My Big Fat Gay Life (3 page)

When I used my key to enter the apartment, the yappy little pissing machine called Cujo came running up to me, quite excitedly. I picked him up and shut him in the spare bedroom, so I wouldn’t have to deal with him until it was time to hoover.

I started in the lounge room, as per usual, and dusted around the bottles on his dry bar. I always dust around things: my cleaning is a token effort, not a thorough job, and moving things to clean under them just isn’t part of my cleaning technique.

The bottle of bourbon made me smile and reminisce of the time when, on his 16th birthday, Sebastian had told Donovan and I that he was gay. I’m sure it was the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.

* * *

“Mum, Dad, sit down. I have something to tell you,” Sebastian said with a quaver in his voice. He was pimply and gangly, and, as far as Donovan and I knew, he was a virgin. At sixteen years of age, this was starting to concern us.

I was fluffing the cushions on the couch, and without turning to him I said, “What’s this ‘Mum’ crap? I told you to call me Patricia! You know I look far too young to be your mother.”

It was true of course. With my regular ‘preventative’ facelifts and permanent make-up tattooing, I looked much younger than my forty-one years. I stopped fluffing after he didn’t make his usual teenage sarcastic comment about my age and looked up at him. Noting his serious expression, I assumed one of my own and sat down next to my husband on the loveseat.

Sebastian’s father also prefers for Sebastian to call him Donovan, and with his full head of dark hair, perpetual tan, and perfect white smile, he also looked a lot younger than his forty-five years. He put down his newspaper and looked at Sebastian.

“What is it, Darling?” I asked, my expression shifting from serious to quite concerned. I grasped Donovan’s hand in both my hands, and we both looked at Sebastian expectantly.

“I... ummm... you know...” he started hesitantly, a tremor in his voice and another tremor running through his body.

“Whatever it is son, you know we’re always here to listen,” Donovan said in his calming voice: he’d slipped into therapist mode.

“OK,” Sebastian blurted after drawing another deep breath and trying to look us both in the eye simultaneously, “I think I’m gay.”

Relief flooded through me. “Oh thank the Universe!” I exclaimed loudly, leaping to my feet and wrapping him in my arms. “I thought something was wrong!”

Donovan was also on his feet after I’d released Sebastian, and he wrapped his son in a hug of his own. Whispering softly in Sebastian’s ear, he said “We thought you were sick, or in trouble! There was no need to make such a big deal of it, nor work yourself up into such a state.”

After Donovan released him, I took my son’s hands in mine and looked him directly in the eye.

“It’s fine Darling,“ I said cheerfully, “we’ve always wondered which way you would go. You know those ballroom dancing lessons that Donovan and I go to every Saturday night? It’s actually a swingers club. We can’t dance, but we can swing. Donovan and I are both bisexual!”

* * *

I hadn’t meant to steal his thunder, nor shock him with the news that both his parents are bisexual: it just never occurred to me that coming out to us would be such a big deal to him! After decades as a therapist, I could read faces like they were children’s books. Sebastian’s face showed utter relief, closely followed by utter shock, and then utter horror.

He sank down slowly into a chair. I poured a shot of bourbon and handed to him, and he downed it in one gulp. To this day, bourbon always makes me think of that moment. It was his first alcoholic drink, despite the fact we’d tried to have him join us in a drink on many occasions throughout his teenage years.

Donovan and I left him in peace for a few days to assimilate the news. However, they were a productive few days for us. We joined PFLAG and sent out invitations to a coming out party we’d organised for Sebastian.

A knock on the door shook me out of my reverie. Confused, I walked to the door and opened it. The concierge should announce any visitors. There was a somewhat attractive man with long straggly hair and crumpled clothes standing in the doorway, and he seemed quite surprised to see me.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi,” he said in a thick American accent. “Is Sebastian here?”

“No,” I answered, “he’s out. Can I help you?”

“My name’s Bruce. I think I left my phone here last night. Probably in his bedroom.”

