Date: Fri, 24 Mar 2006 07:28:48 +1100
From: Iain Robertson <iainlthr@hotmail.com>
Subject: Changes chapter 8

Copyright for this story belongs to and remains with the author. I don't
have any major objection to my work being re-distributed, but ASK
FIRST!!!

This is a gay adult story with the consequent language and images. If
homosexuality and/or sexually explicit themes offend you then do not
continue. If these are illegal in your area, then you have my sympathy,
but you proceed at your own risk.

This is a work of fiction, and as such the characters are not bound by
the usual dictates of modern society. Unsafe sexual practices can be
undertaken with impunity only in the world of fantasy. In reality, it is
your obligation and your right to play safely, sanely and healthily.

I hope you enjoy my work, and if you have any comments, or ideas that may
inspire new work, please feel free to contact me -- all emails will be
answered to the best of my ability. Iainlthr@hotmail.com.


Changes

Chapter 8


After the enormous strain on his nerves over the weekend, and the
devastation of Geoff just dumping him like that, the only way Ian could
get a grip on his emotions was to bury them. He threw himself back into
his work. He found it was the easiest way to drive away the thoughts
which nagged him over what had happened. He began to put in longer and
longer hours, powering through the work he was assigned. His secretary
certainly noticed, and did not approve. It was not the extra work he was
generating; in fact, if anything he was giving her less because he seemed
to be doing most of it himself; but rather because he was there all the
time. She was concerned for his health, and his state of mind. Yet
whenever she tried to bring up the subject, he simply dismissed her with
a shrug and put his head back down.

Jill wasn't the only one to notice Ian's sudden increase in productivity.
The partner who had nominal oversight of young Mr Sterling, Maggie Jones,
also spotted the dramatic rise in his output. She did a couple of spot
checks, but found nothing to complain about with the work he was doing,
and no reason to chastise him since there did not appear to be any
mistakes or errors in his files. Yet she also firmly believed that a
happy employee was a good employee, and she wondered at the sudden
changes in one of her favourite solicitors. Whenever she had spotted Ian
around the offices in the last week or so he seemed to be pre-occupied
and even a little down, not the usual smiling young man she knew.

Maggie Jones was a brilliant woman who had earned her partnership with
the firm by sheer hard work and determination, getting her name on the
letterhead by the time she was 37 - not a small achievement! She had
liked Ian Sterling from the moment she first met him while interviewing
for junior solicitors a few years ago, and he had proved her instincts
right, earning a reputation as hard working yet unassuming amongst the
staff, and impressing more than a few clients with his winning smile and
easy manner. She considered him her protégé in many ways, and was
concerned that he may have been having some kind of personal difficulties
which led to his long hours. Privately, she wondered for not the first
time if Ian was gay - all the evidence, what little of it there was -
suggested he might be. He was 28 years old and strikingly handsome, yet
she knew he lived alone in Erskineville, and never brought any female
company to any of the office functions. She had also heard on the
grapevine that more than one of the women with whom he worked had
attempted to flirt with him, yet Ian had ignored any such advances,
seemed almost oblivious to them. And Maggie just had a feeling about him,
a hunch, if you like, that he could be gay.

She would never mention it, or ask him outright - that was inappropriate,
but she sometimes felt that if Ian were homosexual, and it caused him
problems, that she would like him to know that she would be there to back
him up. Her own son had come out to her when he was seventeen, some four
years ago, and through him she had met a number of his friends, had seen
for herself the heartache and the problems that young gay men still faced
despite the anti-discrimination laws and the supposed tolerance of modern
society. But she would never pry into Ian's personal life to such an
extent as to ask without very good reason, so she simply tried to be
around for him whenever he had anything to ask.

With the recent jump in Ian's output, Maggie began to do a little
checking. She quickly learned that he was working extraordinarily long
hours, and that several other staff members had noticed his changed
demeanour. His secretary, Jill, confided in response to Maggie's innocent
query concerning Ian's mood, that for some months he had seemed
exceptionally happy and carefree, but that his manner had altered
dramatically from one week to the next, and that he now seemed almost
dull in spirit. It was this change which had coincided with his sudden
high workload. Maggie confirmed that Ian was not facing any unusual or
difficult cases at the moment, and deduced that he was showing all the
classic symptoms of a personal crisis.

She arranged to just happen by his office one evening, after most of the
staff had gone home, and knocked quietly at his open door. As he looked
up at her with a surprised expression, she smiled and wandered in, taking
a  seat opposite him at his desk.

"Working late again? You know you don't have to do this to impress me?"
she said in a tone of light-hearted teasing.

Ian forced a smile, although it stretched his face thin and fooled
neither of them. "Only trying to keep up, Ms Jones," he said.

"Oh, you've been doing much more than that lately!" she replied. "You're
billings are up and your output is sky-high!"

Ian looked at her uncertainly. "Is there a problem, ma'am?" he asked with
concern creeping into his voice.

"No, Ian, and please, at this time of night there's no need for the
formality. Call me Maggie. I just wanted to remind you that we're much
more concerned with quality than quantity ..."

