I know the truth about you - 1. Chapter 1

The Coven

“God, what a dump,” he thought to himself. And he wasn’t far off with that verdict. From the outside, the ‘club’ looked disconcertingly like his old Scout hut from school. In fact, the more he looked the more convinced he was that the building must have once been used for such a purpose. He glanced to one side. Yes, the walls were made of timber. Did he even want to be seen in such a place? Well yes, he supposed. That was the whole purpose of turning up here after all, on a miserable October night. Finally, a voice inside him, one which had struggled to be heard over the years, had had enough. “Get in, or chicken out, yet again. Go back to your bedsit and be miserable or start to get a life.” He sighed, shuddering almost, and made for the entrance.

Pushing the door open he found his way blocked by a scruffy “velvet” curtain, but from beyond he could hear the pulsating beat of Yazoo’s Don’t go! A sign, perhaps, he thought dryly. From behind, the body belonging to a giggling voice pushed him aside and headed in. He followed, paid his admittedly cheap entrance fee and entered what seemed to be a pastiche cavern from a B grade horror film. It was truly a dive. Nevertheless, he saw the bar and headed towards it with appropriate “excuse me”s and “thank you”s, polite until the last.

Armed, now, with a stiff vodka and tonic, he edged his way towards the dance floor. The music at least was good. Finding a corner to hide himself in, he settled and tried to relax. It was his first time in a gay club. Ridiculous for someone in his early twenties, he supposed, but even a month ago he would not have thought it possible. He had been to the odd gay pub with school friends who had come out to him. He was, of course, supportive and accepting, ironically the two things he couldn’t be towards himself. Why not? He had known deep down for years that he was probably gay, but it was impossible to say the words to others. He started to get anxious and took a deep drink of the vodka. He looked at the glass, now nearly empty. Shit. He needed another one; or was it time to go and at least be pleased he could tell that nagging voice inside to piss off for once and let him be.

He closed his eyes and let the beat start to get into him. He had always loved to dance – well, on his own in his room if not with others. One song segued into the next. He recognised it. In fact, it could be his theme song, Lookin for love. God, he loved it and without realising it, his foot began to tap along. He craved to be brave enough and just walk a few feet to the dance floor. There were enough people dancing so he could easily hide and be lost in the crowd. Around him there was laughter, snatches of conversations, almost drowned by the hypnotic music which was calling him, like a Siren, to his doom.

Still fearful of that fate and resisting it, he struggled back towards the bar. There were certainly more people now that the pubs would be closed in the city centre. Glancing around carefully he could see that most people were in their twenties or thirties; some were clearly couples but others were alone or in groups of friends. Although physically inside the club, he felt he was outside still, observing himself and asking what he was going to do.

“Another vodka and tonic, love?” asked the cute guy behind the bar. He made a split-second decision as he put his empty glass on the bar. “Er, no thanks. I’ve had enough.” The truth was that he felt like ordering two or three vodkas in a row just to cope with the stress he was beginning to feel. It was time to go. He admitted to himself that he was a coward but hopefully there would be another time when he could pluck up the courage again to pass through the velvet curtain but for now the moment seemed to have passed.

Dave

“Shit,” he said under his breath as he bumped into someone turning from the bar counter at the same time. The guy’s drink sloshed around and spilt on them both. A very English pantomime game of “so sorry”, “my fault”, “no mine” began and threatened to continue for a while until the other guy took control. He put a hand on the lad’s chest and stopped the flow of apologies.

“Hey, no real damage done, we can get another drink from Gaz. What happened to yours?” Forced to admit that he hadn’t got one and that, in fact, he was on his way home, he turned to move away. But before he could the guy took his arm. “Wait! Gaz what was my new friend drinking? Make it a large one.” His mild protests were overruled and so he stood and waited passively, whilst noticing that no money was passed.

“Here we go, one vodka and tonic for you and a pint for me.” Seemingly, without a pause for breath, he continued by extending his hand, “Dave, and you are? Yes, I know you said that you were off, but you look like you need a stiff drink. Cheers!” Dave finally fell silent and looked expectantly at the still unnamed lad at his side.

