‘Rather young,’ suggested Blair.
‘He’s only two years younger,’ I said quickly, ‘but I know what you mean. He’s new to Sydney and a bit of an innocent, but that’s what I like about him.’
‘Oh well, as long as that doesn’t bore you,’ said Strauss.
Later, it occurred to me that remark rather implied that Strauss was bored by Blake—and after only twenty minutes!
As for meeting Blake’s friends, I imagined that would be a breeze. How could they fail to be impressed by me? He hadn’t been in Sydney long, so his circle wasn’t wide, mostly work colleagues, though he did have one gay friend, Damon. However, when I met him, Damon proved to be exceptionally snide and bitchy. Naturally, I retaliated in kind, so it wasn’t the warm and fuzzy evening Blake had hoped for. After Damon departed, somewhat huffily, I grilled Blake. I could only imagine that Damon was jealous and sure enough, Blake admitted to ‘dating him once or twice’ before he met me. ‘Did you have sex with him?’ I demanded, shuddering at the thought.
Damon had been so arch and catty I couldn’t comprehend how anyone could possibly find him appealing. Perhaps he had a good body? I’d been so fascinated by his excessively manicured eyebrows, I hadn’t paid much attention to the rest of him. Those eyebrows spoke volumes about what was going in the pubic region, not that I wanted to go there.
Blake must have registered my distaste as he hastily tried to play things down. ‘We just fooled around once and I was reluctant … but somehow it happened anyway.’
I could tell I wasn’t getting the full story, so I pestered Blake until he finally confessed everything. ‘Look, I guess Damon is a little antagonistic towards you because he was very keen on me. It was right before I met you so perhaps he feels that I passed him over for you.’
‘Well, it sounds as though you did.’
Blake looked abashed. ‘Hmm, not really. I mean, I never saw it going anywhere with him, though I guess he felt more strongly. But you know, I enjoyed his company and I hadn’t been in Sydney long. I didn’t know anyone.’
‘And did you make all this clear to him?’
‘I did tell him,’ Blake insisted, ‘or at least I tried to. Sometimes he doesn’t really listen.’
‘So he prefers to blame me rather than confront the fact that his eyebrows are off-putting.’
‘His eyebrows? Oh Stephen. Look, he’ll get used to you and come around.’
I really didn’t care if I remained at daggers drawn with Damon—I could more than match any of his barbed remarks—but this conversation was an insight into Blake. I could imagine Damon badgering him into bed. But it was a surprise that Blake had the gumption to act a little ruthlessly to get what he wanted. Someone better had come along—me—and he’d abandoned Damon without hesitation.
Blake moved in after we’d been together for six months. Since arriving in Sydney, he’d been stuck out in a share house in Carlton. ‘Isn’t that in Melbourne?’ I asked, genuinely mystified, when he first said where he lived.
Apparently it also existed south of Sydenham. My geography of that region was not strong, and as it involved a train and then a bus to get to Blake’s apartment, I deflected all suggestions to visit and stay overnight. It was so much more convenient for both of us if he just came to me, but he kept pestering me. It was ridiculous. Finally, in a moment of immense frustration, I asked him to move in to shut him up. His face lit up and I began to comprehend what I had done.
But in fact it worked out rather well. Before meeting Blake, I’d been rattling around in that house by myself. I was accustomed to living alone, but to go from a one-bedroom apartment with friends living next door to a two-storey, three-bedroom house, just seemed to compound the loss and loneliness I’d been feeling since my father’s death. My friends all still lived in Kings Cross and weren’t particularly inclined to visit. Strauss was the exception but he had a tame taxi driver who allowed him to pay his fares in blowjobs, an arrangement which had endured for more than ten years.
I was also daunted by everything that had to be done to the house and all the decisions required. Even simple shopping trips to the Supacentre I found stressful. The choice was overwhelming and I often left as I’d arrived: empty-handed. But after Blake moved in, I discovered that it wasn’t that I lacked the Martha Stewart gene, I had merely lacked ‘the husband’. I don’t know that Blake had any more natural talent for décor and design than I did but we bounced ideas off one another, and squabbled about the benefits of Privacy Plus versus Block-Out Blinds and countless other domestic decisions. Making a home together became a pleasure rather than a chore.
