Terminus

Terminus (t/t, mast, oral) by einhard

PLEASE NOTE: This story is fiction from beginning to end. The characters don't exist, and the things they do, never happened.

I'm glad you're here with me. I'm Trevor, and what does you nametag say again? Jean? It's a pretty name. Do you have any children, Jean? All grown now, eh? Grandchildren? Well, they're lucky to have you for a grandmother. I know, I know. You're a complete stranger, and you're just a volunteer from this organization that sends people out to visit the sick, the elderly and the dying. Well, I'm not elderly, but I'm sick and dying, all right. But still, it's good to have someone here. I mean, if you spend your time on this, you have to be a good person. Will you hold my hand, please? Thank you. It's almost like...like holding my mum's hand again, this. I'm sorry, I'm not usually such a cry-baby. Oh, heck, why do I apologise? I'm not likely to survive until dark, so I'll not spend my time feeling sorry.

So, Jean, I s'pose you hear a few life stories doing this? D'you want to hear mine? It's not much, but it's all I've got to tell.

It was a dark and stormy night...No, really. I was born on a dark and stormy night almost 18 years ago. My mum and dad had been really looking forward to having me. They had a child before, you see, but he died. He had this neurological disease, the kind that isn't so bad at first, but then it progresses, and it kills you in the end. Life expectancy is usually 15-20 years. But Harold had a heart condition as well, and he barely made it to his fifth birthday. I've seen loads of pictures of him. In fact, I own those pictures now. Wonder what will become of them. I wish I could have met him, but he died two years before I was born.

The doctors had told Mum and Dad there was very little risk that I'd get the same disease. Well, I did, but you knew that, didn't you? And my dad, he...he just couldn't take it, so he left soon after I was three. I don't remember him. He died in a train accident not long after, and Mum and I were on our own. There's hardly any other family, you see. I think Dad had an aunt up in Scotland, but she must be old as the hills by now.

Anyway, it wasn't so bad at first. My condition didn't trouble me a lot, and I was a happy little boy, even if I didn't have a dad. I barely noticed it before I was six. Then I began to get a bit uncoordinated, falling over when I ran and stuff. So I couldn't play so much with the other kids. I remember feeling sad about that. But then there was Mum, and she loved me so much, and...

It's all right, Jean. I'm fine again now. Well, the years went on, and I got worse. I was in a wheel chair at 11, but Mum could still cope. You see, I was quite a small boy, and didn't weigh much. And apart from the neurological thing, I was healthy. But then, when I was around 12, Mum got ill, too. Cancer, it was, and it was nasty. Spreading really fast. I watched her going downhill. It wasn't pretty, but at least she didn't suffer too much.

And then she died. I was 12 1/2 years old, and all alone in the world. So I was put in an institution. I was there until last month. It was all right, I suppose. Not that the kids there were any fun, because they were all sick and handicapped, too.

Meanwhile, I got worse. At 13, I couldn't get up every day. And at 13, puberty hit me. You know, lots of people forget that even if you are sick or handicapped, hormones still rage through your body. And desires. By that time, I didn't have good control of my hands and arms anymore. I hope you're not easily embarrassed, Jean, but d'you know what the worst part of it was? Sex. Not that I had much chance of having any, and it would probably have been much too scary at that age, but I couldn't even have sex with myself. In fact, I have never given myself an orgasm. Wet dreams, that was all. Not that that isn't nice, but it's not really enough. Why, you must be a tough one, you're not even blushing!

Also, I wasn't attractive. My face was more and more becoming a grimace, and I would drool all the time. And my arms would wave about a lot. I did so wish that some cute boy would look at me with lust in his eyes. Love would have been best, but I could happily have settled for lust.

Oh, I didn't say before, did I? I'm gay. Always have been. I hope you're not going to leave now? Oh, good. Just hold my hand a while longer, please.

