My Big Fat Gay Life (38 page)

I lay in bed, gently stroking Ryan’s handsome face as he slept. I was fully clothed, but Ryan was only wearing a pair of boxer shorts. I trailed my hand down his neck and over his nipples, watching his chest and pecs rise and fall with his breathing, then I walked my fingers down his abs as though they were stairs in a staircase. Just as I was about to slide my hand under the elastic band of his boxer shorts, his breathing changed and I felt him stir. I looked back up to his face.

“Hey Patty,” he said, smiling at me. “Did I fall asleep on you? I’m sorry.”

I can’t remember when he’d changed from calling me Patricia to Patty, but I liked it. Nobody had ever shortened my name before or given me a nickname. Apart from Donovan that is: he sometimes calls me Hell-Demon, which he claims is based on my maiden name, Heldon, but in truth is probably based on my aggressive personality.

“It’s fine,” I told Ryan, staring into his sleepy eyes. “I was enjoying watching you sleep.”

We were in Ryan’s apartment, which was a big breach of the open relationship rules I’d arranged with Donovan all those years ago. I’d seen Ryan more than once, which was another big breach. In fact, I’d seen him almost daily for months now. I was now trying to decide if not sleeping with Ryan today was another breach: we hadn’t slept together – at least not yet – so I could hardly claim the visit was purely sexual.

“I could do with a cup of tea,” Ryan said, struggling to sit up.

We made our way into his kitchen and he turned on the kettle after filling it up. I sat on a kitchen stool and watched as he pottered around, tidying up and preparing for tea. I smiled each time I caught a glimpse of the head of his penis as he pottered: his cock was so long that it hung out the bottom of his boxer shorts.

After the tea was ready, we retired to the lounge room. We were curled up on the sofa, giggling and sipping tea, when the door to the apartment swung open. A young man walked in and threw a satchel on the floor.

“Ryan,” he said, nodding in our direction.

“Milan,” Ryan responded to him. Ryan then turned to me. “Hey Patty, this is Milan, my flatmate. Milan, this is Patty, my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend!
My heart soared! He called me his girlfriend! I vaguely remember Milan walking over and shaking my hand.

“How was work?” Ryan asked him. An exchange of social pleasantries followed, but I didn’t bother to tune in. My head was still racing after Ryan had referred to me as his girlfriend.

Suddenly the elation turned to panic. Not only was I in my sixties – far too old to be called a girlfriend – I was also a wife.

“I have to go,” I said to Ryan, standing up from the sofa. “I need to go home.”

“Oh.” He stood as well, trying to pull the bottom of his boxer shorts over the head of his cock. “Do you want me to phone a taxi?”

“No,” I answered. “I think I’ll walk and clear my head.”

Ryan wrapped me in a hug and walked me to the door. He had a confused expression on his face. I hugged him again as I stepped through the doorway.

“I love you,” I whispered in his ear, then released him from my grasp and strode down the hallway to the elevators. I didn’t want to give him a chance to respond, nor did I want see the expression on his face.

There we have it, the biggest breach imaginable of the open relationship rules: a profession of love.

* * *

When I arrived home, I stopped and checked myself in the hallway mirror to make sure no signs of my deception were visible on my face. Then I immediately went to Donovan’s room. His nurse, Anna, was tucking him into bed.

“Good afternoon Mrs. Parker,” Anna said in her heavy eastern European accent. “You have good timing. We’ve just finished our physical therapy.”

Anna slipped from the room, and I sat down in the chair next to Donovan’s bed. Communication has always been the cornerstone of our relationship, and I’d decided to confess my feelings for Ryan to him. I took his hand in mine, and looked up from the floor into face. He was smiling: a charming and disarming lop-sided smile.

“Hello my little Hell-Demon,” he croaked. His smile broadened as he saw the astonishment flood my face. I tried to speak, but failed. My mouth opened and closed a few times. He chuckled.

“You’re speechless,” he observed. His speech was broken and guttural, but it was clearly understandable.

“I’m stunned!” I exclaimed. “You can talk! It’s wonderful!”

He smiled, and his eyelids drooped. The physical therapy and the effort of speaking had obviously exhausted him.

“I’ll let you get some rest,” I told him, but it was unnecessary. He’d already fallen asleep by the time I finished speaking.

* * *

Later that evening I resolved myself to talk to Donovan again. It would be tougher talking to him now that he could respond vocally: if he could only respond with hurt expressions then I could look away, if necessary, but if he could talk then he could respond verbally.

I approached the door to his room downstairs with trepidation. I’d never anticipated telling my wonderful husband that I’d developed feelings for another man. I opened the doors quietly and stepped inside, only to see that he had another visitor already.

Toni was seated in the chair next to Donovan’s bed, but her head was resting on his stomach and great heaving sobs were wracking her body. Donovan’s good hand was gently caressing her head. He looked at me with pure concern in his eyes. Eventually Toni noticed me standing there, and flew across the room to me.

“Oh Patricia,” she sobbed, collapsing into my arms and laying her head on my breast. “It was awful!”

“I think I’ve created a niche market that’s too small,” I told Ian. We were having breakfast together before he left for work for the day. “My regulars are becoming less regular. I understand it: in this current economic climate the first things to go are luxuries like dominant masters. Even Piggy only comes once a fortnight now.”

“But he cums more than once while he’s here,” Ian observed, chuckling into his cup of coffee.

“I don’t want to get back into massages,” I continued, “because they’re far too exhausting for a small return. But I need to do something to increase my income.”