"Uhh, have I missed something? Ms Jones, I'm sorry if I've messed up
somewhere ..." Ian began to worry.

"No, Ian, not at all. Your work is always up to the highest standard. But
'quality' comes not just in the work you do. It includes the way you
feel, the way you act as well. You seem to have been a little down lately
... is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"Er, no, ma'am," he stammered a little. "I, uh, thought I was doing my
job the best I could."

"Please, call me Maggie!" she said quietly, putting on her best motherly
smile of concern. "You are working very well. I just thought something,
or someone, around the office may have been bothering you?"

"No, Ms ... no, Maggie," he said cautiously. "Everything around here is
just fine." His tone belied his statement, the confusion in his mind
obvious.

"Okay, then, how about at home? No problems with your personal life that
you just need someone to talk to about? Financial problems, car worries,
relationship difficulties?"

Maggie clearly saw Ian's startled eyes at the last words, but he covered
up quickly. "No, Maggie," he reassured her, "Nothing like that. Just
plain old, quiet Ian Sterling!" he tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow
in the still office.

"Okay, Ian, I trust your judgment," she said smoothly, as she reached
across the desk and rested her hand on his, lowering her voice. "But
remember - if there's ever anything you want to talk about - whether it
has to do with work or not - I'm here. Sometimes it helps enormously to
simply talk things out with another person, and I can be a great
listener. I guarantee you it would be person to person, no
employer/employee stuff, and anything you say to me would be completely
confidential. Keep it in mind, will you?"

Ian nodded, lost for words. His boss stood to leave, smiling again. Just
as she passed through the office door, she turned and grinned at him. "Go
home, Ian! Leave this behind you and get some rest! A young man like you
should be out and about, not stuck in an office 12 hours a day! And
that's official!"

He stared for a while at the space where she had stood. How did she know
he was having relationship problems? Was it written all over his face? Or
was she just guessing? Ian had always admired and respected Maggie, and
now he was worried about what she thought of him. He told himself he
would try to spend less time working, and follow her advice, as he sighed
and lowered his head into his hands. Unbidden and unwelcome, thoughts of
Geoff surfaced again. What would Maggie Jones think if she knew her
employee was queer? And that he had been sleeping with a known criminal?
Ian shuddered once more.

***

Ian had tried to take Maggie's advice. He had cut down on his hours at
work, but he hadn't really shaken off the constant fear of being
discovered, or the sense of betrayal that he felt whenever his mind was
drawn back to Geoff Carruthers. He had tried to resume his life the way
it was before Geoff, but somehow things were not the same. He no longer
felt the sense of control and satisfaction he had once known. Sorting and
cataloguing his collection of movies seemed like so much wasted time.
Keeping the house spotlessly clean passed the hours but did little to
ease his sense of loss.

One evening, early, he was startled from his self-absorption by the
clanging of the telephone. He jumped to pick it up, fearing the worst.

"Mr Sterling, it's Detective Sciutta here."

A sinking feeling clawed at his gut. The cop who had brought the whole
business with Geoff to a head! "Yes, Detective?"

"I just thought you'd like to be kept up to date - we've issued a warrant
for the arrest of Mr Carruthers on suspicion of supplying and
distributing narcotics. We have more than enough information to convict
him when he's found, although I'm hoping he will co-operate with us, and
help us to apprehend a number of his own suppliers."

"That's ... good," responded Ian, feeling it was the right thing to say.
He wanted nothing more to do with Geoff Carruthers, or the memories he
evoked, and this policeman was just stirring his already jangled brain.
Why couldn't this whole thing just go away?

"Unfortunately, I couldn't keep your name out of it altogether," the cop
went on, "but I have managed to bury it in the file. You are simply one
of a number of people who were interviewed about the matter, but who
could not provide any real assistance, so I'm sure you have no reason to
be concerned about your, uh, involvement."

Ian blushed at the implications of the words, but he was also grateful
for the efforts of the detective, and pleased to know he wouldn't be
dragged any deeper into the morass of Geoff's criminal activities than
was necessary. He brightened a little as he answered. "Thanks," he said
sincerely. "I appreciate your help, officer."

"Please, call me Michael," replied the detective. "And one more thing, Mr
Sterling?"

"Yes?"

"You will let me know if Mr Carruthers tries to contact you, won't you?"

Ian bit his lip, hard. He winced at the thought of Geoff contacting him
again, and the ache in his gut became a shooting, stabbing pain.
Struggling to retain control of his emotions, he almost hissed into the
phone. "Yes, Detective, I am well aware of my obligations! But I'm quite
sure I won't be hearing from Mr Carruthers again."

He barely noticed the surprise and suddenly impersonal attitude of the
answer. "Good! Well, I'll be in touch with you if we need anything else.
Goodbye."

Ian wanted nothing more at that moment than to wipe the entire 'Geoff'
episode from his life and his memory. Everything that Geoff had done or
said, everything that he was associated with, was anathema to Ian,
including the police investigating his case. The less that Ian had to
speak to Detective Michael Sciutta, or anyone else who reminded him of
his relationship with Geoff, the better!



