Love is a Banquet

We're clearing the table and loading the dishwasher, even though I said I'd do it later, or in the morning. We make a good team, efficiently clearing away the ice-cream bowls, red-smeared plates and glasses. I gulp a mouthful of wine, the very nice dessert wine that was given to me, along with a bottle of some strange home-brewed concoction, as I opened my front door, amidst a confusion of awkward welcome kisses and coat taking.

It's very warm in the kitchen, I finish my glass too quickly and feel rather light-headed.

'Would you like to go on into the other room? You can put some music on. The coffee's just brewing and I'll bring it through.' I sit back down at the table, almost glad to be alone, my heart is beating so fast I almost feel sick and I swear I have butterflies in my stomach! I just need a moment to get my head together. I can't believe my good luck, I don't want to mess this up! This evening has not gone too badly so far -- I haven't spilt anything or said anything too inane -- although why did I mention the villa -- I probably sounded as if I was bragging - what an idiot!

Pulling myself together, I put the coffee things on a tray and take them through. He's perched on the arm of the sofa, his back to me. I smile as I notice a tuft of his short sandy coloured hair sticking up a bit on top like a little boy's. I lean forward and kiss the back of his neck. He turns round and smiles at me; he has the warmest brown eyes and dimples and whatever I was going to say has gone. I've never felt so dismantled by someone before; my mind is in turmoil, my thoughts incoherent and I feel totally out of my depth.

I pour out two black coffees and sit on the sofa, kicking off my sandals, tucking my feet up under me. Jake slides down off the arm and rests his hand on my thigh. I take his hand in mine; his hand is pale and his fingers short and stubby. We sit like this for a while, each of us drinking our coffee with our free hand. I think how I would like to take him shopping -- I can't believe he's got two of those vile sweaters! For a gorgeous guy he has deplorable taste! He's wearing pretty awful trainers as well.

I look at him, he smiles and squeezes my hand, putting down his coffee cup. He takes my hand in both of his and raises it to his mouth, I can feel his beard scratching slightly against the back of my hand and then the warmth and moistness of his lips as he gently kisses my fingers and then the palm of my hand.

'Lets go out into the garden -- it's a lovely night.' I jump up and haul Jake up by the hand. He looks a bit crestfallen but he follows me outside.

One major reason I'm so disoriented is that when I met Jake I thought, presumed, he was straight -- his taste in clothes was appalling, and it was only after talking to him for 10 minutes or so at Marjory's party that it dawned on me he was gay! I was instantly attracted to him, straight or no and couldn't wait to see him again. I didn't have the nerve to ask him out then and there -- so I got his number and texted him -- then if he didn't want to see me again - he could just text back in the negative. I don't know if I can handle all of this.

It's very nearly a full moon and very balmy. The moonlight shines across the garden, making the dark shadows even darker. We sit on the wooden slatted bench and I'm so aware of the cold hardness of the bench beneath me and the softness and heat of Jake's body next to me. My heart is thudding in my chest as if I'd just run a race. The air is scented with the herbs and flowers that mummy planted and I can smell the odours of cooking and wine lingering in our clothes and hair. I can hear the far off noise of the city, traffic noise and distant shouting. I look up at the sky and can see stars, recognising the Plough and Orion -- the only two constellations I know. The moon is big and pale yellow and low down in the sky, oppressive, almost menacing. I don't know what to do -- with straight boys it was simple -- get them drunk or stoned and pounce. I've never felt less like pouncing in my life, I don't want to seem crass and boorish. I don't want to ruin everything.

I am startled out of my reverie, by the touch of Jake's hand caressing my cheek.

'Leo, I'm going to go now.'

'Oh! I thought you might stay.'

'I thought I might, but you look absolutely exhausted.'

I am too: suddenly I feel as if I don't have the strength to even stand up. It has been an emotionally draining evening, I've not felt anything this intensely for so long and it has wiped me out. I feel as if I might cry at any moment. Jake takes my face in his hands and kisses me tenderly, saying;

'I do want to see you again; I will ring you tomorrow I promise.'

So he goes and I am alone. I go straight to bed. I don't know how I feel. I think I feel numb; but as soon as I lie down my thoughts start reeling. I haven't felt like this about anyone since Marco and however much I don't want to think about him, as I drift off to sleep I relive that terrible night.

