Date: Tue, 19 Jul 2005 21:38:46 +0100 (BST)
From: andy_amslond@yahoo.co.uk
Subject: THE REPLACEMENT, part 1

The Replacement

andy_amslond@yahoo.co.uk

Part 1

I sighed as I clicked the "Print" button, sending the
printer to life in a fit of splutters as it churned
out my resignation letter.  I tried to savour the
moment but it was hard to escape the sense of
anticlimax.  Resigning from your job is supposed to be
far more exciting than this!  I should be fisting the
air, overcome by the sense of newfound freedom and
running out to burn my suit in the car park.  Instead,
as I put my signature on the letter, I felt little
more than a muted sense of anticipation.  The fact is
I have been yearning to start my own business for such
a long time that the idea of quitting my job no longer
seems shocking.  The whole thing feels natural, just
as it feels natural to wash my hair.  "Of course I
should be quitting my job and starting my own
business!"

My boss, Michael, on the other hand, was shocked.
After all, I have performed well during the five years
I spent at the bank and have been rewarded richly for
my efforts.  At 35, I head up a small team looking
after a clutch of clients.  I have built up good
client relationships, bringing in a steady stream of
revenue for the bank.  I have a corner office with
views of an uninteresting part of London and a company
car to impress my friends with.

"What more could anyone want?" asked Michael, waving
his arms in exasperation.

"Well, there comes a point when you have to follow
your heart."

I don't really expect Michael to understand.  Having
spent 20 odd years in the game, he is so sucked into
the lifestyle of a well paid banker (complete with
expensive wife, kids in private school and a country
house) I very much doubt he could see sense in
anything which doesn't have dollar signs dangling off
it.  Anyway that was a few weeks ago now.  With the
administrative bureaucracy more or less complete, I
can now look forward to three months of gradual
retreat from my day-to-day duties and the start of my
new life.  The only important task left for me to do
is to train up my replacement.

After a quick search, Michael has decided on an
internal replacement, a transferee from our Sydney
office.  I read the CV with little enthusiasm:
university in Australia, business school in the US,
three years at the bank looking after high net worth
clients; all pretty typical.  The "Personal
Information" section does not reveal much either.
Interests: surfing, rock-climbing, travelling, wines
and modern art.  Aged 33.  No picture.  The name is
Dean Hudson and I am scheduled to meet him next week.

It was a bright, cool autumn morning when I walked
into Michael's office and met Dean for the first time.
 He was sitting in one of the armchairs in front of
Michael's desk, hands clasped behind his head.
Sharing a joke with Michael, Dean looks relaxed,
almost laid back, with none of the first day nerves I
know I would suffer from if I was in his position.  I
caught Michael's eyes and he beckoned me towards his
desk.  Sensing my entrance, Dean turned and I looked
at his face for the first time.  Blonde hair, blue
eyes, not bad looking.  Michael made the introductions
as I settled into the chair next to Dean's and we
exchanged friendly banter.  The first thing that
struck me was his voice.  A rich, deep tone with a
slight husky edge which reminds me more of a jazz
singer in a smoky bar than a lifelong whiskey drinker,
though often the two are one and the same.  I was also
surprised by his accent, not the brash Australian
twang I had expected, but a South African accent
softened by years of international English to a
rounded sound which was near impossible to place.

As we went on to discuss details of the handover plan
I became more and more intrigued by my replacement and
subconsciously allowed my glances to linger on his
features for longer than was politely necessary.  I
looked into his eyes and was mesmerised.  Not any blue
eyes, but the shade of the deepest ocean, punctuated
by flecks of grey; seagulls flying over a stormy sea.
I was so absorbed by his eyes that it took me a while
to take in the face which framed them so perfectly.
He has fine features but with a slightly rough edge
which hints at the rugged side of his personality,
topped by short blonde hair made for fingers to ruffle
through.  This is getting interesting.

It was not until we walked out of Michael's office
when I was able to check out his physique.  He is
maybe a couple of inches taller than me at about six
feet.  It was obvious that he enjoys the outdoor life
-- his broad shoulders, trim waist and powerful legs
exude a sense of ruggedness which goes beyond a few
sessions a week in the gym, which is all I manage to
fit into my hectic schedule in the city.  He walks
like an animal, a predator surveying his territory,
full of confidence in his ability to subdue, or maybe
seduce, all that surrounds him.  Without knowing at
the time, I was already falling under his spell.

