My Big Fat Gay Life (31 page)

“Let’s get you ready,” I told him. I reached into the bag and retrieved the pig snout. It was from a costume store, and had an elastic string. I placed the snout over Piggy’s nose and snapped the elastic behind the back of his head.

“Pigs don’t stand on two legs!” I bellowed at him. “Get on all fours.”

Reaching into the bag again, I pulled out a large butt plug and a packet of lube. I spread the lube over the butt plug liberally.

“You ready?” I asked Piggy. He grunted and nodded enthusiastically so I slowly worked the butt plug into his arse, his grunts becoming louder and more realistic as the bulbous section of the butt plug worked its way past his sphincter. When the butt plug was in place, Piggy’s grunts turned to a squeal, and he blew a load onto the tiles just inside the front door.

“Clean up your mess you disgusting pig!” I commanded him. Piggy lowered himself onto his elbows and started snorting and snuffling at the cum on the floor. The butt plug had a pig’s tail curling up from it, and the tail moved enthusiastically as Piggy lapped up the mess.

I was now six months pregnant, and loving every moment of it! Sure, my breasts felt large and they ached, but it was a pleasant ache. Sure, I waddled like a duck. Sure, my bladder had been squashed to the size of a thimble, resulting in the need to pee every five minutes. Sure, the baby kicked and moved so much that I thought it was doing renovations in there. But I loved the signs of life.

“I’m so worried about Justin,” I told Patricia. We were sitting in Donovan’s room having a cup of coffee. One of the reception rooms on their ground floor had been converted into a hospital room for Donovan, and one of the two new nurses, Anna, was fussing over Donovan’s pillows. Anna was a large, stern, matronly woman who looked like she wouldn’t tolerate any nonsense.

“Why, Hon?” Patricia asked me, her eyes instantly full of concern.

“He’s not working anymore, and he rarely leaves the apartment. He doesn’t like to be touched at all, and he’s never naked, even in this summer heat. Is agoraphobia catching?”

“No,” Patricia replied, laughing. The laughter caught in her throat the instant she saw in my eyes how serious I was. “When did it start? Was it a gradual or a sudden onset?”

“It started two to three months ago,” I responded, “and it was quite sudden.”

Anna excused herself and left the room to prepare Donovan’s lunch.

“What do you think of Anna?” Patricia asked me with a sudden change of topic. “I rang the agency and asked them to send me two of their oldest, butchest, and scariest female nurses. This is what I get!”

I laughed, despite the seriousness of the former thread of our conversation. “Why would you want that?” I asked her.

“No chance of connections forming, emotional entanglements, or other complications,” she replied simply. I nodded, but didn’t quite understand. “Anyways, back to Justin. This is serious! That boy really needs to be nude.”

“I know. I’ve asked him repeatedly if there’s anything wrong, but he always says he’s fine.” My gaze wandered over to meet Donovan’s, and was surprised to see Donovan do a slow deliberate blink, twice.

“No, there’s nothing wrong?” I asked Donovan. Patricia turned to face Donovan, and we both saw him blink twice.

“No, he’s not fine?” Patricia asked him. Donovan blinked once, and my heart caught in my throat.

“What’s wrong?!” I exclaimed. Obviously, Donovan couldn’t elucidate.

“Don’t worry,” Patricia said, grabbing my hand. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I should’ve noticed something was up, if only I wasn’t so caught up in the drama with Sebastian and Matt and Donovan.”

“Why would Justin confide in Donovan and not me?” I asked Patricia. Turning to Donovan, I added, “no offence!”

“Because Donovan, in his current state, makes the perfect sounding board. Totally unable to pass judgement.”

“What should I do to make him open up to me then?”

“Leave it to me,” Patricia answered. “I’ll talk to him. I promise I’ll be gentle!”

I laughed at the evil gleam in Patricia’s eyes.

“The important thing for you,” Patricia continued, “is to put out of your mind any negative thoughts about why he wouldn’t feel comfortable talking to you. There’s obviously a reason.”

We sat in silence for a few moments; the only sound was the faint ping of Donovan’s heart monitor. Suddenly Anna bustled back in the room with Donovan’s lunch.

“Take a break Anna,” Patricia said to her. “I’ll feed Donovan his lunch.”

Anna left grudgingly, looking back over her shoulder as she exited the room with a look that implied she wasn’t sure Patricia was capable of feeding Donovan correctly.

“I do have some good news though,” Patricia told me excitedly. “Donovan and I might have a daughter!”

“I have group therapy today,” I told Patricia and Donovan. Patricia and I were eating breakfast in Donovan’s room. It had been our routine since he’d moved back home.

“I’m not sure I’ll continue with it much longer,” I continued. “I think I’m over that particular hang-up of mine.”

Patricia exchanged a glance with Donovan, her spoon held suspended midway to her mouth, then turned to look at me.

“You mean you think you’re ready to be fucked up the arse?” she asked me sweetly. I winced.

