“what?”

“you two. lesbians. you two stay at home. cook. cuddle. talk about your feelings. you don’t go out anymore. you’re lesbians.”

friends told us. and as you know, all fags are the authority on what constitutes an exciting life. afterall those narcissistic personality disorder ridden shitstabbers are at the height of the fucking social ladder leading the uber-awesome lifestyle of non-stop sex, drugs and rock’n’roll that we all envy. right? lesbians are at the bottom of the ladder. they have a snog, buy a dog each and move in with each other never to be seen again.

regardless how our arrogant cunt friends say it, it was becoming the general consensus. we were boring

so, after an exhausting afternoon at the flower market deep in the western suburbs of Sydney and fitting out a garden. i lay in bed sifting through work emails. i heard the Elk giggling in living room. then laughter. then shock. “oh!” he’d gasp. offended. how cute. it’s refreshing to see an irishman express a personal emotion. 

he stormed into the bedroom and stood in the doorway. dressed in only trackydaks (tracksuit pants) his lips shrivelled up in anger as he puffed his chest out. “i never said ‘she looks like a hot mess’!” 

oh you’ve been reading this blog. “yes you did. jiggly calente was waddling down the runway and you said ‘she looks like a hot mess’”

“well… she did look like a hot mess!” he sucked in a deep breath and puffed his chest up defiantly. i know he wanted to look tough and threatening but he just looked adorable with that little thatch of silver hair in the middle of his chest blowing in the steam shooting down from his snout. “and when did i say ‘ooh my muffins are burning’!?!”

“last week, when you got up early and started baking some blueberry and some egg and bacon muffins. i crawled out of bed and started molesting you in the kitchen. you sniffed something and then you jumped away from me screaming ‘ooh my muffins are burning!”

“i was trying something new! i didn’t want them to be ruined!” he was fully aware and laughing at the ridiculousness of the argument. “are we boring? are we a boring couple now?”

“i’m boring.” it’s true. i am a really boring person. i just throw myself into disastrous situations just to see what happens to give the impression i’m interesting and live an exciting life. ”i like being boring. i’m really happy how we are right now.” but maybe he isn’t happy. i want him to be happy. “you wanna do something?”

“yeah,” but he seemed unconvinced. like he thinks we think we should be doing something exciting. “got any K?” his beady little shark eyes beamed. “let go get fucked up. we got any drugs?”

“none. long gone.” speaking of disastrous situations, one just presented itself. “you want to do a job? you and me? tonight?”

“together?”

“yeah. there’ll be drugs.”

we discussed the idea of working together a long time ago. i was for it. the Elk was against it. he gave up sex work long ago. he’s more confident doing massage. my clients have said he’s amazing and how hot he is before they even realised we were mates. he was against joining forces because he didn’t think it would work. years ago, the Elk was dating another escort and it appeared on this guy’s ad that they were working together (yet, it turns out they never actually did any jobs together). i admit i was a little offended that he trusted him but not me, though i suspect he was also worried about my reaction. 

it’s understandable. i too was worried about my reaction. generally the Elk is calm, mature and rational. most of the time I’m erratic, reactionary and irrational. a little rubs off on the other. i encourage the reckless abandon he feels he missed out on in his youth. he inspires me to adopt the maturity i should have applied years ago. we seem to balance each other out. this would be a good opportunity for me to grow up right?

it’s bound to happen. in the death rattles of most homo relationships they end up becoming open relationships. that move either strengthens the relationship, or most of the time you watch that guy you both drunkenly picked up hammer the last nail into the coffin of your relationship driving it faster to it’s inevitable grave. it’s a little early for us, and i do not want an open relationship, but should i learn to deal with this now?

this client i have known for years. he has seen us both independently. the Elk once. me on many occasions, even though i am younger than he likes. this client prefers guys 40+. he’s a great guy. he’s great to deal with. the job is usually fairly easy and he pays very well. i also knew he has a thing for the Elk and his salt and peppery fur. i’d definitely score the job if i brought him along and he’d shower us both with coke. plus i was bargaining the whole situation. i was in control.

the Elk agrees. partly for the cash. partly knowing it will be easy. and i suspect partly because he fears we really are becoming a boring couple of lesbians

the job is only two blocks from our apartment. after a a beer and a line we get down to business. it was great fun working with him. it was so much easier having him there. plus the bonus of watching him be a dirty little whore, grinding his arse up in the air was damn sexy to watch. i wasn’t intimidated. i could tell he was playing it up for the client, but fuck it was hot to watch. 

i fucked up though. i should never touch coke on a job. it was well over an hour but my viagra still hadn’t kicked in and the coke just sent my willy soft. the Elk made it hard, but the situation quickly killed it again. 

unable to perform, the client then fucked the Elk in front of me. then i realised one thing. i didn’t like watching someone else fuck my boyfriend. i don’t like knowing someone else fucked my boyfriend. everything else i could handle. i could deal just fine if he was escorting as well, but not if he bottoms. there is a huge double standard here when it comes to what i do for work. i have a lot of growing up to do

it may be possessive. it may be immature and controlling. but that ass is mine. and in that regard, i don’t see those traits as a bad thing. i don’t think i need to be so free and open that i should have to share everything. 

i didn’t like watching someone else fuck him. but i loved watching him getting fucked. that boy sure can take a dick!

so, yeah. we ain’t a pair of miserable fucking homos who’ve settled down with our set of retro Le Crueset cookware into a boring married couple. boring married couples don’t have guys watch them eat half a gram of coke out of each other’s arses at 10 o’clock on a sunday night. (i got that shit everywhere too. my whole damn face was numb!) i also learned i’m more comfortable in weird situations with someone i’m comfortable with. 

i’m just not comfortable watching someone else fuck his arse yet… well… i wasn’t. i wasn’t comfortable until we got home and we bothered to count the cash - he paid us triple. each!

“on second thought i think i can handle watching a guy fuck you …if he pays triple.” on one hand i feel bad because, in the end, he did most of the work (pun intended). on the other hand i’m riding high because i scored the job and whored his little manpussy out like his motherfucking pimp