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andyangus · 4 years

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Thursday 1st April

All Fools’ Day.

Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Went the doorbell at 7 a.m. on All Fools’ Day and my cheating ex-boyfriend, Thomas, is the first fool I have to deal with.

‘Oh, good lord! How the hell did you find me?’ I asked exasperated.

‘Your mum. Here!’ he said, thrusting a basket in my arms. ‘I need you to look after him as Constantine and me are heading to Gran Canaria for a break and nobody’s daft enough to take him.’

‘Who’s Constantine when she’s at home?’ I asked.

‘You’ve met,’ he said, hinting with the flicking of an eyebrow.

‘Oh, the woman in the van. Is this a thing the two of you do? No, don’t tell me, I don’t really want to know.’ Changing the subject, I peered into the box; it was the Colonel, our only child. ‘Thanks, but I live in a flat now, thanks to you, and can’t take him. The Colonel was feral when he found us if you remember? Cooping him up in this place will drive him insane.’

‘It’s you or the wilderness, Andy,’ protested Thomas. ‘There’s not a cat home in Scotland that will have him, and you know he doesn’t take to my maw.’ As far as I’m concerned, no one can take to his mother. He threw a bag of dry food in the hall and a cat bed, thick with moulted hairs. ‘It’s time you live up to your side of our bargain and look after the kid you decided to adopt. I’ll be back in two weeks. I think you can handle the responsibility until then.’

‘I suppose you were responsible while hanging around lay-bys at every turn of the steering wheel?’ I shouted after him, but he was already halfway down the stair and not giving a damn. The main door banged shut. I resigned myself to the fact Tony would be throwing us out tonight, and I’d be sharing the Colonel’s bed with him in some damp close. I’ve tucked him away in my bedroom, still in his basket, until I dare to drop this furry bombshell on my landlords’ heads.

Constantine? What sort of name is that for a dirty dogger? Are the lay-bys of the U.K. littered with the upper-classes?

10 p.m. Ryan was uneasy about having a temporary new housemate, but Tony was surprisingly keen.

‘Come on, Pookie,’ uttered Tony in Ryan’s lug as he caressed him from behind, ‘it can be our practice for starting a family.’

‘Okay, but two weeks only,’ stressed Ryan as he frowned at me firmly. Tony can get Ryan to do anything if he so wishes. They’re firmly back in love, it seems, and I’ll just have to cope with that. It’s sad but true, the longer they stay happy, the longer the Colonel and I will have a roof over our heads.

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andyangus · 4 years

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Wednesday 31st March

I’ve arrived home to a major bitch-fight between the boys. They were in full swing arguing about the wedding venue, entertainment, food, theme and shoes. I quickly hid in my room just after I saw the first of three crystal glasses shatter against the hall wall. The assailant was unseen, but I surmise it was Tony as it’s his style of drama; he’s always idolised Sue Ellen from Dallas.

Their fight fizzled out at 1.15 a.m. when Ryan burst into tears. I could hear Tony comforting him, and within minutes I was subjected to their album — most people have a song, but no, they must have a whole bloody album! Even Céline Dion’s powerful lungs couldn’t drown out their stunted make-up sex. I heard every grunt through two pillows and a winter duvet. I don’t pay a fortune in rent to come home to amateur productions of Hollyoaks and Sexcetera!

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andyangus · 4 years

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Tuesday 30th March

I couldn’t finish my shift quick enough to get to my final training session with Nash. I’ve never been so keen to lift weights in all my life. I’m sure if every resident in the U.K. had a sexy, fit personal trainer beasting them (male or female, depending on preference) then obesity would be obliterated. I break a sweat and burn off calories just looking at him. I was chuffed when he suggested showing me the free weights section. And I’m beginning to become fluent in ‘Nash’ and gym terms. I understood every word until he said, ‘I’ll spot you.’

‘Sorry, you’ll do what?’ I asked, laid flat and totally submissive on the bench, dreading the measly forty kilos I was going to struggle to shift.

‘Grip the bar,’ he said.

I did.

‘No, too close together. Wider than your shoulders,’ he said, cupping my fingers in his palms and moving my arms further apart. A pleasant electrical current was now buzzing through my body, my skin became sensitive, and every hair raised up from my sweaty skin. ‘Okay, take the weight, and I’ll spot you.’

‘Sorry, you’ll do what?’ I asked after lifting the bar from the rack, my elbows quaking under the weight.

He stood close behind me and leant over the bar slightly, his hairy legs inches from my highly erogenous ears. Short shorts caressed his bulging thighs as his crotch blocking out the spotlight on the ceiling that’d previously been blinding me.

‘Ah, I see. You’re spotting me. Yes, I understand.’

‘Don’t talk, breathe,’ he encouraged me.

I’m trying, but it’s pretty impossible not to hyperventilate right now, I thought. I could see everything: every crease and every bulge.

‘Down to the chest with the bar, and up again. Down and up for twelve at the very least,’ he ordered.

I obeyed. What’s a boy to do? I lowered and pushed the weight in unison as he cupped his hands just below the bar, protecting me from collapsing. He squatted slightly with every dip, his legs becoming more pumped every second. His packet shifted in the creases of his kit. Testosterone must’ve been rife through my muscles as I managed every rep and two more on top! Amazing what you can do when you have a clear view of your goal.

