CHAPTER 1 - Beginnings
Hello everyone - I'm Ted, and I'm dead. Yes dead, as in seeing my own ashes in an urn dead. I am not a ghost, although quite a few of you would think I was an evil spirit possessing a poor guy - a parasite battening on to the living. You see I share a body with Larry, who is 30 years younger than the age I would have been if I hadn't been killed. Larry knows all about me, and knows I'm sharing his body - he's pleaded with me to stay, and I have. We are in a rather complicated relationship which I'll try and explain later.
I am (was) a professor of cybernetics and clinical psychology at Cambridge University (England not MA) studying the way the human brain stores memory. in comparison with the way electronic computers do it. I was a divorced man with three grown-up sons, Colin (22), who is a gay geek (my words, not his) Martin (20), who is going to be a doctor, and Edwin, who has just started at Oxford University reading history. My ex-wife and I keep in touch because of the boys, and we now get along quite well. Quite simply our marriage fell apart because I made a mistake at the outset - Julie was the wrong gender. From what I know now, I was gay as far back as I can remember thinking about sex, but I never did anything about it, met Julie, mistook sincere friendship for love, and biology did the rest. The result was that at 52 I was single again and not looking. My body was in pretty good shape for my age, but I would never fool anyone I was under 45, particularly as the grey hair replaced the black, and I became circumferentially challenged [he means middle age spread - L]. Colin and I have cruised the odd gay bar together, to our mutual amusement, but in my case it never led to anything. Please don't think I was lonely, I have (had) plenty of friends and, being a good cook entertained a lot. I was reconciled to my situation until my new research assistant, Larry Sorensson came along. Larry came to England on a Gates scholarship and he is a hunk - a certifiably droolable, drop-dead-gorgeous hunk. Powder blue eyes, fair hair, 6'2" 180lbs of V shaped body on muscular legs. (30 inch waist & 40 inch chest). The cruncher is that Larry didn't [still doesn't -L] realise this. He is like the big blue moose, gentle, kind, clumsy indoors, and terribly, agonisingly shy. On paper his mind [our mind now - L] is sharp, incisive and ruthless. On the phone it's not too bad, but when we first met, I picked him up at Heathrow, it was two hours before he said anything other than yes', no' and huh'. I remember so well that first meeting, waiting at Arrivals with a clipboard held horizontally with the name Sorensson' on it, when Larry came through, wearing just a tee-shirt, tight 501s and boots, a grip and one suitcase. His hair was quite short, ticking out all over, and he was peering over the crowd through his cheap horn-rims. As he came up to me, I gave him a once over, the way his basket pushed out the button fly, the way his nipples showed through the large, tight shirt, the left one with a ring through it, golden hair on his forearms, those shoulders, ohhhhh. I had to concentrate hard when we shook hands, not to wrap myself around him - and as a reaction started to chatter non-stop [why do you think I said very little, there weren't any gaps left to put words in!! - L]. Not that he needed to say much, I was in love with him before we hit the London orbital motorway (a freeway that goes all the way round the capital). It was rather pathetic [no it wasn't, I fell for you too but was too nervous to come out with it - L] an old queer falling for a guy half his age. Whatever, I helped Larry settle in, and we enjoyed a couple of evenings a week where I talked [true, oh so true - L] and Larry listened [the only reason Ed loves me, I'm a captive audience, Ha - L {that's not fair Larry, I love you for your personality - I would love you for your body, but we share that now - T}].
Dear Reader, please accept our apologies for all the brackets - this is being typed with a back-seat driver, whichever one of us isn't typing at the time. For academic stuff we argue it out and present a united front. Conversation, now that Larry's been infected with confidence, and can actually talk for himself [how does one punch and/or kiss ourself] can get very confusing. Ourself is a good way of expressing this, - and a notable grammarian was recently reduced to chewing the high table cloth trying to challenge that word when we used it.