“Oh. Let me see if it’s there.”

Leaving Bruce standing in the doorway, I went into Sebastian’s bedroom and spotted a mobile phone sticking out from under the bed. There was also a leather metal-studded cockring lying next to it. I picked up both items and returned to the front door.

“Here’s your phone,” I said cheerfully, holding it out to Bruce. “I also found this cockring. Is it yours?”

“Nope,” he answered, taking the phone from my hand. “Thanks for the phone.”

Without another word, Bruce turned and walked back to the elevator. I shut the door and put the cockring in my pocket, then returned to my cleaning.

Maybe I have a mischievous sense of humour, but when it came time to hoover the apartment and let Cujo out of the spare bedroom, I placed the cockring around his neck as if it were a collar. That should make Sebastian wonder just how naïve his mother is!

I always look forward to my squash games with Sebastian. They’re a great way to start the day and get the blood pumping. On the days when either one of us cancels for some reason, I feel sluggish and lethargic the whole day long. Luckily today was a regular day, with neither of us starting work early, nor feeling the burning desire to sleep in and get that extra hour’s sleep.

Sebastian is my oldest and closest friend: in fact, he’s probably my only friend. I have many associates, but none that I would call on if I needed help or a shoulder to cry on. Sebastian and I have been firm friends ever since we started school together.

During high school we had a small group of friends, but they all drifted off after Sebastian’s parents sent us invitations to his coming out party. I must admit I was a little hurt that Sebastian hadn’t told me himself, however that hurt was squashed by humour when I saw how angry he was that his parents had sent out the invitations, without his knowledge or consent. Obviously I couldn’t laugh at Sebastian’s anguish when he was around, but I found the situation to be hilarious!

As I stretched and prepared to play squash, the usual crowd started to form. Maybe it’s due to the fact that I like to play in just a pair of tiny spandex shorts. I’m a naturist and hate to feel clothing on my skin, but I understand society’s norms and wear clothes when I have to. However, that doesn’t mean I have to wear a lot of clothing.

I know I look good. Maybe that sounds vain, but I prefer to call it realistic. Like Sebastian, I always receive a lot of attention everywhere I go. However, unlike Sebastian, the attention doesn’t bother me. I don’t think Sebastian realises the effect he has on people, but I’m well aware of the effect I have on people - and I love the attention.

Sebastian arrived and worked his way through the crowd. He was wearing his usual baggy shorts and t-shirt. He jogs to the gym every morning, so he was already warmed up and rearing to go. We took to the court.

“No more problems with Bruce last night?” I asked as I served the ball. I chuckled at the memory of Sebastian’s late night call the previous night.

* * *

My mobile phone rang at 10pm, just as I was stepping out of the shower with Ruth. She’d been far more horny and sexual than usual of late, and I wasn’t complaining. After two years we still had a very healthy sex life, but lately it had ramped up a gear. I smiled and answered the phone when I saw Sebastian’s number as the incoming call.

“I need a jealous husband,” he said without preamble. His voice was low and whispered.

“Have you tried gumtree or craigslist?” I asked.

“Seriously, I can’t get rid of this guy. I’m in the bathroom phoning you because he won’t take my subtle hints. I need to go to bed and want him to leave.”

“No problem”, I said. “I’ll be there ASAP.”

Reluctantly throwing on some clothes, I told Ruth to go to bed and not wait up for me, as I didn’t know how long I’d be. We laughed at the idea of Sebastian using me as a jealous husband to get rid of some trade.

I walked briskly to Sebastian’s building and nodded a greeting to the concierge as I headed for the elevator. They don’t bother to announce me anymore: not since Sebastian had given me keys to both the building and his apartment. After arriving at his door, I used the key and let myself in.

“Hi honey I’m home!” I called as I shut the door. I went straight to his bedroom, shedding my clothes on the way. As I opened the bedroom door I prepared a look of shock.

