Shameless by Paul Burston

he didn’t let it show. “If I’m upset, it’s probably because I don’t like being cross-examined about my whereabouts all the time,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with a corkscrew. “Now can we just leave it, please?” He opened the bottle and poured two glasses. “C’mon, babes,” he said softly, handing her a glass and gently squeezing her shoulder. “Don’t you think you’re being just a little bit silly about this? I don’t demand to know where you are every minute of the day.”
    That’s because I’m not the one receiving messages from strange men, Caroline thought, but she knew there was no point in pursuing this any further—not unless she wanted Graham to storm off again, which she didn’t. Heated arguments always left her feeling horny, and he had just opened a bottle of wine. It would be a shame to waste it.
    “You’re right,” she said, raising her glass and smiling sweetly. “Just forget I said anything.” She genuinely hoped that he would forget. At least then she might stand a better chance of finding him out.
    It was Thursday evening when John finally phoned. Martin didn’t know whether he was relieved to hear his voice or not. John had every right to be angry with him. His behavior at the underwear night had been pretty bad. He’d left the club without even telling John that he was going, which was a terrible thing to do to a friend in those circumstances. He could picture John hanging around at the end of the night, anxiously waiting for him to reappear and cursing his name as the lights came up and the taxi queue grew and grew. Of course Martin had no choice but to leave after what had happened, but John probably wouldn’t see it that way. Matthew was John’s latest catch after all. There was no telling how he would react to the news that his new boyfriend had given his best friend a blow job while he was in the room, but it seemed reasonable to assume that he might not be too thrilled about it. The chances were John had bumped into Matthew himself after Martin had left, heard all about their little encounter, and had spent the past few days plotting his revenge.
    “So what happened to you the other night?” John said. He didn’t sound like someone hell bent on revenge. In fact, he sounded strangely cheery.
    “Nothing,” Martin lied. “I just went home, that’s all. I looked around for you before I left, but I couldn’t really see very much in there. And I didn’t want to just wade in and find that you were in the middle of something.”
    “Good job you didn’t.” John laughed. “I met this really amazing guy. Fabulous body. Great sex. Of course everyone else tried to join in. You know what some of those older queens are like—hands everywhere. And don’t tell me I’m being ageist. I don’t see them chasing after men their own age, so they’re just as bad. There was this one old git, a proper scary Mary, she was. It was like being groped by a waxwork. And it isn’t easy fending them off in your underwear. I ended up stubbing a cigarette out on her arm. . . .”
    “So what about this guy?” Martin interrupted.
    “What?” John said. “Oh, right. Well, he’s called Fernando, and guess what? He’s Brazilian! He works in a bar in Soho, but that’s just pocket money. He’s really a drug dealer. Coke, Ecstasy, K—you name it! I couldn’t believe my luck. And to top it all, he’s a great fuck, too. I can almost picture myself settling down.”
    “But what about the guy you were with on Friday?” Martin couldn’t help asking. “Matthew, wasn’t it?”
    John groaned. “That was last week! You don’t have to move in with every man you have sex with, you know. God, you’re such a lesbian sometimes.”
    Martin bristled. Given John’s attitude to women in general, and to lesbians in particular, this clearly wasn’t intended as a compliment. Personally, Martin couldn’t see anything wrong with lesbians. So what if they were known