Chapter 2

"No, no, no, no, no, don't burn," John said, quickly stirring the vegetables in the pan. He wanted this to be perfect for Mary. On a Sunday that he had been to work and she had been out, she'd just expect some kind of take-away for dinner, but he wanted to do better. Surprise her. Even though he was an average cook at best, this recipe seemed pretty straightforward - but it still wouldn't do to get distracted. After all, his whole plan to make her dinner was a way to take his mind off the dreams of the previous two nights. The men he had dreamed about before were no longer faceless, and everything had become a hundred times more intense. Last night Sherwood had just been touching him, all over his body as though he had been exploring, in an intimate but not explicitly sexual way. Nevertheless, John had had to hurry to the shower to take care of matters when his alarm went off. He had tried very hard to focus on Mary, but couldn't shake a feeling of guilt.

As he put the food in the oven, he heard the sound of a car just outside the house and smiled. Dinner would be ready just in time.

The moment Mary was through the door, she pulled him in for a big hug. Then she sniffed the air and laughed. "Oh no, John," she said, trying to look serious. "Will Thomas be filing a sexual harassment complaint?"

John snorted. "Who says he didn't jump me?"

Mary raised a single eyebrow. "Have you seen him?" she teased. "I love you, John, but I'm sorry to have to tell you this: Thomas is way out of your league."

"May I remind you that I'm married to you?" John said. "You're in a much higher league than him." He chuckled and leaned in for a kiss.

"Well, yes... I'm out of your league too," she said, giving him a quick peck. "I'm just daft enough not to care..." She gave him a proper kiss, only slightly interrupted by giggling. When she pulled away, she sniffed again. "It does smell really good. What are we having?"

...

The noise Mary made as she tasted the dish almost reminded John of Al and Richie, but when she asked what he was sniggering about, he just told her that he was glad she liked it. He was quite proud that apparently he had made something delicious. He insisted he'd do the dishes, and then joined Mary on the sofa.

"So, how was the weekend? Worth missing me?"

"Oh, I had such a good time," she said, putting her feet in his lap. "It was great seeing everybody again. Catching up." She sighed, lost in happy memories for a moment. "How about you? What did you get up to, besides a little office romance?"

John smiled. "You know. Just work. By the way, Mrs Jones came in again. She's doing a lot better now, so that was a great idea you had there."

"Of course," she said smugly. "But surely it wasn't all work. Been out for a pint? Watched any movies... You know, with that guy you like. What's-'is-face..."

John stared at her. "What?" Guy he liked? How on Earth would she know... He felt himself blush fiercely.

"Yeah, that James bloke," Mary said, laughing. "Oh, come on, John... You look like a school boy with a secret crush. I'm not going to be jealous over some fictional special agent."

"Oh... Oh." Once again he was staring at Mary, but this time in exasperation. "Did you manage to forget James Bond's name?"

"Bond... James Bond... That's right..." Mary was overcome with giggles. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to offend him..."

"Seriously. How dare you." John chuckled and started a tickle attack, which effectively distracted them from the subject John really wanted to avoid.

…

With Mary home, John almost managed not to think of the video. He had nearly forgotten about it a couple of weeks later, when his third patient of the day walked in.

Tall. Dark curls. Those eyes. That bloody mouth.

Eventually John realised that he stood staring at his patient and quickly told him to take a seat. He was hardly making a good first impression.

The man's eyes flickered around the room, then focused on John. He nodded and sat down. "I need you to test me," he said. "For anything transmittable. And I need the results quickly."

John cleared his throat and pulled himself together. That voice was so unlike anything John could have imagined when he had been watching him. So deep it almost seemed to rumble through his blood. But there was no way he was going to let it affect him in any way. This was just another patient.

"You mean sexually transmittable?" John asked. "Did you get into any activities lately that may have put you at a higher risk?"

"Yes," the man said, smiling a little. "And no. All my partners wear condoms and are screened as often as I am. I do not expect to have caught anything. But the insurance company insists that we provide proof of health, quarterly. My previous doctor just retired and you were recommended to me."

