He's Perfect: The Second Prequel

As it's title suggests this is one in a series of connected stories. To read it in it's full context, please check out "He's Perfect" in the archives.


I ran out the door and along the path, oblivious to the calming expanses of grass on either side. Without knowing where I was heading, I followed the path. As I rounded a curve the obscuring tree yielded, allowing me to see Dad's car. What was Dad's car. I couldn't take it, screaming, I bolted in the opposite direction. Across the grass, slightly boggy from the heavy rains of the past week. Soon, a fence appeared. One of those with little ability as a barrier, but one that contributed to the overall appearance of the grounds, therefore justifying the money for it and granting it the title 'fence'. I jumped over it and landed on the footpath on the other side. Without breaking stride I then left the footpath for the bitumen of the road. Suddenly, a blaring noise appeared. The sharp spikes and troughs of a heart monitor filled my brain and I became completely immobilised. The car's horn continued on and on. It cut into my head completely overwhelming the already overwhelmed. The driver, a man, was getting furious now. Soon, his window was lowered and he added his angry voice to the cacophony. Cars banked up behind him and more voices and horns were added to the horrific choir.

I had completely lost control. A part of me was willing them to run me down. The same one that also longed for one of the drivers to get out of the car and beat all the pain out of me. That's why I didn't flinch when I felt arms wrap around me from behind. I didn't even brace myself for the impact, just stood there waiting for it. But it didn't come. Instead, the arms gently steered me back the way I had come. I was too overcome to resist. So, I let myself be led back towards the place I hated above all others. I attempted to lift myself back over the fence. But in a battle of superior feebleness I won. So I found myself being lifted off the ground and over it. However, my feet didn't meet the ground again once I was safely back inside the hospital grounds. I found myself being carried, faintly aware of the squelch as we crossed the grass. Then I felt the solid feel of wood against my back as I was placed on a bench. As my rescuer sat down next to me he was finally revealed. My brain did not recognise him, but that was not saying much. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

"Are you ok? Would you like me to get you a nurse? How can I help?" I responded slowly. Leaving the first, unnecessary question unanswered I simply shook my head. Right then left. I just sat still after that, paralysed by the devastation in my life. "Ok", he said, as he wrapped his arm around me, "Everything's going to be alright." Because I was desperate for the fantasy, because I needed the comfort, because his arm was the only thing connecting me to this world, I sunk with his arm and buried myself in  his side. A thin layer of muscle covered his rib. This tensed slightly as his arm brought me closer into his embrace. His hand stroked my head. Just for those moments, I forgot about everything that had happened. I was back at home, with Mum comforting me after a bad dream. I stayed like that, in a trance for, in all likelihood, hours. After a while his t-shirt was damp from my silent tears, but he made no effort to dry it. No effort to discomfort me. Every now and again he would say something. Never anything substantial, but always something comforting and nothing my warped brain couldn't morph into my mother's voice.

At one point a nurse must have come out trying to find me. Seeing me with Him, she informed him what had happened. She'd  tried to get me back inside. There were forms that needed to be filled in and the bed needed to be cleared for another patient. He told her it could wait. Knowing him very well, she let it go, leaving me in his very capable hands. "Ben. I'm here for you. I can stay as long as you need me", he told me once she had left. "But if you'd like, I could take you to somewhere more comfortable, where you could lie down?" This time I nodded. He gently pushed me so that I was once again sitting upright. He stood up, moved in front of me and with the hand that still clasped mine, he pulled me to my feet. I was vaguely aware of this being the first time I had actually seen his face. Somewhere inside a part of me registered the compassion on his face and most of all in his eyes. Not sympathy or pity, but true and pure compassion. Allowing me to set the pace, we edged towards the hospital doors. At the steps I stumbled, forcing him to stabilise me. From then on his hand released mine and his arm swung around my back, supporting me, once again.

Eventually we made it to his room. A small, single room with a bed and not much else. He lay me down on his bed, slid a chair beside it and sat down. He grabbed a firm hold of my hand again and his other hand went soothingly to my head. "You're here now. You're safe. You can sleep now." So I did.

When I awoke, he was still there, sitting beside me, holding my hand, but his attention was directed at the nurse. They conversed too quickly for my groggy brain to follow, but soon, she returned with some food. Some of the first light of the day was making its way through the window, lighting up the room. It could have been my state of mind, but to me, it seemed to shine an intense spotlight on Him, highlighting his golden hair. "Hello Ben", he greeted me warmly, "How are you feeling? Julie's brought you some breakfast if you'd like it." Immediately, I became aware of my rumbling stomach, and I was unable to recall when I had had my last meal. I fed myself, although weakly, forgetting to thank the nurse before she left.

When I had finished, I turned to the guy who had entered my life so welcomely. "What was your name?" He told me and I placed it in my memory bank's most secure vault. This would be a name I would treasure until the day I died...

The Four (3 and 1)

A fair while ago now, this appeared in a post on MY LITTLE NOTEPAD: "In my head I heard, 'Where is he? Is he here? Please let him be here, let him see me.'" This is the story that it led to...

I don't know what to do. All of a sudden I can't turn a corner without bumping into one of the three. Or even more torturous: being stuck alone with the fourth one. Two of them look quite similar though one is a couple of years the elder. It is the hair mainly that makes this so. All of them much taller than I am. Fitter than I am. Hotter than I am. Each of the three I wish would just shut their mouths, close their eyes and remove their tops. I've given up on that faintest hope that they'd one day look at me with the knowledge that comes from a close bond shared between lovers. A passive neutral response is the best I can hope for now. I hear them talking and it nearly makes me reconsider how I feel about them; the way they are objectifiying women. But then I see them and my insides just melt away to form an entire swarm of butterflies. One of them, also, has a voice that doesn't fit the illusion. Forces me crashing back down to reality. I am not so superficial that none of the other things matter...

The one I had the most contact with, through my soccer, has almost vanished completely from my life, now that the season has changed. I enjoyed him being around, especially in the changerooms. I enjoyed the way he mucked around with the other members of the squad in his year level, without realising that by doing so he was bringing to life some of my most desired homoerotic fantasies. But now that he's not, he has moved out of his lot in my subconscious. It's similar also, in the case of the look-a-like. Although, every now and again he pops into my thoughts, this happens more and more rarely as his contact with me becomes non-existent. The third one though, is the oldest of the heart throbs. His apartment was rented out long before the other two came onto the scene and he is still a tenant today. His appears to be more than a mere business transaction. The literal shine of his hair and that cute face to die for! I don't know much about him apart from what I have seen myself. But what I have seen is enough to keep me coming back for more for a long time yet. His is the attitude of confidence. It is so seductive, from the way he presents himself to the way he walks.

All of them would have few objections from the general population if they were to wear less. Lets face it, their bodies are S-M-O-K-I-N-G! And they know it. Thankfully, this means at every chance they get they're not afraid to show it off. To the ladies of course, but it works on me just as well. I just wish I could let them know how impressed I am. That they would respond in the same way they would if the feedback came from a girl.

And then there is the fourth one. The forward one. The tease. He is the one that, jokingly or not, suggests all the things that have been going through my mind since he entered the room. The illusion I have created with him, is not that far from reality. The strip tease revealing that smooth, toned body and done with a cheeky grin plastered across his face, would not be so far out of character. Acting on his lewd suggestions would be. He would be the dominant one, playing the part with experience and skill. Ashamedly, I would be his willing servant; desperate to please him so as to please myself. Thoughts of romantic exploits are banished by the reality that he would use me and move on to his next source of pleasure. But damn, it wouldn't stop me from doing it, if he ever did use actions instead of words. For actions are much harder to misinterpret.

And so, the days of their company are drawing to a close. But, whenever I'm around the place, in areas I might see them a small part will always be thinking, "Where is he? Is he here? Please let him be here, let me see him."

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A quick question to loyal readers of my blog:
Do you have a preferred person which you enjoy reading my posts in? 1st, 2nd or 3rd person?

Newly Found Freedom

Nearing one week of freedom, it's a strange feeling. For one, The Four (more on them soon) will most likely vanish from my life forever, now that ties with school have been broken. It is probably better that way but still...