*******************************************************************************
***************************************

Michael couldn't see Ian's wince, but he certainly heard the ice in his
voice. "Yes, Detective, I am well aware of my obligations! But I'm quite
sure I won't be hearing from Mr Carruthers again."

The cop was surprised at the coldness of Ian's answer, but matched it
with his own. "Good! Well, I'll be in touch with you if we need anything
else. Goodbye."

As he hung up the phone, Michael grunted to himself. 'Typical bloody
lawyer' he thought. 'I help keep him out of trouble, and now I'm not good
enough to even speak to. I should have known better than to even try!' He
might have felt differently if he had seen the look on Ian's face, or the
cold sweat on Ian's brow, at the very thought of having to deal with
Geoff Carruthers or anything that he represented.

True to his promise, Detective Michael Sciutta had been able to obtain
the warrant and gain entry to Geoff Carruthers' flat without needing to
include Ian's name in the proceedings. At the apartment the police found
the documents, computer and discs that Ian had told them would be there,
and an analysis of that information soon gave them full details of all of
Geoff's business dealings - the income from the brothel, details of his
legitimate investments, names and contact numbers for other 'jobs' that
he did for various shady figures in the Sydney underworld. But the major
prize for Michael was the information on the supply of drugs to Neale
Simpson - dates, places, quantities and types of drugs and money paid.
Most of it was in code, but a fairly simple code that was easily broken
once a couple of assumptions about identities were made.

The stuff was dynamite, and more than enough to convict Carruthers of
supplying and distributing. But it went deeper than that. It soon became
apparent that if they could get Geoff's co-operation, they could tie up
Habibi and several other major players. So Michael, with the help of his
superiors, kept the whole thing under close wraps, issuing a warrant for
the arrest of Geoff Carruthers, but leaving both his suppliers and his
customers untouched for now. Geoff's description was forwarded to all
regional centres as well as the counterpart agencies at the Police Forces
in other states, and the Federal Police, as a 'person of interest', with
a request that if found he be held and Michael notified immediately.

Satisfied with his efforts thus far, Michael had indulged himself in a
little gloating, tinged with the pleasing prospect of having an excuse to
maintain some contact with Ian Sterling. He had called the lawyer at his
home one evening, a few weeks after the day of Ian's 'interview'. It was
that very phone call, which he just finished, which left him feeling
angry and bitter. He had expected some reaction from Ian - maybe
gratitude, possibly even pleasantries, but not the icy brush-off he had
received. But Michael was not one to brood on perceived slights, or worry
about what might have been. He was disappointed, certainly, that his news
hadn't elicited a more amicable response from Sterling, but told himself
that such attitudes went with the job. No one felt very disposed towards
liking a cop, especially a lawyer.

He sat back in his chair and stretched his arms up, then looked at his
watch. 8.00 p.m. and here he was still at the office. He was tired, as
usual, and feeling just a little sorry for himself. He wearily packed up
the files he was working on, placing them in the appropriate cabinet,
before casting one more look around the cubicle he laughingly referred to
as his office. With a shrug of resignation, Detective Sciutta signed
himself out of the Police Centre and stepped into the brisk night air. He
quickly walked up to the bright neon lights and strolling crowds that was
Oxford Street, then down the hill past several of the gay bars without
even a glance, toward Museum Station. At this time of night the ancient
underground platform was all but deserted, yet Michael barely noticed. He
felt no fear riding the system alone at night - it was the way he was,
the way he always was - alone.

A few short stops on an empty carriage, and he stepped out again at
McDonaldtown - the station without a suburb, sandwiched into the triangle
of Redfern, Newtown and Erskineville. No one else left the train at his
stop, and the bare, open platform offered no shelter whatsoever, raised
above the streets and the roofs of the surrounding buildings. He flipped
his collar up against the chill of the evening and trudged down the
stairs to road-level, then up the hill to his tiny flat - a third floor
walk up with a postage stamp sized balcony and a fantastic view of the
other postage stamp sized balconies surrounding a brown and unkempt
courtyard.

Michael breathed heavily as he finished the climb to his door, and let
himself in, throwing his bag and coat over the cheap and rarely used sofa
in his miniature loungeroom. He surveyed his domain with unseeing eyes -
the kitchenette off to one side was too small to swing a cat in, but
spotlessly clean, and so it should be since he rarely used it to cook in.
The main living room could best be described as 'spartan', containing
only the sofa, a narrow bookcase against one wall, a small television set
that was seldom switched on, and an even smaller sound system flanked on
either side by his meagre collection of CD's. Detective Sciutta wasn't
penny-pinching, but simply failed to see the need to spend money on
possessions he didn't use, and a cop's salary wasn't all that great
anyway.

Quickly he checked for messages on his answering machine - there were
none - and ambled into his bedroom, inhabited by a large double bed
attended to by small tables on either side, and an open rack of suits and
other clothes. He stripped and changed into a comfortable pair of sweat
pants and a sloppy-joe, deciding that he'd get something home delivered.
He didn't feel like facing yet another solo table at one of the many
cafés just up the hill in Newtown, not tonight.

