Dear Madam,

Thank you for writing to enquire what my favourite drink is. I’m afraid I don’t drink spirits, because I have the alcohol capacity of a ten-year-old. I would therefore have to say my favourite drink is my own urine. It’s free and has minimal calories.

Kind Regards,

 

 

Asa’s bedroom is more subtle than the rest of the house. He has a massive light oak bed piled high with white and grey bedlinen, which is set back against a wall that’s painted a dark grey. Black and white photographs line the walls, apart from the wall behind the bed, where there’s an enormous abstract painting of a beach in winter, which is all misty greys and tan with pale lemon shots of colour.

There’s a large leather sofa in one corner, in front of which is a low weathered-looking coffee table piled high with books and magazines. A script lies on his bedside table with a pair of black framed reading glasses resting on top. He’s a little sensitive about wearing these, but I love him in them. The other night he’d lain in bed reading a script, his hair pulled up in a knot, bare, tanned chest on display and those glasses perched on the end of his nose. I was so enamoured with the look that I burrowed under the covers and rewarded him with a blow job. The script had become severely creased, but he’d judged it worthwhile.

I wander over to the ensuite bathroom to put my towel on the warming rack. This is a small, dramatic looking room with a massive shower, but pride of place is given to a claw foot bath. It’s set in front of a black painted wall on which one of Asa’s ex-girlfriends had painted a stunning display of flowers.

I step back out, passing the wall opposite the bed which is dominated by a floor to ceiling, ornate silver mirror. I shoot it a passing glance, because I always mean to look in it when we’re having sex, but I’m usually blind and deaf to everything but his cock by that time.

I sneak a look out of the window which looks down on the street. A couple of intrepid photographers are waiting, but the pack of the worst ones is gone. Asa has consistently refused to talk about Phillip, stating he’s said all he intends to say in the interviews, and since we got back, he’s walked past them in the morning and the evening with a kind smile and nothing else. It seems to have bored the photographers enough that they’ve pissed off.

Billy and I meanwhile have entertained ourselves by pretending to be spies, so every morning we go out of the house through the back door and onto the lane which runs down behind the houses. We then emerge undetected roughly twenty yards along the road.

I’m just about to move away when the wind gusts down the road, making the trees bend and sway and sending a lonely crisp packet flurrying along in its wake. For a second I admire the sight, but then I pause. It’s nearly Autumn. The realisation comes as a massive shock. I know it’s September of course, but for some reason I haven’t connected the dots. I’ve been so absorbed in Asa and Billy I haven’t paid attention to the fact that summer is over. I still, because it means our deal is at an end too. I only agreed to stay until the end of the summer, which at the time seemed like a lifetime away. Now, it’s here, it seems like time has rushed by on fast forward. I become aware that I’m shaking my hands, and stare down at them. I haven’t done that in a while.

The wind blows a sudden squall of rain at the windowpane, and I reach up and trace the path of the drops absentmindedly. For the first time in a long while I don’t know what to do. My path is usually set, and it’s always straight out of the door. I go before the men become disappointed. This is the longest I’ve ever stayed anywhere. I’ve seen myself putting down roots and still been unable to stop myself. I shake my head. Now, I’m going to pay the price and painfully, because it’s going to fucking hurt to leave. I still and look up. Unless I don’t go. I turn and look at the warm room. Could I stay? Would he even want me to stay?

Thankfully, the sound of the door draws me away from my chaotic thoughts, and I quickly turn back and draw the curtain over the window.

“Is he asleep?” I ask, and Asa stares at me for a long while, seeming to see something in my face. I school my expression and relax as he grins. He reaches behind himself to lock the door, and I feel a shudder starting low in my body.

“Fast asleep. I’ve put Stanley Atkins in the kitchen and locked the house up.” He grins. “It’s our time now, Jude Bailey.”

I go to speak, but my thoughts scatter and I stare at him instead, examining his face as if I’m taking him for a test. Everything about him attracts me, and I only have to see his big body and messy hair and I get this warm feeling deep inside me, far away from my dick. It feels horribly like I lo-. I instantly shy away from what my subconscious is trying to tell me, because it would be an epic disaster in the making.

He stares at me, the laughter dying away and concern filling it. “What’s the matter?” he asks abruptly.

I shake my head immediately. “Nothing.” He looks as if he’s going to argue, so I move towards him. “I was just thinking about a job I have coming up.”

