Date: Fri, 13 Feb 2009 14:53:17 -0800 (PST)
From: John Venn <johnvenn1945@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Screw The World (Revised Version)

Disclaimer:

This story contains scenes of a sexual nature between tenagers. If this is
not to your taste, or is illegal where you live, or you find it morally
offensive, then read no further and leave now!!

The story is purely imaginary and bears no resemblance to any living person
or persons as far as I know, much as you or I might wish!

Other stories of mine may be found under 'Prolific Authors' at Nifty.

Comments are always welcome at johnvenn1945@yahoo.co.uk
*******************************************************

Screw The World
by
Alexander

There were fewer than twenty people at Steve's funeral. My mother, his
parents and sister, a few friends of ours, and me, sat alone on the front
row of the pews, isolated and inconsolable.  Letting the bland soporific
voice of the priest eulogise over someone he'd never met wash over me, I
contemplated our life together.

Steve and I had known each other all our lives, being born just a few
months apart. His family lived next door to mine and right from the outset
we shared everything; clothes, cribs, bath times and meals. Even families
when the need arose.

As toddlers, we learned to walk together, shared our toys, learned to
talk. Through nursery school and junior school we would always be found
arm-in-arm, whispering our secrets to each other and keeping ourselves
apart from the rest of the world.

To begin with our parents were delighted that we were so close as it meant
only one pair of eyes were needed to watch over us. At junior school, they
were glad that we could watch out for each other, share problems and
complain about the teachers.

We watched each other grow, comparing our bodies as they changed - first
from babies to toddlers, then from toddlers to little schoolboys, and from
there to pubescent boys, acne- ridden teenagers and finally to men.

It was my father who tried to change things between us at first. At the age
of about eight or nine, he decided that we were seeing far too much of each
other, which in his opinion, wasn't good for either of us.

"They make me feel uncomfortable," he said once during an argument with my
mother, "It doesn't feel right how they shut everything and everyone out
all the time. And what they get up to, God alone knows!"

The result was that we stopped sharing bath times and meals, the
sleep-overs became less and less frequent and we were watched carefully.
This didn't stop us however - all we did was to hide away and take care
that we showed our love for each other out of the sight of the grown-
ups. Even at that age, you can learn how to be devious and secretive when
you have to.

As I got older, my father began to knock me around if he thought I'd been
with Steve too much, or we'd escaped from his watchful eye once too often.
It was after one such thrashing, even through my tears, that I heard him
yell at my mother 'that no son of mine is turning into a fucking queer,
pansy, poof, and a whole lot of other words I hadn't ever heard before and
had no idea what they meant except that they didn't sound nice.

It was soon after this that he left us, whether because of me I never knew,
and never bothered to find out.  The good thing was that Steve and I soon
returned to our old ways after he'd gone, my mother resigning herself to
the fact that I was easier to manage and less troublesome if she left us
alone.

By the age of eleven, we had grown taller and our bodies were filling
out. We couldn't both fit in the bath tub together any more, but showering
was just as good anyway. The most spectacular change, we both agreed, was
with our 'little soldiers' as my mother called them.  They were no longer
so little, and the skinny bag-things which hid behind them dropped down and
instead of being tiny walnut-sized things became the size of small eggs.
You also got a nice tingly feeling too when you felt them with your fingers
- a nice warm sort of feeling which always made you happy. Whenever one of
us felt miserable or fed up, a gentle hand on your soldier and eggs soon
made you feel better. You could always tell when you were better 'cause the
little soldier got hard and stiff, standing out like a gun.

Changing to the big school at eleven years old was a shock to us both as
for the first time we were with much bigger boys who liked to tease and
bully us for no reason. It wasn't nice, but it wasn't a really big problem
though as we still had each other.

We also learned the meaning of some of the words which my dad had used
about me. They weren't nice either. Steve and I had to pretend not to be
friends sometimes, and even hit each other so that the others wouldn't pick
on us and call us names. We always made up afterwards though, making our
soldiers stand to attention and salute each other.

During the year we were 12, we'd made a den in the woods near our houses,
and fitted it out with stolen bits of carpet and wooden boxes for seats. On
warm days we would take all our clothes off and hold each other tightly,
pretending we were little kids again, especially if we'd had a rough day at
school. The best bit was when we held our things and rubbed them up and
down. The good feelings were even better than before, especially when we
did it to each other. If you did it for long enough, your body would go all
sort of stiff and funny and then shake as if you were ill or something.
That was the best feeling of all.

