started to

move, riding my cock with slow, easy strokes like
we had all the time in the world. I liked that feeling.
I could have stayed like that all night, just feeling
close to him and watching his face, but my dick
had other ideas. It wanted to come. Larry had his
hands on my shoulders, so I reached in and made
a fist round his cock for him to thrust up into. “God
yes!” he said. “Al!”

He looked so close, I figured it was okay for

me to stop trying to hold it off, so I let myself feel it
all, the way his arse tightened around me, all hot
and slick inside, and pretty soon I was bucking up
into him and filling him up with my come.

“Al!” Larry said again, and his voice cracked a

bit, and then he was shooting his load all over my

chest in hot little spatters.

I wanted to paint him all over again, to catch

that moment so I could keep it forever, and it
made me sad to think I’d never get it exactly right.

Then I thought, what the hell.
We’d just have to keep on doing it.

Chapter Eight

We were having breakfast one morning, when

Larry said, in a funny voice like he was trying to
be casual, “Do you know, Al, we’ve been together
a year today?”

And I grinned, ’cause I may not have loads of

letters after my name like Larry’s got, but I can
remember dates okay, as long as I write them
down. “Yeah, I knew that. You want to go out to
celebrate or something?” I got up and went and
put my arms around him from behind, and I kissed
his neck in the place that always makes him
shiver. In a good way, not like he’s scared or
nothing. “Or we could, you know, stay in and
celebrate?”

Larry kissed my arm, ’cause he couldn’t reach

nothing else. “I think we should go out.”

So we went out for a meal at this Japanese

restaurant Larry likes, and we had sushi and sake

and all that shit. It was really nice, though the
food’s really tiny, so you got to order lots of it. On
the way home, Larry kept saying we had to go this
particular way. I didn’t know what he was up to till
we got to this dirty street behind the shops, and I
realised it was the one on the way home from the
pub to my old place. The one where I’d stopped to
have a wazz the first night we met. It was kind of
weird being back there, because it was a happy
place because we’d met there, but it was sad
because Larry had been all scared. So I gave him
a cuddle, but he pushed me away. I was
wondering what was going on, but then he went
down on one knee right in the middle of the street,
in his posh suit and everything. His voice went all
funny, like he was scared again. “Al, you’re the
most wonderful man I’ve ever been terrified by
down a dark alleyway. Will you marry me?”

I must’ve had this big grin on my face as I

picked him up out of the dirt and I held him tight
and I said fuck, yeah, only was he sure that was
what he really wanted? ’Cause I know he could do
way better than me if he tried.

He said, “Al, that’s the stupidest question

you’ve ever asked in your life,” but I don’t reckon it
was. I bet I ask way stupider questions than that
every day, but as long as Larry don’t mind, I guess
that’s okay.

It was just perfect, with the streetlamp

flickering and the rain making the place look all
shiny, and when we got to the end of the street,
there was this bloke having a wazz, just like I’d
done a whole year ago, and Larry and me saw
him and burst out laughing. Then the bloke got
really mad and we had to run away, because I
didn’t want to have to punch anyone out when it
was our anniversary and we’d just got engaged
and all.

And when we got home, I got Larry up against

the wall, and I kissed him and kissed him, and
then I jerked him off and got jizz all over the
carpet, and he wouldn’t let me clean it up until
after he’d blown me. So there’s still this little rough
patch by the wall, but I don’t think you’d know it
was jizz if no one told you.

Larry said all along if we just stuck together his

family would have to come around. I thought
maybe they wouldn’t, but he was right, like he
always is, ’cause when we sent them the invites to
our civil partnership ceremony, they accepted.
And I think they must have been talking to Larry
before the day, because they didn’t buy us
toasters and crap like that; they gave us art stuff
and tickets for the opera. Larry’s teaching me to
like opera. He says by the time we celebrate our
twenty-fifth anniversary, I might even be ready for
Wagner.

His sister heard him say that. She said that’s a

surefire way of making sure we don’t reach
twenty-six, but I think she was joking, ’cause Larry
just laughed. I get along okay with his sister now.
She got me off that Drunk and Disorderly charge
no problem. She calls me Al, and I call her Ali,
which always makes me smile, ’cause it sounds
like alley and reminds me of when me and Larry
first met.