Well, there I was, all hormones and lust. But most of all, I just wanted someone to love, you know? Not just physically, but in other ways, too. But there was nobody. No mum or dad, brother or sister, aunts, uncles or cousins. And no boyfriend. Oh, the staff did their best, and they were good people. But I couldn't ask them for help with wanking, could I? And can you imagine how embarrassed I'd be when they were cleaning me up, and I'd get an erection? Or when I'd had one of my wet dreams, and they had to wash off the evidence? I think it was best when they just kept quiet. I remember those silly jokes! God! Well meant, I'm sure, but I just wanted to crawl away somewhere and hide.

So that was my life for five years, only it got worse all the time. Not fast, but steadily.

And then I came here, to hospital. To die. And it's going to happen tonight, isn't it?

If I hadn't been depressed before, I was then. I hardly spoke a word for weeks. But...

It happened last Wednesday. Let's see, it was 175 hours and 19 minutes ago. I was being wheeled along the corridor, and so was he. I spotted him a long way away. My eyes are working good, you see, and I think I fell in love from at least 20 meters. I remember staring hard at him and I remember a painful erection. And time sort of stood still. It's a terrible cliche, I know, but it felt that way. Maybe it was because I was holding my breath.

I don't think he saw me until we were only 4-5 meters apart, when he opened his eyes, but I saw him staring back, and his head turning as we passed each other. I wanted to turn my own head to keep looking, but I couldn't.

And I thought that was it. A ships-that-pass-in-the-night-experience would be the sum of my love life. But later that day, Gary came into my room. He's one of the nurses here, and I suppose he's my best friend in the world these days. Him and you. Anyway, he came in, and asked if I wanted to visit another young man. I had this wild hope, and I agreed at once. He wheeled me to Jonathan's room. And it was him! It was the boy I'd met in the corridor! I couldn't believe my luck.

I don't think lots of other people would have found him attractive. He was thin, you know; really bony. And his skin was sallow, like an old man's, and full of spots. I suppose that's how it gets in the final stages of aids.

We spent two hours together that Wednesday afternoon. I didn't speak much, because I was busy falling in love and keeping myself from having an orgasm right there and then. So he did most of the talking.

His life had a bit in common with mine, but it was different, too. His dad left when he was small, and he lived with his mum after that. She loved him, and she tried to give him a good life, but she had problems of her own. Depression and alcohol, that sort of thing. So he ran around on his own a lot. And then she died when he was 12, just like it happened with me.

He didn't have much family either, so he was taken into council care. He was in two foster homes, and the foster parents did try, but he was trouble. Running loose, staying out all night, stealing, drinking. It didn't work. So, at 14, he was put into an institution. He ran away from that, too. The first time, he got caught and transported back. But the second time, it was a clean getaway. Not a smart move, as it turned out. He made his way to London, and...Well, we know what happens to troubled teenagers on their own in London, don't we? Sleeping rough, stealing, drinking, drugs, prostitution. Yeah, that was his life in the metropolis.

And he got the virus. HIV, you know. Not only that, but he was infected with some other...what's it called again? STD, that's it; Sexually Transmitted Disease. And the combination was pretty bad. Somehow, it made his progress towards full-blown aids much quicker than normal. He was diagnosed with it when he was 17 1/2, about ten months ago. Yeah, he's a few months older than me. And now he's here. Was here, I mean.

I expect you've heard worse stories than this before. You have? Oh, good. I mean, it's not good, but at least you won't be too shocked when I go on.

That was mainly what we did that afternoon. Him talking and me listening. And just before I was leaving, he took my hand and looked at me really hard. I popped my nuts then. Really, Jean, you shouldn't giggle like that. A woman your age! What's the world coming to?

Only joking, Jean. Actually, I'm glad you find it funny. I didn't, not at the time, but I suppose it is.

I was fidgety all night after that. It's not easy, feeling restless and nervous when you're tied to your bed, you know.