If any of his straight colleagues could have seen him at that moment they
would have laughed out loud. Most of them pictured him as the
stereotypical gay man, living in a fabulously well decorated and richly
appointed home, partying constantly and surrounded by glamorous friends,
his biggest decisions in the time away from work being where to eat and
which designer outfit to wear. Michael let them perpetuate the myth
because it was easier than trying to convince them otherwise, but in
truth he was a quiet, unassuming man in his private life, who told
himself he simply didn't have the time for night clubs and boisterous
parties. Of course, every now and then, he felt the need for something
more - for someone special to share the quiet times and to listen to his
confidences. But that wasn't going to happen - a gay cop! Who would want
him for a partner?

Michael allowed himself the indulgence of ruminating over the differences
between his own life and that of the people he observed from time to
time. As he chewed on the soggy, lukewarm pizza that had been delivered
to his door, his thoughts went to the stunningly beautiful home that
Geoff Carruthers had maintained high up in the Elan Tower in Kings Cross.
When Michael had gone to the apartment to conduct his search, he had
concentrated on finding the things he needed to pull together a case
against Carruthers, but now he could let himself remember the opulence of
that home, the incredible views over the city and harbour, the
frighteningly expensive fittings, the state of the art entertainment
centre, and the massive king sized bed. That made him think again of
Geoff and Ian Sterling rolling around on that very bed, making love.

Ian Sterling! He didn't imagine that Sterling had anywhere near as
luxurious a home as Carruthers, but he nevertheless assumed that the
solicitor's dwelling would be well appointed, no doubt reflecting his
social standing, and filled with the mementos of what Michael imagined
would have been an easy and open lifestyle. He pictured Ian Sterling as a
confident young man who had probably enjoyed a string of boyfriends
before Geoff Carruthers, and it was the sudden problems that had arisen
as a result of this one relationship which Michael guessed were causing
Ian such difficulty now. I'll bet none of his previous lovers have been
in trouble with the law! Michael surmised, trying to put a reason on the
lawyer's apparent desire to forget about Carruthers, and by extension,
Michael himself, as soon as possible.

Michael felt himself slipping into a bout of self-pity, but he was
helpless, here in his tiny flat all alone, to resist the thoughts which
clouded his better judgment. He dreamed of the very notion of a happy,
long-term relationship, wondering briefly what it would be like to have
someone, someone like Ian Sterling perhaps, waiting for him to come home,
someone to share his thoughts and his problems, his victories and his
happy times. That of course led him into the bitter memories of the past.
Michael had certainly had his share of one-night-stands, although even
then he had to be extra careful, being a cop. But he had also once
believed he had found the elusive joy of permanency. David. That had been
the name of the man Michael had called his lover.

But David had seen their relationship with different eyes. They had both
been very young - Michael only recently graduated from the Police Academy
and David just starting a career in advertising. They met and moved in
together almost instantly, yet things were difficult right from the
start. David wanted to go out drinking and dancing every night, to party
hard until the dawn and beyond on weekends. Michael wanted to spend the
time away from work relaxing, and while he enjoyed dancing and an
occasional night out, he also wanted time at home, taking it easy. He
used his job as an excuse to avoid the clubs and pubs David liked, and
told himself when David stayed out all night that part of a successful
relationship was giving your partner his own space when he needed it.

For almost six months, Michael and David had told themselves they were a
couple, despite the fact that they did very little together socially.
Even so, it came as a complete shock to Michael when David declared,
quite simply, that they weren't suited. He announced that he was moving
in with someone more 'his type', and that Michael was too quiet for him.
Michael was stunned, never having seen the coming split. When he tried to
reason it out with David, his partner had stated that it was impossible
to live with a policeman; that Michael was married to the job instead of
to his lover, and that in his opinion, no one was ever likely to be able
to maintain a relationship with Michael as long as Michael remained so
dedicated and so 'old fashioned'.

And so Michael had let his man go. The years since then had been long and
without anyone else, but Michael had accepted that he was destined to
stay single. He had no reason to doubt David's words, and had convinced
himself that his was the kind of personality which just did not allow him
to form and maintain a long term relationship. He was gay alright, he had
no problem with that. But what he wanted; a quiet, shared life with
someone, just wasn't available to him because of who he was and what he
did.

Eventually, Michael shook himself out of his morose mood, and shrugged
his shoulders. No point in wishing for what was never going to happen!
The detective climbed into bed alone with his thoughts and drifted off
into an uneasy sleep. He knew it was impossible, but he still could dream
of one day finding someone who could love him. And if that someone could
be like Ian Sterling, then what a bonus it would be!

***

As time passed, Michael began to think that Geoff Carruthers had
disappeared on them. There had been a rumoured sighting in Brisbane, and
a couple of reports he may be in Melbourne, but nothing confirmed, and
other matters had driven him from Michael's immediate thoughts for some
weeks now. The worst of the winter had passed, but the evenings were
still cold, and as he made the usual trip home that evening he felt
himself longing for some 'company' yet again.

