Chapter 3

I MANAGED to order Jay’s super-fussy drink without too much difficulty and the moans and sounds of appreciation coming from his mouth made it worth the loss of pride I’d experienced in ordering it.

It was a conundrum I’d struggled with for longer than I would admit to myself. If I had been meeting a woman, there would’ve been no shame in ordering the drink. But because it was for a slightly feminine male, there was a problem. What was the problem with Jay?

My two—somewhat bleh—sexual encounters with other guys had been brief. Both men had been older than me and manly men. If I liked men so much, why didn’t I like the big, buff bodybuilder types? Sure I liked them, they were nicely built and all. But they didn’t keep me up at night. They didn’t make me melt into a puddle of mush at the thought of bringing them into my bed. They didn’t send shivers down my spine by just saying, “Thanks, man.”

With Jay, I liked that he liked to be high maintenance. His fingernails were polished, his hair carefully styled, his makeup applied. He obviously spent time in the morning working on his appearance. I liked that. I liked that he did and I didn’t. I didn’t want to be like him at all, I was happy with my own casual appearance. But I liked that he was different.

And yet a carefully coiffed and polished woman hardly did a thing for me. It was extremely frustrating.

I’d done research on the Internet. I’d googled and found references to fairies, queens, gym rats, twinks, bears, daddies, and drags. I guess the best way to describe Jay was somewhere between a twink and a queen. He was tall, but slight framed and feminine, had great dress style (most of the time!), wore makeup, and smelled divine. But he wasn’t a “flaming queen”—no sequins and glitter, no heels or skirts or feathers. He was just Jay.

So why did his, See you on Monday, man. My turn to get coffee make me wish the weekend would fly, and yet the sight of thirty-six sweaty men in tight white shorts on the football field get hardly a twitch out of my cock. I appreciated the thirty-six pairs of buttocks—okay, maybe only thirty-five because you don’t perv on your own brother, do you?—but they didn’t keep me up Saturday night.

It was Jay, and his moans, and his “mmms,” and his “ahhs” that did that. Twice. Not that I was counting.

Sunday I caught the 532 bus to my parents’ house for our monthly Sunday Roast. John’s car whizzed past me and tooted as I made my way up the hill to number twenty-eight. I waved and wasn’t surprised to see John leaning against his car, waiting for me when I got to the top. My parents had downsized after John moved out, and were now living in a smaller, newer house. It had less garden for Mum to look after, but still had two spare bedrooms—for the grandkids, of course.

I puffed and leaned with John for a minute, rubbing my leg. It still wasn’t good after that stupid run, and the hike up the hill was beneficial—although painful—therapy for it. John was a terrific brother, though. He didn’t comment on it, just shot the breeze with me for a while, letting me recover. Finally, he said, “Shall we go in?”

I scoffed. “Safety in numbers and all that, huh?” John winked at me and led the way. Attendance at our family’s Sunday Roast was strictly compulsory, only death or a stay in the hospital could get you out of it. If you had the flu you still had to turn up. If you were covered in a poison ivy rash you still had to turn up. If you were in jail you still had to turn up. And if you were married, engaged, or dating, you had to bring “the other half.” No excuses. Ever.

For the past four years I’d pretty much borne the brunt of our mother’s “so you didn’t bring someone this month?” spiel. Our mother had given up on having a daughter after John came out without the required “girly” bits. Five boys, one after the other, with nary a vagina seen. She wasn’t game to make it six. So she made it her mission to raise us to the point where we could bring home women so she could foster and fuss over our wives and daughters.

Dale had made a good start for her—married and with a newborn. Dale had hooked and managed to keep a wife for Mum to care for. He was a superstar because he had Candice, although I had brought her home first in that weekend between my cousin’s wedding and the sorry-I-like-your-brother-better speech. But that was rarely mentioned in our family—it was embarrassing to Candice and it wasn’t my shining moment. So Candice was now a permanent fixture at the table and I am certain that if ever Dale and Candice split up, it would be Dale who would be uninvited to Sunday Roast.

Accordingly, we all joked that Dale was the favorite son because he had made her a grandmother first. Cameron came in a close second. He and Anita had been married for three years now. No babies, though, much to Mum’s disappointment. Whenever she hinted in that direction, Cameron would just get a big, cheesy grin on his face and tell Mum that he was “having too much fun practicing for conception to worry about babies.” Mum would turn purple and change the subject, every damn time.