“Jack,” he replied in a faltering voice, then more strongly, “my name’s Jack. Nice to meet you and thank you for the drink.” God, he thought, I sound like I’m at one of my parents’ Conservative Association do’s. He must think I’m a right dickhead. He smiled timidly.

“Well, Jack, welcome to The Coven, the crème de la crème of gay clubs in Oxford. So exclusive that it is, in fact, the only gay club in the city. I’m also betting that this is your first time here, right?” he questioned. Without waiting for a reply he continued, “so, what do you make of it and us, its loyal clientele, and tell me all about you?” Whilst the tone was ironical, his eyes showed real interest in getting a reply. This time he waited expectantly. And Jack realised that it was safe to reply. Something about Dave made him feel comfortable, or at least the stress was leaving him with every sip of an extremely strong vodka.

“Okay,” he responded in a more confident manner. “You know my name, Jack, I’m a student here at one of the colleges. I’m a graduate student of history and I’m 22. And yes, it’s damn hard to admit, but yes, this is my first time ever in a gay club. People seem pretty normal, and the music is ace. But the club looks just like my school scout hut from the outside.”

Dave interjected, “but not quite so from the inside, I hope, or your school was very progressive.” They both laughed and Jack relaxed a bit more. As if by mutual consent they moved away from the bar towards the side wall where the music was quieter. “And why now?” That was a bit near the knuckle for Jack, so he decided to ask his own questions. “And you, Dave, as a historian I’d like to know your history?” From the look in the other’s eyes, he knew that Dave had noted the change of subject.

“Me? I’m a barman at a pub in the city centre. You should try it sometime. People are friendly, though it’s mainly townies who are the regulars. I read Classics at Pembroke, got a “gentleman’s third” and started to drift. Got into bad company but I’m sorted now with a good job.” Wow, thought Jack, a Greek and Latin scholar working as a barman, strange. But before he could ask more or even comment, the volume soared, and the voice of Gloria Gaynor began to belt out.

Jack found himself being dragged to the dance floor. “It’s my favourite song, we have to dance to it,” screamed Dave. “Come on!”

The pickup

A pulsating beat seemed to get loader and loader inside his head as he followed Dave’s lead and bopped around. Luckily no serious skill seemed to be needed, as his quick glance around the small dance floor suggested. Jack was now pretty relaxed; the company, booze and the great music all combined to make him glad he had taken the plunge at last.

After two or three songs, and as if by silent consent, they moved off towards the bar. Jack did what he hoped was a discrete check on the money situation and offered to get a round in. Dave nodded and still seemed to be lost in the music. Jack gently pushed his way towards the bar. And then it happened. Someone was tapping his shoulder, and it couldn’t be Dave. He turned and, to his horror, saw a guy from his college, Tim, as flamboyant a creature as he was a renowned and feared gossip. Jack’s heart sank. There was no way Tim would keep this on the quiet. They were in the same year, course and tutorial group. Shit!

“Well, well, well, young Jack,” Tim cackled. “What a dark horse you are! Had no idea you were gay. We must have a drink to celebrate. No, no shaking your head. I insist.”

Jack gave a quick backward glance and saw a bemused look on Dave’s face; he shrugged his shoulders trying to communicate something. But what? He turned back to Tim and tried to think of a workable excuse. If he admitted things, then he knew that by Monday “everyone” in College would know. And the thought of Tim trying to take him over was simply too awful to bear. If he tried to lie what would happen with Dave? Jack almost physically squirmed in anguish, before taking a deep breath. Why the fuck had he stayed in this god-forsaken bar? He needed out.

“Hi Tim, good to see you”, he lied. “Don’t start building up a huge story. I’m here with a friend who was too shy to come on his own. I’m his moral support.” ‘God forgive me, if there is one’, he added mentally.

“That’s great. Bring him over. Is he at our college? I’ll make sure he has a good time.” ‘Yes, I’m sure you would’, thought Jack sardonically.

“Actually, that’s not such a good idea. He’s just testing the water, and I think he is more or less ready to go. So, see you on Monday, Tim. I better get back to him.” And with that, Jack turned around and headed off before the other could reply.