"Hey Tom you look a bit distracted, are you okay?" he
smiled, perfect teeth revealed through a wide crescent
of soft, inviting lips.

"Oh it's nothing," I reacted with a shrug which I hope
came across more casual and relaxed than it really
was, "I was out drinking a bit late last night at one
of these new lounge bars."  I lied -- I never go late
night drinking and can't remember the last time I
lounged in bars, but it was the first thing that
popped into head and I hoped it would impress him.

"That sounds like fun!  Sure beats watching TV movies
at the hotel on your own all night."

"Well, that depends on what kind of movies you're
watching," I blushed.

"I hardly know any drinking holes in London, maybe you
could lead me astray sometime," Dean replied with a
grin and the merest hint of a glint in his eye.  Or
was that a wink?  In any case it was a request I could
hardly refuse.

Trying to change the topic, I asked him about his
accent.

"I was born a South African, but our family moved to
Australia when I was a teenager," he explained, "But I
guess I never quite managed to shake off my South
African roots."

"You should feel quite at home in London then.  After
all, I can't think of another city this cosmopolitan."

"Or with such shitty weather."  At this, we smiled at
each other.

"But I bet you we have a better selection of girls
here than down under."  Dean didn't say anything in
return but just smiled and looked into my eyes in what
I felt was a meaningful way.  Or was I just reading
too much into this?

The idea behind the handover plan was that Dean would
work-shadow me for the next three months and as soon
as he is ready I would start to pass my
responsibilities to him.  To facilitate this Michael
moved him into the meeting room opposite my office,
which gave him some personal space as well as easy
access to me.  Sitting behind my desk, I would glance
through the glass walls into his temporary office.
Dean sitting behind his laptop, forehead concentrated
into a frown.  Dean fiddling with a pencil, lost in
thought.  Dean talking into the phone, his face
occasionally erupting into fits of laughter.  He was
becoming more than a mere distraction; this was
slowly, surely and irreversibly turning into a minor
obsession.

"Tom, have you got a minute?"

I looked up from my computer as Dean strolled into my
office, armed with a few sheets of paper and a relaxed
smile.

"Of course, I always have time for damsels in
distress."  His smile widened to a grin with arched
eyebrows over narrowed eyes, a classic happy face look
which never fails to melt down my defences.

"I think you might be the one who needs to be
rescued," Dean said as he smacked me playfully with
his papers, "I think the cash flow projections in the
United Industries report are wrong.  Either that or
I'm in need of a master class in financial modelling."

"Ah yes," I mumbled, "That's a complex model indeed.
The master class will cost you though."  I felt a bit
flustered as I opened up the spreadsheet on my
computer.  Whilst I am perfectly competent in
financial modelling, it has never been my strong suit
and being as scatty as I am mistakes are not exactly
unheard of.  And it would appear that Dean is smarter
than I had given him credit for.

"Here, look at this," my fingers pointed at the
monitor, tracing the numbers whilst I explained the
logic of the calculations.

Dean came round to stand behind me and leaned forwards
to look at the screen.  His left hand was planted on
my desk, his right hand rested casually on the back of
my seat.  I could smell him -- the scent of freshly
laundered clothes mixed with the clean smell of
natural manliness barely tamed by soap.  My heartbeat
quickened.

"This is the part I don't understand," Dean said as he
pointed at the monitor, though I wasn't sure I was
concentrating on the spreadsheet anymore.  He turned
to face me, an eyebrow arched, "You see?"  I turned
and our eyes met, I could feel his warm breath on my
cheeks.  He smiled disarmingly as his eyes wandered
over my face subtly.  He was checking me out.  We
continued like this for what seemed like an eternity,
the sexual tension palpable.  I could feel the
pressure building up in my pants.  Our gaze eventually
broke off as I continued, in the most drawn-out way
possible, to explain the workings of the model.  Dean
eventually moved round and sat in the chair in front
of my desk, legs stretched and hands clasped behind
his head, in what I now know is his trademark
laid-back look.

