Third Time Getting Lucky

KAREN: SAY TOM call me old-fashioned but I rather prefer conversation before being lunged at.

Not that I'd done that with Ed, but I figured it would be a good rule for the future.

TOM: SAY KAREN noted. Does online conversation count?

KAREN: SAY TOM it's an excellent start!

TOM: SAY KAREN look forward to seeing you on Friday.

Now that's flirting, isn't it?

At home, Alec was being a brooding silence in the back room, seemingly still blaming me for his lack of love life. Never one for tact, Charlie suggested washing more might help, but Alec's main problem seemed to be jealousy of my having spent the night with Ed.

Ben and Delia kept up with their flirting with me, and I was torn whether to take them seriously or not. I had decided not to try anything -- with either of them -- until it was time to move out. Or much closer to the time, at least.

And Charlie was fun to snuggle with on the sofa. I did wonder at the time if Charlie might be more of Gareth's persuasion. They would make a very pretty couple, at least until killing each other over musical differences. They each took their rock credentials very seriously with all the equanimity of 18-year-olds, with Gareth playing guitar and Charlie a hi-fi nerd. Obsessive, even.

'Anal-retentive twat,' Ben muttered, grumpy that Charlie wouldn't let him touch the music system in their shared bedroom.

It was a pleasant thought to muse on, while hearing Delia's gasps of pleasure through the wall, and testing the basic vibrator I'd bought in King's Cross, trying to bring about for myself the same sensations that Ed had given me. I wanted to think about Tom, but didn't dare.

Not knowing what Tom looked like, but knowing we seemed to fancy each other, was killing me. How could I find out? I figured I could ask Mike, as our prospective host, about 'people' I didn't know. Both Mike and Rich might be helpful in deflecting Finn or any of the lads who tended to aim for any awake female after a certain point of a night.

KAREN: SAY MIKE anyone other than the usual suspects coming? Rich said Abs could make it. And Tom's coming, not met him, what's he like?

Nothing for Mike to suspect there, right? Apart from my deliberate use of run-on commas to suggest a quick casual message...

MIKE: SAY KAREN you've not met Tom? Really?

KAREN: SAY MIKE Vaguely in passing at the training course, I'm told. Never since. What does he look like?

MIKE: SAY KAREN Tall, blond, well fit, like exercise, y'know.

KAREN: SAY MIKE What about well fit like well fit?

The smiley hadn't been invented yet. Or not reached us, any road.

MIKE: SAY KAREN How would I know! Ask Gareth.

KAREN: SAY MIKE Gareth hasn't met him either, you twonk. Come on, you can make a basic assessment of fitness without compromising your virility...

MIKE: SAY KAREN God you type fast. Youd make a good secretary JOKE.

The screen paused, top half full of glowing text, bottom half ominous black.

MIKE: SAY KAREN My mum would say hes a fine looking strapping young man, OK? Just..

KAREN: SAY MIKE?

MIKE: SAY KAREN Nothing, meet him on Friday.

KAREN: SAY MIKE What? Everyone keeps not saying something about him, what?

About an hour later Mike replied.

MIKE: SAY KAREN Nothing wrong with Tom. He's a good bloke. Listen to him.

Odd, I thought. Especially when Ben and Charlie, who'd recently had meetings up in the Northern office and thus met the guy, started telling me Tom was 'looking forward to seeing me', with the obligatory 'nudge, nudge, wink, wink' which didn't surprise me in the least, but then they felt the need to add, 'Give him a chance. Hear him out.'

I couldn't get out of any of the bastards what they were bloody hinting at. Sounded like some dark secret. I vaguely wondered if he'd grown up in a cult, and had an ex-wife or something? Only, everything he said about his family sounded incredibly normal, and surely the other lads would have mentioned it?

No matter what, I was looking forward to this party. I liked Mike and various others from the Northern centre. Rich was a nice guy and genius at cooking, while being permanently admired and wanted by a dozen horny lads at any given moment was certainly good for my ego! It certainly gave me entertaining thoughts at night.

Eventually Friday arrived. We all managed to sneak out around four pm.

Alec's car had broken down again, which didn't make him any less moody. He'd tried to get all of us to pay for it, only the four of us firmly agreed that's what our petrol money went to. So we all had to drive to Shropshire in Ben's little Fiesta -- a two-door model, at that. Charlie, the slimmest, was squeezed between me and Delia in the back, his thighs squashed between ours, heat of his body making me flushed. If it were just about bodies, then I'd fancy him -- his lean frame and freckled face with jawbones to die for were definitely attractive. But, possible gayness notwithstanding, he was just too... Conventional, maybe? And a relationship between a music obsessive, sorry, 'audiophile', and the deaf girl was never going to work.

