Marc Jesmond - 7. Chapter 7 'The Nice Bit'

At a certain age many men start to have hair trouble; they lose it from the places where they should have it, and gain it in places they shouldn’t. And sadly, they themselves are rarely the first to notice this. Marc’s decision to have a tonsorial makeover at one of the city’s flashiest hair salons was long overdue. Within minutes of taking the chair, his wispy, faded hair was consigned to the floor, and replaced by a much sexier crop. But this morning his stylist was at the top of her game, and she wasn’t going to let her customer go until she’d trimmed his eye brows, removed a forest of ear and neck hair, and given him a reviving head and neck massage. He left the place feeling and looking years younger, as well as £50 poorer!

Back home, Marc busied himself with the chores, trying hard to relegate excitement to the back of his mind. From time to time he’d nervously check the mirror to see if the glow conferred by his salon treatment, and the brisk walk home, was still there. He wanted so much to look his best. Going to the first floor he stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the riverfront. Here, he’d be able to see Leon coming. No, NO! He didn’t want to be caught looking out for his visitor. That wasn’t cool, was it?

As he went downstairs the phone rang. Instantly Marc’s heart sank; just what he’d feared. He was being blown off. But the call was from Haddaway. Not good news, of course, when was it ever? The solicitor was just ringing to inform Marc that the auction in which his beloved riverside apartment would be sold was coming up

Then the doorbell rang, Marc interrupting the call,

‘I’ve got to go, Terrence. Thanks for the update’

Marc opened the door. It was Leon; he looked him up and down.

The young man was far from good looking. His square face framed lips rather too large, a nose definitely too big, and closely set eyes, not to mention the tight, curly hair.

There’s little doubt that, for better or worse, we are created to be instantly attracted or repelled by physical appearance. But as we get to know people, their other attributes redress the balance and the physical aspect assumes its appropriate place. Marc had, with praiseworthy insight, discovered early on that Leon was a gentle, kind and uncomplicated human being and, right at this moment, there was no finer sight in the world than that on his doorstep.

They hugged and gave each other kisses on the cheek. Leon, as usual looked serious,

I’ve got something to give you first’

He handed Marc the envelope he’d received from him for sex. He opened it. There was £40 inside.

‘What’s this for?’

‘It’s for you. I don’t want it’

Marc wrestled with this awkward turn of events. He’d put £80 in the envelope. Did Leon know that? And who had that money?

‘I was happy to give it to you. Are you sure about this?’

‘Yes’

Leon kept his eyes on Marc.

‘Leon, you remember the other night, when you and I were online, arranging for you to come here?’

Leon went red,

‘That wasn’t me. You know it wasn’t’

He was trembling. Marc took him by the arm,

‘OK, I know now. That was ‘Noel’, whoever he is. But look, you mustn’t let people make you do these things. I can’t interfere, otherwise I’d be no better than anybody else, but for Christ’s sake Leon, look after yourself’

‘I am. That’s why I’ve given you your money back. I don’t want to do that anymore’

There was so much more Marc wanted to ask, but it would have to wait for the moment. Nothing was going to spoil this day!

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Robin Parnaby put down his copy of the Law Review,

‘So, how was your lunch date?’

‘What, with Brandon, you mean?’

‘Well, I presume it was Brandon, and not Justin Timberlake’

Gerald put aside his papers and turned from the desk,

‘Well, to be perfectly honest it was a ball ache’

The barrister laughed,

‘Rather you than me’

‘Apparantly so’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means that it’s left to me to deal with him. And I get sick of it. He’s an old pervert, a snob, a bore, and......

‘....and our landlord’

‘Don’t I know it? The old bastard was complaining that our meetings are getting a little predictable and tired. Tired? Do you remember three months ago, when we invited those four teenagers along. Christ, they shagged like minks, covered in sweat, and he just sat, watching, grunting’

Parnaby yawned,

‘Well, I suspect Lady Brandon was the real beneficiary of that romp, when he got back to her empty chamber, so to speak’

Gerald was becoming annoyed,

‘He’s complaining that he wants something a little spicier. And as usual it’s left to me’

‘Because you’re the born organiser, darling, simple as that’

Robin Parnaby picked up his coffee and turned to Gerald,

‘I’m going to my study; I’ve several reports to catch up with’

The clerk nodded in agreement, and watched as his partner wandered off down the hall. It was time for action.