We lived together for two years quite harmoniously but then things changed, or rather Blake changed. Our disputes became more rancorous and irritations began to assume much greater significance. Blake became more assertive with me and less inclined to let me set our agenda. I had my suspicions that Damon was behind this—he’d always had an influence over Blake. Occasionally, Blake would protest some plan of mine, and the words he spoke would sound so foreign in his mouth, it was laughable. It was obvious he’d discussed the issue with Damon, who had then devised and dictated a response. When I tried to suggest he had changed and for the worse, he begged to differ. ‘It’s you that’s changed,’ he countered. ‘Ever since your birthday you’ve been different. Restless, moody, unmotivated. What’s the problem? You don’t like being twenty-nine?’
I was stunned. The Blake of old had always been so enchanted by me, any foibles I might possess were of no consequence whatsoever. But now, suddenly, I had a catalogue of faults, and he even dared to analyse with some perspicacity as to why they’d emerged.
But worse still, when I complained to my friends that Blake was getting stroppy, they seemed to think it was a positive development. ‘Hallelujah,’ Strauss cheered. ‘Finally the puppy learns how to growl. What’s the problem? Not giving him his bone as often as he likes?’
I was irritated by this lack of support; but there was actually something in what Strauss had said. Blake had been bitching that I didn’t want to have sex very often. But who could blame me, after two and a half monogamous years together, and being on the top exclusively? The next time he dared to complain, I snapped. ‘Well, perhaps I just feel like being fucked for a change.’
Blake was a confirmed bottom. I wanted to make him feel inadequate and also shut him up. My barb did the job. Blake was crushed and silent for the rest of the evening. It occurred to me that perhaps I could get Blake to sanction the occasional visit to the sauna for ‘my needs to be met’. That was a prospect I had been fantasising about with increasing urgency lately.
However instead, to my enormous surprise, Blake produced a guy from his gym for a three-way the following evening. This astounded me: ‘my Blakey’ had rustled up ‘a hot top’ in less than 24 hours! But Blake was blasé. ‘He’s been chasing my tail all year. And he’s seen us out together and liked the look of you too. All I had to do was say the word.’
It had never crossed my mind that my boyfriend might have admirers and that these admirers would prove to be sexy and well-hung. It was even more startling when it struck me that no one had been ‘chasing my tail’ with any sort of ardency in quite some time. This realisation cemented my attachment to Blake, and fuelled by the memory of the three-way, I even discovered a second wind for having sex with him. But now it was Blake who was restless. It had been his first threesome and he’d loved it. ‘Of course you loved it,’ I retorted. ‘You got all the attention.’
‘Well let’s do it again and this time we’ll make sure you’re in the thick of things,’ Blake replied.
But his admirer from the gym refused to be drawn into a regular arrangement—‘potentially messy’ he demurred. I figured that was the end of that, but no, Blake insisted we go out and find someone else. So we started going out more to clubs and the occasional dance party, cruising for suitable prey. But our tastes were different enough to prove problematic. He didn’t like the Latin and ethnic boys th
at I attracted and was drawn to. I was lukewarm on many of the blonds or older men he proposed. Blake’s new found assertiveness certainly came to the fore over this issue. He would not be sweet-talked or persuaded into my choices. He proved to be downright cantankerous.
Then a new obstacle arose: even if we could manage to agree on someone, that person then had to be into both of us. It shouldn’t have been a problem given that we were both young, in-shape and cute, but some queens can be extremely pernickety. I also took great offence during these negotiations if I was ever cited as the reason why the third person didn’t want to proceed.
After a few ‘compromise candidates’ which failed to satisfy either of us particularly, we changed our tack. We decided to take it in turns to choose someone, though the person not choosing could still enforce a power of veto. Then at least one of us was guaranteed a good time, and initially that approach did work better. However, one night, we took this muscle daddy home, who Blake was keen on. Just when things were getting heated, the daddy had the hide to order me off my own bed. ‘You’re getting in the way,’ he complained. ‘Go sit over there while I fuck your boyfriend, then I’ll do you.’
