The Jigsaw Puzzle

by Pink Panther

Chapter 20

January 2009

"Dr Aitken will see you now," the lady at the reception desk says, "second door on the left."

I get to my feet and walk along the corridor. I can't miss it. The door has Dr Aitken's name on it. He's a psychologist. I thought psychologists were for people who were mentally ill. They are, mainly, but Dr Aitken also specialises in 'issues of sexual identity'. Whatever; he's the person Mum and Dad picked for me to see.

I'm not looking forward to it one bit, but at least it's keeping the peace. Dad was well pleased that I agreed to come here, and he's paying for it. I don't know how much, but I'm guessing it doesn't come cheap.

I open the door and step inside. I'm not sure what to expect, maybe an old guy with wild, staring eyes and hair that sticks out at all sorts of odd angles. The reality is an anti-climax. Dr Aitken is in his mid-thirties, I'd guess. He's on the slim side of average with shortish dark hair, not bad looking for his age. I'd guess that fifteen years ago he'd have been pretty hot.

"Take a seat," he says, smiling. "I'm Philip Aitken."

He sounds friendly, welcoming, like he's pleased to see me. I begin to relax. This might not be as bad as I'd feared. He begins by confirming my identity, followed by a bit of seemingly aimless chit-chat. Finally, we get down to business.

"I understand from your parents that you think you're gay," he says, still sounding very friendly.

"Yes," I say. "I told them during the Christmas holidays, but Mum and Dad seem to think I'm too young to know."

"Well let me start by saying that by saying that your sexuality is not my business nor anyone else's," he says gently, "but if you talk to me, I'll do what I can to smooth things out for you. And of course, whatever you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence. So is it boys your own age you're interested in?"

"Yeah," I admit, "my age or a bit older."

"And when did it start?"

"A couple of years back, during the October half term. I went to the new Harry Potter film with some friends. I suddenly realised Harry and Ron were turning me on."

"Had there been any indications before that?"

"Yeah, I guess, only I didn't realise at the time. I do art, yeah, so before we went to see the film, I'd drawn pictures of Harry and Ron to show to my friends at school. One of them asked if I'd done one of Hermione. I said I hadn't but I didn't want him to think I was gay, so I said I would. I found it really hard. I knew what Harry and Ron looked like. I didn't need to look back at the DVD. But when I came to draw Hermione, I had to keep checking."

"I see. So what happened after you saw the film?"

"When we went back to school, it started happening with some of the boys there. Any time I saw a boy I thought was really nice looking, I like, . . . got an erection. I tried and tried, hoping the feelings would go away, but they just wouldn't."

"And were these boys of your own age?"

"Mainly they were a year or two older."

"You say you tried to keep the feelings at bay, hoping they'd go away. Can you tell me about that?"

"Well, during the Christmas holiday, I went without having a wank, er, I mean masturbating, for over a week. But the day after we went back to school, I saw this boy I really like wearing his gym kit. I got an erection faster than I can say it."

"So was that when you knew you were gay?"

"Yeah, I guess. I was still sort of fighting it, but I knew it wasn't going to work."

"I understand from your parents that you were outed by a boy in your own class. Can you tell me how that happened?"

"About the same time, I started getting into pop music, fashion, that sort of thing. None of the boys were interested, but some of the girls were, so I used to chat to them about it. Then one day this kid came up to us and called me a gay boy."

"And what did you do?"

"I just ignored him at first."

"So did he keep taunting you?"

"Yeah, all the time; it went on for months. Eventually I got fed up with it and started answering him back. That sort of brought it to a head because he started picking on me and threatening me out on the playground. Then the Head of Lower School found out. He moved this other boy to a different class and told him to stay away from me."

"I take it you hadn't made any sexual advances to this boy."

"No way! He's horrible, always lording it over the other kids. Anyway, I'm too much of a wimp to have done anything like that."

"So have you had sexual contact with another boy?"

I take a deep breath.

"Yes."

"Carry on."

"I was at Junior Arts Club. We were just packing up when this other boy approached me. He said he'd realised that I was gay and that he was too. He asked if I'd like to go to his house so we could talk."

"Was this one of the older boys?"

"No, he's actually a few months younger than me, but he's tall for his age. Looking at him, you'd think he was older than me."

"I understand. So what happened when you went to his house?"

