My Big Fat Gay Life (22 page)

The supermarket is a new modern building, with lots of glass, stainless steel, and a polished concrete floor. It had opened at the start of summer and was doing a roaring trade. Manchester had turned unusually warm early in the summer, and despite the early hour of the day I’d worked up quite a sweat rushing to the supermarket.

As I stood at the dairy case, debating whether to buy full cream or low fat milk, I realised I must look quite a sight. Sweat was running down my face, and my t-shirt was soaked. I had an uncomfortable itch in my groin and scratched at it, then looked around surreptitiously to see if anyone was looking at me. Deciding I wasn’t being observed, I adjusted the cockring. Patricia may know many things about me, but she obviously doesn’t know my cock size. The cockring she’d bought was slightly too big, but it worked.

In the fruit and vegetable section I stretched to pick out the best looking apples, and as I was stretching and reaching I felt the cockring slip. Before I could stop it, it slipped off my cock and fell out of my shorts. I watched in horror as it landed with a loud clang on the polished concrete floor, and then proceeded to roll clear across the fruit and vegetable section and down the dairy aisle. It made a loud metallic noise the whole way, attracting the attention of every person in the store. Eventually it rolled around slowly in front of the yoghurts and came to a noisy stop.

Not wanting to claim it as mine, I finished selecting my apples and made my way to the cash registers. I wished Justin were here: he’d retrieve it for me.

* * *

At Rainbow’s End, I made my way to my office. As I went past the group therapy room, I made eye contact with Tony and smiled broadly. He comes once a week for group therapy, but only attends groups that aren’t hosted by Patricia or myself. We’re no longer impartial observers to Tony’s personal development, and as such it wouldn’t be right to be his therapists.

Despite Donovan’s stroke, Patricia had insisted vehemently that Tony still come to live with her. I must say that it appears to be working well: they’re getting along great, and Patricia has started referring to Tony as her son. He still has a lot of issues to work through, but he’s making good progress. I took to being a big brother like a calf to a teat, and I’m forging quite a good bond with Tony. The only downside to having Tony become part of the family is that Patricia has stopped cleaning my apartment. For all my bitching and moaning about it, I sure miss it now that she’s stopped.

I tended to the running of Rainbow’s End for a few hours, and then decided to call it a day. I needed to see Donovan.

* * *

When I arrived at the care facility, I stopped at the nurses’ station and asked Peggy for an update on his progress.

“No change, Darling,” Peggy said brightly. I thanked her and made my way to his room. Donovan’s stroke had occurred in the right hemisphere of his brain, affecting the left side of his body. He was totally paralysed on the left hand side of his body, and had limited mobility on his right. He was unable to talk or write, leaving us uncertain as to the extent his mind had been affected. I reached his room, knocked twice, and entered.

“Hi Sweetheart!” Patricia exclaimed happily, looking up at me. She was seated on Donovan’s bed, holding his hand.

“Hi Patricia,” I smiled. I walked over to Donovan’s bed and hugged him. “Hi Dad.”

“He’ll kill you for calling him Dad, you know,” Patricia observed as I kissed her on the cheek.

“Just trying to provoke a reaction,” I replied.

“Excuse me for a moment. I need to visit the ladies’ room.” Patricia got up and went into Donovan’s private bathroom, closing the door behind her.

“How’re you feeling Donovan? You alright?” I asked him, grasping his hand as I sat in the chair next to his bed.

Of course, I received no reply. His eyes bore straight into mine, although the eyelid over his left eye drooped so much it nearly covered his entire eye.

I chatted to him for a few minutes. Since the stroke, Donovan had become the recipient of my verbal journal. I told him all my doubts and fears. He heard all the details of my day. Maybe if I bored him enough, he would put his hand up to tell me to stop.

“Bruce has been transferred to the psychiatric hospital,” I told him. “He’s being held indefinitely, and is not fit to stand trial.” This had been no surprise to any of us.

At that moment, Patricia came out of the bathroom. We talked about Tony and his progress. We talked about Bruce. It felt good to talk about it, although we both spoke about Bruce and his hospitalisation as though it had been a report we’d seen on BBC News, not something that had impacted our lives deeply. Not once did we mention Quentin.

The door opened and a male nurse bustled in. “Hi folks,” he said in a lilting Irish accent. “My name’s Matt, and I just started working here. I’ll be taking care of Donovan here.”

“Hi Matt,” I said. Matt came over to Donovan’s bed and reached for his wrist. Our hands brushed each other, and I swear I felt a spark. I looked up at Matt’s face and found myself lost in the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen.

“It’s time for his bath now, so could I please ask you both to wait outside?” Matt asked. I nodded mutely. Matt smiled.

“Maybe after Donovan’s had his bath, I could interest you in a cup of coffee so we can chat about his treatment and recovery?” Matt said to me, his piercing blue eyes staring right into the depths of me. I nodded mutely again. Patricia and I went to the cafeteria while Donovan had his bath.

* * *

Patricia and I were sitting in silence in the cafeteria, drinking coffee and finishing off someone else’s unfinished crossword puzzle, when Matt arrived half an hour later.

“All done,” he said to Patricia. “You can go back and see him anytime you like. We had a bit of a stumble in the shower, unfortunately, but it looks worse than it is.”

Patricia gasped and hurried off to console Donovan. I remained in the cafeteria with Matt, lost in his blue eyes and soft voice.

“Now the old girl has gone,” he said to me after Patricia had left, “I can be a bit more direct. I fancy you! Would you like a drink after I finish work?”

