Sam watches Roger kissing him all over his stomach and he's trying to get into it, he really is. He'd been hard when he'd left the Gay and Lesbian Centre, all riled up by those sexy ass photos, but now that he's home with a pasty, rounded, white balding guy who's not hot and who's annoying him by kissing the same bits of him over and over and over again, he's completely deflated and it's not just his dick.
He looks at his watch, willing himself to get hard, but his alarm clock is ticking extra loud and it's really hard to ignore how many minutes have gone by and he's still not felt anything.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sam decides, wriggling to sit upright, annoyed with himself more than anything.
"What?" Roger's face comes into view.
"I can't."
"Is something wrong?"
"It just won't work. I thought I could do this..." Sam starts to apologise. "I really did. I mean you are so nice and smart and talented, and you play the piano beautifully."
"But? Go on say it."
"You're just not my type," Sam says quietly and regretfully.
"Type? Are you serious? I don't believe this! After all that? I thought you didn't want sex to be everything?"
"Yeah, but I'd like it to be something," Sam admits.
"You're just like all the others!" Roger complains as he climbs out of bed. "Where's my sock?"
"It's my fault! I admit it. I don't know what the hell's wrong with me," Sam says, trying to console Roger as he looks for the missing sock, finding it under the covers in the middle of the bed and offering it to Roger. Normally he'd be revulsed by finding someone else's sweaty sock in bed with him but not this time, he's that desperate for him to go. "You're a catch, any straight woman would find you incredibly attractive!"
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" asks Roger incredulously. "Fuck you!"
"Look, I know we share all the important things; music, sense of humour. This would be a totally appropriate relationship, the only problem is that...the sex isn't appropriate." Normally eloquent, Sam's having difficulty finding the right words to get rid of him but not hurt him.
"You know I was wrong, you're worse. Let me tell you, you're nothing but a pretentious, self involved boring asshole who still hangs around younger guys who don't want you around and never will! You're pathetic!" Roger shouts, red faced, as he gathers all his clothes to his chest, he doesn't want to be in here a minute longer.
"What about you? You might want to go to a gym. Go on a treadmill for once in your life! And do something about your breath!" Sam shouts back, goaded into telling the truth, as Roger slams the bedroom door shut behind him.
~~~
"So I thought, okay, he's having experiences. But with boys his own age. This man, he must be in his thirties!" complains Liz, taking an extra large mouthful of red wine as she sits in the Sly Fox opposite Joy, who had steered her in after catching up with her on the street outside the Gay and Lesbian Centre. In fact it's her second glass, the first one having been gulped down in a few seconds flat whilst standing at the bar.
"Well, not yet, but I'll be happy to tell him you thought so!" laughs Joy, tickled at the thought that Liz thinks Michael's a few years older than he really is.
"Well it's not right."
"It happens." Joy doesn't want to defend Michael but Liz needs to know that she can't control Luke now that he's out and she wants to help, if she can.
YOU ARE READING
Queer as Muke
Fanfiction"The thing you need to know is, it's all about sex. It's true. In fact they say men think about sex every twenty-eight seconds. Of course that's straight men. With gay men it's every nine." Twenty nine year old advertising executive Michael Cliffor...
