Buntie

All the persons and events are fiction.

Copyright 2003 Laevi

Originally written in Dutch, translated at my best effort. Please excuse my English :-)

Morris walked through the apartment. It was fully decorated. He could take it over from a friend, and thought about accepting. Some of the stuff needed to be replaced, of course. Like the phone, for example. He'd seen a cute red one. And he wanted to have more sot pillows on the couch. But that were merely details, for now it'd do nicely.

Yes, until he'd enough money to buy a house this was a great solution.

He stepped onto the balcony. The view was disappointing. A parking lot and some grass. At the other side of that field: another apartment building. But there was sun on this side and he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth.

A breeze played with his blonde hair and threw it in front of his face. He brushed it aside. It was getting long, but it was fashionable... And fashion was his bread.

He looked at himself in the window of one of the doors. Pretty, no doubt. The camera seemed to love him and captured him perfectly on film. Time and time again. The public adored him. He was a popular male model. Popular in more than one way, but Morris didn't go for that.

Morris was aware that his beauty would fade at a certain time, and built on his future. He wanted to stand behind the camera instead of in front of it; he wanted a carrier as a photographer.

He sighed. If only someone would take him seriously.

He walked back inside and picked up the ugly phone. First to call his friend to say he accepted the flat. A home base. He'd go from there.

Pete hung draped on his couch, as usual, and looked outside. He knew every inhabitant of the flats by face and most of them by name. He didn't recognise the blonde guy on the balcony. That was strange, he knew the occupant of that flat, and he wasn't blonde. No relative either. Not that he recalled.

Curious he fetched his camera. He zoomed in and whistled though his teeth. What a beauty. He made a few pictures. Just something he liked to do.

After a while he saw the man disappear into his apartment. He waited for a while to see if he'd return.

An alarm clock disturbed his pleasant thoughts. It was time to exercise. He thought about just staying home, but that would be nonsense. He was dressed for it anyway. He knew himself, that's why he'd set an alarm clock.

He pulled his chair to the couch and lifted himself in it. He tied his long brown hair in a tail. Then he fastened his small, useless legs to the chair. He pulled on some leather gloves. Dressed to kill.

Once downstairs he crossed the parking lot. With hope in his heart he watched to see if he could fetch a glimpse of the blonde hunk. To his pleasure he saw him, he was just walking to his car.

Pete rolled towards him. He wasn't shy, he's never been. Despite that his heart skipped a beat when he saw that the man was even more beautiful than he'd thought. Almost too beautiful. He'd never make a chance...

The man saw him and gave him a glaring smile. Apparently cool, Pete nodded at him. That day he trained harder than ever.

Later that afternoon Morris sat himself on the couch, with a portfolio full of photo's he'd made. The phone disturbed him. Again. He sighed.

"Matheson..." he answered the phone. "No, he doesn't live here anymore. Yes. Never mind, bye-bye."

He should change his phone number. He sipped his coffee and relaxed again. Hopefully he wouldn't be disturbed again.

"Is that where he lives?"

Pete followed the pointing finger. "Yes. That's where Carl lived before. Apparently he moved..."

"Found out who he is yet?" Tim sat himself next to his buddy.

"No of course not. How could I?"

Tim nodded. "Good point." He looked outside again. "I know a way to find out," he continued. He slapped Pete on his shoulder. "Make me some coffee, my lad. I'll be back."

The blonde photographer uttered a scream when the doorbell disturbed him. He walked to the door and opened it with an angry face. He'd bet it was for Carl again.

He saw a man with a folder full of papers in his hand.

"Good afternoon," the man said. I'm controller of the health insurance. You are..." he looked in his papers and Morris waited, "Pete Muller?"

Morris relaxed when he heard the unfamiliar name.

"No... My name is Morris Matheson and I'm in perfect health..."

The controller reacted surprised but amused and apologized for the disturbance.

Once out of sight of Morris, Tim made a victory dance. He returned to Pete to tell him the news.

"Morris Matheson," Pete repeated. He loved the name. "Thank you so much Tim, how can I ever repay you?"

