Текст книги "Ravages"

Автор книги: R.A. Padmos

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Daniël takes Steve’s hand and kisses it quickly. “You never get to guess again.” He thumbs

through the pile of pile of newspapers and frowns.

“Something the matter, Danny?”

Daniël shows him two envelopes. “Not really, I had forgotten all about them. I don’t

understand why they didn’t send these letters to the Graces. It’s clearly stated on the club’s official

website and on my personal blog and I know most online football communities have mentioned it at

least once. That’s hard to miss, isn’t it?Anyway, it’s not like you can keep your private address a

secret for long anyway, with those burglaries recently at players’ homes and all. Last week it was

Kurt, before that, Kevin. They were seriously pissed off about it. What shithead takes another man’s

school team trophy?”

Then he seems to realise what he’s implying. “Sorry, it just slipped out.”

“I’m not worried about it. It’s just stuff. And what happened to me, well, you know ...”

“I know. I think.”

“It’s probably something Jane and Emma know perfectly how to deal with. Perhaps we can

drop the letters off with the girls before training?”

The girls, being middle aged women with a reputation of having an uncanny talent for sifting

through letters, cards, e-mails and any written material in high speed without ever blushing or getting

into something that remotely looks like panic, have their own system of dealing with the stream of

reactions to anything concerning the whole matter. Even foreign language e-mails and post are being

dealt with, and with the same firm but friendly efficiency.

A few days ago, they explained it all to Steve in a fast stream of Kinbridge brogue that would

silence local boy and chatterbox Anthony Levee. The vast majority of the mail is easily answered with

a mention on the KTFC site or on Daniël’s blog: thank you so much for the continuing well-wishes

and heart-warming interest in Steve’s health and progress. If opportune, i.e. the question is asked,

either Matthew or Degaré mention it in their talks to the press. Small gifts go, if ever possible, to

different charities. Expressions of creativity get lovingly stored in the huge club archive. Work of

children always gets a little personal thank you note. A relatively small percentage of mail goes

straight to the police. And then there are, as to be expected, the mails and letters that are so personal

that a personal answer, if possible, is the only correct answer.

There are the few handfuls of young boys hoping they can become professional players without

having to acquire a wag, the closeted gay amateur players who suddenly don’t know what to do any

more, the ‘I haven’t told this to anyone before’ fans. They all get a friendly word from either Jane or

Emma and, if need be, addresses to get help and advice.

Daniël’s voice breaks gently through his thoughts. “Okay if I take a quick look at those letters

before we decide to hand them over to the girls? I’m getting a bit curious.”

“What? Oh yes, of course. Sorry, I seem to be a bit absent-minded.”

“You need more rest during the day? Am I pushing you to hard? Or perhaps I should be asking:

are you pushing yourself too hard?” Daniël takes a pocketknife and opens an envelope. “I think this

was the first one.”

“I’m fine, Danny. I was thinking about all those fans sending mails and gifts. I know it’s

because of what happened, but when I try to understand what it all means... I’m starting to see it’s

more than you and me being visible as a couple. Think about those young lads hoping they have a

chance in five or ten years’ time because you’re still training with the club, and the manager and the

owners declared in public they’re okay with it. I’m thankful that we can mean something to others by

simply being ourselves, but ...”

But he doesn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

“What a fucker. He’s got some fucking guts to do this to us ...” Daniël stares at the letters, his

face pale and his hands visibly trembling.

“What is it, Daniël? Please talk to me. You’re scaring me.” Steve hasn’t seen the boy this upset

in a long time and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. The ground is shaking under his feet and the

one keeping him safe looks like he’s in need of help himself.

Daniël clutches Steve’s hand. “Please sit on the couch with me, I need to hold you.”

Steve feels how all the muscles in his beloved’s body are tensed up, like he’s an animal ready

to attack. His arms feel like fierce protection, instead of the loving embrace when they quietly sit

together for an hour before they decide it’s time to go to bed.

“Sweetheart, you do understand I have to know what’s in that letter if it makes you this upset.

I’m not sure if I’m able to read it all myself, but I’m willing to try. Is the handwriting difficult to

read?” He talks as gently as he’s able to, but Daniël has to know Steve refuses to let him carry this

alone. “Is it something for the police? Hate mail?”

