by Brandon Witt
“You’re going to owe me so many favors, man. Do not think I do this for anyone.” I gingerly toed off my own sneakers and climbed onto the bed beside him where I could reach him. For me his shirt came easily out of his waistband, but I didn’t anticipate the second half of the equation. For every inch his shirt lifted up toward his head, I uncovered another inch of delightful, pale-colored torso. And to make things even worse, my fingers were brushing against his beautiful skin as I hauled it up. I tried to keep my mind on my job, even though my dick was filling with blood, draining it from my head. “Come on, Patti-cake. Sit up a bit so we can get this over your head. That’s it. Lift your arms. Here we go. Up and over. Now you do your pants.”
Patrick simply flopped back onto the bed with his arms still above his head. “No, man,” I complained. “Don’t do this to me. You have to do it yourself. There are things that are just plain mean to do to a gay man.”
But it made no difference. Either he was too drunk to reply or he was rotten to the core. I looked at the zipper of his jeans. Could I do it? Fuck, this was going to turn out badly.
You can do this, Jake. This is not Patrick. He’s just a body. Think about it like you were helping one of your sisters to get into bed. There’s no dick behind that zipper. There’s nothing to get caught up about.
The button came undone easily.
You cannot feel coarse hair on the back of your fingers. Ignore it.
The zipper parted and I averted my eyes. I didn’t need the extra stimulation. I crawled off the bed, grabbed the cuffs of his trousers near his ankles, and yanked until the material slithered down his legs and dropped on the floor. I scooped them up with his T-shirt and socks and whizzed them into the hamper in the en suite.
In the bathroom, I took some deep breaths and pushed down on my erection. Stop it! You cannot lust after this man.
I looked in the mirror, expecting to find desire stamped all over my features. Unfortunately, I looked just the same. So I took another deep breath and held it, telling myself to be a gentleman. He was in his undershorts now, which was close enough to the cotton boxer shorts he wore as pajamas that I would be able to roll him into the bed, pull up the covers, and run. Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds and you can be out of this room and he will be fine until the morning. You can do thirty seconds, can’t you, Jake? Easy. Just don’t look, okay? Don’t look at his chest, don’t look at his arse, don’t look at his package. Don’t look and run. Got it?
I stepped back into the bedroom and looked.
Oh, fuck.
The man hadn’t moved a muscle. Well, not really. There was one part of him that had moved considerably and was now sticking straight up in the air, tenting his underwear. I closed my eyes. God was testing me, I was sure of it.
I had to swallow several times before I finally gathered enough moisture to unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “You… you….” I sighed noisily. “Into bed, Patti-cake.”
He frowned and thrashed his head back and forth against the cover, indicating that he didn’t want to. One hand came down and pushed at the elastic holding up his undershorts. “Off. Need off.”
Shit, no! “No, man. Leave them on. You can sleep in them.”
Too late!
Patrick caught the edge of the material and shoved them down and his meat popped free, bouncing upward to flop against his stomach.
I’m not looking. I’m not…. Oh, sweet dreams of gay boys everywhere. Check that out!
My legs moved of their own volition and suddenly I was by his side reaching for that succulent flesh. I caught myself before I could touch and instead grabbed the edge of the undershorts and whisked them off. I turned my back to the heavenly vision Patrick made lying completely naked on his bed with a fucking huge erection and sprinted for the drawer where he kept his boxers. I grabbed the top pair—a very unassuming and unarousing maroon tartan—and turned back.
I had to grab my own dick and squeeze it hard to stop coming then and there. He wasn’t…. He couldn’t be…. Oh, fuck. He’s jacking himself in front of me. I froze as I watched that hand move lovingly and slowly over his own cock, pleasuring himself without shame.
This had to stop or I was going to have an aneurism. In my dick. I’d be the first person on the planet to die from an aneurism in his penis. I’d be famous, but for all the wrong reasons.
“Patrick. For fuck’s sake! This gay boy over here is going to explode if you do things like that where I can see. You may be blind but I have twenty-twenty vision and this is not good for my blood pressure.”