We knew by now that what we did must be kept a real, deep secret because
we'd get beaten up badly if anyone ever found out. But we liked it, and
couldn't stop doing it.

Sex Education lessons were a revelation to us. At last we learned a bit
about what was happening to our bodies, and that our penises got stiff so
they could be put into a woman's vagina and seed come out to make
babies. No one thought to tell to us how good it felt when you made it go
stiff and rub it. We were also told that you should never, ever, let anyone
touch you in your private area, neither should you touch anyone else there,
even if you were playing. Worst of all, we were told that it wasn't even
good to play with yourself too much.  Steve and I thought this was stupid
because if you did it nicely and gently, it made you feel good. And in any
case, we'd always done it and nothing bad had ever happened to us.

By the time we were 13, we had decided that we were definitely queer - at
least as far as each other was concerned. Other boys didn't concern us
except for a mild interest in their bodies once in a while if they were
ahead or behind us on the route to maturity.

We'd lost our den in the woods after someone discovered it and totally
wrecked it. We found other outlets though and we spent our free time
fishing, hiking and riding our bikes on long country rambles.

Don't get me wrong - sex didn't rule our life, it was just a natural part
of it in much the same was that fishing or hiking was. We were happy just
laying on our backs on the grass, staring at the sky side by side, chatting
about anything that took our fancy.

The next thing that stands out in my mind was the day of The Bike Ride. It
was late summer and we had left home early, bags packed with essentials
such as crisps, fizzy drinks, chocolate and so on. By lunch time we were
miles away from home exploring the leafy lanes enjoying the solitude and
beauty of the countryside - and the company of each other. Almost without
warning, the sky darkened and it started to spot with rain. Being dressed
only in T-shirts and shorts, we searched for shelter before it started to
rain properly. Luckily we came across a derelict barn, but not until after
the rain came down in earnest and by the time we stumbled inside, we were
soaked to the skin.

It wasn't long before we had a fire going, and had stripped off our shorts
and shirts to get them dry. Shivering slightly, we sat cross-legged in our
underpants trying to get warm.  So that we kept warm, we stretched out
together, cuddled up close, legs entwined and chests squished against one
another. We weren't into kissing too much then, but an occasional peck on
the lips, or even a gentle suck on the nipples was OK.

I kissed Steve on the lips softly and stroked his back. We looked into each
other's eyes, and satisfied with what we saw, hugged each other and
relaxed.

"Screw you!" Steve laughed, disturbing the doze I'd dropped into.

I opened my eyes and watched as Steve slipped his underpants off to give
his erection some space.

Not having any option, I took mine off and cuddled Steve closer to me, our
boners carefully placed between us.

"That's nice!" I whispered in Steve's ear as I clasped my hands behind his
neck.

He kissed me on the lips firmly.

"I feel randy!" he giggled as he wriggled his cock against mine.

"Me too," I answered. Until then, I hadn't even thought about it, but the
sight of his beautiful and familiar nakedness, and the feel of his dick
pressing into my navel soon changed that.

Steve began to hump me, slowly and easily. I dropped my hands down to his
butt and gently kneaded them, urging him on. Leaning down, Steve kissed me
again, but this time with his tongue searching out for mine.

When Steve was in this sort of mood, we had some of our best times
together.. Knowing each other so well, we had no inhibitions about trying
new things or exploring each other's bodies.  It was during one of these
magical, loving sessions that we'd sucked each other for the first time a
few weeks before. If people knew brilliant it was, calling someone a
cocksucker was more of a compliment than an insult we agreed!

We squirmed and writhed on the floor for ages, frantically embracing and
kissing hungrily, our cocks mashed together as if making love on their own.

Eventually Steve calmed down a little and began to hump me passionately. He
was looking into my eyes and smiled happily as he settled into a steady,
wonderful rhythm.  It was at times such as these that we enjoyed ourselves
the most. Initial frenetic passion spent, we could love each other with
tender care and unspoken wonder at how much pleasure we could give each
other.

I sensed Steve's body tense up and his thrusts take on a more desperate
urgency. As his back arched and his mouth fell open, I matched his bucking
with mine as he raced towards his orgasm.

