by Ned Williams
As we consumed our coffees and indulged in a bit of innocent small talk, he progressively slid along the seat until he was right beside me. During this steady progression, he persisted in rubbing his crutch. Was he doing this for my benefit? Was he making overt sexual advances, or was I simply imagining it? So far, there had been no hint that he was even gay, let alone finding me in any way desirable. He always sat in on Winston and my music sessions – but hardly ever said a word to either of us.
After he had sidled over as far as he could and we were actually touching thighs, he leaned over and planted a sensual kiss on my cheek. ‘Well,’ I thought, ‘that certainly clears that up!’
“Want some more?” Leonard raised a quizzical eyebrow. Was he talking about the kiss – or another coffee?
“Leonard?” I managed to blurt out with a smile in my voice.
I quickly recovered my composure and, for a moment, we simply stared at one another. He looked at my lips. After another second, we unanimously launched ourselves at each other, luxuriating in a passionate, hurried embrace. The front door being slammed precipitated a swift halt in the proceedings. In a single bound, Leonard shot to the far end of the sofa.
Brimming with abject apologies for his late arrival, Winston swept into the room. “Oh, good, Leonard made you a drink. Well done, son.”
Taking the cue, I grabbed the cup to show that everything was perfectly normal. As Winston busied himself getting ready for one of our evenings, I was able to spend the time composing myself. Was I in another dimension? The grabbing of my cup probably looked more suspicious than if I’d left it alone – but I was agreeably confused.
Having shed his jacket, Winston returned. “I hope Leonard has been keeping you entertained!” Before I could answer, he marched out to the kitchen.
I spluttered into the cold dregs of my coffee. Leonard grinned. “Oh, I think so, dad.”
I poked out my tongue at him. He winked and drained the remains of his coffee. This made me remember the knowing wink that Tamara had given as she left. What was going on?
Later that evening, when Winston went to the toilet, Leonard and I found ourselves alone for a few moments. We hurriedly made a date for the following weekend – but, he insisted, away from his home. We chose a place of mutual knowledge for our little assignation.
Believe it or not, even through all my adventures on the racks, this was the first time I’d ever had the chance of going with someone who was black. The list of various nationalities I had gone through was quite impressive – but never anyone black. I felt that I was becoming quite exotic.
When we met for our date, Leonard took me to a flat that was owned by an elderly gay black friend of his. For a moment I thought we would all be joining in together, but Leonard guided me into a small spare/box room and closed and locked the door. I felt safe.
The session wasn’t very successful as he was looking for someone with whom he could have a good screw. We were bread and bread. However, this didn’t stop us having a reasonably good time.
Over the next few weeks, we used the flat regularly. I became extremely happy and comfortable about the whole scene. Even though we weren’t sexually compatible, it was all very pleasant.
One evening, when we were due to go out, I called around for Leonard. As he was still dissatisfied with his choice of apparel, he invited me up to his bedroom. Whilst I waited for him to make up his mind, I sprawled on his bed. Watching him stomp around in his underpants became a real turn-on.
“Is there anyone else at home?” I asked – trying to hide my mounting excitement.
Leonard, one leg in a pair of white trousers, grinned. “No. We’re all alone.” He removed his leg. “Why?”
“Oh, I just wondered.” He gave me a knowing look. “Well, you know... I’m feeling a bit – you know. Randy.”
“I’m glad you said that. I haven’t been parading around here, putting on this fashion show for my own benefit.”
“Is anyone due home soon?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so.” He glanced at his door. “Want to risk it? There’s no lock, I’m afraid.” What was it with him and his bloody locks?
I patted the bed, “Come here.”
Just as we were right in the middle of something that couldn’t be easily explained away, Tamara sailed in and caught us. I yelped, blushed and hastily scrabbled with my flies. Leonard didn’t move. “Sorry, boys, I think I should have knocked.” She then laughed and sailed back out again. Leonard had made no attempt at hiding his swollen member – and it was of a proportion that wouldn’t go unnoticed.
“God, Leonard. I’m so sorry if I’ve got you into trouble.” I was feeling highly embarrassed and guilty. Leonard looked at me as though I were insane.
“Oh, don’t worry about her,” he reassured, “she’s as big a slut as I am.”
“But she saw – everything.”
“So? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Does she know about you?”
“She’s my sister. I tell her everything.”
“Everything?!” I gulped.
“Everything!”
“Oh, shit!” My mind raced. “Even about us?”
“Every detail.”
I groaned. Now the full significance of that wink made itself known. I’d been had.
Within a week Tamara began to turn this piece of knowledge to her advantage. She started to indulge in a happy sort of blackmail, which culminated in a particularly awkward conversation – or, at least, to me. She sat down and slowly crossed her legs. “Now, what are we going to do about it?”
“What d’you mean?” Her confident manner was worrying.
“Let’s put it this way. I find the occasional white boy quite appealing.”
“Ye–es?” I had a feeling that I knew what was coming next.
