AND STILL IN LOVE
Is this what solicitors really do?
James Andrews was a very lucky young man. Life had been good to him so far. His father was Sir Mark Andrews who had been undersecretary at Her Majesty's Treasury. Sir Mark had chosen to retire early and ran a highly successful lobbying firm at Westminster. Mark's mother Marjorie was the youngest daughter of a large landowner in Cambridgeshire. She had never worked outside the home and lived comfortably off her stock portfolio; all told they were a pretty damn rich family!
Sir Mark doted on his sole offspring and James' recent graduation from Cambridge with a first class Bachelors of Common Law was his favourite boast. James had applied to the law society to train as a solicitor and had been accepted by Roberts & Grimes, a medium sized solicitor's practice, as an apprentice. Sir Mark would have preferred if his son had applied to Gray's Inns and trained as a barrister but James was not keen on that career path. Sir Mark relished the idea of his son becoming a bright light at the Bar and imagined him becoming Sir James Andrews QC or Lord Justice Andrews some day but James was shy of that idea. This was not the first time that Sir Mark had not got his way in deciding his son's life path. At a younger age it had been his wish that his son would attend a public school but his wife had insisted that the lad stay at home with them and James was the product of a grammar school education. He had also hoped for Oxford as a choice of university but his wife's family lived in Cambridge and so James had been sent to reside with them for the duration of his studies. James too would have preferred Oxford. Ever since he was sixteen he suspected that he might have had homosexual tendencies and he longed for the freedom of university when he might get a chance to explore the possibilities. Under the watchful eye of his aunt Agnes in Cambridge he lived a life of almost monastic celibacy with his every move monitored by his watchful self-appointed jailer. At another level this suited him because his lack of social outlet gave him plenty of opportunity to study. His examination success was not the result of a sharp mind but rather the reward for four years of hiding in law texts to avoid his draconian maiden aunt!
Back now with his parents in Hertfordshire his ideas of exploring his sexuality had long been shelved. At twenty-one years of age he had neither kissed nor held hands with another human being and had even become accustomed to the lifestyle. His nocturnal retreat to his room and the solace of his hand had carried him thus far and as far as James was concerned it would carry him further. You see, during his studies at Cambridge he had decided that his parents would be disappointed in him if they ever discovered his sexuality. The long winter evenings in his aunt's home had lulled him into a sense that he could devote his life to his career and avoid the question that would so upset and disappoint his parents.
In September 1997 the young trainee solicitor entered the office of Roberts & Grimes as a junior. He liked the work and got along well with his co-workers but the daily train journey back home to Hertfordshire and the early morning starts quickly took their toll. For the first three weeks he had studied on the train but gradually the exhaustion took over and he found it difficult to concentrate on his books. His mother, ever perceptive to the plight of her son, noticed this and suggested to Sir Mark that it might be better to find some weekday lodgings for James in London. Sir Mark agreed and in mid October James moved into a houseshare with three others in Baron's Court. The new living arrangement would have easily afforded the trainee a chance to hit on some of the Gay Bars in the West End but the lad stoically set about his studies and continued in his resolve to live an asexual life. Every weekend he returned to his parents and after returning from work on weeknights he studied until it was time to sleep. Soon his life had become a tedious routine of work, study sleep but he never really noticed how routine his life had become.
His knowledge of the law impressed his employers and soon James found that most of his superiors at the firm landed equal amounts of praise and new portfolios on his desk. One of the drawbacks of being good at a job is that you'll get plenty of praise that is only intended as a consolation for the fact that your bosses are using you. James naively accepted the praise as a sign that he was doing well. In the United States he would probably have been given a better job title in a similar situation but in the United Kingdom all he had was the title of 'trainee' and the copious praise of his colleagues to drive him on.
The junior partner at the practice, Mr. Simon Grimes, noted the young trainee's workload and remarked to the other partners that the lad was in danger of burnout.
"What school did he go to?" asked Grimes' partner George Roberts.
"I think he's a product of the grammar schools" Grimes replied.
"Oh don't be too concerned for the lad!" Roberts laughed, "These grammar school boys are hardy and he'll survive!"
"His father is Sir Mark Andrews," Grimes remarked.
"A spent force! The man should have stayed at the Treasury! Relax Simon, the boy will be fine!"
But James was not doing fine at all! The work was beginning to weigh him down and he was spending longer hours at his desk obediently clearing his workload. By the time he got back to Baron's Court he would eat a quick Marks & Spencer's microwave dinner and then sit at his books until the small hours. He became gaunt and lost weight. Mind you James hadn't that much weight to lose in the first place! At 5'10" he weighed a healthy ten stone (140) when he arrived at the office but by November he was below nine. He was too tired to go home for Guy Fawke's weekend and was beginning to look ashen-faced but everybody in the office told him how great he was and he soldiered on slowly driving himself into the ground.
On that November weekend when he didn't travel home he realised for the first time that he was quite lonely in London. His housemates invited him to go for a drink on the Saturday and he agreed to go, but as he got ready he began to have second thoughts and desperately sought a way to avoid going out. He couldn't concoct a decent excuse; he thought he might simply tell them that he was exhausted and hope that they'd be happy to leave it to another night. But James didn't know them very well. He had lived with these people for five weeks and he knew nothing about them other than their names.
