A gay story: Dancing Ch. 01 Note: This is a love story with plot and no instant sex. This is the first of four chapters and they should be going up daily. If there is any resemblance to real people or actual events it’s definitely unintentional!
* * * * * *
The hardest thing about being an actor is getting a break. Sometimes it’s a lot more about luck than your ability and there are plenty of good people who don’t get their chance to show their talent at the right time and in the right place. If you get that far, it may never come to much either. I knew the hard slog I had to get where I was, and that was a long way away from being a household name. However, I loved what I did and it didn’t matter if I was never famous. It wasn’t about fame or money for me.
Sometimes I wondered how much of the fame some gained was about their looks rather than their talent. Not that I was bitter about it, but I thought if maybe I was some willowy guy with a pretty face I’d be discovered. Not that I was ugly, but I wasn’t so striking that my face wouldn’t fade from the mind. I liked my dark brown eyes, and my body although it wasn’t either slim or extremely built. I might have been able to show off the muscles I did have a little if I wasn’t covered in hair.
I was 26 now, I’d had a few bit-parts on TV followed by a bit of stage work, and I was beginning to get a good reputation. My agent thought there were great things in my future, or at least great commission in his, which were the same thing really. He wasn’t overly impressed at my latest choice of project though. He wanted the TV work because pay was better and it got me exposure that was effectively free publicity, but then it wasn’t what I wanted. Sure I could have done several of the things he had found for me, but there was no challenge, no particular talent needed, and no credibility.
So I took a stage job, working on a new play by a well-known if slightly off the wall playwright. Done well, this play should be the one that put him firmly on the map. From my point of view, it was a good and fun mix of comedy and straight acting, demanding a lot from me and showing my acting skills to the public. It was bound to get good box office, if not the long sell-out runs that the West End enjoyed. If it went well we’d get an extended run somewhere a lot bigger. I learned my lines and the first few days of rehearsals were going well, and then I got told about the re-write…
* * * * * *
I stared at the director in disbelief.
“You have to be kidding me. I can’t dance.”
“The writer thinks the dream sequence is lacking something. The others dance, and it will work better if you do as well. It’s supposed to be a weird dream, explaining what your character wants.”
“He doesn’t want to break something when he gets his legs tangled and falls over,” I pleaded.
This was pretty much my worst nightmare, not a fantastic dream sequence. I wasn’t graceful or delicate, and I had no rhythm at all. I acted, I sang, I wrote even, there was pretty much nothing in the theatre I couldn’t do. If they put me in the lighting box I’d do a pretty good job of that, but there was no fucking way I could dance. I heard a couple of sniggers behind me, and it wasn’t hard to believe that someone would be laughing at me.
“It will be fine. We’ll get you some extra tuition. You’ve seen the routine, it isn’t difficult.”
I shut up then, not wanting to come across like some petulant child. I didn’t have the power in the industry to say I wasn’t going to do something and get it changed back. I was just going to have to do my best and hope that an uncoordinated lead actor was somehow going to work. I had seen the routine. It wasn’t difficult for anyone else, those with dance training as well as acting, and the guys who were already doing it made it look really easy. Every one of them had been dancing since they were children.
So there I was, the next day, sat in an empty rehearsal room hideously early, wondering how the hell I was going to pull this off, and wishing that I had listened to my agent when he offered me the pointless character in a rubbish sitcom. At least I would have been paid by now, and I wouldn’t have had to dance.
I was also wondering who had been lumbered with teaching me. I almost felt sorry for them, it was going to be one hell of a challenge. But last night, when I’d thought about it, I realised they didn’t have a choreographer, it had all been done by one of the actors who was also a talented dancer. And then I had prayed that it would not be him…
God hadn’t been listening. Matt walked through the door and I was sure my face fell even more than it was already at the thought of dancing. He didn’t even look at me as he came in and set up a cd player. I looked at his back and willed him to disappear, or them to cancel the dance at the last minute, anything but having to spend time with a man who sat apart from all of us every moment he could and seemed to treat the rest of the world as though it wasn’t worth his time.
When I had walked into our first rehearsal everyone had been friendly, but for one. He gave me a look up and down and his expression showed disdain. I didn’t know then that he had wanted the lead, but it wasn’t long before I learned that fact. However, it wasn’t just me he didn’t like, he seemed to have no time for anyone. Casual conversations never included him, he didn’t deem us worthy it appeared. He sat alone and only interacted when he was actually working.
Whispers behind his back were that he hated me, hated all of us because he felt himself far superior, thought this whole thing was a waste of his time and talent. He always seemed aloof and that the only thing that mattered was himself. They said that he used to be a lot more friendly when he was totally unknown, but that his idea of friendly had been fucking most of his colleagues, male and female. How and when he had changed no-one seemed quite sure.
