by Swan, Tarn
Anyway, as soon as I mentioned their visit for tea he rolled his eyes and demanded I put them off, as he wasn't in the mood for watching me coo and fawn over Gill's frog princess. I sharply reminded him he was talking about my baby sister. He nastily reminded me that Janet was only my half-sister, that's if Gill was to be believed and my dad had actually managed to get it not only up but also in.
I could tell by his face that he regretted the words the moment they polluted the atmosphere, but being in the mood he was in he couldn't find the grace to retract them. I told him he was a spoilt, selfish, venomous brat and coldly warned him that if he so much as glanced at dad, Gill or the baby in a way I found to be offensive I would spank his bare bottom until it blistered and then some more. He gave me a fuck you dirty look, snatched up a magazine and stormed off upstairs to the bathroom.
The distinct ring of his mobile phone, playing Cyndi Lauper’s ‘Girls Just Want To Have Fun’ sounded. As he was throne bound I decided to answer it in case it was important, tracing it to his coat pocket in the hall. I fished it out, pulling out something else along with it. I stared at it, then took it into the kitchen and sat down to stare at it some more. It was a blood test form bearing his details. It had been issued by the hospital on the day he'd had his arm checked. It was a request for a full blood count to be done. No wonder he'd been in a murky mood for days. He just doesn't do needles and blood. They’re bad enough as separate items, bring them together in a partnership that involves his person and you have the ultimate phobia situation.
I was cross that he'd kept something so important from me and even more cross that he'd neglected to do what obviously needed to be done for the sake of his health. I would have made him have the blood test done when he was supposed to have it done, which of course is exactly why he'd concealed it from me. I began worrying about what else he was concealing from me. What had the doctor discovered on the X-rays that caused him to request blood tests?
Thrusting the form under his nose I demanded an explanation. He demanded I at least let him wipe his bum and get off the toilet first. I conceded.
It transpired that the X-ray had shown no evidence of new bone growth around the fracture site and the doctor had been concerned. He said there was a possibility Twinks was naturally a slow healer, or there could be an underlying problem. It might be something as simple and correctable as a vitamin and calcium deficiency, hence the blood tests. I let it be known how little I appreciated him concealing such information from me and asked him to consider how he would feel if I did the same to him. He said the moment blood was mentioned, he panicked. He knew I would have whisked him away to have his blood taken, so he stuck the form in his pocket and kept quiet. In his opinion the doctor was an idiot who had misread the X-ray. In my opinion it was Twinks who was the idiot for neglecting to have a necessary medical procedure done. As for him keeping me in the dark about it so I couldn't influence his decision, well that was just beyond the pale to my mind.
We ended up having one hell of a row. He said it was his body and he alone would decide what could be done to it. No way was anyone stabbing a huge needle into his veins. I pulled rank. In this case his behaviour had proven he was incapable of acting in his own best interests. Therefore I would act for him and make the decision that needed to be made. He had a broken bone that wasn't healing. The cause had to be investigated and like it or not it was going to be investigated. First thing Monday morning we were going back to the hospital.
I didn't underestimate his fears for a second. I know how real his phobias are, but if he'd told me I could have helped and supported him. I would have ensured the people at the blood clinic were aware of his fear. He certainly wouldn't be the only one they'd ever encountered with it. He tried to argue, but I told him the subject was closed. The decision was made and he had no choice but to accept it. If required I would put him over my knee in order to facilitate his understanding of that fact. He called me a bastard and stormed out of the bedroom. Seconds later an explosion tore through the house shaking its very foundations as he closed the front door with impressive savagery on his way out of the house. I half expected all the windows to drop out cartoon style. In order to vent my own temper I kicked the dressing table stool over, an act I much regretted as my feet were bare at the time and I bruised my foot.
I went back downstairs and made a cup of coffee. I then read the newspapers while keeping an ear open for Twinks' return from what I imagined was a fume around the block to think bad thoughts about me. An hour passed and there was no sign so I picked up my mobile to call and ask where he was, but seeing as his mobile was on the kitchen table where I'd put it after fishing it out of his pocket there seemed little point. I still called it…and answered it. I must say I make a much more accommodating and obedient Twinkles than he does. I was very apologetic for upsetting me and was on my way straight home to make amends and behave like an angel for the rest of the day.
There was still no sign of him when dad and Gill arrived with the baby. I apologised for his absence, saying he'd gone out for a walk and had obviously lost track of time. I was sure he would turn up at any moment. He didn't. Dad made a few tart comments about my absent partner and I have to say I was a bit pissed off really. When they left for home and he still hadn't shown I was more than a bit pissed off I was massively pissed off, as well as worried.
