Date: Fri, 11 Mar 2011 22:38:07 +0000 From: mandijerri@gmail.com Subject: Rediscovering John, Part One Right. I'll make a deal with you all. This story had been spinning around my head for a while now. So I write it. Is it worth exploring? I can write a lot on this, but should I keep it as my own fantasy or should I reveal it to everyone? Let me know. No talking, no story. Yes? Mandijerri Rediscovering John, Part One: Waking Up He woke. The room was dark. Someone was laying across him. There was a light on in the hall and the door was slightly ajar. He could see another door just inside it an en suite. He slipped out of the bed. The body next to him turned over in his sleep. It was another man! He was in bed with another man! How had that happened? Fuck! Where was he? When had he met the guy? How had they come to be here? And where was here? He slipped into the bathroom and sat on the toilet without thinking about it. There was a familiarity to this place, like he should know where he was, but he just couldn't remember. Like a word on the tip of his tongue, everything looked familiar, but it was also completely foreign. Like he had never been here before. He was naked. He was in a bathroom. He was with a man he didn't know, had been in bed with him... Had they... He didn't know! Oh God! What was happening here? Where was he? He stood and flushed the toilet, then turned and found the sink in the semi-darkness, as if he had performed this manoeuvre a hundred times before. What was going on? And suddenly he was overwhelmed by it all. What was wrong with him? He stumbled backwards and slid down the tiled wall onto the floor. There was a wall length shower here and he pulled himself into the corner made by the glass wall of the shower and the tiled wall of the en suite. Pulled himself into as small a shape as he could. Where was he? A sob escaped his mouth, and before he knew what was happening he was crying, and the tears came quickly and suddenly. "Help me!" He whispered. "John?" It was a deeply masculine voice, and French. The accent pronounced his name Jean, rather than the English John. "Êtes-vous bien? Êtes-vous un mauvais rêve?" The voice was beautiful and even though he knew he didn't know French, he understood what was being said. Had he been dreaming? Was he dreaming still? "Where am I?" He whispered as the man came down to him, onto the floor with him. He wrapped himself around him, arms and legs wrapped around his body. Warm to his cold. Comfort to his unease. Strength to his weakness. Security to his frailty. "Vous êtes chez vous, quel est le problème?" He whispered, nuzzling John's neck. Kissing his shoulder. "Home?" John whispered. "Who are you?" "Hah!" The man laughed. "You are having a nightmare, John." He added in accented English. "I am Francois. Your husband. We are home. In London. Come on." He added, lifting John back to his feet and guiding him back into the bedroom. Back into the bed. Husband? London? And he could suddenly feel the ring on his finger. On his wedding finger. When did that happen? And... He was gay? When had that happened? Francois pulled him into the bed and then wrapped him up once more. With arms, legs, body and warm duvet. And John was cold, and this man felt right, and he could feel the ring on his wedding finger as well. Francois pulled him into a kiss, and his body responded. There was a tingling, in his head and in his groin. He may have forgotten this man, but his body had clearly done no such thing and now, as Francois slipped his hand along his chest, across his nipples, down to his growing dick and tightening balls, now it was remembering him very well indeed. And he ran his hands across the hairs on Francois' chest. Soft, gentle... Sexy? He was a fit man, was Francois, there was a definition to his body, a strength to his arms and chest... But then he noticed that his body was taught as well. He had abs! When had that happened? OK, so he had never been overweight, but he had never particularly worked out either. Changing the duvet on his bed back in his flat in Aylesbury, that was the biggest work out he got in a week.... Aylesbury. But Francois had said this was his home. London. Why were they here? Francois had pushed him onto his back now and was gently kissing and caressing his nipples with his tongue, and John found himself running his own hand around this man's head. Feeling the short hairs on his neck brush over the palm of his hand, leaving trails of excitement in their wake. His other hand had already run down his body and was now wrapped around his balls, gently stroking and massaging. His body knew this man, knew his love. Why didn't he remember? And Francois was playing with his balls, and his tongue was licking down John's chest and belly, and the excitement was making his dick rise like it had never risen before. He clearly needed this man, needed his sex! Why didn't he remember? Surely he couldn't forget this? Forget this sex? Francois reached over him and in a moment something cold was squeezed against his arse and fingers began massaging there, and he was getting more excited by the moment! This man was going to enter him! When had he become gay? So, he hadn't had sex for a while, but he was fairly sure that every partner he had had was female. Where had Francois come from and where.... He gasped as Francois pushed his fingers into him. Even his backside knew this man, and his mouth settled over John's engorged dick and he began pumping him slowly and surely. This was a night-time love. His body knew these moves as much as it knew its way around the en suite bathroom. This was a physical thing. His body knew the responses. His brain had forgotten the man. Why? Why had that happened? And... oh, his body was feeling things he had never felt before. Francois had one hand pushing into and out of his backside now and the other was playing with