The ceremony was really special. We had it in

this big old room in Larry’s college with shields on
the walls and stained glass windows, so it was
just like getting married in a church, really. We got

dressed up all fancy like we was going to a
college dinner, only even posher, with matching
crimson waistcoats, ’cause that’s Larry’s college
colours. My mum wore pink, ’cause she knows I
like her in that, and the biggest heels I ever seen
her in. She still only came up to my shoulder,
though.

Larry’s mum was wearing a really dark suit. It

was navy, but it looked black, like she was going
to a funeral. I told Larry that, and he gave her a
look and said, “That’s my mother. Never misses a
chance to make a point.”

But just then, Mum came over, so I never got a

chance to ask him what he meant. “Look who’s
here, love,” Mum said, and I looked over by the
door and there was my dad. He looked just like I
remembered him, except lots older, and it was
weird, ’cause I was taller than him now. He
walked over to me and Larry, but he couldn’t
seem to pick his feet up very high, and he walked
really slow. He was leaning on the arm of a lady
who was nearly as tall as him, which seemed
strange ’cause he’d been with my mum, and
she’s tiny.

“Hello, Alan,” the lady said. “I’m your Auntie

Sarah—Bill here’s my brother. You could have
knocked me over with a feather when I found out
he had a grown-up son!

“’Ullo, Al,” Dad said. He smiled. It was just like

I remembered, when he used to take me down
the park to play football sometimes when he
came to visit. “Oo’d ’ave thought it, eh? You
getting married. To a bloke an’ all. I fort Sarah
was ’aving me on when she tole me.” His voice
sounded thick, like he’d just been to the dentist,
and when he lifted a hand to put it on my shoulder,
it was all shaky.

“Bill’s got Parkinson’s,” Auntie Sarah said. “He

lives with me now. Keeps him out of trouble,
doesn’t it, love?”

“’S right,” Dad said.
“Let’s get you to a seat, love,” Auntie Sarah

said, and she took Dad off to sit down. He looked
tired. My chest felt all tight. I was so happy, I
could’ve cried.

Larry was holding on to my arm really tight,

and he looked a bit like he needed a
handkerchief too. “He looks a lot like you, doesn’t

he?” Then he gave me a funny crooked smile.
“You’ve even got the same nose.”

I grinned. “If I’d’ve stayed being a bouncer a

few more years, I might’ve had the ears to match
too.”

Larry made a face. “Just one more reason I’m

glad you gave it up. Did he have the spider-web
tattoo when you knew him?”

I touched my neck. “Yeah.”
Larry put his arms round me and hugged me.

“Did I ever tell you, you’re a real softy at heart?”

I smiled. “Yeah. But it’s all right as long as you

don’t tell no one else.”

We had to start the service then. I think the

registrar was getting impatient.

My sister Lauren’s little girl Chloe was the ring

bearer. She looked really sweet in her pink satin
dress. When we were halfway through the service,
she pulled on my sleeve and asked me, “Uncle Al,
why are you marrying a daddy and not a
mummy?”

I said, “’Cause I couldn’t find a mummy as

pretty as you,” and Larry gave me a big smile.
Then he put his finger to his lips and went “Shhh!”

so we could get on with getting married.

When we turned round to face everyone after

we’d said our vows, Mum shouted out, “Give him
a kiss!” So I bent down and Larry stood up on
tiptoe and we kissed, but it was just a little peck,
’cause everyone was watching and I felt kind of
shy.

Then Larry said, “Oh, come on, we’re married

now!” and he grabbed hold of me and gave me a
proper kiss. Mum and Lauren cheered, and so
did Ali, but Larry’s mum and dad looked a bit
pissed off. Maybe they never got to do that at their
wedding.

Mum turned round and gave Dad a kiss. He

looked gobsmacked but really pleased.

I don’t think she’s planning on getting back

together with him, though.

After the service, we had a reception in

another room at the college. It wasn’t nothing
fancy, just drinks and a buffet. Some students
from the college dressed up smart and played
violin and stuff.

My mates Phil and Daz came to the reception.

Phil asked if he could bring a guest, so I thought
maybe he’d got back together with Leanne from
Lidl, but when he turned up, he was with Ren. I
don’t think Larry was very pleased to see Ren, but
he just pretended he was, so that was all right. I
don’t think Daz knew about Phil and Ren, either.
He looked a bit gobsmacked and kept saying
stuff like, “What is this, a bloody epidemic?”

I didn’t ask him what he meant, ’cause I

thought I knew. I’m getting better at working out
stuff like that. I think Larry’s rubbing off on me.

