My Big Fat Gay Life (7 page)

At our morning staff meetings, Quentin works the room brilliantly. He’s a very hands-on supervisor, in more ways than one. He’s a very touchy man, however everybody realises this and nobody takes offence at his wandering hands. Having his hand on your crotch or snatch is just his way of saying hello.

This morning, Marco, one of my co-workers, was bending over his bag on the floor when it came to his turn to report. Quentin grabbed his arse and said, “Marco, where are you at with your cases?”

Marco wriggled his arse suggestively, and people laughed. Quentin paid complete attention as Marco reported on his caseload. Next was Maria, and I held my breath in surprise when it looked as though Quentin’s hands were zeroing in to cup her breasts. Instead, he settled for placing his hands on her shoulders. Again, he paid rapt attention to her report. Then it was my turn.

“Sebastian,” Quentin called across the room. “How are your cases?”

I gave my report, but Quentin didn’t appear to pay any attention at all to what I was saying. He didn’t make eye contact with me, and actually appeared to be reading the posters on the wall opposite me. After I’d finished my case report he returned to molesting his staff and hanging on their every word. Why was I singled out? I wanted to be one of the team. I wanted to be molested and to have my every word fall upon his rapt and attentive ears. I resolved to talk to him about it when I had time.

After the meeting, I dashed off for an appointment with Tony.

* * *

Tony Williams first presented himself as ‘Frank’, but after several sessions, and hopefully gaining his confidence, he’d revealed his real name to me. Tony was making great progress: he’d completed cold turkey from the drugs and was responding well to counselling. Issues were falling to the wayside as he made his way forward in life. Today, however, he seemed stressed and a little distracted.

“What’s wrong?” I asked after shaking his hand and motioning for him to have a seat.

“I have a lump,” he said plainly.

“Where?” I asked, genuine concern flooding my voice.

“In my pubes,” he answered. “I found it months ago, but it’s never bothered me because I didn’t want to live. Now I want to live, and I’m scared. I think I have cancer!”

“Let’s have a look,” I said, motioning for him to stand up and drop his pants. There’s no hesitation or shyness on his part anymore. Part of our counselling technique involves regular full body checks for track marks - that includes the arms, the armpits, the hands, between the toes, and the groin.

“Show me exactly where it is,” I said. He guided my finger to a spot on his pelvic bone. I prodded gently and found that he did indeed have a lump there. It didn’t move, so it was on the bone itself.

“Let’s make an appointment with a doctor. I’m sure it’s nothing, but better to put your mind at ease.” I said this with more confidence than I felt.

* * *

On my way to lunch I stopped by Quentin’s office to update him on Tony. He wasn’t there, but as I had some time to spare I decided to wait for a few minutes. He eventually came through the door and stopped in his tracks when he saw me sitting there.

After telling him about Tony and our plan to see a doctor that afternoon, I left his office feeling quite disappointed. Quentin hadn’t molested or groped me once! In QuentinLand, that’s the equivalent of ignoring me completely.

Now I was running behind with time so I rushed to the sushi bar. I was a few minutes late, and I hate not being punctual.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Kento as I sat down.

“No problem,” he said. “I was just thinking about John. I broke up with him last night! The bastard went to an orgy and didn’t invite me!”

We hadn’t even finished Kento’s initial rant when I felt someone bump my chair, which was quickly followed by an apology. I looked up and was surprised to see Bruce standing there. He looked terrible: like he hadn’t slept or bathed for days.

I was relieved when, just as Kento invited Bruce to join us, my mobile phone rang. Seeing Ruth’s number, I decided to take the call outside.

“Hi Ruth,” I said after the call was connected.

“Oh! My! Fucking! God!” she said, emphasising each word separately and giggling in between each one. “I don’t know whether to be highly amused or freaked out!”

“Why? What happened?”

“I met your friend Bruce this morning. You remember - the one that Justin kicked out by pretending to be your jealous boyfriend?”

“Funny you should mention him. He just turned up here at the sushi bar where I’m having lunch with Kento.”

“He seriously believes you and Justin are having an affair!” she said, giggling again.

“Oh that’s fucking funny,” I said, laughing out loud.

“The freaky part is this: he’s been following you for weeks to determine this!”

“Following me? He told you this?” I grew concerned, and a solid ball formed in the pit of my stomach.

“Following both of you. He stopped me on my way home from Misfits this morning. He scared the shit outa me in the process. I nearly told him the truth about the boyfriend deception, but decided it wasn’t my place. It’s your call.”

“I’ll have to think about it. Serves me right for not being honest in the first place, I guess.”

“One other thing: he probably thinks I believe him and that he’s upset me. While he was telling me, the nausea started to rise and the hormones started to rampage. I burst into tears and nearly vomited, so I took off quickly.”

“OK, thanks for letting me know.”

We disconnected the call and I went back inside.

“Sorry guys,” I said to Kento and Bruce, “but I have to go back to work.”

* * *

The afternoon passed quickly at the hospital. Tony underwent a large array of tests, and he was very brave and stoic throughout. After the tests were finished and they released him to me, he gave me a hug. This was the first time he ‘d shown me any physical affection, and I was pleased: it’s a good sign. I accompanied him back to the halfway house, and then left for my rescheduled squash game with Justin. I was ready and rearing to burn off some stresses on the squash court after today.

Any in-depth and personal discussion with Justin on the squash court is difficult, due to the crowd that gathers to watch him in his tiny spandex shorts. After an hour of sweating and panting, I was ready to go home. I know that Justin likes to show off in the showers after a game, but I invited him back to my place for a drink. I wanted to get his opinion on whether or not to tell Bruce about our deception.

