Chapter 1: A little farming town
Small-farming communities tended to frown upon the contents of the bed I was lying in. By which I mean, I had a naked man in it. While that might not seem such a shock to many of you readers, what happens in the soft, breathless heat of a cold-winter night between two well-known young men would keep Mrs McCarthy's post shop in business for years as the gossip hot-spot of our little town. A man who likes other men would be big gossip here, and not the good kind. Preferring your own sex may not mean too much in the great city centers of Britain, but our little village was a few years behind. It was for this reason that our visits to each other's bedrooms in the dead of night were kept a complete secret from our families and the community of Dallas. Now if you don't know where Dallas is readers (and no, I don't mean the Dallas in North America), it's about a half hour car ride away from Elgin, near the south-eastern coast of Scotland. If that still doesn't mean much to you, it's a four hour trip from Glasglow.
Now while our little town is mainly involved in farming sheep, I have never been a farmer. My family is situated right in town, next to the village church. Me dad is the church pastor and me mum likes to organize the community events, like the up-coming fair that comes by once a year.
The man in my bed however is a budding farmer and he has every physical quality of a farmer's son. Broad shoulders, thick arms for hauling sheep around or holding them still for sheering, rough hands from constructing wire fences and beating thick wooden poles into the earth, yet gentle for handling lambs unfortunate enough to be abandoned or orphaned. John's father, Tom MacTavish had been instructing John how to run a farm for years. It was only recently he had started teaching him the business side of it. How to balance accounts, decide on the flock size for the year and work out the feed requirements. He was a patient man, despite John's lack of enthusiasm. Only to be expected in an 18 year old.
"You're staring at me again," he mutters into the pillows. His voice is rough from sleep.
"Just trying to commit you to memory until next time." I can't quite hide the bitterness in my voice at our arrangement. He turns his head and raises an eyebrow at me in question. Instead of elaborating I throw the covers off me. A glance at the clock tells me it's 4am. He'll need to go and get the sheep mustered in an hour and start the chores for the day. I need to be home and tucked up in bed soon anyway, least mum and dad find out their son isn't home. Pulling on my clothes, I make my way to my bicycle without another word to him. I can't quite help a grimace when I sit gingerly on the bike seat and make my way home. I need to remember to buy another container of Vaseline when I'm in town next time.
This is a new story. I'm trying to elaborate on the history of John 'Soap' MacTavish. At the moment I've got a clear idea of where I'm going with the story but I'm working on how to get it to go the way I imagine it going!
Let me know if you like it in the comments/reviews and I may post more!
Some of you may be wondering what has happened to Loose Ends. I'm trying to decide if I want to continue it since my characters have undergone HUGE changes over the years and do not react the same way now as they did when I first started writing Loose Ends so I feel I would risk character inconsistencies were I to continue. If I do decide to continue I will of course let you know. However at this stage I think it unlikely!