The thing was though, that despite his attitude people still swarmed round him, still tried to include him, and definitely still flirted with him. All that was because he was just beautiful. His eyes were bright blue, framed by long lashes and seemed to take in everything in just a glance, but they rarely looked up except when he was acting. His face was perfect, features balanced and slightly feminine but still strong and clearly all man, and gorgeous pink bowed lips that just begged to be kissed. His shoulder length blond hair kept falling into his face and he was always pushing or blowing it back so it was permanently slightly tousled as though he’d just got out of bed.
And everyone wanted to get him into one. The rumour that he bedded both men and women given half a chance meant that almost everyone tried, but all he did was dismiss them or ignore them. He never smiled, or kindly put them off, but still they tried. The worst part of it was that as much as he obviously hated me, I still thought about trying. It was only my self-respect and my low self-esteem when it came to relationships that stopped me.
Now I was trying hard not to look at his ass as he bent over to put the music on. He was fit and toned like a dancer should be, muscled in all the right places but nowhere was it too much. In short, he was perfection just so long as you didn’t see his expression or hear him open his mouth. If they hadn’t spoiled the picture I’d probably not have been able to control my urges.
He finally turned and I had a moment to look at the way his vest top hugged his six pack before he sat down, and then he spoke.
“Dance,” he ordered. It didn’t sound like a request, certainly.
“What?” I stupidly asked, just as the music started. He stopped it with the remote, and repeated his order, not even bothering to look at me.
“Dance.”
“I can’t.”
Dumb thing to say, and it caused him to give me a look that showed nothing short of contempt.
“I know that. I need to see how bad you are so I can try and help.”
He sounded pissed off, and his attitude annoyed me.
“You don’t seem like the type who would want to help.”
“They’re paying me extra.”
He completely dismissed me with that comment. He was in it for the money, which was no great surprise to me because he certainly wouldn’t have been doing this out the goodness of his heart, if he even had one. The music came back on, and this time I didn’t even wait for his order. I stumbled through the routine, losing my way several times, out of time with the music, and missing out anything that was remotely complicated. I ground to a halt as it finally ended, nearly losing my balance as a perfect finale.
I knew he’d been watching and that had made me even more nervous. He sat through the whole thing, so far as I could see, with those gorgeous lips in a tight line. As I tried to get my breath back I still heard his muttered comment of ‘Jesus’. I took it that he was not impressed. I stayed standing to wait for my review, the silence seeming almost deafening.
“Can you even hear the music?” he eventually asked, with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice. I know I glared at him in response, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “You’re not even in time, before we get into the fact you can’t do half the moves.”
“I said I couldn’t dance,” I replied defensively.
“I hoped you were joking. Apparently not. Now watch.”
He stood and moved towards me, and despite myself and how much his attitude pissed me off, I still watched every move and my breath caught at the beauty of him just walking. Even that was done with a grace and style that I would never be able to muster. Then the music started up again and I stood watching in awe as he moved. His body turned and twisted, bent double at one point, moving perfectly to the beat and not missing a single step. He flowed through the movements, each arm and leg placed just right to make a balletic line.
I tried, I really did, but the sight of him doing those moves was as good as a private lapdance as far as my body was concerned. When he bent over in front of me, his ass pressing tight into his trousers, I nearly let out a moan. It had been far too long for me and he shouldn’t be having this effect, but when he wasn’t speaking and you could just appreciate the beauty, it was more than enough to have my cock twitching and starting to fill. I was relieved when the music ended and he stopped writhing. Thank god I really was a good actor, because when he turned to face me afterwards even the sight of his chest slightly heaving as he got his breath back didn’t make me react visibly.
“That’s what you need to do. Or as close as we can get in four weeks. Let’s start at the beginning.”
Two hours later I was mentally and physically exhausted. I couldn’t even take any pleasure in his body moving any more, mine was in too much pain from the unexpected use of muscles I didn’t know I had. I jogged and did weights to keep myself in shape, and it worked, but I wasn’t used to this type of workout. He constantly got at me throughout, every mistake corrected and every move repeated so many times I couldn’t count. And even at the end of it I wasn’t hugely improved. I could stay standing, and I could attempt most of the moves. The key word was attempt.
* * * * * *
Four days later things were still only marginally better. I dreaded these lessons, him barking at me, rolling his eyes each time I fucked up, and at the end of every one just walking out without so much as a backward glance, muttering to himself in despair. He didn’t speak to me except to tell me yet again to raise my arm, move in time, or relax. How the hell I was supposed to relax with him practically shouting at me I had no idea.
And if my dancing was only slightly better, other things were definitely worse. No matter how much I wanted to thump him during those sessions, I wanted to kiss him more. I fantasised about shutting him up, pressing my lips to his and making sure my tongue was so tangled with his he didn’t have a choice. Even physically exhausted as I was at the end of each day, my thoughts as I lay in bed by myself drifted to visions of him dancing, losing clothes as he went so I could watch every movement as his skin glistened with sweat and he bent and twirled showing me his gorgeous body.