With a final, gasping drive, he collapsed on top of me, his dick throbbing
hotly against mine.  And there was something else too - a wetness spreading
out between us. It wasn't piss, I could tell, it was thicker somehow, and
slimier. Steve gave me a puzzled look and rolled off. We both stared at our
bellies, and there it was! A thin sheen of glistening goo. Instantly we
knew what it was.

"Fucking Hell!" Steve whispered as he tested it with his finger.

He looked at me, his face registering a mixture of surprise and
delight. Bringing his sticky fingers to his nose, he smelt it, then offered
it to me.

"Spunk!" we laughed together, embracing in shared joy.

"At last!" he whispered, still awed by what he'd done. "Fucking ace!"

It took another month before I could do it, despite frantic and frequent
attempts both alone and with Steve. To my immense delight, I got the
longed-for result late one night in my bed, a fact that I shared with Steve
a few minutes later by text. We also confirmed it the next day in the field
behind the school, wanking ourselves to the first of many very satisfying
cums.

One thing I regret about my relationship with Steve in those early days was
that we never really talked about it. We never replaced the word 'friend'
with 'lover', even in our most private and intimate moments. We had been
together all of our lives and knew all there was to know about each
other. We took our comradeship for granted, knowing that we would be
together for always. Sadly, we never got round to telling each other that
we were deeply in love. We knew it of course; the unasked for kiss, the
secret smiles and the late-night phone calls confirmed all we needed to
know. But the word was too much for us: I know that now.  It'd been
ingrained into us from an early age that love can only be between people of
opposite sexes, and to even consider that two boys, or even two men, can
love each other was simply beyond comprehension.  And it was this that led
to the big problem during our last year at school. Steve had stayed over at
my place for the week-end and had left on Sunday afternoon to go home. My
mother and I spent the evening watching TV together, but I could tell she
was edgy and unsettled for some reason, several times I caught her staring
at me.

"What?" I asked eventually.

"Nothing," she replied quietly. Then went on, "Well, there is
actually. It's you and Steve."

I felt myself blush crimson at the mention of his name, and a million
thoughts flashed through my mind: "She's found out about us", "No, she must
know by now", "What have we done?", "She's going to try and stop us seeing
each other", each thought being worse than the one before.

"You are more than just friends, aren't you?", she said looking straight at
me.

I blushed even deeper and just nodded in reply. Whether she objected to our
relationship or not, I instantly decided, she can't do anything about it, I
wouldn't let her.

"How long have you known?" I asked in a whisper, staring at my shoes.

"Always, I suppose," she said. "But I began to take real notice after that
row with your dad. I saw how you changed whenever you were together,
happier somehow. And neither of you have had girlfriends chasing after
you."

She seemed a bit less tense now that the subject was in the open and was
actually smiling at me a bit. There were lots of questions I wanted to ask
her, but didn't have the nerve, or the words.

"What do Steve's mum and dad say?" I asked nervously.

"Like me, they're confused, a bit upset in some ways, don't understand, and
angry sometimes.  They don't know what to do."

For the first time, I felt sorry for her. How she'd lived for all these
years thinking what she did, is beyond me. And how badly I'd let her down
by not talking about it.  "All I want to say for now," she went on, "Is
that I don't know what you do together, and I don't want to know. But
whatever happens in the future, I'm on your side. It won't be easy for
either of you but I'll always be here for you. And you'll need to be
careful around Steve's parents, they're not very happy and I don't think
they'll be as accommodating."

I was shocked to the core by her complete acceptance of the situation. I
smiled at her weakly and looked at her, amazed.

"Neither of you can change who you are, I suppose," she went on. "And I
don't think I would want you to anyway.  But you and Steve will have a
problem with his parents.  It was his mother who brought it up last week
and she's not very helpful."

I didn't say anything back: I couldn't think of anything helpful to say,
instead I smiled at her again and mouthed an "OK."

Smiling back, she relaxed completely and said, " I think we both need a cup
of tea."  As soon as I could, I went to my bedroom and sent a text message
to Steve asking him to ring me back asap.

It was an hour later that my phone rang. Steve was upset, badly upset.  Our
parents must've agreed to talk to us both at the same time as apparently
his mum and dad had had the same conversation with him that my mother had
with me, only it had gone very badly. They didn't even try to understand,
just ranted and raved at him, accusing him of doing all sorts of obscene
things, some of which we'd done, other not.

"How'd it end?" I asked, seriously worried for him.

