Chapter 7 A House Is Not A Home
A HOUSE IS NOT A HOME
MICHAEL
What had I done? What the hell was I thinking?
I did not want Mick back in my flat.
That was a lie. A big fat lie. I very much did want Mick back in my flat, but it was also a very bad idea. Like how I wanted to eat cake every day, but knew it was bad for my waistline.
We were here now, and there wasn’t anything I could do to change it.
Besides, I couldn’t leave him standing there like a lost puppy.
He had walked into me, but I was being an idiot walking around with a huge bag in front of my face.
I couldn’t let him go back to work covered in jam and cream, so I was helping him.
I never could resist looking after people, especially doe-eyed pretty boys who I just happened to be head-over-heels for.
“Give me that.” I pointed at his work clothes and held out my hand. “I’ll see what I can do about the stain.”
Mick obliged and began unbuttoning his brown overalls, slipping it over his shoulders to reveal–oh Good Lord–bare shoulders and arms and the tightest, thinnest cotton vest stretched over his beautiful body.
The freckles over his shoulders were just begging to be licked.
It got worse when he pushed the overalls down below his waist because he was only wearing his boxer shorts, meaning his gorgeous legs were on full display.
“It’s a hot day.” His words made me snap my head up to face him. I’d been staring, and his cheeks were bright red.
“I don’t bother with a shirt and trousers on days like this. I wasn’t expecting to strip down in front of anyone.”
The poor boy shouldn’t have to explain himself after I’d been ogling him like a dirty old man.
“Of course you weren’t. There’s nothing wrong with dressing sensibly. I was surprised, that's all. I’ll get you something to put on.”
I went to the bathroom to fetch my dressing gown. Unfortunately, it was a purple silk robe that stopped around mid-thigh. He stared at my outstretched hand like I was handing him a soiled sheet to wear.
“What the hell is that?” He took it off me with just his finger and thumb, and I laughed. With a look of mild disgust on his face, he put it on.
He wrapped my silk dressing gown around his lithe, lean body. It was a divine shade of lavender, covered in bright pink peonies and edged with fuchsia lace. I had hoped that the gown would make him look ridiculous and act as a cold shower to my libido.
Good God was I wrong. The delicate dress-like shape on his masculine frame was mouth-wateringly arousing. The soft silk and lace against his creamy skin made me want to drop to my knees, bury my head under it, and suck him off right there in my hallway.
“I feel like I’m wearing my Auntie Julie’s nightie.”
He absolutely did not look like he was wearing an old lady's night dress. He looked fucking divine.
“Excuse me, young man!” I scoffed. “Unless your Auntie Julie has very expensive taste or often visits India, I don’t think she’ll possess anything as beautiful as this.”
“You’ve been to India?” His eyes were like saucers as he tied the robe.
“No, of course not.” I leaned down to pick up his clothes. “But I shagged a fella who did. Several times. With skill and enthusiasm–and he showered me with expensive gifts.” I winked at him. “Among other things.”
Humour replaced humiliation on his face and he laughed a big laugh that made my stomach leap.
“I can imagine!”
“I don’t know what your filthy mind is imagining, our relationship was very…” I couldn’t keep the innocent act and burst into laughter too. After I’d calmed down, I examined the garment in front of me.
“Right, let me sort this out for you, fancy a cuppa while you wait?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” He grinned at me. “My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”
“Cheeky sod!”
We crossed the small hallway again and went into my tiny kitchen. I filled the kettle and put it on the stove to boil.
“I won’t bother with a pot, if you don’t mind, I never do when it’s just me.”
“Yeah, of course, don’t stand on ceremony for me.”
“Actually, would you mind making the tea while I have a go at getting this stain out?”
“Yeah, of course. It’s the least I can do.” Walking straight to the right cupboard, he pulled out two mugs and put them on the side, then grabbed the jar I kept the teabags in and plonked one in each cup. His familiarity with my kitchen felt very domestic, which was a dangerous feeling.
