You or No One Read online

  “What do you usually do for enjoyment?” I asked.

  “Usually I invite some friends over for discussion and board games.”

  “Discussion and board games? My, my, such wild times you have.”

  “They’re not wild. That’s the point.”

  I glanced at the bottle he was clinging to. It was a bottle of Fanta. Fanta, of all things! This guy couldn’t be more out of place if he tried!

  “Your problem is that you’re not drunk enough,” I said, pointing at the bottle.

  “Why would I want to get drunk? I’d only end up making a fool of myself. Like you two on the dance floor just now.”

  Trevor smiled. To him this was a compliment. Acting foolishly when drunk just meant he’d had a good time. But I cringed at the thought of Eric seeing Trevor and me acting like fourteen-year-old girls at a wedding reception.

  “When are you going to dance?” I asked.

  “I don’t dance.”

  “Well, I’m going to make you dance. Let me get you some vodka to go with that Fanta, and then we’ll see who’s got the better moves.”

  I went back to the bar before he could argue and came back a short while later with the drinks. He drank the vodka – copious amounts of it, in fact – but he didn’t dance. He must’ve had the constitution of an ox, because he didn’t get drunk either. Unlike Trevor and I, who were completely inebriated.

  Trevor, being only five foot six and therefore less able to hold his drink, completely forgot how to put one foot in front of the other. When the club closed, I had to carry him outside. I laid him on the curb in front of the entrance, just in time for him to throw up into the gutter. Eric watched with disgust as I wiped the vomit from his mouth.

  “Is he all right?”he asked.

  “He’s fine. I’ll get him a can of Red Bull and he’ll be right as rain.”

  “Where are you two boys staying?”

  “We’re going back to Wales in the morning. We’re just hanging around here until the station opens.”

  “But the station won’t open for another few hours.”

  I frowned. What was he still hanging around us for? Why didn’t he just go home?

  “We’ll be fine,” I said.

  “But you could get robbed.”

  “Who’d rob us?”

  Eric took his phone out of his blazer pocket and checked a message. “You’re coming with me,” he decided. “My cab is here.” And before I could argue, he lifted Trevor up by his armpits and dragged him towards the taxi-cab.

  I ran after them. “Wait! Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere safe and comfortable.” He shoved Trevor onto the back seat, then turned around to face me. “Are you coming or not?”

  The cab stopped in front of the Londinium, one of the poshest hotels in all London. I laughed at first. I thought it was a joke. But then one of the porters opened the cab door and greeted us.

  “Good evening, sir. Had a good night?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Eric said. “I brought back two friends. They’ve had a little too much to drink.“

  The porter looked at Trevor, lying comatose on the back bench, his head on my lap. “I can see that.”

  “Get them a room, will you? As close to mine as possible.”

  “Right away, sir.”The porter hurried back into the hotel

  My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me,” I said. “I can’t afford this!”

  Eric brushed away the notion. “Don’t worry about it. Help me with your friend.” He got out of the cab, opened the back door, and began pulling Trevor out.

  Still dazed, I helped Eric drag Trevor into the lobby. It was like stepping into a Roman palace. The shine of the marble floors and the golden pillars almost blinded me.

  The porter returned with the key card. “Your friends will be in room thirty-six, sir. Right next to yours.”

  Eric took the key off the porter and dragged Trevor towards the lift. I tagged uselessly along behind him, completely awestruck by my opulent surroundings.

  While Trevor slept off his drunkenness, I took a shower to sober up. I’d been in a daze for most of the night, following Eric zombie-like into the taxi and the hotel without fully realising what was going on. But now, as I felt the jet streams massage my head, I reflected on all that had occurred. I knew Eric was rich, but this was crazy rich! The Londinium was where Hollywood stars stayed when they came to London. It had been tremendously generous of him to put us up. Why would he do that? He barely knew us.

  I was mistaken about him. Yes, Eric was a snob, but he couldn’t be blamed for his upbringing. He didn’t mean to be offensive when he referred to Trevor and me as hoi polloi. He’d have called us common or ordinary if he’d wanted to insult us. But who still uses a word like hoi polloi? I had to remind myself that English wasn’t his native tongue.

  I’d misjudged him. I remembered the snide remarks I’d made in the club and cringed. I turned off the shower, put on my bathrobe, and walked out of the room. I had to talk to him. I felt guilty for the way I’d treated him.

  I knocked on his door and waited. My hair was dripping wet. I was barefoot and completely naked under the bathrobe. Suddenly, I started doubting myself. What the fuck was I going to say when he opened the door? I had to think this through and talk to him in the morning. I was about to rush back to my room when the door opened.

  Eric looked me up and down. He had taken off his tie, his shoes, and his blazer. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, and I caught a glimpse of his pale, muscular chest.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  I didn’t answer. I just stared at him, like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

  “Something wrong with the room?”

  “No.” I was relieved to finally get a word out. “The room is fine. In fact, it is wonderful. I just… I wanted to thank you.”

  “No need.”

  “No, really. I appreciate this a lot. And I will pay you back.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I insist.”

  “The rooms are eight hundred pounds a night.”

