The Blinding Light (14 page)

I grinned and waved away his empty threat. I was on time every day. I grabbed my bag from the back room before hoisting Patrick to his feet, his arm slung over my shoulder.

“Let’s go, Patti-cake. That’s it—left, right, left, right.”

Sav held the door for us and I thanked him, telling him I’d buy him a lemonade the following night; the guy didn’t drink a drop of alcohol. The air was crisp and cool, but not cold. Summer was definitely just around the corner.

After a five-minute wait, the taxi finally pulled up and I opened the back door, stuffing Patrick in and pushing him across so I could crawl in after him. I pulled the seat belt across his torso and clicked him in.

“Where to, mate?” The taxi driver was Nigerian with a deplorable attempt at an Aussie accent, but his face was friendly and he looked wide awake, which was something I watched for. The last thing I needed was a taxi driver on the tail end of a sixteen-hour shift.

“Birdwood Circus, thanks. The easiest way is to take Preston Point Road and follow it around. I’ll tell you when to turn.”

I turned to Patrick, who was dozing with his head against the window. “Patrick? Come on, man. Can you stay awake about ten more minutes until we get you home? I’ll put you in your bed and you can have a nice, long sleep.”

“Sleep. Ni-shh. Ni-shh, Jake. Ni-shh sleep.”

“Yeah, buddy. It will be nice. Now cough up your wallet. I don’t have enough money in the bank to be forking out taxi rides for idiots.”

By the time the turnoff loomed, I had managed to wrestle Patrick’s wallet off him and fish out a twenty to pay. I half-carried, half-dragged him out of the car and waved good-bye to the driver before making Patrick walk himself to the door. Luckily, I had my keys to his house on me because I didn’t want to have to turn Patrick’s pockets inside out looking for his. He was completely drunk, which he showed me by lightly slapping my butt as I fumbled with the door and alarm.

“Ni-shh Jake. I liked dann-shing wiv’ you, Jake. You have a ni-shh body.”

I ignored the slap, figuring he was aiming for my back for a friendly pat, and propelled him through the front door. Gregor came running and sniffed Patrick all over, so I rubbed his head and praised him, “Good boy. We’re home now. Did you eat all the burglars?”

Patrick was leaning on the wall as I reset the alarm. “Mustn’t eat burglars. Too many of them are druggies and that might affect dogs. Don’t want my dog to be doped up. He’s my eyes, and one of us needs to know where we’re going.”

I laughed. “Right. I’ll remind you of that in the morning. Now, come on. Beddy-byes for you.”

He wobbled on his feet, making his way down the hall toward his bedroom. He reached up and discarded his dark sunnies on the kitchen table on his way past. “Are you going to put me to bed, Jakey?”

I chuckled at his attempt at a nickname. “Nope, not me, Patti-cake. You’re going to put yourself to bed. I’m just here to make sure you make it. Then I’m going home.”

“You can’t. Taxi gone bye-bye.” I was having a lot of fun with this drunken conversation.

“I know. But my legs still work, unlike yours. I’ll just walk home, mate. Now shoes off and into some jarmies.”

Patrick sat on the edge of his bed and flopped back. “No.”

“Come on, man. Don’t be like that. You have to get undressed.”

Patrick was starfishing on the bed, his arms and legs spread, taking up the whole space. “No,” he mumbled. “I mean, don’t go. Stay. I have beds.”

I knelt in front of him and began attacking the laces on his shoes. Stay with Patrick? He did have a guest room after all, and I would feel better if I were in the house tonight to make sure he was alright. Besides, it was me who had to change the sheets and clean the guest bedroom. If I stayed over it wasn’t like I was making work for someone else.

I eased his shoes off and put them in his closet. The worst thing for a blind man or a drunk is to leave things on the floor for them to trip over. But a drunk, blind man? Or was that a blind, drunk man? Or then again, it could’ve been a blind-drunk, blind man.

