I noticed him but he chose not to notice me. After he had dropped his mobile phone on the floor for the third time, he realised that he had to say something.
Life Story: The Third Drop
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The Boy’s a Slag
Wiry little fucker—blonde hair, tattoos. Apologies to the Arctic Monkeys. The boy’s a slag, the best you’ve ever had. The sex was brutal, violent—and it was wonderful. But it was only a dream. I woke up, realised none of it had happened… and now I can’t look him in the face anymore.
To die will be an awfully big adventure
The script didn’t work. We looked at it for hours… days even… until somebody said… “Ditch the Peter Pan shit, because everybody knows the Peter Pan shit already… focus on Michael, and only Michael, a handsome son of a bitch who Peter Pan would have fucked anyway.”
That Moment – Familiarity is Dangerous
A night of drunken defiance, the air outside warm and sticky, carrying the sour breath of alcohol from the open doors. My head feels heavy, my stomach lined with white rum, and the thought of going home to curl up with a Jacques Tati biography feels more attractive than another drink. Still, I order another one – habit, not desire.
Ben messages to see if I’m out, and I can feel the eagerness in his words, the barely disguised hunger. Last week we sat in a corner booth until five in the morning, the world narrowing to the scrape of glasses and the whisper of confidences. But I put him off tonight. Familiarity is dangerous.
I once fell for him and, in a moment of reckless honesty, suggested we sleep together. He brushed it off with a laugh, not knowing that I never give anyone a second chance.
Fake and be friend. The dance of Caesar and Brutus
Urban adolescent. Prowling the streets. Catching stares. Bringing himself to orgasm and waiting for one that will be.
Colvey is number one and will die before he is properly a man. He is angry and suspicious of everyone. Wary of his enemies and more so of those who say they are friends. (Know what I mean bro?) Some will argue that this streak of uncertainty gives him an advantage, but one day he will meet the person that will plunge a knife into him and then knowing who to trust and who not to will be irrelevant. One thing I do know is that it will be the person he least suspected.
Angry with everyone. Controlling the uncontrollable. Respect from those who have no idea what it means. (Respect bro!)
Until then, Colvey must control this unruly band of boys – tearaways, petty thieves, and miscreants – who cannot muster up a brain between them, and who idolise him because they are afraid of the consequences if they don’t. Look around the city and you will see the tags on shitty walls, doors and metal shutters that protect empty shops in rundown streets. Our territory, our ground, our space.
Grooming. A word that has become part of modern society. A bad word. A careless word. Colvey might be accused of grooming kids to swell his ranks. But it is something he started when he was a small boy who shit his pants in school.
Provincial demon. Misery. Mayhem.
Keep your enemy close to you and let him do your dirty work.
Mason is number two and must wait. Living under a shadow that must surely fade. It is one thing knowing those who will cause you harm, another when that threat comes from within. Catch these hands. Colvey knows this. (You’re my best mate bro). The dance of Caesar and Brutus. Fake and be friend.
I watch. I see. Tattletale, snitch, informant, telltale, squealer. Colvey’s bitch. The one person he says he can trust. The one person who could bring him down if I wanted to. But that ain’t gonna happen because I’ll be a good number two.
Secrets and lies. Scrawny and slim. Wiry. The violent sex. “You want to know something?” Colvey lies next to me. “I ain’t gay bro. I like pussy. This is only bud sex.” ‘I ain’t a batty boy either,” I tell him. Colvey kisses me. “This is sheesh. Don’t tell anyone that I like bussin’ you bro.”
Charlie / Un après-midi en sous-vêtements
A hillside in the remote countryside. Serge Gainsbourg sang Black Trombone on the iPhone. Charlie danced in his underwear. His hair formed a question mark on his head. He looked cute. I grabbed him from behind and he reached over and patted me on the head like a dog. Then he pissed into the wind and I got covered from behind.
Movement and chaos / Something might happen in 45 minutes
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.
Luke could beat me up if he wanted to, but I decided that I liked him
Remarkably drunk. Trying to act like I’m not. Failing badly. Anyone with a dick will do. Luke who says he’s from the Manor estate comes and talks to me and is rough as fuck but handsome and eloquent. This straight boy could beat me up in seconds. He asks me if I have a girl at home and I nod. And then he asks me if that girl is really a guy. I change my mind and admit that it’s a guy. He admonishes me and says that I should never be embarrassed for liking guys.
He goes away and I tell ChatGPT what has just happened and it replies.
“It sounds like you’re in a difficult and potentially unsafe situation. If you feel threatened or at risk, consider reaching out to a trusted friend or contacting a local crisis line for support. If you need to stay awake and alert to complete your task, drinking water, getting some fresh air, and eating something can help clear your head. Would you like me to help you with strategies to appear more sober or to stay focused?”
That Moment / I didn’t want to hurt you, but I’m just a jealous guy
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.
Reese with an S / The haze of an infatuation
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.
Perfectly Hard and Glamorous 