Larry's Story
Hi, I'm Larry, and unlike Ted, the body that was originally mine is alive. Like Ted, I'm gay, but being brought up in the backwoods of Tennessee, it certainly was not something I was telling the folks about any time soon. My family breed like rabbits - I have four sisters and two brothers, and the whole lot of them are as poor, as lazy and as thick as, well, maybe a few of them have native cunning. That's how come I got stuck with all the work around the farm, and I found it much easier to do it and be on my own, than to argue with my no-good brothers. Whilst they smoked and drank, drugged and screwed themselves into a bored oblivion, I buried myself in schoolwork when I wasn't keeping the old place going. Mum helped as much as she could - and quietly praised my efforts. Pa was to full of preaching and hell fire to notice. When I won academic scholarships to college and MIT, Pa was furious because there was nobody left to run the farm. Ma tried, but the strain was too much and her heart gave up six months after I started at Cambridge MA. After the funeral, I packed up a few remaining photos and keepsakes and took the Greyhound back to Massachussets without a backward glance. I still wrote every Thanksgiving (Pa doesn't approve of Christmas so it didn't happen) but never got any replies. Because my folks never had the money for spectacles, by the time I reached MIT my eyes were pretty bad with straining them, but the opthalmology people attached to MIT stabilised the position enough for me to do well in research.
My emotional life was really poor as well. Apart from making kids, the only other thing my pa did was to preach hell fire and damnation and soak his congregation for all the cash guilt could buy. By the time I was 13 I realised that I liked looking at boys rather than girls, but with my pa's attitude even girls were for when you were committed (not that that ever stopped him). Because of my `rents and their reputation I was a lonely little geek of a kid - my only good friend was Arlene, the wall-eyed girl whose widowed ma owned the grocery store. Although Arlene isn't blessed with looks, she has an excellent brain and we helped each other work towards our academic scholarships. We keep in touch, as you will hear later. Anyway, when we were 16, Arlene challenges me about girls. "Larry dear, I can see why you, or any other guy for that matter, is the perfect gen'l'man around me, but you seem to be the same with all the other girls, even Rina, who'll go with anyone. Are you capable?"
"Oh Arlene, if I was going to come on any girl it would be you, OK I've seen prettier, but you're kind, bright, and I care a lot about you, but ....."
"I'm not a boy, right?"
"How'd you guessed?"
"Process of elimination Dr.Watson."
"I don't want to be a fag Arlene - I really want to be normal, to marry and have kids. If I married you I would try to do my best by you, but we both know I would always be thinking about the other. I'll give it a go if you will."
"That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me Larry. If I was going to marry anyone, it would be you, but Larry, we're in the same boat."
"Wha...."
"Yes Larry dear. I want a girlfriend."
At that point we both broke out laughing till we were weeping with it. Finally Arlene finished the topic with
"Having said all that, if ever I get to wanting a kid, it would be yours Larry." I hugged her. "If ever you do, just tell me - I'd be deeply honoured."
Because my Pa was so against me going away to MIT I got no help from home and the hardship trustees took over. I worked and tutored to make ends meet, and with that, I was so busy that I really didn't have time for relationships even if I had known how to start. One really good earner was banquet service particularly over ThanksGiving, Christmas and Hogmannay. As I didn't have any family I wanted to be with, working was no loss, and I actually enjoyed being part of other people's celebrations. During my last Christmas at MIT we were set down to be doing this big party for the football supporters club (American football, not soccer) with 500 covers, at the stadium, and it was an all day thing. I came back to my room on campus really tired, but realised that I had left some data for my next presentation in the computer building. So I went over to the lab to pick up the CDs - and I found that I wasn't the only one there. My professor was tapping away programming or reviewing something.
"Larry, what are you doing here? - you should be with your family on Christmas Eve"
"No Professor Peabody - when I came here it meant leaving my folks for good. I haven't even had a card or note from them since I left. Those letters I sent have been returned to sender, unopened."
"Sorry I asked Larry - don't you have a friend whose family you could stay with?"
"No one that close - anyway I've earnt quite a bit doing banquet service over the holidays - I'll need a cushion for my next research post."
"Why haven't you got any close friends Larry?"
"I can't seem to fit in with what my peer group expects. Folk think I cold, detached, stand-offish."
"Is that because you're gay, Larry?"
"How did you know, Sir?"
"Well it takes one to know one - my boyfriend died this year, and I can't face our apartment alone. Would you come back with me. I.m not about to seduce you, but having someone to talk to over Christmas would be great."
