by Swan, Tarn
With regard to this afternoon I’ve told Twinkles that while I would appreciate his support and company, if he really can’t face making polite conversation with our visitors, then he can stay upstairs out of the way, because I’m not having him take his mood out on everybody else. He’s bad enough with dad and Gill when he’s in a good mood. He’s promised to be a good little wife hostess and do me proud. In fact he’s in the kitchen at the moment, making sandwiches and defrosting a lemon gateaux (which he’ll claim to have made if it gets compliments) I’d better go and give him a hand, or he’ll call mum and slag me off for being a male chauvinist gay who does nothing around the house.
28th April 2005:
Spanking The Monkey
Last Sunday’s tea party was not a huge success. Him in frocks had faithfully promised that he would be on his best behaviour, but alas he didn’t deliver. He doesn’t get on well with my father or Gill at the best of times. He claims Gill has had a charisma bypass op, which explains her attraction to old dull duck, kindred spirits etc. He blames Gill for my parents breaking up, but it isn’t strictly true. My parents had broken up long before they parted company in a physical sense. He just refuses to look at the wider picture.
Anyway, he was upstairs getting changed when the visitors arrived. Mrs Frost, Gill’s mother, turned out to be a rather sweet, old-fashioned sort of lady. I’d just been introduced to her when Twinkles came bounding down the stairs, doing the typically gay thing of being last to arrive on scene. He was wearing skin tight, strategically slashed, stopping just short of being obscene, leather trousers, a ripped designer t-shirt, which totally exposed one of his nipples to which he’d clipped a large gold hoop to make it look as if it were pierced and his beloved pink mules. In addition he was sporting a black leather metal-studded collar and matching wrist bracelets. He looked like he was auditioning for a part in a bdsm porn movie. He was being deliberately provocative and extremely naughty (I made a mental note to have very stern words with him at the first opportunity) He said a very theatrical hello to everyone; ignoring the cold looks he was getting from my father and Gill, not to mention me.
Mrs Frost seemed a little perturbed, but smiled warmly and said, ‘you must be Tarn’s friend?’ Twinkles immediately flung his arms around my neck and squealed at the top of his voice. ‘Yes, he’s my very bentest, I mean bestest, friend, aren’t you, Tarnsy, darling boy. We just love each other to death!’ At which point he almost suffocated me with a kiss (I added this display to the list of stern words to be had) He then grabbed dad and kissed him full on the lips, doing the same to Gill, before saying sweetly, ‘long time no see, or is that just wishful thinking on my part?’ Tripping gaily off to the kitchen to put the kettle on he left me to smooth my father’s ruffled feathers. Both he and Gill looked like they’d swallowed hemlock. Mrs Frost gave me a small, uncertain smile and made the understatement of the year, ‘he’s very lively isn’t he?’ I smiled and nodded, while mentally thinking that if Twinks didn’t cool it lively would be the last thing he’d be because I’d kill him.
Excusing myself on the pretext of helping Twinkles make tea, I headed into the kitchen where I unceremoniously plucked off his nipple ring and told him to tone down his Julian Clary playing a Hells Angel act. He came over all innocent and bewildered, asking what my problem was? He was just being friendly to his dear daddy-in-law and his uptight lady friend and her mama. I told him that if he didn’t behave properly then the moment that tea was over so would his day be, if not his life. He mumbled something about me turning into a version of my ball-achingly dull father, but otherwise seemed to heed what I said, making an effort to be sociable and polite.
Mrs Frost the elder seemed to genuinely take to Twinkles. I think he was a touch of the exotic as far as she was concerned. You didn’t get many of his kind to the pound in her quiet corner of Great Ayton. She sat staring at him like a mesmerised rabbit. Twinks, sensing a natural born fan, went all out to be sweet and charming with her, regaling her with tall (we’re talking skyscraper here) tales of his show business exploits. He portrayed himself as something akin to Danny La Rue, even hinting that he knew the lady himself, which really impressed Mrs Frost. ‘Oh’ she breathed, ‘he used to regularly appear on the Royal Variety Show, in front of the Queen.’ Twinks took her hand, patted it and said, ‘Darling, he WAS the queen.’ This tickled her for some reason and she burst into giggles, even dad smiled and for a moment I thought Gill’s mouth looked less severe.