The apartment seemed even bleaker and less inviting than usual, so
Michael changed quickly into casual clothes and wandered up the street to
the Newtown Hotel - his local gay bar. The restaurant attached to the pub
was reasonably quiet, and he decided to grab a meal first, then have a
drink in the bar, and hopefully connect with someone for a little
physical release.

"Linda's Backstage" declared the sign on the understated entrance.
Michael had eaten here often enough, and felt very comfortable with it.
The staff were either gay or gay friendly, not surprising since it was
part of a gay pub, and he knew he would enjoy the food. He was shown to a
small table for one near the back of the dining room. There were a couple
of other tables occupied by male couples, and one on the far side of the
place where a rowdy group of six women appeared to be celebrating a
birthday. The sensitive maitre'd had tried to isolate the larger group,
and Michael found himself sitting with his back to a table of three - two
men whose backs were to him and a woman sitting opposite them.

He took little notice of the trio as he seated himself and chose his
meal, trying not to listen in to what was obviously a private
conversation. As his order was given and a drink poured, he looked around
the restaurant disinterestedly.

"... but this place is gay!" said a male voice which sounded vaguely
familiar, right behind him.

"Don't be ridiculous. How can a restaurant be gay? Maybe the patrons,
even the staff, are gay, but that doesn't mean everyone who ever eats
here is gay. Besides, what does it matter?" reasoned the woman at the
same table. Michael hadn't intended to listen in, but he was absorbed by
this. Probably a group of straights out for some sight-seeing, he told
himself.

The other man spoke now. "You need to get out, anyway, mate. You need to
get back into circulation if you're ever going to find yourself another
man. They ain't gonna come knocking on your door, you know!"

'This is getting interesting! Michael thought. He knew he shouldn't be
eavesdropping, but he was fascinated now.

The first guy responded. Michael was sure he knew that voice, but just
couldn't identify its owner.

"Who said I want to find another man?" he said. "I think my last
experience has turned me off that whole idea."

"But Ian, that was a one-off situation. You can't let one bad experience
scare you away from any chance at happiness!" Tina said.

Michael almost choked on his beer as realisation struck him. Ian? Ian
Sterling! This was Sterling sitting right behind him, not two metres
away. Part of him wanted to get up and move right then, but he couldn't.
He was rooted to the spot, concentrating now as he strained to hear the
words at the adjacent table.

"... and I could never trust anyone again," Ian was saying in a soft
voice. Michael was so intent on the nearby conversation he didn't notice
the waiter approaching, and mumbled a vague 'thank you' as his meal was
placed before him.

"But Geoff wasn't just any guy," the other man said now. Michael dredged
the inner recesses of his memory. Nick - something - that was him,
Sterling's friend.

"He had this whole other side, a hidden, criminal side that he kept
hidden, that you knew nothing about," Nick was saying. "You didn't have
all the facts, so you can't blame yourself for what happened, and you
can't believe that everyone is so shady. You've got to learn to trust
people again."

"Nick's right," Tina said, as Michael listened carefully, trying not to
be obvious. "Besides, you may not want to hear this, but maybe we have
something to thank him for. If it wasn't for Geoff, you may never have
come out to us. We might still be dancing around each other, trying to
pretend you were straight!"

"That doesn't help much, Tina," Ian said bitterly. "The first man I ever
fall in love with, and he almost gets me arrested for drug dealing!
That's not a good basis for me having any confidence in the future. Right
now I feel as if my first time may well have been my last time!"

Michael was stunned. He was so amazed by what he heard that he very
nearly forgot he had a plate of food in front of him. So Carruthers had
been Sterling's first ever lover! Incredible! That went a long way to
explaining the lawyer's reactions, including his response to any contact
Michael had tried to make with him. A wave of guilt washed over him, he
shouldn't be listening in like this. Suddenly he felt dirty, like some
kind of voyeur. He hurriedly finished his meal and nodded to the waiter
for the bill.

As he threw some notes onto the table and made his way out, hoping
neither Ian nor Nick would turn around and recognise him, Tina was
saying,

"... the kind of man you need has to be discreet, he has to like nights at
home and just lounging around, but he has to be confident enough to take
you out when you need it ..."

But Michael didn't take any notice of her words. He had initially felt
sorry for Ian Sterling, and the feelings he had for the young lawyer
blossomed into an anger: that he could have been treated so badly. And
the focus of that anger had a name and a face - Geoff Carruthers. If
Michael ever got his hands on Carruthers, he swore he'd make him pay for
what he'd done to Ian!