The bar was busier now with a hoard of people trying to reach the bar. Jack slowly edged his way back to where Dave was, only to find him gone. Looking around, almost in a panic, he caught a glimpse of him close to the dance floor. ‘Oh no, if he starts dancing with someone I’m lost.’ He pushed his way, rudely, through the crowded bar. He nervously presented himself to Dave, gabbling away like an idiot. “Sorry, so sorry, it was guy from my college who is a complete pain but a hideous gossip. I got away as soon as I could but, drat, I forgot the drinks. I can go back if you want.” Finally, he had to stop as he ran out of breath.

“Hey, that’s okay but I need to know if you are going to be with me or your friends tonight.”

“I thought you would never ask,” replied Jack with a relieved smile.

“In that case, let’s get out of here, shall we?” And with that Dave grabbed his arm and steered him towards the velvet curtain.

As they passed near the bar Jack cautiously glanced over to see if Tim was looking. He wasn’t, he was busy chatting to a young twinky sort. That drama over, Jack realised that an even bigger one was about to happen if he went through the curtain. He froze, unable to move, it seemed.

“Hey, Jack, you coming with me or not?” Dave’s patience was running out.

It was now or never.

“Yes.” And with that he pushed the curtain aside and went out to meet his destiny, crossing his fingers mentally as he did so.

That night

It wasn’t exactly a stroll through the dreaming spires of Oxford, but rather a trek through the carparks and side streets of the commercial city centre. “It’s not far. I have a flat above the owners’ pub. Basic but okay.” Not sure if that was a comfort or not, Jack plodded alongside Dave. He looked at his watch: nearly one am. “You good, mate?” he nodded showing a reassurance that he actually didn’t feel… at all. He was beginning to panic but forced himself to continue. ‘It’s now or never,’ he told himself and this guy was surely a god. He turned slightly and admired the fit guy next to him. His thoughts were interrupted. “Here we are. My home sweet home.”

Jack gulped slightly, and followed Dave as he opened the front door and started to climb up a steep staircase towards what? Paradise, or another hell? At the top of the stairs Dave waited and smiled gently. He pulled Jack towards him and almost tenderly kissed his lips. Bloody hell it was happening. Finally, at almost 23, Jack was about to … He shuddered involuntarily and realised that Dave was looking at him curiously. “You okay? Are you sure?” “Absolutely,” Jack replied. ‘God, I’m a fucking wimp,’ he cursed himself and out loud said in a hesitant voice. “It’s just that you are so good looking. What can you see in me?”

There was no verbal response. He was gently led to the bedroom, like a lamb, he thought. Dave opened his arms, smiled and pulled Jack to him. “Toilet, sorry, toilet. I need the toilet,” Jack almost cried. A hand pointed to the side, and he fled. After a few minutes pulling himself together, Jack emerged and looked to both sides. There was Dave already in bed, shirtless at least. And beside the bed was a dubious-looking bottle. He took a deep breath and entered the small room. There wasn’t much there apart from a large mattress on the floor and a small chest of drawers. Jeans and a shirt had been dropped on the floor to one side. And there, stretched out with tightly muscled arms, was perfection personified: the green eyes that stared up at him, the almost cryptical smile that played on his lips, the taut chest. Fuck. Jack felt desire overwhelm him and felt himself hardening.

“Strip.” The command was quiet but firm. Jack could only obey. As he did so he felt aware of the physical difference between them. He was quite slim but nothing special he thought. He couldn’t work out why Dave had chosen him, as it were. By now his shoes and socks were off. Next came his shirt and trousers. And then? Was he supposed to take off his underwear, as well. A clear instruction ended his dilemma. “Come here, Jack. Get in or you’ll freeze.” He hesitated only for a moment until he realised that he was shivering not just from his nerves but from the cold. Oxford in November wasn’t the Mediterranean. Perhaps Dave would think it was just the cold that was giving him goosebumps.

