Streets Apart & Hearts Apart

Streets Apart

and

Hearts Apart

H. J. PERRY

Streets Apart Hearts Apart © H J Perry April 2018

Previously published as Streets Apart© H J Perry 2016

and as Hearts Apart© H J Perry 2016

Print Edition 2017

LoveLight Press

Cover design by ResplendentMedia.com

All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical reviews and articles.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

The author has asserted his/her rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book.

This book contains sexually explicit content which is suitable only for mature readers.

Streets Apart is set in the UK and so contains some British words and phrases but is largely written in American English.

Part One

CHAPTER ONE

The lamppost didn't jump out in front of me purely to make me look foolish on a Saturday afternoon. I'm sure of this because the lamppost had always been there. Not since the beginning of time but for longer than my family has lived on the street.

When I turned out of the driveway to walk the one hundred yards down the hill to my own home from the house where I had been working, I saw Joe walking toward me on the opposite side of the road.

Self-consciously, I held my head up a little higher, stuck out my chest, and felt my biceps flex. Flex, they were practically screaming. I was carrying what must be the world's heaviest toolbox in one hand, but I didn't want Joe to see me struggle.

He saw me too, couldn't pretend not to.

Joe and I exchanged nods that pass for a greeting when you're twenty years old. Neither of us looked away. Our eyes locked together as we approached each other and remained fixed after we passed. I continued to gaze over my shoulder, and he did the same as we battled it out, in an eye to eye showdown. I had his attention.

His route was free of obstacles, and mine wasn't.

Staggering backward like an unbalanced Jack Sparrow after walking into an inanimate piece of street furniture turned out to be an effective way of getting more of Joe's attention.

Not a method I would ever have contrived, no matter how much thought I gave to the issue. I certainly did give over a fair proportion of my daydream time to precisely that question.

How could I break down the wall of silence that had built up between us?

Q: How could I get Joe's attention?

A: Make a fool of yourself.

I looked foolish.

Confirmed by the way Joe held his stomach, bent over double, as if he couldn't decide whether to put his spare hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles or just point at me, without mercy. One of those times when three hands would've come in useful.

A quick glance around to check no one else had enjoyed my exhibition confirmed we were alone on the very quiet street on which we lived, his parent's house opposite mine.

We lived in the quietest, dead-end, private street. There were no footpaths along either side and very few cars parked up against the verges because all the homes had extensive driveways.

Parking on the street overnight was prohibited.

My family were too familiar with the ire stirred among the local residents when plumbers, painters, or builders left their vans in blatant contravention of the unenforceable night-time rule. With all my family working in construction, the neighbors accused us whenever there was a van in the street. As far as they were concerned, it was bound to be our friends or us behind the offensive commercial vehicle.

Thankfully, he didn't keep walking but crossed over to chat.

What was that? he sputtered, struggling to get the words out, and at this point I'd given up, placed the tool box down, and joined in the laughter.

Another minute or two must have passed with neither of us able to speak. I think I've got a stitch, I complained.

My face hurts. His palms were against his cheeks, attempting to flatten them out. With his face squashed between his hands, his lips pouting like a fish, he looked hilarious, and we both lost control in raucous laughter. Every time I thought we were calming down we'd look at each other and set off again.

We were never the closest of best mates. Not BFFs. Our families lived across the street from each other; we were the same age, and both liked playing computer games when we were younger. That was the sum total of what we had in common. We'd played lego xbox and minecraft together about five and more years ago.

Yet, I was inexplicably drawn to my old friend, the boy who lived opposite me, and it had become impossible to speak to him. Rekindling our connection could make all this humiliation worthwhile.

Are you on your way home? He focused on the tool box.

Yes, I've been working at the top of this road. That's why I didn't take the van.

Lucky for the van, it didn't get involved in that. He was waving his finger, pointing to me and to the post. And we were off again, giggling like children.

Our paths hadn't crossed in two years, but I wanted them to. I often saw Joe, but always with a pane of glass between us. Either from inside a vehicle driving to or from my house, or through my bedroom window as I watched him from across the street. I tried not to be weird about it, but I had a massive crush on him. A crush bigger than the house he lived in with his parents, so massive it was heavier than my tool box.

He'd reached that house. If I'd been watching where I was going instead of over my shoulder at him, I'd never have collided with the post. Mind you, he was also looking over his shoulder at me.

Now you know, that's what happens when you check out a guy's ass. You need to be a bit more careful. Joe ran a hand through his in-need-of-a-hair-cut blond locks.

What the fuck? Was he flirting with me? If he were a girl, I'd think he was.

You were looking at me! My cheeks were burning. He must have seen me glowing red like a traffic light. How could I deny it?

What do you expect? Prancing along like a peacock!

What are you talking about? I'm just walking home.

I forgot you're a construction worker now.

Suddenly, his left hand was on my upper arm, and it felt nothing like when anyone else touched me. Heat, electrical sparks, and sheer bloody magic danced across the surface of my skin.

What are you getting at; I was not prancing.

