My Big Fat Gay Life (44 page)

“I regret not telling you more often that I love you. I don’t know why it’s so difficult for me to be honest about my feelings. Maybe it’s because I never saw any sign of affection or heard protestations of love between you and Dad. I can understand that. He was a very difficult man and I never understood why you stayed with him as long as you did.

“Regardless, I want you to know that I love you, and I appreciate everything you did - everything you sacrificed - for me. I probably don’t know the full extent of your sacrifices, but I know you sacrificed your own happiness so that I could grow up with both my parents. I know you thought you were doing the right thing, but in a way I can’t help thinking that if you’d been in a happy loving relationship with someone else, then I would’ve had a better template for relationships. It’s better to have two happy parents who are separated than two unhappy parents who are together just for the sake of the child.”

I fell silent for a while, hoping that she’d wake up and tell me she had no regrets about her sacrifices and that I was just being a silly boy. It didn’t happen.

“I also regret that we spent so many years not talking. I guess we’re too much alike, both pigheaded and stubborn and like to think we’re right. Hindsight is 20/20 though, and now I know we were both right. There’s no black and white when it comes to people, there’s just grey. Two people can disagree and both be right. In time, they can even respect each other’s opinions. I’m just glad we eventually agreed to put it all behind us and make a fresh start.

“But the main thing is that we got through it, and it made our relationship even stronger. I do regret though that we never really got to a point where we could talk to each other openly and honestly. It always felt like a kind of verbal dance.

“Another regret I have is that I never did anything to make you proud of me. I flitted from one meaningless job to another, and never did anything of importance. I never achieved anything to make you say ‘I’m proud of you, son’, and now I never will. Well maybe I’ll never be able to hear you say those words, but I’m telling you right here and now that I’m going to change. I’m going to make you proud of me. So you better be watching!

“My biggest regret is that you didn’t get to meet Ian. He’s special, Mum. He’s not like the others. If I’d been able to talk to you openly and honestly, you’d have seen that all the other men were just convenient, or lust, or just something to make do with until something better came along. If I’d allowed myself to be more honest with you, you’d have known Ian was different just by the way I talked about him.”

I held her skeletal hand up to my mouth and kissed it, and a single tear dropped onto the back of her hand. I wiped my cheeks, totally unaware I was crying. Her raspy breathing caught in her chest, and I held my own breath. After a few seconds she took a ragged breath, and I let out my own breath slowly.

Several minutes passed, possibly even more. I alternately stroked her hand, wiped her brow, or wet her lips. Eventually, there was a gentle knock on the door and I looked up as it opened.

“Ian!” I exclaimed, rushing over to engulf him in a hug as he stepped in the room. “What’re you doing here?”

“I got your message and came as soon as I could,” he replied. His face was full of concern for me.

“You didn’t have to come down,” I said. “I just wanted to let you know what was happening.”

“I wanted to come,” he said simply.

Ian placed another chair next to mine, and I introduced him to my Mother. We told her how we met, what our goals and aspirations were, and showed her the depth of our commitment and love.

After we fell silent again, the silence was amplified as Mum’s raspy breathing caught in her throat again. I held her hand in one of mine, and Ian’s hand in the other. The silence was absolute. I squeezed Ian’s hand tightly, waiting for Mum’s breathing to start again. It didn’t.

A minute passed, and Ian kissed my hand. “I’m sorry, Hon,” he said. “I’ll get the nurses.” He stood up and quietly left the room. I grabbed Mum’s hand in both of mine, stood up, and leaned over to kiss her on the forehead.

“Oh my God!” Ryan exclaimed. “This is delicious!” I just chuckled.

“Don’t say anything to Donovan, or anyone else for that matter,” I said. “My family and friends all think I’m a terrible cook, and I like to foster that thinking. Saves me from being a slave to the kitchen twenty-four hours a day.”

“Your secret is safe with me,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food.

I’d just cooked Ryan some eggs benedict at his apartment, after what had the feel of a farewell fuck: a long, slow, sensuous, and luxurious farewell fuck.

“I’m not sure why Donovan wants to see you today,” I told him, “but don’t be nervous. Just be yourself.”

“I can do that,” he observed wryly, stuffing his mouth with another forkful of food.

“If Donovan asks me to, I’ll stop seeing you,” I told Ryan. “It’d be tough, though. Both my mind and my cunt have grown quite fond of you.”

“I love you too,” he said simply, stopping mid-chew and looking up at me with his penetrating eyes. “I just want you to be happy.”

He continued eating for a while as I stood there waiting for the coffee to brew.

“What should I wear?” he asked me. “It almost feels like an interview. Should I go for something tight that looks smart but casual? What does Miss Manners say is appropriate attire for meeting the husband of the woman you’ve been banging for months?”

I laughed out loud. “He has a soft spot for the chav look,” I answered. “Loose tracksuit pants. No underwear. Hoodie. He’ll be putty in your hands.”

“No underwear in a tracksuit? It’ll be obscene!”

“That’s the point.”

* * *

The sight of Ryan wearing a tracksuit without underwear truly is obscene. His enormous cock hung halfway down his thigh, and with each step he took it bounced from side to side, making it look as though he were trying to smuggle an unhappy boa constrictor. Despite having been fucked by that monster only half an hour earlier, I felt my juices start to flow again.

During the taxi ride back to my home, I stroked his cock and teased it mercilessly. By the time we’d arrived, he was half hard.

“I can’t get out like this!” he exclaimed, motioning with his hands at the snake in his pants.