“Who the fuck are you?!” I exclaimed, glaring at the man in Sebastian’s bed.

“Bruce,” he blurted out in surprise, jumping out of bed and wrapping himself in a sheet.

“How could you do this to me?” I turned and glared at Sebastian, who had rushed over to stand by my side, and raised my hand as though I were going to strike him.

“I’m sorry!” he said, cowering from my raised hand.

I turned back to Bruce, who was hurriedly putting on his clothes.

“I think you should leave,” I said, trying my best to look threatening and imposing despite my desire to laugh out loud. I closed my raised hand into a fist. He scurried out of the apartment without a backward glance, closing the door behind him. I burst out laughing and collapsed onto Sebastian’s bed.

“Thanks,” he said. “I couldn’t get rid of him and I didn’t want to be rude!”

He lay down beside me and started laughing at himself and the situation.

“It never ceases to fascinate me how your clothes just melt off when you come here,” Sebastian observed. “Let’s have a drink!”

* * *

“Nope, didn’t hear from him again,” Sebastian said, chuckling as he served the ball. “You make a great jealous husband!”

We played squash for nearly an hour and, as we’re well matched in skill and level of fitness, it was a good workout. As I watched Sebastian darting around the court in his baggy clothing, I wondered why he was so modest and unsure of himself and his looks. I know that if I were into cock, I would find Sebastian to be very attractive: both physically and mentally.

* * *

On the night of Sebastian’s coming out party, I stayed at his place like I often did.

“Are you sure you don’t mind sharing my bed now that you know I’m gay?” he asked me. He’d been a little unsure around me all night: unsure of my reaction to his sexuality I guess.

“I don’t give a fat rat’s arse,” I replied. “You’re still Sebastian. You haven’t changed.”

I’ve always found Sebastian to be an attractive person. He has good morals and ethics, a great personality, and a fun sense of humour. However I don’t find him sexually attractive. I can appreciate that he’s physically attractive, but I don’t feel any urge to shag him. In some respects, it would feel like incest. However, that night I’d drunk far too much so I grabbed Seb’s hand and placed it on my cock. No harm in trying right?

“Justin…” he started to say.

“Quiet,” I said, placing my hand on his cock.

After a little mutual fondling, Seb started to suck my cock. Of course, we were teenagers and it was rock hard. After a few seconds he stopped.

“This isn’t right,” he said.

“Agreed!”

So we talked about school, laughed about girls, and had our usual wrestling/tickling match that always happens whenever I stay over. Things went back to normal instantly, and we never talked about the cock sucking incident again.

* * *

Our hour was up, and we were exhausted. We stood panting and puffing as we said our farewells, then Sebastian headed home and I headed for the locker room. I don’t know why Sebastian doesn’t like to shower at the gym: I love it!

I went to the locker room and opened my locker, then stripped off my shorts and threw them into my bag. Throwing a towel over my shoulder, I headed for the showers. There are private showers, but I prefer the open showers. The gym we frequent isn’t in the gay village and supposedly has a straight clientele, however I tend to receive a lot of attention whenever I shower there.

Most people rush their showers at the gym. Maybe they’re late for work, or maybe they don’t like being the centre of attention. I, however, like to take my time. I like to soap myself up, slowly and sensuously, rubbing my hands over my chest and arse, and fondling my cock. Some of the other guys in the locker room stare openly, but more often than not they sneak sly looks at me from the corner of their eye. I have no problem with people paying attention to me and staring, as long as they just look and don’t touch. It’s a matter of respect!

Just as I thought this, a hand worked its way through the steam and grabbed my cock. As the expression goes, I am a show-er and not a grower. When flaccid, my cock looks huge. Unfortunately, it’s the same size when it’s hard. The only difference is that it’s standing to attention. Large when flaccid, small when hard: it’s been the source of many a chuckle in the bedroom with many a girl. However, a large flaccid cock is a magnet for eyes and hands in an open shower cubicle.