Date: Tue, 26 May 1998 06:50:30 GMT
From: romanticiser@geocities.com
Subject: Mirage - Part 1 (M/M Romance)

The following story is complete and utter fiction.
This is a love story between two men of consenting age
and contains explicit descriptions of homosexual love
making, although not necessarily in this part. If
reading this is likely to offend or your reading of
this will contravene a local bylaw then you are
directed to delete this now.

If you got this far then either your persistent and
on your own or this just might be 'right up your street'.

All characters and major locations are fictitious
and any resemblance to any characters or locations,
existing or not is purely coincidental.

Acknowledgements, critiques, flames or any other
email can be written directly to
romanticiser@geocities.com.

Sorry I been away from the group for a bit but I'm
back now and should hopefully keep the flow better than
last time.

To all those who've written, giving praise, criticism
or whatever I hope I've replied. There was a problem with my
computer, now fixed. After reinstalling windows and Outlook98
I couldn't get this account to work properly. My two mail
systems clashed and they cocked up big style. I had missing
posts for about 2 weeks before I spotted the error.

If I didn't reply then please re-send and I'll get back
to you. Usually within a couple of days.

To all those who sent praise, advice or a plain kick up
the butt, I thank you for your words and interest.

For other stories and missing sections visit the
study on my web site.
www.geocities.com/westhollywood/heights/9953


Mirage
Copyright Romanticiser 1998

Part 1 of ?

Chapter 1: 7 years bad luck.

The fact that I am writing this, or that I even have
a story to tell, proves that the old wives' tale of seven
years bad luck, for a broken mirror, is rubbish, a
proverbial myth coached in simple words for simple minds.
Gobbledegook of the highest order, is it a fact or is it
true because one make it come true or is it false and
only one's perception that has altered. I hate these
tortuous puzzles, yoga on the mental level.

I've agreed to write this, or at least try to, as my
partner, Chris thinks that I'd be a good word smith. He
says that I've got a good head on my shoulders and that
words rarely fail me. I grinned when he said that, I
didn't miss the implied insult. OK I'll admit it, I can
go on a bit, it never used to be true. I can't believe
how much I have changed since that first day, seven years
ago.

I was one of those boring people, I probably still
am but back then I knew it. Shy, retiring, wouldn't say
boo to a goose. Quiet, I hardly said a word from day to
day. I used to meet hundreds of people but I sort of
faded into the background, the person never remembered,
the one hardly acknowledged, that was me.

I always considered myself to be logical, some would
say almost cold. I wasn't intuitive at all, literal to
the extreme. I preferred things to happen in a set
sequence and could find it upsetting if the pattern was
disturbed. I was the quintessential definition of dull.

That is probably pushing it a little too far but
looking back that is how I see my life. BC - before
Chris, it was fake, black and white in a world of colour.
Now things are bright and vivid, the emotions run riot,
both joy and sadness. Not everything has been a bed of
roses, we've had our troubles - after all, we're only
human but we're still together and we still love each
other.

Before I start to write about that first day, I
think I'd better tell you about myself. My name's Tony,
well Anthony really but I always hated the pomposity of
the full name. There are some people that can carry the
name, I'm just not one of them.

Back then I was 34, overweight, a closet gay, a
virgin and alone with no prospects of that ever changing.
I lived with my mother, OK, I know what some of you are
thinking but it wasn't like that. I suppose I'd better
start right at the beginning.

I discovered I was gay back when I was 17, it scared
the hell out of me, my whole family was homophobic (
Jesus - so was I! ). My last hope in fooling myself was
to get close enough to a girl and prove that what had
been going through my mind and dreams was a phase, that I
was normal, not gay. Some hope, it didn't work quite the
way I wanted.

Don't get me wrong I achieved the aim and things
functioned, not quite normally but I did it. All right
let's be honest, both she and I knew that it wouldn't
ever happen again. A one off, the phase was me pretending
to be straight.

My seventeenth was a critical year for me. In April
my sister got married and left home, I proved to myself
that I was gay in June and then my Dad died in November.
That left me to look after my mum and gran, neither had
worked and I just couldn't leave them.

