by Swan, Tarn
We went to mum's for Sunday lunch, which given his disposition was a huge mistake. He was politely rude to Priscilla telling him gently, in his best interests of course, that the dress he was wearing made him look older than his years and that while all transvestites lost their looks in the end there was no need to accelerate the process. Then he sweetly asked mum if she'd bought her new cushion covers in a charity shop, as they had a sad cast off look about them. By way of retaliation she sweetly asked him if he'd been on his feet all day, as his ankles were looking decidedly puffy and were sagging over the straps of his sandals. I intervened and asked mum if there was anything we could help with. Before she could reply Twinkles snapped, ‘such as advice on tasteful décor.’ He then proceeded to discreetly criticise his way through lunch, making comments such as, ‘this roast is nice, Joan, for mutton I mean. It’s hardly tough at all. You've done a good job of cooking it. Mum frostily informed him that he was eating top quality lamb.
By the time lunch was over, Priscilla was beginning to look strained and mum had a look on her face that told me she'd just about reached the end of her tether. My tether had long since gone and I cut the visit short before mum attempted to cut Twinkles' throat. We had words in the car on the way home. He came over all wounded martyr claiming I always misread his intentions and misjudged him. He then demanded I stop the car and he'd walk home seeing as I held him in such low regard and obviously didn't enjoy his company anymore. I resisted the urge to comply with his request and gritting my teeth headed for home.
We entered the house with a mutual dislike of each other. I sent him to bed. He asked the reason why and I said I didn't need a reason why and me sending him was reason enough. He said he was going anyway and if I thought for a second that sex was on the menu, I could think again. While my mother might think mutton dressed up as lamb was acceptable, he didn’t and mutton just wouldn't do, especially oppressive mutton. I coldly informed Jonathan that if he wasn't in bed in less than sixty seconds I was going to smack his backside until sitting seemed an impossible dream regardless of whether I had a reason that would stand up in law. He flounced off in high dudgeon and I had a large drink.
We have made up since. He was still awake when I went to bed and despite his declarations he partook of mutton and is peacefully slumbering. On the other hand, stress combined with the large drink has given me indigestion and I may never sleep again. I’m surfing the net looking for heartburn remedies.
4th May 2006: Shit Slinging
The May Bank Holiday dawned grey and sullen with the sky leaking a thin drizzling rain that didn't let up for a second. It pretty much set the tone for the day.
I was in the doghouse before I even got out of bed. Upon waking I rolled over to give Twinkles what in terms of plain everyday life usually rates as one of my favourite things, a morning cuddle. I like waking up next to the same person every morning. It makes me feel happy and what makes me even happier is having a feel of that person's person. He was already awake when I rolled over and I have to say that any propensity to feel his person withered on the vine as I noted the look in his eye. It was reminiscent of a cleric viewing the antichrist. Talk about cold and unwelcoming. My balls all but froze and dropped off. I could only think that my morning breath smelled like a swine pen.
It wasn't my breath as it turned out. He'd had a dream and I'd upset him in it. Apparently he dreamed that we were standing before the registrar, he in his gown, and me in my suit. We were exchanging rings. At the crucial moment he dropped the ring that he was about to put on my finger and bent to pick it up. When he straightened he found that Stuart Cramer had taken his place and was placing a ring on my finger in his stead and I was just STANDING there letting him do it. I pointed out that I had absolutely no control over what I did in other people's dreams and I refused to be held responsible. I also pointed out that should he mention the name Stuart Cramer again, in any context, I would not be amused.
Needless to say I did not receive a morning cuddle. Muttering something about me thinking I was Queen Victoria he broke with all tradition and got out of bed before me. In view of my indigestion-disturbed night I lingered in bed a little longer and fell asleep again.
I was rudely awoken by the unmistakable sounds of a tumult taking place outside the house. I heard my beloved screeching, closely followed by the frantic sound of heels click-clacking on concrete. Leaping out of bed I flicked open the blinds in time to see Twinks running towards the house with a look of sheer panic on his face. It was hardly surprising seeing as the bad tempered Jack Russell terrier that belongs to our illustrious neighbour was snapping at his heels. The man himself wasn't far behind and like his dog was barking and slavering in a very unfriendly manner. They both seemed intent on ripping Twinkles to shreds.
