Page 59 of We Were Never Lovers
Sean wanted to get back to what it meant that Jack knew about him, but he had to concede that unless Jack managed to pick up some dominatrix then yes, that would be hilarious. Poor girl would probably be scarred for life as Jack just laid there, dick soft, his big six-foot-three body splayed out and waiting for her to take him apart. He was the closest thing Sean had ever seen to a proper submissive outside of porn, and while Sean was so into it he was getting turned on just having this conversation on the street, he didn’t imagine it’d go over too well with that brunette back there, with many chicks.
But that didn’t answer the other question.
He huffed an obligatory laugh as they stepped off the curb and onto the empty road in tandem. “Yeah, that’d be pretty funny.”
“Right?” Jack laughed for real, his eyes on the side of Sean’s head. He was definitely drunk. Not smashed, but Jack-drunk.
“Whaddid you mean we talked about this?” he asked once they were back at the house. Once Lola had been greeted and patted and doted over for five minutes, Sean perched on the edge of the couch watching Jack chug a pint size glass of water.
“About what?” Jack asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.
“About, ya know, bein’ gay,” he said.
“Oh, right, yeah,” Jack nodded, poured another glass of water. He popped two Panadol and two ibuprofen and took them in one go. He swallowed, gestured with the glass. “Just, we talked about who we’d fucked, that kinda thing.”
Sean ran his palms up and down his thighs, focused on his hands. He’d fucked a couple of guys other than Jack that he remembered. Been fucked by one too. None of them had been any good, the guy who fucked him the worst. The added layer of discretion had meant apps, no identifying names or features, just his black torso, but the first guy he’d ever had the balls to actually go and meet hadn’t recognised him as Sean Hiller, first year player for Freo, but had balked at him being an Aboriginal. He’d mumbled something about thinking he was Indian or American, made a joke about double bagging it. Sean had hidden the sting and bitten out that he wasn’t the one about to get fucked. The guy held up his hands and legitimately asked if he was sure he was clean, even though they were using a condom. Sean didn’t know why he stayed after that, eighteen-year-old insecurity mixed with a need to get it done now that he’d come this far. It’d sucked, his erection at half mast, the guy finishing himself off with his own hand in the room he shared with his uni buddies, the sound of the other guys loud in the living room just beyond the door. Sean hadn’t come, had pulled out, removed the condom and left with a “Thanks, see ya,” he still regretted.
The second guy acted like he was doing Sean a favour—he was older, a lawyer or accountant or something—and he topped from the bottom, which made Sean go soft and leave with a “Fuck this,” as he pulled his clothes back on while the guy got increasingly nasty about wasting his night.
But the third was the worst. He was big, one of those “straight” white tradie types who claimed he just liked to fuck dudes sometimes, but he wasn’t “fuckin’ gay.” He’d insisted on doing the fucking and while Sean didn’t want it that way, he didn’tknow how to say no, crowded against a wall outside a toilet block he’d decided to cruise since he’d had enough of the apps. The surprised looks when those guys saw he wasn’t some other blackfella, but an Australian blackfella, hadn’t lost the sting even though he berated himself to not get so fucked up by it. And it wasn’t like he’d met any other Aboriginal men; he was kind of scared to—they’d end up talking and figuring out who their mobs were, what connections they might have.
The worst part was as the guy fucked him, he told Sean he’d bring some friends next time, said they’d tie him up and drive him out bush, take turns and teach a faggot like him a lesson. Sean wanted to shove the guy off, but he was nineteen and, to his shame, paralysed with fear. He’d had racist shirt hurled at him all his life, but never in close quarters like this. He’d always imagined himself fighting back, but he didn’t. He got the hell out of there as soon as the guy came, took the moment when his orgasm made him slump to shove him off, yanking his pants back up and running into the night of the park, hands working on doing up his zipper. He ran to his car, got in, and didn’t stop shaking until he was back in his room at Coogee.
Did Jack know all of that?
Before he could ask, Jack spoke. “I was eighteen,” he stated, eyes serious behind the booze. “Went on a training camp to Bali. Met up with a guy from an app, a real twink. He wanted me to, you know,” he waved his hand, “fuck him.” He laughed, humourless. “I sucked. I mean, I came and all that, but it wasn’t good.”
Sean nodded and Jack took a deep breath. “It went on like that. Always tourists, always dudes wantin’ me to do the fucking. And I thought that was what I was supposed to do too, ya know? Because I’m like, big or whatever. But like, that’s not what I wanted, I knew that too. But like, I couldn’t really ask for it like I wanted because I couldn’t…”
Sean nodded again. “You needed ‘em to get it.”
“Yeah,” Jack breathed out, his face smoothing in relief. “And then, well, then there was you. And I finally got, you know, what I wanted.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but he said it in a way that meant it was a really big fucking deal.
“‘M glad,” Sean said, and meant it. He looked back down at his hands. “What about me?”
Jack shot an angry breath out his nose. “You told me.”
Sean looked up. Jack’s eyes were narrowed, face stony. Sean nodded and looked away again. “Musta told ya everythin’ then, eh?”
“Yeah, you did,” Jack agreed. “I went to that spot one night, you know. Tried to find the guy based on what you said.”
“You fuckin’ what?” Sean whipped his head back to look at him. Leaving aside the years that’d passed since it’d happened, even if Sean had told Jack in the last two years, what was Jack planning? To find the guy based on a description and beat the shit out of him? What if he had mates with him?
“Yeah,” Jack said again and came around the bench, cocked his hip on the side and crossed his arms. “I was gonna kick the shit out of him.”
Sean laughed; he couldn’t help it. Absurd as it was, he was touched. “Thanks, but uh, that’s kinda stupid for a lot of reasons.”
Jack shrugged. “I wouldn’t have even cared. If like, I ended up in a media shit storm for gay bashing at a beat? It still woulda been worth it ‘cos we’d both know the truth.”
Sean frowned. None of this felt like fuck buddies, not what Jack was saying and not the way Sean was feeling about it.
“Did you tell me this before?”
“Nah,” Jack smiled slightly. “You woulda kicked my ass.”
“So this is you telling me? Now?” Sean asked.
“Yeah,” Jack nodded, smirked. “I’m kinda pissed.”