"I see..." John glanced at his computer screen. "Mr Holmes." Sherlock Holmes, in fact. What kind of name was Sherlock? It sounded like a pseudonym itself.

"So you don't have any symptoms that could be worrying?"

"No," Sherlock said, sounding as if he was already growing bored with the situation. "I'm always very careful. I just need this for the paperwork. And preferably soon. I'm shooting next Friday." He stood up again and shrugged off his coat. "Shall we begin? You can ask me the obligatory questions while you work. I believe I know the form by heart."

"Right, yes," John said, a little taken aback by the man's directness. "Please take off your trousers and pants." Clearly Sherlock knew the drill, but he was saying it more for his own sake. Because he did have to ask him that. There was no escape.

"Of course." Sherlock hung his coat neatly over the back of the chair, toed off his shoes and began opening his trousers.

I am a professional. A professional professional. I am not the least bit affected by having watched this man. Professional.

John kept repeating the words in his head as he snapped on his gloves. But then he realised what the actual professional thing to do here was.

"Mr Holmes... I think you should know... In case you'd want a different doctor. I, er... I've seen one of your videos."

"Obviously," Sherlock said, placing his trousers on top of his coat. "Though, to be more accurate, you have seen a single scene. Which of the compilations was it?" But before John could answer, he continued. "The black and blue one, or you would be looking for the tattoo."

"Ah. You keep good track of your work, then," John said. "How did you know it was a compilation?"

"Recently married, questioning your sexuality," Sherlock said, bending down to pull off his pants. "A compilation would be the obvious choice. A chance to sample different genres and themes. But all of them so brief that there is no risk of getting too... committed." He glanced over at John. "But you didn't think of that yourself, so someone recommended it to you."

"How... I mean... That's amazing," John blurted out. "What you said," he added quickly, realising that his comment had been all too close to the moment Sherlock removed his pants.

Sherlock smirked but didn't comment as he took up position in the middle of the floor. "Well," he said. "Shall we?"

"Yes. Of course." Their talking had made John feel less awkward, and now he was back to full doctor mode. Visually there was nothing out of the ordinary - except of course that Sherlock was built better than average. Then John went through the routine of asking questions (most of which Sherlock didn't let him finish before answering), taking the necessary swabs and drawing blood, thinking that perhaps he could make up for the awkward delay by his efficient work.

"All results will have arrived by next Wednesday," John said as they both sat down again, Sherlock once again dressed.

"Wednesday will be fine. That should give me plenty of time to get the papers ready." Sherlock smiled. "Thank you. You wasted a lot less time than my previous doctor."

John smiled too. "You're welcome. Good luck with the filming, then."

When Sherlock had left, John sat at his desk for a few minutes, staring into nothingness. He had actually met him. Sherwood. He was no longer just an image he had wanked to, he was a man. A real, live man who was just as good-looking when sitting right before him as he had been on screen. And yet he had been so different. Practical, impatient, and apparently ridiculously smart. Nothing like the pliant lover who had been teasing himself so slowly. Even his smile was different.

John shook his head, drank some water and called in the next patient.

…

That evening, when Mary was on her own laptop, John returned to his earlier idea of googling 'Sherwood'. After refining his search to get rid of all the Robin Hood references, there was a Youtube clip, a few links to dvds that were for sale on Amazon, and a website called The Science of Seduction. Curious, he clicked it. Apparently it was Sherlock's own website.

Oddly, there were no pictures of the man. Instead there was a brief introduction that would have seemed absolutely ludicrous had John not seen it put into action:

'I'm H. Sherwood, the world's only cerebral erotic performer.

I'm not going to go into detail about how I do what I do because chances are you wouldn't understand. If you are interested in what I do, watch my work.

This is what I do:

1. I know my viewer.

2. From this knowledge, I will deduce what my viewer needs.

I've eliminated all unnecessary distractions, I create a fantasy so tailored to these needs that the viewer will be drawn in and experience it as if it were their own.

Should you be interested in hiring me, contact my agent.'