For a brief moment I thought I saw him -- on what passed for a dance floor in the tiny club. He had such a sexy way of dancing. I looked up from the dancer's crotch encased in denim, to his face -- it wasn't him at all -- nothing like him. I had been dancing with a cute boy, but now I couldn't see where he'd gone. It was dark and smoky in the club and the music was deafening -- conversation was only really possible in the toilets -- but that's not what most people went there for. I went to the bar and got a beer; the bottle cold and slippery. I rubbed the bottle across my forehead in a vain attempt to cool myself down. I realised I'd already taken my shirt off but couldn't remember when. I still had my wallet in my pocket at least. I scrounged a cigarette off a good looking crew cut boy -- later discovered he was Canadian -- or at least he had a maple leaf tattooed on his arse.

It was here that I'd first met Marco. We'd danced and then I blew him in the toilets. He was cute but I don't expect to see people from the clubs a second time. The next one was almost as tall as me, but built with it. His strength was amazing; he could have done what he wanted with me -- but he used his strength to make sure there was no more physical contact between us than was strictly necessary, and he gripped my shoulders so tightly that I'm sure he was responsible for some of the smaller bruises I had the next day.

I remember doing so much coke that night and someone gave me what I presume was an e. I must have swallowed as much spunk as beer -- it was the maddest night. So many cute boys and not so cute boys. I just wanted to get him out of my head. How stupid I'd been thinking it meant anything. This was who I was -- this was my life.

The club was closing. Where had everyone gone? A few stragglers hung around in the little square opposite. I recognised someone I'd done earlier and caught his eye. He ignored me and carried on talking to his friends. I sat down on the grass, leaning back against something hard, feeling dizzy. I watched the group of men talking -- all hearty macho shit posturing and back slapping. Couldn't tell what they were saying -- their voices were muffled and booming in my addled head. The one I recognised kept looking over at me and I smiled.

Then he was there, right in front of me, crouching down -- his face swimming in and out of focus -- his voice doing the same -- I felt as if I was under water. He pulled me up on my feet and I put my arm around his shoulders, pulling him close to me. He shouted at me and pushed me away; I staggered backwards and banged my head on something. I reached out to him, trying to touch his face; but he was having none of it. Such hatred distorting his handsome features -- I should have stopped then. But set on my course I reached out again -- my hand flat against his shirt -- I felt his warmth and the smooth material of his T shirt -- as I moved my hand across his nipple in a gentle caress.

I saw the fury in his eyes, felt his spittle on my face as he shouted, our faces a scant inch apart. Then, just as I realised he had drawn his arm back and made a fist, I felt it smash into my mouth. I tasted the coppery warmth as my teeth cut through my lip and the pain spread. I was crying and he grabbed my hair and dragged me along the grass, my feet scrabbling to keep my balance. I was dimly aware of a button flying as he swung me round by a handful of shirt-front, and my shoulder exploded in pain as he slammed me into a wall; I landed on the hard ground on my knees, my jeans ripping, my whole body jarring. I heard screaming a long way away and felt as if my body was on fire, I curled myself up tightly shielding my head with my arms. I focussed all my concentration on the rough cold ground, the small stones digging into my face; leaving no room in my head for thoughts of love. Sobbing silently, I could hear my ragged breathing, I was barely conscious, disappearing into myself, embracing the overwhelming blackness as a welcome alternative to the jagged sharp-edged world of suffering, even as it was my due.

After a night full of bad memories and worse dreams, I open my eyes and straightaway my thoughts turn to Jake.

'What happened last night? Why did Jake go home? Why didn't I stop him? Is it all over before it's started? Have I messed up again?' I pull on my robe, stumbling over last night's clothes, in a heap on the floor by the side of the bed. I kick angrily at a shoe, sending it skidding across the floor boards, disappearing under a chest of drawers.

