My Big Fat Gay Life (8 page)

I’ve bitten all my fingernails to the quick; they’re sore and bleeding, and despite all the issues I’ve faced in my life I’ve never been a nail biter before. Not since I moved into the halfway house and kicked the drug habit have I wanted to shoot up so badly!

Today, Sebastian and I are going to get my test results. I’m convinced I have cancer; it’s just my luck! Sebastian remains positive and optimistic, and always knows just the right thing to say to calm me down. I feel so close to him: I know it’s his job to get close to me so that I’ll open up to him for the therapy, yet I can’t help but feel his friendship is genuine.

I’m so scared: I’m going to die a slow and painful death. Bone cancer is the worst way to go according to the online research I’ve done. I hate feeling scared, but there’s a way to avoid feeling it. It’s 5am and the gay nightclubs would be closing for the night, spitting out all the old horny men that had failed to pick up trade for the night. Hoping they hadn’t spent all their money on alcohol and drugs in the clubs, I snuck down the fire stairs of the halfway house and returned to my old patch; the patch I hadn’t seen since I first went to Rainbow’s End.

* * *

“What’s a nice boy like you doing out at this hour?” the old man asked. I would’ve believed he was genuinely concerned for my safety and wellbeing had I not just seen him get tossed out of the club.

“I need something to eat,” I said, looking meaningfully at his crotch, “but I haven’t got any money.”

“Let’s see what we can do about that,” he said. I followed him as he headed off to the alley behind the club.

“You’re so pretty,” he said, rubbing his gnarly hand over my face. I must admit that since I’ve been at Rainbow’s End, I’ve filled out nicely and have a healthy, fit aura about me.

This is the first time I’ve hooked since I’d moved into the halfway house. I was determined to give the halfway house my best effort, however, now that I’d convinced myself I was dying and I just wanted to feel numb, I needed the cash to score some junk.

“How much to fuck you?” the old man asked as he grabbed my arse.

“I don’t get fucked,” I replied. I’ve never let anyone fuck me - neither lover nor punter.

“Then eat this,” he said as he unzipped his pants.

As he pushed me to my knees and his ugly cock bobbed into view, I remembered Sebastian’s rants about self-respect. I jumped back from the leaking cock and fled from the alley. My desire to get high was trumped by my desire not to debase myself.

It’s still early, but I dug my mobile phone out of my pocket and rang Sebastian.

* * *

“You owe it to yourself to face this with a clear head,” Sebastian said as he placed a coffee in front of me. “Now isn’t the time to escape behind the dark veil of drugs. Besides, you need a clear head so you can feel natural relief when you get the good news. If you’re off your nut and existing in a drug haze, the news won’t sink in either way. But I’m sure it’s not cancer.”

I nodded and eyed his plump and juicy fingernails hungrily. Since I had none of my own anymore I was desperate for something, anything, to release my stress with. His fingernails looked liked a better option than my own toenails.

Sebastian distracted me by talking about the future. What did I want to do with my life? Did I want to study? If so, what did I want to study?

“At this stage I can’t think of anything past the test results. Don’t put the cart before the horse, Seb.” I said.

“Life isn’t a horse and buggy ride,” he observed. “It’s a roller coaster ride and you need your wits about you to enjoy it – so you can see the bends coming.”

A few coffees and croissants later, it was time to go to the hospital. Sebastian encouraged me to acknowledge my nervousness and fears, and I must admit it helped. A scary thing doesn’t seem as daunting when you face it head on, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve changed my outlook on life over the last month. I want to live: I desperately want to live.

* * *

“You don’t have cancer Tony,” the Doctor said. Sebastian was gripping my hand tightly in support, and he gave it a firm squeeze. “The lump on your pelvic bone is a poorly healed fracture. It looks like an old fracture, but it was a serious one. How did it happen?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “As far as I know I’ve never had a broken bone.”

“It makes no difference I guess,” the Doctor continued. “The main thing is that it’s not cancer, so you can put your mind at ease. I must admit, I’m at a loss as to why a young man such as yourself would latch onto cancer as your first self-diagnostic thought.”

“Thank you Doctor!” Sebastian said, standing and reaching out to shake the Doctor’s hand. “I guess we’re back into my territory now.”

* * *

I stumbled back to Rainbow’s End in a daze. Sebastian, to his credit, didn’t say a word during the walk back. When we entered his office, he motioned for me to lie on the couch.

“I think we should try another session of guided visualisation,” Sebastian said. This was Sebastian’s version of hypnotherapy, and although it’s great for helping me fight cravings and achieving a calmer frame of mind, it hasn’t resulted in any real breakthroughs for me. “We now have something in your past to focus on, and I think we can use the forgotten pelvic bone fracture as an anchor.”

“Sure,” I said, closing my eyes.