“Not hate mail. I’m so sorry for scaring you. I just didn’t expect this. I’ll make a fresh cup of

tea for us and I’ll read the letters to you.” He kisses Steve in a gesture of apology before he gets up

and walks to the kitchen, but turns at the door and looks at Steve like he wants to say something but

isn’t sure what exactly, then is out of the room.

A few minutes later, he returns with two mugs of tea. He takes both letters from where he had

left them on the table and joins Steve on the couch again.

With one arm around Steve’s shoulder and the letter in his free hand, he starts to read aloud.

“Dear Mr Gavan,

I have restarted this letter so many times over the past months I lost count. And I still don’t

know how to begin.

First of all, please excuse me for delivering this letter personally to your home. But I hope

you’ll understand my reasons after reading.

My name is Mark Smith and I assure you, that is my real name. I’m in my mid-forties, and I

was married until recently. My daughters are 18 and 14 years old. The oldest just started her studies

at the University of Manchester, the youngest lives with her mother. I used to work as a sales manager

for an insurance company in the city, but I’m unemployed at the moment.

Forgive me for being this blunt, but I am the man who tried to touch you up in that park. I

thought at that moment I saw in you a kindred spirit, a lonely man seeking release, however

superficial and imperfect. I have to admit I was wrong.

I was also one of the men who left you in the hands of those bashers. I know none of us had this

intention, because we all assumed you would be familiar with the unwritten rules and risks of this

meeting place and that you would run away with the rest of us. Those thugs, I used to think they were

mostly ridiculous in their behaviour, more of a nuisance than a real danger, had been bothering

cruising men for months. I guess we got used to them. I, at least, had long been resigned that it was

simply an unavoidable risk of this particular activity. The noise they produced had always been

enough warning to get away unharmed. I never even contemplated going to the police to bring this to

their attention.

Now I have to live with a guilt that is unbearable and yet has to be carried for the rest of my

life.

For months, I’ve tried to give myself reasons and excuses, but I have found none. I’ve tried to

blame my upbringing, society, the pressure to conform, loneliness and the need for human, or rather,

male touch, but they are all cheap pretexts.

I’m not writing this letter because I’m hoping that you will forgive, perhaps even understand

me. Even if one day you would grant me this precious gift, I still wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.

I saw the news the next day after our meeting in the Queen Elizabeth Park and while it didn’t

happen immediately, my life changed. But I’m not going to bother you with that.

I just want to tell you and Mr Borghart how much I regret my lack of common humanity and

courage that night. My silence of the past months has not been one of indifference, but of shame and

confusion.

I’m willing to accept any consequences, legal or otherwise, concerning you following from that

particular night.”

Daniël drops the letter on the floor. He sighs and pulls Steve closer. “What does that man want

from you? Pity? Attention?”

“There’s another one from the same person? Read that one too, please?” Perhaps then he will

feel something, anything, more than this bone-eating indifference. Anger, or compassion, or even the

beginning of understanding. All that he’s able to feel is geared towards Daniël, with nothing to spare

for this stranger. Indeed, what does the man expect from him?

Daniël gets the letter out of the envelope. “This one is longer.”

“We have time before training? That’s after lunch, isn’t it?”

“Next week, I’ll start in the mornings, too.” Daniël drinks his now lukewarm tea. He tries to

get as much as possible of Steve in the curve of his left arm.

“Dear Mr Gavan,

Please forgive me for writing you a second letter, but I just watched the press conference you

and Mr Borghart gave and, against my better judgement, I cannot keep silent.

Although I didn’t tell a single lie in my first letter, I didn’t tell the truth in its full honesty. I

have to admit, though, I’m still in the middle of finding out the truth for myself.

I’m not proud of it, but I had my doubts about the reasons you were in that park even after that

first press conference Mr Borghart gave, when you were still in a coma and it was very much unsure if

you would survive. I even kept my reservations after I read the true reasons in his blog, when you were

able to tell them. I had become that cynical and mistrustful. I had learned to lie with an honest face

and expected nothing better from the men I met for one particular reason only.

It was easy enough to place all the blame outside myself. To focus on the superficiality of so

much of the most visible gay lifestyle, the lack of healthy role models, the obsession with often extreme

and unhealthy sexual practices. I was keenly aware of social and legal discrimination and, until

recently, almost no support for or acknowledgement of gay relationships. But I was also blind to the

committed couples, the friendships and the available support.

