Rear Window Homage

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A story loosely based on Hitchcocks film Rear Window.
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Rear Window is a 1954 film directed by Alfred Hitchcock and starring James Stewart and Grace Kelly. This fictional story is inspired by some of the characters and events of the film. It is in no way connected to the film and any resemblance is purely coincidental.

For a while I wished I could go back and start that day again. It had all begun so well. The forecast was for a beautiful summer's day; clear blue skies and wall to wall sunshine. I hadn't taken the Norton out for a long time and this seemed the perfect opportunity. I pulled on my leathers feeling them a little tighter than the last time I wore them. It reminded me that I also needed to get back to the gym. I had been working away for the past six months and had been so busy that I had let my training regime go.

I adjusted my helmet and wheeled the bike out of the garage. It had been serviced by my regular mechanic just before I went away so I hoped that it would fire up. Yes, that's good, I thought, as the familiar roar came from the engine. I didn't have any real plan as to where I was going. I had always enjoyed just getting on the bike and letting a journey unfold in front of me. Free styling it like that had taken me to some wonderful places I would never have thought of otherwise.

So, I slowly rode through South London and onto the motorway just to open her up a bit. I wouldn't stay on the motorway for long as it's just so boring riding such a magnificent bike in a straight line. Give me England's winding A or even B roads any day of the week. I was planning to take a month off after this last contract so the ride today would be the beginning of my holiday.

I turned off soon enough onto a two lane A road and just let the machine do its thing. It was a perfectly balanced and powerful beast and I think I'm a good rider when I'm in the groove. Bike and man were at one with each other that day, until 'it' happened.

'It' happened when I had just come round a blind corner and found a small Ford overtaking a lorry coming straight at me. The last thing I remembered was the terrified look on the faces of the young lads in the Ford.

I woke up in hospital the next day with a broken collarbone, two broken ribs, a compound fracture of the right leg and a badly ruptured Achilles. I couldn't remember what had happened but they told me I was very lucky. I lost control of the bike as I tried to avoid the car and slid off the road into a thicket of bushes. The Ford and the lorry didn't stop. Thankfully, a motorist following me did stop, called 999 and the air ambulance got there pretty quickly.

It could have been much worse.

Still, it was bad enough. I was going to be laid up for a while. I had just moved into a newly converted flat up on the top floor of an old four storey Victorian building in London. It had been an old workhouse with buildings built surrounding a central courtyard. It was a perfect flat for my bachelor lifestyle; two double bedrooms, new kitchen, big lounge and a wet room. The big feature was floor to ceiling windows in the living room which looked out over a shared landscaped courtyard. Perfect, aside from the fact there was no lift.

I was discharged from hospital a week after surgery; they needed the bed space apparently. I had a surgical boot for the Achilles rupture, a plaster cast for the fracture and an arm sling for the collarbone. All in all, a class one screw up.

After some wrangling between my solicitors, my company and the health insurers, it was agreed that I could get a live in carer and physiotherapist for the two months recuperation I would need. The insurance was trying to claim the accident had been my fault but the witness statement together with the police report finally absolved me of all blame.

My parents had emigrated to Australia about five years previously so there was going to be no help from them. Mum did offer to fly back over, but Dad hadn't been well recently so I told her that she should stay out there to look after him.

My sister, Mandy, a research biologist was halfway up the Wazoo, or some such river in the Amazon, so no help there either. I didn't have a girlfriend to call on as I had discovered my last one cheating on me with her personal trainer. There was an old girlfriend who had offered to pop in to keep me company from time to time but that was as far as it went.

There were mates, of course, but they were worse than useless when it came to providing help. So, it was going to be me and my live in carer stroke cook stroke physio for the next couple of months. The hospital sent me home in an ambulance and the paramedics, bless them, managed to carry me up the stairs on one of those chair thingys they have for such occasions. I had been given a wheelchair, and a commode chair, God forbid

My carer was due to arrive at lunchtime and precisely at 1200 there was a call on the intercom. I buzzed him in and several minutes later there was a knock on the door and I managed painfully to wheel myself to the door and open it. Standing outside was a weedy looking guy with his hair in a pony tail and a couple of large suitcases.

