Footy

SOMERSETVILLE (28)

Saturday morning. Mid-June, almost the solstice, almost mid-winter. Outside, the rain drummed on the roof and gurgled in the gutters. The bare elm trees in the park were black and bleak, their branches bending away from the icy southerly.

Tom and Adam were warm under their doona. They had been making love and ached pleasantly with it. Adam was tucked into Tom’s shoulder, Tom’s muscular arm was wrapped around him, and their legs were entwined. Adam could hear the soft thump of Tom’s heart.

“I suppose you want some tea?” Tom didn’t want to move out of the warmth into the chilly house. He knew, though, how fond Adam was of a morning cup of tea. Before Adam could answer, he continued, “You know, it was good making you tea when we were just friends, when we lived in your flat.” He was quiet for a minute, and then said, “I reckon we’ll always be together, ’cos we didn’t start out with sex, but were friends, best friends, first.”

“Yeah.” Adam nuzzled Tom’s shoulder. “You know what best friends do for each other, don’t you?” He could hear the subterranean rumble of Tom’s answering laugh, transmitted through muscle and bone.

“You just love me because I make you tea in bed!”

“’Course!”

Tom dragged himself out of bed with a groan, and pulled on a thick flannel dressing gown. “OK, OK! Nag, nag, nag.”

As Tom reached out for the door knob, Adam said, softly, so that he almost didn’t hear it, “Tom, I love you so much.”

Tom turned to look at Adam. “Not, my dearest darling, as much as I love you.” His eyes gleamed, lambent and joyous.

He brought the two mugs of tea back, and put on the heater. He got back into bed, and leaned his head against Adam’s shoulders.

“Tom?”

“Mmm?”

“Why don’t we go and see Beryl Titney this weekend? We don’t have anything on.” He didn’t need to add that she was lonely. Adam had told Tom all about her.

“Okey-doke.”

“I’ll give her a ring, and find out if she’s free.”

“It’ll be cold up there.”

“All the better. It’ll give us a good excuse to cuddle.” Adam’s grin was sly.

“Won’t she mind?”

“Doubt it. She’s always supported me. When no one else did. She’s more my mother than my real mother is.”

“Going to phone her?”

“Mum? No.”

The sudden tensing of Adam’s body made Tom regret raising the matter.

A tentative peace had developed with his own parents, and he was glad of it. His father had been quite unable to mention his son’s sex-life. Tom could see how profoundly embarrassed he was by the whole subject. If it had been anyone else, Tom would have enjoyed teasing him about it. Instead, he tactfully acquiesced in the silence.

His mother had, at first, been much worse, clearly angry and upset. But it turned out that there were just two things concerning her – disease; and grandchildren.

“Mum! Adam and I only have sex with each other.”

“It’s what you do when you do.” His mother refused to look at him.

Tom had been uncomfortable. But he had known this moment was going to occur. For a minute or two, he was silent. He had no intention of discussing with his mother how men made love, for God’s sake. “Mum,” he said, with all the firmness he could muster, “we’re very careful. We won’t give each other any diseases because we don’t have sex with anyone else.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Ma, this is embarrassing.”

“Hmph. But it needs to be said.”

“Ma, how old am I?”

His mother refused to answer. Tom wanted to laugh, but knew he couldn’t.

“Come,” he said, and took her hand and led her over to the worn old sofa, where he’d often sat as a teenager, doing his homework, or dreaming about being on the stage, bowing to thunderous applause after he’d performed, perfectly and spectacularly, the twelve grands jetés en tournant from Don Quixote. “Mum, I love him. I will always love him, even when we get old and don’t want sex any more.”

“Cheek!” she replied, her eyes twinkling despite her tone, “D’you think just because you get old you stop being interested?”

“Too much information!” But he was smiling. He knew she’d set aside that issue. “Ma, he’s my best friend, my lover. He makes me happy. Anita... she wasn’t good for me.” He stopped for several heartbeats, then, unable to meet her eyes, he said, “You know, Ma, she slept with half the members of the team. While she was still married to me.” He’d never told his mother this. Shame at being so spectacularly cuckolded had made him keep this and the other secrets of his marriage from his parents.

His mother clasped his hand. “I didn’t know.” Her voice shook a little.

“Adam loves me. I love him. He makes me happy. Ma, he makes me so happy.”

