This is a mobile proxy. It is intended to visit the IOMfAtS Story Shelf on devices that would otherwise not correctly display the site. Please direct all your feedback to the friendly guy over at IOMfAtS!

Life, love and all that jazz

by c m

Chapter 3

It's been a long time since I cried myself to sleep, but that's what I do tonight. I ache for the loss of my beautiful boy. For the happiness and the joy he's brought me. For the magical sex. And the void in my life that now stretches out in front of me.

I come to at 3am. My sixth sense tells me that something's wrong. That something's different. I sense a presence beside me. And then I feel a hand on my shoulder.


'Yes, is it OK for me to have changed my mind?'

My heart leaps. At least this will be a final wonderful memory to treasure before we part.

'Of course, Jordan. A final hurrah. Thank you.'

I roll onto my side to face him, and wrap my arms around him. He's naked, and the touch of his warm, familiar flesh makes my heart sing.

'Actually,' he says, putting a finger on my lips, 'not a final hurrah. I've been lying awake in bed thinking. For hours. And…well…I've changed my mind about everything, you see. I've seen the truth.'

'Seen the truth…what do you mean?'

'About Ellie. About marriage. About what I want. I don't want to live without you, James. I don't want to stop seeing you. The way you've treated me today, tonight…it's put everything in perspective. You are everything and more that I could possibly want in someone. I can leave Ellie more easily than I can leave you. I can be true to you in a way that I can never be true to her. She needs someone who shares her faith wholeheartedly, not with mere acquiescence. You and I, James, we see the world in the same way. We make each other laugh, we like so many of the same things. We are so good together. And our weekend together was…magical. And - if it's what you want - if you'll let me choose you and not her…and be open about it…not have to hide what we are and what we do from Ellie or anyone else anymore…well…it means we can see more of each other…be the …couple…that I think we both want to be.'

Being gobsmacked by Jordan seems to be becoming the hallmark of our relationship. And, once again, I'm finding it hard to take in what he's saying. But I got 'leave Ellie' and 'be a couple' and 'if that's what you want' and right now I think that's all I need to understand.

'Of course it's what I want, Jordan.'

And my brain finally kicks in. Him. Me. Us. Together. I'm still reeling slightly from the shock…but there's been a thought – a hopeless, ridiculous thought - in my head ever since our weekend together. And perhaps it's my turn to surprise him.

'I hope you don't mean what you said about not getting married,' I say.

'What? What do you mean?'

'When I said earlier that you were marrying the wrong person if you wanted to be happy, I meant it. But I definitely think you should consider getting married.'

'But…I don't know anyone else who wants to marry me.'

'Oh yes you do.'

There's a long pause. And then he realises…

'Oh my god…you mean…?'

'Yes, Jordan. You're right about us; we see the world the same way, we make each other indescribably happy – and let's face it, the sex is bloody amazing too. I know there's thirty years between us but…well…now seems as good a time as any to ask, so…Jordan Pierce, would you do me the honour of marrying me?'

'Marry you? Oh my god.…but…what will your friends think? You're not even out…you're a pillar of the local community….'

'Jordan, if you were a twenty-year-old girl and I was a fifty-two-year-old man, people would be congratulating me…they'd be envious…and my true friends will think the same about me marrying you. The ones who don't think that will simply have turned out not to be real friends anyway. More to the point, what about you? What will your parents say about you going from being about to marry Ellie, an attractive young woman, to marrying me, a man – and one who's old enough to be your father…assuming, that is, that you would actually consider marrying me.'

'God, of course I'll marry you. And don't worry about my parents; they know I've had boyfriends as well as girlfriends in the past. They'll love you once they've met you – I know they will. We're meant for each other, James.' He shakes his head and gives a half-laugh. 'Oh my god…what a day.'

He pauses, and then, with a wicked smile says, 'And now I think there's only one way to celebrate…'

I see the look in his eyes. I know what he wants. And I want it too. But no harm in teasing him.

'I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'Oh, I think you do,' he says, 'but there's something I need you to do to properly seal our…engagement.'

'And what's that?'

He rolls on top of me and puts his face directly above mine, nose to nose. Those blue-grey eyes bore into mine.

'I want you…I need you…inside me.'

'But I thought….'

