Going to the Chapel

by Swan, Tarn

  No wonder he'd decided to stay out overnight. He was probably hoping that by the time we did meet up again I would have calmed down. I called him. His voice when he answered sounded defensive, as well it might. He asked if I'd had a good journey home. I said no and it hadn't been made any better at finding an empty house and a note on the table. He said he hadn't wanted to ring my mobile in case I was on the motorway and the call distracted me. I asked where he was and he said he was in the hotel getting ready to go out.

  I got to the point and asked what the hell he thought he was playing at with regard to the bathroom. He thought it would be a nice surprise for me. I said it was indeed a surprise, but not a nice one. I considered his action to be at best ill mannered and at worst to be a deliberate act of disobedience. He could count himself fortunate he was in a hotel in Leeds and not within reach. How dare he go ahead with such a major project after I'd said we were to wait?

  He didn't get what the big deal was. The tiles had been on special offer. They were usually twice the price he'd paid. He'd struck while the iron was hot. I said the big deal was him not having the courtesy to consult with me.

  We ended up shouting at each other. I yelled that his omission to mention what he was up to proved he knew it was wrong. He yelled that while I was away I didn't stay on the frigging phone long enough for him to tell me anything. It was all right for me staying in fancy hotels with fancy bathrooms while he had to put up with a fire-scorched dump! It was done now. He was surprised I'd even noticed anyway, because all I cared about lately was work.

  I icily reminded him that the bathroom had ended up as a fire-scorched dump because of him. He shouted that the bathroom had to be decorated regardless of whether the frigging insurance coughed up. It would be an asset when it came to selling the house and moving to bum hole Bristol. I should be grateful. He’d kept down labour costs. Lulu had helped with the decorating. Big Mary had done the light fitting and towel rail and Kev, Rick and Frank had done the tiling.

  I pointed out that whatever was saved in labour costs hardly counted, seeing as the amount he'd lashed out for the tiles, regardless of them being discounted, probably equalled the Italian national debt. The fact of the matter was simple. He shouldn't have done it.

  Fine, okay, okay, he shouldn't have done it! He’d chip the tiles off the frigging walls and take them back for a refund on the grounds his husband was a miserable, tight-fisted, bad tempered old faggot! There was a metallic crash and the phone went dead. It sounded suspiciously like he’d hurled it into a litterbin. I dropped my own phone onto the bed in disgust.

  Walking over to the window I stared out into the darkness, watching the raindrops sparkle in the light cast by the streetlamp on the other side of the road. My instinct was to call him and tell him to get back home on the next available train, but I didn't. A childish obstinacy took hold of me. Fuck him! Let him stay where he was.

  Going downstairs I drew the curtains, switched on the telly and then went to the cabinet to get myself a glass of whisky. The cabinet shelves hold a variety of objects, ornaments, which Twinks decided we had to collect over the years. There are also framed photographs of friends and family, including one of him. It's one of my favourites. It was taken in the back garden on a summer's day. The day we moved into the house, and the same date he chose for our wedding ceremony. He's sitting cross-legged on the lawn and is wearing jeans and a pink t-shirt patterned with an incongruous mix of glittery silver fairies and skull and crossbones. He’s all fresh faced and boyishly handsome, his lovely brown eyes and gorgeous smile enchanting the camera, not to mention the photographer, who happened to be me.

  I picked the photo up. Gazing at it I remembered the day it was taken. I could smell the grass and feel the heat of the sun, but most of all I recalled the delicious sense of having embarked on a wonderful adventure with the piercingly flamboyant and yet fragile young man who had stolen my heart. The heat of that day didn't just come from the sun. It came from us. He excited me. The way we were with each other excited me, the mechanisms between us.

  I thought of the years we'd shared and the events and dramas, real and imagined, and all the small everyday repetitions that make up a life. I didn't want to give them up and yet lately I'd been conscious of things slipping, blaming work. External forces don't threaten relationships. They falter and fail from within. We'd get through what we had to get through, but only if we remained true to each other and the principles that bound us together.

  I was tired. I'd planned to have a drink and go to bed and continue feeling hurt because he wasn't home to greet me, angry that he'd disobeyed me and sad because for the first time I wouldn't wake up to a birthday kiss from him. If I went ahead with the plan it would inevitably widen distance between us. It was my role to minimise such risk. It was my role to lead and guide, not to mope and feel sorry for myself. Recapping the whisky bottle I put it back in the cabinet and then stood chewing my lower lip as I thought about what to do next.

  After checking the train timetables online I called him again hoping that his phone was still working. It was. I told him what train I expected him to be on and said I'd be waiting for him at the station. He said he couldn't get that particular train. I said he could and he would. He said no he couldn't because he wasn't in Leeds. He was already at our station. He’d never left it. Lu and Kev had gone on without him.

