Hitting The Roof

Chapter 2.

The 80 houses on 4 streets running parallel to each other off Hawthorne Street, were small and exactly alike. The ground floor consisted of a kitchen that was modestly equipped and with just enough room for a table and two chairs, plus a living toom twice the size of the kitchen. Upstairs, similar spaces proved a bathroom with shower and WC and a bedroom. Originally they were built as alms houses. Later they become accommodations for Methodist widows. Now, their current owner in his own Methodist old age, was soon to transfer this small corner of an extensive portfolio into a fully mutual Housing co-operative.

Other people count sheep when they cannot sleep. But John Poole had recently taken to meditating on the history of the modest streets of the soon to be, Chapel Housing Co-operative, to bring on sleep. Just now, but for reasons that were vividly unclear as he reflected upon his night in ‘The Queen’s Shilling,’ he  decided that at least for now, anything was preferable to the torment of having an enthusiastic wank to wild imaginings of the wonderful Frazer Shaw.

Days later, Frazer moved into 5, Chapel Street. John noted that he was not alone in helping Frazer. But then and all, he concluded, it was obvious that Frazer easily drew people he did not yet really know, into his friendly orbit. Afterwards in the Dog and Trumpet pub John chatted with his fellow tenants, but only stole furtive glances at the most recent tenant of all.

“I’ll help you carry them,” Frazer was quick to volunteer when John made his way to buy a round of drinks.

“Glad you have recovered from the ‘Queen’s Shilling,’ Sunshine.”

John stifled a shiver of delight, suddenly realising that he both enjoyed the sobriquet ‘sunshine’ as something shared between them and was also glad that Frazer did not use it in the hearing of others.

“Well, I suddenly decided it was like being at work. Like a public performance really.”

Frazer nodded thoughtfully.

“You could always consider being the Chair of the Housing Co-op Management Committee, in the same light,” he gently suggested, as they made their way back to their group, trays of drinks in hand.

“Frazer is quite right” agreed Kaydee Kapour, catching the tail end of their conversation.  “You should consider standing for the Chair post when the Chapel Housing Co-op is formally established next month. “Now then,” she added briskly, taking her orange juice, “who ordered what?”

“I’m not going to stay here in the long term, unlike the rest of you,” Frazer was saying as the group later made their way home. For him what would soon be a housing co-op was just a relatively inexpensive place to live, still owned for the next few days by an apparently decent landlord, whom Frazer privately thought an eccentric for giving away his property.
“I’d really like to be in charge of the electrical maintenance of a major teaching hospital, in say Birmingham. Much more interesting than anything in The Royal Eastamptionshire County Hospital.”

As they approached each of the four ‘Chapel’ streets the group thinned out and John contemplated the possibility of inviting Frazer for a coffee. He observed,-not too obviously he hoped,- that Frazer took an attentive leave of Samantha Smith, at the end of Chapel Lane and beside the sometime Methodist Chapel, long converted into what would become the housing co-op’s offices and community centre.

A frisson of delight and apprehension vied with each other as a gentle tug on his arm drew John slightly aside.

“If you have a spare evening maybe we can go somewhere,” said Frazer.

For a moment John forgot to breathe. A spare evening for Frazer Shaw. Does the Lord Bishop of Eastampton  have a mitre?, thought he, remembering to exhale.

“Ah..ah.. You could come to my place tomorrow,” John heard himself say and immediately regretted its over enthusiastic tone.

“I’d like that Sunshine. See you tomorrow.”

So saying, Frazer immediately retraced his steps to Samantha Smith, with John observing wistfully as they disappeared together down Chapel Lane.  Alone in his little house a few doors away from Frazer’s assuredly empty home, John was self-aware enough to know that he had no claim on Frazer’s affections that could possibly justify the small but definite pangs of jealousy he felt at the thought of Samantha being alone for the night with Frazer. At least he called me ‘Sunshine’ thought John drawing the words around him like a comfort blanket. By way of further distraction the young Legal Executive read the Constitution And Standing Orders for the new housing co-op: A document which a working party under his firm guidance, had written.

Later, he was in his small bathroom. Naked, legs apart, the little ritual in which John stood like some aspirant Greek model, arms stretched and easily touching each wall was enacted. He did this every time he was about to step into the shower cubicle. Images of Frazer, his grey-blue eyes smiling beneath his styled dark fair hair and of course equally naked, beckoned him in. The warm water cascaded down John’s body that had only day ago or so had received the plaudits of ‘The Queen’s Shilling.’

