Nicky and I

19/08/2007

Nicky came up to the blue door. He looked up to the small yet inviting sign that read, “BRADFIELD”. The writing was so optimistic; sometimes he swore he could see in it that lovely smile the Bradfield's gave you when you entered their home. The smile James obviously inherited from his mother, that and his intelligence. The smile Nicky could not resist.

He knocked.
"Who's there?" Sue's cheerful voice came from the kitchen.
"It's Nicky."
"Oh, come in, dear." She hurried towards him in the hall. There was that smile again. She rapped her arm affectionately over his shoulder. "How're ye, dear? Cuppa tea?"
"No, thanks, Sue. I'll just go up to James' room."
"Yes, he's been playing his guitar all afternoon, just stopped for a break not an hour ago. Practicing feverishly, no doubt for your grand plan of world conquest, eh?" She gave him a wink as she went back to the kitchen. She hardly ever said things you'd expect to hear from your best friend's mom, but Nicky didn’t feel weird about it at all. She had a way about her of making you feel good about everything. Nicky often thought that if his own mother wasn’t such a hero in his eyes, he'd have wanted Sue to be his mom.

He climbed up the rest of the stairs and knocked on James' bedroom door. There was no reply, so he gingerly opened the door and peered in. he saw James sprawled on the bed, asleep in his jeans, t-shirt crumpled on the floor below. He came in, closed the door behind him and looked around the small room. James' guitar was leaned against the wall, apparently also resting. Sean wasn't in, probably at band practice. He looked at James. He looked so exhausted: lying flat on his stomach on the bottom bunk, left arm casually strewn above his head, left knee bent, facing slightly upwards and to his left, at the door from which Nicky just came in through.

‘How I wish I could take care of him when he's so exhausted. Come home and make him a nice meal and we'll sit just the two of us, and eat quietly, talking. We could watch Rugby matches together and play the guitar together, and at night when we go to bed together James will softly sing in my ear with his beautiful, tender voice.’

Nicky recalled a time when he was doing his homework in his room and drifted away in thought. When he came to, he realized his notebook was full of scribblings such as: "Nicky Bradfield", "James & Nicholas Bradfield" in various sizes and fonts all over the page. He'd torn it out but couldn't throw it away, so he hid it in his room. Sometimes he'd take it out and stare at it. It made him smile.

‘Our front door sign will read: "BRADFIELD". James and I: The Bradfield's.’ Nicky sighed. awaking from this fantasy was always a hard task. Stupid impalpable dream. He took off his shoes, socks and jacket, thought for a minute, then took off his trousers. Anyone entering the room at that moment would have thought they were looking at a beautiful girl: shiny auburn hair falling like a curtain just above her finely postured shoulders. Draped in a slightly oversized buttoned blouse, whose cuffs hung loosely over her fingers, and flowed down, narrowing slightly before it broadened again, Ending just below the girl's buttocks in a long arc as curved, smooth and pale as the skin that flowed underneath it, flowed straight down two lean thighs and calves pressed against each other in perfect symmetry. In fact, anyone entering the room at that moment would have thought they were looking at a beautiful ballet dancer.

James stirred a bit on the bed. He rotated slightly further to the left and his left nipple appeared, almost touching the sheet. Nicky looked at that tiny red dot. He wanted to dive into that nipple and use everything he could on it: his fingers, tongue, lips, teeth. Moreover, he wished it was him lying on the bed, sprawled on his back, and James was attacking his nipple. The thought made his eyes narrow and shut, made him bite his lip. His heart started quickening. No, this could not go on. He calmed himself down, eased up and breathed deeply. He sat on the bed and stroked James' hair very softly. James made some mumbling sounds, as he often did in his sleep. It sometimes seemed as if he was actually talking, somewhere far away in his dream, but when they passed through his lips they didn't quite translate into the same sounds in the waking world.
Nicky nudged James gently to the side, and lay on his back beside him. He wasn't really tired. He stroked James' head, his back, his shoulder, slowly and gently, until his strokes grew heavier and uneven, and in between them he saw strange images, heard voices and words that he knew didn’t exist in the room.

She was standing outside her closed bedroom door, looking at the various artworks, original and non, that she knew by heart. She opened the door softly, careful not to wake her, and closed it softly behind her. She was lying on her belly in sweet, calm sleep, that made her whole torso rise and fall softly to the rhythm of her deep breaths. Each time it rose, it revealed more of her round breasts that were pressed against the sheet (making them rounder), showing just a tiny bit of the pale-red patch of skin that surrounded the nipple. And when it fell, it pressed the tasty plump cushions tighter against the mattress.