The self-exiled queen finally returned. I walked sedately (sprinted) into the hall and calmly asked (yelled at full vocal capacity) where the heck (fuck) he'd been all day? He looked defensive, which given the fact I was snarling like a badger in a mantrap was understandable. I made an effort to calm myself. He told me he'd walked into town and done a spot of window-shopping and lost track of time. Incredulity washed over me and I asked how on earth it was possible for anyone to window shop for almost seven hours? He said only a straight queer would ask a question like that and he hated to break it to me, but actually there was more to the shopping centre than PC World, Marks & Spencer and the blacked out window of the sleazy little sex shop on Parliament Street, which incidentally was cashing in on Broke Back Mountain hysteria. It was peddling a look-a-like porn video entitled Back Door Fountain, a bittersweet love story involving two plumbers, a plug, a length of rubber piping and a high-pressure showerhead. It ends tragically with an airlock in the pipe. He often does that, makes a joke to try and diffuse tension between us or to throw me off the scent when something's bugging him and he doesn't really want to talk about. I wasn't in the mood to be amused, in fact I wasn't in the mood for him at all. He deserved a good spanking, but I couldn't give him one because in all honesty I was so riled it would have been more about venting my spleen than about disciplining him for his behaviour.
I went into the kitchen to wash up. He followed me through saying he was sorry about missing dad and Gill. I wish I could have believed him, but I didn't and I said so. He accused me of sulking and took himself off upstairs in a huff. He sulked up there all evening, while I engaged in a dignified silence downstairs. End of story? Oh no, there's more. When is life ever straightforward with Twinkles? However, it is the end of this diary entry. I've got to get ready. Lulu is taking us out for dinner this evening. It’s his way of saying thanks for sheltering and supporting him during his crisis. We told him it wasn't necessary, but he insisted and sometimes you must accept with grace something that is offered with grace.
6th February 2006: Clippings From A Word Wanker
Him in frocks has some truly disgusting habits. I've lost count of the times I've told him not to trim his toenails in the kitchen, they ricochet all over the damn place. I found a clipping floating in my coffee this evening. It had obviously come via the sugar bowl as it bobbed up shortly after I'd stirred a spoonful into my mug. It turned my stomach and put me right off my coffee. He denied it was his. He claimed I'd planted one of mine so I had an excuse to nag at him. I was so outraged I wrestled him onto the couch and grabbing each foot in turn compared the clipping against all his nails unti
l I found the toe it had obviously come from. It matched the cut contours perfectly, case proven. His feet are very ticklish, so by the time I'd finished messing about with them he was squirming, shrieking and laughing so hard that it was impossible to stay mad at him. I've warned him though, should the unthinkable ever happen and a clipping actually finds its way into my food and ergo my mouth he will be one sorry sore arsed little monarch.
I've lost track of things lately. Time just seems to fly by, no sooner does a week begin than it ends and here we are at Monday yet again. Twinkles and I have had some tensions related to the blood test incident I began to relate previously and which I will attempt to finish relating, because I’m methodical like that. Twinks is sitting next to me as I type this evening and has just informed me that I'm a 'word wanker' and that for sad souls like me dotting the final i and crossing the final t is the equivalent of having a climax. I'm also (according to the oracle named Twinkles) a gossip dishing queen who loves holding court...excuse me while I swat him.
Lulu has moved out and we are now two again, which is wonderful. I hadn't realised how much of a strain it would be having a houseguest for an extended period of time. Of course if need be we'd do it again, but I confess I love having our home and him all to myself again. I can only surmise I'm a hardened masochist. Lu has moved back into his parent's house for a while. His mother is progressing and is currently having physiotherapy to help her regain some mobility. They're hoping she’ll be allowed home from hospital later this week. Lu wanted to be on hand to support his dad and help out. He's been great with his mum, learning how to care for her and encouraging her. Her speech is slow in returning, but her eyes say more than words anyway and just how much she adores her son is evident in the way they light up the moment he walks into the room.
Incidentally, the meal out with Lulu the other night was very nice. He took us to a French place recommended by one of his work colleagues. I was a touch dubious at first. The décor was a bit bizarre, sort of French rustic clashing with French Aristocracy. I found myself glancing nervously around in search of Madame Guillotine and wondering whether the Chef's signature dish was head in a basket. Once I acclimatised to the ropes of garlic, herbs and onions dangling between crystal chandeliers I settled back and enjoyed myself. The food was delicious. Lulu fell in lust with one of the waiters whom he reckoned was giving off gay signals. Twinkles said the only thing he was giving off was garlic and fag fumes and not fag in a good sense and how could Lu possible fancy anyone whose breath was strong enough to strip the pelts off the collective inhabitants of a mink farm. Lu accused Twinks of jealousy because he was no longer able to enjoy the delights of playing the field. He then flirted with the waiter at every opportunity.
To be honest I'm uncertain as to whether the waiter was gay or not. What I am certain is that he was confused. When it came to attire Lulu was in halfway house mode. He was wearing Dockers teamed with a very sheer black top that had the playboy bunny motif picked out in diamante and under it he was sporting a boob filled bra. The waiter couldn't take his eyes off them, though he hastily declined when Lulu asked if he'd like to stroke one.
Returning to Twinkles and the blood test he tried to avoid. On the morning I decreed he would go to the hospital he was relatively calm. He knew he had no choice in the matter and therefore was no longer engaged in self-conflict about what to do. I'm not saying he wasn't anxious, of course he was. The poor love couldn't eat breakfast, but he wasn't kicking up a storm. We got to the hospital, found the blood clinic and three attempts later I actually managed to coax him into the waiting room and get him seated, though by the time I'd booked him in and discreetly asked the receptionist to inform the phlebotomist that he had a blood and needle phobia he'd exited again and was halfway up the corridor leading to the main entrance. I quickly retrieved him before he could escape into the wild of the car park and got him back to the clinic.