On the other hand, a whole new world is opening up for me, if I'm brave enough to take that first step. And  for me, it is a big one.

Besides, all the free time ahead of me is both relaxing and inspiring. It is the longest break since before age 5, with nothing at all to interrupt it and no plans! Should give me a chance to really give this blog a work-out. To branch out a bit. To experiment, experience and enjoy.

Write soon.

SHOUT OUT:   Kitty if you are reading this... Miss your entertaining posts muchly...

No Magic

The magic isn’t running through my veins. The Elders had said to be careful, to make sure that I kept in practice or I could lose it forever. Stupidly, I ignored them and focused on more important things. It was there, it was always there. Nothing I did, said or thought, could change that. If only…

My arm is tensed; the veins are popping out, but still nothing. The glow is gone. The sparkle, the flow of pure power are no more. Instead, a tear glides slowly down my cheek as I rue what once was, what could have been. Gravity takes hold and the tear accelerates in its fall. I accelerate in my fall. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. Now, I can see how focusing on my Tasks lead to me neglecting so many other things. So what if I couldn’t practice outside of home and the Learning Place. Was it really worth gaining that ability to lose this one.

It is the thing that separates each of us and makes us unique. We, all alike in physique, have one vital difference in our appearances. All of us are distinguished by our aura. Our colouring that, because it is directly linked to our own magic, takes on a new shade. My skin, once the most violent of radioactive greens has dulled to moss. Dying moss. The tear, with its slight green tinge falls to my shoulder and then down my arm. It traces my vein to my wrist where it stops; its journey complete. Soon it will dry up, to be replaced by the lightest of marks. I watch, waiting for this.

And I wait. And wait. And wait. No evaporation, no mark. Now the tears are really flowing. A stream floods my face and yet again I wish could go back...

Reflection (amongst other depressings)

I see now when the dream died. I stopped believing in the fairytale and saw a reality...
Did you see what I see?
Did you feel what I feel?

The Dream

He comes to you in a dream, though it is so realistic you don't realise this until afterwards. The dream is unlike any others you have had: it is in no way sexually-motivated or wet. There is no primal desire nor does it leave you waking up the next morning with a mess to clean up and questions as to how loud your expressions of ecstasy had been. In fact, it is almost no different to your life. Although, It is not a problem and neither is He. 

No, this time you start off in a public place with your mother. You are accompanying her on a weekend errand run and currently find yourself at the bank. In a queue. Where else?! As you wait you have a look around the bank, trying to find something interesting in this most mundane of places. Your mother is worrying about what she needs to explain when she finally gets to the desk, so the stilted conversation you had been having has now ceased. Your eyes have explored the entire right wall, with all its grand posters each exclaiming, in bright letters, a different spectacular feature of the financial institution where you are stuck in line. Your eyes continue to wander around the room, ever moving clockwise, when you notice someone your own age is waiting in line behind you. He sees that you have become aware of his presence and without hesitation he remarks, "Boring isn't it? I hate banks and their stupid promo posters, though I'd have to say that one is my favourite." You both chuckle at the poster proclaiming the nation's best customer service.

 You wonder whether he realises he has revealed, inadvertently or not, that he has been watching you for a while, by this comment. Granted, they are the closest thing to interesting here, but your gaze and attention left the posters a long time ago. But apparently, you've managed to catch his interest and, for once, keeping up a conversation with a complete stranger is easy for you. Without needing to think about it, the words, questions and answers slip smoothly from your lips. 

You find out that you have a mutual friend. One who is having a party on the next weekend, to which both of you are hoping to go. Though as you explained to him, parties are somewhat of an unexplored realm for you. You don't mention your normally faltering conversations as a main reason for this.

Without drawing your attention away from your newly found connection, your mother has reached the desk and had her worry sorted out. She makes her way over to where you are, as the lady at the desk becomes increasingly impatient with he who has made the remainder of your wait go in a flash. However, now it is his turn. "This won't take long", he informs me before rushing up, apologetically, to the desk. 

"He seems nice." These words bring you back. Your mother is smiling at you. 

"He's a friend of Jarryd's", you explain. Not because you need to hide this from her, but because, just for the time being, you want to keep what you have found in him, hidden. 

Your eyes return to the desk, where he is finishing up. You take note that he has managed to put a smile back on the desk lady's face. It seems he is quite good at creating smiles. He reaches you and your mother, "Is it okay if I tag along with you for a bit?", he asks. Instantly, a 'yes' bursts to the edge of your mouth, but before you can let it out, your mother's, "sure", beats you to it. You wonder if she can feel the glow off of your face as she says this. "What did you say your name was?" 

"Henry."

 You like the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. The way it suits him and how you know it's a name you'll never forget. 

The three of you wander in and out of the various shops as you work your way down the list of errands. All the time the conversation flows freely between you. He is not daunted by her, indeed, he takes it in his stride effortlessly. His confidence and easy-going nature put you at ease, while his smiles and the sparkle in his eye as he looks at you, send your heart racing and give birth to many a stomach butterfly. 

When you have come to the end of the list, you're mother looks at you, knowingly. Without you even needing to ask, she gives you the answer you had been wishing for, "I'll see you when you get home. I trust you'll make sure my son gets home safely, Henry."

"You've got it Mrs G. I'll drop him off once we've finished here." With that your mother leaves you about to melt, as you wonder how this day could get any better. And then it does as he wraps his arm around your waist and directs you into the next store. It's a clothes store and the normally boring activity has found a sudden new appeal.

He takes you to the jeans section. "Mind helping me pick out a pair?", he asks, "It gives you an excuse to have a good look!" Although this could come off as arrogance in many people, that word couldn't be further from your mind or the truth about him. Though the smile that spreads to his face would give him enough reason to be, if he was like that. 

"What? You mean to say I haven't already?!" He laughs and then grabs two pairs and ducks off to the fitting rooms.

Before long, he is back out with you, modelling them as if on a catwalk. In your opinion, he should be on a catwalk, although, having said that, that would mean you'd have to share this experience with others. Let's just keep him modelling for you, you think. Every pair he tries on looks great, but eventually the two of you narrow down the options and finally pick one. After going to the counter, he tells you "I'd better get you home. I don't want to get on your mum's bad side." 

"I don't think that's possible. Even if she likes you only half as much as I do." You beam as you say this and he beams back at you.

"Still, if I wasn't allowed to see you, I don't know how I'd cope." With that he leans over and kisses you. It feels so right and you know this is where you belong.

You walk back to his car, he chucks the jeans in the back and opens the passenger door for you. You slide in and he hops into the driver's seat. "Now", he says, "where are we going?" You realise, with a shock, that this is just the first time you have met. He doesn't know where you live, even though you have spent the day feeling like the two of you have known each other for years.

You tell him where to go and how to get there. When you are a street away he pulls over and you begin to tell him he has gotten a little confused, but then you realise what he is doing. You lean over to him, as he does the same, and that feeling of being home returns, growing stronger. 

Once you are done, you regain your composure, and make sure you look all neat and tidy. He pulls out onto the road again and drops you off outside your house. "Thanks for today. I had a great time", you confess and you can't resist kissing him again before you leave. 

"You kidding? The pleasure's been all mine. So, I'll see you at Jarryd's?"

With a moment of poise you didn't know you possessed, you reply, "Maybe. We'll see..."And with that you leave, with a skip in your step. 

The week drags along ever so slowly and the weekend seems like a far-too-distant mirage. But, eventually, it does come and with it, the party at Jarryd's. 

You arrive and you immediately start looking for him. He finds you, greets you with a kiss and a firm hug. "I thought you'd never get here," he tells me. "There's this place I found that I want to show you", he informs me as he grabs your hand and leads you towards the park that backs onto Jarryd's place. 