Tim smiled. He finished his coffee and made himself ready to leave. "Just win the championships next month. That's all I ask. Oh, and be happy."

He hugged Pete. "Don't get up, I leave myself out."

He left Pete with his dreams and butterflies.

The next day Morris slammed the door of his apartment shut. The glass didn't break and that made him even more furious. He threw his coat away and hit a vase, which broke into pieces. That was better. Cursing he walked into his bedroom. The bastards. They rejected his photo reportage! 'Not professional enough'. 'Need a bit more practise'. And than those 'Stay in front of the camera'-faces. He hated his looks!

He threw himself on the bed and let his tears run freely. He slowly eased down.

After a while he walked onto the balcony. The sun was setting, it coloured the sky beautifully. He sat himself on the railing and sighed trembling. He tried to think of something else. It didn't work. A few more tears ran down his cheeks. He didn't stop them.

The world was a bitch.

Dammit.

Pete looked though his binoculars. Morris cried and he wanted to comfort him so badly... He took the paper he cherished for weeks now. Carls phone number. He wasn't sure if it was Morris's number now. If he'd only dare to try.

He looked at Morris again. Yes. He dared.

He dialled the number, carefully checking the paper although he already knew it by heart.

The phone rang.

And Morris walked into his apartment.

The phone was answered.

Pete held his breath and heard: "Matheson..."

For a while Morris heard nothing but silence. Then he softly heard "Hi Morris".

He frowned. "Yes? Who is this?"

"Why are you so sad, Morris..."

So the caller could see him? Morris looked out of the window and felt uncomfortable.

"Will you tell me who you are? This isn't funny!"

"Don't get mad at me Morrissey," he heard the gentle voice say. "Unless you need to blow off steam."

Morris sat down and didn't think about cutting off the connection anymore. "What makes you think I need that?"

"You're angry, sad and disappointed. Why?"

"The world is not fair!"

The unknown caller laughed softly. "Tell me about it. Life isn't fair... But we don't let it put us down, do we?"

Morris looked at his coat and the pieces of the vase. The photos were spread in the mess.

"They don't take me seriously! Those bastards only want to make pictures of me, as soon as I show them I can do more than just being pretty, they make fun of me!" He blurted his grief. "It's not fair!" His tears filled his eyes again and he lifted his hand to wipe them away.

"So you've been rejected because they only look at your outside. What a classic. And now what? Sulk in your misery?"

That was just what Morris wanted to do. He didn't answer.

He heard the voice continue: "Everybody can see how pretty you look. You'll have to prove you're more than just a pretty face. You'll have to fight to get recognition, because it won't come easy... If you find your work is good quality you'll have to believe in it and keep going on. With sulking you won't get far, will you?"

Morris sighed. "I'm not used to be rejected."

The voice laughed. "Oh I'm sure they queue up for you! But if you want more you'll have to fight! C'mon Morris, clear up your mess and take a hot bath. Relax. Let those bastards go. Tomorrow the sun will shine for you. You'll be fine, believe me."

"Who are you?"

The voice laughed again. "My dear Morris, I will not tell you."

"Do I know you?"

"Only by face, yes, and now you still know nothing."

"What do you look like?"

"Think of something. Stop, no more questions. I'll call you again soon. Goodnight, beauty."

Morris listened to the dead phone. The he slowly replaced the horn. He raised and filled the bath. Strange. But who-ever that'd been, he was right.

Once in the hot tub he closed his eyes and relaxed. He wondered who the caller's been. Someone out of the other apartment building, no doubt. But who? He thought about some men he'd seen and shivered. He hoped not...

His mind wandered off. The guy in the wheelchair maybe? He smiled softly. That would be nice... He thought about the long dark hair, the brown eyes, the muscled arms, the broad shoulders... Suddenly he longed to be in those strong arms. "Think of something," the voice had said. Well, that was what he'd thought about.

With the boy in his mind, he stroked himself and he came. He felt much better.

In the days that followed Morris found himself looking at the invalid boy. He saw him occasionally, driving in his red streamlined wheelchair. Twice he saw him getting picked up by a bus. He discovered that the boy was a basketball player. He'd admired the ease at which the boy played with the ball. And he was beautiful.

