Date: Fri, 26 Feb 1999 00:39:13 +0100
From: psyfon@mindless.com
Subject: Theory and Practive

Disclaimer =======================================================
This is fiction, in as much as anything can be.  Amongst other
things it is about homosexuality.  I assume that you are
accountable for your own actions.  If you read this in spite of
there being some reason that you should not, you are responsible
for whatever consequences come to pass.
Copyright (c) psyfon@mindless.com ================================
PsyFon reserves the right to be identified as the author of this
work and asks that you not seek to profit from this or derived
works.  Archive it, send it to friends, make hard copies and use
them as kindling.  Just don't steal it.  (Wow, a copyright notice,
the ultimate conceit!)
Comments =========================================================
If you have any thoughts or comments about this story I would love
to hear them.  Flames go to the null device.  My email address is:
psyfon@mindless.com               <URL:mailto:psyfon@mindless.com>
Other Stuff ======================================================
Especial thanks to /\/\, a generous and gentle critic;  this is so
much better for your time and thought.  Obviously, I'm responsible
for all the crap bits.
==================================================================


Theory and Practice
By PsyFon <psyfon@mindless.com>
12 November 1998 - 25 February 1999

Gaudy sodium lamps and what little light escaped from shuttered
shop windows bathed the rain-washed street in the unnatural glow
of the city.  Cold October drizzle had been falling steadily since
before lunch and showed no sign of stopping.  Earlier in the day
it had left everyone who could not escape indoors soaked and
shivering, but they were gone now;  people do not stay out late on
wet Monday nights unless they have to.  As I passed a closed
supermarket that specialised in the expensive end of cheap, a
soft, beaten voice said "'Scuse me?  You got 20p?"  I turned to my
right where I caught sight of a figure huddled in the shadows.  I
stopped mortician slab still, staring down at grey hair and an old
coat that looked as if they would rather be dead than stood in
front of me.  I wanted so much for whomever was there to be
somewhere else;  anywhere else, but looking up at my face, not
expectantly, not hopefully or with anticipation, just looking,
their eyes washing sluggishly about their sockets, fixed on
nothing in particular.  I had the money and I could have given it,
but I refused.  Resuming my stride, I left the grey hair and coat
hunched against the night.  I had been walking for the best part
of an hour, retracing steps friends and I had taken years before;
when hanging out and having a good time were reason enough, but
for me having no particular destination had become a bad habit.  I
continued on past buildings that hadn't changed in years, but they
no longer held the mystery they once did, they no longer prompted
thoughts of the secrets they might hide, of an adventure just
waiting to happen.

By the time I saw the all night snack bar I had walked a little
too far and I knew it.  Inside, fluorescent tubes banished the
shadows with clinical vigour, laying bare the plastic furniture
and almost colourless decor.  The place was empty save for the
poor soul pulling the night shift.  I propped up the counter and
looked out of the window while I waited for a black coffee and
bacon roll.  Lost in thought, I was surprised to see someone step
from the shadows and bustle through the door, wet training shoes
squelching as he walked, desperately trying to keep whatever he
held under his black duffle coat from falling to the ground;  he
failed and a collection of books hit the floor just before he
reached the counter.  From underneath the large hood came a
depressed, "Shit!" as the figure bent to retrieve them.  Without
thinking I knelt to lend a hand and found my self smiling and
staring at titles from a long time ago.  I picked up the closest
and flipped to the dedication, 'For those people who would be
philosophers given the chance.'

"Technical stuff," I said, not quite flatly.

I got a muffled, "Yuh, I s'pose," that was full of tiredness and
despondency.  Abruptly the figure stood and placed the books on a
table to his left, I followed suit.  Shivering involuntarily, he
pushed the hood from his head revealing slightly matted black hair
and a gaunt complexion that was made to look worse by the dark
bags under his green, almost feline eyes.

"I read Lansdale cover to cover three times before it sank in," I
said gesturing to the book I had been holding, "by the end of the
third reading I still found the intelligibility condition
unintelligible.  At least the way Lansdale has it."

"Huh, oh yuh, it's ah - " there was a pause of a few seconds as he
began to rummage around in his pockets for some change, "opaque."
>From the silence that greeted him and the look of consternation
that began to cross his face I gathered that the money he thought
he had was not to be found.

"Ah," I said to the attendant, "can you make that two bacon rolls
and two coffees."  The attendant grunted what I took to be some
kind of affirmation.  As I turned back to the stranger I stated 
rather than asked, "You do like bacon?"  Almost daring him to say
no.  

Taking his hands from empty pockets he mumbled, "Yuh, bacon's
cool, thanks."  We stood looking at the other, each on our own end
of an awkward silence.  I smiled nervously, but I did not drop my
eyes from his and he stared right back at me;  obviously curious 
as to why a complete stranger had just bought him supper.  He
wasn't alone in that, I didn't quite know myself.  He extended his 
hand saying, "I'm Aaron, Aaron Mackie."  Full of reserve, maybe 
even grateful for the food and perhaps a little conversation;  I 
couldn't tell from his tone, warm and polite with just a hint of 
curiosity.

"Nick Craven," I said, shaking his hand firmly.

"So, I'm curious," getting right to the point of it.  "You often
buy food for total strangers?"

"No, not usually," smiling.  "What can I say, it's your lucky
day," sounding much more sure of myself than I felt.

"Not really," he said flatly, I cocked my head to one side.  He
jumped in a little hurriedly before I spoke, "Um, sorry.  That
wasn't meant to sound quite the way it did.  What I meant was
something like.  What sets me apart?"

"I thought as much," trying to wipe what must be becoming an inane
grin from my face.  "It's not every day you see philosophy
students about, and Lansdale's on the abstract side of abstract.
As I said, technical stuff."

"I'm cognitive science, not philosophy," just a little prickly,
"but, well - this stuff's a condition of the course."  He sighed
and ran his hand through his hair before continuing.  "It's
killing me though."

"Not going well then?" the pitch of my voice rising politely.
Like so many questions this one was not quite redundant, despite
having already been answered, asked merely to get a reply.

"I read it, I listen, but I must be a dunce or somethin' 'cos it
just doesn't go in.  Give me an adaptive network or pattern
discovery heuristic to fix and I'm fine," shaking his head, "but
this."  He sighed heavily.

"So where's your problem?" I asked.  From there it went back and
forth while we waited for supper.  When our coffee and food
arrived we found a table and chatted on.  Aaron was quick, no
doubt I was a little slower than I used to be and it was indeed
technical stuff, but once I got back on and recalled the moves I
had made in seminars that took place an age ago, it began to seem
like I was flying with it, pulling mental one eighties and not
losing a premise.  It was thrilling, real, I felt alive.

"So," Aaron asked nursing his fourth coffee, "you used to be a
philosopher?"

"Not really," I said, "I studied it as a post-grad, but well,
things sorta got messy and I just," sounding aimless and a little
lost, "well I just drifted,"

"Shit," he said in a flat tone, "you make the most difficult stuff
seem easy.  I'd have sworn you taught this, or somethin'."

