by Barry Lowe
“Da-ad!”
“Need more?”
“Was I really that obvious?”
Mum was more placatory. “We wondered. We knew you’d tell us when you’d worked it out for yourself. We were always here if you needed us.”
I suddenly got a little teary eyed.
“So, you’re okay with this?”
“Of course. With IVF we can still look forward to grandchildren,” mum smirked. “And they’ll legalise gay marriage any day now and I can look forward to planning a big wedding and—”
“Whoa,” I cried. “Way too early. I’m still finding my feet.”
Dad stuttered for a moment, coughed, then launched into his embarrassing question. “By mature, you don’t mean like my age? There’s this one chap at work, unmarried, a bit anally retentive if you ask me, but—”
“Ewww. I do not want my parents trying to set up blind dates for me in an attempt to show how accepting they are. Let me make my own mistakes please.” I’m afraid I raised my voice. I wondered whether it would have made it easier if they had been less accepting.
A bit stunned by everything that had transpired at breakfast I returned to the bedroom. It was just about the time Mr. Robinson would appear in his fashionable suit, gather the children and strap them in the back seat of his Jeep and head off down the street toward the local school. Every morning I sat at the window to ogle and sigh at the short glimpse I got of the unattainable man of my wet dreams.
Just as I set myself up for a comfortable perv, there was a knock at the door. I sprinted back to the bed just as mum opened the door.
“I’m just heading off to the mall. Would you like to come with me?”
“Not today, mum, I have a lot of studying to catch up on.”
“You used to like going shopping with me.”
Before I could answer, there was the sound of a car being backed out of a garage opposite. Mum moved to the window, pulling aside the curtain. I was mortified, for the binoculars were still on the sill aimed directly at the Robinson house. She saw them, and then looked out at the view.
“Oh, I see. Well, I can see it’s nothing your father or I can help you study so I’d best leave you to it.”
I mumbled, “Thanks mum” as she quietly closed the door.
I scooted over to the window quickly. Mr. Robinson was going about his usual routine when I heard his name called and he looked around.
Shit, no! It was my mother crossing the road to speak to him. What was she up to? No matter how hard I strained I was unable to hear their conversation. At one stage, Mr. Robinson looked up at my window, smiling. I was hiding behind the curtain and hoped he couldn’t see me. I was beetroot with embarrassment.
The following day was my first Saturday at home. I was a nervous wreck waiting for eleven o’clock to roll around. I told mum I didn’t want to be disturbed under any circumstances for at least an hour as I would be working on a particularly difficult assignment that needed my utmost concentration.
The traffic did seem to get heavier as the hour approached. It was a hot day so everything looked set for quite a show. The garage door opened and Mr. Robinson drove his car out onto the street. Yes, he was dressed in old overalls. As he began to suds the vehicle, the water and soap wet his outfit so that it clung to his body. It did not appear he was wearing underwear.
My cock was hard and I’d taken the precaution of having lube nearby so I could stroke without my knob getting hand burn. Men in cars not normally seen in the neighbourhood honked their horns as they passed and Mr. Robinson waved happily. He was either very friendly and gregarious or totally oblivious to the sexual connotations of what was occurring. One adventurous individual went as far as pulling up alongside my adored one and spoke to him after lowering his window. Mr. Robinson seemed quite amiable enough in conversation even looking toward my house from time to time and pointing once while nodding his head.
Then the car pulled into our driveway. It was Vince and Troy. They’d interrupted my road to orgasm. Although my cock was still leaking pre-come I quickly put it away and threw on baggy clothes that would disguise my excitement, and ran downstairs. Mum had already answered the door and was happily chatting to my best friend and his lover.
I invited them up to my room but mum suggested, “It’s too hot and stuffy inside today why don’t you boys go out and sit on the front porch. I’ll bring you something nice and cold to drink.”
What could be better? A front row seat.
“Your mum is so cool,” Troy said as we lounged on the chairs and the love seat while ogling our neighbour. He waved as we came out of the house and we all waved back although me more eagerly than the others.
“You think my mum knows I fancy him?” I asked.
Vince snorted.
“That man is god,” Troy said and Vince biffed him on the shoulder.
Troy pretended to pout. “I can look, can’t I?”
“But don’t touch.”
Troy snuggled into his boyfriend, pecking him adoringly on the cheek. Mum brought out the cans of soft drink at that moment: Troy and Vince sprang apart guiltily.
“We’re all adults here,” she said. “Just don’t scare the neighbours.”
We all helped ourselves to the cold drinks while as mum waved to Mr. Robinson who called out a greeting.
“I can see what all the fuss is about now,” she said dreamily. “If I were thirty years younger I think I’d make a play for him myself. Hmm, I wonder if he likes older women.”
“Mu-um!”
“Just saying. You know desire doesn’t automatically dry up when you turn fifty, young man.” She flounced back inside the house putting on quite a show for the man over the road.
Troy said it again. “Your mum is so cool.”
Vince had been watching me. “You really like him, don’t you?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Troy asked.