Love: such a simple word, and one that has never applied to me. Sure, I love my friends and family, I love sex and clubbing, and I love working out at the gym, but I’ve never been in love. I’ve never felt the emotions involved when someone you‘re in love with walks into the room, causing your breath to catch in your throat, your heart to race, and everything else in the room to fade into the background.

Sebastian is a sly dog. He’s never shown any real interest in my love life, apart from the obligatory consolation when it goes awry, so the devious way he inserted Bruce into my life surprised me.

Ever since the day Sebastian managed to have Bruce knock into his chair at the sushi bar and manipulate me into asking him to sit and have lunch with us, I’ve had even more respect for Sebastian. His plan to set me up with Bruce was nicely planned and executed, and although a tiny part of me resents being set up like that, the majority of me is thrilled.

Why Sebastian felt the need to set up a blind date for me, I don’t know. I’ve never had any trouble finding partners. I do, however, have trouble keeping them. I know I have an impressive physique, and that attracts men like paedophiles to a summer camp. There must be something special about Bruce to make Sebastian think I need him in my life.

Love. For the first time in my life I find myself considering the possibility of being in love.

* * *

“Good morning Lover,” Bruce said cheerfully as he brought me a cup of tea in bed. Of course he brews a terrible cup of tea, but he’s learning. He’s American after all. Bruce has a nicely defined and hairy bear-ish body, which was on show as he was only wearing boxer shorts.

“Good morning,” I said, smiling and sitting up.

“Will Sebastian be at the party tonight?” he asked. Justin and Ruth are throwing a party tonight to celebrate their engagement.

“Of course,” I replied. “He’s the best man! Not sure who’s best man yet, but one of them.”

Bruce talked about Sebastian quite a lot. It’s only natural I guess: he’s the only thing we really have in common. Who would’ve thought I’d end up with one of Sebastian’s ex-trade? I think Bruce looks forward to our lunches with Sebastian more than I do! The dynamics at the lunches have really changed since Bruce started attending them, and I must admit I miss having some alone time with Sebastian.

“We should get some groceries today,” Bruce said. “Do you have any cash?”

“I have a client this morning,” I answered. “We can use that cash.”

“You have a client on a Saturday?” he questioned.

“Yep. He pays a weekend premium, so I don’t mind.”

“I would love a massage one day,” Bruce hinted.

“I don’t mix business and pleasure,” I grinned. Also, I’m inherently lazy. I massage for money. For personal pleasure I prefer to be pampered instead of doing the pampering.

* * *

An hour later I had the massage room set up, with candles flickering and soothing music playing in the background. I have a busy massage therapy practice, with many regular clients and a good reputation. I often have to turn away new business.

This client was a new referral, and he’d asked for a naturist massage. Most of my clients genuinely just want a good massage, however every so often a client will ask for a naturist massage. I prefer to do the massages fully clothed, or in my underwear at a minimum, however on my website I advertise naturist massages, and I charge double for the privilege. Although I’m very uncomfortable being nude in a non-sexual situation, it’s good money so I grin and bear it - or bare it, as the case may be.

I sent Bruce out for a couple of hours. Clients prefer to know there’s nobody else in the apartment, and on my website I state that I live alone. Bruce has been living with me ever since that fateful lunch when he stumbled into Sebastian’s chair, and into my life.

The client arrived, and I had him strip and lay on his stomach on the massage table. I took off my clothes, and to my surprise he kept his head down in the face extension of the table, not looking up to see my naked body.

“Thank you for doing the massage naked,” he said, his voice muffled through the hole in the table face extension. “It’s not a ploy to have a sexual massage: I just prefer to feel skin brushing against me during the massage instead of material.”

True to his word, the client didn’t try to touch me at all. There was no reaction when my cock brushed against him, and he didn’t try to look or touch at all. It was a refreshing change, as most clients who like naturist massages tend to hold my cock or feel my arse when either one is within reach of their hands. Some even suck briefly on my flaccid cock when it’s close to their face. I’d be quite happy and comfortable seeing this client again.

I understand that massage is relaxing, and often clients get an erection. It’s a perfectly normal reaction and I never make any reference to an erection: however, I don’t do sexual massages. If a client wants to finish himself off after a massage, I discretely leave them to it. Orgasm can be the final stage of relaxation for a massage. Massage can be quite intimate, but I’m careful not to touch their cock. I also don’t do slow lingering strokes over any erotic zones. Whenever I need to massage sensitive areas, I do it forcefully and professionally. If a potential client mentions anything sexual during initial contact, I decline their business.

Now that I have Bruce in my life, I’m even less inclined to have any sexual contact with anybody else. For the first time in my life, I find myself considering monogamy.

* * *

After Bruce returned we went grocery shopping and scored some gear. To make it through an engagement party full of breeders, I need drugs! This was the first Saturday night in a long time that I wouldn’t be dancing topless at a club on Canal Street, high on drugs and enjoying life.