“I’m not normally here at this time of day,” he said with a fake pout. “I was looking forward to a whole new audience!”

“Bad luck!” I said, shoving him to the door.

When we arrived at my apartment, Justin’s clothes melted off his body as we stepped through the door. This was the norm, and had ceased to shock me years ago. I was surprised to see a bag on the table with a note in front of it.

Dear Sebastian,
the note said,
I saw this today and thought of you. Love and Light, Patricia.

I reached into the bag and pulled out a soft cashmere scarf in stunning autumn colours.

“That’s gorgeous!” exclaimed Justin. “Where’s mine?”

Reaching into the bag, I handed him the next note I’d felt in there. The note said:

And of course there’s one for Justin. If he likes it I can get him the matching beanie. He can wear it as a cock warmer – it should just fit! Love Patricia.

Justin excitedly reached into the bag and pulled out an identical scarf for himself, grinning widely. Then he reached in and pulled out another note. It read:

Here’s a new collar for Cujo. His old one doesn’t have a loop to attach his leash to.

I reached into the bag again and pulled out a shiny stainless steel cock ring. Laughing loudly, I put it back in the bag.

“I’m going for a quick shower,” I said to him and headed off to my en-suite.

I had a head full of shampoo and soap in my eyes when I heard the shower door open. Justin stepped in and started lathering my back with soap.

“What did you want to talk about?” he asked.

I gave him the rundown on Ruth’s discussion with Bruce, and then told him about the ‘surprise’ meeting at the sushi bar.

“So he knows where you have lunch? He knows your routine?” Justin turned around so I could soap up his back.

“Yes. I think I have a stalker!” I said, rinsing the soap off his back.

“You’re the counsellor,” he stated. “How do you think he’ll respond if you tell him we lied to him? How will things play out if we don’t? In my humble non-educated opinion, he’s going to react badly either way.”

We were towelling ourselves dry by this stage, and I headed back into my bedroom.

“You’re right,” I said, throwing myself down on the bed. “Neither option is good.”

Justin lay down beside me, and we turned on our sides and spooned. A nap felt great right about now.

“Justin,” I murmured, “you’re hard! It’s sticking into my back. Move it!”

“You move it,” he said sleepily. “I’m too tired.”

Sighing, I reached behind me and moved the offending hard-on to a more comfortable position. Why can’t I have normal friends? People who are shy, cover their bodies with clothes, and are embarrassed when they get an unwanted erection.

Who am I kidding? I wouldn’t have Justin any other way. Although he might not be shy and is happy to be ogled by anyone, it’s only those he feels close to and comfortable with that he would curl up to sleep with or actually let touch him. I feel honoured that he trusts me with that.

Have you ever been bored? Have you ever been so mind numbingly bored that you would do anything to feel alive? I am that bored.

The lead has gone out of my husband’s pencil, if you know what I mean. Sure I have my flings, but they’re just sex. They’re fun and they kill a bit of time, but sometimes you crave the affection and emotion that goes with truly great sex.

My head knows that Donovan’s erectile dysfunction is due to some medical issues, but my heart aches with the fear that maybe he just doesn’t find me attractive anymore. I know he loves me – there’s no doubting that fact. Love and attraction are completely different beasts, however.

My work isn’t fulfilling anymore. I don’t feel like I’m making a difference. For each client I guide through a maze of emotions and baggage, there are two more queued up outside my office door with exactly the same emotional problems and baggage. It doesn’t help that their issues are generally shallow and vain. Curing them won’t change the world.

Then there’s my son. He moved out of home years ago, and he doesn’t need his mother anymore. I feel like his baggage, and it’s not a pleasant feeling. Sure I try to create a need for me in his life by cleaning his apartment once or twice a week, but my cleaning efforts are not required. For all I know, they may not even be wanted.

I need a challenge. I want to feel my blood rushing and my heart pounding. I want to feel useful and productive.

This morning I was wandering around the Gay Village when I spotted an adult store. I decided to venture in and see if there were any new toys or novelties I could spice up my sex life with. Once inside, I saw the display cabinet of cockrings. Thinking of Cujo, I was overcome by a desire I’d never felt before.

A few minutes later I left the shop. My heart was pounding and the adrenalin was flowing. In my bag I had a stainless steel cockring that I hadn’t paid for. I felt alive!

* * *

Just before lunch I was strolling along High Street when my mobile phone rang. I smiled as I recognised Donovan’s office number.

“Hi Lover,” I answered the phone.

“Hi,” he said.

“Oh! It’s you!” I said, feigning surprise and pretending that I thought he was someone else. He chuckled.

“I wanted to run something by you. One of my clients has a crush on Sebastian, and it’s bordering on obsession. He hasn’t actually told me it’s Sebastian, but he works with Sebastian and it’s pretty obvious who the un-named object of his affections is.”

“You feel like you should refer him to another therapist due to a conflict of interest?” I asked.

“Yes,” Donovan said.

“I don’t think you should at this stage. As long as Sebastian’s name isn’t mentioned, there’s no conflict of interest. If he ever admits that it’s Sebastian, then talk to him about possibly seeing another therapist. Give him the reasons: that you can’t guarantee you’ll guide him with his best interests in mind, or that you can’t guarantee you won’t take Sebastian’s wishes into account. Give him the option to choose for himself.”

“You’re a wise woman,” my husband said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “I love you!”

After I closed my mobile phone, I wandered into Mighty Men. Five minutes later I left the store with two stolen scarves in my bag. I set off for home after making a quick stop at Sebastian’s apartment.

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