John snorted. The man sounded like an arrogant dick. And yet, John had experienced that he did in fact know what he was talking about. And he was definitely cerebral.

Below the text, one G. Lestrade's contact details followed. There was also a forum in which Sherwood's fans (and a few haters) had posted opinions or questions. It seemed that he did, infrequently, take the time to respond to some of these. Then there was an archive of pieces he had written about each of his films, explaining in detail how he created the desired effect. The last tab showed a list of links where his work could be viewed or bought.

Shifting in his chair, John glanced over at Mary. She seemed absorbed in whatever she was doing on her computer. He returned to the files tab and scanned the list of titles. There it was, somewhere halfway. 'Awakening'. He clicked it, wondering what Sherlock would have to say about the clip.

'This scene was intended for men only just venturing into the same-sex oriented side of their sexuality. For many, the first meeting with gay erotica can be quite startling, even alarming. Especially if they are so unfortunate as to stumble upon the type of generic acting that this industry is overflowing with. Presented with oiled up, borderline dysmorphic men spouting inane dialogue between a cacophony of grunts and groans, many a curious novice may recoil. To the inexperienced, this rough and usually highly inaccurate representation of gay sex can be a repulsive or frightening thing to watch.

Therefore, the setting of this short scene was chosen carefully to be erotic yet domestic. Just a bed. But not any bed. The black sheets indicate that we are, tentatively, venturing into risky territory.

The viewer is still hesitant, so the first glimpse of naked flesh is partially obscured. But not innocent. Oh no. We wouldn't want to get boring now, would we?

Possibly the most taboo part of the male anatomy: the buttocks. And, of course, the knowledge of what lies between. But we are not going there. Because the sight of another man's anus will remind the viewer of his own and to what use it may be put. This viewer is not ready to openly face this fantasy. So we move on. More skin. More body.

And then a face. At peace. Defenceless. No threat in any way. Now come the movements of awakening and here lies the most important moment of this entire scene. The viewer must be met with recognition and affection. The viewer is, for this moment in time, my lover. And I welcome him. And then I give myself to him.'

John could hardly believe what he was reading. It was all so clinical. And actually it sounded as though Sherlock had directed the scene himself. No wonder that it was so clever, then.

The rest of the article was just as technical and dry, almost scientific in its descriptions of what happened in the clip. And yet it called up memories that made John shift in his chair again. When he was done reading, he cleared his throat awkwardly. It was almost as if he had watched it again, but this time it was more confronting, reading all those thoughts about being uncertain about his sexuality, deductions that were all too accurate of how he would react to certain shots.

Mary glanced over and then frowned. "Oh John..." she said. "Have I been neglecting you?"

"What?" John quickly closed the tab in panic.

"You seem so restless," Mary said. "And I know it's... been a while." She walked over and bent down to kiss him.

"Oh." John returned the kiss and put the laptop aside, shooting a last glance at the screen to make sure everything was out of view. "Well… I wasn't really thinking about it, but… I'm not going to complain…" He smirked.

Mary pushed him a bit so she could sit down in his lap. Then she giggled. "Oh you weren't, were you?" she said, wriggling against him. "Then what were you thinking of?"

"Well, I'm thinking of you now," John said, proud of himself for not stammering. "And you're quite an... effective... kisser..." He let his hands slide down over her back, pulling her closer for another kiss.

Later in bed, with Mary in his arms, John couldn't help feeling guilty. He had let himself be aroused by Sherlock again, and then Mary had had to finish it off. Well, clearly she had been in the mood too, but still. Just reading about Sherlock had been enough to get him half-hard, and probably more if he had continued. He loved Mary, he knew that, and that should be enough. Yet even now he was thinking about a pale, smug porn actor.

"Stop fretting," Mary muttered, then yawned. "Just go to sleep. Everything will be fine in the morning..."

…

The next day, Mary went to see a movie with the girls after work. She popped into John's office for a quick kiss before his last patient came in, and then hurried off.

