Future Queens of England

by Ryan Matthews

  Tony winked at her, “Bring it on darling!” he said in his most roguish manner. “I can take it.”

  For the next thirty minutes Tony’s cries of anguish drowned out the normal salon chit chat about holidays and new shoes.

  The four of them walked through the mall discussing their ideas on how they would dress Tony. Tony walked behind them limping slightly. He slid his hand inside his baggy, discoloured jeans and under the worn elastic of his underpants. His fingers ran over a baby smooth surface where a tangle of unkempt pubes had been that very morning. It felt really odd to him, but at the same time he couldn’t stop touching himself.

  Gareth stopped suddenly and pointed through the window of a boutique. “Look!” he exclaimed, “we have to go in here.”

  They peered into the window and studied the clothes. Tony stared into the window too but at his reflection in disbelief, it was like looking at a stranger, a better-looking stranger. How long would it take him to get used to having two eyebrows he wondered. His mono-brow had been a firm fixture on his face since puberty. He looked at his newly cut and styled hair and ran his fingers through it. He couldn’t believe he’d let them to talk him into highlights, but he had to admit that his hair looked fantastic, though he would never tell them that.

  “Seen something you like Tony?” Gareth said inquisitively, breaking Tony’s concentration.

  Tony quickly refocused his eyes from his reflection into the shop itself. “Those jeans,” he said quickly, “they look alright.”

  Uwe scoffed, “They’re women’s jeans Tony!”

  “Wow, give the man some highlights and he starts wanting to cross-dress,” Gareth chuckled.

  “Look, do you want to go in there or not?” Tony said irritably. “I’ve had about enough of your shit for one day.”

  After a quick confab they agreed that this would be the perfect starting point and they took a few steps towards the entrance before Uwe interjected.

  “Before we play dress the monkey, I am in desperate need of a coffee,” he said, and gestured with his hand at the coffee shop two doors down.

  “You go ahead Uwe while we make a start in here and you can join us in here in fifteen minutes,” Hugh suggested.

  Uwe stiffened. “No. Why don’t you wait for two minutes while I grab a coffee and then we can all go in together? Surely that is not too much to ask of you now, is it?”

  He made it sound as if he was offering them a choice, but they all knew the reality.

  “Go on then, Uwe,” Gareth said impatiently, “but make it quick.”

  Uwe strode purposefully towards the coffee shop while Gareth and the gang complained quietly to each other. He looked through the large window on his approach and saw a middle-aged man struggling to carry shopping bags and a cup of coffee while trying to pull the door open from the inside of the shop. Ignoring this Uwe pushed the door firmly open. The man on the other side stepped back quickly and dropped his bags as he tried to keep his balance and stop his coffee from spilling.

  “Hey watch out!” the man shouted at Uwe, “I almost spilt this coffee over my trousers.”

  Uwe stopped and turned to face the man. He stared at his trousers for a moment, “Your trousers are unsightly, uninspiring and ill-fitting. Spilling coffee over them might actually improve them.” He let the door swing back before walking towards the counter.

  The man shook his head dumbfounded, collected his things together and left the premises.

  A rather perky, young fat girl with a Canadian accent addressed Uwe brightly. “Good morning, Sir! What can I get you?”

  “I would like a coffee, please,” Uwe responded curtly.

  “Sure! No problem,” she chirped. “What kind? Café Latte, Americano, Cappuccino, Espresso, Macchiato?”

  Uwe rolled his eyes. “I would just like a coffee with milk and no sugar.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Café Latte it is.”

  Uwe twitched slightly. “Actually, it’s pronounced latt-tay,” he explained with obvious irritation.

  The barista frowned slightly. “Sure, the customer is always right. One Café Latte,” she said pronouncing it incorrectly again.

  Uwe started to speak again but thought better of it; he knew a waste of time when he saw one.

  “Venti, Grande or Massimo?”

  “What?” Uwe growled.

  She smiled at him, “What size, Sir? Venti, Grande or Massimo?”

  Uwe rubbed his chin irritably. “Medium. Just give me a medium-sized drink.”

  “Grande it is!” she said with unfaltering energy.

