In the following story, all of the characters are totally fictive and the setting is real. For whomever it would be illegal, immoral or prohibited for any other reason whatsoever to read a story about love between two young men is kindly requested to refrain from continuing. A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net. Please remember to help Nifty stay online by sending your contribution. This being said, I hope you enjoy the tale.
RAINBOWS GALORE (part one out of three)
by Marin Giustinian
Nowadays in Ullapool, Scotland
It's hard to tell what really brings two people to live the experience of unconditional love for each other. Rarely is there a rational explanation -- no plausible cause and effect mechanisms seem to justify the fact that a person is totally drawn to another person to the extent that their souls meld. However, if you just let it happen, it can happen.
Glen Gow was 25. He was born and raised in Ullapool on the Northwest coast of Scotland. His grandfather, then his father, worked on the MacCal ferry, shuttling cars and people from Ullapool to Stornoway and back.
After high school he learned how to work on the diesel motors in fishing boats, yachts, etc. The Ferguson boatyard often called him when a special job was needed. Over the weekends, he served in a pub on the waterfront. With two other friends, he played music there too. There was a banjo, a guitar, and Glen played the fiddle. They weren't great, but they put everybody in a happy, carefree mood, and had loads of fun together.
Like most of the boys in his town, he enjoyed sailing. Boats were his second nature. So was sex, as he was lead to believe. By the age of 19, he thought he had to fuck, eat, and finger as many cunts as he could. But, as many lads do, he mistook that activity for love. Each time he was sure he had found the right girl, it never worked. Sex stressed him, leaving behind an aftertaste of mud. His soul ached, his love drive was bruised. His best sex was still in the grip of his fingers, the same that sometimes set fire to his fiddle, when he played alone, chasing with music, the built-up tensions and contradictions that plagued his system. For the last two years, chastity and masturbation handled his cock. As for his heart, he imagined that self-love could suffice. Deep down inside, without realising it, he was on stand-by, like everybody!
This being said, he was very well liked in town. His skill with motors was appreciated and he was always ready to listen to the clients in the pub when they needed to talk through their liquor to an available friendly ear.
He had fixed himself a nice, little semi-private living space of his own in the family attic. He still ate at his mother's table and chipped in for the household expenses. Nothing was said about his bachelorhood. He was the younger of two with his older sister already married and mother of a daughter. She and her husband lived in Stornoway. Glen and his rather uncouth brother-in-law never got along. However, his sister visited home enough to keep both the little girl and her grandmother spoiled. Glen's room was like his attitude: neat, well kept, and a slight bit aloof. He was above all that family oriented stuff. He lived for the challenge of his work and his own world of fantasy, browsing the internet, or playing his fiddle, dreaming of tropical islands and desert sunrises.
It was mid-October when two Irish guys anchored their broken-down boat in the harbour. They had sailed up from Galway, on some kind of business they never spoke about. As they were entering Loch Broom, the motor stalled, coughed and went dead. They killed the battery trying to make it start. Nothing made it run again! They hoisted what was left of their sails and barely made it to Ullapool for shelter. They tried to fix the motor themselves but their efforts were of no avail. Disgusted, angry, and fed up, one of the two simply vanished, with most of the money, leaving his mate hopelessly stranded with a crippled boat on his hands.
Glen patiently listened to the poor man's story as he cleaned up behind the bar. What more could he could do?
"Tell me..." the Irishman slurred, "what do you think of my boat anchored down there. She's going to rot and sink and I can't do damn thing to stop it now!"
Pouring the fellow a shot of cheap whisky, Glen said, "It's on the house."
"Thanks man... by the way what's your name?"
"Glen. And yours?"
"Will O'Brian. Cheers!"
"Now, getting back to your boat, it's a shame you let her run down that much. Galway hookers are good boats. Have you contacted your insurance?"
"She ain't insured..."
"That's illegal here in British waters..."
"I'm running the risk. No choice, no money."
"Will, are you absolutely sure you can't find some money for repairs, new sails and another shipmate to help you sail it to wherever you were headed? That is, if you know where you want to go..."