I couldn’t believe his audacity and I certainly wasn’t waiting around for Blake’s sloppy seconds. I flounced downstairs, expecting Blake to come after me—which he only did, twenty minutes later, after the guy had fucked him. Resoundingly, from the noise they made. I was very unimpressed.
But worse was to come: the next time we went out hunting and it was my turn to choose, Damon came on to us! We’d gone with him to the Phoenix. It was very late and we’d struck out trying to pick someone up for a three-way. Damon had fared no better and the three of us were bitching about the crowd, when he offered himself up to us. ‘You know, I’m willing and able,’ he purred, and his hands, which had been draped around our shoulders, took an alarming swoop downwards. ‘And on a regular basis.’
Both Blake and I feigned deafness, but he was staring at us intently, those disturbing eyebrows making all sorts of insinuations. It was an awful situation which was made even worse when Damon repeated his offer. ‘Oh,’ I exclaimed. ‘I didn’t hear what you said before. You’re switching to cable. Great. Yeah, we have broadband at home. It’s such an improvement.’
Damon tried to correct me, but I pulled Blake away from Damon’s straying hands, and muttered something about going to the bar. Instead, we walked straight out the door. ‘We’ll just pretend that never happened,’ I said, stamping up the stairs to the street.
After that experience, I decided enough was enough. The threesomes were proving too complicated to orchestrate for the amount of satisfaction I was getting in return. The next day, Blake had to attend a relative’s birthday out west, so I took myself to the sauna and got what I needed. In fact, I got it three times over with three different guys. Of course, I didn’t tell Blake but I felt fully justified. He’d had his muscle daddy all to himself while I was downstairs—I deserved some one-on-one action too.
However, having made that leap, I discovered it wasn’t that easy to retreat back to our version of monogamy. My visit to the sauna had been so satisfying, so intensely erotic, all I could think of was repeating the experience. It wasn’t that difficult to rationalise. I’d already been unfaithful. So did it matter that much if I succumbed to temptation again? Not really, as long as Blake didn’t find out about it.
I was cautious and discrete. I only went there if Blake was away—a work conference out of town or if he’d gone back to Albury to visit his parents for a weekend—and those opportunities didn’t arise very often. If someone wanted to talk after the sex, I brushed them off, explaining I had a boyfriend. I didn’t take anyone’s number for a repeat session or even tell anyone my real name. But those clandestine encounters were fraught with risk: I might bring some STD home with me or run into someone I knew, or Blake knew, and in fact, that did happen quite early on. It must’ve been the third time I’d gone there and I ran into a work colleague of Blake’s. I thought my game was up, but it transpired that he was doing the same as me—cheating on his boyfriend. We forged a mutual pact of secrecy.
Although some nights at that sauna could be magical, there were others when I circled that place for hours, trudging around the cubicles, up and down the stairs, in and out of the steam room … and nothing. There would be scores of hot guys there but no one would commit. They were all hoping for someone better. Whenever the bell chimed to announce a new arrival, all eyes instantly swivelled to the door. Or I found myself rejected for the same old reason. A guy would go into a cubicle with me, then make a swift exit after my towel came off. After one of those fruitless nights, I made a pact that if I hadn’t connected with someone after ninety minutes, I left. No compromise candidates and no waiting around endlessly. I was very aware that the longer I was there, the more risk there was of running into someone we knew. I was absolutely terrified of bumping into Damon.
But then, one night I ran into someone else, someone who unleashed a whole new set of complications and temptations: Alejandro.
He was the first guy I dated seriously after Ant. It was a summer affair as he was only on holiday and after our nine weeks together, he went home to Bogotá. But six years later, he had returned. I had no idea he was back in town. I spotted him down a darkened corridor, pursued him for several circuits before I finally managed to corner him near the sling room. I ran an assessing hand over the swell in his towel, when to my shock, he said my name. I looked up, panic mounting—who had I come onto?—and then I recognised him. It was embarrassing, but very funny once I’d recovered from the surprise. We went to the lounge downstairs to talk. He was on a student visa, studying English, and working part-time as a personal trainer. I told him my circumstances, stressing that I’d been with Blake for almost three years. ‘Yes, which is why you are here. You need a good fuck. I can help with that,’ he offered, sliding a hand beneath my towel.