"Me," snickering, "nah, I catch rats 'n' mice 'n' stuff people
don't want."

"Man that's a waste," he consoled.  "Why?"

"I dunno," I said a little too shortly.  I had a good idea of why,
but I wasn't about to share it with someone who wasn't quite a
stranger, no matter how amiable he seemed.

"You don't look like you should be doing pest control.  Don't you
mind all those dead rodents?"

"They're just rodents Aaron.  Alive and all, but just rodents."

"I'm not sure I could kill anything," he paused for breath.  "On
the radio the other day, someone was saying they're immune to the
poison used, er..," he stumbled for the name.

"Warfarin," I offered.  This conversation was getting decidedly
grim.

"That's right, Warfarin."

"No, they're not - people just don't lay enough bait and what they
do lay, they put in the wrong places - leave enough for ratty to
come back to five or six times and he'll die."

"How's it work?"

"It's an anticoagulant," I said quietly.  I seldom liked to talk
about the rather grisly nature of my job.  "They bleed to death."
I tried not to think about how the rodentia I was paid to control,
a wonderful euphemism for kill, died.  I suspected slowly and in
some degree of pain.  Rat or Mouse as a concept, as the name of a
species that is, for the most part, a health risk;  it's easy to
lay poison for that, but an individual death, perhaps long and
drawn out, I find that harder to deal with.  My boss had once
called it hopeless sentimentalism - I hoped to never become as
cold as that.  The personal is where the real tragedy lies and to
lose sight of that, to be blind to it, to not understand it, to
revel in the slow death of anything.  Such a brutal way to feel,
such a human way to feel.  The rats, the insects, whatever the
pest, all of them simply act in accordance with their nature,
fulfilling their place in the universe and I take no pleasure in
stopping them.  Pest control with a conscience, how delightfully
perverse.  I heard Aaron mutter something, "Sorry, I didn't catch
that."

"I said it sounds gruesome."

"Yeh, I try not to think about it," stifling a yawn.  "Look, I
have to go - up for work in the morning and all that."

"Yuh, it's kinda late.  Um," he hedged, "I know it may be taking a
liberty, but - ah, can I call you.  I have more of this to do.  If
I get bogged down it would be - " he paused searching for a word,
"nice to have someone to talk to?"

"Well," I smiled, "I s'pose."  We parted after he wrote down my
number.  When I got back to my flat I emptied the last of my
bourbon into a glass and nursed it before crawling into bed.

-0-0-0-

I walked from the shower, picked up the ringing phone and greeted
whoever was on the other end with my usual hello.  "Is Nick there
please?" came the reply.

"Yeh, that's me.  Who's callin'"

"It's Aaron, you bought me supper a week or two ago."  He didn't
need to remind me.

"Yeh," I said rather more brightly than I'd intended, "how're
things?"

"Not so bad, thanks.  You said I could call you and maybe get
together for a coffee or something," he sounded expectant and a
little nervous.

"I remember, so what are you bogged down with?"  I wondered
whether he could hear me grinning down the phone.

"Chaotic vector analysis of extensionally quantified sense data
realised as multidimensional state spaces."

"Um," smiling I paused for effect, "and the English translation?"

"Oh right, sorry, Krakow and Pettigrew?"

"See," I chuckled, "six words and no technobabble, we'll have you
speaking English yet."

"You know this stuff?" Aaron asked brightly.

"Uh huh, when do you want to meet?"

"Well, um, would now be OK?" he hedged.  "I know it's Sunday and
short notice and you probably have things to do...."

"Now's cool," I said, cutting his babbling.  "I just need to get
dressed.  Where's good for you?"

"Er, anywhere's fine with me - your place?"  I didn't fancy going
out and I preferred my own coffee.  After giving Aaron directions
I hung up.  He was knocking at my door fifteen minutes later
looking healthier than the first time we had met.  His black hair
was washed and parted down the centre, curling just a little 
either side of his eyes, which were now free of their unsightly 
bags.  I liked this less haggard Aaron much more.

"Come in," I said, "you're looking better."

With a mumbled, "Thanks," he stepped through the door and smiled,
maybe just a little self consciously, "sleep helps, and my first
decent grade in philosophy."

"See, I told ya you aren't thick," as I closed the door.  Aaron 
grinned, but said nothing.  Walking through to the kitchen I
continued, "C'mon through, I'll put the kettle on.  Tea or 
coffee?"

"Tea'ad be good, black, no sugar."

A couple of hours later I ran my hands through my hair and looked
at Aaron slouched in a dining chair opposite me.  His eyes were
fixed on the table and his fingers rested just below his chest,
interlocked and pointing skyward.  He had not spoken for the past
five minutes, a picture of concentration and study.  "So?"  I
prompted.

"Huh, oh yeh," sounding distracted.  "It makes sense."

"So ah," I paused, "if it makes sense, what a..."

"Am I thinking about?"  Aaron finished for me.  Smiling, he sat
up, straightening his back.

"Precisely."

"I was wondering what you do in your spare time.  When you're not
killing mice 'n' rats 'n' stuff people don't want."

"Well," I said smiling at my own words, "I, uh, don't know.
Nothing much, my time just sort of disappears I s'pose."

"So how about letting some disappear with me tonight?" unsure of
whether he knew how suggestive that sounded I raised an eyebrow
and smiled while I waited for Aaron to continue.  "They're showing
'The Maltese Falcon' at the university's film theatre.  You want
to come?"

"Sounds good to me, I've never seen it on a big screen."

"Me either, and Peter Lorre is just so cool," Aaron almost cooed.

"'S funny," I said, "most people watch that movie for Bogie."

"Yeh well, maybe," Aaron paused before changing the subject.  "So
you live alone?"

"Uh huh, I'm a solitary kind of bloke," I smiled raising my hands
above my head and stretching.  "No pets, no partner, no parents,
no worries."

"Yuh!" Aaron grunted.  "Like you're so lucky," with more than a
hint of irony.  I stared back at him impassively, suddenly feeling
alone, but I said nothing.  "Sorry," softly, tenderly.  "That
didn't sound very nice."

"'S all right," it wasn't and he was right;  it did sound kind of
mean, but I didn't want an argument.  Instead I asked if he would
like another cup of tea.  We spent what remained of the afternoon
talking about whatever came to mind.  After a couple of sandwiches
and an apple we left to see the film.  I returned home alone
having said good night to Aaron outside the university.  I sat in
my living room with a half tumbler of rum to warm me before I went
to bed.  I didn't bother to turn on the lights, not that the
darkness hid the emptiness of the place.  I had had fun, a good
time.  I liked Aaron;  he made me laugh and his constant questions
about philosophy pushed me in a way that most anything else never
would and most likely never could.  Despite what I had said
earlier it wasn't all right and I knew it.  The darkness and the
silence said so.  The nights I would spend walking nowhere
screamed it so loud my ears rang.  I was alone.  I had friends, we
would talk, share a joke or two, but like the song says, 'Your
friends only go so far, however close friends think they are.'  I
stared off into the darkness and sighed.

