by Fabian Black
Spanking Dee-Dee
Fabian Black
Copyright © Fabian Black 2013
http://www.fabianblackromance.com/
Gay romance fiction
Cover art by Dare Empire
Chastise Books
All Rights Reserved
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Chapter One
Not everyone is looking for someone, not on a permanent basis anyway. I wasn’t. What I’d had with James suited me. We fitted the model of friends with benefits to a T. We shared similar tastes in films, books and politics. He was tall, handsome in an understated way and almost eleven years older than me.
On the whole I prefer dating older men, not because I’m looking for a father figure or a sugar daddy to cosset and spoil me. I don’t need any of that. I’m an independent guy. I look after myself. My preference for older men is because they tend to be uncomplicated. They know who they are and what they want from life. They’re also less emotionally demanding than men my own age or younger. I don’t need a Daddy and I don’t want to be one.
James and I didn’t live in each other’s pockets. We met up once or twice a week, occasionally more, work schedules permitting, and enjoyed each other’s company. We talked and broke bread together, and yeah, we had sex, plenty of hot no strings attached sex. It was a great arrangement, if slightly unconventional, but perhaps that’s what made it so good.
Then James met Kye and fell in love with him, just like that, in the snap of a finger and thumb. It didn’t break my heart, but it did break our arrangement. James wanted to commit to Kye lock stock and barrel. It astonished me. He’d always said he didn’t want or need the complications of a permanent relationship. Cosy domesticity with a single clingy mate was not for him. For some reason Kye changed his mind. James described it as ‘clicking.’ Something clicked and fell into place from the moment they met.
At twenty-five Kye was the same age as me. The similarities ended there. He was needy in a way I wasn’t. He wanted all of James’s time and attention. He demanded cosseting and compliments and wanted to be constantly pampered, petted and reassured. James seemed to lap it up. He and I reverted to being friends without benefits.
I didn’t resent Kye. He was sweet in his way and it was obvious he made James happy. I was more than pleased to be best man at their Civil Partnership Ceremony. I considered it an honour to be asked. They both had plenty of other friends who could have fulfilled the role.
As I watched them cutting their celebration cake at the reception afterwards I was surprised when I experienced a stirring of something I couldn’t define. Perhaps I’d been more emotionally attached to James than I’d thought? No. I dismissed the idea as soon as it arose. The feeling wasn’t envy, and it wasn’t sadness or regret. It was just - something. I was, I searched to find words to fit the feeling, but the only thing that came to mind was ‘puzzled.’
The love thing between the two of them puzzled me. I hadn’t been in love with James. I had never been in love with anyone. I loved my family, my mum and sister anyway, but I had never been in love with another man in a romantic sense. What did love have to do with anything? I understood friendship. I understood sex. I didn’t get ‘romantic love.’ It seemed an unnecessary and complicated emotion. What made James suddenly fall in love with Kye and want to spend a conventional lifetime with him and only him? It was a conundrum to me.
We all stayed friends, to a degree. I suddenly realised Kye wasn’t entirely comfortable when I was around. A shade of anxiety clouded his large Bambi eyes whenever I came on the scene. I think he’d guessed about the benefits I’d once shared with James and feared they might rekindle. There wasn’t a chance of it happening, but in respect of his feelings I distanced myself from them, literally. I moved to another town.
Ever since qualifying as a teacher and getting my first permanent job I’d lived in a rented flat in the same locale as James. I decided it was time to put a foot on the property ladder and began looking around for a suitable place to buy. I looked at scores of houses and flats and even considered a houseboat, but none of them appealed to me, none of them clicked.
I ended up moving into a bakery, or to be accurate a luxury apartment in what had once been the administrative building of a bakery. I was perusing a property brokers window one Saturday morning when I saw the photo. It grabbed my attention. It was advertised as a rare opportunity to purchase property in a coveted location.
I was intrigued and went inside to find out more. The estate agent was enthusiastic and also something of a local historian. He gave me a full run down on the property that had caught my eye.
Despite the lettering on the front of the building it was no longer a bakery in the working commercial sense. It had long since passed out of productive being. ‘Arthur’s Daylight Bakery’ as it was once known, was founded in the mid nineteen-twenties. It went from strength to strength reaching its peak in the sixties. It was famed in the area for its bread, pastries and confectionery. It churned out millions of sausage rolls, pasties, crusty cobs, doughnuts, vanilla slices, éclairs, peach melbas and gooey calorific artery clogging cream cakes that probably helped shorten the lifespan of an entire post war generation.
The name ‘Arthur’s’ was also synonymous with a string of shops and cafes. They sold the goods the bakery made. It was an institution; an empire folk believed would last forever. Only it didn’t. It went into decline during the late seventies and was out of business before Thatcher’s Ghost Town eighties got properly underway. Its demise left an unemployed workforce and a collection of empty buildings, along with a faint sad smell of bread dough in the air.