“Do you have to be so direct?” I asked her, and she assumed a look of pure innocence. I looked away from her, pretending to take in the décor. Patricia had painted the room in bright cheerful colours and filled it with erotic artworks, wanting to create an atmosphere in which Donovan would feel stimulated and at home. Even the door handles had been replaced with large bronze cocks. I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment at Patricia’s bluntness.

“Holy crap!” she exclaimed, putting down her spoon and placing her bowl on a table. “You’ve done it! How was it? Was it Bilal? Tell me everything!”

I nodded mutely, and Patricia cast a satisfied look in Donovan’s direction. He blinked, once.

“How did you feel afterwards? Any negative emotions?” she asked me, leaning forward in her seat and looking me directly in the eye. I was unable to break eye contact with her: she was so compelling.

“No,” I responded. “It felt good. It felt right. It still feels good.” I flushed even deeper, totally embarrassed with the whole conversation.

“That’s wonderful!” Patricia exclaimed. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I know our parenting style is not what you’re used to, but you have to keep in mind that we’re open-minded and you can tell us anything. We’ll never judge you.”

I nodded, acknowledging Patricia’s statement. I stared at the machine that goes ping for a few seconds, then drew a deep breath. I was about to challenge her claim of being non-judgemental.

“There is something I need to tell you both,” I said, looking away from the machine and casting my gaze between the two of them. “My experience with Bilal has clarified one thing for me. For years now I’ve felt different, and I thought it was because I was gay, but after I slept with Bilal I realised that being gay wasn’t the problem. In actual fact …”

“Stop rambling,” Patricia interrupted my flow. “Just spit it out Darling.” She sounded stern, but had an undertone of love and concern.

“I want to try living my life as a woman!” I burst out. I looked away, anywhere but at their faces. My eyes focussed on the bronze cocks. I could feel my cheeks burning again.

Patricia paused, and drew in a deep breath. Here came the moment I feared. Rejection, eviction, disgust. It would be the same situation with my Mam, all over again.

“Do you realise what this means?” Patricia asked me. “You’re straight!”

Donovan blinked, once.

During the taxi ride to Ruth and Justin’s apartment, I held an internal debate on the best way to handle the situation. The last thing I needed was for Justin to get defensive and clam up on me, so brutal wouldn’t work. I decided on loving and caring, sensitive and approachable. It would be a stretch for me, but I think I could pull it off.

I’d left Ruth at home with Donovan. She would likely be there when Tony came home, and she was excited to talk to him about girly things since I’d filled her in on his progress and choices in life. She’ll probably have given him a complete makeover by the time I arrive back home.

I knocked on their front door, and heard scuffling sounds from inside the apartment. Justin opened the door, and I suppressed a quick intake of breath. I had no idea how far he’d sunk, and I mentally kicked myself for not noticing earlier. He looked drawn and haggard, and his eyes looked as though they had sunk back inside his head. He was wearing baggy tracksuit pants and a fleece jumper. I glanced down at his bulge and noted that he was wearing underwear under his pants, as there was no visible penis outline. Whatever was up, it was serious. My heart melted.

Walking into the apartment uninvited, I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. He tried to pull away, but I held on tight. Eventually I felt his body relax a little in my grip and I let him go.

“Justin, Sweetheart, how are you?” I asked him. He turned and walked to the sofa, so I followed him.

“I’m fine,” he said blandly. “How are you? How’s Donovan?”

“I’m good,” I replied, “and Donovan’s doing well. You should come and visit him.” I berated myself instantly: that sounded too much like a guilt trip.

“I will,” he promised. “I know why you’re here. Donovan’s said something about me, hasn’t he?”

“All he’s told me is that you aren’t fine,” I answered honestly. “I figured that I could spend hours playing twenty questions with him, asking question after question for him to reply yes or no to until I honed in on the problem, or I could come and talk to you. Talking to you seemed the easiest option, especially given the fact that I’d likely be coming to see you after I eventually got the problem from Donovan.”

Justin simply nodded and looked down at the floor.

“You know I love you,” I continued. “I’ve known you most of your life, and I love you like a son. Which is unfortunate in a way because you’re quite hot, and perving on you is kind of creepy, but anyways my point is this: you know my parenting style, and you know that nothing you tell me could make me love you less or judge you poorly.”

“I know that,” he stated, glancing up briefly to meet my gaze, “but what if I judge myself. What if I’ve gotten myself into a real mess.” He looked back down at the floor again.

“Ruth is worried sick about you,” I told him. “She doesn’t know what to do, and it’s killing her. She’s not stupid - she knows something’s wrong. You’re very lucky that she hasn’t gone hamster style on you, what with her pregnancy hormones running rampant.

“So let’s do this: let’s pretend we’ve gone through the process of me trying to make you confide in me and you denying anything is wrong. Let’s pretend that all your defences have dropped after realising I’m not here to hurt you in any way. Let’s continue on from there.”

Surprisingly, Justin put his face in his hands and started sobbing. I was expecting more resistance than this, but he was obviously ready to talk. I scurried over next to him on the sofa and put my arms around him, then drew him to me. His gentle sobs became louder, until eventually he was gasping for air and making a truly mournful sound. I just held him until the outpouring of emotion had subsided.