"So it seems the numbers were right all along," his
smile once again widening into a grin, "So how much do
I owe you for the master class?"

I pondered the question, mischievous thoughts racing
through my mind.

That afternoon I did not manage to get any work done.
Whenever I tried to concentrate on anything, the
picture of Dean's smile or the memory of his scent
would soon take over my senses.  Whilst I've had
plenty of sexual experience, I cannot claim to have
been in any serious relationship before.  Whenever
friends ask me why I've always tried to build up a
macho image by exclaiming that "I love the single
life" or "I don't do commitment".  Truth is, when the
night descends early on a cold winter's day or in
those moments when I felt drained of my usual
confidence, I yearn to have someone just being there,
by my side; but I have never found the right guy.
I've also had crushes before and have learned to be
more cautious as the pain of the inevitable
disappointment always took too long to heal.  Oh the
joys of falling for straight guys!  But somehow Dean
felt different.  Or rather I feel something different
whenever I'm with him.  Or am I again letting my
fantasies cloud my judgment, interpreting his every
gesture as an evocative come-on?

At four in the afternoon I finally admitted defeat and
decided to leave early and hit the gym.  I like to
work-out, not just because I am keen to maintain my
hard earned physique, but also because I find it
relaxing to focus my energies on my body.  As it was
not quite the post-work rush hour yet, the gym was
quiet.  I was able to put in a good, hard workout,
thankful that Dean was off my mind at last.  As I took
off my sweaty T-shirt in the changing room, I looked
into the mirror and sighed.  Years of hard work at the
gym has certainly paid off.  My body is defined, solid
and well toned.  I've managed to avoid the mid-life
paunch that has afflicted so many of my colleagues and
am especially proud of my six-pack.  Surely with a
body like this I deserve better than one-night stands
and sex with my five-fingered friend?

I soaped myself slowly in the shower, caressing every
inch of my skin.  I love the sensation of my fingers
moving across the contours of my sculpted body.  As
the smell of soap reminded me of Dean, I closed my
eyes and touched my manhood, which was already turning
half-hard without too much effort.  Fearful of
embarrassing myself in the open, I wrapped a towel
round my waist and retreated to the aromatherapy room.
 This is my favourite place for relaxation.  The room,
which is tiled, is heated to a few degrees above
normal body temperature so it doesn't feel as hot as
in the sauna or steam room.  After a while, however,
you would feel the tingling heat and start sweating,
as if you are in a fever.  This, combined with aromas
which are released into the room and lights that
change colour slowly, work together to create a highly
relaxing environment.

My thoughts gradually slowed down as I drifted off
into a pleasant half-sleep.  Visions of Dean flashed
across my mind as I felt the growing bulge beneath my
towel.  I imagined myself watching Dean undressing in
the changing room, unaware of my prying eyes.  He
slowly undid his shirt buttons, revealing a perfectly
chiselled chest and nipples ripe for sucking.  As he
turned round to peel off his shirt I admired his
muscular back, which tapers to his slim waist in a
classic "V" shape.  He now turned to admire his own
body in the mirror, his hands moving sensuously over
his defined body, tracing the trail of hair from his
chest down to his ripped six-packs, pausing to circle
slowly over his navel before reaching his belt buckle.

My throbbing cock, which was straining through the
towel, clearly required urgent attention.  I obliged
by slipping a hand under the towel and grabbing hold
of my dick, now in its full 7.5 inch glory.  As I
began to stroke it up and down, I could feel the
pre-cum oozing out.  I moved a finger in circular
motion around the glistening cock-head, covering the
head and fold of foreskin with the torrent of pre-cum.
 I licked my finger, the taste of the salty pre-cum
sending my head spinning with desire.

My thoughts turned once again to my imagined vision of
Dean, as he slowly massaged his half-erect cock
through his trousers, the shape of the erection
clearly visible against the fabric.  I watched as he
undid the belt with one hand and teased his nipples
with the other, eyes closed in obvious enjoyment.  I
too began to stroke my own sensitive nipples, which
were now fully erect and begging for a tongue bath.

