Disparate Things
12 September

Well, it's been a fortnight and there's much to tell.

Usually, the week after the late summer Bank Holiday is a slack one at work because most folk elect to stay away from College to eke out their summer holidays or take quality time with the kids. This year I have never been so busy. Non-stop training and meetings and helping with interviews and clearing up room bookings and sorting induction talks.

It was good to get to the end of the week with the knowledge that I was due some time away on Merseyside. I arranged to meet up with Chris for a brief drink after work. The intention was to head back to the Office and finish things off before going home. Hah! *Blush*

One drink turned to another and it was gone 10 when I staggered home, work not done and addled of mind. Still, we'd had a very good few hours chatting, talking shop and putting the world to rights. We talked about this EJ and I warned him about the effect of being part of it. I'm told that it's like reading a novel about your own life.

So I woke up on Saturday morning with the thickest of thick, thick heads and I ended up spending Saturday at my desk doing the work I should have been doing the night before and then travelling up to Merseyside in the cool of evening. In some ways I did myself a favour because it was a roasting day and I would have fried in the car.

Sunday morning was spend chatting with parents. They gave me some photos of Mary's christening and we talked about a lot of family stuff. Like I said in the previous post, my experiences with David give me insights that are helping my parents during this troubling time of my aunt's final illness. It is like, finally, I am a fully fledged adult and equal with them.

In the afternoon, we travel to the hospice in Runcorn where my Aunt Ellen is spending her last days. She's on morphine and becoming more and more tired and less and less conscious and aware. I got a few minutes with her to pass on messages from Linda and to say a few things myself. She told me that she had been very foolish. I asked her why, bracing myself in case I got one of the unburdenings that those at the end of their lives are prone to. But she just smiled to herself.

My mother being my mother was about to usher us all away immediately but I said no and we sat in the grounds of the hospice for a while whilst I regained my composure. It allowed us all a little time to readjust back to the world of people with time on their hands. My mum told me how proud she was of me. She asked me if I'd encouraged my aunt to let go. I told her I had and she thanked me. Their mother was just the same. She departed this world eyes blazing with fury rather than at peace with herself.

After more family business with my cousin Joe, I travelled up to Southport and the new abode of young Phillipe. I must say that I am very impressed. It is a lovely home and he has worked wonders in the garden and with the decorating in the four months he's been there. We met up in the evening with Roland and Colin. It should have been a quiet drink but turned into an unsatisfactory occasion and I have to say that I think the prime reason was Colin who was sour and bickering for most of the night.

Monday and Tuesday were a variety of meetings at Edge Hill and Liverpool University but Phil and I did take some time out to hit town and do some shopping - black sneakers and a blue Ted Baker shirt for me and a variety of CDs. I must say that I enjoyed Phil's company enormously and he was an excellent host. We shared some of the fabled Tesco's Côtes du Rhône although it turned out not to be to his liking. I also liked the time we spent on his campus. What I wouldn't give for some open sky, space, trees instead of Central London!

I travelled back to London on Tuesday night and was straight into a series of crisis meetings on the Wednesday. During one, I was made what I can only call a derisory offer by a member of the senior staff to head up a no hope, dead end, unresourced project. It confirmed a sickening feeling that, after years of patient educating, the decision makers above me still do not understand a jot about what I do.

I was relieved when Ross arrived on Thursday night for an extended weekend. We hadn't seen each other for 10 days. Yup. You guessed it.

  encouragement       all   on    
  round     thrill          
wet         tongue        
                must  
        sweat          
  urgent               up
    head           gasping  
blanket         taut        
    into     deep   full    
  large                
      faster       ecstatic    
          floundering        

The previous paragraph was selectively blanked to protect sensitive readers following a variety of comments on the last EJ posting. Our Ormskirk correspondent wrote "Well, that woke me up". Whilst the plaintive question from Stoke Newington was "Is he that good?" Answer, yes. *Smiles*

The nation has been rocked the past few days by the announcement made by Sr Portillo that, during his University days, he had a number of homosexual relationships. He also announced that this is no longer the case.

Fellow Tory, Peter Lilley, supported Sr Portillo's frankness (a poisoned kiss some might say) whilst averring that it was nothing to do with him and that (to him) homosexuality is as attractive as eating cardboard. Readers may be interested in the following...

