It wasn’t often I cheated on Billy, but that day I was just feisty, bored, my self-worth needing a boost. Billy was at work, once again the sole breadwinner in the family as I watched my savings account rapidly dwindle to the low four figures. HarleyJacks said he lived close to our home in Venice. I hurried into the shower, and waited.
Our plan was to simply watch straight porn together—you know, as two regular straight guys usually do in the shadowy fantasies of the internet—and jerk off. There’d be no touching, just a mutual pretend appreciation for poontang. When I opened the front door, the tattooed flames that ran up his thick forearms and his muscular frame intimidated me. He was handsome by anyone’s standards even if he wasn’t really my type. Simultaneous thoughts flashed: I’m not hot enough for him, and man, would Billy like this one.
“Hang on a sec. I have to get something outta my truck,” he said as soon as he saw me. I thought he’d beat a hasty exit and I’d never see him again. I was wrong. He came right back with a little black satchel in his hand.
“Come on up to the back house.” I led him through the living room and out the back door in the kitchen, up the stairs to our playhouse where I already had a Rocco Sifredi video playing. We sat on the Pee Wee Herman couch, staring straight ahead, as we slowly started to rub our own cocks through our pants. Soon we were flogging ourselves, our voices low with coded messages about the Italian gangbang that was flickering in front of us. Look at that bitch. Man! She’s fine.
Within fifteen minutes, he was trying to kiss me. I pulled back, said something about not being cool with that. He was already sweating and with singular focus, he suddenly swung his legs over, mounting my hard cock, his pre-lubed ass settling in. Facing me, he rode up and down, grinding and insistent. I was trying to be cool in the moment, feeling his asshole squeeze me as I rubbed his rock hard butt globes, my hands running over his sculpted body. This wasn’t even close to what I’d signed up for or what I wanted, an out of control barebacker. I flashed on my own safety, but it was too late. My breathing accelerated and I could feel the pop coming.
“I’m gonna cum.”
“No! Not yet.” He jumped off as I squirted all over his ass. Grabbing the base of my dick in a pointless attempt to reserve some, I looked at him apologetically. He looked down and said, “Fuck!” He started to furiously beat off, finally cumming while I played with his balls and ass. His side-glance was angry. I wanted him out of the house as soon as possible, and he wasted no time in leaving.
I called Ricky and told him what happened. Ricky was my confidante about everything. I described what HarleyJacks looked like.
“Oh. That’s that porn guy I see at the gym. Dean something.” Oh. Fuck. In the past few months, Billy had befriended Dean Coulter, talking about him all the time, impressed with Dean’s sexual celebrity. I had never seen Dean before, but every time Billy mentioned his name, I’d smile through gritted teeth. I thought they may be having a little affair, or at the very least, Billy was enamored and they were buddies on some level. Did Dean know I was Billy’s lover, though? Had Dean ever been to the house? Would he tell Billy?
For a few months after that, IMs from HarleyJacks would periodically pop up, asking if I wanted to get together again. I found it curious he wanted to come back after our encounter, one that I instantly regretted, and I thought he did, too. At first, I just said I was busy. After the third or fourth time, I wrote a long response telling him that I knew who he was, and in the small world department, it turns out he was friends with my lover. I never mentioned Billy’s name. I told him that I wasn’t going to be available again.
I worried about Dean telling Billy. I thought of how much Billy’s feelings would be hurt, especially if he was yearning for this guy and I had had him. I thought of the betrayal Billy would feel. I never said a word about it, and neither did Billy.
A few months later, Billy was sitting at the computer, pulled up Dean’s streaming website and said, “Come here! Look at what he’s doing.” I didn’t know what he was looking at. I came up behind him as Billy watched Dean take a dildo up his ass. “God! How does he do that in front of everybody?” Billy wondered aloud. Billy was shy about sex, always had been, and it was an endearing quality that I silently enjoyed. It allowed me to be the crazy, wild animal with him, something that almost made him giggly with excitement.
Sometime in December, the month before, I was at the computer.
“Log onto my account,” he said.
“I just want to check my email.”
I pulled up the AOL screen for N2STR8MEN, his online moniker.
“What’s your password?” I asked, knowing he’d never give it to me. We each had our private accounts, the passwords a guarded household secret.
“Deandick,” he said, in his Duh! tone without a second’s hesitation.
“Really.” My sarcastic tone belied my bemusement and odd jealousy by his choice of password. Memory slapped back to the previous May, the time of Dean’s dick slapping against my belly. I was stunned, as well, that Billy gave me his password. With this knowledge, I could find out everything I had wondered for months, years even.
Sometime in early February after it was all too late, too late to make everything right, too late for any apology ever, I logged onto N2STR8MEN. Dean was on Billy’s buddy list, showing he was online. I went into Billy’s old mail and pulled up their correspondence. It showed that they had an active relationship in April around the time of my company’s demise, but it was one born of drugs, not sex. Want to split a quarter? Do you have anything?
I sent an IM to Dean.
You know, Billy passed away.
What? Who is this?
Terry. Billy’s lover. Jo2prno
There was a long pause. I waited for some response. Nothing.
You know you helped kill him. You know you fed him drugs when he was trying so hard to stop. I just want you to know that. Billy hadn’t done drugs for at least his last three months, and I couldn’t find any evidence that him and Dean were even speaking anymore. I was just angry with anyone who had something to do with Billy’s drug use, angry at anyone other than Billy, but most especially, angry at myself.
He logged off. Some weeks later, I looked at Dean’s site. He had posted messages that spoke of a newfound sobriety. I wrote HarleyJacks a congratulatory email wishing him well. I told him I wished he had done it sooner, taking Billy with him instead of encouraging the worst.
I never received a response. I suppose I didn’t expect one, and didn’t even want one. I was angry with him for reasons so convoluted I’ve yet to decipher them. I don’t think Billy ever found out about Dean and me. If he had, he wouldn’t have been able to keep it a secret. Billy was incapable of hiding a single emotion ever.
I still can’t figure out, though, why Billy ever gave me his password other than to gently tell me that he no longer had any secrets. I wish I could have told him the same thing.