Dean slowly removed his trousers and I feasted my eyes
on his powerful legs.  His erect cock was now
throbbing gently inside the confines of the tight
white Calvins he had on, a dark patch of pre-cum
spreading near the waistband where his cock is
planning its escape.  I could not resist the
temptation anymore and willed him to tear away the
white shorts, exposing the full glory of his massive
erection.  As he stroked his cock and moaned in
pleasure, I matched him stroke-by-stroke as my own
cock stiffened in unmeasurable pleasure.

Only one more thing remains to be done.  I untied my
towel and stroked my cock with renewed urgency.  As I
laid down on the tiled bench I felt my hard cock
slapping against my solid abs.  I put one hand behind
my head, my tongue exploring the exposed pits eagerly,
the waft of man scent driving me crazy.  The stroking
was becoming more frenzied now.  I could feel the
foreskin rubbing up and down the bulbous head, each
contact sending a thrill of pleasure up my spine.

As the pressure built up towards the inevitable
climax, I closed my eyes.  My mind was filled with
images of Dean, all muscles and pure masculinity, his
smile broadening to a grin as he beckoned me towards
his powerful embrace.  I bit my lips and held my
breath as the pressure welled up from my balls,
expelling the first shot of cum up the shaft, through
the cock head and up past my head.  It happened almost
too quickly for the sensations to catch up.  But I was
not to be denied my pleasure.  As the second and third
and fourth shots landed on my chest, my whole body
shook with excitement as the indescribable sensation
of release spread from my groin to my entire body.  By
the time I had regained my breath, I was one big
sticky mess.  I marvelled at the orgasm, the intensity
of which I hadn't experienced for a long time.  I
headed over to the shower before anyone entered the
room, but not even the cool sprays could wash away
that imagined picture of Dean in my head.

The next few weeks went by in a whirl.  Dean and I had
become friendly, as we are of similar ages and have
similar interests.  I like his sense of humour and he
certainly seems to find me amusing, always poking fun
at my accent or how disorganised I am.

We also established a routine.  Since his hotel is not
too far from where I live, I would give him a lift
into work and back to his hotel on most days.  These
brief car journeys became my favourite moments of the
day.  We talked a lot: about work, travel, food and
life in general.  Even in the rare moments when
silence prevailed, I enjoyed the feeling of just being
so physically close to him.  At times like these I
would sometimes catch him stealing a glance at me.  He
would be wearing not his usual toothy grin but a look
of serious contemplation, with lips parted slightly
and question marks in his eyes.  I would shoot him a
quizzical look and he would respond by breaking into a
smile and starting a random discussion, as if to
distract me.

"So Tom, what is the point of driving a car in
London?"

"Well, I guess you haven't savoured the delights of
London Underground yet.  It's just your thing if you
like endless delays and close body contact.  Besides,
you double your chances of picking up someone nice if
you're in a cool motor."

"Oh yeah?" Dean chuckles, "If that does the trick why
is the passenger seat looking so un-worn then?  I
guess instead of picking up hot chicks you always end
up with guys like me."

I turned to him face his grin with a wry smile,
"Cheeky sod, if you're not careful you might have to
look for another chauffeur."

"Ooh I don't know," Dean replied, "Close body contact
in a confined space could be just my cup of tea."

Or something like this:

"Hey Tom, nice shirt!"

"Oh really, thanks!  Ironed it especially."  I was
secretly chuffed that he had noticed.

"So you're off on a hot date tonight?"

"Ha, no such luck.  My mother is in town so I'm taking
her out to dinner.  Anything to keep her out of my
flat.  Wouldn't want her to discover my porn
collection."

"Well, for a small fee I am very happy to safeguard
your porn stash for you." Dean laughed.  "Is she
setting you up with blind dates yet?  Bachelor at 35,
grandchildren and all that?"

I chewed over the question carefully.  When I came out
to my parents a few years ago my mother had gone
through the customary teary moments.  Even though they
love me for what I am, I can't help but notice she
sometimes has that look of disappointment about her.
I am their only child, after all.

"Nah, I think my mom realises her tastes are kind of
different from mine, so blind dates would never work.
What about you?" I retorted, "Surely an attractive guy
like yourself must need bodyguards to fight off all
these girls throwing their bodies at you?"

