I’m on the Gautrain. A ridiculously snacky homie in tracksuit pants (nicely filled by his legs and ass) hops on. I totally miss the goose climbing on with him – he’s that dishy.
Against my better judgement, I rummage in my bag for my phone so as to capture a prize snap… except said goose is onto me and comes between me and – truth be told – HER prize, totally obstructing my Kodak moment.
So I end up snapping some random sign on how to chat to the train driver in a hurry, should I need to. As one does. Peeved, I get off at the next stop, swearing I’ll be avenged on her spoil-sport self.
Life goes on (barely) and I proceed to get on the Sunninghill (aka Stunningpiel) bus, and as I’m about to resign myself to a no-fireworks, standard bus ride home, woops, there he is! It’s not so much his eyes that meet my gaze as it is his left testie in the hug of his white undies, peeping ever so slightly out the left of his rugby shorts. Because straight guys are totally hot like that… how they sit with their legs wide open, offering a garden variety of amazeballs viewing.
He’s so yummy and exactly my type, I start to hyper-ventilate. And salivate. My palms are sweaty and I don’t quite know what I’m up to, but boy, am I headed for that back seat. He has an Eminem bad-ass demeanour and – of course – the obligatory tattoos halfway down either arm. Sweet baby Yeeezus. Fully!
I’ve now made it all the way to the back seat in a bus with only a handful of people, and – naturally – am now sitting right next to him. I don’t know where he’s going but I’m led to believe in a happy ending, glancing to my side and judging by his body language. As the gods of sublime sex (and my luck) would have it, we get off at the same stop. No ways! Is THIS the insanely hot, straight neighbour I’ve never seen? You better believe it.
It turns out he stays at the complex next to mine. He asks me for a smoke and off we go. There is a God, I think to myself! I say a quick prayer of gratitude for what I’m about to receive. I’m playing it ever so cool, but as he tells me he has a girlfriend, I notice him grabbing his crotch. We stop walking because he has to take a leak (and sneaks me a peek).
The deed is so going to be done! Inwardly, I’m air-punching like a motherfucker. We stop at the pharmacy, buy some condoms and proceed to both being very happy campers that night. And the one after that. And a few others, subsequently.
Who would have thought? The buddy of my (wet) dreams, turns out to also be my neighbour. And please don’t get me wrong. I’m not out to “convert” anybody. If anything, I’m quite low-key and have the good taste to never dare cramp anybody’s style; the same way that I would hate it if anybody cramped mine, and my china gets that.
We just really dig orally examining each other. That’s all. Ok, maybe enjoy slightly more than just orally fixating on each other’s dude sticks. Quite a bit more, actually. And so our situation can never be the “simple” one that – essentially – I want. In fact, if anything, it has the makings of a rather tangled web. Woven – as one does – deliberately. Intricately. Is that the picture of health, though, when all is said and done? Fuck, yeah!
How does a gay boy even resist? Especially when he phones and says “the girlfriend’s on a girl’s weekend, come to Jesus”. Ma bru, I have no choice but to heed that call. Still… I would hate for him to suddenly start having issues with his sexuality (which would totally ruin the fantasy for me, in any case) and despise me for leading him down the rabbit hole. Even though it is he who blatantly got this party started.
And after the sexual high dissipates, am I really prepared for the barrage of ramification? Because – indeed – if we’re looking for affirmations of our own sexuality, this makes absolutely no sense.
What aspect of this set-up reflects positively in terms of my own identity as a healthy gay man? It would be one thing if I seduced him, or could chalk up the situation we find ourselves in to just a healthy curiosity, on his part. But it is none of the above. He’s actively (and passively) enjoying the ride. We both are. And what a ride it is. Sexiest, is when it’s his turn, and I watch him slip on his rubber. But I digress.
And cynical as it might be, I can’t help but wonder how drastic the fallout is going to be. Because surely a comedown is inevitable. With a girlfriend and primarily a “straight” identity, where he’s concerned, how can it not be? Am I prepared for the onslaught? What to do with his impending confusion about loving being with another man, when he’s supposed to be straight?
Because that is sure to come. I only need think about how hard it was for me to come to terms with being gay at the start to know that as much as I cream for going to Jesus, I really don’t want the stress of a hetero-defined guy who finds he loves it up the sphincter, but – ultimately – is not equipped to deal with the full scope of that reality.
Straight is hella nice. But not that nice, in the long run. So perhaps it’s time I tried the “straight acting” gay thing. That’s more up my alley – methinks. But he’s so hot! Damn!