“There’s no sugar I’m afraid, I don’t keep it in the house.”
“This is fine. I don’t take sugar in my tea.”
While the kettle was boiling, I got on with the task at hand. After examining the sleeves of his overalls, I found an old tea-towel, and dabbed at the jam, picking up any lumps and residue.
“Club soda will get this out,” I said to myself.
I reached into the fridge and pulled out the bottle of fizzy mineral water.
As I turned around, Mick stretched past me to get the milk, his chest brushing against my back.
The closeness of our bodies brought back all kinds of memories, sending blood to my cheeks, among other places.
Having him in my space again was like torture.
“Oh, sorry,” Mick mumbled and stepped back with the pint bottle in his hand.
“Don’t worry about it.” Avoiding his gaze, I went back to the sink and dabbed the club soda gently on the jam stain. It seemed to be coming off, but it was a big old stain, so it would take a few minutes to get it all.
“Have you got any biscuits?” Mick asked.
“No, sorry, love. I don’t keep them in the house.”
“Bloody hell. No sugar, no biscuits, what do you do for fun?” A broad grin stretched his beautiful lips.
I raised an eyebrow and held his gaze. He blushed again, and my trousers felt very tight. Why did I keep making him blush? I was only making it worse for myself.
“Yeah, alright. Sex is all well and good, but you can’t beat a nice biccy or sweet now and again.”
“I far prefer sex, and it’s much better for my waistline.”
A single booming laugh erupted from him. “You could do both, you know.”
“Darling, at my age, if I want to keep doing the one thing, then I have to limit the other.” I took a sip of my tea. “It’s difficult enough competing against strapping young men like you when you’re over the hill. If I start piling on the pounds, I’ll never get my leg over again.
“That’s bollocks, and you know it.” His tone was a bit sharp.
“It is not. You know as well as I do, that I am practically ancient to our lot. At least I still have my hair, and it’s still mostly the same colour it’s always been. But that’s all I’ve got going for me, so I cannot afford to put on any weight.”
“You’re talking out of your arse. You’re bloody gorgeous and you know it. Or you should. And you’re not bloody old either.”
Oh dear Lord, I could not cope with him saying nice things about me. “I am!”
“Alright, how old are you?”
“A lady never tells!”
“And you’re no lady. Stop messing around. How old are you?”
“I’ll be forty next year.”
“What month?”
“November.”
“So you’re thirty-eight?”
“Yes, well done.”
“For fuck’s sake, Michael. You’re not collecting your pension are you?”
“I might as well be when it comes to finding someone to take home on a Saturday night.”
He didn’t say anything but still looked pissed off. Thankfully, I’d finished cleaning his clothes.
“Right, the muck is gone, let’s get it dried.”
Mick stared at me like I’d just announced I was a wizard. “How are you going to do that? I’ve got to get back to Patrick, I haven’t got time to hang it up. Just let me put it on. It’ll dry soon enough, and it’s much better than it was before.”
He tried to take it from me, but I slapped his hands and snatched it away.
“Oh ye of little faith.” I marched past him and into my bedroom.
Standing in my doorway, Mick span in a slow circle, cataloging all my belongings. I felt more naked under his scrutiny than I had on Saturday night. Oh my God, do not think about Saturday night while Mick is in your bedroom.
“I have to say Michael, there aren’t many blokes that make me look manly, but…”
“Yes?”
“It’s just, your room looks more like a bird’s bedroom than a fella’s.”
“I’m not allowed to like nice things?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but I knew what he meant, and it pissed me off.
“I spent a long time in my childhood and youth trying to be normal and just like all the other boys. Pretending to be like them. Keeping the ‘girly’ parts of myself hidden. It made me bloody miserable. When I first moved into a place of my own, I told myself I’d fill it with the things I wanted.
I chose not to care whether they were ‘right’ or ‘proper’ or any of that nonsense.
