Drew Payne

I wanted Harley to see Shaun as the attractive guy he is, and if the sex had been mediocre it wouldn't have done Shaun much. Thanks, I'm glad the sex scene worked, it's so easy to make it sound like porn, all in and out and nothing else.

The Gate theory, distraction therapy, call it what you will, but affection does help.

A bit of affection goes a long way, and no it doesn't stop here, though this was a bloody difficult scene to write.

Spoilers!... But I do like the character of Harley and kindness does make things better.

"Spoilers sweaty, spoilers" As I wrote this originally, I realised that there is another subject to mine here. Shaun, his mother, his father and his brother Nathan, and the whole f*cked-up family relationships there. That's why I am planning the second and third chapter of this story.

That's a very good idea, but I'm afraid the next part of the story shows what the state of Shaun's mind.

His mother cares about her business, her position in society, etc... Just not Shaun. I'm planning this as a trilogy and in the second part I want to explore his relationship with his mother and why she behaves the way she does, to introduce her and Shaun's brother Nathan as full characters, not just seen from Shaun looking back on them. And yes, she blames him, that's why I gave her that attitude. Do keep reading, things change for Shaun.

To quote the Time Travelling Role Model for us all, Professor River Sung, "Spoilers sweaty, spoilers." I don't want to say what happens, but I've already planned it out.

I don't want to say anything about Shaun's parentage, that's a big part of the plan I'm working on for the next installment of this story. The public impression is that people commit suicide as a "cry for help", but I have found that it's far more complicated than that. Suicide can be an act of despair or as a way to finally end suffering. Suicide can be such a complicated act. The first scene of this story is a set-up for this scene, but don't stop reading here, there's more to this story. Here's a link at a different story that I wrote on a similar theme: https://tablo.io/drew-payne/a-morning-at-the-beach-in-the-warm-sun

The gulls were from real life. When we went to Scarborough I felt those gulls were stalking us. It felt like they were following us everywhere we went and they would sit outside our hotel room and stare in at us through the window.

Shaun rested his head on Harley’s shoulder while Harley’s left arm rested across his own shoulders, pulling their bodies close together. They lay side-by-side in Shaun’s hotel bed, a bed that now seemed much smaller that the large double bed he’d found himself lost in when he’d slept there alone. Their bodies were pressed close together, their flanks and hips and legs pressed each other’s, Shaun’s right leg resting on top of Harley’s left leg, and his right hand lay on Harley’s left hip, his fin

Once Harley had Shaun’s trousers completely removed, he tossed them onto the sofa with the rest of their discarded clothes, and he looked at Shaun’s naked left leg for a moment. Shaun had the desperate urge to cover his left leg with his hands, to hide his scars from Harley’s eyes, but it was too late. So he just sat there, now only dressed in his grey boxer briefs and white cotton, short sleeved shirt. “Your leg doesn’t look bad, just a bit scarred, that’s all,” Harley said. “But… How d

“Our floor,” Harley said. “Are you good to walk on your own?” “Yes, I’m good,” Shaun replied. He would have loved to have walked along that corridor with Harley’s strong arm wrapped around his waist, Harley’s almost intoxicating masculine presence right next to him, pushing up against his own body, but in all honesty how could he ask Harley to do this just to give him a cheap, sexual thrill. Harley walked along, next to him, as they wound their walk along the narrow and twisting corridor

Thank you. I have never liked those easy, Hollywood emotional responses. I have found that human being are such complicated beings and that we don't behave in the way simplistic fiction says we should. I have a very heightened sense of social and legal justice, but when I was mugged (Over 10 years ago now) all I could think about was my personal safety. I had no desire for my muggers to be caught, I just wanted to know that I'd never have to see them again. Shaun isn't me, not by a long way, and writing him there was never any question he wanted "justice" against his attackers, he's too beaten down for that, at this point in his life.

But he blames himself for the attack, he feels it's his own fault. He's deeply screwed up, I sort of know where he has been.

Thanks for what you said about the NHS. I work for the NHS and I believe so much in its guiding principles. Shaun is suffering from PTSD and that isn't logical. His mind is too obsessed with how he should have avoided the attack to really think about getting his attackers caught. He is also deeply in the closet so he would have to come out to report the truth of his attack. He's deeply screwed and screwed-up.

But his mother is a caring woman, its just that Shaun is very, very low on her list of priorities.

If he'd written his PIN number down somewhere, like a false number on his phone, then the bank can argue that it was his fault he lost his money. It has happened in Britain before. In Britain, for a private rented flat, you pay one month's rent in advance, plus a security deposit (to cover any damages to the property and/or furnishing. This can't be used to cover the rent), and any fees the managing agent/estate agent demand. A tenant has to fall behind with three months or more rent before a landlord can get them evicted. All that said, Shaun is lying in a hospital bed, badly injured, failing to cope with PTSD, no wonder he easily agrees with mother's demands. I have nursed people in similar situations like Shaun's, they are in no position to make any decisions. This is also an important plot point in Shaun's life.

He only made it back as far as the hotel’s lobby before he’d had to sit down again. His damn leg was throbbing so much that each step had become a painful struggle. He had just made it into the lobby before he’d dropped down onto the first empty chair he could find. The large lobby was populated with round small tables, which had semi-circle armchairs grouped around them. The idea seemed to be for the hotel guests to use them for high-tea or evening drinks, but they mostly seemed to stand empty,

He sat down on the wooden bench, outside the closed gates onto the cliff railway. The gloss painted bench was hard and uncomfortable against his buttocks but that wasn’t his concern. His left leg was throbbing with a sharp and hot pain. The pain had begun again before he’d got halfway back to the cliff railway but he hadn’t stopped to rest, he kept telling himself that he had to get back to the cliff railway, he couldn’t rest until at least he was back at the cliff railway. The determination had

When he’d returned back to his mother’s home, when he was finally hidden away in his new bedroom by himself, he’d taken out his new phone and deleted all the gay dating apps off it. Who would want him now? Now he had such a deformed and ugly leg. That brief window in which he’d hoped to find a boyfriend and happiness, or at least a regular sex life, was gone forever. He’d then cried to himself, large silent tears running down his face. He told himself he was crying because of the pain in his leg

Thank you for your feedback, it is so helpful to me, it shows me that what I was trying to portray works, you understand where the character is coming from. I don't want to give too much away or give anything away, but this story doesn't end up where you think it is going, there are some plot turns along the way.

And I'm such a cynic, seeing how police react and do not react... Well, maybe later, but only after Shaun finds his balls.

For the rest of the week he had been primarily under the care of those two physiotherapists, Dee the younger and blonde-haired one and Liz the older one who was the one obviously in charge. She was the one who dictated what exercises and movements he did, always ready to tell him off when he wasn’t working as hard as she thought he should be doing. At first, he’d tried to protest about the pain in his leg and how easily he became tired, but Liz would have nothing of it, she would relentlessly pu

His last visitors that day had arrived in the late afternoon. It was a man and a woman, both dressed in business suits. The man was Shaun’s age or a little younger. His brown hair was cut into a style that seemed to be a quiff dominating his forehead and the rest of his hair cut short on his head. His thick, rugby player-like body was squeezed into a cheap, high street store suit. The woman was in her late forties, her pale blonde hair was cut into a neat and short style, while her petite body w