Page 48 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
Another pause.
Then he asks, perfectly level. “Why are you watching gay porn?”
I stare at him.
My mouth opens. Closes. Reopens like a dying fish. “I wasn’t—I mean, Iwas, technically, but—”I take a breath. “It’s not about that. In straight porn, the guy’s usually quiet. Just sort of… there. Doing things to the woman. And the woman’s expected to shriek and flail like she’s being exorcised.”
He says nothing.
I go on. Because clearly, I’ve decided now is the moment to bare my soul in graphic detail.
“I’m not reallywatchingit. I don’t need the visuals. I’m not fussed about who’s doing what to whom… that’s not what turns me on. It’s the audio. The voices. When it’s two men, they both make noise. One of them always talks — filthy, low voice, bit of a growl, bit of moaning. It’s… a turn-on. That’s all. Not that it actually worked this time.”
I stop. Mouth dry. Ears burning. I can hear my own heartbeat in my neck.
Jasper doesn’t move. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t offer pity for the sad, lonely divorcee who needs high-production-value twink porn to get through a Saturday afternoon.
He just stands there, entirely still. His expression completely blank.
And somehow that’sso much worse.
Because I don’t know what he’s thinking.
Not a clue.
He shifts slightly, then clears his throat. “Maybe I should come back another time. Let you, uh… carry on.”
I stare at him.
“I mean,” he adds, very politely, “I didn’t realise I was interrupting. Sorry.”
He crouches just enough to place Twinklesocks gently on the floor, and as he turns to leave, I swear he subtly adjusts himself.
Just a little rearrange in the trouser region. Barely there.
My brain lights up like someone’s flicked a faulty switch.
Was that…?
No.
Was it the porn?
Or my awkward explanation?
Or maybe—
OhGod, maybe he’sgay. Maybe that’s why he spends so much time at Callum’s. Not that there would be anything wrong with it. Except that Callum is with Stella, of course. Oh, maybe they have some secret thing, maybe they do a reverse haram thing?
I spiral for a good ten seconds—full internal PowerPoint presentation, complete with footnotes and sexual identity theories—before he turns back around and interrupts it.
“Why wasn’t it working?” he asks, voice still maddeningly even.
“What?”
“The… thing. The audio. The… self-love. All of it.” His brow lifts just slightly. “Why wasn’t it working?”
And just like that, I forget how to breathe.