“No, I don’t mean in that superficial kid in a lolly shop way.”
“Yeah, as much as I can without knowing the man,” I admitted.
Vince stood up, grabbed a cold can, taking it across the street. Mr. Robinson wiped his forehead before popping the can and putting it to his lips. Some of the liquid spilled out the corners of his mouth and ran down his chin. My tongue inched out as if attempting to lick up the residue. They talked for a few moments, glancing our way from time to time, then shook hands, and Vince strolled back to join us.
“Why do I get the idea you’re up to something?” I asked.
Vince’s smug looks merely confirmed my suspicions.
“Just make sure you’re showered and in your best finery at eight o’clock when we call for you,” Troy said.
“And it wouldn’t hurt to douche,” Vince added mischievously. “Just in case.”
“Eww,” I said.
Just in case, I did shower, shit and shave and was ready half an hour early, getting very antsy while I waited impatiently. About five minutes later I got a call on my mobile from Troy. He was running late.
“Not to worry,” he said chirpily. “We’ve asked a friend of ours to pick you up. We’ll meet you at The Back Door a little after eight-thirty.”
He hung up before I could tell him I’d changed my mind and intended staying home.
The town’s gay bar was called The Back Door not because of some silly attempt at innuendo but because in its early years in a homophobic town it remained unnamed and unsignposted, its only identification in the town’s downmarket area being a hand-painted sign with an arrow and Enter by the Back Door. The name stuck and no attempt to give the venue a classier name ever took. The locals always referred to it as The Back Door.
It wasn’t a bad spot. It had loud, thumping music upstairs for the younger crowd or the younger-at-heart vulture dressed up as chicken, while the downstairs bar was more conducive to chatting and enjoying a drink. It was for cruising. I know Troy and Vince were well intentioned but I didn’t feel like it. I began to rehearse my excuses for not going: a terri
ble headache, a prolapsed sphincter, an attack of crabs. None of them seemed even remotely plausible.
I was still deciding between excuses when the doorbell rang. I sucked in my breath hoping the first thing that popped out of my mouth wouldn’t be too stupid for words. I knew the guy at the door was a blind date Troy and Vince had obviously set up and I didn’t want to be rude. Chances are he wouldn’t be a dog but he’d be unrelentingly average and I just didn’t feel like average that night.
I was already apologising profusely as the door swung open, the words catching in my throat.
“Hi,” he said. “You ready? Vince rang to say I should pick you up, he’s running late.”
I’m afraid I just gaped at him, unable to speak.
He seemed concerned. “Are you okay? You look a bit feverish.”
“Who is it, sweetheart?” Mum called from the kitchen before walking in on my total paralysis. “Oh, Mr. Robinson. Jayson, you didn’t tell me you were going on a date with Mr. Robinson.”
That brought me around quick smart. “Mu-um, I’m not going on a date. I’m going out with Troy and Vince. Mr. Robinson is just giving me a lift.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
I knew she wasn’t buying it for a minute.
Then, just like a mother, she added, “Don’t get too drunk. And don’t be home too late.”
Way to put down your son in front of a man he’s trying to impress. I shoved him out the door, closing it behind me before she could belittle me any further.
“Cool lady, your mum,” he said.
“If anyone else tells me how cool my mum is, I think I’ll scream,” I said churlishly, wondering whether he fancied her. That would be just my luck.
Mr. Robinson walked ahead of me, giving me the opportunity to admire his perfect round butt encased to perfection in his tight jeans. He was good enough to eat. He wore a T-shirt, two sizes too small to contain his massive arms and chest, the fabric straining not to burst at the seams. I felt weak in the sphincter just looking at him. My mind was only just beginning to join the dots. Mr. Robinson is gay? Nah, there were lots of straight men who went to The Back Door for a drink, although I couldn’t think of any just at that precise moment.
“Debbie’s taken the kids away for the weekend, so I had a free night.”
I hopped into the vehicle, still unable to speak.
“Buckle up and we’ll be underway.”
I clicked my seatbelt into place and turned to stare at him. The first thing out of my mouth was the excruciatingly embarrassing, “You can’t be gay.”
He merely chuckled as he started the car. “This body says otherwise, Chiquita. How many straight guys you know built like me, eh?”
I knew it was a joke rather than conceit.
“But everyone thinks you’re married with kids.”
“Debbie’s my little sis. The kids are hers. She’s taken them to visit her asshole of a husband to see if there’s anything left to salvage of their relationship. She still loves the bastard. I don’t know what she sees in him. She’s better off staying with me so I can take care of them.”
“Stifles any chance of a relationship, or even sex,” I suggested.
“I’m over relationships. Big time.”
I filed that away for later because the bitter way he said it brooked no discussion at the moment.
“As for sex,” he continued. “A much over-rated commodity in my book.”
I’m such a klutz, my mouth is always flapping. “Easy for you to say. You’re gorgeous and can obviously have any man you want—”
“Then how come the man I wanted didn’t want me,” he snapped.
Change the subject, Jayson.