  My mouth fell open. I think I almost fainted. “How much?”

  He laughed. “But don’t worry. I have a special deal. I come here all the time.”

  He was about to close the door, but I blocked it with my foot.

  “I… um…” I still didn’t know what to say, but I had to say something. “May I come in?” Before he was able to reply, I crept into his room and sat on his bed. “So…” I said. “How come you don’t go back to Sweden for your holidays?”

  “Sweden?” He looked confused, and probably also a little taken aback by the brazen way in which I’d invaded his room.

  “Isn’t that where you’re from?”

  “I’m not from Sweden.”

  “Where are you from?”

  He hesitated. “There’s nobody at home for me. My family have all gone.”

  “Gone?” Did he mean dead?

  “My parents have gone to Denmark, and my sister’s gone to… I can’t remember, but she’s not home. My family travels a lot. It’s because of their job.”

  “What is their job?”

  “They’re… um… they’re in public relations.”

  “Public relations?” I raised my eyebrows and looked around me. “There must be a lot of money in public relations.”

  “There is.”

  “So, this is where you go on your holidays?”

  “Yes.”

  “To this luxury hotel in London.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you spend your time clubbing and picking up boys.”

  He frowned. “I don’t normally go clubbing,” he mumbled.

  Ha! He denied going clubbing, but he didn’t deny picking up boys. So, he was gay. Up to that point, there was still doubt.

  “I hope we didn’t ruin it for you,” I said.

  “Ruin what?”

  “The night. I think Trevor and I may have gate cra
shed your one-man party.”

  “You didn’t ruin anything.”

  “But you didn’t pick up any boys. You came back empty-handed.”

  “Did I?”

  Suddenly, he looked at me in a way that sent chills down my spine. I laughed. I don’t normally get shy, but something about that look just unsettled me.

  “Surely you don’t think you picked me up,” I said.

  “Don’t I?”

  “You wouldn’t want me anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m far too ordinary for you.”

  “Maybe I like ordinary.”

  He was still staring at me with that piercing gaze. I felt compelled to look away.

  “I met you before, you know?” I had to change the topic. It was getting too hot for me. I could feel my dick beginning to swell, and the bathrobe wasn’t thick enough to conceal it.

  “I remember it. The first week of the new term. I was sitting in the quadrangle. You asked me for directions to the library. I wouldn’t give them to you.”

  “That’s right.” I was trying to act blasé, but inside, my heart was pounding. So, he did remember me!

  “I’m sorry if I was rude. I was a little depressed at the time. You disturbed my peace.”

  “What were you depressed about?”

  “About having to spend another year at Oxford. I hate it there.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s stuffy. Traditional. Elitist.”

  Very much like yourself, I was about to say, but I didn’t. “Why did you choose Oxford, if you hate it so much?”

  “I didn’t choose it. It was chosen for me.”

  “I see.”

  There was a pause. Eric hung his head. He had his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was thinking of something to say. His thin white shirt was transparent, and I saw his torso beneath it. Pale, tight, and rippling. It made me hot.

  I stood up and slowly untied the belt of my bathrobe. He looked up, alarmed, but I didn’t let that put me off. I was as nervous as he was, but he wasn’t going to make the first move, so I had to.

  My bathrobe slipped off my body and dropped onto the floor. There was a chill in the room. I felt goose bumps all over my naked body.

  Eric was still staring at me. The alarmed expression had gone. He now looked at me with a strange mixture of melancholy and tenderness. It made the hairs on my neck stand up.

  I walked towards him slowly and put my arms around his neck. I pushed my body against his. The buttons of his shirt pressed into my skin, and the cold steel of his belt buckle dug into my stomach. I closed my eyes, moved my face towards his, and kissed him. The stubble around his mouth tickled my lips. Finally, he took his hands out of his pockets and wrapped them around my waist. His warm fingers pressed into my lower back and squeezed me so tightly I could hardly breathe.

  We had sex that night. Wonderful, loving, tender sex. So unlike all my other experiences. But I won’t go into details. This wasn’t the kind of sex you boast about. This actually meant something to me.

  I didn’t stay the night. Knowing that Trevor would panic if he woke up and didn’t see me, I slipped back into my room while Eric was sleeping. I didn’t see him again till breakfast.

  He was sitting alone when Trevor and I walked into the breakfast hall. He saw us enter. I know he did, because he was facing the doorway. But he picked up his coffee cup and hid behind it.

  Trevor waltzed towards him, oblivious to everything, and joined him at the table. “Good morning,” he said, smiling broadly.

  Eric mumbled back a greeting.

  I sat down next to Trevor. Eric didn’t even look at me.

  “What’s good here?” Trevor asked.

  “The food’s over there.” Eric pointed at the buffet. “Have whatever you want. It’s included in the room.” He swallowed the last sip of his coffee, slammed his cup on its saucer, and got up. “I’m off now. I believe you guys are travelling back to Wales today?”

  “That’s right.” I smiled at him. Gave him the full works. Batting eyelids, sparkling eyes, pearly grin. But still he wouldn’t look at me.