He looks as if he’s going to question me further, so I do what I most want to do at the moment. I unzip and step out of my jeans and rip off my t-shirt. Once I’m naked I saunter towards him. I need to forget those disturbing thoughts, and his body is the best possible way to do it. I feel heat filling me, stiffening my cock as he stares greedily at my body and swallows hard.

When I get to him I look into his eyes. “You’re overdressed.” I reach up and strip off his green jumper. “Let me help you.”

He smiles slightly and stands quiescently while I unbutton his jeans and strip off his remaining clothes, but his eyes are watchful, and when I move into him and reach for his cock, he grabs my fingers. “There’s no rush,” he says quietly. “I want to savour you tonight.”

I open my mouth to object, to tell him I need him in me now, but my words die away as he takes my lips in a slow, gentle kiss. Sending his hands into my hair, he takes a gentle grip of my skull and tips my head to the side. Then he kisses me deeply and so thoroughly, all I can concentrate on is the sweet, minty taste of his mouth, and how his tongue seems to have a direct line to my cock.

When he raises his head to take a breath, I barely know where I am, and I lean into him as if punch drunk, staring hungrily at his mouth.

Something in my expression must seize his attention because he pauses and sends a finger gently down my face, finishing at my lips where he outlines their shape. “So pretty,” he murmurs almost tenderly, but before I can marshal some sort of defence, he kisses me again.

We kiss for what seems like hours, but he makes no move to touch anywhere else on my body apart from the butterfly touches of his fingers on my face and running gently through my hair. However, I’m more turned on at this moment than I’ve been at the end of sex with some men. I can feel the pulsing of my blood thrumming through my cock, and the way that our sweat mixes and combines on our bodies, but I still make no attempt to rush him. Instead, I follow his lead and let time stop around us.

When he finally pulls back, I make a sound of disgust and chase his mouth, but he shakes his head and steps back. He settles on the low chair next to the sofa and spreads his legs slowly. “Suck me,” he says in a low voice. “I need to feel your mouth on me.”

There is no note of command in his voice, no game of domination, just a simple aching need, and I react as if I’ve been trapped in molasses, lowering myself slowly and sinuously to the floor in front of him. Something bright and hot flares in his eyes, and he settles back like a king on his throne as I reach out for his cock. It stands up proudly from the nest of coarse, black curls. Pre-come drools from the angry looking head, while the petal-soft skin gleams in the low light from the lamp.

My mouth waters at the sight and I lower myself to my hands and knees. He inhales sharply, and obeying my unvoiced command, he grabs his cock and holds it out to me. A droplet of moisture appears and I stick out my tongue and catch it. Holding out my tongue I let more drops fall onto it, gathering them so he can see. When he moans deeply I swallow them, and feel my eyes roll back in my head at the salty, perfect taste.

I want to tell him he’s perfect and it seems like he was made just for me. But these are clichés and his need for silence at this moment, echoes something in me I hadn’t realised needed it. So instead, I take the head of his cock in my mouth, and tightening my lips, I start to suckle and lick. I play for a while, paying in-depth attention to the sensitive head, and my reward is his panting breaths and staggered moans. When I judge his desperation is palpable, I take pity on him and lower my mouth, relaxing my throat and taking him down. Hollowing my cheeks, I suck hard, and he jerks, bending over me as if he can’t bear the pleasure.

My cock throbs steadily with the beat of my heart, but I make no attempt to touch it, concentrating instead on him, on his groans and pants, on the hard, silky member in my mouth and the way my sucking is being rewarded with a steady stream of salty liquid.

He hunches over me, stroking his hands firmly down my back and occasionally reaching up to run his fingers through my hair and direct my mouth. I arch into his touch like a cat, feeling sweat smooth his way. Then he moves. There’s the sound of a bottle opening and I come off his cock with a startled cry when he bends further and runs his now lubed up fingers along my crease, finishing at my hole where he taps it gently and massages the rim.

“Ungh,” I cry out, arching back into his fingers and groaning under my breath as he gently inserts the tip of one digit. Moving slowly, he pushes it into me, and I hang there panting until he finds the nub inside me and rubs it gently. I cry out and fall forward between his legs, resting my face in the crease between his balls and his thigh. I inhale sharply and the scent of him, dark and pure here, fills my lungs. Then I writhe as he adds another finger and twists gently. I nuzzle his groin, mouthing at his balls and hearing his deep groan.

