Texting For Love
I was looking for love. What was he looking for?
G. W. Powell
GLB Publishers® San Francisco
Chapter One
What would you do if quite unexpectedly
you were given the chance to make one of your wildest dreams come true?
Some people who ve spent a whole life time searching for what they think
will make them truly happy would say,
'Take it before it s too late and worry about the consequences later because
that opportunity may never come your way again. '
But what if your wildest dream is to
be in a certain kind of relationship? A relationship you know is probably
doomed
from the start. Would that stop you from dreaming about it, or trying to
make it happen? Some of us are driven by the
philosophy that, "If it s meant to be it' s up to me, "and we ll stop at
nothing in an attempt to make that 'someone' become
a meaningful part of our lives.
The lyrics from Brandy 's song, 'Have
You Ever Been In Love?' hit the nail on the head. 'Have you ever had
someone
steal your heart away, you would give anything! Anything! To make them feel
the same. '
There were only four days until Christmas
2005 and everyone was on a high. The restaurant was full to capacity.
Extra chairs had been squeezed into every available space. It wasn t just
a money-making exercise by the owners,
it was their genuine desire to satisfy customer demand. If you wanted a good
meal, friendly service that always went
the extra mile in good quality surroundings, then Viggatoli s was the place
to dine. People were laughing, joking, eating
and drinking, with a few even trying to hold a serious conversation above
the Christmas number one pop tunes that were
belting out from the sophisticated and expensive video sound system. George
Michael 's "Last Christmas" had always been
one of my favourites. People were relaxed, even those who had stood outside
and queued for almost an hour just to get in.
Most people had come straight from work, which meant nearly all the guys
were in shirt and tie while the ladies wore anything
ranging from smart casual dress to full evening glitteratti. Candles burned
on every table, along the windowsills and high up
on the wide seasoned pinewood dado rail that followed the crooked contours
into every nook and cranny of this old Victorian
building. The air was heavy with the smell of warm spices, garlic and candle
wax. Christmas fairy lights were draped from the
ceiling and hung around the walls, up the stairs, and decorated the artificial
Christmas tree in the centre of the room. The mellow
candle light flickered across happy smiling faces that were bound to become
even happier by the time they would have to leave.
Seated around the restaurant table with
friends and colleagues from work, enjoying our Office Christmas meal together,
I jumped as I felt the ticklish, discreet vibration of my mobile phone in
my thigh trouser pocket. I didn t want to appear rude,
so I pulled my mobile phone from my pocket and held it just below the table
cloth so the others couldn t see it. Gingerly I
fingered the keypad to navigate the SMS menu. The text message was from him:
21/12/05 15:41:21 Right. Do
u wana give me a blow job for 200 pounds 2nite? Pick me up from work at 11:30.
But
I need the cash 2nite. Yes or no?
Staring at the screen I had to
read it several times just to make sure I hadn t misunderstood, but it was
clear enough.
My heart started pounding, my hands trembled nervously, and I felt that awful
churning in the stomach which is almost
indescribable. Before I had time to think or reply, I received another message;
again it was from Adam:
21/12/05 15:49:29
200pound 2nite. Pick me up from work
at 11:30. But we l stil b best friends afterwards. Coz I do
not wanna lose u as a m8 .
Wow! Where did that come from?
To have one of the most intimate experiences with the man of my dreams was
something
I d secretly longed for since the first day I met him. Now, completely out
of the blue, I was being given a chance to make it happen.
There was no time to think. I had to act quickly.
In every waking moment of our day to
day routine we are constantly making choices. Throughout the course
of our lives we
make hundreds, thousands, even millions of choices, conscious and unconscious,
choices that shape and give texture to the
warp and woof of our existence. They affect what we say, the way we behave,
and to some extent determine the very framework
of our psychological mind-set. Our lives are structured by the choices we
make, choices which are filled with creative or
destructive potential. Sometimes we make good choices, sometimes we make
bad choices. One may be made on the spur
of the moment; another may be the outcome of a long drawn out period of intense
concentration. Whatever their origin, all of them
ultimately conspire either to make or break us, directing and altering the
course of our life s journey. We make a choice when
we reject that apology or accept that proposal. We may decide not to return
a phone call or, without fully thinking through the
consequences, we might press the button and send that text message.