'I told you that one day I might want this. And today, right now, is that time.' He smiles. 'I want you to take my virginity, James – or rather I want to give it to you.' He pauses. 'I mean…if we're going to be spending the rest of our lives together, then I think we need to make sure that EVERY aspect of our relationship is going to work, don't you?'

I laugh. 'Well, I guess it pays to be on the safe side…but be patient with me…this will be my first time this way round as well.'

'Ooo err…' he says, clapping his hand to his mouth in mock alarm, 'maybe we'll have to do it several times to make sure you get it right?'

'Maybe we will.'

And we do. It's a whole new wonderful experience to be inside the boy I love – and he seems to enjoy it too, to judge from the moans and groans and squeaks he emits while we're doing it. And then he takes me, and I am filled – literally and figuratively – with his passion. It becomes a night to remember. Gloriously, totally unexpected. Gloriously, totally wonderful.

Unfortunately, the announcement that I'm going to marry a twenty-year-old boy - and that he's going to marry a fifty-two-year-old man - does not go as smoothly as either of us hoped when we announce it a month later. To be honest, despite Jordan's assurances that it would all be OK, I'd had my doubts all along about how the news would go down with his parents. And, with hindsight, I suppose I was being naive about how my friends would react as well.

As things turn out, Jordan's parents refuse even to meet me at first, and nearly all my friends flatly refuse to believe that I'm gay or that, if I am, I can possibly be going to get married, least of all to someone of Jordan's age. Only two of my friends and - to his eternal credit – the local vicar, stand up for me and wish us happiness together.

In the end, Jordan's parents come round to what's happened - although the first meeting at their house is a very tense affair. By the end of it, although they are clearly still not happy, they have at least accepted that I'm not some kind of child molester and that Jordan and I genuinely love each other.

Things are not so easy locally for me. I become something of a pariah. In the end, I decide that the best thing to do is for me to sell my house and buy something in Jordan's beloved Cornwall – which suits me as it's a county that I've always loved. I – we - end up buying a nice barn conversion that has many of the features of the house I've sold, in a community to which we are both newcomers. Our relationship still raises a few local eyebrows, but, by and large, we are soon accepted.

We wait to get married until Jordan has graduated. His parents have, in the meantime, slowly come to accept me, and the wedding itself, while a low-key affair, is a thoroughly happy occasion.

Over the next few years, Jordan becomes much in demand on the jazz circuit and, as a consequence, we spend quite a lot of time travelling the country from one venue to another. Indeed, he gains a reputation as something of a 'wunderkind' amongst the jazz cognoscenti. And following a number of sessions at Ronnie Scott's in London, this culminates in his getting invited to do a residency in Las Vegas which provides a very interesting three-month stay in the US. This turns into an annual one-month trip, as well as leading to a number of recording contracts. Within the world of jazz, he is now something of a celebrity. During the same period, one of the big companies in the sector in which I work offers me an eye-watering amount of money for my business - which I accept. Not only does this leave us financially well-off, it also means that I'm free to accompany Jordan on his travels.

Over those same years – and unlike my experience of the passage of time whilst married to my wife – Jordan and I fall ever more deeply in love.

Then, one evening, out of the blue, Jordan says;

'You know I once said I wanted kids…umm…how would you feel about us adopting?'

'Adopting? Wow. Well…I have no idea what the authorities' attitudes to placing a child with a gay couple with our age difference would be, but I'm not against it in principle. We'd have to consider doing less travelling, though.'

'But…you're OK with the idea?'

I smile.

'Why not? You'd be a great dad – and I'll try to be a good grandad!'

'Grandad?! Don't talk such nonsense, you're still young and fit…' He giggles. '…very fit indeed based on what we did together last night….'

'Oh shush…well, no harm done in exploring. But what about your career?'

'The annual trip to the US pays more than most people earn in a year – and I don't see why we couldn't still do that. And there's nothing stopping me from writing and recording more and travelling less. A break of a few years from touring isn't a problem; it might even be a good thing for my creativity. Come to that, we wouldn't necessarily have to adopt a baby – it could be an older child. As for the rest of it, we're pretty well off what with your investments and what I earn from royalties, never mind from performing.'

I think about it. He's right.

'I guess so.'

'So…would it be alright to investigate what's involved?'

'Of course.'

He comes over and sits beside me, putting his arm around me and drawing my face close to his.

'I love you so much, James. Thank you for saying it's OK to at least explore this.'

