Simon Says

The crowd laughed at this.
“I see you sitting there Mary Scott. Where’s John?”
“He’s in London!” Mary shouted. “Business!”
“Ah! So you’re on the loose again, are you? Watch her fellers, she bites.”
Again the crowd laughed.

“I see George Cuthbert sitting in the back there. George, I’ll be in on Monday; I need a few things.” The voice said. I was concentrating on my dinner so I didn’t take much notice.
“And who’s that sitting with you George? Oh yeah, it’s our new resident Mr. Clark.” The amplified voice called.

My name burst into my head like a thunderbolt and I looked up at the bandstand. My view was a little hampered by several people and I craned my neck to get a better view.
“Folks, Mr. Clark’s a published writer I believe. Let’s give him a big welcome.”

The crowd all turned and looked at me and applauded and I wanted to crawl under the table. Some of them greeted me enthusiastically and several of the men shook my hand vigorously.
Then the crowd thinned and I got a good look at the bandstand and the man behind the microphone. It was Simon. He was dressed in butt hugging jeans and a black leather waistcoat with no shirt underneath, revealing his incredible hairy chest. He had a denim cap on his head and his hair hung around his face, loose and wavy.

“Mr. Clark, this one’s for you. Welcome to Deal.” He called with a wide grin and the dimple in his cheek flashed appealingly.

Then the band started up and Simon sang the old Beatles song; ‘If I Fell’. To say I was surprised is an understatement. He sang and the crowd listened. I sat enthralled and marveled at the quality of his voice; a pure, rich tenor which had gooseflesh popping out on my arms.

He finished the song to tremendous applause and then he left the bandstand. The band continued to play and the lead vocalist took over from Simon. George grinned and shook his head.
“That Simon Wright’s a real hooligan.” He said. “He and his brother run the paint shop. If you need your house painted, call him.”
“He’s painting it at the moment.” I said.

“Strange feller, Simon.” George said. “He’s what you young folk call ‘happy’ but no-one seems to mind. Everybody likes Simon.”
“Happy?” I asked, intrigued.
“Yeah.” He said. “You know, he don’t like girls.”

“Oh!” I said surprised yet again. “Oh, I see.”

Simon was a wealth of surprises, I thought. I looked across the bar at him. He was talking to Mary Scott, the woman he had teased earlier. His danger to me had just increased several times over and I did half wonder what it would be like to go out with him, but I rapidly quashed the thought. You’re here to work, I berated myself, and work you must. No distractions, even if one of the distractions came wrapped in a package as appealing as Simon’s.

I looked down at my drink, terribly aware of his presence in the bar. Then I sensed movement at my elbow and I looked up. It was Simon.
“Hi Mr. Clark.” He said. “Good to see you here. Hi George.”
“Simon.” George said in greeting.

“You sing very well Simon.” I said.
“Thanks.” He said. “I sang a lot in Canada. It’s how I got around.”
Finally, I placed his accent; Canadian.
“You spent time in Canada?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He replied. “Ten years.”

“Well, you have a very good voice.” I said for want of something to say. His naked hairy chest was at my eye level and I was finding it a little difficult to concentrate.
“Thank you.” He said and then turned his attention to George. “George, I’ll be in first thing Monday. I need to pick up some more paint for Mr. Clark’s house.”

As he spoke, he pushed his shoulders back and shoved his hands into his pockets. His waistcoat spread open slightly and his nipples came into view. They were like dark copper pennies. My heart did a neat somersault and an wonderful feeling of heat flooded my groin. I looked down at my drink quickly, horribly aware of my growing erection.

“Sure, Simon, anytime.” George replied.
“Thanks.” Simon said. “Goodnight George, Mr. Clark.”

Then he turned and left us. I watched him as he made his way through the crowd, stopping and chatting as he went. Finally, he made it to the door and then he was gone.
“Like I said.” George remarked. “Strange feller, but likeable.”

“Yes.” I said. “Very likeable!” Maybe a little too likeable and maybe a little too sexy for my own good, I thought.

Later, as I walked home, I went over the evening in my mind. It had been surprising on several counts. First: Simon was a singer and a very good one at that. I wondered how he had ended up as a painter. With his good voice and of course his dark good looks, I’m sure he could have done very well in the entertainment business. Second: He was ‘happy’ as George had so quaintly put it. This, I knew was a bit of a threat to me.

If he was straight, as I thought he was when I’d first met him, I would have admired him from a distance, curbed my emotions and that would have been it. But now, there was the very real possibility that it would be so easy to fall for him because for all intents and purposes, he was fair game. And third: The people of Deal accepted him for who and what he was and made no fuss about it. In fact, it seemed that everyone liked him enormously. Now I remembered what Mrs. Wilson, his aunt and my realtor had said.

“My nephew Simon is a painter. He’s a wee bit . . !” She’d paused and then gone on with: “But, he’s a good man and a very good painter, so what does it matter.”

I was beginning to think that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to live out here after all. My life in London had been fairly easy going and I’d managed to write despite the many distractions of the city. But here they seemed a lot more . . well, distracting!
Particularly one; one that I was beginning to fear the most.