“You see, I don’t have a boyfriend – at the moment.”
“What about Leonard?” I could see the danger in such complications.
“I love him dearly – but not as a boyfriend.”
“No. I meant – what about my friendship with him. I think it might prove – well – involved.”
“I was only joking. I knew exactly what you meant.” She smiled and shook her head at my naïveté. “My brother is the sort of person who likes to, how shall I put it; ‘share and share alike’.”
“Well, I don’t know.” I was genuinely doubtful.
“I can tell you now. You don’t have any choice in the matter. Remember, I have knowledge.”
Thus we began an affair. Tamara told Leonard all about it and, instead of being angry, he merely thought it funny.
I continued to see them both – separately, I hasten to add.
It became so complicated that, one day, I arrived for a date with Leonard – Tamara answered the door and asked in all seriousness, “Whose turn is it tonight? His or mine?”
If the situation had remained as it was, I could have just about coped but I soon found out that Leonard and Tamara thrived on intrigue.
Thanks to Tamara’s delightfully evil sense of adventure, word spread throughout the younger members of their extended family that a willing white boy was on offer. I began receiving invitations from many of the females (though, none of the males). A few of these offers, I blush to say, were taken up. Even so, it began to worry me. It was all getting rather too complicated. A small but rather important fact compounded this. I worked with Sophie, another member of the family.
The whole situation was beginning to freak me out. What was I becoming, a piece of meat? I know, because of my rack–work, I realise that I shouldn’t have been affected by it, but I was. On the racks, the clients are often nameless – but this was a family who had taken me into their home and trusted me. I repaid their parents’ generosity by sleeping with both their children! I felt like an abused abuser. It was also a little too incestuous for comfort.
I was dividing so much time between the family, Marti, and the racks, that my art classes were bei
ng neglected. My artistic creativity (such as it was) was beginning to show definite signs of suffering.
It was with mixed feelings that I deliberately withdrew my presence from Winston’s family. My absence didn’t appear to worry either Leonard or Tamara but Barbara must have wondered what on earth had happened.
For a while longer, I did continue to see Winston. The dread that Winston might find out what I’d been up to with his darling offspring, made me flinch. After making some pathetic excuse, I insisted that we met in cafés. I even managed a major victory by persuading him to accompany me to a single, live concert. I quickly learned, at first hand, what he had been complaining about.
Naturally, with the removal of the binding connection of music appreciation, our relationship soon suffered. Our meetings became less and less. Eventually, they ceased altogether and Sophie became decidedly cool towards me.
Marti Revisited
To make matters even worse, on the Marti front, things had been slowly but steadily developing. Soon after those first solo trips to her flat; Marti started to hint that she would like us to begin a full frontal relationship.
Initially, my reaction was, ‘When do we start?’ but I thought she had the right to know a little of the truth about me. If she wanted to go ahead with our affair, then fine, if not – well, I would be disappointed, but I would understand.
I broached the subject with some trepidation. “Marti,” I began, somewhat tentatively, “before anything happens between us, I think there is something you should know.”
“Really?” She looked worried. “I get it, you don’t like me in that way?” There was a hurt quality in her voice that made me want to hold her. I refrained. I had to say what I had to say.
“Oh, God, no, it’s not that. Please, get that idea right out of your head.” She looked relieved. “No! It’s something else.”
She laughed, “What then?” I paused, wondering what would be the best way to come out with it. I decided to use shock tactics. “Come on. Is it so bad that l won’t forgive you?” To ease my discomfiture, she laughingly added, “Alright, how many people have you murdered?”
“Well, you see – I’m gay!”
“I know.”
“Really?”
“Rick told me. Besides, I’ve mixed with gay people all my life. I do know the signs, you know?” She was agreeably taking it rather well.
“And you don’t mind?”
“Not in the least, Carl. Why should I? It’s got nothing to do with me. As a matter of fact, that’s the precise reason why I want to start a relationship.”
I didn’t realise the full import of this last remark until much later.
After a bottle of Chianti, we ended up in her bedroom and embarked on the intimate side of our relationship.
She was as affectionate and considerate in her lovemaking as she was in everyday life. There was no rush.
The following week, I let myself into her flat with the key she’d given me when I was confronted by a suspicious looking Matthew.
“Since when have you had a key?” he demanded. Before I could answer, Marti came in from the bathroom. “I hope there’s nothing going on between you two.” In modern parlance, he was showing a lot of bad attitude.
I couldn’t help wondering at his double standards. Before I could say anything, Marti started on at him.
“Matthew?” He turned a belligerent face towards her. “You don’t own me, you know?”
“I’m not listening!” Without further comment from either of them, Matthew stormed out of the front door.
Marti looked at my worried face. “Don’t bother yourself about it,” she assured me, “he’ll get over it.”
“What’s going on between you two?” I ventured.
“Nothing at all, I promise.”
“But…”
“If you don’t mind, Carl, I’d like to leave it there. I’ll get it sorted out and tell you all about it then.”