  “Well, have a pleasant journey,” he said. “It was nice knowing you.” Then he nodded at us and marched out of the restaurant.

  It was nice knowing you. My heart sank. I knew what that meant. It meant he wouldn’t acknowledge me when he saw me again in Oxford. It meant that I shouldn’t try to approach him. That I shouldn’t think of what happened last night as anything more than a drunken one-night stand.

  “You had sex with him, didn’t you?” Trevor asked.

  We were sitting on the bus on our way to Wales.

  I nodded.

  “Well? What was it like?”

  Trevor always wanted to hear every detail of my sexcapades. He was still a virgin, even though he was one year older than me, and he was still very immature. He was prone to blushing and giggling whenever we talked about sex. Despite being chatty and bubbly on the outside, he was terribly insecure on the inside. Men generally weren’t attracted to him. His helmet-inspired hairstyle didn’t help (he looked like a Playmobil doll), and neither did his short stature.

  “It was wonderful,” I said.

  “Did you fuck him, or did he fuck you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Well, you always say you’re versatile.”

  “I am versatile, but none of the men I meet ever want to bottom.”

  “So, he fucked you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he any good?”

  “I already told you. He was wonderful.”

  A woman on the other side of the aisle was listening in on our conversation. She kept pulling faces. Trevor was oblivious.

  “Well, tell me more,” he said.

  I leaned into him and whispered, “We’re on the bus. People are listening.” I pointed at the woman.

  Trevor ignored me. “He won’t see you again, you know. He made that clear enough during breakfast.”

  “I know.”

  “So, why won’t you tell me?”

  I gave up. I knew Trevor wouldn’t stop bugging me until I gave him some juicy details. “Well… there was something which has never happened to me before,” I said. “It’s kinda gross, but also kinda kinky.”

  This caught Trevor’s imagination, and a big grin appeared on his face. “What was it?”

  I cupped his ear and whispered, “I came in his mouth.”

  “What?”

  “I came in his mouth. I couldn’t help it. I just looked down and saw those lips wrapped around my cock and those blue eyes staring up at me, and I couldn’t stop myself. I jizzed right in his mouth.”

  Trevor burst out laughing. “That is gross! What did he do?”

  “He didn’t bat an eyelid. He just spat it out onto the floor, stood up, and kissed me on the mouth. I could taste my own cum on his lips.”

  Trevor practically fell off his seat laughing. The other passengers turned their heads to look at us. The woman across the aisle had heard every word. She looked horrified.

  I laughed along with Trevor at first, but actually I felt bad. I felt as though I had betrayed Eric. As though I’d ruined that special night by turning it into a salacious anecdote. Little did I know then that my careless words would come back to haunt me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  If It’s Not One Thing... It’s Your Mother

  I grew up in a small terraced house on Parry Street. It was easy to recognise. It was the only house with single-glazed windows and without a satellite dish. It was an eyesore. The paint on the door and the window was peeling, and a leaking drainpipe caused a huge damp stain on the wall. The neighbours kept complaining to my mother that she should have it re-painted, but the landlord refused to budge.

  I hated being back in Wales. As I trudged back home with leaden feet, I thought of the dreamy spires, the lush cricket lawns, and the stately quadrangles of Oxford, and I wished I was there instead
.

  When I got home, I was met by an unpleasant sight. The words FUCKING BITCH had been spray-painted in red, dripping letters all over the front door. I stood rooted to the street, staring with horror at the graffiti, when I heard someone speak to me.

  “You’re back, then?”

  It was Mr Jones, our neighbour. He had popped his head out of the bedroom window.

  “That’s been there for the last three days, so it has,” he said. “Your mother is refusing to scrub it off. I’ve got me grandkids visiting me this weekend. I don’t want them looking at that filth when they’re here.”

  “I’m sure your grandkids have heard much worse at school,” I mumbled.

  “Is that what they’re teaching you at your fancy college, is it? To talk back to your elders?”

  “Oh, piss off!”

  I took the house keys out of my pocket and went in.

  My mother lay on the couch with a sleeping mask on her face. An open box of Xanax lay on the coffee table beside her. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and lifted the mask to her forehead.

  “Joel? Is that you?”

  She stared at me with beady eyes. Her face was pale. Almost green.

  “Hi,Mum.” I put my backpack on the ground and walked over to kiss her.

  “Oh, Joel.” She wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed me tight. She sounded exasperated. “Did you see the door?”

  “Yes. I saw it.”

  “It’s terrible! I’ve tried removing it with soap and water, but it won’t come off. And I got some paint to repaint the door, but I daren’t use it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why do you think? ‘Cause I nicked it, of course.”

  Even after nineteen years, my mother never ceased to surprise me.

  “You nicked the paint?”

  “Do you know how much a tub of paint costs? And I needed two of them! Gladys from across the street works at the paint store. If she sees me painting the door, she’ll know it was me who nicked it. I can’t go outside anymore. The neighbours keep whispering and pointing their fingers. I’ve been stuck in here for three days. I’m all out of aspirins.” She trembled as she reached out for another Xanax. “Get me a glass of water, will you?”