Admittedly, we weren’t exactly ‘top of the class’ in sex, but after all our years together, it was inevitable for the sex to wane. We did occasionally still do it one-on-one and that was more than a lot of couples I knew of a similar vintage to us. After all our years together, we’d reached the stage where intimacy was more important than sex—and that was good between us. We weren’t going at it in bed that often, but that was where we cuddled up, soothed one another and did a lot of our serious talking. We were still very affectionate with one other. Nor had the romance died. We made a fuss of each other on special occasions, but also treated each other spontaneously for no reason. We’d go out for a special dinner, have a luxury weekend away, or buy each other an impromptu gift or flowers. I suppose I could be accused of giving Blake items that I wanted myself—CDs, DVDs, something for the house—but the truth was that our tastes did converge quite a lot. There was a tee shirt from G-Star, gift wrapped in my suitcase for him. It wasn’t in one of my colours.
As for communication, if Blake had a problem or an issue, he ranted, he raved, he threw things. Five minutes later, he felt better. As for myself, I suppose I had a tendency to leave some things unsaid or varnish the truth somewhat. But surely that was only a natural response to having to retrieve my possessions from the pavement or back garden where they had been tossed. I was just thankful that I owned a terrace and not a high-rise apartment.
Not that it was really something to treat lightly. Blake had cited my dishonesty as the reason our relationship was over. Though what about his own duplicity? How long had he been carrying on with Rick? He might want to claim that he had been provoked into his affair by my infidelity, but was he really so blameless? I had my suspicions that he’d been up to something on Gaydar.
As for my ‘activities’, there had been reasons why they had happened, quite valid reasons in fact. Suddenly, I felt inspired to write them down, perhaps even e-mail them to Blake, seeing as he wouldn’t answer my texts or phone calls. Though primarily, it would just be helpful to gain some clarity in my own harried mind. I went upstairs to the office to discover that the PC was sporting an ownership to be resolved post-it on its screen. I transferred it to the desk lamp. I sat down and was about to open a new document, when suddenly, something caught my eye, below the insert key. Was that a …? I picked it up gingerly and examined it beneath the light, confirming my original suspicion. It was a pubic hair. I dropped it in distaste.
What exactly had Blake been doing on this computer? Carefully, I examined the keyboard and surrounding area for other evidence. There did seem to be a couple of suspect patches on the underside of the keyboard tray and a strange smear across the screen. But most telling of all was the astonishing number of used tissues in the waste paper basket. Blake had been bragging to me only last week how he had got through winter without getting a cold, so I knew he hadn’t been blowing his nose. I didn’t know if I was more flabbergasted or more disgusted. My office had seemingly become Blake’s masturbatorium. What on earth had inspired this frenzy?
Then it occurred to me to check the computer’s internet history. Thankfully, he hadn’t erased it. Gaydar was the first website at the top of the list. I clicked into the website but if Blake had a user name, he hadn’t been careless enough to leave it saved. Nevertheless, he had visited the website very recently—that was telling enough.
I closed the window and set to work on writing down the reasons why I’d strayed. But it was hard to focus. I kept imagining what Blake had been doing in front of this very screen. Finally, after forty minutes of writing and rewriting, I felt satisfied with my conclusions. In fact, I felt so pleased that I copied them into an e-mail to Blake and sent it.
Dear Blake,
There were reasons why I had sex outside the relationship:
1/ I wanted to be topped for a change and you don’t do that. It seemed simpler to find it elsewhere, fill that need, rather than discuss it with you and make you feel inadequate.
2/ I had too much free time on my hands. I wasn’t working. I was bored. When an opportunity presented itself, it was hard to say no.
3/ It has been a difficult adjustment for me going from the public profile I had with ‘Sunnyside Street’ to being unemployed and forgotten. You weren’t exactly sympathetic or understanding of what I was going through, so I accepted some affirmation of my looks and talents elsewhere.
4/ I did not tell you because you make such a scene. Given that you like to throw things when you’re angry, I feared being hurled off the balcony!