A third finger enters slowly, and I tense for a second. “So good,” I pant, pushing my face between his legs.

“You like that?” he whispers. “Fuck yourself on my fingers, Jude. Open yourself so you’re ready for me.”

I writhe and push myself down on the unyielding digits, mouthing and sucking mindlessly on his inner thigh and raising a red mark on his skin like a brand.

“So hot,” he croons. “So good.”

Then he removes his fingers gently and I cry out, riding the empty air for a second. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he stands up from the chair and lowers himself to lie gracefully on his back on the floor. “Come here,” he commands. “Sit on my face and let me taste that hole. It’s so open now, I want to taste how far my tongue can go.”

I groan helplessly and scramble over him so that my knees rest either side of his head. I lower myself down on him and shout loudly as I feel the first touch of his lips and his tongue on my fluttering hole. I arch back onto that wonderful tongue, and for a second it feels like I’ll lose my balance so I put my hands out in front of me to catch myself. My fingers hit a smooth, sleek surface, and when I look up, I moan deep and low. I’ve caught myself on the mirror, and I can’t look away because we’re spread out in front of it like a porn film. Asa lies flat on the floor, and all I can see is the wavy mane of his hair and his nose as he roots between my arse cheeks, suckling and grunting as he sends his tongue inside the slack hole.

The pleasure seems somehow doubled because I can see, as well as feel, the pleasure he’s giving me. I can see it in the long, tight arch of my naked body, all the muscles standing out in relief and glistening with sweat. I can see my face, relaxed and pleasure intent, my mouth open with my constant moans and my heavy-lidded eyes. My body moves gracefully like we’re dancing some obscene dance as I kneel over him, riding his mouth with my cock standing straight up, blood red and as hard as a post. I can feel my fingers sliding across the mirror’s surface, desecrating it with smears of sweat, and I throw my head back, shouting as his tongue dances inside me, and his beard rubs my rim.

There’s a sudden fizzle in my groin, like I’m short circuiting, and I rise up on my knees and arch away from his mouth. “I can’t take it,” I gasp out. “I’m going to come.”

He pants under me, his face red and his eyes blind. “Need to fuck you,” he says gutturally and then he grabs my hips, levering me up and turning me so I’m deposited gently at his side. I spread my legs in invitation, and he immediately looms over me, pouring more liquid into his palm and stroking it roughly over his cock. Then he grabs my ankles and forces my knees up gently into my chest, opening my hole to him as he notches his cock against me.

Taking a deep breath which ends on a groan, he pushes into me gently and inexorably, never stopping until he’s fully sheathed. He pauses for just a second, but we both know I’m fine. I’m as open and ready as can be, and he immediately starts to move over me, pulling back slowly until he almost comes out, and then twisting his hips and forcing his way back in quickly.

We start a heated rhythm as I writhe under him, muttering incomprehensibly and moaning. I reach down and send my fingers between my cheeks until I reach the point of our connection. I send my finger rubbing gently around the stretched hole, feeling how tightly it grips his dick, and sliding the tips gently over his lube-wet cock as he pistons in and out of me. He cries out at this, a surprised, agonised, cry, and sits up. Resting back on his heels, he straightens my legs and grabbing my ankles, he rests them on his shoulders.

“I want it hard,” he mutters, and I nod.

“Fuck, yes.”

He immediately starts to rut powerfully, pushing his way into me with deep grunts as if he wants to imbed himself in me. At this angle, he’s hitting my prostate continuously and I sob out, pistoning my hips back and forth, rubbing down so hard it almost hurts, and enjoying the tingle of pain.

“Fuck,” he says suddenly. “I’m nearly there.” He reaches in and grabs my cock with his damp fingers. Holding it in a tight grip he jacks me urgently, whipping his hips back and forth frantically. His face is blind and intent, and pleasure streaks through me hard. I roll my head back into the carpet and see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. When I look, I see our reflections fucking like we’re animals, and before I can say anything or even think, it sends me over into orgasm. I shout out and feel my cock sputter in his hands as I spurt once, twice, three times. He grunts loudly and jerks, and I feel hot warmth spread in my arse and he collapses onto me.

For a long few minutes we’re silent, focused only on pulling air into our lungs. Then he stiffens, and almost at the same time I become aware that I can feel liquid dripping from my hole, seeping out from where his cock is starting to soften.