It wasn't a conscious decision, not something I set
out to do but 17 years later I was still looking after
the family. Still gay, still hidden, still a virgin. The
thoughts and feelings that had plagued me throughout my
teenage years had dwindled and faded to nothing. I didn't
dream anymore, didn't wake up with hard-ons, my libido
was non-existent.

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

July 15th 1991, a very important day, a Saturday.
That was the day my life started. I can even remember the
job I was doing when he walked into the workshop. I'm a
glass cutter and fitter by trade, not very awe inspiring
I know but we're not all destined for greatness. I work
at M.G.S., Manchester Glass Supplies, it's on Greek
Street, left past the Odeon, opposite the ballroom
dancing hall.

Me and Liam opened the place back when I was
nineteen, he's a couple of years older than me. We're
partners, he handles all the paperwork and customers and
I deal with the suppliers. We both cut and mount the
glass but I do all the specialist stuff.

Anyway back to that Saturday morning - 11:20 to be
precise...

I was crawling over an eight by eight mirror cutting
a full height circular mirror for someone's hall. Using a
suction cup to hold the centre and a four foot piece of
string as the radius I was guiding the cutter around the
last part when I noticed the feet. I didn't look up even
though they were right by the mirror I was cutting, I was
too busy trying to make sure that the ends of my cut
matched. Why did my radial arm cutter have to break today
of all days.

I'd got about quarter of a revolution left when a
soft spoken voice interrupted my concentration. "Hello,
are you Tony?" I didn't reply, just nodded, the sweat
dripped off my hair and scattered tiny reflections on the
mirrored surface.. "Oh good, the man at the desk said
that you could help me."

I was getting close to the edge of the mirror about
24 inches to go. "I need help urgently, I've--um--"
The feet moved and blocked my light. The moving image on
the mirror distracting me - 16 inches left. I sensed the
man crouching down, the mirror surface going dark with
the lack of light - 12 inches. "I've broken a mirror at a
friends."

I couldn't see my cut line, how the hell was I
going to join it now. Once you start a cut you can't stop
- shit my hands are getting sweaty and slippery. 8
inches.

Liam's shouted voice saved me. "Move out of his
bloody light, can't you see he's trying to cut. The man
must have turned the light level increased. There's my
cut line - thank God. 4 inches .. 2 .. 1. Done.

I released a pent up breath and tried to relax the
death like grip that I had on the cutter. Fingers slow to
move suddenly surged with the ache of muscle fatigue, the
cutter dropping a couple of inches to the floor by the
scribed mirror.

"Sorry - I didn't know I was in your way." The voice
was gentle and apologetic. I looked up to see the
crouching silhouette of a youngish man, middle twenties.

"I told you not to disturb him." I turned to watch
Liam walk into the workshop from the shop front.

"Forget it Liam, no harm done."

"All right, if you're sure.", he looked at the young
man again with menace and turned to go back to the front
desk. Liam was always telling me that I didn't stand up
for myself, he was always trying to protect me.

I stood up and stretched backwards, closing my eyes
as I tried to knock the kinks out of my back. "Right,
what can I do for you." I turned to face the man and time
stood still.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing, This man was
gay, I didn't need some hidden sixth sense, known as
'Gaydar' to tell me. It was up front, strong, written in
4 inch high black letters on his white T-shirt.

'Nobody
Knows
I'm
Gay'

I looked up to see his smiling face and I suppose I
must have looked shell shocked as my eyes drifted back
down to the T-shirt again. How could someone announce it
like that? Walk around showing everyone? I hadn't told
anyone, nobody, I couldn't even say it and here was
someone walking around with 'I'm Gay' plastered on his
front.

Since then Chris has told me that he was smiling
because I was doing a goldfish impression, mouth opening
and closing but no sound coming out. His voice finally
broke me out of my reverie. "If you think that's fun, you
should read the back." Then he swivelled around and
looked over his shoulder at me.

There was a picture of two fairy cakes at the top
with the words 'Nice Buns?' written underneath. I
couldn't help it, my eyes dropped down to see the back of
slightly distressed tight blue jeans filled to the max
with rounded buttocks.