It was over far too quickly. All good things, and all that. ‘So that’s you inducted and educated, my fella,’ he said cheerily with a satisfied look on his face.

My hand reached for my wallet to pay for more private sessions, but I stopped myself as the meagre wages of a waiter doesn’t cover a year’s worth of personal training sessions three times a week. Besides, how many would be enough?

‘However, if you do need anything, anything at all, just give me a shout,’ he added with a cheeky wink.

A wink can mean something, nothing or everything. What good is a wink when you need a wank? Damn it! I wish I were telepathic.

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andyangus · 4 years

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Monday 29th March

Okay, it was idiotic for me to believe it would’ve just been Ryan and me on this little jaunt around Lothian. Very stupid of me to assume Tony would be at work. Why would I think the most controlling groom would be happy to sit back and watch his husband-to-be and his best mate narrow down where the most important day (so he says) of his life will be?

We went from registry office (‘... too dark.’), to stately home (‘... too musty.’), to parkland (‘... too exposed to the elements.’), to riverside mansion (‘... too close to the airport.’), to Edinburgh Castle (‘... too small.’), to a barn (‘... stinks of cow shit.’). By 3 p.m., my gut was well and truly self-digesting from hunger as the Terrible Twins quarrelled in the back of my car.

‘If you two don’t calm it down I’m going to clip both your ears!’ I heard myself snap as the bickering became high-pitched. Flashbacks of day trips away with my folks in the back of their Austin Maxi came to mind, with my sister and me arguing within thirty minutes of leaving home and Mum’s tongue lashing us within an inch of our lives. The Terrible Twins fell silent as I stopped the car irresponsibly in the middle of a country lane and made a sharp exit in a huff.

Tony wound down the window and said, ‘Alright, dear. Keep your wig on!’

I paced back and forth for a time and eventually rested both hands on the bonnet of the car to confront them head-on through the windscreen. I delivered my ultimatum, ‘I want the two of you to settle on at least two — that’s TWO —’ I raised two fingers to emphasise my point, ‘of the venues we’ve seen today!’

‘Well, I kinda liked the Atrium,’ stammered Ryan.

‘I liked that, too, sweetie,’ agreed Tony. ‘But prefer the Balmoral, as they have fantastic views over the city.’

‘So does the Atrium. And it’s modern,’ argued Ryan.

‘I love the Victorian style of the Turmeau Hall,’ interjected Tony quickly.

My patience was still being tested, and my gut was running on empty. I swung the driver’s door open and got in, ‘Good! That’s two and a bit. They’ll do.’

‘But there are the Caves in the Old Town,’ added Ryan sheepishly.

I sighed and slowly strangled the steering wheel. ‘So, you are telling me that there are two, maybe three, maybe four possibilities within the city? The city. The city we actually live in. Where we started from. And you’re telling me this after a six-and-a-half-hour trip through the deepest, darkest countryside of Lothian?’

Ryan and Tony looked at each other collectively and murmured, ‘Yes.’

I booted her into drive and skidded off, ‘Right! Grand! Super! And now, lunch!’ I drove in silence all the way to a drive-through McDonald’s and forced both of them to eat common junk food. I’m a heartless bitch when hungry.

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andyangus · 4 years

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Sunday 28th March

‘You’re doing grand. Press it hard. Squeeze that butt. Feel it. Feel it! Good man!' No, this isn’t sex talk, this is encouragement from Nash as I struggled with legs today. I find going to the gym is like being in a soft porn movie: all grunting hunks and bromance. A hard session in more ways than one. Boy, am I beat! Nash continues to give me a beasting, and I continue to take it willingly. I want to impress him no-end. It’s nothing to do with the fact his bottom is a peach, and his nipples poke provocatively through his polo shirt under the pressure from his rock-like pecs. Not at all! Dark hair protrudes from the tempting opening below his Adam’s apple, and his calves have contours that I never dreamt were possible. I feel like a teenager around him, of the blond, pigtailed, giggly variety.

It took me 30 minutes of Training Session B to establish he’s single, has been in Edinburgh for 18 months and shares a flat on McDonald Road with three other PTs.

‘Oh, that’s just a short walk from mine,’ I said casually.

He didn’t bite. Is he straight? Gay? Bi? I need to know. He touches me like a man who’s comfortable touching men, but I’m not sure if that’s because he’s comfortable touching everyone, male and female. It’s so confusing. My willy has risen and fallen more often than a stack of weights on a pec deck machine.

The only unfortunate mishap was during my 3rd set of squats, as I was at the lowest point in the dip, I let out a lady-fart from my taut, parted buttocks. I’m no expert on dating, but I think this may influence his decision if he is actually open to the idea. Why such a feeble fart? Why not a manly ripper or a silent whoosh? At least you could’ve granted me that, God!

I spent the next few hours with my aching legs elevated on the couch and enjoyed peace until the boys arrived back at three o'clock. From then on it was civil partnership all the way, even through yet another takeaway, until I could fake-smile no more and retreated to my room by nine, after taking care of their filthy kitchen yet again.

