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|Spot The Dog (standard:Suspense, 2798 words)|
|Author: Atticus||Added: Oct 24 2002||Views/Reads: 2774/1866||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Joe tries to get on with his life after a tempestuous relationship with Troy, unfortunately the past has a habit of creeping up on him.|
Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story him, preferring to slobber all over his Gucci jeans, and chew at his Prada shoes. Nonplussed, Joe would answer the telephone if whomsoever was ringing called back, as he needed to get himself a cup of Earl Grey immediately; his exertions with Bruno on the moors had tired him out immensely. He also wondered if the mongrel that Bruno had played with on the nearby grassland was all-right; Bruno had tended to play a bit rough with him, and the dog's owner had been quite abrupt with Joe in retrospect. Never mind though, as Bruno cost absolutely nothing - no local breeders had puppies to sell (or refused him the right to purchase a puppy for reasons unknown) - Joe had retrieved Bruno from the local dog sanctuary. And for that he was exceedingly grateful. The dog sanctuary had been so nice in 'phoning him as soon as a suitable dog came in, and Joe had simply jumped at the chance of getting hold of Bruno. Dear Bruno, the great soft git; Joe already adored him, he was fabulous to be with, and was, in just two days, developing a great appetite for fresh meat. Bruno went through pounds of fresh meat each day, and he especially loved raw meat, but Joe didn't care because he was looking great as a result of all this healthy eating. And anyway, he could hardly feed Bruno fresh fruit could he? Well that would be like feeding liver to horses. It just wouldn't go down a treat. Joe especially loved Bruno's appetite for life. Bruno was up and about at five each morning, licking Joe's face because he loved him (wasn't it amazing how dogs attached themselves to you after such a short time), and then became so eager to go out for the longest of walks. This life, in Joe's eyes, after the divorce, had become blissful, enigmatic, and memorable. Just when Joe had begun to despair about life altogether, Bruno had helped him rediscover his yearning for life. Also, despite feeling a tad guilty about Spot, he believed that you could now give him the choice between four Spots and one Bruno and still he would, rather regretfully though, choose Bruno above Spot. However, Joe felt, curiously, that this level of happiness couldn't last and, one day, sure enough, the telephone rang again. Joe had been doing some spring-cleaning (even though it was December) and decorating (Bruno had, playfully, decided to flay the bedroom cushions). Joe loved nothing else than cleaning and re-decorating, so he was in fine fettle and the most humorous of humours. Bruno was lying on his clean bed-linen, snoring like an old man, and Joe was reflecting on how happy he actually was, and also on where he would go shopping for new bed-linen. So, when the telephone rang, Joe felt quite disgruntled; his day had been completely disrupted by some unthinking and uncaring individual. Thus, Joe picked up the receiver, and curtly snapped, "Yes?" He sensed it was a woman before he had heard the voice; he could almost smell her odour down the receiver; a plummy, sickly scent which reminded him of his mother. God how he disliked women, especially his nagging mother, Barbara, or Barbi as her tatty friends called her. And you could guarantee that it was always a woman who 'phoned you when you least needed the disruption to your day. Putting the telephone to his ear, he heard, "Hello, Joseph. It's Mrs. Davenport. Troy's mother." Joe just hung up. He couldn't help himself. The relationship with Troy was over, and he didn't need Troy's family ringing him up again and again, reminding him of his heartache and how much of a philandering bastard Troy was. Joe sat down, and loosened his shirt. When the telephone rang the second time, Joe simply pulled the cord out of the socket with a snap. Why couldn't some people understand that he needed to be alone? Troy's mother knew perfectly well that their relationship was over, so why wouldn't she leave him be? He needed his own space nowadays, just him and Bruno, and, as a result of her unwanted intrusion, he would certainly get the phone disconnected tomorrow. That way nobody could contact him; he couldn't imagine anyone coming out into the middle of the North Yorkshire Moors in the middle of December, so he would probably, if he disconnected the telephone, be left, finally, in peace. But for now he had things to do, duvets to discard, cushions to repair, more cushions to buy, and wasn't it almost time for Bruno's walkies? It certainly was. So, with a huff and a puff, Joe collected Bruno's lead, and went out to think some more about what Bruno would like for tea. Upon his return, two hours later (Bruno was a tad reluctant to return to his master), Joe was alarmed to see a red Astin Martin parked outside the house. Who the hell could that be? Joe got Bruno on his lead (he didn't want any more accidents), took a deep breath, and walked towards the house. A woman was sat in the car, and, as he got nearer, could see that it was that old bag Mrs. Davenport. "What the hell does she want?" Joe thought; out loud, to his consternation. As he approached the vehicle, she got out of the car, and stood facing him. She was wearing a fake leopard-skin coat that went right down to her ankles. Joe thought that she looked like a tramp, and her clothes were, at best, very last season. There were tears in her eyes though, which Joe thought was odd. Joe supposed that she'd just remembered to re-do her roots after