Love and miss you, Stephen
However, five minutes after sending the message, I wasn’t so sure. I ran back upstairs, opened the message in the Sent folder and re-read what I had written. It wasn’t exactly conciliatory. I had been trying for some levity in my last point but the problem with e-mail was that there was no tone. To me, it was plain I was just teasing; however to Blake, it might read as though I was accusing him of being mildly psychotic. Then I realised my other mistake. I hadn’t said I was sorry anywhere.
Luckily, I knew Blake’s Bigpond user name and password. I started to switch identities, then realised it would be better to access his account via Webmail to delete the message. That way I wouldn’t receive any of his other new messages and alert him to a potential breach. Quickly, I accessed the website and entered his details. Two messages appeared and I quickly deleted the one I had sent.
The other message was from Damon. I didn’t hesitate. I opened it.
Dear Blake,
You have to stay strong and stick to having absolutely no contact. We both know how accomplished Stephen is at manipulating you with his oily charms and talent for preposterous falsehoods. Just ignore whatever he says or delete his messages unread. Though there’s one thing I don’t understand: why have you moved in with the neighbour? Who is this person? You need to get some physical distance between yourself and Stephen if you want to stick to your guns, not be living next door. You should come and stay with me. I know my place is small but it’s cosy and it is in Dulwich Hill. You need to get right out of that environment.
Love Damon
My first thought was to write a response to the Demon, posing as Blake, defending my character. Oily charms indeed! But then I realised how easily that might be discovered, if they found themselves talking at cross purposes. It was too risky. Blake would know I was responsible and change his password, and I didn’t want him doing that. I could see some distinct advantages in retaining access to his e-mail—and his thoughts and feelings—for as long as possible.
I felt tempted to delete Damon’s message, given that it slandered me, but then I also wanted Blake to consider his offer of a place to stay. If only he would move out to Dull-Witch Hills, so he wasn’t next door to me. Though Damon’s real agenda was utterly transparent to me. He wanted Blake to stay in his ghastly studio apartment so he could make a move on him. They’d be squeezed up together in his double bed—he didn’t have room for a queen. He’d get to perve on Blake getting undressed and under the pretext of ‘comforting him’ would offer him a cuddle. Then those hands of his would start swooping downward …
It was especially intriguing that Blake hadn’t confided to Damon, supposedly his best friend, that he was having it off with Rick. This secrecy meant something: that Blake felt guilty or uncertain or was it just that Blake knew the Demon would be jealous and disapproving, so had said nothing?
Then it occurred to me that I could check Blake’s Inbox to see what other advice Damon had offered him. I exited out of Webmail, went into Outlook Express and switched identities. I scrolled through Blake’s Inbox but it only contained about twenty messages, and there was nothing incriminating or of interest. Then I thought to try Blake’s Sent messages folder. There were hundreds and hundreds of messages to wade through but I found something I wasn’t expecting: an e-mail sent to Rick.
Seeing Rick’s name there was like a battering to the head. For a moment, the world blurred and went silent. Then slowly, my senses seeped
back to life and I began to feel highly agitated. I found myself breathing heavily, biting my fingernails, and shaking my head in disbelief as I uncovered yet another, then another e-mail sent to Rick. I counted the messages. There were ten of them. The first was dated a couple of weeks after we’d returned from our trip. I reached for the mouse. My hand was trembling but I made myself open the message.
Dear Rick,
Thanks for the ride to work this morning. I’d have been incredibly late otherwise. I’m so excited to have you as my new neighbour. Coffee at your place when you’ve settled in would be great. Though I will be coming fully dressed, not in my boxer shorts! My mobile number is 0438 590 400.
Blake x
I couldn’t believe it. Blake had flirted with him from the get-go: added a kiss after his name, given out his mobile number and referred to him as ‘my new neighbour’ rather than including me by saying ‘our’. It seemed that even way back then, I had been pretty much forgotten. They’d also had each other’s mobile numbers for weeks, so goodness knows how many texts they’d exchanged; which reminded me that recently Blake’s mobile had been going off a lot more than usual. I’d even commented on it and he’d claimed his younger brother had a new mobile he was excited about using. It seemed I wasn’t the only one who was adept at deception and lies.