  Uwe furrowed his brow. “No, I want a medium. Surely a Grande is large. I don’t want a large, I just want a medium.”

  “But that is a medium, Sir,” she explained, “a Massimo is a large, a Grande is a medium and a Venti is a small.”

  Uwe looked at the ceiling and muttered angrily: “Himmel, Arsch und Zwirn!”

  The barista paused momentarily in confusion. “Are you okay, Sir?” she asked with concern.

  Uwe simply stared her in the eye and displayed his teeth in an angry, forced smile, “Yes, everything is fine. Can I have my coffee now?”

  “Almost,” she replied in her sing-song voice. “Full-fat, half-fat or soya?”

  Uwe placed his hands on the counter and fixed his stare upon her. His lips parted in a snarl. “Look,” he bellowed, “I have come here for a coffee not a fucking conversation!”

  A look of concern replaced the gormless smile on the barista’s face. “Huh?”

  Uwe leant further over the counter and said, “Just give me my fucking coffee!”

  The barista’s lip wobbled and tears began to pour from her eyes. She turned and ran through a door behind the counter disappearing from Uwe’s sight.

  Her supervisor, hearing the commotion, walked across to Uwe and smiled. “Hi there! What can I get for you?”

  “I would like a coffee with milk,” Uwe said quickly.

  “What kind? Café Latte, Americano, Cappuccino …” the supervisor started, but was interrupted by Uwe.

  “Café Latte,” Uwe said curtly.

  “Venti, Grande …” he said before being interrupted again by Uwe as he tried in vain to pick up the pace.

  “Grande!” Uwe stated simply.

  “Full-fat, half-fat …” the supervisor asked.

  “Half-fat,” Uwe said, trying to keep his temper. “Now if you have finally finished your interrogation please give me my coffee.”

  The supervisor smiled. “Not yet, Sir.”

  “What?” Uwe cried in disbelief.

  “I said, not yet, Sir.” the supervisor repeated. “I still have a few more questions to ask you.”

  Uwe ground his teeth in frustration. He didn’t dare look out of the coffee shop window; it would be a sign of weakness and he knew they’d be complaining about him anyway so why give them the satisfaction? Uwe leant forward and read the supervisor’s name badge. It read: ‘Hi, my name’s James. How may I make your day great?’

  “James,” Uwe growled, “what on earth is there left to ask?”

  The supervisor grinned inanely. “Eat in or take away?”

  Uwe’s head slumped forward in despair, he looked at his shoes as he spoke. “Don’t you mean drink in or take away?”

  “What?” The supervisor replied with a hint of uncertainty, his eyes searched for his laminated sheet of instructions, which was hidden behind the counter away from the customer’s prying eyes. He surreptitiously read through his checklist, found what he was looking for and smiled. “No, Sir. Eat in or take away,” he said confidently.

  “Arschloch!” Uwe muttered. He knew he wasn’t going to win this battle, so he decided to just give in. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to take the coffee away from you and this bloody coffee shop, thank you,” he said with resignation.

  On hearing these words the supervisor picked up a paper cup and wrote a series of letters on the side of it with a black marker pen. Still facing Uwe he shouted the or
der to the staff working the coffee machine behind him, Uwe winced at the volume in which James, barked his orders.

  Then lowering his voice and changing his tone the supervisor spoke again to Uwe. “That will be four pounds please.”

  Uwe took his wallet from his jacket and removed a five-pound note and handed it to him silently. The supervisor tapped a series of buttons, put the fiver in the till, removed some coins and handed Uwe five twenty-pence pieces.

  “Thank you, Sir. One pound change,” he said with an air of satisfaction.

  Uwe stared at the handful of change and tutted. He stood there fuming silently while he waited for the staff to prepare his coffee. The supervisor smiled idiotically, rocking back and forth on his heels.

  “One half-fat, Venti, Café Latte,” came the shout from behind the supervisor.

  “Finally,” whispered Uwe.

  The supervisor pushed the cup of hot coffee slowly across the counter towards Uwe. He reached out expectantly to take it, but just as Uwe’s fingers were within centimetres of the cup the supervisor stopped pushing it and placed his hand on top of it. Uwe stared at the chubby hand on top of his coffee, with a look of bewilderment he peered at the server. The supervisor’s lips parted slowly and he began to speak. “Chocolate sprinkles?”

