August 20th 2003

Jeff told me not to come to the airport to pick them up; they were arriving at rush hour and he reckoned that it would be easier for them simply to jump a train and hit central London in 20 minutes, rather than get stuck on the M25 for an hour or more. It is really easy to take the tube to the Hyde Park- Piccadilly area, so I left them to it. Paul was at home and would probably enjoy showing Jeff the ropes.

So I decided to surprise them with a meal that would satisfy the hearty appetites of young men. In the kitchen, radio blaring out chirpy summer pop, I prepared a rich goulasch and mountains of buttered rice, salad, crusty bread and a Pavlova for dessert, full of summer fruits, a touch of Aussie pudding for Jeff. I sipped chilled wine and danced about, looking forward to the promise of company after returning from the Temple. Terry had stayed over- he was due to see Teener and had a bit of unfinished business that had been hanging over while he played Kidnap and Ransom with his illustrious Progenitor. So I had been on a bit of a downer since I got back- it was such a beautiful summer and we seemed to have spent so little of it together recently. And the bloody house was like a millstone round my neck.

The buzzer went and I didn't hear it at first, probably because I was in the middle of a duet with Robbie Williams - hey, anything Nicole can do, I can do better- but the constant leaning on my bell eventually broke through my performance and I told Robbie to push off while I shook up my hair, reapplied some gloss and belted to the phone to answer it.

"Hello. Home for Wicked Women. How can I be of service?"

"Dunno, love, not sure if you've got the right software for a pair of pooftas. Or is that hardware?"

"Jeff!"

"Yooma!"

I pressed the release and waited in the corridor outside for the elevator to deliver my visitors. Out they came, Jeff, all smiles and messy hair, old jeans and a T-shirt with 'No Wucking Furries- World Cup 2003. In the bag for Oz.' emblazoned on it. He was carrying a sports bag and a rucksack as well as a carrier bag full of duty frees. Paul was more elegantly attired, beige cargo pants, sleeveless navy T- shirt, dragging a neat little flight case on wheels and carrying a leather bag over his shoulder. I smiled at the pair of them, a couple, already falling into roles - Jeff the easy going but dominant partner, Paul the more organizer, the carer. Like all of the couples in PW, there seemed to be a natural complement, a blend of opposite attraction and fundamental compatibility that seemed so right when observed from outside.

I ran up and jumped on Jeff, who dropped everything he was holding and swung me round, Paul leaping forward to grab the duty frees before any of the bottles smashed. We hugged and made orgasmic moans as he ran his hands over my body lasciviously. Paul stood laughing and shaking his head. When Jeff returned me to my feet, I gave Paul a kiss and he held me close. We exchanged a shy grin, still with the memory of a rather abandoned afternoon on board ship between us. I like Paul. Pity he's a....Scouser. We can't all be perfect.

"Not a very good start to the season, mate. Bloody despo if you had to buy an Aussie winger. Who ever heard of an Oz who could play footie?" I teased Paul.

"That from the team who sell Beckham and buy a fucking Yank goalie? Fergie's lost it." 

I apologise for the incomprehensible nature of this interlude but you must appreciate we are northerners who speak a different dialect and share an obsession for football (which no self respecting Brit would ever refer to as soccer, please take note. There is only one game. The beautiful one. About time you all realized that.) We continued in this vein while the boys carted their luggage in, I showed them to their rooms; Jeff stripped off and took a shower while Paul unpacked. I sat on the bed and we gossiped.

Paul has a thing about Jack. He rather likes a man in breeches. Jeff just hooted with laughter and called him a raging poofta. They are quite hilarious together. I also love the feeling that the two of them are relaxed with me; Jeff was prancing around naked unconcerned about my presence and it didn't seem to bother Paul that I was there as they settled in.

"Jeff...put some clothes on. You're putting me and Paul off. How can we both have a conversation when we're perving on you?"

He snorted and wiggled his hips, shaking his dick about, before pulling on a pair of shorts. "God's gift to any sex, I am. It's hard to cope with it sometimes..." I threw a pillow at him and he smirked. Jeff is one happy camper these days. The old doubts about himself seem to have fallen away and he is relaxed and content in his skin. It didn't take much to restore his sense of self esteem- just love from his Number One and Darcy and the rest of us. Sometimes I think the Game is a trial but at others I think it is sublime. Nothing is ever gained without a cost. But the gifts far outweigh the disadvantages. In most regards, anyway.

