Daniel

OK, I admit it.

I was one sneaky sonofabitch.

But I guess, too, that it all started because I was just a little bit set in my ways.

I'll explain.

I'd lived on my own for a few years when I first met Daniel.

It was one of those relationships that's like a blazing fire from the moment you meet each other.

That first night, I took the kid home and we had the hottest sex you can imagine.

Neither of us slept a wink all night.

But on top of that (and, come to think of it, on top of me too) Daniel was a real sweet guy - easy going and gentle.

Just the sort of boy I wanted to come home to after a hard day's work selling computers and accessories to small-town hillbillies who, by and large, wouldn't know a virus on a hard drive from one on a hard dick.

Daniel was, in fact, an ideal partner.

And so it wasn't too long before we decided that, as we were spending so much time together anyway, it would make more sense if he moved in with me on a permanent basis.

In many ways Daniel was a great live-in other.

Like I already said, we got on real well - both in the sack and out of it.

On top of that he was a great cook, was real tidy around the house and loved tending the large garden.

But there was one fly in the ointment.

The bathroom.

You've all seen movies where some guy gets angry that his wife, daughter, girlfriend or whoever takes forever and a day in there every morning and keeps him out.

Like you, probably, I thought that was just a cliché - like mother-in-law jokes.

Well, at least with Daniel I didn't have a mother-in-law - but I certainly had a problem with the bathroom.

Every day he needed to get up for work 30 minutes before me.

Let me rephrase that.

Every day he got up 30 minutes before me. He needed to get up at least 90 minutes before me.

I couldn't understand it.

I tried talking to him about it.

I tried arguing with him about it (our first argument - about a bathroom, for crissakes!)

But nothing did any good.

He said that he needed all the time he took. He had to look good for work. He had to look good for me.

How could I argue about that?

I was still, though, determined to prove that whatever he got up to in the bathroom shouldn't take all that time.

And here's where I admit it. I was sneaky.

I brought home from work a couple of those tiny video cameras you can install to secretly keep watch on someone. You've probably seen them offered for sale on those annoying pop-ups you get when you surf the net.

Whenever I sell them at work, the customer always claims it's just to keep watch on the kids.

I'm not so sure.

I can remember when the high school swimming coach bought one. He said he was worried about pilfering from the boys' locker room and wanted to undertake some discreet surveillance.

Shortly afterwards he lost his job and left town.

One night when Daniel was out visiting his sister, I installed the cameras discretely in the darkest corners of the bathroom and hooked them up to our bedroom TV.

Next morning I waited until he'd been up for a few minutes, then quietly switched on.

What a disappointment.

Daniel was still in the shorts and T-shirt that he usually wore at night (although it usually wasn't too long before they'd be thrown out onto the floor by the bed!).

And he was cleaning his teeth.

But, I reasoned, teeth cleaning - no matter how thorough - can't possibly be the explanation for 90 minutes in the bathroom.

So I watched and waited.