When he left the clinic, he was chewing his lips. Without realising it, he was slowing down until he almost wasn't moving by the time the video rental shop came into view.

He really, really shouldn't. Sherlock was his patient. There was little chance he'd see him for several months, before he needed his next STI check, but even then... It was unethical. He couldn't.

And yet he came home with The Best of GOFFT, second edition, the other compilation, with a cover of golden curtains on a white background that somehow looked gayer to him than the previous blue and black. He had just picked it up because he was curious about that tattoo, he told himself. And Sherlock had told him about it, so it would be fine with him if John saw it.

After a quick meal, John didn't bother to watch the other clips and immediately moved on to Sherlock's, the seventh on the dvd. Coming out.

It started out with music. Not the 'let's get it on' trash that was usually playing in the background, but actual music. It wasn't a song John recognised, but it sounded like something they'd be likely to play at his favourite pub. And then, as the picture came up, it turned out that the scene was indeed taking place in a pub. As the camera moved through the doors and across the room, John noticed that it was one of those point-of-view shots. Like he was looking out through the eyes of a character. Or like he was the one navigating towards the bar where…

Just as John spotted him, the camera halted its movements as if the person was hesitating. That narrow back, those silly curls.

He was sitting at the bar, talking to the woman making drinks.

The camera approached him and he turned around to look straight into it. This time there was no recognition in his eyes, but he smiled as if he liked what he saw. "Hi," he said, holding out his hand. "I'm Sherwood. I've never seen you around here." Now the camera panned out and the other man, a very ordinary looking bloke, slightly younger than Sherlock - no, Sherwood - could be seen. He smiled and shook the offered hand before sitting down. He was blushing and obviously nervous. They began talking, but the camera had moved further away and their voices were drowned by the music.

Then the scene changed. A slightly blurry fade to a dark alley. Muffled music could be heard. A different song, but the same general style. Then suddenly the music grew louder and the camera turned to show warm golden light, spilling out of a door. Two men stumbled out, arms wrapped around each other, lips locked together in a very heated kiss. Sherwood and the other man. In a single movement, Sherwood managed to kick the door closed and spin them around so that he could push the other man up against the grey brick wall.

He pulled back, but only a fraction of an inch so that their lips were still very close together. He smiled and then laughed, sounding rather breathless. Then he plunged in for another kiss. The young man gasped in mixed surprise and arousal. It was a very long kiss and the camera moved slowly to show different angles. Tongues could be seen playfully tangling, teeth nipped at lips and the sounds of their breaths and moans grew increasingly desperate.

John cleared his throat and shifted to give himself a little more room in his jeans. It was only a kiss, but it was so much hotter than that endless blowjob from the first dvd.

Then Sherwood pushed his lips harder against the other man's mouth and did something that made his partner let out a strange sort of longing whine. As Sherwood pulled back, it became clear that he had sucked the other man's tongue into his mouth. He let it go slowly and then, with that horribly smug smile, took the other's hand and pulled him away from the wall and down the alley. John just had time to register that Sherwood's curls were now floating about his head in a tangled cloud. The other guy must have had his hands in them, though John had not noticed.

There was another blurry fade, leaving John wondering what those curls must feel like between his fingers. Somehow they looked much softer than normal hair. Probably some kind of product… But as soon as the image was sharp again, he put all other thoughts out of his mind.

The backseat of a car. A cab. They were kissing again and the driver seemed to be torn between keeping an eye on the traffic and watching those two in the mirror. The camera moved down to show Sherwood's hand on the other man's thigh. It moved up slowly and there was a visible bulge - though nothing like Al's had been. Fortunately.

As Sherwood covered it with his hand, the other guy whimpered again, but the sound was quickly muffled, probably by Sherwood deepening the kiss. He massaged the guy gently for a while, then unzipped his jeans and with surprisingly little fumbling, freed his cock, which proved to be of very average size. And fully erect. A quick cut to Sherwood, pulling out of the kiss long enough to give the guy a questioning look.

The poor bloke was blushing hard and looked slightly dazed, but he nodded and Sherwood kissed him again. Cut down to his hand, now wrapping those beautiful long fingers around the other man's erection and stroking him slowly.

