Footy, chapter 32

Friends

 “G'day.” Sean couldn't meet Emma's eyes. His mind kept going back to their last meeting, to what had nearly happened. It wasn't as if he didn't feel that it was all OK. It was, with him, and with her, he was sure. They had crossed some vital threshold, and there was no going back. That was all settled. But he was uncertain about how you dealt with a friend, a good friend, someone you liked but still in some ways an unknown. He had never connected so quickly with someone before. He was still surprised by it, by how she and he had reached across the gulf between them for Will's sake.

He had never had a best friend. He'd always been too ashamed of himself, of his family, of the succession of shabby homes he'd lived in. And though he wasn't aware of it, the impression he gave to others kept people from attempting intimacy. Will had been drawn to him precisely because he seemed so tough and brutal. It had been a while before Sean had known he was in love, despite their physical intimacy. Sean had never really had an equal relationship with a woman. He'd never been in love before. He'd half-despised the women who were in love with him. And he'd never seen them as friends, even though he'd wanted them and needed the sex with them. What he felt for Emma was entirely new. 

“Come in. I'll just be a minute.” Emma had tried to talk herself into commonsense and ease before Sean arrived—she knew she would feel shy in his presence—but it hadn't worked. Everything she has planned to say went out of her head. But even though she was tongue-tied, she knew what she wanted now. She had no idea how they were going to make it work. And even though she was shy with him, she didn't feel uncomfortable. She was reassured to see that Sean was diffident. He'd seemed so strong and capable that it was comforting to know that he was human after all. And it was good to know that she wasn't the only one wondering where to look and what to say and what to do with her hands. 

“Yeah, roight. A minute!” Sean's tone was sly and slightly mocking, glad to tease, filled with affection. 

“Behave, poltroon.” Immediately she'd spoken, she felt she'd made a fool of herself. What did this man know about Shakespeare? 

But Sean's eyes were dancing. “I am not a... what you said.” He knew she wasn't trying to make herself out to be cleverer or better educated than he was. He trusted her. This was another new feeling. A small knot of fear and anger untangled itself inside him.

Read the rest here.

Footy, chapter 27

Will was lying in bed, motionless, staring at the ceiling. Sean was quite unable to speak. He stood at the edge of the curtained-off cubicle, with its transparent illusion of privacy, staring at Will. Will hadn’t turned to look at him. Sean stepped into the space around the bed, and dragged the plastic chair over the bare lino tiles towards the bed. Will heard him, and turned his head briefly towards the sound. His eyes met Sean’s, and held for a moment. Sean stared into the toffee-colored depths, a lump in his throat, his eyes pricking. Still Will didn’t speak. 

Sean swallowed hard. “Will.” 

Will stared at him. Clear as pebbles on the bed of a mountain stream, Sean saw the emotions flow through Will’s face. Overwhelming and profound love. Grief. Unbearable pain. Anger. Indifference. Despair. Oh God, most of all, despair! 

Will turned his face away. He swallowed. “Go away.” His whisper was almost inaudible. 

Sean’s heart dropped, and sorrow filled his being like icy water. It had never occurred to him that Will wouldn’t welcome him back with open arms. His misery and anguish gave him the courage to speak, to say what he realised now, too late, that he’d thought so often, but never expressed in words, though he had in every other way that mattered. Except when Will had been unconscious – then he could say it. His cowardice sickened him. Not one moment’s further delay. He would say it now. 

“I love you, Will.” His voice cracked. This wasn’t how Sean MacDonald was supposed to be. He was a boy’s home graduate, and then there had been prison – and he remembered the General’s shrewd face as he questioned him about his record, and how he hadn’t been able to meet the General’s compassionate and wise and tough old eyes – and his parents, and oh God, his mother. Sean would have sworn he was hardened against this. He knew better now. Almost, he was angry with the man in the bed in front of him. Unable to articulate these feelings and judgments, he repeated the words, wanting to take the other man into his arms, knowing that if he could he would be able to make it all right.

Read the rest here.

Footy, chapter 26

You can read it here.

As she ran through the bleak hospital corridors, her shoes hitting the lino hard, her eyes seeing only the red stripe painted on the floor indicating the way to casualty, she was all at once shaking with anger. How could he? What did he mean, he’d fallen in love with a man? Was this Sean the lover? The fact that Will had never mentioned him now seemed sinister. Why had Sean come round to the house? Did they make love in their bed? Emma was repelled and angered at the idea. These thoughts darted round her head until she wanted to scream. 