  “No!” Uwe said quickly and tersely.

  “Cinnamon sprinkles?” the supervisor countered.

  “No sprinkles.”

  “Caramel shot?” said the supervisor with lightning speed.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Vanilla shot then?” came the reply, as quick as a bullet from a gun.

  “No fucking shots,” screamed Uwe banging his fists on the counter.

  “Then a biscotti perhaps?” simpered the supervisor, ignoring Uwe’s foul language.

  “Hoffentlich wirst Du den nächsten Monat Feuer pinkeln!” he bellowed venomously before he turned and left the coffee shop without his drink. He marched angrily back towards the others, his feet stomping on the polished floor.

  “Finally! What took you so long?” Gareth asked with irritation. He looked at Uwe’s hands. “Where’s your drink? Did you sit in there and drink it while we waited for you here like a bunch of idiots?” Gareth said in disbelief.

  “I changed my mind,” Uwe lied. “I am no longer thirsty.” And with that he stormed off into the boutique.

  The group exchanged confused looks. “Come on then, Tony,” Hugh said enthusiastically, “let’s make you look fabulous.”

  Several hours later the group left the premises of the Twin Pines shopping mall tired but content in the knowledge of a job well done. Tony strode beside them purposely, exuding a newfound confidence in his newly purchased items. He smiled as he caught his reflection in the automatic doors. He ran his hands down the seam of his fitted shirt and twisted his head to check out his own arse in his skinny-fit jeans.

  “Why don’t you save them, Tony,” Hugh said, “you’ll get them dirty before we’ve had a chance to present you to Ben in class.”

  “I’m never taking these off,” Tony said proudly as he admired the flames on the leather cowboy boots that he was wearing. “I look like the dog’s bollocks in these,” Tony said, glowing with pride.

  A group of girls walked by. Tony took a few steps back and opened the door for them; they smiled in thanks at Tony as they passed him.

  “Ladies,” he said in a silky smooth tone as he leant forward, closed his eyes and breathed in their perfume. They giggled flirtatiously as they walked away.

  “We’ve created a monster,” Hugh whispered to Uwe and Gareth.

  “Okay, Tony,” Gareth said warmly, “leave the girls alone, we’ve got to head back now.”

  “Oh really?” Tony said with disappointment.

  “Yes, really,” Gareth chuckled, “you need a cold shower I think.”

  The four of them walked across the car park towards Uwe’s car. “Now wherever did we park the car?” Uwe asked.

  As they stood there searching the car park they heard the screech of tyres and the roar of an engine. Suddenly Uwe saw a blue Volkswagen campervan tearing across the car park towards them. For a moment he stared curiously at the van as it drove ever closer before it suddenly dawned on him what was happening.

  “Oh, my god. They found us, I don’t know how, but they found us,” cried Uwe in terror. “Run for it Tony!”

  “Who? Who?” said Tony in total confusion.

  “Who do you think? The Libyans!” Uwe shrieked panic ridden.

  “The Libyans? What do you mean the Libyans?” Tony said baffled.

  “Shit!” Hugh exclaimed as he stared through the windscreen of the oncoming campervan. “He doesn’t mean Libyans, he means lesbians!”

  “Holy shit!” exclaimed Tony as the campervan screeched to a halt next to them and the sliding door whipped open.

  “Run for it,” Gareth shouted as the lesbian hockey team leapt from their van onto the tarmac. “Don’t let them mess your clothes up and there’s no way we can afford for your face to get any bruises Tony.”

  “Get those cock-loving freaks!” screamed one of the lesbians.

  The four guys ran across the car park, laden down with their shopping bags and followed closely by the lesbians.

  “Christ,” Tony wailed, “it’s almost impossible to run in these boots.”

  Gareth also limped along in his winkle picker boots. “Ow, ow, ow,” he moaned as their pursuers gained on them.

  “Quick, this way,” shouted Hugh.

  They dodged in between the parked cars frantically looking for an escape route.

