Chapter III
A Brittle Veneer
* Fleet Street
The year 1887 was a momentous year for that was the year that my dear friend Sherlock Holmes and I became lovers. Ah, what a delightful coming together that was and we spent many months learning of each other, not just physically but emotionally as well. Our discoveries truly took us into uncharted territory as we gained understanding of each other's wants and needs. It was learning to give and take in turn and at times it could be a little hazardous to one's emotional health for we both were inexperienced in this new state of our relationship. Fortunately for us we had lived together for the last six years and this gave us a head start on most couples. Besides, my love for him was steadfast, as I firmly believe was his for me, and I am convinced that it was our long-standing friendship that sustained us, no matter the obstacles we encountered along the way.
At first my dear Holmes was somewhat reticent in expressing his needs, as was I. We preferred to make love in my room as it not only afforded us a somewhat larger bed but was the most distant from Mrs. Hudson and, no matter our efforts to the contrary, we did not always manage to be silent in our loving. I admit that there were nights when I hesitated to invite him to my room, wondering if he would prefer to be alone and not wanting to smother him with my affections. Later I learned that he, too, had mistakenly believed that perhaps I, also, would prefer to be alone some nights and so had left me to sleep on my own.
Looking back now from the perspective of three years as lovers we can laugh about it, but back then our uncertainties were foremost. We had yet to learn the importance of communicating our needs to one another. This came about after two months of Holmes only intermittently joining me in my bed. I soon realised that he was hesitant to join me every night because he thought I would not desire his company, even if he desired mine. Put simply, he did not wish to impose his needs on me on a nightly basis. This small misunderstanding was, as it turned out, easily resolved. After missing my dearest Holmes for three consecutive nights, instead of just saying good-night to him when he said that he would see me in the morning, I stood behind him and placed my hands on his shoulders as he sat hunched over his chemicals making copious notes. "I have missed you for the last three nights," I murmured. "Come to bed with me?"
He immediately turned to face me, his expression one of utter puzzlement. "You missed me?" I nodded. "Truly?" Again I nodded. He seemed somewhat dismayed by this knowledge and I wondered if I had offended him with my desires, thinking that perhaps I needed him too much. Rightly or wrongly I decided that it was high time I laid my cards on the table.
"Forgive me, my dear Holmes, but if I may be so bold, I very much enjoy sharing my bed with you, not just for the sake of physical intimacy - as wonderful as that is - but because I like to sleep with you beside me, to be able to hold you in my arms, to share intimate conversations and kisses and to wake up beside you in the morning." I swallowed somewhat nervously. "I just wanted you to know that you are always welcome in my bed, no matter the hour of day, or night."
His expression was so contrite that I was truly glad I had had the courage to speak freely of my desires.
"Oh, my dear Watson, forgive me! Truly I thought you could not possibly desire my company every night and I wanted you so very much that I knew if I was in the same bed as your handsome self I would not be able to resist imposing my needs on you. I was convinced that you could not possibly need me as much, or as often, as I... seem to need you."
Smiling openly and affectionately at him, I dared to take his face in my hands. "My dear chap, it seems to me that we have both been guilty of underestimating our own needs, thus failing to realise that our desires were mutual - and I do find you so very, very desirable!" I added, caressing the soft skin of his lean cheeks and sharp jaw. "My dearest Holmes, if there ever should come a day when I no longer desire to share my life - and my bed - with you, then I will tell you plainly, and I can promise you here and now that that will be on a cold day in hell!" I added, leaning over to brush his lips with my own. "Truly, my dearest friend, I am privileged whenever you share my bed."
"A thousand apologies, my dearest Watson, but I truly thought to spare you my desires. Ever since... since we became so very intimate my need for you has surpassed even my interest in crime and it seemed to me that this was indeed excessive. I found myself wondering how it was that I could have lived with you for six years and not known this hunger that at times seeks to consume me? Forgive me, but sometimes... sometimes my desires for you seem... voracious. Can you understand?"
Yes, indeed I could for I felt exactly the same way, the only difference with me was that for a long time my relationship with Holmes had taken priority over my medical practice, whereas for Holmes his first priority had always been crime and the detection thereof to which I came a distant second. For Holmes to find that he was now obsessed with his desire for me, even over the solving of some esoteric mystery, must indeed have shaken him to his foundations.
I hastened to reassure him.
"My dear, dear Holmes, of course I understand - and it is called love."
He gave me the briefest of smiles. "Love? Until I met you I knew nothing of love."