"Dunno really," he said. "I told them to fuck off and leave me alone I
think!" He laughed bitterly.

I told him how my evening had gone, making it sound as light as possible -
which it was compared with his. We also agreed to bunk off school the
following day for the first time ever so that we could talk about it.

The morning was spent wandering the country lanes sorting things out
between us. There was no way, we agreed, that we could, or would, ever stop
seeing each other. That was a given.  We also agreed that we were a
partnership, a couple, a team that was just as important to us as our
families were, if not more in Steve's case.

By mid-afternoon we'd talked ourselves out and were sat in the lee of a dry
stone wall, staring into space.

"You OK?" I asked.

"Yeah. Suppose so," Steve said moodily.

I put an arm round him and hugged him tightly. He responded instantly and
rested his head on my shoulder. We lay there for ages comforting each
other.

"I suppose that's it, then." Steve said.

I panicked. He couldn't mean ....... ? Seeing the grief on my face, he
leaned in and kissed me fiercely and painfully. Not sexually in the
slightest, but with a deep and tender devotion.

"That's it," he repeated. "It's you and me against the fucking world."

I was never made welcome in his house after that. They didn't ban me or
anything, just ignored me as much as possible. Conversations were stilted
and monosyllabic.. Whether it was due to acute embarrassment or an intense
dislike for me, I neither knew nor cared.

Steve spent more and more time in my house, even sleeping over on some
school nights. In respect for my mother, we never did anything that might
offend her, even sleeping in separate beds. This I knew pleased her, and
she was quite content to feed us when he was around. I also knew that
relationships between her and Steve's mum and dad were at an all time low,
but somehow they managed to keep talking - just about.

Our sexual needs we managed to satisfy more or less in the snatched times
when one or other of our homes was empty, although neither of us was ever
really comfortable in his place, the thought of a sudden return of his
parents putting quite a severe dampener on our ardour somewhat as you can
imagine.

At 16 we both left school and within a few weeks had found work - him on a
building site and me in a garage. Life was OK on the whole: we had money in
our pockets, we had come to a difficult, but working sort of truce with his
parents and we could spend all the time together we wanted - provided we
were out of their sight.

The major drawback was that the ability to share our bodies became a
problem. The opportunities were rare and infrequent which frustrated us
both more than we would care to admit. I think that my mother sensed this
too, as one evening I delicately broached the possibility of Steve and I
getting a flat together. Surprisingly she was very sympathetic, thought it
was a good idea and offered to help in any way she could.

And help she did. Somehow she found a small one-bedroom flat for us and
even managed to persuade the landlord to rent it to us - provided that she
acted as guarantor for the rent! A week after my 17th birthday we moved in,
much to my mother's delight and the disgust of Steve's parents.

We celebrated our new-found freedom by having a few cans of beer and a
take-away, sat shoulder-to-shoulder in our sitting room watching TV. That
first night we were both anxious about going to bed together. Anxious and
excited at the same time. We both wanted the same thing but for some reason
didn't want to be the first to admit it. In any case, I was worried that
the minute we got down to anything serious, someone would come bursting
into our bedroom and discover us!

Leaning over, I undid the button on Steve's shirt and slid my hand inside,
gently fondling his nipples in a way I knew drove him wild. He stretched
out his legs, put his arms round my neck and kissed me deeply, our tongues
entwined. All inhibitions were gone now, and with an almost feral wildness
we undressed each other and rolled on the floor, embracing and hugging
hungrily.

Wordlessly, Steve picked me up off the floor and led me to the bedroom,
leaving ours clothes pooled where they fell, and the TV playing to itself.

We'd shared beds together hundreds of times I suppose, we'd felt each
other's body times without number, but that first time in our own bed, in
our own home was unforgettable. As we slid under the duvet, arms round each
other, we grinned broadly.

"At last!" I sighed, gazing into Steve's lustrous eyes.

"Mmmmm!" he mumbled back, cuddling up closer.

We kissed and cuddled for a while, stroked each other's hair and looked at
each other. After 17 years I still got a thrill and a funny feeling in the
pit of my stomach every time I looked at him.

"Happy?" he whispered.

"Happy!" I replied, kissing him again before he noticed the tears in my
eyes.

"When I was eleven years old," I said quietly, "And my old man had smacked
me again, I dreamed of you and me running away and living together
somewhere. I never thought for a minute that one day ........"

I left the sentence unfinished and let the tears flow.