“Did the condom break?” I whisper, and he shakes his head, pushing his face into my neck.

“I wish I could say that,” he says in a hoarse voice. “It would make more sense than the fact that I, a forty-four-year-old man with years of sexual experience, got so carried away I forgot to put one on.”

Incredibly, I laugh. I’m not sure whether it’s endorphins or I’ve gone mad, but I don’t actually feel any worries at the moment.

Instead I nestle into him, enjoying the simple fact he isn’t racing to get out of me so the condom doesn’t leak. “I was tested last month,” I whisper. “I’m clear of everything.”

He sighs heavily and it’s as if he isn’t surprised. “Me too,” he finally says.  “I was tested several times after Phillip, and recently, and I’m totally clear. He’s the only one I ever went bare with.”

I feel a flash of jealousy, but I swallow it down and settle for hugging him. We lie together until the floor becomes uncomfortable, and then he gets up and fetches a cloth from the bathroom. He cleans me tenderly and thoroughly, and I lie there, strangely easy with having someone take care of me when I’ve always tried not to let anyone before.

After a few minutes, I sit up and we manage to help each other to the bed, where we lie sated and silent. Later on, when my heart has stopped feeling like it’s going to pound out from my chest, I disengage from his arms and move off his chest.

“Wait,” he grumbles. “Where are you going?”

“To my own room,” I whisper. “Otherwise I’m going to fall asleep, and we’ll end up breaking the number one rule.”

“You mean the one where we’re just summer fuck buddies, or the one where Billy doesn’t see us in bed together?”

“The breaking of one contravenes the other,” I say lightly, trying to ignore the pain in my chest at the touch of rage in his voice. Fuck. I’m pushing him away already.

But instead, he ignores my attempts at movement, and pulls me close. “No. Stay,” he mutters. “Just for a while longer. We’ll wake up before Billy.”

He’s all hoarse, affectionate mumbles, and possessive hands, and just for once, I cave and do what I have always wanted. I lie down against him and let him pull me close until I’m wrapped around him, my head on his chest feeling the steady beat of his heart, my legs tangled around his and my cock and balls nestling into his hairy thighs. I inhale the scent of sex and amber lingering in his sheets, and something calms in me, something I haven’t felt for a long time, if ever. I feel safe and rooted, and my last thought is that we haven’t set an alarm, before darkness claims me with the touch of a lover.

Dreams of wind and rain and falling leaves chase me, and punishment comes early the next morning, with a thundering knocking at Asa’s door and Billy’s very indignant, “Daddy, why is this door locked? You told me not to lock the door after I locked the pantry door and you had to kick it hard and your foot made a hole.”

Asa groans and opens his eyes blearily as I nearly levitate off the bed, inadvertently putting my fist in his throat. “Ugh! What the fuck?” he mutters.

“Get up,” I hiss, trying frantically to pull my jeans up. “Forget underwear. Billy’s at the door.”

The knocking resumes and his eyes widen, but then unbelievably, humour crosses his face and he chuckles. “Having problems, Jude? You look like you shrank in the night.” He gazes at my cock flopping about as my jeans fall down again. “Not all of you, of course.”

“Fucking things!” I hiss. “What’s the matter with them? They fit last night. Now they’re too big.”

He shakes his head. “Those are mine, fuckwit.” He reaches over and grabs the other pair of jeans and throws them to me. “These are yours.”

“Do something,” I say wildly, as the knocking starts again. He reaches for my hand, but I back away instinctively and edge towards the bathroom. “I’ll hide in here. He mustn’t see me.”

Something that looks very much like disappointment crosses his dark eyes. Disappointment, and fuck me – hurt. Then he shakes his head and it’s gone. “Coming, Billy,” he shouts calmly. “Go and wash your face and clean your teeth, and I’ll be with you.”

He flicks his gaze at me, all humour gone. “Coast’s clear,” he says coolly, getting out of bed and pulling on his own jeans.

I try to ignore the sight of all that tanned skin covering his big frame, and go to take his hand, only to stand and stare as he avoids it neatly and goes to his dressing room. I gape after him, feeling ridiculously hurt. I’ve no right to this feeling though, because I just hurt him. I can’t see any way around it, but I hate hurting him. It makes me feel sick to my stomach.

I hover at the door, watching him dress as he avoids looking at me. “I’m sorry,” I say finally.

