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Too Much Rain, Chapter 32
OK, folks. In honor of Paul's concert here in LA at Dodger Stadium tomorrow night (Aug 10), and the fact that I will be there sitting on the Floor, row 6, dead center, with my older son, I am going to post Part III, John's Party.
This chapter is a lot more angst-y than the other 2, and there is a sex scene!
WARNING: SLASH, 8 on scale of 1 to 10
Also - THIS IS FICTION
BTW - my son's a pretty good hand with his iPhone camera, so if we get any good pix from tomorrow's concert I'll try to post them here. ("Try" because I've never really been able to figure it out properly.)
Chapter 32
Linda had wandered off into the kitchen to poke around in the left over pots and pans and plates, to better assess the food served that night. She had gone through the various buffet tables shortly after they had been set up, and had studied the offerings. Some of the food was somewhat expected, for example an exotic collection of stuffed olives and mushrooms, yogurt/dill dip with pickled artichokes, cauliflower and green beans, a succulent looking pile of red skinned garlic mashed potatoes, a risotto with a surprising touch of mint, and a delicious whole-wheat pasta salad with squash squares and okra. And the rest of the food was wholly unexpected, for instance braised root vegetables in a red wine reduction sauce, fresh English sweet peas very simply sautéed in butter, grilled Brussels sprouts with sautéed shallots and goat cheese crumbles on top, a steaming platter of French haricots with sesame seeds and tofu squares, all of it soaked in a homemade teriyaki sauce, not one but two delicious soups - a very interesting and adventurous fresh tomato, lentil and onion soup, and an intensely savory wild mushroom soup with delicate sprigs of thyme dancing over the top. There were also three separate delicious salads: a sweet and sour artichoke salad, featuring fava beans, an eggplant, lemon and caper salad, and a truly fresh and tasty arugula, pear and parmesan salad. Perhaps the most surprising dish was a plate full of perfectly boiled pearl onions and fat raisins, swimming in a pool of a light tomato sauce. But Linda was most impressed by the broccoli and cauliflower gratin, baked with delicious cheddar cheese and baguette crumbs. There was also a mountain of fresh made breads, and a selection of cheeses and other appetizers, including a deliciously unexpected red bell pepper spread and tiny sweet gherkins.
The desserts had been amazing, too, ranging from the simple (little chocolat and vanilla pots de crème), to the elaborate (choux pastry towers, peach tarts, and homemade blackberry merlot sorbet, not to mention perfect looking Napoleons with delicately drizzled raspberry and chocolate on top.) And the just slightly and perfectly stewed pears with their bottoms dipped in dark chocolate were to die for! And then there had been the wine and drinks selections - Linda had never been very strong in that department, leaving it to Paul. She then wondered, a bad feeling rushing down her spine, if Paul had arranged the wines and the drinks? The idea of John and Paul planning a party together was just another invasion of her territory…
Linda was secretly very chagrinned. There were things on this menu that she would never have thought of, much less attempted. She had hoped that she could have found fault, or at least hidden packets in the trash to prove that John had actually bought the goodies from a caterer or Harrods, but to the contrary, a quick jaunt through the pantry and cupboards reflected that John had all the ingredients to make what had been made, and an examination of the pots and pans reflected evidence of home-cooked food. This was - she hated to admit - disappointing. She had wanted at least one area of influence in Paul’s life that was exclusively hers. But now John had not only matched but had surpassed her in this department.
Mike was exhausted. The evening had felt like he had wandered into one landmine field after the other. He had yet to have a private talk with his brother. For instance, right now he saw Paul across the family room, fussing around the piano. John was holding a guitar. It looked like they were going to have some entertainment that night. Certainly, there were enough musicians in the place to fill out all the seats in a large orchestra.
“Looks like they’re going to sing for us,” a voice said into Mike’s left ear. He turned and saw Elton John standing there.
Mike nodded, both in greeting and in agreement. “That’s new. Paul doesn’t usually sing at parties.”
Elton laughed. “I suspect Paul does pretty much whatever John wants him to do.”
There wasn’t anything obvious in Elton’s tone, but something about it niggled at Mike. He suspected Elton’s comment had a double meaning, and he didn’t like that second meaning one little bit. Still, he managed to contain his temper. “John is opinionated, that’s true,” he said, willfully ignoring Elton’s sly double entendre. “But Paul is opinionated too. I suspect they match each other point for point.”
Elton’s face lit up with delight. So! The straight boy was going to play! He laughed and said, “You know, I agree with you. I’m pretty sure you’re right.”
Again, Mike felt that Elton had willfully misinterpreted what he had said. He was frustrated. Before he could say anything though, John’s voice, testing the microphone, interrupted.
“Polly wants a cracker, Paulie gets a smacker…” He intoned. Paul made a face, and shook his head in sheepish amusement. Couldn’t take John anywhere. Everyone laughed and moved in to the family room. People were hanging in the hallway and leaning in from the kitchen and breakfast room. They were all excited.
“Paul and I thought we’d play a few acoustic numbers for you, and maybe Paul will even be persuaded to play a classical number he composed,” John said. “Seems an appropriate way to celebrate our new tour, which is starting next week in Canada.” Everyone cheered loudly for John’s announcement, and settled in happily in anticipation of an impromptu performance. Keith Richards was even making some loud “woo-hoo!” noises from the back of the room.
“Thank you mum,” John responded to scattered guffaws. “For our first number,” John announced in his best holiday camp announcer voice, “we’d like to sing a little ditty you might recognize from years ago.” He turned to Paul who joined him at the microphone.
“He’s a real nowhere man,
living in his nowhere land,
making all his nowhere plans,
for nobody…”
The harmony was perfect, and Paul’s pure sweet voice was set against the nasal depth of John’s lower voice. The room full of people had quieted in genuine pleasure and respect. Mick, of course, felt a bit of jealousy and maybe even spite over the incandescence and popularity of his rivals, but the rest of the guests were transfixed by the magic of Lennon & McCartney.
“For our next number,” John said, still with the cheesy announcer voice, which caused a smattering of titters, “we dip into something a little more recent…”
Paul’s intricate guitar picking led into the first verse of Calico Skies:
“It was written that I would love you
From the moment I opened my eyes
And the moment that I first saw you
Gave me life under calico skies…”
Linda heard this from her seat close to Paul, and her heart fell softly. This was Paul’s soul mate song for John, and he had no idea that he was breaking her heart by singing it, because he had no idea that she had figured out that it was about John.
Elton John leaned in close to Mike’s ear and whispered, “That’s a love song for John, isn’t it?”
Mike ignored this interruption, but his indignation was insecure. What if Elton was right? Everyone around here thought his brother was in love with John Lennon. Was he the one who was wrong? He desperately searched his memory for telltale clues from the past, but came up empty.