Ryan has tomorrow so perfectly planned the Third Reich would be proud of his efficiency. We have eight venues to visit, and he has every part of the journey mapped out on Google Maps to the second. Eight! I was planning on giving up half of my precious morning, but it seems we’re making a day of it. Joy to the world!

11 p.m. I’ve tried masturbating over Nash, but my calves are too sore to flinch their way towards an orgasm. Lactic acid is the nemesis of a horny soul.

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andyangus · 4 years

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Saturday 27th March

Nash! Nash! I curse your name! What the hell have you done to me? I can hardly lift my arms to wash my hair, let alone do Part B of my workout with you tomorrow. I gave up shampooing midway through my usual obsessive ritual as my arms ached so much. But I bet yours could do it for me. I could hardly stoop to wait on tables too. Molasses asked me if I’d shit myself and Sally’s convinced I’ve experienced an S&M session that went awry. If only! Nash! Nash! I curse your name, but I love your frame! I’ll forgive you as you are a wet dream come true. You’re now my motivation and masturbation.

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andyangus · 4 years

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Friday 26th March

Hot instructor at my gym, you’ve no idea how much I enjoyed every touch you gave me, every smile you flashed, every squat you performed in front of me with your muscular, hairy thighs, and every softly spoken Irish word you uttered to me. Nash, with your dark hair, tanned skin, big smile and huge biceps, I couldn’t really decipher all of your words through that dreamy Irish accent, but it must be the norm for you to have vacant gazes come your way. With a body like yours, how could any red-blooded gay man focus on anything but those, tight-fitting, ass-hugging, crotch-cupping shorts?

I prayed: Please be gay! If not gay, bisexual. If not bisexual, curious! If not curious, drunk and coincidently in my bedroom (by accident) as I arrive home. Naked, naturally, too.

http://joeblwrit.es

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andyangus · 4 years

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Thursday 25th March

It’s Mum’s and Dad’s wedding anniversary today. She called to remind me with a large slice of sarcasm chucked in. I totally forgot and lied that a card was in the post while hurriedly putting my shoes on to run to the shop as soon as we hung up.

To move on quickly, I asked her, ‘What’s Dad treating you to for your thirty-seventh year together?’

She sighed and said, ‘A set of golf clubs.’

‘I’d no idea you liked golf?’

‘I don’t, but he seems to think it’ll bring us closer together. I’m part-retired now, have poor circulation and flyaway hair, why on Earth would I want to stand in the drab Scottish weather and whack great clumps of dirt out of the ground?’

‘Come on, Mum, you might enjoy it. Do some research and give it a go. A lot of pensioners find it a grand way to keep moving.’

‘Andy, I’m sixty-bloody-one, I could be drying up, but I’m not seizing up and pissing my support pants as of yet. He best pray I don’t figure out which number iron will do the most damage to him and leave very little evidence.’ Our conversation was cut short when she growled, ‘Steven, come down from there! Look, I have to go, one of your sister’s children is hanging upside-down from the top banister with a piece of Barbie furniture in his mouth.’

Again, she’s delusional, she is a pensioner. The government says so. She’s slowly shuffling her way towards bingo halls and irregular bowel habits.

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andyangus · 4 years

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Wednesday 24th March

About last night ...

When the sex started, of which I felt I’d no real option to refuse, I was tanked up on several cocktails. I could hear the disembodied voices of Ryan, Tony and Sally fluctuating in my head:

‘Have you thought about gagging him?’

‘Harden up, kiddo!’

‘Dump him!’

‘Flip him over!’

I discovered a pulse-point at the side of my head that I’ve never felt before and started to wonder if my neck was swelling to the size and pressure of a Goodyear truck tyre. Copious amounts of alcohol, a throbbing head and the dread of what was literally to cum did not inspire my loins to catch fire. I was juggling with all of this as Gordon juggled with my balls, sat astride me in his favourite position.

I could see it coming, no mistaking it, I could hear it! He sounded like a Vespa revving up a steep hill as he got closer and closer to the edge. I pulled him forward to snog him in the hope this would keep him quiet, but he leant back and insisted on watching me.

It’s a shame I’m having to ‘enjoy’ the view from here, I thought as his engine revved some more and his eyes began to spin, and cross, and spin again. I raised one hand to cover his mouth, but he just chewed and grunted on the flesh of my palm and became more feral, howling in the moonlight. Both hands, try both hands, you fool. I eventually cupped one behind his neck and the other firmly over the mouth of this foghorn, which, struggling for breath, caused his eyes to bulge and seem more insane. He became louder and louder, chuckles splitting his sides, saliva pooling in my palm.

‘I’m close!’ he yelped between barrels of laughter.

Don’t I know it! Oh, sweet Jesus! The eyes! They’re going into hyper-drive! Cover the eyes! No the mouth! No, the eyes!

I felt my hand clutching his whole face in a vain attempt to cover everything, but nothing was working. And then he began to shoot, and the cacophony of shrieks and laughter escalated, echoing around the room as the disembodied voices of my friends spiralled in my brain.

Until I felt my hand slap something fleshy and stubbly.

Hard and fast.