"No way, Glen! Since that bum left me broke and alone, there's nobody out there for me. I hardly got cash alone to eat, so fixing the damn boat? Are you kidding?"
Will started mumbling some, "I need to get back to Galway somehow. I think I'll just leave my boat here until..."
"Hold on there! You know, you just can't leave her here without mooring her to a buoy and pay the harbour fees. Otherwise, she'll be considered abandoned, put up for auction, or scuttled."
"So what in the shit am I supposed to do?"
They say the Irish have a temper. This guy was no exception. He stood, paced around. The pub was empty. Glen was getting nervous looking at the clock on the wall.
"I've got to close now, Will."
"Listen, man, I've touched bottom. If you pay my fare back to Ireland, I'll give you the boat! What do you say? Is it a deal?" stuttered the desperate fellow, nearly collapsing on the bar.
Glen stopped cleaning the glasses. Suddenly things became clear as dawn in his head. He could finally have his own boat for might near free! He could work on it the time it takes. He had some money in the bank... Surely Ferguson, down at the boatyard, would let him use some of his space. So why not take the guy up on his offer?
"Do you have the boat's registration papers on you?"
Sensing success, Will smiled, fumbled in the pocket of his grimy jacket and pulled out a plastic pouch full of equally greasy documents.
"Here they are matey! So, do you accept my offer? Are you game?"
Glen examined the papers. They looked like they were in order.
"I've got to see the boat first. You meet me on the dock tomorrow morning at 8:00 AM and row me over to your anchorage. I need to give her a thorough look-over. I can give you £300 in cash. That way far enough to get you by bus and ferry to Belfast and tide you over for a few days. So, if I'm willing to take her, you'll sign the papers over to me, on the spot and I'll put you ashore. There's a 9:50 AM Citylink coach to Glasgow. From there, you can change for Cairnryan and take the ferry to Belfast. In the station, they'll give you all the information you need. Once in Belfast, you can find your way to wherever you want on your own. Does that suit you?"
Will reached over as to hug Glen, saying, "Bless you, man!"
Glen dodged him, patted him on the shoulder and simply said, "See you tomorrow, Will. Good night."
At 8:00 AM the next day, Glen came down as promised to find Will waiting with the dingy. He hopped in and they rowed over to the hooker. Glen saw that she floated nice along her waterline and didn't look as bad as he expected. Once on deck, he took a look around as Will opened the hatches. Everything was in a mess on deck and even worse in the cockpit, but the general feeling was that of a sound boat.
"I want to take a look at the motor first. Give me the keys."
"The battery's dead, man. Take a look anyhow."
The engine compartment was filthy. Glen simply checked the oil and the filters. Judging from the level and the way they looked, they hadn't been changed for years. With his flashlight, he inspected the shaft and bearings and was happy to see that there was very little leakage. As for the bilge, other than the usual stench, things didn't look catastrophic. He had seen worse.
"How often do you pump her out?"
"Hardly ever. She doesn't take water. I use the bilge pump over there only when the spray's really bad."
Good sign.
"When was the last time you had her caulked?"
"Me? Never? The former owner said the caulking was tight so I don't know when it was done for the last time."
"And the last time you had her careened?"
"Had her what?"
"Careened. You know, when you scrape the barnacles off the bottom."
"Oh, that... maybe two, three years ago... I don't remember exactly," stuttered Will, looking a bit confused.
The sails were used, patched and re-patched beyond recovery.
"I see what you mean, Will. It's a miracle you were able to get this far with a dead motor and tattered sails. Now let's take a look in the cabin."
"I've packed my stuff, but you'll see. It's sort of untidy."
On Galway hookers, the cabin is flush deck before the mast. There was barely enough headroom to stand under in this one, and with no window hatch, it was dark as a cave inside. The stench in grabbed Glen by the throat. It reeked of mould, coal smoke, cigars, piss, and just regular man-filth. However, it was spacious with a narrow flat floor in the centre. A large V shaped shelf served as a berth in the bow on which were scattered two stained, lumpy mattresses. To starboard, there was a tiny, rusted coal stove and to port a sink, bucket and hand pump.
