There are things that people don’t know about you. And if they did, it’s unlikely that they would believe it.
The council house scruffs who think you are fucking cool in your Hoodrich gear. You talk to them like shit, and they are so thick, that even though they are scared, they think it is only a game.
But I know why you treat them so badly and keep them in their place.
I know your dark secret.
It is something that you don’t want them to know, and if they did, you know that you are finished.
Charlie had been watching movies on TV and hadn’t gone to bed until three o’clock in the morning. This was normal, but he wasn’t used to me waking him up six hours later. I reminded him that he was due to meet Leon at ten for his photo shoot. Only the top of his head could be seen from under the covers and his hair stuck up at all angles. He was barely communicative and answered with strange little noises that sounded kind of cute.
Ten minutes later I had to tell him again that he had to get up. “It’s like trying to sleep in the Gare du Nord,” he moaned. There was then a frantic rush to shower and make himself look beautiful, not helped by the fact that in this rented holiday cottage the bathroom was downstairs while his clothes were upstairs.
I stayed out of the way and flicked through an old antiques magazine that was at least ten years old. Things appeared to be going well because when Charlie was in a good mood he would start singing Jacques Brel songs in French and I could hear the words to La Chanson de Jacky through the floorboards that had wide gaps between them.
“Même si on m’appelle Antonio Que je brûle mes derniers feux En échange de quelques cadeaux Madame, oh madame, je fais ce que je peux.”
Leon had arranged to meet Charlie outside Dolly’s Vintage Tea Room, but I’d been warned to stay away. He reasoned that my presence would cause him embarrassment. My day was going to be spent wandering around this small fishing village while trying not to spend money that I didn’t have.
“This is going to be interesting,” Charlie said as he drank the remains of his tea (white with two sweeteners). “Leon takes photographs of different subjects, but his speciality is taking pictures of dead birds and the occasional dead rat.
He stood next to his girlfriend and I couldn’t help looking at him. Discreetly like. But Matchstick Man had clocked me and looked at me like I’d done something incredibly bad. I wanted to shout, “Fuck you, Matchstick Man, you had your chance!” Instead, I went bright red and looked at my phone where an app nudged a virtual taxi nearer towards me. Sometimes thinking about it is better than doing it.
Who were you in my dream last night? We wandered barefoot through empty streets and drank in dirty bars. It was a good feeling, and we said we’d do it again. Yet, when I awakened, I wasn’t sure who you were. I thought I knew you but didn’t know where from. Were you a missed opportunity, who’d come to remind me that you might once have existed? So many questions. Be calm, be tender, and maybe I’ll love, I decided.
A twinkle of imagination. A scattering of angel dust. The glow of the pedalo boy, with gorgeous dark legs and dirty underwear, who stared into the sun and saw the shadow of an indecent stranger.
Charlie looked admiringly at the sketch.. “When I was a small child I got into trouble at school for drawing a picture of a naked man with a 20 inch dick. Not by desire, but by terrible proportion.”
Saturday slaughter. Pumped up courage. Vodka fuelled Valkyries. Vanilla Valentines. Red Hot Chilli Poppers. Up and down. Cock teasers. Blonde bullshitters. Fag filled fags. Sweaty sex toys. Blue Adonis in Disco Cop. Twink paradise. Twink hell . Be damned by Twinkdom. Boys to men. Romeo, Romeo, Where the fuck are you Romeo? Smooth skinned sluts. Spray tan twiglets. Ba lamb babies. If you could read my mind, love. What a tale my thoughts could tell. Just like an old time movie. A movie that plays every Saturday. The boy shouts louder and louder. What’s he gonna look like with a chimney on him? Up and Down. An ecstasy-stained erotic dream. Screaming queens and disco lights. Screaming queens and fist fights. Shy guys and sly guys. Sugar daddies and fairy cakes. I need you. I want you. I can’t have you. No matter how hard I try, you keep pushing me aside, and I can’t break through. Listen to me. I can’t see through the smoke. There’s no talking to you. The Vengabus is coming. And everybody’s jumping. But you’re not coming. Do you believe in life after love? I can feel something inside me say, I really don’t think you’re strong enough. Robin Hood and his band of boyfriend thieves. Cry babies. Jelly babies. Dolly mixtures. Sun up. Slow down. Come down. Vamos a jugar en el sol. Todos los días son días de fiesta. Vamos a jugar en el sol. Todos los días son días de fiesta. Sex in a Ford Fiesta. Sexy, everything about you so sexy.
Respect. That’s what it all comes down to. Respect one another and don’t be a shit about it. That’s what I’ll tell a police officer if I get caught. It isn’t likely to happen, because they know about me, and don’t have the inclination to do anything about it. They respect me, and I respect them. That’s why they look the other way. After all, our ways and means are basically the same, and I do things that they’d like to do, but aren’t able to.
Little boy, full of excitement, runs down the hill, his parents far behind. His legs go faster than they can carry him and I fear he will fall. But he is too young to recognise danger and is safe for now. He heads to the sea, with its tiny cottages with smoking chimneys, fishing boats, and ice cream. His parents smile as he tries to hurry them along. This is a moment that this little boy may or may not remember. But when he is old, and his parents are long dead, he might sit where I am now, and watch other little boys doing the same as he did, and know that he had a wonderful childhood.
Perfectly Hard and Glamorous 