-0-0-0-

"Uh huh, so when're you thinking of inviting yourself round?"  I
asked Aaron as we walked towards the swimming baths.  The sky was
a clear blue and a bitter wind whipped across our faces turning
our noses and ears red.  Aaron and I had got together a couple of
times a week since going to see 'The Maltese Falcon' at the end of
October.  Mostly we would sit and talk about TV, books that we had
read or some part of philosophy.

"Well, we've got to have the stuff on Wittgenstein in by the end
of the term, so I was thinking this weekend."

"Err, not really," I said hesitantly.  "I'm off cycling, I doubt
I'll be back before Sunday evening."

"Cycling, but it's December!" he sounded concerned.  "You'll
freeze or die or something," making a voice and pulling a face
that left me in no doubt he questioned my sanity.  He wasn't the
first.

"You sound like a parent," I quipped more harshly than I'd
intended.  "I'll be fine," just a little condescendingly.

"Where're you going anyway?"  I couldn't quite decide whether he
was genuinely interested or simply being polite.

"Just in the hills," I said.  "It's a regular thing - sort of."

"Well if you say so," sounding less than convinced.  "If the
weekend is no good, how 'bout Monday?" he offered.

"Sounds fine to me."  Approaching the baths we made small talk
about my understanding boss, allowing me to take a weekday
afternoon for myself.  "I'm owed the time," I said.  "I don't see
why I shouldn't take it," just before we stepped into the baths'
air conditioned foyer and then, after paying, through to the
changing area.  The heated tiles were warm to my feet and the
smell of chlorine perfumed the air.  Heavy and overbearing, the
smell took me back to my childhood and the many Saturday
afternoons that my friends and I had spent splashing about as
pre-teens, making a nuisance of ourselves and generally pushing
our luck a little further than was wise, but like most children
we weren't known for our wisdom.

Lost in my reverie I almost didn't hear Aaron call, "You ready
yet?" from the cubicle next to mine as I fastened my trunks
around my hips some minutes later.

"Yup," I answered, gathering my clothes and placing them in one of
the lockers opposite.  "You swim often?" I questioned as we
walked toward the foot-bath and pool, only half listening for a
reply as I followed Aaron a pace or so behind, mesmerised by his
youthful figure.  Aaron kept fit, he didn't work out, that much
was obvious.  There was no obscenely proportioned neck, no
tree-trunk thighs, no bulging muscles.  This I already knew,
clothes can only hide so much and Aaron's often hung loosely, but
to have it so elegantly confirmed was a pleasant surprise.  His 
legs and arms were lightly tanned in the way you would expect for
someone who didn't go out of their way to catch the sun through 
the summer.  Feeling a little self-conscious, I looked half at my 
feet and half in front of me, only to find myself staring straight
at Aaron's bum.  At the way it moved as he walked, at the way his
blue trunks lay taut across his cheeks, at the way the light 
dispersed across the material and highlighted the curves
underneath.  It's not that I hadn't thought about the way Aaron
looked in the past.  I had, but not quite like this.  I had
noticed his smile or the way his hair hung, his slight five
o'clock shadow when he neglected to shave or the way the light
might play across his green eyes.  All those moments, those
incidental vagaries that passed through my vision, they were just
that, moments;  however pleasing, they passed.  So I looked at
Aaron's bum in spite of my nervousness and I told my self that I
didn't care.  As bottoms went, I liked it;  small, slightly round,
pert - Aaron's.  I liked the light creamy colour of his lower back
and the way his shoulder blades, now only inches from my chest,
moved when he walked - which he had stopped doing.  I liked the
way his ribs felt under the soft skin of his abdomen when I placed
my hands there to stop us from colliding as I moved my self to his
side.  "Um, er - sorry."  I said, looking into his face and
feeling my cheeks flush.

"I said about twice a week," looking at me quizzically.

"Err.., what's'at?" I asked, giving what I hoped was my best
deadpan reply.

"That's how often I swim," not taking his eyes from mine, "twice a
week."

"Oh, yeh right - sorry," I stammered.  Aaron said nothing, but
smiled a little too knowingly for my liking.  With my most
decisive tone of mumble I gave a quick, "C'mon," plunged through
the icy foot-bath and headed for the side of the pool hoping that
my ears would stop glowing.

With Aaron beside me I eased myself into the shallow water, taking
care not to squash any of the many small children.  The place was
busy, but not packed, there was plenty of room to swim lengths in
the lanes set aside for this and that's what the two of us did.
When we occasionally stopped to rest and chat, idly treading water
in the deeper reaches of the pool, I tried and failed to not stare
at Aaron's teenage chest.  In the weeks that we had known each
other I hadn't asked his age, he might be twenty or twenty one,
but he still had a teenage chest, untouched by hair and with
small, pink nipples that I was beginning to think about nibbling.
When he bobbed up out of the water to his waist, just before
beginning to swim once more, I enjoyed watching the water cascade
over his shoulders, down between his pecs and across his abdomen
before he fell forward into a sleek crawl.  Not quite thirty and
here I was, already behaving like an old letch, sometimes I scared
myself.  Tired and aching from over exertion, I got out of the
pool before Aaron so that I could take my time showering.

Later, as we neared the door to my building Aaron piped up from an
uncharacteristically contemplative mood, "So, you really haven't
been swimming in eight years?"

"That's right," I winced as another spasm shot through my back,
"so don't rub it in."

"Well if you will show off?" a little cockily.

"Show off?" I queried, feigning innocence.

"Uh huh, forty five lengths worth," Aaron grinned broadly showing
white teeth.  "You're not as young as you used to be?"

"You can go off people Aaron Mackie," smiling as I unlocked the
door and ushered him through.

"You really should stay in shape," he chided.

"I am in shape," I retorted, hoping that Aaron wasn't going to get
fixated on this.  "Just not forty odd lengthsw'th."

"Well maybe - give me your key and I'll run up and put the kettle
on."  With a wink he added, "wouldn't want you to aggravate your
back rushing up the stairs," barely able to contain a boyish
giggle.

"There you go smart-arse," handing Aaron my keys.  It was worth it,
if only to watch him run up the first flight.

On the screen Bugs Bunny got the better of Daffy Duck again and
next to me Aaron laughed like a child.  It was nearly nine in the
evening and we had spent the last hour watching a video of
cartoons pulled from the TV.  Hilarious slapstick that never
failed to make me laugh, no matter how many times I watched them.
"'S funny," Aaron said, his arm touching mine.  "I never figured
you for a cartoon freak."

"Huh," I said sarcastically, "thanks Aaron.  You're not so well
adjusted yourself."  I rubbed my back, but it did little to soothe
the ache.

"Still hurts?" he asked.

"Yeh, yeh," I retorted good naturedly.  "I shouldn't show off so
much."

"You got any of that 'Deep Heat' type stuff?"  sounding mildly
concerned.  "I can rub some on your back."

"Ummm," I said slowly rising from the sofa and walking to the
bathroom.  "Now that you mention it."

