Soul Music: Love Encountered - 7. First Times

Ding! …

Ding! …

Ding!

Finally, Helen turned over in bed, groaned, and began to grope on the bedside cabinet for her phone. God, her head hurt! Who invented hen nights, anyway? She just managed to grab hold of the slippery outer case before it fell off onto the floor. Eyes now partially open, she unlocked the phone. God, the glare from the screen was dazzlingly bright. Was it even morning yet? The bedroom was dark, with only the faintest hint of light coming in through the curtains. Who the fuck was awake at this hour on a Sunday?

Dragging herself up against the pillows, Helen tried to focus on her phone's screen. Why did she have it so bright? It felt as though it was scorching her eyeballs. Turning on the bedside lamp was too much like hard work. … Had she really drunk so much? They weren't even out that late. There again, she didn't drink much usually. Maybe it was lack of practice? Helen massaged her forehead. Having the hen night some days away from the wedding, was a good idea. A very good idea. At least, it was Sunday … time to regain control, and feel more human before the return to the grind of Monday

Back to the phone. … She took a moment or two to process things. What on Earth was Geoff getting in a panic about? Three texts in as many minutes. Helen squinted closer. She opened the app, and read the messages. They were all short and to the point.

I need your help!

Now, please …

Phone me as soon as you read this. G

Well, whatever it was would have to wait. It has hard enough trying to read. Stringing two words together in speech was way beyond her. Helen continued to massage her head. Her mouth felt foul … Had she brushed her teeth before she'd fallen into bed? Probably not – it had taken all her remaining conscious energy to drink some water, and get herself undressed. The bathroom, followed by coffee and toast would be necessary before she could help herself, never mind Geoff. If it was anything really urgent, Geoff would have contacted the emergency services. He had enough sense for that.

Helen sighed, and bestirred herself to turn the bedside lamp on. It was seven-thirty. No wonder it wasn't light yet – she hated January, and February wasn't much better. Resisting the almost-overpowering temptation to go back to sleep, Helen found her dressing gown, pulled it on, and stumbled towards the bathroom.

A short time later, Helen was propped up at the breakfast bar in her small flat. A couple of aspirin, a steaming hot mug of coffee, and a plate with a small heap of buttered toast were all sitting in front of her. First aid. Messily munching a slice of toast, Helen returned to her phone, and Geoff. Brushing several slightly greasy crumbs off the screen, she reread the texts. And was none the wiser. There was nothing for it, she'd have to phone. She sighed, then took a deep slurp of the coffee. OK … Helen tried to marshal at least some of her scattered resources, took a deep breath, then phoned Geoff.

At last!

“Morning, Geoff.”

I've been waiting ages. Why the delay?

Helen winced. “Don't shout, Geoff. Please.”

I'm not … Am I?

“It certainly feels like it. I'm hungover. Hen night.”

Geoff sniggered. Oh dear. … Ah … Not a good time, then? I would appreciate your help though, Helen.

“Give me a minute.”

Helen took the aspirin, and washed them down with another reviving gulp of coffee. She felt the hot liquid warming her guts. If only the heat would spread outwards, as well. Despite having the central heating on, she felt starved of warmth.

“OK … What's the panic, Geoff?”

I can't decide what to prepare for dinner tonight. I want to cook something special, but you know I'm not so good in the kitchen.

Helen absorbed the meaning slowly. What the fuck? Was she missing something obvious? The pile of toast had been steadily diminishing, and she was feeling slightly less like a zombie, but … Helen rubbed her eyes, and tried to keep a rein on her temper.

“You've woken me up at some god awful time of the morning because you're having a menu planning crisis? Geoff … As much as I love you, why the fuck should I care? Eat something. Anything.”

God, she wasn't in the mood for this. The aspirin was taking far too long to kick in.

Tony's coming later.

Helen rolled her eyes, and sighed. That one short sentence explained a lot.

“Would I be right in thinking this is Tony's first visit?”

Yeah. I've finally plucked up the courage to invite him to mine.

“He knows you don't cook? So, why get yourself in a flap? Order in, if that's what you normally do on a Sunday.”

Helen knew she was being rather short with Geoff, but this morning, she lacked the wherewithal to do otherwise.

But he always cooks for me.

This was followed by a rather hurt silence.