On Saturday we didn’t have normal rehearsal, but he insisted I still get into work for a dance lesson. Yet again he watched me lumber through the routine, still not showing any grace or timing, and once again he corrected me with less and less patience, never looking at my face but noticing every mistake in footwork or where or how my hands were placed, every minute detail scrutinised and criticised. And I still hated him so much I wanted to fuck him and make him moan.
When my two hours of torture were over I breathed a sigh of relief. No more work today, I could just curl up and die somewhere and try not to think about him. Well that was my plan. For the first time, he actually spoke to me before leaving.
“You’re coming out with me tonight.”
Not a request, an order. I managed to gather enough energy to raise an eyebrow in surprise.
“Why? Where?”
“Trying a new tack. We’re going clubbing so I can see how you dance with a few drinks in you. Perhaps that might relax you a little.”
“I don’t dance. Not even when I’m drunk.”
“You will tonight. I’ll pick you up at 8.”
“As if this time with you wasn’t bad enough, you want us to socialise?” I said, pretty much despairing at that point. I didn’t want to go anywhere with him, although I wasn’t quite sure whether that was because I hated him, or I was afraid that the other thoughts I had about him might come to the fore, particularly after a few drinks.
“It’s not socialising. It’s work,” he replied, heading out the door. “Door policy is no jeans or trainers so dress up a bit.”
“Bastard,” I muttered under my breath as the door swung shut behind him. I looked down at my battered trainers and jeans with ripped holes in the knees and wished him some bodily harm. My brain supplied the idea of taking him hard without lube, and I groaned aloud a mix of despair and pleasure at the thought.
* * * * * *
I had never taken so long to get ready. How did you dress to go dancing with a man you hated and desired in almost equal measures? Not too slutty, it might look like I was after him even if I didn’t say so. Fairly smart because he had insisted and I was bound to get into trouble if I didn’t wear suitable clothes. I could almost picture the look of disgust before he came in and tore through my wardrobe to find something he would be prepared to be seen out with me wearing. I eventually found some trousers that were tight but not too much, and a nice v-neck top that was soft against my skin and again hugged but didn’t look like I had painted it on. It showed a hint of my dark chest hair and my toned pecs, but wasn’t too dressy. I even managed to find a pair of shoes.
When I opened the door to him he looked me up and down just like he had done the first time we met. His look was slightly less dismissive, I thought, up until he spoke. Funny how in my fantasies he never said a word. Moaned and cried, yes, but he never got to speak.
“You’ll do.”
I called him all kinds of names in my head, but had more sense than to bite back. I wasn’t going to let him have the upper hand, and I would save any smart comments for when it would count. I was also busy, as he turned his back to me, noting how his clothes fitted him extremely well, highlighting all his best features. I’d love to bury my face and then my cock in between those tight buttocks.
He’d ordered a taxi, and I followed him into it silently. He’d set the tone of no smalltalk, so I wasn’t that worried about talking to him if I didn’t need to. I still didn’t want to be here, and he knew it, so there was little point making polite conversation. He actually, for him, seemed quite happy though. Maybe going clubbing was something the man actually enjoyed. There was precious little that seemed to interest him other than getting onto the stage, but perhaps I was going to see him let loose a little. The thought intrigued me. Would he actually be friendly when drunk, or would it just be the same man only less steady on his feet? I couldn’t picture him losing control. Well, I could, but those were just my sexual fantasies, and I didn’t think in the real world he’d do anything out of the ordinary.
When the cab pulled up I saw the club and smiled inside. I bet he thought he could freak me out with this. Three rainbow flags flying, plus a couple of neon signs showing stylised male bodies intertwined. When I looked over at him he was wearing a smug grin. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Clearly he had no idea I was gay and hoped I would react. All I was thinking was that if I had known I’d have dressed for pulling. I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment on his face when I got out the cab without a word or so much as flinching.
We got straight in, there was no queue at this time, although there were still plenty of guys inside, plus a few women, and the music was already thumping. I followed him to the bar, noting how even in this environment he maintained his detached demeanour. I guessed he was focussed on where he was going and not on anyone around him, so it was probably only me that saw the admiring glances sent his way. I wondered how he had ever bedded anyone if he ignored everyone around him, even me although we were there together.
He only spoke to me when we got to the bar so he could order me a drink. I noticed that he got me a double and himself only a single. He wanted to get me drunk, but not for anything good. If he seriously thought I would be any better of a dancer with a load of drink inside me he was in for an unpleasant surprise. If I couldn’t co-ordinate sober, alcohol was not going to help. And relaxing around him was not something I wanted to do, even if it was possible. He had me on the edge of my nerves all the time, either in good ways or bad. Fuck it, I thought, and downed the drink, not caring that it was strong enough to burn my throat a little even with the mixer. Getting drunk might help me get through this.