'Hi, I'm Paul, I'm your live in.'

'Oh. Right, I'm Jeff, pleased to meet you.'

We shook hands and I guess I was a bit underwhelmed by him. He looked a bit puny for the task of hauling me around for the next few weeks. Although I had already seen in hospital how much a tiny Filipino nurse could lift with the right technique. He had just hauled two heavy suitcases up four flights of stairs and he didn't seem out of breath, so I guess that boded well.

Paul immediately took the handles of the wheelchair and pushed me back into the flat before retrieving his suitcases.

'That's a lot to bring, isn't it?' I said.

'Just a few things for the next couple of months,' he replied, 'it saves me having to go back for stuff.'

Fair enough, I thought. I showed him the spare bedroom which was only just smaller than mine. I had commissioned an interior designer mate of mine to decorate and furnish the flat before I moved in, so Paul's room had never been used and he could just move his stuff straight in.

'What a lovely flat,' Paul said as he came back out of his room. 'Did you do the design?'

'God, no,' I said. 'If it had been left to me I would have gone straight to Ikea and bought everything there.'

Paul smiled and said, 'Well, whoever did it has very nice taste.'

I looked around at the flat in a new light, and I guess it did look pretty nice. It was a conversion and my friend had left as many original features as possible but had brought the entire flat up to date with modern furniture mixed in with a few older pieces I had inherited when my parents moved to Australia.

'OK,' said Paul, 'let's get the schedule organised shall we?'

Paul turned out to be very efficient and it was obvious he had done this kind of work before. Before long we had a working schedule laid out for meals and physio sessions, which would be twice a day to begin with.

I could just about move around in the wheelchair but I would need help with showering and the toilet at least for a while. This was the part I wasn't looking forward to but I thought I would just have to grin and bear it.

'OK, what do you normally do for lunch?' Paul asked.

'Pie and a pint at the pub, normally,' I said grumpily.

He laughed and said, 'Well, that might have to wait for a bit but let's see what we can rustle up.'

My old girlfriend, Lisa, had ordered a whole load of groceries from an online grocery service and had been at the flat the previous day to receive the delivery, and to pay the guy a big tip for dragging it all up the stairs to the flat. She is pretty good looking, though, so she often had men eating out of her hand, me included while we were dating.

'Is a croque monsieur and some soup OK?' Paul called out from the kitchen.

'Sure, sounds good,' I called back.

Paul brought it through on a tray complete with a bottle of lager. God bless Lisa, she had gotten her priorities right. I pushed myself over the window so I could at least look at something while I ate and took the tray onto my lap. Paul had made himself a small salad and sat at the table to eat.

'At least you have something to look at,' Paul said, nodding at the windows.

'Yea, better than daytime television I guess.' I said a bit sulkily, realising this was probably going to be my world for the next few weeks.

We finished lunch, Paul cleared away and we started on our first physio session. I wheeled myself into the bedroom, and Paul helped lift me out of the chair onto the bed. He managed that with ease and I began to realise his smallish stature belied his real strength. I was wearing a very old and loose t-shirt and sweat pants as they were the only things I could manage at the moment. Paul carefully removed the t-shirt and then the sweat pants. His hands were very soft I noticed and very well manicured. I even thought his nails had some clear varnish on them.

From the first moment he laid hands on me I could tell how good a masseur he was. His hands were strong and gentle. He was working some kind of magic on me as he carefully went through a whole set of exercises that the hospital had devised for me. I have to admit I felt so much better after the session.

'Where did you train, Paul? You have wonderful hands' I said.

'I trained as a physio here in London for three years after school, and then went travelling, got to Bangkok, learnt their massage techniques, ran out of money and worked as a masseur there for a while until I came back to London.'

I wondered about him working as a masseur in Bangkok and what that might have entailed. Paul chatted away about his time travelling and how much he had enjoyed Bangkok. That was a city I had always wanted to get to but had never got round to visiting. He was easy to talk to; probably I realised because he was a good listener, a skill that must have come in very useful in this job.