He looks at me briefly and sighs, before giving me a tired smile which makes my stomach tight. “Don’t worry about it. You’re right. He mustn’t see us. I don’t want him becoming so tied into you that it hurts when you go, which let’s face it, will be soon.” I flinch and anger stirs in his face. “What do you want from me, Jude? You don’t want a relationship. You just want to fuck and run. So, why look hurt when I agree with you? You’re fucking up my head this morning.”

“I -” I stop and clear my throat. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

He laughs humourlessly. “Always leave them smiling eh, Jude? One day it’s not going to work though, not just for them, but for you. One day you won’t be able to leave.” He shakes his head slowly. “Don’t worry though. I’m under no illusions this is that time. You’ll leave soon. You’ve got a foot out of the door already.”

Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with my hand still outstretched to hold him back.

The rest of the morning goes according to the shit pattern obviously set in motion before I even woke up. I burn breakfast, then leave the iron on Billy’s school trousers, burning a hole in them so he has to wear an old pair and that makes him cross. The journey to school is undertaken in sullen silence which I’m too fucked in the head to soothe, because my head’s still so full of Asa. He leaves me at the playground gate without a kiss, which is shades of his dad this morning.

I lean against the gate for a long time, watching as the playground empties around me. It’s like being in one of those scenes in a film where everything goes into super motion around a still figure. Finally, I sigh and dig my phone out of my pocket. I tap a contact and wait for Dylan’s voice. “Can you meet me?” I say quietly.

An hour later I look up from the morose study of my coffee to see Dylan, and surprisingly Henry, slide into the chairs opposite me.

Henry pats me on the shoulder. “Sorry to tag along, but I was with Dylan when you called, and was so concerned I had to accompany him.” I stare at him and he shrugs. “Okay, I was bored and this sounded interesting.”

I shake my head at him. “Thank you for feeling my pain. I feel so cared for.” I turn to Dylan. “You took your time,” I say sulkily and he smirks.

“Yes, I’m so sorry I had to pretend to take ill suddenly, and so now we’ll have to skulk around London so no one from work spots me.” He looks at Henry. “And I’m sure Henry is very put out that his nosy nature has made him take time out from his busy schedule of being so perfect that he’s bored.”

I attempt a smile.  “Sorry, both of you.”

Henry immediately grimaces and Dylan stares at me. “Bloody hell, what is that godawful fucking expression on your face? Are you constipated?” I raise my middle finger at him and he shakes his head, standing up. “Come on.”

I look up. “Where are we going?”

“To the park. We’ll have a walk there where there’s plenty of foliage to cover my skiving arse, and Henry can practise looking perfect. That way I get to question you extensively.”

We make our way out of the coffee shop and into the park which is half empty at this time of the day, and basking in the cool sunlight. After a few minutes, he looks at me. “Talk, and don’t stop until I know everything.”

So I do. As we wander the winding paths, walking past children’s playgrounds and mothers pushing prams, I tell them everything.

By the time I’ve finished, we’re sitting on a bench and they’re both gaping at me. “How in the hell do you get into these messes, Jude?” Dylan finally says, and I sag in disappointment, because what I really needed was for him to tell me to carry on with Asa. That it would be okay.

“I know, and to top it all, the landlord rang this morning to say the flat will be ready in a couple of days so I haven’t even got a reason to stay with him anymore. Ow, what the fuck, Dylan?” The latter is because he’s just reached over and flicked me on my forehead. Henry laughs and I glare at Dylan. “What the fuck was that for, you twat?”

He shakes his head. “That was for being the stupidest person I’ve met this week, which is going some, because yesterday one of the secretaries got her finger caught in the sink plughole and the fire brigade had to cut her out. Then, when they’d gone, she poked the plughole and did it again.”

I stare at him. “Why am I stupid?” I say crossly, and then hesitate. “I really don’t want to know about the plug, but …”

He shakes his head. “No. We are not going down what Gabe calls one of our conversational cul-de-sacs.”

I subside. “Okay,” I say, and sulkily cross my arms and stare into space. He offers nothing else, and finally I give in. “Why am I stupid?”

“Because you’re a blind idiot,” he says impatiently. “Jude, are you going to go through the rest of your life on your own?”