But now in his imagination,  Frazer alone was the audience. Harmer Wills was not even a distant remembrance from the furthest corner of John’s consciousness. Frazer breathed lightly on him, just as he had done in the ‘Queen’s Shilling.’ John shivered to Frazer’s imagined touch. He almost cried  to that touch and then realised that that is what he had actually done.

“Frazer! Frazer!” He cooed, thinking himself in Frazer’s arms; those beautiful, so sexy lips about to anoint his own with a first kiss. The hand, full of  firm cock, straining like the rest of him to images of Frazer; of Frazer gently calling him ‘Sunshine,’ was his own. But in this prolonged and exquisite interlude of the imagination, it was surely Frazer’s ministrations wanking him with such determination.

Suddenly and from nowhere an image of Samantha Smith obtruded itself into his thoughts. She seemed to be enticing Frazer away from him. “Fuck off,” he irrationally shouted aloud and immediately felt foolish for doing so,- and ashamed for swearing at a stray, if unusual, thought of  someone who was a good friend.

“It’s alright,” smiled Frazer, as suddenly restored to John’s imaginings as he had been temporarily displaced from them. “Nothing has changed Sunshine; nothing has changed.”

John’s tears of relief and happiness mingled with the shower spray, as Frazer knelt before him and took his manhood between his lips. It seemed so real to John, as in response he thrust his hips forward.

“Please fuck me Frazer.” The force of the call, loud and clear above the sounds of the shower, caused John to spin round so that  he was facing the wall of the cramped cubicle. Frazer slapped John’s needful and beautiful arse.  In simpering response John lost count of how many times Frazer’s so manful palm struck his arse. He tried to slow down the urgency of his wanking, but his imagination became totally seized of the closeness of Frazer and of Frazer thrusting his cock deep into his,- surely the most willing- of fuck holes.

“Sunshine! Sunshine!” declaimed Frazer with each thrust.

“Frazer, oh Frazer,” panted John, each response more frantic than the one before, until at last his entire body convulsed to the demanding urgency of rods of cum forcing their way from his cock.

Gasping and dizzy despite the welcome water spraying upon him, John sank to the shower floor. He was alone. With images of the smiling Frazer gone for now, John felt cramped in the shower suddenly restored to its limited dimensions. But for a while he stayed. Hands round his legs, chin resting on his knees, his meditations of Frazer no longer as frenetic as they had been, but real enough, as he dared to wonder if they might have a future of some kind. For some reason, the warm water as it fell upon him, encouraged John in his hope that there might indeed be some future with Frazer.

“I’d become a monk and give up sex forever, if I could be with Frazer,” John was genuinely surprised to hear himself say aloud.

This theoretical commitment to piety, prayer, and abstinence if all else failed, was not uppermost in John’s thoughts next day as he dashed home from Keyway, Watson and Khan. Indeed, he took an especial care in the choice of replacement bed linen.

His small house shone. John himself shone in the radiance of Frazer’s arrival.

“It’s pretty decent plonk,” greeted Frazer. Two bottles of wine in one hand and his guitar in the other. He went on to comment on the décor of his hosts home, causing John to retreat for a moment into his customary diffidence. But beyond that, the evening began well. John had prepared an unconventional vegetarian curry. The contents and preparation of which were described in animated detail by him and listened to with an enthusiastic attention by Frazer, that only fortified the pleasurable effects that wine from one of the best reputed areas of Triesenbourg, was having upon his guest and himself alike.

“Samantha thinks you should stand for the Management Committee when the Chapel Housing Co-operative is formally established,” said Frazer later as he strummed his guitar and John opened another bottle of wine.

John blushed gathering his thoughts as he was reminded of his swearing at the intrusion of Samantha into his Frazer focused wank, last night.

“She thinks far too well of me,” John responded with feeling.

“Samantha is very fond of you, that’s for sure Sunshine. But she is not daft, when it comes to taking the measure of people.”

“No. I guess she isn’t,” said John remembering how Frazer and she disappeared together last night. He took a bigger gulp of wine than he intended and listened as Frazer struck up a tune and began singing at first to the living room in general and then so it seemed, directly to John.

There was no doubt about it. John sang, ‘Now and Forever,’ even better than did Richard Marx.

‘I will be your man,’ crooned Frazer. He looked so kind, so laid back. Entranced, John topped up their glasses. He really was about to suggest they take a look at the YouTube channel ‘Urtan’ featuring a talented magician/ventriloquist and his lookalike dummy, Urtan.

