I'm Jonny, I'm 44 and recently divorced after 12 years.
After two years of fighting and no sex, we decided to split. I won't bore you with the details, but of course, as we had a kid, I was the one that had to leave.
So we begin there, with me, two bin bags of my stuff, moving into a shared flat with two other guys.
I found the flat on Gumtree, and only had dealt with the landlord.
So, I didn't know who was living there. This, at 44 years old, was very depressing.
When I arrived, the landlord showed me around. It was a sparsely decorated flat, as you'd expect with a shared flat, you could tell it was just a place for storing your stuff and sleeping. There was no homely feeling at all.
A couch, a chair, a tv, 4 of each cutlery implements, washer, dryer and 3 bedrooms.
Mines was the smallest. A single room with a bed, a table a tiny window and one of those Ikea foldaway clothes hangers.
The landlord could see I was gutted, but took my 2 months rent up front, and left.
I nearly cried.
Alone on a lumpy well used mattress, every thing I built, in possession of my ex-wife.
I rolled a joint, opened the window, and sat in the armchair, dejected, but not broken.
I vowed to make this dump a little more liveable, and once I meet my flatmates, at least try to get to know them, have a laugh, or a smoke, and maybe make new friends.
I knew they had lived there 15 months together, so I'd be the newbie getting in their way for a bit, so I wanted to start out well.
After putting away my things, and making room for the rest of my stuff, once I pick it up...I realised I had 3 hrs to kill before work, and the telly wasn't plugged in to any kind of streaming service, I decided to tidy the flat.
Make a good first impression. I'm a tidy person anyway, I've always liked having a clean orderly house.
I found the hoover cupboard, and whipped that around. Which took 6 minutes.
So I got right under the furniture, and did all the skirting boards...another 7 minutes...ugh.
So I did the dishes, wiped the bunkers, and emptied the rubbish bin.
There was a full laundry basket in the hall, but I thought, nah, bit too personal. Not that bored.
I went for a walk. See the local area.
I've been in this part of the city a thousand times, but never more than passing through. There seemed to be alot of small cafes, prosecco bars, and bric-a-brac shops.
Maybe I was imaginings things, but I thought there were alot of rainbow flags around.
But, hey, sign of the times, no?
Again, I'd never really looked around here before, so thought nothing of it.
I wandered into a cafe, got a latte, from a really chatty gay guy, who told me that this area was called the "pink triangle ". Well that explains it, I suppose. Not that I cared, I say live and let live.
And I'd experimented with a few guys in my teens and twentys.
I remembered one summer, where I had a blow job buddy, and to be honest, I really liked it at the time, I'd look forward to when we were alone.
I'm not gay, of course, but I can't judge anyone.
So feeling a bit more relaxed, I realised I needed to get home to get ready for work. So I headed up the road, and started to get ready.
Just as I was leaving, I met Mustafa, flat mate number one. He was coming in and I was going out, so only a brief hand-shake, he said he was tired, worked at a hospital from 5am until 3pm.
He was Nigerian, moved here for work.
A nice guy, I never had time to appraise him, but could see he worked out, and he looked like a man that had seen alot.
I guess I'll find out tonight when I get off work.
He did tell me, however, the other guy, Clarke was also Nigerian and he finished his shift, at the same hospital, at 6pm.
So I should grab a few beers on my way home, and we'd all get introduced then.
So I did. I don't drink, I prefer the ganja, but I bought 4 bottles of what I guessed was good beer and headed to the flat.
I got in, and both guys were at the kitchen table, watching football ( ugh) on a tablet.
They looked up, then looked me up and down, almost in unison. I felt awkward, strangely like a deer in the headlights. And I thought, these guys are rough looking. I got a little nervous, and hoped they didn't see me as a threat, or something silly like that.
I introduced myself, we shook hands, neither guy was much bigger than me, and both were older, but had physiques bigger than me. In shape where I was flabby, toned where I was shapeless, hard where I was soft.
I felt a strange butterfly feeling in my guts. I, bizarrely, hoped they liked me.
No, wrong word, I hoped they approved of me. I don't know why, but I craved their approval.
Mustafa: 53 yo. About 6ft tall. Muscles more like spiderman, than the hulk.
Was in the Nigerian army for 20 years, had to get out, to make retirement money. Now a hospital porter.
Had a wife and 5 kids back in his homeland.
Clarke. 49yo 5"10 ish. But, like, no neck type of muscles build. He loved wieght lifting.
Was also army at home( thats where they met) Wife and 1 kid at home. He was a medic in the army, and is now a nurse here.
Well met, the beers helped, we talked politics, talked about our upbringing...but when it turned to football, I was lost. So decided, don't know why, to tidy up the plates from their dinner, and wash them.
I got them each another beer, was about to go to my room and chill, when Mustafa spoke up...
"Noticed you like to clean, eh?"
Clarke added, "Gets the beers too"
They laughed, and high fived each other, "Be careful, we might mistake you for a housewife" Clarke chimed in, Mustafa laughingly said, "separate the whites and colours when you do the laundry."
I figured it was the beers and they were just ultra manly homophobe types, so I thought I'd reply something witty and designed to irk them a bit, what came out was....
"If I was a housewife, you two couldn't handle it."
I immediately regretted it. I never figured the cultural differences. They might not see that as a wind up....
They saw it as a challenge.
They stopped laughing.
They looked at me for ages.
I stammered "anyway, enough jokes, I'm off to bed, boys." BOYS! Why the fuck did I say that. It came out so flirtatious.
I hoped they would think I was a weirdo, and just ignore me.
But then Mustafa said, words that echoed in my head all night, "Goodnight sweetie, the laundry will be by the machine in the morning!" And they laughed, loud, and hard. For too long I thought.
I looked back, over my shoulder, just as I went in my room, they were watching me.
And I swear I saw Clarke wink.
After a doobie, I realised these guys were probably alright. Couple of laddy ex-army types. You know, surrounded by other alpha males, able to have a joke, but really dark humor....They'll go about their business, and me mine. Occasional laugh at some sick shit.
And I fell asleep.
I woke at 9 am. Flat was empty. Quiet and the birds chirping. I didn't feel like it was all crashing down anymore. I woke feeling like at least I got a safe place to live, and I can work extra to get my own flat.
I gave myself a year in this flat. Next July, I'm in my own place.
Space for the boy to stay over when his mother lets me.
I got up, went for a pee. Went to make a coffee....and froze.
There, in front of the washing machine, was the full hamper from the hall.
No note. No sign it was a joke.
Just staring at me. Fuck off, right? I mean, I'll hoover, but this is a piss take.
I made my coffee and a roll up. Laughed it off.
He'll get the message, when it's still there tonight.
Laughing it off, I smoked and drank my coffee by the window...my eyes kept drifting back to the basket....
What if he really wants me to do it?
And if I don't he might be disappointed.
In me.
Wait, why do I care?
I want his respect. Not his praise.
But, then again, it's just washing.
If I do it once though. Will it be expected?
What else will become expected?
I can't cook.
What am I thinking?
These men will treat me like a housewife if I act like one. I'm a man. I'm my own man.
I should confront them.
I should definitely STOP loading these clothes into the machine. Whites only. 1 tablet and some fabric softener.
Where is it? None. I'll buy some. They'll like the smell.
I pressed "start" on the machine.
My cock was hard. And dripping.
From washing another mans laundry.
I only hoped I did it right. I want to see Mustafa smile.
He looks like he needs it.
I wrapped my hand around myself, just to test the hardness. And came. Inside my pyjamas.
I felt like a bitch.