“This is the title song from our new album,” John said, gesturing with his head to Paul to go to the piano. Paul looked startled, and for a moment resisted before shrugging and seating himself at the piano. The song began with one of two refrains:
“He told me there were seven levels
In the universe:
Singing angels or dancing devils
For better or for worse…”
The interplay between Paul’s near-classical piano, and John’s acoustic picking was a contrast much like a singing angel or a dancing devil. Opposites that matched. As the song petered out, people applauded rather than cheered. It was as if there was something more formal and solemn about that particular song. The song was intimate and estranged at the same time, with little glimpses of detail that seemed to scream ‘this is about Paul’, to more opaque poetry that was dreamlike and impenetrable.
It had been hard for Linda to sit and listen to it and keep a smile on her face. Stella and Mary had moved over and were next to her, providing moral support. They would have been angry at their father except for the fact that it had been clear that he was surprised by this song choice when John announced it. Stella knew she would be having some words with John later. It came as scant relief to Linda and her daughters that, almost as soon as the strains of that song ended, Paul and John began to sing, again in perfect harmony, the beautiful song, In My Life.
“There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some for forever not for better
Some have gone, and some remain…”
“He’s singing about Liverpool now,” Neil whispered to George Martin who nodded in agreement.
“All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
But in my life I loved them all…”
“It’s such a sweet love song,” whispered Heather to Roger Daltrey, who nodded.
“But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as knowing you…”
That’s odd, George Martin thought. He changed that last line, didn’t he?
“Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before,
I know I’ll often stop and think about them -
In my life I love you more…”
“I know what he means by that,” Ringo whispered to his wife, Barbara. “It’s about all of us, how we were...”
“But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you…”
That’s definitely about Paul, Pete Townshend grumbled to himself. Who else would it be about? And if Paul were my lover, I’d say the same…
“Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before,
I know I’ll always think about them,
In my life, I love you more…”
“On this is definitely about Paul,” Elton opined to his boyfriend, and a worried and restless Mike McCartney overheard him. “They have a very special bond.”
“In my life, I love you more…”
As the haunting chords faded away, a thoughtful silence fell over the crowd, and they were all looking at John and Paul as though they had seen them clearly for the first time. The silence seemed to last forever, but it was really only about 15 seconds before Keith Richards yelled,
“Bravo! More please!”
After that, others were invited to join, and the music went on for hours afterwards, with everyone with even a tot of musical talent joining in at one point or another.
Mary and Stella had survived the night, but just barely. They had left after the music presentation, and had gone on to a happening London club. Later, they were cozied up in their flat, and chuckling over the night’s events.
“There’s nothing quite like a house full of drunken ‘60s rock stars,” giggled Stella.
“They are certainly a colorful bunch!” Mary giggled back. “And they would all shut up as soon as we approached.”
“You know they were all talking about Daddy and John, and that’s why they’d abruptly stop when we showed up. It was so bloody obvious.” Both girls giggled. “And Uncle George looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, all night long,” Stella added.
“He can sometimes be a pretty resentful person, although he has a beautiful soul in other ways,” agreed Mary.
“I don’t know,” Stella said honestly. “I get a vibe off him that he doesn’t like Daddy.”
“Daddy and Uncle George go back a long way, Stell. I’m sure you’re wrong.”
“Mary, you are too soft-hearted. I think George was enjoying the fact that Daddy and John were the subject of a lot of gossip.”
“I certainly hope you’re not right,” Mary said.
“And Uncle Mike spent the whole night looked stressed out and pissed,” Stella continued.
“I am a bit worried about him,” Mary agreed. “I don’t think Daddy has told him the truth, and he is suffering over the gossip. Daddy should tell him the truth.”
Stella nodded absent-mindedly. “And then there were the old rockers - Jagger, Richards, Bowie, and Townshend. They are the biggest bunch of gossips ever! They’re worse than their wives!”
Mary responded immediately. “Oh, the wives were bad enough. Mum told me they were all gossiping, although Olivia tried to shut them all up.”
“I really like Olivia,” Stella said honestly. “She’s one cool lady.” She thought for a moment and then continued. “And then there was John…”
Mary giggled in response.
“John was just so proud of his house, his food display, and he was lording it over our Dad, wasn’t he?” Stella’s face reflected her mischief.
“Stella, stop. John has a beautiful home, and he put out a beautiful array of food…” Mary was only slightly disapproving.
“Yes, but Mary - how do you think Mum feels about John being such a virtuoso with the food? Isn’t that her thing?”
Mary’s face showed a reluctant agreement. “John seems to be moving in on her territory,” she agreed.
Both girls were silent for a moment. And then Stella spoke again, amusement back in her voice. “Elton John and that fancy boy of his…what did you think?”
“I love his music,” Mary said diplomatically.
“Mar-y!” Stella complained.
Mary smiled and said, “He seemed to be teasing Uncle Mike during the music.”
“I didn’t notice that,” Stella said.
“Yes, it looked as if he was baiting him with provocative statements,” Mary responded.
“I wonder what it was about?” Stella asked.
“All of it was stressful for Mum, I think. She didn’t look very comfortable, and I felt as though she wanted to go home.” Mary was thoughtful as she remembered her mother, curled in a chair and listening sadly to Paul singing ‘Calico Skies’ followed by John’s virtuoso performance of ‘Seven Levels.’ “I’m sure she is glad that this evening is finally over.”
“Is it over, Mary?” Stella wondered. She saw the clock that read 1 a.m., and suspected that there were still remnants of the party guests at John’s home.
“If it’s not, I hope Mum has had the good sense to go home by now.”
Linda was thoroughly exhausted. She had snuck out shortly after the music concluded, whispering to Paul that she had to go to bed. She knew this was Paul’s night with John, so Paul had kissed and hugged her in the kitchen, and watched her go. She had walked down the lonely mews, and across the dark garden, and into Cavendish. She had stood silently in the sitting room and had allowed the comfortable sounds and smells of Cavendish to fill her senses. She moved in the direction of the kitchen, and collapsed down into a chair.
She was seated there when Mike and Rowena McCartney wandered in and found her there.
“That was quite a party, wasn’t it?” Rowena asked, because she could think of nothing else to say to break the difficult silence.
“I found it insufferable,” Mike grumbled. “Honestly, they’re a bunch of old women, gossiping all the time.”
“Hey!” Responded Rowena. “Women aren’t the worst gossips - men are!”
“Well,” Linda interjected, her voice dripping with irony, “that theory was well and truly played out tonight.”
There was a brief silence, and then Michael spoke.
“Linda, I am so sorry you have to go through all of this. I don’t know why Paul doesn’t just deny it all, and shut them all up.”
Another silence reigned, and then Linda spoke, her voice dull and resigned. “Mike, he can’t deny it.”
“Why not?” Mike demanded. “At some point he has to put an end to it!”
Rowena was alert and on standby. She knew that a troublesome truth was about to descend upon them.