In the end, it all came down to a lack of courage to face myself, accept my true nature and look

in the right places for a potential mate to share my life and love with.

I married my wife nearly twenty years ago, knowing what I was. But I thought I was wise in

trading a meaningless life filled with empty sexual meetings with strangers for the adult

responsibilities of starting a family. My sexual attraction to men was just that, sexual attraction.

Nothing stable or worthwhile could ever come off it. Or so I told myself.

How wrong I was. My wife and daughters gave me something I so very much craved, but they

couldn’t lessen the other need. So after the birth of my youngest daughter, I started to visit the

anonymous meeting places again. Telling myself it was just to get the tension out of my body and that

my family was my true love. My real life.

Then that night happened. I hope I don’t offend you, or especially Mr Borghart, but I’ve always

found you an attractive man. You certainly got my attention when you started to play for Kinbridge

Town. And I don’t even care for football all that much. I just had to take my chances with you. I

honestly interpreted your behaviour as shyness. I thought I witnessed the moment when the need to be

touched by another man grows simply too strong, even if the risks, as in your case, are enormous.

I guess I saw what I wanted to see.”

Daniël pauses, takes his time to kiss Steve, caress his face with a gentle hand. He drinks the

last of his tea. “Shall I continue?”

Steve nods. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

As terrifying as that statement is in its final consequences, Steve knows it to be true.

Daniël starts to read again. “No matter how many excuses I try to use, I ran away at the first

signs of danger like I always did. I felt no solidarity with, no commitment of any kind to the men I

considered my potential sexual partners. And I expected no such thing from them.

The next day, I watched the news and read the papers. I soon became aware of the rumours

spreading on the internet like wildfire. I saw the press conference Mr Borghart gave and I still tried to

deny the truth about myself: that my successful career, my marriage and my beautiful miracles of

daughters were the result of a false choice. I saw the face of love and I hated it because I feared it and

I envied it.

I also looked at the pictures and video made of you after the assault. And I wondered what

made me any better than the monsters who did this to you.

I landed in a deep depression. By the time I had crawled out of its deepest pit, I had lost my

marriage and my job. While I deeply regret the pain I caused my wife and daughters, in a way, it was a

relief. But it also means I have to start all over again, a man in his forties. I’m more afraid than I’m

able to express, but also strangely thankful.

As I said, I watched the press conference yesterday. The consequences of what I had done, or

rather had neglected to do, stared me right in the face. But I also saw the immense courage and

fighting spirit. If I’ll be allowed to keep only one image from all this for the rest of my life, it will be

this: love.

Nothing that has happened can be undone, but I can take my responsibility. I will go to the

police and make a statement. I don’t know what will happen, or if anything will happen at all, but I’ll

accept it without reservation. I know your reputation has been blemished undeservedly. I am prepared

to declare to any media of your choice what I know to be the truth, if you express the wish for me to do

so.

I’m not asking for any sort of personal contact between us. Be assured: I will not bother you

again in any way or form. I provide my full name, address and phone number in case your lawyers

need them.

Thank you for reading my words.”

*

Steve looks for a moment at the white, still empty paper before him, takes his pen in his hand

and starts to write. Slowly, making sure every word is correct. He writes the difficult words on the

margin of an old newspaper to ask Daniël if they’re okay.

Mr Smith,

Thank you, but I’m afraid you have nothing on offer I could possibly need.

Sincerely,

Steve Gavan.

Then he shows Daniël what he has written. “Did I make any mistakes?”

Daniël smiles and kisses him. “It’s perfect.”

Chapter 25

In the morning, he lies in Daniël’s arms for a moment before the days begins for them and the

question comes up without bidding. “Was I cruel in my answer to that man, Danny?”

“Cruel? You couldn’t be cruel if someone paid you good money for it.”

Steve sighs. “This indifference, all the emotions I’m not feeling...I don’t know ...”

“Well I do. Mark Smith seems to me interested in Mark Smith first, second and last. If he had

really thought of you, he would have simply gone to the police and asked for help with a therapist.