Did he stop? Of course not. I wasn’t that lucky in life. He just went on sliding his fingers up and down his shaft, and then to put the cherry on top of the pie, he turned to me and whispered, “Help me, Jake.”
Help him? Oh, fuck. How the bloomin’ fuck was I meant to answer that question? Hell, yes? Or shit, no? Oh, the decisions in life you have to make.
“Patti-cake…. Baby, you are drunker than a monkey’s uncle. You’re going to hate me for this in the morning. Now put your goddamn PJs on and go to sleep.”
“Please, Jake?” he just whispered back. “I won’t take long. And you don’t mind, do you? Just a little…?”
I groaned and rubbed at my tired eyes. If this was God’s test, I was about to fail spectacularly. Crash and burn, baby!
I crawled on the bed next to him until I was kneeling over him and took his cock firmly in my right hand. He moaned in ecstasy and relinquished his hold to my capable hand. It was a rhythm I was ever so familiar with, and I paused only once to spit gently on my palm before jacking him in earnest. He arched into my touch and cried out, urging me on faster and faster.
“Yes, Jake. Oh, God! Yes.”
I watched my hand blur for a moment before dragging my gaze up to his face. I wanted to see his expression as he came. His mouth was open wide, and his brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly he bit his lip, and his hips jerked up into my hand. I lost a bit of control right then. Fuck it! If the man is desperate enough to have a gay man jack him, he can deal with a little lip-lock from that same person.
I crashed my mouth down onto his, uncaring if he wanted it or not. I sucked his full bottom lip into my mouth, just as I felt the first spurt of ejaculate fountain up over my hand, providing masses of lubrication for my touch. I kissed and jerked, and Patrick took it all.
Finally he was dry and pulled away, and I looked down at his satisfied expression.
Well, hell. Now what happens?
PATRICK FELL asleep and I jerked myself off in the second bathroom using his come for lubrication. That’s what happened.
Classy, right?
Yep, that’s me. Class all the way.
I thought I would toss and turn all night, but instead I went to bed and slept like a baby. I woke in Patrick’s guest bedroom, disorientated from the strange surroundings and desperate for a piss.
After using the bathroom, I stumbled to the kitchen to find out the time. Patrick had no clocks in his house apart from the digital one in the kitchen that would recite the time out loud for you if you pressed the button. Shit! Nearly 11:00 a.m.!
I looked around and finally spotted my bag abandoned in the hallway next to the front door. Gregor followed me and whined, pushing against my leg—a sure sign that Patrick hadn’t managed to surface yet either. So I punched in the alarm code and opened the front door. Gregor gleefully bounded into the fenced front yard and immediately took care of his needs on the nearest tree.
I searched my bag for my mobile, which regretfully confirmed the lateness of the hour and also informed me of three missed calls and six text messages that I hadn’t seen. Well, aren’t I a popular guy?
I scrolled through my messages—a housemate making sure I was okay since I didn’t come home, an old flame asking for a date for old time’s sake, two from Maria asking if I was coming over, one from Lizzy asking why I wasn’t answering Maria’s phone calls, and one from the bank confirming that my next loan payment was due on Tuesday
.
I quickly answered the ones I needed to and went to check on Patrick. I knocked lightly on his bedroom door and stuck my head in.
“Patrick?”
He had his face buried in the pillow and the quilt pulled up around his shoulders so that just a patch of skin on the back of his neck was visible.
“Patrick? Are you alive?”
“No.” The answer was muffled in the pillow, but I heard it.
I chuckled. “Do you want a painkiller?”
“No.” There was a little pause while he reconsidered. “Oh, fuck me. Yes. Bring me the whole fucking packet.”
I grinned to myself. My bad habits were rubbing off on the guy. I’d never heard him swear so much. I fetched some tablets and a glass of water.
“Here,” I said, putting them down on the bedside cabinet.
He waved me away. “Just leave them. I’ll take them in a minute.”
“Nah ah!” I disagreed. “If I leave them, you’ll go back to sleep. Take them now, and I promise you’ll feel better in a little while.”