He didn’t even blink at the speed my drink disappeared, he just leaned over to the barman and ordered more, plus shots. I tipped my head back and let it slip down my throat, wishing the sweet schnapps he’d chosen was something entirely different pumping out of a hard cock. Perhaps I needed to get laid. He led me over to a table with a good view of the dancefloor and for the first time took in his surroundings, looking over the place but not intent on any one thing, certainly not one person. He didn’t speak, just glanced at me when my drink started to get low even though I was taking this one slower, and slid out of his chair back to the bar before I could even suggest another round.
He came back with another drink for me plus another shot. I really didn’t care now. He could deal with me being unable to walk and puking on him later. It would be only fair for all the shit he had put me through. I was going to do my very best to make his life a misery like he had been doing to me. I barely acknowledged him as he set the drinks down, but he broke his own silence.
“I’m going to dance. Stay here and I’ll be back for you in a bit. You might want to start sipping those.”
Fuck you, I thought, and took a gulp from the first glass. If I’d wanted to piss him off I should have done it sooner, because he had already turned his back on me and was off onto the floor.
I forgot to drink then, I just sat mesmerised as he moved, and I was far from the only one. He was under a spotlight, probably intentionally, but it highlighted his blond hair as it moved with his body. Unlike at work, his movement was less structured with fewer fancy tricks, but it was way more impressive despite that. He seemed to be completely one with the music, his graceful moves fitting the beat and the theme perfectly. And the theme of the songs was pure sex. He was like some kind of horny angel, his increasingly sexual movements seeming to work somehow with his innocent beauty. That wasn’t quite right, with those clothes and those moves he couldn’t be innocent, but the blonde hair and blue eyes with his slight femininity gave that impression anyway.
For once, his expression wasn’t hard and aloof, he was just lost in the music. He still seemed unaware of everything around him, but it wasn’t as though he was deliberately ignoring it for once, he was just in his own world, and from the reactions I could see, there were a hell of a lot of men there who wanted to be there with him. Men danced towards him, but he didn’t interact, he just smoothly kept moving, turning to cut them out without making it seem like too much of a slight. When one dared to touch him though, his eyes bored into them. He didn’t miss a beat, but the guy backed off fast, and that seemed to deter anyone else from trying.
I was having glorious fantasies now, ones where he danced me a striptease like that, and I was hard. If I got any harder the table might start lifting up and making it obvious. But I doubted I was the only one in that condition just from watching him, and I hated it. I felt jealousy curling in my stomach, and yet he wasn’t mine in any way. He had barely spoken to me all night, but he was still there with me, and they couldn’t have him. Every pair of eyes on him made me more irritated. They had no right to look at him with lust when I had seen him first.
I sipped at my drink now, trying to distract myself from thoughts of dragging him out of there and up the nearest alley so I could satisfy my own desires. Song after song came on and he didn’t stop, his body seeming to have a mind of it’s own and changing it’s movement to suit each new beat. Other men danced, some very well, but no-one else did it like he did. I wanted him, I needed him, and yet I still hated him for everything he had done and the fact that despite all of that I couldn’t take my eyes off him or calm my raging erection.
Eventually, he stopped. His face showed a moment of distaste, so I guessed he didn’t like the track that had come on. A couple of guys dared to speak to him as he started to move off the floor, but he just brushed them off with the barest of waves of his hand. He was back to his usual self and it was enough that I was able to remind myself of his abrasive personality and dim my lust. Guys were still watching him, and I tried hard not to look smug that he was walking my way.
He didn’t speak, and I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to compliment his dancing, he was enough of a dickhead already without his ego swelling further. I just went back to my drink and avoided looking at him as he started sipping his, but I was still watching out of the corner of my eye. He checked the empty glasses on the table, and seemed satisfied. I had a horrible feeling I knew what was coming next, but the rest of that song passed without comment.
As soon as the next track came on he stood again, and my heart started pounding. I didn’t want to go out there, especially not with that to compete with. I was going to look like a complete idiot. I didn’t have a choice, of course, he just grabbed my hand and dragged me after him. I was on the dancefloor, legs shaking, a moment later. He’d opted not to go under the spotlight this time and I was glad of that one small mercy. I didn’t need my dreadful dancing highlighted to the entire club.
Somehow, I started to move when he did. He didn’t dance with me to start with, and he was obviously seeing how I was doing. Remarkably not as badly as I usually did, or at least I was drunk enough not to notice or care. His closeness, although he wasn’t touching me at all, had some strange effect on me and I tried to move as he did, even closing my eyes so I could feel the music, although it helped not looking at him either, dancing with a hardon was not that easy. I managed to lose myself so much that when he moved closer and spoke to me I jumped. Not only was I not expecting him to be there, I was really not prepared for what he said.
“You’re doing really well.”
I know my mouth fell open in shock. He complimented me? Was I drunker than I thought and hallucinating? I must have been, because when I looked at him, my mouth still hanging open, he was actually smiling. I didn’t even know he could. Then he was no longer dancing near me, he was dancing with me. Not the same as he did on his own, totally in his own world, but almost as sexily, moving towards and around me although we never quite touched. I had died and gone to heaven with my very own horny angel and I couldn’t stop smiling.