I excused myself as Paul began to undress and make for the shower; I didn't want to embarrass him, although he didn't seem to mind that I was there. I had to check on the food anyway, and I wondered whether they might want a bit of time together alone. So I returned to the kitchen and began to lay the table for dinner. Moments later, Jeff joined me, taking the cutlery from my hand and doing the chore for me. He was wearing a white T-shirt over his cut offs and his damp hair was swept back off his head. I looked sidewards at him and he caught my glance. "Hey...less of that temptress look! I'm only human," he grinned.

"Don't worry. I don't expect any favours this trip. You are here to work, mate, earn your money. I'm your boss, in a manner of speaking. So keep your distance, sweetie," I retorted.

He flashed his eyes at me. "I get weekends off. What I do on the weekend is my business."

I giggled. "Funny you should say that. I have a ticket here for Liverpool- Aston Villa on Sunday 25th....at Anfield. Paul said something about going to see his Mam and Dad...was that very naughty of me? I have alternate plans for that weekend..."

Jeff shook his head and waggled his finger at me. "Naughty girl. But Paul won't be surprised. He wants to go up north. He wants to see the Reds and he's already said that he knows I want to spend some time with you. And I do. Really. Been too long since I got me old mate alone. The cruise was...different." We both exchanged a look and I blushed slightly. There would always be things between us that neither of us really understood. I feel such strong emotions for him. I hope he feels like that for me, too.

Back in the kitchen, while I prepared a salad, Jeff snuggled up and slipped his arms around my waist. "How are you? The past few months were a nightmare for you, love. I've done nothing to help. Wish I could have been there for you..."

"You were. Everyone was. It's just that some things can't be solved just by your mates' concern. I've made it through and I'm stronger for it now. Forget it, Jeff. You can't take care of everyone all the time. You have your own life to live. But thanks for your words. You don't know how much it means to me to know you care..." I turned around and we kissed softly, like friends, but with an undertone of promise for the future.

"He taking care of you right?" He asked, his lips on my forehead.

"Terry? You have to ask? He's worse than my Dad. Worries constantly and fusses over me all the time. But I'm beginning to like that. I don't fight against it anymore like I used to. He's too strong, I guess, but, you know, I'm beginning to realize that his need to take the lead is also his weakness. He needs to feel needed. In many ways because of that, I hold the reins. Does that make sense? I never understood how powerful a woman can be with a real man. It's sort of symbiotic..."

He laughed. "You lost me, love...words of one syllable only for old Mitchell. Only joking...I do know what you mean. Works even for pooftas, like me. But please, don't tell me you two never fight anymore? Your fights are the best thing in PW. Be like Jack suddenly developing a fear of water!!"

I threw back my head and laughed. "Fight? We fight all the time. He is so bloody stubborn. I have never known a man so chauvinistic in my life. He thinks he knows everything about everything and that I am a complete airhead who is incapable of crossing the road without walking in front of a car. And as for money..."

Jeff held up his hands. "Can it! I am not taking sides with you two. More than my life is worth to venture an opinion on that. And anyway the first comment I made against him, you'd fly to his bloody defence. You always do. He can't do anything wrong for you. Admit it. You think he's perfect. You know you do..."

I rolled my eyes and giggled. Jeff was right. Terry is perfect. Even his bloody annoying traits are perfect to me. I love how much a man he is. Even down to laziness, untidiness and bloody bigheadedness. "Who wants to fuck themselves?" as he once said. Mind you...laziness, untidiness and bloody bigheadedness...sounds a bit like me, anyway. What a thought!

August 21st 2003

Paul and Jeff came with me to the house the next morning and I introduced them to Bill who then held a formal site meeting and introduced them to the crew. Bill was off on his annual hols on Friday night and Paul was taking over as supervisor in his absence; he's a master builder- he's got all the qualifications: Advanced HNDs and diplomas- the works. Bill would show Paul the ropes today, let him settle in and then he was the boss. The forthcoming weekend was a holiday one - the late summer Bank Holiday on Monday- so he was taking over officially on Tuesday 26th.

I disappeared off and left them to it; I had a million and one things to do and, after promising to be back later, I drove off and breathed a sigh of relief to be free of the nonsense for a while. The rest of the day I spent in town - I spent a bloody fortune on household stuff and had an absolute ball. You know me.

Returning late afternoon, the suspension of the car groaning beneath the weight of my purchases, I shot into the drive and jumped out. "Can I get a bit of muscle here, lads?" I shouted as I opened the boot and indicated the boxes and bags. They are a willing bunch. Gary jumped down from the scaffolding and Paul leapt over the wall. Jeff ran out of the front door. Bloody hell, a girl is lucky to get one of them, never mind all three dancing attention. With a bit of jostling they loaded up with parcels and carried them in to the front room, which was already piled floor-to-ceiling with unopened treasure. I would need a skip just to remove the packing when we were finally ready to move in.