Car journeys with the deaf girl didn't work either. People tried to have conversations, but I couldn't decode anything the front seat occupants said. Once we were on the dual carriageway, I couldn't understand Delia or Charlie, either.

Putting the radio on loudly, driver's choice, was much better. And after two and a half hours -- plus a stop in an offie to acquire enough booze for the weekend -- we bumped down the unpaved last mile of road to Mike's place.

Various of Mike's extended family got to use the place in turns, with a simple rule of cleaning up when you go. The aim was for his uncles to do it up over the summers, but in practice, while it had cold water, and some electric lights powered from a generator, the Aga stove was wood-fired and there was no heat nor hot water. I'd washed my hair that morning in preparation.

Rich was already manning his hog roast outside, producing fresh hot bread and a variety of salads as we approached. "Have to keep it simple, y'see," he said, wiping oily hands on his butcher's apron. "The meat and jacket spuds'll be done in about an hour, then I'll put the sausages and steaks on in a bit. One steak each, mind."

"Simple, sure," I muttered. I helped myself to potato salad -- you need carbs before getting pissed; that was a lesson I'd learnt well -- and tracked down the wine.

Crisis!

The crowd had come to the conclusion that there was no corkscrew -- one with a broken coil lay on the counter. Beers were being opened by tapping them on the top of the elderly fridge, but hating the flavour of hops, I really didn't want to have to drink cans of cider all night. "Bugger. Should have brought my Swiss Army knife."

Small Davy overheard. "Oi! Anyone got a Swiss Army knife with a corkscrew?"

Mike wandered back from a shed, guilty-faced, feeling he was failing as a host, at least until he could drive back from a shop with a corkscrew. His eyes brightened. "Someone's bound to. Or a Leatherman. Hey, Karen. That's Tom, there. See if he's got his."

I looked up to see a tall, blond chap wandering in, looking a bit nervous. He was, as had been suggested, muscled from canoeing and trekking around, and certainly well fit in all senses. Definitely decorative.

So far, so good. Here goes.

" Er, hi. Have you got a corkscrew, like on a Swiss Army knife, maybe? We're in dire need. I'm Karen."

I smiled. He beamed back at me, then looked frankly terrified for a moment.

"Huh-huh-h. Hi-I'mTuh, Tuh, uh, uh, Tom. I've, yeah, yeah, yeah, gotta, a, a. Corkscrew." The last word, he managed to spit out totally naturally.

'Listen to him.' 'Hear him out', I recalled. Oh for fuck's sake, was that it? A stutter?

"Great to finally meet you," I beamed, propping myself up on a chair so I didn't wobble when reaching to shake his hand.

The terror vanished, and, I noticed, so did half the stutter.

"Andyou, K, Karen. Let'sget a, a, a, drink." It was an odd rhythm, but pretty understandable.

Actually, the effort to enunciate his consonants made him incredibly easy to lip-read.

Handy, that. My hearing aids were being rubbish with all the hubbub from forty-odd students milling around us and clanking cans and bottles about.

Tom pushed his way to the wine, pulled out his multi-tool with a flourish, and gestured at the bottles. I tapped one; he nodded. A moment later I had a generous glass of a crisp white (less embarrassing than red, when I invariably spilt it), and we were clinking glasses.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mike winking at him and giving a thumbs-up. I gave Mike a vigorous V-sign; he blew me a kiss back.

Tom turned to me. "I h, hope I get that knife back!"

"I really wouldn't worry. No-one will want to lose it!"

"Guh. Good point." He grinned, relaxing. "You, you've been here before, right? Can you, you, give me the guided tour?"

I certainly could. I staggered and nearly toppled over at one point in the grounds, but without any fanfare he reached out to steady me, and we didn't let go of each other's hands until we returned to the barbecue, where a long queue was forming.

Rich wandered past, trying to get people out of the way. "There's no danger of running out of food. Come back in a wee while. Mike and people are doing air-rifle shooting in the field there, if you want do that before it gets dark."

We looked at each other and shrugged. "Have, have, you shot before?"

"Once," I replied. Actually, it was a few sessions across various activity holidays, but a while back. "You?"

"A b-bit. They had C-cadets at school."