“No.” God, the man was like a little kid.
I folded my arms across my chest. “Do it now or else I’m leaving you—”
“Don’t care. Go away.” He still hadn’t lifted his head from the pillow.
“You didn’t let me finish. Sit up and take these tablets or else I’m leaving you and taking Gregor with me.”
Finally, he turned his head to the side. “Shit, you’re a sadistic bastard.”
“Yep. Now drink up.” I waited until he made a move toward the drink before I was satisfied. “I’m going to steal some of your clothes to wear and then I’m jumping in the shower. I’ll make pancakes for brunch, okay? That way you can eat ’em hot, or if your stomach needs some more time, they’ll be fine for later and you can eat ’em cold.”
Patrick found the glass of water, and I rummaged through his drawers, looking for some clothes to borrow. “Are you staying?”
I shook my head, even though I knew he couldn’t see, and pulled out some trakkies. “Nah. Sorry, man. I’ll make you pancakes but then I have to dash. Maria says that something’s wrong with Mum. She won’t get out of bed or some shit. I have to go over and sort it out. I don’t know why the fuck I have to do it all the time. I’m sure it must be Lizzy or Ellie’s turn now. But, no. Maria calls me and then calls Lizzy when I don’t answer, so then Lizzy and Maria call me. Now I have to take the bus over there ASAP and be back by six tonight for my Tav shift.”
At the mention of The Tav, Patrick groaned and buried himself under the covers again. “Don’t mention that place to me for at least another forty-eight hours. That Charlie served me something evil, I swear it.”
I laughed and left him to his raging hangover.
I RAPPED my knuckles against the door to Mum’s house and let myself in with my key. Someday the police are going to pull me over and search me, and I’m going to be interrogated about how many sets of keys I actually have on my key ring—my place, Mum’s, Ellie’s, Lizzy’s, Patrick’s, and The Tav’s. At times it feels like a huge weight I’m carrying around, both physically and metaphorically.
Mum’s state housing accommodation was tiny but functional: three bedrooms, one bathroom, a lounge room, a kitchen, and a laundry that was more of a nook than a room. I’d grown up in this house and had swept the floor so many times I could recreate the pattern of the floorboards in my sleep. The house had seen four babies raised in my lifetime, but since the place was at least thirty years older than me, I’m sure that many others had lived within its walls.
The house was old and sad, but I loved it anyway. No matter how bad people thought my childhood was, I didn’t care. I survived. I thrived. I loved these walls. Similar houses in the neighborhood had either been bulldozed and rebuilt, or renovated and extended. Mum’s little house looked like the poor cousin in the street these days. The suburb had certainly changed since I was in high school. Those days you didn’t walk the streets after dark. I wondered if the State Housing Commission would keep the house when Mum finally moved out, or sell it for a huge profit. Not that Mum would be moving out anytime soon. The woman was nowhere near getting her life together.
The front door opened directly into the lounge, and by habit I had a look around to check how bad things were. I was surprised and impressed that Maria had managed to keep things neat. Picking up after Mum was sometimes a full-time job. I took a small sniff and was pleased that I couldn’t smell any second-hand smoke or the stale odor of Mum’s cigarettes. I’d have to ask Maria what she used.
“Maria?” I called.
I heard a yell from the back and found my baby sister wielding a pair of hedge trimmers, attacking the bushes in the backyard.
“Hey, doll,” I greeted her.
She dropped the trimmers on the grass and came to give me a hug. “Thanks for coming over, bro. You’re about four hours late, but it’s good to see you.”
“Oi!” I protested. “I worked until after one o’clock in the morning. I need my beauty sleep!”
“It didn’t work,” she teased back. “I can’t see any beauty from where I’m standing.”
I narrowed my eyes in her direction and crouched down, ready to pounce, but she knew my intention and screeched the way only teenage girls can and took off running. I laughed and sprinted after her. We circled the yard a couple of times before I caught her and hoisted her up over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She shrieked.
“Put me down, Jake!”
“Now, where do you think I should put you down? In the rose bushes?”
