Not really a romance, but something along the lines of a women's magazine.
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The next four days go by in a flash. Gerald is absent all week, Carl and I are at it like rabbits, my laundry seems to contain nothing but underwear and bed sheets, and after a little persuasion Carl agrees to accompany me to the works "summer get together".
The venue -a typically under-funded, grotty social club- is exactly how I imagined it as we "Velcro-walk" over the function room's sticky carpet to the bar.
With my hunk proudly adorning my arm I'm just about to suggest that we make it a quick one then head off into town, when I'm suddenly rugby tackled by something large from my left.
"Hey Sssssslander. I thidn't dink you were c......coming."
Tottering drunkenly in high heels that should be outlawed for people her size, Sam grins lopsidedly before taking a hearty slug of something pink with an umbrella in it.
"Wouldn't miss it" I say, my voice warring against Black Lace's Agadoo. "Anyway, Sam, this is Carl-"
But I introduce her to nothing but thin air. No doubt my hunk thought I might be some time placating the rugby proficient hippo and decided to get us a drink.
I look over to the bar, where a gaggle of cackling fish wives are surrounding a mop of blond hair, a thick neck and wide shoulders.
Carl's darkened expression fills my mind (Does he get aggressive?) and, alarmingly, I realise that I have no idea how Carl might react. Might he challenge Gerald, or even hit him? I have to admit, part of me would like to hear Gerald explain a black eye to his "partner" and their "open relationship."
The sound of a slobbering dog in my ear and an accompanying shower of spittle, diverts me.
"I sled" Sam slurs, "the rumours were all true. He's come out the closet. Said he was sick of living a lie." She staggers and some of the pink concoction spills onto the sofa she's cunningly disguised as a dress for this evening.
"GERALD?" she shouts, noting my bewildered expression, "He's............. Si-Bexual."
I have to get out of here now. Gerald's not stupid, he'll know it was me who set him up and now that he's "come out" he'll tell everyone his suspicions.
Where is Carl? Surely he must have been served by now?
Just as I make up my mind to force myself to the bar and look for him an explosion of cackling excitement detonates behind me. What now?
Clapping, pumping and flexing his way through a throng of pawing, clutching middle aged desperados is.....Carl.
He's wearing nothing but a smile and a golden thong (Oh wow!). Light glistens off his flexing pecs, ripples across his pumped shoulders, as he gyrates his way toward me. Talk about announcing our relationship.
As my hunk approaches all my misgivings suddenly evaporate, replaced with a need to see the utter jealousy on Gerald's face.
Carl struts right past me without a word.
Spinning around angrily, I notice that the gathering of women around Gerald have parted. And there he stands, wearing the same golden thong as Carl, and a smile bigger than a Scooby-Doo sandwich.
To the delight of the baying audience of hippos and ironing boards, Carl skips up to the depot darling, leaps into the air and wraps his legs around him.
And just as Carl kisses him, the kind of slow, electrifying kiss he used to share with me, I realise that Gerald wasn't full of crap. He really is in an open relationship and his partner is as open as Gerald himself; because his partner was Carl all along.
The "happy couple" raise their glasses in my direction and wink, their ultimate set up having worked to perfection.
But already I'm pretending the smug looks and pointing fingers are aimed at someone else as I turn to Sam, wondering if she'd like to jump in a taxi and head into town.
But Sam is nowhere to be seen............