Helen resisted the temptation to snap at Geoff. Instead, she tried to summon up some sympathy.

“OK … Geoff, whatever you're thinking of cooking, it isn't gonna take nine or ten hours, is it?”

Err … no. So, why am I phoning this early? Me being me. Sorry.

“You have thought what you're gonna cook for him?”

Ehm …

“Geoff, I'm no bloody Masterchef contestant, either. Find a recipe that's possible. 'Easy' would be a better word. You got anything in?”

Not much.

“So even if you need to get to the shops, they're not open for another two or three hours.”

Yeah, you're right. … I'll start having a look online.

“Geoff, give me an hour or two, then I'll be over. I take it Tony won't be there?”

No, he's coming after lunch.

“If he's coming that early, why don't you ask him to help you?”

'cause I want it to be a surprise. In a good way.

Helen shook her head. It better not take her too long. She had piles of washing and ironing that needed doing.

“OK … I'll see you later, Geoff.”

Thanks! I owe you.

How's my favourite brother?

Tony snorted. “Always the better for hearing from you, sister dearest.”

They both giggled. Zoe was five years younger than he, but they'd always got on well. Much teasing, joking about, and some rivalry, but generally, they were tight. Like his mum, Zoe had accepted his coming out without a blink of the eye. In fact, to his mind, she had a frank interest in his boyfriends which made him cringe on occasion. Fortunately, they weren't videocalling this time – Tony was fresh out of the shower, dressed only in a towel. He'd managed to grab a spare one on his way out, so he was holding the phone with one hand, and trying to dry bits of himself with the other.

“Anyway … it's not like you to be up and functioning on a Sunday morning.”

Yes, it is.

“Really? Then it's obviously some clone I'm speaking to.”

Hnh …

Tony smiled. Maybe, Zoe was finally getting past her student phase? They didn't talk that often – neither felt the need to know what the other was doing day in, day out. They exchanged emails, texts, the odd Facebook thing or two. Important things, troublesome things – then they talked.

“Zo? Your purpose? …”

Yeah. Satisfy my burning curiosity, will you? Who's this Geoff you keep on about? Virtually every email or text I've had from you recently, mentions him. He your latest conquest? I thought Jake was still on the scene?

Tony grimaced. “No, Jake isn't around. Hasn't been for months. ”

Oh …

Conquest? He might've started out with some thoughts close to that, but his confidence around relationships had taken a bit of a battering recently.

“Geoff's not like that. He isn't 'a conquest'.”

Derisive laughter.

Ha! Now who's the clone? Where's Mr I'm God's Gift disappeared off to?

“Oi! … Zo, I've never been like that.” Had he?

Slight exaggeration, dear brother. Only slight.

Tony let go of the breath he'd been holding.

After a moment, Zoe suddenly changed tack, sounding more thoughtful.

Your exes have never seemed quite right for you, Tone.

“Now you say.”

Not my place to interfere, is it? Anyway, I met most of them, what? Twice?

Most? That made him sound as though he was a serial philanderer. He'd had … six, altogether. Tony took a moment to reflect. He'd certainly never thought of any of his previous boyfriends as long-term, marriage material. They'd all been fun to know – sex, sports, companionship, sometimes a shared interest in cooking. But desire aside, he'd felt nothing deeper than affection for any of them. If he was honest with himself, it was hardly surprising that none had lasted beyond a year at the most. Once the sexiness of the arrangement had worn off, it was usually the signal for the endgame.

Tone?

“Sorry, the signal dropped out. It's always temperamental indoors. Geoff's different, Zo. Totally different.”

Wow …

“He makes me think differently, act differently, and he as sure as hell makes me feel differently. It's still early days – we haven't even kissed properly yet – but I have my hopes.”

You haven't kissed him yet? Jesus! That mean you haven't fucked him yet either?

For a moment, Tony was rendered speechless.

Well, he's certainly messing with your head. And that other part of you that normally has its way.

“Zoe!”

Come on. How long you known him?

“Err … two months, give or take.”

You don't know exactly?

Well, yes, he did. But he wasn't going to tell his sister that.

Haven't you even seen his cock yet?

Tony's jaw dropped. That was his sister taking her frankness to a new level. As for her question … He'd got some idea, visually, and from the hugs he'd experienced with Geoff.