"We chatted for a bit, but one thing led to another."

"Meaning?"

"We got naked and started messing about, feeling each other up. Then we sucked each other off."

"And did this relationship continue?"

"Yeah, I used to go back to his house a couple of times a week."

"And was that as far as you went?"

"Yeah."

"But I take it you're not together now."

"No, just before the summer holidays he met someone else."

"And how did you feel about that?"

"I was really upset at the time. I'm okay with it now. We're still friends."

"I see. So are your parents aware of this relationship?"

"Sort of. When I came out, Dad said he'd pretty much sussed out that this other boy was gay, so I admitted we'd messed about together. But I didn't give him the details. He didn't ask."

"And since this relationship ended, have you had sex with any other boys?"

"Yeah, there's a boy in my class. We run together. I thought he was straight, but one day he sort of came on to me."

"Right. So what did you do?"

"We got naked. I sucked him off and he gave me a wank. He wouldn't suck me though. He said it was too gay."

"And is this still going on?"

"Yeah."

"And do your parents know?"

"No. Everyone thinks he's totally straight. He's even got a girlfriend, so I can't say anything."

"Yes, I can understand that."

Dr Aitken's like he's heard it all a hundred times before. Maybe he has. All I get is a lecture about taking proper precautions. He reckons you can even get infected from sucking; not AIDS but some other pretty nasty stuff.

"Okay," he says, not giving much away. "Unless you have anything else you'd like to tell me, I think I have all the information I need. I'll write my report over the next few days. I'd like to see you again in a week's time so that we can discuss it, so please make an appointment on your way out. Meanwhile, just remember what I told you."

"Won't you just send it to my parents?" I ask, rather taken aback.

"Well, I've assessed you as being adult enough to make your own decisions, so that means you are my patient, and therefore I can communicate only with you," he says, smiling. "I wouldn't want to send it to your parents, even if I were allowed to. The report is about you. I have to discuss it with you before your parents see it."

"Thanks, doctor," I say.

After making the appointment, I head out into the late afternoon gloom. I guess it wasn't too bad, no worse than a visit to the dentist. All I have to do now is to wait for the report.

"Come in!" Doctor Aitken says warmly. "Good to see you again. How are things?"

"Okay, I think."

"This is my report," he says, handing me a folder.

I open it and begin to read. There are no unpleasant surprises. It says pretty much what I expected it to say. It even says some quite nice things, like "has a mature and positive attitude to his sexuality." That can't be bad. He really has tried to paint it as something Mum and Dad don't need to worry about.

Okay, I wasn't totally honest with him, like I didn't tell him I've had anal sex, and I never even mentioned Jimmy. I just didn't feel comfortable talking about those things. After all, he did say it wasn't his business.

"Well," he says eventually. "Are you happy with what I've written?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Any questions?"

"No, not really."

"What I can tell you is that you're no different from lots of boys your age," he says, leaning back in his chair. "As far as I'm concerned, you have nothing to worry about."

"So what happens now?" I ask.

"It's your report. You can do what you like with it, but I'm guessing you will want to show it to your parents. As I told you, I'm not allowed to send it to anyone else, not even them. I suggest that we just put it into an envelope so that you can take it home."

"Yes," I agree. "That'll be fine, thanks."

He slips the folder into a large envelope which he seals with the clinic stamp so that it's half on the flap and half on the back of the envelope.

"That's just so that, if you do decide to share it with your parents, they can see you haven't altered it," he says smiling, "though I'm sure you wouldn't."

And that's it, a far less painful exercise than I thought it would be.

As soon as Mum appears in the kitchen, I hand her the report. She opens the envelope and reads through it. I can tell straight away that it's not what she was hoping for.

"So that's it, then," she says.

Her disappointment is obvious. She may have accepted my being gay as a fact, but coming to terms with it is proving much harder. That's scary. Mum's always so strong and positive. I've never known her to get fazed by anything, but this seems to have knocked all the stuffing out of her. That was never, ever, what I wanted. I give her a gentle hug.

"It'll be okay, Mum," I say reassuringly. "You'll see."

I've just told her that the sky isn't going to fall on top of us. I guess I'd better make sure it doesn't.

"I'm worried about Mum," I say quietly. "Since I gave her the report, she's been really, you know, like she doesn't know what to say to me."

