Different Stories

When people ask - and they inevitably do, given my engineering background - how I became a writer, I have to give Simon some credit. Sitting here outside Maggie May's in the sun, I breathe in the scent of freshly-brewed coffee that's wafting out from the inside of the café, listen to the hum of the traffic snaking idly down Botanic Avenue to the city centre, shield my eyes from the sun that's bursting through the sycamores and watch the students milling around - so young and fresh-faced as I once was, walking the same paths between library, bookshop and pub as we once did - and I remember Simon's birdy voice and his thin lips and his god-awful secret writing, that story that inadvertently started everything, and changed my life.

Maybe I'll write that story today, finally.

*****

It was the autumn of ninety-four, the beginning of my final year at university. Charlie - my housemate and best friend - was about to turn twenty-one and we were planning to get the draughty Victorian house we rented ready for a big party.

Simon heard us talking about it over breakfast that morning, shuffling into the kitchen like a man six times his age in too-big slippers, a pale dressing gown and thick socks that puddled around his ankles. "A party, eh?" he said, pressing his colourless lips together. "I might go home for the weekend, then."

We looked at him, relieved. There wasn't much you could say about Simon other than he was there. Pale skin and pale hair that was something like blonde or ginger if you could be bothered looking. A churchgoer, history student and member of the Vegetarian Society who occupied the attic room and didn't make any noise. But he had a computer downstairs in the study and that would've made him sort of cool, if only he'd let us use it too.

"That's fine, Simon." Charlie's brown eyes gleamed at me over his toast.

"If you don't mind locking the study. I wouldn't like anything to happen to my computer."

"We'll do that."

Simon fixed his pale gaze on Charlie and stirred his tea, a quizzical look on his face as if he was trying to telepathically ascertain Charlie's level of sincerity. Finally, he gave a curt nod and shuffled out of the room.

"Do you know," I said when he'd gone back upstairs. "That's probably the longest conversation we've ever had with him."

Charlie chuckled. "I thought he'd never shut up. Now, who'll we invite?"

We huddled against the one functioning radiator and warmed our hands against mugs of tea. I whipped out a pen and paper to make a list of potential guests and forgot about Simon. Making a list wasn't really necessary because Charlie had lots of friends and he'd been going on about his birthday for weeks to anyone who'd listen. The fridge was bulging with beers and trays of the strawberry vodka jellies I'd made the day before and the cupboards were full of crisps, dips and mixers. I'd spent all week making compilation tapes of all the party music Charlie liked. Everything was ready.

"What about Donna?" I looked at him and nibbled the end of the pen. It tasted of earwax.

Charlie's nose wrinkled. "Nah. I think this on-off thing has finally just gone... off."

I smiled to myself as I crossed her name off the list. "That's a shame."

"You totally don't mean that. You never liked her." His eyes were bright and amused. "That's ok, I didn't really like her either. Let's invite those girls from across the street, what's-her-name with the tongue piercing and that other one, Bead. I'm seriously not letting you graduate without getting a shag. It's not natural."

My cheeks heated up in a rush of blood. "It's not my fault the engineering faculty's full of blokes."

Charlie finished his toast and stood up, stretching. I watched his sweater creep up over his hairy belly. The sleeves hung down over his hands to almost his fingertips. He gnawed a fingernail for a second then looked at the clock.

"Fuck, I'd better go. Can't miss the Friday morning feminist perspective on the Wife of Bath's Tale."

He winked at me and went into the living room, and I heard him whistle as he went up to his bedroom. I sipped my cold coffee and looked out at the sky. Just one more semester and we'd go our separate ways. And I didn't want it to end.

*****

Even though Simon was a pain, we did as he asked and locked the study for the party. His computer equipment had cost over a thousand pounds and we couldn't afford to pay for any damage. The party was just as I expected; the house crammed with all the other people who loved Charlie, his friends from the English Society, his seminars, the football team. All drunk and high and dancing in the living room to whatever tapes were lying around. A pile of gifts lay in the corner of the living room; willie warmers from Bead and the girl with the tongue piercing, t-shirts with various stupid slogans on, books and cassettes and bottles of vodka, Charlie's favourite drink.