Isn’t there some GLBT helpline? What reason did he have to bother you? Does he really think it’s

somehow helpful? That first letter was hardly forgiveable, the second one downright shameless. Fuck

it, Steve, but even the teenagers who think they might be gay and wonder if they can still become a

professional footballer without having to date a girl have the decency to send their letters to the club

and not to you personally.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Steve tries to hide against Daniël’s body. It’s not often

he sees his lover this angry and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

“No, I should be sorry. I wish I knew how to protect you against such people. People who want

to use you for their worthy cause, their personal needs, their whatever it is they want from you. You

need every bit of energy you have for physio, getting married, finding a home, and dealing with all the

stuff we have to deal with. Do they even understand half of what happened to you? And you still feel

guilty for not being able to feel anything much for all those people.”

“It must have been hard for him too. He tried to be nice in that park; I’m willing to believe he

really thought I was scared and perhaps a bit shy. When I think about it, it must have looked that way.

I just wasn’t able to say anything. I was absolutely tongue-tied. I was too shocked and how could I

have told the truth without giving you away?”

“From what I read in those letters, he made his own choice. We all make mistakes and who

knows what stupid things we would have done if nothing had happened that night except you taking a

stroll in the park, but I’m not going to blame that on others.”

“Would you have found a girlfriend? Started a family?”

“I’m beginning to forget what I would have done. By the time I said see you in two days and I

got to the airport for my parents, I was full of clever ideas of how to keep my job with Kinbridge

Town and still be with you. Those six months before everything changed had already given me my

answer. It had to be you and no one else. I already loved you so much, what kind of man would I’ve

been to misuse a woman for that? There’s no excuse for that sort of behaviour. Absolutely none.”

“Not even when a girl had knowingly agreed on it? Is that so wrong? People get married for

lots of reasons, not just love and sexual attraction.”

“And some gays still wonder why so many people look down on them? Us.” Daniël takes a

deep breath. “Okay, that’s unfair of me, but if you don’t take your own relationship, or your very

nature, seriously, then what do you expect from others? Footballers might be one of the last groups to

start behaving like normal human beings when it comes to this subject, but allow me the illusion that I

wouldn’t have given you up for anything in this world.”

Steve’s breath is taken away by the force of Daniël’s embrace.

“I can’t live with the idea we are still together because you were nearly beaten to death. And

for what? If we had been working in an office ...” Daniël’s voice becomes soft, vulnerable. “I’m

preaching against my own fear, my own cowardice. I’m just as dishonest as that man. Taking the high

moral ground ...”

“You’re trying to protect me. I love you so much for that.” Steve kisses Daniël as a lover, with

deep longing.

“Morning breath?”

“Well, it’s not exactly roses.” And he kisses Daniël again.

“It makes you such a sweet darling of a man, the fact that you care about not caring someone

who doesn’t deserve that care at all, at least not from you.” Daniël frowns. “You ever think about the

upcoming trial? Should I even mention it?”

“That’s okay. I try not to. I didn’t die, so I don’t think they’ll be put away that long. I guess it’s

complicated, too, them trying to blame each other. To blame me. They’re going to get a few years at

most, I guess. And it’s the innocent who’ll pay the highest price in the end, isn’t it? Us, their families

...” Steve shrugs. “It’s out of our hands and I’m happy for that. I want to share my life with you, my

dear boy, not with them.”

“Perhaps we’ll hear from Smith during the trial or via the lawyers, but other than that, can we

agree to close the subject? There are people able and willing to help that man, I’m sure. As for the

monsters ...” Daniël worries his lower lip with his teeth and to Steve it makes him look unbearably

fragile. “It has to be about you, about our love, not about them. But God, it’s so hard sometimes.”

Steve snuggles his face against the crook of Daniël’s neck. “I would love to make love to you

right now. Not a quickie, but really taking our time. But there’s training and we have to look at those

houses, so please be stronger than me and help me out of bed?”

Daniël grins. “What about a date? You, me and this bed? Tonight, after tea?”

It takes Daniël some clearly visible effort but he manages to get himself into an upright

position and help Steve to do the same.

“Anything special I should wear to our date?” Steve stretches his body. Ouch, exercise is going

to hurt and there’s no maybe about it.

“It’s all fine as long as I can get you naked real fast.” Daniël smiles, kisses him and is off to

the bathroom.

