A Taste for Billy, by Christopher Jackson-Ash

Let’s get this clear right from the outset; I’m an atheist. I do not believe in God. That doesn’t mean that I don’t have morals or ethics. When I’m lying on my death bed, I’m sure that I’ll be doing the balance thing – weighing up the good and bad stuff I’ve done in my life and seeing which way it tilts. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll not be expecting heaven or hell, just nothingness when the lights finally go out. I hope the balance will be fairly level – too much of either one can’t be good for you. I’ve never killed a man, though some would say that my oral skills have come pretty close to being lethal. I’ve never saved a man either, unless you count Billy Slater. I often wonder what happened to Billy. I never did see him again after his wedding day. He was pretty dirty on me and I suppose he had the right. I let my mouth go right off that day, though in my defence it was still full of his man seed at the time.

I’d been his bottom boy since junior high school, in secret of course. The folks round our way didn’t take too kindly to that homo stuff. Poor Stevie Carter was dealt with so bad when it came out that he was queer that he ended up throwing himself off the town bridge. I had to keep my lack of love for both God and women secret until I left for the big smoke. That would have been Billy’s wedding day. Ain’t never been home since and don’t expect to. They have long memories there and even my papa wanted to lock me up. I don’t suppose he ever lived down the disgrace of it all. He died the next winter and mama wrote me that I’d killed him. That was the last time I heard from her. I believe she died the very next year.

Billy and me were always careful, though we did nearly get caught down by the school yard one time. He just got his cock back in his pants in time and I pretended that I’d dropped something. I ain’t never tasted anything in my life sweeter than Billy’s man seed. I tell you, I’ve lost count of the number of men I’ve sucked off since I left home but none of them can compare to Billy’s sweet nectar. It near broke my heart when he told me he was getting married. His folks had arranged a suitable match. I reckon they had a few suspicions and wanted to nip it in the bud. That last week, I sucked him off every night – well, I was the best man. After his stag party, even though he could barely get it up because of the drink, he fucked me for the last time. I sucked him off as I helped him dress for the ceremony – I told him it would relax him. His bride was a little late getting to the church, so I sucked him off in the vestry to relax him some more. He didn’t want to come because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to get it up on his wedding night, but he could never resist my mouth for long. I zipped him up just as the organist struck up ‘Here Comes the Bride’ and got into a fit of giggles because the groom had just come first. I didn’t want to swallow, because it might be the last time I would taste his sweet seed. I ushered him to the altar with dribbles of come running down my chin.

I don’t know what came over me then. I remember the ceremony as if it were taking place in a thick fog. The sounds were muffled and I could barely make out the bride, which was probably just as well because she looked more like a man than I did. I’m not saying she was ugly, but she had a job at the local dairy as a milk curdler. Was it my own jealousy or could I not let Billy commit himself to a life of purgatory with a yoghurt maker? I suppose it was a bit of both. When the priest asked whether anyone knew just cause why they shouldn’t be joined, I should have forever held my peace, instead of thinking about Billy’s piece. To the shock and amazement of the congregation and the utter horror of the wedding party, I shouted out, ‘I do!’

My mouth was still full at this time and the unfortunate priest was on the receiving end of a gob full of spit and come. He was momentarily nonplussed by these two never-before-experienced events. He wiped his cassock with his free hand with a look of disdain and in a loud voice said, ‘Speak, my son, or forever hold your peace!’ The emphasis was on the last three syllables. This was my last chance to redeem myself, but I failed to take it. Billy looked at me with his mouth agape and shook his head, before holding it in both hands. The words I spoke have been repeated in my nightmares ever since.

“Billy can’t marry her! She’s a lesbian!”

The bride screamed and fainted. The church erupted in chaos, the bride’s father said some things that are not repeatable and came at me to kill me. The priest stepped between us. I took the opportunity to leg it out of the back door and jump on a timely passing bus to anywhere.

Did I do wrong or did I save my lover from a lifetime of torment? I never meant to hurt the bride’s reputation. I had no reason to think that she was a lesbian and I was sure it would all blow over in time. Mama’s letter also told me that the bride had left town and was now living with a butch girl in the big smoke.

Author: alexhogan

Writer. View all posts by alexhogan