Tom sat at his desk looking out the window as the planes made their descent towards LAX. It had been a difficult day. Hell, it had been a horrendous year. In a country torn apart with falling housing values, rising unemployment and too much debt; it was not easy being a small businessmen. Half of his former clients, whom he had serviced as an accountant, were now out of business. California and especially Los Angeles had been hard hit by the economic downturn.
He knew he should head home up I-10 towards the four-bedroom house that his wife kept immaculately clean despite having three young children to care for and ferry about to school, soccer and scouts. But he felt the tension rising inside. He loved his wife; he always had since they met during their freshman orientation at the University of Southern California. He adored his nine year old son and two precious little girls.
But Tom had a secret: a deep dark secret that could destroy it all. No, he did not gamble. And despite the current financial crisis, his family would weather the storm; probably better than most. He did not even have a mistress. Tom's secret was his obsession with gay porn. Although he had not actually been with another man, his strict Catholic upbringing had long ago drummed into him the mortal danger of this particular sin; Tom spent hours each day and week watching YouPorn, Red Tube and a couple of discrete pay sites. He was fascinated by the lithe young male bodies locked in carnal embraces that the church condemned as unholy.
He had heard all the condemnations when he had sought forgiveness from Father John during his weekly confessional. But after a single admission and the horrid silence that had filled the tiny booth and spoke far louder than the penance he was given of the church's disgust as this weakness of his flesh; he had simply stopped going. He now had a ready made excuse each time his wife inquired about mass. The safest was always that he had work to catch up on; that she should take the children alone. Of course, the moment he heard the SUV leave the garage he was logging into one of his favourite websites. He would stare at the screen and rub his hardening cock straining against his track suit bottoms until he once again heard the engine of his wife's car.
The irony of course was that he tried very hard not to actually cum. He knew his thinking was highly flawed, but somehow he justified that if he did not orgasm then his sin was not complete: that perhaps he was not gay. Instead he would seek the sexual satisfaction that the church endorsed in the arms of his wife, even though it always left him wanting. In truth, he only managed to function as a husband by closing his eyes and fantasizing of other things: other men. He shivered at the thought even as he remembered that his earliest crushes were always on male heart throbs such as Scott Baio and Shawn Cassidy rather than the beautiful women that his school friends had taped to their lockers: Farrah Fawcett and Linda Carter chief among them.
Tom dropped his head into his hands as the computer screen continued to flash with images of hard, muscular bodies wrestling towards their orgasmic release. He wondered how much longer he could actually battle these demons that he had kept at bay for so long. Was he doomed to act upon these feelings that he had secretly held for so long? Was as Father John insisted he doomed for the eternal fires of hell?
His reverie was interrupted by a low cough from the door way. Tom looked up to see the young cleaner, Antonio, even as he hit the minimise button on the computer. H e never actually turned the volume up anyway; always certain that someone in the neighboring office would overhear the loud cries of ecstasy and mistake them for his own. He fumbled about; toppling the pens in the ceramic cup that his oldest daughter had made him for Father's Day last year. He was more nervous than he had ever been; he did not know how long the man had stood in the doorway before clearing his throat. This was the closest that Tom had come to discovery and he was mortified.
Stammering in embarrassment, he began, 'I'll be out of your way in a minute. I just need to shut down my computer and the office is all yours.' He finished with a weak smile then, hoping it covered his nervousness.
Antonio nodded, but made no effort to leave the room as Tom had hoped he might. Instead he simply stepped inside the organised office with its neat rows of filing cabinets against one wall, a couch and table against another, and Tom's desk facing the window with its view of the downtown sky and planes on their final descent; just as he was perhaps on his final descent into the depravity he had fought almost his whole life.