"You better lay on the floor," he said taking the small tube of
ointment from me when I returned.  I lay with my head resting on
my crossed forearms idly looking up at Bugs Bunny pull off yet
another impossible caper.

"So, ah - where's it hurt," Aaron asked softly.

"About here," I said rubbing the lower part of my back an inch or
so below my ribs.  He knelt by my side and pulled my shirt half
way up my back and then started to softly massage the ointment
into my skin with small circular motions.  I sighed heavily as 
the initially cool substance began to have its warming effects 
and I felt my aching muscles flushed and hot.

"Whenever I use this stuff," Aaron said, his voice smiling, "I
can't help but think of those urban myths about people mistaking
it for a lubricant."

"Yeh," chuckling.  "Remember to wash your hands before you - er -
take a pee."

"Yuh right," he replied.  Laughing, he continued to gently knead
my back even when he had finished applying whatever the magic
stuff was.  Sometimes he would spread his fingers and slowly move
his splayed hands over my skin in a vague circular motion to just 
below my shoulder blades, or push just a little more firmly with
both thumbs, easing away the tension.  Bugs Bunny faded into the
background and I began to doze, barely aware of myself moaning
quietly, lost to the pleasure of someone else's touch.  I could
have been there for hours, who knew.  "Feel better?" he asked
quietly.

"Mmm-wonderful," I said dreamily.  "You've done that before."

"Um - once or twice."

"Who was the lucky girl?" I asked absently without a thought.

"Hmm, oh," Aaron stumbled, "er, no one important."  After a short
pause he continued nervously, "Look, about the weekend?"

"Uh huh," I was more than a little curious as to what Aaron was
after and who the lucky soul was to have had his talented hands on
their torso.

"Leave me your route and call me when you get back, the weather
really will be shit up there.  Who knows what might happen,"
swallowing nervously.

"Hmm," smiling as I rolled on my back to look up at Aaron.  "Yes
Mum."

"And you call me a smart-arse?" he questioned, laughing, but a
little exasperated.

"'K" I said, "you win," and went to find an old map on which I
could quickly plot my route.  Before Aaron left I arranged to call
him by six on Sunday, four days hence.  Unable to sleep I settled
to bed with a larger than usual tumbler of something strong in the
hope that it would quiet my overactive mind.  It didn't and I
slowly turned over all the reasons Aaron might have stumbled
around the subject of whom he gave massages to, however hackneyed
they seemed.

-0-0-0-

'The moon was full.  The hounds, they bayed.  A darkness at my
back, The moon wa.,' and so it went, but the author escaped me,
the title also, like the rest of the poem, was nowhere to be
found.  So I lay with just those fevered first lines looking up
into the heart of Orion's splendour as I waited for the
confirmation of my mortality.  My cycle lay several hundred feet
below me.  If the frame wasn't too badly mangled it might need
nothing more than a new group-set and forks.  Pointless, I was
stuck on a ledge in the middle of nowhere, with no way to escape
impending hypothermia and I was making plans for a tomorrow that
I would not see.  Regardless, I carried on thinking about how I
might scrape the money together to replace my bike, even though
it did nothing to lessen the effects of the biting wind that
whistled about me.  Try as I might, I still couldn't quite work
out how I'd managed to leave the road, let alone end up here,
neither halfway up nor halfway down the side of a quarry that I
had forgotten existed.

One thing was certain, I would not be helping Aaron with
Wittgenstein tomorrow.  Slowly, shrouded in regret and sadness,
the thought settled heavily all the way to my stomach.  For the
first time in the best part of a decade I felt cheated by what I
took to be a premature end.  In the past I would not have cared
about what is, after all, the way of things, but now the idea of
not seeing Aaron again angered me intensely.  In just a couple of
months I had come to treasure his company, his insight, his vigour
and lately, just the sight of him seemed sufficient.  Love?  No it
couldn't be that, I had cured myself of that delusion years 
before.  I don't do love, out of the question.  Lust then?
Dressed up and disguised as something that started with an
accident, a chance meeting of two kindred spirits, but lust
nonetheless.  No, sublimation's overrated, I know who I am and why
I do the things that I do.  I don't need to deceive myself, even
when I don't like what I find.  It wasn't quite by chance though,
the way Aaron and I met.  I need not have bought him supper, I
might even have offered before ordering, but I barely gave him the
choice and I'm not usually so presumptuous.  What was it I saw in
that demoralised figure who came traipsing in from the rain,
barely able to lift his soaked feet from the floor.  What
compelled me to help when I had earlier refused someone in greater
need?  Aaron was alive, the old coat and hair was not.  Looking
into his tired green eyes I had seen questions, hope,
understanding;  the possibility of making my life a nicer place,
even if it were just for a little while.  The old coat and hair
offered nothing.  Such a dismal indictment, that my compassion
doesn't extend to the pond-life of humanity.

Time passed, Orion continued in its graceful arc and I got colder.
Barely conscious, I talked with images of friends from years
before that conjured themselves in the haze.  Karen, the girl I
lost my virginity to, blond and petite.  Now with children, a job
and a messy divorce.  Peter, the boy I lost my heart to just a
short while later.  A muscular swimmer who loved horses and sex,
we had fallen out of touch, he might be anywhere now.  I regretted
postponing phonecalls that wound up never being made and putting
off writing letters for so long that they simply remained
unwritten.  Faces from the odd casual encounter of my early
twenties;  students like me, fresh and alive, but that was before I
stopped caring.  And Aaron looked down on me from such a long way
off, clad only in trunks with a towel round his neck, he must be
freezing in the wind.  His wavy black hair tousled and out of
place.  Could I see regret in his eyes, a little anger perhaps?
'I told you so,' he said.  'You'll die or freeze or something.'
Smart-arse!  But such a beautiful image, windblown cheeks and a
broad smile.  He faded into the blackness and I lay alone.  With
no nightcap to warm me I slept, unconscious and uncaring.

-0-0-0-

"Hey!  Az!" Lucy called sternly.  "What gives?"

With a stumbling, "Huh, oh, er," Aaron gave up all hope of getting
back with the plot and looked at her, utterly lost.  Like Aaron
she was an undergraduate in cognitive science.  Unlike Aaron,
unassisted, she found the philosophy tiresome rather than
impenetrable, neurobiology on the other hand, was a different
matter.  Next to her Bill looked back impassively, a graduate in
philosophy, he'd spent the last two years doing more of the same,
and the past six months getting a crash course in computers at the
universitie's AI lab.  The three of them had been kicking ideas
around regularly since they'd met in a shared class.

"You've been on planet pointless all afternoon?" she questioned
rather than stated.

"Huh, yeh.  I s'pose." more muddled than evasive.

"So?" her exasperation clear.  Bill remained silent.

"Maybe we should do this tomorrow?" Aaron replied meekly and
rather too hopefully.

"That's not what I meant," lowering her tone, tilting her head
forward.

"Yeh Az," Bill finally piped up, "Wossup?"

"Err, I'm just a bit distracted, that's all."

"Tell us somethin' we don't know," Lucy shot back, her agitation
growing.

