Big Mac

The mechanic didn't want to disturb Yoshi, his head fast asleep in his lap, but he was starting to get tired too. Besides, he needed a piss, and the weight of the emo's skull on his bladder was becoming uncomfortable. Gently, he woke him up. "OK, sleepyeyes, I think it's time for bed."

Yoshi's eyes blinked open and he realised where he was. He sat up, feeling a little embarrassed. "Shit, did I fall asleep on you? I'm so sorry." He realised he was still naked, but the room was warm.

Mack chuckled. "No worries, punk. It's just that I'm getting a bit sleepy myself. I think it's bedtime."

"I pride myself on being a more entertaining guest than that," said the emo. He sniffed the air. The room reeked of sex.

"No big deal." The mechanic really didn't mind. Until his bladder raised the silent alarm, he was enjoying running his hands through the emo's hair. It felt soothing and peaceful.

Yoshi felt nervous asking. "Can I sleep here again? I know I live in the next suburb, but I only just woke up, and I don't really want to walk home ..."

"Course you can," came the reply. "I can give you a towel if you want to have a shower, and ..."

"Wait, you saying I stink?" joked the emo, interrupting. He comically sniffed one of his armpits, and the mechanic noticed it was hairless. He wondered what it'd taste like.

"No, punk, I'm just trying to be nice."

The emo smiled with gratitude. "I know," he said bashfully. "And thanks."

"I even bought a new toothbrush for you, just in case you didn't bring your own."

"I'd never be so presumptuous," came Yoshi's subdued, respectful reply.

The mechanic stared at the floor for a moment, fully aware of the psychological threshold he was about to cross. "It's in the bathroom cupboard."

"Thanks," said the emo, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly self-conscious. "That's incredibly thoughtful. I really appreciate it."

"No wuckers, punk."

Mack's chessboard was still set up mid-game. Neither of them had any desire to keep playing.

"Actually," Yoshi admitted, "I think I could use a shower. You boinked me pretty hard, big guy."

The mechanic smiled. "Towel: tick. Toothbrush: tick. Go for your life." The emo stood up, preparing to head to the bathroom. Mack stood up too. "Gimme a hug first," he said.

Yoshi collapsed into Mack's strong, hairy arms. He felt their soft cocks brush against each other. They held each other tightly for a moment.

The emo looked up into the mechanic's clear blue eyes. He wanted to say those three special words he'd never said to anyone. He could feel them moving and spiralling like a cyclone inside him, but he choked them back down.

He thought of Amelia. She was his best friend, and he didn't want to break her heart. This was way too hard.

He padded to the bathroom, turned the taps on, and showered. He cleaned his pussy thoroughly.

After towelling off, he opened the toothbrush package and attended to dental hygiene.

*

Mack was already in bed, propped up on some pillows. His bed lamp was on as he thumbed through a rugby magazine.

The squeaky clean emo poked his head around the door frame. "You sure I can sleep here? Like, I can go back to my place if you want."

"Course you can," came the welcoming reply. Mack patted the vacant side of the bed.

Yoshi climbed in, unsure what to do or say next. He knew there'd be no more sex, but he didn't mind; after the slow, liquid pounding the mechanic had given him, he felt completely sated. He noticed what Mack was reading. "Can't get enough, hey?"

"You mean this?" asked the mechanic, pointing toward his magazine. He smelled sweet minty freshness on the emo's breath.

Yoshi flicked his damp hair out of his eyes. "You're what they call a rugby tragic, aren't you?"

Mack laughed. "I guess that's true. I fuckin' love the game. Always have, always will."

"I don't know much about sports."

The mechanic furrowed his brow. "But I thought you said you were thinking of learning how to play rugby?"

Yoshi felt a little awkward. "I was full of shit when I said that. I just wanted to make conversation with you that day. I could never play rugby. It's way too physical for me. If you ran full tilt at me and I had to tackle you, I'd end up in hospital."

"Technique is everything," said the ex-player. "When you learn how to tackle properly, sure, there's hard physical contact, but you'd be surprised how little it hurts when you know how to do it correctly. And the beautiful thing about rugby is that it's a game for every body type imaginable." The emo looked sceptical, and Mack noticed. "You've got the body of a scrumhalf."