“I’d rather you told me now.” I didn’t like the emotional breaks in her voice.
“Please, Carl, do as I ask.”
I did.
We started to see each other on a weekly basis. No further mention was made of Matthew. I was dying of curiosity but tact kept me from asking.
I arrived one day to discover Marti in a terrible state. At first she refused to tell me what had happened but I persisted. This time I wasn’t going to be side–tracked.
Eventually, and, I think, with some relief, she told me what had happened. Matthew had come around to see her. He was drunk and his visit had culminated in a frightening row.
I listened to her with barely suppressed irritation as she told me how she’d attempted to tell Matthew that everything was over between them. He neither liked nor accepted any of this. He immediately guessed that I was the new ‘stud’, as he put it, in her life. I can only assume that he felt disenfranchised because his cover of working normality and respectability was being withdrawn.
To take her mind off the argument, I took Marti out for a meal. Slowly, she began to cheer up.
There was still something which bothered her. “Now it’s all over, I want you to promise me one thing.” As she said this, she fidgeted uncomfortably.
“If I can.” I knew that she was going to make me agree that I wouldn’t take any revenge on Matthew for what he’d done. I was right.
A week passed before I came across Matthew again in ‘Bongo’s’. Although the break was made by Marti herself, it soon became clear that Matthew was somehow blaming me. I quickly became the object of his vindictiveness. A few choice remarks were thrown at me over the bar. I refused to rise to them and walked out.
Because of this encounter, the next time I met up with Marti, I insisted that she tell me the whole story of their relationship.
“It’s all rather complicated. I’m not sure you will understand.”
“Why shouldn’t I? You understood about my being gay.”
“That’s different.” She dismissed.
“No it isn’t”
“Well, if you really must know…” I settled down to listen.
Marti told me the full story of their strange relationship.
Although, to him, Matthew’s view of their alliance was fairly straight forward and clear–cut, Marti’s was much more complex. It appears that, ever since she was a child, Marti’s one great desire in life was to mother a child of her own. Over the last couple of years, this desire had become ever more desperate and all consuming. She knew, exactly, the terms upon which this would be achieved. Apart from the initial involvement, the father would only be there as an occasional male role model for the child. As she was highly independent and financially comfortably off, there was no question of any monetary liability on the father’s part. Indeed, it would have been actively resented. To Marti, the only way to solve her problem of how she could achieve this personal state of perfection was by making the conscious choice of having the child sired by a sympathetic gay man. Her first, concerted attempt had been with Matthew – but, sadly, he had proved a huge disappointment. For some reason, he either couldn’t or wouldn’t co–operate, sexually, very well. Perhaps, because Matthew was using her as a front for his career, he simply found it convenient not to.
Her confession, though difficult for her, brought Marti and me ever closer. An extra warmth and trust crept into our affection. It would be easy to accuse her of being a ‘fag hag’ – but that would have been doing her a grave injustice. Her gentleness and benevolence pervaded everything she did and everyone she met.
After a couple more weeks of highly inventive love–making, she told me there was something important that she wanted to discuss.
Thinking back, I realise that I must have been pretty stupid but, with my hand on my heart, I can honestly say that I didn’t expect her wholly predictable H–Bomb. For me, when she suddenly and surprisingly told me how she was going to ditch the idea of Matthew doing the siring job and, instead, proposed that I father her child, I
was highly thrilled, honoured and complimented. Then, almost immediately, and true to form, I became rather dubious. What would be the outcome? If she ever found out, how would my mother react? I was sixteen, a rent boy, unhappy at home and, in many ways, immature. What sort of role model could I be for a child? With a million provisos, I agreed. Oh, the arrogance of youth! How could such a momentous decision be made so lightly? But that’s what I did.
Although I had said, ‘yes’, Marti insisted I thought about it for a few days. And think, I did. For a week I thought about little else. I know I should have asked advice from Andy, Sheba or any of the rest of my friends who would have been sympathetic – but I didn’t. I felt it was a circle that I had to square on my own. Even though I thought of the many anxieties and concerns, there was a fundamental question which kept returning. Although I would have none of the responsibilities with the child, did I actually have the desire to become a father? Yes. No! YES! NO!! YES!!! NO!!!! YEESSS!!!!! – YES. Yes.
The next time I went around to her place, I told Marti what I had decided. She shrieked with joy, flung her arms around my neck, giving me an enormous kiss as she did so. Then, as if I had brutally slapped her, she went very serious. “Carl, have you really thought about it?”
“Oh, Marti, I can assure you, I’ve thought about very little else.”
Without wasting any time, she dragged me into the bedroom. It was so much like a business transaction, I was extremely nervous. The whole act of attempting to make a baby became an unmitigated disaster. As soon as I tried to penetrate her, my sex organ went into a somnambulistic state. Between Marti and myself, we tried everything to get my catatonic dick to work, but it slept on and refused to have anything to do with it.