“Because it’s true, Mike. Of course it’s true! Haven’t you figured that out yet?” Linda’s voice was kind but a little impatient.
Mike was stunned, but his brain was busy in denial mode.
“That’s not funny Linda! I know my brother! It can’t be true!”
“Mike, he doesn’t want to tell you because he thinks you will be disappointed in him. But it is most definitely true.” Linda’s voice had a finality to it that echoed in the air. She asked herself whether it was anger that had made her spill Paul’s secret to his brother. Linda was a little ashamed of herself; this was Paul’s story to tell, and she had usurped his confession. Still, Mike needed to be put out of his misery, and Linda had begun to think that Paul would never tell Mike if it could be avoided. As a rationalization for breaching her husband’s trust in her, it was sore comfort.
The silence that descended upon the kitchen was positively lethal. Rowena reached over and grasped Mike’s hand, which had fisted itself and was lain out on the kitchen table.
“Mike,” Rowena whispered softly, tentatively. “I did wonder if there might be truth to it.”
Mike was frozen and angry. Part of him did not believe a single word, but the more realistic side of him knew it was true. That realistic side of him was filled with rage. How could Paul have put him in this situation where he looked like a fool not to know? And how could Paul have stooped to such disgusting behavior? At that moment Mike’s distrust of and anger at John had intensified to a high level. That man had been a terrible influence on his brother in so many ways - just as his father Jim had said! As a young boy and man, Mike had been charmed by John’s bad boy ways, and had refused to believe his father’s complaints. But here was some pretty irrefutable evidence. Still, loyalty to his brother - a fellow McCartney - ran deep, so he felt confused as well as angry and betrayed. He got up so suddenly that the chair fell backwards. Without a word, he stormed out of the kitchen, and then out of the house. The women followed him, worried, only to hear the sound of an engine starting, and a car peeling away.
“I’m sorry, Rowena, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Linda said, filled with remorse.
“It needed to be said,” Rowena responded sensibly.
“I am just so exhausted. You can’t imagine. John lording it over that house, and flaunting his relationship with Paul in front of all those gossips! All the women were giving me pitying looks. It was dreadful.”
“Well, all I can say is that I didn’t notice John flaunting the relationship,” Rowena tried to comfort Linda. It was bad enough that Mike was off (to a pub?) in a huff; now she had Linda breaking down in front of her, too.
“The songs John chose? They didn’t seem obvious to you?” Linda cried.
“No…no, they didn’t. They were just…songs…” Rowena was sincere. She had seen nothing untoward. The singing part of the evening had been quite fun.
Linda sighed, and rubbed her forehead. “Rowena, I’m so sorry about Mike, but I have a splitting headache. I need to go to bed.”
“Where’s Paul? Shouldn’t he have been back by now?” Rowena’s question was innocent and even logical. A silence descended. Linda could not help herself.
“It’s John’s night,” she answered, her voice dripping with bitterness. “Goodnight, Rowena, I will try to mend fences with Mike tomorrow.”
“I have a feeling it will be Paul who will need to mend the fences,” Rowena said softly, privately shocked at the idea of Paul splitting his nights between Linda and John. That was a bit of information too much, from her way of thinking.
It was almost 3 a.m. and the last guest, a drunken session musician, had finally been shoveled out of the house and into a taxi. Gerry and Jason were splayed out on sofas in the family room, holding a half-inch each of old Scotch whiskey in their tumblers when John wandered in from the front door, grateful to have the last visitor gone.
“Where’s Paul?” John asked Jason and Gerry, who merely shrugged in ignorance. They were too tired to talk.
John was filled with anxiety. Had Paul gone back to Cavendish with Linda? It was his night with Paul! Before jumping to a wrong conclusion, John turned around and headed up the stairs, and barged straight into the master suite. His heart stopped pounding, his face softened into a virtual representation of contentment, and his dick flirted with the inside of his underpants. Paul was sprawled across the bed, fully clothed, and obviously sound asleep.
John went back downstairs, and said, “He’s like a baby up there, dead to the world.”
Jason and Gerry smiled in relief. They had not wanted to referee a John and Paul meltdown at that moment. They were too tired.
“Thanks for all your help, Jason,” John said softly. “I could not have done it without you.”
“We make a good kitchen team,” Jason opined, and smiled warmly at John. “Go back upstairs to bed, John. Gerry and I can take care of ourselves.”
Encouraged by this pronouncement, John went back to the master bedroom, and moved right over to the foot of the large bed. John saw only Paul’s profile, as his face was in repose on the left side of his face. The long eyelashes feathered over his bottom eyelids. The supple pink mouth was only slightly open, and had relaxed into its usual mellow pout.
God, he’s beautiful, John thought, despite that horrible get-up. And he’s mine; at least for tonight. John had begun to suspect that he was now the one holding the master key to Paul’s heart, and Linda had inadvertently confirmed it when she had come by the other day to share her concerns with him. So John decided that since he was the one who held the master key, he might as well make full use of it. But first he had to wake the bugger up! Oops, he chuckled to himself, poor choice of words…
It was with an unseemly amount of pleasure, then, that John proceeded to divest Paul of that clueless suit - John muttered about it as he proceeded. It literally shines as if it had been worn down to the nub. And then there was that blah pale blue shirt. Of all the colors to wear against Paul’s lovely ivory skin and dark coloring, blah pale blue had to be the worst…
“Humph!” Paul grunted. He awakened to find John stripping his clothes off. Normally, Paul enjoyed it when John stripped his clothes off, but it was kind of alarming for one to wake from a sound sleep to find someone pawing over one’s garments. “John - what…”
“I’m doing what I should have done the moment you showed up at the house this evening…” John said grittily, as he struggled with one of the shirtsleeves. Paul was staring at him dumbly. Poor boy doesn’t have a clue, John thought. “What possessed you to wear this horrific outfit to my party? It was bad enough you came late, but then you were wearing this! You look like a fucking bank manager who bought a suit off the back of a truck!”
Paul was insulted on Linda’s behalf. “Hey, Linda chose that suit!” He defended.
John stopped what he was doing for a moment to stare at Paul with a fake scowl on his face. “It isn’t very chivalrous of you to blame Linda for this atrocity, Pud.”
“Oh posh, John, it’s not that important. Its just clothes…”
“’Posh’? Did you really just say ‘posh’? These ludicrous clothes are affecting your brain!” John burst out in a flurry of activity, and a shirt went flying…(“Honestly, Paul, you really ought to wear an undershirt when you wear a dress shirt…”) and then a pair of trousers…(“These trousers are big enough for Meat Loaf…Ummm...meat loaf! I just realized what I said!”)
Paul started chuckling, especially since sometimes John’s ministrations tickled him. “Really, John, your descriptions of the suit get worse with each new mention…”
“I’m afraid if I don’t remove it immediately the fucking thing will breed and produce a lot more little shiny suits…Ta da!” John’s arms were thrown up in the air in triumph. “You’re finally safe!”