The party has obviously been going on for a while, because as you walk, you pass various couples who have claimed their own bit of grass. Their shameless displays of intimacy, many of which should definitely have moved to a bedroom, would normally have made you uneasy. However, with Henry by your side, you feel like you could handle anything. You reach the edge of the trees and as you walk underneath the first one he takes your hand and places it on his hip, drawing you closer to him. "I hope you don't mind, but it's a bit chilly." He smiles. As do you. He knows this late summer's night couldn't be described as chilly by anyone's standards. But he doesn't need an excuse anyway, "As long as your happy to do the same for me", you say. 

"That was the plan", he confesses and the cheeky grin returns to his cute face. 

And then his face blurs, the trees fade away and you notice the feel of your doona on your skin. With a rapidly sinking feeling you realise it was just a dream. You wish with all your might that it wasn't so, but you can't escape the truth. You grab at the the few fragments of the dream that remain, willing yourself back to him. But you can't get there. The problems return, as menacing as ever, and He blows his nose. An air horn, blasting you back to reality...

The significance of Him having no part in a dream that felt so perfect does not escape without you noticing. But more than that, the dreaded isolated feeling returns and it nearly brings you to tears. It had felt so real. So right. He had been completely original, so unlike many of the guys you had defined as your 'type'. Nevertheless, you and he had fit together. You belonged together. Yet he was merely a figment of your imagination, trapped in the world that was The Dream. The one that you would never, ever, forget...

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Things are getting pretty hectic at school, so I doubt I'll be able to post anything more before the holidays in about 3 weeks time. I hope this is enough to tide you over until then...

His is heaven

There he is. All yours. There is no one to disturb you, nothing that could interrupt or spoil this moment. Finally, the wait is over.

You wrap your arms around him, trying to draw him into you. Inhaling his scent and learning all the curves of his body. Feeling his muscles working against yours...

And then, he pushes you away. Confused, you wait, as he does it again. This time it is with more force and he pushes you, roughly, onto the bed. He takes a few steps back. Normally, in a situation like this, you'd be scared, but not this time, not with him. You slide up the bed and rest your back against the wall, completely at ease.

He's smiling at you now, and you are smiling back. His grin becomes cheeky as he lifts up his top teasingly slowly. He looks even better at this close range, or is it the look he is giving you, the one challenging you to find fault with what you see, that is really what is getting your blood pumping?

He reaches for the button on his jeans, works it through the hole and then agonisingly lowers the zip. The more he reveals, the more you want. God he's gorgeous!

You watch the muscles ripple through his body as he moves back towards you, in nothing but his underwear. He reaches the bed, and your feet. He grabs them and drags you towards him, flexing his arms as he does this. He reaches for your socks and, using his teeth, he rips them off and then works his way up your legs to your own jean button. He places his mouth over it and somehow manages to undo it. He feels how excited that made you. His eyes lift and stare straight into yours, making you want to melt. His mouth never losing contact with your zipper as he works that undone as well.

Now, he lets the zipper fall from his mouth. His head snakes upwards, brushing against your underwear, but continuing up along your stomach and across your chest. His hands are busy continuing where his mouth left off, slipping your pants off from around your legs. His mouth reaches yours and he gives you a real taste of his skill. Your hands are wrapped around his waist, trying to tame the beast you have unleashed. But this primal animal is contagious. You push and pull on his waist, starting him in a rhythm, as you lower his underwear.

He is fully exposed and his cockiness, in more than one way, is really turning you on. This is a guy who knows what he wants, and you're gonna do your darndest to make sure he gets it. It doesn't matter how quickly this has all happened. That you only made the breakthrough last week. All that matters is that you're on the same page now that you've confessed your feelings for him. But better still, you're on the same mattress, and it's not the only thing groaning from the activity.

All your senses are in overdrive as you present for him, knowing he'll do the same for you not long from now. Everything becomes more frenzied, escalating. The noises and even the smell, now laced with some sweat. If his was a perfume, you'd buy out every shop.

His hands are racing over your skin. Wherever they touch, bursts into flame. This sensual fire continues to burn hotter and hotter, until...

His arms come together around your stomach and chest. They squeeze tighter and tighter, as it is he who tries to draw you into him this time. He stiffens and then the fire becomes an explosion of passion and desire. You collapse onto the bed, and he does the same onto you. He runs his finger along the ridge of your back as you both prepare to switch roles.

But he gets you before you can get him. He takes you where you are most vulnerable. He knows the spot to hit and his tongue knows exactly what to do there. Again, your ecstasy soars upward like a rocket and you have to turn over to stop it from hurting. He doesn't let you rest, he is hungry, almost ravenous. His mouth reaches its target and he starts off on a new rhythm, once again looking straight into your eyes. And you wonder why it took you this long to find. How you could have faultered at that vital point for so long. What would have happened if he hadn't taken the lead. However, more strongly than any other, the desire to never lose this rings throughout your head.

For The Love Of Ball Games

You wonder how they'd react if they knew. How things would be different if they knew that their parading arounding the changerooms is as good as a trip to a strip club for you. Team sports are just that: sports built around the team. So what happens when your teammate receives the pass from you and instead of focusing on the play necessary to clinch victory, he's worrying about whether you were just checking him out.

Teams are built on trust. Break that trust, and 'team' flies out the window. There's no 'I' in team, but there's two eyes in suspicion.

You're so glad they can't hear your thoughts; your fantasies. If they could, you wouldn't be able to look at them. And more than likely, they wouldn't want you to either.

It's almost as if it's set up so as to cause the most problems possible. The public nature of the changeroom area. The community showers, limited clothing. All supposedly help achieve a greater level of team bonding. But in your case, it has crossed the line. Gone over the top.

They joke with each other about liking each other that way and wanting to have some fun. But they really are just joking. How would they deal with you, not saying such things, but knowing that that is what you mean and want?

Your attack on the ball, your unquenchable hunger for winning it on your own merit. Would that become a joke about your interest in other things bally? Would they still give you the pat on the backside when you put in a good effort? If they knew how excited even that small gesture made
you? How much you enjoy laying a hard tackle. In all its forms, even if you do feel guilty about it.

But you love ball games and you wish that you could find out that your preferences were no barrier, without actually having to expose yourself and put yourself out there. But unless someone else, unexpectedly, takes the plunge for you, you'll not get that opportunity.

The Fatal Urge

Pete walks along the street. The sun is setting and a chill is descending on the world around him. He doesn't feel it though. He is numb. Headlights approach from ahead. Like a wild animal he is caught in their seductive lure. They are willing him to meet them, take them on. He realises that would involve jumping in front of the car and he resists. He continues walking, but takes the first side street, so that he gets off the main road. Further away from temptation.

He reaches home and goes to the kitchen. He's not hungry, but grabs some food anyway. He sees the knives. Notices how they glint. Imagines their sharp edge and how it would feel to have it slicing through his skin. That alive feeling that would come from seeing his red blood flow from his wrists because of something he did. Again he resists.

He heads to his bedroom. His name on the door, as it has been since he and dad put it there on his third birthday. That birthday had come a month after they had moved into this apartment. He'd been so excited that he'd have a staircase to use his slinky on. There was one inside, from the living areas to level with the bedrooms. And then another one, outside the apartment, used by those who scorned the elevator.

He stared out of the large window from his bed. His view was spectacular. His vision, however, was severely inhibited by this numb feeling. He went out onto his balcony, to try and freshen up. The temperature had dropped a few more degrees since he'd got home. Still, the cold air did nothing. Pete didn't notice the dragon breath coming from his mouth. Something else had grabbed his attention. The height. He could look down far below to the streetlights. The tree directly beneath him shook in the wind. A branch curled, creating a smiley face between it and the two neighbouring lamp eyes.

He climbed onto the ledge. Another gust of wind moved the branch again. Now it grimaced. Pete knew it was a reflection of him. The headlights and the glint of the knife had been tempting. But this, this was irresistible. He leapt towards this face that revealed the true him. His dragon breath was not accompanied with wings, nor did he want them. He was never one to soar amongst the clouds.

He didn't let a sound slip from his mouth. He was numb all the way down. Even right up to the thump of his impact, he felt no more alive than he was after it. He skipped pain, going straight from numb to no more. Yet another failed attempt to feel something other than nothing...

Lust vs Love; Him vs Her

You see him in the changerooms. She is in your dream.