At nine o'clock he found himself standing in the middle of a pub chatting quite easily with his three companions. Mike was from New Zealand and was in England on a two-year visa. He was a rugby fanatic and worked with a networking firm in the City. Mike was a very rugged handsome type. He stood over six feet and although he showered regularly he was scruffy. He sported two days of stubble even after he had just shaved and his hair was thick and unkempt. James realised that this man from the South Island was rather handsome in his own way, he had never looked at him before that evening and something stirred within him as he thought to himself; "I wouldn't mind waking up beside him some day!" Cindy was a Scot and apart from having a fiery temperament she worked for a small firm near Marble Arch as a recruitment consultant. James was amazed that the girl would have worked in this capacity. Around the house she was the bossy one who never said please at the end of any of her many instructions to the others. James wondered whether it was Cindy's accent or her general attitude that made her sound so fearsome, even in the pub she seemed to be in control of the conversation. She wasn't beautiful but she was a very sexy girl (not that that interested James). She had shoulder length hair that was somewhere between brown and red and amazing green eyes. She also had a figure that would rival the best of them and looked great in a pair of jeans. As the conversation progressed James discovered that she had been Mike's girlfriend for about six months. They were no longer an item but now that he had the information James could see the cold tolerance that they had developed for surviving each other's company. Barry, the third housemate, was a quiet Irish accountant working in private banking. He was by far the quietest of the three housemates but James presumed that this was because he was somewhat older. In fact at thirty-five he was ten years older than Cindy who was the next eldest. He was a gifted musician and often played in pubs and clubs, he wasn't fat but he was heavy set and balding. He cut his hair very short and had a small goatee beard which he trimmed almost as short as the hair around his crown. In any given situation he wasn't much to look at but when he smiled he had the most perfect set of teeth and his eyes sparkled with a joy that made their blueness captivating.
Now if you've ever been to a London pub you will know that they will gladly serve you a drink just before they close and then send their staff around and herd you out of the place ten minutes later. Often they will give you a plastic beaker to take your beer with you but all told it is one reason why drinking in London is unpleasant at closing time. Barry was infuriated because back in Dublin you drink until either you're finished or the Irish police raid the place. He explained to James that a raid amounted to a Guard walking through the pub and everybody got up and walked away quietly. James laughed at this idea.
"On the telly when you see the police in Ireland they always look deadly!" James said, "You see them lined up and riot shields and people throwing stones and petrol bombs and..."
"That's Belfast and it's in ..."
"... the United Kingdom!" Cindy cut in, "it's all so different in Dublin which is nothing like Belfast because Dublin is nice and great, give it a break Baz we've fucking heard it all before!"
Barry didn't reply, he simply shrugged his shoulders, hitched his trousers and said "I suppose you lot are off clubbing? I'll get the last Tube home!"
"Off course we're going clubbing, c'mon James let's get fucking locked!"
James looked at Cindy and a sense of panic crossed his mind and his stomach.
"Fuck me!" he said, "I've had one shit of a week and I'd fall asleep on my feet if I don't get to a bed soon!"
"You could be in one in two hours!" Cindy laughed, "Just it wouldn't be your own fucking bed! Come on!"
"If it's all the same with you guys I'll just go home I'm whacked!"
Just as Cindy was about to open her mouth again Mike reached out and tugged at her sleeve, "Come on ya big Scottish tramp the little bugger is tired, leave him alone!" and she skipped off beside him.
James stood agape watching as Cindy staggered along beside her seemingly sober antipodean ex-boyfriend. He couldn't believe the words they had just used. He had used the F word and Mike had called him a bugger, he wondered did Mike suspect that he was homosexual? Just then he heard Barry call him back to his senses.
"Oi Jim Boy! The Tube may be great but they don't fucking get off the tracks and collect ya from the pub! Shift yer arse or we'll miss the last one!"
James scooted along beside Barry and they walked briskly to the station. The rapid pace seemed to have an instant effect on him as the cold November air revived him. By the time they reached the platform he was wide-awake and chatted to Barry the whole way home. They talked about where they were from, their families and life at college. Barry had spent some time in Germany and the United States because work was impossible to find in Ireland in the 80s so he had quite a few anecdotal tales to amuse the young solicitor. James was a bit envious that he had no experiences to speak of. His sheltered life had been comfortable, but as Barry told him stories of twenty Irish lads living in a basement room in Boston and avoiding the immigration officials, or the stories about roughing it around German building sites James just wished that he was a bit older and had some stories to add. He began to feel a bit empty, in twenty-one years of life he had no stories to tell. Realising this made him feel bad about himself. He might be the most praised trainee at Roberts & Grimes but he had nothing in his life history worth bringing up in company!
They got back to the house and Barry boiled a kettle and started to toast some bread.
"Want a cuppa?" he roared.
James had thought that he might go straight to bed but joined Barry in front of the television eating toast and drinking tea. He was very quiet and was thankful that there was an episode of The Bill on the box. As Barry watched the programme James looked over at him and a thought crossed his mind. In the pub he had thought that he would like to wake up beside Mike, now the idea of waking up beside Barry seemed a more attractive option. As he thought he felt a stirring in his loins and he quickly checked himself. He gulped his tea, excused himself and went upstairs to his room.
As James lay in bed he found he couldn't sleep. He reached into his pyjamas and started to squeeze his dick. He thought about Mike first but that didn't do anything for him. The fear that Mike knew he was a bugger scared him. He tried to sleep but he couldn't. He thought about Barry and found he was getting hard. Then he thought that Barry was too old for him and he deflated quickly. He turned over but couldn't sleep. The pillow was too warm, the room was too warm, he got up and he opened a window and let the cold winter air enter the room. Then he went back to bed and tried to sleep. He wanted to wank but he couldn't and somewhere around three in the morning he dozed off Mike and Cindy weren't home yet!
Comments welcome to jc23a@yahoo.co.uk - not fishing for complimets but I like to learn from feedback.