by Swan, Tarn
Needless to say we set off for work on a chilly note. Seeing as today is The General Election we stopped off at the local polling station, to register our vote. Twinks registered his disapproval of me by standing in a separate queue to get his ballot paper. It suited me just fine.
Staying with politics for a sec I must say this has been a low-key sort of Election. Usually you have candidates jostling on your doorstep to persuade you to vote for them. This time we’ve had one half hearted Conservative candidate, who regretted ringing our doorbell when Twinkles demanded to know what the Tory stance was on Transgender issues. The poor man didn’t really seem to know much about the subject at all, let alone his Party’s stance. He wasn’t sure they even had a stance. Twinks gave him an education, plus a guided tour of his wardrobe and makeup box.
He was still in a mood when I picked him up from work this evening. The pimple had developed a yellow centre and Barbara, his friend at work, had noticed and offered to squeeze it for him. He’d declined.
It was his turn to make dinner tonight, but I took pity on him and said I’d do it while he went off and had a nice hot bath. I wasn’t being completely unselfish. Given his temper we’d have ended up with burnt offerings for dinner. I threw together a chicken casserole, shoved it in the oven, then I took him a glass of wine and sat chatting with him as he steeped in a hot bath with a face mask on. It was one of those masks that dries like a skin and has to be peeled off. Twinks loathes peeling them off. He says it makes him feel queasy, so I always do it for him. I peel his oranges as well…true love is peeling a man’s facemask and citrus fruits for him.
He calmed down and was in a much more cuddly mood after dinner. Instead of watching television we listened to some of our favourite CD’s and did the old ‘memory lane’ routine. It’s nice to go back sometimes, to remember, to laugh, and to also cry a little for friends and family no longer with us. You don’t realise how much you pack into life until you take a moment to unpack some of the layers and look at them again. Such moods of reminiscence inevitably lead to getting out the photo albums. Twinks adores looking at photos, especially if he’s on them. It can be a bittersweet thing. Thanks to AIDS our pages seen to have more than their fair share of smiling faces that we can no longer look upon in our daily lives. People like Steven and more besides whose photographs will never be updated with later ones. Twinkles also likes to look at photographs of my sister Maryann and I when we were little, family pictures of high days and holidays, seaside trips, Christmas time, that sort of thing. He has no photographs of himself as a child. It saddens me, you need something to attach yourself to and on a selfish note I would love to see what Twinkles looked like when he was a child.
We ended up making love and I do mean making love, not just having sex, though just having sex is wonderful too. We often have plain old sex. There’s nothing wrong with a jolly good getting your rocks off fuck, especially first thing on a morning when it seems a crying shame not to put two spontaneously occurring erections to good use. However, this was lovemaking, unhurried, sensuous, intense, a reaffirmation of love. Twinkles fell asleep in my arms afterwards. He’s still fast asleep on the couch now, hugging a cushion, wearing nothing but a Mona Lisa smile. I just might take a photograph of him.
Ah well, the day might not have started too well, but it definitely got better.
15th May 2005:
Murder On The Dance Floor
I wish I could lay hands on just one of those responsible for creating computer viruses. I’d make known my disgruntlement at the way they squander their talent by uploading a permanent image of my footwear onto their malicious backsides. My computer got hit over a week ago and it’s taken forever to get rid of the wretched thing, and cost me a fortune into the bargain. I suspect the virus protection people of actually creating all these new viruses, just to keep us buying their products.