Charlie was wearing a pirate's hat and swigging beer and dancing with Bead. She was small and dark- haired, with a round face more cute than beautiful. I watched them balefully from the kitchen, cramming handfuls of crisps into my mouth because I was so hungry from all the weed and starting to feel paranoid. Bead laughed at something Charlie was saying and hugged him tight; he looked over the top of her head and grinned at me, but I pretended not to see and sucked the crumbs off my fingers. There was a sourness in my throat. Bead's friend kept talking to me and I watched the piercing dance in her tongue and didn't listen to a word she was saying. I realised I'd forgotten to give Charlie the gift I'd bought; there wouldn't be much opportunity now.

It was about six in the morning when the last of the guests crashed asleep on the floor and started snoring. Charlie took a long time talking to Bead at the door and the house was cold with the early morning wind that blew in from their goodbyes and freshened up the air. I was slumped at the kitchen table, the beer in my bottle warm and stale. The room was spinning. I knew that if I let go of the table, I might fly off the face of the earth.

"Look at the state of you." Charlie's voice made me jump.

A big grin spread itself all over my face. "I'm fine."

"Yeah. Great party, thanks for that, mate. Bead, she's a nice girl."

"Funny name."

He laughed. "Think it's a nickname. Why the hell didn't you pull that friend of hers? She was well up for it."

I shrugged. "I'm too pished."

"Well, now we're alone..." His eyes twinkled evilly for a second. "I found something very interesting when I was upstairs looking for the key to the study, and found myself casually rifling through Simon's desk drawers."

I groaned and rested my forehead against the table. "Do I really want to know?"

"The password."

"Password?"

"To his computer, dick brain! Let's get the fuck in there and get online!"

I perked up. It was so exciting, the thought of the internet. I'd been online in the university computer room a few times but didn't really know how to maximise the experience. There were things on the internet I longed to see, a whole world of porn that was sure to be more satisfying than the magazines. Actual videos of people doing the dirty, enough to keep me and my hand occupied for the rest of my life, and not the sort of thing I wanted the library assistants to watch me accessing.

Charlie didn't have to ask me twice.

"Let's go!" I straightened up and clutched the table for a second as the kitchen lurched like a boat in high seas, and my stomach with it.

The study had been exclusively Simon's domain ever since he'd taken over it with his computer and printer and all his books and files. My books were crammed into a small case in the corner and there was no room at all for Charlie's at all. As if we didn't qualify for the room's use, since we didn't have enough money to buy computers of our own.

Sometimes Simon would call it the computer room, just to annoy us. But for now, it was ours. I looked around at the hospital-green walls and the grotty seventies carpet and suddenly loved it and wanted to roll all around the place.

Charlie sat down and rubbed his hands. "This is so exciting!" He pushed the button and the tower hummed and blinked. The screen lit up and a few seconds later, the log in screen popped up. He typed in the password and we held our breath for a second. The egg-timer turned round and round and a photo appeared, set as the desktop wallpaper. Simon and his mother and father with icons floating over their heads, eating a picnic on a sunny day somewhere on the coast, the sea blue in the background. His mother was wearing a prissy white blouse with lacy collars and I remembered Simon saying she was a schoolteacher. His father was tall and pale and nondescript, just like Simon. None of them was smiling.

"Any more beers?" Charlie drained the last of his bottle and handed it to me.

"What did your last slave die of?" I said, but grinned all the same. I stumbled into the kitchen and propped myself up against the fridge. There were two bottles left. Light beer. Who'd brought such a travesty? Still, it was better than nothing. Just then, I heard shrieks of laughter coming from the study.

"Oh my God! Oh my fucking GOD!! Rowan, come quick, you have to see this!"

I dashed to the study, breathless. Charlie had opened a Word document and was clutching his stomach, weak with laughter. I peered over his shoulder and set the beers down gingerly beside the monitor.

I read a couple of lines and my mouth dropped open. "What's this?"

Templeton fixed his darkening orbs on the milk-white face of the cowering servant. His fourteen-inch tool was pulsating in his britches like a python writhing to a snake charmer's pipe. "Ready my bath, damn you," he husked, his gruff demeanour masking the raging and conflicting passions that surged through his manly chest. "And be quick about it." The servant scuttled over to the tub, emerald eyes downcast submissively.

