My Big Fat Gay Life (18 page)

“I’m impressed,” Ian said as he placed a cup of coffee in my hands. “You’re very brave, and you should be proud of yourself.”

“Proud?” I was shocked. I’d expected recriminations, not respect. I deserved recriminations. I deserved to be cast out.

“Yes!” he stated. “Sure, you acted poorly. But you’ve learned from it. You’ve grown. Just don’t expect to have changed overnight. You’ll have setbacks and slip-ups, and no doubt you’ll behave or react badly again, but life is a growth experience. We should always strive to do better, and to learn and grow: every single one of us.”

I pondered this for a while, sipping my coffee. I came to understand that throughout my life, I’d been reactive instead of proactive. I let things happen to me, instead of causing things to happen.

“I think I’m lazy,” I said to Ian. “Everything I do is a reaction to something. I sit back and wait for things to happen, even in bed. I want to learn to be more proactive, more dominant and aggressive.”

“I can help you with that!” Ian grinned. I must have looked confused, because he laughed and led me to the wardrobe in his bedroom. As he opened the door, he revealed a large array of sex toys, leather fetish gear, and bondage equipment.

“Dominate me,” Ian said simply.

“You’ll have to teach me how,” I replied.

* * *

Ian believes that your sex life is an analogy for your whole life. I’m not sure if I agree with that totally, but it certainly has some merit. Although he remained in control for the next few hours, he taught me how to be more proactive - how to be more aggressive and dominant. He taught me how to take what I want, and it changed my attitude to life. He encouraged me to take that new outlook with me into the rest of my life.

It was so liberating!

Ruth was here! I woke up, and she was hugging Sebastian. It felt so right - so good and natural. I hugged both of them and planted kisses all over Ruth’s face. She laughed.

“How?” Sebastian asked Ruth. “Why did you come here?”

“Patricia convinced me,” she replied, “and I realised if I ever wanted to have a good relationship with my two favourite men again, I had to make the effort.”

Sebastian, considerate as ever, extricated himself from the hug and left so that Ruth and I could be alone.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I said, hugging her tightly.

“I had no choice,” she said. “Patricia was brutal! You and I are like family to her - like her kids - and Quentin’s murder affecting Sebastian so deeply was the last straw. She turned into a raging mother tiger, determined to protect her young. She was determined to fix everything: at least the things she had even the slightest control over.”

“If she forced you to come here,” I asked, releasing her from my grip a little so that I could look her in the eye, “does that mean you’ll sink back into agoraphobia and depression the minute you go back home?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head forcefully. “I don’t want that. I want to live my life again, and I want to live it with you. If you think I’m regressing, phone Patricia!”

“I can’t come home straight away,” I stated. “Sebastian needs me here.”

“Of course,” she said, dismissing my concerns. “Just as long as you know that I want you there, and that I want things to go back to the way they were. We can work it out after things have settled down here.”

At that point, we heard something from the lounge room that could prove to be another disaster - the last thing we needed today.

“Right!” Patricia’s voice floated in from the lounge room. “How about I make us all some breakfast?”

Ruth and I gave each other a look of horror, eyes wide open and full of fear.

“Raise the terrorist threat level to Red,” Ruth said, assuming Sebastian’s role in the routine that Sebastian and I had developed during our childhood. “Biological weapons of mass destruction are being prepared!”

“Go!” I commanded her, pointing to the lounge room. “Go now!”

We walked quickly into the lounge room.

“Patricia, you’ve done enough,” Ruth said. “Let me cook breakfast.”

Crisis averted, I walked over to Patricia and wrapped my arms around her.

“Thank you,” I whispered in her ear.

With perfect timing, Kento arrived at that point. He was a man on a mission - he didn’t even glance at my cock as he came in the door. He went straight to Sebastian and gave him the most abject apology I’d ever heard. If my interference had helped in some small way with this reconciliation, then I was glad.

I might not say much, and I might not get involved very often, but I see and hear everything. My style of interfering in our loved ones lives is merely a little covert tweak here and there, if I felt it was necessary. Patricia’s style was far more overt and confrontational. I love that in her!