"Don't worry," Bill consoled as Aaron looked at him quizzically.
Leaning forward he whispered with his best conspirator's smile,
"She's about to lose a bet, which means buying me a beer."  This
brought a confused exclamation from Aaron and a sarcastic grunt
from Lucy.

Bill said no more and the three looked at each other before Aaron
did what was expected by his two friends and finally broke the
silence, "What's the bet?"

"That you're sleeping with someone," Lucy stated bluntly.  Aaron
looked from her to Bill and back again.  Lucy continued, "It'd
explain why you've been so dizzy of late."

Smiling, Bill added, "So you may as well put her out've her
misery and tell us who the lucky bloke is?"

"Errr," blushing a delicate shade of crimson Aaron mumbled, "sorry
Bill, you're down a pint."

"'K, you aren't sleepin' with 'im?" Bill pressed, "but you want
to be?"  In spite of himself Aaron blushed just a little more 
deeply and grinned.  Both Bill and Lucy looked him straight in 
the eye and it was all he could do to not dissolve into laughter.
It wasn't the first time he'd been on the receiving end of their
penetrating intuition and he knew better than to flog a dead
horse.

"Enough already."  Sighing with resignation Aaron added, "I guess
I've been sorta preoccupied."  Lucy leaned forward with
anticipation giving him a meaningful stare.  As usual Bill
played his hand with the serenity of a tortoise and simply
inclined his head, which probably meant he was just as anxious to
know as Lucy.

"His - er, name's Nick.  I think he used to be a philosopher.  He
helped me with Lansdale over a bacon butty and a coffee;  we sort
of got to be friends after that."  Smiling affectionately he
added, "Now I find m'self thinking about delicate grey eyes,
unkempt blond hair and a sad smile instead of-ve?"  Looking at
Lucy for help.

"Neural Darwinism."

"Yuh, bloody Neural Darwinism.  I d'know,  I'm a soddin' mess,"
Aaron's exasperation all too obvious.  "I don't even know that
he's gay."

"And you've known him how long?" Lucy interrupted.

"Since early October."

"Christ Az," quickly from Bill, "it's a wonder you ever got
laid!"

"And that," Lucy quite literally chirped, "from a man who wears
padlocked undies."

"Anyhow," Aaron raised his voice mildly, hoping to head off what
was sure to become an in-depth analysis of sexual politics.  But
when he continued, there was more resignation than anything else,
"He does pest control.  The bloke's practically a genius and he
catches rats.  What a waste."

At this Bill raised an enquiring eyebrow before asking carefully,
"Second name of Craven?"

"Yuh," Aaron exclaimed, his voice sharp with curiosity.  "You
know him?"

"Know of him." Bill corrected.  "As an undergraduate he wrote the
book on why simulation theory is a crock of shit and his undergrad
thesis is required reading for the philosophy of computation MA.
He studied here under Trish Wilcott."  Lucy whistled softly,
approvingly.  Aaron stared stupidly at Bill who added with just
the slightest hint of awe, "And all before he was 22."

Unable to contain herself Lucy asked Bill the obvious question,
"You know why he's catching rats?"

"The story is that about seven years ago there was some trouble,
He'd started his doctorate, something about," Bill shook his head
as he struggled to recall the details, "infinite sets and
intention."  Rather too dismissively thought Aaron.  "You can find
his notes in the library."  Bill took great care to point out that
whilst he'd read them, it wasn't really his field and everything
was consequently, "a bit fuzzy."  Both Aaron and Lucy interpreted
this as Bill's way of saying he hadn't understood a word.

"Bill," Aaron pleaded impatiently, "get to it will ya."

"Oh right, yeh.  Well he was a graduate teaching assistant by then
and it seems that one night he was walking home from the library
when he found one of his students practically in pieces on the
ground.  It turned out that a coupl've other philosophy students
had given him a work over 'cos he was gay and they'd read too much
Nietszche or Hobbes or somethin'."  Aaron flinched and bit his
bottom lip.  Not just because of the retelling of violence, not
just because of the truth of it and not just because it scared
him silly that there were people who'd still do that;  but simply
because he always felt a little disgusted and a little shame that
he was part of the same species.  Bill continued, "Our learned
thugs were done for aggravated assault and er, the poor bloke they
did over graduated with a two two, but Craven never really got over
it.  Within six months he quit saying he didn't see the point."

"So, uh," Aaron questioned, "how come you're such an authority?"

"After I found his notes and I'd read his stuff on simulation I
started asking around.  It seems he left his mark on the
philosophy department."  Aaron and Lucy listened carefully as
Bill related what he knew.  "Old Tommy Hilson was well pissed;
he was Craven's supervisor."  Bill added proudly, "He's mine too.
Anyway," pausing for breath, "Hilson said that after the attack
Craven was kinda depressed."

"And that's why he left?" Lucy asked, not really being able to
put it together.

"I s'pose," offered Bill.  "No one's really sure;  maybe with life
and work and everything else that attack just confirmed how shit
the world can be.  Everyone was sorry to see him go and not just
'cos he was bloody intelligent.  A nice bloke by all accounts."

"Yeh well," Lucy chipped in, "you'll get no argument from Aaron."

"Well," Aaron snorted, glaring at her, "he is, and not just in the
way you mean," almost as an afterthought.

"So," Bill said, "if you like him so much, why the long face
today?"

"He was uh, s'posed to call by six to say that he'd got back all 
right;  he's bin cycling in the hills," exhaling gently.  Looking
at his watch pointedly Aaron added, "it's nearly ten to seven 
now," his implication clear.

"Well Az," Lucy stated bluntly, "maybe you should call 'im."
Aaron got no answer when he phoned Nick's number;  likewise, the
door to his flat remained closed when the three of them called by
only a half hour later and his neighbours confirmed that they hadn't
seen Nick all weekend.  Just before eight Aaron reported his friend
missing and began to wait for the local search and rescue to bring
him the bad news.

-0-0-0-

I caught Aaron somewhere between a smile and a frown as I watched
him walk slowly towards my hospital bed.  "Hey,' I croaked tiredly
and gestured for him to sit close by.

"Hey yourself," his voice quiet and sullen.  For what seemed like
the best part of forever we just looked at each other.

"Thank you," I said quietly, simply.  What else was there to say?
Aaron remained silent, looking at me as if he were trying to
discern some hidden drive or power, some reason why I might
attempt something so dumb as to cycle out alone in the hills,
especially with the temperature eight below and dropping.

"I said you were stupid to go," not so much an 'I told you so' as
a 'Why?'  I wasn't sure I could answer that.

"I know," I sighed gently.  When the silence became uncomfortable,
"Shit happens," shrugging my shoulders, my failed nonchalance
obvious.

"Yeh, shit happens," his tone somewhere between bitterness and
despondency, "there's no need to roll in it."

"It was just an accident," I snapped trying to grasp some
perspective.  "I'll be OK," a little more gently.  I didn't want
to fight with Aaron.

