I had finally left the harmonious yet impeding life of suburbia. Around me metropolitan constructs pierced the skies and busy streets were occupied by vehicles of various sizes and colours. People of different races, creeds and fashion orientations mingled in a soup of diversity to willingly and unawarely celebrate tolerance. I was definitely where I wanted to be once again.
My new home was a room in a townhouse in a quiet street just off one of the bigger road of this city. It bore some semblance of what I had become acquainted with in the suburbs. Just a hint of tranquility of what otherwise seemed like a chaotic city.
I shared the house with an older gentleman, who was also the owner of the house. My first encounter with him had been very short and the general impression was good, however, during our discourse there was something about this guy that I couldn't put my finger on, and I did leave the place that evening with confident theories. As it turned out, my assumptions were all correct. My landlord was a homo. His 'friend', as he referred to him, was of Asian origin in his mid to late twenties. His appearance accurately fit the description of the non-flamboyant feminine queer with a twist of spoilt brat. The couple made me think about the millions of western men that went to Thailand to find this much younger and fit spouse. Maybe this approach to spouse-hunting worked both for the straight and for the queer; I wasn't sure, yet I couldn't help but categorise it as a father-son-relationship with 'benefits'.
It only took me a few days before I had nicknamed the love doves, The Senior Queer and The China Box. Though I didn't call them this to their faces, this was how I would refer to them in conversation with those acquainted with my current domestic conditions.
I noticed how through the first couple of weeks that they were uncertain and cautious around me. It was feasible to assume they were showing some sort of regard for me perhaps not being tolerant enough for their man love. Though after that they would often disappear upstairs into the bedroom for a couple of hours for some John-on-John action. It was in these moments, I would automatically put on my headphones and listen to music at full blast, and even though I could be closer to complete deafness at this point than I ever was before, that alternative to me was better than the possibility of hearing anything that was occurring in that bedroom. Unfortunately my tolerance had certain limits. You could be as queer as you wanted to be, but I begged to not bear witness to any visual or aural presentation of this sexual orientation.
Lamentably, one night I was doing a late night washing up, and I heard something that transformed me forever. I heard a loud moan coming from upstairs. It wasn't just any moan, but one of those moans that a man would exclaim right before he blew his beans. Even to this day, I was uncertain whom had let out that moan, and frankly I cared not to know, but I was still convinced that no man should let out that kind moan as a response to man handling. Again, I stood before myself transformed and scarred man doubting that I would ever recuperate.
The observation of a gay relationship this close had indeed shed light on how things worked. Often I had in jest said that being gay must be easier, because dealing with a man was more straight forward than dealing with a woman. My experience here was teaching me that I was gravely mistaken. There had been a couple of incidents, which I called “Crisis in the Sodomite mansion”, where the fights were no different from those between and a man and woman. The term “making someone your bitch” was verified through these arguments I had overheard, because one always stood out as being the emotional and feminine while the other took on the more masculine approach.
All in all, my experiences here were teaching me valuable lessons of how the relationship between two persons regardless of their sexual orientation or level of commitment would be like any other. Though from now on, I was sure I wouldn't suggest that being gay would be a solution to any problem that I would have with the opposite gender, not even in jest. Because for certain the make up sex would entail me putting my cock up someone's colon or his into mine.
Edward T. Shufflebottom
