My Big Fat Gay Life (43 page)

“I have an appointment soon,” I told the bulge, “so I want to be all pumped up and muscled.”

Justin put his hand in front of his bulge and moved his fingers up.

“I’m up here buddy,” he said. I looked up to his smiling face briefly and then dropped my gaze back to his bulge.

“Why do you have to be attached to him?” I asked the bulge. “He’s so annoying!”

Justin laughed and we sat on the weight bench side by side.

“Your first client for nude cleaning today?” he asked me.

“Yep - A friend of Ian’s. I want to look good for him.”

“I’m sure you’ll do a great job,” Justin said. “How can he not be impressed by you.”

“Oh, if only you were gay,” I replied in a mock dreamy voice.

“I’m just heading for a shower unless you need me to spot you or anything,” Justin said as he stood up.

“Thank, but I’m good. I need to do a thorough workout, and your bulge is way too distracting.”

Justin chuckled again. “What’s the client’s name?” he asked me. “They love it when you call them by name regularly.”

“Arthur,” I replied. Justin froze on the spot, causing me to look at his face instead of his crotch.

“What’s his address?” His voice was soft but urgent.

Justin’s face went pale as I recited Arthur’s address, and I noticed a tremor pass through him. I grabbed his hand and guided him down onto the weight bench.

“What is it?” I asked him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“That’s the man who raped me,” he replied quietly.

“No FUCKING way!” I exclaimed loudly, earning a
tsk-tsk
from the woman working out in the station next to us. I ignored her: she’s only a woman, after all.

* * *

As we walked towards Arthur’s house, Justin’s footsteps slowed down and he became more reluctant and hesitant with each step. We didn’t talk; we’d already planned out the scenario. He was pale and shaky, but appeared resolute. Finally we reached the street where Arthur’s house was, and we stepped into an alleyway that provided a view of Arthur’s front door.

“OK you stay here,” I told Justin. “And don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Just remember not to eat or drink anything,” Justin reminded me.

I left Justin in the alleyway and approached Arthur’s door. Taking a deep breath, I pressed the doorbell. I heard footsteps inside, then the door swung open.

“Yes? Can I help you?” the man at the door asked.

“Are you Arthur?” I asked him.

“I am,” he replied. “And who are you?”

“I’m Kento,” I told him, smiling. “I’m your cleaner.” He gaped at me open-mouthed.

“This must be a wind-up,” he said. “Ian has to be playing a joke!”

“Why?” I asked him, suddenly feeling lost in the conversation.

“There’s no way Ian would send me a fucking darkie!” he blurted.

I stood there, opening and closing my mouth several times. I was lost for words.

“As if I would let an unclean coloured bastard like you in my home. Go and have a bath, and don’t let me see you here ever again!” Arthur slammed the door in my face.

I was outraged. This wasn’t just racism: it was racism that was hundreds of years old. I crossed the street and walked briskly back to Justin.

“What happened?” he asked as I approached him. “Did he see me standing here and realise we were trying to set him up?”

“No,” I replied through gritted teeth. I was seething inside. “He’s a fucking racist cunt who wouldn’t let me in his house in case my black germs infested it.”

Justin wrapped his arms around me, and I burst into a flood of angry tears.

Narratives from:

I was just starting my third set of bench presses when the room darkened, almost as if a solar eclipse were happening. I looked up from my prone position to see an enormous white object blocking the gym lighting.

“I’d know that bulge anywhere,” I said, cradling the barbell and sitting up. “Hi Justin!”

“Hey,” he said. “Fancy a game of squash? Sebby stood me up, the bastard!” Justin’s beaming face instantly lightens any person’s mood, and his lack of attire was just icing on the cake. He was only wearing a tight pair of white spandex shorts.

“Sure,” I answered. “Did he phone to cancel? It’s not like him to just not show up. If it were me, that’d be a different story, but Sebastian is normally very reliable.”

“Do I look like I’m carrying a mobile phone?” he asked, motioning up and down his body with his hands and then sticking his arms out. “Where would I carry it?”

“Don’t spark my imagination,” I warned him jokingly.

“Besides,” he continued, “I hate mobile phones. They cause cancer and car accidents and are generally ruining society.”

As he unselfconsciously scratched as his bulge, I observed the guy in the workstation next to mine. His eyes boggled as he tried to take in Justin’s perfection all at once, and he subconsciously took a step toward Justin. Totally forgetting the dumbbells at his feet, his foot got caught and he fell in a heap on his cushioned weight bench. Justin glanced around at the noise, and I laughed out loud despite the poor guy’s embarrassment.

“Let’s go,” I said to Justin, “before you cause any more accidents.”

I grabbed my bag and rummaged around for my mobile phone, then held it out to him. “Do you want to call Sebastian and make sure he’s alright?”

“Nah,” Justin said. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

As I was putting away my phone, it rang in my hand. I flipped it open and held it to my ear. “Hello?” I said.

“Mr. Black? This is Dr. Anderson from The Christie Hospital. I’m calling about your Mother.”

* * *

Dr. Anderson greeted me outside my Mum’s hospital room.

“She doesn’t have much time left,” he said, getting straight to the point. “She’s sedated on morphine, so she won’t be aware that you’re there. Just spend some time with her.”

I thanked him and opened the door to her room. As I approached her bed, I was struck by how gaunt and skeletal she’d become just in the few days since I’d seen her last. Her skin was like fine parchment stretched over her skull, and she was taking shallow rasping breaths. The only equipment connected to her was the morphine IV. There were no monitors or beeping machines. I assumed they wanted her to slip away quietly and peacefully, with no noisy alarms summoning medical staff to try and revive her.

“Hi Mum,” I said, taking her bony hand and sitting in the chair next to her bed. Several minutes passed where I just stroked her hand and took in her face. She looked peaceful, despite her ragged breaths. Her eyes were too large for her face now, and they looked like they were trying to bulge out from behind her eyelids.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been here for a few days,” I eventually said. “Ian was in town, and I’ve been spending all my time with him. He’s spending more and more time in Glasgow for work, but he’s trying to rearrange things so that he can come back here full time. You’d like him Mum. He’s kind, thoughtful, intelligent, and he doesn’t put up with my shit. If he thinks I need confronting or smacking down, he’ll happily do it.”

I chuckled at the thought, and my heart filled with love for Ian.

“I thought I’d been in love before, but I hadn’t. It was just infatuation, or maybe lust. Now that I’ve met Ian, I really know what true love is like.

“Sounds really corny, doesn’t it? All I know is that when I think of him, my heart pulsates, and not my cock. Oh shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t use language like that around you. Don’t get the wrong idea, I find him very sexually attractive, but it’s not the driving force of our relationship.”

I fell silent again, totally unused to sharing such intimate feelings and thoughts with my Mother. I noticed a cloth in a bowl of water on her table, so I wiped her brow and wet her cracked lips. Then I picked up her hand again and held it in both of mine.

“I’m so sorry,” I told her, my voice cracking. “I can remember when I was a kid, the only advice you ever gave me was to have no regrets and be happy. I think I’ve mostly lived like that. I am happy, very happy. But I have regrets.”

I took a deep breath, and then continued.