"How much fresh water can you take on?"
"You ask the damnedest questions... I don't know! A lot! That's all."
"Okay, I've seen enough. Let's sign. Here's your £300 as promised."
Will signed over the registration and the title, Glen rowed him and his bag to shore, and that was that. Glen had his boat!
When Glen returned home, he was really excited, telling his parents that he had a boat and how he went about owning it for barely nothing. His father just said, "Son, a boat's like digging a hole in the water to throw money in... Today, you're happy. The day you get rid of her, you'll be even happier, believe me."
"Thanks for the congratulations and advice, Dad! I've got enough savings to put her in shape. If it's too much to handle, I can always sell her for more than I paid for! Don't worry about me."
"It's not about a boat that makes us worry, son. We'll stop worrying when you find a girl and get married like you should have done a good while ago!" exclaimed his mother.
"Sure, sure, you always say that, Mom. Sorry, gotta go to the boatyard now."
"Are you home for dinner?"
"Not tonight, Mom! I have to be at the pub at 4:00 PM to practice with my buddies. We're giving a little folk concert tonight. I'll eat there. Bye!"
Glen strapped his tool box on the baggage rack of his perfectly tuned motorcycle. He hung his fiddle case on his back and left for the day.
He pulled up to the boat he was going to work on in the Ferguson's boatyard. At the same time a new employee carrying a tool box walked up too.
"Hello, you're new on the yard. I didn't know Ferguson was hiring," commented Glen as he slid his fiddle case off his back.
"Just arrived. My name's Gael Willows. I'm the new joiner here for the next six months."
"Glad to meet you, Gael. I'm Glen Gow. I'm on call for Ferguson if there's a motor problem they can't handle. And you?"
"Ferguson asked me to just repair a few cabinet doors on this yacht. Nothing much."
They seemed to hit it off right from the start. As they worked, Glen did his job on the motor behind the companionway ladder and Gael did his in the same main cabin. They chatted the whole time.
"So where're you from, Gael?"
"Edinburgh -- well Leigh, to be exact. I was working for an elderly boat joiner, but he retired and the guy who took over the business didn't need me. So there I was without a job. I saw on the internet that this boatyard here was hiring up. I wanted to change air anyhow, so I called. We talked, he told me to come for a tryout. I took the train and bus and Ferguson gave me a six month contract that'll get me through the winter."
"Did Ferguson put you up in his bunkhouse? Not too dumpy?"
"It'll do. Thank God I came with my bike! That way I can get into town some. There's not much here."
"Not much? You mean there's nothing! Glad you got wheels, I bet!"
"Well, Ferguson's nice. The other employee's a zombie but I get a free meal a day with them on the side. It's peaceful -- I'll see how it turns out," replied Gael.
Glen had the motor running like a sewing machine. He cleaned off his hands and packed his tools, but didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave. They continued chatting. Gael let him know he was from a very modest family. He had left school at the age of sixteen and signed up as an apprentice for four years. Now that he was twenty, he had his certification, and was just starting out in life.
As for Glen, he told Gael that he was born and raised in Ullapool. He was holding down two jobs at the time: boat mechanic during the week and bartender/musician in a pub at night.
"I saw you had a violin with you when you drove up."
"Yeah, I play the fiddle in a little trio we have. We play together from time to time in the pub where I work. You know, just traditional stuff. We're having a gig tonight. Why don't you come?"
"When? Where? I'd love to!"
Glen gave Gael all the information as well as his mobile number and left, saying, "Great! See you this evening. I really enjoyed meeting you! Hope you'll like it here."
"Me too! See you around nine. Would that be good?"
"Yeah..."
"By the way, I play the penny-whistle."
"You do? Brilliant! Bring it with you. That's missing in our trio! We'll see if you fit in! Super! Bye now. I've got to go talk to Ferguson about my new boat."
