The Darkest Hour

by Wayne Mansfield

  He began thrusting his hips.

  “You’re tight,” he whispered.

  “It’s been a long time,” I replied.

  We made love on the lawn beneath a velvet sky strewn with glittering stars for what must have been hours. And when Oliver had cum for the second time he stayed inside me and we manoeuvred ourselves so we were lying side by side. We cuddled on the lawn and watched the night sky.

  “I can’t believe it,” said Oliver.

  “Believe what?” I asked.

  “That I’m here with you like this, after a perfect dinner and one of the best love making sessions I’ve had in my life.”

  “I can believe it,” I said. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a very long time.”

  Chapter 7

  The following morning, I awoke in bed with Oliver beside me. I couldn’t for the life of me remember how we’d got there and I didn’t much care. There was a slight throbbing in my head to take care of, so I crawled out of bed and staggered into the en suite bathroom. I was busting for a leak, but now I was moving about, my head was pounding like a jackhammer. I pulled open the top drawer of the vanity and rummaged about for some headache tablets. There were four left. I was tempted to take the lot, but ended up taking only two. I had no doubt Oliver would be needing the others.

  I placed the tablets and a glass of water on the bedside table beside Oliver then returned to the bathroom to get myself a glass of water. I put it on my bedside table and carefully crawled back under the covers. Thank God someone had had the decency to draw the curtains at some point. Even the pale light of an Aussie winter’s day would have been too much to handle in the state I was in, at…I looked at the alarm clock…nine past nine on a Saturday morning!

  I closed my eyes and fortunately it required no effort to fall back asleep.

  At some point I became aware of a body pushing up against mine. I felt the stabbing of something rigid in the space between my arse cheeks. Was it real or in a dream? I tried to push it away and whether I succeeded or failed I couldn’t say. I was back in a deep sleep before the mystery was solved.

  I woke up, properly, at twenty-seven past eleven later that morning. I heard the shower in the en suite bathroom and had a wicked thought. I should go and join him. Then I thought about it a bit more. If I joined him, there’d be love making. And if there was lovemaking—I hated to think it—but there very well might be vomiting. My head throbbed. My mouth was dry. My whole body ached from the exertion of the previous night. And if I was completely honest, Oliver must have given my arsehole quite a work out because even that ached.

  The shower went silent. I heard Oliver quietly hum a few bars of a song then stop.

  I smiled contentedly. It felt good to have another soul in the house.

  I heard him drying himself, and the flap of the towel. Then he urinated, washed his hands, and gargled with Listerine. Then silence. What was he doing?

  He appeared, his eyes upon me.

  “Hello, sunshine,” he said.

  “More like rain cloud.”

  Oliver jumped on the bed. On all fours he crawled up over me and kissed me.

  “Rain cloud?”

  “Everything is throbbing,” I said.

  He reached down and grabbed my cock. “This isn’t throbbing.”

  “Everything except that,” I said, correcting myself.

  “Can I get you some coffee?” he asked.

  “You’re my guest.” I sat up and stars began to swirl in front of my eyes. I felt suddenly bilious. “I should make the coffee.”

  Oliver laughed and kissed me again. “You’re in no condition to make coffee. I’m sure I can work out where everything is. I’m actually quite good at boiling a kettle.”

  I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew Oliver was leaning over me, shaking me awake.

  “I’ve put your coffee over here,” he said, pointing to the bedside table.

  I stretched my arms out and smiled as I watched Oliver in all his glorious nakedness walk around the bed to the other side. The sight of his muscled, masculine body had me hard by the time he climbed under the covers.

  “I’ll have to drink this and head off,” he said.

  He sipped his coffee then put it on his bedside table.

  “So soon?” I said.

  I wasn’t in any fit condition for more lovemaking, but I definitely would be later in the day. And I wanted it so much. I wanted him. I leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

  “Daniel,” he said, “I really enjoyed last night.”

  I appreciated the compliment but there was something in his voice, something in his expression, which told me there was more to come and perhaps I wasn’t going to like it. I could feel my lacrimal glands gearing up for action. There was a sinking feeling growing in the pit of my stomach.

  “I’m glad,” I said, trying to sound as ‘normal’ as possible.

  “There’s something I have to tell you, though,” he said.

  Oh God.

  “I don’t have to tell you, but I’d like to tell you.”

  Okay. That doesn’t sound as bad.

  “I’m only telling you because it seems to make a difference to some people.”

  That’s it. Can’t take any more.

  I rested a hand on his naked thigh. “Just tell me.”

  “I have a son,” he said.

  For a moment I didn’t know what to say. I’d been expecting something momentous, something devastating.

  “Okay,” I said. “Is that it?”

  He was looking at me peculiarly. Did he want me to say something else?

  “How old is he?”

  “He’s almost five.” A little smile appeared on his lips. “Great little bloke.”

  “Where is he now?” I asked.

  “At his mother’s house.”

  I took my hand off his thigh. “You mean, you’re…”

  “Married? No. Never married.” He looked into my eyes. “Let me explain.”

  I rolled onto my side and propped my head up on my hand.

