while looking for somewhere to live. Tom had been sure that he’d remain there.
As such, lodgers were never really entertained after that. While Tom knew that Ash would be fine, he didn’t want to jeopardise their relationship by getting too close on a day-to-day basis and not be able to enjoy each other’s company.
Not only that but, as all laws of science suggested, Ash would get back to pulling men at a rate of knots when his confidence returned. Tom didn’t want to have to come down every morning to see the latest Mr Right in his borrowed dressing gown. The prospect was mortifying on so many levels. For one, it would serve as a stark reminder to Tom that his love life was blossoming like a rose garden in the desert. For another, the walls in the house weren’t THAT thick. It would be one thing to come down in the morning and see some guy at the breakfast table and quite another to be kept awake night after night, each bang of the headboard representing a nail hammered in Tom’s own emotional coffin; every groan a ghostly reminder that his only sexual partner was at the end of his arm.
He literally shuddered at the thought – every night and every day, the dearth of activity in his own love life brought graphically to his attention. In truth, it was the one big thing stopping him from suggesting that Ash move in. Tom was aware that this wasn’t a genuine reason for him to stop Ash from moving in, but rather an incentive for him to get on with his own life. Yet somehow, he didn’t.
The stumbling block was remaining in the closet. He was terrified to be who he really was. Having played the part of ‘pretend Tom’ for so many years, he’d started to believe that this creation was, in fact, the real him. It wasn’t. Deep down, he wanted to be out and proud. Well, maybe not proud, but certainly not ashamed. Yes, he could get meaningless sex if he wanted it, but he didn’t. He wanted a relationship – a long-term, stable, steady and loving relationship. The only snag being that he couldn’t imagine one flourishing when one of the parties remained hidden from sexual view. He had to come out. So long as he didn’t, no relationship would be possible and the status quo would continue.
He didn’t want his pride to be closeted, even though he was. The process of harmonising these two realities seemed increasingly fractious. He hated the men who cheated on their wives and slinked off to gay bars. He’d lost count of the men who’d told him that they were married with kids, but didn’t want their ‘real’ self to be found out. He despised their cowardice. He assured himself that it was different for him – that he wasn’t married, so he wasn’t deceiving anyone. Which was only true in part. He may not have been deceiving a spouse, but he was certainly lying to himself and those around him.
He routinely got into arguments with men who demanded that he save his “lectures” on the subject. On one occasion, one Sunday morning, a man who, only the night before, had talked about settling down in a life-long relationship of love, woke him with the words, “I need to get back to the missus. How about a quickie for the road?” Whereupon Tom forced him out of the house naked and threw him into the street, with only his socks and car keys for company.
Although he wasn’t thrilled with himself for it, he needed to assert his moral compass in a matter that he felt passionately about. Later that day, he went to the local charity shop and gave them the guy’s designer suit. What the guy told his wife as he pulled up the drive naked, Tom didn’t care. Not that he would’ve, of course – no doubt a friend would’ve helped him out, the guy having explained that he’d had a fling with some leggy blonde with big tits. That’s how it worked.
Tom was sick and tired of being lied to by men who said they just wanted to be “normal” – to be in a relationship and live their life true to themselves – before
As such, lodgers were never really entertained after that. While Tom knew that Ash would be fine, he didn’t want to jeopardise their relationship by getting too close on a day-to-day basis and not be able to enjoy each other’s company.
Not only that but, as all laws of science suggested, Ash would get back to pulling men at a rate of knots when his confidence returned. Tom didn’t want to have to come down every morning to see the latest Mr Right in his borrowed dressing gown. The prospect was mortifying on so many levels. For one, it would serve as a stark reminder to Tom that his love life was blossoming like a rose garden in the desert. For another, the walls in the house weren’t THAT thick. It would be one thing to come down in the morning and see some guy at the breakfast table and quite another to be kept awake night after night, each bang of the headboard representing a nail hammered in Tom’s own emotional coffin; every groan a ghostly reminder that his only sexual partner was at the end of his arm.
He literally shuddered at the thought – every night and every day, the dearth of activity in his own love life brought graphically to his attention. In truth, it was the one big thing stopping him from suggesting that Ash move in. Tom was aware that this wasn’t a genuine reason for him to stop Ash from moving in, but rather an incentive for him to get on with his own life. Yet somehow, he didn’t.
The stumbling block was remaining in the closet. He was terrified to be who he really was. Having played the part of ‘pretend Tom’ for so many years, he’d started to believe that this creation was, in fact, the real him. It wasn’t. Deep down, he wanted to be out and proud. Well, maybe not proud, but certainly not ashamed. Yes, he could get meaningless sex if he wanted it, but he didn’t. He wanted a relationship – a long-term, stable, steady and loving relationship. The only snag being that he couldn’t imagine one flourishing when one of the parties remained hidden from sexual view. He had to come out. So long as he didn’t, no relationship would be possible and the status quo would continue.
He didn’t want his pride to be closeted, even though he was. The process of harmonising these two realities seemed increasingly fractious. He hated the men who cheated on their wives and slinked off to gay bars. He’d lost count of the men who’d told him that they were married with kids, but didn’t want their ‘real’ self to be found out. He despised their cowardice. He assured himself that it was different for him – that he wasn’t married, so he wasn’t deceiving anyone. Which was only true in part. He may not have been deceiving a spouse, but he was certainly lying to himself and those around him.
He routinely got into arguments with men who demanded that he save his “lectures” on the subject. On one occasion, one Sunday morning, a man who, only the night before, had talked about settling down in a life-long relationship of love, woke him with the words, “I need to get back to the missus. How about a quickie for the road?” Whereupon Tom forced him out of the house naked and threw him into the street, with only his socks and car keys for company.
Although he wasn’t thrilled with himself for it, he needed to assert his moral compass in a matter that he felt passionately about. Later that day, he went to the local charity shop and gave them the guy’s designer suit. What the guy told his wife as he pulled up the drive naked, Tom didn’t care. Not that he would’ve, of course – no doubt a friend would’ve helped him out, the guy having explained that he’d had a fling with some leggy blonde with big tits. That’s how it worked.
Tom was sick and tired of being lied to by men who said they just wanted to be “normal” – to be in a relationship and live their life true to themselves – before
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