"Our Simon's a writer!" Charlie wiped his eyes, shoulders still shaking with laughter. "Oh, this is fucking wonderful! Just clicked on this folder, My Writing, and there they were. A whole bunch of stories. Reams of it! I bet he never takes his hand off his cock when he's in here. Mind you, this keyboard and stuff..." He sniffed at the mouse and seemed relieved, then tapped the monitor screen. "Servitude, this one's called. What the fuck! Mate, I wish my cock would do stuff like that! And clichés a go-go! Fantastic." He burst out laughing again, and I sat down on the armchair and sipped my beer, chuckling to myself as the room spun pleasantly around. I couldn't feel my teeth.

"Let me guess, does the wench pour some water into the bath, then do all her clothes get mysteriously steamed off?"

"Oh, I can't wait to find out!" Charlie gulped his beer and I heard the clink of the bottle on the desk. "Ok, here goes. Your bedtime story today is brought to you by Simon McDonald, bible basher and repressed virgin with a heart of smut. Sit back, relax and don't forget your bucket."

When the bath was ready, the servant wiped his brow with a trembling hand. His skin shone with the effort of filling the copper vessel...

"Oh fuck!" Charlie spun round in the chair, his eyes wide with scandal. "His skin? Oh my God! This is, like, gay Mills & Boon. Who'd have fucking thought..."

I ignored the faint heat in my cheeks and knelt down beside Charlie, to read for myself the secret and forbidden fantasy of our odd housemate. Charlie smelt of clean sweat and stale smoke, and just a hint of the aftershave he always wore. He rested his elbow on my shoulder as we began to read more.

Templeton stripped off his clothes, the amber light of the candles casting shadows over his bulging muscles and hairy chest. His enormous dick swung between his legs like a beast's, his balls as big as a space hopper nestling proudly underneath as he strode manfully across the room.

"A space hopper in historical fiction," Charlie said, chuckling. "Oh dear."

I adopted a lecturer's droning tone. "I'd like a feminist perspective on this one please, English student."

"A feminist perspective," Charlie mused, scratching the stubble on his chin. "I don't think it's possible. How about an engineering perspective?"

I couldn't think of a witty reply so I gulped more light beer and grinned at Charlie inanely. My knees pressed hard against the carpet and I shifted just a little closer to him, resting my elbow on the edge of the chair, brushing against his firm thigh as we kept on reading. The story was rubbish, but still... something was stirring in my chest, something I'd been ignoring for a long, long time. I couldn't take my eyes off the page.

The servant looked away and swallowed. "Sir," he said in a small, high-pitched voice. "Is there anything else you require?"

A silence broke into the room like a giant gush of warm water heavy with the anticipation of swimmers about to plunge recklessly into its depths. Templeton reached out his hand and ran his finger around the cherry-coloured lips of the servant. "There's something else I require," he barked roughly. "Look into my eyes, you little tease."

As the green orbs met brown, Templeton slid his thumb into the servant's unresisting mouth. It was so hot in there, so wet. He imagined sliding his huge appendage between those glistening lips. What sport the servant's tongue could have, dancing like a ribbon around his maypole!

"Oh," I groaned, laughing helplessly into the back of my hand. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

Charlie was smiling, but he didn't look away from the screen. I stole a look at him, the shadow of the dimple in his cheek, the curls of brown hair brushing over the collar of his shirt, the light of the screen bright in his eyes.

The servant's desires, so long supressed, rose to the surface like bubbles in water. A faint moan breathed out past Templeton's thumb and then the thumb withdrew, sliding down the chin, over the beating pulse in the neck, tugging at the starchy collar of the shirt.

Charlie's elbow on my shoulder, leaning more firmly now. The ache in my knees, getting worse. I shifted and he looked at me, his eyes almost black in the dim light. I looked back at the screen as the amusement started to fade into something else entirely.

Templeton ripped the material apart, exposing a slender chest, nipples jutting out of the faint mounds of pectoral muscle like pecan nuts on melting ice cream. Unable to contain himself any more, he pounced on the exposed teats like a slavering cub, his tongue rotating around the hot nubs, circling like water around a drain. The servant's head fell back, his eyes closed, sighing and moaning as Templeton nibbled on one then the other as if they were a most delicious snack. Then his powerful hands descended on the servant's shoulders and forced him to his knees, face to face with the monster that reared out of the fiery bush like a hydra.