The moment his name was called Twinks froze and nothing on earth could persuade him to raise his backside from the chair in the waiting room in order to walk into the treatment room. The phlebotomist on duty that morning turned out to be an absolute sweetheart and a diplomatic genius to boot. She came out to talk to him and immediately complimented him on his outfit, which consisted of turquoise leggings, knee high multi buckle, black commando boots and a short black dress with a graduated hemline topped off with a leather biker jacket he'd borrowed from Lulu. She told him it had a bisexual charm that combined feminine chic with masculine strength, if he didn't mind her saying so? Mind? He adored it and willingly followed her into her lair as she laid a trail of cunning fashion crumbs. He still fainted the moment the needle touched his skin, but as he was safely reclining on a couch it did no harm. Alice, the phlebotomist, deftly got the sample required and by the time he came round it was all done and dusted. He was much relieved it was over with and said he hoped the doctors would now be able to find out why his arm wasn't mending. He didn't want to wear a cast for the rest of his life, especially as he couldn't find any evening gloves to fit over it.
It was his day off that day, so I took him back home before heading off to work. Just before lunch I got a hysterical phone call from him, and not funny hysterical. He'd decided to pop over to Lulu's flat to check if there was any mail to collect, only the flat had been burgled and he didn't know what to do. He was in such a state I told him to stay put and I'd be with him ASAP.
The thieves had broken in through the back of the premises. The backdoor was all splintered and shredded where they'd jemmied it open. I called Lulu and broke the bad news and then called the police on his behalf. He and the police arrived at the flat pretty much simultaneously. One of the officers remarked that the thief or thieves were obviously gay and I asked, perhaps naively, why he assumed that? He grinned and said because they'd made a backdoor entry. Then it registered that the person in a dress I was cuddling and comforting was a man and he blushed redder than I have ever seen anyone blush. He apologised for his remark saying he'd meant no offence. I told him not to worry, whereas Lulu told him not to turn his back, as with three gays in the room it wouldn't be a safe thing to do. I'm not altogether sure the officer accepted it as a joke. He seemed to make a point of keeping his front to us and his hand on his truncheon at all times.
The police reckoned the thieves had probably been watching the flat for a while and ascertained it was empty pretty much all of the time and they were thus unlikely to be disturbed as they rifled it. They'd cleared the place of all saleable items. They’d even nicked the bathroom carpet and the musical goldfish toilet seat. Lulu was upset, but not inordinately so. The flat had long since ceased to be a home to him after what happened under its roof. It was a bad memory, a place where he had been sexually assaulted and beaten. There was no further sense of violation from the robbery. It just confirmed that moving out was the best thing. He was properly insured and he'd already removed a lot of the personal stuff that mattered to him, so it wasn't quite the disaster it could have been.
Twinkles hardly spoke a word on the drive home. I tried to cheer him up by commenting that Lulu seemed excited by the prospect of getting some nice new things when the insurance paid up. He ran upstairs as soon as we got indoors. I followed, finding him sitting at the dressing table looking positively sick. I stroked his hair, asking what was wrong. He stood up and faced me saying he'd done a stupid, terrible thing and he felt so bad about it. For an awful moment it crossed my mind that he might have had something to do with knocking off Lulu's flat. He hadn't, much to my relief. Twinkles just wouldn't be able to survive prison life. I'd have to go in his place.
He confessed that the marathon window-shopping spree he’d undertaken on that Sunday had involved more than just looking. He was so fed up that he wanted to do some comfort shopping. He opened a brand new store card account with House Of Fraser. He went on to purchase clothes with it to the tune of almost three hundred pounds. He then took them to Lulu's flat to indulge in a pleasant few hours playing dress up
. He'd left the items there, intending to go back on Monday and collect them so he could return them to the store for a full refund. Only of course they weren't there, they'd been stolen along with everything else. I asked why he couldn't have just tried the clothes on in the shop? Simple. Because it didn't give the same buzz as actually buying them and taking them home in lovely crisp designer carrier bags. It had been a bit of fun, his eyes shone an appeal, and he hadn’t meant any harm.
I was dumbfounded. His bit of fun had added fresh weight to the load of debt that was still in process of being cleared.
I'd helped Twinkles get dressed that morning, but not half as fast as I undressed him that afternoon. He was slightly breathless by the time I thrust him into a set of my pyjamas and then into bed. I had a meeting I had to return to work for. I told him he was to stay in bed without benefit of television until I got home again.
It was fortunate that showing my face at the meeting mattered more than anything I might contribute, because I don't think I uttered more than half a dozen words. I was too preoccupied with thoughts about how I was going to deal with the situation with Jonathan.
I got home, shed my jacket, took off my tie and undid my top shirt button, which felt like it was strangling me. I then made a cup of tea. Twinkles came downstairs and into the kitchen. I didn’t give him chance to speak, sharply telling him to get back upstairs and wait for me.