I'm on my way to the bathroom when I catch something out of the corner of my eye downstairs on the doormat. I rush down to investigate - an envelope bearing no stamp; I tear it open, my heart beating faster, hopefully, apprehensively. It is a card, which I open quickly. I look at the words inside in a daze, not understanding what I'm reading. I make myself calm down, breathing slowly and deeply. I sink down, sliding down the wall,, sit there, my back against the wall. I read the words again, slowly and carefully:

when you're fearful that what you desire

will be snatched away from you, or given only fleetingly

the temptation will be to rush headlong at the thing

to ensure you enjoy it, if only momentarily

but when you are sure of the inevitability of what you desire

you will be content to live in the moment

It's beautifully hand written, and signed "Thank you for a lovely evening. I will see you on Friday, Love Jake" and has two kisses under the signature all written in purple ink. Salvation, gratitude, relief flood over me -- I am going to see him again. Suddenly aware of the prickliness of the coir door mat irritating my naked thigh, I take the card with me into the kitchen, re-reading it while I boil the kettle and make some toast.

Chapter Two Risotto

Jake

I pour out some more wine for the both of us; this risotto is very dry. I look across to Leo and watch him as he eats. He really has the most beautiful face; green eyes (how many people actually have really green eyes?) such amazing cheekbones and those lips -- full to start with and now positively swollen with passion. His black hair is all mussed up but somehow he looks like a guy in one of those adverts for hair product -- hair carefully styled to look mussed up. I feel a great desire to give him more risotto, to feed him up; he looks so vulnerable and fragile. As if he might break if loved too violently.

As I sit here watching him I feel little shudders, aftershocks of sex ripple through me. Little fragments of this most intense experience fill my head: gripping Leo's sides so tightly, scared in case my fingers might slip into the gaps between his ribs; my hand in the small of his back, balancing myself; holding on to his shoulders, thinking how lean and sexy he was and best of all his skinny arse rising up to meet me. He made so much noise when he came it alarmed me and I wasn't sure if it was due to pleasure or pain.

I knew the moment he opened the door to me last week that he was the one. I was positive; all the uncertainty of the preceding week vanished; leaving me calm and confident. I can still picture him, framed in the doorway, head almost touching the lintel, a doubtful little smile on his lips and his eyes shining. As I sat and watched him cook for me I realised that this was how my life could be. How could I have thought that what I had with Dan was a relationship? I know more about Leo after two evenings with him than I ever knew about Dan. I am glad I met Dan though; before him I was pretty clueless I must admit. All those hours in bed with him gave me a lot more confidence.

All my life I've just drifted along: being a son, a brother, a teacher. But where was I? The person, the individual,the real me? What do I want out of life? Meeting Dan, and now Leo, I feel as if I am someone -- Jake Summerhill -- an individual being with a life of his own. Moving to Manchester was the best thing I ever did. On my first day I saw two guys holding hands, walking across the square in front of the Town Hall. I was so excited -- nobody took any notice at all of them -- and I wanted to shout out to them. And this wasn't even in the gay part of the city! My first time down Canal Street was like being on another planet; so many cute guys -- and they all behaved as if this was all so normal. It felt weird because I was so excited -- it was sad that I hadn't experienced this before -- that being able to hold hands or kiss your lover in public wasn't normal and everyday.

The first time I ventured into a club I just leaned against the wall with my bottle of beer and watched. I had never seen so many men dancing in one small space. I went back week after week and watched. Men offered to buy me beer and asked me to dance but I politely refused, gradually getting used to the whole idea, until I met Dan. I'd seen him a couple of times out and about, usually with a crowd of mates; but this time it was towards the end of the evening -- the latest I'd stayed (usually I'd leave quite early -- my nerve deserting me). He asked me if I wanted to go back to his -- I was so scared -- but decided that the time had come, and so I spent the night with Dan. And the next day -- in fact the whole weekend -- once he realised that I was inexperienced he decided to enlighten me.

So, all in all, looking back, being with Dan was a good experience -- even if I misread the situation. It enabled me to be in control on my first date with Leo -- once I'd thought about things -- and decided that everything would be ok, whatever happened. I went to Leo's that first time not knowing, but not worrying about the future. I was looking forward to having sex with him, but if it didn't happen then so be it. And then I saw him and knew.

So it wasn't important that we didn't have sex that first evening -- sex was inevitable. As I walked home through the noise of the city I composed a poem -- hadn't written any poetry for years,not since I was a teenager -- but the words just came to me. I felt so happy walking home; knowing that I was embarking on the most important relationship of my life. Leo texted me that morning to say thank you for the card -- and all this past week we've been communicating in this way. Leo certainly has a flair for texting: I turned my phone on one lunchtime at school causing one little boy to ask,

'Mr. Summerhill? Are you hot Mr. Summerhill? You've gone very red.'

