Page 9 of Taste Test

“My darling son and his best friend thought it would be a bright idea to put cling film over the school toilets. Apparently nearly a dozen students fell for it.” She shook her head, but I could see she was trying not to smile. “The headmaster was not amused when he called me.”

“Sounds like normal fifteen-year-old behaviour to me.”

“That’s what I told his father. Big mistake. Now I’m getting lectures about ‘appropriate consequences’ and ‘teaching responsibility.’ As if the man who didn’t learn how to use a washing machine until he was in his thirties has any right to talk about responsibility.”

I laughed, sliding her cortado across the counter with a perfect leaf pattern in the foam. “Divorce sounds like it was the right call.”

“Tell me about it.” She wrapped her hands around the cup and inhaled the aroma.

“Best decision I ever made. Even if it did mean going back to uni at thirty-seven to analyse the sexual repression in Dickens novels.” She glanced ruefully at her towering stack of books.

“I have three assignments due next week and I honestly feel like my brain is fried.”

“Ouch.”

“What about you? Are you juggling multiple assignments as well?”

“No. Just one assignment due next week. A business management case study. I’m using this place as my subject, analysing the operational efficiency and management structure.”

“Speaking of management structure,” Suzie said, glancing around the empty café, “where’s your charming supervisor?”

Right on cue, a particularly loud crash echoed from the stockroom, followed by what sounded like Dash having a heated argument with an inanimate object.

“There’s your answer,” I said.

“Crikey,” she said. “Is he always this graceful?”

“Honestly, that’s just his default setting. Clumsy fuckery in skinny jeans.”

“Skinny jeans you’d like to see on the floor of your bedroom.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, even if I did regret ever telling her about the stupid little crush.

She glanced towards the stockroom again as another crash echoed out. “Though I have to ask, does he do any work back there, or is he just having a tantrum with coffee beans?”

“Bit of both really. Last week I found him sitting on the floor eating biscuits while surrounded by exploded sugar packets.”

“And you didn’t take photos?”

“I was too busy cleaning up his mess to document it.”

“Rookie mistake. Next time, evidence first, cleanup second.” She took a sip of her cortado and sighed contentedly. “Right, now catch me up on all the adventures in The Life of Casey. Feels like forever since I last saw you. Come on, give me the highlights.”

It had been over a week since we last spoke so there was a fair bit to catch her up on.

“Quite a bit has happened,” I said. “Including flatmate drama of the highest order.”

“Ooh, flatmate gossip. My favourite kind. What did Golden Boy do this time?”

Golden Boy was her nickname for Jared. Suzie had known exactly who he was the first time I mentioned living with him.

Her eyes had gone wide as she’d said: “ Wait, Jared Sutherland? The rugby player? My boys worship him! ” Which had led to me, in a moment of weakness, inviting Suzie and her sons over so the boys could meet their local hero.

I’d been quietly baffled at how keen they were to meet my shit-for-brains flatmate. I mean, he played for the university team, not exactly the All Blacks. But according to Suzie’s boys, Jared Sutherland was “the man.” Ugh.

Jared had been in his element that afternoon, signing autographs, handing out old training gear, giving away tickets to the next home game, even kicking a ball around with them in our tiny back garden.

The boys had been over the moon, Suzie was grateful, and Jared basked in the hero worship like he was granting royal favours.

It was sweet, I suppose, but watching him lap up all that adoration while I hovered on the sidelines like an unpaid PR assistant had made me want to throttle him.

Suzie shifted in her chair, cradling her cortado like she was settling in for a proper story. I found myself picking at the edge of a receipt on the counter, wondering if this was the kind of thing you told people. But my inner gossipy bitch won out.

“He brought me breakfast in bed this morning,” I said.

“Okay… but that’s hardly drama and entertainment, darling.”

“There was a catch.”

“Let me guess. He spilled orange juice all over your duvet and then blamed it on you? Or he showed up with his shirt off, posing like he was auditioning for a Weet-Bix ad?”

I snorted. “You’re not far off.”

She held up a finger. “Wait. Did he cook you a fry-up but use protein powder instead of eggs? Or, oh god, did he make you try his new kale smoothie and call it detox?”

“Worse. Much worse.”

“Stop skirting round the bush. Just tell me what Golden Boy did.”

I lowered my voice and said, “Along with the toast and coffee, he also brought me a glass full of his cum and asked me to drink it.”

Suzie nearly dropped her coffee. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“He brought you his actual” her throat rippled with an ill-timed swallow “in a glass?”

“Yep.”

“What. The. Actual. Fuck?”

I quickly filled her in on the whole sordid story, telling her about the party, Jess and Connor hooking up, Jared’s obsession with being swallowed, and his mental breakdown over the whole thing.

“So you actually did it?” she asked when I’d finished.

“I actually did it.”

“And how was it?”

“Honestly? It wasn’t terrible. I mean, it wasn’t exactly orange juice, but as far as cum goes, it was fine. Better than fine.”

“Better than fine,” she repeated slowly. “Bloody hell, Casey.”

“What?”

“Nothing… it’s just I didn’t think you had a thing for Jared.”

“I don’t have a thing for Jared. At all.” The denial came out sharper than I’d intended, which probably didn’t help my case.

