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- 06/11/2013
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Bad Stereotypes - 21. Saturday 27th July 2013
We made up about my stupidity in the club. Twice, and as it turned out, the way to a man’s heart was definitely through his stomach, because the following day I made breakfast for Issac. I woke early, ran to the market, took all the advice I could get, and returned home to create a breakfast that was not quite, but not totally dissimilar from something the recipe books called eggs benedict. It had good bread, and hot soft eggs, a thick creamy sauce made by whisking until my arms hurt and big fat slices of grilled bacon. The grower who had sold me the romanesco cauliflower that first day had given me asparagus spears ‘to be grilled on the side’ and Issac had looked at me with an expression equally mixed with adoration and surprise.
Time passed quickly. We saw each other every day, ran together, ate together. I was with him at the market on more days than not, and at the restaurant after service closed for lunch nearly every day, bringing music and coffee, snacks for Micky, who said he ‘missed the wholesomeness of shite food’ and kisses in the chiller at out of it for my boyfriend. We stayed at the flat after the club had closed, drank sweet fruity ciders and had incredible sex. We talked about everything under the sun, about our friends and colleagues, about music and food and art and sex.
I apologised about what had happened with Billy and the scene-boi, but Issac said he didn’t want to talk about it, so we didn’t.
We went together to see Issac’s specialist technician for his leg when he had his check up, and I watched as he had the new mould made for the leg cup and tried out a prototype model leg with new hinges that would hopefully allow for smoother transitions between walking and things like ascending the stairs. We talked about his leg, the ways it affected him, and I found more and more that I didn’t care, didn’t notice, and just allowed this mechanical part of my boyfriend to become part of my life.
Saturday morning we went to another murderball friendly match with training session, and I finally got around to asking Issac about the first time I’d seen him.
“You were going to see Zupan and Zoltan right?”
“Yeah, but I go there to meet my guys too. We have training as well.”
“Huh?”
“Society of the wooden leg Bay…”
“You mean there are other people like you?” the sentence was out before I could catch it and I clamped a hand over my mouth at the same moment that Issac shouldered me, making my steps lurch, “Fuck! I’m sorry.”
“I swear sometimes your mouth just goes straight past your brain without a by-your-leave. Christ Bay…” Issac grabbed my hand back and pulled me to him, lips in my hair as we walked, “But I swear I can’t be without you. Last night…”
I grinned like a lunatic and ran my hand down the furrow of his spine and squeezed his butt through his loose shorts.
“Oh no! I am not introducing you to the guys all riled up. Down boy.” Issac was blushing, and I smiled more, proud of my effect on him.
‘The guys’ turned out to be Richard, Dave, Wayne and Jake. Between them they had six hands, seven arms, three full legs and six knees between them. I had grown used to Issac’s prosthetics, but the sheer amount and variety of bolted on metal had me blinking in shock.
“Issac!” a man with one full leg and three part-metal limbs jabbed my boyfriend in the shoulder, “You never told us that you were bringing a live one.” He grinned at me, “Running man here’s not brought a boyfriend to meet us in… oh, alright…” Issac was glowering, “It’s very nice to meet you…?”
“Bay,” I held out a hand, then snapped it back, “Sorry…”
“Don’t be,” Wayne, who was sitting on a stool changing limbs grinned at me, “So do you run?”
“Issac says I’m a cheetah.” I picked at my shirt, white with brown tyre tread. I had decided not to wear it, but Issac had elbowed me for being too sensitive.
“You realise you’re going to have to prove that right?” Wayne said with a cocky grin, and I felt right at home.
Running with Issac’s guys was no different from running with my former friends back home, something that I didn’t like to admit that I missed that much. We jogged around the red asphalt track in a loose group and I did my best not to show off. I took very little warm up, having already been out and jogged the seafront for a short stretch while Issac took a long shower, and now that Wayne had set the mark, I was keen to make good on my nickname. After we’d gone round twice Issac smiled at me and shook his head gently.
“Oh go on then. It’s like trying to keep an excited puppy on a lead.”