The choice I had to make next was a
straightforward yes or no. The consequences would raise a deeply complex
moral issue.
Yet, for a measly two hundred pounds I had a chance to make one of my wildest
dreams come true. I didn t know it then,
but that one simple, on the spur of the moment decision was about to set
in motion a sequence of events that would change
my life forever.
Meeting Adam had had some of the hall
marks of a classic romantic fairytale of love at first sight. He was tall,
dark, extremely
handsome and very young, almost half my age. He was the man of my dreams.
No, he was far more than that. He was the man
of a million dreams. He was stunning. He was drop dead gorgeous.
I fell in love with him instantly. There
was only one problem, a big problem. He was straight and I was gay and if
nature had
anything to do with it, my wildest dream also had the potential to turn into
a veritable nightmare.
Earlier that Spring, from the warmth
of the Orangery, I watched a Chiffchaff as it swooped down onto the grey
stone edge of
the large fountain in the centre of the garden. It quenched its thirst and
then began to preen its bright olive brown outstretched wings
and chest as though it were getting ready to meet someone special. Looking
down, it pecked at the water repeatedly until the large
golden scaly Carp, who 'd lived in the pond for more years than I could remember,
slowly inched its way upwards until it floated just
below the surface. For several minutes they stared at each other. What were
they doing? What were they thinking? The Chiffchaff
began to wag its tail in ritual rhythm and I noticed some of its tail feathers
were missing, giving it a distinctively ragged appearance.
To my utter amazement that same Chiffchaff
came back and went through this same routine at almost exactly the same time
every
morning for over four weeks. I was intrigued. Did the fish really know the
bird was there? What was this daily brief encounter all about?
Had they become friends? Was it possible their friendship had developed into
something more? Could it be they d fallen in love?
Surely they must have known no matter how deeply they felt about each other,
the very nature of their circumstances meant they
could never ever have a meaningful future together. How could a bird live
happily ever after with a fish? But then if they had grown
that fond of each other, who could blame the bird for at least trying?
Since meeting Adam I must have played
the CD well over a hundred times and on every occasion, the lyrics from Brandy'
s song
would tear at my heart, the pain was unbearable ...
"Have you ever been in love, been in love
so bad,
You would do anything, anything, to make
them understand,
Have you ever had someone steal your heart away you
would give anything, anything,
to make them feel the same? "
Meeting Adam was one of the most
wonderful, unforgettable moments of my entire life. Peter and I had gone
out for the evening
after work. There was nothing unusual about that. Tuesday night was the highlight
in our weekly social calendar, even outshining
the delights of Saturday night in the only gay nightclub in town. It was
early spring and in the centre of town, crowds of young people
jostled backwards and forwards between the pubs. Clinging to each other for
support as they teetered on their high heeled shoes,
scantily clad with the highest skirts and lowest necklines you ve ever seen,
young girls laughed and giggled their way through the
torrents of testosterone issuing from the trendy venues spilling out onto
the streets. There was an air of excitement. Young men
bragged to each other about their sexual exploits and grabbed at their groin
as the girls walked by, shouting their passing fancies.
To be gay and out was ok as long as you
weren' t too much in the face of the heterosexual masculine male in the almost
homophobic town of Middleham. It was a typical working class area and Peter
and I pushed the boundaries to the limit as,
shoulder to shoulder, we made our way to the gay friendly venue. Peter was
typically gay if I dare say so, especially after he 'd
had a drink. Somehow alcohol brought out the very best of gay stereotyping
in him. The more he drank, the more effeminate he
became and less inclined to care about it. Apparently I was far more straight
acting and straight looking. In fact when I finally
came out, most of my friends wouldn t believe me when I told them I was gay.
Josh just couldn t get his head around it.
"No way! You' re not gay, you can' t
be, I would have known! "
That was one choice I definitely did
not make myself. I never wanted to be gay! I hated the whole notion of it.
Growing up in Middleham was a nightmare.
