Kane

A lot of Michael's stuff was in the ground-floor bedroom that we'd had to start using when climbing stairs had become just too exhausting. I'd sold Michael the convenient excuse that l had started sorting out stuff on the top floor to give to the clothes bank. But the reality was that I went there whenever I needed space to cry away from his eyes and so there was quite a bit of no longer favourite clothes piled up in front of the window overlooking the square. I picked out still serviceable white or black tshirts, grey sweatpants, navy ones, jeans and a selection of orphaned socks that looked the right size and might sort of match. All clothes that, quite by accident, accentuated his long limbs and broad shoulders! It was only then I noticed the flashing blue lights of a fire engine parked near the entrance to the park. Not having the best view from our window, I grabbed the items I'd chosen and went into the smaller bedroom opposite, dropping the clothes on the bed as I went to its window hoping to be able to better see the scene in the square. I looked out and saw someone I guessed to be the lovely Ug kissing the pavement. A policeman looked to have a knee planted between Ug's shoulder blades and was slapping cuffs on him. A yellow hose trailed along the path from the engine through to the smouldering remains of Kane's burnt out tent.

'What's up?'

I turned around and took a deep breath. Kane stood in the doorway, the fluffy white towel around his narrow waist in perfect contrast to his smooth jet-black stomach, abs, pecs, biceps. I managed to stop myself from licking my lips but couldn't stifle the involuntary gulp when, grinning, he let the towel drop from his slim hips. His uncut dick hung in front of low-hanging balls surrounded by tuft upon tuft of tight, curly pubes. Long, lean but muscular thighs completed the perfection. Whilst he wasn't 'hung' in the typical white stereotype of a young black male, he certainly would not have been embarrassed in the changing rooms!

He gestured to the clothes on the bed. 

'Thanks.'

'Come see!'

I looked back at the window, almost grateful not to have to watch him dress. Almost. He joined me at the window moments later, standing just slightly too close for my breathing to return completely to normal.

'Fuck! All my designer stuff!!', he laughed. 'Do you reckon my insurance will cover it?'

'Funny! Pleased to see you're taking it better than Ug!'

'What?'

'If you'd spent less time soaking yourself, you would've seen him flat on his face on the pavement. I guess His Highness is in the back of that police car now! I'm pretty sure it was him. Same coat anyway'.

We watched for another five minutes or so before l muttered, almost apologetically, 'I'm bushed. Bed is calling.'

At the door, I turned to look at him. He raised his eyebrows and at the same time slipped his tshirt off his broad, muscled shoulders. The sweats fell too and I could see a nicely sized cock starting to awaken:
'We don't need pyjamas, do we?'
I smiled and closed the door.

***

Regardless of whether I'm in Cornwall or London, I've made it more or less a habit to do a few laps in the pool before breakfast. Neither Michael nor I ever saw any need to bother with swimming costumes and, telling myself I'd be out before Kane surfaced, nude was how l swam today.

It was only when I stopped to take a breather that l noticed him, standing on the side, watching my slow, methodical laps up and down the pool. He was as naked as I was and when he saw he'd been spotted, he walked in and squatted down before me, his dick inches in front of my face. Mine reacted immediately, its lengthening hidden, fortunately, below the surface.

'You gonna teach me to swim then?'

'Yup!'

I leaned forward and, grabbing his forearm quickly, yanked him head first straight into the pool, giving me the cover needed to hoist myself out of the pool without him seeing my erection.

'You bastard!', he yelled after me as I easily avoided his pathetic attempts to splash me.
'Yeah, whatever!' I called back, disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. And safety.

***

Halfway through breakfast, the doorbell rang. Wearing my grey sweats and no tshirt, I answered. Appearing with moobs on show is a great way of getting rid of Jehovah Witnesses speedily.

'Good morning, Sir. I'm PC Pete Jones of the Met.' , said a fresh-faced, impossibly young bobby. Although probably not a Witness, he was equally visibly wrong-footed by the combination of pink nips and wisps of grey chest hairs that greeted him.

'Nothing to be alarmed about. We're just conducting routine house to house inquiries into the incident on the square last night. A tent belonging to a young homeless man was set on fire. He seemed to have been living rough in the park for quite a while ... did you happen to see anything of that, Sir?'

'Er, no, nothing of the fire ... only the fire engine and the clearing up afterwards!' I answered. Technically, a wholly truthful answer.

'And can I ask where you'd spent your evening, Sir?'

'My husband's funeral!'

Already clearly uncomfortable at the sight of a half-naked man, my blunt, but again not untruthful, reply finished him off! How to deal with a recently bereaved gay widower obviously had not been covered on his all too recent training course.

'I see, Sir. Well then, in that case I don't need to ask you anything more!', he responded, backing quickly down the steps in case, rabid homosexual that I obviously was, l was looking for a replacement in my bed! 

'My condolences by the way, Sir!', he finally remembered to say from the relative safety of the pavement.

I'm honestly not sure why I was so deliberately economical with my answers. Perhaps I'd guessed he'd be all over us like a rash if I had disclosed Kane was here in my house. Perhaps I knew being a minority, two minorities, in what after all were certainly unusual circumstances would just look odd. And l was very aware l felt oddly about Kane. Maybe I sensed l first needed space and time to work through these feelings.

'That was PC Plod! Asking about your tent going up in flames.'

'You never said nuffink, did you? That i was here?'

'No. He left pretty quick. I don't think he liked my moobs being on show! Why are you so worried, anyway?' I thought about the tin and why it might have needed to be hidden under a bin.

'Duh! I did whack him pretty hard with a frying pan, didn't l?'

'And you pinched whatever was in his pockets too?' I added, 'what did you take, anyway?'

'£90. It was just me taking back his share of my takings for the previous night!'

'Mmm!'

I left it at that and instead cleared the breakfast things away, showing him how to stack a dishwasher and where to put the coffee, cereals and the like.

He looked at his feet and then up at me shyly:

'Can you show how to use the gym?'

It didn't take long as there were only a few pieces of equipment in there but very soon, he was happily grunting away as he pulled on weights and did crunches on mats and generally showed off what a stunningly beautiful young man he was.

'I'm bored', l lied. I was worried that I might betray how attractive l found him. 'I'm going to have a walk in the garden, ok?'

'Sure!'

The intonation was ambiguous. Was he being sarcastic?Had he noticed me looking at his muscles, the outline of his cock and ass?

I grabbed Michael's old hoodie from the back of the door where it had been hanging, unnoticed, since God knows when. The last time Michael had been in here, probably. I put it on, enjoying that old comfort brought by wearing something of his, and walked up past the BBQ area, which needed pressure-hosing, onto the lawn, due for its mow, and sat on the bench at the top, and looked down the length of the garden at a young man working up a sweat in the gym and whom l was very definitely attracted to. One who was thirty years my junior to boot. One with so little in common with me and my life experiences that it was laughable. And Michael, his funeral was only yesterday!

Noticing the daffodils needed dead-heading, l stood up and made my way back down, pinching off the swelling seedpods and chucking them into the far end of the garden, the wild as yet untamed area that ended with our garage. I needed space to think and that meant leaving London. That in turn meant taking Kane. I couldn't, or perhaps just didn't want to, abandon him. So, either the house in France or Cornwall? The Vendée would be more of a complete break but he was unlikely to have a passport tucked away in his tin. Ah yes, the tin. What had he hidden in there?