I dragged on some pyjama bottoms and threw myself down the stairs and out into the fray. I'm a match for Brownlow with regard to height and though he's heavier than me I'm several years younger and not hampered by a beer gut, even so I was hard pressed to stop him from taking Twinkles apart. Pulling him from Brownlow's grip I thrust him towards the house yelling at him to get inside and shut the fucking door (sometimes the Queen's English just isn't enough and only an Anglo Saxon interjection will do) I'd already suffered several bites from the canine participant in the altercation and another painful nip to my bare foot sent my temper into orbit. Bending down I dealt the terrier a sharp slap to its sensitive nose and roared at it to SIT or I would boot its arse all over the Close (what can I say, I'm a beast)
It proved, like a lot of bullies, to be a coward and with a whimper took off down the path and headed homewards. Unfortunately the same tactic didn't work with Brownlow and we had a heated exchange of opinions ending with me damning him and his badly trained dog and him damning me and my badly trained bitch.
I was shaking like a leaf by the time I shut the front door, and not just because I was cold and damp. It had been a very ugly incident. Twinkles was also shaking and verging on tears. Brownlow had dealt him a couple of good blows and there was a tiny cut at the corner of his mouth. I'm afraid I wasn't inclined to be gentle or sympathetic. I was seriously angry with him. He launched straight into a justificatory speech, which I halted by applying several hard smacks to his backside. I then told him that he wasn't to speak another word until I gave my permission.
Taking his arm I towed him upstairs where I silently attended the cut to his mouth. His fluffy mules, at a cost to their appearance, had offered some protection to his feet and the dog had only managed to inflict one bite on his ankle. I cleaned and disinfected it before attending to the several bites I'd accumulated on my own feet and ankles. They weren't serious, but they were sore. Then we had words, or at least I did. I wouldn't allow him to get one in edgewise. There was nothing, absolutely nothing he could say that would justify what he'd done, so he could just keep quiet.
What had he done? I'll tell you. Brownlow had dropped something at the foot of our path and Twinkles returned it to him. So what's wrong with that? Let me be more accurate, it was actually Brownlow's dog which had dropped something on the path, namely, not to put too fine a point on it, a pile of shit. Twinkles darted out of the house, scooped it up with the rice paddle and hurled it in Brownlow's direction yelling, 'excuse me, but I believe this belongs to you.' For once his aim was true. Sadly Brownlow did not appreciate the fact, nor did he appreciate having a steaming turd perched upon his shoulder, even if it had come from his own dog.
I was furious. I would have been angry even if I believed that Twinks’ action had been the result of a momentary mad impulse. I didn't. Twinkles was in a bad mood. He was annoyed with Lulu for letting him down and annoyed with me for my part in his dream, irrational though that sounds. To my mind he had been deliberately looking for trouble as a means of venting bad feelings and frustrations. If he hadn't lucked out with Brownlow he would have found it some other way. I was willing to bet that he'd been hovering by the front window looking out for him, paddle in hand. Th
ere was more than coincidence in him having hold of it at the time that man and dog just happened on by. There was a distinct air of planning about it.
I dislike the fact that Brownlow lets his dog soil on our property and does nothing to clean it up. However, I've told Twinks time and again that responding in kind only lets the man win. It empowers him. The best mode of retaliation is to ignore him completely. Does Twinks listen? No. He starts hurling dog muck at the man. Brownlow could really have hurt him and in law he would have had some measure of justification on account of provocation. Twinks was the one who assaulted his person first.
In my estimation he more than deserved the discipline I meted out. I put him over my knee and gave him a thorough spanking and seeing as we no longer owned a rice paddle, one that I could bring myself to touch anyway, I again utilised my aunt Helen's Christmas gift and followed up the spanking with a sound slippering. He was a very sorry boy. I also made clear that in future he is not to so much as glance in the direction of Brownlow's house, let alone address any kind of remark to the odious man.
