by Fabian Black
Jo, my psychological sister, was right. I had trust issues. I was terrified of committing to someone attainable in an honest and open way, in case they abandoned me, as my father had done. James had also abandoned me in a way, thus reinforcing the fear of let down and increasing my unwillingness to take a risk when it came to love.
I sighed, closing my eyes against the painful glare from the windows. There might have been a moment when something could have worked between Dee-Dee and I, but it had passed. We had chosen to navigate our relationship into friendship waters. It was now securely docked there.
Besides, Dee-Dee had his own prescribed life plan. He was set on having an alpha man, and why shouldn’t he have something he wanted. I wasn’t it. He had said so himself.
It was a day for mind clearing.
I thought back over the multiple conversations we’d had and my recurring question: if he didn’t have a spanking fetish, then what the hell attracted him to a relationship with a head of household who had disciplinary powers? It had to be structure. He had a craving for structure in his life. All ordered societies accepted the necessity of imposing discipline when the stability of the structure was threatened. Discipline or the potential for it represented order, control, safety, protection. That’s what his uncle’s books were about. The domestic set ups he wrote about were miniature representations of a cosy idealised patriarchal society. Those in charge were wise, kind, caring and fair, but firm, when the need arose. The cold reality was altogether different of course, but Dee wasn’t interested in cold reality. He was sold on the cosy picture.
Maybe he did have an ideal rather than a kink, and it was why I felt unequal to the task. A kink I could deal with, but an ideal was something else. I’d be willing to spank him for fun, as foreplay if it was what he wanted, but it wasn’t. It really wasn’t. I was not cut from authoritarian cloth, certainly not the kind used to fashion the heroes Dee dreamed about. I would only disappoint him.
I turned towards the river again, trying to soak up a sense of peace or at least resignation from its perpetual flow before going into college to begin work.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I didn’t get as much done by way of reorganising the workroom as I might have done, had I not been constantly interrupted by email messages and phone calls from Dee-Dee. His advert was bringing in replies. None were quite what he’d hoped for. He phoned me to complain about forty-four year old ‘Jim’ who had sent a lengthy email extolling his own virtues, explaining he didn’t want a committed relationship and ending with: contact me with photos and examples of your sexual experiences and desires so I can judge if we are on the same wavelength and looking for the same kind of fun.
“Fun! Did I mention fun, Si? I don’t think so. Can’t he read? What part of ‘looking for someone to share my life with’ didn’t he understand? And why does he want a photo? I didn’t ask for photos. Why are people so obsessed with looks? Shallow bastard!”
I made soothing noises and took it for granted that Jim like Dave would not qualify for the ‘interview’ stage.
Someone who used the moniker ‘white van man’ promised Dee-Dee lessons in discipline he would never forget. I didn’t like the tone of the mail. To my mind ‘white van man’ sounded like a pseudonym a sadistic serial killer might choose. Dee-Dee asked for my opinion and I gave it. I felt ‘white van man’ was a risk and best avoided.
I eventually did what I needed to do with the workroom and headed home to dine with Dee-Dee on pizza and salad. Afterwards he got out a bunch of email replies he’d printed off. We went through them together, sitting on his bed, finishing off the bottle of wine opened at dinner. The majority were from opportunist men hoping to entice him into playing spanking games with a sexual payoff.
He gave a heavy sigh. “None of them seem to understand I want a solid relationship, Si, not casual sex. If I’d wanted a quick fuck I would have said so.”
“Look, Dee-Dee.” I set my glass of wine on his bedside cabinet. “I’m not trying to demoralise you, but you’re asking the impossible of the improbable. MEETME isn’t exactly the Inkheart of contact sites and you’re not a Silver Tongue. You can’t make the heroes in your uncle’s stories materialise by placing an ad on it. Lower the bar a bit. Push aside the fantasy figure in your head. You need to get to know a man and allow him to become something to you before you ask him to be something for you. You need to find out if he’s on the same wavelength to begin with. Get to know and like someone first and maybe all else will follow. Why don’t we start going out on a weekend, to bars and clubs? You never know, maybe we’ll both hit lucky.”
