Wolf

Glasses clink. The bar heaves with outstretched arms. A lifeboat sinking. Seagulls tossed around in the sky. Light reflected in mirrors. Wolf enters at street level and makes his way downstairs.

Wolf and Boy

Their eyes meet. Wolf smiles, full of confidence; his shirt open, chest hair visible, teeth dazzling as he orders a drink. He’s never seen this particular boy before. He glances again, out of the corner of his eye, as he knocks back a shot of vodka and sips on his pint of beer. Boy looks lost. Pale and trembling in a forest full of bears. It’s early, but the last day of summer, and the crowd is more boisterous than usual. There is an energy. A desperation. Wolf finishes his drink and orders another one before closing in. He eyes up the prospect. Tall and blond. Smooth skin. Solid shoulders.

‘I’ve not seen you here before.’

This is Wolf’s territory. Boy sips from his pint and moves closer to Wolf when someone pushes past them.

‘That’s because I’ve not been here before.’

Wolf is making an assessment. The accent is Liverpool, but one of the posher parts. It’s Boy’s first time in a place like this. He’s frightened, but he’s ready for it. Wolf knows the path that leads there. Nights of despair. Working up the courage. Looking around the bookshop to make sure no one is watching before taking down a copy of The Gay Times. Putting another magazine on top. The shop assistant ringing it through the till, as though it were nothing extraordinary. Images of men. Flesh and listings. Northwest. Liverpool. Bars.

‘Are you… Welsh?’

Wolf flashes his teeth again. A wild one come in from the mountains. He acknowledges the attraction. His accent. His dark looks and the hair on his body. He puts his hand on Boy’s elbow and pulls him closer, as a sudden surge in the crowd washes past them.

‘How did you guess? Was it the accent?’

Boy smiles. A sun breaking through the clouds. Wolf knows then that he’s got him. Another boy in a long list of boys. A boy to take home and play with. A boy to feast on with his flashing teeth and his hairy body.

Flesh. Their hands touch. Skin pressed. The taxi driver looks but doesn’t see. They’re in Toxteth, the rain hammering down. Wolf opens the door to his lair and leads his Boy inside, where it’s dark and warm. They are tongue on tongue. Bodies moving. They are lust propelling. Feet stumbling in the bedroom. Boy looks around and sees the gentle chaos. The unmade bed. Clothes in a pile in the corner. They’ll need to work on that. Wolf pushes him onto the bed, then climbs on top, gripping him at the sides.

‘Are we scared?’

Boy avoids eye contact as Wolf undresses him. Shirt opened. Trousers thrown on the floor. In bed, Wolf becomes Man. Hairy arms and legs, but pale flesh, and a soft belly. Tenderness. Man is gentle with him, and it’s not what Boy was expecting. He knows there and then that this will be his Man. Now and forever.

They lie in the dark afterwards. He listens to Man’s breathing and thinks about the threshold they’ve just crossed, from which there is no going back.

‘Are we happy?’

Wolf and Dog

Roaming the countryside. Revelling in the freedom and the fresh air. Car parked at Pen-y-Pass, then following the Pyg track to the summit, with a detour over Crib Goch. The red ridge. Dog reflects on the months that have gone by. The first night of passion, followed by many nights of passion. A world turned upside down. Wolf by his side every day. Moving in. The banal things. Cooked dinners and shopping for furniture. Housekeeping, happiness unbound. Wolf is his master. His one true love. He will follow him all the way over the ridge. Sheer drops on either side of them. Hands clasped, climbing the rocks. The wind circling, predatory. Wolf’s arms around him at the top of a knife-edge.

There is nothing that can stop them. Beddgelert; and the sun pulling the river into darkness. A discrete kiss on the bridge. The cold invading, the village moving around them, and the clean sheets of the hotel bedroom. Moon the colour of honey.

Dog and Man

Years pass. Friends. Weddings. Lives entwined. Figures staring at the sea. The beach at Blundellsands. The silence when clouds gather. Figures standing still. Figures listing. Jutting out at strange angles from the sand. The sea rushing in, jellyfish stranded on the hot pavement. Man holds his Dog close. They feel each other breathing. Death and pestilence. The new plague. Funerals. Bodies burning through the dawn. They walk to Hightown. A house filled with people. Everyone dressed in black. Dog whimpers. Dog wants to escape.

‘Are we scared?’

At Southport, the sea is immense before them. The beach has gone, and the town is abandoned. They sit on a bench at the end of the pier. Making plans. Drawing up the terms of what life they have left together. Contemplating the history of Dog and Man, stretched out in front of them. An endless expanse of carbon decaying.

Hiding under the bedsheets. A life too terrible to face. Waiting for the end to come. The food riots. Revolution in Beijing. The Mid-West bombings. The great flood. Bangladesh and England. Land at war with the sea. London evacuated. Nauru and Kiribati swallowed by the ocean.

‘Are we happy?’

Tears in their eyes. Hands held. Lips pressed together. It’s time for things to end. All they have is each other.

There is a day left. Maybe two. The house entombs them. Death searching for their hidden place. Beneath the blankets. Tears. Vows. A world where only they two exist.

‘Yes, we’re happy!’