his balls, running up his dick, following his mouth up and down as it brought John to the edge of his release... And then he came. And he came. And his body arched and revelled in the pleasure this man, his husband, had brought to him. "Hmmm." Francois smiled. He slipped over John and settled between his legs, and John knew what was coming next, but his body was already getting excited at the prospect. Francois ran his hand along his own dick, wiping the lube along it, and then he held the head as he pushed up against John, and into him in one gentle but determined movement. And he enjoyed it! Enjoyed this man sliding his hard cock into him and out of him! His body danced along the dick, Squeezed it, cajoled it, teased it, played with it! And he gasped at the pleasure he felt on the tip of each stroke in and out. A tingle that grew slowly into a small fire than began to burn in his balls and he felt his dick rising again as this man pounded him. Felt his hands slipping around his dick, pulling at it, massaging it. Above him Francois was lost to his own fantasies as he rocked faster now, into and out of John. John ran his hand up Francois' leg. Smooth, muscled. His? This man was his? He didn't understand this. He didn't know where he was, what was happening to him and yet... And yet... He was being loved by a man, a man who claimed to be his husband, and he couldn't remember! Above him Francois groaned and John realised that one of his hands had slipped up Francois chest and was now tweaking and playing with his nipples. The other was still wrapped around his own dick, still pounding it to a second orgasm. His body knew this man. Intimately. How could he forget? "Ah!" Francois called and his hands grabbed John's hips and he pulled him tighter onto him as he came. His orgasm filling John with a warmth that brought John straight up to an orgasm of his own again. His body arched, forcing Francois deeper into him, and they both fell onto each other as the orgasms came over them. Francois leaned down and licked him clean, slipping his dick into his mouth and using tongue and teeth to clean him. And John slipped into these ministrations as if he had been here countless times before. Why couldn't he remember? Francois kissed his way slowly up his belly. Kissing and licking each mound of his abs. Stopping to kiss his belly button, then up the centre of his chest and across to each nipple, before he pulled John into a deep kiss. He wrapped his body around John and settled down, head on his shoulder. John stroked his head and soon this man, his lover, his husband, settled back into sleep again. John didn't sleep. There were no clocks in the room that he could see, and he just lay there, listening to the noises of the road outside. Listening to the noises that clearly weren't Aylesbury. London? Listening to the gentle breathing of the man lying across him. Running his hands along his back. Feeling the muscles beneath the warm skin. Loving the body on him, but not knowing why, or how. Who was Francois? How had they ended up here? How could he forget this man when he clearly needed his love? What was going on? But there was nothing. He could remember nothing. He lived in a small flat in Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire. He rented it and lived there alone. That flat was not this one. This one felt larger. It had an en suite! And he knew that on the other side of the bedroom door was a corridor that led to another bedroom, a study, a kitchen, a dining room, a living room... It was in Kentish Town, north London. How did he know that when he didn't know why he was here? Didn't know who he was? He had parents. He... he couldn't remember their names! Mum, dad... They lived in Partridge Close, Aylesbury. A big three bed house they had brought in the eighties just before he had been born. John... What was his last name? He couldn't remember his last name! What was going on? Around him Francois pulled him closer into him. If nothing else he needed the security this man gave him. There was a comfort and safety in his arms that he needed more and more. Why couldn't he remember anything? He lived... here, but he should be living in the flat in Aylesbury. Where in Aylesbury? Again, he couldn't remember. If Francois didn't have him wrapped up so tightly the panic would have threatened to drown him. But inside Francois, at least from here he could look over the body of this man and work out what he did and didn't know. He was John. No last name. He lived in Aylesbury, and somehow at the same time in Kentish Town, London. No address. For either town. He had two parents. No names, first or last. They lived in Partridge Close. He worked... He had been made redundant. That was it. He remembered! He had worked for Jacobs and Ferret. A solicitors. He had done their... something... and they had gone bust? Maybe.... He was redundant. Good. What else? There were friends, he could see all of their faces but again, no names. A young girl, one, maybe two years old? Abigail. Her name was Abigail, and he loved her. Who was she? His child? No, that didn't feel right. He could see two people, her parents? But again no names. And... And... That was it. All that he was lay on the bed in front of him. Everything that he had forgotten had him wrapped up in strong, warm, arms. What was going on? Why couldn't he remember anything? Francois moved and his lips brushed across John's neck as he settled back into sleep. He could feel this man's dick pushing into his back. His body loved the feeling of sticky heat from this man. He could smell their love in the air and he wanted it! Why couldn't he remember? Anything? He moved his head and settled into the crook of Francois' arm. The smell of the man was strong here and it also gave john some comfort. There was a deep love here. He knew that, but didn't know it. He drifted into sleep.