Apart from one incident that made my dad blush (when Twinkles managed to make eating a chocolate éclair look like a pornographic act by flicking his tongue over the end of it) tea went relatively well. We chatted about their forthcoming marriage, the baby, the weather, etc. When it was over, as always on such occasions, Gill insisted on helping with the clearing up and began to gather dishes to stack in the dishwasher. I followed her into the kitchen just as she was opening the dishwasher door to begin loading up. A slightly puzzled look crossed her face, as she noted that something had been left inside from the last cycle. Withdrawing the object (no innuendo or puns intended, I do promise) she stared at it. Her face then turned scarlet as it registered exactly what it was she was clutching in her hand.
It was a dildo, the biggest one we owned and double ended. Okay, let me state in our own defence that we are red-blooded men, we enjoy sex and we like to add a little fun and spice to keep it interesting. I’m not ashamed of it. That said I wasn’t keen on my father’s future wife having an insight into my bedroom activities. I didn’t want to know what she got up to with dad and I certainly didn’t want her picturing what I got up to with Twinkles. I’m sure she was of exactly the same opinion. Embarrassed doesn’t begin to describe my feelings. I was so mortified I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me. Before I could say a word, Twinkles joined the act, chipping in gleefully with, ‘well, Gill, I see you’ve made the acquaintance of our flexible rubber friend. I bet it’s been quite some time since you handled something that big, stroke it gently now and it might let you take it home with you.’ For a moment I thought Gill was going to slap him, but she didn’t, instead she hurled the dildo at him. He deftly caught it and gave her a mocking little wave with it. She stalked out of the kitchen looking tearful.
Giving Twinkles a furious look I hastened after her, catching her in the hall and apologising profusely. She accepted my apology, but didn’t buy my excuse that it was an accident and my fault, because it had been my turn to unload the dishwasher. She said she had seen my face and I had looked not only embarrassed, but also shocked. I hadn’t expected it to be there. This was true. I had done my duty earlier and emptied the dishwasher. The dildo had not been left there by accident, it had been planted and it didn’t need Columbo to work out who the culprit was. Twinkles can be horrible upon occasion and I was ashamed of him. Gill is not the sort of woman you tell a risqué joke to, or watch a blue movie with, or even exchange a small innuendo with. It just isn’t her. To suddenly be caught holding a large rubber dildo, and there was no passing it off as anything else, must have been deeply upsetting and humiliating for her.
Why would a dildo be in the dishwasher anyway, I hear you ask? Well, both Twinkles and I are particular about hygiene, especially when it comes to personal matters, so, after playing with our sex toys we put them in the dishwasher to make sure they’re hygienically sterilised. I hasten to add that we would never put a dildo in with the breakfast dishes or anything like that and we do rinse them thoroughly prior to them going in.
Making the excuse that she was tired, Gill asked dad to take her home. I later endured an uncomfortable phone conversation with him when he found out what had happened. He was most annoyed at what he termed a very tasteless, unkind, juvenile prank. I was more than annoyed. I was livid. There’s a fine line between mischief and malice and I reckoned Jonathan, oh yes, I was angry enough to resort to his birth name, had crossed it.
After closing the front door on our visitors I turned to find Jonathan standing in the
hall waving the dildo, to which he’d tied a white dishcloth, as a sign of truce. I was not amused. He nearly wet himself when I launched down the hall and grabbed him, slapping my hand across the seat of his trousers several times before hustling him back into the kitchen. There was no excuse for his behaviour. He’d deliberately set out to be controversial and annoying, just because he was in a strop over what Lulu had said to him earlier that morning. As I’ve said before, sometimes he gets carried away without thinking of consequences and without taking into consideration other people’s feelings, mine included.