Larry introduced my mum and dad to his

parents. He said, “I’d like you to meet my new
parents-in-law. Mum, Dad, this is Bill Allaway. He
used to be a boxer. And this is Lizzie Jones. She
works in Sainsbury’s.”

Larry’s dad got that pissed-off look on his

face, but he shook hands with them anyhow.
Dad’s hand was shaking a lot, but he was smiling
like anything. Mum gave Larry a funny look, but I
don’t know what it was about. Then she gave
Larry’s dad a kiss and his mum a hug, which I
could tell they wasn’t expecting. “We’ll have to

meet up for a drink some time, now we’re related
and all!” Mum said.

Larry’s mum looked like she’d just eaten a

lemon, and she said “I’m afraid we’re

very

busy

these days.”

Mum gave her a dig in the ribs. “Oh, I’m sure

you’ll find the time. Family’s family, innit? Now,

if

you’ll excuse me a mo, I’ve got to go stop my
grandson eating the flowers.” Mum said
something as she went past me, and I didn’t catch
what she said, but it sounded a lot like “Snooty
cow!”

Larry’s mum was rubbing her side and giving

my mum a really dirty look. I think her hearing’s
probably better than mine.

Lauren said Ali and her got on really well. They

swapped phone numbers and everything. Ali
didn’t even get upset when Lauren’s youngest kid
wiped his nose on her posh skirt. That’s Jayden.
He’s a good kid. When he’s older, I’ll take him
playing football.

I asked Larry if I should call his dad “Dad” now,

but he said that probably wasn’t a good idea. I
nearly asked, should I call him Nigel, ’cause that’s

his name, but then I thought, maybe I just won’t
talk to him unless I have to, ’cause that pissed-off
look of his still creeps me out.

My boss from Scudamore’s didn’t come to the

wedding, but he gave us a present. It was a
toaster. But it was a really nice one.

When we got home, I wasn’t sure what to do.

See, it was our wedding night and all, so it was
supposed to be special, but we’d already done
pretty much everything. Except one thing. So I
asked Larry if he wanted to fuck me. He just
looked at me for a moment. “Is that what you
want?” he asked me.

I had to think about that. Because I wanted it to

be special for him, but I’ve never much liked
getting fucked. So it was yes and no, and I wasn’t
sure which one to say.

“Al?” Larry said, and I realised I’d been

thinking about it too long.

“I want to do it if you want to do it,” I said. “I

want tonight to be special for you.”

Larry kissed me. “I just got married to the

kindest, most honest and selfless man in the
world. How could it not be special?”

So we did it the way we like it best, with him

on top of me, riding my cock, and Larry was right,
it couldn’t have been any more fucking special. I
had my hands on his hips, lifting him up and
down, and he jerked himself off until spunk
spurted all over my chest, and I thrust my cock up
inside him like I was trying to go all the way
through, and when I came, I knew it was the most
special thing in the whole fucking world.

We started our honeymoon in Florence, which

is this really pretty town in Italy. That’s in Europe.
They’ve got loads of art galleries there. They don’t
open on Mondays, so we spent that day in bed
and ordering room service. On Tuesday we were
both a bit sore, so we went to the gallery with
Michelangelo’s David in. He looks a lot like Larry,
but for a seventeen foot tall guy, he’s got a really
tiny cock. Larry’s cock is a lot bigger than that.
Larry said that Michelangelo was a poof, so I
wondered why he’d sculpted a guy with a really
tiny cock. But I know when you go to old houses,
the doorways are much smaller, ’cause people

were shorter then, so maybe cocks were smaller
too. It makes me glad I wasn’t born a few
centuries ago.

After we’d had a week in Florence, we went to

Venice, and I got to see the Bridge of Sighs
there. I didn’t think it was as pretty as the one in
Cambridge, but Larry was dead pleased he’d
taken me to see it, so I didn’t say nothing. I was
dead pleased he’d brought me there too.

We went on a trip in a gondola, which is like a

punt only posher, and you’re not allowed to punt it
yourself. You have to get a guy in a stripey
sweater to do it for you. That was all right, ’cause I
got to cuddle up with Larry in the back. The
gondolier didn’t seem to mind or nothing, and
after we got off the gondola, he told us about a
club we could go to, and he pinched Larry’s bum.
But we never went there, ’cause we had tickets
for the opera. I was glad, ’cause I don’t want no
one pinching Larry’s bum but me.

The opera we saw was

The Magic Flute.