Twinkles and I are not at one with each other at the moment, we are not feng shui. He’s taken himself off upstairs in preference to sharing the same space as me. I’m fine with that. In fact I’ve told him that he can do the same every evening after work until he offers me an explanation for what happened at the PP last night. We’d gone out as per usual and everything seemed fine. I was in Brian’s office enjoying a quiet drink and a chat when Rick, one of the barmen, came running in and said there was a catfight taking place on the dance floor and the fur was flying. By the time Brian and I arrived on scene, Cherie Pie had turned the situation to self-advantage by singing Sophie Ellis Bexter’s hit song, ‘Murder On The Dance Floor.’ Queens are so egocentric, they can’t bear anyone else being centre stage. Of course I might have guessed that Twinkles would be involved, though for a change it wasn’t Natalie he was brawling with, it was Lulu. I was stunned, as was Lulu when Twinks handbag bounced off his skull. He soon recovered and brought Twinks down with a deftly executed rugby tackle that dislodged his Miss Springtime crown (he insists on wearing it every weekend) and sent it bouncing into the baying mob that had gathered to enjoy the floorshow. Twinks went ballistic and reaching into the front of Lulu’s gown ripped out one of his falsies and hurled it into the delighted crowd.
It took me, Brian and Big Mary several minutes to pull the two of them apart. Both were in tears and both refused point blank to say what had triggered the fight. Big Mary took Lulu home and I brought Twinkles home. So far he’s refused to explain what happened. I called Lulu today to see if I could find out anything from him, but he wasn’t answering his phone. I’m concerned as much as anything else. It does Twinkles no good at all to keep things bottled up. He makes mountains out of molehills and then climbs them with no safety equipment. I’m going to take him a cup of tea and I’m going to insist that he talks to me about last night.
17th May 2005:
Unmasked
I may not have discovered the identity of our anonymous hate mailer yet, but I have discovered the identity of my secret admirer. It’s all rather embarrassing. It’s Lulu of all people. That’s what the fight was about at the PP.
Apparently Lulu had gone off to chat with someone, leaving his handbag on the table. Someone jolted the table and sent the handbag crashing to the floor where it literally spilled its guts. You have no idea how much stuff transvestites carry around in their handbags: makeup, tissues, combs, brushes, eyelash glue, extra pair of tights, spare tit in case one punctures, Viagra, condoms, lube (well a girl can hope) In Lulu’s case the usual paraphernalia also included an envelope, addressed to me. Twinkles, gathering the fallen contents of the bag together discovered it and with complete disregard of the common law regarding privacy opened it and discovered a romantic card with a love poem inside, dedicated to me. He confronted Lulu who promptly accused him of snooping through his private belongings and it all went from there.
Twinkles is also angry with me. If I hadn’t gone swinging into the PP at Easter like a cross between a macho John Wayne and Harrison Ford whacking Lulu’s backside, then he wouldn’t have developed a school-queen crush on me and felt a need to write crappy poetry. I might have guessed it would be my fault somewhere along the line.
Poor Lulu. He’s lonely and desperate to find a steady, reliable boyfriend. His love affairs rarely amount to more than a few dates, but then he goes for the wrong type, the type that have ‘quick shag and move on’ written all over them. I think he’s envious not only because Twinkles always has someone to go out with, but also someone to return home with. At the end of the day when the frock and the wig and the make up come off, he can turn away from the mirror and not find an empty room behind him. It’s not me he’s attracted to. He’s attracted to something that Twinkles and I share, a lifestyle. I’ve tried to make Twinks see that, but he’s still too upset at what he terms Lulu’s backstabbing betrayal. One does not covet one’s best friend’s ox. I can’t say I liked the ox reference much and just for the record I look nothing like one. I’m not boy band material, but I’m certainly not an ox.
I’ll have to sort this out. Lulu is re
fusing to answer the phone so, come tomorrow, I’m going to go and see him in person.
23rd May 2005:
A Point Of Peace
Twinkles and Lulu continue to be estranged. Lu pretended to be out the evening I called round. I won’t give up though.
Twinkles’ therapist finally persuaded him to read the letter that his father left for him. He said he was afraid to in case whatever was inside confirmed what he feared, that his father had been ashamed of him and had not felt able to love him. She said that the gift of the watch would seem to belie that and that he needed to confront his fear and the only way he could do that was to open the letter. So he did.