The bakery buildings were emptied of their machinery and quickly fell into a state of disrepair, becoming a target for vandals who delighted in smashing and wrecking. Calls were made to demolish them as they became more and more unsafe. They were eventually cleared to leave the land free to be sold for redevelopment.
The office building, which fronted the factory buildings, was a rather splendid Art Deco affair of cream and green glazed Italian tiles. The factory founder, Mr Ralph Arthur, believed his workforce would work harder if their place of employment had an air of elegance and grand refinement about it. His vision created a local landmark. Architect enthusiasts made sure it became a listed building, grade two. It couldn’t be demolished, so hence it was converted into luxury apartments, leaving the Art Deco exterior intact.
It looked even better in the flesh, so to speak, than it did on the estate agent photograph. It was a handsome masculine two-storey building with a recessed central clock tower. Well-kept grounds and gardens surrounded it. Something clicked as I observed it. Arthur’s Bakery called to me before I even viewed the apartment inside. I wanted to make my home beneath its roof.
There were eight large apartments in total, four on the ground floor and four on the top floor. The apartment for sale was on the top floor. It had a living room with large windows and high ceilings. There was a separate kitchen, a bathroom, a master bedroom with an en-suite shower room and a second bedroom. It was light, spacious and exactly what I was looking for. I set in motion the process of acquiring what I desired and looked forward to starting a new chapter in my life as a homeowner.
Chapter Two
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I moved into the bakery on the first day of the summer break from the sixth form college I taught at. James and Kye helped along with another friend of mine. Together we loaded my furniture and heavier possessions into a borrowed van. Tony, the friend, was to drive the van to the bakery and help me unload it. I packed the boot of my car full of smaller things, clothes and boxes of books, media ware and other small treasures I’d collected over time. Taking my leave of James and Kye with handshakes and good wishes I set off ahead of the van.
As I drove away I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw Kye put his arms around James to deliver a kiss. I got a strong feeling it was a kiss of relief, as well as a claiming kiss. James was all his at last, not that he’d ever been anything else. He’d certainly never been mine. I trained my eyes on the road ahead.
It was a mossy day, green and verdant, quintessentially English. Soft summer rain flowed tepid from a grey-blue sky, enhancing the scents of grass, flowers and warm earth. It was delicate rain, but drenching all the same.
The bakery loomed into sight, its soft cream and green tiles gleaming with moisture. As I drove my car towards the residents’ private car park at the rear of the building I spotted someone sitting cross-legged on the grassed area fronting the bakery. It was a man dressed in shorts and a blue t-shirt. His head was tilted skyward as if to allow the rain to wash it. It seemed an odd thing to be doing.
After parking up I hurried into the building using the rear entrance. I decided to leave my boxes and bags in the car until the rain cleared. Walking up the stairs to my apartment I paused outside the door for a moment and then ceremoniously inserted my key and pushed it open. A small surge of excitement swept over me. I experienced a real sense of being home. This was it, my place, befitting a professional.
Closing the door behind me, I viewed my new kingdom. It looked big and empty. Excitement waned, and a small knot of tearful anxiety twisted my stomach. Taking a deep breath I successfully quenched it with the pearl of wisdom I used to comfort new students who were struggling with the transition from school to college. It was normal to feel apprehensive when starting a new phase of life.
Moving across to the window in the living room I looked out, admiring the view of the front gardens. He was still there, the rain man, sitting on the grass, only now he had his arms stretched out in front of him, his hands cupped as if to catch the falling drops. It was eccentric behaviour to say the least. I wondered who he was and whether he lived in the building, perhaps with his parents. His dress and stance suggested youth, though of course I couldn’t see his face. He had his back to my window.
A van turned in to the drive dragging my attention away from the saturated figure. It was Tony. Grabbing my keys I hastened out to greet him and to help begin the unloading of my belongings. There was no lift in the building so everything would have to be lugged up the two short flights of stairs leading to the top floor. Both stairs and corridor were generous in width so it wouldn’t be too hard a task.
Tony pushed open the van door and jumped out, grinning. “Did you know you’ve got some kind of drippy hippy child sitting on the front grass meditating in the rain?”
“Yeah, I saw him when I drove in.”
“Who is it?”
“No idea. Come on, let’s get started.” I playfully punched him on the shoulder.
The rain kindly eased off enough to make furniture shifting a less harrowing experience. By half past six that evening everything was downloaded from the van and uploaded to my apartment. The furniture was more or less set out in appropriate locations and all that remained was the unpacking of cupboard stuff and drawer fillings.
I had a sofa and chairs to sit on, a bed to sleep in, and my computer and TV set up and ready to go. What more could a man ask for? Food was the answer that came readily to mind. The fridge freezer was plugged in and had a modest stock of provisions in it, but nothing worthy of a housewarming feast.
By way of celebration and also of thanking Tony for all his hard work I offered to treat him to a pub meal and a few beers once he’d returned the van to his dad, from whom he’d borrowed it on my behalf. He declined. He had other plans.
“Can’t, man, not tonight,” he gave a triumphant grin, showing off the endearing gap between his front teeth. “I’ve got a date with a jewel, a certain Ruby.”