We

only just got there in time, ’cause while we was
changing to go out, Larry made this joke about
how he liked to play on my magic flute, and we

got a bit distracted. But we got to our box just
before the curtain went up, so that was okay.

It was weird, ’cause there we were in Italy

listening to people singing in German. The music
was nice, though, and there was this guy dressed
up like a parrot. If you’d asked me a year ago to
guess what opera was like, I’d never have
guessed it had guys dressed as parrots. I
might’ve wanted to go and see some sooner if I’d
known. It was a sweet story, ’cause he met this
girl who was dressed as a parrot too, and they
got off together.

And there was this big snake in there too, but I

didn’t quite get that bit. Larry said it was probably
Freudian, but I don’t know how he knew, ’cause it
didn’t look much like a real snake to me. Maybe
he could tell from the zigzags on its back.

When the opera was finished, we walked

round and round Venice, ’cause it was a really
nice night, but also ’cause we kept getting lost. It
was a bit like one of those mazes you get in posh
gardens, only with buildings instead of hedges. It
was weird, walking through a city with no cars. In
the bits with no people, all you could hear was the

water in the canals lapping against the buildings,
and it was so dark that when you looked up you
could see all the stars. It made me think of the
river in Cambridge, and I felt a bit funny.

“You’re quiet, Al,” Larry said. “What are you

thinking?”

I didn’t say nothing for a moment ’cause I

wanted to sort it all out in my head. “I was thinking
of Cambridge, and then I got a bit homesick for a
minute, ’cause I never been this far away from
home before. But then I remembered you’re here,
and now I’m not homesick no more.”

I thought Larry would have something really

clever to say about that, but instead he just
stopped walking and grabbed hold of my face
with both his hands, and he kissed me under the
stars. I put my arms round his little waist, and we
stood there, just kissing.

We stayed there for a long time, until this

group of lads came round the corner and started
wolf-whistling and calling out stuff. I don’t know
what they was saying, ’cause I don’t speak Italian.
I asked Larry, but he just smiled and said,
“Probably best you don’t know. I shouldn’t like to

spend the rest of my honeymoon visiting you in
jail.”

So we stopped kissing and started walking

again, and it turned out we was only round the
corner from out hotel. I was glad about that,
’cause it’s not very comfortable walking ’round
with a hard-on.

That was awhile ago now. A bit after we got

back home, Minnie had kittens, which was kind of
a surprise, ’cause they’re supposed to take care
of all that at the cat place. They were a bit funny-
looking, with bits of ginger. There’s a big ginger
cat two doors down we think must have been the
father. It was weird, thinking of dainty little Minnie
with that big ginger tom twice her size. But I guess
she must have liked it, ’cause when he comes
down the street, she doesn’t spit at him or
nothing.

There were five kittens, and we kept one and

gave the rest away. We gave one of them to
Larry’s mum and dad, and guess what? Larry’s
dad doesn’t look half so pissed off all the time

now.

I still don’t call him Dad or Nigel, though.
So anyway, I guess it’s not just fucking after all,

Larry and me.

Although, you know, the fucking’s pretty good

too.

About the Author

JL Merrow is that rare beast, an English

person who refuses to drink tea. She read Natural
Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many
things, chief amongst which was that she never
wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her
one regret is that she never mastered the ability
of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of
champagne.

She has had over thirty short stories and

novellas published, and her first novel,

Camwolf

,

is now available from Samhain Publishing. She is
currently plotting murder and mayhem on the Isle
of Wight for the purposes of her second novel.

Find JL Merrow online at: www.jlmerrow.com

Look for these titles by JL Merrow

Now Available:

Pricks and Pragmatism

Camwolf

Coming Soon:

Wight Mischief

Easy come, easy go…until the heart gets

involved.

Pricks and Pragmatism

© 2010 J.L. Merrow

English student and aspiring journalist Luke

Corbin should be studying. Instead he’s facing
homelessness, thanks to the lover who’s just
kicking him out of their posh digs. It’s not his first
rejection—his father tossed him out at age
sixteen—but Luke has no problem trading his
favors for a home and security. Especially with
rich, powerful, handsome men.

Except now, with finals bearing down, there’s

no time to be choosy. He needs a roof over his
head and he needs it now. Even if it means
settling temporarily for a geeky, less-than-well-off
chemical engineer called Russell.