"Yes, I know," Dad says. "The report's a disappointment, I have to say. I guess we'll have to get used to the idea, but it's not going to be easy. Mum's taken it very hard. I'm afraid that was inevitable. She's going to need some serious TLC for a while, and you're going to have to play your part. D'you understand?"

"Yeah," I mumble, feeling terrible. Mum's hurting, and that's hard to take.

"But remember," he goes on, "your mum and I have been together a long time. We've been through hard times before, just like any couple who've been married as long as we have. We've worked our way through them and come out stronger as a result. And as long as you do what we talked about, I'm sure that's what we'll do this time."

"You really love Mum, don't you?" I suggest.

"I love her just as much now as I did the day we got engaged," he says, "more, probably. Not only is she my soul-mate, she's given me two wonderful kids that I'm immensely proud of, and taken on the lion's share of bringing them up. I can't tell you how much I admire her for that. There really is nobody else that I'd want to share my life with."

"I sort of knew that," I say quietly, "like you call her every night when you're away. I bet most of the guys don't do that."

"Oh, that's very important to me," he says, "Every morning we're up at half past six and in the workshop by quarter to eight. Most days we don't leave till seven o'clock in the evening. Then it's back to the hotel for a shower and a change before having dinner together. Don't get me wrong; I love what I do. I certainly wouldn't want to do anything else. But it can be a lonely existence at times. At nine o'clock in the evening, when I'm back in my room, that's when I miss her. I need to hear her voice, telling me what she's been doing, and what you and Claire have been up to." He pauses for a moment. "I can't speak for the other guys on the crew," he goes on, "but what I can say is that come the weekend, they're all as keen to get home as I am."

"Dad," I ask. "You know you said one of your crew is gay. Would there be any chance of meeting him sometime?"

"I don't think so," he says. "Jan's Dutch. He lives with his partner in Amsterdam. I'm not sure that meeting him would be a good idea anyway, not at this stage; maybe when you're older. Right now, there are far more important things for you to focus on. Like I said before, you need to keep working hard, doing well and staying out of trouble. Then there's the sexual aspect. You told me that you and Anthony messed about, and like I said, I don't have a problem with that. But you have to move on from it, the same as other boys do. You need to put ideas of having sex on hold for the time being. Wait till you're older and you meet someone that really means something to you. And when that time comes, make sure you take proper precautions."

I nod, like I understand. In reality, my brain's totally scrambled.

"Right," he says. "I'll leave you to it."

He heads back downstairs. I'm bitterly disappointed. He totally doesn't get it. Expecting me to stop having sex, like completely? Shit! The rest of it's easy. I work hard, I don't get myself in trouble and I'm doing well. All I have to do is to keep it going. But asking me to stop having sex?

There's no way I can do it. What with all the studying and drawing I need to do, I'm working my socks off. Having sex is my main way of dealing with the pressure. It's become part of my life. I'll just have to be careful. I'll stick to doing it with Dean, and we'll only do it at his place when his mum and dad are safely at work. It's not one hundred per cent fool proof, but it's close enough.

Oh, I know it can't last forever. At some point Dean will start having sex with Rebecca, or whoever his girlfriend happens to be, but I can deal that when it happens. So what about afterwards? It looks like it's going to be tough.

So what will I do? Well, I'll make one concession to what Dad told me. I won't go out looking for it. Of course, I've been hoping to find a boyfriend, but is there any point if I'm going to have to keep it a secret like Anthony and Jayden do? It's all very frustrating.

February 2009

Coming out to Mum and Dad has been a disaster. Right now I wish I'd never done it. Mum's taken it every bit as badly as I thought she would. Worse than that, I was sure Dad would be on my side. Finding out he isn't has been devastating.

So I'm going behind their backs, having sex when I've been told not to. I hate having to do that; it feels like I'm letting them down, but what am I supposed to do? Giving up sex would be like cutting one of my arms off.

It's stupid anyway. The only reason the other boys aren't having sex is that their girlfriends won't let them. They're not ready, or that's what they say. The moment the girls give them the green light, the other lads will be having as much sex as I am; more probably.

Then there's Mr Harrison. I told myself I wouldn't let him get to me, but the way things are at the moment, the sneering tone and the scornful looks are starting to get under my skin. I've got to do something. I've worked bloody hard to get as far as I have. I'm not going to throw it away.

