“Pah, that’s a silly detail.”

“Says everyone who’s ever ended up in a tribunal.”

He waves his hand cavalierly and leaves my room on a tide of misplaced righteousness and Miller Harris aftershave.

I stare down at my desk. I need to go and pick Jesse up. I think of his high-boned face, the neck-length shiny brown hair, and his warm brown eyes, and my mouth waters. I call up the image of his long, wide-shouldered body and swear at the tightening in my groin. Then I think of having him to myself for the next few days. All of those warm smiles and eager curiosity, the silly jokes and that easy manner of his. Despite all the shit going on in my private life, Jesse has always managed to cheer me up. Just seeing his face makes me smile.

I might speak about his butterfly tendencies, but he’s so much more than that. There’s something very steadfast about him. And something inherently very beautiful that has nothing to do with his looks. He has a way of commanding your attention, and I’ve always left his company feeling lighter in myself.

I’m well aware that I’ve always had a small crush on him, but I put that to the side one day when Patrick seized on the subject of Jesse. Apparently, I talked too much about him and Patrick objected. I can still recall the argument that followed, and how, after that, I pushed my enjoyment of Jesse down into a hole inside me and turned the key.

It was easier all round for me to concentrate on his youth and put everything else aside. However, he isn’t a kid anymore. He’s a very handsome twenty-four-year-old. I shake my head. And I’m still twenty years older than him.

I wander over to the mirror and make myself take a long look at myself. In my head I itemise the crow’s feet at the corners of my eyes, the wrinkle appearing between my brows, and the flecks of grey that are starting to show in my hair. Then I make myself look down at my body and remember that I am practically middle-aged and things are not as tight as they were.

I remember Patrick sneering at me when we were arguing once, telling me how ridiculous I was with my crush on a boy. The words still manage to hurt me, and with all that in the forefront of my mind I let myself think of Jesse’s looks and body again, confident that I’ve come to my senses at last. My cock stirs despite all my efforts. I’m fucking screwed, I think dolefully. What have I done?