I flinch. “Dylan, you know my situation. I have to leave regularly at the drop of a hat. I have no money, nor will I ever have any. It takes everything I’ve got to maintain the farm and pay the bills.” I sneak a look at Henry, but then just think what the fuck. He’s our friend now. He should know us in all our glory, and that includes my monetary situation. “My looks will eventually go and I won’t be able to model, and then I’ll really have no money. And don’t say Asa’s got money,” I say fiercely. “Because it’s not mine and I would never allow him to give me money. Ever. So, he’ll be stuck with a penniless man who can’t give him any attention. What in this summary spells relationship to you?”

“There’s one tiny element you’ve missed in that exhaustive list which actually does spell relationship.”

“What?”

“You’re in love with Asa, and he is in love with you.”

“He’s not in love with me. What on earth gave you that ridiculous idea? Been looking at Gabe’s crystal balls again?”

Henry shifts in his seat. “Actually, I think he feels very strongly about you. When I met you in the art gallery, I noticed him staring at you. I just didn’t recognise him until he came closer. He never took his eyes off you all night, and when we were hugging he came straight over and immediately got your attention. If he’d pissed on you, it couldn’t have been any clearer.” He pauses. “Although, that would have been a different story entirely.”

I groan and Dylan smiles. “I notice you didn’t deny the first part of my statement.”

“What …?” I think hard and then slump and rub my eyes with the palms of my hands. “Shit,” I say despairingly. “I don’t love him. I can’t do. It’s nothing like it was with Sam.”

“Probably because you’re actually properly in love, and with a real man this time, not a spoilt arsehole.” I stare at him, and he shakes his head. “Come off it, Jude, Sam was a total tool. He let you shoulder all of that shit on your own. All he ever added to the situation was his constant whining of poor me. Poor little rich boy having to share his boyfriend’s attention. Fucker!”

My mouth drops open. “I thought you liked him.”

He shrugs. “I did at first, but there was always something about him that really got on my fucking nerves. He was fine if things were going his own way, but he never appreciated you for who you really are, Jude. He never got the dreamy side of you. It irritated him. Books were classroom based aids to him, while to you they’re life and breath. He was only in love with you as long as you conformed to his ideal of what you should be, which was actually really crappy because you’re amazing.” He pauses. “I could never ever understand it, Jude. Why did you give in to him? You’re talented, clever, funny and kind. Why did you change for him?”

I shrug. “Because it was easier, I suppose. Life was great as long as we did what he wanted.”

“He sounds utterly delightful,” Henry murmurs, and I snort humourlessly.

“You do see it’s not how a real relationship works, don’t you?” Dylan says gently. I nod, and he nudges me. “Why? Say it, Jude.”

“Because it’s not how Asa is with me,” I say slowly. “He lets me be me. He likes me when I’m real.”

He nods and I’m tempted to say he looks very much like he’s talking to Billy, but I don’t because he keeps talking, and for the first time in a long while, I really want to listen to this refrain. “Yes, he does seem to, and why is that, Jude?”

“Because he’s kind and funny and clever and so fucking sexy. He’s got his shit together. He’s the strongest, safest person I’ve ever met,” I say out loud as if he’s given me a truth serum.

He nods approvingly. “And why do you see all that in him?”

“Because I’m in love with him,” I say, trying the words on my tongue, and unfortunately finding they fly off as if made to do so. “I love him so much.” Dylan nods enthusiastically, but I slump as reality seeps in, sapping the elation from my bones. “It still can’t ever work though, Dylan, because everything’s still such a mess. The simple fact is I have never managed to make a relationship work.”

He smiles. “I think we can all acknowledge that Sam was actually the anti-Christ of supportive partnerships. You said yourself Asa is nothing like him, so why would your relationship with him bear any similarities to the one with Sam? To be honest, I think the problem in the past wasn’t your circumstances, Jude, so much as the pricks you chose to share those circumstances with.”

“But how can it work? Tell me.”

He opens his mouth, but at that point the morning lurches further into disaster, because instead of giving me more advice, he opens his mouth and says, “Sam.”

At first, I don’t comprehend what he’s saying. “No, not Sam. Are you okay, Dylan? I’m talking about Asa.”

He shakes his head, and from behind me, I hear the deep, cool tones of my first love. “Jude, is that you?”

For a second, I sit stock still, unable to believe the universe has decided to fuck with me on such a grand scale today. Then I spin round and acknowledge that indeed it has.

Sam stands in front of me dressed in jeans and a salmon coloured jumper. He looks cool and confident, and surprisingly older, and I’m almost surprised to see small wrinkles around his eyes. It’s as if in my mind he entered cryogenic suspension after the last time I saw him, rather than just going on enjoying his life with the man he’d chosen in place of me.