Paul was lying there on his back, naked, and thus doubted very much that he was ‘safe.’ As he was thinking this, John pounced on top of him, and Paul muttered, “Out of the frying pan into the fire…” This utterance was abruptly cut off by a huge sloppy French kiss. And this kiss soon deepened into a far more erotic - even romantic - kiss. Paul felt his toes curl a bit, and his arms soon were squeezing John’s middle back. It seemed that John was feeling feisty and in control tonight. So be it. Paul’s legs separated and wrapped around John’s hips.
John felt the warm pressure, and was filled with a sense of sexual wellbeing. He was still busily kissing Paul’s face and throat, and decided to take it all a bit lower. John felt the pull of Paul’s nether region, and it was a kind of compulsion that lead him inexorably lower, down the delicate hairy trail which led to Paul’s cock. Soon he heard the deep moans from the back of Paul’s throat. That only fed John’s appetite. His perambulations in the direction of Paul’s pelvic area became ever more intense and the kisses more slurp-y. John noticed - in some recess of his conscious mind - that Paul’s legs were pulled up, and he was breathing through his mouth now.
Paul, for his part, was feeling that deep throbbing in his pelvic area that told him he desperately needed relief: relief in the form that only John could provide. He felt his heart accelerating, and he rubbed his inner thighs along the sides of John’s hips. By this time, John’s talented mouth was playing with his belly button. It was incredibly frustrating - Paul didn’t want the present activity to stop, but he simultaneously wanted John to go lower…lower…
John was enjoying teasing Paul by flicking licks at his belly button. By now, he figured, Paul must be half out of his mind. Time to start down a bit - to that delicate little thatch of hair that met in a triangle just above the cock. Paul always went mad when John caressed that area with licks, kisses, and little nips. It was one of John’s favorite things to do. So, slowly, slowly, he worked his way down to the thatch. He spent a lot of time there, until Paul was wriggling in frustration.
Down! Down! Down! Paul’s inner urges were literally shouting at him. “Down! Please, down!” The words erupted from his throat with no conscious effort.
John chuckled. Now I’ve got him where I want him. He’s utterly mine now. He pulled away for a moment and felt Paul’s legs pulling him back.
“No!” Paul groaned.
He doesn’t want me to stop, it seems, John smiled to himself. Well, I certainly cannot disappoint him… John allowed his tongue to slide down to the tip of Paul’s cock, and then right down the organ’s spine.
Paul’s moans were unrelenting, as was John’s tongue. Paul felt as though he couldn’t hold himself back another moment, and if the evening’s activities were not to come to a screeching halt he had better let John know. “John! No!”
Saying “no” to John at a time like this was like the old cliché of waving a red flag at a bull. He forced his mouth over Paul’s shaft, and swallowed it almost down to the root.
“John! I’ll come if you don’t stop!” Paul’s voice was desperate. He enjoyed extended sex sessions and didn’t want a premature ending. “Please, stop!”
While nothing else would have stopped John, the specter of an early “cum” did. He pulled his mouth off Paul’s cock, and then crawled back up until he was hovering over Paul’s face. John wanted to tease Paul verbally for a while. It was so much fun to do that. John pressed his body against Paul’s, the whole length of it, and he nestled his mouth against Paul’s ear.
“Baby, I would have liked to splay you over a sofa in front of all those nosy twats,” John whispered, and enjoyed Paul’s responsive twitches of amusement. “I’m serious!” John cried, and Paul’s smothered amusement became outright chuckles. “Oh, you think it is funny, do you…” John tried to sound indignant but the amused chuckles kept escaping from his throat.
The two men wrestled for a few minutes, with intervals of giggling and moaning. Paul had decided to fight back a little, although he secretly hoped to be overpowered. His hopes were soon to be realized. He knew it would not be long now before he would feel the buildup to a strong orgasm, and wanted to do nothing more to delay John from this important task.
John was feeling elated. His party had gone off very well, he had allowed the rumors to simmer but acted as though they weren’t true, and he was sure he had struck just the right attitudes. In addition, the food had been a fantastic success, and he felt sure that Paul was very proud of him. Now he had his lover beneath him, a lover who had put up a small fight but who had now surrendered to his control. How could life be any better than it was at this very moment? Humming to himself he reached over to the side table and grasped the ever-handy, ever-helpful tube of jelly. They were definitely going to need to use a lot of lubrication tonight!
The early morning light was flickering on Paul’s face when he awoke a few hours later. From the bedside clock, Paul could see that it was only 6 a.m. He didn’t know what had awakened him, and wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt wide- awake. Slowly he changed his position, trying not to disturb John’s various limbs that had entwined themselves with his while they slept. John’s face, Paul saw, was lost in his pillow, and he was emitting a slight snore (what a perfect soft rhythm, Paul thought objectively to himself). So what’s bothering me? Paul paged through his memories of the previous night’s events. Each scenario that popped into his head appeared in his memory like a sharply different and colorful tableau. Stones, Beatles, managers, musicians, artists, friends, family…Family.
Paul’s brain stopped there. Yes, it was about his family. Paul concentrated harder. He had barely spoken to Stella and Mary all night - they had seemingly disappeared. Could he be bothered by that? But why? No, no, that was not bothering him.
Linda? Outwardly she seemed fine. He had spent a lot of time with her at the party, only wandering away just before the singing…the singing?
No, the songs were from their tour repertoire. Nothing odd there…And, really, he and John had truly behaved themselves last night. They had barely been together until the singing, all night long…
Michael. It suddenly came to him. What Mike had said just before the party started: his demand to know about the “gossip”. John had teased Mike a bit - he had played it unnecessarily coy - and Paul had seen a look of…what was it?… Fear? No, not fear. Well, maybe a kind of dread on his brother’s face. It was as if Mike dreaded the idea of the gossip being true.
Involuntarily, Paul’s hand covered up his eyes and he rubbed his eyes for a moment, as if this action would eliminate the thought from his mind. Mike was not going to ignore these rumors, and he was going to want to hear a denial from Paul. That is the bad feeling that had awakened him from a sound sleep even though he was still exhausted. Paul then had a scarier thought: what if someone said something to Mike last night? Someone who knows the truth, who might have thought Mike already knew? Paul’s heart started to beat. Why hadn’t he thought of this possibility and guarded against it somehow?
Paul struggled with this anxiety for several moments, but was unable to quell it while lying there in silence, so he decided to get up, take a shower, and go find something to do downstairs where he wouldn’t bother John, or their houseguests. In fact, it might be best if he went over to Cavendish immediately, so it would appear to Mike that he had slept with Linda the previous night. What had he been thinking? He should have gone home with Linda, and kept up the façade! It was so fucking hard to live this double life, and Paul began to worry about all the small ways in which he and John had revealed themselves to Mike, as well as other party guests. The sooner he got back to Cavendish, the better.