I looked through the dates of the other messages and recognised one as being the day after the screening of ‘Roman Holiday’. I opened it.
Dear Rick,
That moment on the couch last night was magic. I’m in such a state. I have to have more.
Love Blake xxx
What he’d written made me gasp. I couldn’t believe it. What had they been doing while I was proudly screening my film? Kissing? Groping one another? With all that themed bloody background music roaring away, they could have been moaning in ecstasy and I would’ve been oblivious. They’d engaged in ‘something’ beneath my very nose. I’d been spared the exact details but the ambiguous phrase, that moment, set my mind into overdrive.
I felt sick. I closed the e-mail. I had read enough and lost all heart for further snooping. What it was revealing was simply too painful. I hurried out of the room and shut the door. I wished I could seal what I had learned back there in the room.
He had signed it ‘Love Blake’! That had been what, three or four weeks ago, and he was declaring that he was in love with him?
I went downstairs and phoned Strauss. I couldn’t be alone, especially when they were right next door. How could I possibly sleep in my own bed, when they were only a metre or two away, lying together? I doubted that the sleeping pills I had left over from my trip overseas would prevail. Given everything I had going on in my head, I would need something along the lines of anaesthetic to knock me out. It took Strauss a very long time to answer the phone and when he finally did, I wasn’t even sure I had the right number. It didn’t sound anything like him.
‘Strauss?’
‘Stephen,’ sighed Strauss, his voice returning to normal.
‘Sorry, did I wake you? Your voice sounded so weird.’
‘Darling, that was my butch voice. I thought you must be some drunken trade, who was feeling horny and wanting a piece of me. After all, it is almost midnight.’
I apologised and explained what had happened. Strauss insisted I come right over and invited me to stay the night. ‘I can sleep on the couch,’ I said.
‘I don’t have one,’ Strauss reminded me. ‘Though someone in the building had a new one delivered the other day, so I’m hopeful of a fabulous cast-off.’
I hung up from him, packed a few things into a bag and took myself straight over to his place. Strauss was wonderful. He sat me down and insisted on opening a bottle of champagne. ‘I don’t know,’ I whimpered. ‘Drinking champagne seems all wrong …’
‘Nonsense,’ Strauss declared, pouring me a glass. ‘Darling, I know you think it’s a tragedy, but truly it isn’t. Finally, after what is it, five long years …?’
‘Three and a half,’ I corrected him.
‘Well, it’s been an eternity and finally you’re rid of him. Bland Blake. This is definitely something to celebrate.’
Slightly dazed, I toasted and drank. Strauss sat down beside me. ‘There, isn’t that better? Bubbles are always so soothing. In a bath, in a hot tub, or simply down your throat. Delicious! Did you know that was what we all called him? Oh, I know Bland is cute as a button but darling, let’s face it, he was as dull as dishwater.’
I was utterly startled. Was Strauss just trying to cheer me up or had he always thought so little of Blake?
‘I could never understand what it was that kept you together, but put it down to something that went on between the sheets,’ said Strauss, leaning forward hopefully. ‘Something sordid and utterly taboo.’
Perhaps I blushed. Certainly, I felt uncomfortable, as Strauss had hit upon a home truth. What had worked so well between Blake and I initially was fundamental. Sexually and literally we’d been a good fit. He was an absolute rarity—a gay man who claimed to like being fucked by a ‘more modest’ dick! Though it seemed his tastes had changed—dramatically.
‘Go on, you can tell me,’ Strauss wheedled.
I said something to distract him. I wasn’t going to divulge details that were confidential to us. With a jolt, I remembered there was no longer any ‘us’ and possibly no confidentiality. Was it now open season on our marital secrets? I hated to think of Blake discussing my perceived deficiencies with Damon, or even worse, with Rick.
‘Oh Stephen, you look so bereft,’ Strauss chided me. ‘I know it’s horrible to be dumped, but at least you’re the one who’s been wronged. It’s him that’s run off with someone else.’
