“You don’t take much time off, do you?” Tony says.
It’s his farm, but he has too big a herd to run it alone. His son, Angus, helped him for years, but doesn’t want to stay on the farm after he graduates, so Tony’s wife hired me to take over. Tony hasn’t hidden his lack of confidence in me, so I’ve been busting a gut the last few weeks to prove my worth. Unlike him, I don’t have a background in farming, but I do have a degree, hands-on experience, and a desire to learn.
“There’s a lot to do around here.” I wince, hoping my words didn’t sound like criticism.
“It’s a farm. There’s always something to do.”
I smile. “I’m done for the day, now. Unless there’s anything else you want me to do this evening?”
“You don’t go out as much as Angus. Didn’t you get on with his friends?”
I widen my smile. “They were nice.” From the thirty seconds I saw of them before I got drunk.
I haven’t been out with Angus since. I don’t want to risk running into Jimmy again. As he pointed out, this ishiscity. At least I have a car now, so I can leave the farm whenever I want to, but where would I go? I don’t know anyone. Angus is nice, but he’s not around much, and Tony’s not one for conversation. I’ve never been one for going to pubs, bars, or clubs on my own. It doesn’t seem like much fun. Am I lonely? A little. But each day I wake up to the sound of cows lowing, fresh country air—ignoring the stench of manure—and stunning views, and it doesn’t bother me anymore. I spend my days working hard for Tony, and go to bed tired and satisfied.
“You’ve done good work today,” he says, and then wanders off towards the farmhouse.
I do a walk-by of the pasture the herd is in, before following Tony inside. He’s watching TV in the lounge, the volume up far too high. It takes me about thirty seconds to realise he’s watching darts, which isn’t my thing. I go upstairs, take a shower, and retreat to my room.
I might live here, but it’s not my home. I can’t relax and don’t feel like it’s okay to occupy any space other than this room. I also didn’t bring much with me. I’ve travelled light for several years now, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future. It’s not like I’ll everbe able to afford my own farm. I’ll always be working for someone else. Living here is way more convenient than finding my own place, and a lot cheaper, too.
But it is lonely. I’m missing being held in someone’s arms. I sit on the bed and run my hand through my damp hair, messing it up. Is that what I want? Am I yearning for sex? It’s been a while. I don't remember much of my drunken encounter with Jimmy, which is a good thing. I haven’t slept with anyone since. I haven’t even thought about it, so why am I now? I’m allowed to want to. I’m divorced. My relationship with Billy is over. I just haven’t wanted sex in a while. Deep down, it felt like a betrayal when Billy was the only man I’d ever slept with. Although, thanks to far too much alcohol, that ship has sailed now.
Fuck it. If Tony thinks I need to get out more, I do. I still don’t fancy going to a bar or club on my own, but a hookup? That would be fun, wouldn’t it?
I download a hook-up app to my phone, create a quick profile, using the gobbledygook username it suggests, and fill in what kind of person I’m looking for. I need a profile picture, but don’t want to put my face on there. Instead, I take a picture of my torso in the mirror that hangs above the dresser. It’ll do. It doesn’t take long to get approved, and then I’m scrolling through pictures, realising that every guy on there has a similar profile picture to me. I guess we're all looking for anonymity.
Apingtells me I have a message. Already? Wow. The message is brief: ‘I’m a strict top. Do you want tocome to mine and fuck?’ I drool over his profile picture. He’s far more muscular than I am. I bet he works out. Are his arms as muscly as his body? Does he give good hugs? He wants sex. I want sex. Cuddles afterwards will be a bonus I can’t hope for.
My pulse quickens. Is this what I want? Am I ready to have sex with anyone, let alone a stranger? On the other hand, there will be fewer expectations, and it’s not as if we’ll ever see each other again. No expectations. No risks. No heartache. Perfect. Right?
I take a breath and reply, ‘When and where?’
A few seconds later, he replies with his address and a time: two hours from now. The address means nothing to me. Leeds is a big place, and I’ve not explored much of it. I’m most familiar with the city centre and the route to it, but I couldn’t name any of the streets if you paid me. I put the postcode into the satnav on my phone. My hook-up lives an hour away, which gives me time to have another shower.
My hook-up. My heart races. Fuck, I’m doing this. I’m putting myself out there. I’d say ‘again’, but it’s for the first time. I hope my nerves calm down by the time I get there. A shower will help, besides, I need to douche. If I get there and I’m still a bag of nerves, I can apologise and bug out. But that won’t happen. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fun. It’ll be great.
An hour later, I pull up outside a familiar terraced house with a yellow door. I’ve seen houses of a similar age and style back home, so maybe that’s what’s prickling my memory. My gut is churning a bit, but that’s due to nerves, right? This is the first time I’ve ever hooked up with a guy via an app. The first time I’ve decided to go out for casual sex. Of course I’m nervous. But it will be fun.
I get out of the car, lock it, check the number in my phone app, and then knock on the door. Seconds later, footsteps thunder down the stairs, and the door is flung open.
“Hi!” Jimmy’s expression falls at the exact moment mine does. “Uh, no offence, but what are you doing here? If you want a chat, that’s cool, but I’m expecting someone any moment.” He glances up and down the street.
I clutch my phone and stare at it, teeth clenched. “I think you’re waiting for me.”
He widens his eyes. “No way. You’re my hook-up?”
I nod miserably. I was drooling over Jimmy’s abs. I slump my shoulders. “Why does fate keep thrusting us together?”
He snort-laughs.
I glare at him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Really? ‘Cause that was one hell of a Freudian slip.”
I narrow my eyes further.
He holds his hands up. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop poking fun.” He laughs at his pun.