This chapter is a lot more angst-y than the other 2, and there is a sex scene!
WARNING: SLASH, 8 on scale of 1 to 10
Also - THIS IS FICTION
BTW - my son's a pretty good hand with his iPhone camera, so if we get any good pix from tomorrow's concert I'll try to post them here. ("Try" because I've never really been able to figure it out properly.)
Chapter 32
Linda had wandered off into the kitchen to poke around in the left over pots and pans and plates, to better assess the food served that night. She had gone through the various buffet tables shortly after they had been set up, and had studied the offerings. Some of the food was somewhat expected, for example an exotic collection of stuffed olives and mushrooms, yogurt/dill dip with pickled artichokes, cauliflower and green beans, a succulent looking pile of red skinned garlic mashed potatoes, a risotto with a surprising touch of mint, and a delicious whole-wheat pasta salad with squash squares and okra. And the rest of the food was wholly unexpected, for instance braised root vegetables in a red wine reduction sauce, fresh English sweet peas very simply sautéed in butter, grilled Brussels sprouts with sautéed shallots and goat cheese crumbles on top, a steaming platter of French haricots with sesame seeds and tofu squares, all of it soaked in a homemade teriyaki sauce, not one but two delicious soups - a very interesting and adventurous fresh tomato, lentil and onion soup, and an intensely savory wild mushroom soup with delicate sprigs of thyme dancing over the top. There were also three separate delicious salads: a sweet and sour artichoke salad, featuring fava beans, an eggplant, lemon and caper salad, and a truly fresh and tasty arugula, pear and parmesan salad. Perhaps the most surprising dish was a plate full of perfectly boiled pearl onions and fat raisins, swimming in a pool of a light tomato sauce. But Linda was most impressed by the broccoli and cauliflower gratin, baked with delicious cheddar cheese and baguette crumbs. There was also a mountain of fresh made breads, and a selection of cheeses and other appetizers, including a deliciously unexpected red bell pepper spread and tiny sweet gherkins.
The desserts had been amazing, too, ranging from the simple (little chocolat and vanilla pots de crème), to the elaborate (choux pastry towers, peach tarts, and homemade blackberry merlot sorbet, not to mention perfect looking Napoleons with delicately drizzled raspberry and chocolate on top.) And the just slightly and perfectly stewed pears with their bottoms dipped in dark chocolate were to die for! And then there had been the wine and drinks selections - Linda had never been very strong in that department, leaving it to Paul. She then wondered, a bad feeling rushing down her spine, if Paul had arranged the wines and the drinks? The idea of John and Paul planning a party together was just another invasion of her territory…
Linda was secretly very chagrinned. There were things on this menu that she would never have thought of, much less attempted. She had hoped that she could have found fault, or at least hidden packets in the trash to prove that John had actually bought the goodies from a caterer or Harrods, but to the contrary, a quick jaunt through the pantry and cupboards reflected that John had all the ingredients to make what had been made, and an examination of the pots and pans reflected evidence of home-cooked food. This was - she hated to admit - disappointing. She had wanted at least one area of influence in Paul’s life that was exclusively hers. But now John had not only matched but had surpassed her in this department.
*****
Mike was exhausted. The evening had felt like he had wandered into one landmine field after the other. He had yet to have a private talk with his brother. For instance, right now he saw Paul across the family room, fussing around the piano. John was holding a guitar. It looked like they were going to have some entertainment that night. Certainly, there were enough musicians in the place to fill out all the seats in a large orchestra.
“Looks like they’re going to sing for us,” a voice said into Mike’s left ear. He turned and saw Elton John standing there.
Mike nodded, both in greeting and in agreement. “That’s new. Paul doesn’t usually sing at parties.”
Elton laughed. “I suspect Paul does pretty much whatever John wants him to do.”
There wasn’t anything obvious in Elton’s tone, but something about it niggled at Mike. He suspected Elton’s comment had a double meaning, and he didn’t like that second meaning one little bit. Still, he managed to contain his temper. “John is opinionated, that’s true,” he said, willfully ignoring Elton’s sly double entendre. “But Paul is opinionated too. I suspect they match each other point for point.”
Elton’s face lit up with delight. So! The straight boy was going to play! He laughed and said, “You know, I agree with you. I’m pretty sure you’re right.”
Again, Mike felt that Elton had willfully misinterpreted what he had said. He was frustrated. Before he could say anything though, John’s voice, testing the microphone, interrupted.
“Polly wants a cracker, Paulie gets a smacker…” He intoned. Paul made a face, and shook his head in sheepish amusement. Couldn’t take John anywhere. Everyone laughed and moved in to the family room. People were hanging in the hallway and leaning in from the kitchen and breakfast room. They were all excited.
“Paul and I thought we’d play a few acoustic numbers for you, and maybe Paul will even be persuaded to play a classical number he composed,” John said. “Seems an appropriate way to celebrate our new tour, which is starting next week in Canada.” Everyone cheered loudly for John’s announcement, and settled in happily in anticipation of an impromptu performance. Keith Richards was even making some loud “woo-hoo!” noises from the back of the room.
“Thank you mum,” John responded to scattered guffaws. “For our first number,” John announced in his best holiday camp announcer voice, “we’d like to sing a little ditty you might recognize from years ago.” He turned to Paul who joined him at the microphone.
“He’s a real nowhere man,
living in his nowhere land,
making all his nowhere plans,
for nobody…”
The harmony was perfect, and Paul’s pure sweet voice was set against the nasal depth of John’s lower voice. The room full of people had quieted in genuine pleasure and respect. Mick, of course, felt a bit of jealousy and maybe even spite over the incandescence and popularity of his rivals, but the rest of the guests were transfixed by the magic of Lennon & McCartney.
“For our next number,” John said, still with the cheesy announcer voice, which caused a smattering of titters, “we dip into something a little more recent…”
Paul’s intricate guitar picking led into the first verse of Calico Skies:
“It was written that I would love you
From the moment I opened my eyes
And the moment that I first saw you
Gave me life under calico skies…”
Linda heard this from her seat close to Paul, and her heart fell softly. This was Paul’s soul mate song for John, and he had no idea that he was breaking her heart by singing it, because he had no idea that she had figured out that it was about John.
Elton John leaned in close to Mike’s ear and whispered, “That’s a love song for John, isn’t it?”
Mike ignored this interruption, but his indignation was insecure. What if Elton was right? Everyone around here thought his brother was in love with John Lennon. Was he the one who was wrong? He desperately searched his memory for telltale clues from the past, but came up empty.