You will not be surprised to hear that I moved in with Harry Peabody for the rest of my stay in Massachussets - he didn't seduce me, it was more of an educational programme, and although we had lots of sex, we weren't lovers. He was a lonely old gay man mourning his real love, and I was a lonely gay young man learning about sex. He taught me a great deal about the world and culture which I had missed out on in Tennessee.
Ted takes up the tale again
Cambridge University is divided up into colleges where students, undergraduate and post-graduate, live. We usually try to welcome the post-graduates from overseas, particularly if they are allocated as RAs and this it was my turn to drive to Heathrow (the main airport for the scheduled carriers from the US) to pick Larry up. Just as I was overwhelmed with Larry, he was a bit overcome by the tradition and history of the College (founded in 1321). Getting him a long enough gown was a challenge, as was getting him into a daytime suit (he had a couple of tuxedos with the bangetting job), rather than jeans and shirts. He had swum and run at MIT for pleasure, not competition, and he worked out daily at the local gym. Our college does have a weight room, and I gave him details of the relevant university athletics clubs. His only competitive sport was rifle shooting, which was difficult in England after Dunblane.
After he had been with us for a few weeks, I realised that Larry was our invisible man. With his looks you would have thought the girls (and boys) would be lining up for him, but it didn't happen. I think his size intimidated most of the students, and that year we had a rather `hooray henry' lot, (trust fund kids) who had no idea of what it was like to have to work for a living whilst studying. The graduates all had significant others, and Larry was so shy that he hadn't joined any of the clubs or societies. I talked at him about this during a project discussion, when Larry came out with the little detail that he was gay. My face must have been a study [in scarlet, dear, a Study in Scarlet - L] and that evening I took him to one of the two decent gay pubs in town. Have I told you that Larry doesn't drink alcohol? Well it meant he hadn't tried the pubs and clubs. He was mobbed - they probably had to mop up the drool after he left, with me still.
"Surely Larry there must have been some guys there you liked the look of - I could think of three or four who would really liked to have made you an item on their agenda."
"Thanks Ted - but nothing doing, don't misunderstand me, they're nice guys, but I really don't feel that way for any of them." [What I didn't say was that there was one guy I really wanted to be an item on my agenda, and I'd left the pub with him, ande was talking to him - duh. - L]
Whatever, Larry and I met up a couple of times a week, sometimes for a meal, sometimes the cinema or a concert. It started to sink in that I meant rather a lot to Larry [Ted is a bit slow on these things, but then so am I - L] and one evening, coming back from Grantchester across the meadows, I stuck my courage to the sticking place and put my arm around Larry. Instead of a face full of fist, I had Larry trying to massage my tonsils with his tongue.
"I've been wanting to do that ever since we met at the airport Ted."
"So have I - do you want to go further?"
"Yes if it's more than a one night stand?"
"Larry, I'm thinking the `L' word here, and lifetimes."
"Do you really mean that? It's not the beer speaking?"
"No Larry, I feel exactly the same stone cold sober. I needed the alcohol to have the courage to put my arm around you,that was all."
Further conversation proved difficult as Larry undertook more serious oral investigation. Ten minutes later we were down by the river, stark naked and jacking eachother off, so we could walk back to my set of rooms.
[Although we inhabit the same brain, we are not actually telepathic. Only when one of us tells and/or writes down their past memories do they become common property. We each treasure our all too few memories of sex between us as very personal things, so we're keeping those to our, indivual, selves - T & L}
When I woke up the next morning, it was to feel a warm Larry sleeping beside me, with an 8" morning wood sticking out. Eventually the hydraulic pressure in my bladder was such that I had to disentangle myself from my lover and take a deeply satisfying piss. I was joined shortly by Larry onthe same mission. I felt complete for the first time - not just in love, but more than that, this was the love I had always hoped for, the Holy Grail, an ever filled cup from which I can drink and always be refreshed. Apart from having a beautiful body, [Shut up Larry} it is his mind that I found most attractive, pellucid, simple, straightforward. His love for me is as clear to me as my love for him. When it came time for us to go our separate ways for the day, we kept in touch by text messages, until we met up again for dinner.