He turned back again, "Do you agree?" and he laughed
as I felt myself blush. I looked everywhere but his eyes
and although I don't remember staring at anything in
particular, I can bring an almost photographic quality
picture, of him stood there, to my mind.

At a rough estimate I'd guess his age was about
twenty three, brown hair, not dark but not blond either,
it was cut with a floppy fringe that threatened to cover
one eye. An oval face, with sticky out ears a brighter
pink than his face. Thinnish lips on a slightly narrow
mouth surrounded by well creased laughter lines. The nose
was pert, thin at the top but dropped straight down and
then turned up at the end like a little ski ramp. His
deep dark brown eyes were highlighted by a pair of specs
that had large circular lenses in a metal frame, making
him look innocent and vulnerable.

He stands, stood about an inch taller than me at
about 5' 11" and seemed to be one of those thin gazelle
like shapes, sylph-like, that's the
word.

"I--I--I", the speech centre of my brain had closed
down in shock, I could feel my blush get brighter.

"Don't get uptight over it, I'm just joshing." He
laid a hand on my arm as if to reassure me. It didn't
work, I don't know how deep that touch went but I felt it
right to the bottom of my being. Electric, spine
tingling, mind numbing feelings, scary and enticing.

I pushed all my thoughts of gayness and the
incredible feelings to the side and retreated in to the
normal world of work. "W--What can I do for you?".
Thankful that I could feel the heat on my skin cooling,
telling me my blush was fading.

His smile dropped a little but the brown soulful
eyes twinkled "I've broken a mirror at a friends and I
need it replacing."

Keeping my eyes on his and not moving around took
concentration, for some reason my eyes didn't want to
look at his face. "That shouldn't be a problem, if you
just bring it in, I'm sure I can replace it."

If anything his deep soulful eyes went sadder,
hangdog, like a puppies and I knew I was lost to what
was coming next. "Is there any chance you can come there,
I don't drive and the mirror is too big to walk with."

"What about your friends, don't they drive?"

"Weeeeellllllll" it came out almost like a whine and
he rocked from side to side in an embarrassed, coy like
way. "They're my problem, they lent me their flat two
weeks ago and I've broken this mirror. If I can replace
it before they find out. I may just be able to borrow
their flat again."

"OK but before I decide, I need to know where. If I
can do it I'll come but I'm going to need some help on
sizes first. Do you know how big the mirror is."

With a wide smile on his face and eager light
shining from his eyes he responded with "The flat is on
Hart Street and the mirror is six, two by about 3 foot."

"Hart Street, don't know it. Whereabouts is that?"

"Just off Princess Street, no more than 10 mins by
car." His wide smile grew to be filled with brilliant
white teeth. He'd got me and he knew it, I can't help it
- I'm a sucker for a sob story.

Grabbing my coat and the van keys off their hook, I
told Liam I was off out to look at a job. He wasn't happy
about me leaving

"How long will you be?"

"I'm not sure, probably about half an hour, any
chance of help in loading the van."

Liam walked over to me and started to put on the
rough leather gloves "Damn, I was going to go early
today. Tina wants to get a family photo with all the
kids, we're all due at the Spielman's by one. It's some
sort of promotional deal or something."

"Which one, Gorton?"

"No Deansgate and on a Saturday as well, I told her
she was out of her mind but you know how she gets when
she wants something." We both lifted one mirrored sheet
from the stack and side stepped it over to the side
frame of the van.

"Yeah! Well you go now and I'll lock up, I've got my
keys and I'll be finishing right after this myself
anyway."

"You sure?"

"No!" I smiled. "But I'm not getting on the wrong
side of Tina, I don't think my ears have recovered from
the last time."

Liam laughed and turned pulling his gloves off.
"You've got it easy, I'm married to her!" Walking back
towards the main doors he said "OK I'm outta here, see
you Monday, Toe!"

"Bye!" I finished hooking the last bungee chords on
to the frame, holding the mirror firmly in place.