Steve wiped them away with his tongue and kissed each of my eyes.

"Ever since that night I had a bust up with my mum and dad," Steve said, "I
knew that one day I would leave them and live with you. It was only a
matter of time. Screw the world!" he added finally.

"Screw the world!" I agreed and slid my hand into his groin.

"Wait," he said as I grasped his erection. "I've got a present for us."

He leaned over and reached into the cupboard between the two single beds.

With a glint in his eyes which I knew from long experience meant that he'd
thought of something new to do, he handed me a package.

Curiously, I tore the paper off and revealed a bottle of baby oil. He
grinned wickedly as it dawned on me what it was for.

"We've talked about it lots of times, but we've never done it," he said
hoarsely. And now I want to do it. Like a bride and groom on their wedding
night, we are going to loose our virginity together!" he giggled.

Like him, I'd thought about it too, but we'd never been in the right place
at the right time. But now we were. It was the ultimate demonstration of
our love for each other, and suddenly there was nothing else in the world I
wanted.

"Stick it in me, quick, before I change my mind," he giggled.

Hurriedly I covered myself in the lightly scented oil and watched as he
carefully oiled his butt and hole. Laying on his back, he raised his legs
and invited me in.

It took a couple of botched attempts before I found exactly the right spot,
and pushed. Much to my surprise, it went in easily, the first inch
spreading his hole wide open. I stopped as I heard him gasp with pain and
was about to take it out when he muttered, "Wait! Give it a second or two."

At a nod from him, I ventured a bit further, pushing my cock down a
millimetre at a time, watching his face contort with pain and desire.

"Is it all in yet?" he said as I paused for a breather.

"Almost. There. Now it is."

He smiled happily and slid his hand down to check.

"How's it feel?" I asked.

"Good. You wouldn't believe how much I've wanted this, and how long I've
waited!" he said quietly, his eyes moist.

"You and me both, brother. You and me both!"  I tried a few tentative
strokes and asked him if it hurt. He shook his head..

He bent his knees up further and I melded my body with his as my throbbing
cock penetrated him deeper. Carefully I slid in and out of him, awed by the
fact that he'd given his body to me in such a secret, loving way.

"Coming," I gasped before I'd even got used to being inside him.

"Leave it in," he stammered. "Let it go!"

"Oh My God!" I cried as I spasmed and ejaculated painfully, way before I
planned to.

I left it there as long as I could then eased out gently and hugged his
deliciously sweating body tightly.

"Thanks!" he sighed, "That was fucking good. We should've done it ages
ago!"

I wiped the tears away from his cheeks and licked my fingers dry.

"Pain or pleasure?" I asked with a twinkle in my eye.

"Pleasure! Sheer fucking pleasure!" he laughed.

"Want me to blow you?" I asked.

"No need, look."

Pooled in his navel was a puddle of semen. He must've cum when I did
without my noticing.  Leaning down, I licked it up and swallowed.

"Now we really are married!" I laughed. "You've had mine and I've had
yours.. But I'll kill you if you get pregnant!"

It wasn't much later before it was his turn and it was just as he'd
said. In all the years we'd been friends, we had never been so close as we
were then - all the trials and tribulations we'd suffered meant nothing any
more, it'd all been worth it.

After that first memorable night, we soon settled down into a comfortable
routine. We each had a set of our own friends with whom we went out a
couple of times a week, but the times we liked the best were when we locked
the front door at night, dimmed the lights, drew the curtains and relaxed
together. Fully dressed or naked, he always gave me an erection whenever I
looked at him, and that butterfly feeling in my stomach - neither of us
felt complete unless we were together.

For three years we shared our lives, bodies, dreams and love. Friends came
and went, work was sometimes shitty, money was tight, but at the end of the
day, wrapped in each other's arms, nothing else mattered. As far as we were
concerned, the world had been royally screwed and we were glad.

We must've been too happy because it all came to a sudden, catastrophic end
one bright summer's day. Even now I can't remember anything much after the
Police came to my work place and told me. There'd been an accident on the
building site where he was working and a pile of scaffolding had fallen on
top of him, killing him instantly. The following days were spent in a
disbelieving trance. My mother wanted me to move back home, at least for a
while, but I refused, still believing that Steve would walk through the
door and wake me from my nightmare.