Twinkles’ father did love him. He said the words. He also said he had wanted to contact him as soon as he knew he was terminally ill, but didn’t think he had the right to impose that kind of burden on him, not after all that had gone before. The prospect of one’s own death, he wrote, allows you to finally see what really matters and you always mattered to me. He hoped Twinkles liked the watch and said that the thought of passing it on to him had afforded him great comfort, as it was one of the few things that belonged entirely to him. He believed the watch connected him to his own father and his grandfather and that often, when he picked it up to put it on, it gave him glimpses back into his childhood and times spent with people he had loved. He asked Twinkles to try to remember that they did share some good moments as father and son. He also asked forgiveness that there had not been more of them and also asked forgiveness for his weakness in not standing firmer against the harsh views of his father-in-law.
The letter also contained some beautifully detailed, hand written memories of times spent with Jonathan when he was small. Twinkles asked if I would read them to him. I wasn’t too sure. I felt like I was intruding, that these were words only Twinkles himself had a right to read. They were a direct interaction between him and his father. He insisted that he wanted me to read them and listened intently as I did so, interrupting from time to time, giving excited exclamations as his memory was jogged and the occasion his father was writing about came back to him.
As I read I felt that a third person entered the room and stood quietly listening. Twinkles said later that at one point, the timbre of my voice altered, and he honestly felt as if his father were speaking through me. Of course it was probably wishful thinking and sentiment on our parts, but you never know, and anyway sometimes you just need to believe the impossible. Twinkles was quiet for a few days afterwards. He didn’t sleep terribly well as he went over and over the contents of the letter. Hardly surprising, he’d had portions of his childhood reawakened and his mind needed some time to review them before putting them safely down to sleep again.
We went away last weekend, to the Lakes. We walked a lot and talked very little and just found peace in being with each other. We all need a point of peace and a point of release from what has held us captive.
As a footnote, I had a wish granted. I finally got to see what Twinkles looked like as a child. Enclosed with the letter was a photograph, a little bit worn, seeing as it had been one that Twinkles’ father had carried around in his wallet. It shows Jonathan at age seven. Even then he was adorable, with a smile that could light up a room. No wonder his dad kept it close all those years.
Life is bittersweet and sometimes the bitter seems to negate the sweet. It’s the way of the world. The bad always makes headlines over the good, but in the end goodness, like love, will always find a way.
1st June 2005:
Appendix
My mother has been very ill. She suffered a ruptured appendix and ended up having an emergency operation. She’s well on the mend now, but for a while there Twinkles and I were worried to death about her. For all they fight and quarrel, Twinks and my mother are very attached to each other. We’ve been going over to the hospital every evening from work to see her. I knew she was starting to feel better when she started to criticise the nurses, the doctors, the food, other patients, their visitors and the general state of cleanliness on the ward. Twinkles was just as bad, going so far as to put in a formal complaint about the appalling pattern on the bed curtains, demanding to know how people were expected to get better when they were surrounded by such bad taste in soft furnishings. He made me promise that if ever he needed to be hospitalised I’d make sure he was put in a room with tasteful decor. Then he almost caused a war with the cleaning staff when, unbeknown to me, he took an afternoon off work and went to the hospital taking a large bottle of strong disinfectant and his own mop, in order to show them the proper way to clean a ward. No MRSA Super Bug was going to get into his mother in law’s operation wound and eat away her flesh, not if he had anything to do with it.
I got a frantic phone call from the ward sister asking me to come and collect Twinkles, as he’d had to be put in an isolation room for his own safety. A posse of offended cleaners were threatening to shove his mop somewhere personal once they got their hands on him. Twinks said he wouldn’t have minded if it were just the handle bit they were threatening him with, he could take that, easily, but it was the other end and it was FILTHY after cleaning the ward floor, which just proved they didn’t know how to clean efficiently. He reckons only gay men should be allowed to be hospital cleaners. You wouldn’t find dust on a skirting board in a room that a gay cleaner had cleaned, unless it was Lulu of course, because he’s a big slut, as well as a backstabbing ox coveter (sigh)
Poor mum almost had to be sedated because, up until Twinkles mentioned it, the thought of being a victim of an MRSA infection had not even crossed her mind. She became hysterical, demanding to be discharged and sent home immediately before she became a meal for rogue, antibiotic resistant bacteria. I had a few stern words to say to Twinkles when I got him home I can tell you. He can cause trouble in an empty room.