Sebastian had finally fallen asleep with Justin in bed comforting him. Patricia and I were in his lounge room. I was relaxing in his comfortable chair, and Patricia was pacing like a caged tiger.

“Are you OK?” she asked me. “You knew Quentin quite well.”

“I’m fine,” I answered, reassuring her. “I liked Quentin, and he was a good man. He was certainly good for Sebastian. I’m shocked, but I’m more concerned for Sebastian at this stage.”

“Good,” she said, content that she didn’t have to take my reactions and feelings into consideration. She could focus on more immediate concerns.

“It’s just not right!” she exclaimed.

“Of course it isn’t,” I replied calmly. “Quentin was a casualty of a deranged mind.”

“No, I mean everything,” she said. “Sebastian had someone he loved, or at least was on the path to loving, ripped away from him by a crazy stalker who should’ve been stopped weeks ago. Ruth and Justin lost their baby, and now they’re losing each other. Kento’s being a selfish prick. None of it’s right!”

I was silent, content to sit back and let her pace. I’ve always been in awe of Patricia and how her mind works. Her thought processes are things of beauty, even when they go awry and result in behaviours such as kleptomania.

“Right! Easiest thing first,” she said determinedly. “Ruth!”

I watched, quite bemused, as she grabbed her bag and stalked out of the apartment. My eyelids became quite heavy as soon as she closed the door behind her, and I fell into a light doze.

* * *

When I awoke, Ruth was there. Patricia had rescued Ruth from her downward spiral, as I knew she would, and rescued Ruth’s relationships with Sebastian and Justin. What’s more, she’d probably achieved it totally against Ruth’s will. Now, Ruth was rescuing all of us from Patricia’s cooking. I chuckled inwardly at the irony of the situation.

Surprisingly, Kento arrived and showed utter remorse for his behaviour. I don’t know how Patricia had achieved it - she’d managed to get both Ruth and Kento here, and both with positive results.

While Ruth and Justin cooked breakfast – for which I was immensely grateful – and Kento and Sebastian placated each other, Patricia came and perched herself on the arm of the chair I was sitting in. She surveyed her domain.

“You do good work,” I whispered to her. “I’m impressed: Ruth and Kento, and both so quickly! I only closed my eyes for a moment.”

“I can’t take credit for Kento,” she whispered back. “There’s hope for that young man yet.”

“Were you terribly harsh with Ruth?” I asked her.

“Yes,” she answered, sounding quite distraught. “I felt absolutely horrid doing it, but it had to be done.”

I squeezed her hand reassuringly.

The pervading atmosphere at the breakfast table was quite sombre. It felt right having all the kids there, and it felt good that the rifts between them had been healed, however the overall feeling of shock and horror quashed any attempts at humour and normalcy.

I didn’t want to leave, but I had an appointment with Tony at the DNA testing Centre to obtain our test results. It was important to Tony, and Patricia had the situation well in hand at the apartment. I left shortly after Kento departed, giving hugs and reassuring words to everyone as I left.

* * *

Tony was waiting for me at the coffee shop, and there was an awkward moment where we weren’t sure whether to hug or shake hands. We settled for a handshake. Tony sat down, but he appeared jittery and nervous - his energy vibrating like a dildo with a new set of batteries.

“You should switch to decaf,” I observed jokingly, indicating the coffee before him.”

“I’m nervous!” he said. “I don’t know what to think. I desperately want the results to show that he isn’t my Dad, and despite everything he did to me, that feels like a betrayal.”

I found Tony’s anticipation of the results quite interesting. He didn’t seem to care that I could potentially be his biological father: all he cared about was the possibility that the man who’d raised him – the man who’d abused him - wasn’t his biological father.

“The betrayal was his,” I said. “He betrayed your trust and childish faith in him. You have nothing to feel bad about.”

Together, we went upstairs to the testing centre for the results. Not surprisingly, considering my observations of Tony’s mannerisms and character - along with his physical resemblance to other members of my family - the results showed that I was his biological father.

We halted as we walked out of the building, unsure of which direction to go: both literally and emotionally.

Day 7

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