Clambering over Dave he scooted under the duvet, relieved in a way that Dave was still in his own underwear. Once safely hidden he turned on his side to face the other. God, he was gorgeous. A hand stretched out and touched him gently. “Hey, are you cold or something? Come here.” Following a voice inside him, Jack edged closer and let Dave pull his head towards him. Their bodies seemed to hug each other, and their hands began to explore. Jack was in paradise. It hadn’t been like this that first time, he suddenly thought. And with that he froze. Dave’s gentle caresses no longer stirred him. He was like a statue. That past memory, which he had thought long gone, had returned to haunt him once more.

The past

“Hey, what’s the matter? Are you okay?” Dave seemed to know instinctively that something was wrong. But what? “Jack, look at me, it’s okay. If you don’t want to go further that’s fine. We can take it easy.” He looked kindly at the scared boy next to him. He might be 22 but he looked like a child waking after a nightmare. “Jack, is this your first time? It’s not a problem, you know. Just look at me.” With that he pulled Jack tightly to his chest and looked at him carefully.

“It’s the first time voluntarily,” Jack muttered under his breath, a combination of shame and anger seemed to fill him yet again. “I had a bad experience some time ago and it wasn’t a good moment for me.” He rubbed his eyes angrily as tears started to appear. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ he thought. ‘This guy is going to throw me out of his bed in any second. He wants a good time and I’m a disaster.’ But he was surprised by Dave’s reaction.

“Do you want to tell me what happened? You can, you know. No judgment. And unless you intend to head off into the freezing cold, we are nice and warm here.” With that he softly moved Jack so that the latter’s head was resting on his chest. He kissed his head gently. “It’s up to you.”

Jack could hardly believe his ears, after all this was the archetypal one-night stand and here was a guy prepared to hear his sob story. He realised, though, that he had to get this off his chest if he was ever to enjoy being with another guy without the poison of that one event ruining things.

Hugging Dave tightly and avoiding his eyes, he began to speak.

“It was three years ago. I was an idiot. A total fool. A stupid, useless, mental waste. I knew it was a bad plan. Why the hell did I agree to go? I suspected, feared, perhaps even wanted something to happen. No that’s not right. I never wanted that to happen. But why, then, did I go? I knew what he was like. I had spoken about this with friends whom he had touched up, slobbered over or worse. And yet…

“Anyway, I accepted the invite for an overnight stay. He was doing supply work in a nice part of the country, and his mother would be staying with him. I never actually saw her. Was she even there I have asked myself again and again. All was okay, at first. He asked about my studies and how useful they would be when I headed back to seminary. A stiff gin and tonic later… Yes, it was always gin until that night, then never, ever again…. I began to chill. It would be okay and the booze was great. I was eighteen and always up for a drink or two.

“I think the TV was on and he was sat in the only armchair. I was on the sofa. It felt kind of okay. Perhaps he wouldn’t pounce, I half laughed to myself. Mustn’t be his type. I can remember grimacing and asking what the fuck was I doing there playing with fire. It began to feel dangerous, and I suddenly realised I was way outside my comfort zone. I wanted out. But then the offer of a final nightcap convinced me it wasn’t going to turn into something. Relaxing back into the sofa I left my glass to one side. As I turned back the armchair was empty and he was next to me on the sofa. He finally pounced.

“Not much actually happened. He’d had so much he couldn’t actually get it up and even though I was like a rock, I realised I didn’t actually know what the right moves were. Such a useless virgin. When he got up and suggested continuing upstairs, my head cleared enough for me to say goodnight and to escape to my room. The next day was uncomfortable as he took me out for a drive. Bizarrely, I thought, we ended up at the bishop’s residence for lunch with the nuns. And after, he pulled up at a beauty spot and without looking at me told me that what had taken place was not a thing we needed to talk to our confessors about.

“And I never did. But that was it. Goodbye to the idea of seminary and absolutely no to being gay. Since then, nothing.”

“Until tonight?” Dave asked in a gentle whisper. “You are safe. And it wasn’t your fault. Believe me, I know. You were just a kid emotionally. He was an adult and manipulated you. Bit by bit you have to let go.”

