GT
October 2008
The Brazilian found the half empty lubricant packet while I was away from the rented flat, doing my show at a Fringe fair. I’d left the sticky plastic bullet on a shelf near the front door. I could have thrown it away. I even ogled it while leaving on the way to the train station to retrieve my boy, and thought, as it swept past the corner of my right eye, I should really dump that with the rest of the garbage. It looks suspicious. Salacious. Slightly wicked, like I’ve behaved badly since I left London, and I require redemption. Or hot post-break up sex, whichever might come first.
I’d laid him down for a nap and took off to torture the local inbred, kiddy diddling, drunken cunts. 15 minutes later, I received a text. An angry text that didn’t coincide with the cooing and kissing and whispering of how much we’d missed one another. It read: “You are a liar. I want to leave now.”
Right then, I knew he’d also confiscated the used condom I’d left in the toilet’s rubbish bin. He’s such a Virgo. So efficient, like an episode of CSI: Edinburgh, he’d probably sent it off to a DNA lab and was tracing the user. Sadly, that Mormon had returned to France, so I wouldn’t see a showdown on Castle Terrace. The two would never terrify unsuspecting, photographing tourists by dragging up in cowboy gear and whipping out big guns, protecting their honor by killing each other, leaving me with a great Edinburgh show for next year.
Rushing home an hour later, I expected civil war in the sitting room, Brazil pumping my southern border with firepower, so angry he might chop off my circumcised cock and feed it to the little foxes. Or hungry hookers. Or whoever eats cock in Scotland, which at this point might be the Labour Party.
My fidelity is demanded. Once denied, he rapes my moist pond like it was the first, or last, boy pond he’d ever rape, because that’s what I deserve. I anticipated liquid bombs, in one form or another.
Instead, all lights were off. I shivered, imagining an ambush. Him a thief in a balaclava, me in distress, his gloved hand covering my mouth from behind while he takes me on the longest Tube ride ever, and I yelp, ‘Mind the Gap. Mind the Gap.’
My skeleton slid in. I gingerly opened the door. Disappointedly, he was curled up on the sofa, his face hidden in the pillows, weeping. Weeping? When did my top become a lady? I patted his shoulder, and he jerked away. I paused, and then asked him what he wanted from me. We’ve never had a conversation about monogamy, and when I labeled him my boyfriend, he scoffed. He’s lost, or so he says, and unsure where his life is heading. I figured we were just lovers, one of which is sexually unsatisfied, so we’d become my parents, and guess whom I was playing. My nagging mum appeared daily, oiled up and ready for action in pink American Apparel. He lounged about like my dad, complete with a big smile and a diminishing libido. So I never thought he’d display any sort of heartbreak.
He leered at me, then jumped up and rushed into the bedroom. When I followed, I found him facing the wall, still crying, softly, like a Blair Witch Project victim, only without those glamorous tiny handprints everywhere. When I moved toward him, he moved away. Eventually I went to the kitchen. Childishness makes me hungry, and I wanted to hide the knives.
I turned to my right, and saw him rushing out of the flat with his backpack. An hour later he returned, because it’s Scotland and there’s nowhere to go. This time I left, and he called.
“Where are you,” he said, softly.
“Walking. I thought you wanted time alone.”
“Come back now.”
I got into bed and held him. Our eyes met, prolonged, and he grinned a bit. While I fucked him, for only the third time in four months, he placed his hand behind my neck pulling me toward him, kissing me, letting my tongue delve. I rolled him over, forcing my cock inside his tight hole, while, wincing, he twisted his head and licked my face.
“I want to be near you, all the time,” he whimpered. I wrapped my arms around him, twisting my legs amongst his, and didn’t let go for three days.