‘He was provoked,’ I muttered. ‘I cheated on him.’
‘Well, that can’t have been very exciting. When someone is that gullible and lets face it, dumb, it must’ve been like cheating on Helen Keller.’
I couldn’t help smiling. ‘But I’m beginning to wonder if he was cheating on me too,’ I said. ‘He was looking at Gaydar.’
‘You didn’t know that?’
‘No. You did?’
‘Yeah, I mean, I saw his profile on there. But I just figured it was that “don’t ask, don’t tell” thing you couples do. Or that he was trying to find you a new three-way or something.’
It was a shock to have it confirmed that Blake actually had a profile. ‘What did his profile say?’
Strauss frowned. ‘It was pretty basic. There were photos, nothing naked, but he had his shirt off in a couple. He didn’t say much about himself, though of course there isn’t a lot to say anyway, is there?’
‘Well, maybe he was just curious and browsing,’ I said doubtfully, which made Strauss roll his eyes. ‘I can’t imagine him trying to hook up with guys on there. He’d have been worried someone like you would see him and tell me. It’s not very discrete’
‘Hmm, well his photos were kind of anonymous. In the face pic, he’s wearing sun glasses. I only recognised him because of the tee shirt he was wearing. It’s one I gave you as a present.’
This explanation churned up my agitation all over again. ‘When did you see his profile? How long has he been on there? What was his user name?’ I demanded, the questions tumbling out.
‘Stephen, Stephen, calm down. Don’t get worked up. I’ll try to find his profile for you another day, but truly, I doubt he aroused much interest.’
‘I just hate not knowing and I hate being deceived.’
‘I know, I know, but you’re better off without him,’ said Strauss soothingly. ‘You need someone who can match you intellectually and be more of a challenge to you. Poor old Bland never measured up in that regard.’
It was gratifying to hear, though there was one glaring inconsistency in all of this running Blake down. ‘You make Blake sound so unappealing, yet someone who you’ve described as one of the sexiest guys in town has gone after him,’ I pointed out.
That caused Strauss to furrow
his brow. ‘Yes, well, that is perplexing. I can’t imagine what he sees in him.’
‘Why didn’t Rick make a play for me? I mean, all modesty aside, I am much better looking than Blake.’
But then I remembered when we’d been having that run of threesomes, there had been guys who’d preferred Blake to me. They didn’t like blonds or my look or my attitude, or whatever.
‘It must be the boy-next-door syndrome,’ Strauss decided. ‘Rick moves in and there’s Bland, cute and perky in a Doris Day sort of way, but also married. I guess Rick found the unattainable alluring.’
‘But what about me,’ I protested, ‘I was next door too and I’m no Doris Day.’
‘No, darling, you’re not. You’re definitely more of a Lana Turner, a sexy vixen, and that’s it, that’s why,’ Strauss crowed, getting animated. ‘Rick would have known in a glance that you could be tempted, whereas Bland always acts so demure and conservative. For Rick to seduce him, to lure him away from you … well, it would have been quite the challenge.’
‘But Rick was eyeing me off and flirting with me,’ I protested. ‘One night I even got him hard.’
Yet even as I said those words, I realised it hadn’t been me at all—that had been Blake’s handiwork. They had their ‘moment’ on the couch, then the film finished and Rick was left worked up. When the lights were restored, he’d rushed away because he was embarrassed and awkward about what he’d been doing under my nose. Then, in the days and weeks that followed, when I had waited fruitlessly at home or manoeuvred to run into him, he’d been actively avoiding me. There must have been times when I rang his doorbell and he was home but he’d ignored me. Once I had observed him from the study window leaving his house through the back garden, instead of the front door. It had seemed a little odd at the time, but now it made perfect sense. He didn’t want to have to face me.
Blake didn’t seem to suffer any of the same qualms. Over the past month or more, he seemed to have no problem living with me and lying to me. The only change in his behaviour had been an improvement in his mood. Now I knew why.