My oldest brother Ben was about to get married to Alison. The wedding was two months off and preparations were in full swing. With any luck, I would be able to distract Mum today by asking Alison for details. Mum would be transfixed.

So that just left John and me to get the “so you didn’t bring someone this month?” speech. John had been immune for nearly a year, but recently he and Debbie had broken up, so he’d gotten to join me last month with the lecture, and by the looks of it, he would get it again this month.

John opened the front door and we made our way into the house. Laughter and chatter greeted us and I did the round of handshakes, back slaps, and kisses, greeting everyone and asking “how are you?” before heading for Mum. She was cuddling Dale’s son, Isaac, who was sound asleep and tightly wrapped in a fluffy blue blanket. Mum held her arm out for me and I obligingly hugged her over the baby and kissed her cheek.

“Hi, Mum.”

“Hi, sweetie. You didn’t bring anyone with you this month?”

No subtlety—that’s my mum. I swallowed a sigh and hid my grimace. “I brought John, Ma, didn’t you see us walk in together?”

Cameron brought me a beer and placed it on the table in front of me. He spoke softly so only I would hear, “Just say ‘no’ and get it over with, mate.”

I heard my dad mention something about football and Dale say something about renovations. I wished I could be on the other side of the room, talking to them instead of facing my mother.

She gave me a playful slap on my shoulder. “Devil-child. You know exactly what I mean, young man.”

“I swear, Mum. I don’t! Who do you want me to bring?” I could hear Alison talking of weddings. Even that conversation was infinitely preferable.

“A girl, silly!” John came up behind me and gave Mum a hug, too. “You need to pay attention to this, too, John.”

John groaned but patiently waited for her oft-repeated discourse. I flashed my best little-boy grin. “Any girl, Mum? Do you have a preference? Blonde? Brunette? John and I can be on the lookout for her, then, just in case we see one that meets your approval.”

Mum was flustered and waved her hand around as if she wanted to slap me across the back of my head. “Oh, go on with you! You know what I mean. Someone you like. Someone who likes you back.”

I grinned and teased her. “What about Aaron, Mum? What if I bring Aaron? He likes me.” Aaron had been my best friend since primary school. John snorted.

“If Liam gets to bring Aaron, I get to bring Rusty. My dog likes me. Is that good enough, Mum?”

She pointed her finger at John with a stern look. “That beast does not get to come within fifty meters of this house until he is better behaved! He dug up all my garden last time he was here!”

“Aw, Mum! It wasn’t all your garden. It was one little hole, and I put the soil back, didn’t I?”

“Still. He doesn’t come.” She narrowed her eyes in John’s direction. “So have you met anyone new, yet?”

John groaned again and rolled his eyes as he slumped against the kitchen counter. “Mu-um. I’ve been single for just a couple of months. Let me get my breath before plunging me back into a relationship!”

Her laser eyes swung back to me. “And what about you, Liam? Have you met anyone you like?”

Jay.

For a horrified second I thought I let the name slip out loud. But thankfully no one reacted, so I hadn’t. Still, his image floated in front of me—a tasteful image because I was in my father’s house, after all. I could see Jay now, his barf-in-my-bag-awful tartan pants, his habitual head tilt as he considered something I said, his hair slicked back like an old movie star, his cute little diamond studs in his ear, his skinny-café-mocha-with-only-half-a-sugar-please.

I turned to hide my smile but mothers have eyes that see around corners. She gave a loud gasp. “Liam Gregory Turner. You have met someone! Dale, quick, grab him and bring him back here and make him tell me.” Dale moved to intercept me and I rolled my eyes where my mother—hopefully—couldn’t see before swinging to face her again.

“Mother! You’re imagining things. I haven’t met anyone.” Liar.

Her eyes narrowed on me assessingly. “No?”

“No, Ma. No girl.” That was a little easier to say. “Sorry to get your hopes up.”

But mothers are obviously a lot more observant, or maybe mine is just more tenacious than I had anticipated. She got all squinty-eyed and pursed her lips. I waited with trepidation—nothing nice ever came after her squinty-eyed, pursey-lipped look. When her voice came it was softer and kinder than I thought, but her words froze my innards and made my balls curl up and want to die of embarrassment.