I’ve no idea where it came from. Drink and a boy with an unsettling reaction to an orgasm are a terrible combination it seems. I felt instant guilt. I hate violence and cruelty of any sort. I’d never seen a guy stop mid-climax and freeze in shock before this. The look of sheer bliss switched to disbelief and hurt within the flick of my wrist. I apologised, but Gordon wouldn’t even look at me. His cheek facing me, becoming more scarlet by the second. ‘Please leave,’ he uttered like a small boy as he flopped off me and curled up, clutching the sheet over his naked body in fear. ‘I think you’ve been most inappropriate.’

As a red handprint developed on his face like some sadistic polaroid, I picked up my clothes, edged sheepishly out of the bedroom and moved quickly down the broad staircase, getting dressed as I scurried through the huge house I would most definitely not be biding in with him. ‘I think we should cancel your follow-up appointment,’ he called from the bedroom.

‘Aye, I think we should,’ I agreed as I clicked the gorgeous ornate front door shut. If there’s the slightest chance he’d hold a grudge and take revenge on my already fragile molars, I’d rather not take that risk. Oh, well, Morningside yummy mummies are inconsiderate, posh pains in the arse most of the time, anyway. Who, with any sanity, would actually choose to live amongst them?

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andyangus · 4 years

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Tuesday 23rd March

I must need my head read. I’ve agreed to meet Gordon Bennett for dinner this evening. I could hardly say no, he was eating lunch in the café at the time and had been dropping hints that he was finishing at 3 p.m. and would be free for the rest of the day.

‘Your trouble is you are far too nice,’ said Sally as the door closed behind him and I pulled an exasperated face. ‘You won’t get anywhere in this city unless you harden up. If you’re not careful, you’ll carry on with this dentist, and before you know it, you’ll have met the parents and be moving in together. Harden up, kiddo! Life isn’t all about finding love. If it were, I would’ve had zero fun by now.’

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andyangus · 4 years

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Monday 22nd March

I chatted to Ryan about the dentist as he’s still keen to hook-up. Sex is definitely on the cards, judging by the flirtatious text and winking, tongue panting emoticons. I’ve replied but kept it cool. My problem is, once I put-out, I feel obligated to keep putting-out.

‘Seriously though,’ asked Ryan as he massaged moisturiser into Tony’s ugly feet, ‘have you actually thought about gagging him, or at least covering his mouth with your hand at the point of ejaculation?’

‘It’s not just the laugh, my friend,’ I replied. ‘It’s the weird thing he does with his eyes. It’s like watching two lottery balls clanking around Guinevere on a Saturday draw. I’d have to cover his whole face with my hand.’

‘Oh, dear. Flip him over and bugger the poor sod,’ quipped Ryan.

At this point, Tony flinched and told Ryan he was rubbing too hard. Ryan apologised.

‘Oh, good Lord! Why are we still wasting time on this nonsense? Don’t Tell The Bride is on,’ interrupted Tony. ‘Just tell him you don’t like how he climaxes and move on. I don’t put up with any nonsense during sex, do I, Ryan?’

‘No, Tony, you don’t,’ replied Ryan. I could hear an element of dismay in his voice that Tony was oblivious to. They’re obviously having problems. I’m driving Ryan around possible wedding venues on Monday. I’ll get the truth out of him then.

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andyangus · 4 years

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Sunday 21st March

A text from Gordon Bennett asking if I was free this afternoon for lunch. I declined as I’m doing the hangover stint (non-stop fried breakfasts) at the café until 4 p.m. The texts then became a bit saucy on his part, but I’m afraid all I can see in my mind’s eye is his ridiculous laughter and lightsaber teeth. I quickly changed the subject and text back that I’d an induction at Virgin Active gym booked from 5 p.m. onwards, which is a half-truth as I’m just enquiring tonight about joining.

11 p.m. I’ve been given a ‘special deal’ at the gym: three training sessions with a qualified instructor, unlimited access to all classes for a month and thirty hours worth of sun-bed tokens. Forget the Domestic God, at this rate, I’ll look like a Greek God before May. Men shall fall at my feet and worship my pecs as women utter, ‘What a waste!’ and, ‘Why can’t he be straight?’

The gym looks well plush, with a pool, jacuzzi, free weights, resistance machines, steam room, sauna and plenty of clean showers. I’ll be staying away from the free weights area, however, as I felt quite intimidated by all the sweating, muscular guys there, grunting and bursting blood vessels as my skinny legs and nonexistent shoulders skulked by. My first training session’s on Friday.

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andyangus · 4 years

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Saturday 20th March

Is it wrong to go off a guy because of the way he climaxes? Gordon and I chatted into the early hours of the morning at The Street, a bar on Picardy Place, which used to be OT’s back when I was a lad. I chose this place as it’s well lit and has no UV lights above the bar, therefore, no Cheshire Cat. He seemed a decent chap with nothing I could foresee that’d put me off. When he went to the loo, I did a quick checklist in my head:

No fuck-buddies sniffing around.

No crazy ex-boyfriends.

No fag hags.

No schizophrenia (that I can see so far).

No debts.

Owner of a massive house in Morningside.

Drives a Porsche (not that I care about cars).