Both make you feel hot under the collar and increase your heart rate.

They take their tops off. His reveals a flat stomach, yet to be invaded with the hair that no doubt will be there soon. Hers gives you a glimpse of the past. It's that 4th date. The one where things could have gone so much further than they did. It was your doubt, which made sure they didn't. You still remember the sensation of her smooth stomach to your hand. You're reminded of it again now. You had her, but you let her go.

Painstakingly, you try to avert your eyes from him. You know sooner or later one of the other guys will notice your gaze, or worse, he will. But, the thought of how long it could be until you can get another glimpse causes you to hesitate. Your eyes linger, while his look up.

The memory continues. The way she worked your top up and then off. Her fingers tracing figure-8s and the shortening of your breath as she did. The smile as she saw your excitement.

You know you've blown it. You can see him looking at you, eye brow slightly raised, questioning. God it looks hot. You shake your head, trying to clear that thought from it. You focus on your clothes, getting changed and then getting as far away from here as quickly as you can. You can feel your cheeks glowing red. Hopefully he'll dismiss it as you still cooling down after training. You can feel his eyes still boring into you. Your hands are shaking as you pull on your pants.

And then the frantic nature of her hands as they began to expose your underwear. Like snakes, only the venom wasn't poisonous, but still damn intoxicating. Your breathing quickens, your body tenses and you let slip a quiet moan....

You rush out the room. Bag barely on your shoulders. You head for the street, but you turn away from the bus stop and head in the opposite direction. You can't bear standing there, waiting for the bus to come, or for any of the others to walk past. Just walking, in the general direction of home, but in no rush to get there.

She is lying next to you. You can feel her warmth and pressure on your skin. And then there is a crash. A plate slamming into the bench. Someone is up. And now you join them in the land of the conscious. The dream, the memory, is just that. Nothing more. No matter whether you want it that way or not.

You're kicking yourself. How could you have been so stupid?! You're not thinking about where you're going, you can't. That thought circles around the inside of your head as you walk in automatic. You try to come up with ways of explaining it to him, or anyone else that asks, but no excuse comes to mind. You replay what happened. However, the top comes off and the frame freezes. His torso takes hold and your imagination runs wild. 

You lay there. Trying to work out who it is that disturbed you. You've released the pillow, the one that had been her. Is that what it is though? Is it the situation, or her, that gets you going? Do you love her, like you thought you did once? Or is it what she does that you lust for. 

A bare chest. Figure-8s. Hands grappling with underwear. His underwear. You are no longer with her. Instead, you are doing what she did to you, for him. You imagine the feel of it on your throat, as his breathing becomes more shallow. You feel that intoxicating venom again, although this time it is different. It is pulsing from him, to throughout your body. 

You're home, finally. Exhausted, physically and emotionally. You head straight for your bed. In seconds you're down for the count. And she is removing her top...

What is this? What is going on? How can you swap and change so readily from one to the other? How long is it until they are both there, at the one time? What would you do then? WHO would you choose? Him or Her?

The next day you get your answer. He confronts you after school. He takes you to a corner. Not accusatory, but curious. Initially on the back foot, you see this and steady. He is interested. He asks about the change rooms and your wandering eyes, which did anything but. He asks if you got a good enough look yesterday, but doesn't wait for an answer. He sheds his top again, revealing his now very familiar upper body. Only, it's no dream, and it's no accident. The tonsil hockey the two of you are playing make that blindingly clear. Thoughts of her drift out of your mind. To leave forever, or to be stored for a later time, you don't know. Nor do you care. Here he is. Now. And you're not going to let this slip. Although your hands do. Down. So that you can feel how much he is enjoying this and make him enjoy it even more. 

Everything has that amazing freshness of something new. It's not something you've known before, but now that you do you sure as hell want to repeat the dosage. As for the boxing match that was going on inside you, he just landed the knockout blow. She is down for the count. Time will only tell if she gets up again....

He's Perfect: The First Prequel

As promised, this a prequel to my post about two sick lovers. Writing this, I realised it would be far too long to fit as one post. So, instead, this is the first of a series of prequels, which will cover the time up until the beginning of my original post. To read the story in full, thus far, just go to the original post "He's Perfect". That is where I will keep a complete, chronological (story-wise) copy of the story for all those who would like to read it.


It wasn't what I expected at all. The words coming out of the doctors' mouth were terrible. But, they'd stopped penetrating my thoughts long ago. "hereditary" ran through my head. Over and over. And over. Two years ago, I'd watched my mother slowly slip away from me. Every day, the magnificent woman I knew was less and less there. It was not long before she passed away. Too quickly for the doctors to do anything about it. They cut her open, tore away the little that was left of her to try and find out what had happened. But, in the end, "We did our best. We're very sorry for your loss", was the only answer they could come up with.

Then, 2 months ago, dad slipped and fell over in the kitchen. He'd been washing the dishes, and as usual, he left a small puddle on the floor beneath the sink. This time however, when his foot slid the barest of margins, he completely lost his balance and came tumbling down to the ground. The thump when his head hit the ground was the loudest noise I have ever heard. It cut through everything, including his skull. In the short time it took for me to reach him, the pool of blood had spread rapidly. I called 000, tried to stem the bleeding and did everything I could think of to stop him from dying on me. He was all I had left. Friends had been either unable to cope with the loss of my mother or incapable of dealing with the grief my father and I now endured on a daily basis. Regardless, they didn't make contact anymore. As for family, there was none. Both my parents were only childs and their parents all died before 60. Cancer, heart failure, car accident. A series of unfortunate events, and now this, to add to the collection.

The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics took charge straight away. I told them what had happened and anything else that I could think of that might be in someway relevant or helpful. Otherwise, I just left them to it. I was completely out of my depth. Clinging to the edge of the pool, trying my darndest not to go under, but it was like quicksand and I was struggling more frantically than a rabbit caught in a trap...

Once they'd stabilised him, they took him to hospital. I was in the ambulance with him, but the trip is nothing more than a blur. I wasn't really there, although my body was. At the hospital, the doctors may as well have been speaking another language and in a way they were. I doubt, even at my most alert, that I would have understood even half of what they were trying to explain to me. But, even so, dad was going to be ok. I got that much. No internal damage. Superficial. Very lucky. Cracked skull. Brain function. CT. MRI. The rest simply floated around, making no connections with anything else and was certainly in no rush to do so in any case.

When he finally did wake up, it broke the spell. He was groggy, daised and confused, but it was him and that was enough. Or so I'd thought...

Over the next few weeks, after passing various mental tests and the like and satisfying the doctors that he was ready to go home, it became increasingly clear that everything was not alright. He began having memory trip ups more and more frequently, but when I told him how worried I was, he simply brushed it aside. It was perhaps a month later, when I received a call from him in a very panicky, distressed state. He'd been driving home from work, when he realised he didn't know the way. Soon, he had become lost and now he described to me, where he was. Outside a tall beige building, with large windows. About 5 storeys and 3 trees in the median strip. Opposite, was a park, with playground, walking trail and a duck pond. It was his work. He was sitting in the car, directly outside the place he had come to work five days a week, every week, for the past 15 years. And he had no idea where he was.

I called a cab, which arrived promptly, and took it to his work. He was still in his car, on the verge of tears. He reminded me of the four-year-old we had seen at the markets the other weekend. He too had been lost, tears streaming down his face, calling out for his mummy. I may not have given birth to him, but I was here and I could reassure him. The taxi driver on the hand, was something I couldn't handle. He wasn't leaving, preferring to sit there and gawk instead. I yelled at him to piss off and startled, he did just that. I drove my father back to the hospital. I took him inside and he was immediately admitted.

Test after test followed. However, eventually, they found it. The thing that had 'hereditary' stampeding my thoughts. Dad had a degenerative neurodisease. They couldn't say for sure, but in all probability, his fall had set it off. They stressed it had always been there, but now it was no longer dormant. They wanted to test me for it too. And they did. Extensively. But the results would take a while, as unlike my dad's, they didn't have 'URGENT' written all over them.

