They may not mean to, but they do - 2. Two

Keith had heard of the 'White Horse' from Hughie, not directly but he had heard the guy talking about the pub. A gay pub. In Leeds. So, far enough away to not risk bumping into someone he knew. And so, heart in his mouth, Keith had driven up to Leeds and was now walking into the place. He almost didn’t, he walked up and down the street a few times, noting the guys going in. It was a big place, an old pub that had acquired a variety of tacky, glitzy decorations. If you put the lights full on it would have looked scuzzy, but hell, you don’t visit pubs for the décor, do you?

It wasn’t too busy, and guys were stood around in groups chatting, screaming and occasionally dancing. There was a wide variety of types, from youngsters dolled up to the nines to middle-aged blokes. Some were highly coloured and camp, some were stylish, and some were ordinary. Not everyone screamed, and no-one stared at Keith and said, ‘what are you doing here?’

In fact, a few eyed him up and one drunken queen said. ‘Hello, handsome’, which almost caused him to run. He found a spot at the back, but it all became a bit much and he felt overwhelmed as if the world was pressing in.

“Don’t forget to breathe, take a deep breath now.” It was a guy stood next to him, middle-aged, looking concerned. A pair of dark bushy eyebrows, deep-set eyes staring at him, a face full of creases, a pleasant face.

“Your first time here?”

Keith nodded.

“Hang on a mo. Keep me spot”, and the guy, who Keith later learned was called Ken, disappeared, only to return with a glass of something.

“Get that down you!”

Keith swallowed, shuddered, and grimaced; neat Scotch, not his tipple, still it did the trick. Ken watched him carefully but with a smile on his face. As Ken waited for the entertainment to start, they chatted. Or at least Ken did, Keith’s answers were less verbose, but Keith learned that Ken came from Ilkley way, and a trip to the 'White Horse' was his weekly treat in a life otherwise lived under the radar. Tonight’s entertainment, Ruby Slut, was one of his favourites.

‘She’ proved to be a man, tall and strapping, in elaborate drag, more pantomime dame than imitation woman, who sang bawdy versions of well-known songs interspersed with even filthier dialogue. Keith found it surprisingly entertaining. It took him out of himself. Though he could not imagine telling the guys at the building site about it.

-oOo-oOo-

Work on Greg and Bart’s outbuildings was proceeding slowly, the two still undecided over some pretty major decisions. But whether he was working at their house or not, evenings by their pool became a regular thing; and if the weather turned then they sat and had a drink in the impressive lounge area. Keith found himself welcomed, not patronised. Greg talked to him about his business, found him potential clients and waxed embarrassingly lyrical to said potential clients over Keith’s talents for neatly elegant cabling. Bart had produced a set of stylish photos of the work on the house and before Keith knew it, he had a website advertising his services.

Bart had seen him reading library books at lunchtime and quizzed him about his tastes, and started lending him thrillers and crime novels, classy ones of a type he would never have dreamed of reading but often enjoyed. One, about a black Texas Ranger, he read twice.

Part of him knew that he was their latest project, yet he felt at home, and not looked down on, they talked about books and TV and music, and their different tastes. Bart and Greg had an easy relationship and sent each other’s tastes up something rotten and it was easy for Keith to feel part of the group. He learned that they’d been together for 10 years, that Bart was a journalist, but they exchanged little detailed personal background. As if the two were waiting.

-oOo-oOo-

He’d been to the White Horse a few times when one of his encounters there led to a trip to a back alley and a furtive yet fierce bout of sex. Keith’s first time being properly intimate with a man. Not overwhelming and somewhat unsatisfactory, the guy had evaporated afterwards with a brief thanks, leaving Keith to drive home a rather sticky mess. But he’d done it properly with a guy, kissed a guy, handled the guy’s hard dick and had the bloke stroke him off. It had been little more than a quick fumble, a hands only job, and the aftermath left a bit of a sour taste. But still, the feel of the guy’s hard-on stayed with him. He shared a place with three mates, guys he had worked with, and Keith was glad that no-one was around when he got home, to see his sticky, bedraggled state.