She was quiet, but he knew she was turning these words over in her mind. She had always been like that, taking her time to make up her mind, considering and reconsidering. While she washed up or vacuumed the carpets, he used to see her lips moving or her head shaking as she talked to herself. Once, her mutters and whispers had irritated him.

With a sly grin, he went on, “Oh, and you know, Mum,” (and this was a shrewd aside, for his mother admired money), “he’s going to be even richer than I am.”

“What about grandchildren?” His mother had no intention of conceding defeat, at least not openly, not yet.

Tom looked at her and smiled. “Oh, you broody old thing!”

“Not so much of the ‘old’!” she shot back.

“There’s always adoption.”

“Will they let you adopt?”

“We’ll find a way. And if we can’t, we’ll make a plan.” And he had, one which had just come into his head. He had no intention of mentioning it to anyone until he’d checked out whether it were possible. He was suddenly dizzy with happiness.

When his mother quizzed him about his plan, he simply grinned, and said, “You’ll be among the first to know. And don’t say anything to dad.”

“That man! Not a word.” As they made their way back to where Adam and Tom’s father were discussing the stock market over the ruins of Sunday lunch (Kevin fancied himself a wily investor), she said, “It was a bit of a shock for him. But he does love you, you know.”

“I know,” said Tom. He slipped his arm round her waist. “I know. I love you too. You two are the best. I’m so glad you’re my parents. And you know, Ma, I hope you’ll be parents to Adam, too. He needs them. His mother isn’t talking to him.” He felt her body stiffen with indignation, and he knew then that it would be all right.

***

Beryl Titney lived in a 1930s red-brick house, its windows edged with stained glass decorations facing the street with a matching stained glass panel above the door. The garden was perfect, even in mid-winter. A giant deodar overhung the low red-brick wall in front of the house, its tiny needles thick on the pavement and the road; and a massive pin oak, still with a few withered brown leaves, shaded the front porch. The shiny green of spring bulbs, their buds just starting to swell, bordered the concrete driveway leading to the garage. Up here in the highlands, close to the Australian Alps, it was much colder than in Melbourne. The spring flowers would only come weeks after they did in Melbourne.

Beryl opened the door just as Adam raised his hand to knock.

“Beryl, this is Tom Siedentrop. Tom this is my dear friend, Beryl Titney.”

“How nice to meet you at last, Miss Titney. Adam has spoken so much of you.”

“Oh do call me Beryl, Mr Siedentrop.” Her smile was kind, but the eyes were sharp and the mind behind them sharper. Tom could see at once why she would never have had discipline problems in her classes, why even the other teachers had been afraid of her. He liked her straight away. He sensed that her judgements might be forthright, and sometimes unfair, but that she was in favor of him. “Come in out of the cold! Isn’t the weather terrible?” Without waiting for an answer, she stepped back and gestured them into the house.

It smelled exactly as it always had when Adam had come here as a boy for lessons or recitals to assemblies of family, friends, and interesting people that Beryl knew, a mixture of lavender furniture polish, books, and roses, with the faint overtone of dry mould often found in old houses. There were fresh red roses in a vase on the Art Nouveau sideboard in the hall. There were always red roses. Sometimes he’d come for an extra after-school lesson, and the roses would be mourning quietly, petals in a drift on the shiny perfectly polished surface of the sideboard. The petals were never cleared away until the new bunch of roses arrived. Adam guessed that there was a story attached to them, but had never had the courage to ask. When Tom bent forward unselfconsciously to sniff them, Adam’s eyes met Beryl’s for a moment before they both looked away.

“Your room is through here,” she said briskly. She had given them a bedroom overlooking the back garden, next to the verandah. A room with a double bed. Adam glanced at Tom. Tom’s eyes crinkled at the corners, managing to look both loving and lewd at the same time. “Here are your towels,” Beryl continued, patting thick white towels set out on the dresser. “Now, how about a nice cup of tea?”

As always, they took tea in the old-fashioned kitchen, Beryl using the familiar Sèvres-copy tea set, and the ancient Arnott’s tea caddy with its rosellas and elegantly curved lettering, worn to the metal on protruding edges. Adam had a sudden overwhelming feeling that this was home, here, with this woman who had understood him long before he’d understood himself, not at the house out of town, where his mother, bitter and unhappy, resented her son for not being what she’d wanted, for being himself, different and prickly and miserable. And now she couldn’t forgive him for being happy in a relationship that society disapproved of.

They chatted about inconsequential things, the converse of old friends, familiar with each other’s concerns and lives. Tom felt immediately at home.