We wandered over, got a rifle each.

"You two against each other? OK, I'll put more cans out. Wait for me to get out of the way."

We both made 'aw shucks' noises in unison at Mike. Clearly, a similar sense of humour...

Tom got six out of ten, making joint winner with Mike. My turn. I remembered my cousins talking about actual rifle shooting in the Army, and how prone was the way to go for any accuracy. I lay down and rested the butt of the rifle in the ground. It was a large weapon for my small hands, but if all I had to worry about was the trigger, then I could work with my breaths and any muscle spasms.

I aimed, checked the sights, breathed in, and pulled the trigger as I exhaled. One. I moved from left to right, waiting a moment for my hand to steady after the third, re-loading after the sixth so missed the seventh, but it was a good nine out of ten. I was enjoying myself, so figured I might as well use up the last two caps.

I shot towards a bedraggled early tulip another ten yards away. When I turned and saw Mike clapping behind me, I sent the last shot just downwards, never thinking to actually hit the stalk.

As I tried to stand up without looking too much like a drunken baby giraffe, I saw the gasps behind me of "'Kin' ell!" The browning tulip, suddenly cut across the majority of its stalk, fell over sideways, in perfect comedy fashion.

"Played for, and got!" I assured Mike untruthfully. "Let's get food."

As soon as Tom and I were out of his sight, I started laughing and doubled over. "Jammy, or what?"

Tom chuckled too at his memory of Mike and the others' faces. "Nice one."

He wasn't sulking about me beating him at a sport. Shooting was the only sport I'd ever

had half a chance at, with my coordination. I could play pool quite well for about twenty shots, until my left hand couldn't maintain the required V shape any more, but any other sport was a total disaster. Tom's recognition of my happiness meant a lot.

We collected our steaks, added side dishes, and sat around with Ben and Delia and various others in the twilight. Tom solicitously fetched a bottle of wine, which went beautifully with the steaks and their sauces. The home-made baps of hog roast, fried onions, and apple sauce were just what we needed to keep warm once it got cooler.

After dark, we all helped Rich bring the food inside, and were warm enough for a couple hours in the house.

As night wore on, Rich's pavlova and cakes got demolished, but, anywhere outside the kitchen, it got pretty cold. Very cold. You could see people's breath as they returned from the bathroom.

Increasingly, I leant into Tom and his warm pullover as we sat on the kitchen step, chatting to each other. We were getting on really, incredibly, well.

It got to the point that we were leaning our faces closer and closer. Three times or more, we were nearly kissing, but kept being interrupted by people coming past.

He didn't want to be obvious to the rumour army any more than I did. I appreciated that.

Around one a.m., we saw people starting to disappear to beds or making up bedding in the kitchen -- Charlie had bagsed the space in front of the Aga -- and figured we'd better find beds whilst there were still some available.

We went upstairs, which was freezing. Same temperature as outside, so literally freezing. I'd put on my extra fleece and scarf, but was shivering as I stood next to Tom.

We went into the room he thought he'd reserved a bed in, eager to get under some covers, not necessarily for anything other than warmth.

Disaster!

Someone -- two someones? - had chucked his stuff off the bed.

And was in it.

Bugger.

We poked heads round a few more doors -- there were twelve bedrooms, at least eight with beds or similar furniture, the others bare or being used as workshops. Eventually we bumped into Rich, who was both amused and sympathetic.

"That room's got two beds in." He gestured with his head. "Mike went in, and I think Cassie, but I'd lay good money they aren't using both of the beds... "

Normally, we wouldn't have dreamt of invading anyone, especially not our kind host, when they'd finally pulled! But it really was that freezing cold. My arms were starting to spasm enough that I couldn't hide it. So we opened the door, and saw a made-up, empty bed before us.

The painted metal bed-frame and army-style scratchy blankets looked like heaven rather than a Fifties hospital.

"It's a, a, a, a, single," Tom pointed out the obvious to me, the stutter back.

"I don't care," I said, shivering and nearly stuttering myself.

"What the fuck?" came Mike's sleepy voice from across the huge, bare room.

A giggle betrayed that Cassie was there too. They had a double bed.

"C, cold. Bed. Sleeping! In it," Tom stated, summarising our intentions succinctly. Mike clearly decided to pretend we weren't there, as the easiest solution.

I didn't say anything, just sat down on our bed and adjusted to the dark before I fell over. I removed my boots. I considered what else to remove, putting my scarf under the pillow, and the fleece and jumper on the floor. 'So you'll feel the benefit in the morning,' my gran would have said.