I look at Leo now, finishing up his food, chasing a few last grains of ice around his plate. He pokes them with his finger and then puts his fingers in his mouth, licking his fingers noisily. He catches my eye and raises his eyebrows suggestively, replacing his finger and sucking on it.

We're done with our food now. We put the plates down carelessly by the side of the bed amongst our discarded clothing and turn to each other . I am fascinated with his body, it's like a secret that's being revealed bit by bit. I trace my finger along his collar bones starting at his shoulder and falling into the hollow of his neck, feeling the tiny ridges in the bone as I run my finger along, loving the little bump he says is from when he broke his left collarbone falling off his bike as a child. My fingers tangling his tousled hair, I pull his head back slightly and I kiss the hollow at his throat, feeling the pulse of life beneath the skin. I've never felt so alive.

Leo

Balancing the plate carefully on my lap, I taste a forkful of the risotto that has been drying out in the oven for an hour.

'This is beautiful. It tastes gorgeous. I love mushrooms!' I love the way Jake shrugs off this compliment with a bashful smile. I get comfortable, leaning back against a pillow, eating my risotto slowly, tasting every mouthful. I want to savour this exact instant. I want to be able to remember everything about this moment, just in case; the feathery plumpness of the pillow behind me; the heat from the warm plate on my thighs; the taste of the rice, cheese and mushrooms; the previously pristine, now creased and crumpled bedding; Jake sitting next to me, his hair sticking out and his face all flushed. I could be on the brink of a relationship. Although two dates do not guarantee a relationship -- as I'd previously discovered.

I'd woken up with a start, my heart pounding, glad to be out of the disturbing dream I was having yet again and automatically reached for the glass of water on the bedside cabinet and swallowed some paracetamol. I snuggled back down under the quilt, scrunching my eyes shut against the late morning sun and was preparing to sleep off my customary hangover when there was a knock on my door.

It was Marco. Uncle Robert had let him in and he sat on my bed, pulling the covers off me and berating me in his wonderfully sexy broken English for not being ready. Apparently we had arranged to meet up this morning and go on a picnic -- this sounded unlikely, but I got myself into the shower and despite being unable to persuade Marco to join me, started to feel good. As the hot water woke me up and my headache subsided I thought back to last night. Marco was easy to remember; he was so handsome with his dark Italian eyes and sexy voice. I remembered the noise he made when he came in the cramped cubicle of the nightclub's toilets and a tremor ran through me.

I got dressed, after towelling myself dry provocatively, parading around the bedroom naked far more than was strictly necessary. He smiled at my performance, but resisted my advances. He waited patiently for me to get dressed and drink the orange juice that Uncle Robert gave me, along with a knowing smile.

Marco drove us in his little fiat, not talking much, but turning to smile often at me and occasionally patting my thigh. My legs were practically folded in two in the little car and it was with some relief that after about half an hour we stopped. Carrying a basket like Red Riding Hood he led the way through the woods; I followed on -- the big bad wolf, brimming with carnal desires. It was not long before we came to a clearing -- I was beginning to think I was in a fairy tale; this was too perfect. And it was. It was the most romantic time I'd ever had. We lay on the soft springy grass, surrounded by gnarled and twisted olive trees; eating bread and cheese and olives and drinking chianti straight from the bottle. It was hot, but not unbearable under the shade of the trees and we chatted inconsequently in a mixture of English and Italian. I can bring to mind that whole afternoon still; I can taste the olives and cheese and the wine from his uncle's vineyard, which I must admit I did drink rather too much of -- but after all Marco was driving.

For the first time in my life I was made love to: Marco was so gentle, caressing me, as if he really wanted to know every part of me: with other guys it had been me doing all the touching -- they with their eyes tightly shut -- and restricting their touching to pushing my head down. Marco kept his eyes on mine the whole time; so we knew there was no pretending. His body was tanned and well muscled, thick black hairs on his chest and finer ones on his arms and legs. He'd obviously shaved recently; his chin was smooth, even the cleft, that I found so incredibly sexy. I felt guilty that I'd not shaved that morning, my stubble prickly and rough. This did not prevent Marco from kissing me, hard and deeply. I'd missed being kissed without even knowing and I started to cry a little. Marco licked away my tears, stroking my face gently.