Yoshi had no idea what that meant. He waited for the mechanic to continue.

"Anyway," said Mack, "about tackling. I learned two things early on. The first is the classic adage, 'the bigger they are, the harder they fall', which is so obvious I don't think I need to explain it. The second is 'you can't run without your legs'."

"Yeah, but that sounds obvious too," volleyed the emo.

"If a big, heavy bloke like me runs at you," continued the mechanic, "and you try to tackle him around his chest, he'll bowl you over. So instead, tackle him around his waist and legs. If you take his legs out, you've stopped him."

The emo absorbed his first rugby lesson. He lay his head on the mechanic's chest, sighing in pleasure. "I don't want to distract you from your rugby porn, but can I look at the pictures while you read?"

Mack wrapped an arm around Yoshi's shoulder, inviting him in.

"Maybe you could take me to another game some time?" Yoshi suggested. He felt warm, safe and protected. "I hear some of those scrumhalves are pretty hot."

Mack laughed. "There's a big game coming up," he said. "The Bledisloe Cup. Australia versus New Zealand."

"In Brisbane?" asked the emo.

"Yeah. In about three weeks' time."

"OK, let's go. Our population is like five times the size of New Zealand's, so I guess we'll win easily."

Mack pulled him up. "New Zealand is way better than us. We haven't won the Bledisloe in about twenty years."

"How?" asked Yoshi. He furrowed his brow. "They've only got like two hundred people, plus maybe half a billion sheep. Do their sheep play rugby too?"

Mack put his magazine down. "It'd take too long to explain. Can I tell you another time?"

Yoshi smiled. He stretched luxuriously, already looking forward to the 'another time'. "I'll make a note in my diary," he joked.

Mack yawned. "Gonna grab some sleep now," he said, turning off his light. "Good night, punk."

"Good night, big guy," whispered the emo.

*

Mack woke up alone the following morning. The emo had somehow managed to rise, dress, brush his teeth with his brand new toothbrush, and close the front door quietly without waking him up.

Even though mid-winter Brisbane was relatively warm, the other side of the bed felt cold. He assumed the emo had a busy day and needed an early start.

He walked to the kitchen, wiping crusty sleep from his eyes, and flicked the kettle on. The mechanic was desperate for a strong mug of tea. As he spooned black leaves into his strainer, he noticed a piece of paper on the kitchen counter. It looked like it had been ripped out of a notebook, the tiny holes adjacent to the left hand margin torn through. He began to read. The ink was black.

Mack had never seen Yoshi's handwriting before. It looked neat, small and cute: a bit like the sexy punk it belonged to.

"Hey, big guy. Thanks for last night. Dinner was delicious. Quit the garage and open a restaurant. I could happily eat at your place every night. Do you need a flatmate to help with the rent, and if so, when can I move in? Fair's fair, you cook and I'll wash up? Only kidding. Chess was fun too. When you suggested we play a game, my mind went to Twister. Now that I've invented strip chess, I need to invent strip Twister. Should be easier to market. Maybe we should trial the concept. You can dangle your sweaty naked meat in front of my face anytime...

"Hey so I'm sorry for slinking out so early this morning, and I know I'm missing out on a sweet cup of tea and the unbridled joy of a potentially awkward conversation, and I'm gonna go straight back to sleep as soon as I get back home because I'm still tired as fuuuuck, but first, I need to try to tell you something. That was a long sentence. Anyway, I think it's easier for me to say it this way, so I hope you don't feel upset.

"I told you before about my Lebanese friend from high school, the only person I ever thought I'd loved. I've been thinking about her lately. Well, not so much about her per se, but about how I felt at the time. I've been thinking 'how is it possible to love someone when you've only known them for such a short period of time?', and I can't answer that question, so even though I told her I loved her, and the feeling felt real to me at the time, I probably got carried away with myself. Sorry, that was another long sentence. I thought at the time that I loved her, but I probably didn't. I was probably just confused. Even after she disappeared, and I knew I'd never see her again, I used to jack off all the time thinking about exploding in her mouth. Teenage hormones present challenges, I guess. Anyway, enough of her. What I'm trying to say is if I didn't love her, and I'm sure I didn't, then I still don't really know what it feels like to be in love with someone.