We kiss. We've known each other – and been sleeping with each other - for more than a decade now, but our passion…our lust…for each other remains undimmed. The kiss turns into a fondle, and the fondle into a grapple, and the grapple into a fevered removal of our clothes…which in turn ends up with us making love, naked, on the carpet. The touch of him, the taste of him, the feel of him inside me, and the joy of being inside him are all as intense as they ever have been. At thirty his body may be faster to recharge than mine, but my desire for him is every bit as great as his desire for me. When we finally roll apart, we are sated and exhausted. As the evening sun streams through the huge windows at one end of the lounge, it dapples his body with stripes of light and shade. Despite our exertions, the sight still arouses me. And I still sometimes find it hard to believe that this beautiful boy is all mine.

But he is. And I am his. I am truly, unexpectedly and gloriously blessed.

Our intended adoption starts off OK; there's no objection in principle from the authorities once they've met us and looked at where we live and at our financial situation and asked a hundred and one other intrusive, but I suppose necessary, questions. But the wheels fall off when I suffer a TIA six months into the process. It's not a bad one and there are no long-term effects, but it does affect our adoption plans; understandably, the authorities want to make sure that it's not the prelude to a full-blown stroke which could result in my ending up needing long-term care. Jordan is disappointed but accepting.

'Look James, it's you who matters here,' he tells me, 'I love you and I'll still love you whether or not we adopt. And it wouldn't be fair on the child.'

We end up getting a dog, a golden retriever that we name Bryher - after our favourite getaway island in The Scillies - who becomes the outlet for Jordan's surplus love. Walking her also greatly improves my fitness and is good for my overall health. She remains our faithful companion for almost fourteen years.

Over these fourteen years, Jordan picks up a steady stream of awards for his music. These encompass composing, performing, innovation and 'most streamed' categories both in the UK and overseas. He acquires an impressive following on social media, and features in magazine, radio and TV interviews. I couldn't be prouder of him – all the more so as his success doesn't change him one bit. He is still modest and unassuming, and likes nothing better than getting away to our bolt-hole on the Scillies where we can enjoy time together, just the two of us, away from any media attention.

And that's where we go to celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary. I am now seventy-two and Jordan is forty-one. We are still very much in love – and whilst our sex-lives may have slowed down a little, sex is still very much a vibrant part of our relationship.

On the evening of our anniversary, as we are sitting together on the sofa sharing a cognac, I ask him, 'Did you think we'd still be together after twenty years?'

He looks at me and smiles.

'Yes, James…yes, I did. I just knew you were meant for me. I never doubted it. I loved you then and I love you even more now. Why? Did you think it wouldn't last?'

'I truly didn't know. I hoped it would – with every fibre in my body – but I confess that I wondered. I wondered whether the attraction of being with man so much older than you would wear off. You were always so confident in who you were and what you wanted…but me…I hadn't even accepted that I was gay when I met you…and the idea that a gorgeous young man like you would be attracted to me – never mind actually want to marry me - seemed impossible. I was worried that I might not be able to live up to your expectations…to give you what you wanted from me. And I had no idea what I'd done to deserve someone like you. But I couldn't be happier that you're still stupid enough to love me. And I love you more than I can say…more than I thought it possible to love anyone.'

'Stupid? There's nothing stupid about loving you, James. You must be the easiest person in the whole world to love. And you've more than lived up to my expectations.'

He smiles at me and stretches out his hand. He puts it on my chest, right above my heart.

'Actually, not just to my expectations but to my every hope…to my every dream. And I'm the one who doesn't deserve you. You're kind, generous, supportive – and still hot as fuck so far as I'm concerned.'

He says this last with a grin.

I raise an eyebrow. 'Hot as fuck, huh?'

I look at him, and he looks at me and we both start to laugh. Then he puts both arms around me and kisses me.

' are, you know. To me anyway. In fact…I want you right now.'

And we end up making love on the sofa like a pair of teenagers - rather than like the middle-aged man and the pensioner that we are. But I reckon we could teach most teenagers a thing or two…

And afterwards, as we lie squadged up against each other, I realise that I have no idea how many more anniversaries we have left together. But I do know that we are going to continue to make the very most of each and every one of them. I couldn't be happier.

Talk about this story on our forum

Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.

[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]

* Some browsers may require a right click instead