Cal - 11. Chapter 11

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A few months have passed. Davey and me are kind of in a routine, and I'm not liking it at all. He's working later and later, and Becky is giving me more shifts and more responsibilities, which is really cool, except I hardly ever got to see Davey. By the time we get in to bed every night it's way too late for serious talking, and I don't even think we've fucked for over a week. Again. The best times are first thing in the morning, when we still usually manage to get breakfast together.

"I'm going to be late home again tonight." It was hardly surprising, but still disappointing.

"Sure, OK, whatever Davey, I'll see you when you get home."

I kind of knew I was being a miserable little fuck, but that's how I was feeling.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What the fuck do you think is wrong Davey? Do you even see that something might be wrong?"

I surprised even myself, wasn't quite expecting such a big reaction.

"Cal?"

"You're never fucking here Davey! I see you for like half an hour a day, you worked all last weekend when I'd changed shifts to be home with you, and when you do come home all you want to do is sleep. Even Scarlett thinks that maybe you've moved out or something."

"Oh baby, I'm sorry, truly, come here."

I didn't want to 'come here', but I didn't have to, as Davey was already right in front of me, and the hugs are still pretty fucking nice. I just really miss him and go a bit crazy when he’s not around. Needy much? Probably.

"I didn't remember you had changed your shifts last weekend, I'm sorry. But work is really crazy right now, I've just been so busy, and there's new clients, and some idiot is trying to sue us for bad advice. I guess I get carried away sometimes."

"OK, well put me down and drink your coffee. I got to get ready as well."

"What time are you finishing tonight? How about I come over and meet you after work?"

"You can't, you'll be at your class."

"Bollocks. I'll cancel it. Well, I'll get Jarrod to cover for me. I promise."

"You will?"

"Cal, I’ll cancel the whole class forever if you want me to."

Right then, I had the double realisation that firstly, knowing that he would do that was probably enough to make me feel better, and secondly, that definiyely makes me a pretty fucking high maintenance boyfriend.

"OK, well, maybe just get this Jarrod guy to cover this week. But right now, you should go, and I've got to get a move on too."

"Great, so what time?"

"Oh, 8.00pm. See you then."

A quick kiss and he was gone, again.

Me and Scarlett finished out usual tour of the park before leaving her at home with Jen for the day. I got to work a few minutes early, and was trying to remind myself that I might get to see Davey for more than 5 minutes tonight, which was making me smile inside.

"Hey Cal, so what's with the hair, are you going to grow it?"

Trust Becky to notice. Not that I was deliberately letting it grow longer, well, I suppose I was, but I didn't have any plans for it. Davey, of course, hadn't said anything. I mean, it's hardly fucking long, maybe 1 or 2 cm, but that's a lot longer than my usual all over buzz.

"Hi Becky. Yeah, I thought I'd go for a ponytail eventually."

She did nothing to hide her laughter at that idea. Fair enough. I really like it when the day starts well at work. It seems to set the whole rest of the day up just right. It wasn't super busy, so Becky had plenty of time to teach me the room booking systems so that I could cover that stuff too. We hadn't exactly talked about it, but I'm wondering if they'll make me a Duty Manager, looking after the whole place. That would be awesome. I've already done plenty of hours on my own in the bar, and handled everything. It would be so fucking awesome. But anyway, it's not happened yet. Even with the room booking stuff, we still had a pretty chilled day. I'd won the regular 'flicking cocktail sticks into a martini glass at the other end of the bar' competition, which I usually did. And then, of course, I had to tidy up quickly as we got some customers. The beginning of the busier period. Midweek, so there'll be a few hardcore 'after work' people, who seem to finish work anytime after 3.00pm. A couple of locals, and then a handful of hotel guests checking in. Usually staying over for a business trip or something. At least, that’s what I imagine. They often have a sort or tired, resigned look, grateful, at least I hope so, for a nice room and friendly staff.

It was actually busier than usual, which I like. It's always more fun when you're just busy enough. I don't mean like fucking crazy busy where everything is manic and stressed, just busy enough to be fun. I guess it was maybe about half seven. Becky had somehow managed to steal my usual role of serving at the bar, so I was dealing with the tables. I used to hate it at first, but now it comes easy enough. Good evening, welcome to The Park House. Can I take your coats? Would you like a wine list, or can I recommend something for you? Yes, it's been terrible/amazing/awful/lovely weather hasn't it. Up from London? Yes, the train service is excellent. Medium sweet, no problem. Yes, a large one of course. Ha ha ha. No we don't sir, but we have Veltin's on tap, or there's a range of bottles. And are you checking in? No problem, I'll let them know you've arrived. OK then, I'll be back with those shortly.