I chatted away to Paul and Jeff and noticed Gary looking a bit sullen; he hung back when the job was done and looked as if he was trying to say something.

"What's the matter, Gary? Something up?" I asked.

"Uma...who are they? How come you know them?" He asked curiously.

Paul and Jeff? Erm...Jeff is...Terry's brother..."

"Thought he looked like him. Are they....you know...?"

"Know what, Gary? If you want to say something, say it- stop farting about."

He coughed and blushed. "Homosexuals. The lads reckon they're bent. I mean they're not really poncy or anything but there's something about the way they look at each other. Terry's brother's gay? Can't imagine he's too thrilled about that..."

"Gary...they're a couple but they won't make it an issue. They are real men and you better just accept it. And I would appreciate it if you kept the gay jokes to a minimum. These are friends of mine. I will take exception to any nastiness...pass that on, will you?"

He nodded and examined his feet. "Gotcha...just keep our backs to the wall, hey?" He grinned and ran back out; I raised my eyes. Some chance of discretion.

"Hey, Jeff? You and the girlfriend fancy a cuppa?" Was the next remark I heard. I rolled my eyes. Bloody men!

August 22nd Saturday

Last night we went out to dinner down in Soho after catching a film. Sitting round the table with our coffees, I pulled out an envelope and slipped it across the table to Paul. I did it in that secret agent sort of way you see in films or like Terry passing over info on a drop or retrieving frequencies. I could be really good at this intrigue stuff if only someone would take me seriously.

Paul frowned, looked up at me and then gingerly opened the envelope. He extracted the contents and his eyes lit up. "Bloody hell, Uma, how the fuck did you get hold of this? You are bloody amazing..."

I took a little bow but acted all intelligence agent cool. Tapping the side of my nose, I said "Paul...can't reveal my sources. If you knew them, I would have to kill you." The two men laughed and Jeff dragged at the piece of paper in Paul's hands to see what it was.

After a quick glance he smirked and looked me straight in the eye. "Shame there was only one ticket. I wouldn't have minded seeing Liverpool and Aston Villa myself..."

Paul shook his head. "I want to see my Mam and Dad and you're not really welcome at the Gallagher homestead. Maybe after I have a good talk to them and show them how great things are...but let me go up for the weekend and see them first...OK?"

Jeff nodded and ran his forefinger down Paul's face; it was a tender moment between them and I looked away, a little embarrassed. I was also a little ashamed. Paul knew as well as Jeff did that I had set him up to get him out of the way but, I suppose, he had been planning to go up north anyway and the lure of a precious match ticket was enough to placate any annoyance he might have felt at being manipulated.

So there we were. I had lent my car to Paul for the weekend and he was off bright and early. We waved goodbye and stood together on the sunny pavement, traffic already picking up even though it was quite early. As the car disappeared from sight, Jeff turned to me, hands on hips, head on one side and said, "Right...what have you in mind, Mata Hari?"

I pinched his bum and dashed inside, Jeff chased me. The commissionaire on the door looked in askance at the pair of us; Jeff was wearing a battered pair of denims with holes in the knees and a washed out running vest, I had frayed shorts and a torn T-shirt (it was grungily torn, I will add.) He also did not seem to approve of residents chasing each other across the marble foyer to the lifts. Hard cheese, mate- we pay the rent like everyone else.

We pashed out a bit in the lift but it was only knockabout stuff. He was in a silly mood and I wasn't much better. Did we go back and jump into bed? Actually we didn't. I expect Jeff was all shagged out after his farewell session with Paul- I sleep next door and I needed ear plugs last night...and this morning.  And Jeff is still a little funny about that sort of thing- even with me- so we just had a kiss and a cuddle but nothing more intimate than that.

It was a lazy day. We lay about for most of the morning just talking and catching up on things- had a few deep conversations about the events of the past few months- and then quick shower and down the boozer for a pub lunch. Spent most of the arvo there, playing pool and then wandered around the shops for a while, slightly piddled. Jeff stocked up on some music- he likes some of the Indy stuff from here- and we bought some food for tonight and a couple of DVDs. A real slobby day and an evening of couch potatodom. Cool.

You know how it is. Surrounded by takeaway trays, a few beers, curled up watching a movie late Saturday night? Not sure exactly how it started. Jeff was idly stroking my arm, I was rubbing his tummy, my hand slipped under the edge of his T shirt, his hand found my breast...next thing I knew we were snogging and then we were into each other's pants and then we were out of them...

