The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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I had just walked into the house. My mother was on the telephone in the hall. She held up a hand to signal that she wanted to talk to me as she ended the call.
“Ruth? Are you doing anything on February 14th?”
I looked at my work schedule on the notice board behind the telephone.
“No, Mum. It’s a day off. Why?”
“The Lions are organising a Valentine’s Dance and they’re in trouble.”
Mum and Dad belong to the local Lions but are usually just helpers at events.
“In trouble?”
“Yes, Ruth. The Chamber of Commerce have a dinner dance that evening and most of the Lions will be there except minor members such as us and the Simpsons. The four of use won’t be enough. Bill has agreed to help…”
“Bill? I thought he was at his flat in London.”
“He is on sick leave. He broke his leg and is on crutches. His employers are very embarrassed because it happened on a team building event in Wales. He was abseiling down a rock face when his safety harness broke and he fell on a rock. They have given him two months sick leave on full pay and their insurers are going to give Bill a large sum in compensation.”
“Poor Bill.”
“Poor Bill indeed. And like you, he’s hurting because his girlfriend dumped him just before Christmas.”
“I haven’t seen him. How long has he been home?”
“Since three days before Christmas. At first, he was having difficulty just getting around the house. He hasn’t been out because the pavements are icy, and he isn’t confident with his crutches. Besides, you have been working as much overtime as you could get, Ruth.”
“I know. The supermarket doesn’t pay much but the overtime helps towards my deposit, When I start with the Civil Service in March, I’ll have enough income to get a mortgage with your help. But what do you want Bill and I to do?”
“Man the front desk, check tickets and give people cloakroom tickets. Bill will have to stay sitting so Dad and I will take the coats etc. to the cloakroom. When the dance starts, we will be on the bar with Bill’s parents and you two can possibly wash glasses and clear tables.”
“Bill couldn’t clear tables, surely.”
“No. You’d have to do that. But he can sit on a chair to do the washing up. The kitchen is used by a disabled group in wheelchairs so the sinks and worksurfaces are at a low level.”
“OK. Mum. I’m not on duty until tomorrow evening so I’ll drop in and see Bill during the day tomorrow.”
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Next morning, I rang the Simpsons’ doorbell. Mrs Simpson answered it.
“I’ve come to see how Bill is.” I said.
“He’ll be pleased to see you, Ruth. He’s bored and frustrated with his inability to do much.”
I went into the living room. Bill was on the settee with his plastered leg on a stool. He smiled as he saw me.
“Hello, Ruth. How are you?”
I didn’t answer. I sat beside him and kissed his cheek. He seemed surprised. I suppose I was too. Although Bill and I had been neighbours since we were toddlers, I think that was the first time I had ever kissed Bill. He turned his head towards me as if he was about to ask a question. I didn’t let him. I kissed him full on the lips and threw my arms around him. At first, he stiffened and then relaxed. His arms went around me too. We were enjoying that kiss. At last it ended.
“Why, Ruth, why?”
“Why not, Bill? You have been there almost all my life, just being Bill. You’ve been too close for me to appreciate what a great bloke you are, so…”
I kissed him again. We were still kissing when his mother came in with cups of tea. We broke apart guiltily.
“Ruth? I know you have come to brighten up my Bill’s day but…”
“But what, Mrs Simpson? Bill’s a good bloke and I hadn’t really appreciated him. Now I do, so I’ll kiss him.”
“Isn’t this a bit sudden?”
I laughed.
“No. I’ve known Bill for well over twenty years and he’s known me. We have been friends all that time with very few inconsequential arguments that meant nothing. We like each other…”
Bill nodded.
“And after my last boyfriend, Bill seems perfect.”
“I’m not,” Bill protested.
“No, you’re not Bill, but I know what Ruth means.” Mrs Simpson said. “You are a credit to us and behave like a gentleman…”
“And is much nicer than my last boyfriend who turned out to be… I’m not going to say it. You know wat I mean.”
“Just like my last girlfriend. She was a serious mistake.”
“And a heartless bitch,” Mrs Simmonds added.
“Mum!”
“She was. If Ruth wants you? You’ve known each other for years, the best and worst, and the worst from either of you is nothing much.”
I snuggled up to Bill and his arms wrapped around me.
“Your tea is getting cold. I’ll leave you two to work out what you want from each other.”
Mrs Simpson went back into the kitchen.
“Well, Ruth? What DO you want?”
“You, Bill. To help at the Lions’ dance, and to be my boyfriend. OK?”
“Yes to both, I suppose. A definite yes to the second. The first? I’m not sure how much help I can be if I’m still on crutches.”
“Well have your parents and mine, me and you. Even if that means five and a half people that should be enough. Obviously, you can’t help to decorate the hall, but you could make tea and coffee for those who are doing it.”
“If I am sitting down? Perhaps. I’ll try.”
“In the meantime, we can practise being boy and girlfriend.”
We did. By the time we had finished kissing and cuddling our tea was cold. I had to go into the kitchen to get some more.
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Over the next ten days, when I wasn’t working evening shifts, I was with Bill on his parents’ settee. Because of his plastered leg we couldn’t do much except kiss and cuddle. But on the evening before the Valentine Dance his parents were out with mine at a restaurant together.
That evening he was kissing my naked breasts before I gave him a blow job. As he came, he said ‘Ouch!’ as the shudder jarred his leg. But he claimed the pain was worth it.
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On the day of the dance, I went with the Simpsons and Bill to the venue in the early afternoon. There was a wheelchair in the hall for visitors to use. I persuaded Bill to use it. He scooted off to the kitchen which had some lowered worksurfaces for wheelchair users. He kept the rest of us supplied with tea and coffee while we worked.
The parents were amused that I kept bending down to give Bill a hug and kiss. By half past six we had finished and ordered a takeaway meal. We ate int in the kitchen before Bill and I went to the foyer. The dance was due to start at half seven. The group arrived about seven and set up. From even fifteen I was checking the tickets of the early arrivals. Bill was attaching cloakroom tickets while his mother put things in the cloakroom.
By seven thirty everyone was there. Bill and I stayed at the desk in the foyer to let people out who wanted a break (or a cigarette) and let them back in again. But we were just talking and getting up to date on our recent activities. We hadn’t seen much of each other during the three years we were at different universities. We were moaning about our recent partners as well, but most of the time we were just enjoying being together.