  “I’ve had a lot of dreams about me and lesbians,” Tony panted, “but they were nothing like this.”

  “Let me guess, Tony, in your dreams were they really attractive and incredibly keen to have sex with you?” Gareth shouted over to Tony as they ran.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Have you had similar dreams?” Tony shouted back before running across the road directly in front of an oncoming car. The driver of the car slammed on his brakes and hooted his horn.

  “Wake up, Tony! These girls don’t want to fuck you, but they do want to fuck you up. They mean business,” Gareth explained to Tony breathlessly.

  “Will you two just shut up and run,” wailed Hugh from behind them, “they’re gaining on us.”

  “But part of me wants them to catch us and rough us up a little,” Tony said as he ran past the last row of parked cars.

  “Think of it this way, Tony,” Uwe said firmly, “it is a clear gain to sacrifice pleasure in order to avoid pain. You may gain some weird pleasure from having them rough you up, but eventually it will end in pain for all of us.”

  “Turn this way,” Hugh shouted as he ran around the back of the shopping centre into the staff car park.

  Tony and the others followed him. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Those lezzers are so bloody ugly and manly anyway.”

  “Ah shit,” Hugh screamed, “it’s a dead end!”

  Regardless, they still ran towards the edge of the car park, where their escape was blocked by a wire fence. The lesbians gained on them and before any of them had a chance to think of a plan B one of the girls grabbed Hugh and pinned him against the fence. The fence rattled as his body was pushed against it. Almost immediately the fence bounced again and again as Tony, Gareth and Uwe were pinned up against it by their attackers.

  “Oi, watch the clothes!” Tony complained as they manhandled him.

  “You cock-gobbling queers will never learn,” laughed Lex. “If you wore comfortable shoes like us you would have gotten away, but now you’ll pay for your vanity.”

  “So Lezzy Lex, we meet again,” Tony drawled.

  “Ah, Tony the twat,” Lex growled, “I almost didn’t recognise you without your hot pants.”

  “Pretty natty clobber eh? I bet I could even turn you?” Tony joked with bravado.

  Lex just laughed. “Christ! Not even if you were the last person on the planet. Never will a sausage pass thro
ugh either of my lips.”

  “How boring though,” Tony scoffed, “don’t you get tired of just licking away? Where’s the variety?”

  “Well sometimes it’s white meat and if I fancy a change it is not far to go for brown meat. Both sides are finger-licking good.”

  “Oh carry on, tell me more. Then what do you do?” Tony said staring intently into her eyes. “I’m seriously getting aroused,” he said sarcastically.

  “Then let me help you out,” Lex walked over to Tony and rubbed the bulge at the front of his jeans. “Is this the spot?” she said.

  “Oh yes, yes, yes! Now we’re talking,” Tony looked over at Gareth, “See, they are like the lesbians in the films, just uglier. But that doesn’t matter one bit to me. This is the best day ever!” He grinned ecstatically, so much so that his face began to ache. “Hey, would you two lesbos over there mind tonguing each other? I’d kill to see that.”

  “Oh you like this sort of thing, do you?” Lex said softly before her expression hardened. “Well, how do you like this?” She gritted her teeth and squeezed Tony’s balls hard.

  Tony squealed like a pig, “Arrghh you bitch.”

  Lex let go and took a few steps back. “You thought that you were pretty hot stuff on the hockey pitch didn’t you? Well that’s the last time you’ll make a fool out of us,” and with that she spat in his face.

  Tony scowled and wretched, his body tightened but two of the girls held him in place by his shoulders. “What do I do?” Tony said as he struggled against them trying to ignore the pain in his testicles.

  A third girl stepped forward and grabbed his throat. “Shut it,” she ordered.

  “What do you mean, Tony?” Gareth asked, struggling to speak with his captor’s hand also clenched on his throat.

  “I mean, should I hit them?” Tony said gasping for air.

  “Why are you asking me?” Gareth said.

  “Well, I was brought up never to hit a woman, but these girls really look like men. I’m just so confused!” Tony said with anguish.

  “Sorry Tony, but weren’t you going to prison for aggravated assault?” Gareth asked incredulously, “and suddenly you’ve developed a conscience?”