I must have made it through a further two tracks before I turned around, wanting to follow his movements as he went behind me again. I’d had my back to most of the room, but now I could see people, and they were looking at me. My doubt in my dancing ability raised its ugly head for a moment, but then I saw how they were looking at me. No-one was laughing, they were jealous. I was dancing with the sexy guy they had all had their eyes on, and now they were looking at me because they wanted to be me. I almost started laughing.
It was as though having an audience flipped some sort of switch inside me and I was determined to give them a performance. I grabbed his hand, and although he looked surprised for a moment he quickly moved with me, letting me twirl him around. I was soon bumping and grinding to the track and he joined in, rubbing his body against mine lightly, but enough to turn me on so I cared even less what anyone else thought of my dancing. I took the opportunity to have my hands on him, nowhere intimate, but I stroked where I could, using the performance to feel some of those muscles, grabbing him to bring him closer when the song seemed to demand it, or perhaps when my subconscious did.
He didn’t resist anything I did, and before long his hands were on me too, little bolts of electricity going through me with every touch. I kept his body away from my crotch, knowing full well what he would find there and not wanting to ruin this moment. He didn’t like me, but for this moment he was prepared to play pretend and I wasn’t going to do anything that might stop him when I was loving it so much.
All too soon, it was over. The music changed again to something he didn’t like and he turned and walked away, back to the table we had been sitting at. It took me a moment to follow him, feeling utterly bereft at my hands being empty when for nearly an hour they had been able to explore his body. When I joined him his expression was closed again, and I knew that was it. I was already beginning to wonder whether I had dreamed the whole thing and he hadn’t smiled or touched me, but my dick was still hard enough that I was fairly sure it had really happened.
He decided that was it for the night, and again I found myself following him with barely a word being said between us. I noticed the men around were still looking at him with lust and me with envy, little did they know I was going home alone. At least I had a very pleasant memory to work with now, even if he never spoke to me kindly again. I seriously needed to leave this one alone, but there was something about him that had me in a spell. One thing I was absolutely certain about was I was not going to be one of the people swallowing all their pride and offering themselves to him for whatever he wanted. There was no way I would stoop that low.
As expected, I ended up in my bed alone, marvelling at the fact he had bothered to say goodbye when I got out the cab. For him that was pretty good conversation. Frustrated, I grabbed my cock and started jerking. It had been up and down all night, mostly up, and was more than ready for me to give it some action. I replayed in my mind the scene of us dancing, the feel of his hands on me and my hands on him, and I shot so much cum I didn’t know where it had come from. A night of dancing with a man who had barely spoken to me, and I was still full of desire for him.
* * * * * *
The next day I had to myself, and I must have masturbated at least five times recalling the night before. He’d looked like some sort of angel, and then shown his humanity, and all of that just made me want him more. I knew I would have to concentrate the next day on remembering how much I disliked the way he treated me and spoke to me.
It didn’t prove that difficult after all. He was possibly more of a dick at our first dance session of the week than he had been the week before. He almost seemed more despairing of me getting things wrong now, because even though I was a hell of a lot better, he’d seen me actually dancing and he reminded me that I could do it, but clearly only if they got me pissed before every show. I know I glared and growled at him in response, but nothing seemed to faze him, he barely even noticed me again. I remembered what his eyes looked like when he was smiling at me and wondered if I would ever see that sight again.
We’d agreed with the director that I would join in the full rehearsal the following week and do all the dancing, so I had another full week of this torture to come. I tried to persuade myself that the end was in sight, but I had the horrible feeling the director would feel I needed more time on this. Hopefully me doing vaguely the same moves as the others would be good enough because that might be all I could manage. It was meant to be a slightly comedic scene anyway, so no-one should really expect me to be able to do this.
On Wednesday we had another surprise when the director walked in to our session. I didn’t notice him at first as I was busy doing the routine for the millionth time so that my dear tutor could criticise me afterwards. When I did look up, Matt was looking at script pages, his face expressionless as usual. The director, Chris, motioned me over.
“More changes from the writer. Nothing major though.”
“Please tell me the dancing has been dropped!”
“No. But it has a happy ending!” he said, grinning.
Matt was still staring at the page in front of him, so I couldn’t see what it said. His comment didn’t bode well.
“Let’s hope he’s better at that than dancing, because I am not practising for hours unless I get a hell of a lot more money.”
I managed to get the pages out of his hands then, and I just stared too. One word jumped off the page. KISS. Shit, the bloody writer had decided the dance routine from hell should end with my character snogging Matt’s. It made sense, my character was supposed to be secretly in love with his, and in the dream sequence if not in real life anything could happen. Ironically, not that much different to what I was doing in my own life, pretending Matt was different, naked, and mine. I couldn’t look at him. It was clear he didn’t want to do it, and I didn’t want to either but for completely different reasons. How could I get a taste of him every night and keep myself under control?