It was rapidly commented upon that we had become an item. Perhaps it is a measure of my love that I never denied the reality of the situation, either privately or publicly, not only to my colleagues and friends, but also to my sons. We had a marvellous fortnight together, until, one evening Larry was checking his emails:
"God Ted, this is terrible, come and read Harry's email - he's killed himself." sobbed Larry
<Dear Larry,
<I hope that when you read this I shall be well on the path to joining Simon
<[his dead boyfriend]. If I lose Descartes gamble, and there is no afterlife, well
<I'm still the gainer, because I have no wish to endure a painful, lonely and
<undignified dotage. Be reassured that your leaving for England has absolutely
<nothing to do with my decision to end my life. It is a year ago exactly since
<Simon died and that's when I promised myself to go. If I was thirty, or even
<twenty years younger, I might have let our friendship develop into something
<more. My only regret is that I shall not see you get the Nobel prize which you
<will, God willing, win in due course. Do not mourn me - but remember the fun
<we had. I have been presumptive enough to leave you the majority of my estate.
<There are a few legacies andbequests to friends, but the rest is for you. I am sure
<you will find a soulmate eventually, and all that I ask is that every Christmas
<you toast my memory. In return, if there is an afterlife, I will try to keep an eye
<on you.
<Fare thee well my young friend, and au revoir
<Harry
Larry
Ted and I flew back for Harry's funeral in the Episcoplean church in the other Cambridge, which was the university church. I was most embarrassed to be treated as the chief mourner, right up at the front, and it was a great comfort to have Ted at my side. Ted looked magnificent in his silk gown and fur trimmed hood, and seemed to know at least half of Harry's fellow academics. We made no secret about being an item, and I could tell that we were the subject of a lot of envy and angst. Little did we know just how bitter some of it was. Harry had appointed a firm of lawyers to settle his affairs, and the day after the funeral Ted and I went to see them. It was a great surprise that Harry had left me comfortably off - I could look forward to the future without the desperate anxiety about how to pay my credit card off. It pushed me follow Ted's advice to make enquiries to see how my folks were - not to contact them, but just to find out what was going on and I fixed this up with the law firm. After it was cleared of his personal effects, Harry's apartment would be rented out until I gave further instructions. I certainly grieved for Harry as a friend and wise teacher, but not more than that, Harry made it very plain at the outset that our relationship was only physical, along with a teaching role. There was no sense of partnership or any great emotional attachment, just a regret at the passing of a stage of my life. At the same time I took the opportunity of making a Massachusets will in Ted's favour with another law firm nearby. We visited my few acquaintances left at MIT and were just about to get a cab to the airport when one of Ted's friends phoned him at the hotel and came round immediately with the latest edition of the local weekly magazine.
Ted
I did not realised how much jealousy we had aroused. The local society magazine had covered Harry's funeral, and had done a very good character assassination of Larry, showing him as the gay mourner with another sugar daddy in tow already - the expression `gold-digger' was used three times. There was no mention of Larry's own academic achievements, just the idea that he was a parasite on one old faggot after another. The whole article was homophobic and biased. I threw up in the htel bathroom after reading it. Larry just went very pale. We had a flight to catch, and decided that a dignified silence was better than some rushed attempt to get a retraction or correction. Little did we know who else was reading that article.
CHAPTER 2 - The laboratory
Our theory relies on an equivalence between the way the brain lays down memories and thought patterns and the way that very advanced computers do it. We had fouind that by using intersecting coherent pulses of magnetism, it was possible to map out the links between individual neurones. This meant that we could read a set of linkages, record them. It seemed that for recording new memories, there was a mapping system, and be projecting the three dimensional neurone nets upon this sector of the braian, the brain itself recorded these memories in vacant spaces. It will come as no surprise to you that we used our own brains for these experiments, and at last we were achieving some results. I transferred to Larry the memory of the taste of anchovies. He gave me the sound of a jackall's howl. More complex thoughts didn't work, but gave us both horrible nightmares. Thankfully when thesehappened we had eachother to cuddle and comfort. Every morning I woke with the joy of having Larry for another day.