Most of my earliest childhood memories are bad ones. When I was five I
remember
going to the school toilet with my friend Martin. He pulled his pants down,
bent over, stuck his bare butt in my face and asked me
to kiss his ass. I did! Five years old, for God s sake and I knew I was gay
even then! But I did everything to hide the facts about
my sexual preferences and I became good at it, exceedingly good at it! In
fact I became so proficient at hiding my homosexuality ---
God, how I loath that word nobody knew, not even my best friend. At least
not until the night I touched him while we were trying to
work together in his bedroom on a science homework project. Until then, I
d somehow managed to resist the urge to touch him
for over four years. It was never discussed or even acknowledged. It just
happened.
It was an early summers evening in 1968,
he was laid on his bed reading out loud as we tried to memorise chemical
formulae
by rote for our Chemistry exam which was only a couple of weeks away. He
was too busy rehearsing strings of characters and
numbers to notice my repeated glances towards the neat but noticeable bulge
in his trousers between his legs. Without saying
anything I simply reached over and gently slid my hand onto his groin. The
crazy thing was he pretended not to notice and
continued to ask me what each formula stood for as though nothing out of
the ordinary was happening and I continued to answer.
"A.. L ..F.. 3?"
"Aluminium Trifluoride! "
"C..H..3.. C..H..2..O H ? "
"Ethanol! "
His head and shoulders were propped up
against the headboard of his bed. His legs were crossed at his ankles. He
held the
book with two hands about twelve inches from his face, almost hiding behind
it. I slowly reached over and pulled down his fly zip
and slid my hand inside.
"C A C L .2?"
"Calcium Chloride!"
He continued to read out loud and made
no attempt to stop or object to the slow gentle massage I gave him which
made his
cock grow quickly inside his trousers. Feeling his muscle growing and moving
inside his pants under my hand, getting harder
and harder, longer and longer was almost enough to make me pass out with
delirium.
"H 2 C O 3 ? "
"Hydrogen Trichloride! "
"Nnn .nope! "
I was so breathless and fully turned
on by what I was doing to him I lost my concentration.
"Hold on..er let me think .H2CO3 .er-- Oh,
Carbonic Acid!"
"Yeah! "
From that night on it became a mutual
and regular feature of our studying together right up until we left school.
That 's when he
told me he didn t want to do it anymore because he d met a really nice girl
and he preferred her doing it to him instead of me.
After courting a few years they settled down, got married and had four children,
all girls! Eventually we lost touch with each other
until about ten years later. I was at a conference not far from where he
lived so we arranged to meet up. He picked me up at the
railway station and on the short drive to his house as he shuffled a little
in the driving seat, reaching down he pulled at the material
of his tight trousers around his groin and said, "Ooohh, my cock has been
itchy for a couple of days. I have no idea why! "
Of course I thought I knew what that
meant, and so I proceeded to bring him off with my hand.
The transition through adolescence and
on into young adulthood was very difficult. Those were long and painful years
for me.
I watched from the margins as one by one all my straight mates met the girl
of their dreams and got married. All of them, except me.
I was a Best Man many times. That was always an honour and a privilege but
after each wedding when I finally got home, always
alone, I d go straight up to my room throw myself onto the bed and burst
into tears, often crying myself to sleep. No one knew I was
homosexual. No-one! Keeping secrets like that isn t healthy. It 's not natural.
Peter continued: "Oh, by the way, a mate
phoned me tonight asking if I was going out. I 've said he can meet up with
us ---I hope
you don' t mind? "
He stretched his hand out and pushed
my shoulder playfully, sending me careering out of step and into the throng
of an oncoming
crowd of chics.
Adam was already there waiting for us
at the pre-arranged meeting place on the way to the club. He was leaning
against a public
telephone kiosk and as we approached, he stepped forward to meet us. He took
my breath away instantly. He was stunning.
Fit and with jet black spiked up hair,
dark sparkling eyes and manly-chiseled features, he stood out from the crowd
by a mile.
He was devastatingly handsome. He wore a white collared shirt under a black
faintly striped jacket, blue jeans and dirty white trainers.
Peter and Adam exchanged a few comments
and then Peter introduced me. Adam stretched out his hand, and as I took
hold
I couldn 't help but be impressed by his manly grip and unusual lingering
handshake. We looked right into each others eyes and I
spoke first:
" Hi. "
"Pleased to meet you, I 'm Adam. "
"Nathan. Pleased to meet you, too. "
I couldn 't stop myself staring at him.