“Adam tells me you play the guitar, Tom.”

“I only started playing again a few months ago, when I met Adam. It’d been a while before that.”

“Oh, it’ll come back if you practise!”

Adam grinned at her. “That’s your cure for everything, Beryl. Unhappy love, headaches, indigestion... ”

She fixed a steely eye on him, and asked in a tone which made both of them want to say “Yes ma’am,” and duck their heads, “And are you practising?”

“Of course.” Adam smiled at her with affection. “Don’t bully!”

She’d made a Thai lentil and cashew stew for lunch, which they also ate in the kitchen, the warmth of the old-fashioned oven making it cosy and welcoming.

After lunch they went for a walk. The rain had eased, but the wind was icy. They were all dressed accordingly. Adam kept on stealing glances at Tom. He was so handsome, so manly. Secretly, he still wondered at his luck.

They wandered down to the ovals located on the flat land next to the river.

Somersetville’s school footy team was playing, against the high school from a neighboring town. Adam would once have felt out of place watching a group of the sort of people who had so mercilessly and relentlessly bullied him when he’d been at school. But he was with Tom. He was not just protected from them, but had moved beyond them. He was on his way to being rich one day. He was in love, and had friends who loved him. Within a hostile world, he had somehow, by sheer luck, found a safe happy place for himself. He was too old and too cynical not to know that it might not last, that all happiness was ephemeral. But he was happy now. The footy players had no power to harm him.

They watched the team from Adam’s old school lose comprehensively to their opponents. At the end of the game, one of the mud spattered players trudged past the three of them, and suddenly seeing Tom cried, “Tom Siedentrop! Cool!” Then noticing who Tom was with, said with a tinge of embarrassment, “G’day Miss Titney.”

Tom smiled and nodded. “G’day. How are you?”

Beryl gave the youth a cool smile. “Hello, Brad.”

“What are you doing in Somersetville, Mr Siedentrop?” His attention was back on Tom. The way he spoke made clear his opinion of the town.

“You can call me Tom, mate. I’m here with my mate Adam.”

Adam nodded at Brad. He’d probably just entered primary school when Adam had been in his final year. Adam knew logically that Brad couldn’t be blamed for his suffering at school, yet all the same, he wasn’t prepared to like him. He accepted that Tom was a footy player, still fascinated by the game, that he was what Americans called a jock, but Tom was his – any deviant tastes could be forgiven. And anyway, Tom was much more than a footy-mad footballer. He was a dancer, a musician, and.... Adam stopped trying to analyze his reactions and decided that he would try to be nice to Brad for Tom’s sake. It was time he shelved some of his cynicism, too.

Brad wasn’t interested in either Adam or Beryl. His attention was fixed on his hero. Adam caught Beryl’s eye and had to look away quickly to stop himself laughing out loud at her sardonic twinkle.

“Didja see us playing, Tom?”

“Yeah.”

“What didja think?”

Brad watched Tom’s struggle to unite civility and truth and then sighed, “Yeah, I know. We suck.” His shoulders slumped a little. “Maybe, if we had somebody good to coach us, you know?” His voice trailed off, and he managed to look pathetic.

Beryl gave an almost inaudible snort.

Tom was trying hard to maintain a straight face. “True. I’d offer but I don’t come up here so often. This is the first time, in fact.”

A couple of other schoolboys had joined them by then.

“These are me mates, Jonty and Gazza.” Brad indicated each as he spoke. They nodded to each other, and greeted Beryl by name. Brad looked at Tom for a moment or two. “We’d really appreciate it,” he said, softly. “We really suck. You could help us a lot.” He looked directly at Adam, beseeching, clearly aware of their relationship, then back at Tom.

“When do you have practice?”

Brad’s whole posture shifted, like a dog who’s been forgiven his misdemeanors.

“Tuesday and Thursday nights. Matches are on Saturdays.”

“Every Saturday?”

“Nah.”

“OK. Give me a schedule of your matches and I’ll come up on one of your free Saturdays.”

The boys all started smiling and talking at once.

Tom spoke, raising his hand for silence. “But before I do anything, I need to clear it with your coach first.”

There was complete silence at this. Brad drooped afresh.

“What?” Tom glanced from one to the other.

“He’ll never go for it.” They scuffed the sodden turf with their footy boots, not meeting Tom’s or each other’s eyes. “Because of... you know.”

