He could never get
used to the idea of temperatures in the high 20s to 30s on Christmas day.
No matter how long he'd been in Australia, he still expected Christmas to be
mild (above freezing), damp and, by and large, miserable. The legacy of an English
upbringing that had his mother in tears by lunchtime, without fail every Christmas
of his childhood, through nothing more than her higher-than-realistic expectations
of the occasion.
God, but he'd been glad to get away from all that pointless trauma, the English need to make a fuss about nothing and settle back comfortably into this new life style where he was judged by his own merits and not those of breeding, education and accent. He looked idly over at the alarm clock, seeing with satisfaction that it was neither too early, 7 am, nor too late 11 am, just nicely in between.
Feeling generous, he rolled over and cupped then gently squeezed his lover's rounded buttock then rolled back to his side of the bed and out, pulling on a dressing-gown and smooching into the kitchen. The little rituals of making the morning coffee, fill the kettle, turn the switch, find the cups, scratch an itch, find the teaspoon, fill the pot, pour the water, that's the lot, took little imagination as he ran the rhyme through in his head, an echo from his befuddled past when he'd needed that sort of thing to help him get through an ordinary day.
Padding through to the bedroom he put one mug down on the side of the bed that wasn't his and went to turn on the shower. The sound of flowing water never failed to get his bladder working and, on days like today, when his willpower wasn't of the best, the shower drain served a dual purpose. The hot water on his head started the awakening process that progressed further as he lathered lower. Resisting the temptation to finish what he had started himself, he turned the water off.
Stepping out and roughly towelling himself off, he went to the bathroom mirror cabinet and withdrew "The Facilitator", as his lover was wont to call it. He gave a short snort of amusement as he remembered the email, (subject: - Funnies) that he'd been sent and had, in turn, sent on.
"Johnson & Johnson have announced that, to celebrate the Millennium, their product would henceforth be known as Y2KY Jelly, the insertion of two extra digits being sure, they felt, to give their customers greater enjoyment".
Squeezing the tube with his left hand into his right and smearing himself generously on the move he reached the bed and with his right foot kicked back the covers. "Such agility for one so hung-over!" he thought as he knelt on the bed and snuggled up to the prone figure. Another handful slid down between the buttocks of the sleeping innocent and he rolled fluidly over onto the unsuspecting back, parting slightly opened legs with his knees as he lowered himself, poised and ready.
The recumbent figure started, "Whajahesupurgh". It wasn't easy to translate. "Your early morning wake-up cock" he giggled childishly in reply as he planted and aimed. There's the target, the aim is true, one good push and now we're through, gently now, a second thrust, not too hard or else it's bust, now another, further in, gently out, too fast's a sin, sliding in, we're almost there, quick, distract, before...
Too late he attempted control. "Damn" he thought to himself as he slumped and rolled off, "must get out of this rhyming habit". He wasn't quite sure what a shellfish Bustud was but he'd a fair idea what was being conveyed from beneath the pillow. But as sleep was reclaiming its comatose conveyor, he reckoned he'd got away with it... Time to log on!
"Not sure I like being woken like that" was one thought floating around the sleepy head. "Weird dream, what was it? Porpoises with harpoons in the Harbour? Lobsters walking sideways? Or is it crabs that walk sidew...." was the second and last before lapsing back into a troubled sleep that did indeed have whales, not porpoises, though not purposeless, with harpoons and it was indeed crabs. Chris re-entered the troubled world of dreams.
One of the beauties of the World Wide Web, he thought complacently to himself, was the fact that, whilst it might well be Christmas day in Sydney, it was still Christmas eve in England and that meant he could print out the last of the Daily Telegraph cryptic crosswords for the holiday period. "Easily the best in the world" he thought smugly to himself, conveniently omitting to acknowledge that, private education notwithstanding, he just hadn't picked up a good enough grasp of the Classics to have much of a chance with the Times.
"'course, Sydney Morning Herald's a close second.".
He always enjoyed doing the crosswords, especially on those rare occasions when he managed to solve all the clues in one go, but recently he'd had a nagging feeling that something wasn't right. Nothing he could put his finger on and certainly nothing to do with his ability to solve the clues, just a feeling that something wasn't quite right. A gut feeling, in fact. Gut feelings were important to Ned.
Ned was a believer in the Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency school of thought. It had taken him a long time to realise that all the teaching he'd had at great expense to his parents had been a complete waste of time and money. Concentrating on something, he'd come to understand, was THE worst way to learn something.
The hand reached tentatively out from under the covers and crawled up onto the bedside table, fingers reaching out searchingly, hesitantly, feeling for heat and familiar shapes. Knuckles brushed something crinkly which, after a moment's reflection was identified as probably being a packet of essential cigarette tobacco.
The hand spidered right scuttling along with more reassurance now as it felt the hard plasticity of a cheap disposable lighter, slowing as it judged itself nearing its goal, fingertips alive, sensitive to the warmth. Its quarry located, its partner in crime appeared from beneath the covers to throw them clumsily down the bed, leaving space for the coffee to be delivered to its destination without too much being spilt.
Prone, face-down, across the bed, Chris swallowed the hot liquid and savoured the kick-start. Once the liquid had started to have an effect the next essential was required. This needed more concentration. The coffee mug went back whence it came and Chris rolled over, managing this time not to get hopelessly enmeshed in the covers, and sat up, cross-legged.
The deft fingers quickly sought, found and acquired all the necessary, pulling out the paper, tobacco, shutting the pouch and rolling with practised lack of thought. Lit in a second, the coughing started as the smoke hit the lungs and completed the wake-up ritual that had started a mere twenty minutes before.
Padding back from the other room, Ned leered at the exposed breasts hopefully but, taking in the cigarette, suspected that he'd have to wait.
"Morning sexy?" he managed to make it sound like two questions and a statement all at the same time... quite a talent really, he thought to himself as his subconscious clocked the fact. A dour look from Chris didn't encourage him to go any further down that road so he shuffled back whence he came to bide his time.
The crossword was quite a puzzler for once. Mostly easy clues which seemed to be so obvious that he found himself wondering whether he'd really got the answers but just one or two really had him stumped. It was strange, he thought, that this should be so and wondered whether there had been any others like it. Being the pedantic sort of person he was he decided to look back through his collection, just to see. As he looked back through the motley collection of half black half red written answers, black for the ones he'd got himself, red for the answers he'd had to wait till the following day for, he thought he began to vaguely see a pattern. Perhaps not so much see but feel, Dirk Gently again, but enough to prompt the thought further. He took himself over to the sofa and spread the printed sheets over the coffee table, giving them a little shove in the half hope that they would somehow randomise themselves in such a way as to give him further inspiration. A quick squint at them gave nothing away so, to bide his time, Ned decided to scratch the regrowing coffee needing itch.
Padding back to the kitchen he constructed the second cup of the day, gazing idly out of the window as his body did most of the work, his subconscious gently keeping an eye on the proceedings, his dressing gown ajar. The view over the harbour was deeply spectacular, one of the few decent perks of Chris’s job and one they both enjoyed to the fullest.................
To be continued.
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