It's morning break. I head for Mr Ashton's room. It looks like he was about to go to the staff room.

"I'm sorry sir," I say nervously. "I don't want to hold you up."

"No, it's fine," he says, smiling. "What can I do for you?"

We sit down by his desk. Over the next five minutes, the whole story comes pouring out.

"Wow!" he says quietly. "You have been having a rough time. Don't be too hard on your dad. With him working away, he's got a difficult balancing act to perform. It's not a position I'd like to be in. I know he seems to be taking your mum's side, but try to look at it from his point of view. To be honest, he hasn't got much choice. From what you've said, I think he understands perfectly. But in the circumstances, he has to be careful what he says. I know it may not look that way, but if push came to shove, your mum and dad would be there for you. You can trust me on that."

"Thanks, sir," I say. "What about Mr Harrison?"

"Well, I can tell you he doesn't like me much either," he says, giving me a wry smile. "And you're right; he's very sneaky about it. It's all in the tone of voice and the way he looks at you. There's nothing you can really pin on him."

"So he's homophobic then?"

"Possibly; he's certainly a social conservative. He doesn't like the way society has changed in recent years. He was appointed here back when it was still a boys' grammar school, so he's been here for the past twenty odd years." He pauses for a moment. "I'm pleased you came to talk to me," he goes on, looking right into my eyes. "I know it's tough, but you need to keep doing exactly what you've been doing. Stay strong and give it time. You will get through it."

"Thanks sir," I say, nodding.

"Just remember," he adds grinning at me "Don't let the bastards grind you down."

I smile back. That is well cool!

"That's better," he says. "Just one more thing. My door is always open. If you need someone to chat to, I'll be here for you."

I head out onto the corridor feeling much better, like calmer and more in control. It wasn't that he actually did anything. But he listened. He understood. He reassured me that I will get through it. It makes so much difference, knowing that at least one person believes in me.

It's Sunday morning. I'm just getting ready to go out running when there's a tap on my bedroom door.

"Come in!" I call.

Claire appears.

"You remember Scott, don't you?" she asks, closing the door.

"Yes, of course."

"I saw him last night. He was at this party we went to. He asked me how you're getting on. I told him about you telling Mum and Dad."

I raise an eyebrow.

"It's okay," she assures me. "He knows you're gay. Everybody does. He's cool with it. He said he thinks you've got some real bottle to have come out like you have."

"Thanks!" I croak, scarcely able to get the word out.

I'm overwhelmed. I know Scott helped to stop me being bullied, but here he is, the best footballer the school's ever had, tough as they come, saying that I've got bottle for coming out to Mum and Dad. To me, that means everything! I know it's not gone the way I'd have liked, but somehow that doesn't seem to matter quite as much. I know now that I did the right thing.

Dean leads the way to his room.

"Have you finished your history project?" he asks.

"Yeah, pretty much," I confirm. "I've just got to tidy it up a bit."

"This is Patrick's," Dean says, passing it to me. "Dad offered to print it off for him. Look at it, man! All the pictures and diagrams he's put in, and the way he's explained what Telford did and why it was so important. It makes what I've done look very ordinary!"

I scan through it. Dean's right; it's an amazing piece of work. It must have taken him ages. Most surprising of all is that it's written in beautiful, flowing English. It's nothing like the way he talks.

"Wow!" I say, grinning. "I can't see anyone in our group doing anything like this!"

"Not in ours either," Dean says, giving me a wry smile, "Not even Zav."

That says a lot. Zav's superb at history. But Patrick's going to outshine him. That is excellent!

It's Saturday evening. We've just started our half term break. I'm at home and on my own. Claire's out with her friends. She always is on Saturdays. Mum and Dad have gone to the theatre. It's the third time they've gone out since Christmas. It's part of the TLC that Dad talked about, trying to make Mum feel special and take her mind off 'other things'. I don't mind. I know she appreciates Dad making a fuss of her.

So why aren't I out somewhere? Had this been a year ago, I'd have probably stopped over at Dean's house. But he's off on a week's skiing holiday, so I can't do that. Even if he'd been around, he'd have been taking Rebecca somewhere.

I could have invited Patrick to stop over. I did think about it, but it was too much of a risk. He might have thought I was trying to get into his pants. I wouldn't want that. I've still got it in the back of my mind that he might be gay, but I'm not going to push it. We run together, we sit together in a couple of classes. I couldn't describe him as a friend, not yet anyway.