Mum was discharged from hospital today. I collected her at lunchtime and took her home to recuperate. My aunt Helen is staying with her for a few days, so I know she’ll be well looked after. I’m looking forward to getting back into what passes as a normal routine around here. Seeing as I’ve got some spare time now, I’m determined to catch up with Lulu, he seems to have vanished off the face of the planet since the fight with Twinkles. He hasn’t been answering any phone calls or emails, or text messages nor has he been going to the PP. It’s a sad situation and I want to try and patch things up. I know he finishes work around four o clock on a Wednesday, so I’m going to sit outside his flat and catch him as he comes home.
2nd June 2005:
Divorce
Twinkles wants a divorce because I sent him to stand in a corner the moment we got home from work this evening. He is not pleased. Don’t I realise that making him stand still for vast periods of time could result in a build up of fluid around his ankles and to a transvestite of any ilk, having fat, fluid filled ankles is the equivalent of an ordinary gay guy having genital herpes. It could lead to him being shunned by his own kind. I’ve just reminded him that demanding a divorce is not permissible during actual discipline and we’ll discuss it later when he’s feeling calmer and more rational. Some hope. He’s now naming conditions. He wants custody of the hairdryer, along with my mother, because at least she’s handy with a sewing machine, which is more than I am. He also wants first call on visiting times with regard to our godson and visitation rights to the television, especially on Fridays, when Will and Grace are on, and Sundays when Joey and Two And A Half Men are on, and by the way, isn’t it about time that Jack from W&G got his own ‘Just Jack’ spin off show like Joey had got from friends? I’ve just reminded him that corner time is not a social event and is meant to be served in silence and if he says ONE more word there will be bother of a most uncomfortable nature, uncomfortable for him that is.
Why have I confined him to a corner? I’ll tell you why…on account of his attitude over my decision to invite Lulu for dinner and peace talks this evening, as well as his rudeness to the lady who runs the greengrocer’s shop next to the jewellers. Le
t me explain.
Yesterday, as planned I camped outside Lulu’s house, catching him as he came home from work. He was so embarrassed. He turned bright red and burst into tears the moment I stepped out of the car and greeted him. He galloped up to his front door trying to get into his flat without speaking to me, but I sprinted after him. Taking his key from his hand, which was trembling so much it kept missing the lock, I did the job for him and ushered him inside, insisting he sit down while I made us some tea. The place was an absolute mess. He’d let it go. There was a ton of crockery piled in the sink and it was obviously some time since the hoover had romanced the sitting room carpet. Lulu himself was a bit rough around the edges. In fact he was sporting the start of a beard that Desperate Dan would be proud of. Judging from the amount of empties lying around the place it was obvious he’d taken refuge and solace in Belgian lager and luridly flavoured alcoholic mixer drinks.
I finally managed to coax him into talking to me. He said he’d had no intention of ever making himself known to me. He’d wanted to play at romance for a while, pretending he had a lover. He wistfully said how much he’d enjoyed choosing cards and flowers and did I know that Clinton the greetings card people now did a full range of gay cards with romantic themes. He knew I loved Twinkles more than anything and he was a bit jealous, not of us as such, but of what we had and truly he would never ever try to come between us, even if he thought he stood half a chance. He had been mortified when Twinks found the card and poem and broken-hearted about losing his friendship, even if he had called him some nasty, hurtful names during the fight and ruined his best set of silicone inserts. He apologised to me for any embarrassment and hurt he might have caused with his silliness. I told him we all did silly things at times and we would put it behind us. I invited him to come over to the house and talk things over with Twinkles, but he said that Wednesday was the night he visited his parents, so I invited him for dinner this evening and he agreed, which I thought took real courage.