*

The day is full, very full, but pleasant enough. Yes, doing his exercises hurts, but there’s also

the feeling that for once, he’s making real progress. Not in a spectacular-tearjerker-TV-movie-of-theweek

way, he’s not that lucky, but his hard work of the past weeks finally seems to be rewarded. The

pain is the price he’s willing to pay, especially when a good massage takes care of the worst of it.

At least, enough to share lunch with the others and enjoy a quiet conversation with Gael and

Niko, while Daniël is busy explaining some ideas for the next training to fellow defenders Neil and

Anthony. He tells them about the houses he and Daniël are going to take a look at later that afternoon.

“You’re going to look at some property in Hollycroft? It’s actually very nice there. A handful

of our guys already live there, and with good reason,” Gael says.

“You’re looking forward to having a real place for the two of you?” Niko asks. It’s such a

simple question, and it makes Steve feel like he’s genuinely welcome to show them how happy he is.

“You have no idea. My apartment is fine and there’s enough of Dan’s stuff around, but it’s not

the same, is it?”

Both Gael and Niko murmur their agreement.

Daniël turns to him. “I’m going to the gym for a good hour, after that we’ll visit a few houses.

You need to rest?”

“I don’t think I’ll manage the gym right now, not when we have more to do this afternoon, but

I’ll find a quiet place and work on my reading a bit. I’m curious what I’m able to understand from the

KTFC magazine at this moment.”

For an hour and a half he works his way, slowly but with less difficulty than he anticipated,

through a short article about Arnaud Degaré’s trademark managing style and an interview with local

boy Levee. His finger following the lines, his lips muttering the words. Sometimes guessing,

sometimes going back a few words. He remembers how he used to be able to skim texts, getting the

meaning of whole sentences with one look. It doesn’t bother him any more. This is where he stands

today; tomorrow will be another matter. The past? The jury’s still out on that.

Daniël brings him tea and enthusiastic stories about the weights he managed to lift. “I’m

beginning to get some decent level of fitness again. Interesting article, by the way, that interview with

Anthony. I read it yesterday. Not afraid to admit he had been wrong about certain things. Solid

character. It’s easy to understand why fans worship him.” He starts to grin. “But don’t tell him I told

you that, because I wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.” Steve nods. “You look good: no longer so pale and

frightfully skinny. Let’s say I’m very much looking forward to our date tonight.” He puts the

magazine away and tries his tea. “Hot.”

“Just like you. Hot, I mean. I watched you reading for a bit. You look sexy, being all

concentrated.” Daniël stretches his long legs. “The plans I have for you tonight ...”

Steve can’t help but blush.

“You still get shy when I flirt with you. That’s so sweet.” Daniël takes Steve’s hand, kisses it.

“Ready to hunt for a home?”

*

The first house they walk through has already been vacated by the residents; the carefully

placed pieces of furniture too obviously an attempt to give it a certain ambience. Other than that, it’s

near perfect. Built before the Second World War, it has five rooms, a big kitchen, a huge bathroom

including a bath tub easily big enough for two, two walk in closets, a pantry, more storage room in the

attic, central heating, a double garage, a shed and a garden front, back and on both sides. The fact that

the nearest neighbours are at shouting distance does add hugely to the appeal of the property.

“It’s a bit old fashioned, but I like it,” Daniël whispers into Steve’s ear.

Steve stands in the middle of a room, leaning against Daniël. “So do I.”

It’s a quiet, one could even say modest house, not boasting its qualities, but waiting patiently

for someone to discover them.

“This house somehow reminds me of you. Not sure why, it just does,” Daniël says while they,

for the second time, make a round through the rooms.

The second house looks like it could be used in a magazine article about modern homes, but

when they look at each other’s faces, they notice the attraction isn’t there.

“I suggest we let it sink in for a day or so. You look tired, you feel like taking a nap while I

cook tea?” Daniël asks when they’re home again.

It’s only then that Steve realises how exhausted he is and ready for some rest. But it’s also

right at that moment he knows exactly why the old house is going to be his and Daniël’s first shared

home.

“You noticed the light, those windows?I’ve never seen it quite like that.”

Daniël kisses his forehead. “I know. I fell in love with it too. Now, sleep a bit and I’ll wake you

up in an hour or so. We’ll talk about the house when we have tea.”