John had once been in almost the same situation in a cab with an impatient girlfriend, but she hadn't exactly taken her time like Sherwood was doing. Still, the memory made him bite his lip. It had been quite thrilling to know the driver could look around and throw them out. With Sherwood's skilful strokes, he was almost surprised the other bloke didn't come there and then. Then again, the dark-eyed cab driver was of course just another actor.

The cab stopped and Sherwood tucked the man back in before paying for the ride.

Now they were inside, walking up some stairs, making time for a lot of kissing. At some point, Sherwood seemed to have his hand inside the other man's trousers, but finally they made it up to the door. The young guy almost dropped his keys as Sherwood started sucking on his ear.

Inside, they stumbled through a sitting room as clothes started coming off. Sherwood was pale and lean as ever. The other guy almost seemed brown in comparison, though he actually just had a bit of a tan. And there it was: the tattoo. On Sherwood's left hip was a strange sort of design. An all black kind of stylised flower. It was rather large and very detailed. As tattoos went, John quite liked it, and he wished the camera would zoom in further.

The young man noticed it too and, dropping to his knees, he tentatively pressed his lips to the skin just above the flower. Sherwood turned slowly and the man's kisses followed his hipbone and then moved across his flat stomach. But just as the first glimpse of hair came into view, Sherwood sank down to his knees too, so that they were eye to eye. He smiled and kissed the young man and the camera moved down their bodies, which were less than an inch apart. Still, somehow, Sherwood managed to get his hands between them and when he moved again, John could see that the other guy was now wearing a condom. Sherwood aligned their erections, wrapped one hand around them, and began stroking slowly. The other guy was visibly trembling. And John was palming himself through his trousers, but he wouldn't give in and open them.

While they continued kissing, Sherwood guided the other man's hand around to his arse and the camera now focused on how he began massaging Sherwood's hole with a single fingertip. It was glistening and John realised that lube must have been applied. Slowly the muscle yielded and the finger slipped inside. There was a cut to Sherwood's face as he pulled out of the kiss to gasp with obvious, but not exaggerated pleasure. Back to the finger slipping further and further in. And then thrusting slowly. As the angle of the shot changed a little, John realised that Sherwood was holding on to the other man's wrist. As if guiding his movements. The shot ended with the finger, buried as deep inside Sherwood as it could possibly go.

Now Sherwood was on the floor. Lying on his back, he smiled up at the other man who was kneeling between his parted legs. He tilted his hips and the camera moved down to show the other man, supporting his cock with one hand, slowly penetrating Sherwood. John suppressed a moan and crossed his arms. He wouldn't touch himself. No.

As the two men began moving together, the camera did not linger on the genitalia but moved around them, showing them kissing and touching. Sherwood had wrapped those long legs around the other man and they were moving faster and faster, apparently in perfect harmony.

The other man did not pull out at the end, but came inside Sherwood (or at least acted as if he did), arching his back and crying out with pleasure. A moment later Sherwood finished too, spilling between them. None of their hands were anywhere near his cock. Was that even possible?

John took a deep breath and swallowed, as the men kept touching and kissing each other a little longer in post-coital bliss. This… This wasn't just a fantasy of masturbation where he could imagine himself in Sherwood's place. This was about fucking the man. And his cock, leaking inside his pants, betrayed how much he had liked it.

The clip had ended and the titles were shown. He snorted at the second man's name. 'D. I. Dimcock'. Who came up with those things?

He got up awkwardly and took the dvd out of the player, then hid the box in his drawer, where Mary wouldn't look. With a sigh he looked down at his trousers. A cold shower would do. He wasn't going to give in to this.

After showering, he put the telly on again and told himself to focus on some crappy program. Half an hour later he gave up and went to bed.

…

"John… John? Are you okay?"

John moaned and rolled to his side. So good… Who'd have thought he would enjoy this so much... with a man?

"John. Look at me. Please."