I raised an eyebrow and gave a low whistle, impressed. “Not the new art teacher Ruby,” I used my hands to draw a Jessica Rabbit style silhouette in the air, “Ruby Foy?”
“The very same.”
He looked proud, as well he might. Ruby had joined the college teaching staff where I taught maths and Tony taught geography in the middle of the last term. Her curvy hourglass figure was a talking point for every heterosexual male in the college, students and teachers alike. She was a well endowed princess with a host of would be suitors willing to try for her hand.
“I thought she said she didn’t date colleagues?”
“She doesn’t, but seeing as it’s out of term time we’re not technically colleagues, it’s what I told her anyway, when God decreed she back her car into mine in Sainsbury’s car park yesterday afternoon.
“You dark horse, you never said. Did she do much damage?”
“Only to my heart.” He clamped a hand to his chest and made doe eyes. “Man, I’m gonna marry that girl. She’s the one. I knew it from the moment I first set eyes on her face.”
I gave a derisive snort. “I was there, Tony, and from where I was standing your eyes weren’t trained on her face. There’s no such thing as love at first sight. It’s a fable.” I ouched as he landed a hefty punch to my upper arm.
“You’ve got no romance in you, Simon. Wait until it happens to you.”
“Until what happens?”
“Love, my man, love.”
“Lust more like,” I laughed and blocked another punch. “I hope you and the gorgeous Miss Ruby have a lovely evening. Try to keep your eyes out of her cleavage and your hands off your joystick, or you’ll scare her off.”
“I know how to behave on a first date, unlike you gay boys, who jump in the sack before you even know each other’s name.”
It was my turn to do some shoulder punching. “Lies, all lies, I have never fucked a guy without asking to see his ID first.”
Tony covered his ears, yelling, “argh, spare me the sordid details, man.”
Once Tony had gone I stood for a few moments enjoying the sense of ownership of my own space. Now it was furnished it felt less empty. James popped to mind. I was surprised, not by the thought of him, but by the feeling accompanying the thought. It was almost like I missed him. Sitting down I rationalised it. The conclusion? It wasn’t him I was missing. It was sex. In times gone by a day like today would have resulted in a meet between us to share a meal and, inevitably, sex. That was the set formula. Meet. Eat. Fuck. Those days were gone. James belonged to Kye and Kye to James. Exclusive.
Oh well. In the gay world there are more than enough NSA fuck buds to be found in the adult friend finder columns if you cared to look. I didn’t care, not anymore. I was happy to forge a closer relationship with my right hand. It did the job and without emotional complications.
I decided to go out for a walk. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining, beaming friendly rays through the window glass. A shimmering rainbow arched the sky. It was a beautiful omen, cheering me. I’d done the right thing in moving.
There was a pub about half a mile down the road. The Unicorn. I’d noted it served food. I felt I owed it to myself to become acquainted with my local hostelry. I was ravenous and the thought of a good meal and a few beers was a pleasant one.
There was no sign of the rain man as I exited the bakery. The grass where he’d been sitting was vacant. There was enough heat in the summer evening sun to cause a light steam to swirl the ground, like dry ice at a rock show, or wraiths rising from the earth to dance ethereal in the warm air. Who said I had no romance in me?
Sticking my hands in the po
ckets of my jeans I whistled a tune and set off at a jaunty pace towards sustenance.
After my meal of sirloin steak with all the trimmings I sat cradling a pint in my hands, my thoughts wandering idly round. I mentally rearranged furniture and unpacked belongings in my new abode, while simultaneously thinking about Tony and his date with the luscious Ruby. There’d been a jokey note in his voice while claiming she was the one, but the look on his face had been at odds with it. He believed it. I took a long swallow of beer. It had reminded me of James and the look that came over his face whenever he talked about Kye - the look of love perhaps? How could you fall in love so fast, and more to the point, why fall in love at all? It didn’t make sense. Love complicated perfectly simple arrangements. Men, especially gay men, were not designed for monogamy. I had no desire to reproduce my genes so what was the point of a single committed relationship?
It was late when I got back to the bakery and I was slightly tiddly. I had intended to unload some of my bags and boxes from my car, but they could wait until the next day. I made my way to my apartment, stripped off my clothes and crashed out on my mattress, falling quickly asleep.
Chapter Three
I awoke early next morning feeling unpleasantly hot and sticky, as if basted in golden syrup. The air was close and sultry, pouting thunder. It would storm at some point. I didn’t mind. I planned on spending the day indoors putting my apartment in order. I’m a man of tidy habits and like everything in its place. I’ve always been the same, even as a child. My sister was the messy kid in our house.
A cool shower refreshed me and after dressing in the loose tee and baggy shorts I’d been wearing the day before I set about making my favourite meal of the day, breakfast, at least my favourite one at weekends and outside of term time. During the working week I don’t have time to do anything other than grab a bowl of cereal or a slice of toast and a mug of instant coffee.