“No! Don’t you dare!” Of course we both knew I wouldn’t do something like that, but it was part of the fun.
“I know! In the rubbish bin!” I started toward the large 240-liter bin in the carport.
“No! Please! Don’t! I take it back, I take it back. You’re beautiful. Supremely gorgeous.” Maria was laughing so hard, I could hardly understand what she was saying.
I looked around the backyard and spotted the perfect punishment. “Ah ha ha!” I roared like a pirate. “It will be water punishment for the prisoner!”
“What?” Maria began to kick and squirm. “No! Please, Jake!”
I pulled her into my arms and made for the birdbath. Maria screamed and laughed as I held her threateningly over the small bowl of water until her butt was just an inch from the surface.
“Stop! Jake! I’ll do anything. What do you want?”
I halted and cocked my head to the side. “Anything?”
“Yes!”
I considered for a moment and then lowered her to her feet, steadying her while she found her balance. “Okay, then. Tell me The Truth.”
Maria sagged in an exaggerated manner and looked up at me with beseeching eyes. “No,” she wailed. “Not The Truth.”
But I was firm, even as my lips were twitching madly, trying to let a grin escape. My eyebrows rose. “You said anything and I demand The Truth.”
She sighed dramatically and pouted. She was adorable but she wasn’t getting out of the promise. I wanted The Truth, so I glared until she finally began to recite the words I had taught all my sisters from an early age. The words I simply referred to as The Truth.
“You are the best big brother in the whole world. You are strong and handsome and smart and witty. And you are always right. I couldn’t ask for a better brother and that is The Truth.”
“Thank you.” I was gracious in my victory. I put my nose in the air and sauntered away. Maria laughed and called me a pig but followed until we were sitting comfortably at the outdoor table.
I turned serious. “So what’s up, doll? What’s wrong with Mum?”
Maria looked at me with eyes far older than her seventeen years. I felt terrible that she was left to look after our mother. The world shouldn’t be like this. “I don’t know, Jake. She’s sick or something. She hasn’t been out of bed for days. She lies there all day, then she’s up all night, eating crap and watching TV.”
“Is she on a binge?” I asked. It had happened before—solid weeks of drinking all night, then more drinking to get rid of the hangover.
“No. That’s the weird shit, Jake. There’s no drinking, no cigarettes. She’s been chewing these gum things and peppermints like last time she tried to give up smoking, only ten times worse. I haven’t seen her with a cancer stick for over two weeks, but she’s not drinking either. I’m scared, Jake. Is she dying or something?”
“Are you sure she’s not drunk? It’s not the first time she’s hid it in her room.”
“I haven’t been watching the booze as closely. The lack of smoking’s easy to spot, but I don’t know how long it is since she’s had a drink. At least four days for sure. Maybe even two weeks.”
I was surprised. “She didn’t go out last night?” I couldn’t remember the last time Mum didn’t go out on Friday night.
“No. See? I’m really scared for her.”
I swallowed hard, tamping down my fear to try and reassure my sister. I didn’t know what was going on. Cancer? Could you get emphysema at forty-four? Liver cancer? A brain tumor? A brain transplant? My mother not smoking or drinking was unheard of. She’d tried to give up both over the past twenty years, but always relied on one or the other. She’d done rehab a couple of times to dry out and ended up chain smoking to stop the cravings. The couple of times she’d tried to quit smoking she’d gone on alcoholic benders to overcome the nicotine withdrawal.
I squeezed Maria’s hand. “Give me five minutes. I’ll go and have a word with Mum.”
I approached her bedroom with trepidation. A dead body was at the top of my “God, I hope not” list, followed closely by my mother merrily slugging down a bottle of vodka with a strange, naked man in the room. Again.
I didn’t bother knocking, giving her less time to hide the evidence of whatever she was up to, but she wasn’t doing anything more than sleeping. I pulled the curtains slightly open to let in some sunlight, and Mum rolled over and blinked a couple of times.
“Mum?”
She smiled feebly at me, her face pale and drawn. “Hey, love.”