“This is the title song from our new album,” John said, gesturing with his head to Paul to go to the piano. Paul looked startled, and for a moment resisted before shrugging and seating himself at the piano. The song began with one of two refrains:
“He told me there were seven levels
In the universe:
Singing angels or dancing devils
For better or for worse…”
The interplay between Paul’s near-classical piano, and John’s acoustic picking was a contrast much like a singing angel or a dancing devil. Opposites that matched. As the song petered out, people applauded rather than cheered. It was as if there was something more formal and solemn about that particular song. The song was intimate and estranged at the same time, with little glimpses of detail that seemed to scream ‘this is about Paul’, to more opaque poetry that was dreamlike and impenetrable.
It had been hard for Linda to sit and listen to it and keep a smile on her face. Stella and Mary had moved over and were next to her, providing moral support. They would have been angry at their father except for the fact that it had been clear that he was surprised by this song choice when John announced it. Stella knew she would be having some words with John later. It came as scant relief to Linda and her daughters that, almost as soon as the strains of that song ended, Paul and John began to sing, again in perfect harmony, the beautiful song, In My Life.
“There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some for forever not for better
Some have gone, and some remain…”
“He’s singing about Liverpool now,” Neil whispered to George Martin who nodded in agreement.
“All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
But in my life I loved them all…”
“It’s such a sweet love song,” whispered Heather to Roger Daltrey, who nodded.
“But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as knowing you…”
That’s odd, George Martin thought. He changed that last line, didn’t he?
“Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before,
I know I’ll often stop and think about them -
In my life I love you more…”
“I know what he means by that,” Ringo whispered to his wife, Barbara. “It’s about all of us, how we were...”
“But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you…”
That’s definitely about Paul, Pete Townshend grumbled to himself. Who else would it be about? And if Paul were my lover, I’d say the same…
“Though I know I’ll never lose affection
For people and things that went before,
I know I’ll always think about them,
In my life, I love you more…”
“On this is definitely about Paul,” Elton opined to his boyfriend, and a worried and restless Mike McCartney overheard him. “They have a very special bond.”
“In my life, I love you more…”
As the haunting chords faded away, a thoughtful silence fell over the crowd, and they were all looking at John and Paul as though they had seen them clearly for the first time. The silence seemed to last forever, but it was really only about 15 seconds before Keith Richards yelled,
“Bravo! More please!”
After that, others were invited to join, and the music went on for hours afterwards, with everyone with even a tot of musical talent joining in at one point or another.
*****
Mary and Stella had survived the night, but just barely. They had left after the music presentation, and had gone on to a happening London club. Later, they were cozied up in their flat, and chuckling over the night’s events.
“There’s nothing quite like a house full of drunken ‘60s rock stars,” giggled Stella.
“They are certainly a colorful bunch!” Mary giggled back. “And they would all shut up as soon as we approached.”
“You know they were all talking about Daddy and John, and that’s why they’d abruptly stop when we showed up. It was so bloody obvious.” Both girls giggled. “And Uncle George looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, all night long,” Stella added.
“He can sometimes be a pretty resentful person, although he has a beautiful soul in other ways,” agreed Mary.
“I don’t know,” Stella said honestly. “I get a vibe off him that he doesn’t like Daddy.”
“Daddy and Uncle George go back a long way, Stell. I’m sure you’re wrong.”
“Mary, you are too soft-hearted. I think George was enjoying the fact that Daddy and John were the subject of a lot of gossip.”
“I certainly hope you’re not right,” Mary said.
“And Uncle Mike spent the whole night looked stressed out and pissed,” Stella continued.
“I am a bit worried about him,” Mary agreed. “I don’t think Daddy has told him the truth, and he is suffering over the gossip. Daddy should tell him the truth.”
Stella nodded absent-mindedly. “And then there were the old rockers - Jagger, Richards, Bowie, and Townshend. They are the biggest bunch of gossips ever! They’re worse than their wives!”
Mary responded immediately. “Oh, the wives were bad enough. Mum told me they were all gossiping, although Olivia tried to shut them all up.”
“I really like Olivia,” Stella said honestly. “She’s one cool lady.” She thought for a moment and then continued. “And then there was John…”
Mary giggled in response.
“John was just so proud of his house, his food display, and he was lording it over our Dad, wasn’t he?” Stella’s face reflected her mischief.
“Stella, stop. John has a beautiful home, and he put out a beautiful array of food…” Mary was only slightly disapproving.
“Yes, but Mary - how do you think Mum feels about John being such a virtuoso with the food? Isn’t that her thing?”
Mary’s face showed a reluctant agreement. “John seems to be moving in on her territory,” she agreed.
Both girls were silent for a moment. And then Stella spoke again, amusement back in her voice. “Elton John and that fancy boy of his…what did you think?”
“I love his music,” Mary said diplomatically.
“Mar-y!” Stella complained.
Mary smiled and said, “He seemed to be teasing Uncle Mike during the music.”
“I didn’t notice that,” Stella said.
“Yes, it looked as if he was baiting him with provocative statements,” Mary responded.
“I wonder what it was about?” Stella asked.
“All of it was stressful for Mum, I think. She didn’t look very comfortable, and I felt as though she wanted to go home.” Mary was thoughtful as she remembered her mother, curled in a chair and listening sadly to Paul singing ‘Calico Skies’ followed by John’s virtuoso performance of ‘Seven Levels.’ “I’m sure she is glad that this evening is finally over.”
“Is it over, Mary?” Stella wondered. She saw the clock that read 1 a.m., and suspected that there were still remnants of the party guests at John’s home.
“If it’s not, I hope Mum has had the good sense to go home by now.”
*****
Linda was thoroughly exhausted. She had snuck out shortly after the music concluded, whispering to Paul that she had to go to bed. She knew this was Paul’s night with John, so Paul had kissed and hugged her in the kitchen, and watched her go. She had walked down the lonely mews, and across the dark garden, and into Cavendish. She had stood silently in the sitting room and had allowed the comfortable sounds and smells of Cavendish to fill her senses. She moved in the direction of the kitchen, and collapsed down into a chair.
She was seated there when Mike and Rowena McCartney wandered in and found her there.
“That was quite a party, wasn’t it?” Rowena asked, because she could think of nothing else to say to break the difficult silence.
“I found it insufferable,” Mike grumbled. “Honestly, they’re a bunch of old women, gossiping all the time.”
“Hey!” Responded Rowena. “Women aren’t the worst gossips - men are!”
“Well,” Linda interjected, her voice dripping with irony, “that theory was well and truly played out tonight.”
There was a brief silence, and then Michael spoke.
“Linda, I am so sorry you have to go through all of this. I don’t know why Paul doesn’t just deny it all, and shut them all up.”
Another silence reigned, and then Linda spoke, her voice dull and resigned. “Mike, he can’t deny it.”
“Why not?” Mike demanded. “At some point he has to put an end to it!”
Rowena was alert and on standby. She knew that a troublesome truth was about to descend upon them.
“Because it’s true, Mike. Of course it’s true! Haven’t you figured that out yet?” Linda’s voice was kind but a little impatient.