Her gaze went down along the side of her ribcage and waist until it hit the blanket that fell mostly to the floor, and yet managed to cover her ass and upper thighs, but soon ended to reveal her legs sprawled on the bed, the right one slightly bent out towards herself, and both feet were made in a fine pointe, top arc pressed to the sheet. The skin on the bottom of the foot displayed folds upon folds, and she wanted to run her finger up and down it and see how it made her sleeping partner jump up and convulse the way she knew it would.

She kept running her imagined finger along the line of her body, back up where the arms stretched upwards to reveal a soft mass of brown hair (another twitch as the finger passed there), along the bend of her arms that folded underneath the pillow to support her head. She looked at her face. Her look was serene, the look of a person immersed in an ever-flowing dream. Her head was bent in her own direction, to the right and slightly tilted down.

But she didn’t go over and per her. She couldn’t. These two girls didn’t have a loving relationship of comfort and caress as James and Nicky did. Theirs was shyer, more detached, more cautious, withdrawn. It wasn’t as James and Nicky's as of yet. No, she didn’t come over and touch her. But she stayed there, watching, drinking with her eyes, running fingers in her gaze, touching and squeezing in passion.

She saw herself dressed in a blue satin nighty with thin straps, that barely covered over her ass, sitting on top of her, she herself wearing a similar purple nighty, with three adjoining straps on each shoulder, if the right one did fall off to fondle the upper arm, and a narrowing under the breasts, tightly wrapped in purple satin. The purple nighty was pulled up over the crotch and her lovely round belly, dark brown curly hair brushing dark brown curly hair as hands sought skin frantically – rubbing, touching, squeezing, tweaking, pinching, kissing, licking, loving.

She saw herself bent over, in the same blue nighty, over the girl in a football uniform – shirt in white and green colors, bare crotch and white socks with green stripes still pulled up to the knees, which were bent to the chest, allowing her to bend over the skins and tissues that unfolded there, under her blue satin nighty, her red silky touch. She let her partner's back arch, her neck stretch, her hands clench, her inner throat vibrate in all moans and screams. She saw herself laid on her back, arms stretching above her head, pulling at the headboard, her legs spread in all angles above her partner's and her own body. She saw them kiss. First gently, then urgently, then gently again. They kissed each other on the mouth, on pale skin, on reddened skin, on hidden tissue.

She saw it all, felt it all, heard it all. But it didn’t really happen.

Nicky woke up. He was nervous, tight. He could even feel a few beads of sweat on his forehead, a little moisture on his palms. He lay there breathing for a moment. He was very edgy, and through his mind images of skin, lips, blue satin went by. He could see sex, lust, and something more than that. But those images were leaving him, and instead he was taking in more and more of the familiar room: the bed he was lying on, the floor and closet, the window, the guitar. He suddenly became aware of James' presence tightly next to him. He looked at James. He was very close to him. His left arm was resting over Nicky's chest, fingers hugging the side of his ribcage. His head was buried in the hollow of his neck, thin line of saliva running down Nicky's collarbone. His face was so close to his that he could hear James breathe very clearly, intimately. His whole body was pressed against Nicky's. Nicky smiled. He couldn’t imagine this being nicer.

The door opened and Sean came in, bag over his shoulder and trumpet case in hand. James opened his eyes, raised his head above Nicky's chest. He looked at it, then up at Nicky's face, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said: "Hi. When did you get here?" He raised himself and rubbed his eyes. He saw Sean. "And you? I was just taking a nap."
Sean and Nicky smiled to each other at that remark, as sounds of awakenings filled the room.
They soon sat together for their discussion and brainstorming over every political and artistic field they had encountered.

All through the evening, amidst live debate and tea, Nicky would see at the edge of his vision, distantly familiar images of blue satin and feelings of craving and sorrow, around the edges of his perception, that made him feel odd, and he would also catch glimpses and flashes of his life with James, small images of day-to-day life, with feelings of serenity and happiness, in the background to his perception of the room, and he would smile to himself. He recollected waking up with James a while ago, and a thought passed through his mind: This is our youth. This is our time. It's right now, happening around us, between us, beneath our feet. I wonder if, once this time is over, things will ever be the same again.

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