“None of your effing business! Get your mind out of the gutter, sister dear.”

I'll take that as a 'no', then. Weird.

“Weird? No, taking things at a pace that suits us both. And unless there's anything else? …”

Giggles.

Had enough, have you? Seriously, I'm pleased for you, Tone. Fingers crossed.

“I know. Bye, Zo.”

Bye.

“What's on the menu, chef?”

Helen was wondering what Geoff had in his kitchen cupboards as she asked the question. Nothing particularly useful, was the answer as she opened them up. Tea, coffee, biscuits, breakfast cereals, but little for actually cooking a meal.

Geoff was studying a brightly-coloured page on his tablet.

“I was thinking spaghetti Bolognese with warm crusty bread?”

“You know how to cook pasta?”

“Yes, course I do. I'm not that crap a cook.”

Helen refrained from replying. The morning's hangover might've receded somewhat, but she wasn't feeling up to much. She knew her temper was still frayed.

“It's the sauce I might have some trouble with. Sounds easy enough, but that's before I get involved.”

Helen peered over his shoulder at the online recipe.

“Well, it's only gonna take an hour or so to cook. Tony'll give you a hand if you get stuck. It's not something you can prepare in advance, really. Look, make a list of what you need, and bugger off to the supermarket.”

“It's open?”

“Just. I'll assemble the pans and other things you'll need. Then I'll help myself to some more coffee.”

Geoff downloaded the recipe to his phone, reached for his car keys, then headed out of the kitchen.

Helen shouted after him, “And don't forget that recipe's to feed six. Yeah?”

Geoff paused on his way out, and blinked. Shit, that hadn't occurred to him. God, he was hopeless sometimes. Then he grinned to himself.

“Yes, mother.” He dived out the front door before Helen could throw something at him.

“Oh … wasn't that wonderful?” Geoff let his hands fall gently off the piano keys, after the final chord of the song they'd just finished had died away.

Tony and he were in his front room, making music again. Only, this was the first time in his house. His upright piano had seen better days, but it still sounded perfectly OK. He had it tuned and serviced regularly. Welcoming Tony in had been the nerve-racking experience he'd expected. But a hug or two, and Tony's usual greeting kisses had helped him to settle him down. The music was good as well, since he didn't get anything like as nervous as he did in their first sessions.

Tony smiled at him. “I love Vaughan Williams, and Housman – so On Wenlock Edge is the perfect combination. Especially Is my team ploughing?, and Bredon Hill as well. VW's such a good word-setter.”

Geoff thought for a moment. “I've played in several choral things of his … Ehm … Dona Nobis Pacem for one, and the Sea Symphony.”

“I'd love to sing in the Sea Symphony. But it needs a much larger choir than the one I sing in. … Walt Whitman settings, aren't they?”

“Yeah. 'Behold, the sea itself' … What a fantastic opening.”

“Uh-huh. I prefer the second movement, though. 'On the beach at night, alone'. More calm, sombre, even.”

A brief silence – companionable and contented.

Tony stirred first. “When d'you need to start cooking?”

Geoff had already explained what he – and Helen – had planned. Though he hadn't mentioned Helen's part in it.

He checked the time. “Twenty minutes, or so. If we're planning to eat at six.”

“Good. Time for some more music. Budge up – I'd like to play some piano duets.”

“You play piano?”

“Yep. You've got some piano duet music, I take it?”

Geoff stood up, and started hunting through the piles of music heaped on top of the piano lid.

“Somewhere …”

Tony parked himself on the piano stool. “Piano playing is one of my more hidden talents. Though I'm nowhere near as good as you.”

He smiled as he saw Geoff blushing, as he always did when someone praised him. That blush had the power to really get him going – hitting him in the heart, and the groin.

Geoff finally resurfaced, clutching a couple of things. “Mozart or Dvorak?”

“Mozart, I think.”

Geoff sat back down. Tony moved along the seat, trying to crowd Geoff out.

“Move up. You're taking considerably more than half the stool.”

“I'm not! How on Earth am I meant to reach over there, if you're in the way?”

Geoff used an elbow in Tony's ribs to make his point. A brief tussle ensued. The squabbling, laughter, shoving, and giggles continued until they both settled down to play.

“How's everything coming along?”