"OK that's it, we ready to go." I unlocked the
passenger door and got in to the driver's seat. As the
young man got in I told him "We're only going a few feet
so I could lock the place up, shouldn't take more than a
few seconds."

"That's OK. Umm!" He seemed a bit stuck for words.
"What's your name, I mean we can't really call each other
'Hey You'." He offered his hand and said "My name's
Chris, Christopher Llewellyn, pleased to meet you."

I returned his firm hand shake and again felt those
tingles ride in my skin, a pleasing, constant, static
shock. I didn't answer at first, lost in the feelings and
watching his soulful eyes. The tilt of his head and a
slight drawing of his eyebrows down in question pulled me
back from inaction. "Uhm, Tony, Tony Prentice. Pleased to
meet you too."

I moved the van out on to the street, leaving the
engine running whilst it warmed up. After locking the
main doors and the garage entrance I climbed back in and
we were off.

Traffic was bad, it always is on a Saturday but
today it seemed worse than normal. I got us over to
Princess Street, OK so I'll admit it - I went down a
couple of one way streets the wrong way, but then
everyone does. You'd have to miles out of your way to do
it like the designers thought out. Manchester traffic
control has been designed for traffic going into or out
of the city, they don't seem to have remembered us poor
saps who live in the bloody place.

The young man, Chris, I always have trouble trying
to hold a name in my head. guided me on to Princess
Street and then finally a right turn onto Hart Street. A
small or should I say short street, no more than four
houses long.

"It's the top flat of number 2, the one with the red
door. I can't see any place you can--" His voice trailed
off and then I felt his hand touch my arm, a light
grazing touch of warm soft skin. "Pull up here, there's a
car pulling out over there, you should be able to get in
straight away." He pointed to where a fancy silver Merc'
was jiggling in a tight space - trying to get out.

A quote from my youth came to mind "Come on Reginald
Molehusband." Voiced with just the right amount of
disdain. I shouldn't have bothered really - it went right
over his, Chris' head (Damn, forgetting the name was
beginning to bug me.)

"Huh! Who's Reginald Molehusband?"

"Don't you remember the highway code advert when you
were a kid. Reginald Molehusband was a man who went
backwards and forwards in the parking place and never got
the car parked. Over two years of adverts and he was
always failing."

"Nope never heard of him." A sly grin spread across
his face and eyes, unable to resist some fiendish reply.
"If I ever go home I'll ask my parents if they remember."

"OK, I'm 34, not quite ancient - yet."

By this time the Merc had made it out and was
heading up the street. I pulled up to the parking place
and jammed the nose of the van in the gap. Some people
really have no courtesy. I wait for the gap and this jerk
in a BMW thinks he can steal my space. I delighted in
his shaking fist and screeching brakes - the space was
mine and he could just bugger off.

I decided to leave the glass where it was until
after I'd seen what I was replacing. I wasn't going to
traipse to the top floor flat of one of these garret
blocks without being sure. "Why don't we go see this
mirror and then I'll know what tools to get."

"OK." He led me to a small covered doorway and
unlocked the entranceway. He waited for me to enter and
then pushed against the slow spring to shut the door .
"We can't open the inner door if the outer one's open.
Somebody's brainstorm of a way to save heating bills -
bloody nuisance really, especially after they added this
slow spring."

The inner sanctum was tiled in small white and blue
tiles in a geometric and symmetrical design. Chris headed
for the stairs, up two flights now. "The lift does work
but it's just so slow. I'm usually in the flayt before
the lift has reached ground floor."

I walked up behind Chris slowly taking two at a time
following his fast shoe shuffle up each step.

I don't remember the front door that well, Chris
stood in front of the open door gesturing me to enter.
What I do remember so vividly was the sight at the end of
the small hallway. Two Mirrors, one now broken, They were
silhouettes of what I presumed were young men.

What made them more than eye catching was that they
were side on silhouettes and they had both been hard when
the artist drew the pictures. One was about my size,
maybe a little thicker, the other although half of him
was missing above the belt line below the belt line they
seem to have got the dimensions wrong, Nobody can be like
that, nobody!

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

For comments, constructive criticism and so on you can email me:
Romanticiser@geocities.com
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