a four month lapse, and was upset about it; women got upset about stuff like that. But that didn't explain why she... "Joseph. Sorry to bother you. I need to talk to you." Joe wondered what she wanted to talk about, but smiled anyway, and let her into the house - after Bruno was safely ensconced in the kitchen. He might, you never knew with him, mistake Mrs. Davenport for an actual leopard and want to fight. "Come in, Mrs. Davenport. Great to see you again." "Joseph. I'm not here to socialise. In fact, I hoped I would never see you again. We need to discuss Troy." That named irritated the hell out of Joe, the sound of its articulation made him re-remember the past all over again, and he didn't like the recollection one little bit. But, ever the gallant gentleman, and ever the curious busybody, Joe made Christine a cup of tea - not Earl Grey though, as that was his favourite tea, and he couldn't possibly share that particular delectable beverage with the likes of her. "Joseph. I haven't heard from Troy for some time now. Over three weeks in fact. And I'm worried to death about him. Have you seen him at all? If you have, I need to know. I think something's happened to him. I know the two of you split up, I just wondered if, perhaps..." "Ooh. Christine. I am sorry. It must be awful for you. I wonder where he's gone. He isn't here, that's for sure." "I see. Joseph. When did you last see him?" Joe had quickly become vexed by her whining on about her darling son, Troy. How the hell could he tell her where Troy had gone? Troy was an absolute law unto himself, and he could be in any public toilet this side of London. And this was a bad time for him. "Ages ago. We split up. You know that." Joe began to scratch his forehead because it itched. "So you've heard nothing from him?" Mrs. Davenport scratched her head too, which looked peculiar, the two of them scratching their heads. Perhaps they had nits, Joe thought. "I've heard nothing at all." Which he hadn't. But added, out of respect, "I didn't expect to actually." "Joe. If you hear anything, will you please call me? I'm terribly anxious about him. This is very out of character for my Troy, as you may well know." "Of course I will. But he doesn't even know I'm here so I can't see that he will contact me. If I heard anything though..." "Thanks. I appreciate your help. I'll await a call from you." She brushed back her hair. That was one annoying habit, and she'd been doing the same thing for years. Joe was surprised that no-one had told her to stop flicking her hair like that. "And please, if he decides to call you, if you find out that he's safe and sound, will you tell me?" "I will Patricia, I will." Joe thought otherwise; she didn't deserve anything else. Once she'd gone, Joe made himself a proper cup of tea, and threw away the mug she'd used. He then sat down to ruminate upon Mrs. Davenport. She was so strange and uncouth. He completely failed to see how she could be so successful with men, but recognised that she most certainly was, undeniably so, even though she probably charged for her services. And if she didn't she should because she could make a bundle. Slut. Oh well, Joe thought - simultaneously Bruno jumped onto his chest, and nearly caved his rib-cage in - Joe realised that it was time to finish unpacking; he'd left this last job for nearly three weeks now. How forgetful and lacksadaisical can you get? Walking into the dining room, Joe stared at the final trunk for a long time. He hated moving house vehemently, but absolutely craved unpacking the final trunk; there was something sentimental in the whole process; a way of letting go of the past, and embracing the future. So, he opened the large, wooden trunk, cringed as the hinges creaked on themselves when the lid swung backwards, and then peaked into the trunk to discover the contents. Bruno was sniffing in anticipation behind him, and Joe kicked him out of the way violently. Picking up a bottle of valium, Joe emptied ten of the little blue pills onto the palm of his sweaty hand. He picked up Troy's genitalia out of the trunk, the only remaining part to remind him of Troy's existence, and slipped the pills down the length of the shaft. With a sniff, he flung the final piece of meat to Bruno, watched the dog devour the flesh, and shut the trunk with a loud bang. "That'll teach you, Troy. You'll never do the dirty on me again, that's for sure." ************************************* The next evening, about half past eight, Joe slid the zip up on his black, leather pants, turned to the full-length mirror hanging on the wall, and admired the view; a chunky, well-proportioned physique, and one that would most definitely be attractive to many gay men. Knowing this, Joe smiled to himself, picked up his peaked cap, went to his MR2 which was parked just outside the house, and got in. Approaching the club with more than a hum of excitement coursing through his veins, Joe licked his lips in anticipation; who would he leave with tonight? Who would the lucky man be? He would have to wait and see. Stood at the bar, glancing around him in all directions in order to eye up the totty, Joe noticed a man, roughly 35 years old, looking at him intently whilst stroking his groin. Well that's a come on if ever I saw one, thought Joe. Smiling, Joe approached the man; steadily, confidently, determinedly. "Hiya. My name's Troy. "Mine's Tom." "I wondered if, well, you fancied a fuck." Smiling back, the man nodded affirmatively. Grinning from ear to ear, Joe realised just how easy this cat and mouse game was to play, and also how good a player he was. If only Spot were here to admire his success. (c) Atticus Smith, 2001 1 11 Tweet
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