"You nearly died!" an angry whisper.  I could tell he wanted to
shout, to drum it into my head so deep that I would never forget.
I couldn't blame him for that.  I had nearly died.  Waking up in a
hospital had been a shock.  In fact, I was surprised to wake up at
all.  I'd dismissed any idea of an afterlife a long time ago and I
had been certain that I would die;  waking up had not been a part
of the plan.  If Aaron hadn't reported me missing I would, in all
likelihood, have passed along peacefully, a quiet and unnoticed
death at the end of a quiet and unnoticed life.

"But I didn't!" sounding far too harsh.  I'd swear that Aaron
winced.  "Aaron, look, I," taking a breath as much for the time as
the oxygen.  "What can I say, it was stupid to go," a little
wearily.  I didn't add that I had done it other years with no
trouble;  but then, I'd had no particular reason to come back.

"I, I was worried," sighing and biting his lip.  "Before they
found you, I was pissed at you," casting his eyes toward the bed
clothes, "that you went.  Then," Aaron swallowed nervously, "then
I felt guilty for that."  I looked at my hands, glanced around the
ward quickly and when there was no where else to look, I looked at
Aaron.  I felt the corners of my mouth turn into the beginnings of
a nervous smile, vainly, I tried to find something interesting
beneath my fingernails.  "Now, I kinda feel pissed at you again,"
the regret in his voice all too evident.

"I thought you might."

"Look," Aaron hedged, "I'm sorry, I just came to see that you're
all right"

"I've been worse." I wanted so much to sound contrite, but I
didn't.

"Good," looking around the ward uncomfortably.  "How's the food?"
he asked, obviously finding this as difficult as I was, he'd start
talking about the weather next.

"Awful, I've had a couple of days too much."  Aaron nodded and
gave me a well practised smile that was reserved for those times
when honesty would have been far to impolite.  "I'm sorry I missed
helping you with Wittgenstein," changing the subject in the 
absence of something better to say.

"Yeh, me too," he paused.  "I'm glad you're OK Nick."  Looking
away he continued, "I'm going to my sister's for Christmas.  I
should be back early January.  I'll call you."

"Yeh, sure Aaron," I said.  I hoped that I would see him again,
but I wasn't certain.  "Have a good holiday?"

"You too," glumly.  Then he was gone.

-0-0-0-

After I was released from the hospital I spent the last couple of
weeks before Christmas doing not very much.  My Doctor insisted I
not work until January.  The days passed slowly and the evenings
were as daunting as ever, left alone in the dark with my thoughts
and a tumbler or two of whatever I could find;  it didn't even
take the edge off the nights anymore.  To begin with I thought
about the past, the friends I had lost touch with, the words I had
not spoken.  I thought about dying, but most of all I thought
about Aaron.  I did what all good philosophers do, took what I saw
apart and hoped the bits I found told me how it all worked.  It
wasn't just about sex.  True enough I did want to lick my way from
his toes to his head, to have him squirm with ecstasy at my touch,
to taste every delightful inch.  When it came to it though, I
simply felt better when I knew that Aaron would be around than when
I knew he would not;  when I knew he was all right than when I
thought he might not be.  He had been so unhappy at the hospital.
For the first time in years my well-being mattered to someone other
than myself, and if I were honest, it hadn't mattered all that much
to me before October.  What I did affected how Aaron felt and it
both thrilled and scared me.  I didn't want that kind of
responsibility.  I didn't want to be alone either.  God, sometimes
I could be thickheaded;  to have to nearly die for such mundane
enlightenment.  And I had pissed Aaron off royally in the
process.  

There was just a week or more before Christmas the first time he 
phoned.  As luck would have it I was shopping, but that short 
message on my machine saying he'd try again later and to take care
of my self was reassuring beyond belief.  I knew then, that I
would see Aaron in the new year and I felt good about that.  Over
the next few days we talked briefly, Aaron seemed preoccupied with
my health, my diet, the amount of alcohol I consumed and telling
me he was sorry about being a jerk at the hospital.

In the past few years Christmas day had been a quiet affair that I
had taken to spending alone, it wasn't so much a choice as
something I did by default.  I simply had no one else to spend it
with.  The phone rang midmorning.  Had it been another year I
would have been surprised;  no one called on Christmas day, it
just didn't happen.  But this wasn't another year and I picked up
the receiver with anticipation.  "Lo?" I questioned 
enthusiastically.

"Merry Christmas Nick, you all right?" came the voice of a very
chirpy Aaron.

"Aaron, yeh, Merry Christmas."  Smiling I continued, "It's good to
hear from you.  Thanks for your gift, it came in the post
yesterday."  The day before a small parcel had arrived with
instructions not to open it until Christmas day.  I recognised
neither the post mark nor the writing on the address label,
shaking it gently revealed nothing.  I should have had no idea who
had sent it, but there was likely only one candidate.  The urge to
rip the packaging from it on Christmas eve had been almost
overwhelming.

"You didn't open it 'tll today did you?"  he asked sternly.  "I'll
know if y' did."

"No, I waited," laughing a little.  "That jam's truly awful."
Aaron had sent me a jar of banana and gooseberry jam and a copy of
'Cycling for Beginners'.  The joke wasn't lost on me.

"Thanks a lot," he squeaked in mock petulance.  "Have you any idea
how long it took to find that?"

"I'm more concerned about where you got it?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know."  I smiled at the implication
as he continued, "be sure to read that book cover to cover."

"Yuh right, I was riding bikes before you were born Aaron Mackie."

"Really!"  feigning absolute incredulity.  "I'd never have
guessed."

"Cheeky sod," I laughed.  Our banter continued for a little while.
Like many conversations it contained nothing of substance.  I was
convinced Aaron just wanted to hear me speak.  I was certainly
happy simply knowing he was on the other end of the phone.

-0-0-0-

I stepped into the corner shop near the end of my lunch hour on
the first working day of the new year "Now then Nick, y'all
right?" asked the blond-haired girl behind the counter.

"Not so bad," I replied.  "You?"

"Yeh, sound.  'S payday."

"On a Wednesday?"  I questioned.

"You know Henry," rolling her eyes, "always did run this place in
a queer way."

"Well, I s'pose its being payday is cool," handing her my paper,
"kinda odd though."  Looking at the shelf behind her I said, "I'll
have a bottle of JD as well, thanks."

"'Bit early, even for you," raising her eyebrow before turning to
get the bourbon from the shelf.  It was early, but I wouldn't be
back from work until late and I didn't fancy a night without the
comfort of something warm.

"Yeh, right," with just a hint of sarcasm.  She placed the bottle
on the counter and smiled wanly.  "I know, I know," I mumbled,
"this stuff'll kill me."  She gave me a look that fell somewhere
between exasperation and pity.

"Nick, you're the only gay monk I've ever met."

"Don't tell me, I should get out more!"

"Well you should, it'd do you good."

"That's hardly certain," I shot back.

"So what did ya do for Christmas?"

"Ummm."  I really didn't want to answer that.

"Kinda proves my point, don'tcha think?"