  “His mother is a friend of mine. A lesbian.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “Hang on. Rewind. Back to the beginning. When I was in my early twenties I met a guy called Jason. Long story short, we fell in love. Within about six months of meeting each other, we moved in together. Our relationship was so easy. Never any complications. After a couple of years, we knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. We talked about having a baby together and I was so happy. No, wait. I was more than that. I was…” He searched for the perfect word. “…ecstatic. To be fair we used both his sperm and mine to impregnate a friend of ours, Leesa. We paid all the costs and she was happy to help us out. Nine months later little Cameron was born.”

  I could see Oliver’s eyes become misty. I replaced my hand on his thigh.

  “He was a great little baby. He brought us so much joy. He’s never stopped bringing me joy.”

  I almost hated to ask. “What about Jason?”

  “He, ah, he died…” Oliver began blinking rapidly.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, gently rubbing his thigh. “It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  Oliver shook his head. “It’s all right. I’m okay.” He exhaled slowly and deeply. “He died in a car accident. The usual arsehole drunk driver, speeding through a red light. Hit Jason’s car square on.”

  I’d heard enough. I didn’t want to put Oliver through this no matter what he said.

  “So his mother is…”

  “Leesa. She looks after him whenever I need her to. She’s wonderful with him. Jason and I decided right from the beginning we wanted him to have the influence of both his fathers and a mother.” He took a deep breath. “What do you think?”

  I shrugged. “I, er, think it’s great you have a son.”

  Oliver smiled. “No, I mean…would you still like to see me, knowing I have a son?”

  “Of course, I would.” I furrowed my brow. “Why w
ouldn’t I?”

  “Some men don’t like the idea of becoming a daddy. They think having a kid to look after, especially someone else’s, is a burden.”

  I shrugged again. “I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”

  Oliver cupped my face with a hand and kissed me on the lips, a long, lingering kiss. When he’d finished, he sat back, leaving his hand on my face. He smiled at me and there was a softness, a tenderness, in his expression.

  “I’m a lucky man,” he said.

  I returned his smile, although his confession had prompted me to think about the one I should probably make.

  “Erm. In the spirit of sharing, I have something I feel I need to tell you.”

  “Go on then.”

  I dived right in. “I’m currently on medication for depression,” I said, my eyes scanning Oliver’s face for any change in his expression, for any sign of what he might be thinking. “I think I’m on top of it now, but just in case I have a relapse, I thought you ought to know.”

  Oliver leaned in and kissed me.

  “Not a problem,” he said.

  I was taken aback. I hadn’t expected him to run screaming from the bedroom at my news, but this was a completely understated, and unexpected, reaction. I stared at him in mild disbelief.

  “That was easy,” I said.

  “I’ve had friends with depression,” he said. “I know how hard it must be for the person suffering through it. If you ever need some time for yourself, you only have to ask.”

  I was still staring.

  “What?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I think I might just have found the world’s most fantastic guy.” I continued to shake my head. “You’re unbelievable.” Then I hastened to add, “In the best possible way.”

  Oliver laughed and fell onto me, kissing me passionately. My head was still throbbing and I felt a little nauseated, but I fought against it. I wanted Oliver to kiss me. I wanted him inside me again. There would time later in the day to relax, when he was at home with Cameron.

  He positioned his muscular bulk between my legs and after lubricating his cock, he penetrated me. I stared into his eyes, into his soul, as he began to thrust into me. I brought my fingers to my nipples and began to tweak and twist them. If I touched my cock, I’d cum, and I wanted to wait for Oliver.

  I closed my eyes to concentrate on the sensation of his thick cock sliding into me, on his body pressing against my groin. The power. The manliness.

  He began thrusting faster and harder until he was rocking my whole body. I reached around and cupped his buttocks, the sensation of them tensing and relaxing beneath my palms further heightened my arousal. Each time he thrust in, I tightened my grip on his arse cheeks, and each time he thrust out, I felt my fingers pulling them apart.

  “I’m gonna cum,” he said between bursts of breath.

  I reached down and took my cock in hand and started stroking it. His face contorted, he grunted, and when I knew he was ejaculating into me, I climaxed. I felt my arse muscles contract around his cock, milking it completely dry. For a moment he remained stationary above me, inside me. His eyes were closed. When he opened them, he smiled at me.

  “You’ve made quite a mess,” he said.

  He reached down and ran a finger though the pools of milky white semen that had collected on my torso. Scooping some up on his finger, he fed it to me. I sucked it from his finger and then we kissed.

  “Hey you,” he whispered. “I have to go.”

  I didn’t want him to leave. He had to pull away from my embrace. Once free, he climbed over me and out of bed. I watched him disappear into the en suite bathroom. I heard the water running and some vigorous drying. He came out, scanning the room.

  “Where are my clothes?” he asked.

  I laughed. “I think you might find them out the back.”

  He disappeared for a minute and returned grinning.

  “You know we slept all night with the back door wide open?”

  I sat up in bed. “One of us could have been molested,” I said with mock shock.

  “I think one of us was molested,” he said as he stepped into his underpants.

  When he was fully dressed, he walked to the bed and we kissed some more.