Tom felt a pure and single-minded rage wash through him. “Where is he?” he growled.

The boys gestured forlornly at a ute parked a few hundred meters away.

Tom strode towards the ute, with Adam and Beryl struggling to keep up, and the boys straggling far behind, every aspect of their posture indicating their disappointment.

“Tom! Slow down!” Adam had noticed that Beryl’s breath was catching.

“What? Oh! Sorry.”

There was a man in his fifties sitting in the ute. He was too fat. Like so many former sportsmen, he’d let himself go after he stopped playing. His face was red and his blue eyes were unfriendly.

“G’day.” His tone was unwelcoming.

“G’day, mate. Tom Siedentrop, and this is my mate Adam Hopkinson, and... ”

“Barry and I are acquainted,” said Beryl drily.

“Barry Wheelan.” The man didn’t get out of the ute. He continued to glare at them.

Tom was completely unfazed. He stared back at the man, his own blues eyes like chips of ice in his face. “The blokes here would like me to coach them. I reckon that’s a beaut idea. What d’you reckon, Mr Wheelan?”

In absolute silence, Barry Wheelan shook his head.

“Why not?” Steely, determined.

“They’re boys! And you’re a...”

“You never had any brains, Brian Wheelan!” Beryl’s interruption was unwelcome to both the men. “You were always no more intelligent than a chook. Who’s Tom with? Huh? He’s with the man who’ll be his husband. Why would Tom touch any of the boys? Huh?”

Barry Wheelan’s cheeks had turned an unhealthy purple. He began to splutter.

Beryl pressed her points home. “So when you coach the school’s girls swimming team, the same applies to you? They’re girls, and you’re a man.” Her contempt burned.

“That’s different!” He was furious, now. The purple had turned white round his lips.

“You’re a narrow-minded ninny, Barry Whelan. And you always have been.” She looked at him for a minute or two, then went on in a more conciliatory tone, “Do you want your teams to win? Do you know how many coaches would give their front teeth to have Tom Siedentrop coach their teams?”

Barry stared obstinately through the windscreen.

“Your choice, mate.” The anger had left Tom, and in its wake had come disgust and despondency. He turned to the three boys. “Sorry, dudes. I’m not doing it without your coach’s approval. And he won’t give it. I’m really sorry.” And he turned to Adam and said, “C’mon, love, let’s go.” Adam knew that the ‘love’ was deliberate, that Tom was showing everybody where his priorities lay. As he turned, Tom grunted over his shoulder, “You change your mind, mate, give Beryl a ring.”

They walked away wordlessly. Adam wondered that he had forgotten the homophobia of society, the narrow-minded old-fashioned closedness of Ozzie country towns. He should have remembered. Tom had never encountered it in so personal a way before. Would it change the way Tom felt about him, about their relationship, about being gay in a society that still didn’t accept it? His mind filled with dark imaginings, with the vision of himself alone again, left with just the memories of Tom.

Tom slipped his hand through Adam’s elbow. “Hey.” His smile was private, and reassuring, as if he had divined the cause of Adam’s fears.

“Tom.” Adam felt happy once again but this time it was more fragile. He knew that their haven was vulnerable, that to make it safe would be impossible, that there were many out there who wanted to destroy what they had.

“He’s always been an idiot,” Beryl said. “He was John’s best friend. I could never understand what he saw in Barry. I know it doesn’t look like it, but he is a kind man. Just dim. Maybe unhappy, too.”

They walked in silence for a bit longer. The willows were bare and the drifts from the autumn fall were rich and damp and melancholy. “Who was John?” Adam was intrigued. Beryl had never before mentioned much of a personal nature about her life.

When the silence had stretched almost long enough for Adam to wonder whether he had hurt or offended her, Beryl replied, “He was my... bloke.” She was silent again. They continued along the curve of the river bank, through the bare willows and poplars and then she said, “Let’s go home, and we can talk about it then.” They cut across an empty field and returned to the house along a side road. The oaks planted on the verge had grown a couple of meters since Adam had last come here. As a rule, he seldom visited the town when he came to stay with Beryl. He had no reason to see his mother, and none at all to go into the town proper.

Back at the house, Beryl put on the kettle, still maintaining her silence, and only spoke when the tea had been made and was stewing in the pot. She opened a jar of biscuits and passed the jar and two small plates from the tea service across to Adam and Tom.