"You're right," I said, "Ya know, you can keep the bourbon.  I'll
try counting sheep tonight - or somethin'."  I didn't quite know
where that had come from.  I'd been putting my self to bed with a
night cap for a long time - I wondered if I looked as surprised as
I felt.

"Good," she said turning and putting the bottle back, "tastes like
shit anyway.  Maybe you should try curling up with something nice
'n' warm 'n' soft,"

"No dogs at my place, you know that."

"Pervert!" she smiled.  "You know what I mean."  shrugging her
shoulders.  I paid for my paper and stepped into the steady rain
after saying goodbye.

-0-0-0-

I'd heard the knocking the first time.  As I made my way to the
door whoever was there knocked again, I was a little annoyed at
their impatience.  When the door was half open I began to snap,
"What the bloody he..," and finished contritely, "Oh, hi Aaron,
come in, y-OK?"

"Yeh, well - you know - busy."  following me through to the
kitchen, he left his coat and small bag by the door.

"Back long?"

"A day or so, term starts on the 11th."

"If you want a drink you know where the kettle is," returning to
the cooking scales on the table.

"No, I'm OK thanks."  With what I took to be surprise, "I didn't
know you cooked."

"You never asked," as I finished measuring the flour.

"Can I help?"

"Can you cook?"

"I can open a tin," Aaron more or less laughed, rather too proudly
with a broad grin.

"God help us" I chuckled.  "Wash your hands, I don't even want to
think about where you've had them," shaking my head.

"Lies and vicious rumour," with a slight giggle over running
water.

"So we're makin' pastry - you ever done that before?" I asked.

"Uh, no," Aaron said from behind me.  Dropping the towel to a
chair he continued, "I'm a quick study though."  Walking over to
where I stood he slipped his arms between mine and my sides,
pushing his chest into my back, he placed his lightly tanned hands
on the mixing bowl and nestled his head on my shoulder.  In what
was possibly the most seductive tone I'd ever heard he asked, "So,
where do we start?"  I doubted he was talking about my pastry.

"Umm, err," I stuttered, unprepared for Aaron's familiarity.  "We
ah - rub the flour and fat together."  I wondered whether he could
feel my heart beating faster than it usually would.  Aaron stuck
his hands in the bowl and started mushing the contents together,
his bare arms rubbing against my ribs through the thin material of
my T shirt;  I liked the way it felt, not quite a tickle.  Catching
my breath I jumped in before he ruined any hope of a pie.  "No,
here," I said softly, "like this."  I placed my hands on top of
his and turned them knuckles down, both our thumbs curled over his
soft palms.  "See," I said, steering his hands to the creamed
butter and lard in the bowl.  "You take the fat in your hands with
a generous coating of flour and gently rub them together between
your thumb and palm."  Raising both our hands, my thumbs atop his,
I continued, "Be sure to let the mixture fall between your fingers
two or three inches above the bowl," as I guided them slowly back
and forth, rubbing the fat and flour together, letting it fall
through our hands and back into the bowl.  Often, my thumbs would
graze his palms lightly and I would thrill to the gentle friction.

"Uh huh," was his only reply.  I could feel him breathing
shallowly and his ear rubbed against mine as he concentrated on
the task at hand, whatever that was.

"Feel how soft the butter is, how it clings round your fingers."
After pausing for breath, "How it slides across your palms and
sticks under your nails as you take it from the bowl."  All the
time raising and lowering both our hands, rubbing the fat and
flour together before letting it run through our fingers.

"Oh yearh," he breathed, "the lard's a little tougher than the
butter, my, er, fingers slip across it," his voice quavering
slightly.  I hoped his excitement wasn't just due to how the fat
felt in his hands.  Slick, with an oily sheen, its texture was
closer to that of baby oil than petroleum jelly even if its
consistency was not.  It coated our fingers and palms as we worked
them together gently, revelling in the slickness and warmth.
Lowering our hands into the bowl, mine under his, we continued to
take more of the soft goo onto his palms with our thumbs and then
slowly raise them, only to let the ingredients mesh together, the
flour sticking to the fat and the rubbing motion separating it
into finer, delicately moist crumbs.

Delighting in the way it felt to have Aaron almost holding me, to
have him draped round me;  I took the opportunity to screw up what
could be a perfect moment and asked, "You always this familiar
with male friends?"  I had so much to say, if I was lucky Aaron
had given up waiting and taken matters into his own hands, but I
had to know.

Unperturbed, he answered softly, "Not usually, no."  Pressing a
little tighter with his arms as we continued to rub the mixture.

"So, ah," stuttering slightly, "w - what sets,"

"You apart?" he finished for me.

"Something like that."

"You're gorgeous," with no hint of hesitation.

"Like in the song?"

"Yeh, just like in the song," he confirmed.  "You have the most
sexy eyes, kinda blue and grey like the colour of a dolphin, but 
much lighter."

"I'm flattered," I mumbled, blushing audibly.  Ever since I had
been old enough to care I'd always been a little disappointed with
my eye colour, not that I was overly bothered, I would have just
preferred a little more blue and a little less grey.  Peter had
called them limpid and Karen said they were clear.  I know better,
they're pastel - sort of.  "I missed you over Christmas," hoping I
didn't sound as inept as I thought I might.

"I know," he replied.  "I missed you too."

"You knew?" I questioned genuinely confused.  "That I was
flattered or that I missed you?"

"Both, sort of."  In the bowl Aaron's hands were getting the hang
of what they were doing, but I didn't want to leave them alone.
As I watched my thumbs work with his and felt the warm curves of
his fingers and palms, I recalled a game friends and I used to
play when we were small children.  It was a game for two.  One of
us would place the tip of his thumb or finger on the other's
outstretched palm and move it in tantalisingly slow circles with
the lightest touch a six year old could manage, saying, 'Round and
round the garden."  We would draw the syllables out to be as long
as possible, 'Like a Teddy bear.'  Then, as each of us looked into
the other's eyes anticipating what was to come, 'One step,' and
two springy little fingers would step toward the other's wrist.
'Two step,' and the fingers would move as far up the other's
forearm as possible while still touching it, before silence fell
for just a short while.  Then, 'Tickley under there,' and those
little fingers would make a dash for the other's armpit with
giggles and shouts before we collapsed in an incoherent mess.  The
tickling was fun, but I was always most excited by having friends
move their fingers round my palm, it never failed to send shivers
all the way to my stomach.  In my musing I must have missed
something, because Aaron piped up boldly, "I said, I think you're
obsessed."

"Err, what?" I stuttered.  "With you?"

"With me," he answered.  I didn't know what to say.  I probably
was a little obsessed, besides, it seemed that Aaron liked the
idea as much as I did so I remained silent.  My hands caressed his
and the pastry mix, my mind wandered elsewhere.  To the feel of
Aaron's chest pushed into my back, to his arms moving against my
sides, to the sound of him breathing softly.  To the touch of his
lips on my neck as he kissed and nuzzled tenderly.  Blowing ever
so gently across my Adams apple he whispered, "I'm glad you're
alive.  I thought, when you didn't call, I thought you were dead,
that I'd never get to do this with you."