“Maybe you can branch into other areas,” Ian said. “Now that you’re comfortable with nudity in a non-sexual situation, maybe you could take a leaf from Justin’s book and do some nude cleaning or modelling.”

“Yeah,” I responded grimly. “Look how well that turned out for him.”

“You just have to be careful,” Ian said. “Don’t take bookings from strangers. Only take referrals. You should talk to Justin and make sure he’s happy with it too: you don’t want to tread on any toes. You never know, he may have some contacts for you.”

I was silent for a moment, pondering my options.

“I don’t even like cleaning my own apartment,” I said eventually, causing Ian to snort a mouthful of coffee up his nose with a loud laugh.

“There’s very little actual cleaning involved,” Ian observed, wiping up coffee with a napkin. “It’s mostly about the eyecandy. People love having a hot man to perve on: they don’t care if the bathroom gleams or not as long as you put on a show.”

“Hmmm. Maybe you’re right,” I stated. “I’ll phone Justin today.”

“I may have a client for you already,” Ian said. “My friend Arthur is always looking for nude cleaners. He says he hasn’t found one he’s happy to have as a regular, so maybe you could win him over.”

“Sure why not!” I exclaimed. “Get in touch with him, and I’ll speak to Justin today.”

After Ian left, I rang Justin’s mobile. “Hi Justin. You alright?” I said after he’d answered.

“Kento!” he exclaimed, sounding happy to hear my voice. “Yeah alright.”

“Are you going to gym today?” I asked him. “I was hoping to chat with you about something.”

“Not today,” he answered. “It’s a busy day. I just finished squash with Sebastian and have to rush off to my first client. What’s up?”

“It’s not important,” I told him. “It can wait for tomorrow.”

“No, it’s fine,” Justin said. “It’d be good to see you. Why don’t you come by my modelling session at 4pm. I can talk to you there. They won’t mind.”

“OK,” I said, then jotted down the address as he rattled it off. “See you then.”

* * *

At lunchtime I was sitting in the sushi bar waiting for Sebastian to arrive. To my surprise, when he showed up he had Rory with him.

“You not working today?” I asked Rory after I’d greeted them.

“No,” he replied. “Have a bit of a sore back. Want to give it a rest for a day or so. Can’t do construction work if I fuck up my back.”

“Bummer,” I responded. Thinking back to the position I’d seen him in at Ruby Slippers, I was surprised it was his back that was sore, and not his knees.

“How’s your Mum?” Sebastian asked me, as he always does.

“Actually, they’ve started her on a fourth round of chemotherapy. The remission didn’t last very long,” I replied. My Mum had been battling cancer for a few years now, but had gone into remission six months earlier.

“Sorry to hear that,” Sebastian said.

“It’s fine,” I said. “She’s far too stubborn to die.” We lapsed into a silence for a few minutes, contemplating the menu.

We had an enjoyable lunch. Rory was surprisingly good company, and he made me laugh on several occasions. After we’d eaten, Rory excused himself to go to the toilet.

“He’s quite a character for a straight boy,” Sebastian observed as Rory made his way to the toilet.

Straight? Yeah right! I don’t know many straight boys that drop to their knees and gobble cock in the back room of a gay nightclub. But I have to give him the benefit of the doubt: many straight guys get curious and want to try sucking cock once, especially when drunk.

“I think our outing to Ruby Slippers was a real eye-opener for him,” Sebastian continued.

“Yeah I can imagine,” I said, chuckling. “I must admit I was shocked at Justin’s willingness to dance naked on the podium. I know he’s gay friendly, but that was a whole new level.”

“Justin’s full of surprises,” Sebastian laughed. “I’ve known him forever, and even I feel like I’ve just scratched the surface with him.”

Just then Rory came and resumed his seat. An evil plan sprang to mind: a plan that would determine if Rory’s cock snack was a drunken mistake or the result of inhibitions stripped away by alcohol.

“I can take a look at your back,” I told Rory. “I don’t know if Sebastian’s told you, but I’m a qualified masseur, and I’m damn good at it. I’d be happy to sort out your back.”

“That’d be great!” he exclaimed.

* * *

After lunch, Rory walked with me back to my apartment so I could have a look at his back.

“Get your kit off,” I told Rory as I set up the massage table.

“All of it?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Yep. I don’t want to get any oil on your undies,” I responded.

As I set up the table Rory reluctantly took off his clothes, revealing a surprisingly nice defined body.

“Do you work out?” I asked him. “Or is that body natural from working in construction?”

“Natural I guess,” he replied, blushing.

“What a big dick you have for such a little ginger boy,” I observed, staring directly at his cock. He blushed even deeper and covered his cock with his hands.

“Maybe I should go,” he said.

“Oh I’m sorry!” I exclaimed. “Am I making you feel uncomfortable? Lie down. I’ll behave, I promise.”

He walked to the table laid on his stomach, giving me a glimpse of his cock as he did so. It was half erect. He put his face in the face hole.

“Would you be more comfortable if I were nude too?” I asked him.

“I don’t mind,” he said, his voice muffled.

I stripped off my clothes and started to oil him down, standing quite close as I rubbed oil onto his back and shoulders. As I vigorously moved my arms to rub in the oil, I brushed my cock against the back of his hand. It was quite a deliberate move, but I wanted to give the impression it was an accident. His hand twitched, and his body moved in a way that, after performing hundreds of massages, I knew was an attempt to shift a hard cock into a more comfortable position.