My Big Fat Gay Life (30 page)

After Patricia had taken Sebastian back to her place, I made sure the front door was unlocked for Matt; just as he’d expect it to be when he came home to Sebastian. Then I sat in Sebastian’s bedroom, waiting for the sound of the door opening.

When Patricia had told me what was going on, I’d been livid. My vision turned red with rage, and I had an overwhelming desire to rip Matt apart, limb from limb. Now, my thunderous rage had cooled to a seething anger, and I was able to see things from a distance.

It all made sense now, and I could kick myself for not picking up on the signs earlier. Ian had felt there was something a bit off about Matt, but he didn’t realise the extent of it. Sebastian had been living in hell, and in my bliss I’d been totally unaware of Sebastian’s pain.

Matt had demolished Sebastian’s self-esteem to the point where Sebastian felt as though he deserved to be beaten and abused. To top it all off, Matt had physically abused Donovan; the kindest and most giving man I’d ever met. He couldn’t even fight back! My anger started to boil up again.

My thoughts returned to the present when I heard the front door open. I stood up silently and moved behind the bedroom door.

“Sebastian!” I heard Matt call out. “Get out here now!”

There were a few seconds of silence, and then I heard footsteps approaching the bedroom.

“I said, get out here!” Matt sounded of the verge of mania.

He stalked into the bedroom, and I slammed the door shut behind him. He turned, expecting to see Sebastian, but instead was confronted by a seething tower of black muscle. I didn’t need to pretend to be intimidating: I was!

“Kento!” Matt exclaimed in surprise. “Where’s Sebastian?”

“Safely away from you,” I replied.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his eyes full of fake innocence.

“Knock it off,” I growled. “I know everything.”

“OK,” the arrogant bastard said. “Now what?”

“Now you pack your shit, and you get out of town. Go back to Ireland. Go to Iraq. I don’t give a shit: just go!”

“What if I don’t want to? Or, what if I want to take Sebastian with me?”

I felt my body grow larger, more intimidating. I felt as though my shoulders filled the room.

“Oh, you want to go,” I said calmly, cracking my knuckles. I took a step towards Matt, slowly and deliberately. “If I ever hear the slightest whisper that you’ve been sighted in Manchester again, I will rip off your testicles and feed them to you.”

I advanced again on Matt, my eyes closed to threatening slits. He took a step backward.

“If I ever hear that you’ve been within fifty miles of Donovan again, I’ll beat you so badly you’ll need a full body cast.”

I took another step, forcing him to lean back over the bed. I loomed over him, willing the force of my anger to spread over him and fill him with the knowledge of just how serious I was. I could smell the fear rising off him in waves.

“And if I ever hear that you’ve been within fifty miles of Sebastian again, I’ll cut your throat!” By this stage, my voice was so low and menacing, it was barely a growl. “Don’t doubt me for a second: I would, and quite happily!”

The smell of urine flooded the bedroom, and a wet stain spread out from Matt’s crotch.

“You aren’t so big and tough when it comes to confronting a man you can’t control, are you? You’re a pathetic little boy.”

I stepped aside and opened the bedroom door.

“You don’t need your stuff. Just fuck off!” I told him.

Matt fled from the bedroom in a panic, but as he rushed across the lounge room he tripped on the rug and fell, head first, onto the corner of the coffee table. The thud as his head smacked the table was sickening. The crack from his neck as he hit the floor was nauseating. I walked over briskly, but I was convinced he was dead. A pool of blood spread out from the wound on his head.

Narratives from:

It was happening in slow motion. Matt tripped, stumbling over the rug and his own feet, and then fell, slowly and tortuously, headfirst onto the coffee table. The sound as his head struck the corner of the coffee table was loud - very loud - and the sickly wet glop made me convulse with horror. Then, even more slowly, he fell onto the floor with a loud crack emanating from his neck. The crack reverberated around Sebastian’s apartment, raising a shiver down my spine.

Time sped up to normal speed, and Matt’s eyes flew open to stare accusingly at me.

“Ouch!” he said.

I sat up in bed, gasping for breath and covered in a cold sweat. I must have screamed, as Ian was awake instantly and wrapping me in his arms comfortingly.

“Another dream?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I answered. “This time he opened his eyes and stared at me.”

It had been two weeks since Matt’s accident, and each night I’d had at least one nightmare reliving the horrifying incident, but with a slight twist each time. Sometimes Matt’s head separated from his body and bounced across the floor like a basketball. Sometimes he stood up and brushed himself off. Sometimes he didn’t slip at all, and just fled quickly from the apartment leaving a trail of piss behind him.

“You should talk to someone about the dreams,” Ian said soothingly. “They’re probably rooted in guilt, but it wasn’t your fault! There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I didn’t have to scare him so much that he fled like that,” I deflected Ian’s reasoning. “And I certainly didn’t have to let Patricia take responsibility!”

“Patricia knows what she’s doing,” Ian countered. “There’s no way a tiny ‘middle-aged’ lady could have inflicted those injuries. This way, it’s obvious the whole thing was an accident.” He made rabbit ear quotation marks with his fingers as he said ‘middle-aged’, making me laugh. Patricia liked to refer to herself as middle-aged, inferring she’d live to 130 I suppose. Knowing Patricia’s tenacity, she probably would.

Ian ran his hand through my hair as he rocked me gently on his chest.

“How about some breakfast?” he asked eventually.

* * *

Piggy was due in fifteen minutes. I’d cancelled all my sessions over the last two weeks as I didn’t particularly feel like being dominant and aggressive, however Ian had quite rightly pointed out that being aggressive with a client in a safe environment was completely different to being threatening and aggressive with an abusive fucker who’d hurt my friends.

I showered and dressed carefully. Today I was wearing a crotchless leather jock that left my cock and balls hanging out, purely designed to make Piggy squeal. He hated looking but not being able to touch, but it was a pleasurable hatred for him.

When the buzzer announced Piggy’s arrival, Ian left the apartment. Shortly after, Piggy arrived.

“Get in here you disgusting pig!” I hollered at him as I opened the door. His eyes boggled at the sight of my cock swaying loose.

“I have a surprise for my Piggy today,” I said, holding up a bag that I’d been hiding behind my back. I extended the bag toward him and opened it, allowing him to see the contents. Piggy squealed and jumped up and down, clapping his hands excitedly.