“I suppose you two would only just have been born. 1972. The Vietnam War was in full swing. There was conscription. But John decided to volunteer. He believed all that stuff about communist dominoes. Australians always do believe the lies told to us by our so-called protectors.” She paused, and poured the tea. Its fragrant smell filled the kitchen, mingling with the comfortable familiarity of the other odors that took Adam back to his youth, when almost the only place he’d felt safe was here in this house. She took a sip of her tea. “Did you know that in the First World War, Australia and New Zealand lost the highest proportion of their population in any British Empire country?” The two men shook their heads. “Anyway, John was set to go to Vietnam. His country needed him.” Her bitterness jarred. It was hard for the two men to wholly understand what she felt. Yet her sincerity and obvious emotion, after over thirty years, showed that for her, the loss and grief was still very real. “Barry tried to persuade him not to go. They were best mates, you know. They were both in the footy team, both determined to be amateur champions. Barry was different then. He was full of life. He and John were always laughing. After John... ” she swallowed and looked away, “ ...afterwards, he changed. He became bitter, sour against life.” She stopped and looked out through the old-fashioned windows into the deepening twilight outside. “I suppose I did too. I know I became angry at people’s stupidity and cruelty. Maybe it takes your own loss to understand the losses of others. To understand why you have to make a stand against evil.” She suddenly smiled at them. “Don’t look so solemn. It was a long time ago.”

Adam gave her a small smile. “All the time you were worrying about me, and you had your own griefs.”

“Oh, nonsense! It was a long time ago now. But what I wanted to say was that you mustn’t judge Barry too harshly. They were very close, Barry and Johnny.” She looked away, her eyes roaming unseeing over the familiar features of her kitchen. “Who knows what kind of love they had? Those days you didn’t, you know. Things are easier now. I know it doesn’t seem like that to you, but they are. I didn’t accept Barry’s grief. It didn’t seem that it could be the equal of mine. And I blamed him. Stupid, stupid woman. You see, he’d also volunteered to go to Vietnam, to keep Johnny safe. As if anyone could! I was jealous of their friendship. I was angry that Barry had been with Johnny in his last days, when I hadn’t.” Her smile was wry. “Barry needed Johnny to keep him young. John had so much life. He was such fun, always laughing and joking. He would ring up out of the blue and say, ‘let’s go camping’ or ‘fancy a drive down to Melbourne?’ or ‘Going skiing this weekend?’. Of course, we didn’t have the money like there is today. We had to borrow John’s dad’s car, and that wasn’t always possible. In the end, Johnny bought an old Morris Minor, and the three of us would go off and do things. Drive down to Lake’s Entrance for the weekend. Go camping in the high country. Barry needed that. You know how sometimes a person is completed – complemented – by another person. Well, you see, I think that was true for both of us with Johnny. Barry needed Johnny to keep him... joyful. When... after Johnny was killed, the joy went out of him.”

“Didn’t it go out of you too?” Adam wanted to hug her. It came to him how much he loved this woman, how much he owed her. It was a debt he was quite willing to pay, the more so in that it didn’t seem a burden at all. She had made it possible for him to go to varsity. She had cared about him in a practical way, as well as in deeper ways. It occurred to him that he’d never noticed whether she had friends in Somersetville. She was a loner like he was. Oh, it was true that she had from time to time had friends up from Melbourne. But essentially, on a day to day basis, she was alone, and probably (and now his adult mind supplied what his teenage understanding had not perceived) she was alone at work too, her sharp tongue and sharper mind making her unpopular in the staff common room.

“Oh, I had resources. I had music. I was used to being a loner. But Barry... He needed Johnny. Ah well, that’s all past now. But I think I’ll go and give him a ring and apologize for how I spoke to him. Mind you,” and she looked directly at Tom, “not that I agree with him in the least.” She stopped for a minute then said, almost as if she was talking to herself, “You know, he went to Vietnam with John, partly to protect him – Johnny was so reckless – and partly to be with him. He never really forgave himself for living when Johnny didn’t. No, that sounds all wrong; melodramatic piffle. He felt guilty and lost.” She pushed back her chair and went through to the hall, where the telephone was kept.

Tom took his hand and drew him over to the window, where they couldn’t hear what she was saying on the phone. His hand was warm and strong. He held onto Adam’s hand. “We are so lucky,” he said. “So effin’ lucky.”