Tony stuck his head round the kitchen door during a break in the televised football match. He'd decided from the off, that he'd let Geoff get on with his cooking. To his mind, there was nothing worse than someone loitering in the background, waiting for things to go wrong. Of course, he'd help if he was asked.

Geoff was standing at the cooker, staring intently into a large, steaming pan. He prodded the contents cautiously with a fork. With his other hand, he occasionally stirred what was in another, smaller pan. He turned away from the hob to show Tony the fork with a couple of spaghetti strands draped over it.

“How do I know if this is done?”

“Simple. Try it.”

“Oh … Right.”

He turned back to his cooking, while also trying to direct the pasta into his mouth.

Geoff's preoccupation with his cooking gave Tony an idea. Slowly and quietly, he moved from the doorway, across the kitchen, until he was standing just behind his boyfriend. By this time, he could see Geoff was concentrating on the pan with the sauce rather than the pasta. Tony carefully put his arms around Geoff's waist, then quickly tightened them before his quarry could pull away. The feeling of Geoff's meaty buttocks on his groin was exactly what he hoped it would be. Glorious. And so sexy.

“Watch it! There are hot pans here.”

“It's OK – I've got you.” Tony rested his chin on Geoff's shoulder – he could feel the edge of Geoff's beard on his cheek.

There were so many sensations he was experiencing, and he relished them all.

“It's not me I'm worried about.”

Geoff still appeared focussed on his cooking. He picked up the bright red, rubberised spoon and dipped it in the sauce. Then he twisted his upper torso until he was able to see Tony, forcing him to move away slightly.

“Have a taste of this. I can't tell if I seasoned it right.”

Tony hastily tried to get his mind back onto food, rather than on something else.

“Oh … OK.” He took the spoon, blew on the sauce, then sampled it. “Hmm … It's really tasty, Geoff. We'll make a good cook of you yet.”

“Yeah?” Geoff, red-faced from standing over the pans, gave Tony a broad grin. “Oh, great! I'll serve up then, I'm starving.”

“I really like this house. It feels welcoming, and it must've seen so much life going on. How old is it? I guess early twentieth century?”

The two men were still sitting at Geoff's kitchen table, having eaten their supper They were just finishing their coffee. Tony had insisted on the grand tour of the house earlier, much to Geoff's initial disquiet.

“Yeah, I think this is an Edwardian terrace, built by some speculator or another. The house is actually my mother's. She used Dad's life insurance to buy the place she's now living in. There's no way I'd be able to afford this on my salary.”

Tony grunted. “The mortgage payments on my place are steep – I can afford them, but only just.”

Geoff grimaced sympathetically. “Some days I feel I'm rattling around in this place, but Mum doesn't want to sell for some reason. Still, it's my gain.”

Tony took another sip of coffee, and tried to dispel the black mood that always appeared when the subject of housing costs came up. He managed to summon up a smile.

“Anyway … I think it's time for a round of applause. That was a wonderful supper, Geoff.”

“Hnh … Even if I did forget the bloody wine.” And he nearly forgot the bread, as well. The list on his phone might not have existed for all the notice he appeared to take of it. Geoff growled in frustration at himself.

“Hey, now. None of that. It was delicious. Come on, stand up, and take a bow.”

Geoff glowered at Tony across the table. He heartily disliked playing the fool, since he was perpetually self-conscious, and he thought Tony should've realised that by now.

A mischievous smile appeared on Tony's face.

“If you don't, I'll claim my own way of congratulating the chef.”

Geoff continued to look at him under furrowed brow. Tony resisted the temptation to giggle.

“It'll be nothing bad. Believe me. In fact, I hope you'll enjoy it just as much as I will.”

He saw an eyebrow go up – Geoff was thinking. That was good.

Tony gave it a minute before he stood up. Then he moved round to the other side of the table. Holding a hand out, he pulled Geoff to his feet.

“I've been so waiting for this, my love.”

The startled expression on Geoff's face would've been worth a laugh in normal circumstances. Instead, Tony gathered his boyfriend in, and kissed him on the lips. And again. Full, soft lips, surrounded by well-kept beard. Tony revelled in the contrasts, and in the sweetness of something long anticipated. He continued to kiss Geoff until they were both gasping for breath. When Tony took a step back for a moment, Geoff was staring at him, stunned, yet elated.

“See. I said you'd enjoy it.”