Patrick still hadn’t moved, so I pulled his socks off as well. He was staring at the ceiling, not twitching a single muscle. Well, to tell the truth it wasn’t like he could see the ceiling. So to be more accurate, he was lying with his eyes open.

“Patrick? You’re supposed to be getting undressed, dude.”

His hand flopped to his chest where he fumbled with his T-shirt for a minute, unsuccessfully trying to pull it out of his jeans where it was tucked in, before I huffed in exasperation.

“You’re going to owe me so many favors, man. Do not think I do this for anyone.” I gingerly toed off my own sneakers and climbed onto the bed beside him where I could reach him. For me his shirt came easily out of his waistband, but I didn’t anticipate the second half of the equation. For every inch his shirt lifted up toward his head, I uncovered another inch of delightful, pale-colored torso. And to make things even worse, my fingers were brushing against his beautiful skin as I hauled it up. I tried to keep my mind on my job, even though my dick was filling with blood, draining it from my head. “Come on, Patti-cake. Sit up a bit so we can get this over your head. That’s it. Lift your arms. Here we go. Up and over. Now you do your pants.”

Patrick simply flopped back onto the bed with his arms still above his head. “No, man,” I complained. “Don’t do this to me. You have to do it yourself. There are things that are just plain mean to do to a gay man.”

But it made no difference. Either he was too drunk to reply or he was rotten to the core. I looked at the zipper of his jeans. Could I do it? Fuck, this was going to turn out badly.

You can do this, Jake. This is not Patrick. He’s just a body. Think about it like you were helping one of your sisters to get into bed. There’s no dick behind that zipper. There’s nothing to get caught up about.

The button came undone easily.

You cannot feel coarse hair on the back of your fingers. Ignore it.

The zipper parted and I averted my eyes. I didn’t need the extra stimulation. I crawled off the bed, grabbed the cuffs of his trousers near his ankles, and yanked until the material slithered down his legs and dropped on the floor. I scooped them up with his T-shirt and socks and whizzed them into the hamper in the en suite.

In the bathroom, I took some deep breaths and pushed down on my erection.
Stop it! You cannot lust after this man.

I looked in the mirror, expecting to find desire stamped all over my features. Unfortunately, I looked just the same. So I took another deep breath and held it, telling myself to be a gentleman. He was in his undershorts now, which was close enough to the cotton boxer shorts he wore as pajamas that I would be able to roll him into the bed, pull up the covers, and run.
Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds and you can be out of this room and he will be fine until the morning. You can do thirty seconds, can’t you, Jake? Easy. Just don’t look, okay? Don’t look at his chest, don’t look at his arse, don’t look at his package. Don’t look and run. Got it?

I stepped back into the bedroom and looked.

Oh, fuck.

The man hadn’t moved a muscle. Well, not really. There was one part of him that had moved considerably and was now sticking straight up in the air, tenting his underwear. I closed my eyes. God was testing me, I was sure of it.

I had to swallow several times before I finally gathered enough moisture to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “You… you….” I sighed noisily. “Into bed, Patti-cake.”

He frowned and thrashed his head back and forth against the cover, indicating that he didn’t want to. One hand came down and pushed at the elastic holding up his undershorts. “Off. Need off.”

Shit, no!
“No, man. Leave them on. You can sleep in them.”

Too late!

Patrick caught the edge of the material and shoved them down and his meat popped free, bouncing upward to flop against his stomach.

I’m not looking. I’m not…. Oh, sweet dreams of gay boys everywhere. Check that out!

My legs moved of their own volition and suddenly I was by his side reaching for that succulent flesh. I caught myself before I could touch and instead grabbed the edge of the undershorts and whisked them off. I turned my back to the heavenly vision Patrick made lying completely naked on his bed with a fucking huge erection and sprinted for the drawer where he kept his boxers. I grabbed the top pair—a very unassuming and unarousing maroon tartan—and turned back.