So I'm bored. I pick up my mobile, flicking through my list of contacts. Anthony, I wonder what he's doing? He won't be with Jayden. Jay's still paranoid about anyone knowing he's gay, so he and Anthony hardly ever hang out. I make the call.

"Hi man!" he says brightly. "How's it going?"

"Okay," I say. "What are you doing?"

"Not a lot."

"Same here. Dad's taken Mum to the theatre."

"Wanna come over?"

"Just to hang out, yeah?"

"Sure," he confirms. "Dad and James are having a night in. Dad'll drop you back."

"Great!" I say. "I'm on my way."

Hanging out with Anthony was cool. We listened to music, mainly British indie bands, and chatted about all sorts of stuff. So it was nothing terribly exciting, but way better than spending the evening on my own.

It was twenty to eleven when I got back. By the time Mum and Dad got home, I was safely tucked up in bed, exactly where I was supposed to be. I'm not sure what time Claire came in. I was fast asleep.

So it's Sunday morning, cold, wet and blustery. I'm pottering about in my room when there's a knock on the door.

"Come in!" I call.

Mum walks in. She sits in my chair, motioning for me to sit on the bed.

"I feel really awkward asking you this," she says, "I know you said you, er, messed about with Anthony. You haven't done that with Patrick, have you?"

"No way!" I assure her. "We run together. We sit together in maths and art. That's it. He's so quiet, I don't even know him that well."

"I'm sorry," she says, visibly squirming. "I just can't help worrying about you."

"Well you don't have to," I say firmly. "I've got lots of friends who aren't gay and I haven't messed about with any of them."

"Sorry," she repeats, and makes her way out.

I shake my head. I can't imagine what gave her that idea.

With Dean away, Patrick's coming over on the bus. He arrives at half past ten.

"I hope you've brought a change of clothes," Dad says. "You'll get soaked, running in this weather."

"Yeah, I've got everything in my bag," Patrick confirms.

Once we get moving, it's not too bad. Patrick pushes it along the same as he always does, but not so much that I can't keep up with him. Fifty minutes later we're back. After discarding our trainers we make our way up to my bedroom.

"You use the shower first," I suggest.

Patrick strips down to his shorts and heads along to the bathroom. Ten minutes later he's back. I leave him to it while I take a shower. Finally, I return to my room, closing the door behind me. Patrick's pretty much ready to go.

I drop my towel while I dig out a clean pair of boxers. I can't be sure, but I get the distinct impression that he's checking me out, but it's like he doesn't want me to know he's doing it. So what's the score with him? Is he gay or isn't he?

As soon as I'm dressed, we head down to the kitchen.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Mum asks.

"Please!" we chorus.

Mugs of hot, steaming tea are placed in front of us. Dad comes to join us. He's offered to take Patrick home.

"Are you guys ready?" he asks a few minutes later.

"Sure!" we say, quickly finishing our drinks.

We pull on our shoes, make our way outside and pile into the car.

Tuesday is as different from Sunday as you can imagine. The sun's shining, the wind's dropped and for February it's quite warm. Patrick and I have arranged to train together at eleven. I can hardly wait. He arrives at five to. A few minutes later we're on our way, through the park and the woods and onto the open fields beyond.

Eighteen months ago I'd never have believed I'd say it, but I love running in weather like this, especially when I've got someone to run with. With around six miles and forty minutes running behind us, we reach Cooper's Wood, heading back towards the park. We've around a mile and a half to go. Quite unexpectedly, Patrick slows to a halt.

"I need a piss," he says, grinning.

He moves away from the path. I sense immediately that he's up to something. Almost on instinct, I follow him into the bushes, taking up a position a few feet to his left. I pull down the front of my shorts and start peeing. As I finish, I glance across. Patrick's not peeing, at least not now he isn't. He's got a raging six-inch hard-on and he's stroking it. My dick jumps to attention in an instant. e He moves towards me, smiling.

"Not here," I say quietly. "I'll show you."

After adjusting our shorts, we resume our run, heading towards the far side of the woods. Around five minutes later, I guide him into the hiding place where I went with Anthony.

"Okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," he responds.