He got me back into my t-shirt and sweat pants and wheeled me back into the living room. I had my Apple laptop on the desk in front of the window so I could do some work from home. It also gave me the chance to look at what was going on outside the window. The windows were floor to ceiling and I could see most of the courtyard and a lot of the three other blocks. It was a mixed development with some shops on the ground floor, artisan stuff mostly, bread, cheese, wine shop and the ubiquitous coffee shop in one corner. The first floor was let out as office space and the top two floors as apartments. The planning authorities had specified to the developers that they couldn't install elevators as it was a listed building so, it became literally a walk up.

Paul had made some tea and we sat looking out and I explained the history of the place. I told him that families were split up once they came into the workhouse and the only times they could get together was at exercise time in the central courtyard before having to go back to their segregated buildings.

'Those poor people,' Paul said, 'we can be so intolerant. I know all this has changed,' and swept his arm across the view outside, 'but we still don't accept people for what they are.'

He said this softly but with such passion I had to turn and look at him. He blinked once or twice, turned away and said he would leave me alone for the afternoon.

In addition to being a wonderful masseur, Paul turned out to be a very capable cook. Lisa was coming by this evening as a kind of one woman house warming. I asked Paul if he could cook for three tonight and he said it would be no problem.

Lisa barged in about 6 o'clock and having kissed me on the cheek and made a lot of noise about how she had warned me so many times about that bloody motorbike and that I never listened to her and when was I going to find a woman and settle down because the clock was running and I wasn't getting any younger and yes I was very handsome but there is no time like the present...

She could as usual have gone on like that all night if she hadn't noticed Paul standing quietly at the kitchen door. I called him over and introduced them to each other.

'Paul, this extraordinary force of nature and well known windbag is Lisa, an ex of mine who is now happily married with three lovely bambinos, and Lisa, this is Paul my carer. Actually, no I can't call you that. I know, he's my new BFF.'

Paul laughed and shook hands with Lisa and said, 'Pleased to meet you Lisa,'

Lisa said, 'Likewise, Paul, and don't take any crap from this man, he's impossible, I should know.'

Paul smiled, a big natural smile that lit up his face and said, 'Oh, he's just perfect I think. If you would excuse me I have to go check on dinner.'

As Paul walked off to the kitchen Lisa watched him go and then turned to me, pulled a face and said, 'EEEuuuww that put me down didn't it.'

'Stop it,' I said, 'he's just doing his job,'

'Mmmm, well I have to tell you he is very pretty. He also pings my gaydar you know.'

'What? Don't be daft Lisa.'

'Daft? You know I'm just a big fag hag don't you.'

'Bugger off and get us a drink, will you?'

'Poor choice of words my sweet.' she moved off to get me a scotch and herself a gin and tonic. She stuck her head through the kitchen door and asked Paul if he wanted anything. He asked for some sparkling water and Lisa sorted us all out with drinks. Lisa and I had been an item for about a year and I never really knew why, but we just drifted apart and one day we realised it would be better if we went our separate ways.

Strangely enough we became good friends and even when she married her Italian banker we had kept in close touch. She had been and still was a stunning looking woman and I sometimes regretted not trying harder back then. She is also great company and soon had me laughing with some of her very dirty jokes.

Paul had made a beautiful spaghetti alle vongole with a salad and a homemade tiramisu for dessert. The three of us sat up at the dining table after closing the blinds to the outside. Paul lit and placed candles in my grandmother's silver candlesticks which I forgotten about and they really helped to create a wonderful ambience around the table.

The food Paul had made was delicious and time passed quickly. Lisa would as usual hardly shut up and I watched Paul as he listened to one of Lisa's monologues with rapt attention. In fact, he looked as if he might be falling for her.

Lisa looked at her watch and announced she had to go because Paolo, her Italian husband, was babysitting tonight and he was so untrustworthy with the children.

'Lisa, that's scandalous, Paolo is a wonderful father and you know it.' He was too, totally devoted to Lisa and their children.

'Hmmph,' was all she said as she stood up. Paul went to fetch her coat and Lisa hissed to me, 'when you're finished with him, can I have him please? He'll make someone a perfect wife.'

I threw my napkin at her as Paul arrived with her coat. 'Paul, thank you for tonight, you are delightful, if you'll allow me to say so, and you two make a lovely couple.'