Luke's fully prepared to put out for the guy—

because after all, in this world no one gets
something for nothing. But Russell isn’t just a
nerd; he’s an honourable nerd who wants to save
himself for someone special.

At first Luke is annoyed, but the more time he

spends with Russell, the closer he comes to a
devastating realization. He wants to

b e

that

someone special. Except he’s fallen for the one
man he can’t seem to charm…

Enjoy the following excerpt for

Pricks and

Pragmatism:

I clocked Russell the minute I walked in the

door of the café. He was sitting on his own at a
table in the corner playing with his mug, short
stubby fingers moving nervously over the china. I
was almost worried to say hello in case I made
him spill his drink. Tom had been right. Russell

really

wasn’t my usual type. He was… Well, he

was a bit of a geek. Actually, he was a lot of a
geek. Round face and too-long mousy brown hair,
although at least he’d washed it. An actual beard
to match; and we’re not talking a neatly trimmed
goatee, either. He wore a shapeless sweater
over a shirt his mum must have bought him, and
glasses from Nerds’R’Us. No spots, thank God.
He looked around thirty, although from what Tom
had said he ought to be a lot nearer my age. Still,

it wouldn’t be the first time Tom had given the truth
the odd nip and tuck.

Three weeks to Finals, I reminded myself. And

beggars can’t be choosers. So I plastered on my
best cheeky smile, pulled out the chair opposite
him with a scrape and sat down. He looked up,
startled, and just managed not to drench me in
coffee. “Hi, I’m Luke. You’re Russell?”

“Er, yes,” he said, like he wasn’t really sure.

“Nice to meet you.” He didn’t say anything else,
just stared into his coffee cup as if helpful
suggestions were going to spell themselves out
on the foam on top. His fingers linked around the
sides of the mug like he was giving it a cuddle. I
wondered who’d taken away his security blanket.
Maybe it was in the wash.

“Coffee any good here?” I asked. Actually I’d

been here a few times before and I knew it was
shite. But they were really good about letting you
hang around all day when it was cold outside, and
one waitress in particular was always good for a
free refill if you flashed her a smile.

Russell looked worried, like he thought it was

some kind of test.

“Not that I’m fussy, mind,” I added to put him at

his ease. Never a truer word, and all that.

“It’s—it’s all right, I suppose.” His eyes darted

up to me briefly, and then returned to the safety of
the coffee cup. “Their tea’s better,” he ventured.

I shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not fussy. As long

as it’s hot and wet, it’ll do me.” I leaned forward,
resting my elbows on the table, and made my
tone low and suggestive. Habit, really, more than
an urgent desire to get into Russell’s C&A slacks.

Russell blushed. Ye gods. Well, at least his

innuendo detectors were working just fine. “Tom
said…he said you needed somewhere to stay for
a bit,” he said, looking up briefly from under his
hair and then ducking back down for cover again.

“Yeah,” I said. “I know it’s a pain, but I need

somewhere by the weekend. Tom reckoned you
might be able to help me.” He still wasn’t looking
at me, which wasn’t helping at all, so I made my
voice as warm and seductive as possible and
reached across the table to place a hand on one
of his.

He jumped a bloody mile and this time he did

spill the coffee. “Shit! Oh, God, sorry!”

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” I told him easily, seeing

as about one drop had gone on my sleeve and
the rest was soaking into his sweater. Shame it
hadn’t gone in his lap, but I made the best of it. I
must have used half the paper napkins in the
place to mop him up, even the bits that didn’t
strictly need it. He appreciated it. Believe me, I
could tell. “Come on, we’d better get you home
and into some dry clothes,” I said, taking his arm.

Russell lived in a development near the docks.

Not the posh end, by Ocean Village where
Sebastian lived so he could go and wank over his
yacht any time he wanted, but it wasn’t totally
downmarket. His flat was on the second floor, up
four flights of stairs. It was all right, I suppose.
Nothing like Sebastian’s, of course, but I’d known
I wouldn’t get that lucky again. There was a tiny
hall that led into a smallish lounge/diner, with other
doors off that must be to bed and other rooms.
“Great place you’ve got here,” I said, slinging my
rucksack on the floor.

Russell looked pleased. “You like it? I know it’s

a bit bare—I haven’t had time to do it up much
yet.”