No, maybe that's not the right word. He took his hand away, and I swear my skin protested, it wanted to leave my body and chase after Joe. You just look manly and hot. Not how I remember you.

Oh my god. How much did I want Joe to find me hot? Hot! That's what he said.

Hearing him say it, it freaked me out, a lot. I'd not heard a guy talk like that about another dude, not in real life. I hung out with guys all the time. And they never said a man looked hot. What was the matter with Joe, talking like that?

I couldn't afford to think about how his looks set my heart beating faster because he was right there in front of me, laughing at me. He looked hot too, so damned cute, but I couldn't think about it right then.

We'd known each other since childhood, but we didn't hang out together like we used to, and that coincided with my awareness of his bloody attractiveness.

In my mind, sexy guy equals Joe.

It was only everything about him. From his slightly wild and wavy blond hair, his clear sky blue eyes and delicate features, small nose, small ears, and full lips. Hell, I never noticed those things on other people. Did other people have ears, nose, eyes, lips? Fuck knows.

So now came my turn to deliver one of the speeches I'd rehearsed over the last two years but, of course, I didn't. I was rescued from any temptation to speak by Joe.

How is the plumbing apprenticeship going? You managing to get the job done without falling in any baths or tripping over toilets?

Ha, ha. It's good. I'm transforming the water works across the county. Making sure the joys of water on tap and flushing toilets are in every home.

When you put it like that it sounds exciting. Joe's blue eyes twinkled. He hadn't changed a bit. The apprenticeship worked out okay then?

Yeah, I'm still employed by the same bloke, a friend of my dad. He's okay. He has been a good teacher outside of college.

How often do you go to college?

One day a week now. What about university, is it going well for you? I asked.

Spending most of my time reading and watching films. Are you kidding? It's a course made for me. Both of his hands fell to his hips as he spoke and he shifted his stance.

He looked like a fashion model, super cool and comfortable. It wasn't the clothes, jeans, blue sweater, and white trainers, but how he wore them.

I forced myself to concentrate on conversation rather than his appearance. Where you off to, anywhere interesting?

Promise not to laugh?

That would be hardly fair, would it? If you're about to do something cringe worthy, I think I deserve a chance at ribbing you about it.

Fair enough. I'm helping out at a theater club. Joe anticipated my surprise.

I don't remember you ever being into drama. But sorry, it's not that funny. Remind me not to book tickets to your stand-up comedy show.

I want to be a teacher, so this drama school voluntary thing is really good on my résumé. That along with the American and English literature degree.

The doctors still pissed you're not following in the family business? We had a long-standing tradition of referring to his parents by their profession.

No, they got over that a long time ago. I like kids not sick people, and books not bodies.

He realized what he said as his pale cheeks reddened a little.

Not bodies? Not at all? I echoed and allowed my eyebrows to rise.

Maybe some bodies, he said and, in my wishful imagination, his eyes scanned over me, up and down. No, I didn't imagine it; he really did it. Anyway, I've got to get going, don't want to be late. See you around.

And with that he was off, striding up the street, leaving me to pick up my toolbox, admire his behind, and reflect on what just happened.

I picked up my toolbox very slowly as I watched him walk away.

Damn hot.

I took a deep breath, unable to take my eyes off the sight of Joe slipping away from me.

I totally bottled and missed my opportunity.

We made no plans.

Fuck.

I didn't have to ask him on a date.

That's the difficult shit the straight guys had to do. He was a guy, I was a guy, we used to hang out so why couldn’t we do it again? It shouldn't be this problematic.

CHAPTER TWO

A group of us apprentices from college decided to hit the Jazz Festival at Southport on Saturday night. Not so much for the jazz, I don't know anything about it, but for the atmosphere, the fun fair, and the fact that it was it was within easy reach of everyone's homes.

Not so much a group as a huge gang of us.

Outnumbered.

I was one of four lads, weak-kneed after clambering off the Ride of Doom, and abandoned by our mates who'd opted for Death Drop. The ground seemed to move beneath our feet. We stood no chance; no way to avoid the mob of girls. I didn't mind too much.

The ladies were merry; some appeared a little worse for alcohol. They draped themselves over us defenseless guys

I recognized a couple of girlfriends of team mates and some girls who were working through the team in a notches-on-the-bed-post way like they were collecting amateur footballers. Did women do that?

We knew them, a group of women who turned up to support the Pinvin Plumbers’ football team every weekend. Football wouldn't be the same without the supporters, even in the amateur Working Men's League.

The ladies contributed to the great atmosphere at the football ground and our post-match celebrations, so I certainly didn't begrudge them hanging around with us. The rest of the lads deserted us ages ago, not willing to wait in the line for the Ride of Doom.

You know how you don't see someone for ages, and then you keep running into them. This was turning into one of those days. We just about walked into Joe. Laughing and hanging on for dear life to a guy. He'd just come off the Waltzers and looked very shaky on his legs.