Mike was stunned, but his brain was busy in denial mode.
“That’s not funny Linda! I know my brother! It can’t be true!”
“Mike, he doesn’t want to tell you because he thinks you will be disappointed in him. But it is most definitely true.” Linda’s voice had a finality to it that echoed in the air. She asked herself whether it was anger that had made her spill Paul’s secret to his brother. Linda was a little ashamed of herself; this was Paul’s story to tell, and she had usurped his confession. Still, Mike needed to be put out of his misery, and Linda had begun to think that Paul would never tell Mike if it could be avoided. As a rationalization for breaching her husband’s trust in her, it was sore comfort.
The silence that descended upon the kitchen was positively lethal. Rowena reached over and grasped Mike’s hand, which had fisted itself and was lain out on the kitchen table.
“Mike,” Rowena whispered softly, tentatively. “I did wonder if there might be truth to it.”
Mike was frozen and angry. Part of him did not believe a single word, but the more realistic side of him knew it was true. That realistic side of him was filled with rage. How could Paul have put him in this situation where he looked like a fool not to know? And how could Paul have stooped to such disgusting behavior? At that moment Mike’s distrust of and anger at John had intensified to a high level. That man had been a terrible influence on his brother in so many ways - just as his father Jim had said! As a young boy and man, Mike had been charmed by John’s bad boy ways, and had refused to believe his father’s complaints. But here was some pretty irrefutable evidence. Still, loyalty to his brother - a fellow McCartney - ran deep, so he felt confused as well as angry and betrayed. He got up so suddenly that the chair fell backwards. Without a word, he stormed out of the kitchen, and then out of the house. The women followed him, worried, only to hear the sound of an engine starting, and a car peeling away.
“I’m sorry, Rowena, I shouldn’t have said anything,” Linda said, filled with remorse.
“It needed to be said,” Rowena responded sensibly.
“I am just so exhausted. You can’t imagine. John lording it over that house, and flaunting his relationship with Paul in front of all those gossips! All the women were giving me pitying looks. It was dreadful.”
“Well, all I can say is that I didn’t notice John flaunting the relationship,” Rowena tried to comfort Linda. It was bad enough that Mike was off (to a pub?) in a huff; now she had Linda breaking down in front of her, too.
“The songs John chose? They didn’t seem obvious to you?” Linda cried.
“No…no, they didn’t. They were just…songs…” Rowena was sincere. She had seen nothing untoward. The singing part of the evening had been quite fun.
Linda sighed, and rubbed her forehead. “Rowena, I’m so sorry about Mike, but I have a splitting headache. I need to go to bed.”
“Where’s Paul? Shouldn’t he have been back by now?” Rowena’s question was innocent and even logical. A silence descended. Linda could not help herself.
“It’s John’s night,” she answered, her voice dripping with bitterness. “Goodnight, Rowena, I will try to mend fences with Mike tomorrow.”
“I have a feeling it will be Paul who will need to mend the fences,” Rowena said softly, privately shocked at the idea of Paul splitting his nights between Linda and John. That was a bit of information too much, from her way of thinking.
*****
It was almost 3 a.m. and the last guest, a drunken session musician, had finally been shoveled out of the house and into a taxi. Gerry and Jason were splayed out on sofas in the family room, holding a half-inch each of old Scotch whiskey in their tumblers when John wandered in from the front door, grateful to have the last visitor gone.
“Where’s Paul?” John asked Jason and Gerry, who merely shrugged in ignorance. They were too tired to talk.
John was filled with anxiety. Had Paul gone back to Cavendish with Linda? It was his night with Paul! Before jumping to a wrong conclusion, John turned around and headed up the stairs, and barged straight into the master suite. His heart stopped pounding, his face softened into a virtual representation of contentment, and his dick flirted with the inside of his underpants. Paul was sprawled across the bed, fully clothed, and obviously sound asleep.
John went back downstairs, and said, “He’s like a baby up there, dead to the world.”
Jason and Gerry smiled in relief. They had not wanted to referee a John and Paul meltdown at that moment. They were too tired.
“Thanks for all your help, Jason,” John said softly. “I could not have done it without you.”
“We make a good kitchen team,” Jason opined, and smiled warmly at John. “Go back upstairs to bed, John. Gerry and I can take care of ourselves.”
Encouraged by this pronouncement, John went back to the master bedroom, and moved right over to the foot of the large bed. John saw only Paul’s profile, as his face was in repose on the left side of his face. The long eyelashes feathered over his bottom eyelids. The supple pink mouth was only slightly open, and had relaxed into its usual mellow pout.
God, he’s beautiful, John thought, despite that horrible get-up. And he’s mine; at least for tonight. John had begun to suspect that he was now the one holding the master key to Paul’s heart, and Linda had inadvertently confirmed it when she had come by the other day to share her concerns with him. So John decided that since he was the one who held the master key, he might as well make full use of it. But first he had to wake the bugger up! Oops, he chuckled to himself, poor choice of words…
It was with an unseemly amount of pleasure, then, that John proceeded to divest Paul of that clueless suit - John muttered about it as he proceeded. It literally shines as if it had been worn down to the nub. And then there was that blah pale blue shirt. Of all the colors to wear against Paul’s lovely ivory skin and dark coloring, blah pale blue had to be the worst…
“Humph!” Paul grunted. He awakened to find John stripping his clothes off. Normally, Paul enjoyed it when John stripped his clothes off, but it was kind of alarming for one to wake from a sound sleep to find someone pawing over one’s garments. “John - what…”
“I’m doing what I should have done the moment you showed up at the house this evening…” John said grittily, as he struggled with one of the shirtsleeves. Paul was staring at him dumbly. Poor boy doesn’t have a clue, John thought. “What possessed you to wear this horrific outfit to my party? It was bad enough you came late, but then you were wearing this! You look like a fucking bank manager who bought a suit off the back of a truck!”
Paul was insulted on Linda’s behalf. “Hey, Linda chose that suit!” He defended.
John stopped what he was doing for a moment to stare at Paul with a fake scowl on his face. “It isn’t very chivalrous of you to blame Linda for this atrocity, Pud.”
“Oh posh, John, it’s not that important. Its just clothes…”
“’Posh’? Did you really just say ‘posh’? These ludicrous clothes are affecting your brain!” John burst out in a flurry of activity, and a shirt went flying…(“Honestly, Paul, you really ought to wear an undershirt when you wear a dress shirt…”) and then a pair of trousers…(“These trousers are big enough for Meat Loaf…Ummm...meat loaf! I just realized what I said!”)
Paul started chuckling, especially since sometimes John’s ministrations tickled him. “Really, John, your descriptions of the suit get worse with each new mention…”
“I’m afraid if I don’t remove it immediately the fucking thing will breed and produce a lot more little shiny suits…Ta da!” John’s arms were thrown up in the air in triumph. “You’re finally safe!”
