Last summer I threesomed with “Jake” and “Phil,” a gay, professional black couple. I thought they had a good balance, the ability to live together and play together sexually with others.
But I was wrong. A few weeks after I banged his boy doggy style bent over a sofa, Jake started hitting me up, saying he was interested in getting with me alone. He would send me shots of himself in various, non-sexual poses. Like photos of himself getting a hair cut or posing on a hiking trail. Just random shit.
“I want to fuck you,” he said.
“Not interested man. I’m a top,” I would answer.”By the way, does Phil know you are calling me Jake.”
“No,” he would say.
Over time Jake’s telephone conversations got more erratic and rambling. He was once married and said he wanted to go back to being with a woman because he was getting older and desired children. Then he swore he was in love with me. Other times he would say he still loved Phil but didn’t want to live with him or fuck him.
My mother grew up down south and often uses old-fashioned, country sayings. Sometimes when a person she knew would ramble off at the mouth and say crazy shit she would mutter, “They are jumping time.”
The saying I think refers to a car with a faulty timing belt. They idle fast and then slow, rev up and down. When I talked to Jake I would think of mama’s saying.
Last week he called me at 11:30 at night, waking me from a sound sleep. The conversation was the same — all over the place. He and Jake were breaking up, he was in love with some new boy, he was tired of the “superficial” gay life, some family members were praying for him to go straight, and he wanted a woman again and to have kids.
I had enough. Nigger was fucking with my sleep.
“Look Jake, if you get married in a few months you will be cheating on her with dudes…you like a man’s ass!”
“If you want kids adopt or get a foster child. A lot of gay men do.”
“If you and Phil are having problems or you feel yourself going crazy go get counseling. You are a professional and have health care. Mental issues are covered.”
“And stop being so self centered. When I get obsessed with my problems I volunteer. Why don’t you do the same. It might make you feel better.”
The next day Jake called to say thank you and the conversation had helped his state of mind. We all agreed to meet at a gay club. He and Phil had decided to break up but were still friendly.
Last Saturday he texted me saying he wanted to go out. And Phil would join him. We met at one club and went to a second. Phil stayed at the first but told me I could roll with Jake, just bring him home safe. From the wistful, tender way Phil said it I could tell he still loved Jake but was weary of him too.
We went to the second club, split up and I had fun hanging with my buddy rex, who was also there. But when I drove Jake home things got crazier and crazier. Maybe because he had been drinking.
Jake told me he was feeling me and demanded I kiss him. Then he put his hand on my crotch right over my dick.
“Nigger, take your fucking hand off my dick,” I growled. “If you don’t I’ll pull over, kick you out with my size 12 foot, and you can walk the fuck home.”
“Why are you so mean to me Immanuel,” he whined.
“Because I’m not feeling you. So don’t try to go there.”
He jumped time and started to criticize my friends he had met at the club, calling them “dirty” and beneath his level.
“I’m Ivy League educated,” he bragged.
“Dude, I know folks with doctorates that don’t have common sense,” I responded.
Then he jumped time again.
“I hope I’m not HIV positive.”
“Dude what the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m in love with this dude and I fuck him raw. I found out he is HIV positive and I kept fucking him. I’ve fucked him like 30 times.”
“Jake, are you crazy? Put on a condom dude. You know better than that. We’re not some young kids. Go get an HIV test next week.”
I couldn’t wait to get him home. Phil had to come down to let us into the condominium building.
“I’m going to have a talk with Phil man,” I said to Jake.
“No please don’t tell him all this,” Jake whined like a five-year old trying to get a friend not to tattle on him.
I sat both of them down in the lobby. I told Phil Jake had been calling me repeatedly since last summer but I did not tell him Jake had been hitting on me. I didn’t bring up the HIV issue either. I just told Phil that Jake needed help and how the hell could he put up with his bullshit.
Jake jumped time again. “I don’t want to hear this,” he said, probably trying to cut he conversation short before I told the real dirt. “Let’s go Phil.”
I pushed him back down the sofa. “Nigger, if you get up again before I’m ready for you to leave I will beat…the…fucking…shit..out…of…you,” I growled, emphasizing each word,
Jake sat down and shut the hell up. Phil just looked weary. It was two o’clock in the morning.
“Look, I don’t have time for your issues,” I said to the both of them. “I got issues too. I just separated from my wife, moved out and embarked on a new life, and am starting a new career. But you don’t see my whining and complaining. If you two are going to break up, just break up.”
Phil finally ended the conversation. He said he and Jake were making plans to separate. I couldn’t argue with that. I gave Phil a heartfelt hug and I rolled the fuck out, leaving the two of them to their misery.
This morning Jake sent a picture message on my phone. An image of a breakfast table after the meal is over. Plates with half eaten food on them. Crazy. Dumb. Shit.
I erased it and did not answer back.