“I thought you weren’t bothered about having a relationship?”
“I’m not, but a few dates might be nice, with a kiss or two and some bed action. I have needs.”
“I don’t like clubbing, or bars.” He frowned, a rare sullen look on his face. “They’re too noisy and the men are either chickens or chicken rustlers looking for a pick up they can peck and put down again. I want a proper relationship before my expiry date comes round and I get left on the shelf forever, or binned.”
“It was just a suggestion. How about this one then, he sounds promising.” I picked up an email from a man called John. It read: hi, clean mature discreet dominant male, professional guy in 50s, very experienced. I’m good with beginners and have been on the scene a long time. I’m patient and willing to get to know you over a period of time. I’ll always respect your limits. I’m also able to travel or accommodate. Hope to hear from you soon.
“He sounds like a genuine guy, sensible. He seems to get the domination thing. He’s the cream of a bad crop. Email him and ask questions. He might turn out to be what you’re looking for, or at least willing to try to be what you want. Give him a chance.”
Dee-Dee shook his head, a mulish look on his face. “He’s a scene man. I don’t want a scene man. He’ll want to tie me up, clamp my nipples and hang weights from my balls. I’m not interested in being a scene sub.”
“The scene he means might be the male spanking and discipline scene and not the BDSM scene in its fullest sense.”
“I’m not into either scene, as you very well know. I don’t want to be a scene sub and I don’t want to dress up as a schoolboy either so some pretend headmaster can whack my arse with a cane.”
“All right, calm down. I still think you stand more chance of meeting your ideal HOH on sites where scene people congregate. You need someone who understands the concept of consensual discipline practices, not some thug looking for a human punch bag to take out his resentments on.”
“There are thugs and predators among scene people too, not all of them respect rules and limits. I’ll know if someone is genuine.” Reaching for the wine bottle he divided the remaining contents between our glasses. “Do you want to watch Mama Mia?”
“Go on then, if it’ll make you feel better, grumpy guts.” I winked. “I’ll warn my eardrums to brace themselves ready for your singing.”
“You are a mean man, Mr Putney.” He pulled a face. “Can we watch it at yours, your telly is bigger and your couch is comfortable?”
“I suppose you’ll be wanting me to lay on snacks and drinks as well?”
“Yes please.”
“It’s a date then.” To my horror the words spoken in jest brought a flood of heat to my whole body. Thankfully he didn’t notice. He was too busy fishing under his bed for his shoes. By the time he emerged triumphant my blush had receded.
As it happened he didn’t sing along to the film, the disappointing reaction to his ad having quashed his usual enthusiasm. He parked himself next to me on the sofa, as he always did, munching his way through a tube of Pringles. Given the peeling away of the cataracts regarding my true feelings for him, his proximity felt different. The façade had crumbled. I was so acutely aware of him it felt painful.
He didn’t see the film through to its happy conclusion. His late night of quest launching caught up with him. He fell asleep, slumping against m
e, his head lolling on my shoulder, making my heart patter. His hair tickled my face. It felt soft. My cock twitched and stretched. A sweat of desire bathed my entire body. Jesus. I took a deep diaphragm breath. “Dee,” I said his name, shaking him gently. “Wake up.”
He stirred and opened his eyes, a look of puzzlement in them. “Si, what are you doing here?”
“I live here, you kook.” I helped him stand up. “Let’s get you home to bed.”
“I’m too tired to walk down the stairs.” He flopped onto the sofa and tried to lie back down.
“You’re not sleeping there. It’s bad for your back. You can sleep in the guestroom. You know where it is.”
“Thanks, Si,” he struggled to his feet. “You’re the best.”