Sometimes they were nice, sometimes they weren't. Either way, I get paid. When it’s a bit quieter, me and Becky try and guess what the relationships are, and then find out as much as we can without being rude to see who is right. She still claims to be better at this than everyone else, but the evidence does not stack up well for her! Tonight was just a little too busy for that. We were able to keep on top of orders and stuff, but there wasn't much down time.

So there I am. Stood at the side of a table for two, and I look up. Smiling on auto-pilot, looking first to the woman, best guess is late 30's, quite pretty but she wasn’t trying too hard, or maybe just wasn't that pretty, so I'd go with either a business trip with a colleague or boss, or out with a friend. Who knows? And then to the guy. I don't know why I always do it in that order, but I do. I think maybe it's because the woman is usually in charge. Not necessarily in an obvious way, but they are. Usually. Of course, all of this is just going around in my head. With the actual words I'm up to asking him what he wants to drink as I properly look at him for the first time.

What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On? I think I can actually feel myself having a heart attack. Like, seriously. My heart is beating so hard and so fast, like after a really good fuck, but without the good afterglow feeling. Like it's almost shaking or vibrating or something. Maybe I'm shaking? I know that I'm gripping my pen so fucking tight that it's actually hurting my wrist, but I can't seem to let go. Have you ever had a white-out? No, probably not. You shouldn't. So much weed that you literally go over. Like a black-out, except, it's not. Well I'm feeling like that, on a rollercoaster, with my stomach trying to catch up but not doing a great job. Fuck, am I going to puke over this guy? That would be really fucking bad. No, I don't think so. Oh yeah, I get it, I know what's going to happen. I'M GOING TO PUCH HIM IN THE FUCKING FACE.

"Is everything alright here?" Fuck knows how she had done it, but Becky was right there, positioning herself just ever so slightly between me and him. I don't know if she thought she was going to be protecting me or him, or even if she knew what was going on. I barely did.

"Cal, is everything OK? Cal?" She was gripping my arm, shaking me a bit, not like crazy shaking, but trying to get my attention I guess. The woman at the table was making a bit of a fucking scene, which was annoying me, going on about how she thought I was about to attack the guy or something. Maybe I was. Maybe I am. I can't be certain.

"Cal!" She's stood very close to me. Not shouting exactly, the majority of the bar is totally unaware of the little drama playing out over here. But loud enough to get my attention, so that I look at her.

"What's going on? Are you OK?"

The fucking woman is still whining on about fuck knows what. Like something had actually happened. She was immensely annoying. Oh fuck no. Not now. Not here. Make it not true. Please! Please? But I could feel it, like a cold creepy calmness, coming right before the inevitable anger, the fury, the rage. I really can't do this now. I need this job. This is my world now, my life. Mine. I fucking made it. Well near enough. How dare you come here? Try and keep it together Cal, remember the rules, smile, be nice, don't fuck up.

"Shut the fuck up lady. This has got nothing to do with you."
Becky was obviously about to interrupt me, but I guess I beat her to it.

"I can't be here right now Becky, I'm sorry, I have to go. You can apologise for me if you want to, but he should fucking understand."

There was a moment of nothing. I looked at him. He looked at me. Becky looked at the two of us. If there was going to be a moment where this got better, it would be now. But nothing happened. For his part, the guy appeared to be totally confused. The stupid fuck. Stupid, arrogant, how fucking dare he, fuck.

"Well I'm afraid that I really don't have any idea..." He started to answer, but it wasn't really a question in the first place.

"Seriously!? That's really fucking nice, thanks 'Dad', you're so fucking great."

I had to get out of there. I knew that I'd already crossed pretty much every fucking line there was, I mean, I hadn't actually hit him, but I'd definitely behaved well outside of what would be expected. Fuck, even now, I'm more fucking worried about my job. But I did need to be out of there. I ran out through the back door, briefly pleased for the cool fresh air. And then not being quite so bothered as I started to catch up with what just happened. I sat on the wall behind the car park, pulling my knees up to my chest. It was actually kind of cold. I couldn't quite catch my breath, like my lungs were actually getting smaller or something. Then I did actually throw up.

Becky appeared, looking both pissed off and confused. At least, that's my assumption. I couldn't really focus so well.

"Cal, what the hell is going on? Oh my god, are you OK?"

"Erm, yeah, sorry, I dunno, it's just... oh fuck knows. Fuck, who's inside?"

"Frank is covering the bar. But seriously, what do you think you're doing? That guy is pretty pissed off."

"He's pissed off!? He's got no fucking right to be pissed off."

"Well he's also saying he doesn't know you, Frank is trying to smooth things out, but it would be really helpful if you would go back and..."

"And what? Fucking apologise? To him? The is no fucking way. He was the one who left with some fucking office girl. I was ten years old! How the fuck was I supposed to deal with my Mum on my own?"

OK, so maybe all of that wasn't really supposed to be directed at Becky, she'd done nothing wrong here. The guy had come outside, I guess to look for me, not sure how long he'd been stood there for, I was surprised to hear his voice again.