Family orientated (both parents respected lawyers and a sister with learning difficulties that he adores).

Friendly, attractive friends that said hello in the passing.

Good looking.

Not a fan of Ouzo, which proves he’s sane.

All was well. Why wouldn’t I go back home with this total ride? And boy, what a home! A four-bedroom sandstone job that stands in well-sculpted gardens with a large summerhouse to the rear. The kissing against the door frame didn’t disappoint either. The sex was full of body contact and intense, just the way I like it. As he became close, he climbed on top of me, as he wanted to spurt his load all over my ‘fit chest’ (his words, not mine). Despite his compliments, my awkwardness ensued. The lights were on, and my belly wobbled far too much as the fit dentist gyrated astride my hips as he got closer and closer to the edge. Then, just when I was about to cum, as he was too, he turned into a wild banshee that caterwauled shrill laughter at every single spurt from his shaft. I don’t mean just a snigger. It was full-on-creepy and totally took me by surprise. His eyes rolled around his head like one of those laughing policemen trapped in glass boxes that you see at fairgrounds. This, combined with his almost luminous teeth, spoilt my climax.

‘Em, what just happened there?’ I asked, catching my breath.

‘Eh? Oh,’ he laughed a tad calmer now as he leant forward for a kiss, our bodies sloppy and wet, ‘sorry. I always laugh when I cum. I can’t help myself. You got me so fired up.’

Off he leapt to grab me a towel. I was left thinking, Laugh, please, but not in that ‘Here’s Jonny’ kinda way.

I was glad that he was running late for work by the time we woke this morning as that cancelled any chance of a second round of hysteria.

11 p.m. I’ve just relayed this story to Ryan and, under protest, Tony. Tony was most unhelpful and quipped, ‘We have a ball gag you can borrow next time.’

Borrow? I’m sure I can keep it as it’s been a while since they’ve used even the pillow to bite into. I know their sex-life has been put on pause since I arrived; I’ve heard Tony through their bedroom door muttering, ‘No, not now, Boo-Boo. Not while the lodger’s here.’ The price some people pay for an extra household income, eh? I’d rather live on the breadline than forfeit sex.

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andyangus · 4 years

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Friday 19th March

‘What you need is a good rebound shag!’ butted in Sally as I was relaying my highly personal 4x4 Guy tale to Ryan. Like Miss Molasses Brown, Sally Knowles seems to have extrasensory perception when it comes to other peoples’ business, able to hear the slightest syllable over the music echoing through the café.

‘Thank you, Sally,’ I called as her arse minced away, ‘but I don’t think diving headlong into another’s crotch is the answer to my problems.’

‘Suit yourself!’ she shrugged as she swiped yet another small pile of tips off a neighbouring table. ‘Works for me every time.’

I mouthed the word ‘slut’ to Ryan and said, ‘This is coming from a girl who seems to be on a downward spiral of drink, drugs and sex.’

To my amazement, Ryan muttered, ‘Well, we’ve all been there,’ as he crammed his hungry aperture with an ambitious fork of Coconut Red Stripe Chicken.

How can he have been there? He’s been with Tony for years, and I’ve never known him to be on the rebound.

‘She may be right,’ he continued. ‘The dentist may be just what you need to extract this puss-filled abscess that this 4x4 Guy has left you with.’

I couldn’t believe my ears. Did this old romantic really think that a casual night of sex would help me get over it? ‘So you’re saying I should sleep with him?’

‘No, I’m saying you should be open to the possibility.’ He raised his fork and prodded my sternum with it. ‘You shouldn’t let one bad experience get in the way of several greats.’

I reminded him that it’d actually been two disasters so far: Thomas and the 4x4 Guy.

‘One, two, ten, whatever. Just do it. Get it out of the way, either with this guy or the next. Wham, bam, thank you, Tam! This city is full of attractive single men who are lovely, although none more so than my Tony.’ At this point, Sally flitted by and mimicked self-induced vomiting. As much as she’s pissed me off over the past few weeks, I couldn’t quash a smirk. I regained my composure as Ryan looked up from his plate. ‘Don’t let fear starve the soul,’ he concluded as he crammed his face with even more chicken.

I received an irritating slap on the back from Sally as she interposed, ‘Yes. You go, girl! And if you actually do manage to get your leg over, drop by tomorrow and tell me all the yummy, cummy, frothy details.’

******

Later, once Ryan had headed to his yoga class — ‘Tony likes me flexible enough to be taking it from the rear and still give full-on tongue.’ Over-share! — Sally and I skirted around the subject of the sickeningly happy couple, the self-proclaimed gay equivalent to Posh and Becks. She guffawed and said, ‘Tony? I can’t stand the man.’

An alliance perhaps? I wondered as she packed up at the end of her shift.

She cheerfully waved goodbye with a, ‘See you later, brotherfucker!’ I found myself waving warmly back. Could we actually be political bedfellows in the war against Tony’s acerbic tongue? She would be a formidable ally. Her ovaries are far bigger than most men’s balls. I’m beginning to warm to her. A week is a long time in the politics of friends.