I had to grab my own dick and squeeze it hard to stop coming then and there. He wasn’t…. He couldn’t be….
Oh, fuck. He’s jacking himself in front of me.
I froze as I watched that hand move lovingly and slowly over his own cock, pleasuring himself without shame.

This had to stop or I was going to have an aneurism. In my dick. I’d be the first person on the planet to die from an aneurism in his penis. I’d be famous, but for all the wrong reasons.

“Patrick. For fuck’s sake! This gay boy over here is going to explode if you do things like that where I can see. You may be blind but I have twenty-twenty vision and this is not good for my blood pressure.”

Did he stop? Of course not. I wasn’t that lucky in life. He just went on sliding his fingers up and down his shaft, and then to put the cherry on top of the pie, he turned to me and whispered, “Help me, Jake.”

Help him? Oh, fuck. How the bloomin’ fuck was I meant to answer that question? Hell, yes? Or shit, no? Oh, the decisions in life you have to make.

“Patti-cake…. Baby, you are drunker than a monkey’s uncle. You’re going to hate me for this in the morning. Now put your goddamn PJs on and go to sleep.”

“Please, Jake?” he just whispered back. “I won’t take long. And you don’t mind, do you? Just a little…?”

I groaned and rubbed at my tired eyes. If this was God’s test, I was about to fail spectacularly. Crash and burn, baby!

I crawled on the bed next to him until I was kneeling over him and took his cock firmly in my right hand. He moaned in ecstasy and relinquished his hold to my capable hand. It was a rhythm I was ever so familiar with, and I paused only once to spit gently on my palm before jacking him in earnest. He arched into my touch and cried out, urging me on faster and faster.

“Yes, Jake. Oh, God! Yes.”

I watched my hand blur for a moment before dragging my gaze up to his face. I wanted to see his expression as he came. His mouth was open wide, and his brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly he bit his lip, and his hips jerked up into my hand. I lost a bit of control right then.
Fuck it! If the man is desperate enough to have a gay man jack him, he can deal with a little lip-lock from that same person.

I crashed my mouth down onto his, uncaring if he wanted it or not. I sucked his full bottom lip into my mouth, just as I felt the first spurt of ejaculate fountain up over my hand, providing masses of lubrication for my touch. I kissed and jerked, and Patrick took it all.

Finally he was dry and pulled away, and I looked down at his satisfied expression.

Well, hell. Now what happens?

P
ATRICK
FELL
asleep and I jerked myself off in the second bathroom using his come for lubrication. That’s what happened.

Classy, right?

Yep, that’s me. Class all the way.

I thought I would toss and turn all night, but instead I went to bed and slept like a baby. I woke in Patrick’s guest bedroom, disorientated from the strange surroundings and desperate for a piss.

After using the bathroom, I stumbled to the kitchen to find out the time. Patrick had no clocks in his house apart from the digital one in the kitchen that would recite the time out loud for you if you pressed the button.
Shit! Nearly 11:00 a.m.!

I looked around and finally spotted my bag abandoned in the hallway next to the front door. Gregor followed me and whined, pushing against my leg—a sure sign that Patrick hadn’t managed to surface yet either. So I punched in the alarm code and opened the front door. Gregor gleefully bounded into the fenced front yard and immediately took care of his needs on the nearest tree.

I searched my bag for my mobile, which regretfully confirmed the lateness of the hour and also informed me of three missed calls and six text messages that I hadn’t seen.
Well, aren’t I a popular guy?

I scrolled through my messages—a housemate making sure I was okay since I didn’t come home, an old flame asking for a date for old time’s sake, two from Maria asking if I was coming over, one from Lizzy asking why I wasn’t answering Maria’s phone calls, and one from the bank confirming that my next loan payment was due on Tuesday.

I quickly answered the ones I needed to and went to check on Patrick. I knocked lightly on his bedroom door and stuck my head in.

“Patrick?”

He had his face buried in the pillow and the quilt pulled up around his shoulders so that just a patch of skin on the back of his neck was visible.