The phone only rang when his family called. The unknown man didn't ring again. And because the dark boy only nodded at him when they saw each other, Morris was afraid he'd been wrong about the identity of the caller. But he still followed his advice. They rejected him twice more. He kept on fighting. And at the magazine he'd never expected to succeed, they wanted to publish his work.

Morris was so happy... He ran into his apartment and threw the doors of his balcony wide open. He hoped that the unknown caller would see him. He wanted to tell him all about it.

The phone rang and Morris answered it quickly. He heard the voice he wanted to hear.

"Champagne?"

"Yes!" Morris answered. "They saw my photo's wanted to publish them immediately, and gave me an assignment right away! Oh, I' so happy!"

"Congratulations, beauty, a bit more self-assured now?"

"Oh yes, this boy is gonna make it!"

Morris talked about the whole adventure in every detail. The other listened and made happy remarks. Eventually they were both silent, thinking about the future. The blonde photographer sighed satisfied. "Thank you," he said eventually.

"What for?"

"For your support. For appearing just in time."

It was silent for a while. The other said softly: "You're welcome, Morrissey..."

Morris wanted to hear the other talk. He longed for the soft warm voice.

"Who are you?" He noticed the hesitation at the other side of the line.

"Someone who wants to see you're happy."

"You're avoiding my question. What's your name?"

"Name me, if you want a name so badly."

A name. Morris looked around for inspiration and thought about a word he'd heard a while ago. Just a sound he liked... "Buntie!"

"What?" The voice laughed. "What the heck is Buntie for a name?"

"Well, You can tell me your name or it'll be Buntie... It's up to you..."

A chuckle. "Buntie it'll be."

"And how do you look?"

"Haven't you thought of something yet?"

"Of course... But what if you're totally different from that? It'd be such a disappointment when we meet..."

"Tell me what you've been thinking about, I'll tell you if it's right."

Morris closed his eyes and thought about the boy in the wheelchair. "You have long, wavy brown hair, a handsome face, brown eyes, muscular neck, broad shoulders, strong arms..." he described dramatically.

"And?"

"And what? That's it... Does it describe you?"

"I won't be a disappointment, but I can't guarantee anything else."

Morris wanted to say that the wheelchair was no problem, please, take me in your arms, but he said nothing. What if he was wrong...

"Goodnight, Morrissey," Buntie said. "Dream about me." Without waiting for an answer back, he disconnected.

Morris put the horn back. Dream of him. He only dreamed of him... And he needed more.

Pete took a shower and rolled into his bedroom. The bed was cold and lonely. He really wanted to have that blonde head on the other pillow. But why would such a handsome dude want an invalid basketball player?

Morris described him well. That would be okay. But those legs. They always spoiled his dates. No, only contact by phone for now.

He couldn't sleep. He could only think of one thing and he was about to take a cold shower. An idea popped in his mind. Nah. That'd go too far. But still...

He took the phone and dialled the number. He heard it rang. Two times, three times... Morris answered sleepily.

"Matheson..."

"Hi Morrissey... Were you dreaming of me?"

"Buntie? Any idea what time it is?"

"Oh yes... Time to fuck you..."

Morris laughed surprised. "Yes please!" he played along.

"Close you eyes and think of me." Pete also closed his eyes. He clamped the phone between his ear and the pillow and then forgot all about it. Softly whispering and moaning they talked to each other, fantasising they were in bed together. They came far too soon. Still enjoying the moment they kept silent for a while. Then reality returned.

"Oh Buntie, you can wake me up like this at any time."

"I was indented to. Goodnight, handsome." He disconnected and curled up. Now he could sleep.

He dreamed about Morris. A dream in which they lived together, in a large house with a studio for Morris.

He was in love.

Badly.

Life was good for Morris. The photo session was a big success and suddenly he wasn't just a model anymore.

He just closed the door behind him when he heard the phone rang. Buntie? But he just walked in and usually he waited a bit before he called him.

"Matheson..."

"Hi Maurice!"

Morris gained his breath before he answered his brother. "What's up."