He was back working at Bart and Greg’s, doing the final stuff in the studio. Sitting eating his lunch, Bart appeared and asked him how his weekend had been. Something bubbled up inside Keith and he told Bart, briefly, about the encounter.

“Did he get your wallet?”

Keith shook his head, somewhat startled by the idea.

“You’re lucky then, can’t be too careful.” Bart paused and thought for a moment, “Was it fun?”, his expression rather too eager.

Keith pulled an exaggerated face, “So, so”. He couldn’t quite believe he was talking about a gay encounter so casually.

-oOo-oOo-

Saturday mornings, if Keith wasn’t working on a job, he did his shopping in Norton. The shared house had been quiet, two guys were on a job working Saturdays, and the third was snoring away audibly, probably Joe from the sound of it. Keith didn’t bother with the big Tesco’s, he simply walked to the high street. The exercise would do him good, and he preferred the smaller shops. Norton high street wasn’t grand, it was just a street, and was far less picturesque than some places. It was a funny old mixture of buildings, not the sort of thing that got people interested, and it had been knocked about a bit over the years. But it still felt like a place, there were proper shops, the places he needed, a cobbler, small supermarkets, chemist, Post Office, and such, plus a couple of places for coffee. Keith even bought his clothes from the factory shop.

He queued up at the Post Office, marvelling at how long it took everyone and bought his tea at the Co-op. Keith mainly lived on pre-packed food, he had a vague idea of living healthily but his knowledge of cooking didn’t stretch much beyond a fry-up, boiling potatoes and grilling sausages. Tonight, he was going to be in alone, so he planned an experiment and had bought potatoes, sausages and some veg, plus a thing of sauce with instructions. And something to drink, of course.

Now it was time for coffee, the coffee shop was busy, a few old girls chatting, a couple of bunches of Mums with kids left to run riot, two brassy-looking women trying too hard, with matching hair-dos and toning clothes, discussing very loudly the behaviour of an unnamed man. It was difficult to tune out this latter conversation. As he drank his coffee and ate his toastie (so much for eating healthily) Keith noted two guys together. Perfectly ordinary, but his newfound thoughts, knowledge made him think.

Folk reckoned that 10% of people had done some sort of gay stuff. How many in Norton, how many gay guys? Hughie was the only guy Keith had known at work who was gay. There’d been others who got teased about it, but guys were quick to spot other guys who were a bit different. Would Keith have known that Greg and Bart were gay if they hadn’t been quite open about it, referring to each other in conversation as ‘my husband’? Shit, the first time Greg had done that, when they’d met on site to discuss the work and Greg said that he’d be living there with ‘my husband’, Keith had had chickens. He hoped it hadn’t shown; made him out to be a right prejudiced prick.

No-one talked like that amongst his mates, who were all guys from work. Anyroad. How did you meet other gay guys? There were dating websites, but Keith had a healthy distrust of technology, he wasn’t putting his personal business on a computer for any jack-harry to know and use. He wanted to meet people and chat.

In the pub last night, some of the guys had been on about Jaz, the girl who worked at Norton Building Supplies. It was just a yard really, with a few huts, but they kept a decent stock and Keith often popped in to buy stuff for jobs. The guys were friendly, and Jaz worked in the office which meant she sat in a funny little booth by the cash desk. If there was no-one around, she’d come out to help serve customers.

One of Den’s mates had tried it on with her and got the brush off. Now the word was that she was a lesbian, all because she didn’t fancy one of Den’s dodgy mates and she wore heavy boots. Someone made a crack that she was probably a Goth, but that hadn’t gone down well. Keith made a fool of himself because when they asked him what he thought, he nearly blurted out it wasn’t worth asking him, he liked guys. Only he didn’t, not quite. Now they thought he was sweet on her. Shit.