Parnaby was very well educated and naturally clever. But his gifts were somewhat arcane. He could translate at sight Latin on ancient monuments, stand in at Bridge, and mix a first class Pimms. But he’d never quite got to grips with the 21^st century, and its technology was a closed book to him. In which regard he was at the opposite end of the scale to his partner. Gerald Campfire had embraced information technology from the get-go. And the internet, surely the greatest invention of all time blew his mind. Where else could one sit before this baleful, blue light and, within the space of half an hour, dig the dirt on one person, hurl abuse at another, order a DVD or vacation, wank oneself off, and all to the accompaniment of a Bach partita?

Allowing his partner ten minutes to get to grips with paperwork, Gerald picked up the barrister’s case, unlocked it - using the rather predictable combination of Robin’s birthday - and fished out his diary. Leafing quickly through it, he found the details he was looking for; in pencil were written the name ‘Glen’, a date plus the sum of £80, another with £100, and a mobile phone number. This was exactly what he was looking for.

One thing did puzzle him, however. A strong ink line had been made through the whole entry, redacting it.

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Gasping as they reached the top of Rothley crags Marc and Leon fell into the springy heather, laughing. That was definitely enough exercise for one day; well, that sort of exercise!

Marc’s choice of a day out in the Northumberland countryside was a high risk strategy. He’d never consciously felt like a teenager himself and, now he was approaching forty he was less sure than ever what would appeal to someone so much younger than he. But Leon appeared content.

Marc spread a tartan rug across the dry, warm earth and together they sat down. The weather could not have been more perfect. A blue sky, streaked only here and there with cloud, covered the entire two million acres that is England’s northernmost county. Marc was rhapsodic,

‘I just love this; the space, the silence, the fresh air, and just look at those views. Over there is the North Sea, behind us Scotland, over there the Lake District, and right ahead of you is Newcastle’

Leon remained impassive. Marc turned to look closely at his face,

‘Just over there, near the city, is the power station, do you see the towers?’

‘Yes’

Marc paused, uncertain how to proceed. He was pointing to a television transmitter,

‘You don’t see it, do you?’

Leon didn’t appear fazed, but he lowered his head slightly,

‘I don’t have good eyes. I wear specs’

‘Have you them with you?’

Leon took a pair of battered spectacles from his pocket and handed them to Marc; he held them at arm’s length, inspecting the lenses,

‘You’re short sighted. Join the club. Half the world’s population is’

Leon smiled a little, and re-pocketed the glasses. Marc continued,

‘Have you tried contacts?’

‘Yes, but they told me they wouldn’t work on my eyes’

Marc puckered his lips in a sort of ‘really?’ then pressed on,

‘What about laser treatment?’

In an instant the older man realised the insensitivity of what he’d said. A treatment that would cost small change to him was beyond the reach of a student. Leon made no reply. Marc laid a hand lightly on his arm,

‘I think you should see if laser surgery would work for you, and if it can, I’ll pay. How’s that?’

Marc was now running on way ahead. But he didn’t care. For months now he’d been surrounded by meanness, unkindness, selfishness. If only everybody would do one kind thing per day for somebody else, how much better things would be, he thought. But there was no righting his last comment and its inappropriateness; it was too much, too soon. Leon turned to him,

‘You can’t do that. I wouldn’t let you’

Marc understood and said nothing, then after a pause Leon added,

‘But it’s cool. You’re kind. Let’s eat’

Marc was relieved by the change of direction, and so for the next half hour both quietly worked their way through the picnic hamper. In the gentle, unpressured environment Leon talked.

He explained that he had enrolled at college where he’d hoped to study catering. But, although he’d been good at the practical side he’d been overwhelmed by the written aspects of the course, and had fallen behind. Marc listened intently but said little. Then when they’d finished eating he tidied away the hamper in silence.