"I require the services of your tongue." Templeton's words squeezed out through the towering inferno of his desire. Too long he had waited, watching the younger man fetch and carry with that same bland expression that looked like it had been whittled out of stone. "And then, I intend to make you scream."

I had become so engrossed in the world of the acrobatically-cocked Templeton and his servant that I almost didn't hear the front door slamming. There was only one other person who had a key - Simon. Charlie stared at me in horror and clicked the document shut.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's back early! Go out there and keep him talking while I close this shit down."

The beer bottle tumbled out of my hand and I swore, grubbing around on the dirty carpet after it while the contents frothed out all over the place. Charlie was half-laughing, half-irritated as he fidgeted in the seat, clicking the mouse frantically.

"Rowan, you dick!"

Simon was fistling around out in the hallway and I could almost see him going about his little ritual, taking his slippers out of his bag and setting the shiny shoes he never wore in the house - there might be germs on the soles - on the rack beside the door and then untying the laces.

Then the computer finally blinked off and Charlie heaved a sigh of relief.

But Simon would see the light on and was sure to come in. Just a few seconds more and we'd be caught, so close to the forbidden equipment. Maybe he would put his hand on the computer and feel that it was still warm. I didn't want to see Simon angry again. It was bad enough that time when he found out we'd been eating his cornflakes and he'd stood there squawking like a crow. Mine. My things. You. Your things. On and on.

I stood up and hauled Charlie out of the chair and looked at the door. The handle was turning. "What'll we say we were doing?" I whispered, tugging at Charlie's t-shirt in panic.

There was a strange look in Charlie's eyes. He brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and smiled. "Let's give him a show," he murmured, and kissed me.

All thoughts flew out of my head. I froze, unable to move my lips for a second but Charlie's kiss was so soft and gentle I couldn't help melting into it. I'd been kissed before by a few of the girls Charlie kept trying to set me up with, but it never felt anything like this. Charlie's skin was warm and damp and his fingertips brushed lightly against the nape of my neck. I clung to him and tasted the beer on his lips, the light touch of the tip of his tongue against mine, the heat of his hard body so close to me. I slipped my hand under his t-shirt and rested my palm against his back, and he did the same. Goosebumps spread over my skin and I kissed him harder, suddenly hungry for more.

There was a cough, and then Charlie released me and looked over to where Simon was standing rigid at the door of the study, mouth hanging open.

"Oh hi, Simon." Charlie's voice was casual, as if nothing had happened. "You're back early. We haven't had time to clean the place up."

"That's ok," Simon squeaked. "I'll - er - just go to bed."

"Ok. Night, then."

When Simon was gone, Charlie grinned at me. "I bet he's gone off to wank. That was funny, eh? Let's read more on Monday, when he's at his lecture."

The echo of Charlie's kiss was still warm on my lips and my whole body had come alive. I wiped my mouth and tried to smile. My heart was thumping and my dick was rock hard in my jeans. I held my beer bottle casually in front of my crotch, hoping Charlie wouldn't notice. "Sure."

"Night, Rowan." He winked at me and went upstairs to bed, whistling nonchalantly as I stared at the door and felt the throbbing in my pants and knew then that while I could lie to myself, my dick didn't take part in such nonsense. He'd kissed me for fun, to shock Simon, to entertain himself. It didn't mean anything to him. Tomorrow he'd be back to normal, happy and unconflicted, dipping into the large pool of female students who fell for that lazy, gorgeous grin all the time.

Just like I had.

*****

The day after the party barely registered. I woke up sometime in the afternoon, dizzy and carpet-mouthed, and lay there staring at the ceiling. My best friend was going up and down the stairs, getting a shower, carrying books around, humming to himself as if everything was normal.

Damn you.

Pulling the duvet over my head, I lay in my dark little cocoon and thought about kissing Charlie.

The moment played over and over in my mind like a fuzzy video. I tried to recall the feeling of his lips on mine, his cool palm on the heated skin of my back; my hand found my growing erection and the memory propelled me into speedy arousal. I imagined it was Charlie's hand on my cock, his tongue on my nipple. I was so close to coming, just another few seconds...