“No, it’s great,” I told him, walking past the

squashy, lived-in sofa to the window. “That view is
amazing,” I added, with a lot more sincerity this
time. The flat looked out over Southampton
Water, and you could see the lights of ships
passing by underneath in the twilight. Farther up
to one side was a bridge over the river with tiny
little cars driving over it, visible only by their
headlamps. Somehow it made me feel like we
were right in the heart of things, but in our own
little world; part of the city, but above it too.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Russell said, coming up

behind me. “It’s why I bought the place. Just fell in
love with that view. You look at that and you feel
you can go anywhere, do anything.” It was more
words than he’d strung together the whole time in
the café.

“Yeah? You always lived here alone?”
Russell nodded once, clamming up again. “I’ll

just get changed.”

He disappeared into what must be his

bedroom, and I looked around a bit, checking out

the bookshelves and the DVD collection like you
always do, although hopefully I’d have plenty of
time to do that later. There were the engineering
books like you’d expect, and the complete works
of Terry Pratchett snuggled up to

Gormenghast

and

The Lord of the Rings

, but there was also a

whole shelf full of books in French, mostly crime
stories, which made sense. You don’t need half
as big a vocabulary to read thrillers in a foreign
language as you do for science fiction. There
were a couple of Arsène Lupin paperbacks that
looked familiar from my teenage years, and a
solitary Maigret. It made me nostalgic for
childhood holidays in Brittany. Back when my dad
had still been speaking to me.

“Do you speak French?”
Russell’s voice had startled me, and I spun

’round. He’d changed into jeans and a baggy red
T-shirt that made him look like his own kid
brother. “Haven’t done in years,” I said, shrugging.

He gave a shy smile. “You’d probably pick it

up again all right if you tried. Um. Have you
eaten?”

“Not yet, no,” I told him with a smile, sitting on

the well-stuffed sofa and putting my arm along the
back. I casually rested my right ankle on my left
knee, giving him a good look at my package.
Laying my cards out on the table, so to speak.
“What do you fancy?”

I watched him perch awkwardly on the edge of

an armchair and tried not to sigh. He was like a
tortoise, I decided. Retreating into his shell every
time I tried to get close.

Was he even actually gay?
Still, as long as he let me stay here until the

end of Finals, what did I care? I sat forward again.
“If you’ve got some food in, I’m not bad at
cooking. Or we could get a takeaway? If you’ve
got the money, that is,” I added, as it was
probably time we got the business details out of
the way. “Tom told you I’m skint, right? So I can’t
afford any rent, but I’m happy to pay my way in
other ways. You know—you scratch my back, I’ll
scratch yours. Or, you know, any other bits you
want scratching…” I left it hanging, but I didn’t lick
my lips. I’ve got some class. And he’d probably
have run off screaming.

I could see Russell’s Adam’s apple bob up

and down as he swallowed. “Tom said…he said
you didn’t have any money.” He frowned. “But you
don’t need to…you know.” He stopped, looking
like he’d rather be at the salon getting a back,
sack and crack.

Shit. He wasn’t gay. I was going to

kill

Tom.

Speak now, or forever lose your love…

The Last Supper

© 2011 Scarlet Blackwell

Table for Two, Book 3

Luc Tessier finally has all the ingredients of a

perfect future assembled. His beautiful English
fiancé, Daniel, on his arm, five hundred wedding
guests on the way, and the honeymoon suite
reserved.

Now if only he can get Daniel to stop

obsessing over last-minute details. So what if the
date is set for Friday the thirteenth? After all
they’ve been through to get to this point, what else
is left to go wrong?

Plenty,

starting

with

Daniel’s

sudden

determination to “save” himself for marriage. How
does a healthy, hot-blooded Frenchman fend off a
bachelor party stripper with one arm while trying
to beckon his lover closer with the other—and not
go insane?

Daniel wishes he had it as easy as Luc, who’s

already finished preparing the extravagant menu.

Between contending with a jealous best man, a
spiteful mother-in-law, a bad haircut and Luc’s
frustrated libido, Daniel’s ready to have a nervous
breakdown of failed-pressure-cooker proportions.

Forget making it to the church on time. If they

make it through the thirteenth without someone
ending up face-first in the wedding cake, it’ll be a
miracle…

Warning:

Contains

more

food-related

hotness, men in leather thongs and much more
Luc and Daniel.

Enjoy the following excerpt for

The Last Supper:

“I don’t give a shit if you carry a bouquet of

shallots up the aisle. Come over here and suck
my cock.” Luc Tessier lounged naked on the bed,
stroking his erection with his best seductive
expression on his haughty face. He was rewarded
by his lover Daniel Sheridan turning around from
where he sat writing at the dressing table, eyes
narrowed in irritation.

