My Big Fat Gay Life (40 page)

As soon as I left Sebastian’s apartment, I walked briskly to my destination. Once inside, I looked around slyly to make sure nobody was observing me and ducked inside a cubicle.

It was dark, and I fumbled with my hands to find a place to sit. After sitting down, I took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. A ray of light stole through a hole in the wall of the cubicle, reminding me why I was there.

Outside was mostly silent. There were whispered conversations, punctuated with the occasional moan or sob.

I sat silently for a few minutes, summoning up some courage. Eventually I heard footsteps approach the cubicle, then the door of the cubicle next door opened and closed. My heart started racing, and I wasn’t sure if I could go through with this.

Suddenly the panel over the hole in the cubicle wall was forced back, taking me by surprise. I took a deep breath.

“Forgive me Father,” I said, “for I have sinned. It’s been eight months since my last confession.”

* * *

After the absolution of the confessional, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I try not to judge, lest I be judged, however I was confused. How could something so wrong feel so right?

My father was a staunch Irish Catholic, and Ruth and myself had been raised in the Church. I didn’t understand how she could turn away from the Church once our father had passed away. I didn’t understand how she could be so tolerant and accepting of homosexuals. I didn’t understand how our Mother could turn her back on the Church’s teachings and become a lesbian.

The hypocrisy of the Church also confused me. They professed beliefs and morals that forbade any homosexual or paedophilic activity, yet recently the Church had been condemned for hiding the molestation of children by its Fathers.

I’d been in the Church for a long time, and when I was a child there were many other boys who’d whispered of being touched in various ways by the Fathers. I almost felt ostracised: I hadn’t been molested so the other boys treated me like a social outcast.

Now, I felt complete and utter confusion. I needed to find a way to reconcile the beliefs the Church had instilled in me with the actions of the Fathers, as well as coming to terms with the physical imperatives my own body was compelling in me.

It’s hard.

* * *

My face burned with humiliation as I left Kento’s apartment building. I was so weak. That gorgeous black cock had proved to be too much of a temptation, and I’d exposed my dark desires to him.

I wandered for a few hours, having dinner at a curry house and dessert with coffee at Costa. When it grew dark, I debated my next move. Do I risk going home to Sebastian? What if Kento had told him? I couldn’t face the knowledge in his eyes.

Thoughts of Sebastian fuelled my dark secret, and it reared its ugly head. Unwanted desires flared throughout my body. I couldn’t go home horny, so I made my way to the gay village. Ruby Slippers was open, so I paid the cover charge and went inside.

As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I saw a crowd of men hooting and hollering their appreciation for a dancer on a podium. I went closer and was surprised to see Justin dancing on the podium. He was naked and his boots were overflowing with five and ten pound notes. I withdrew into the shadows before he had a chance to see me, and sought out the darker areas of the club.

Leaning against a pillar was a very handsome man. His cock was in his hands, and he was stroking it. I slowly approached him, and he looked me up and down. Deciding I passed muster, he put a hand on my shoulder and forced me to my knees. I opened my mouth and he forced his cock in, making me gag. He held my head in his hands and fucked my mouth. I loved it. I hated it.

“Patricia,” I called out to her. “Which dress should I wear?”

After a few moments, Patricia’s head popped around the doorframe of my room.

“Definitely the red,” she said after looking over the options hanging from my hands. A spark flared in her eyes. “It matches your eyes.”

I flashed her a false glare, and she laughed.

“I’m going for a shower,” she said. “I just got home and feel so icky and sweaty.”

“OK,” I said. “I won’t be here when you finish. I’m going to hit the town.”

“Have fun!” she called over her shoulder as she walked down the hallway to her room. “Don’t get pregnant!”

It takes a fair amount of time to dress as Toni. I paid a lot of attention to my makeup. I wanted it to appear natural - not overstated. I had to tuck away bits when I dressed, and fill up my bra with chicken fillets. Eventually I was ready.

“Hey Dad,” I said as I entered Donovan’s room. “I’m going out for a while.”

I walked over to kiss him goodbye, but he surprised me.

“Have fun, Darling,” he said. His voice was barely audible, but I heard and understood.

“You can talk!” I exclaimed. I rushed over to his bed and hugged him tight.

“You look good. Go,” he croaked, waving me away and smiling.

Manchester is full of bars and clubs, and I chose one that was close to home. I was still getting used to wearing high heels, so I didn’t want to face a long walk home at the end of the evening. I worked my way inside through the crowd and ordered a gin and tonic.

The music and the atmosphere entranced me, and I found myself pleasantly drunk. I’d managed to fend off a few friendly advances, and was enjoying merely sitting in the club and feeling the atmosphere. I had a few conversations with some nice guys, and even found myself blushing at some compliments.

One guy in particular caught my attention.

“Hi!” he said. “My name’s Anthony. My friend says you’re way out of my league, but I have to try, right?”

“Why would I be out of your league?” I asked him, laughing. I gave him a once over, and I liked what I saw. Nice butt, wide shoulders, and a matching grin.

“Cos you’re a knockout,” he replied simply. Then he looked at his feet and scuffed his shoe on the floor, obviously embarrassed.

“Sit Anthony,” I said, “let’s chat a while. My name’s Toni.”

Anthony’s face broke into a smile that could illuminate the MEN Arena, and he sat on the vacant stool next to me.

Straight boys are so different from gay boys. They try so hard to charm you in the hope of getting laid: it’s quite endearing. I found myself trapped in Anthony’s smile and eyes.

“I have to go to the ladies’ room,” I told him after we’d been chatting for ten minutes, standing up from my stool.

“You’ll come back?” he asked me, quite earnestly. “You aren’t politely ditching me?”

“I’ll be back,” I assured him, then ducked away to the toilet.

When I emerged from the toilet, I was surprised to see Anthony leaning against the wall in the hallway, waiting for me. He smiled as I approached.

“I got lonely,” he said, grinning inanely. I smiled in return, and he leaned forward to put a hand on the back of my neck. He drew me close to him, and then he kissed me. It was sweet: almost chaste. When he realised that I hadn’t resisted, he kissed me again. This time his kiss was harder, more forceful. After our lips separated, I was breathless.

“Do you want to come back to mine?” he asked me huskily.

YES!
A voice screamed inside my head.
NO!
A voice screamed from my little head: the little head tucked away and out of sight, mostly forgotten until now.

“I’d love to,” I replied, “but I can’t. I have to go home.”

“Can I see you again?” he asked, his eyes almost pleading.

“I’d like that,” I smiled. I gave him my mobile number.

As I started to move away from him, he grabbed my arms and pulled me close. This time his kiss was pure passion and fire. His tongue explored my mouth. I melted in the heat: melted against him. I could feel his erection on my thigh through his jeans, and without thinking I reached down to knead it. He moaned and threw his head back, gasping for air.

Realising I’d taken things too far, I started to move away again. He pulled me back against me and grabbed my arse as he kissed me again. He ground his erection into me as we kissed, and he slowly pulled my dress up so that he had better access to my arse.

I moaned in ecstasy. His kisses and his hands made every nerve in my body tingle. He slipped his hand into my panties and massaged my arse a little more, then slipped his hand round to the front.

“What the fuck?!” he exclaimed, pushing me back forcefully. There was a look of pure disgust in his eyes. “You’re a guy!”

I wanted to go to him. I wanted to touch his cheek and tell him that I wouldn’t be a guy forever. I didn’t get the chance: he grabbed his stomach and bent over, a stream of vomit erupting from his mouth.

As I ran from the club, I kicked off my high heels. I walked home with my heels in my hand, burning tears of humiliation and frustration streaming down my face.

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