"I've had a lot of sex, but last night was probably the first time I've ever felt a connection beyond physicality. I don't know if you noticed, but I think my eyes were closed most of the time you were inside me last night. I don't really know how to explain this to you, because I'm not even sure how to explain it to myself. There was something else happening inside me while you were fucking me, but I don't know what it was. Maybe I was imagining it. Wait, did you slip something into my drink last night? Do I need to call the cops? Anyway, I know this sounds crazy, but I started to wonder if this is what love feels like. And it was so sweet that you bought me a toothbrush, by the way. Not gonna lie, I had a little cry in the shower last night. And then when you wrapped your arm around me while you read your rugby porn, I felt like I was floating. I tried not to show it, and I hope you didn't notice, but whatever those feelings were, I don't think I've ever had them before.

"You were right about Amelia, by the way. She told me she loves me, whatever that means, but I don't think I feel the same way. She's an awesome friend, she's probably my best friend in the world right now, and we have heaps of stuff in common and we have great sex, but the feelings I had last night when I was lying next to you in bed aren't anything I've ever felt with her. I just feel like, one way or the other, I'm gonna break her heart, and it's gonna fuck up our friendship, which will make me feel incredibly sad. But on the other hand, I can't lie to her. I can't tell her I feel something that I don't feel. If I lied to her, I'd also be lying to myself.

"Maybe I'll never know what love truly is, and if so, that's OK, because while I don't know what I want, I know what I *don't* want. Sorry, that's confusing -- let me back up. People of my parents' generation often got married to the first person who showed an interest in them. They bought houses and started families, but as time went by, they drifted apart emotionally, and they told themselves they needed to stay together for the sake of the kids. But here's the thing. I reckon most couples that stay together after the fire goes out aren't making a sacrifice for their partner or their kids, they're clinging on to what they've got because they're scared of never finding someone new and eventually dying alone. That's completely understandable, and I'm not criticising other people's choices. I mean, fuck, I've never had a serious relationship of my own, so I'm the last cunt in the world qualified to pass judgement. I guess I'm just saying that that's not me. I'm just saying that if that's what love is -- clinging to another person out of fear -- then that's not what I want. I know I'm only 21, and things might be different when I'm 42 or even 63. Who knows?

"I don't know anything about your wife slash ex-wife, your family or your home, but I guess it must've been scary as hell to leave. I can't imagine what must've been going through your head when you signed a rental lease, packed your shit in your car and drove away, knowing that even if you wanted to go back home, you might not find things as they once were. I try to imagine myself in your shoes, and the image that comes to mind is a rickety boat in the middle of a storm where the moorings have come loose, and you're adrift on an indifferent, unforgiving sea, floating in violence and rain. I think I can understand why so many unhappy and unfulfilled men stay with their wives and kids, burying their curiosity, because even though they might never know what might've been, home is comfortable and safe. I reckon you're the bravest person I've ever met.

"This is probably a lot for you to take in. If this freaks you out and I never hear from you again, I'll understand. I know you're living through a difficult time, and if it turns out that you end up going back to your wife and family, I get it. I know there's an age difference. I know you're twice as old as me, but I don't care if you don't.

"I don't really know how to end this, but you're probably gonna wake up soon and I don't want to get busted standing at your kitchen counter writing this note. So I'll stop now, and I hope I don't wake you up when I close your front door behind me. Yoshi xxx"

The dot above the 'i' in Yoshi's name was a love heart, drawn with a different coloured pen. Bright red.

Mack put the piece of paper back down on the counter. The emo's words were heartfelt, mature, and stunningly poetic.

A single tear rolled down his cheek, disappearing in his thick ginger beard. He had no idea what to do or how to respond. His breath had become shallow and irregular, but he didn't notice.

He felt immobilised, like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He felt torn between two lives.

*

In Toowong, the neighbouring suburb, Yoshi stripped off and climbed into bed. He tried to sleep. He felt desperately tired, like he needed at least another hour of deep sleep, but after the note he wrote, his mind was still in hyperdrive. He wondered whether the mechanic had woken up yet. He wondered whether he'd read it yet. He wondered what his reaction might be.

Suddenly he frowned, regretting putting pen to paper in the first place. He considered walking back to Milton in the vain hope that the mechanic was still asleep. He thought about slinking inside to retract the note. But how would he get inside?