We were very quiet with each other afterwards. He stayed in his sewing room and I busied myself with laundry and other such mundane things downstairs. Come the afternoon he went out with Gabby and her mum on a prearranged trip to the Metro Centre to browse bridesmaid dresses. He returned looking decidedly washed out. He was tired and his mouth and ankle were sore, and, he gave me a reproachful look, so was his bottom. And if all that wasn't enough he had a headache because the Metro had been full of bloody May Day Morris Men, jigging and dancing around with bells tied to their ankles while waving hankies about.
He went upstairs for a bath and I went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea and gird my loins in preparation for telling him I didn't think it would be a good idea for us to go to the PP. Look at it from my point of view. He was tired and strung out. He was still upset and disappointed about Lulu because he had no one to perform with. All routines had been allocated and rehearsed and he was reduced to being just a spectator. Twinks is not good at playing the spectator, there’s no glory in it. It would take next to nothing to spark a jealous outburst with Natalie, or anyone else for that matter. I'd had enough tumults for one day. I didn't fancy ending the day as I'd started it, engaged in warfare.
I took a cup of tea up to the bathroom setting it and myself on the side of the bath in readiness to break the news. I didn't have to. He told me he didn't feel like going out, so I said that was a coincidence because neither did I. He sipped his tea in silence for a while, then apologised for the trouble he'd caused with Brownlow. I gently kissed the un-sore half of his mouth and said I was sorry that we'd both had a miserable Monday. Rolling up my sleeves I soaped a sponge and washed his back and one thing led to another. I ended up stripping and getting in the bath with him. It was nice even though I got the tap end.
We ordered Chinese food and ate it in bed while watching telly and planning the details of our Civil Partnership ceremony. Twinkles initially toyed with the idea we should have it in the PP, but after talking it through we decided we wanted the formality of a Registry Office setting. We’ve waited a long time to be able to have our relationship properly acknowledged in law and we want it to feel properly legitimate and solemn. The celebration afterwards will of course be held at the Pink Parrot. I’ve already approached Brian about it and asked if he minded. He said he would have been deeply insulted if we'd considered using any other venue. I also approached him about being my best man. He hugged me and said that nothing would give him greater pleasure. He seems to be coping better with life at the moment. He’s working again and making more effort to socialise.
7th May 2006: Bangle Jangle
I had to go to Newcastle for a meeting on Friday. I hate driving through Newcastle the traffic is always hell. What made it even more hell was the fact that it was a warm day and I had Twinks with me. He wouldn't let me have the windows open, because the draught musses his hair and the traffic pollution dulls his complexion. It was his day off and he decided to accompany me to my meeting. Once my duty was done we'd hit the shops in Eldon Square and see what was to be had by way of a new suit for me for our CPC. I mentioned that I'd been thinking about using my best work suit for the occasion. He told me I could think again. He wasn't piling on the glamour just to get hitched to someone wearing a work suit. He was hurt, nay affronted, that I could even suggest such a thing. This was supposed to be the most important day of our lives and it was going to get done properly. I was getting new shoes as well as a suit, as no way was he allowing me to clump up the registry office steps in my scuffed old Oxfords. A new tie and shirt were also on the agenda, was that perfectly clear? I didn't dare argue, not with the light of righteous battle gleaming fiercely in the royal eyes.
The venue for my meeting was Newcastle Town Hall. It was being held in one of its function rooms. Twinkles, armed with various magazines and his MP3 player, elegantly arranged himself on a chair in the entrance hall to wait for me. The panelled walls of the hall are hung with old oil paintings of town dignitaries from the distant past and I swear that their expressions changed from smug self-satisfaction to indignant disapproval as they gazed down upon Twinkles. He was attired in a bright pink t-shirt and a pair of clingy dark blue cycle shorts offset by a pair of pink straw wedge sandals from which peeped red painted toenails. He looked very fetching actually. Pink suits him. It enhances his brown hair and eyes. He was wearing a touch of makeup, just mascara, and a hint of lip-gloss plus his favourite array of bangles. He has a bit of a thing for bangles, the more the merrier. He likes the sound of them jangling together.