"Yeah of course," Dean replied with a wide grin, "Why
do you think I had to move half the way round the
world from Sydney to London?"

When I got home, in bed or in the shower, I would
inevitably think about Dean and when I thought about
Dean I would inevitably get a hard on.  I would
imagine his naked body pressed against mine, his aroma
filling my senses.  He had become the centre of my
masturbation fantasies, but each time after the climax
I would be filled with a heavy sense of longing which
no amount of fantasy could fulfil.

Dean and I had also begun to see each other socially.
Under normal circumstances I would not be so keen to
mix up my business and social lives but in this case I
just couldn't resist.  What the hell, strictly
speaking we will no longer be colleagues in a couple
of months' time.

"Hi Dean, how's it going?  Having fun?" I asked as I
popped my head into his office.

"Okay, and you?"  He replied, raising his head to meet
my eyes with a smile.  "Do you want to discuss the
client portfolio now?"

"Er no actually," I was beginning to blush, "I was
just thinking...  I'm meeting up with a few of my
friends for brunch this Sunday, maybe you'd like to
join us?  I did promise to lead you astray and, you
know, I am kind of taking pity on your lack of social
life here in London."

Dean stretched out his legs slowly and clasped his
hands behind his head, his smile widening to a grin.

"Look who's talking?  I thought you're the workaholic
with no social life!  At least I have an excuse as
I've only just arrived in town." He laughed, "But
yeah, I'd love to join you guys.  Maybe I can get to
quiz your friends about your dark secrets."

Now I was feeling a bit nervous -- maybe this is not
such a good idea after all.

"Besides, I'm looking at a flat to rent on Sunday
afternoon, maybe you could come with me and give me
your expert opinion since you know London so much
better than I do?  I'd hate to land myself in a dodgy
part of town."

"Great, I'd love to.  I'll send you the details
later."  I hope Dean didn't spot my giddy excitement.

We arranged to meet at a fairly casual restaurant with
views over the Thames.  It was a glorious autumn day
with clear skies, crisp air and just the merest hint
of a chill punctuating the warm air.  Dean and I were
joined by three of my friends and we had a very
pleasant time over delicious food and plenty of wine.
As the alcohol started to work its magic, my glances
at Dean became more frequent and less subtle.  There
he was, already feeling perfectly at ease despite
being surrounded by people he hardly knew, telling
anecdotes and sharing jokes.  My friends, for their
part, seem to be completely won over by his easy
charm.  Occasionally our eyes would meet across the
table and I could sense his grin turning down by just
a few degrees and his beautiful eyes taking on that
serious, contemplative look I recognise from our car
journeys.  As we return to our respective
conversations he would revert to normal just as
quickly.  Hmm maybe I don't look so attractive after
I've been drinking.

Whilst Dean was away from the table during a bathroom
break, my friend Petra, whom I've known since we were
at university together, turned to me and hushed in a
conspiratory tone, "Well, looks like our Tommy boy has
fallen for the good-looking Aussie hunk."

"What makes you think that?" I protested, though I
guess my deep flush and the fact that I almost dropped
my wine glass must have given the game away.

"Hey come on," Petra cooed, "It's a bit obvious
judging by the way you keep looking at him."

"Oh dear, was I really that unsubtle?  Next time I
must remember to drink less.  Yeah, Dean's a nice guy
but, you know, there's nothing between us."

"And why not?" she continued, "I think he likes you
too."

"Oh yeah?  And what makes you think that?"  I
exclaimed in mock surprise, though deep down I was
rather pleased.

"Hey trust me I'm a woman, I'm supposed to know these
things.  I also know you long enough to know that you
will lose him if you behave like your usual repressed,
closed up self."

"That's a bit unfair!"  I tried to defend myself,
though I know Petra is right.  I don't share my
feelings easily.  In business I am very forthright but
whenever I'm confronted with someone I like I just
don't seem to be ever able to pluck up my courage to
even ask him out.  I try to put it down to shyness,
but I know the real reason is that deep inside I am
scared shitless.  This time, however, I know things
will be different.  Dean is different.  I feel
different.  I'm sure when the time is right I will do
the right thing.  I hope.