*******************************************************************************
***************************************



Geoff Carruthers had more or less settled for the time being in
Melbourne. He had rented a tiny bed-sitter above a shop on Commercial
Road, Prahran and had arranged to get regular deliveries of cash from his
businesses in Sydney by courier. He was surprised to find that the police
had not stepped in to close down his operations, although the word was
out that they were after him, yet none of his friends or associates had
been touched or even questioned. Obviously, they had very little to go
on, and Ian hadn't been able to help them at all. The only break he had
made was with Neale Simpson. After the night he fled Sydney, Geoff had
called Neale and told him that he was being watched, that the cops were
after Geoff, and that Neale should be watching his own back. He had told
him to get out of the area, and that there would be no more supplies
available through Geoff. He had been fairly certain that the phone call
with Neale that day had been what sparked the police questioning of Ian,
and Geoff was cutting the other man off completely.

Geoff had even ventured out a few times to some of the gay clubs. His
life was certainly not as comfortable or as enjoyable as it had been, but
he wasn't a hermit. He did however, find the night life in Melbourne a
little disconcerting. In Sydney, there were distinctly 'gay' areas -
Darlinghurst and Newtown, parts of Surry Hills; yet in Melbourne the gay
venues were widely distributed and generally co-existed with their
straight counterparts. There was no gay 'ghetto' as such, although some
parts of Prahran and Fitzroy had a decidedly gay flavour to them.

When he felt the need for physical relief, Geoff had found little
difficulty in picking up men for a night of sexual gratification. But he
never stayed until the morning, and invariably neglected to call or
contact them again afterwards. Somehow, although he enjoyed the fucking,
he felt something was missing, something he couldn't find. He wanted to
know again the feeling of waking up next to someone, of sharing more than
just his bed, but his time and his thoughts. And whenever he felt that
way, his mind would turn to Ian Sterling. He had wanted so much to make
the relationship with Ian work, and had failed. He often wondered what
Ian was doing, who he was seeing, whether there was any possibility at
all that one day they might get together again and put all of this behind
them. When he pushed Ian away, Geoff had been giving up far more than he
had realised at the time.

***

He was miserable. Abjectly miserable. It was almost four in the morning,
and he had just hauled himself out of the bed of his latest fling, a
young blond who had seemed innocent and harmless enough, if a little
camp, until they had begun their coupling. The things that boy had done
suggested in no uncertain terms that he was anything but inexperienced!
Normally Geoff would have been delighted and enthusiastic with the
athletic union they had made, but tonight he couldn't finish quickly
enough, and hurriedly dressed and left without so much as a 'thank you'
when they were done. And why? Because the guy's name was 'Ian'. Nothing
but a coincidence, yet the whole time that he had been sweating and
huffing, fucking the eager kid with a ferocious fury, all he could think
of was another Ian in another city, a lifetime away.

It had been almost three months now since Geoff had left Sydney, left his
home and his businesses, left Ian Sterling. It seemed like three years.
Life in Melbourne wasn't the fun and excitement that he had remembered
when he'd holidayed here. Living in exile, constantly watching over his
shoulder, changing address every few weeks with a myriad of false names,
Geoff hated it. He reflected on the life he had left behind, and thought
of Ian every day, wondering idly what might have been if he'd only been
honest. Money wasn't a problem for him, but being 'on the run' had more
than its share of disadvantages, and not having Ian Sterling was one of
the biggest. Geoff began to tell himself that he could have made it work
with Ian, that he still might. After all, hadn't Ian said that he loved
him? He convinced himself that if only he could get Ian to listen to his
story, that Ian would love him again, would come to him and be with him,
and that everything would be okay.

As he lay awake that night, thinking of what might have been, he decided
that no matter what happened he had to have Ian back. Hopefully he could
talk him into coming with him and making a new life together, in another
country perhaps, somewhere where they wouldn't need to constantly watch
every move. But if necessary, Geoff admitted the real possibility that he
might have to face his past, take the punishment. If he knew Ian would
wait for him, then he could do it, he was sure he could.

The next morning, his resolve had not wavered. He braced himself for the
inevitable anger and recrimination, and dialled Ian's number, listening
apprehensively as the tone began to ring.

"Hello?"

Geoff ached as he heard Ian's voice. He had to do this, had to know.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

"Ian, it's Geoff!"

Silence roared out of the machine. A deafening, condemning silence.

"Ian, can you hear me?"

"I heard you." The voice was deadly quiet, cool and distant. "What do you
want?"

"I need ... to talk to you."

"Humph!"

Geoff shuddered at the dismissal in Ian's tone. "Ian, I'm so, so sorry. I
stuffed up badly. I, I ... miss you!"

"Hah!" Ian cried, his tongue finally loosed. "Miss me? Why? Can't you
find someone else's life to destroy? Or did you enjoy fucking me around
so much that you want to come back and finish off the job? Oh yeah, that
would be it! Good ole' Ian Sterling, always guaranteed to come running
whenever you click your fingers. You screwed my mind and my body. What
else do you want from me Geoff? You wanna fuck up my career as well? Let
me tell you, you almost did that before. There's not a lot left!"

Geoff sat and listened to Ian's outburst in silence. He deserved all of
it and more, and he knew it. When Ian finally slowed down, he butted in.

"Ian, I'm sorry! Truly I am! I never meant to do anything to hurt you ..."