It's ages since I made out on the couch in front of the TV and I had forgotten the singularly pleasant experience it can be. Everything is to hand. Beer, nibbles, TV remote and a nice comfy base for the field of play. Jeff was stretched out starkers, with an indecently prominent pole while I bounced around on him and we listened to MTV. I love that sort of leisurely screwing where you are both almost too lazy to work up a sweat but interested enough to draw things out. There were plenty of giggles, dirty laughs, very crude comments and much fun. We did finally get round to finishing the job off as both of us found a sudden surge of energy from somewhere. And then we curled up and dozed, flicking on another film and pulling a throw over across us. Saturday night at the movies- can't beat it.

Sunday 24th August

I had plans for today. This is the Bank holiday Weekend and today is the Notting Hill Carnival. For youse across the pond, this is the biggest street festival in Europe- a riot of Caribbean ethnicity that has managed to cross the divide and become main stream. For two days that part of the city will be caught up in parades, street music, concerts, sideshows, competitions, markets and fairs...if the weather is good there could be a million people hanging out. Jeff will love it.

Of course there can be trouble. Where you get a lot of young people, alcohol, drugs and hot sunshine, you invariably get some bother. But all-in-all the carnival has proved that it can rise above the few outrageous acts of violence and racism that have been associated with it and create a few days when everyone chills out together in a modern urban Utopia.

The sun was shining, we dressed to blend in and off we went to get the tube. What a day! I had to hang on tight to Jeff to stay with him- don't think I have ever seen so many people in my life. We wandered through streets awash with colourful dress and banners, loud music blaring from tannoys and vehicles, dancing if we could find a space and hugging each other close in the mills. We bought African beads and Jamaican leather bands; we ate Soul Food for lunch and licked at ice cream cones as the parade passed. It was like the kind of dates you go on when you are a kid and a boy takes you to the fair or something. I felt young and gay...oops...that's Jeff! Still, you know what I mean. Then we stumbled onto the competition. We fancied a beer so we wandered into a nearby bar which was clearly a Jamaican stronghold. Rastas everywhere, man.

The management was holding a contest. "White Man can't Reggae" was the theme and the idea was whities had to entertain, karaoke style, with songs from the Reggae canon. Oh man. Jeff and I just looked at each other and that was it. We enrolled straight away and then spent fifteen minutes arguing about what we should sing. In the end we went for traditional Bob Marley and "No Woman, No Cry" Did we win? No-but we were highly commended - although the judges did keep mentioning " That woman got one fine arse, man" so I reckon our musical abilities may not have been the main draw. However we did well enough for us to be treated to pints at the bar - we were all soon bosom pals with the regulars and Jeff was sporting a Rasta woollie hat. We had a laugh. I even agreed to dance on the bar for a few of them, MTV base style, and they reckoned I had an honorary black arse. J-Lo eat your heart out.

"Hey, Jeffie-mon, you Australian boys not like whities. Them English boys is all gay boys, you know? I fuckin' hate gays. Insult to women. Rip their fuckin' heads off. Now you, Jeffie, you know how to please a woman, I can tell. You one lucky fucker to get into those drawers." Deekus (or that's what his name sounded like) handed Jeff an enormous splif and indicated it was a gift, clapping him on the back. For once, Jeff was not forthcoming about his sexual orientation. We didn't really lie. I mean we were actually sexual partners too... Jeff helped me down from the bar top to much applause and wolf whistles and then passed me the joint. Man, but it was good shit. I knew the streets were crawling with coppers and Terry would have skinned my backside if he knew I was smoking dope in a public place but I couldn't be arsed. One draw of that and I couldn't be arsed if the entire Metropolitan Police Force would have strolled past. Like Terry doesn't do it? He just doesn't have the bottle to smoke in a pub in central London...

So there we were. Smashed out of our heads. Jeff was sprawled out on the seating, leaning against the wall and I was stretched out across him. We were laughing hysterically and talking in silly voices. You would never have guessed we had been at a joint...not. That's when we started to get randy. It always gets you like that when the first effects are passing off. I simply felt like I would burst if I didn't get my rocks off. Mentioning it to Jeff (I hope I didn't say it out loud but I rather imagine I did), he agreed that he was cracking a major fat. He was. I was lying on it. So we sat up and had a think.