I have nice, pretty, soft things, and I think a lot of blokes would have the same if they weren’t so afraid of looking like a poof.
What the hell is wrong with nice cushions?
Or soft blankets? Or clothes that feel nice and make me feel pretty? ”
“Well… nothing… I suppose. I’ve just never met a bloke like you, is all.”
“Well you’ve not met a lot of queer blokes, have you?”
“I have!” he protested.
“Giving someone a hand job does not constitute meeting them, dear heart.” I regretted the words as soon as they escaped my mouth, but he took it as a joke.
“Hey!” He shouted, then laughed at himself. “Yeah, alright.” He paused. “I know Tommy and Eric, too.”
“Well done, that’s two.”
“And you.”
“That makes three. Therefore, I’m just as representative of a Uranian as Tommy and Eric. In fact, maybe more so as I am so much older!”
“What’s a… Uranian?”
He was clueless about so much of our world.
“Me and thee, dear heart.”
“What?”
“Blokes like us. Fairies. Poofs. Queers. Queens. Uranians. Except the last one was chosen for us, by us, so I think it’s much nicer.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever thought about how most of the words we have to describe ourselves are insults? Some of them are so vile I won’t use them, though there are those who try to wear them like a badge of honour.” I grimaced and held back a shudder.
“But Uranian was created in the Victorian times by men like us who wanted a secret way to describe themselves. It’s named after Aphrodite, funnily enough not Uranus.”
“My what?!” Mick cried, feigning outrage, but cracked into a grin right away.
“Don’t be vulgar.” I chastised. “And don’t pretend to be stupid, because I know you’re not. You know full well I meant the god.”
“I’m just a working class boy who went to the local Secondary Modern, what do I know of ancient gods?”
“And I got into the grammar school because I’m good at doing puzzles in my head. You know it doesn’t mean anything.” I didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Mick was one of the cleverest men I knew.
“Give me those,” I said, snatching the overalls out of his hands.
“Oh yes, you’re going to magic them dry, aren’t you?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. If electricity feels magical to you.”
“Yes, electricity is magic. And the world is flat and I’m going to Hell for being a sodomite. Because apparently I live in the middle ages.” Mockery dripped off his words.
“Are you quite finished?” He was also one of the most childish men I knew sometimes, and that was why I did my best Julie Andrews as Mary Poppins impression. Silent for a few more seconds, he burst into laughter. Thank God that was over.
Retrieving a large electric hair dryer from my dressing table, I plugged in the cord and turned it on.
The thing came to life in a whir of loud noise and hot air.
I pointed the thing at the clean, wet sleeve and let it do its ‘magic’.
Mick laughed, or at least I thought he did because I couldn't hear it over the hairdryer.
It was too loud to talk over, so Mick took to wandering around my small bedroom.
Nosing around it, more like. He kept picking up my things, inspecting them, and putting them down again.
It made me feel very exposed and vulnerable.
Like I was being assessed, and I very much wanted him to find me worthy.
It took less than five minutes to dry the overalls with my industrial-strength hairdryer, and I found myself feeling a little sad that it would mean Mick leaving my little flat. On the other hand, I was relieved. Having him here was a kind of sweet torture.
“There you go, good as new. Nobody will know you bumped into a poof and got covered in cream!”
“Thanks, Michael, you’re a superstar!” He didn’t bat an eye at my innuendo but wrapped me up in a tight hug.
His scent filled my nostrils, and it was all I could do to not take a deep breath of him.
He smelled like soap, sweat, and a hint of something spicy in his aftershave. I burned it into my memory.
Yanking off my silk robe, he climbed back into his overalls, his nerves and reserve vanished. Averting my gaze from all the enticing creamy skin on show, I busied myself with putting the hairdryer away.
Brushing down the sleeves and smoothing over the front, he seemed impressed with my work.
“I owe you big for this!” He grinned that great guileless grin he wore so often and another piece of heart chipped away.
“I’ll hold you to that, you know.”