Seating myself on a chair I pulled him between my knees reaching for the button on his trousers, telling him that he’d been boorish, rude and spiteful and he was going to get exactly what he deserved. Pulling down his trousers, thus confirming my suspicion that he had no underpants on, I hauled him over my knee and smacked his backside a shade of red that the Revlon cosmetic people would have killed for as a lipstick colour. In the circumstances I thought he deserved more than a hand spanking and sought out the wooden spoon. It had vanished and I suspected foul play. My hand duly interrogated the suspect’s bottom and he consequently made a full confession. While I’d been seeing our visitors out, he, having already judged my mood and its likely outcome had jettisoned the wooden spoon, slipping it into Mrs Frost’s bag as she exited. No matter. I utilised our flexible rubber friend, bringing a whole new definition to the term, spanking the monkey.
I lectured as I spanked, something the monkey in question particularly hates, pointing out the fact that Gill, no matter how he personally felt about her, had been a guest in our house and he had violated the most basic rules of courtesy with his treatment of her. I also pointed out that she was a lady in the early stages of pregnancy and his tasteless joke could have had nasty consequences for her and her unborn child. To give him his due, Twinkles was genuinely horrified when I said that. He sobbed that he had just wanted to tease her, because she was always so uptight about everything and always looking down her nose at him. He hadn’t thought about the pregnancy aspect of things. He begged me to call her and make sure she was all right. I said he could phone himself and apologise.
So, that was our Sunday. I’m afraid I disposed of our flexible friend. I could never, never toy with it again, not without a mental vision of poor Gill’s face as she drew it out of the dishwasher. Twinkles did apologise. He also sent her a basket of flowers, which I thought was nice. He apologised to me too, saying he was sorry for playing the spoilt brat and showing me up.
He’s actually a bit down at the moment. Lulu hasn’t answered any of his phone calls or text messages since Monday and he’s rather hurt over it. We called in at the PP on Monday evening to see if he was there, but he wasn’t. It’s not the first time they’ve fallen out and it won’t be the last, so I’m not too worried. They’ll make up, they always do. I’m going to take Twinkles out for dinner this evening to try and cheer him up. There’s a fabulous Italian restaurant that we visit from time to time as a treat. It does the most exquisite food and the desserts and ice creams are to die for. We haven’t been out for dinner together for a while, so it should be nice.
3rd May 2005:
Wanted: Affordable Hot Stud
As I predicted, Twinkles and Lulu have made up after their row. Lulu finally returned Twinkles’ calls and said he was sorry for being bitchy and Twinks said he was sorry for suggesting the only way Lulu could get sex would be to pay for it. Lulu gloomily said that with his luck, even if he did pay for it, the bloke he paid would probably demand a refund and it wasn’t fair. The boyfriends he did manage to get were either married and only gay on a part time basis or the sort of bastard who shagged you once, wiped their dick on the bedcovers and left without so much as a farewell kiss. Why was it that all the good gay man were snapped up and indulging in monogamous relationships these days? Why couldn’t he find a nice man who wanted to be monogamous with him or even polygamous, he wouldn’t mind sharing? We had tears then, not just Lulu’s, but Twinks who can’t bear to see anyone cry and usually breaks out in sympathy with them. I dished out Kleenex and sympathy. I gave Lulu a hug and told him he was a sweet boy and there was sure to be someone out there for him.
I later discovered Twinks surfing the net looking for affordable Gay Escorts, not for him I hasten to add, but for Lulu, to cheer him up. He was wondering whether we could get Lu a gift voucher for a long night with a hot stud. I disconnected him and swatted him to bed, telling him that no partner of mine was procuring prostitutes, even if it wasn’t for his own use. Lest he have been tempted by any of the muscular beefcake on offer, I showed him just how hot a stud I could be when the mood took me. He reckons that he’ll have to google and ogle other men more often if that’s the affect it has on me.