A moment later, we're facing each other, our shorts round our ankles. I reach out, running my fingers over Patrick's dick. He returns the favour. It feels wonderful. Suddenly, he drops onto his knees.

"You don't have to," I tell him.

"I want to," he answers.

And he does. OMG! It's months since I had a blow-job. I'd forgotten how fantastic they can be. And it is fantastic. The sensations are unbelievable.

"I'm gonna cum!" I groan.

It doesn't faze him at all. He keeps right on going until he's taken everything I've got. Finally he pulls away, licking his lips.

"My turn now," I announce.

We swap places. It doesn't take long, thirty seconds tops. I get back to my feet, a big smile on my face.

"Nice one!" he whispers, grinning back at me.

We pull up our shorts. Within a few seconds we're back on the path, running towards home as though nothing's happened. Wow! I know there have been hints, but I never saw that coming. So is he gay? I don't know what to think.

I sit down on the bed, motioning for Patrick to sit next to me.

"You've done that before," I say, looking him right in the eye.

"Yeah," he admits.

"So are you gay?" I ask.

"Dunno," he says. "I like girls, but I like doing that too. I think when I'm older I'll find a girlfriend, but right now I've got no chance. The girls at school treat me like I'm not even there, yeah?"

"So how did you get into . . . , er, sucking?"

"It was the summer before I started at the Grammar School," he says. "I was staying at Auntie Vicky's. She's my grandma's sister, lives down near Brighton. Uncle Alf died of cancer about ten years back, but he'd done okay, so Auntie Vicky's not short of a few quid. Anyway, I was sharing a room with Jack, Auntie Vicky's youngest. He was fourteen."

"So what happened?

"Well, I thought he was really cool, so when he got in bed with me and started messing around, I wasn't going to stop him. I didn't want to anyway. I liked it."

"Wow! So what did he do?"

"He rubbed my dick. I only had a little one back then, but it got very hard when he played with it. Then he sucked it. It was like the best feeling ever!"

"So did you do anything for him?"

"Yeah, I felt his cock. Then he asked me to suck it."

"So did you?"

"Yeah, I was a bit scared, but I didn't want to look like a wimp. I got a right shock!"

"Fuck! Didn't you freak out?"

"Nah! Funny thing was it didn't bother me that much. I still wanted to do it again the next day."

So he'd have been eleven. I guess it's starting to make sense, though I'm no closer to knowing whether he's gay or not. From what he's just told me, he doesn't know either.

"Wow!" I repeat, unable to think of anything else to say. Would I have liked it if a cool older boy had got me to suck him off when I was eleven? I'm really not sure. I mean, I was a wimp, wasn't I?

"So what about you?" he asks.

"Oh, I never did anything till I was thirteen," I say. "I already knew I was gay. Well, during the summer holiday I was getting so horny I didn't know what to do with myself. You know the park just up from school, where the art gallery is?" He nods. "I met a boy there," I continue. "He was a year older than me, and sort of cute. He lived not far away, so we went to his place."

"Wow!" he breathes. "What did you do?"

"Everything, just about," I say. "I didn't go back. I just wasn't ready for it. Anyway, a few weeks later, I hooked up with Anthony."

"So are you and Anthony still . . . er?"

"No," I say, smiling. "I've not been with Anthony since last summer. He met someone else. It's cool, though. We're still friends."

"Oh, right," he says absently.

"So have you been with anyone else, apart from Jack?" I ask. "Like anyone at school?"

I regret having asked the moment the words are out of my mouth. He'll answer. Then he'll say 'What about you?' I know he will. Shit!

"Nah!" he says. "I've never had the chance."

"Are you hungry?" I demand, before he can say anything else.

"I'm always hungry!" he answers, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Wow! That's another crisis averted. But asking Patrick if he's been with anyone else was a stupid thing to do. I pretty much knew he hadn't.

"Cheese on toast okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, cool!"

I make plenty. We sit at the kitchen table, munching our way through it, talking about, art, architecture, building; everything but sex.

"Thanks!" he says, demolishing his last mouthful. "I'd better be going."

"Are you coming over tomorrow?" I ask.

"Yeah, sure," he says, smiling. "Same time, yeah?"

"Yeah."

I show him out, watching as he strides away. My head's in a whirl. On Sunday, Mum asked if Patrick and I were messing about. I told her we weren't. Two days later, we suck each other off. How weird is that?