"Oh my god, is it really true? It's you? Here? What are you doing here?"

Becky was on top of things straight away.

"Sir, I don't think that now is a good time for..."

"No, it's cool Becky, I'll be OK." She gave me a seriously questioning look.

"OK, I know. I won't beat the crap out of him in the hotel." Another look.

"I'm joking, I won't do anything stupid. I promise." I turned back to look at him.

"What am I doing here? What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I'm here for work, just a couple of days. But you? Why have you moved up here? Are you at university here? And what are you doing working in a bar?"

"You don't get to fucking ask me anything! You abandoned me. It's a fucking miracle I'm even alive."

"It wasn't like that, you were living with your Mum."

"So I guess you don't know how that worked out then? She spent most of the day drunk, there's no way she could take care of herself, never mind me. And no, I'm not at Uni you fucking idiot. I've been in prison and this is just where I ended up."

I was so angry, and so sad. I'm pretty sure I was crying a little bit when I heard Davey's voice?"

"Cal? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

I don't think I said anything, maybe I shook my head, I can't really be certain. Davey was running over to me, past my Dad, hugging me so tight, asking me over and over what the matter was.

"It's cool Davey. Well, it's not cool, it's totally fucking messed up, but what else would you expect right? Davey, this is my Dad." I could feel Davey tense as soon as I said the words, and I tried to hold on to him, the direction of energy in our contact suddenly shifting.

"Dad, this is Davey. He's my boyfriend, I live with him. Right now he maybe wants to kick your arse. In fact, so do I. But I really can't deal with this any more, it's too fucked up.”

"Carlton. Please, this is strange for me too. I just want to talk."

"Well I don't. And don't call me that, that's not my name, not for a very long time. Davey you're early, and I gotta go see if I still have a job, then you can take me home."

I walked away, leaving Davey and my Dad just standing there. I half wondered if Davey was going to beat the crap out of him anyway, and decided that I wasn't that bothered either way. Frank assured me that I wasn't going to get fired, I think he called it 'exceptional circumstances' which is like a totally fucking understatement, but at least it was some good news. I went back and found Davey, who called a cab and took me home. I didn't see my Dad again, but that was fine by me. It was kind of funny really. After all these years he just turns up out of nowhere, totally by accident. I've thought about it a lot, obviously. I've hated him, wondered why he left, wondered how much of it was my fault. Probably a fair bit. But I'd always thought that ultimately, I wanted him back. And now, well, now I'm not so sure.

I didn't really know what to say to Davey, so I said nothing. I guess he could tell, because he just put his arm around me and held me close to him. At some point I started to shake. I dunno why, it wasn't particularly cold or anything, but I couldn't stop it. And then I started to feel cold, like physically, really cold. It was totally weird. As soon as we got home, Davey had me in bed and wrapped in the duvet, and I just laid there, curled up in a ball. I didn't really want Davey anywhere near me, definitely not seeing me like this. But I also didn't want him to leave me. I must have fallen asleep because I woke up a couple of hours later from the weirdest dream. I don't usually have dreams. Well, I suppose I might do, but I don't remember. But this one was different. I was back in my old house, with Mum and Dad. I could remember my old room, how everything was set out, the smells and sounds of the house. Fuck, I’ve not thought about that place for a really long time. I got up and found Davey making dinner. Bless him, he's so worried about me all the time. I tried to tell him that I was OK, and I think he believed me about, oh, say, zero fucking percent. And then I realised that he'd set the table out all properly, with wine glasses and shit, and was cooking like a whole fancy fucking dinner. Awww fuck, he must have finished work at lunch to get this stuff ready. I'd forgotten about our not quite argument this morning. And now I'd fucked it up, like always!

Dinner was awesome, even if I wasn't totally in the mood to appreciate it. And Davey let us talk about any old shit, not mentioning the crazy fucked up 'meet my Dad' moment until we had finished the main course. Of course, I didn't mentioned it.

"So..." he started. And obviously I knew that we had to talk about it some time. "That was your Dad."

"Yeah, that was him."

"OK. A little bit surprising."

"Yeah, a little."

"Are you going to meet him again?"

"Fuck knows. I didn't exactly plan to meet him ever. And I was hardly nice to him."

"OK, well, I don't know if it helps, or even makes a difference, but he seemed just as thrown off by the whole things as you were."

"What? How the fuck would you know?"

"He was talking to me when you went back in to the bar."

"What? You talked to my fucking Dad?"

"Well I don't think he knew what else to do, you went back inside and kind of left us there, and he was trying to make sense of seeing you and..."

"So now it's my fault you're taking his side? Fucking hell Davey, the man is a cunt!”

"Aww c'mon baby, you know I'm not taking sides, and if I did it would always be yours. I'm just saying, that's all."