It didn't happen though, and never would I realised as I watched his coffin
disappear through the purple curtains of the crematorium, The curtains drew
across and I stared for the last time at the casket which held the body of
the person who had meant more than life itself to me.  I walked past his
mother and father without a glance, brushing away his mother's hand as she
tried to comfort me. With tears running down my face, I walked home
blindly..

Opening the flat door, I searched in vain for Steve. His clothes were
there, his bed was unmade and there were the remains of a take-away we'd
shared the night before, still in the kitchen. But no Steve, and the flat
was cold and empty.

I sat down and wrote the story of our life together so that he wouldn't be
forgotten. I want it given to his parents so one day they might realise
what a truly beautiful son they had. To me he was the world, and it had
screwed him. And me.

For the next two weeks it was as much as I could manage to struggle in to
work and feed myself: my flat became dirty and uncared for and Steve's
possessions stayed just where he'd left them, a permanent reminder of the
life I once had and enjoyed so much. Eventually I was so reluctant to go
home after work that I took to stopping off for a drink in the pub that
Steve and I used once in a while.  We both had many friends there but I
chose to sit in the corner, nursing my drink and blindly watched the world
go by. I was polite to those who actually took the time to speak to me but
didn't encourage long conversations.  Not, that is, until I met Jason.

Jason was one of the boys we had known at school and had grown up with; we
weren't ever the best of friends and it wasn't until after we'd left school
that we even discovered he too was a member of that tight and secretive
little community that preferred the company of other boys and men to those
of females. I would have discouraged him too were it not for the fact that
he probably knew me and Steve better than anyone else - from a distance
he'd watched us grow up together and was one of the few that understood.

"God, you look rough!" he said smiling as he sat opposite me with his pint
of lager.

I nodded in reply and took a sip of my beer.

"So, what are you going to do now?" he went on, adopting a more serious
tone.

"Dunno. Nothing, I suppose.  Just carry on."

"Bollocks!" He said. "You gotta do something, you're losing friends and, if
you'll excuse me for saying, but you look a total wreck.  When's the last
time you shaved?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Right, time for action. Wanna go to a party tomorrow night?"

"No, thanks. I don't feel like it. Maybe later."

We changed the conversation after this and before long I found myself
actually listening to him and answering in words of more than one syllable.
But I wasn't going to any party, no matter what he said.

The following night, after giving the pub miss for once, I was sat watching
TV when there was a ring at the door.  I'd hd very few callers since Steve
had gone and I jumped in surprise.  When I opened the door, I saw Jason,
dressed for a party and carrying a case of beer.  Without talking, I walked
back, sat down and carried on watching the TV.

Jason close the door, sat in a chair so I couldn't avoid looking at him and
said, "Party time!  Come on!"

"I told you I'm not going to any fuckin' party," I snapped.

"Too late!" he grinned. "You're already here. Catch."

He threw me a tin and opened one himself.  Three or four tins later, I
looked at him and smiled slightly.

"Thanks!" I said quietly. It was the first thing I'd said since he came in
the door.

"That's OK," he replied.  "This's the sort of party I like. Quiet and
peaceful."

I smiled a little more and took another beer. I knew what he was trying to
do, and wasn't interested. I began to think of the number of times Steve
and I had sat just like this, watching Tv with a few tins of beer and
getting slightly drunk in the comfortable silence.

Suddenly, I just couldn't take any more. Without any warning I burst into
tears and sobbed bitterly at the memories.  Jason didn't move; he just
looked at me, sympathy showing on every muscle on his face.

"Feeling better now?" he asked once I'd stopped blubbing.

I nodded, wiping the tears from my eyes with my shirt.

"Do you think this is what Steve would want for you?" Jason asked, putting
a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Look at this place. You were so proud of
it once, and now ......"

I looked around properly for the first time in weeks. It was a mess. A pig
sty. He was right, Steve would be truly pissed off. Not only with our home,
but me too. But then, why should I bother if he wasn't around?

"Tell me to piss off if you want," Jason went on. "But do you think Steve
would really want you to turn into a hermit? To have no friends, to live
like a tramp?"

I shook my head, knowing what he said was true.

"Right," said Jason brightly. "Enough. Let's get drunk!"

And we did.  The last thing I remember is Jason putting me on my bed, as
drunk as ever I'd been.