I followed him through, smiling as he crashed face down onto the bed and immediately began snoring. I covered him over and left, quietly closing the door behind me.
I switched off the telly, locked up and headed for my own bed, where I lay sleepless. Love was not a comfortable feeling. No wonder I tried to avoid it
Chapter Twenty-Five
A fortnight passed. My classes got underway. Dee’s quest remained unfulfilled, with no Grail in sight. He refreshed his ad to keep it current and placed it on other forums. It brought forth a variety of suitors, but none with the right credentials. He had replies from ‘Dads, Bears, Masters and Doms,’ but none came close to matching the hero figure fixed in his mind.
There was a glimmer of light in the form of Norman who described himself as a homosexual gentleman of mature years. He expressed knowledge of the kind of head of household domestic set up Dee was interested in. They exchanged a few mails and arranged a meet one Saturday evening. He told me the pub and the time and sent me a prearranged text message from his mobile when his ‘date’ turned up.
I hadn’t spent a Saturday night alone in almost a year. It had become ‘our’ night. I’d cook dinner with him helping or hindering depending what mood he was in and we’d catch up properly on each other’s week. Afterwards we’d watch films or sit and talk while listening to music. I missed him, sight, sound and scent.
He’d gone out wearing faded jeans and the blue checked Ben Sherman shirt I’d bought him for his twenty-eighth birthday. It had replaced the pinstripe shirt with the shabby collar as his smart shirt. He was also wearing green contact lenses, because he reckoned green was his lucky colour. I knew him well enough to know the contacts were as good as a mask, something for him to hide behind until he felt more confident. He didn’t wear them around me anymore. He didn’t need to hide, plus he knew I didn’t like them. I preferred his natural colour and I also worried about him damaging his eyes with the hard plastic lenses. I really am my mother’s son.
‘Touch of Pink,’ the gay romantic comedy I’d chosen to watch failed to hold my interest. It wasn’t much to my taste. I’d bought it because I knew it would appeal to Dee-Dee. I kept glancing at the clock like the father of a teenage daughter allowed out alone for the first time.
My intercom buzzed at half past nine.
“It’s me.”
Judging by his glum tone, things hadn’t worked out. I tried to quell an ungracious sense of relief. “The door’s unlocked. Go take out those green lenses and then come up. Shall I pour you a glass of Merlot?”
“Please, a large one, and put Mama Mia on. I need cheering up.”
As soon as he flopped down on the sofa I handed him a large glass of vine fruit and settled down next to him. “So what was Norman like?”
He turned his head to look at me. “You know he told me he was a gentleman of mature years?”
“Yeah.”
“What he actually meant was ancient. He looked about seventy-eight and he had no teeth, well, not his own. He was wearing a huge set of false dentures. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. It was embarrassing. I was terrified I was going to say something about them and offend him.”
“You did say looks weren’t important.”
“I know, but I think I might have lied. He was kind of sweet in an OAP way, but he wasn’t dominant. He might have been once, in his imagination anyway, but not anymore. He’s too frail. I think he was just after some young flesh to play with before falling into the grave. He kept touching my thigh and he couldn’t keep his eyes off my crotch. My cock was terrified it was going to be groped. It shrank so much it almost qualified as a clitoris.”
I took a sip of wine in an effort to stop my mouth breaking into a grin. “So how big were his teeth? Are we talking big bad wolf?”
“Did you read The Beano when you were a kid?”
“Yeah, once or twice.”
“Picture Dennis the Menace’s dog Gnasher with an elderly human face and you’ve nailed Norman. I think he must have been a larger man when he had the choppers made. His face has shrunk with age, but the teeth have stayed the same.” He took a gulp of wine. “They were fucking huge, Si, I’m going to have to draw them to get them out of my head or they’ll be looming at me in nightmares.”
I don’t know who cracked up first. I think it might have been me, but he wasn’t far behind. We ended up clutching each other with tears of laughter pouring down our faces.