But the next day, he came to see me. Gary wheeled him into my room in the afternoon. I was more articulate then, and I told him what I've been telling you, and we lay there, holding hands and crying together. And then...

I think I'll leave it there. A cliffhanger. Nah, I'm joking again. 'Course I'll tell you. Just to be on the safe side, I'll whisper. Can you hear me? Well, we had sex! It's true! He took off my bedclothes and my pyjama bottom. I was sure he'd stop when he saw my nappy. I'm no longer continent, you see, and I've got to wear the damned things all the time. But he wasn't put off. Fortunately, it was a fresh one, and it was dry. He loosened it, and he...well, he gave me a blow job. You know what that is, he sucked my penis. Oh, all right, I can see you're not a blushing maiden. My prick. He sucked it, and I came in his mouth. It was quick, but it was sooo gooood! I took at least two minutes to catch my breath after that, and then I started crying, because it had been so wonderful, and because I couldn't do it to him. He had to kiss me long and hard before I stopped. And then I brought him off. No, I didn't, not really, but he took my hand and laid it on his balls. Kept it there with one of his hands, and then he did the deed himself. Masturbated, you know? 'Course you know about that. It was so cool! I could feel his nuts moving, drawing into his body almost. And the spasms when he came! Wicked! And then he told he it was the best ever, just because of my hand, and then I cried again, and he kissed me, and...

We were both tired after that, and we rang for a nurse to take him back to his own room. It was a good, restful night. The next morning, though...

He died that morning. Oh, God! I'm so glad I could be there with him. You remember Friday morning? It was one of the finest days of the whole summer. Glorious sunshine, birds singing, people smiling. Him, too. Smiling, I mean. He held my hand, and told me how much he'd enjoyed being with me, and that he loved me. Oh, I know what you're thinking. Puppy love. So maybe it was. But it was real at the time. Still is. And then he said he knew we'd be together again soon. And we'd be companions and lovers always; healthy, happy, beautiful...

I think he was talking about Heaven. You know, I never was much of a one for religion and stuff before. I still have my doubts. But he sounded so sure, and it gave me such hope...

He said the first thing he'd do when we were back together, would be to challenge me to a race, and that he was sure he could beat me. I'd like that; running on my own two feet again. It's been a long time. Bet I could outrun him, though.

And then - you can see I'm blushing here - he said the second thing he'd do would be to...to roger me senseless!

Yes, well, I'm ready to go on again now. I know it's silly to feel so embarrassed in my situation, but still...

He went shortly after he'd said that. His eyes dropped closed, and he was smiling. I didn't realize it when it happened, but after half an hour or so it dawned on me that he wasn't breathing anymore, and his hand was completely limp.

They sent him off today. You know there's a crematorium close by? That's where they did it. I was there, Gary came with me, and that was it. We were the only mourners. It was so sad! But afterwards, I remembered what he'd said that morning, and I felt hopeful. You know, as if being with him again was something I really dared hope for. In fact, I feel like that is what I am right now. I am hope. Does that make sense?

And I keep thinking; if it really is true, then...Well, you know. Mum, Dad, Harold. Oh, God, that would be so good, wouldn't it? Me, my parents, my brother, Jonathan, all together. His mum and dad, too. Oh, Christ!

Thank you, Jean. I'm composed again now. Well, there you have it. My life, such as it is. I think I'll stop there, because I'm tired now, and I need to sleep. And just in case, I'll say goodbye, too. In case I don't wake up again, I mean. And Jean? Would you tell your grandchildren about me? Not straight away, I mean, but someday when they're a bit older? Thank you. I should like to think that somebody might remember me for a while. I don't mind if you leave out some of the... you know, the racy bits. And Jean? Just hold my hand a little bit longer, would you? Bye!

This story is copyrighted by me, einhard. (c) 2001. All rights reserved.

Any comments? Did you like the story? Hate it? You can mail me at: einhard@excite.com