"NO? Well that's not how I remember our last conversation! A `handy
fuck, a useful little boy for you to teach the ways of the world',
something like that ... am I right?"

"I might have said something like that, but I didn't mean it. I'm sorry!"

"So you keep saying!" Ian snapped, his voice turning cold again. "Well
after three months of nothing, three months of me torturing myself,
'sorry' just doesn't cut it!"

"But Ian ... I love you!" Geoff spoke quietly into the phone.

There was a strangled gulp from Ian, followed by an unintelligible cry,
and the receiver was slammed down hard, the crash ringing in Geoff's ear.

Immediately, Geoff hit the re-dial button. As soon as Ian answered, he
spoke quickly, not giving the young lawyer a chance to say anything.

"Ian, please, please don't hang up. Just hear me out. I know I don't
deserve it, but I want you to hear my side of the story. Please?"

Nothing but silence. At least he hadn't cut the line again.

"Ian?"

"Okay, I'm listening," came the icy response.

Geoff drew another deep breath. It was make or break time for him. "What
I said - last time - it hurt. I had to break away from you. I had just
gotten away from the cops and I had to cut all contact. I wish I could
say I did it to protect you, but the truth is I was only thinking of
myself. I'm so very sorry, honestly. But I realise how big a mistake I
made. I haven't stopped thinking about you all this time. I love you. It
took me a while to understand it, but I do. I love you and I need you."

"Need me for what?" Ian asked bitterly. "To use again, to try to get you
out of trouble? I don't do that, Geoff. There seems to be a minor issue
with drugs and criminal activity that you've overlooked!"

"No, I haven't overlooked it. What the cops said to you, it's true, most
of it. I do have some illegitimate businesses. And I was involved - as a
middle man - in hooking up suppliers with a dealer. I won't deny it. But
I would give all of that up, I'd walk away from it, from everything, to
be with you again."

"It's not as simple as just walking away from it!" Ian reminded him.
"Even if I thought I could ever trust you again, which I don't!"

"Ian, please ..." Geoff whined. "I need to talk to you. I love you. You
said you loved me ...?"

"Yes, I said that once. And when I said it I was telling the truth. But I
don't love you now. How could I, when you've done nothing but lie to me?"

"Ian!..."

The lawyer could hear the desperation in Geoff's voice this time, and
something else. Was that pain?

"Please. I'm staying in Melbourne at the moment. Will you at least come
down here and meet me face to face, let me try to explain, to show you
how I really feel?"

Ian chuckled this time. "No way!" he said with emphasis. "I can't believe
you have the nerve to even ask!"

"Do you hate me then?"

Once again there was silence for a long while before Ian answered. "No, I
don't think so," he said, and his voice was full of sadness now. "I don't
love you, but I don't hate you. I'm angry with you and with what you did
to me. Just leave me alone!"

"Please, come to Melbourne," Geoff agonised one more time. "You can reach
me by leaving a message with Tony, the barman at the Laird Hotel in
Abbotsford! Please Ian?"

"No! And don't call me again. If you do, I'll go straight to the police
with all the information I have! Goodbye, Geoff!" Ian said firmly as he
cut the line.



*******************************************************************************
***************************************

"Can you believe his hide?" Ian asked incredulously. "To think that all
he had to do was phone up and say 'I'm sorry' a couple of times, tell me
he loves me, and I'd welcome him back with open arms?"

Nick shook his head, while Tina simply sat there, holding Ian's hand for
reassurance. He had arrived on their doorstep, almost apoplectic with
rage, and repeated the entire conversation without a break. It was as
though he had to get it out of his system, and they were the only ones he
could tell. Neither had had a chance to even comment yet or ask any
questions. For fully half an hour, Ian had railed against Geoff, had
ranted on about how much he had been hurt and insulted, about how
unfeeling and stupid Geoff was, while Nick and Tina had remained silent
and let him speak. Slowly the anger began to dissipate, replaced by
exhaustion.

Finally, Tina broke her silence. "So he told you he loved you?" she said
musing.

"Yeah, like I'm gonna believe that!" Ian lashed out again.

"And you said you didn't love him, but you didn't hate him either?"

"I told him I was angry at him, at what he had done."

"But he didn't say where exactly he was staying in Melbourne?" asked Nick
now.

"No, just some drivel about contacting him by leaving a message ..." Ian's
eyes were red, his voice quieter, his entire body shrunken with the
effort he had expended in his ire at the telephone call from Geoff.

"Then it's over!" said Tina. "You just need to forget him and get on with
your life."

"No," said Nick softly, and both Tina and Ian turned to him with looks of
amazed surprise. "Look at yourself, mate," he went on. "It's been three
months, and with one phone call he's gotten you all riled up and
absolutely furious again, as if it had happened just yesterday. I think
you should go and see him."

"What?" exclaimed Tina.

"Are you mad?" burst out Ian. "I never want to have anything to do with
him again. I feel as if I could kill him, honestly!"

"Exactly," replied Nick. "And you will keep on feeling like that until
you get some closure, until you make it utterly clear to him how you
feel."