"Mmmm - I'm, uh, pleased that you did?" my voice rising as Aaron
nibbled my ear and pushed his erection into my bum.

"I'm sorry 'bout the hospital, I was kinda childish."

"'S-Ok," and I wasn't lying.  I inhaled deeply and caught the
citrus scent from his recently washed hair that was tickling my
cheek.  Aaron continued to caress my neck and behind my ear with
his tongue and lips.  Raising my head, stretching as far as I
could, "Ooo, that's ah, wonderf..." I panted, but I didn't finish
the sentence.  Lost to Aaron's desire I wasn't quite sure what was
happening with my pastry and I didn't particularly care.  I could
feel our hands moving slowly, deliberately;  that was good enough
for me.  As I stood there hearing and feeling nothing but Aaron,
for an instant I wondered whether he'd read Dracula and I smiled
broadly before joking, "Don't give me a love bite, I, uh, grew out
of them when I, I was your age."

"I don't care," he almost gasped, "I've missed you.  I want to be
with you, to sleep and wake up with you."  He grasped my hands and
held them still above the fine crumbs that would be my pie case,
"I drove my sister nuts over Christmas talking 'bout you.  She
said if I didn't come back and tell you how I felt, she'd do it
for me."

Chuckling gently, "I'm glad one of us had his arse kicked into
gear."

Just before re-attaching himself to my neck, Aaron didn't so much
ask, as order, "You going to kiss me or what?"  I found myself
wanting to giggle at the bizarre sounds of his soft kisses as he
breathed through his nose.

"Well," I turned my head slightly and lifted his chin with a
sticky finger.  With our lips just an inch or two apart I
continued, "not yet - the pastry needs some water."  Smiling,
"From that basin, a little at a time."

"You," he said grinning, "are infuriating," reaching for the basin
and adding just a little water.

"We need to mould this into, er, a lump."

"That a technical term?"

"Uh huh," as both Aaron and I began to push the crumbs together.
"You know, for a novice you're not bad at this?"

"Who say's I'm a novice?" feigning insult he ground himself into
my rear for effect.

"You did," laughing.

"And I s'pose you're offering lessons?" with gentle sarcasm.

"Uh huh."  I liked the idea of giving Aaron lessons, not that he
needed them, he had excited me to the point of discomfort and I
made a mental note that cooking with him, while desirable, might
not be practical.

"This looks kinda done to me." slapping the pastry as he might a
child's bottom.  Together, we had sculpted a soft doughy ball with
a slight golden lustre.  "What next?"

"This goes in the fridge, so you're g'na have to let me go."  I
said, pulling free of his embrace after wrapping the pastry in a
food bag.  "Oh, and that," pointing to a mixing bowl full of
chocolate coloured goo, "goes into those cake tins."

"Mmmmm.  Is that what I think it is?" Aaron cooed.

"Yuh, chocolate cake," returning to the table as he reached for
the bowl, I slapped his hand away affectionately, just as my
mother had mine many years before.  "Don't touch and you can have
the bowl when I've finished," picking up a spatula and arranging
the cake tins in front of me.  Aaron smiled, turned my head to
face him and kissed me.  At first our lips touched lightly, but
then, well my brains descended half the length of my body and it
was all I could do to not simply abandon my cooking.  "Ghod, you
do that well," wiping a little butter that his hand had left on my
chin.

"I kinda enjoyed it myself," slipping into his now familiar
position behind me, his hands clasping my chest.  "Why d'ya bake
your own cakes?"

"I like to bake and I like cakes, it's a perfect match," spooning
mixture into the tins and spreading it evenly.  I kept glancing at
Aaron from the corner of my eye, his sight never left the mixing
bowl.  "Here," I said when I'd finished, "this is yours."

"Oooh, yeh," smiling like a young boy he took the bowl and ran his
finger all the way round the side, before sucking the chocolate
covered digit luxuriantly into his mouth, "Mmmm - I sssink I'm in
yuve."

"Don't speak with yer mouth full."  Aaron ignored me completely
while he continued to tuck into the bowl's leftovers with gusto.
I began to think he really hadn't baked anything before.

"Here," he said proffering a finger under my chin, "you should try
this before I eat it all."  I wrapped my lips tightly around his
finger and worked my tongue all the way over and under it,
cleaning the un-cooked chocolate goo.  Only marginally aware of 
myself, softly affirming my appreciation.  For his part Aaron slowly
moved his finger across my tongue and teeth as I explored the way
the end turned up slightly, the way his nail was seated and the
way the skin was slightly smoother near his half moon than
underneath or near the knuckle.

"Mmm, that," I said catching my breath, "was delicious," not even
half referring to the chocolate.

"Yeh," Aaron said grinning lewdly, "one of us is g'na have some
fun later."  I smiled and blushed.  I hoped he was right.  Then,
lifting his hand to my face and running a finger across my lips,
"Ya know, that night in October when you bought me supper?"

"Uh huh," lifting my own hand atop his while we stood looking at
the table.

"I was ready to quit, to leave and take my chances."

"I'm glad you didn't," more truthfully than I'd ever appreciate.

"Me too," he confirmed placing a gentle peck on my cheek.  "Before
I called you again I thought about you a lot, your eyes, the way
you keep your hair just a little too long.  The way that, even
when you smiled, you looked kinda sad or shy, I couldn't tell
which."  I grinned self consciously and Aaron laughed, "Yeh, just
like that."  Then he fell silent, lost in thought.  I'd learned
not to interrupt him and waited patiently.  "You really do make
the hardest shit seem easy Nick," he continued.  "Like it matters.
When we're talkin' I'll watch you, the way your brow furrows with
the difficult bits or when you're trying to think of an example to
help me understand," grinning broadly, "and it makes me feel so
good to be with you."  I didn't know what to say.  This kind of
honesty had a nasty habit of coming back to bite people on the
behind and it scared the hell out of me.  I smiled and thought
about cooking times.  "But when I get the really abstract stuff
right, about where it all fits together, or when I show you you
got something wrong, or that it can be different and you say
'Wow!' or 'That's so cool!' and we'll run with it.  My stomach
ends up in my throat and I feel like a genius or somethin'.  Not
just 'cos I know I got it right and not just 'cos I know you're
well chuffed that I did."  Aaron fell silent again, maybe his
thoughts had moved beyond his ability to put them into words,
maybe he just wanted me to say something.  I wasn't sure.

"I thought about this over Christmas," I said exhaling slowly,
turning so that he and I were looking at each other, my hands
resting on his hips.  "I think you're pretty cool too."  The
corners of his mouth turned slightly and his half-smile exposed
the tops of his front teeth.  "We could talk all day, 'bout 
whether we think it's love or friendship or biology;  but," 
shaking my head for emphasis, "it's all theory, all of it.  The
only thing that's important is that when I do stuff with you, I 
like it more.  You make my life a better place."  Then Aaron and 
I kissed, each of us looking into the other's eyes.  I'm not sure
what I saw there and I have absolutely no idea what Aaron saw, 
but it felt wonderful.  We forgot about the un-baked chocolate
cake.