In the early days of our relationship I used to get embarrassed about going out with him in public when he was dressed in colourful mixed mode, because inevitably we'd get looks and comments. I know it’s difficult not to stare at someone who openly flouts the rules of social convention. It’s a normal human reaction to look at something different. What shocked me though was the contempt and hostility of some of the looks. I’m ashamed to say that initially I thought the problem was Twinkles. It gradually dawned on me that the problem was all mine and if he wasn't embarrassed by the way he chose to dress then what the hell gave me the right to be embarrassed? I was reacting to the same kind of gender prejudice that states only people of the opposite sex can legitimately fall in love. I had an ingrained notion that only women ought to display what society deemed were feminine traits. What I selfishly wanted was for Twinkles to conveniently conform to my notions of legitimate male dress in order to appease my embarrassment. Of course to do so would have meant him giving up who he is and who he wanted to be and that's wrong, just as it's wrong to say that a man cannot love another man nor a woman love another woman. Twinkles has a perfect right to express his personality through clothes and makeup.
Gradually I learned to be less absorbed with my own feelings. I also learned that him wearing lipstick, bangles and high heels did nothing to change or detract from the man I had fallen for. Dressed up, dressed down, not dressed at all, I love the man with the brown eyes and the drop dead gorgeous smile. That's not to say I don't still get embarrassed from time to time, because I do. I'm only human and I can't completely change my nature just as Twinkles can't change his. I am my father's son and as such have some of his reserve.
Given the authoritarian structure of our relationship there have been occasions when I've pulled rank and forbidden him to wear something, like that horrible red rubber dress for example. There was also another outfit I absolutely hated. It was a pink and black PVC jumpsuit with transparent panels that left little to the imagination. I outlawed it as a public mode of attire, something he griped about, but accepted. Such are the ways we adapted to each other.
I left him sitting under the frosty gaze of the town dignitaries (I bet a few of them used to frequent brothels and wear women's knickers) and went into my meeting.
By mid morning I was more than ready for the scheduled coffee break and looked up in pleasurable anticipati
on as the lady with the beverages trolley neared my portion of the table. She had some tasty looking cakes and pastries on board and I was looking forward to sampling something sweet and sticky. She drew alongside and asked me if I wanted tea or coffee and I chose coffee and a chocolate éclair. She looked at my name badge, cleared her throat, coloured slightly and then bent down and whispered in my ear, ‘your boyfriend in the hall said that if you asked for a cake I was to remind you that you're watching your weight and is a moment on the lips really worth a lifetime on the hips?’ I was highly indignant, not least because 'my boyfriend' was actually the one watching his weight and he had taken it upon himself to watch mine at the same time. His reasoning being that if he had to suffer then so did I. I politely thanked the tea lady, but insisted she hand over a chocolate éclair, as I didn't think one would do much harm. I enjoyed both coffee and éclair without a shred of guilt.
The meeting was getting back underway when the conference room door opened and who should put in an appearance but Twinkles. It became obvious that the tea lady had ratted on me, because although he didn't speak, he looked at me and with much bangle jangling placed a finger on his lips then touched it to his hips and shook his head reproachfully. He then casually scanned the table and said hello to a few people he recognised from work functions he'd attended with me over the years. He then left closing the door behind him. I could have wrung his neck. A few looks were exchanged around the table.
About twenty minutes later to my mortification, not to mention vexation, the door opened again and him in frocks popped his head into the room and asked if anyone could direct him to the facilities. One of my colleagues obliged and he thanked him charmingly, complimented him on his tie, batted his eyelashes at me and shut the door again. More looks were exchanged and a few hands went across mouths to hide grins. The only place my hand wanted to go across was a certain person's naughty bottom. He could have easily found the facilities on his own.