“Liam, sweetie. If you come to me and tell me that the relationship you have with Aaron has progressed to more than just friendship, then that’s okay. I’m okay with it. There will be no problem.”

Horrified didn’t begin to describe my feelings at that moment. Maybe if you took dismayed and wrapped it in a layer of appalled and panicked, then sprinkled it with shocked, disturbed, and alarmed. On the heels of that came disgust—me and Aaron! Oh, puke! Aaron had been my best friend for nearly twenty years. And he was definitely, 100 percent, not a doubt in anyone’s mind, straight. He currently had a girlfriend plus another one on the side. But you didn’t hear that from me.

“Mum! I’m not gay!” Liar, again. I surprised even myself at how brainwashed those cows had become. Unfortunately, my voice was a little bit too loud and now I had the attention of the room behind me. I needed a hole in the ground to hide in. Regrettably, the tiled surface of the living room gave no relief.

“Who’s not gay?” That was Ben. I knew my oldest brother’s voice without looking.

“Liam says he’s not gay.” I couldn’t be sure but I think that was Alison.

“Who says Liam’s gay?” Ben again.

“Huh? Liam’s gay?” That sounded like Cameron, coming late to the party as usual.

Alison answered both of them. “Your mother says Liam’s gay. Liam says he is not gay.”

“Really?” Ben, again. Was he doubting me?

My father finally caught up with the conversation and barreled in, indignant and abrasive. “Of course Liam is not gay. No son of mine will be gay.” Oh, whoops. I guess I’m not gay after all. Sorry, guys!

It was Dale from across the room who went to bat for me. Not that he knew he was actually defending me—I don’t think so anyway. He just went in on principle. “Dad. You can’t just say that. You have no ability to change the way any of us feel if we are gay.”

“I don’t care. I refuse to have a gay son, and that is the end of the story.” Yeah. How many times had we heard that in our lives? Dad has made a ruling, end of story. Dad really should’ve been a judge instead of an engineer.

Dale answered him. “You have no say in it.” I am pretty sure that if Dale ever owed me, he had just redeemed himself.

“You can’t change a person’s sexual orientation, just like that.” Candice, this time. I take back anything bad I said about her.

Dad blustered for a bit before he said, “Well, you may be right. If any son of mine is gay, then I can’t stop him from being a fag. But I can stop him from coming in this house.”

A general hue went up about the word “fag.” I shouted over them. “But I’m not gay!” Was anyone listening to my lies?

“William, don’t be such an idiot,” cried Mum. “Of course all of our sons are welcome in our house at any time, gay or not.” Thanks, Mum.

Faced with opposition from all sides, Dad went on the defensive. He had a big, broad chest and he crossed his arms and stood firm. An unmovable wall. “I will not let any faggot near my grandson. How can you say that you will? You never know what a faggot may do to him!”

Wow, Dad. How uneducated of you. How prejudicial. I was saved from answering by a wave of outpouring from my family.

“Dad!”

“What did you just say?”

“Oh, my God. He didn’t say what I think he just said?”

“Isn’t faggoting a form of lace work?”

“For heaven’s sake! Just because a person is homosexual it does not make them a pedophile!”

It was Candice who stood out. “If Liam or any of my other brothers-in-law tell me that they are gay, it does not make one iota of difference as to how I feel about them. I would trust them 100 percent with my child.”

Dad was looking from one person to another, unsure of his stance now. He looked as if his boat had just been rocked, overturned, and sunk to the bottom of the ocean. He was swimming adrift in a sea of sharks.

“But….”

“No, you are wrong, William.” My mother’s tone of voice was firm. She stood up and handed me the baby so she could stand nose-to-nose with my father. “Being gay does not mean you molest children. It simply means you love someone who happens to be the same gender as you. Now I suggest you rapidly change your mind and your closed-minded perspective or you may find yourself sleeping in the guest room for the foreseeable future.”

Ouch! Mum had brought out the big guns. Banned from the marital bed was Dad’s worst nightmare. Dad turned red and huffed and puffed and we all waited for an explosion, but he simply spun on his heels and slammed out the back door, leaving an uncomfortable silence. I called after him, hoping he would hear. “I’m not gay, Dad!”

“Really?” Ben. I gritted my teeth and glared.