"Can't you be more polite to me? Or do you feel too good now that you're in that magazine with your photo's?"

Morris made a face at the phone. He always felt too good for his brother and in-laws.

"Of course not," he continued a bit more friendly. "What can I do for you?"

His brother wanted to meet him the same afternoon. It was mum's birthday in a few months.

"...And because you never come to see us, I have to come to you in my rare spare time and-"

"What time are you here?" Morris interrupted him.

Jack was perplexed for a while. "Uh... in an hour or so."

"Okay. Bye."

The idiot. But okay, he's play host.

After an hour the doorbell rang and his brother came in. Morris was lucky he didn't talk those two spoiled brats with him. He wanted to sit on the balcony, but then they had to cross the apartment.

"Well Maurice," Jack said in an arrogant voice, "I'd certainly think you could do better than this. Successful carrier maker that you are."

Morris didn't even think when he said: "My assassinators are too busy to work the queen out of the palace. It's not available yet."

Before his brother could respond, he was in the kitchen getting the coffee. When he served it, he looked at the other building. But there was no movement in the apartment of the invalid boy.

Jack spoke. His wife and him had thought of a terrible expensive present for their mother. A cruise on some sort of Tropical Ocean. Of course one of the kids had to come with them, mum had to be watched and dad wasn't that young either.

Morris got more annoyed with every word. Mum and dad weren't half as needy as Jack occurred.

"...And since you are to busy with yourself and never pay any attention to your family it seemed us logical that Emma and I come along."

Of course, Morris thought. Why not. First class, no doubt? Supper with the captain, private servants, name it all? With iron self-control he asked: " And how would you split the costs?"

"We pay what can afford, of course. And since you-"

"Enough! Not a word from you anymore!" Morris had jumped up and tried to control himself. "What are you doing here anyway? Shall I be frank with you too? Yes, I make good money with both of my carriers. Yes, I save my money. For a house. No, I won't participate in this gift. I'll give mum a present that comes straight from my heart. And indeed, I don't walk in and out with them. But when I do come, I come because I like to be with them, and not because of some inheritance that might not even exist." He took a deep breath.

Jack stared at him. "How dare you-" he started.

"No, how dare you coming here with all these accusations! Did you ever show any interest in me? No, only when I appeared to be successful, and even then only out of jealousy! And if you'll excuse me now, I want to get you out of my house."

Jack walked quickly to his car. Morris followed him. He'd retrieved his calm. "Listen Jack, you are always welcome with reasonable requests and if you really want to talk with me. But I'll be no longer used by you."

He stepped back to let the car door pass by. A fraction of a second later he felt how something pushed against the back of his knees and he fell backwards. Shocked he saw how he's landed on the lap of the dark wheelchair rider.

Jack uttered a scream and Morris cursed his own imprudence. But the boy held him tight and laughed.

"Welcome on board!"

Morris wriggled free. "O, I'm so sorry! Did I hurt you?"

Jack approached the scene. "You idiot! Why don't you watch out! Please excuse my brother, sir," he continued to Pete. "He's such a dreamer. Can I offer you 100 euros to keep you from further reprisal?"

Pete looked at him with disgusting. "How dare you offering money for an accident?"

Morris looked at his brother in disbelief. "Jack, go away. I can deal with this myself." He didn't want to say a word to the man anymore. Jack stepped into the car.

Pete and Morris watched him leave. Then Morris kneeled in front of the chair. "I really didn't hurt you?"

Pete'd pulled a glove of his hand and with his strong hands he stroke through the blonde hair. "I could easily avoid you, but I didn't want to. I did it on purpose..." He smiled apologizing. "I'm sorry. I scared you. But it was an opportunity I couldn't let go by."

Morris watched him carefully in the eyes. Pete started to blush. But he didn't blink. They seemed to read each other's mind.

"What's your name?" Morris broke the silence.

Pete smiled and his eyes started to gleam. He only raised an eyebrow and Morris felt Goosebumps. He got more and more convinced this was Buntie.

"What's you real name?" He said eventually.

The smile broadened. "Pete Muller."

Morris frowned. It sounded familiar. But he didn't recall.

