Page 174 of Playing By Ear

“All right,” Jamie said as he sat across the table from Perry and reached for his tumbler of bourbon. “Who spotted you?”

“Lorna’s boyfriend, Russell. He didn’t recognize me on sight, but once he realized I was blind, I suppose it clicked.”

“God, what are the chances?” Jamie asked. “Thousands of channels on that camming site, and this lad happens to watch yours.” He knocked back his entire dram in one go, then reached for the bottle. Perry didn’t bother mentioning it was a sipping bourbon. “So was it weird, watching the footy knowing some random bi guy in the crowd has had a wank looking at you?”

“When you put it that way, I suppose it is weird.” Perry sipped his bourbon. “I’ve often thought about it in the abstract, when I’ve been out in public.”

“What, like, riding the bus? Wondering if any of the other passengers have seen you naked?”

Perry smiled. “It’s one of the best parts of camming, honestly.”

“I fucking love that.”

The glow inside Perry was only partly down to the shower orgasm. Jamie radically accepted everything about him. Amazing.

“So what are we gonnae do,” Jamie asked, “if this goes beyond the football-forum gobshites?”

“I don’t know yet, but I’m working on a plan.” Perry set aside his bourbon and took a sip of tea to clear his head. “Step One of this plan is lying awake all night figuring out what Step Two is.”

“Sounds sound to me.” Jamie let out a long sigh, and in it Perry heard Martin’s confession return to the front of Jamie’s mind. No amount of sex or alcohol or even tea could erase that reality.

“I’ve said it before, but I’m sorry you’re going through this.” Perry reached across the table and took Jamie’s hand. “I love you,” he added, before he could stop himself.

Jamie drew in a sharp breath and pulled his hand away. His chair scratched the floor as he lurched to his feet.

Was he running away? Now? Perry wasn’t sorry. On this night of cataclysmic truth-telling, Jamie needed to know that one simple fact above all else.

Instead of receding, Jamie’s form and footsteps came closer. He knelt on the floor beside Perry and wrapped his arms round his waist, burying his face in Perry’s side.

Perry folded over to return his embrace, and there they stayed, frozen yet warm in the silence where no words were needed.

Chapter 34

Perry slept poorly that night. Jamie tossed and turned, at one point leaving the bed and going to the kitchen for what seemed a long time. In the wakeful gaps between dozing, Perry considered his own dilemma and what to do if his secret was revealed to the world at large.

His camming hurt no one. He and his viewers were all consenting adults. Loads of people—like contestants on reality shows—did embarrassing things for money.

If everyone knew, he wouldn’t have to hide it anymore. Perhaps he could remove his sunglasses onscreen with the studio lights dimmed. He’d definitely earn more money, maybe even enough for camming to be his sole income.

But it would have to be, wouldn’t it? If he “came out” as a cam model, his writing work might dry up overnight. He was struggling as it was to find assignments that accommodated his vision loss.

At 5 a.m., Jamie seemed fast asleep at last. Perry went to the kitchen to cook or bake something to make his boyfriend feel better.

Standing in front of an open cupboard, sifting through his mental cookery book, he contemplated the bigger picture.

Which of his careers was more sustainable in the long run, writing or camming? At thirty-two, he was already older than most cam models. His looks and physique wouldn’t last forever.

Besides, he would miss writing, despite its recent challenges. The sensation of words somersaulting from his mind onto the page was like oxygen. When he didn’t write, he didn’t feel himself; all his thoughts jumbled up like cars in a traffic jam.

Muffins. Making muffins would help him think.

Perry pulled out the muffin tin from a bottom cupboard and tried to remember when he’d last used it. Better to clean it now and have no regrets.

He took the pan to the sink and picked up the bottle of tangerine-scented washing-up liquid.

Hang on. Sticking to the front of the bottle was a new bumpy patch: a label written in Braille. Perry hadn’t put there, as he didn’t need labels for frequently used items with distinctive shapes like this.

Holding the bottle in his left hand, he touched the first letter with his right index finger.