For a second, I stare at Sam, analysing how I feel. I have always wondered what it would be like if I ever met him again. He was such a major part of my life for so long, and his betrayal knocked out most of the stones in my foundation. It’s therefore a bit of a shock to find I feel absolutely nothing, other than a slight tinge of happiness that his hair seems to be receding rather quickly and he has a slight potbelly. The truth is blinding and a little disconcerting. He is nothing compared to Asa. Sam is younger than him, but somehow he looks years older than the man whose bed I left this morning. Asa has such a vital energy about him, while Sam looks almost diminished, which is ironic because he’s the person who has had the single most impact on my life so far.

“Goodness, is this Sam?” Henry says enthusiastically, sitting up straight and giving him a very cold once over. “I’ve just been hearing so much about you. It’s almost like meeting Father Christmas, if he had a receding hairline and a terrible attitude towards relationships.”

I cough out a laugh and Sam shifts from one foot to another, suddenly looking almost nervous, and I catch Dylan’s eye and he gives me a giant smirk. I shake my head at him and then turn back to my former lover.

“Hello Sam,” I say calmly. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he says heartily. “Just got back from New York. The firm’s looking to expand out there so we were looking at maybe buying an apartment out there.”

“We?”

He looks awkward. “Yes, me and Ian.”

Ah, my replacement and former friend. I smile. “Well, you always wanted to travel.”

He nods, but Dylan shifts on the bench. “I wish you had travelled.”

“Sorry?” he says, trying not to look Dylan in the eyes. He’s wise. It’ll go worse for him in the end if he does.

Dylan sits back comfortably. “Yes. I wish you’d travelled to Egypt and been eaten by a crocodile, or gone to Mount Everest and fallen off it.”  He pauses. “In fact, I wish you’d travelled off the fucking face of the earth, you giant, cheating, spotty ball sack of a wanker.”

I stare, all my words drying up in the face of that epic flow of insults. But Sam frowns. “That’s really unfair, Dylan. You have no idea of the circumstances that led to Jude and I splitting up.”

“Oh really?” he says sweetly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I was missing any information. Let me see.” He taps his fingers on his chin thoughtfully. “I think Jude’s dad was seriously ill and almost dying. He had to leave his dream of uni to support his parents, which he did because he loves them, and when Jude loves, he does it properly. Unfortunately, he loved a complete waste of semen, otherwise known as yourself, who decided that rather than helping him, you would demean him, make him feel guilty, and then shag a complete wank job in his bed.” He pauses. “Oh, and then kick him out of his home.” Henry jerks and glares at Sam, and Dylan looks at me. “Have I missed anything out?”

I repress my smirk, and shake my head solemnly. “No, Dylan, I do believe you have more than ably summed up the situation.”

Sam shakes his head and stares at me. “I’m sorry I came over here. I should have walked by, but I mistakenly thought you two might have grown up, but I see you haven’t. You’ve just added a third.”

Henry smirks and I shake my head.

“Yes,” I say solemnly. “It was a pretty big mistake.”

Dylan snorts and Sam looks angrier. “I’m sorry you’re still manning the bar at your pity party, Jude, but what happened to us wasn’t my fault.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say sweetly. “I forgot about the bit of the story where I made you put your cock in Ian’s arse. You poor brave boy.”

Sam shakes his head angrily, his thin lips practically vanishing. “You’d like to play on that, Jude, but the fact remains that Ian and I are still together after all these years. Who are you with? Oh, I’m sorry – no one. I’ve read the magazines and newspapers. You’ve made quite a name for yourself and not in a good way.” He looks me up and down. “The reason we finished was because you were incapable of holding up your end of your relationship. You were never there. You were gone way before I pushed you out. You will always let people down because you don’t prioritise properly. You should be the one saying sorry.”

This is a song he sang to me every day while my dad was ill, and I’m so proud of myself that I don’t let him see the hurt he’s dealing me. Instead, I look him up and down. “Yes, I’m so sorry, Sam. I’m sorry that when my dad was near death I didn’t get up from beside his hospital bed and say, ‘well, it was great to know you, Dad, but unfortunately, my prize of a boyfriend has booked a trip to Thailand and I have to go with him or he will surely fuck one of our friends. No hard feelings, Dad’.” I shake my head. “Tell yourself what you want to help yourself sleep better, Sam, but the fact is, the only person who let someone down in our relationship was you.”