Luc loved winding Daniel up. He liked

watching the change in his violet eyes. How they
darkened to the colour of stormy seas or twilight

skies. Daniel was hot, hot,

hot

when he was mad.

“I’m not carrying a fucking bouquet,” Daniel

snapped, “or perhaps you’d like me in a dress
too?”

“

Oui

,” Luc replied lazily. “With stockings and

no panties.” They’d already done that variation
one wild night. Daniel in stilettos and mini-skirt—
what great legs he had—Luc pretending he was a
paying customer before bending Daniel over the
arm of the couch and pushing his skirt up to
reveal the hidden delights beneath.

“Arsehole,” Daniel muttered and went back to

his work. He had a thick, black book in which he
constantly wrote annotated wedding plans. He
had changed the order for the flowers five times
and had suggested to Luc just now that he was
going to change them again. Luc didn’t give a
flying fuck. He cared only about the catering,
which he was doing himself, and the large number
of prominent chefs he’d invited to rub their noses
in his culinary skill. There’d be a lot of guests
experiencing orgasms that day, not just Luc and
Daniel on their wedding night. They had already
sold the wedding to

Hello

magazine for a cool

million. Daniel could have the rarest South
American orchids or baskets of dandelions for all
Luc cared.

The wedding was taking place in the extensive

grounds of Luc’s Paris restaurant in one week,
the thirteenth of July. Work was already taking
place on the vast marquee, the tables, the stage
for the numerous bands Daniel had picked, the
fairy lights strung through the trees and the
fairground rides to entertain the obligatory little
brats.

Of course, “wedding” wasn’t the correct term in

France, seeing as it wasn’t legal. The correct
term was civil union. Luc abhorred this. He
wanted to be

married

to Daniel. He had

suggested skipping across the border to Belgium
to be properly married, but then his home country
wouldn’t have recognised it regardless, so it
hardly mattered. What mattered was they called it
a wedding and the press called it a wedding. It

was

a wedding, as far as Luc was concerned.

Luc and Daniel were at Luc’s penthouse

arguing, as they had been doing for the last few
weeks. The plans were boring Luc. All he knew

right now was that the madder he made Daniel,
the harder Luc got for him.

“Come and sit on my face.”
“I’m not going to sit on your face, Luc. We’re

getting married in a week and we have no flowers
and one of the string quartet has such severe
vertigo that he’s crawling along the floor. Can you
play cello lying down?”

“

Je m’en fou

,” Luc retorted and stroked

himself, watching Daniel’s reaction carefully in the
mirror.

Daniel got to his feet, clearly intent on stalking

away as only he could do. If ever there were a
demand for a guide book on stalking etiquette,
Daniel could write it. He could bang doors, he
could flounce, he could sulk and he could throw
looks to freeze a person at a hundred yards. And
Luc had the perfect antidote to them all.

He climbed off the bed and gripped his lover

firmly by the arm. A grip that suggested he wasn’t
playing. “Hey, I came home early because I’ve
been thinking about you all day. I wanted to show
my appreciation for you. Perhaps you could put
the book down for just an hour and come to bed

with me?”

It almost worked. Words like this were more

effective with Daniel than “sit on my face”. Daniel
looked torn and then said reluctantly, “I can’t. I’ve
got to meet a man about serviettes.”

“What? Going to have each guest’s name

monogrammed on the edge?”

Daniel looked thoughtful. “There’s an idea.”
“Christ.”
Daniel glared before he slipped free of his

grip, leaving Luc to deal with his own erection.

The serviette man was gay and clearly used

his fresh-faced boyish appeal to sell his wares.
Obviously he knew Daniel was gay, seeing as the
only people who

didn’t

were the bonga-bonga

tribe who lived in darkest Borneo, thanks to an
embarrassing incident in the press that Luc had
virtually predicted the very same week it
happened.

Daniel slouched in his chair, the drone of

hammers and power tools coming from the
marquee threatening to give him a blinding

headache, and daydreamed. He had once been
a successful food critic and had once hated Luc’s
guts. That was until a dinner invitation had led to
him being facedown over Luc’s workbench and
addicted to the man’s cock for the rest of his life.
Not that sex was all they shared together, even if
Luc’s appetite was larger than life. Luc might
have been arrogant, conceited, stubborn,
sarcastic and all-around impossible, but that
didn’t stop Daniel from loving him. Even the battle
between Luc and Daniel’s mother six months ago
hadn’t managed to tear them apart, nor Daniel’s
subsequent outing in the press after a rather
unfortunate public sexual encounter. Daniel’s
mother hadn’t spoken to him since, apart from a
curt text message to inform him he was out of her
will. Which was a particularly nice touch from the
Ice Queen.