After brunch Dean and I strolled along the river to
check out this rental flat, which by chance happens to
be not too far from the restaurant.  We talked for
most of the way, but the pauses in the conversation
were equally enchanting.  The silence did not feel
awkward but instead gave me an odd feeling of
contentment; it felt like we already knew each other
so well we were happy just to be together.

"So this is it," Dean said as he fumbled with the keys
once we located the correct flat in the attractive
riverside block, "Flat viewing number eight.  I hope
this is the one."

The agent had lent him the keys earlier on in the day
so we have all the afternoon to view the flat.  As we
threw the door open the first thing I noticed was the
way the living room was flooded with light.  Second
thing I noticed was the stunning river view afforded
by the floor-to-ceiling windows and wide balcony.  I
gasped as I made my way to the balcony, my eyes glued
to the panoramic view.  I was so absorbed by the view
that I failed to spot the rug on the living room floor
and promptly tripped over it.  Next thing I knew I was
flying head first towards the floor.  In an attempt to
restore my balance I stretched out my arms, trying to
grab whatever was at hand.  This, unfortunately,
turned out to be a flimsy side table which quickly
gave up the fight and joined me in my swift descend,
sending the telephone and a few other bits and pieces
which until then enjoyed an uneventful life sitting on
top of it, flying through the air.

I lied on the floor, dazed and confused, desperately
trying to look cool.  That wine was most definitely a
mistake.  My vision was soon filled with the hulking
form of Dean, who got down on one knee by my side, a
wide grin filling his face.

"Well, since you have already destroyed half the flat
I guess I'll have no choice but to take it!"  He
laughed.

"Uggh give me a hand!"  I felt like a clumsy boy being
admonished by an elder brother.  As Dean reached out
and offered me his hand, I decided he should not be
having all the laughs.  So I grabbed his arm with both
my hands and pulled them towards me with all my
weight.

"Whoa!"  Dean exclaimed as he landed half on top of me
in a thud, "You're stronger than I thought!"

"Hey I work out at the gym you know!"

For a few moments we both laughed so hard I did not
quite register how embarrassing our situation was.
After all, the man of my dreams was now flopped on top
of me, his body against mine in a big letter "X", his
hand locked in my firm grip.  As I surveyed the
situation I quickly developed a mild panic.  My heart
began to beat faster, my whole body stiffened and my
cheeks turned an embarrassing shade of cherry.  I
wasn't sure what I was feeling anymore.  Was it
excitement?  Anxiety?  Or just fear of the unknown?
What is a boy to do?

Dean must have sensed my embarrassment and confusion
but he was not exactly in a hurry to extricate himself
from his awkward position.  Instead, he slowly turned
on his side, his body still against mine, and planted
his elbow on the floor, propping up his head.  He
looked straight into my eyes and I saw again that
contemplative expression, as if he had no idea what to
do with me either.  I felt that for once the
confident, laid back Dean was just as nervous as I
was.  I returned his gaze, staring into his deep blue
eyes.  I was drawn by their power, swimming ever
closer to the vortex which I knew would pull me into
the core where secrets are revealed and fantasies
fulfilled.  Our gaze was locked for what seemed like
an eternity.  I still held his hand in mine, the grip
unbroken since I dragged him to the floor.  Much to my
surprise I could feel his thumb beginning to stroke my
hand.  It was the slowest, lightest touch which
nevertheless sent a thrill up my spine.  I couldn't
help but to feel a hard-on developing.  I had so
wanted to tell him there and then what I had suspected
all along, that I find him irresistibly attractive,
that I have fallen hopelessly in love with him, and
that I hope he would love me just as much in return.
But what courage I had was consumed quickly by fear of
the unknown.

"Dean, I can't breathe."  I blurted out.  Almost as
soon as I said the words I began to regret them, but
the moment was gone.

"Oh," his body stiffened as our hands disengaged, "I'm
sorry.  Of course."

Dean stood up quickly.  As he tore his beautiful blue
eyes away from mine I saw in them a hint of
disappointment and regret which he quickly covered up
with a forced laugh, as if nothing extraordinary had
happened.

"Oh, what a mess." I moaned as I propped myself up on
my elbows and stared into the mid distance.

"Yes, I know."

As we began to tidy up the place and reverted to our
normal banter, I knew all was lost.