And finally, Jack had shut up. He wanted to ask Dave more but now was not the time. It was all out, like the rotten tooth being given that last tug. Yes, there was still the pain but the emotional relief that he felt was almost as physical as when the dentist says, “All done, for today.” Yes, Jack felt free to be with someone, a man, anyone, for today. He looked up at those grey eyes which expressed such gentleness and honest compassion. Okay, it wasn’t his fault. Yes, he got it, believed it with a wholehearted passion that overwhelmed him. “Thank you,” he whispered, “thank you.” “You’re welcome,” came the simple reply. And with that Jack took a deep breath and began, hesitantly at first, to explore the body lying next to him. He found his inhibitions had been swept away and for the first time became a passionate, full-blooded, adult gay man and freely gave himself to the equally passionate guy in whose bed he believed he had found freedom from the chains of one night’s abuse.

The morning after

Jack came to with a start. He had no idea where he was. His head was pounding slightly; a clear sign that he’d hit the vodkas the night before. He could feel a dull ache in various muscles, as if he’d been running a marathon. An irony, he thought, as he seemed to spend his life running away in one way or another. But where was he? He turned over gently, trying to avoid provoking the incipient hangover which he felt was heading in his direction. And there, gently snoring, was a stunning guy lying on his back. If he were really gay this would be the man of his dreams, surely: the dirty blonde, slightly curly, hair; that sexy moustache; a chest that was slightly muscular and without an ounce of fat; and a treasure trail of blonde hair leading under a ruffled sheet that only partially covered him. But was it dream or nightmare?

Now fully awake, images and scenes from the night before entered his consciousness. Jack started to remember more and more details: entering the club, spilling a drink over this hunk, getting a stiff vodka (ah, the source of the headache this morning, he felt ruefully), dancing, meeting the awful Tim, a nightmare in itself, and then coming here with Dave. As more memories of the night came back, Jack realised to his complete horror that not only had he spent the night with a guy, with Dave, but had he also shared the dark secret from his past, the one he had been told never to speak of, even to a priest? What a fucking idiot he was. Why? His panic increased, and breathing seemed to come with difficulty. And yet, there was what happened after. It had been truly wonderful. He had felt pleasure and an intimacy like never before. At the time he had wanted it to go on and on and on. Now in the early morning light, looking down at Dave as he slept, he stretched out a hand and slowly touched an arm. Then, seemingly independent of his control, his fingers reached out and placed themselves in the hair on the man’s chest, moving carefully to and fro. He lay there trying to control a myriad of feelings: a desire so strong that he felt his fingers moving downwards but also fear and panic began to rear their familiar heads. The latter two won the battle and regretfully he started slowly to move his fingers away.

Suddenly Dave moved. Turning over he grasped hold of that wandering hand and squeezed it. Opening his eyes he looked at Jack as a smile played on his lips. “Someone is up to mischief, um?” He pulled Jack towards him and hugged him. “Look, give me a few minutes to fully wake up and we can get back to business.” With that he rolled over on to his back again, closed his eyes and almost within seconds was once again gently snoring.

Jack, however, lay there in an increasing mess. As much as his body was telling him to relax and get ready for more, his brain was having an emotional short-circuit. He knew he had to get out, and now. If he stayed, well, the thought of what Dave knew about him was overpowering. No way could he face that. He had to leave, and now. Quickly dressing and about to descend the stairs he noticed the phone on a side table and next to it a pad and paper. He knew he was behaving badly towards Dave, but he just couldn’t handle what was going through his head. Over and over, he had told Jack that what had happened wasn’t his fault, and he had believed it like a fool. Impulsively, he grabbed the pen and wrote:

Sorry for running away. You are such a great guy. THANKS

Gulping back tears he crept downstairs and out of the first place that he had ever felt at peace with another man, and, importantly, with himself.

As he got back to his bedsit, he unlocked the door and locked it behind him, a prisoner, he thought, who locks the cell door himself. No jailor needed.

