My Big Fat Gay Life (5 page)

“What do you do in there?” I asked in reply.

“We offer temporary accommodation and counselling for gay teens and youths,” he answered.

“I’m thirty-three years old,” I said.

“In that case we can’t offer you accommodation, but if you need counselling we can offer you regular therapy at a very reasonable rate.”

“I’m fine thanks,” I said.

“If you change your mind, just go in and ask for me. My name is Quentin.”

With that, Quentin smiled a deep warm smile and walked off.

At lunchtime Sebastian came out of the building and I followed him to a sushi bar. Watching through the windows, I saw him enthusiastically greet a hulking big African American (Do they call them African Americans here?). The black man looked liked a condom full of walnuts, with a pea-sized head balanced on top.

The two of them obviously enjoyed their lunch, and I wondered if Sebastian was cheating on the total ass with this man as well. If so, would the total ass treat this muscular monstrosity the same way he’d treated me? I followed Sebastian back to work, then settled down for the long wait until the end of the working day.

* * *

After work, Sebastian appeared and I followed him back to his building. I still didn’t have the courage to approach him and ask for a repeat performance, so I loitered outside the building and waited. Eventually he emerged, and he looked stunning! This is a man who was made to wear jeans. I followed him to a restaurant and bar called Cube, and watched as he sat at the bar and had a drink.

Twenty minutes later another man approached him. Was this a blind date? They obviously hadn’t met before, but were meeting for dinner. My fears of an interloper were put aside when the date obviously ended badly: Sebastian left the usurper sitting at the table with a confused look on his face. I grinned.

Deciding it was time to approach Sebastian, I sped up my walk a little to catch him and make it appear as though we had run into each other by accident. Just as I was about to act surprised at seeing him, he turned into a coffee shop. I was stunned to see the total ass in there waiting for him, along with some ugly fish.

Sebastian greeted the two of them quite warmly. Surprisingly, he kissed the total ass on the forehead instead of on the mouth. Watching the three of them interact, it became clear that the total ass and the fish were a couple. They held hands and stared lovingly into each other’s eyes.

There was a flurry of excitement, and the total ass and Sebastian put their hands on the fish’s stomach. She must be pregnant.

Sebastian’s having an affair with a breeder whose fish is preggers! He deserves better. He deserves someone who will devote himself to him totally. He deserves me!

Narratives from:

Why do they call it morning sickness? I’m vomiting twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and I can’t remember the last time I kept a meal down. Currently I’m hugging the toilet and attempting to flush down some dry toast that came back up, still surprisingly dry.

People have been telling me recently that I’m looking good - practically glowing with good health. Nobody but Sebastian knows I’m pregnant, so they can’t be saying it out of duty, nor out of fear of the hormonal pregnant woman. We’re going to tell our friends and family next week, after we’ve successfully made it through the first trimester. I’m hoping that after the first trimester, the morning sickness will subside substantially as well.

Pregnancy seems designed to prepare you for life as a mother. You start making sacrifices nine months before the child is born, so by the time they put in an appearance you’re used to giving things up for them. Since I became pregnant I’ve cut out alcohol, caffeine, nicotine, and even mild painkillers like paracetamol.

Withdrawals were a pain in the arse, and Justin jokingly keeps a body count on the fridge. So maybe I’ve been a tad grumpy: between rampaging hormones, withdrawals, and the life within me sucking all the nutrients out of my body faster than I can replace them, I think I’m allowed to be a little cranky. Justin, Universe bless his sweet soul, took it all in his stride. He seems to know exactly the right times to ignore me, console me, or confront me.

Right now he’s ignoring me. He’s shaving in the mirror, standing right next to where I’m vomiting. If he swings around and ‘accidentally’ slaps the back of my head with his penis one more time, I may be forced to rip it off.

* * *

“Are you ready?” I heard Justin call out from the hallway. He wants me to go to breakfast with him at Misfits before he starts work, but I really don’t feel like it. I’m not returning to my old agoraphobic ways: I just want to stay home. I know I should make the effort though.

Dressing when you feel bloated and disgusting is a chore. It’s easy for Justin to get dressed: throw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, choose a pair of loafers he can wear without socks, and he’s done. Three articles of clothing, none of which stay on for long. As for me, there’s considerably more involved. Justin just smiles at me as I make my appearance, all dressed and ready for breakfast. He never gets impatient with me.

The only reason I still have any self-confidence or self esteem at all is the fact that Justin still wants to fuck like rabbits. He even has that glint in his eyes now, and I know that if he didn’t have to go to work we wouldn’t be going out for breakfast - at least not yet.

Strolling to Misfits, I asked Justin about his schedule for the day.

“My first booking is two hours cleaning at Mr. Roberts house,” he said.

“Is it nude?” I enquired.

“Sometimes, but more often than not he has me wear a uniform of some sort, such as a wrestler’s unitard or a pair of athletic supporters.”

“Ahh OK. He must like something left to the imagination.”

“Yep, and I hate it! I much prefer not to feel anything against my skin.”

“Hey! Don’t you have squash with Sebastian this morning?” I asked, suddenly realising he must’ve forgotten his regular morning squash game with Sebastian. He was going to be late if he had.

“Nope, not enough time before my appointment with Mr. Roberts for squash this morning. Sebastian’s going to meet us for breakfast instead.”

“No!” I cried. “I don’t want him to see me like this! I’m disgusting.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said, smiling warmly at me. “You’re beautiful.”

* * *

When we arrived at Misfits, Sebastian was already there. He kissed me on the cheek and Justin on the forehead, and then commented on how beautiful I looked. I guess whales can be beautiful.

“What do you want?” Justin asked, handing out menus.

“Green tea please,” I answered, to which he nodded.

“Black coffee and a breakfast croissant please,” Sebastian said. “Do you need a hand?”

“Sure, why not,” Justin said.

The two guys left for the counter, leaving me to ponder the growing life inside me. We still haven’t decided if we want to know the sex of the baby, but we have to decide soon as we have our first scan next week.

“I don’t think we should know the sex of the baby,” I said as they returned.

“Agreed,” Justin said, and that was that: decision made. He placed my green tea and a muffin before me on the table, and he and Sebastian took their seats. I eyed the muffin suspiciously, imagining how it would look on the way back up.

“I don’t think I can eat that, but thank you anyway,” I said, trying to be as gracious as possible.

“I think you’ll find that muffin very agreeable,” Justin said.

“I really can’t.”

“Lucky it’s not real then!” he said, and with that he flipped open the top of the fake muffin to reveal a beautiful ring. In the split second I had to admire it before he took it out of the container, I saw that it was an antique style diamond solitaire ring.

“Ruth Latham,” Justin said as he knelt down on one knee and presented the ring to me, “You are the Sun that I revolve around. You are the Moon that controls my tides and pulls me in the directions I need to go. You ground me and complete me, and I love you with all my heart and all my soul. Will you marry me?”