"And until I met you what little of that emotion I believed I had once known faded into insignificance. My dear fellow, do you not know that I feel exactly the same way about you as you do about me?" I gently chastised and was gratified when he wrapped his wiry arms around my waist to pull me closer. I rested my hands on his shoulders. "Yes, we have lived together for six years as colleagues and friends and you know something?" He gazed at me expectantly. "The next sixty years as friends - and lovers - will be even better!"
"Sixty years?!" he muttered in some incredulity. "Sixty years is a very long time, dear friend," he cautioned.
"Sixty years with you will be too short a time!" I dared to proclaim.
He laughed openly, joyfully. "Hah! Watson! How right you are, my dear! How right!"
"Oh, indeed!" I fervently agreed, silently rejoicing that I had brought happiness to this solitary man's existence.
"My dear chap, truly I am the one who is privileged to share your bed. Can you forgive me for taking six long years to see the splendour that was right before my eyes?"
"Come to bed and I shall consider it!"
As I recall, I ‘considered it' more than once that night before sincerely forgiving him.
Thereafter, to my utter delight, whenever he was not absorbed in a case he would come to my bed every night. Yes, his desires were ‘voracious', but no less so than my own for he was not the only one starved of affection and I, too, was eminently needful. Yes, he could often be self-absorbed in our loving, but I am of the firm belief that it was because this kind of intimate physical sharing was so new to him that he simply did not know how to handle it. However, he would soon realise that his actions were of a somewhat selfish nature and would make up for it by bestowing such generosity of spirit on me that it were as though I floated on a sea of carnal delight.
So dominant in our day to day affairs, I admit that at first I had feared that Holmes would always wish to be the dominant partner in our loving as well. Thank God I was wrong! At all other times he was so masterful, and yet I learned early on that he preferred equality between the sheets, a fact which delighted me no end.
A most singular revelation was my dear one's desire for gentle loving, and I knew that as long as I lived I would treasure the singular expression of bliss on his face as I used my lips and hands all over his long, supple body in the ways that I had learned pleased him so much. At those times his soft moans of delight would excite me almost to the brink and I had to keep the tightest of reins on my own need.
It was afterward as we lay together warm and satisfied that his feelings would reveal the inner man - and, dear Lord, but the inner man was so very affectionate! At those times, the feel of his kisses covering my face and his hands touching me everywhere proclaimed his true nature, a nature hidden beneath a brittle veneer of steely logic and icy reason, and I was deeply honoured that he trusted me enough to share his innermost feelings with me. I had waited six long years for this sweetest of pleasures and I cherished every precious moment of it, praying that it would last for a very long time - at least sixty years.
Some nights it still amazed me that he desired to share my bed, even that he would desire me at all. Because both of us were used to sleeping alone all our lives, I had assumed that we would have problems adjusting to sleeping together, but, surprisingly, we had few. We simply found new ways to be comfortable together. Sometimes I would sleep with my head on his shoulder, often he would sleep half draped over me, his head resting on my breast. Other times we slept in spoon fashion, lying side by side.
On long, cold winter nights when the wind blew icy sleet on the few frozen souls unfortunate enough to be out of doors on such nights we would often retire to my room early and by ten o'clock would be warm and cosy together beneath the covers, the room bathed in the flickering orange glow from the fire. Sometimes we would talk for a while of mundane matters or Holmes's latest perplexing case, but it was on these long winter nights that I gradually coaxed him to express his desires. Of course, I could only accomplish this by revealing in graphic detail my own lustful thoughts as he touched me with hands or mouth in a particular way. I especially remember one night as he lay between my splayed legs and I felt his mouth high on my inner thigh, so I told him how good it felt to feel his mouth there and pleaded for more. He moved slowly higher until he sucked deliciously on my testicles and I whispered his name and called him my darling and my love. It was in this manner that, by expressing my own desires in most graphic fashion, my dear one came to communicate his own deeply hidden yearnings and step by step we gradually lost all of our inhibitions.
One night I particularly remember when, buried deep in his wonderful, tight flesh, I persuaded him to touch himself by simply taking his hands and placing them around his rampant member, thereby encouraging him to stroke himself. I have to admit though that at first he was somewhat reluctant.
As Holmes had gazed at me in surprise and a little trepidation I murmured, "Touch yourself for me, my dear. In this position it is difficult for me to thrust and stroke you at the same time."
"I... I'm not sure..." he demurred, reluctant to manipulate his manhood before me.
"Come, my love," I encouraged. "God knows we both had enough practice with our good right hands when we slept in our lonely and celibate beds, did we not?" He nodded, a rueful expression on his face. "Think how good it will feel to have me thrusting so deeply as you touch yourself. It will be so good... so exquisite..." I leaned down and kissed him, our tongues meeting and caressing deliciously, "...and tomorrow night I shall do it for you. I promise."