The most promising results came when we allowed the scanner to be set by our own brainwaves, and after a few weks we both could unconsciously direct the scanner to the area of memory we wished to transfer. With that we were starting to work out the way that the brain encoded the information. It certainly seemed to be universal between humans. From Sydney, the lab cat, we evn found out what the killing and eating of a mouse was like for a cat. We next tried more complex memories, and were both rigged up with the send an receive kit, concentrating on the data flows, when the main door to the lab burst open. We both looked up. A man of about my age, in a suit and clerical collar was pointing a handgun at Larry.
"Pa, what are you doing?"
"I'm going to make sure you repent of your sins, before you die. That way you may be saved."
"No Pa - killing me will only put your soul into Hell."
"No it won't - not when you're already lost."
I don't know why, but I was convinced that the man, evidently Larry's father, was going to kill Larry. It was probably evident to Larry and the link being in place the idea had been transferred to me. I sent back the thought <> and Larry threw a manual at his father whilst I, being nearer, leapt at him. The last thing I heard was the sound of a shot. Then everything went black.
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CHAPTER 3 - Hospital
I woke up in no pain, but without any real feeling, just ghosts of feeling. I could smell that hospital smell, and could hear voices, very distant, as if they were in another room. I could see light, but couldn't seem to control my eyes. I lay there for what seemed hours, trying to do something. As I kept trying to tell my body to move or react, I began to feel the rest of me. It was a very strange feeling, like when you're coming out of a local anaesthetic, without the tingling. My mouth was first, and as feeling came back, I was able to start moving my tongue, and throat. Breathing was next, then my eyelids and eyes started to respond. Everything was blurred except when I looked down. I was wearing a hospital gown and the blurry images around me seemed to confirm that I was in hospital. The more I felt the more I seemed to be able to do, although everything was very clumsy. When feeling got to my hands, they felt wrong, but I couldn't think why. Then I realized that I was tubed up, the catheter bag hanging at the side of the bed. Well that was a relief. The hospital gown tickled, and I moved my left hand to scratch my chest. As I did so I realised that two things were wrong, my chest hair was missing and there was a ring through my left nipple just like Larry's. Where had my chest hair gone. It wasn't shaved because there was no stubble - I looked again. Those weren't my nipples. Mine had never been pierced, they were the flat type, rather than pencil erasers like the ones I now had. I looked further south. Someone had bleached my pubic hair and dyed it. Mine was black with grey, not blond. I looked again at my hands. THEY WERE NOT MY HANDS. But I knew whose hands they were. Where was Larry?
My movements must have registered at the nursing station and a male nurse came over to see what was up. "Ah, Mr.Sorensson, with us again I see. How are you feeling."
At the third attempt my (and I was having grave doubts about the use of the personal pronoun in relation to the body I was using) vocal chords responded. It must have been graveyard humour
"Not really myself, can you get me a drink and a mirror?"
"Sure, my name's Sam by the way."
A minute later Sam, was back with a plastic cup of water and a handbag mirror. After sipping the water, I took the mirror, in my left hand (why?) and looked at the face in it.
"Oh my God, what have we done? Where are you Larry?"
"Before you go any further, Mr.Sorensson, we have some very bad news about Professor Baker - he was dead when we found you, along with a man we presume is your father. It seems he hit his head on the bench when someone punched him, and in view of Professor Baker's wound, it must have been you.The police will want to have words with you but as your father was carrying an illegal firearm I doubt you will have many problems.
"Thanks Sam, but they're onlly just starting. You see I'm not Larry Sorensson, my name is Edmund Charles Baker and I was born in Sutton on 12th July 1954. I'm either having a first rate nightmare, or someone is really having a good joke at my expense. The third alternative is just to horrid to contemplate.
"As I can confirm that you are not dreaming, and that we are not playing tricks on you, what is this third alternative Mr.Sorensson?"
"Sam, what would you do if you had just been told that you were dead and that you had woken up inside your lover's body."
"Mr. Sorensson, I had no idea that Professor baker was you r lover, I'm so sorry."
"Sam, I'm really not Larry Sorensson. This may or may not be his body, but the me up here" and I pointed to my head, "is Professor Baker, and Larry and I are lovers."
"Fuck me!! You really believe that you are Professor Baker? Look in the mirror. You are Larry Sorensson, you match your passport photo and you were wearing his clothes when you were brought in. I'm calling in the head doctor now, for both of us."
A little while later, an attractive lady in a smart green two piece came to see me.