Instead he felt brave enough, confident enough to say, “Do you want to hit the roof, Frazer?”

Frazer’s expression changed. He finished the last few words of the song. Perplexity clouded his brow as he struggled to understand what it was that John was asking of him.

“You mean like doing a bit of thing in the cage of ‘The Queen’s Shilling?”

“Er..Well no not exactly. I sort of wondered if..if you would like to…to..er..umm, stay here.. sleep here tonight.. With me.”

Frazer paused for a moment before nodding his head in realisation. John sighed and smiled in relief.

“No.. No Sunshine. You misunderstand.” Frazer was going to reach forward and take John’s hand in his, but decided against it. He watched as in an instant the animation and joy that had briefly suffused the features before him, totally disappeared.

“I’ve made a stupid cunt of myself haven’t I, Frazer?”

“No you haven’t John. It is just that I don’t want to get involved with anyone else just now. I did say as much to you the other night.”

“Yes, I suppose you did,” the brave smile failing to forestall a single tear as alone and isolated as John felt at that precise moment. “You won’t think any less of me will you, for asking, I mean?”

“Of course not Sunshine. Nothing has changed. Nothing has changed. It is not I guess quite what you want to hear right now; not enough: but I like you a lot”

Once again John drew the special name Frazer gave him closer, like the comfort blanket it had become.

Those who had known John for much longer than had Frazer, saw how a natural diffidence combined with acquired legal knowledge and powers of advocacy bestowed a rationality and judgement they admired. His role in negotiating with their soon to be ex landlord and the writing of the housing co-op’s constitution and rules, were evidence enough, if such were needed.

Diffident as John was, he knew his own strengths and was quietly confident in them. With only a moment’s thought he would have realised that whatever it was he had with Frazer, it had just been reaffirmed in this moment of adversity between them. But Frazer was so very different to the other men in John’s life and his modestly eventful love life in particular.

 Handsome, certainly. Charismatic probably,- if the way he drew people to him was anything to go by. Frazer’s laid back and relaxed demeanour entranced John because it was based on an essential humanity as much as on sex appeal. – So unlike  some of the egoists he had fallen for in his 26 years of life.

For the moment alas, an appreciation of the very qualities he most admired in the kind and attentive Frazer,- and that in other circumstances might have made him settle for what was in prospect,- seemed to absent themselves from John’s mind.

“You spent the night with Samantha Smith. Didn’t you?”

The words, bitter in accusation, sort of fell from John’s lips, as much a surprise to him as they were to Frazer. A silence  filled the small house like some Victorian Smog. They both wondered if what they heard was some figment of the imagination as it smothered John’s second apology in as many minutes.

This time there came no gentle understanding from Frazer Shaw. For a moment he seemed to gaze about him as if in search of someone who had arrived unbidden to explode an incendiary in their mists.

You total bastard, thought Frazer, torn between exploding in anger and gathering his wits. The gathering of his wits prevailed as he saw lips move in silent desperation and the colour drain from John’s features.

I’ve never seen anything quite like that Frazer realised silently, feeling for an instant like a curious by-stander.

“What I do, or where I go, or with whom, is not any of your fucking business Sunshine.”

With an angry gesture he waived away whatever protest it was that John began to make in response. It was only then that a mild regret momentarily gripped Frazer as he realised that John had flinched in expectation of  a blow it had never even occurred to him to deliver.-However much John deserved it.

“I’m going home,” Frazer announced flatly, gathering up his guitar and kicking two empty wine bottles out of his way.

“Shall we see each other again?, asked John in words hardly above a whisper.

“Bound to, what with being neighbours  and all.”

“I meant…”

“I know what you meant,” snapped Frazer. Then, more like the Frazer John hoped he still knew came the words: “Next week I’m on emergency call all night. So we’ll see after that.”

A moment later, and with just the hint of parting smile, Frazer was gone. That parting smile was the uncertain edifice upon which John constructed the hope their friendship might survive his foolish outburst.

For his part, Frazer stepped into the night and switching on his phone was glad that he had friends like Callum and Sandra.

Frazer checked the time. A text from his friend Andreas Hance Sebastian Metanin, indicated that chauffeuring and generally dancing amiable attendance upon the aunt of the Ambassador of the Kingdom of Triesenbourg to the Court of Saint James, had gone well.  And a good deal more innocently than some of Andreas’s other jobs, thought Frazer as he entered his small house.

To be continued.