His expression became somewhat sly. "You promise?"
"Of course, my dearest Holmes."
"Oh, John! Forgive me but I have never... you know..." He shrugged, embarrassed at his shyness.
"My dear Holmes, this is new to me also, but we shall learn it together." So saying, I once again encouraged him to stroke himself before releasing his sweet prick to his own tender ministrations as I braced myself once again and began to thrust gently. As I continued to thrust, he closed his eyes and began to stroke himself as he liked it whilst I, mesmerised, drank in every detail, every small caress, every gentle squeeze of his engorged and throbbing member now held so tenderly in his fine hands.
"Oh, my dear love, truly you are an enticing sight!" I groaned.
His eyes opened again and he gazed at me, an expression of wonder on his face.
"You were right, my dearest," he gasped. "It is exquisite! Oh, it is... beautiful! Oh, my sweet, you fill me so abundantly! So good, my love, so very good..."
As he continued to stroke himself I watched covetously as he touched the wet head, his finger rubbing gently in the moisture there.
"Oh, let me taste!" I moaned softly. Smiling, he brought his finger to my lips so that I could lick at it and suck it eagerly. "Oh, more!" I implored, so that he was obliged to repeat the action several times whilst with his anal muscles he squeezed my member so hard that I almost came then and there. Fortunately, we managed to prolong it for a little while until I could no longer hold back. However, my sweet one knew that I was at the precipice and I saw him grasp his huge prick hard, watched eagerly as the heavy spurts soaked his fingers and splashed high onto his ribcage as he squeezed me so hard that I was overcome with the exquisite sensations of a wondrous release. Sex had never been so ecstatic as it was now with my dearest Holmes.
Of course, being a gentleman and a man of my word I was obliged to keep my promise to Holmes and the following night it was his turn to gaze, captivated, as, at first with some small amount of doubt I will admit, I stroked myself in just the way I liked whilst he slowly and tenderly thrust his eager member into me. It was akin to loving myself at the same time as my wonderful Holmes was adoring me. Our mutual release virtually sent me to heaven and I could not get over how remarkable it felt to come to that singular moment of culmination in that particular manner; worshipping myself with my own hands whilst my dear one throbbed so deeply inside me that I was positive we were one exalted and glorious creature endlessly loving itself.
From the time we first became lovers it truly astonished me that our bodies seemed to fit together so perfectly, and not just with regard to acts of physical love. There was never any awkwardness between us when we embraced or kissed. Somehow we never bumped elbows or noses, nor stood on each other's toes. Even sharing a bathroom together we never seemed to get in each other's way - a truly amazing feat that neither one of us ever seemed to question.
I vividly recall one particular morning as I stood fully dressed in front of the large six foot tall looking glass in the bathroom brushing my hair when Holmes entered, also fully dressed, and stood behind me. I naturally stepped aside to make room for him to see his reflection as he went to put the lime-cream he liked in his hair to hold it in place. However, instead he simply stood there, gazing into the looking glass. I finished brushing my hair and glanced at him, puzzled I suppose because he had made no move to groom his hair as was his normal habit. Instead he seemed absorbed in gazing at our reflections in the looking glass. Wrapping a wiry arm around my shoulders, he pulled me close and I put my arm around his waist, smiling at his reflection
"Do we look like criminals?" he asked thoughtfully.
"Well, of course not!" I retorted, outraged at the notion.
"Yet we are," he mused and I did not miss the note of pathos in his voice.
"I know," I agreed a little sadly. However, at that moment an idea occurred to me and I directed him to watch in the looking glass as I turned toward him and deliberately caressed one smooth, freshly-shaven cheek and lingeringly kissed the other one.
"Do we really look like criminals?" I murmured in his ear, once more gazing into the looking glass at our reflections.
He shook his head. "No." He smiled one of his lightning smiles. "No. We look like... like two gentlemen with a shared passion."
"For each other!" I could not help but add.
He laughed and turned fully toward me, wrapping his arms around me. "Yes! Like two men in love!" he enthused, tender lips touching mine lightly.
At the time I had not realised it, but from that day forward Holmes had become fascinated by the idea of making love in front of the large looking glass in the bathroom and late one warm summer night, instead of going to bed, he led me in there for the sole purpose of making love.
Admittedly, I, too, became enthralled with the sight of our entwined reflections. As my dear one possessed me from the rear I found it without doubt the most erotic sight that I had ever seen. Thereafter, occasionally we would deliberately make love in front of the looking glass in the bathroom simply for the pleasure of watching ourselves in it - two men in love.
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