A small part of me wanted to bite at that comment, I hated being reminded that sometimes Issac still thought of me as a kid even though I was the one making him writhe and moan in bed, but I decided that I’d said more than my fair share of stupid shit lately, so I kissed him forcing him to stop jogging and then broke away from the pack around the track.
I loved to run.
Hot and sweaty we cooled down, did some stretches and went to go join Zoltan to watch the end of murderball practice. Issac and Zoltan whopped and hollered during the ‘friendly’ match, every time someone got smashed or points were scored. Zupan was doing his fair share of the work, and used his chair like a battering ram o lock down other people and pass the ball onto his teammates. I was shocked at how fast they all were, from one end of the court to the other quicker than blinking.
Afterwards I let Issac and Zoltan be involved and excited about the practice. I didn’t know the other murderball guys very well, though everyone seemed to know Issac, and in my head I was trying to work out exactly how much time I had until I had to be ready for work and whether or not I could have Issac screaming in pleasure within that time. Looking at the long lines of him in his clinging slightly sweaty t-shirt, I fancied my chances of excellent middle of the afternoon sex.
“Thinking hard are we Bay?” Zupan’s voice cut in on my thoughts and I grunted a response, “The boy who runs away from things isn’t talking to me huh?”
“What do you want Zupan?” I turned to face him, and from my seat, I found him taller than me in his normal wheelchair, the battering ram lying at the side of the court.
“Unsurprisingly, I just wanted to have a normal conversation with my best friend’s boyfriend. He loves you, you know.”
I smiled in a self-satisfied sort of way.
“Yeah, I know.” Issac turned from his conversation to smile at me over his shoulder and I felt my heart thud harder, “I love him.”
“Bay?” Zupan’s voice was hard for a moment, solid like tensed muscle, “Do not fuck this up.”
“Wasn’t planning on it!” I nipped out of my seat and squeezed Issac’s butt as I wrapped an arm around his firm waist, “Hey babe.”
“We’ll let you two go,” One of Zupan’s teammates grinned as Issac said his goodbyes, and as we turned to go, I heard Zoltan say, “Oh the benefits of dating an eighteen year old…”
Benefits indeed…
Issac and I were nearly falling over each other when we got up the stairs and into the flat, trying to get dressed while walking, kissing and trying to shut the door at the same time. The frantic strip of shirts and shoes. I tripped with my shorts around my ankles, trying to toe off my trainers while kissing Issac’s neck, and found myself pinned on the floor underneath him. Issac breathed hot and wet on the back of my neck, firm fingers digging into my hips, my butt.
“You fancy something different babe?” Issac’s voice was a low, erotic growl in my ear and I shivered as his fingers found their way into my boxers, squeezing my arse. I could feel Issac’s hard on pressing into me.
I yelped and turned over.
“I’m not that gay!”
Issac’s eyes went from lust filled dilated to dark and hard in half a second.
“What?” Issac stared at me as I realised what I’d said, “What?”
“I don’t… I mean I-,” There was nothing good I could say in the face of Issac’s anger as he stood up, pulling straight his trousers, doing up his fly, “Issac…”
“Fucking don’t Bay!” Issac’s voice was harder than it had been that night in the club, “Don’t you dare give me that shit.” He pulled on his shirt, his shoulders hunched and tense, “I swore to Zupan that he was wrong about you Bay. And he wasn’t wrong was he.”
“Issac please!” I was on the floor, on my knees, and I couldn’t think of a damn thing to say that would make him stay, “I love you.”
“That’s great Bay,” Issac was crying, but he was looking at me like I was dirt, “But you don’t even love yourself, so forgive me if I don’t fully believe you.” He dragged a hand across his eyes, “I can’t believe I fell so easily for all your bullshit.”
“Issac!”
“No. I don’t wanna hear it!” Issac was sobbing, fully dressed, and I was kneeling on the floor crying like a child.
“Babe… Issac… please!”
“No.” Issac had his hand on the door, “Don’t.”
And then he was gone.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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