“Are you sure? Because you almost sounded pleased when you described how it tasted.”

“I’m not pleased. I’m just being objective.”

“Objective,” she said, taking a deliberately long sip of her cortado while maintaining eye contact. “Right. And this was definitely a one-time thing?”

“Absolutely. He got his answer, I solved his crisis, everyone’s happy.” I busied myself wiping down the already-clean counter. “It’s not like he’s going to make a habit of bringing me breakfast with a side of spunk.”

Suzie snorted into her coffee. “Let’s hope not.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of Dash banging around in the stockroom filling the gap. Then Suzie set down her cup and broke the quiet with another question: “So how did Jared react? After you… you know. Swallowed.”

“He was really happy,” I admitted. “Like, properly happy.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Are you studying psychology or English literature?”

She giggled. “Sorry, occupational hazard. All that character analysis is bleeding into real life. But seriously, how did it make you feel?”

“Like I’d helped a mate out. That’s what friends do, right?”

Mate. Christ, Jared’s vocabulary was rubbing off on me. Next I’d be calling people “bro” and discussing the finer points of protein powder flavours.

Suzie nodded. “Do you think there’s a reason he asked you specifically?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he could have hired someone. Gone to a massage parlour or whatever. Found some girl on Tinder who was into that sort of thing. But he asked you. Why do you think that is?”

“Because I’m convenient, I suppose. I live with him.”

“Is that really the only reason?”

“What else would it be?”

“Maybe because he trusts you. Maybe because he feels comfortable with you. Maybe because—”

“Because I’m gay and he thinks all gay guys are walking blow job dispensers?”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Then what?”

“I was going to say that maybe, on some level, he wanted it to be you specifically.”

I knew exactly where she was going with this, and I could feel my defences shooting up like castle walls. “This isn’t one of those ‘gay for you’ romances you binge on, Suzie. Trust me. This is a man whose browser history is probably ninety percent straight porn and ten percent rugby highlights.”

“Sexuality isn’t always that black and white, my dear.

Trust me. My ex-husband admitted that when he was seventeen, he and his best friend went on a hunting trip near Rotorua, got plastered in a tent, and started daring each other to do stupid things.

What began as ‘bet you won’t’ ended with them in a contest to see who could give the best blowjob.

He swore it was just the booze and being horny teenage boys but who knows. ”

“Your ex told you this?” I raised an incredulous brow. “Willingly?”

Suzie laughed. “Grant was always particularly chatty after a good shag and a glass of wine. You’d be surprised what secrets a man is willing to spill during pillow talk if he’s still madly in love.”

I’d met Grant once, when he came by Suzie’s to pick the boys up one weekend.

Tall and olive-skinned, he was a suburban dad type with werewolf hair sprouting from his arms and legs, polo shirt tucked into cargo shorts, Crocs on his feet.

It was hard to picture him as a horny teenager in a tent near Rotorua, daring his best mate to suck his cock.

“But the thing is,” Suzie continued, “it wasn’t just a one-off.

Every few weeks, after a few drinks or a long day out in the bush, they’d end up ‘experimenting’ again.

He told me they tried everything. Blowjobs, mutual wanking, even anal a few times when they were feeling brave.

Once they got their jollies they’d laugh about it and go straight back to talking about girls they fancied or what rifle scope they wanted next.

And it went on for nearly two years, right up until they both landed proper girlfriends and decided to call it quits.

Grant told me it felt safe. That was the word he used. Safe.”

I found myself leaning forward slightly. “That’s kind of hot actually.”

“You’re telling me. I’ve always wanted to write a story about it: two lads, one tent, and a whole lot of denial. ”

“Did they ever talk about it after they called it off?”

“I don’t think so. They just pretended it never happened.

But the point is, my husband has spent the last twenty years calling himself completely straight despite having had regular sexual encounters with another man for two years.

Sometimes people aren’t as simple as their labels suggest.” She fixed me with that pointed look again.

“Even rugby gods named Jared Sutherland.”

“It is that simple with Jared.”

“I’m not saying he’s gay but perhaps he is curious? Confused? Figuring things out?”

“You’re reading way too much into this. It was a practical solution to a stupid problem. Nothing more.”

“If you say so.” Her tone suggested she wasn’t convinced.

“I do say so.”

But even as the words left my mouth, I couldn’t shake the image of Jared’s face this morning when I’d told him his cum wasn’t terrible. The way he lit up like I’d handed him a bloody Oscar. Was it just ego? Or something else?

Another crash from the stockroom interrupted my thoughts, followed by Dash unleashing a fresh volley of f-bombs and c-words that could peel paint.

Suzie stood, gathering her books. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Careful of what?”

“Getting in too deep. This whole situation sounds like it could get complicated fast.”

“It’s not complicated. It’s weird, but not complicated.”

She gave me a smile then walked out, the bell chiming behind her.

For a moment, I just stood there, Suzie’s warning needling at the back of my mind. Getting in too deep . She made it sound like I was on the verge of emotional ruin, when in reality all I wanted was to make it through the day without Jared having another meltdown about Swallowgate.

I went to the door and flipped the sign to CLOSED and took a breath.

Not complicated , I told myself. Absolutely not complicated.

And on that note, I headed out back to ask Dash about his progress at the gym.