"I thought I just did that!" Ian said with some bitterness.

"No, I think you need to do it face to face. I think you need to be able
to see him, watch his reactions," Nick finished.

"Tina, I love your husband, but I think he's gone looney," Ian chuckled,
expecting a similar reaction from her.

Tina sat in silent thought for a minute. "I love him too," she said, "and
I think he might be right!"

"What?" said Ian wondering if they were conspiring against him in some
twisted joke.

"You need to finish this, for yourself, in your own mind," she continued.
"Nick has a point. Unless you can see Geoff's eyes, know he has truly
heard you, you'll never have any real closure. It will hurt, and it will
take a huge effort, but I think you should see him and tell him in
person."

"I'll come with you if you like?" Nick offered.

"No need!" spat Ian, "Because it's not going to happen! There's no way
I'm going all the way to Melbourne just to make sure Geoff knows how I
really feel!"

"But it's not for his sake," Tina said softly. "It's for your own!"

"Exactly. And I don't need to do it!" he said without hesitation.

***

All that day, and well into the following week, Ian fumed. He fumed at
Geoff for calling him. He fumed at Nick and Tina for suggesting something
so ludicrous as caving into Geoff's demands and going to Melbourne. He
fumed at himself for being so shaken by the contact after all this time.

On Wednesday evening, around 5.30, his secretary, Jill stuck her head
into his office.

"I'm going now if that's okay, Ian," she said quietly. She and everyone
around him had been walking on eggshells all week, unable to understand
what had him so furious, and doing their best to keep out of his way.

"Whatever," he muttered as he scribbled madly, making notes in the margin
of a document he was working on.

Jill shook her head to herself. This was not the Ian Sterling she knew.
`I'm probably going to regret this,' she thought as she coughed again
to get his attention.

"Mr Sterling, I don't know what I've done to upset you, but whatever it
is I'm sorry. I wish you would just tell me what I've done and let us get
back to working properly again."

Ian looked up then, stunned at the formality of her address and at her
words. The document in front of him was forgotten. "But you haven't done
anything wrong, Jill! I'm not angry with you at all!"

She breathed a sigh of relief. This was the most reasonable he had been
in three days. "Okay then, boss," she said, reverting to her usual
casualness. "Then for pity's sake, go and bawl out whoever you are mad
with, and give the rest of the world a break!"

With that, she smiled at him, turned on her heel, and left. Ian sat
there, his mouth open, as he digested her words. Was he really that bad?
Had Geoff annoyed him so much that everyone could see how upset he was?
He sat there, alone at his desk, for a long while, thinking over what
Jill had said, what Nick and Tina had said, what Geoff had said, and
trying to explore his own emotions.



*******************************************************************************
***************************************

On Friday evening, Geoff called in for a drink at the Laird Hotel. It had
become one of his favourite drinking holes recently, and since the
previous weekend's phone conversation with Ian, he had done little more
than drink, going from one place to another. As he walked into the bar,
Tony, the barman, looked up and nodded to him. Tony had made it quite
obvious to Geoff that he was interested, but Geoff had so far declined to
accept the implied invitation. Tony was quite good looking, but Geoff
wanted to keep him as a friend, rather than complicate things with sex.

"The usual?" Tony smiled as he poured a beer.

"Thanks," said Geoff with a sigh.

"Tough week?"

Geoff grinned wryly. "Tough month!" he answered. "I seem to be having a
real problem settling down here," he added.

"Sounds like you need a good man!" Tony smirked.

"Ha, as if! I had a good man once, but he's not talking to me anymore!"

"Well, it might be your lucky day," Tony said with a wink. "Some guy rang
here yesterday morning ... left a message. Hang on - " he rummaged beneath
the bar for a few seconds before standing up triumphantly with a scrap of
paper covered in beer stains. "Here it is - Ian Sterling - he said to
meet him under the clocks at 11 on Saturday."

Geoff's heart skipped a beat. A huge grin broke out on his face, and he
leaned across the bar and planted an enthusiastic kiss on Tony's lips.
"Thanks, handsome," he said with a laugh. 'Under the clocks!' Anyone who
had ever been to Melbourne knew what that meant - the traditional meeting
place for the entire city, the clocks above the main entrance to Flinders
Street Railway Station.

"Hey," said Tony. "If I keep passing on messages like that, do I get more
than just a kiss?"

Geoff grinned widely. "Sorry, mate. If my luck is in, then there's only
one man I'll be kissing from now on!"

"Damn!" replied the barman good-naturedly, with a smile and a click of
his fingers. Geoff retreated to a stool at the end of the bar to finish
his beer, and to ponder his next move. He felt elated, thrilled. Ian was
going to be here tomorrow morning!


To be continued ...


 This story is a fantasy, it is not real and only happened in my
imagination. YOU MUST REMEMBER that in the real world, you can DIE from
having unsafe sex. It is your right and your duty to make sure that
condoms are always used, whether you are giving or receiving. It doesn't
matter how good looking or how ugly he is, and it doesn't matter whether
you are top or bottom, USE A CONDOM!