Six weeks later

Exams over, Jack was ready to party with his fellow tutorial students. A group of six, conveniently three girls and three boys, set off into the pre-Christmas lights. They had noted something ‘off’ about him over the second half of term: slightly preoccupied, almost moody and pretty absent. Nevertheless, Jack had hosted drinks that night and seemed to be his happy self again. All were feeling relaxed as the booze hit with extra force after long days and nights of studying. “Food, I demand food!” cried Annabel in her somewhat dizzy fashion. “Pizza! Let’s grab a table at Pizza Express.”

An hour or so later, suitably stuffed with food as if he were an early turkey, Jack sat back in his seat, smiling with goodwill for all to see. Inside, though, things were very different. He knew that Anabel was getting a bit too keen and touchy-feely. Knowing that he was implicitly leading her on left him feeling pretty shitty. But then how could he ever face going back to that awful yet enticing club? What would he say if he bumped into Dave there, after cowardly sneaking off. Damnation!

“Penny for them.” “Uh”, replied Jack. “You have been miles away and from the look on your face it wasn’t somewhere you were entirely happy.” Jacked turned and focussed on Anabel, “Sorry. It’s just exam stuff. I hope I did enough. My tutor is a demon,and I can do without his cold cynicism.” His explanation was, rather dramatically, interrupted by an unsteady Tim, whom Jack had been morally forced to invite along. “Okay, my dears, the night is yet young, and we are off to the pub for a delicious nightcap with the townies. I have a nice surprise for you all. Let’s be off. Chop chop!” Really, thought Jack, this guy was a walking, talking cliché. But like the others, cowardice ruled, and they followed obediently as Tim weaved his way outside.

Passing Carfax Tower, Tim stopped and giggled. “This way is the quickest. Two minutes and we will be warm all over. Especially you, Jack,” he whispered cryptically. Now firmly in the town part of the city, it dawned on Jack where they were heading. He could see the pub now, and the side-door on the right where he had entered those weeks ago. His footsteps faltered, time seemed to stop, and he realised that he would probably be meeting his nemesis in a few moments. Approaching the door, Tim made his final announcement of the journey. “First drink is on me since this is probably your first visit to a gay pub.”

As they entered a boisterous group of ‘townies’ was leaving, and this conveniently left a table free big enough for all of them. Coats, scarves and gloves removed, attention turned to the subject of alcohol. Tim now made his first announcement inside the pub. “Okay, is everybody happy with a bottle each of their best Aussie red and white wine?” Heads nodded and Tim headed for the bar grabbing a confused Annabel on the way to help carry stuff back.

Meanwhile, Jack was furtively looking around. He had chosen a seat not in full view of the bar. With a bit of luck, it might even be Dave’s night off, he thought; or not given my look. There was a crush around the bar, and he couldn’t see who was serving. That meant he in turn wouldn’t be seen. He took a deep breath and re-entered the conversation around him.

Moments later, Annabel almost dropped a collection of glasses and two bottles of wine as she arrived, overburdened, at the table. “Where’s Tim?” someone asked. “I’m here, darlings, with a little, or should I say triple, surprise.”

Something about his tone made Jack look up. There, stood Tim, a triumphant look in his eyes and a tumbler in his hands. “One very large vodka and tonic, compliments of a very cute barman called Dave, I think he said, for our dear friend….”, he paused dramatically, “….Jack.” With that, he thrust the drink into Jack’s hand and stepped back. Jack looked up and now had a direct line of vision to Dave who was grinning at him. “Cheers,” the latter mouthed. Jack shyly nodded back and tried to disappear.

All eyes were on him at the table. Tim was clearly getting the instruments of torture ready for an unpleasant session of let’s examine Jack’s secrets. But before he could even get out a word Jack got up holding firmly on to the vodka and muttered his apologies before heading to the bar where Dave was smiling encouragingly.

“You do realise I’m fucked now. They will all be saying I’m gay, and God knows what Tim will do with all this. But you know what, Dave, I don’t bloody care. And I’m so sorry for creeping out on you. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course. But don’t think of running away again tomorrow morning, that’s all.” And with that Dave rang the bell for last orders and leant over and gave a very happy Jack a sloppy kiss.

“And I didn’t even know that he liked vodka,” complained Annabel to no-one in particular.