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andyangus · 4 years

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Thursday 18th March

There he was, reading the Financial Times and looking every bit as dashing as when I first laid eyes on him. I spotted him instantly. His full head of grey hair illuminated in the beams of sunlight cast through the large windows. I tried desperately to ignore his broad, lickable, muscular frame … No, Andy! Focus!

He stood up to welcome me. I reached out instinctively for a hug, but he caught my hand and shook it. Ah, we’re playing the ‘just good mates’ game, are we? I thought as it dawned on me how public and exposed he must’ve felt meeting me in a busy bar. My instinctive act of affection surprised me, and his cold, almost business-like approach, caused me to berate myself for being so willing to forgive him for leading me along. Okay, no PDA, I’ll give you that. I sat down.

When he brought my pint he asked, rather judgementally, I thought, for a man with such loose morals, ‘So, have you recovered from your little trip on the Magic Roundabout?’

‘Ah, sorry about that. I never do drugs.’ Was I really apologising now too? How dare he wave the upper hand. But still, I continued, ‘Unfortunately, that day, I’d been spiked by an irresponsible cow who doesn’t know her aspirin from her acid.’ I added, ‘I don’t usually do married men either, but it seems I’ve had a heavy dose of that too. And covertly it seems.’ Yes! Back of the net! Upper hand achieved and within grasp of the trophy.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said bashfully as he slurped the froth off his pint. ‘You have done now,’ he joked. My face fell, which prompted a hasty, ‘Sorry!’

‘If I’d known you were married, I would never have started this. Whatever this is.’

‘Come on, Andy,’ he laughed nervously through his words, ‘what kinda man did you think you’d pick at a cruising area?’

I was more than shocked. What could he mean, ‘cruising area’?

He continued, ‘Come on, you knew that place was a cruising area, right?’

‘No, I did not!’ I hastened. ‘If I’d known that, I would never have stopped there.’

‘Ah, well,’ he whispered, ‘I couldn’t believe my luck bumping into someone like you there. You really are a stunning lad: manly, and you certainly know how to treat a guy.’

It was careless and clumsy of him. Now was not the time to give me compliments. Crude compliments, at that. I felt more a slut than ever before. I didn’t deserve praise when some innocent woman was caught in the firing line of our fun.

‘Okay! Stop!’ I heard myself shout as I stood up from the table, disgusted. I was shaking. If this was true, I really was no better than Thomas: hanging around local cruising areas waiting on the next piece of meat, watching others having sex, reducing what should be something special between two people to nothing more than a means to an end. A function. ‘If I knew that, I would never have seen you again, Mr … what is your name anyway? What is the name that you’ve shared with your wife, the name that she’s probably proud to write on her cheque books and that you’re so desperate to hide?’

I could see him glance around quickly as some people shuffled past our table. He needn’t have worried, the bar was a cacophony of chatter and my words just mingled with the rest to become the same wall of sound. They were totally disinterested in our predicament and moved on quickly, but I could see they unnerved him all the same.

‘Andy, I never hid anything from you. You just never asked. You told me you were happy keeping it simple and casual, so you can’t judge me on that.’

All of a sudden, I noticed his wedding band. There, plain as day, on the finger his wife had slid it on in the hope of a faithful life together. Had he always worn it? It seemed familiar. How could I’ve been so blind?

‘Andy Angus,’ he whispered. ‘We met in a cruising area, I’m married, and we have great, no-strings sex where we’ve an understanding, and no one gets hurt. What’s so wrong with that?’

Everything! I thought.

‘I never hid it from you. I’m married. I thought everyone knew it was a cruising area. It’s notorious down there. Come on, you’re not that naïve?’

‘The sad fact is, I think I am.’

I could feel my eyes tingling on the edge of tears, damn it. I had to get out. It’s not as if I saw any potential in this guy. It’s not as if he’s given me the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. It’s not as if I know him at all. Oh, sweet Lord, I really am that naïve. It was then I realised I’d fallen for the perfect man. A perfect stranger. One who could never disappoint because I didn’t know him at all. No hopes, no dreams, no disappointment. Safe, until he shows you the truth about yourself: after all these years, you’re still a fool.

He could see it too. I could feel the revelation pass between us. ‘Oh, Andy, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect it to get so complicated for you.’

And there it was, that awful word slid into my mind: unrequited. I had to go. And quickly. I ran from that moment. That needy, unrequited love. I could hear him calling after me, but the sudden gushing of blood that pulsed through my skull became raucous and began to drown him out. It felt thick and heavy, stifling my emotions as I imagined it coursing through my entire body until I turned into a cold, heartless stone.

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andyangus · 4 years

Text

Wednesday 17th March

11.10 a.m. Gordon Bennett flinched when he first saw me at the bar. ‘Andy, is that you?’ he asked, in disbelief. ‘Bloody hell! What happened to you?’ I believe he would have yelped, ‘Gordon Bennett!’ but that would’ve been ironic, I loath to report. I spun a yarn about spilling a large glass of red wine over my original outfit and having to, unfortunately, borrow this ensemble from a colourblind fashion victim of the New Romantic period. He didn’t sound convinced when he asked, ‘And the hat?’