The next few days creeped agonisingly slowly along. It seemed the clock was moving in accordance with a tug of war between two snails and every now again, the one pulling it backwards would gain some ground. Otherwise it slid around the track, seemingly without actually moving, even though it was. Just.

Then, everything began to happen very quickly. Dad slipped in and out of consciousness and again, just like I had with my mother, I could see him fading away. The doctors were helpless. Even though, this time, they knew what they were fighting, the resistance they provided did barely more than a total surrender would have. Now, the disease had progressed. No longer was it simply attacking the areas of dad's brain responsible for memory, instead his whole body was now attacking itself in a desperate attempt to rid itself of the foreign intruder it had detected far too late. This part was new, and made his demise much swifter indeed. It was a mere matter of hours before the doctors said that he wouldn't survive the night. But in fact, it was little more than thirty minutes.

In an obviously draining effort, my father came to. It was for a brief period only, less than five minutes, but enough for him to share the next stage to my pain with me. "Son", he addressed me with, for the first time in my life, "You're adopted. I love you." That was all the words he could manage, before eyes wide and wet, mouth gaping- gasping- he too slipped away from me.

As soon as he came to rest in the bed and his strength left the hand that gripped me, I ran. Tears flooded my face and blurred out my vision to virtual blindness. Nevertheless, I ran, to get away from the lifeless body of who I had known only as my father and the disease that had ripped the life out of him, my mother and taken a long hard look before rejecting me. I ran as fast and as far as I could. Around this corner, down that corridor, through those doors. The unfamiliar pathway was maze-like. That is, until I saw the greeny blur of an exit sign, telling me to take one last corner. Bang! I connected with something solid, but not so solid as to be confused with a wall. It was a person. A guy. It was Him. And he ignored my absent apology. Saw my continued rushed journey and followed me...

When wanting just isn't enough

You want an ear.
A pair of welcoming arms to fall into.
A caring voice with reassuring words.
For them to ask you, truly ask you, how you are.
For them to notice that something is not right.
To be led back to the place where everything is.
You want what you see that so many others have.
You want at least that one thing to be normal.
You want a connection, on all the different levels.
For someone/anyone to understand.
To be 'got.'
To click.
To feel safe.
You want trust, in them and yourself.
You want to remember what self confidence is.
What happy feels like.
How it is to wake up and look forward to the day ahead.
To be sure in yourself and what you're doing.

It's not material or tangible.
You can't buy it, and even if you could it would be way more than you could afford.
But it's worth more to you than all of your stupid, useless possessions put together.
And more and more, it seems like it's something you can't have.

Family Dynamics

Hugo knows that everyone in the family has their role.
His sister excels at the drama queen role
His brother kicks goals as the sporty one
Mum is the frantically busy one, who still manages to do everything "homely"
And then there's Dad.

He was the breadwinner, the typical patriach, until he got fired. Now, he spends the days doing bit work here and there, picking up casual stuff wherever he can. He comes home tired, more so than before, and angrier. He can't accept his own failure so he sure as hell won't put up with anyone else's.

Julie talks about her latest boy. How he, like, just wasn't , like, right for her and how since she, like, broke up with him, he's been , like, a total mess. Now, he's started , like, being mean to her at school. He's, like, spreading, like, rumours about what they, like, did together. How, like, good (or more to the point: how bad) she was. How she wouldn't stop talking. How he's, like, got this new girl, with, like, French heritage, and he, like, can't believe how much, like, better it is with her.

Jason is still celebrating the massive win they had in the footy on the weekend, against the second best team in the comp. He was leading goal-kicker with 6. Beat them by himself, you know.

Mum fusses over the dinner. It's the recipe from the challenge on Tuesday's Masterchef. Cooked to perfection the smells are wafting throughout the house. She's been planning it all day. It's the only thing that got her through all those boring meetings.

Dad yells for Hugo to set the table. He does, as quickly as he can, then escapes back to his room. The smallest. The afterthought.

Grub's up!

They eat. Hugo, in silence. Even if he wanted to Julie wouldn't, like, let him get a word in. As soon as he's finished, he races back to his room, his refuge. Hugo's role is multi-levelled, but really all of them are the pits. The scapegoat. The servant. The youngest. The list goes on. Hugo knows them all and it leads him to wish his name was Jack. Then, at least, there would be something his parents liked about him. He'd be an equal among his siblings. And maybe, just maybe, he could carve out a role for himself that he actually liked. But he's stuck with Hugo. A name he quite likes, though, it's not his opinion that matters is it.

Temptations

Hi again. Sorry about the long time between drinks. But here is my next post, hope you enjoy.

It's the whole family that confuses you. For so long, too long, you've been telling yourself, "She's so confusing." She is the variable to all your constants and the constant to all your variables. No matter what you think you've worked out, you catch up with her and then it catches up with you. You're playing snakes and ladders and just landed on the biggest snake of them all: back to square one. But now you realise, it's him as well.

You remember those few times you were with her and how much you loved it. How much you want it again. Regardless of what you want the rest of the time. So often the sculpted pectorals and washboard abs walk out of the fantasy. Replaced by her feminine body. But, you like it just as much. You can match these visions with memories. Remember the way her touch felt to your skin. It was just a few times, and the rest, so horrible, but those moments, you could live forever off those moments if only they had more substance in your present.

And then the next day, you're at soccer practice. You're in a drill with him. Jostling for the airspace to get the header. You know you shouldn't like it and you don't, really. No, truth is, you love it, crave it, like nothing else. You look at him, inconspicuously, every now and then, and sometimes you can see her in him. Only rarely, but it's there and you hate yourself for it. You wish with all your being that him and her weren't related. That you could take two bites at the cherry pie.

You see his hair, cut just like you think it should be cut. His skin, tanned, just the way you think it should be. His height fits those images you have of him lifting you up and carrying you in his arms. His strong arms. You hadn't noticed any of these things before. Not when you knew him little and definitely not when you were with her. But now, more and more, you see him with golden lining and a cherry on top. You don't see your ex's brother. No, now, he's much more than that. At least, in your imagination he is. For that's all it is. You speak to him only the smallest bit more. Have only the tiniest bit more to do with him. You know nothing more about him. You don't know his favourite colour or what shows he likes. But most of all you don't know if he's interested and it's killing you. Because it is, just so, so very confusing. How can you want both? How can you be sure you are inclined one way, and then have her have you thinking it through again. Only her. Until you see him again and you know. Until it's her turn again...

He's perfect!

It wasn't what I expected at all. The words coming out of the doctors' mouth were terrible. But, they'd stopped penetrating my thoughts long ago. "hereditary" ran through my head. Over and over. And over. Two years ago, I'd watched my mother slowly slip away from me. Every day, the magnificent woman I knew was less and less there. It was not long before she passed away. Too quickly for the doctors to do anything about it. They cut her open, tore away the little that was left of her to try and find out what had happened. But, in the end, "We did our best. We're very sorry for your loss", was the only answer they could come up with.

Then, 2 months ago, dad slipped and fell over in the kitchen. He'd been washing the dishes, and as usual, he left a small puddle on the floor beneath the sink. This time however, when his foot slid the barest of margins, he completely lost his balance and came tumbling down to the ground. The thump when his head hit the ground was the loudest noise I have ever heard. It cut through everything, including his skull. In the short time it took for me to reach him, the pool of blood had spread rapidly. I called 000, tried to stem the bleeding and did everything I could think of to stop him from dying on me. He was all I had left. Friends had been either unable to cope with the loss of my mother or incapable of dealing with the grief my father and I now endured on a daily basis. Regardless, they didn't make contact anymore. As for family, there was none. Both my parents were only childs and their parents all died before 60. Cancer, heart failure, car accident. A series of unfortunate events, and now this, to add to the collection.

The ambulance arrived, and the paramedics took charge straight away. I told them what had happened and anything else that I could think of that might be in someway relevant or helpful. Otherwise, I just left them to it. I was completely out of my depth. Clinging to the edge of the pool, trying my darndest not to go under, but it was like quicksand and I was struggling more frantically than a rabbit caught in a trap...