Daniel had stopped working after the outing.

He had fled to Paris with Luc to lick his wounds
and had been looked after by his lover with a
tenderness that astounded him. Luc had hidden
depths which most people weren’t party to. But
even Daniel saw these qualities only sporadically.

Usually it was enough, but sometimes the tension
between them erupted in a fight that would
culminate in separate beds, separate houses or
separate countries. Right now, the wedding
preparations, which had been going on for two
months, after Daniel had finally accepted Luc’s
proposal some four months after the event, were
pushing them to breaking point. But it wasn’t like
they hadn’t been there before.

What Daniel knew was that Luc loved him,

despite his deep disinterest in the wedding
preparations. At least, those preparations that
didn’t involve food, because Luc had firmly taken
control of that and seemed to be effortlessly and
methodically working his way through it with no
outward signs of stress at all. It was only Daniel
who was having the nervous breakdown.

“So, what do you think?” The salesman, blond

and tanned, almost fluttered his eyelashes.

“About what?” Daniel sat up a bit straighter

and tried not to notice the worked-out body in the
expensive Italian suit. God, how much did
serviette salesmen make, anyway?

“About the monograms on the corner of

each?”

“No, I don’t think so. They’re only going to end

up in the bin, aren’t they?”

“The

bin

?” The man was French and heavily

accented.

“Being thrown away,” Daniel rephrased it.
“

D’accord

. So, the ivory linen, then? Or

perhaps the soft pink?”

“I’m not going to have pink serviettes at my

wedding,” Daniel warned, a touch irritably. Was
the salesman mocking him? Had he seen the
incriminating photos on the Internet? Daniel sat
on Luc’s lap riding him in a restaurant while a
hundred guests stared at them through the
window.

“

Bien

. What date again?”

“The thirteenth.”
The salesman winced. “Are you sure?”
“What do you mean?”
“The thirteenth. Not

Friday

the thirteenth?”

A cold sweat drenched Daniel’s back

suddenly. “Shit.”

“You’ve gone very pale.”
Daniel scrambled up so fast he almost

overturned his chair. “I have to go.”

“But let me give you my card. I’ll write my

personal number on it.” The man smiled
flirtatiously.

Daniel didn’t notice. He was off across the

lawn toward the restaurant.

Muscling Through

JL Merrow

The bigger they come, the harder they fall... in

love.

Cambridge art professor Larry Morton takes

one, alcohol-glazed look at the huge, tattooed
man looming in a dark alley, and assumes he’s
done for. Moments later he finds himself
disarmed—literally and figuratively. And, the next
morning, he can’t rest until he offers an apology to
the man who turned out to be more gentle than
giant.

Larry's intrigued to find there's more to Al

Fletcher than meets the eye; he possesses a
natural artistic talent that shines through untutored

technique. Unfortunately, no one else seems to
see the sensitive soul beneath Al’s imposing,
scarred, undeniably sexy exterior. Least of all
Larry's class-conscious family, who would like
nothing better than to split up this mismatched
pair.

Is it physical? Oh, yes, it’s deliciously physical,

and so much more—which makes Larry’s next
task so daunting. Not just convincing his
colleagues, friends and family that their
relationship is more than skin deep. It’s
convincing Al.

Warning: Contains comic misunderstandings,

misuse of art materials, and unexpected
poignancy.

eBooks are

not

transferable.

They cannot be sold, shared or given away

as it is an infringement on the copyright of

this work.

This book is a work of fiction. The names,

characters, places, and incidents are products of

the writer’s imagination or have been used

fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.

Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,

actual events, locale or organizations is entirely

coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

Macon GA 31201

Muscling Through

Copyright © 2011 by JL Merrow

ISBN: 978-1-60928-501-2

Edited by Linda Ingmanson

Cover by Angela Waters

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may

be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever

without written permission, except in the case of

brief quotations embodied in critical articles and

reviews.

First

Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

electronic

publication: July 2011

www.samhainpublishing.com

Table of Contents

Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
About the Author
Look for these titles by JL Merrow
Also Available from Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
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