"Well, Pete. Can I offer you a cup of coffee against the shock?"

Pete nodded with a serious face. "Yes please, I need that..."

They went to Morris' flat. He had to stand close to the wheelchair in the lift, and he put a hand on Pete's shoulder. He felt the muscles and the warmth, and wished the lift would get stuck. It didn't.

Slowly Pete drank his coffee. He looked around him. There were framed photos all over the place. One in particular drew his attention. It was in black and white, of Morris himself, and very sexy. He felt his temperature rise when his eyes followed the perfect body. He admired the slim hips in the tight jeans.

Morris stood behind him and bent over. "Like it?" He watched Pete's face.

"Of course... Beautiful." He took the wrists of the photographer in his hands. "I can see them queued up for you."

Oops, first mistake. Quickly he started about photography. That was a good move. Morris talked about his favourite subject and while he was talking, Pete looked around a little more. His gaze rest on the red phone. Morris followed his gaze and held silence suggestively. Second mistake.

Pete struggled with himself. He really wanted to tell Morris that he was Buntie, but on the other hand he was so afraid Morris would turn him down...

Morris thought about telling Pete that he knew everything and that he didn't mind, but was too afraid he was wrong.

When Pete left, they didn't make any progress.

Pete lied in his cold bed and felt miserable. He didn't dare to call Morris. He longed for it, but the fear was greater. With cold in his heart he went to sleep. He hated this insecurity. And in no time he's have to play for the champignon ships. He couldn't use sadness. It was dawn when he finally fell asleep.

The rain was falling down on the balcony. Morris sat in his bed and listened to the sound. It made him feel lonelier. Again he thought about the meeting with Pete. Did he say anything wrong? He didn't think so. Still, it was eight days since Pete'd called. Was he wrong after all?

He jumped up when the phone next to his bed rang. There was only one who could ring in the middle of the night. He hurriedly picked up and cautiously mentioned his name. He sighed in relief when he heard Bunties voice.

"Buntie! Why didn't you call me! Did I offend you?"

"No Morrissey, don't worry. I just couldn't. Did you miss me?"

"Hell yeah did I miss you! I need you! I want-" He hesitated.

"Yes? What do you want?"

"I want to make love to you. Like we did before." It felt so good to hear the soft chuckle again. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the caressing words. His fantasy did his work and soon enough he was in Bunties arms.

They stretched it as long as they could.

Sadly Morris replaced the horn. It rained even harder and felt lonely. He stood up to look at Pete's flat. Tears ran over his cheeks. It'd been good. But the return to reality was painful.

If only he dared to make the first step.

He closed his curtains when it stayed dark in the other apartment. In bed he cried himself to sleep.

Pete saw how Morris stepped away from the window. He knew how the man must feel. He felt the same. This couldn't go on any longer. He had to do something. He had to take the risk of rejection.

He drove to his bed. He had a smile on his face. Buntie, tomorrow is your day. The sun will rise for you.

Marc looked at the pictures and listened to Pete's idea. In the meantime he made notes.

Pete waited anxiously. "And? Do you like it?"

Marc leaned back. "Sure, no problem. I'll make it for you." He watched his friend carefully. "But are you serious? I mean, is this true?"

Pete nodded and Marc looked at him with compassion. "Poor Pete." he squeezed his hand. "I'll do my best. Give me a week."

"That quick?"

"Yes. It has to be finished before the game. And that's next month." He looked at one of the picture Pete'd made. "And this gorgeous laddy has to cheer at the sideline. Leave it up to me. I'll get it done."

Pete wanted to leave.

"Yo, wait here, first you'll have to promise me something! Train like you've never trained before, okay?"

For a week Pete trained as if his life depend on it. It helped him reducing time. He didn't call Morris.

The last day of the week he couldn't keep it anymore and he called Marc. His friend had good news. He just finished the assignment. Pete called a cab and an hour later he sat in Marc's studio.

The cartoon started. Fifteen minutes later he sat with his hand pressed against his mouth and tears in his eyes.

Marc took the video out of the recorder. "The original stays here, they copies are for you. One for you, one for your friend." He offered Pete some water. "Are you okay?"