Once they'd stabilised him, they took him to hospital. I was in the ambulance with him, but the trip is nothing more than a blur. I wasn't really there, although my body was. At the hospital, the doctors may as well have been speaking another language and in a way they were. I doubt, even at my most alert, that I would have understood even half of what they were trying to explain to me. But, even so, dad was going to be ok. I got that much. No internal damage. Superficial. Very lucky. Cracked skull. Brain function. CT. MRI. The rest simply floated around, making no connections with anything else and was certainly in no rush to do so in any case.

When he finally did wake up, it broke the spell. He was groggy, daised and confused, but it was him and that was enough. Or so I'd thought...

Over the next few weeks, after passing various mental tests and the like and satisfying the doctors that he was ready to go home, it became increasingly clear that everything was not alright. He began having memory trip ups more and more frequently, but when I told him how worried I was, he simply brushed it aside. It was perhaps a month later, when I received a call from him in a very panicky, distressed state. He'd been driving home from work, when he realised he didn't know the way. Soon, he had become lost and now he described to me, where he was. Outside a tall beige building, with large windows. About 5 storeys and 3 trees in the median strip. Opposite, was a park, with playground, walking trail and a duck pond. It was his work. He was sitting in the car, directly outside the place he had come to work five days a week, every week, for the past 15 years. And he had no idea where he was.

I called a cab, which arrived promptly, and took it to his work. He was still in his car, on the verge of tears. He reminded me of the four-year-old we had seen at the markets the other weekend. He too had been lost, tears streaming down his face, calling out for his mummy. I may not have given birth to him, but I was here and I could reassure him. The taxi driver on the hand, was something I couldn't handle. He wasn't leaving, preferring to sit there and gawk instead. I yelled at him to piss off and startled, he did just that. I drove my father back to the hospital. I took him inside and he was immediately admitted.

Test after test followed. However, eventually, they found it. The thing that had 'hereditary' stampeding my thoughts. Dad had a degenerative neurodisease. They couldn't say for sure, but in all probability, his fall had set it off. They stressed it had always been there, but now it was no longer dormant. They wanted to test me for it too. And they did. Extensively. But the results would take a while, as unlike my dad's, they didn't have 'URGENT' written all over them.

The next few days creeped agonisingly slowly along. It seemed the clock was moving in accordance with a tug of war between two snails and every now again, the one pulling it backwards would gain some ground. Otherwise it slid around the track, seemingly without actually moving, even though it was. Just.

Then, everything began to happen very quickly. Dad slipped in and out of consciousness and again. Just like I had with my mother, I could see him fading away. The doctors were helpless. Even though, this time, they knew what they were fighting, the resistance they provided did barely more than a total surrender would have. Now, the disease had progressed. No longer was it simply attacking the areas of dad's brain responsible for memory, instead his whole body was now attacking itself in a desperate attempt to rid itself of the foreign intruder it had detected far too late. This part was new, and made his demise much swifter indeed. It was a mere matter of hours before the doctors said that he wouldn't survive the night. But in fact, it was little more than thirty minutes.

In an obviously draining effort, my father came to. It was for a brief period only, less than five minutes, but enough for him to share the next stage to my pain with me. "Son", he addressed me with, for the first time in my life, "You're adopted. I love you." That was all the words he could manage, before eyes wide and wet, mouth gaping- gasping- he too slipped away from me.

As soon as he came to rest in the bed and his strength left the hand that gripped me, I ran. Tears flooded my face and blurred out my vision to virtual blindness. Nevertheless, I ran, to get away from the lifeless body of who I had known only as my father and the disease that had ripped the life out of him, my mother and taken a long hard look before rejecting me. I ran as fast and as far as I could. Around this corner, down that corridor, through those doors. The unfamiliar pathway was maze-like. That is, until I saw the greeny blur of an exit sign, telling me to take one last corner. Bang! I connected with something solid, but not so solid as to be confused with a wall. It was a person. A guy. It was Him. And he ignored my absent apology. Saw my continued rushed journey and followed me...

I ran out the door and along the path, oblivious to the calming expanses of grass on either side. Without knowing where I was heading, I followed the path. As I rounded a curve the obscuring tree yielded, allowing me to see Dad's car. What was Dad's car. I couldn't take it, screaming, I bolted in the opposite direction. Across the grass, slightly boggy from the heavy rains of the past week. Soon, a fence appeared. One of those with little ability as a barrier, but one that contributed to the overall appearance of the grounds, therefore justifying the money for it and granting it the title 'fence'. I jumped over it and landed on the footpath on the other side. Without breaking stride I then left the footpath for the bitumen of the road. Suddenly, a blaring noise appeared. The sharp spikes and troughs of a heart monitor filled my brain and I became completely immobilised. The car's horn continued on and on. It cut into my head completely overwhelming the already overwhelmed. The driver, a man, was getting furious now. Soon, his window was lowered and he added his angry voice to the cacophony. Cars banked up behind him and more voices and horns were added to the horrific choir.


I had completely lost control. A part of me was willing them to run me down. The same one that also longed for one of the drivers to get out of the car and beat all the pain out of me. That's why I didn't flinch when I felt arms wrap around me from behind. I didn't even brace myself for the impact, just stood there waiting for it. But it didn't come. Instead, the arms gently steered me back the way I had come. I was too overcome to resist. So, I let myself be led back towards the place I hated above all others. I attempted to lift myself back over the fence. But in a battle of superior feebleness I won. So I found myself being lifted off the ground and over it. However, my feet didn't meet the ground again once I was safely back inside the hospital grounds. I found myself being carried, faintly aware of the squelch as we crossed the grass. Then I felt the solid feel of wood against my back as I was placed on a bench. As my rescuer sat down next to me he was finally revealed. My brain did not recognise him, but that was not saying much. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.

"Are you ok? Would you like me to get you a nurse? How can I help?" I responded slowly. Leaving the first, unnecessary question unanswered I simply shook my head. Right then left. I just sat still after that, paralysed by the devastation in my life. "Ok", he said, as he wrapped his arm around me, "Everything's going to be alright." Because I was desperate for the fantasy, because I needed the comfort, because his arm was the only thing connecting me to this world, I sunk with his arm and buried myself in his side. A thin layer of muscle covered his rib. This tensed slightly as his arm brought me closer into his embrace. His hand stroked my head. Just for those moments, I forgot about everything that had happened. I was back at home, with Mum comforting me after a bad dream. I stayed like that, in a trance for, in all likelihood, hours. After a while his t-shirt was damp from my silent tears, but he made no effort to dry it. No effort to discomfort me. Every now and again he would say something. Never anything substantial, but always something comforting and nothing my warped brain couldn't morph into my mother's voice.

At one point a nurse must have come out trying to find me. Seeing me with Him, she informed him what had happened. She'd tried to get me back inside. There were forms that needed to be filled in and the bed needed to be cleared for another patient. He told her it could wait. Knowing him very well, she let it go, leaving me in his very capable hands. "Ben. I'm here for you. I can stay as long as you need me", he told me once she had left. "But if you'd like, I could take you to somewhere more comfortable, where you could lie down?" This time I nodded. He gently pushed me so that I was once again sitting upright. He stood up, moved in front of me and with the hand that still clasped mine, he pulled me to my feet. I was vaguely aware of this being the first time I had actually seen his face. Somewhere inside a part of me registered the compassion on his face and most of all in his eyes. Not sympathy or pity, but true and pure compassion. Allowing me to set the pace, we edged towards the hospital doors. At the steps I stumbled, forcing him to stabilise me. From then on his hand released mine and his arm swung around my back, supporting me, once again.

Eventually we made it to his room. A small, single room with a bed and not much else. He lay me down on his bed, slid a chair beside it and sat down. He grabbed a firm hold of my hand again and his other hand went soothingly to my head. "You're here now. You're safe. You can sleep now." So I did.

