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May contain sexually explicit scenes.
As September rolled into October, the unexpected occurred. One night I came back from work and Billy was ironing a waistcoat in the living room while watching television. He looked like his old self again, and the smell of warm food wafted from the kitchen. He welcomed me home by flinging his arms around me and giving me a wet, sloppy kiss and a quick grope. He sat me down and served me dinner, playing the attentive lover, to the extent he gave me a tasty blow job as I sat watching TV to unwind. I should have known he was buttering me up.
He was so eager with his news, he jumped to his feet while he was still swallowing the load I’d dumped in his mouth, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and danced about the room. “I’ve got a job! I’ve got a job!”
“That’s wonderful news,” I cheered.
“It’s only for a month or two in the lead-up to Christmas, but I’ll be able to help with the phone bill and the power.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, but secretly glad he would be bringing in a little extra cash. It all helped. “What sort of job is it?”
He suddenly looked embarrassed, like he’d oversold his prospects. “I get to wear a uniform. You stay right there and I’ll show you.”
I had no trouble following orders, I was too exhausted to move, especially after a Billy Oral Special. That was another of the problems I had with Billy when he became uncontrollable sexually. He had a reputation. No, not in the bad sense. Well, not in any way that I would consider bad. He was known to be one of the best fucks in the city. Especially if you got him in the right mood, and there were plenty of people out there who wanted to get him in the right mood because he was one of the cutest little blond fuckers you ever laid eyes on. And he worked out in the gym to keep his body as taut and terrific as any top model, although it was his arse that was his salient feature. Correction: as superb as his butt was, it was actually his arsehole that was the source of his fame.
While he was changing into his new working clothes he chatted from the bedroom. “With my skills, or should I say my almost complete lack of, there wasn’t much going so don’t get disappointed and give me that lecture on holding out for something commensurate with my abilities. No one’s hiring in that field.” Billy was an unemployed sous chef. “Close your eyes. Go on, close them. Are they closed?”
“Yeah,” I called.
I heard activity as Billy obviously got himself in position to pose.
“Open them. Ta da!” He threw his arms in the air as if he were a Broadway diva, although in the outfit he was wearing he looked more like a sleazy 42nd Street stripper before the neo-moralists moved in to clean up the area.
I had steeled myself against every contingency I could think of. Except the one that confronted me. I smiled weakly as I looked at Billy, practically naked, eagerly awaiting my approval. He twirled on the spot as if his uniform was something that would not be out of place on the Oscar’s Red Carpet. It was more likely to get him arrested.
“Billy, I can practically see your arsehole when you turn around.”
“Yeah,” he said patting his butt. “They said they’ll get me a better fit once I start. They just loaned me this so I could get used to wearing it. And could get some practise in.”
“What’s to get used to?” I asked, a tinge of sarcasm creeping in. “You’re wearing a bright orange cap, a waistcoat, a pair of the tightest vibrant orange shorts I’ve ever seen and which will strangle all the sperm in your balls if you don’t get out of them soon, and a pair of orange sneakers.”
“Tandoori,” he said, with a touch of disappointment in his voice.
“What?”
“It’s tandoori, not orange.”
I had to salvage his pride. “I bet you’ll be the sexiest pizza delivery boy in the country.”
“You think?” he said, perking up a little.
“I didn’t think they employed men for the job,” I said.
“They don’t. I’m the first. The only. It’s a test run. The company is interested in tapping the gay market.”
In that outfit the gay market would be mighty interested in tapping Billy
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