After that I think both of us were in even worse moods, if such a thing was possible. My mind was racing with ideas of breaking something so I could get out of the whole thing. I should have been happy, I mean how many people would get the chance to kiss the man they wanted badly? But how many of them would willingly do it in front of a theatre full of people praying desperately they didn’t get an obvious reaction?
I was going to have to tie myself down somehow, that was the only way forward, and hope that I didn’t go with any fantasies of jumping him. The nerves about this new torment made me lose my balance and fall over, fully expecting him to bite my head off for it. He just turned and walked out the room. Lesson over, I guessed.
* * * * * *
Next day I was doubly dreading the dance session, and to no great surprise on my part, Matt was again pissed with me for every little thing I did wrong. I actually thanked whatever higher power made my phone ring right then, and took delight in taking the call despite the dirty looks I was getting. Of course, that power just wanted to screw with my life even more. At the end of the line was probably the only person in the world I wanted to talk to even less than Matt. My ex.
“Hi. I was wondering if we could talk. I want to apologise.”
“You’re about two years too late,” I growled.
He actually did sound contrite, and I felt a little piece of me wanting to talk too. There were things I wanted to understand. There was no way I was ever going back to him, but closure seemed like a very good idea. Maybe with that out of the way I could focus on men who were not complete shits who happened to be very good looking, and find someone with a personality who actually cared for me.
“I know. I’ve been working things through, getting some therapy, and I need to say sorry to you properly for treating you the way I did. I was hoping you would join me for dinner. Please say yes.”
I left a good pause, not wanting to seem too keen. “Okay. When, and where?”
“Tonight, at my place. I’ve ordered catering, so don’t panic that I’m going to try and feed you my cooking.”
I actually grinned. He’d burned everything the twice he had tried to cook, and we’d given up on that idea.
“Fine. I’ll see you about 7.”
“Sure. Thank you so much.”
I hung up and stared at the phone for a moment, hoping I had not just made the biggest mistake of my life. When I turned around I decided the biggest mistake was probably still going to be agreeing to do this damn play. Matt looked even more sour faced than normal.
“Hot date?” he practically sneered.
“None of your business.”
The man who didn’t speak to me had no right to know anything about my life, and I was pleased that he had seemed to want to know – despite the tone of his voice there was some other interest there. Tough, let him see what it was like to spend hours with someone who didn’t communicate. He made me suffer for it though, stopping the cd again and again to go over minor tiny points with my dancing until he was satisfied that it was as good as I could do, which he made clear was still not all that good.
It was only later, once I had finished work and gone home to get ready that I realised how stupid I had been agreeing to this. Being pissed off with Matt was by no means a good reason for going to see the man who had made me live nearly two years of my life in the shadows. He loved me, he said, but he was too concerned about his reputation as he built a career to come out and admit his sexuality. I lived back in the closet, never going out with him in public so he wouldn’t be seen with a gay man, watching him attend premiers and awards shows with another pretty woman on his arm as he lied to the world and treated me like crap.
Now, he had the fame he’d always wanted. He was in the gossip mags, on the TV regularly, happy with fame and fortune, but still hiding himself. It had taken a lot for me to leave him, despite all that, and there was no way I should put myself back in a situation where he had any control. Still, at least now I had enough self-respect not to let him suck me back in. It had been almost impossible to walk away from him and now I felt like I was wandering back into the spiders web. Let’s just hope I had enough sense to deal with this and not get caught.
I was almost shaking as I got to his house, still wondering why the hell I had agreed to any of this. And it annoyed me more that I knew the answer was because of Matt. He affected me in far too many ways, good and bad. When I rang the bell, Ben was there immediately and pleased to see me. It made me even more nervous than I had been already, not knowing what this was all about but sure it would be bad.
I was a bundle of nerves by the time he’d finished serving us dinner and we had eaten. He’d been friendly, kind, explained all about what changes he had made in his life and how awful he felt about what he had done, and I did start to believe all of that. It was just that I sensed he was building up for more and I kept waiting for the bomb to drop. It came after dinner, as we settled down on his sofa with some drinks, me making sure I left enough room that he couldn’t lean over and try and kiss me, because that was one of the options I had in my head for how he was going to ruin my evening.
“So, I wanted to ask you something,” he started to say. I know I tensed immediately. “It’s good news, honestly. I’m going to tell everyone that I’m gay. I’ve got a newspaper lined up for the exclusive. I’m finally facing up to who I am.”
“That’s good news, but I don’t see what I have to do with this.”
He looked kind of awkward. “I know what I put you through and I regret all of it now I can see clearly. I was talking to our agent and he thought that if we did this together it would be good for both of us.”
“What?!” I reacted, totally shocked. “You want to do this, it’s your call, but leave me out of it. You managed to leave me out of nearly two years of your life outside this house, you owe me that now.”
“It’s not like that. I was hoping we could try again. I still love you, and I would like you to be at my side through this.”