I wasn’t surprised. I knew it left you feeling like the floor still spun beneath you, and I'd hold onto someone, too. Right now people were hanging onto me, and that didn't mean anything. But I couldn't help feeling just a little bit jealous because Joe held on to some guy who wasn't me. And that guy clung on to him.

Joe looked up at that moment and saw me. Our eyes locked, and I saw him bite his bottom lip, and then his tongue came out and licked his lips. And my tongue wanted to dash out and meet his tongue, to lick those full pink lips for him.

With two drunken ladies draped on either side of me at that particular point in the evening, like cuddling a lamppost, I didn't want him to see me like this. If coincidences are possible, then they were conspiring against me, and absolutely refusing to present me in a good light in Joe's presence.

Hi. Fancy seeing you again, twice in one day, Joe said, and I couldn't help but study his friend. He was so bright, colorful, and shiny. Rarely do you see a guy wearing so much pink, glitter, and sequins, all at the same time, while still looking like a guy. I admired his courage, to walk around making such a bold statement, even though I didn't like seeing him so close to Joe.

Yeah. What about that? I tried to pull myself free of the ladies, but they held strong like giggling limpets. I'm not sure limpets giggle.

You decided not to bring your lamppost.

There are plenty around here when the time is right. I shook the girls free, finally, and they wandered off with the rest of the female tribe.

We must stop meeting like this. I'm quite liking it. My god, was he flashing those eyes at me and flirting, or was that my imagination? Very wishful thinking.

This is Reza, Joe introduced us. This is Aaron, the boy from across the road. So I was explained but who the fuck was Reza? A chum from school or his fucking boyfriend? I felt more than mild annoyance seeing this guy with his hands on Joe.

Hi, nice to meet you. Not. God, I'm thinking like a troubled child, a chocolate bar away from a tantrum.

Ah, you're Aaron, said Reza. From the tone of his greeting he even knew something about me. Good or bad? Joe probably told him about this morning. Yes, I’m that clown, you can laugh at me.

The lads paid no attention. They were standing a few feet away, looking at the next ride or at the girls standing in the queue, one or the other. But I couldn't take my eyes off Joe. I fancied him like crazy.

And just maybe he was gay, because there was no way Reza was straight. He was dark skinned with black hair and black eyes, Indian probably. Good looking, in a he’s-not-Joe sort of way, colorful and loud.

I suppose he looked fine at the fair by the seaside, but I couldn't imagine taking him home to meet the parents. I couldn't imagine him dressed like that in our street. The sequins were a tad too much, and I didn't know what to make of him.

Most importantly, was he Joe's boyfriend? I couldn’t deny I felt gutted to see Joe with Reza, jealousy, regret over a missed opportunity if Joe had paired up with Reza. It hit me hard.

Everything I felt about Joe was irrational, but I felt it nevertheless. Joe and Reza wandered into the crowd, and I watched them go with a pang of envy.

They looked happy together, having such a good time. They saw other guys they knew. I watched as they waved and greeted their friends with enthusiastic hugs. It was madness, but I wished I were with them and Joe was looking and laughing and smiling at me like that.

Getting crazy jealous like this wasn't getting me anywhere in life. And hanging out with my straight friends meeting girls wasn't what I needed to be doing either.

I was ready to leave. Especially as it had reached that time in the evening that increasingly involved stalking females. The lads were all into girls, and if they weren’t, they put up a really good show about it because they had me convinced they were all straight. And I had them convinced I was too. I hadn’t given them any reason to think anything else. If they’d paid close attention, they would've seen that I hadn’t kissed any girls, I hadn’t gone off with any girls, I didn’t tell stories about girls. The lads all just assumed, and I let them.

I've known I was different, gay, as long as I've known Joe. I only fancied guys.

Hanging with my mates, going to the fair and stuff, it was fun, but there were other things I wanted to do. I needed to do. I had the dreadful feeling that I was the only virgin among them. I'm surely the only person who has never had a kiss, not a proper kiss with someone I liked.

I made my excuses and left. They didn't pay too much attention to me as, like flies round jam, they had lost it, focusing on girls. I couldn't understand how curvy women turned these guys to jelly. Except, of course, Joe turns me into some fool who walks into lampposts and fills up with jealousy when I see him with another guy, so I guess I can understand it.

I didn't have a crush on Joe when we played together at eleven or twelve. I just knew I was different. I was older, about sixteen, when I confronted the fact that I was attracted to guys when most of my mates started dating or, at least, talking about girls.

I acknowledged I was gay, that was no problem, but I didn't see any reason to tell anybody else.

Nobody knew.

CHAPTER THREE

It took ages to get out of the car-park. Some drivers were doing the strangest maneuvers to get around the sharp corners. Obstructing everyone. When they painted the lines on the floor of the car-park, vehicles must have been smaller than they are today, or drivers more skillful.

My little van didn't move any faster when clear of the car park. Progression was at a walking pace along the congested street.

Coincidences occur in threes and, for the third time that day, I spied Joe waiting at a bus stop.

Inching along the road through the traffic allowed plenty of time to admire the view as I