Then Daniël kisses him again. “Had a good nap? Food’s keeping warm in the oven. Take a

shower, you and me?”

Steve stretches himself lazily. “But only if you promise to wash my back.”

“Back, front, any part you like.” Daniël grins. “Don’t tell me; I’m too good for this world.”

They have a very pleasant half hour.

After that, the spicy beef-vegetables-and potatoes casserole is still palatable enough, but

perhaps past its prime quality. Steve nevertheless eats with gusto and he’s delighted to see Daniël do

the same.

“I really liked that first house,” Daniël starts the conversation.

“You think it needs a lot of work?”

“You mean if it can be ready before the wedding, so we can move in right away? I don’t see

any reason for major renovations, just a bit of paint, new curtains, stuff like that.”

Before Steve can ask the next question, Daniël continues. “I had it inspected. It’s in good

condition, we just need to decorate it to our own taste, get furniture we like. A few adjustments so you

can get around safely. The garden can wait until after the winter.”

“There are more houses we want to take a look at?”

“Why should we? We like this one, it doesn’t need a lot of work, and we can afford it. There

will always be better places if we search long enough, but what’s the use of that?” Daniël scoops the

last bit of gravy with a piece of bread. “That’s what dad told me.”

Steve can’t deny it’s a relief. He sees nothing but joy in getting married and moving to a new

home with Daniël, he just isn’t sure if he’s up to the less than two months leading up to the happy

events.

“Hey, we’ll be fine. We don’t have to do everything by ourselves. There are people whose job

it is to organise weddings, paint houses and help us with finding the right colour of paint, too. Mum

reminded me again we are privileged to have a job that pays some serious money and be part of a club

that supports us in just about anything and as long as we need it. All you have to do now is say if you

like something or not.”

“You make it sound like it’s so easy and you have everything under control.” Once more, he

offers the boy a chance to venture out of his sanctuary.

But Daniël chuckles the concern away. “I’m getting pretty good at pretending I actually know

what I’m doing. And when I start to panic and I haven’t got a clue what to do next, I just think: as long

as I have my man, I can face the whole world.”

“I’m sorry for ...”

“Please, don’t. Everything, I mean fucking everything, has been taken from you. You have to

work so hard to get the things back we all take for granted. There won’t be a perfect happy end, no

matter what I try to tell myself about miracles happening all the time.” Daniël waits for a few seconds

before he continues. “You know what was hard for me? To be almost totally passive; not being able to

do anything but to wait. I was always used to doing things. Training, matches, proving to the gaffer I

was worth a place with the starting Eleven, undergoing therapy to recover from injuries...Suddenly all

I could do was sit and wait. Sit on that chair next to your bed, watching you. Waiting. Watching how

the nurses took care of your broken body. Waiting. It means so much to me, being able to do things for

you. I love taking care of you. It doesn’t matter how big or small the job. Does that make you feel

uncomfortable?”

Steve takes Daniël’s hands in his own. “If I feel threatened in my masculinity simply because

the man I love helps me to shave or with more complicated matters like finding a house and getting

married, what kind of man would that make me? You had the courage and the patience to wait for

weeks until I was ready to wake up, not even knowing if I would stay alive. I honestly can’t bring

myself to make a fuss about my male identity.”

“But you don’t mind me making a fuss about your masculinity in the bedroom?”

“I insist on you getting all bothered by it.”

Before they start giggling like schoolgirls, Daniël places his arm firmly around Steve’s body

and together, they stumble towards the bedroom.

They undress quickly, too eager to do it the nice and slow way. Once that bit is done, time

again is of no consequence. This is their date and they can do whatever they please and take as much

time as they like.

Kissing for the sake of kissing. Touching for the sake of touching. Not ignoring the sexual

excitement that becomes obvious with their erections, but simply accepting and enjoying it for its own

beauty.

So when Daniël takes a pillow and gestures that he wants to shove it under Steve’s hips, Steve

simply nods his consent. He opens his legs wide enough to give his lover easy access, but no more

than feels absolutely comfortable.

Daniël’s tongue doesn’t surprise him, but still makes his breathing hitch for a few seconds.

Such a patient tongue, talented and patient and doing things that makes Steve want to surrender his

whole body and yes please yes ...