“Sure you can,” I said, throwing open the taxi door.

We walked inside briskly, and I took Ryan straight through to Donovan’s room. He was taking a nap in his chair, so I knocked gently to stir him. His eyes opened and he looked up at us, then he smiled.

“Patricia!” he exclaimed. “And Ryan! I remember you from the hospital room. That was some show you guys put on!”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Sir,” Ryan said, walking over and extending his hand. Donovan shook it, then motioned for Ryan to sit down on the sofa.

“Please call me Donovan,” Donovan said to Ryan. “There’s no need to be so formal. After all, you’ve been fucking my wife for some time now.”

“Donovan!” I exclaimed. “OK I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.

I left, shutting the door behind me.

* * *

I sat in the kitchen, nervously smoking cigarettes and gulping down chardonnay, for nearly an hour before I heard the door to Donovan’s room open. I’m not sure why I was so nervous; I think I just wanted them to get along. Alternatively, maybe I was concerned they’d spent the whole hour just talking about me and comparing notes.

Ryan swaggered into the kitchen, and I looked at him expectantly.

“It’s going well,” he said, smiling. “He’s a great guy! We’d like a couple of beers though. We’re going to watch the football.”

I opened the fridge and handed two beers to Ryan, who grinned his thanks and returned to Donovan’s room.

I paced around the kitchen for another hour, smoking and drinking and ignoring the BBC News channel on the television. Eventually I had to know what was going on, so I walked briskly over to Donovan’s room and opened the door.

To my surprise, they were both naked. Ryan was seated on the sofa, sprawled back and with his feet up on Donovan’s chair, happily watching the football on TV and drinking a beer. Donovan was lying on the sofa, his head on Ryan’s rock hard abs and his hand wrapped around Ryan’s cock as it sprawled across Ryan’s thigh. He was gently snoring.

“Hi Patty,” Ryan said softly. “He fell asleep. Isn’t he cute?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. At the sound of Ryan’s voice, Donovan started to stir. He looked up at me and smiled.

“Hello my little hell demon,” Donovan said, his voice croaky from sleep. “He’s delightful. I can see why you like him so much. I think he should move in with us.”

I stirred and cracked my eyes open, then stretched. My muscles were sore, and my mouth felt like a mushroom farm. As I arched my back and stretched up my arms, I brushed the body sleeping next to me. He opened his eyes, and they were bloodshot.

What was his name? Bob? Ben? Brad? He wasn’t the usual sort of trade I go for. He had a beer belly, hair on his back, and was balding. I guessed his age at around mid-40s.

“Good morning,” I croaked. “I need some coffee. How about you?”

“Sounds good,” he replied.

As I painfully and slowly put on a pair of boxers, my head throbbed and my throat felt like it was on fire. The trade padded into the bathroom, completely naked.

As I prepared coffee in the kitchen, I heard Bob/Ben/Brad use the toilet. Flashes from the previous evening came to me intermittently. Lots of sex. Even more drugs. I think there were even more guys in bed with us. My head began to pound as I struggled to recall the previous night’s excesses.

“Here you go…” I said, handing the B man a coffee as he came into the kitchen, still naked. His cock was small, stumpy, and uncut: in short, ugly. I hoped he hadn’t noticed my hesitation as I struggled for his name.

“It’s Tom,” he said. He put down his coffee and drew me into him, kissing me passionately. His tongue probed my mouth. I pushed back gently.

“I don’t normally kiss trade,” I said.

“Trade?” he questioned? “Last night you said you loved me and you wanted me to move in!”

“Ummm… I…”

“It’s OK,” he laughed. “I’m just winding you up.”

I laughed nervously. “So your name’s Tom? I wasn’t sure if it was Bob, Ben, or Brad. Guess I was wrong on all accounts.”

“Nah I’m Tom,” he said, flopping himself down on the sofa. “Those guys all left.”

Five guys, including myself, in my bed? And I had no real recollection of it? I surprised myself.

“Whose bags?” Tom asked me, pointing at Rory’s suitcases.

“I have a temporary house guest,” I responded. “He’s straight. I haven’t seen him for a few days now. Not since I fucked him at the sauna.”

“He’s straight and you fucked him at the sauna?”

“I didn’t know it was him. It was through a gloryhole. I was surprised what a good fuck he was though. Very tight”
Unlike you, if my glimpsed recollections of last night are correct
I thought to myself.

We sipped our coffees in silence for a few moments. My forehead must have shown my confusion and the struggle to remember the night’s events.

“No regrets?” Tom asked me.

“Only that I went overboard with the meth and drink. My head hurts like a sonofabitch, and I can’t remember anything.”

“It’ll come back to you,” he said.

“I have a nagging feeling that I’m supposed to be somewhere,” I told him, “but I can’t remember where. I wish my head would stop pounding.”

“Come back to bed,” he said. “I’m so fucking horny!”

We walked back into my bedroom, and Tom fished something out of his manbag.

“I don’t know if I’m up to this,” I told him. “Not really in the mood.”

“Let’s fix your headache, and then you can decide,” he said, holding up a glass pipe.

We smoked some crystal meth and snorted some cocaine. Miraculously, my headache lifted and I felt great! Alive. Horny. The rush spread to my cock and it hardened instantly, sticking out of my boxers. Tom dropped to his knees and started sucking, quite expertly. As he sucked, he grabbed the lube from the bedside table. He smeared some on his fingers and worked it into his arsehole.