As we shook hands I noticed we were still looking directly into each other
s eyes. There
was an unmistakable chemistry going on which totally confused me. After what
seemed like an age, we let go of each other 's hands
and chatted light heartedly as we made our way to the venue. Peter leaned
towards me and put his hand on my shoulder as we
walked and continued to introduce me to Adam.
"This is the one who lives in that big
house I was telling you about, remember? "
Adam looked directly at me and smiled
as he said: "Yeah, I remember, the good looking rich guy who lives
in the Mansion
on the cliff top! "
He looked directly at me, winked and
then smiled. "We drove past your house the other day. Looks like a really
nice place
you ve got there! "
I was annoyed at Peter and looked at
him with deep disdain. Why was he defining me by money and material things?
He was right. I did live in a big house. I gratefully inherited it. There
was no way I could ever afford to buy myself a house like
that. It looked like a typically English country house but it stood on the
edge of coastal cliffs in ten acres of natural beauty
overlooking the sea.
The extreme seasonal changes to coast
and country meant only the old red brick house with its four huge sandstone
pillars at the main front entrance ever remained the same. The backdrop was
a constantly changing canvas. In winter, dark,
grey, menacing storms marched across the horizon, throwing the sea into
catastrophic chaos, creating a heaving swell and
mounting waves that crashed onto the rocks below the cliff top. A cluster
of hundred-year-old trees huddled around the house
to one side and were silhouetted against lightning flashes. Twisted and gnarled
roots clung with terrifying grip to the ground,
running not only underneath but along the surface which shook with the deafening
crack of thunder. Then in summer, the blue
sky gave way almost imperceptibly to the pastel shades of an azure sea. Huge,
white frothy waves rolled in, row upon row,
like hundreds of white horses, their mains flowing behind them in the offshore
wind as they galloped towards the house.
At the front of the house, four black
wrought-iron electric lanterns hung symmetrically in the four corners of
the square stone
portico at the main entrance. The larger-than-usual solid oak front door
led into an imposing entrance hall with a black and white
tiled floor. Hanging from the ceiling the four-tiered crystal chandelier
not only lit the hall but the whole centrally-situated staircase
and the landing above. Huge period ancestral portraits hung on the walls.
I had my suspicions about the authenticity of some of
them. I wasn t convinced they were all genuine, especially the largest portrait
at the top of the landing, George Albert Ballentyne IV.
In prissy pose he stared down from the landing with an unbelievable mocking
gaze. No one ever said it, but I m sure he was a queen.
He looked far too comfortable with his hand on his hip for my liking. He
made me smile every time I looked at him.
The drawing room to the left of the entrance
hall was indescribably warm and welcoming. Three large sofas symmetrically
framed the grand Louis XIV fireplace. Beautiful antique table lamps on tables
all around the room created a warm, low level light
that seemed to make the ceiling look a lot higher than it was and gave the
whole room real atmosphere.
To the right, the music room was dominated
by the highly-polished black baby Grand in the centre. On the wall behind
the
piano, a tall, narrow silver-framed baroque mirror made the room look
extraordinarily huge. The other three walls were decorated
with my late Mother s records and show business photos from stage, TV and
film appearances, which reminded me of some of
the rare but happier moments from my unusual childhood.
Two tall, slim French Windows looked
out onto a terrace which led onto a neatly mowed lawn lined with huge graceful
conifers
running all the way to the edge of the cliff. It was a beautiful big house
with a spectacular view and I loved it. Although Peter was right,
it was a big house, I slapped him on the shoulder, trying unsuccessfully
to hide my embarrassment.
"Shut up, will you! "
"Look, he s gone all red in the face."
Peter teased me but realising I was getting
more annoyed, he tactfully changed the subject. We went into a few different
bars
which were quiet enough to make it possible for us to talk and have a friendly
banter. I was able to get to know a little bit more
about Adam who remained charming and rather flirtatious throughout the evening.
At about eleven o clock we decided it was
time to go to the gay friendly night club.
Inside, we immediately walked over to
the bar and bought the usual round of drinks. I was driving so it was Pepsi
for me.