"Hello, I'm Marjorie Grayson. I understand we have a little identity crisis here. According to your patient notes, the armband you're wearing, your clothes, passport and acquaintances, you are an American citizen, Lawrence Sorensson, born on 26th January 1981 in Tenessee. What seems to be the problem?"
"Dear Dr.Grayson, that's just it. I'm not Larry,I am Professor Edmund Baker, a fellow of Gonville & Caius College, and of the Senate of the University of Cambridge, born in Sutton in Surrey on 12th July 1954, once married to Elaine, and the father of three sons, Colin, Martin and Edwin."
"Well it's easy to disabuse you of that, because Colin Baker is here waiting to see you. He wants to ask you if his father gave you any specific instructions about his funeral, as he knows you were lovers, and he wants to meet you as well."
"Show him in - but can you please stay near. I have a feeling that you'll be needed."
"Colin, how are you, and how is Simon?"
"Hello, I don't think we've met, although my father must have told you about me and Simon, which surprises me."
"No Colin, I never told Larry anything about you other than your name and age."
"Then who on earth are you?"
"You may find this hard to believe, because I am finding it so. I am your father Ted."
"And I'm Tony Blair {England's PrimeMinister] - you are not my father.For a start you're blond, hot as hell and half his age."
"Oh Colin, I have a horrible feeling that this may well be Larry's body, but the personality that's speaking to you has the memories and knowledge of your father. Do you remember when I came across your Tom of Finland book? You know that I knew about Luke and the car, don't you, and Peter's speedos?"
"No, not Peter's speedos - Mum must have told you, what the fuck am I saying, somehow you've stolen my father's memories and are playing at being him. Stop it - it's horrible. He's dead."
"Colin, Colin, your father's body may well be dead, but the personality is still living, in his lover's body. That personality is feeling very frightened ands alon, and seems to have lost his lover. At least let me touch you, my son."
Colin put his arm around me - it was a very nice feeling - something I'd not had happen since he came out when he was 18. Help, I was having thoughts fathers should not have - catheters notwithstanding.
"Can I believe this? Well, if you were going to pick a new body, yoou sure picked a good one. Well back to your original question, I'm fine, apart from mourning a dead father. Simon and I split up a couple of weeks ago, he's found a big hairy daddy. Now I've found this really hot, blond hunk, and I've got my arm round him, he says he's my dad, but I'm having the most unfilial feelings towards him. What a fuck-up!!"
"Well I could think of worse things to do, when they take the tubes out. Here, have you a kiss for your old man?"
Colin kissed me full on the mouth, and it was not a father/son kiss, but the sort of kiss that leads directly to bed, do not pass go do not collect $200 etc. Colin's tongue was massaging my tonsils ~ mine wasn't quite under control enough for that yet, but I certainly wanted it to be.
We broke just as anoxia was about to take me out of things again.
"Dad, I believe you now ~ no stranger would let me kiss like that. How do you think it happened?"
"It has something to do with our research. Larry and I were hooked up to the cybernetics facility when I was shot. Presumably my unconscious knew I was going to die and escaped, via the computer link, and ended up in the safest place it could find, Larry's brain. For some reason Larry's not at home at present, I expect when he is, my personality will be destroyed, and this illusory me will finally dissolve. I'm only here as a caretaker."
Just then Dr.Grayson came back in to the room
"Well Mr. Baker, have you convinced our patient that he's not your father?"
"No Doctor, it's the other way about, he's convinced me that the conscious personality occupying Mr.Sorensson's body is that of my late father. Have you read their latest research papers?"
"I thought your father was a cyberneticist?"
"Exactly, they were comparing how humans and computers store information. I think the equipment has imprinted Mr.Sorensson's brain with my father's personality. A form of induced schizophrenia."
"So he's a parasite, feeding on his host?"
"I don't think that's a very nice thing to say, if true, his host is his lover, and if he is deluded it is himself. Anyway, is there anything wrong with my ... this person here?"
"Not really, I can't exactly commit him. He has some abbrasions on the knuckles of his left hand, consistent with him hitting his father, but there are only the marks of one blow on Professor Baker's assailant. I'll get him unplumbed, and call in the policeman to talk to him"s