I awoke the following morning feeling ill. Not just nor normal sort of ill,
but hungover ill.  Every part of me ached and dimly aware that I was still
dressed, opened a tentative eye and looked around me, trying to piece
together how I'd got here. Jason, I vaguely remembered, Jason and me
getting pissed. Thinking he must've gone home after making sure I was ok, I
made my unsteady way into the living room to find something non-alcoholic
to drink.  To my utter amazement, the first thing I saw was Jason having a
cup of tea. The second thing was that the living room, and what I could see
of the kitchen through the open door, has been cleaned and tidied.

"Tea?" he asked, getting to his feet.  "My guess is that you need it!"

It took me an hour to get myself together and understand that Jason hadn't
drunk nearly as much as me quite deliberately once he'd seen the state the
flat was in. And more than that, he'd actually stayed up most of the night
cleaning it.  My first thought was Steve's clothes, which much to my relief
I saw had been neatly folded and placed on the table.

"Next thing, bath and shave," Jason grinned. "But you're on your own
there. I ain't doing that for you!"

He did go as far as running the bath and laying out my shaving stuff for
me, and much to my surprise I actually enjoyed relaxing in the water and
then shaving.  Once I was cleaned up I felt a lot better and after dressing
in clean clothes, drifted into the living room to see Jason.

"Thanks," I said again.

I knew that I'd needed someone to jerk me out of the fit of depression I'd
allowed myself to sink into, and was grateful that Jason had taken the
trouble to help me, but I couldn't put my feelings into words and I just
hoped he understood how appreciative I was.

"New start?" he said, looking directly at me.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Right. Let's start on your bedroom; it's the only place we haven't sorted
yet."

That was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.  Together we took all
of Steve's possessions and laid them out on the bed.  All-in-all, there
wasn't a great deal to show for a life, but it was all I had.  I kept all
of his music discs, TV and radio etc. of course, but his clothes were a
problem as every time I starred at them, I remembered the last time he wore
them, where we were and what we were doing.

"Best thing to do is for you to sort out the things you like, the things
which give you good memories, and keep them. The rest I will sort out for
you."

I didn't know what he meant by 'sort out' and I didn't want to know, but it
was a good, sensible idea and I went along with it.  The things I decided
to keep, I folded carefully and put in 'his' chest of drawers.

Over the next few weeks I gradually rebuilt my social life and took more of
an interest in the world around me. Work became satisfying once more and I
started to actually enjoy it again.  Jason I saw almost every day, either
in the pub or at the flat.  He even stayed over a few times and we had some
good sex together, but we both knew that as a 'couple' we would never make
it; as friends we were OK, better than OK in some ways, but we weren't
compatible enough to share a home.  A man who was, however, came from a
surprising source.

I was at work one day when a young Asian guy came in, about my sort of age,
to sell his car and I was giving it the 'once over' to make sure it was
re-saleable when I took a good look at his and struck up a conversation
with what I saw as a good-looking man.

It worked out that he was a student at the local college and had just
arrived in the town. He needed the cash from the sale of his car to put the
deposit down on a flat he had yet to find and set himself up.

"If you like, we'll meet after I finish work and try to sort something out
for you," I volunteered much to my surprise.  "I have a few friends who may
be able to help."  Then I had a thought and qualified my offer, "If you
don't mind meeting a few gay people I know, that is."

He stood there for a moment or two with a strange look in his face, as if
thinking.  My first thought was that he was anti-gay and I'd pissed him
off, but then he smiled and replied, "That's fine. I was wondering where to
go to met people."

We exchanged a look which said more than words could have done, and I
extended a greasy hand.

"Mark!" I grinned.

"Andresh," he answered shaking my hand, ignoring the grime.

Initially the idea was that Andy would move in for 'just a few days' until
he found somewhere for himself, but after a week or so things started to
change.  The first thing was that I felt sorry for him sleeping on a
temporary camp bed on the floor and we shared my double bed, and honestly I
had no other motive than that. But things being what they are .... !

Gradually we grew to know each other and discovered that we got on well.
Well enough for me to offer him a home anyway, which he took up with
heart-felt gratitude.

He will never replace Steve of course: no one could do that, but thanks to
Jason and my other friends I now have a second chance at life. So far Andy
and I are happy sharing our lives, and the icing on the cake came when my
mother said she liked him, and wished us luck.  I also discovered another
prejudice of Steve's parents, which in an odd sort of way didn't surprise
me - the only thing I was sure of was that Steve would have liked him and
approved and that's all that mattered....


The End