Until I took my second nap. Then I felt balanced enough to focus on one of Simon's memories. Or contemplations. not sure which it will be, yet. The story continues to write itself at its own direction and pace. But here's part of it:
Something Simon still hated to admit to himself was just how much he had loved being touched by Fabian. And being one of the chosen few who could touch him back. Caress him. Trail his fingers along the man’s body...especially his sides, gently tracking from his tits to his ribs and across his hips to his legs. So smooth and perfectly built.
Even now, as much as he had finally grown to hate Fabian’s viciousness and cruelty and casual ownership of him...even now he knew if given half a chance he would have returned to him. To how they were when they first began...
When? Fifty years ago?
Had it been that long?
Almost...
Back when he had needed someone to love him.
And even after all these years of celibacy, Simon still longed to caress a man in the same manner.
But not just any man. Fabian.
Not one like him. Him.
A man whose body had screamed for adoration. Around whom he had once built his life. Had known it was everything he wanted. And continued to want...like a long fought addiction.
At times, when the memories came up they would be almost like half-forgotten nightmares...
No...no, just dreams half-remembered. Once upon a time. That would bring forth a slight twinge of regret and a question of might have been.
When that happened, he had to stop and think and backtrack to in order to recall he’d been involved with Fabian for only three years.
One that was good.
One that was borderline.
One that was hell.
Had Simon stayed, he'd have died long before him. He knew this, deep within, but that meant nothing to his inner being.
The only thing that had saved him from Fabian's fate was that wall of overwhelming hate Simon had felt for the only man he had ever wanted...and that he had been taken away, first.
And despite all the anger and hate he had harbored in his heart, he still grieved.