I nodded mutely. It seemed to be becoming a habit.

“Should I wear the matte or glossy?” I asked Ian, holding up two leather harnesses. I was preparing for a client, and Ian liked to watch me gear up in my leather outfit.

“Definitely the matte,” he answered, grinning.

For the last two weeks Ive been selling my services as a bondage/humiliation master, and I was loving every minute of it! There’s no sexual contact between myself and the clients, and it’s a lot less physically demanding than being a masseur. I also got the chance to exercise my newfound freedom as a man in control. Ian had opened me up to a whole new world, and I was very grateful for that.

By taking charge of my sex life, I’d taken charge of my whole life. The old me was a passive starfish through laziness and apathy. Now, when I decide to be passive with Ian, it’s through choice and desire. I made things happen now: I didn’t wait for them to happen to me.

“So don’t forget,” I told Ian as I dressed, “come back exactly forty-five minutes after he arrives.”

As soon as I finished dressing in my black leather jockstrap, matte black leather harness, and boots, the building buzzer sounded. Ian kissed me quickly and left, and I buzzed the client into the building.

When the client knocked on the apartment door, I opened it and glared at him.

“Sorry I’m late!” he gushed. “I…”

“Shut up!” I commanded. “Speak only when spoken to! Get inside and take off your clothes, Piggy.”

Before I saw a client, we worked out a loose script and arranged a safe word. This client’s word was ‘avocado’. If he utters that word, I must instantly drop out of character and set him free.

Piggy, not his real name, obviously, but one he chose himself for our sessions, came inside and quickly stripped off his clothes.

“Get on all fours!” I demanded. Piggy dropped instantly. “Go get my strap so I can punish you for being late.”

Piggy trotted off to the play cupboard and managed to open the door with his ‘snout’, then retrieved a leather strap and brought it back to me.

As this was our fourth session, I knew three things were guaranteed to make Piggy cum: spanking, pissing on him, and grinding my boot in his face. Today he’d requested all three. I was trying to pace it out for him, but the water I’d drunk in preparation to piss on him was passing through me faster than I thought it would - I’d have to hurry up the pissing scenario.

I spanked his arse with the leather strap, and he moaned with pleasure. I spanked him again, slightly harder, and he groaned as he lower himself onto his elbows, leaving his arse sticking up for easier access. The strokes became harder and harder, and Piggy’s cock matched the intensity of the strokes.

Right on cue, he ejaculated on my hardwood floor as I paddled his arse with one final hard stroke. Personally I can’t understand how someone can cum like that - without even touching their cock - but to each their own.

* * *

At the appointed time, Ian came back to the apartment. He walked in to find me relaxing in my favourite chair and reading a fitness magazine, with my booted feet resting on Piggy’s back.

“Hi Honey,” I said as I smiled at him. “We just finished cleaning the shower with a toothbrush, and now I’m taking a break. Piggy made a real mess in the shower.”

Ian grinned as he walked over and leant down to kiss me. I looked down at his boots.

“Is it raining outside?” I asked him. “Your boots are filthy! Piggy, clean his boots!”

Obediently, Piggy began licking Ian’s boots. He didn’t stop until they were spotless. He kept his head down near the floor, and I nearly missed my cue.

“You call that clean?!” I bellowed at him, jumping up from my chair. “Do it again!”

I put my boot on his face and ground it around slightly. Piggy was trying to reach Ian’s boots with his tongue, but he couldn’t move his head. I ground my boot into his face harder, and he blew his third and final load.

“Great!” I said cheerfully to the client. “Go have a shower and freshen up.”

Piggy jumped up and headed for the shower with a big grin on his face, his arse still red from the spanking. I grabbed some paper towel to clean up his final mess.

Donovan may not be able to communicate, but I’m convinced his mind is intact. He still has a sparkle in his eyes. We’ve been trying to work out a system for ‘yes’ and ‘no’, but he doesn’t have enough control over his eyelids yet to blink at will. For now, we just have to keep him entertained and stimulated.

I whooshed into his room, dragging along a special guest behind me. I visited Donovan every day, for several hours each time. I talked to him as I always have: lovingly, but with a mocking tone.

“Hi Darling,” I said as I approached his bed and kissed him on the lips. “I thought you might like something a little more entertaining today than the usual rundown of my daily life.”

I walked to the door and locked it, then turned to indicate the man standing next to me.

“This is Ryan,” I said. “I found him on a website. He claims to have stamina, and his catch phrase was ‘A Pound per Pound’! Isn’t that hilarious? Let’s hope this costs me a fortune.”

Ryan was tall and intensely good-looking. Judging by the photos in his ad, he was lean and muscular, and very well hung. Just the type of guy Donovan likes! When I’d told him what I had planned he was quite uncertain, but I’d managed to talk him round.

“Ryan, this is my husband, Donovan. He likes to watch, and that’s all he can do at the moment! Can you show him what’s in store?”

Ryan dutifully removed his shirt, exposing an expanse of muscle. Then he took off his pants.

“Holy shit!” I exclaimed. “I’m glad I’m not paying by the inch! Come closer to the bed please so he can have a grope.”

Ryan walked over to Donovan’s bed, and I placed Donovan’s hand on Ryan’s chest. I moved it slowly and sensuously across Ryan’s chest, and then down over his abs. Next, I wrapped Donovan’s fingers around Ryan’s cock. It was already hard: the boy is quick on the trigger!