At lunch, Gael told Ferguson about meeting Glen and his invitation to meet him at the pub that evening.
"That's really nice of him. He's a fine lad, that Glen. I'm glad you met. You'll be seeing him around a lot now because he might near salvaged a boat, as I was led to believe. He's bringing her over here to work on. I'm going to tow him day after tomorrow. By the way, if he asks you to work on it with him during your spare time, it's none of my business. You do what you want! But I'm sure he'd appreciate a helping hand..." said Ferguson as he left the table.
After work, Gael washed up and put on his good clothes, feeling the best he'd felt since he arrived. He put his penny-whistle in his coat pocket, straddled his bike, and sped away. When he got to the pub there was already a lot of people gathered. Gael spotted Glen, and waved at him.
"Come on over, Gael!" he shouted, "I want you to meet the guys."
Gael felt a little shy as he made his way up to the bar. Glen shoved a pint in his direction and said to the others, "Here's Gael, the fellow I told you about, the one who plays the penny-whistle. Let's hope he's good! Ha!"
Glen introduced the two others. They exchanged friendly smiles.
"How do you like it up here, Gael?" asked Randy, the chubby banjo player.
"So far, so good. You guys are a lot more welcoming than we are down in Edinburgh!" answered Gael, blushing a bit.
"See, I told you he's really cute! Look how bashful he is," joked Glen.
Luke, the guitarist butted in, "Don't pay him any mind, Gael. You sit close beside us and when you hear a tune you know and you feel like playing, just do it. We'll adapt. If you're good, we'll pay for your beer. If you're bad, we'll just tell you to shut up!"
Gael laughed as Luke patted him on the shoulder.
"That's fine by me!" he replied, taken off guard a bit by such open frankness.
"Well, now that he's here, and there's beer on all the tables, let's get the house swinging!" exclaimed Glen.
The trio, plus Gael, got up on the tiny stage by the bar. Gael raised his hands and shouted out, "Good evening, everybody!"
A guy in the house shouted back, "Just play your music, you lazy bums!"
"That's what we're here for, Bob! So shut up and sit down!"
The house laughed and Glen continued, "Tonight there's a special guest from Edinburgh who's just arrived in town. I've been told he toots a wicked penny-whistle, so we're going to try him out! Let's hope he's good! To put him in the mood, give our new friend, Gael Willows, here, a welcoming cheer he'll never forget! And you, fair lassies, stay calm! I know he's cuter than Brad Pitt was a real long time ago, but for the next hour, he's ours!"
Gael turned crimson, stood and stiffly bowed his head as the applause thundered. In the midst of the noise, the trio began a Highland jig and immediately the clapping fell into rhythm. The tune was easy. When they repeated the theme, Gael stuck the tip of his tin whistle between his plump lips and a shrill filled the room. The three others looked at each other, then at Gael as he stood, joining the group. It sounded like they had played forever together. The audience stomped their feet, clapped their hands, the evening took off like a rocket to the moon.
A few tunes later, Glen announced that it was refill time. He ushered Gael to the bar, saying, "Great! You are the best, Gael! Come and fetch your well earned pint!"
The two others congratulated Gael.
Randy said, "After the break, we'll cool down a little. How would you like to start the second set with a solo, something sentimental? We'll flow in real easy like."
"Okay. What about 'If I Were a Blackbird'?"
"Perfect!"
"Are you having fun, Gael?"
"It's great! I've never played with others before. Didn't dare... I get all emotional!"
"Save your emotions for the music, man! Come on! It's refill time!" stated Luke.
During the break, people came up, talking with Gael, welcoming him to town and complimenting his talent. One of the cutest girls in the room, coming up and grabbing Gael's arm, said to Glen, "This fellow here is a gift of God to you goons. He makes your music sound almost good!"
"Sally! Let go of him! He's ours, Remember what I said?" quipped back Glen, halfway joking, halfway serious.
Gael didn't know what to do with himself. Luke came up and said, "Let's go take a leak. We start again in five minutes."
