On falling for a bronze statue…
Aristide Maillol. He seduced us with stone. Flirted in bronze. Gaston Colin. A mystery. Le Cycliste. A favour for a friend. Harry Graf Kessler. But Maillol didn’t do dick. But Charlie said, “It is conceivable that he hated the male penis. Much the same as I do with the female vagina.”
On realising that I know nothing about female anatomy…
And so, to be real, I know nothing about female anatomy. Where to stick it? What to do? What to say? Multiple choice. Confused with a clitoris, vulva and a vagina. In case of emergency. Anus. Refer to Dummies Guide to Girl Parts.
On teenage scally boys messing with me…
Broken promises and lies. Rebellious and street smart. Teenage scally boys who disrespected me. No trust, I told them. I’m burned now. I kicked the shit out of one of them. They threw eggs at me.
On flirting with the guy with a girlfriend…
A flick of the eyes. Said it all. My heart surged. Not my normal type. A bit chunky. But good chunky. Everything changed. There was hope.
On discovering Len and Cub…
Sweet boys. Lives can be forgotten. Lives can be rediscovered. Long after they are dead. I liked Cub.
On a house in a small Italian village…
Tuscany. Eight houses. Fifteen people. Nine males. One handsome twink actor. No money to buy. Gutted.
On choosing my gay pen name…
Pericoloso Eros.
On lusting after Matchstick Man…
Getting thinner. Getting stickier. Getting bonier. Dickier. His girlfriend? Getting bigger, rounder, cockier. Fat bitch!
On being jealous over Joe…
Because some Aussie twink in Perth claimed him and explored his cargo before I had the chance.
On listening to two guys talking…
“Your psychology is impressive. Wikipedia or Chat GPT?”
On someone’s thoughts about Saturday Night Live…
“Here’s the thing: I’ve rarely met a British person living in the US who has actually found SNL funny. It’s hard to say why this is.” – Emma Brockes (The Guardian)
On the cute and willing…
Perfectly Hard and Glamorous 