Paul was lying there on his back, naked, and thus doubted very much that he was ‘safe.’ As he was thinking this, John pounced on top of him, and Paul muttered, “Out of the frying pan into the fire…” This utterance was abruptly cut off by a huge sloppy French kiss. And this kiss soon deepened into a far more erotic - even romantic - kiss. Paul felt his toes curl a bit, and his arms soon were squeezing John’s middle back. It seemed that John was feeling feisty and in control tonight. So be it. Paul’s legs separated and wrapped around John’s hips.
John felt the warm pressure, and was filled with a sense of sexual wellbeing. He was still busily kissing Paul’s face and throat, and decided to take it all a bit lower. John felt the pull of Paul’s nether region, and it was a kind of compulsion that lead him inexorably lower, down the delicate hairy trail which led to Paul’s cock. Soon he heard the deep moans from the back of Paul’s throat. That only fed John’s appetite. His perambulations in the direction of Paul’s pelvic area became ever more intense and the kisses more slurp-y. John noticed - in some recess of his conscious mind - that Paul’s legs were pulled up, and he was breathing through his mouth now.
Paul, for his part, was feeling that deep throbbing in his pelvic area that told him he desperately needed relief: relief in the form that only John could provide. He felt his heart accelerating, and he rubbed his inner thighs along the sides of John’s hips. By this time, John’s talented mouth was playing with his belly button. It was incredibly frustrating - Paul didn’t want the present activity to stop, but he simultaneously wanted John to go lower…lower…
John was enjoying teasing Paul by flicking licks at his belly button. By now, he figured, Paul must be half out of his mind. Time to start down a bit - to that delicate little thatch of hair that met in a triangle just above the cock. Paul always went mad when John caressed that area with licks, kisses, and little nips. It was one of John’s favorite things to do. So, slowly, slowly, he worked his way down to the thatch. He spent a lot of time there, until Paul was wriggling in frustration.
Down! Down! Down! Paul’s inner urges were literally shouting at him. “Down! Please, down!” The words erupted from his throat with no conscious effort.
John chuckled. Now I’ve got him where I want him. He’s utterly mine now. He pulled away for a moment and felt Paul’s legs pulling him back.
“No!” Paul groaned.
He doesn’t want me to stop, it seems, John smiled to himself. Well, I certainly cannot disappoint him… John allowed his tongue to slide down to the tip of Paul’s cock, and then right down the organ’s spine.
Paul’s moans were unrelenting, as was John’s tongue. Paul felt as though he couldn’t hold himself back another moment, and if the evening’s activities were not to come to a screeching halt he had better let John know. “John! No!”
Saying “no” to John at a time like this was like the old cliché of waving a red flag at a bull. He forced his mouth over Paul’s shaft, and swallowed it almost down to the root.
“John! I’ll come if you don’t stop!” Paul’s voice was desperate. He enjoyed extended sex sessions and didn’t want a premature ending. “Please, stop!”
While nothing else would have stopped John, the specter of an early “cum” did. He pulled his mouth off Paul’s cock, and then crawled back up until he was hovering over Paul’s face. John wanted to tease Paul verbally for a while. It was so much fun to do that. John pressed his body against Paul’s, the whole length of it, and he nestled his mouth against Paul’s ear.
“Baby, I would have liked to splay you over a sofa in front of all those nosy twats,” John whispered, and enjoyed Paul’s responsive twitches of amusement. “I’m serious!” John cried, and Paul’s smothered amusement became outright chuckles. “Oh, you think it is funny, do you…” John tried to sound indignant but the amused chuckles kept escaping from his throat.
The two men wrestled for a few minutes, with intervals of giggling and moaning. Paul had decided to fight back a little, although he secretly hoped to be overpowered. His hopes were soon to be realized. He knew it would not be long now before he would feel the buildup to a strong orgasm, and wanted to do nothing more to delay John from this important task.
John was feeling elated. His party had gone off very well, he had allowed the rumors to simmer but acted as though they weren’t true, and he was sure he had struck just the right attitudes. In addition, the food had been a fantastic success, and he felt sure that Paul was very proud of him. Now he had his lover beneath him, a lover who had put up a small fight but who had now surrendered to his control. How could life be any better than it was at this very moment? Humming to himself he reached over to the side table and grasped the ever-handy, ever-helpful tube of jelly. They were definitely going to need to use a lot of lubrication tonight!
*****
The early morning light was flickering on Paul’s face when he awoke a few hours later. From the bedside clock, Paul could see that it was only 6 a.m. He didn’t know what had awakened him, and wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt wide- awake. Slowly he changed his position, trying not to disturb John’s various limbs that had entwined themselves with his while they slept. John’s face, Paul saw, was lost in his pillow, and he was emitting a slight snore (what a perfect soft rhythm, Paul thought objectively to himself). So what’s bothering me? Paul paged through his memories of the previous night’s events. Each scenario that popped into his head appeared in his memory like a sharply different and colorful tableau. Stones, Beatles, managers, musicians, artists, friends, family…Family.
Paul’s brain stopped there. Yes, it was about his family. Paul concentrated harder. He had barely spoken to Stella and Mary all night - they had seemingly disappeared. Could he be bothered by that? But why? No, no, that was not bothering him.
Linda? Outwardly she seemed fine. He had spent a lot of time with her at the party, only wandering away just before the singing…the singing?
No, the songs were from their tour repertoire. Nothing odd there…And, really, he and John had truly behaved themselves last night. They had barely been together until the singing, all night long…
Michael. It suddenly came to him. What Mike had said just before the party started: his demand to know about the “gossip”. John had teased Mike a bit - he had played it unnecessarily coy - and Paul had seen a look of…what was it?… Fear? No, not fear. Well, maybe a kind of dread on his brother’s face. It was as if Mike dreaded the idea of the gossip being true.
Involuntarily, Paul’s hand covered up his eyes and he rubbed his eyes for a moment, as if this action would eliminate the thought from his mind. Mike was not going to ignore these rumors, and he was going to want to hear a denial from Paul. That is the bad feeling that had awakened him from a sound sleep even though he was still exhausted. Paul then had a scarier thought: what if someone said something to Mike last night? Someone who knows the truth, who might have thought Mike already knew? Paul’s heart started to beat. Why hadn’t he thought of this possibility and guarded against it somehow?
Paul struggled with this anxiety for several moments, but was unable to quell it while lying there in silence, so he decided to get up, take a shower, and go find something to do downstairs where he wouldn’t bother John, or their houseguests. In fact, it might be best if he went over to Cavendish immediately, so it would appear to Mike that he had slept with Linda the previous night. What had he been thinking? He should have gone home with Linda, and kept up the façade! It was so fucking hard to live this double life, and Paul began to worry about all the small ways in which he and John had revealed themselves to Mike, as well as other party guests. The sooner he got back to Cavendish, the better.
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