Hold on to every minute. Even when it is late and you should go home. What difference will 45 minutes make? Will love succeed in 45 minutes? The chances are incredibly slim but you count each minute with hope. When those 45 minutes are gone, and you go out into the morning sun, then you know that it was 45 minutes wasted.
It’s four in the morning and the world is bleary. I’ve gone past the point where I think I look good because I know that I’m wrecked. Sam is dancing with everyone. He jumps and waves his arms in front of anyone who’ll let him, and they are pleased that he does so, because he’s a good looking guy with a wonderful smile. There are snatches of conversation with girls who flirt with him and then he moves onto somebody else. Boundless energy.
I hate it that Sam is enjoying himself and I wish that he’d dance with me. But he comes nowhere near. Dan comes over and puts his arm around me. His sweat reminds me of greasy chips and vinegar on Southend Pier. I tell him to fuck off because I’d rather watch Sam dancing.
Eight pints of Madri have stirred up something inside me. I have no right to love but I ignore the warning signs. A toxic mixture that will bubble into jealousy, self pity and violent anger. Soon I will explode and do something bad, and I won’t know how to stop it.
Cocky. Never have I met anybody so cocky. Thick, as in stupid. Never have I met anybody so thick. A girl flirted with him, and he gave no response. “I had no idea,” he said afterwards. “I was completely obnoxious.” The word he was looking for was oblivious. But Reese with an ‘S’ grows on me each time I see him. The third time I’ve fallen in love. The fourth time he says that he’s never met me before. But he still gives me a smile and a kiss on the cheek. The scent is enchanting. I’m hopelessly infatuated but he probably sees me as a father figure, and not an object of desire.
If someone asked me who the love of my life was, it would be the one that I’ve been waiting 15 years for. That’s how long my infatuation has lasted. Waiting for something to happen. Waiting for him to realise that I am the one. But he knows all this, and isn’t in the slightest bit interested. It’s emotionally painful and challenging, and my resolve never weakens, but I know that it was never meant to be. I console myself with the things that are wrong about him. He is tall, blonde and lanky and everybody says that he has a tiny dick. He can be quite nasty. He spends money he probably doesn’t have. He is disorganised and incredibly untidy. And there’s the annoyance that everything is handed to him on a plate. A relationship would never have worked, and this one-sided love is best left unfulfilled. But despite all these flaws, love can be irrational, broken but still loved.
Francisco said that I must see him perform while his circus was in town.
The last time I’d been to a circus there were galloping horses, lumbering elephants and ferocious lions. A bit like Mr Galliano’s Circus, written sixty years before, but there was still a connection.
This ‘new circus’ was different, a theatrical performance with circus skills, dance, music, and storytelling. And there were lots of clowns which made it difficult to pick him out. But he’d reserved a seat on the front row and knew exactly where I was sitting. I recognised his skinny frame when he bounced over in full clown regalia.
The boy with the big dick and a smudge of eczema on his left buttock stood before me and placed his hand where his heart should have been. Then he put something into the palm of my hand.
It was a ceramic egg with a clown’s face painted on it. I stared at it, unsure as to whether I should give it back or not, and then I saw that it was Francesco’s clown face on the egg.
When I looked up he’d gone, lost amidst the chaos, still fooling around, and not taking life seriously.
I swear that I didn’t tell anyone, Colvey. I know that you won’t believe me, but I didn’t write this. It was supposed to be a secret between us. But if I’m honest, I kinda like the fact that you like twiddling.
I saw you several times and you ignored me. Why do I remember that? It was because I thought you were handsome. But ignorance turned into friendship, and I hadn’t realised how generous you were. And that generosity came from Robin Hood. Steal from the wealthy, and give it to others. I met you tonight, fresh faced and smart, a tap on the shoulder, a cheeky wink, and you gave me a bottle of beer. I doubted that you had ever ignored me.
Do you fall for the defective man-boy, someone who is devious and dangerous? And you believe that you can change him? The challenge becomes exciting. You know it is a mission that will fail, but the swelling in your pants sweeps aside any shred of common sense.
Something stopped me in my tracks.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
I had to think before answering.
“The role that concealment plays in the eroticism of underwear calls attention to the body beneath. But at this moment, there is so much writing on the waistband of your Calvin Kleins that I need to make sure that there isn’t a warning attached.”
Perfectly Hard and Glamorous 