Colin and Martin's Christmas Collection Box Set

Colin and Martin’s First Christmas-1

Colin and Martin’s First ChristmasColin closed the door with his foot and laid the large box of groceries on the counter, before bending down to stroke Toby, Martin’s dog. “Hello fella, you been a good boy then?”

The large black and tan German Shepherd dog gave a single deep woof in answer.

“Toby, you’ll get me shot if the Guide Dog Association knows that you’re barking at visitors,” Martin said, making his way into the kitchen. “Hi, Colin, running a bit late?”

“Yeah, mate, it’s all the extra stuff people have been ordering for Christmas.”

Colin looked at the five feet nine inch, slightly overweight man who had just entered. Martin’s auburn hair caught the light from the above fluorescent tube as he made his sightless way towards his visitor. The harsh lighting did nothing to conceal Martin’s severely pock-marked face. Martin had told him the disfigurement had been caused by complications arising from a childhood illness.

“Ah yes, of course,” Martin said.

“I’ll give you a hand unpacking if you like,” Colin said, opening the top of the cardboard box.

Colin worked as a delivery driver for a supermarket chain. Many people complained to him that they hadn’t received the exact things they’d ordered. The store would substitute items if they didn’t have in stock the precise article the customer had ordered. It wasn’t Colin’s fault if the order didn’t meet the customer’s expectations; he just picked up the filled boxes and delivered them. Martin had never complained when he’d been given an alternate item, regarding it more as something to laugh about. Once when he’d ordered fresh peas, for some reason best known to the person who had picked the goods from the shelves, he’d received Sharon Fruit instead.

“Oh, I’ve never had the nerve to try it, but it’ll be fun to give it a go,” Martin had said.

“Are you sure you’ve got the time to help, what with your extra workload?”

“Sure I can, mate.” Colin had deliberately left Martin’s delivery till last; he also enjoyed the times he spent helping the kind and softly spoken man. Despite his all too evident disability, Colin marvelled at how together Martin always seemed.

He also knew Martin received few visitors, and judging by how little he’d ordered, he’d be alone for Christmas, as well.

Colin was also rather lonely for companionship. He’d known Simon for a number of years; they’d gone to school together. Simon was devastatingly good looking, and, boy, did he know it. Colin had been besotted with Simon throughout their time together. Colin had foolishly believed in loving someone despite their faults, hoping that if he showed Simon total love and devotion, it would somehow change his friend’s self-centred, egotistical, vain and selfish behaviour.

Simon would spend over an hour in the bathroom getting ready to go out, then once they’d arrived at the disco, nightclub or wherever, Simon’s eyes would invariably begin to wander, as he checked out all the other cute guys. Chances were that Simon would spend much of the evening dancing with other men, leaving Colin standing patiently on the sidelines.

The final straw came one day when Colin had come home early to find Simon in bed with a twink he’d picked up from goodness knows where. Although Colin knew that Simon cheated on him, actually catching him in the act was just too much for Colin to cope with. Colin had quickly gathered his clothes together, cramming them into a couple of suitcases, as Simon and his latest p***s-touting airhead watched from the bed.

Colin removed the door key from his key-chain, flung it at Simon, and stormed out of the flat, never to return.

Colin had moved in with a buddy from work, his friend being surprised, but not unaccepting, of his homosexuality.

“Hey, man, how the hell can you be gay? You’re six foot three and built like a brick shithouse,” Max had told the brown-haired brown-eyed Colin.

Although Colin appreciated Max putting him up, he had grown increasingly uncomfortable, not to say horny, when Max brought back his dates and screwed them rather loudly for half the night, the thin wall that separated his and Max’s bedrooms doing little to dull the noise of squeaking bedsprings.

“Thanks, it makes life a lot less stressful, but maybe not quite as interesting, if I know what I’m about to open up for dinner,” Martin said.

“Huh?” Colin said, then realised he’d been wool gathering. “Sure, no problem.”

Martin moved towards the little box he kept on the worktop, which held his stock of Braille labels. Each label consisted of a rectangle of plastic with two holes at the top; through which a loop of elastic chord was threaded. When Martin had used the tin, packet or whatever, he would remove the label and put it in the box. He’d told Colin that the box acted as his shopping list.

The two men began to go through the groceries, Colin telling Martin what each item was as he pulled it out. Martin would attach the correct label to the jar, can, or whatever, and set it to one side.

“These are the cooked meats you asked for,” Colin said coming across three packets of sliced meat. “Want me to put them in alphabetical order?”

“Please.”

There were four ounces each of ham, pork and beef. “Okay, the beef is on the top, ham in the middle, and pork at the bottom,” Colin said, handing them to Martin.

Their hands touched momentarily. Colin noticed the contact was held a fraction of a second longer than was usual. His arms ached to hold the smaller man, protect him, tell him everything would be all right, but he knew he couldn’t go round hugging his customers; many of them would take offence.

Martin took the packets of cooked meat and turned away, but not before Colin saw the stray tear run down his cheek. Colin’s desire to hold Martin became almost irresistible.

“Oh,” he remembered, “there’s the frozen turkey leg you ordered, it’s still in the van’s freezer,” he said, leaving Martin’s house to retrieve it.

Once outside, Colin used the few seconds in the cold to get a hold of himself. Retrieving the frozen food, he returned to Martin’s kitchen.

“Here we are.”