Leon took from his pocket his mobile phone. He turned the phone towards his face and took his own photograph. Marc was bemused,

‘What’s all that about? My God, I thought I was a self-absorbed man at your age, but...

Leon turned and grinned. It was a goofy grin, but lovely nonetheless,

‘I just wanted to see what I look like when I’m happy’

Marc could say nothing. He motioned Leon to lay down on the rug with him, and, as they did, he reached out and held his hand.

‘Well, may this be the start of lots of happy for you’

‘Thanks. This is the nice bit’

Marc said nothing for a while, but curiosity overcame him,

‘What do you mean the ‘nice bit’?’

Leon paused, trying to give words to thought,

‘Well, you know. When you meet somebody, there’s a nice bit. There’s this bit when they’re being nice to you. Trying to be nice’

Marc let the full impact of the statement sink in,

‘I know. Wouldn’t it be great if we could connect all those nice bits, so that that’s all there was? And even save some for later’

‘Later?’

Marc smiled. Leon had years ahead to discover what he meant, but for the present there was sunshine above them, and sunshine in their hearts.

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Parnaby was asleep. He kept a sofa in the study and it was not unusual for him, having spent several hours over a brief, to lie down for a nap. Gerald peeped into the room to ensure he was out cold. Returning to the kitchen, he checked again the details he’d lifted from the barrister’s diary and dialled Glen Roberts’ number. It was answered at once,

‘Hi’

‘Is that Glen?’

‘Yeah’

‘I saw your details online the other day and wondered if we could meet up’

There was a tiny, but significant pause before Glen answered,

‘I haven’t been online for some time, are you sure it’s me you want’

‘Quite sure, otherwise how would I have this number?’

‘But this isn’t the number I use online’

‘Well, maybe I got the number from a friend, I can’t remember. You come well recommended. That’s why I’m calling

’Come well recommended? I cum well, if that’s what you want. I bet that’s what you’ve heard. Is that what you want?’

Gerald was thankful his facial expression could not be seen. It was clear to him that Glen’s entire sphere of acquaintance comprised people for whom this kind of gutter talk was the norm. The clerk was an excellent assessor of character, and in rating Glen Roberts a piece of human garbage he trusted his judgement.

‘I’d like to meet you. I have a certain proposition to put. I’ll buy you lunch and give you fifty quid just for showing up. Then, how much you make after that will be up to you’

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It had been a wonderful day. Marc wanted to round it off with a meal out but Leon preferred to dine in and help him cook. Both loved Italian, which was just as well as it was all Marc knew. But he was in for a surprise when he saw what Leon could do. It was fascinating, sexy and lovely to see the boy come alive, proudly showing him what he’d learnt at college. Their supper wasn’t the greatest meal Marc had tasted but it was one of the most joyous. And the relief almost showed on his face when Leon accepted his invitation to stay the night.

As they lay together in the darkness, Leon’s huge hands clasped around Marc’s waist, nothing needed to be said and nothing was. Marc was happy to drift off to sleep, and to dream dreams where they both awoke to a trouble free world, in which they alone existed.

Of course, men are men. Spooned together, Leon’s penis was pressed upright against Marc’s buttocks. As the minutes passed it grew hard, unyielding, and urgent. Neither spoke, but after some time Marc got up and went to the bathroom. Returning, and climbing gently back into bed, he whispered to Leon,

‘You’ve never done this before, have you?’

‘No’

In the darkness Marc kissed the boy’s forehead, ears, cheeks, then lips,

‘Don’t worry. What happens, happens. As far as I’m concerned you can do no wrong. But I’d regret it forever if I didn’t tell you how much I want you’

Marc reached down and unrolled a condom over Leon’s erection, then resumed his position beside him. Slowly, but deliberately he eased himself onto the boy’s penis until Leon was fully inside him.

For some time they remained like that, revelling in the perfect union, the security, the oblivion. Then - slowly at first, but gaining momentum - an instinct older than man himself cut in: Leon was acquiring the art of giving and receiving pleasure. And, as each thrust grew in power and depth, he drove relentlessly himself and his lover to climax, fulfilment, and the sweetest of nights’ sleep.

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