You can imagine the nature of the conversation. We attempted to discuss it like rational adults but I can hardly think that's how it sounded to others. Where shall we do it, Jeff? After a number of possibilities had been suggested and discarded - the one from a neighbour of - "Nothing to stop you doing it in the bar, man." being rejected out of hand. Luckily we weren't quite that far gone. Deekus came up with the answer. "I just cleared the bog, man...don't take too long..." Oh my God, did we really do that? I remember leaving the bar to thunderous applause and shouts of "Do her good, man!" and then returning to a similar and even cruder reception. What transpired in the middle? Not going to tell you. God knows who is going to read this (but the name might start with T and end in Y). Use you imaginations- you're all famous for them. But I was flushed and Jeff was smiling from ear to ear. That give you a clue?

Monday August 25th

Can't remember much. Terminal hangover. Jeff and I slept like corpses until midday. I was very ill. Spent the afternoon honking my guts out while Jeff dozed and watched the Bank Holiday Sports. You don't really want to know the details I am sure. Enough to say that by the time Paul arrived around eight in the evening, I had recovered enough to say hello and go back to bed.

Tuesday August 26th

Nothing much to report. I lie. Terry came back. Jeff and Paul were discussing the day's work and I was not really listening- my ears were firmly fixed on the sound of a key in the door. We were sitting around the dinner table and I was checking my watch every 2 seconds. He hadn't called to say he had landed but he ought to have by now. I was in the middle of my usual litany of Hail Marys and Prayers to the Holy Spirit (funny how I remember that I'm a Catholic at times like this, isn't it?) when I heard it. Key in door. Door swings back. Streak of lightning crosses the room, runs right over the couch and jumps down the few steps to the entrance. Good job that guy has good reflexes, although the shrieking might just have warned him that an aerial assault was being launched.

He didn't say much- just carried me up the stairs, our lips locked, he breaking only to say: "Night, lads," as we passed the dining table. Then it was straight to our room, door kicked shut and the wrestling began. I love him in that mood. I know he has been thinking about it ever since he got on the plane and as soon as he got me in his sights it was just  launch missiles for a dead hit.

He simply yanked off my clothes and had at me up against the wall. I could hardly breathe, pressed against his chest and fielding the force of his thrusts. Boy, is he strong...and virile...and masterful...and horny...and quick...it's a blooming good job that I fancy him.

"Jesus Christ...I needed that," he muttered into my ear as he gently rested me down on my feet again. My thighs ached where he had gripped them. "Am I glad to be back...c'mon, let's lie down a minute. I feel dizzy," he murmured.

So we undressed and curled up on our bed talking about the past few weeks and of course the bizarre interlude with the Creator at the Temple. Terry is still affected by that; it has been on his mind all the time, he said. He filled me in on what he had been up to and I gave him a house status report. It was very domestic. You wouldn't be interested. Then I slipped it in.

"How's Lachlan?" 

Terry leaned away from me and shook his head. "No chance. Lips sealed. If I knew anything, that is. Which I don't. Case closed." I sighed. Am I losing it? I remember the day when I could get anything out of a man after he had shot his load. He's too good at this game.

"How's Jeff?" he suddenly asked.

I rolled over and lay on his chest, smiling smarmily and saying "Pull my fingernails out, Thornie, but I shall not speak. You can worm info out of the others but I am not falling for your wiles. All those clever leading questions when you fish for details..."

"I only said 'how's Jeff?'" Terry protested indignantly. Just being polite. If I was questioning you, you'd spill, believe me. That is hardly an interrogation. Anyway...you've told me all I need to know by saying nothing. I expect you've been a naughty girl - which means I have to punish you...now where did I throw my belt...?"

A banging on the wall interrupted Terry's attempts to skin my naked bottom with his leather belt- I wasn't kidding- he'd do it, too.

"Oi," came Jeff's voice, "Keep it down, you two. We're trying to sleep- some of us are working in the morning..."

We both giggled and Terry's naughty boy face was a picture. Didn't stop him, though. He just silenced me with his hand over my mouth and continued his abuse. Mmmmm, I love abuse. Leather snaking across soft, naked flesh. Body pressed against strong muscular hairy thighs. An interesting object beginning to make its presence felt somewhere around my waist. Hand slipping between my thighs to give a better view of the moist, quivering sex. I heard his low groan of pleasure as he rolled me forward and came to cover me from the back, on his knees now by the side of the bed, with me lying at the edge. I felt his hardness slip in between my legs. "Alright, honey...this is a stick up. If you scream, I may have to kill you. You got that?"

I got that. What an angle! Bit the bed sheets. Bit the pillow. Bit his arm. But I didn't scream. Not once. He did, though.