“Thanks,” Martin said, putting the poultry in the bottom drawer of his freezer.

“And finally,” Colin said, trying to lighten the mood, “Your Christmas pudding.” It looked so pathetic in the palm of his hand. Yet more evidence that Martin would be eating alone this Christmas. He tried, probably unsuccessfully, to keep the happy tone in his voice.

“Oh yeah, not that much of a fan of Christmas pud, but you’ve got to make the effort, I suppose,” Martin said, obviously trying to remain upbeat himself.

“Yeah, know what you mean. My housemate’s girlfriend is coming round to cook us lunch on Christmas Day, but it’ll be a case of two’s company, and three’s, well…”

“You’re very welcome to come and eat here with me and Toby,” Martin said quickly.

Oh, “I wouldn’t want to put you out.” Colin thought politeness dictated he should make the token protest.

“You’d be very welcome. Toby is great company, but he isn’t all that good at pulling crackers.”

Yet again came the desire to protect. “Well, if you’re sure.”

He’d thought about going down to his folks in London, but his mother would have a houseful, his brother and two sisters would be there with their partners; Colin didn’t fancy turning up alone. He’d taken Simon the previous year, but the visit hadn’t gone well.

“If you want to try out my culinary skills first, the soup should be about ready, I think,” Martin said, lifting the lid of his wristwatch and feeling the hands to determine the time.

Colin hadn’t failed to notice the large pan that had been simmering away, filling the kitchen with wonderful smells.

“Thank you. I was probably just going to grab a take away or something, but…”

“It’s nothing special, just a chicken carcass and a few vegetables that I threw together. If you have other deliveries to make, it can easily wait.”

“You were my last customer. If you’ll let me use your phone, I can book off work, they won’t mind me holding on to the van for a bit.”

“It’s through here,” Martin said, his face lighting up.

* * * *

“Well, you’ve passed with flying colours,” Colin said after downing a second bowl of soup. “That was smashing, thanks.”

Martin was glad. There was just something so satisfying about being able to feed someone. It was as if…Martin stopped himself from going down that road.

The two were relaxing in Martin’s front room, a room he mainly reserved for Sundays, and special visitors, not that he received many of those.

“Glad you liked it.” Mentally crossing his fingers, he asked, So, you’ll come and be our guest on Christmas Day, then?”

“Love to.”

“Great.” Martin smiled.

Hugging himself Martin began thinking about what he would make for the two of them. Turkey of course, but…

“So, you like to go to the theatre, then?”

“Huh?”

“Oh, sorry, there’s an envelope from the West Yorkshire Playhouse on your mantelpiece.”

“Oh, it’ll be a brochure for next season’s performances, I expect. I haven’t scanned it through the computer yet.” Martin’s PC had a programme which converted printed text into synthetic speech. “Now I know what it is, I won’t need to bother with it.”

“You don’t like going?”

Martin wasn’t sure how to answer the question. He loved live theatre. The theatre management provided a special audio described commentary via infrared headsets on certain nights for visually impaired patrons. But the last time Martin had gone, he’d found himself unable to relax and enjoy the play, because he had been overly concerned with the logistics of getting to the theatre, finding his seat, obtaining a drink during the interval and getting out in time for his bus home. Martin was forced to conclude that it just wasn’t worth the hassle. It wasn’t all that much fun going to such places alone, either.

“Erm, not really,” Martin said, knowing his answer wasn’t true, but what else could he say?

“I wouldn’t mind reading the programme to you if you like. Might be fun to see what’s on.”

“No, don’t worry about it. But thanks for the offer, it’s appreciated.” Martin would rather not know what plays he wouldn’t be going to see.

“If you’re sure. Gosh, is that the time? Listen, mate, I’ll have to be making a move. I’ve got to do my gift buying for the folks back in London.” Colin pronouncing it Larndon. “Though with me being off tomorrow, I suppose I could do it then.”

“Might not be as crowded during the day,” Martin observed.

“Yeah.”

Martin heard Colin moving his TV dinner table, the spoon rattling in the now empty soup bowl. He stood up to say goodbye to his visitor. To Martin’s surprise and sheer delight, Colin wrapped his arms around him, treating him to a hug.

“I’ve really enjoyed myself.”

“Me too,” Martin said, breathlessly returning the hug.

Colin’s body was wonderfully firm and muscular.

Colin released his hold from Martin; the latter hoping his dining companion hadn’t seen the bulge in his trousers.

Martin drew in a breath to steady himself. Realising what he’d done, he attempted to cover. “CK1, if I’m not mistaken.”

“You’re right. I suppose you’re pretty good at picking up on smells and things.”

“Just a case of my other senses being more aware, I guess.” Martin walked out of the room and down the hallway toward the front door. “No doubt I’ll see you next week?” he said once he’d opened the door, again only family and special visitors used this entrance, everyone else used the kitchen door. But Colin was now guest of honour.

“Yeah, mate. Do you want me to bring anything, for the meal, I mean?”

Martin shook his head. “Just yourself. I’ve got it all covered.”

As soon as Martin heard Colin’s van drive away, he ran upstairs to his bathroom and fisted his meat until he came to a roaring climax. It didn’t take long.

After he’d recovered, he realised he’d forgotten to wank into a sock, which was his usual practice, doing so helped contain the mess. Martin spent the next five minutes on his hands and knees feeling round the tiles and carpet for wet spots, mopping them up with a wad of toilet paper.