Some years back, the student magazine of the London School of Economics The Beaver (stop laughing American readers) reported that Mr Lilley had been arrested and cautioned for having dealings with a rent boy. He pulled rank but, because of the caution, the incident was recorded on the charge sheet for the Police Station in question. The national newspapers pulled the story at the last minute because of some reason or another to do with a different story. Peter Lilley threatened to sue The Beaver but didn't.

Of course, having sex with rent boys would not constitute having homosexual relationships so Sr Portillo may well be telling the truth. Personally, I lay in bed listening to the news laughing like a drain.

I was so glad that the weekend arrived. It was super to come home to my Rossi on Friday night. The following 24 hours was almost continual blanks. I could mention the cockring episode or the shaving episode which is something we haven't done since New Year 1996/97 but even then...

It's safest to cut straight to the evening dinner party at Chris and Gavin's. The preparations were a thing in themselves with both of us trying on a variety of couture. Goodness knows who we were trying to impress. *Smiles*

In the end, Ross opted for dark blue teeshirt with white epaulette-style flashes, my battle-green long-legged shorts and boot style shoes. He looked like a French school boy. My, my how he amply fills out my clothes in all the right places. I went with the white jeans that I bought for Pride in 1996 and the black sneakers and blue Ted Baker shirt I'd bought earlier in the week. It must be said that, when we take the trouble, we are quite a handsome couple.

We purchased a couple of bottles of Côtes du Rhône from Tesco's on the way and sped into the September evening. Having found a direct and quick route along the Lea Bridge Road, we arrived at Chris and Gavin's in relatively good time and in good humour. I'm concerned that Ross's new found energy will lead him to do more than he should and so tire himself. But, as we do more often these days, we have talked things through in advance and have a variety of exit or staying strategies depending on his level of animation.

In the end, I needn't have worried. Ross coped well, conversation flowed, wine followed, food was good and we ended up staying the night. Chris and Ross obviously fancy the pants off each other. Gavin seemed to expend a lot of effort in avoiding noticing this. Library cataloguing, film, politics, aesthetics, books, music, word games, aspirations, work, ME, IT, gossip. We ranged far and wide. There was one moment when Chris suddenly put on the television for no apparent reason but we worked round that.

Late on Chris reads some of his poetry. He shamefacedly says he only does this when he is very drunk but his poetry is good and he reads well. Chris also spent quite a bit of the evening staring at me. I must ask him what all that was about. Felt like he was trying to pass on a message via paranormal waves or something.

For the record, Chris and Gavin slept in their bed and Ross and I slept on the double futon in the study. I know readers of this Journal have come to expect a certain level of casual Bloomsbury behaviour but, please, there's a lot more plot yet to come. One of things I love about Ross and cherish about our relationship is that we are honest with each other.

Long before we attempted sleep, we talked through the evening giggling about the fantasy while acknowledging the reality of the situation. Whilst we're agreed that there's a notional erotic tinge to this new friendship, we're actually more interested in making friends with a gay couple than forming a human pretzel.

Chris on his own may well be a different matter, however. I had inadvertently caught Chris sucking Ross off late in the evening. Maybe my beloved is due a little extra curricula activity of his own.

Still, Ross is glowing from the attention and he tells me that Chris's attentiveness must mean that I am not delusional when I tell him that he is attractive.

Ross sleeps. I don't. Close and sweaty. Even masturbation does not provide its usual soporific. I doze fitfully from about 4am but wake sharply at 8am. I'm too alert to sleep but too tired to be active. Pah!! *Grrrr*

Slowly the house wakes up. Ross certainly wakes up earlier than I might have expected. We cuddle and suddenly we're 69ing. I blow him to sweet conclusion then he finishes me off. Someone (Gavin it transpires) is in the kitchen doing the washing up. I have to bite Ross's inner thigh to prevent myself from being obviously vocal in my appreciation. It all adds to the spice. *Blush*

The four of us chat, agree to future occasions, possibly a birthday meal for Ross at my place so that Chris can assuage his curiosity about my domicile. Gavin emerges from the shower wearing a different, tighter pair of jeans to the ones he wore the previous evening. I compliment him on a cute ass and he beams somewhat self-consciously. Ross and I leave and there's much hugging and kissing and general farewelling.

The rest of Sunday passes slowly with sleep, journalising, watching A Bug's Life (great film, very inventive, loved the out takes idea with the credits), food and returning Ross to his flat. Onwards, onwards.