The boy sighed trembling. "What do I owe you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? But it took you hours to make it!"

The cartoonist silenced him. "See it as a present from your friends. All we want is to see you happy."

They said goodbye. "Good luck."

"Thanx..." He needed luck.

When he'd return at home the clouds opened and the sun began to shine. It encouraged Pete. It had to be a good omen.

"Luke!"

The boy with the walkman approached his neighbour. "Hi Petey, what can I do for you?"

"Wanna make easy money?"

Luke smiled. "Always. How?"

Pete gave him a parcel. He told him to bring it to Morris. "Give it personally. And don't say it's from me. Okay?"

The young boy laughed meaningfully but didn't ask anything. The money was in his hand under the parcel.

Morris took the paper of the videotape. He stuck it in the recorder and sat in the couch.

A red dot appeared on the screen. It grew bigger and bigger until it'd become a heart. It kept growing and the whole screen was red now. After that it went smaller again, but now he was looking at a phone.

His own phone.

A flashing showed it was ringing and a hand took the horn off the hook. The camera followed the hand up and a face appeared.

His own face.

The man looked pleasantly surprised and leaned back on his couch.

His own couch...

The image zoomed in on his face. The phone disappeared out of sight. The colours softened.

When the camera zoomed out again he wasn't alone anymore and he was in a different environment. A dark man was had appeared.

Morris leaned forward. He recognized him. It was Pete. His Buntie.

The men kissed and Morris watched how they started to make love passionately. The camera followed the movements. Hands caressed, mouths kissed, tongues licked. Morris was fascinated.

Suddenly he saw a close-up of the two faces. He could see they both reached the climax. He licked his dry lips. Wow...

Suddenly the plot changed. The image turned in a total shot and showed Morris, alone, dressed and on the couch.

Morris held his breath. O no! Not that!

But he saw the phone in the hand of the image. Realizing it'd been a dream; he threw it back on the hook. Morris saw the tears and felt he cried too.

The phone re-appeared and grew bigger. Then he saw a face in the red screen. It was Pete.

"Oh Pete!" Morris cried out. "I love you!"

The image closed his eyes and Morris saw one tear rolling over the cheek. Then it faded and the cartoon was finished.

Morris stared at the black screen in disbelief. Now he knew.

He raised and looked out of the window. He saw the bus Pete used to go to basketball. Without hesitation he ran outside.

Pete heard the name.

"Buntie!"

He looked up. "Wait for me," he said to the driver.

He rolled to his friend and pulled him into his chair. The pressed themselves close to each other.

"Buntie... Pete. I love you."

Pete laughed. He reached for Morris' mouth and kissed for the first time.

The yell "Hey! Casanova!" made an end to the passion. Pete pulled back.

"I have to go. The champignon ships start in a few weeks..."

Morris understood. "Can I be there?"

Pete smiled happily. "I'd love you to be there!"

The photographer rose of his lap. "Call me when you get home."

He watched the bus leave and sighed in relief. He was so glad this happened.

The coffee smelled good. Pete rolled to the kitchen and passed the cabinet. He looked at the trophy. His mind wandered off to that year. He'd fought to get the trophy and was happy when he made the winning score. The trophy was a small reward compared to the other reward he'd gotten that day. That day he won true love.

He wheeled through the large house and looked at it, as he did often. A warm spring sun lighted the garden. The sun was shining just for them.

A soft kiss interrupted his thought. Morris kneeled in front of him. His hair was short and his face showed some wrinkles. Pete caressed them. He loved every single one of them.

Morris took his hand and kissed his fingers. "Happy?" he asked.

Pete pretended to think it over and Morris slapped him softly. "Creep, don't tease me like that!"

They kissed each other.

"What shall we do with our anniversary? A large party or a small one?"

12,5 Year. Nearly 13 years ago they've met. Pete kissed him again. "How about a cruise?"

Morris grinned. "Only if we can take Jack with us."

"Rejected."

Pete poured the coffee and Morris took it with him. He showed Pete his latest photos. Pete loved them. Morris was famous.

Maurice.

The sun will rise just for you.

The end.

Laevi