5th May 2005:
Nemesis
Twinks was in a foul mood this morning. He woke up to discover he had a spot on his chin, note my use of the singular, though from the way he carried on you’d be forgiven for thinking he’d contracted Smallpox. He came galloping downstairs yelling that it was just his rotten luck to develop late onset acne. I pointed out that he had a spot, ONE spot, and it was probably because he hadn’t cleaned his makeup off properly at the weekend and a pore had got blocked. Talk about ill chosen words. He got very, very uppity about that. How dare I suggest that he was some kind of lazy slattern who didn’t clean off their makeup properly! I said I was suggesting no such thing and he could watch his tone or he’d be going to work with more than a tiny red spot on his chin, he’d be going with a much bigger red spot on his bum, which my hand would put there. He accused me of insensitivity on the scale of Stalin and stamped out of the kitchen in high dudgeon. Yes, I’m afraid he really does stamp, not that he’d ever admit to it, he’d say he was just walking with extra definition, but to all intents and purposes it is stamping. I must admit, while not approving, I have a sneaking admiration for a man who can stamp, or walk with definition, while wearing mules that have a four-inch spike heel and subsequently remain upright. Believe me, it’s hard enough just standing in a pair of high heels never mind anything else.
The crash of the bedroom door warned me that we were heading for a full-scale drama queen tantrum. My journey to put the brakes on the DQT was halted by the sight of a sickeningly familiar envelope being poked through the letterbox. It was the first incident in a while and I had been hoping the sorry episode was over. Seeing the envelope plop onto the mat caused me some dismay. Then it occurred to me that this was the first time I’d witnessed delivery and if I were quick I just might catch the sick bastard responsible. I raced to the front door, unlocked it and bounded down the garden path, but there was no one in sight, except for the paper lad. I hailed him, demanding to know if he’d seen anyone near our front door. He gave me an odd look, not least I suppose because I wasn’t wearing any trousers. I’d been in process of pressing them when Twinks started with his histrionics. I could just imagine the paperboy telling his mum about it and the subsequent conversation with a suspicious policeman: ‘no, officer, I really don’t make a habit of chatting to young boys, while wearing nothing but my underwear and shirt, please let me explain the extenuating circumstances before you arrest me.’
Anyway, the paperboy hadn’t seen anyone near our door posting a letter for the simple reason that he was the poster. The poor kid was rather scared by my reaction, stammering that a man had caught him at the end of the street and asked him to deliver the letter and offering three quid in exchange for the favour. He hadn’t got a good look at the man because he was wearing a scarf around the lower part of his face and had a cap on. I took the lad’s name and address to report the incident to the police. After reassuring paperboy Peter Woods that he personally wasn’t in any trouble, and yes he could keep the three quid, I headed back indoors. Tearing open the envelope I found the usual cut and pasted message. A short one this time, three words, the first in big letters ‘NEMESIS,’ and underneath it in smaller letters, rather chillingly, ‘will come.
’ It would seem the usual biblical tone of the notes had given way to a mythological one. Nemesis, in case you’re not sure, and memory serves me right, was a Greek Goddess who was also known as the Daughter of Night and her sole purpose was to wreak vengeance and severely punish, usually by death, those who were judged to have transgressed the natural order of things. I was seriously pissed off that someone thought they had the right to threaten us in such a despicable way.
To further my annoyance I got upstairs to discover that Twinkles had taken himself back to bed, claiming he couldn’t possibly go into work with what might be a highly contagious skin disease. He wanted me to phone him in sick and call out the doctor. I said if he thought any doctor on the planet would make a house call to treat a pimple then he was sadly deluded and he could get his badly behaved arse out of bed and into some clothes pronto or I’d spank it so hard he wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. I was upset over the letter and I didn’t need him playing up over something as trivial as a spot.
I showed him the letter and said I didn’t want him wandering around anywhere on his own, in fact I’d prefer him to stay in the staff room at lunchtime instead of prowling around the shops. He lost his temper, saying I was overreacting to the ramblings of a narrow-minded nutcase who probably didn’t have the courage to confront anyone face to face. Then he accused me of treating him like a four year old and claimed I’d be telling him not to take sweets from strangers next. I said that when it came to sweets he was so greedy he’d probably be tempted to stop and take one from someone wielding a blood-drenched chainsaw.