‘My hair was singed badly by one of the many scented candles my flatmate irresponsibly leaves burning around the flat,’ was my swift reply, as I shot daggers at Ryan who was oblivious and having a whale of a time at the bar with his moocher friends. ‘Drink?’ I yelped, in an attempt to move away from fashion completely. Ryan winked at me as if to say, ‘All going well so far.’ I could’ve killed him. I was the fashion equivalent of Pricilla Presley’s Botox job.

Despite this, the night got better. Let’s face it, the only way was up. Ryan let his hair down and even got a bit of interest from a few students. ‘I’m at that age when younger men find me fascinating and alluring,’ he wailed over the music to Gordon. ‘The experience of an older man is very enticing to the younger generation. This is no revelation to our Andy, mind you, as he’s considerably older than me, Gordon Bennett!’ I detested that he took every opportunity to say Gordon’s full name with an exclamation.

‘Sixteen months is not that much older,’ I interjected.

Ryan flicked his hair sloppily, as he was well on his way to drunkenness, and ignored my protest. ‘Of course, all this allure and youth is wasted on me as I just can’t see past my gorgeous Tony,’ he slurred.

I wanted to grab him and say, ‘You fool! Tony is a tactless, egocentric streak of piss!’ while shaking him feverishly by the shoulders and slapping him up and down the bar, but I could hardly shake a leg in my circulation constricting jeans. Instead, I opted for the slightly sarcastic and yet safe, ‘Aww!’

Despite my awful attire, Gordon was keen to get close to me as the last track was played and T-shirts were pulled back over sweaty, youthful torsos. I was glad they turned up the lights as Gordon’s teeth went neon every time the bar’s UV strips caught his grin. It was like talking to a Cheshire cat. Still, only one minus so far, so not bad.

Gordon leant in and gave me a kiss with such passion I was delighted the anaesthetic had worn off. ‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling out of the kiss but still holding me close. ‘Just checking my work.’

‘All okay?’ I asked, blatantly flirting.

‘I’d better check again. You know, to be thorough. I need to get as far back as seventeen and thirty-two.’

‘Is that far back?’

‘Molars, baby, we’re talking molars.’

What’s a boy to do? ‘Ah, okay.’ I opened wide, and he slipped his tongue deep into my hungry mouth. He was that far in me, I could feel his breath in my lungs. My arousal was so apparent through the stretchy jeans I became embarrassed when we parted again, covering it up with my beer. Gordon, however, seemed amused and impressed at the now prominent silhouette. He pushed the bottle out of the way and squeezed the denim hard, causing me to pulsate in agreement.

Ryan slid his hands between us and pushed us apart. ‘Ugh! Enough, girls. Get a room. Honestly, keep this up and I’ll …’ He didn’t manage to finish his words, but we soon got the gist when he took a mighty gasp and proceeded to projectile vomit at our feet.

‘I think we’ll call it a night there,’ said Gordon, retching as he inched back in disgust from the diffusing pool of WKD, bile and M&S Chicken Tikka Marsala that had been served up between us.

‘I think you’re right,’ I sighed as we watched Ryan crack and collapse like a condemned high-rise block that had just had a ton of explosives detonate at its feet.

It wasn’t easy supporting Ryan on the road home. Even the taxi warden wouldn’t allow us the short trip up the street, which says something as I watched her guide a raucous hen party into a hackney moments before.

‘You know, I’m glad you came back. I really do love you, Andy,’ sprayed Ryan as he slid down the front door. I fumbled for the key as quickly as I could. It doesn’t come naturally to requite love when your mate’s hair is matted with a mixture of Paul Smith, alcohol, bile and curry.

Tony wasn’t best pleased to be woken by a drunk husband-to-be and his wedding planner, but I don’t give a damn. It was well worth torturing him for a night after the bath incident. What’s he going to do? Throw me out? I don’t think so. Any-rate, I have a date with Gordon on Friday night. A lovely, single, sane, handsome, professional homosexual. Already I can see a lifetime of comfort and gleaming molars.

Result!

7.33 p.m. A text from 4x4 Guy: ‘R U free tomorrow at 12?’

His timing is rubbish! And short notice. But I agreed. We’re meeting at Joseph Pearson’s on Elm Row. I’ll be wearing my usual casual attire. I will most certainly not be making an effort for a married man. He’s lucky I don’t turn up in my TARDIS pyjamas.

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andyangus · 4 years

Text

Tuesday 16th March

Quiet day at Café Jamaica, the sun seems to be keeping people out of cafés and in parks. For a long period, we only had one customer, so I had time to chill at the bar with Molasses and flick through the paper. Usually, I’d be pulling my hair out due to boredom, this time, however, I was delighted to loiter so’s to catch the eye of a hot guy, who was munching on a portion of Escovitch Lobster.

Who knew eating dead crustaceans could be so damn sexy?

I took a good ten minutes sizing him up over the top of the horoscopes: mid-thirties, slender, with short, curly blond hair, piercing blue eyes and a tight wee body that I’m pretty sure, judging from what I could see through his clinging tee, is athletic.

Blond’s not my usual type, but maybe it’s time for a change, I thought.