He pales and I see a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He opens his mouth to say I don’t know what, but Dylan holds his hand up.

“Fascinating as I’m sure your next comment is going to be, Sam, maybe it would be better if you just fucked off or dropped dead. Whichever option is better for you.”

“You’re such a wanker, Dylan,” he sneers, and Dylan shakes his head sorrowfully.

“Okay, you’ve made my mind up for me. I’m voting you to go for option number two.” He waves his hand. “Go on. Fuck off. I’d rather peel my eyelids back with cocktail sticks than listen to any more of your self-serving bullshit.”

Sam shakes his head disapprovingly, and I think for a second how much he looks like his dad. Then he turns to go. “Goodbye, Jude,” he says ponderously. “Maybe think on what I said and then you won’t have to be alone.”

“He’s not alone you tosspot. So you can just fuck off!” Dylan hisses. He leans forward glaring until Sam moves away. I watch him move along the path until he fades into the shadows, and know I won’t see him again. I breathe out and feel the fine tremor in my arms and legs.

“You okay?” Dylan whispers, and I shake my head. “Why? You were fucking epic. I’m so proud of you. You gave as good as you got to that wanker.” He pauses. “What’s the matter? You look funny.”

I shake my head and then lower it into my hands, staring down at my feet on the path. I can hear Sam’s words in my head joined by the distant echo of the ones he repeated endlessly during that last horrible year. All the accusations and sad, passive aggressive comments about what a failure I was in relationships, and just for a second, I have a vivid flash of that day. I went home so excited because I’d finished early. I was going to make dinner for him and then give him a blow job that would explode his mind, and somehow I hoped it would act as a reset and we could go back to the way we were before. Before I failed us. Unfortunately, I was instead treated to the knowledge that my blow job would be redundant, seeing as I walked into our bedroom and saw him dick deep in Ian’s arse. I stood for a long while, watching and listening to the grunts and groans, feeling my heart break and knowing I’d led us to this point. No matter how Dylan has tried to convince me over the years this is wrong, I know the truth, and all the other failed relationships have served to confirm it.

I’m curious to find the image no longer hurts. Not even a tinge of pain. However, my mind leaps ahead at the thought of letting Asa and Billy down in the same way. I imagine their faces as I have to speed off down the motorway and miss a party like I did so many times before. Or when I forget anniversaries or birthdays because my mind is running a hundred miles a minute calculating my finances and working out how to pay the latest astronomical mortgage fee. Then I almost curl into myself as my brain supplies the image of walking into the bedroom and seeing Asa in bed with someone else. Someone who won’t let him down. Technicolor images flood through my brain, until I shut them forcibly down for fear I’ll go mad. Then all that’s left is quiet emptiness in my brain, and I know what I have to do.

“I have to go,” I say quietly.

“Where, babe?”

“To get my stuff.”

There’s silence for a second and I count down to the explosion. I don’t even get to five, but it comes from Henry.

“What the fuck. Why?”

“That scene could be me and Asa in a few years.”

“What? No, that’s not going to happen.” Henry looks at me imploringly. “Asa is not that arsehole. After meeting Sam I can tell you so for a fact. You need to talk to Asa. Tell him your fears, and let him help. It’s different when you love each other.” There’s a sadness in his voice that’s almost palpable and I know he’s not just talking about my situation now, but he shakes his head and the sadness is gone but my problems haven’t.

I shake my head. “I know it’s different. The way I love Asa is so different from what I presumed was love with Sam. But that’s the point. It hurt enough then. What do I do when it happens with Asa? How do I move on when he looks at me with disappointment, when he finishes with me because I can’t fully be with him and can’t afford to do anything? What happens when I let Billy down? I’ve chained myself to my family. I can’t expect my lover to put on the cuffs as well.”

Dylan strokes my hair, looking almost heartbroken. “Don’t, Jude,” he whispers, but I shake my head, my mind made up.

“I won’t do that to him. He’s such a good person who’s been hurt enough by the people who should have been there for him. What sort of wanker would I be to join them?”

I stand up. “Where are you going?” Dylan asks, and I rub my eyes.

“I’m going to get my stuff. Is there still a spare room at yours for the next couple of days?”

He hugs me and I rest against him for a second. “Always,” he whispers. “There will always be a place for you in my home.”