As the lights dimmed in the pub, the crowd hushed, anticipating the music. The four stepped up on the modest stage. The three nodded at Gael. He took a deep breath and then began playing his solo. It was a lament that could make a standing stone weep. Gael didn't know what was happening in him. He had never played like he was playing then. He besought Glen with his eyes, as if for security. He winked and smiled back, nodding, his blond locks glowing in the spotlights.. Gael repeated the theme and with that, Glen's violin blended in ever so delicately, almost like a sigh. They continued as a duo; the two others sat down, letting the miracle happen. The room was dead silent and the music flowed, soared, almost vanishing until Gael and Glen, their eyes locked together, took a deep breath, lowered their lids, and stopped.
There was a second breath of suspended silence, and when they looked back at the audience, the house exploded like a bolt of lightning! Glen grabbed Gael by the shoulder and both of them bowed. It was a triumph!
Randy and Luke stood, strumming up a white-hot reel. Gael and Glen hopped in together and the music rolled on.
A short time after, drenched in sweat, they bowed, thanking everybody. Glen shouted out, "Last round before closing time!"
Again, Gael was almost mobbed by the people gathering around him, patting him on the back, bidding him good evening and hoping to see him around again soon. The miracle of music had happened, and Gael didn't understand a thing about what was happening to him!
Sally idled up again. She pulled Gael back over to the bar where Glen was cleaning up. She shouted out, "Glen, I've just got to tell you that this gorgeous guy's a blessing! You've got to keep him with you. You are just toooooo beauuuutifullll together! I'm jealous as a hornet, but God has willed! So let it be. Let it happen boys, let it happen!"
Gael gave her a hug. Glen blew her a kiss saying, "Thanks Sally, see you around."
Gael echoed, "Yeah, see you around..."
Just the two of them were alone in the pub.
"So, did you have a good evening, Gael?"
"I'm afraid I'll wake up and find out it was all just a dream!"
"Well, if it's a dream, we're dreaming the same one together, man! I loved our duo. I want to play some more with you."
"Whenever you want, Glen! Absolutely whenever! Ferguson said you're bringing your boat over to the yard to work on it in a few days. I guess we'll see each other some then."
"I guess we'll see each other a damn lot!"
"I've got to go now. Thanks again!"
"And I've got to lock up. The place doesn't feel the same since we did our duo in here... Anyhow, be careful on the road at this hour!"
"Bye, Glen."
"Good night, Gael!"
A rainbow halo encircled the moon. It was full, beaming over the waters. Its light pursued Gael along the road as he ghosted through the night on his bike. The hum of the spokes sang in his ears while sketches of music flashed in his mind. His heart was full of sighs and song, so full that he felt it would burst. The experience of the duo with Glen gave a whole new meaning to making music, to complicity, to unspoken fellowship. Joy was churning deep inside him.
He swerved into the boatyard's driveway, stashed his bike and walked out to the end of the jetty. Gazing into the rainbow moon, dreaming, he slowly unbuttoned his jeans and gripped his hard, slippery cock. A few minutes later, he gasped. His milky offering splattered and disappeared into the black waters at his feet. A drop or two lingered on his fingers. He licked. Never had he tasted so sweet.
Glen swept, turned out the lights and locked up. He took his time walking back to the house. Once in his room, he stripped and went to the window to take a last look at the harbour. The lights blinked as usual. The moonlight flowing into his room was strangely tinted. He opened the window, leaned out and looked up, smiling.
"Funny... Gael could be looking at the rainbow around the moon, just like me now," he uttered to himself. His phone beeped an incoming SMS. He checked the name: Gael. It read, "Thanks again for a wonderful evening. A random rainbow is hugging the moon!", followed by a smiley and the letter G. Glen looked at the happy face for a moment and then replied with a smiley and a thumbs-up.
"Ah! Gael! Get off my mind!" he mused as he tossed and turned, feeling very much alone in his bed.
End of part one out of three.
A free picture album illustrating this story (pdf) is available upon request at marin.giustinian@laposte.net.