I leapt off the sofa away from him. “You have to be fucking kidding. We didn’t break up because of all the sneaking around I had to do, remember? How can you possibly think I would want to get back with you after what you did?”
“I told you I was sorry. I was insecure and I hated myself at the time, and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have, and I regret it every day.”
“Good. Being sorry now means fuck all to me. I don’t want to be by your side for anything. You ruined what we had, and you ruined me. It’s far too late for you to put that back together with your apologies. You just want to be able to play happy families for the interviewer. Pay someone to do it, who’ll be prepared to play pretend. I’m out of here.”
I ran for the door, needing to get out of this situation before it got even more surreal than the man who had beaten me asking that we get back together. I was at the top of the steps when he called me back.
“Aaron.”
I turned, not even part way, and he grabbed my arm and span me back into his body. I had just enough of a moment to realise he was holding me tight in his arms, panic rising in me, before he kissed me. It was rough and demanding but I didn’t respond, just trying as hard as I could to get away. A flash distracted him long enough for me to break out of his embrace, running past the photographer who had conveniently appeared out of nowhere, and letting one erect finger do my talking as I got away as fast as I could.
I didn’t relax until I got back home. My mind was racing with all the unexpected developments of this evening. I had the horrible feeling that I was going to find our ‘clinch’, despite it being totally one-sided, in the papers before too long. It would probably prove a nice accompaniment to his exclusive. It was sod’s law that for the time we had been together I would have loved us to be seen out together, but now that we were over and he had destroyed any of the love I had once had for him, it would finally happen. He’d set me up and I was angry about it, but there was little I could do. I just hoped that not agreeing to his scheme would at least mean he showed me enough respect to keep me out of it.
* * * * * *
Next morning I carefully checked the news stands as I went to work, and breathed a sigh of relief. There was no picture, and no story about him. Perhaps having to do it alone was too hard and he had changed his mind. I didn’t care, just so long as I wasn’t involved. I would definitely not be so stupid as to speak to him again, and I kind of hoped that my responses had hurt him even a little like he had hurt me. I’d have had to go a long way to do anything that bad, but he deserved what I could give.
Somehow I managed to keep my mind off all of this throughout the day, and not only the rehearsal but even my dance lesson went pretty well. It could have been my imagination but I got the impression that Matt wanted to ask me about my date. Check that, it must have been my imagination, because he didn’t speak beyond the absolute essentials, and I doubted we would ever have a conversation.
On the Saturday I just had dance practice, and since work was practically empty it was worth me taking my car. As a result I didn’t see any of the newspapers on my way to the bus stop, and the first I knew of their contents was when I walked into the rehearsal studio. Matt was already there, sat on a seat at the side of the room, one of the sleazier tabloids spread out in his arms, and my ex staring out from the front cover under some stupid headline. I hoped, I prayed, there was no mention of me in there, and then he dashed my hopes.
“Seems you do kiss better than you dance.”
Fuck. I grabbed the paper out of his hands, taking a deep breath and steeling myself. There were two pictures of me on the inner pages, alongside the continuation of his confession. The first was of the kiss, the second of me giving him the finger as I walked away. They’d even blurred it out, although it was obvious from my expression I was not happy. It was even subtitled with some stupid comment about a lovers tiff. I skimmed through the article, and it was all about how difficult this had been for him, and how long he had been hiding it all from the world, and how therapy had helped him deal with his problems instead of the heavy drinking he had done before. Plus, as an added bonus, how that drinking had driven me away. The bastards had even mentioned my new play. I smelt a rat, in the form of our agent. Must have loved the idea of getting us both free publicity out of this.
Matt stayed silent, as per usual, as I read through all the shit for a second time. Strange how he’d not fully explained how his drinking had affected our relationship, or how any of the sneaking about had hurt me. It was all about him, no different to how I remembered things. I was angry, but I couldn’t see much point in doing anything about it. This could be where I sold my side of the story, but I had no intention of doing that. He might not respect my privacy, but I wasn’t going to destroy it myself. I tried to calm myself, but ended up throwing the paper across the room, not getting any satisfaction from it, but at least getting the smug grin on his face out of my line of sight.
I closed my eyes took a few deep breaths to try and relax a little. It was done now and all over the papers, so there was nothing I could do. Hopefully my part in all this would blow over and I could stay off the radar like I wanted. When I opened my eyes again Matt was actually looking at me for once, and I could see the questions whirling round his mind. He knew nothing about me, but it seemed that now he wanted to. That was my first realisation of how this was going to affect me. Not only would strangers see that article but everyone who knew me, and I’d be kidding myself if I thought no-one was going to ask about it. Ben was a star, and lots of people fancied him. And unlike in the club dancing with Matt, this time I didn’t want anyone to be jealous.
Anything he might have asked was interrupted by my phone ringing. I felt myself tense again, and I’m sure my face darkened before I answered it. I felt the need to give him an earful, and his pleasant tone when he spoke just increased my anger.