Simon!

*** Inspiration.

I used the weekend to unpack some of my things. Books, pictures and so on were still stored in boxes and now that the living room and my study had both been painted, I could unpack them. The books I neatly stacked on the bookshelves, my three published works among them. I frowned when I saw my picture on the back dust cover of one of my books. The colors were false. My hair was certainly not that dark and my eyes were definitely not that color.

I was blond but my hair looked brown in the photograph and my eyes had a dark blue tone while in reality, they were turquoise. Too late to do anything about it now I thought, and shoved the books onto the shelf. Some of the pictures I hung on the walls in the living room and some in my study. It was beginning to look more like home now and I was pleased with the result.

Monday dawned and I was up bright and early, ready to get started. I had a feeling that the story was there, hanging just over my head and it would drop into my skull at any moment. I lay on the sofa in my study, a notebook across my raised knees and a pencil at the ready. I was determined to pull that story out of the air if it killed me, so I was patient with myself. I tapped the pencil against my teeth rhythmically, closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift.

I heard a knock at the front door. I knew it was Simon so I yelled for him to just come on in.

“Morning Mr. Clark.” He called from the hall. “I’ll get started on the bedroom. Got to strip that wall paper off.”
“Hi Simon.” I answered. “You go on ahead, okay.”
“Sure Mr. Clark.” He replied. “Carl’s here too, busy in the garden.”
“Thanks Simon.” I called absently.

Then it hit me. The story; the characters; everything jumped into sharp focus in my mind.
I sat up, gooseflesh on my arms. Of course! It was all right here; happening around me. The plot was there; the principal players were there; I just had to write it out.
I jumped up and went to the computer and sat down.

My fingers flew over the keyboard and my novel started to take shape. I didn’t have and ending yet but I wasn’t concerned about that, it would come to me as I progressed.
Time seemed to slow right down. My mind was sharply focused and the words and sentences flowed, one after the other.
“Mr. Clark?” Simon called.

I hardly heard him. I was on a roll and didn’t want to be stopped.
“Mr. Clark!” A little louder this time.

I shook my head and continued to pound the keyboard.
“Graham!” His voice was loud and strident.
“What?” I yelled and spun around to face him.

He was standing in the doorway. A plate in his hand. He came up to the desk and put the plate down. It was piled high with sandwiches.
“Sorry to disturb you but I’m leaving now.” He stepped back and said softly. “You haven’t eaten all day so I made those for you.”

He indicated the sandwiches with a nod of his head.
“If you like, I can make you some coffee or tea or something before I go.” He said.
“Thanks Simon, but I can manage.” I said. “Look, I’m so sorry I shouted at you but I was . . you know . . !”

“Sure Mr. Clark, I understand.” He said with a beguiling, dimpled smile. “No problem.”
“Thanks for the sandwiches.” I said.
“Anytime, Mr. Clark. You’re welcome.” He smiled again. “I’m off now. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t work too hard.”
“Goodnight Simon.”

With that he was gone. I looked at my watch and gasped in surprise. It was already long after five. I had been so caught up in my novel that the time had flown by unnoticed.
I stuffed a beef and mustard sandwich into my mouth and turned back to the computer. I wrote half a page before I stopped again, this time with a surprising thought.

I realized that Simon had used my Christian name for the first time. What I couldn’t understand, was why he had reverted to my surname again after he had garnered my attention. Odd!

And so I wrote and the days flew by. Simon and I got into a routine. He’d arrive, come in and begin work while I would sit at my desk and let my novel take shape under my fingers. His continuous whistling no longer bothered me. I was so caught up in my work that I didn’t even notice it. At five, he’d creep into my study, leave a plate of sandwiches and a mug of coffee on my desk for me, quietly wish me ‘Goodnight!’ and then leave. I was grateful to him for his concern.

He finished the inside of my house by Friday and interrupted me long enough to tell me.
“Inside’s done now, Mr. Clark.” He said. “Monday I’ll start on the outside.”
“Thank you, Simon. Have a good weekend.” I said.

He turned to leave and then faced me again.
“Mr. Clark, why don’t you take a break and come on down to the pub this evening.” He said with a charming smile. “Bill Smith, you know . . the owner? Well he’s doing a special fish and chips night. You’d enjoy it.”
“Thanks Simon.” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

“You do that. Goodnight Mr. Clark.” He said and left.

I continued to work for another hour or so and then stopped. I had reached the point where I had to wait and watch for the story to develop around me. From now on, the going would be a lot slower, but I didn’t mind. I had it all down now and I needed the respite.
I decided that Simon’s idea was a good one so I switched off the computer, showered and dressed. I ambled down to the pub, ready for a well earned night out.

*** Fish and Chips and Simon.

The evening was more fun than I anticipated. For a reasonable price, one could eat as much fish and chips as one wanted. The band played and Simon sang again, several times. When he saw me sitting at a table at the back, he grinned at me broadly and waved from the bandstand, his dimple flashing appealingly. I was relaxed and enjoyed myself enormously. The people were charming and I made several new friends.