I figured out the sheet and blankets, and managed to get in underneath. Half a single bed would be cramped. Neither of us were skinny.

Tom had escaped his shoes and soon lay gingerly next to me, threading his legs under the tucked-in sheets. We turned to face each other in the dark. The heat of each other's bodies was wonderful, and my muscles began to relax and behave themselves again.

Instinctively we pressed ourselves together. I raised a leg to go round his, which made his groin push into mine. Both of us inhaled sharply at so much amazing sensation -- and warmth! We took another while to enjoy the sensations, letting ourselves relax and ease both physically and mentally.

Then, who knows how much later, we put our faces together to finally kiss each other.

It was a great kiss: enthusiastic but neither careless nor slobbery. I could smell him, the subtle note of that morning's deodorant and soap under new fresh sweat. A good smell for a man.

We managed to get our arms round each other, and started to rub our bodies up and down, when there was a sudden screaming noise between us. He pulled away, shocked.

It took me a minute to tipsily deduce the problem. I crossly pulled out my offending hearing aid, which whistled like a boiling kettle if anything or anyone got too close, and tossed it onto the floor. I sent the other to join it, grumpy and embarrassed.

"Sorry."

He said something. I guessed he'd expressed 'Don't worry'. For a moment, he looked merely thoughtful; as far as I could tell, given that the only light was from the stars and a crescent moon through the bare window. Out in the country, there was zero light pollution. I'd loved the night sky there, on a warmer night.

Then I saw on Tom's face that classic expression of the engineer who had solved a problem. He exclaimed something.

I couldn't understand a word beyond the initial 'Ah!', and it wasn't because of his voice letting him down.

"The film." I got that, with the help of the classic charade. "Space. Balls." He'd had to pull his hands out from under the covers to mime 'ball', but his clear enunciation had been enough to get the two words across. Luckily I'd at least heard of the film, so when he repeated his original comment, me concentrating carefully, I grasped the sentence -- not that it made much sense when I did.

"I said, 'Ah! It's like the virginity attack alert in Spaceballs!'"

He probably couldn't see the raised eyebrow, but correctly deduced I hadn't seen it. I moved as much as I could to the side, to let all the moonlight illuminate his mouth, so I managed to comprehend the next few sentences, me clarifying after each that I'd understood: "... great spoof film of Star Trek-like stuff. There's a p-princess who has a chap get too close. An alarm goes off, just like that. Actually, more 'Awooga, awooga!'..."

"Oh no!" I put on my best princessly whisper. "My virginity is under attack!"

Only clearly not, for two reasons. Darn, why do I say such silly stuff?

"N-no, it isn't," he reassured me. "Quite happy where we are." Something like that, anyway.

"You're right. Might be a bit much for a first date."

"Is this a first date, then?" he asked.

"I bloody well hope so!"

And that, I decided, was quite enough talking for the night. We went back to kissing and warming ourselves with each others bodies. Much better idea.

I felt I finally had a hobby. Not that doing this earlier would have stopped me needing to make up answers in all those school language lessons. Mes loisirs sont... meine Hobbys sind... Though thanks to songs I probably knew some relevant words. Couchez avec moi. Se baisser. Ein Kuss geben. Willst du ficken?

That last one might be a bit much, for now. I concentrated on warming up his hands again so they were cosy around me.

The door opened. I squinted in the light, unimpressed by the interruption.

"Sorry," Rich sing-songed, not sorry at all, "Is there space for anyone else to sleep in here?"

It occurred to me that maybe more people could fit in with Mike and Cassie, though that mightn't go down well.

Mike spoke up from across the room. "No, there bloody isn't! Anyone else can all squeeze in the kitchen and stick more wood in the Aga-aa!"

It would be rude to speculate as to how Mike was being distracted. That didn't stop Rich, later.

Cassie piped up after a few minutes, "If you guys are cold, you could come over here and we can all have fun together?"

It took me a minute to realise the implications. I was, a bit, tempted. In my heart, I still felt pretty gay, and would certainly have slept with Cassie if she were up for it. Only it was so cold!

Though men seemed quite a good move too nowadays, even if Mike was too much like a teddy bear for me to ever consider in a sexual light.

And it would be bad manners to add others to my date with Tom, right? It had never been covered in Just 17 nor Cosmo, but I suspected unplanned group sex on a first date was considered poor form.