“So, have you seen the papers? I did it.”
“I told you to keep me out of it you fuck. What part of that did you not understand? Then you force yourself on me and make sure there’s a photographer there to capture the moment. You are sicker than I thought, despite all that therapy you reckon has turned you around.”
He seemed surprised that I was upset. I wondered what planet he had been on when we had spoken that night, because I thought I had made myself quite clear.
“I’m sorry, I thought you’d be okay. And the photo, that was Tim’s idea, he thought it would promote the pair of us. I didn’t know the guy was there when we kissed.”
“You attacked me, we did not kiss. There have to be two people involved for that, and you’re lucky I didn’t knee you in the balls for touching me. Do that again, or contact me in any way, and you will be hearing from my lawyer. Lose this number.”
He started to say something else, but I hung up. I was shaking by now, feeling as though my life was falling apart around me. I believed what I told him last night, he really had ruined me. It had only been in the last few months that I started to feel anything real, and certainly when it came to men or relationships I wasn’t convinced I was ready. I might dream of Matt but there was no way I was going there, although it was the first time in a long while I had even thought about someone real in that way. I ignored his presence for the moment, too wrapped up in what I was going to do.
One thing stood out above all others. I’d sorted out the one problem in my life, I hoped. The other was about to feel my wrath. I found the number in my phonebook and dialled Tim, the agent I shared with my ex. The idiot sounded pleased to hear from me.
“Aaron, I was wondering when you would call. We’ve got some fantastic coverage for you and your play today. I was thinking we could follow that up in the week. It’s going pretty well for Ben so I thought you should capitalise on things.”
I acted as though I might care. I wanted to know what he was thinking, not that I was going to go along with it.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Good, I knew you’d be interested. We can get a lot of money for your side of the story you know. He’s only hinted at his drinking and it driving you away. I think you should tell them what really happened, then he can act all contrite and say how’s he dealt with his anger through his therapy. It will end up looking good for both of you.”
That made me lose it, and I was no longer able to stay calm. “You are some piece of shit. You want me to tell the world the worst thing that has ever happened to me and put a positive spin on it? You want me to help him look good after what he did? Fuck you. You’re fired.”
“But…”
“No. You’re fired. This was about him, not me. You chose your client, I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done.”
Again I hung up, but now I was shaking so hard I couldn’t stay standing. I half fell to the floor, barely even noticing that Matt had moved to catch me and stop me hitting my head. Everything span around me, and I thought for a moment I was going to throw up. I didn’t shout, I didn’t get angry, but suddenly I had no control and I could barely breathe. I curled into a ball and the shaking turned to crying as I let out all the tension in the only way my body knew how right then.
I felt strong arms wrap around me and I grabbed hold and clung to the body beside mine. I guess I knew it was Matt, but it could have been anyone right then, I just needed some human connection. It took a while before I could focus on anything, I’d just fallen apart and I had to pull myself back together. But once I had stopped sobbing I came back to reality fast. I was in Matt’s arms and he was in mine. I let go and pulled away as if he was on fire. I didn’t want the connection I felt to him, I needed to get free. I put my arms around my own knees and sat there, not wanting to look at him right now. He took the hint and let go of me too, but he stayed close and I could still feel the heat of him. I almost broke down again when I heard the soft tone of his voice.
“I’m going to take you back home now. You need some time to sort this out.”
I managed to snuffle out a thank you. I didn’t know what I needed, but right now hiding under my duvet and pretending none of this was happening seemed like the best option. I followed him, as I had done before, but this time he kept checking I was still with him. Even in his car, although he didn’t speak to me, he kept glancing over. His sudden awareness of me was unnerving, but he was the only person there to show me any concern right now and I did need it. It was just surprising that the person helping me out was Matt, who usually seemed so apart from the world. Right now it felt like I was the one in another world and he was the only one keeping my link to reality.
Matt pulled up outside my flat, and I felt the need to go in there and hide, possibly for some time to come. At least there was no need to get out of there for the rest of the weekend. I didn’t know if I wanted to be alone, get pissed, or run away further, and I desperately needed time to get my head straight. He just sat there though, waiting for me to move, and I realised I actually needed to get out of the car. I thanked him again, still wondering where all his kindness had come from.
“Are you going to be okay?”
“I guess so. Bad day.”
“I got that. Listen, this is my number. If you need to talk, or if you want some company.”
I managed to look at him in surprise. It was at the offer of him helping, but he obviously thought something else.
“I didn’t mean that kind of company.”
“No, I didn’t think that, it’s just… Never mind. Thanks again.”
I didn’t think I could explain that I was shocked at him being nice to me, it seemed wrong after he had made an effort and been there for me, even if he’d had no choice because he’d been the only one there when I had my meltdown. I already felt embarrassed about it, and at showing him my weakness, but I guessed if he had read the paper he would have some idea of what was going on. I wasn’t going to let him know just how weak I was.
* * * * * *