When I awoke, he was still there, sitting beside me, holding my hand, but his attention was directed at the nurse. They conversed too quickly for my groggy brain to follow, but soon, she returned with some food. Some of the first light of the day was making its way through the window, lighting up the room. It could have been my state of mind, but to me, it seemed to shine an intense spotlight on Him, highlighting his golden hair. "Hello Ben", he greeted me warmly, "How are you feeling? Julie's brought you some breakfast if you'd like it." Immediately, I became aware of my rumbling stomach, and I was unable to recall when I had had my last meal. I fed myself, although weakly, forgetting to thank the nurse before she left.

When I had finished, I turned to the guy who had entered my life so welcomely. "What was your name?" He told me and I placed it in my memory bank's most secure vault. This would be a name I would treasure until the day I died...


*************************

I know I’m safe, I don’t have to worry anymore. He’ll look after me. He's holding me tight. Keeping me from the cold, the fear and the insecurity. It's that feeling of being totally at ease now. I don't need to worry about what I'm doing, what I look like or what he'll think. He's just like me, he only cares about sharing the time we do have, together. The rest doesn't matter. My eyes begin to dry up, but my cheeks still glisten. I bury my head in his embrace, enjoying the feel of his jumper on my skin.

We haven't talked about what this is. We don't need to. What is there to say that hasn't been expressed by his comforting arm. I didn't have to say anything, because he already knew. He gets me, like no one else I've ever known. Truthfully, we haven't really talked at all, but I know that if/when I need to, it'll come easily. How can it not?

He's perfect. Even if I was still watching from afar he would be. I'm glad that's not the case though. It's hard to remember what it was like, -before, that is- and I sure as hell don't wanna. All I remember is those tears, always just below the surface, begging to be set free. But I refused to let them out and they just built up, like water in a dam. Until, one day, the dam broke and as if it was fate, he was there to see it. To help me cope and steer me back to the surface. I don't know where I'd be if he hadn't been there. No, that's a lie. I do know. I'd be six feet under by now. That's how much I owe him. But it's not like a debt. It's more like the spare penny bowl at the train station. Those with pennies to spare, leave a few and those that are in need of some change, know that they can take a couple, without hesitation or persecution. There'll always be later to replace them. It's like that, only more personal.

He shifts in the seat. As soon as his skin leaves mine, I feel exposed and vulnerable. The IV drip cord tightens and then he settles back down again. He covers me again and the safety returns. My session is nearly finished, but I'll stay the extra hour for his to finish, so that we can leave together. He's only got two weeks left on his course. His scans are all coming back good and the doctors are really optimisitic for him this time. Mine's got longer to go yet, but I know I'll be able to cope with him by my side.
******************
He finished yesterday. The doctors have said that, normally, once people have completed their course, they inherit this unbelievably strong conviction to never again go into the room. He didn't do that, then again he's always been special. He's come in with me today. This time he doesn't have the 'leash' keeping him in the one place. I know he enjoys the freedom, it's written all over his face. But, so is his battle. He may not have the cord connected anymore, but he fits in perfectly. Someone who saw him for the first time would say he looked terrible. Even I can see the frailty, but generally I don't let myself. It's hard to stay motivated if you start seeing your hero as weakened. I look at him now. He's asleep and I envy that. Oh, to have finished with these freezing cold liquids being pumped through my body. For there to be no more vomiting, no more energy sapping. Subconsciously, I've started tracing his arm, where the hole is still. He can feel it and a smile has spread across his face. "That tickles, you know."
"That's the idea, silly." He opens his eyes and I lose myself in them. Even when he was feeling the worst, his eyes still shone. If the eyes are the window to someone's soul, it's no wonder his are like looking directly at the sun. He is so determined. If I thought I had gotten rid of mine, only to find it had come back, I doubt I would have had anywhere near the conviction he's had. Let alone for it to happen twice. He truly is amazing. His hand has found its way into my hair. He runs it through and I can feel myself just melting away. I used to worry about what the others were thinking. But I don't care in the slightest now. It feels so natural, so right.
**************************
We walk through the grounds. Soon, we'll be able to leave them forever. We'll be able to move in together. To live like a normal couple. To wake up together. Make breakfast together and sit there in our PJs and talk. Watch TV. In our own world. He sneezes. And again. We laugh. He sneezes again. And again. And again. He can't stop. I'm not laughing now. We hurry back to the hospital. Hayfever. The cure: stay inside. It's nice outside, but that's ok. We'll come up with other things to do...
****************************
It's all happened so quickly. I can see him fading away in front of my very eyes. A week ago, they thought it was just a cold. His immune system was still in tatters, and would take a while yet until it had recovered. But it wasn't. It was back and now even more aggressive than ever. His regular scans had shown nothing. Then all of a sudden it was there. The doctors say they have never seen anything like it. It's just growing so damn fast. It has an enormous appetite. I'm watching him, feeling him. There's not much more than bones anymore. His breathing is shallow, short and slightly raspy. He can't come to my last few sessions. He can't even get out of the bed. I lay there with him as much as I can, but being away from him, makes those bloody sessions, nearly unbearable. I spend the whole time wondering how far he'll deteriorate while I'm gone.

Sometimes I'm not even sure whether he knows I'm there with him or not. He drifts in and out of consciousness. I'm tracing his arm again. The skin is flaky and weak. There's no smile this time. "I need you", I say, "I. Need. You." His hand weakly holds mine, but its not enough. I can feel the tears coming. I hold him tightly. "I need you" Try to keep him with me,(I need you) but even as I do this, his grip loosens. "I need you" And then, that sound. I need you. The blaring beep. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------. There's no rush of doctors. No cart being frantically pushed. They knew it was only a matter of time. I hate them for that. Hate that they couldn't do anything, but even more so. I hate that I couldn't do anything. You did so much for me, but now, more than ever, I need you.

After a few hours, they come in. They'd turned off the heart monitor, but otherwise left us alone until now. They want the bed, the room. To move him, take him away from me. I don't want to give him up, but I know I have to. I know that the only thing keeping his body warm is my own. I walk out, no, I stagger. In a trance. So fast. It was. So quick. I need you. You're gone. Why? What was the point? Where's the sense? Where are you? I've reached our favourite bench. We visit it so often it's practically reserved for us. Or it was. I'll wait for you here. You're late. Why?
You're always on time. Especially when I need you. Often you beat me to it. You have that sense for that. Incredible. But not now. You're late.

It's dark now. I realise I should be cold, but I can't feel anything. I'm numb. I walk back to my room. It's how I left it. In dissarray. Normally neat. There are books, clothes strewn everywhere. This is not normal times. I can see the drawings we did last Tuesday. The pencils are still lying on the paper. Neither page quite finished. You'd spewed before that could happen. And then everything started. The scissors emerge from the pencil case. No, I can't. I've moved forward. I'm not going to fall back to that again. I'm a better person now, I don't need to anymore. But the metal glistens. As do my cheeks. Maybe it will just spark my senses back into motion. I need to. They're blunt, but still they slice. My breathing slows. My flesh parts. The blood trickles out, slowly at first. It hasn't worked. Still I feel nothing. I go to my bed and collapse onto it. I lay there, staring at the ceiling without seeing it.

My bladder. Full. Toilet. Get up. Feet. Ground. Dizzy. Grab rail. Blood. Wet. Slip. Stumble. Fall. Crash. Thump. Paper. Blood soaking in. We are swamped by the red. Drowning. I don't call out. He's here finally. He's holding my hand. Holding me tight. Pressing into my chest. Jabbing. Why? Stop! Ow. Jolt. The pressure again. And then...
I can see them crowded around me, as I float upwards. The bed is dripping red. So are they as they pump my vacant body. Up I go. Now where has he got to? Seriously? Its not funny.
I need you.


_____________________________________________________________
I hate cancer.

Should I explore these two lovers more? Share more of their adventures? Before? After? During?
Tell me what you think...

Him

You don’t know why exactly, but when he’s around you droop. It’s the thing that turns a good day to a bad one and he doesn’t even have to do anything. Just be there. You feel bad, because you’re supposed to love him. He’s family, but you don’t. You are embarrassed by him. Disgusted, frustrated and annoyed by him. Your favourite times are when he’s not there, which makes you feel guilty and then even worse.