“Poor Norman.” Dee wiped his eyes. “It isn’t funny. It’s sad. The aging process isn’t at all kind. I hope he’s had some nice times in his life.”
“I’m sure he will have, and hopefully he’ll have more yet to come, but not with you, huh?”
He shook his head. “Nah, he wasn’t what I’m looking for.”
We each fell quiet.
Mama Mia reached its exuberant finale. I turned off the telly and then saw Dee-Dee to the door. “See you tomorrow. How about we go for a drive in the country and have lunch somewhere nice?”
“I’d love it. Thanks, Si, you’re a wonderful friend.” Leaning towards me he placed a gentle kiss on my cheek. “Goodnight. Sleep well.”
I watched him walk down the corridor. He turned at the stairs to give me a little wave, as he always did. I returned the gesture and watched him disappear down the stairs before closing and locking my door.
I stood for a long moment, a hand pressed to the kiss I could still feel imprinted on my skin.
Chapter Twenty-Six
After what we christened Gnashergate, Dee-Dee decided to abandon his quest or at least put it on hold. He stopped refreshing the ad, allowing it to slip into the archives of old postings. Life resumed a familiar and comfortable pattern. Summer bloomed in opulent glory and then began to wane as September loomed on the horizon. My woodwork classes drew to an end and I began prepping ready to change back into a maths teacher.
Then along came James, but not my James.
Dee-Dee was waiting for me one Friday evening when I got back from college after my final woodwork class. It had been raining on and off all day, sparkling showers between bursts of bright sunshine. As I turned into the bakery grounds I noticed a stunning rainbow painted on the sky above the building. I noticed something else, Dee-Dee. He was in his favourite place for communing with the rain, sitting cross-legged on the grass.
He must have been watching for me, because when he saw my car he jumped up waving his arms. I stopped and he ran over and climbed into the passenger seat, dripping water on the upholstery.
“I’ve had an email.” His eyes shone with excitement.
“Who from, not Anne surely?” I put the car into gear and drove on, a little trickle of caution sliding like a chill raindrop down my back. He’d not heard a thing from her since the upsetting phone call. “She’s not sent you photos again has she?”
“No. It’s from him. I think it might be him, my alpha man.”
My heart thumped dismay. I would have preferred it to be Anne. I gave him a quick side-glance. “You didn’t say you’d placed a new advertisement.”
“I haven’t. This guy came across the old one and emailed to ask if I was still interested.”
I concentrated on driving into a space in the car park before switching o
ff the engine and turning to him, asking casually, “and are you still interested?”
“Of course. I always said my man would find me, and he has. I stopped looking, but he found me.” He pointed through the windscreen. “Look, Si, look at the rainbow. It’s a beautiful omen.”
He was exhilarated, his skin glowing. I loved the way colour came into his cheeks, like a tint of rosy dawn on snow.
“What makes you so sure this man is the right one?”
“A feeling. His name is James. Isn’t that odd, Si, him being called James? Your James wasn’t your one, but this James might be my mine.”
There was no offence meant in his words. I pushed open the car door. “You need to change those wet clothes, Dee, before you get a chill. Are you going to show me this famous email from your alpha man?”
“Two mails. I wrote and said I was still searching and had almost given up hope. He mailed straight back to say we had been destined to come together.”
“Really.” I pulled a face. “Sounds a bit sure of himself.”
“I know. It’s great, someone in charge at last. He reminds me of the Earl in my uncle’s book Miss Margaret Meets her Match.”
“Don’t go imposing fictional attributes on someone you haven’t even met.”
“I was just saying.”
“Get changed. You’re dripping everywhere.”
I viewed the mails while Dee changed into a dry set of clothes. To say James was flowery was an understatement. My skin prickled as I read the second mail in response to Dee saying he was still searching. I could see why it had appealed to him It was the archaic style of language. The man could have stepped right out of the pages of one of Desmond’s old books.