At the end of the evening, I said my goodbyes and left, happy for the first time in many months. My novel was progressing well and it seemed that I had been accepted into the community. I ambled down the road slowly, enjoying the crisp cool night air and the quiet after the rowdiness of the pub.
“Mr. Clark?” I stopped and turned. It was Simon. He ran up to me breathlessly.

“Mr. Clark.” He said. “I want to return this to you. Sorry, but I sort of borrowed it without you knowing. I would have asked but I didn’t want to disturb you.”
From his jacket pocket, he pulled out one of my novels. I was glad to see that he’d chosen the better of the two.

“Did you read it?” I asked as I took it from him.
“Yeah, I did.” He replied shortly.
“And?” I queried. “Did you enjoy it?”

We started walking down the street slowly.
“Yes I did.” He said. “It was very good and I liked it very much.”
“Good, I’m glad.” I said.

We walked on in silence for a moment.
“You know, it’s the first gay novel I’ve read that doesn’t deal with the whole AIDS thing.” He said. “That’s all you seem to get nowadays.”
“I know.” I replied. “I’ve tried to stay away from it. That market’s been well cornered.”

We walked a little further, both of us deep in thought.
“So, Simon.” I said. “Now you know what I write about.”
“Yeah.” He said. “I’d like to read your other books, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” I said. “Help yourself.”

We turned into my gate and walked up the garden path to my door. It struck me that unintentionally, Simon had sort of walked me home.
I stopped outside my front door and faced him.

“Well, Goodnight Simon.” I said. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
“Yeah, Monday!” He said. “Thanks for the loan of the book.”
“You’re welcome.” I said as I opened the door. “I can get another one for you now, if you like?”
“No, don’t worry.” He replied. “Monday will do.”

He looked up at me, his eyes looked black in the glow of light from the doorway.
“Goodnight, Mr. Clark.”

“Simon, I do wish you’d call me Graham.” I said. “I mean, we’ve known one another for . . what? Nearly two weeks now. We see each-other every day so don’t you think you could be a little less formal?”
He stared at me silently for a moment. In the dim light, his face had taken on an ethereal quality. He really was a stunning man.

“Mr. Clark,” He said. “I respect you and . . um . . I admire you far too much to get . . uh . . familiar. Mr. Clark’s good enough for me.”
“You did once, you know.” I said. “Use my first name? On Monday, I think it was. I was very busy and . . !”
“Yes.” He said. “I remember. Sorry about that, but I had to get your attention somehow.”

I nodded.
“Well, goodnight Mr. Clark.” He said and turned to leave.
“Simon.” I stopped him. “I haven’t thanked you for everything you’ve done for me this past week. You know, the sandwiches and coffee . . ?”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Clark.”

Then he stretched out his hand and I took it. He shook my hand solemnly and smiled.
“Goodnight.” I said softly, my hand still clasped in his.

His warm palm against mine had the most profound effect on my composure. Tingling charges of electricity ran up my arm and through my body and I drew in a quick breath.
His eyes held mine for an eternity, his grip on my hand tightened slightly and he let out a long, shaky sigh.
“Mr. Clark.” He whispered. “I . . uh . . I . . Mr. Clark?!”
“Yes?” I whispered.

He closed his eyes briefly and a small shudder ran through his body. He looked at me again and there was something in his eyes that thrilled me to my core. And then he suddenly pulled me to him and his lips found mine. His tongue invaded my mouth and I welcomed it without hesitation. His arms went around me and held me down.

The book slipped from my fingers and I thrust my hands into his long hair and held his face against mine. My entire body was vibrating with excitement and I felt my immediate arousal down in my pants. He pushed his pelvis hard against mine and I could feel the hard, long, thick heat of him pressing into my groin. He pulled back from the kiss, releasing my lips reluctantly.

“Oh God . . !” He gasped as he nuzzled his face against my neck. I pressed my lips to his ear and bit at his ear lobe.
“Yes, now . . !” I whispered. “I want you now!”

He reached behind me and pushed the door wide open and we staggered into the cottage still wrapped in each-other’s arms. His mouth claimed mine again as he kicked the door shut with his heel. He pushed me through the living room and into my study and we collapsed together on the sofa. He drew back and gasped again.
“God, I’ve wanted you.” He said huskily. “From the start, I’ve wanted you.”

He stared down at me, his eyes violet with desire.
“And I’ve tried so hard not to want you.” I whispered. “But I’ve failed, thank God.”

In seconds, our clothing landed in a jumbled heap on the floor and we were all over each-other. His mouth explored every part of my body and I delighted in it. I gasped when he slid his mouth onto my hardness and I gripped his head in pleasure. Then I, in turn fed on his amazing body, the heat and thickness of him filling my mouth. Finally, neither of us could stand it anymore and we exploded, our juices splattering across our bodies and down onto the floor. We held onto each-other and trembled with pleasure.

Afterwards, we lay exhausted, wrapped in each-other’s arms, his head on my chest. I stroked the side of his face.
“Wow, Simon.” I said softly. “You continue to surprise me.”