Sometimes you wonder what life would be like if he wasn’t there any more, for whatever reason. You realise you still need him financially, but other than that… In a few years that won’t be the case. You’ll have a job and will stand on your own two feet. You’ll be free of him and his intrusions. He doesn’t understand privacy; that people want to watch the television or read without being interrupted. He doesn’t ask for help, he expects it, orders it.

He says he’s interested, but when he has the chance to show some support, he’s not there. Off to do other things. You’ve given up trying to please him, get along with him and even co-exist with him. The further apart you are, the happier you feel. When you are forced to be in close proximity, you feel your energy draining away. You wait for those same two questions that come everyday. You know he’ll ask the others first, then you last: in priority order. Sure enough, there’s the first one. Short answer. And the second one. Shorter again. Now he’ll move on. He has satisfied his conscience, he’s given you some attention. You wish he hadn’t. That he’d just left you alone. At least, now, you can go back to imagining he’s not there.

He looks at you disapprovingly for the tv shows you watch. Wonders why you hang out with those you do. Questions the point of the games you play with them. How many of them? Who? He wants more notice, for next time. But you know, it’s only so he can hang it over your head for longer in the lead up. To keep you on the straight and narrow. There’s the real problem. If he knew the real you, things would be even worse. You doubt that’s possible, but it’s true and deep down you know. You should feel grateful. You’re one of the lucky ones. But even you are ashamed by so many of the things you’ve done. Often you see yourself from the outside and you hate what you see. Not just physically, but the actual “person” that you are. He doesn’t know about all this, yet he still disapproves. You can understand why and hate it.

Most people don’t get the opportunities in their life that you’ve had and you’re still young. They’ll benefit you in the future. But you can’t see the future. It’s a haze if it exists at all. You’re stuck in the present, dragging yourself through until you can put your head on the pillow and try to get the tears to finally come out. But they won’t. You need them to too, but they don’t care. They’re stubborn, even more so than you. More so than the time you couldn’t bear the thought of a week away, at close quarters. You put your foot down and refused to go. He said “well then, find a place to stay.” You were happy to stay home. You could look after it and yourself, but he wouldn’t have it. Didn’t think you could.

Your accommodation is organised. Easily. He doesn’t like it. Tries to convince your accommodators to reconsider, but they’ve already agreed and they won’t go back on their word. You feel good about this. They seem to be on your side, against him. An ally. But they’re not there for the next month, when he takes out all his frustration on you. Brainstorms punishments and then wheels them out one by one, desperate for a reaction. You refuse to give him one, but he keeps pushing more and more for you to swallow. Eventually, you give in and react. You want to call him childish, stupid and more. But you don’t, you say you haven’t done anything wrong. He laughs. Says you have. He doesn’t need to say any more than this. You know the rest: you’re not good enough for him. A disappointment.

It’s like when he sits in the passenger seat when you’re driving. Nothing is ever good enough. He doesn’t take note of the improvement, of the effort of the fact you can stay at the speed limit, without going over, unlike him. He finds something, anything, to criticize and when it’s done, he wants gratitude. You wouldn’t be surprised if he asked for payment, you actually half expect it.

You know you shouldn’t, but the fact is you do. You resent your dad. Especially that he's the only male role model you've got. What kind of example is that to follow. What chance do you have? Even less than what he makes you think you deserve.

The Phrase I Despise Most

Ok, so the buzz of a new blog is yet to wear off, hence the frequent posting.

Recently, I came to an unpleasant realisation and it all started with an all too common phrase...

"That's so gay", Jeremy said coolly.

It was just three monosyllabic words, but it reverberated throughout Sam's body. It shook him to the core. Funny thing was that he didn't even care about the stupid advertisement, that Jeremy had been trying to insult. There was no urge to defend it; it meant nothing to him, but the words- they meant a lot to him. He'd known Jeremy for nearly as long as he could remember, but he'd never noticed this before. He wanted to yell at him. To tell him how the use of that word in that way disgusted him. But, he didn't do that. He was too scared, which upset him even further.

Immediately, Sam became more self-conscious. He took extra care to subdue his own behaviour so that Jeremy wouldn't catch on. He'd gone from feeling comfortable to the very opposite in just seconds.

Sure enough, more examples of Jeremy's homophobic attitude emerged as the day progressed. He belittled those like Sam, inferred there was something wrong with them. But it wasn't serious, it wasn't like he was being racist or anything. That was the stupid justification for his actions. You know, everyone did it, so it was ok to use gay as an insult. Sam knew that Jeremy wasn't doing it maliciously, but he was still doing it and Sam couldn't accept that. But it didn't make Sam feel ok. It made him feel unsure of himself. It was hard enough to work things out without his "friend" discrediting the characteristics central to what made him, him. 

On top of this, Sam had to deal with the fact he had lost all respect for his long-time friend. He wondered why he hadn't noticed what a jerk Jeremy was before this. Their friendship was over, he knew that much, but he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Disappointed? Relieved? Angry? Sad? That could wait til later, right now, Sam had to get away from him. 

"I'm not feeling too well. I should probably head home.", he explained. In actual fact, it wasn't that far from the truth. With that he drove away, never to speak to the person he'd shared the last 10 years of his life with, again.

There is no justification for using gay as an insult. I implore people to stop using it as such, and further, to do what Sam couldn't and let others know that it's not acceptable.

The Comment That Started It All

I was reading a favourite blog of mine, "My Little Notepad" (I strongly encourage any readers I might have to check it out), when I had the desire to comment. The post that was my inspiration was "The Definition of Me" and into my head spawned a scenario, a storyline... It lead to the creation of this blog and I have Olivia to thank for that. Here is that comment, and another person trying to define themselves:

"Why'd you do it, Hayden?"

"I... I don't know..."

There it was again: The Barrier. Everytime I tried to connect with him, understand him,The Barrier was erected. I had thought it was being lowered, brick by slow brick. Then he goes and does this and I try my best to understand why, to help him, but he won't let me. He pushes me away, builds up that bloody wall. I want to blow it to smithereens. I want to be able to share everything with him and know that he will do the same. What can we have, if we can't have that? What's it worth if we can't?

He took a part of my heart, knowingly and willingly or not, the fact is he did. It's his hostage. If he ain't gonna treat it right, I want it back. I need it back. If he can't sort out what the hell he is about I don't want anything more to do with him. He teases me with snippets of openness. With unabashful freedom. Then, he realises he is exposing himself, The Barrier comes up and I'm shut out again.

The thing is, he started this, he made that first tentative move. I'd been wanting him to and I loved him for it. Then he got scared for I don't know why. He said he liked the tickle of my bristles on his lips. The strength in my arms as I held him. I remember thinking that this was just the beginning. That, finally, I'd found the one who could give me the love I'd been craving. Then he went away for the weekend, and he couldn't look at me the same since. I told myself I was man enough to cope with it. But now i know I'm not. I wanted it so badly, that I was willing to sacrifice almost anything, to make allowances and ignore his failures. That is, until now... Now I just want my heart back.

Welcome

Here is where I will add my stories. Many will have been created by my imagination, but some will be honest recounts, recollections or thoughts. I don't expect a huge following, in fact I wouldn't be surprised if I have none, but the idea is to put myself out there. The response and aftermath- well, if it's positive- that's just an added bonus. In terms of the details:

Posts: I'm aiming to post weekly, on average, but my inspiration will vary so sometimes it will be more frequent than this and others it will be less. Of course, there will also be times when I will be run off my feet with school and the like, but I will try my best to stick to this.

Comments: Are of course optional, but I'd love to hear from you. I'm aware that some of the stuff I write will repulse some people and bore many others. I ask you to keep in mind that I am human, so if all you're going to do is abuse me, then maybe you should reconsider.

Followers: If you are a regular reader or find my posts interesting, than please don't be afraid to follow me. I don't mind being stalked, in this sense!

Email Subscriptions: As many of you blogger users will know, I have the option of sending my posts to a few people via email. If you would like one of those people to be you, just let me know, via comment etc, and I will make sure it happens.


Feel free to join me, for its the company that truly makes the journey worthwhile.