Fuck. He shrugged. His words were out there, and he couldn't take them back.

He slept restlessly.

*

In his rented Milton kitchen, Mack wondered what the fuck was happening with his life. All he ever wanted was to find a wife, buy a house and raise a family, and while he'd achieved each of those goals, something inside him had grown unsettled over the years. It should've been enough for him, but it wasn't.

He wondered what his wife and kids thought of him these days. He wondered whether they still loved him like they once did. He missed them terribly, and even though he saw them from time to time, it wasn't the same as it was before. It felt like there was a hole in his life.

At school, Abigail was his present, his future and his eternity. He sat next to her in the back row of their maths class, and while he pretended to be concentrating on learning calculus and trigonometry, she jacked his huge cock off under the cheap wooden desk while he dreamed about a threesome with her and their sexy teacher. Neither of them did particularly well in their final exams, but Mack knew he wanted to work with cars, and getting a mechanic's apprenticeship was all that mattered.

They fucked around with other people from time to time, but they kept gravitating back to each other. Eventually Mack bought a ring and proposed to her, and with tears of joy in her eyes, she said yes. They booked a church for the big day. Though neither of them were particularly religious, it seemed like the right thing to do. It rained that morning, which Abigail saw as a good sign. The deed was done, marriage documents were signed, and with a massive loan, they bought a house in the suburbs.

Soon enough, the stork dropped a baby girl down their non-existent chimney, and another one soon followed. They stopped having regular sex soon after Abigail fell pregnant for a second time.

Mack would've loved to have had a son, but he knew it was far too late now.

Even though they'd separated, she'd always been his port in a storm. Without pausing to think, he picked up the phone and dialled her number. It rang, but he got her voicemail. He didn't know whether she was busy or whether she'd rejected his call deliberately. He improvised.

"Hey ... uhh ... Abby ... it's Mack ... just ringing to say g'day ... wondering how you and the girls are doing ... miss you all ... things are OK at my end, I guess ... no need to call back ... nothing urgent ... talk to you soon, I guess ... well, 'bye."

He realised there were beads of sweat on his brow. He felt nervous and he noticed his pulse was racing. He'd always felt totally at ease with her. It wasn't the same anymore.

He drove to the gym. Some exercise might clear his head.

*

Later that night, Mack was watching golf on TV when his phone rang. "Hey," said his wife. "I got your message. Everything OK?"

"Yeah, Abby," the mechanic replied. "Just wanted to ring to say g'day. Y'know, just to hear how you and the girls are doing. Haven't heard from you in a while."

"I'm doing good," said Abigail, "and so are the girls. What about you?"

Mack exhaled. "Yeah ... I mean, I guess so."

There was silence on the line. "You sure you're OK?" she probed.

"Yeah, nah, everything's good, just been busy at work lately ... y'know ... just stuff ... good to hear you're doing well." His voice trailed away.

Abigail was a full-time stay-at-home mum while they raised their kids. Mack was the sole breadwinner. The girls were both old enough now to look after themselves, and so after a long absence from the workforce, and out of boredom more than anything, she got herself an office job. She worked for a small suburban solicitor who specialised in conveyances and wills. The work wasn't overly challenging, but the hours were sometimes long and demanding. "Yeah, I'm doing alright," she confirmed.

Silence returned. In some strange way, the house felt emptier to her without him.

They'd been separated for many months now. When Mack first told his surprised wife that he loved her but that he was also attracted to men, they both agreed to a trial separation, and Mack moved out. Far from being shocked or upset, she wanted to give him the space to experiment. Abigail had tried to deny it to herself, but she knew she was attracted to women, though she'd never brought it up with him. She saw separation as an opportunity for her to explore, too. They still loved each other, but they'd been together for a long time, and sex was rare. Time apart would allow them to think things through. They explained everything to their kids -- they were old enough and mature enough to understand what was happening.

Their separation was always intended to be temporary, but the longer they were apart, the more solidified their new living arrangements had become, like concrete was being poured into the foundations of their new lives.

"So," continued Abigail, "when you rang me this afternoon, did you want to talk about something?"

"Nah," lied Mack. "Just wanted to check in."