I laughed but caught sight of Paul who was blushing furiously.

Lisa left after kissing both of us goodbye and it was like a summer storm had come and gone. Paul cleared up the dishes, made coffee and we sat and chatted a little.

Paul said, 'I really like your friend Lisa, she's so much fun. She reminds me of Grace Kelly, you know before she got married to Prince whatshisface.'

'What?' I said, spluttering on my coffee. 'She is lovely, but Grace Kelly, I can't see it.'

There was a sparkle in Paul's eye and I thought that Lisa had made one more conquest. One last task remained to be achieved this evening. Paul pushed me through to the wet room and helped me onto the toilet in the corner. I was damned if I was going to use their bloody commode. We managed to do this without too many dramas and Paul diplomatically left the room as I did what I had to.

I called him back in and he got back in the chair and off to the bedroom. I have always slept naked, except in hospital where I had to wear one of their horrible gowns. Paul got me onto the bed and helped me off with my t-shirt and pants. I thought it would be more embarrassing to have a man do this but with Paul there was a strength and gentleness that was reassuring and unthreatening.

'Goodnight Paul and thank you.'

You're welcome Jeff, and don't forget to use the monitor if you need me.' He had brought with him a baby monitor so I could call for help if I needed it.

I was glad to be back in my own bed and partly because of that, and maybe the wine and Scotch I had consumed, I slept well and woke refreshed and ready for the day. Paul was already up and I could smell coffee brewing in the kitchen. I am not human before I have had a couple of cups of coffee in the morning, so this was very welcome. Paul knocked on the door and brought me in a mug of black coffee, putting in on the side table. He had changed into what i assumed was his professional working outfit of white trousers and a loose tunic.

'Is black how you like it?'

'Perfect, Paul, thanks. What's on the schedule today?'

'I suggest you finish your coffee and then we should get you cleaned up before physio?'

'OK, but I have to confess this is the bit that I'm not looking forward to.'

I was not allowed to shower myself so a wash was all I was allowed for a while.

Paul said gently, 'I understand, but I have done this many times and it will be quick and I will try not to be embarrassed.' He said this with a straight face.

'No, I mean I will be emb...' I saw him laughing and I grinned sheepishly, but it had broken the tension.

We got me into my towelling robe and made the short wheelchair ride to the wet room. With Paul's help, I managed to sit on a stool and after getting rid of the robe Paul proceeded to wash me with a professional efficiency. The problem was that being washed by someone else is for me a very sensuous experience. I had once been entertained by a Japanese client to a so called geisha bath and had been bathed by a beautiful Japanese girl. That was undoubtedly one of the most erotic experiences I have ever had.

Paul was very gentle and the combination of his soft hands and the warm water called up memories of Japan and my cock decided to remember it too. It began to get erect and there was no way I could really hide it. I was beetroot red but Paul didn't seem to notice. It was while he was drying my back that I asked him, 'Do you mind doing this, Paul?'

He paused and then said, 'It's part of the job really, and sometimes with clients it's not a nice experience but with some clients it can be enjoyable.'

I was watching his face in the mirror as he spoke and I could see faint pink spots on his cheeks as he continued to towel me dry. I also noticed he had a small diamond stud in each ear. I tried to remember if I had noticed that last night but I couldn't recall seeing them.

'I hope you don't mind, Jeff, but I have put my wash gear on the shelf in here, if you wish I can keep them in my room?'

'No, that's fine, Paul. Please consider this your home while you're here.'

'Jeff, thank you, that's very sweet of you.'

We fell into an easy routine, Paul would make breakfast then take me for a wash, it still gave me an erection, but he didn't seem to pay attention to it. We then had a physio session, coffee and then I spent time on the laptop or staring out the window. Lunch was followed by another physio session, tea, then work or a 'staring out the window' break, and then dinner. Paul was a great cook and twice cooked me a Thai meal which was fabulous. He was also good company and he would sit with me and chat about his life and what he enjoyed doing. He was an amateur actor in his spare time and had dreamt of turning professional but the chance had never really come along. One morning I was looking out through the window and he asked me what I watched.