I pulled away. I knew it wouldn’t be a good idea. I’d felt so strongly about Alejandro once and just seeing him reminded me why. He was my ideal physical type, but it wasn’t only that—it was his manner. He was very sexual, very flirtatious, and he just had to turn those wicked brown eyes on me and I wanted to have sex with him. I told him I had to go home.
Alejandro was astounded. ‘Ten minutes ago you chase me around the cubicles upstairs. Now you want to go home? No. First I fuck you, then you go home.’
It would’ve been very easy to acquiesce, but I knew that to have sex with someone I’d once had feelings for would be plunging into dangerous new waters. It was a more deliberate act of infidelity that my usual anonymous trysts. ‘I would love to but I can’t,’ I insisted, and I excused myself to go and get changed.
To my surprise, Alejandro followed me, tossed aside his towel, and stood across the changing room from me: naked, magnificent and nonchalant. I stole a few glances, before he opened his locker and pulled out his jeans. When he started to put them on, I asked what he was doing. He gave me a sorrowful look. ‘It is only you that I want. Having sex with someone else here,’ he waved his hand dismissively and grimaced, ‘no, it would be second-rate.’
I wasn’t entirely sure that I believed him. He probably had a pass-out in his pocket or would sweet-talk his way back in after I had left, but nevertheless, the sentiment was kind of touching. He walked over to me, his jeans unbuttoned. He was wearing no underwear and I could see the base of his beautiful thick cock. He pulled out his mobile and asked for my number, which I refused to give him. ‘Please,’ he pleaded. ‘I just come back here. I am all alone. I think we can be friends, have a coffee, a drink, yes? It will be nice.’
I hesitated and he turned those big brown eyes upon me. I looked down which was a mistake as my eyes fell upon what was scarcely being contained by his half done up jeans. Quickly, I looked up again. ‘Okay,’ I agreed and gave him my number.
He grinned widely which made me think that I’d probably made a mistake. I turned my back on him, dropped
my towel (which provoked an exclamation in Spanish) and began to dress. When I turned around, Alejandro was also fully dressed, waiting for me. ‘I will walk you out,’ he said, and he did.
However, outside on Taylor Street, after I insisted once again that I was going home alone, he seized me and began to kiss me. The sensation of his beautiful soft, full lips straining against mine was impossible to resist. I swooned for a moment, allowed him to kiss me, even permitted him to jam his hand down the back of my jeans. Thankfully, someone walked past us. ‘Take it inside boys,’ he remarked sharply.
This brought me to my senses. I pulled away from Alejandro, ran to the corner, then dashed across the street as soon as there was a break in the traffic. Once I was on the other side of Flinders Street, I glanced back. Alejandro stood on the corner of Taylor Street. He raised his hand in farewell. I turned and walked off, though once I had walked out of sight, I stopped. I was curious to see if he actually went back to the sauna. I stole a look but couldn’t see him. He had gone back, the slut! Indignant, I stepped back into view, stared down the street, and then I saw him. He was walking towards Taylor Square, a little aimlessly, head bowed, away from the sauna.
I hurried away in case he should glance back. As I turned into Bourke Street, my mobile beeped. It was him:
Alejandro: I want 2 kiss you again a lot a lot a lot.
By the time I got home, he’d sent me three more texts, each more erotic, explicit and urgent than the one before.
He pursued me by text for the week that followed. Finally, I had to phone him to tell him to stop. Blake was becoming slightly suspicious about all the texts. In the end I said it was someone from the gym who might be up for a threesome. But my excuse made me realise that maybe that was an option, a sanctioned way I could enjoy Alejandro again. But when I made the suggestion to Alejandro, he was vehemently opposed. ‘No,’ he spat disdainfully. ‘It’s you I want and only you. I don’t want to share you with him. I want you all to myself, to do with as I like.’
Time to Upsize (The Indignities Book 1) Page 4