There was no one at reception in Emergency. She stood in a fever of impatience at desk. At last someone appeared. Will Beaumont? They didn’t know his name, but there was only one Will. She was directed to his cubicle in the intensive care ward. Will was in the bed farthest from the door. His eyes were closed. For a moment her heart stopped. Then she saw the steady electronic messages on the screens, and she was reassured. In a chair next to the bed, there was a man, fast asleep. He was loosely holding Will’s hand. For a moment, but for a moment only, she was touched by this evidence of affection. It could have been any sickbed scene between two close friends. Even heterosexual men might be inclined to get emotional if one of them has attempted suicide. 

She inspected him. Her rival. What’s so special about him? she thought, unable to credit Will’s desires. His hair was dark brown, thick and curly. He was lean, without being fimbly and skinny. His shoulders were broad, and his chin pleasing. She hated him. 

He opened his eyes. For a moment they were clouded with sleep. He inspected her face. With equal intensity, she scrutinized his. His eyes were a gorgeous amalgam of blue and grey. The expression in them was indecipherable. 

“Hi,” he said, letting go of Will’s hand. 

“Are you Sean?” she asked, wanting to hit him, to scream and pound her fists against his face, the wall, anywhere she could to relieve her feelings. 

“Yes.” 

“Are you his... lover?” She knew he was. The body language made it plain. 

He hesitated before he replied. “Yes,” he said at last. 

“Just go. You’ve done enough harm.”

Footy chapter 13

Heath Shaw, amazingly handsome and (as far as I know) straight.

I've just uploaded it to my website, here.

 Afterwards, they lay arm-in-arm, Adam’s head resting on Tom’s chest, listening to the regular, reassuring thump of Tom’s heart.

“Well, was it such a shock?” Adam didn’t look at Tom, but with his hand he stroked Tom’s arm and the sleek steel muscles of his stomach.

“Why would it be a shock?”

“Your first time with a bloke.”

“Oh, that.” The rumble of Tom’s laugh sounded subterranean in Adam’s ear. “When you’ve given your heart, what does your body matter? But if you must know, it was lovely. Can we do it again?”

They did, and went for a swim, after.

Footy Chapter 12

Ben Cohen who is definitely not gay but is gay friendly

The oil lamps in the cottage were lit. The soft light spilled out of the uncurtained windows onto the decking. The moon was reflected in silver ripples across the lagoon, and the air was warm and utterly still. Tom closed the door of the car, quietly. He knew that Adam had to be aware of his arrival. The stillness of the country night, the darkness of the forest, the loneliness of the cottage meant that it would have been hard to miss.

His relief that Adam was there and alive made him light-headed.

He had marshalled arguments and words, but when he opened the door and saw Adam sitting in the tatty comfy sofa, an open bottle next to him, the single glass black with wine, he found that none of them would do.

Here

Chapter 7 of Footy

I've uploaded chapter 7 of Footy to my website.

“No one sees me as myself. Everybody sees Thomas Milton Siedentrop, footy hero.” 

 Oh fuck! Did I just say that out loud? Tom colored deeply, from embarrassment that Adam would think he was blowing his own trumpet, from anger at his own gabbing. 

Adam smiled lazily at him, and took another sip of the wine before he spoke.
“What’s ‘footy’?” 

They stared at each other then began to laugh, simultaneously. 

“You knew all along,” said Tom wryly, surprised that he wasn’t angry. 

“Yeah. But I hate footy. I can’t stand all that rah-rah, all the adulation, all the worship of youth and youthful prowess. As far as I was concerned, you were just a guy in the gym. I don’t give a fuck what you did or what you do. Or whom you root,” he added, boldly. 

“What do you give a fuck about, then?” Tom was smiling at him, his face open and guileless, friendly and warm, his charm natural, unpractised. 

Adam wouldn’t answer. This was getting too intimate, too dangerous. 

Read the rest here. 

Footy shorts

A good example of 80s footy shorts.  Short and snug.  Super sexy.

These days footy players wear less revealing, looser shorts, more's the pity.

And though I don't know who these players are, I know they're not gay, 'cos the bible -- uh, I mean the AFL --  has told me so. 

Wankers.