“Yes.” Adam pulled him in for a kiss. He felt the familiar electric tingles fleet down his spine, and the response of his body and his heart. “Yes, we are so lucky. If I hadn’t... ”

“And if I... ”

From the door, Beryl said (and Adam could hear the smile in her voice), “Barry would like to talk to you, Tom.”

Tom resisted the temptation to leap apart from Adam. They turned to face her. Her face was sad, not for them specifically, but as if life was an expanse of sorrow and loss. She smiled, her expression shy. She said nothing. Tom headed off for the hall. Adam went over to her and took her hands in his. “Would you like to be grandmother to our child? You’re more my mother than she is.”

“It’s not a vision that fills me with delight, I must confess.” But her eyes had an ironic glint. She let go his hands and said, “Come, let’s have some more tea.”

While the kettle was boiling, she said, drily, “And which of you is pregnant?”

Adam burst out laughing. “We’ll adopt.” He grinned at her, then said, “You are evil, you know.”

“I know.” She was laughing at him, her eyes twinkling.

“Tom and I are... well... it’s as good as marriage. We’re committed to each other in just the same way as any couple.”

“I know that.” She’d stopped smiling, and was looking at him intently. “Are you going to have a ceremony? Get married?”

“Yeah. We’ve kind of already let the world know, with a proposal on TV (how tacky!) but now I want to do it properly, in front of our friends, the people that matter in our lives. Will you come?”

“Need you ask? Now this ‘grandmother’ business is a little different.”

He looked at her quickly and saw that she was teasing him.

“You know,” she said, looking away from him, “I used to worry about you. You were such a funny little thing, all gangly legs and red wrists, and so unhappy. And you’ve grown up into this wonderful confident man, handsome and clever and funny. And you’re happy. And that makes me so glad. I can see you love him very much, and he loves you, and it’s only right, after all you’ve been through, that you have someone like him. It doesn’t always work out so fortunately.”

“I know. Thank you for telling us about Johnny. I’m sorry.”

“Life!” She gave him a brisk smile. “Value the good parts, the good things you have. And I have.”

“You’ve been here for me. You’re my friend, as much my mother as my ‘real’ mother.”

“I’ll never have children now.”

“You have me.” There was a silence, and they could hear the ticking of the radiator and the distant muted hum of traffic on the highway. “I’ll – we’ll – look after you.”

“Stop! Stop! You’ll make me cry. And I never do that.”

***

“Tom Siedentrop.”

“Yeah, mate. Look mate, I’m sorry about earlier. I reckon you won’t do anything wrong with the blokes. I’d appreciate your help.”

The tone might be a little strained, but the sentiments were generous.

“No worries, mate. Mr Wheelan, I reckon you should know about me and Adam. I... ”

“ ...it’s none of my business, mate. I don’t need to know.”

Tom wasn’t sure whether it was ‘need’ or ‘want’.

“Fair enough, mate.” There was a pause. “When would you like me to come? I won’t usually be able to make it during the week. But I can come on Saturdays.”

“Next Saturday, then. Practice starts at 3 pm.”

“I’ll see you there.” He put the phone down.

He went back to the kitchen.

“Well?” Adam was amused.

Tom groaned. “Why did I ever agree? We’ll have to give up Saturdays. Bleagh!”

Adam was warmed by the ‘we’. He had no intention of letting Tom go by himself to the practices. Tom was his man. They would do things together.

That night, they ordered in take-away pizza. They played guitar and clarinet for Beryl, and then she played old busker tunes on the piano, and they sang along. They managed to nearly finish two bottles of red, and went to bed tipsy. They all enjoyed themselves immensely. There is something magical about playing music with people you love.

Later that night, with the moonlight silvering the bedroom, Adam and Tom made love, gently and slowly, as the bed had a tendency to squeak a little, with Tom spooned up against Adam’s firm body. As Adam emptied himself into Tom and then Tom himself climaxed, he gave thanks to whichever gods and angels watched over him, if there were any. Only the fact that he was unreconciled with his mother still had the power to hurt, but he was philosophical about that. She had always been an arbitrary and ineffective potentate in his life, and she had lost the power to influence him any more. His real mother was here in this house. As was his husband-to-be, asleep against him, the soft thud of his heart a counterpoint to Adam’s own, his body warm and relaxed, his soul fulfilled. Adam was superstitious about his happiness. Thank yous seemed not just appropriate, but wise, too.

<<Chapter 27

© 2009 Nigel Puerasch. All rights reserved.
Romantic m2m novels and short stories