Peter ordered lager, Adam ordered cider. The queue was two or three deep
at the bar already and we had to wait some time
before we got served. Scintillating colours splashed across our faces as
we leaned in towards each other in order to be heard
above the pounding beat and rhythm of Dance and R&B. Adam was extremely
friendly and surprisingly tactile. I couldn t take
my eyes off him. There was no doubt about it, he was gorgeous and for me
it was definitely love at first sight. The problem was,
Adam was straight, not gay, but according to Peter, he was a promiscuous
slag!
Whether he did it intentionally or not
I didn t know, but Adam was a tease. The music was loud and it was difficult
to hold a
conversation now, but it didn t matter. We were out to have fun. This wasn
t a night for serious discussion. Whenever we did
speak to one another, we had to lean in closely towards each other in order
to be heard. Adam not only leaned in close to talk
to me, but physically and instinctively he cupped his hand around his mouth
right up against my ear. I could feel the warmth of
his flesh against mine and my senses reeled as my nostrils picked up his
manly scent. Leaning hard up against me and speaking
loudly into my ear, I had nowhere to look except down towards his chest,
and I allowed my eyes to caress his abs, his groin,
his thighs and his legs; it was intensely erotic and I was loving every minute
of it.
As we continued to get to know a little more
about each other throughout the night, Adam consciously teased and flirted
with
me as we danced to the music. He was funny and charming. Every now and again
he would break into a silly kind of dance
routine. Standing on the edge of the dance floor, looking at me with his
widening eyes as his smile crawled across his face,
he hunched his shoulders slightly forwards and, bending his knees, lurched
onto his right foot, then onto the left foot, drawing
imaginary circles on the floor with his toes. Every time he did it, I tried
to copy him which left both of us breaking down in fits
of laughter. It was so funny.
I was driving so naturally I offered
to drop Adam off on the way home. He sat in the back of the car. Peter sat
up front next
to me. We talked all the way back. Arriving at Adam s parents house first,
and just before he got out of the car, he surprised
me by asking if I d like to swap mobile phone numbers and keep in touch.
Stupid question!
"Would I like to exchange phone numbers?"
Of course I would! In fact, I was delighted. I gave him my number and he
said
he d get in touch soon. We said goodbye, shook hands again, and he got out
of the car.
From there we went on to Peter 's house.
He lived with his parents too, and once we arrived we sat in the car outside
his
house for a few minutes talking about love, life and the future but mainly
about the difficulties he faced as a young gay guy
living with his parents. They had come to terms with his coming out but he
knew they d found the whole thing difficult. I must
confess, at this point I was only half listening. I couldn t stop thinking
about Adam. Peter leaned over, kissed and hugged me,
and then partly staggered up the drive to the front door.
As I drove away, the text message alert
on my mobile phone almost made me jump. I assumed Peter had left his wallet
or cigarettes in my car and he was sending a text message asking me to turn
back, so I pulled over as quickly as I could and
read the message. I was wrong. It was a text message from Adam.
It was nice meeting you. I
enjoyed tonight, it was good fun. I hope we can become friends?
What surprised me most was the way I
was reacting. My hands were shaking and my heart was pounding. All kinds
of
random unconnected thoughts were zooming around inside my head. What did
Adam mean by I hope we can become
friends ? He knows I 'm gay, why would he want to keep in touch with me,
an older gay man? I made a conscious effort
to focus my thinking. Of course I wanted to be friends! Given the choice,
let anyone try and stop me! He was a dream come
true well, almost the only drawback being he was straight!
My fingers twitched nervously as I replied
to his message. I thought about every word and phrase. I keyed in my reply
but
then deleted it. I wrote another message but this time using different words.
Then I rearranged them, deleted them again and
then have to start all over. I wanted to get this message just right, word
perfect, because there was too much to lose.
Finally I composed what I thought was an appropriate reply which simply said:
It was good to meet you and
I enjoyed tonight too, I m sure we can be friends.
I stared at the text, yes, that
was OK, so I took a deep breath and pressed the send button. I got home and
went straight
to bed. I couldn t stop thinking about Adam. Something happened to me that
night which I d never experienced before.
It excited me beyond my wildest dreams, even though I had a gut feeling I
was about to walk on dangerous ground.
It was so strange I never understood
it, but almost from that very moment on I hardly ever saw Peter again. Adam
and I
became inseparable.
To Be Continued.