I freely admit that once I became aware of the novel Lady Chatterley's Lover, which appeared in public and became a best-seller long before I was born, I found myself blushing whenever the book was referred to. That wasn't because I was shy or otherwise put off by a good racy novel.
No, it was because my name is the same.
Hey, cut out that laughing! I'm not Connie or Constance or a cross-dresser; I'm a bloke, not a woman!
Neither do I own a large manor house; I'm not Sir anything, but my surname is the same – Chatterley. Nor am I confined to a wheelchair as Sir Clifford was; I'm fit and healthy...and horny too for that matter.
But to add another similarity to the novel, my Christian name happens to be Oliver; the same name as Lady Chatterley's lover, although I tend to be known as Ollie which is far less formal. And to completely twist the image, I'm gay, or at least I'm pretty certain I am now.
All of which just makes me cringe and blush when my friends will insist on asking, using a country bumpkin voice, something like, "Have you been down to the cottage lately?"
That's usually accompanied by a wink or a nudge as well, leaving me lost for words and occasionally painfully embarrassed too.
Like I said, I'm pretty sure I'm gay, even though I used to be hetero; hell, I even used to be married. Sadly it just didn't work out – somehow I just couldn't feel happy with her presence and although we consummated our marriage, our bedroom activities left me quite unmoved. My reticence set the standard I think and soon she had an affair; then we had one big row after another and then she departed and I was left with an empty home and a broken heart – that was, until I met Tony.
And just in case you ponder on my income and workplace, I'm a writer, working almost entirely from home. I've written several moderately successful stories that have helped to keep my coffers topped up and I write short stories as a pastime but I mainly deal with technical journals wherein I review various scientific discoveries and such – generally rather dry stuff I'm afraid...and I met Tony through one of our discussions on one of those technical subjects.
Anyway, Tony was another guy who turned out to be in a very similar situation to me and he was very much like me as well. We were both in our late twenties at the time; both tall and relatively slim; both with mousey brown hair and moustaches and both in the middle of becoming divorced – and both in need of some release, it seemed.
We met a couple of times to discuss our work and then we decided to meet socially and suddenly we were both eager to meet again. It only took us a few more meetings; a few drinks together at the local pub and a couple of chance meetings in town and we were firm friends soon regaling each other with lurid tales of our respective partners and their infidelities.
And then a month or so after we first met Tony came round to my place for a social evening and we found ourselves really opening up to each other, actually talking about sex itself. Not exactly describing sexual acts but discussing how we'd been unable to enjoy sex with our partners and then discussing how frustrated we both were now. In the middle of our chattering it became abundantly clear that much as we'd both wanted to enjoy sex with our women, something had been wrong; neither of us had felt comfy with the opposite sex.
Anyway, you know what happens when you're frustrated and you talk about sex – things wake up down there!
Well mine penis did and so did Tony's and as we sat there sharing my settee and a few drinks it was soon impossible to hide our arousal.
I remember Tony's eyes sliding from mine down to my lap – then jerking back up again. I remember mine doing the same, then finding Tony grinning broadly at me and my own face creasing up too.
I remember the conversation suddenly becoming fractured and more personal and I remember squirming as I sat there, embarrassed by the rising heat inside me and my rising and dominating penis. And I remember Tony laughing; then seeing his face and understanding that he wasn't especially being put off and then us sliding closer together.
And I let him – let him stretch his hand out onto my erection; let him slide his warm hand up and down over my shaft. Let him pull my hand towards him and let him press my hand down over his own penis.
I remember us both groaning and then the flurry of activity as we both began casting off clothes almost desperately until we were standing naked together, our cocks both hard and needy.
A brief feel of each others penis and then we were crushed together in a hot embrace, our mouths finding each other suddenly, our chests heaving as quick and frantic breaths came and went.
I shiver now as I remember that thrilling first evening together; as our hands explored and then his mouth went down there – and then there was me doing the same! We slumped to the floor and played a frantic and imaginary game of Twister until we'd achieved a 69 position with Tony poised above me, his knees beside my ears, his penis thrusting at my mouth.
I can hardly remember the details of that first time because it was so damn quick – it seemed as if one moment we were getting comfy; a few moments later his penis was sinking into my mouth just as mine slid into his and the next moment Tony was jerking and spurting in my mouth and I was doing the same to him! And we both swallowed every last bit of our essence. The delicious shock as we both erupted still sends shivers through me whenever I think back.
But it was bloody brilliant – it was a release and a discovery and a delight all rolled into one. Half an hour later and we were doing it again, that evening eventually emptying a year or more of pent up sex into each other until finally we were sated and once more relaxed.
I don't think that either of us had planned anything; it had just happened, spurred along by some alcohol and not a little needy urgency. But we'd un-bunged that barrel; let the cat out of the bag or something and our lives now seemed to revolve around our evenings when we'd get together at his place or mine; becoming naked in minutes and horizontal within a few minutes more.
Despite getting together for a good six months we never progressed past a comfortable and mutual wank or a friendly blow job although I've a feeling that with a few more months of close attention then we might have done so. But fate saw otherwise as Tony was snuffed from my life one day, killed by an out-of-control car which had been propelled towards him as the result of a collision.
The worst thing was that I didn't know; no-one told me because I wasn't in any way related to him and I only found out his fate from the local paper, the day after he hadn't turned up for our latest session. I was as heart-broken as if he'd been my brother; my closest, perhaps my only friend was gone and I was alone again, drawn back into my world of paper and of words.
Writing and remembering that made me suck in and then release a huge shuddering breath; a sigh of sadness as the memory flooded back but this story isn't about Tony and me, it's about what happened afterwards – well, not immediately afterwards because for a while I just sank back into my shell.
I may have been of a quite young and resilient age but it was a tender age and a shock as deep as that sent me spiralling into depression for a while, unable to comprehend that life does have its ups and downs – until finally I realised that life had to go on regardless.
And it was around that point that I also wondered if I was gay or hetero because I still found my eyes following pretty women and yet also felt my heart leap when I saw guys who resembled Tony – but my interest remained limited by my reclusive mind. Yes, I was 'gay' with Tony but only with him and only in private so far – to the rest of the world I was entirely 'normal'.
Oh I still did my work and I still performed my chores but I was relatively lifeless and drab but then, on one early spring day things began to turn around as a new window of opportunity opened.
A neighbour of mine happened to mention, to moan actually, that he'd been supplying a local greengrocer with organic vegetables but that he'd had to stop because of ill-health, leaving his business friend without a supplier and it got me thinking – could I try to fill that gap? I loved to work the soil; I had an affinity with nature and I needed something physical to do, so why not try? My own back yard wasn't in any way set up for commercial vegetable production but perhaps I could make some changes...
The thought swilled idly around in my brain but then, when I saw my neighbour a few days later, he went on to mention that he'd also be giving up his allotment and asked if I'd like to take it over.
Suddenly things began to fall into place and within a few weeks I was there in my wellies – but with a newly-found spring in my step as I admired the seemingly huge expanse of tilled and brown soil before me, all surrounded by so much open space. It was a far cry from the reclusive hermit-like life I'd sunk into but it suddenly felt great to be out there with something to do. I became a new man, transformed remarkably quickly even to the point that people began to smile and brighten up around me once more – and I managed to smile back too.