I suppose I knew it was true, but I was sulky about it anyway. Davey followed my to the sofa, and I didn't exactly do anything to stop him from kissing me. As often happens, Scarlett thought that she should be getting some of Davey's attention too, but a firm "not now Scarlett" from Davey sent her back to the kitchen. I know it's a tiny fucking thing really, and not even based in any kind of fact, but it's still nice to know that I'm more important than the dog.

After making just enough effort to (unsuccessfully) push Davey away I 'gave in' and kissed him back. I kind of needed to feel connected, that might sound weird, but having Davey hold me and touch me felt so fucking good. And when he didn't stop, neither did I. Out of nowhere I was feeling so fucking horny, it was like I really needed sex. Not just wanted, but seriously needed. I kind of knew at the time that this wasn't a totally healthy attitude, but I also didn't care that fucking much. My hands were all over his body, undressing, caressing, feeling, interrupted only by taking off my own clothes, which just couldn't fucking happen fast enough. For a brief moment I contemplated fucking him. It's not like I haven't done it a thousand times before. Fucking pretty little cute gay boys was close to a hobby for me, but of course, I'd never fucked Davey before. I also realized pretty quickly that I didn't really want to turn back into the kind of person I had been back then. And no, it never did cross my mind that Davey might not want it. So for whatever reason, I settled on pushing Davey down to his knees and sucking me. Which to be honest makes it sound a whole lot more loving than it probably was. I fucked his face like crazy, my hands on his head, pulling him towards me, onto me, pushing myself into him. It was fucking intense. And yeah, pretty selfish really. It was all about me, how I felt, what I wanted, and taking it for myself.
I know that Davey can easily overpower me, so in a sense, he let it happen that way. But as soon as I'd cum I felt pretty bad about the whole thing. I mean, I'd been a bit of a prick. And there's Davey, understandably not totally sure where that came from, and quite obviously not as gratified as I was.

"What the fuck was that?" He was still kneeling on the floor, I was sat on the sofa, exhausted, slouching back.

"Fuck I needed that." Yeah, I was still being a prick.

"Feel better do you?" He was definitely a bit pissed off. And the worst thing was, I didn't really care.

All he did was look at me. But it's Davey. My Davey. He can look right inside me somehow. And that's all it took for me to feel the full onslaught of shame, and the defensive anger that comes with it. But contrary to everything that I think I deserve, and probably do, Davey is one of the most amazing guys in the world. He didn't shout at me, or hit me, or walk off in a bad mood, or tell me what a selfish useless fucked up person I am. He stood up, picked me up, and carried me to bed. And then we had what I think must still be the best time ever, at least, in any sex related way. He almost drowned me with attention to every part of my body, and he made sure I knew he meant it. The kissing, the licking, the nibbling, oh fucking hell yeah the nibbling. He was unbelievably slow, painfully deliberate, and gave me exactly what I needed. It wasn't what I wanted, but not like he raped me or anything, it was totally what I needed. It kind of makes me cringe to say the words, because it sounds so fucking lame, but he made love to me. And fuck was there a lot of fucking love going around. An hour later, he's inside me, fucking me, but STILL so slow and deliberate and attentive. I felt like I'd been on the edge for at least the last 45 minutes, yet somehow, he just kept going and going. Like all good things, this too had to end. I could feel him getting more and more tense, his body tight. And as he was getting closer, he was telling me how amazing I am, and how much he loves me, and I could quite literally not control myself any longer. The instant he closed his hand around my cock I started to shoot. Load after load, going fucking everywhere, and I can't really tell you what I felt. It was immense, and awesome, but so fucking emotional. Love and hate and fear and amusement and pleasure and sadness all rolled up together and about a million other feelings too. I could see and feel that Davey was at a very similar moment. Even that was a strange mix of feelings. People go on about how sex is the most intimate thing that two people share, a bond, or whatever. And I guess it is, kind of. But for me, no, not just for me, because I've seen this in loads of guys I've fucked before, and I saw it in Davey right then, the moment of orgasm is ultimately an individual place, distant, isolated, self centred. Don't get me wrong, it's obviously related to the other guy, but there's this part of what happens which isn't. It's just about you. Not the ultimate coming together of two people, that happens just before, and if you’re lucky, afterwards too. Anyway, this is how it felt to me. Maybe it's different for some people, and for girls too, I dunno. It was still fucking awesome. And left me in this slightly odd, emotional, soft, mood. I guess if I'd been so inclined, this would be the time to write poetry or some shit like that. I wanted to smoke a joint, but I couldn't really bring myself to get up again, so I stayed in bed. We were already pretty much in each others arms, and that's how we slept. Lights left on, dinner stuff still on the table, Scarlett wondering what the fuck was going on I'm sure.

I am so fucking lucky.