“All I’m saying is, I’m just starting out and I’m a bit on the homely side so sex is a really big deal for me at the moment. When I’m old and jaded like you are, then maybe I won’t care so much.”
He looked over at me and lifted my face toward him, keeping his other hand firmly on the wheel. If he was insulted he didn’t show it.
“Who told you that you were homely, kid?”
“Don’t ever call a grown man, kid, even in jest.”
“Sorry. I forget how sensitive you young guys are. When you’re my age you’d do anything to be called ‘kid’ again. And you didn’t answer the question.”
“Dunno what it’s like in your era, granddad, but we young 'uns have this new-fangled invention in our log cabins. We call it a mirror,” I joked. “Shows us young folk what we really look like without fear or favour.”
He let my face go, saying simply, “Then your mirror is lying if it tells you you’re homely.”
That comment took my breath away and we spent the remainder of the journey in silence. The car park was crowded, not unusual for a Saturday night, and I saw Troy’s car was already here.
As we walked toward the bar, Mr. Robinson – shit, I still didn’t know his name – said, “Sorry about calling you a kid earlier. I’m not much good around young guys. Not my scene. All they have between their ears is party, drugs and loud music.” I went to interject. “Yeah, I know I shouldn’t tarnish all you young guys with the same brush but, well, experience has taught me otherwise.”
I would have to seriously reappraise my attraction to this man. “You know, Mr. Robinson, for someone who is so goddam physically perfect, you’re a real downer. Maybe you should get yourself a personality to go with the body.”
With that I strode away from him and into the bar where I was engulfed in a flurry of activity as the entire bar screamed “Surprise!”
I beamed at Troy and Vince who had draped a banner proclaiming ‘Welcome Home Jayson’ across a corner of the room, setting up party central around a number of the booths. Even patrons who didn’t know me joined in the revelry. I was backslapped and congratulated across the room to where Troy was beaming. I hugged him and Vince and was genuine in my thanks.
“What a nice welcome,” I choked.
“Where’s your date?” Vince asked.
“You mean the guy with the muscles and the fun bypass?” I said sarcastically.
Troy looked stricken. “You didn’t?”
I nodded that, yes, I had. “Both barrels”
Troy sighed. “Vince, go see if you can find him.”
He pulled me aside. “I told Vince we should have warned you. You’ll have to cut him some slack, Jay. He’s hurting. Short version is he was in a relationship for fifteen years. He and his boyfriend bought the house opposite you together and just before they were about to move in, the bastard boyfriend ran off with a younger man. That was less than six months ago. Since then he’s thrown all his energy into paying off the louse and helping his sister and her two kids through their messy problems.”
“You told me you didn’t know if he was gay.”
“Vince got the story out of him earlier today when he originally turned down our invitation to join our group tonight. This is his first time out since his break-up. It’s a big deal for him.”
The crowd hushed as Vince dragged the obviously reluctant Mr. Robinson into the bar. Patrons gaped or buzzed with gossip so that by the time he reached me half the men had claimed prior knowledge of his gayness or else maintained they had slept with him.
Vince shoved him in one side of the booth while Troy did the same to me from the other end. Mr. Robinson and I met in the centre, hemmed in by our two well-wishers.
“I think you two should talk,” Vince said.
“Be good,” Troy added.
“If you two promise not to move, we’ll be right back with drinks.”
He took our order, leaving us alone.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know.”
“He told you?”
“Yep.”
“Shit.”
“That’s exactly what I feel like.”
He laughed.
“I can’t call you Mr. Robinson all night,” I said. “Sounds like I’m back in high school.”
“Where are my
manners?” he said. “Oh, I remember. I left them with my personality.”
“Ouch.”
“Scott,” he said.
“Jayson.”
“I know. I knew your name the day you came home.”
“You stalking me?”
“I’m not the one staring through binoculars.”
“You saw me?” I reddened.
“The sun glints off the lens in the morning.”
“You must think I’m some sort of pervert.”
“That makes two of us then,” he said kindly. “I borrowed my nephew Ty’s telescope one night, he’s mad keen on astronomy, to see what you were up to. You know you can see straight through those flimsy curtains of yours at night when you have that little Snoopy lamp on beside your bed?”
“Oh, fuckin’ shit!”
“That’s a nice piece of meat you’re carrying.”
“You watched me jerk off?”
“There was nothing of interest on TV that night so…” he shrugged.
I smiled. “And what did you do?”
“Joined you, of course. You should see the hot expression you get on your face when you’re about to come.”
I snuggled up against him. “Maybe you’d like to see it up close and personal.”
I felt him tense. Disappointed, I moved away.
Troy brought our drinks over and I downed it in one gulp.
“Steady on,” Scott said. “If you get drunk too early, someone will take advantage of you.”
I stood up to go buy a second vodka and bitter lemon, sneering, “That’s what I was hoping.”
Okay, I was being a jerk, but the prospect of consummation with the man of my dreams was receding faster than the hairline on the older – much older – man who sidled up to me at the bar.
“This one’s on me,” he said, adding before I could refuse, “I work with your dad.”