Mum patted my arm as she walked past. “Never mind, sweetie. If you decide to be gay, then you will know we are all okay with it.”

“But I’m not gay!” My voice was starting to get a whiny singsong sound to it. Maybe the cows were singing? I was now certain no one was listening to me. My brothers were all turning back to their conversations, the situation dealt with and forgotten. Candice and Anita followed Mum into the kitchen and I was left with Alison, who stole baby Isaac off me for a cuddle. She eyed me with a hopeful expression. “Are you sure you are not even the tiniest bit gay?”

“What?”

“It’s just if you were you could help me out of a really tight spot.”

“Huh?”

She sighed at me. “One of my bridesmaids has bailed on me. I’m short a girl. If you would be willing to dress up in baby pink I could put you into my wedding party.” Ben had asked Cameron to be his best man and two other mates to stand up with him. The rest of us brothers weren’t in the wedding party, which I was eternally grateful for.

I spluttered. “I am not a girl! Do I look like I wear dresses?”

Alison eyed me up and down as if sizing me for a puffy pink bridesmaid ensemble. “It wouldn’t have to be a dress, silly. If I could just find a suit in the same shade of pink….”

“No!”

“Or even a light-gray suit with a pink waistcoat. Could you do that for me?”

“No! I. Am. Not. Gay.”

She shrugged as if I hadn’t just shouted in her face and cooed at the baby. “I think some men look great in pink.”

I had to agree. Jay had worn pink a number of times and looked smashing in it. But of course I couldn’t say that to Alison, not after making such a fuss about not being gay. Or should I say after lying about not being gay.

I request a brief recess, Your Honor. The witness’s pants are on fire.

I joined my brothers with my beer and some anxiety, waiting for the sly comments, but nothing more was said about the scene, and it was just like any other Sunday Roast. Dad was a bit off, a bit less jovial than usual, but we ignored him. Nothing to make a fuss over unless one of us decided to come out of the closet, right?

Dale and Candice offered me a ride home after lunch and I gladly accepted. I soon found out it was a foolish move. Candice started off the inquisition, turning to look over her shoulder to the back seat where I was sitting next to a sleepy baby.

“Liam, you know that Dale and I are perfectly okay with you being gay, don’t you?”

“I’m not gay!” Was I beginning to sound like a broken record to anyone else?

“It’s been four years since you had a girlfriend, Liam.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “So? That’s your evidence? I haven’t had a girlfriend so I must be gay? May I point out the lack of boyfriend to prove your point?”

“And it is not like you are an unattractive guy. You are cute and funny, that’s why I went out with you.”

“Yeah, and then you dumped me. Remember that, Candy? Maybe I am still heartbroken over the loss.”

“Don’t call me Candy!”

“Then don’t call me gay!”

We stared at each other before she huffed and turned around to face the front. I saw Dale reach over and pat her thigh. “Liam, all Candice is saying is that if you are gay, you don’t need to hide it from us. We love you. We just want you to know you can bring anyone home with you and none of us will judge.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, right. Can’t you just see Dad’s reaction?”

“Forget about Dad for a minute. If you want to bring a boyfriend, then do it. We will all love for you to bring whoever it is who is special to you.”

I swallowed and snarked at him, “So you all would be fine if I brought some guy home with a pink shirt, bleached hair, heels, and makeup? I don’t think so, Dale. If I brought home someone like that, you would all be in hysterics.”

Dale looked at me through the rearview mirror. He wasn’t laughing. “So does he?”

“Does he what?”

“Wear pink shirts, heels, and makeup?” Shit!

“No.” Not the heels anyway. I don’t think. “Besides, this is all theoretical. I’m not gay and I don’t have a boyfriend.” We were approaching my apartment block. Dale pulled over. I opened the door and quickly exited the car to make my escape. He pressed a button and his window shot down.

“Liam?”

“Yeah?” I paused on the pedestrian island in the center of the street. I was anxious to get away and hide myself in my apartment. This had truly been a shit-awful day.

“Candice and I would love to meet him one day. Just say the word and we can meet for dinner—just the four of us. No one else has to know. Love ya, bro.”

I stood motionless on the island, not even noticing as he pulled out and drove away. I was too busy visualizing the four of us—Dale, Candice, Jay, and me—having dinner together. Unfortunately, it was too easy to see. Shit!