  “Don’t bother seeing me out,” he said. “Stay in bed and I’ll call you later today. If you want me to.”

  I didn’t reply. I couldn’t stop kissing him. I knew when we stopped kissing, he’d leave. And so he was the one to break away.

  “Later,” he said casually, waving to me as he left the room.

  I watched him walk down the hallway and turn. I heard the front door open and close, and the faint sound of his footsteps walking down the steps. I didn’t hear the gate, but I heard his car start, rev a couple of times then drive away.

  Silence.

  It came crashing in on me. The silence. The aloneness. I could feel tears welling, but no. I wasn’t going to let them come. I should have been feeling elated, on cloud nine, but even if the depression wouldn’t allow me to revel in my joy, I wasn’t going to let it have its way either.

  I got out of bed. I knew if I kept busy, I could keep the tears, the blackness, and everything else I didn’t want, away. I walked to the kitchen and took my meds. They really did help and for that I was glad. From there I went out onto the patio to clear away the plates and glasses. And retrieve my clothes. After three trips back and forth there were the dishes to do, surfaces to clean. The whole time I debated whether or not to do some painting. I wasn’t in the mood, but I had to keep myself busy. I had to. I stripped the bed and threw the bedding into the washing machine. Then I cleaned the en suite bathroom. I had a shower and after drying myself I emptied the washing machine and hung the sheets and pillow cases out to dry.

  I had to keep busy.

  It wasn’t a perfect cure. Despite the fact I was feeling more positive, and for the longest period of time since being diagnosed, there were still small relapses.

  * * * *

  One morning, a few days later, I awoke beneath the shadow of a thunder cloud. Almost immediately the phone rang. The shrill ringing darkened my mood.

  “Hey sexy. How are you this morning?”

  Something about Oliver’s voice, so happy, so positive, triggered something inside me. It was something I couldn’t control; something I didn’t even try to control.

  “You woke me up,” I growled.

  There was a pause. “Gee, I’m sorry.” Another pause. “Is everything all right?”

  I was frowning. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Well…you sound upset.”

  “You woke me up!” I snapped. “Sorry I’m not the life and soul of the party first thing in the morning.”

  “It’s nine o’clock,” said Oliver, sounding suitably annoyed. “I thought you’d be up by now. Obviously I was mistaken.”

  “Obviously you were.”

  There was another, longer, pause and finally I became aware of what I was doing, how I was treating the man I was supposed to be in love with.

  “I think I’d better go,” said Oliver. “Call you back when you’re in a better mood.”

  He hung up.

  I threw the phone to the floor and burst into tears. All the familiar feelings of darkness and despair washed over me. I’d blown it. I knew I had. Who’d tolerate being spoken to like that? Especially for no good reason. If I was thinking logically, I’d have picked the phone back up and called him. But I wasn’t and I didn’t. Instead I cried and cried. Nasty, destructive thoughts swirled about in my head, slowly weaving a cocoon for me to suffocate in.

  He’s gone. You’re an arsehole. You brought this on yourself. He probably only felt sorry for you anyway. He’s too good looking for you. He would have left you sooner or later. Better he finds out what an arsehole you are now. He’s probably on the phone right now telling all his friends what a fucked up, crazy bastard he’s met.

  I went into the kitchen, opened the fridge door, and took o
ut a bottle of wine. I removed the lid and took a swig. I took another and another. I wandered through the house, sobbing and swigging wine. I didn’t often think about how the kids at school used to taunt me, tease me, and call me names, but these dark thoughts had become those children. Those bullies. They knew exactly where to hit for maximum effect.

  I was in the lounge room when the last of the wine disappeared down my throat and I suddenly felt very tired. I’d been up barely an hour, yet I was ready to sleep once more. I lay down on the couch and closed my eyes.

  Judging by the pale light filtering in through the window, it was mid-afternoon when I woke up. My head throbbed and my mouth was dry. I sat up and set off an explosion in my brain. I grimaced and pressed against my temples with the balls of my hands. Why do I do this to myself?

  My first priority was water. And painkillers. Next I checked my messages. There were none. Nor were there any phone calls for the rest of the evening. The following day I was beginning to get worried. Those nasty thoughts in my mind were right. I had fucked things up royally. Several times I went to dial Oliver’s number, but found I couldn’t. I was terrified of what he would say. When I did manage to find the courage, I called but the line was busy. I hung up without leaving a message.

  That evening I sat crying into a glass of wine. I’d found a half-empty bottle at the back of the fridge and while it tasted more like vinegar than anything else, it was providing me with the numbness I craved.

  I heard a knock at the door. My heart skipped a beat. I wasn’t expecting anyone, especially at that time, so it could only have been Oliver. I wiped my eyes and straightened myself up as best I could while hurrying to the door.

  “Coming,” I called.

  I sniffed, cleared my throat, and forced a smile. I couldn’t get to the door fast enough and when I opened it Oliver was standing there. His expression was wary, but confident.

  “Hello,” he said. “I thought I’d call in on the way home.”

  My smile flickered uneasily on my face. “I’m glad you did,” I said. “Come in.”

  I led him into the lounge room. “Could I get you a coffee?”