John's eyes snapped open as he recognised Mary's voice, echoing through the dream. "M-Mary… Hey…" His cock was throbbing and he closed his eyes for a moment. The dream had been so intense. Following almost the exact scenario of the video he had watched, but with him in the role of the ordinary man with Sherwood. The flat had been his own, and John had been inside him...

Mary put her hand on his forehead, obviously concerned. "Were you having another nightmare?" she asked. Then her eyes flickered down his body and she smiled. "Or did you miss me?"

John pushed himself upright, holding back a groan. "I… I need the bathroom… Sorry..." Avoiding Mary's gaze, he slipped past her. This time there was no way he could deny himself a wank. After tugging his pyjamas out of the way, a few quick strokes were enough to make him come hard. He cleaned himself up and sank down on the toilet lid, hanging his head in defeat.

Eventually he composed himself enough to pull up his pants and return to the bedroom.

Mary had changed into her pyjamas and had gotten into bed. She did not look at him as she spoke: "I guess we need to have a talk. But not tonight. I'm too exhausted."

John lay down behind her, chewing his lips. "I… It was just a… disturbing dream," he said.

"No, John," she said. "But we'll talk about it later."

"Right. Okay. Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, John."

...

The next morning Mary was still in bed when John made himself breakfast. He wasn't quite sure if she had been angry or not, and he hadn't slept all that well. While he was eating, he opened Sherlock's website on his laptop and clicked the file on Coming Out.

'Coming Out is intended for the man who has accepted his own attraction to other men, but who has not yet acted on it. A sort of idealised trial run. It is the story of a man who has his first homosexual encounter. And, since it is a fantasy, it shows the best possible first time such a man could wish for.

The story starts out as our 'hero' enters a pub. Just another night on the town. Except he meets someone special.

The actor for this part was chosen very carefully. The first criteria was that he should look common. Not stand out in any way. This is, of course, to make it easier for the viewer to identify with him. To think: this could be me.

The other thing I looked for was for my co-star to be a novice. Not in adult entertainment in general, since a complete amateur would have been too unfamiliar with all the technical aspects of this kind of work, and that would have caused too much distraction. But someone who had never been with a man before. An experienced actor who had only worked with women, who had a very specific look and who would be not only willing, but eager, to do a scene with a man. It was a long search, but I do believe it paid off.

Back to the story. We did not spend a lot of time on their meeting. Any further dialogue would have given our 'hero' a personality and a background, which would inevitably have separated him from the viewer. He must remain anonymous. So when we join these two men again, a connection has been made, mutual attraction established, and they are both determined to act on it.

Some would question spending so much time on a kiss in an erotic film. But since this is the depiction of a first time, it is necessary to go slow. You don't want such an experience to be rushed, but to savour every stage.

The scene in the cab is just a brief interlude, but it does serve two very specific purposes. First of all, it is the first time our 'hero' has felt the touch of another man on his penis. This is a big step. So why let it happen in semi-public? Because most men who have reached the level of maturity at which they are prepared to embrace this new side of their sexuality will at one point have done something similar.

Maybe not a handjob in the back of a cab. But a kiss that got out of hand at a party, mutual masturbation behind the bushes in the park or maybe even intercourse in the work place.

The large majority of the target viewers will have at least one memory that will be triggered by watching this scene. They will have something in common with this young man, strengthening the notion that 'this could be me'.'

John didn't read any further. This was impossible. How could that man know exactly what John would think and feel while watching the film? It was very disturbing to prove so predictable. 'Sherwood' had been playing him and he had reacted exactly as intended. As if he had no choice.

"G'morning…" Mary yawned, crossing the room on her way to the kitchen. "Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

John looked at the clock and quickly snapped his laptop shut. "Right, yes. Got a little distracted." He got up and gave her a quick peck. "See you tonight, then."

Mary took his hand and looked him straight in the eyes. "John," she said. "We do need to have a talk, I think, but… I'm not mad. I just want you to know that."

John nodded and swallowed. "Thank you. That's, er, good to hear. I love you. I really do."

"I know, John," she said, smiling.