Page 58 of Salvaging Christmas

With Frank gone, Johnny explained how, last night, he had slipped away on the premise of getting Frank’s hoodie, but mainly to set the stage—otherwise known as their nanny cam. Later, when Frank had fawned over Ingram—as rehearsed earlier that evening—he had offered to show him the view from their bedroom. Ingram, being the lecherous arsehole that he was, had finally agreed.

“But rather than explain what happened, probably easiest if we show you,” said Johnny, as Frank came back into the room with his laptop.

Trevor watched the whole thing play out, incredulous, the camera placed in a clear vantage point to record everything in the room. Frank managed to manoeuvre Damian so that, after taking a cursory glance at the view, he sat on the edge of the bed facing the camera. Even though the lighting wasn’t the best, there was no mistaking Damian Ingram’s face and his field shirt with the very distinctive advertising logo. He sat asking highly inappropriate questions, such as how long had Frank and Johnny been sexually active, whether they fooled around outside of their relationship, whether Frank enjoyed certain sexual activities. Frank remained a tease throughout, saying Johnny loved him because he gave the best head out of all the gay boys he’d ever known. Of course, Ingram fell for that, stood, dropped his pants, and grabbed his already stiff dick.

“Show me.”

“Is that it?” came Frank’s disappointed voice. “In all your underwear posters you have the hugest of baskets. And that’s all you’ve got? You should be arrested for false advertising.”

Even Trevor spluttered when he heard Frank’s remark.

Ingram literally snarled, lunged forward and pushed Frank by the shoulders down onto his knees in front of him.

“Shut up and suck my cock, you little faggot.”

And right then, a loud pounding could be heard at the bedroom door, followed by Johnny’s unmistakable voice. Ingram instantly began to hike up his trousers.

“Frank? Are you boring the tits off Damian Ingram? Come on down and stop sucking up to the poor guy.”

“No chance of that. There’s barely a mouthful,” muttered Frank, for the benefit of the camera before going to the door.

Even though Trevor laughed along with Johnny and Frank, he noticed that Rudy had gone ghostly white.

“I placed the camera on the window ledge,” said Johnny. “Beautifully captured, don’t you agree?”

“The video?” asked Frank, laughing. “Or Ingram?”

Johnny must have noticed Rudy’s face because he quickly explained.

“Don’t worry, Rudy. This is just a little, um, insurance. Your man kindly gave Frank his personal email address before any of this happened. So we were simply planning to fire him a warning shot. Nothing’s been sent yet, not without your consent. Here, have a read.”

Johnny twisted the laptop so that he and Trevor could read. They both did so in stunned silence.

Dearest Damian,

Lovely to have met you at Stratham Lodge in Scotland. And such a shame that you had to leave so soon, just as we were really getting to know the real you.

Also, sorry we didn’t get a chance to give you our little memento video we took of your time here, but happily, it’s short enough for us to attach in this email message.

Best wishes for the New Year,

Johnny and Frank

PS: If you come anywhere near us again, or our friends, come to that—and I include Rudy Mortimer as one of our friends now—not only will this video go viral on all the gay porn sites that Frank and I frequent (and we frequent a lot), but I will also personally send it to my friends who work in the media, and who are always scavenging around for any salacious titbits.

PPS: Rest assured, as an out gay man myself, I am not in the habit of outing others, and would only do so if I thought the person dishonourable in any way. In other words, so long as you hold to your end of the bargain, this little clip will never see the light of day.

PPPS: Enjoy the closet.

Before Trevor had even finished the last line, Rudy reached a hand across the keyboard and hit the enter key, sending the email. Everyone else gasped in astonishment.

“Are you sure you won’t regret this, Rudy?” asked Trevor.

“The only thing I’ll ever regret,” said Rudy, a wicked smile lighting his face, “is not being there to see the bastard’s face when he clicks on the attachment.”

Chapter Sixteen

Silent Night

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