When the guy came to pay, I practically kicked Molasses to the kerb, as I’ve found exchanging change with guys is a good indicator if they are attracted to you or not. I let my fingers linger with more contact than usual on his palm and, to my surprise, he did the same, almost gripping mine in return. Just at that moment, my toothache returned. I took a sharp intake of breath and grimaced.

‘Sorry, I have terrible toothache just now,’ I winced. ‘I’m not scowling at you.’

‘You getting it sorted?’ he asked, his full lips bouncing steadily and seductively as life seemed to slip into slow motion.

‘I’ve just moved to the city and don’t have a dentist.’

‘I could look at it for you. I’m a dentist.’

I was stunned. Beautiful, helpful and a professional? A bonus! I smiled and tried to find the right words, coming up with, ‘You do oral? Hygiene! Oral hygiene, I mean.’

He smiled, ‘Yes, and yes.’

Beautiful, helpful, professional and playful. Even better! I tried to ignore the innuendo rising in the room. ‘Good, good,’ I said, attempting to get the right balance of casual and interested, nervously gouging at my notepad all the while with my pen.

‘Do you want me to look at it this afternoon? I have a cancellation.’

Music to my molars. ‘Aye, that’d be great,’ I said, both scared and aroused.

He gave me his card and smiled an ultra-bright grin:

G Bennett & Son Dental Practice

24 Belleview Terrace

Edinburgh.

New NHS Patients Welcome.

I sloped off around four, much to Molasses’ relief. ‘Anything to stop your wincing and mincing,’ she said. By 5 p.m. I had a shiny new filling and sparkly, deep-cleaned teeth. Nothing major wrong with me after all, just a small crack in a filling. Is my pain level so low? I was confident I’d need a tooth pulled. But there’s a bonus to all of this nonsense. As he was polishing, amid much flirtation, G Bennett (or Son) asked me what I was doing for the rest of the evening. I attempted to throw a significant hint by name-dropping a selection of gay bars my friend and I will be frequenting later, but between mentioning CC’s and Vibe I choked on a mixture of water, toothpaste and my own saliva.

Raising his lovely thin eyebrows that frame those fantastic clear pools of blue, he said, ‘Ah, I’ll maybe see you out and about then.’

I can’t be sure if he heard my, ‘Hope so,’ as the dental nurse dived in for such an intense suction, she nearly shredded my uvula to mince.

The damn mask was still covered his lovely lips as I said goodbye, but I was 90% certain he was giving me a cheeky grin as I went. I left cured, a little numb on the left side of my face and overstimulated in the nether regions. Here’s hoping I stop drooling before I order my first pint.

9 p.m. I’ve been through the toughest two-hour prep for a night out I’ve ever experienced. It usually takes me ten minutes. Ryan decided that I needed a complete makeover if I was aiming to impress. I’m now wearing his skinny, tapered jeans that make my balls feel as if they’re wedged in two garlic crushers every time I sit down. My size eleven feet look enormous in these ridiculous white plimsolls. If that wasn’t bad enough, I’m decked in a red chequered shirt that’s tucked into my ample waistline, which makes my skinny legs look as thin as a pink flamingo’s. And it’s all crowned off with a straw trilby that I haven’t seen worn since 1985.

I suggested tossing the hat and just slapping some gel in my hair, but Ryan replied with, ‘Puuu-leeze! There aren’t enough hours in the day to rescue your hair from the neglect you’ve insulted it with over the years. What have you been using? Swarfega? Besides, I still have to do mine, which will take an hour tops. We have to get out there at the exact moment for optimal cruising – too early, and it’s dead; too late, and there’s nothing but dregs. It’s Tuesday night; your options are limited to shift workers and students. And do not remove that hat from your pretty little head even once tonight or I’ll be disowning you.’

I assured him I was quite capable of styling my own rug when he cackled, ‘Good Lord! How can anyone apply so much product in such a short space of time?’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked a little hurt.

‘Uh, cupcake?’ he scoffed. ‘There’s product and then their’s by-product! I dread to think how stained your pillows are already.’

So here I am, a lanky Lord of the Dance. A potbellied Prince. Perhaps I’m out of the loop as far as what’s en vogue. Maybe this really is cutting edge. Perhaps G Bennett (or Son) will love it.

Ryan offered one more piece of advice, ‘Don’t make the dentist your only goal. He’s just option one.’

‘He’s my only option,’ I said, meaning I fancied him like mad.

‘You shouldn’t run yourself down like that, Andy, you have loads of options. There are plenty of middle-aged men looking for the companionship of a middle-aged queen who’s been washed up on the shores of singledom through no fault of his own.’

Sometimes, just sometimes, he’s so unaware of how offensive he can be when he channels all his energy into being caring. He asked for the dentist’s name. I had to confess I’ve no idea if he’s G Bennett the son, G Bennett the father, or even what the G stands for.

‘You best pray he’s not Gordon Bennett!’ he snorted. ‘I mean, I can’t be introducing you to my friends as Andy and his exclamation, can I?’

‘Of course, he isn’t, that would be ridiculous,’ I replied. ‘Who would be so stupid as to name their child after a vociferation?’

‘Oh! Hang on! Selfie time! Pull your chins in, thank you very much, Andy.’

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