  So the row we'd just had over the phone hadn't taken place in a hotel room? No. It had taken place in the tin air raid shelter that passed for a waiting room on platform two. Could I hurry up and collect him, as he was frigging freezing and people were staring at him like he was an exhibit in a freak show.

  When I walked into the station waiting room he stood up clutching his overnight bag. It was the first time I'd seen him in over a week. I resisted an urge to dash over, grab him and kiss him. Instead I nodded a cool greeting and took his bag. The man he'd been sitting next to looked at me with interest and asked if I was the miserable, tight-fisted, bad tempered old faggot? I said yes and taking Twinks arm ushered him out of the building conscious of curious eyes watching us depart.

  We didn't speak a word in the car. We got home. I locked up and he took his coat off. We gazed at each other for a second and then I coldly asked, “do you have anything you want to say to this miserable, tight-fisted, bad tempered, old faggot before he kills you?”

  Making a sudden move for the stairs he galloped up them yelling he hadn't meant it. I launched after him yelling that on the contrary he'd meant every spiteful word. I caught hold of him, pushing him front down on the bed.

  Walloping my hand hard against the seat of his jeans I said it was true I was indeed miserable upon occasion, tight-fisted at need, bad tempered at times and undoubtedly a faggot, not a term I liked, but I was NOT old. I did not bloody appreciate being spoken to like that. Nor did I appreciate him just about fucking bankrupting us without discussing it with me first. It was beyond rude. He started crying and I stopped spanking, curtly telling him to get undressed. I got undressed too and even before his tears had dried we were having sex.

  I was rough with him, setting the sexual pace to suit myself, slapping his backside when he wasn’t quick enough to obey my instructions or when he tried to take control of the action. I made sure he knew I was in control and he was there to serve my pleasure. My orgasm was powerful, as was his when I allowed it. It wasn’t pretty sex, but it was satisfying and a release on more than one level.

  As soon as his orgasm died away he started crying again. I cuddled him, telling him how much I’d missed him. He said he’d missed me too and those few words alone made the world a happier, brighter place for both of us. We lay in each other’s arm and talked. I asked why he'd disobeyed me over the bathroom, expecting him to come out with a convoluted excuse. He simply said he'd done it because he was angry. I’d given all my attention to work. My attention belonged to him and he wanted it back.

  I had to decide. Did I punish him for disobedience or did I let it go be
cause of the circumstances? I punished him. He had gone to lengths to court my attention. I gave him what he wanted and needed, my attention along with the consequences, which were less wanted, but part of the package. He went to sleep with a well-paddled backside, but he slept in my arms.

  I've had a lovely birthday. I got nice presents, lots of cards, and a champagne lunch with friends and family, but best of all I woke up to a birthday kiss from the one I love.

  23rd October 2006: Contraceptive Dumplings

  We went to mum's for tea tonight. We had mince and dumplings with creamy mash and vegetables followed by apple crumble and thick custard. It was absolute heaven. Twinks pulled a face and said it was stodgy peasant food and we'd all end up with clogged arteries and arses like the back end of a bus. Mum offered to make him a salad, while I offered to eat his share of the peasant food. He declined on both counts saying he didn't want to put anyone to any trouble and he'd force it down. I could see it was a struggle for him, especially the second helping of apple crumble and custard, which he wolfed down before I'd even finished my first.

  He and I washed up and then crashed out on the couch to digest. Mum asked if I'd heard from Maryann. I said I'd been so busy with work I hadn't had time to call her. She gave me a Darth Vader look i.e. very much on the dark side and said yes she'd noticed I'd been neglecting people in favour of work lately. I needed to get my priorities right. I glared at Twinks who had obviously been milking her sympathy while I was away and then pushed the conversation back to my sister.

  Mum informed us Maryann was courting again. Any pleasure we might have felt was lost when she told us whom she was courting. She’s going back out with Callum. Twinks pulled a face, but Prissy said he must have something to recommend him if Maryann was giving him another chance. Twinks muttered something about a big dick if what Maryann had told him was true. He couldn't understand why she wanted to date someone like Callum, even if he did have a porn star prick. I said he more than anyone should exercise tolerance and respect for the choices made by others. He rudely broke wind by way of reply. For a pretty man he has some ugly habits.

  I'm going to see if I can persuade him to have a brisk walk with me. It might help lift the sluggishness engendered by a delicious, but soporific dinner. Dumplings should be prescribed to help keep the birth rate down. A dumpling dinner is not conducive to wanton and energetic sex. With a bit of luck a stiff walk might lead to stiffness elsewhere.

  25th October 2006: Rosebuds

  I'd just gotten Twinkles exactly where I wanted him after dinner last evening, semi-naked and kneeling between my legs when the living room door flew open and Lulu sprang in. I swear to God if that boy doesn't stop dropping in without warning I am going to smack his backside three shades of scarlet. In fact I'm going to change the bloody lock so he can't use the half dozen or so keys he seems to have had cut to our house. I re-zipped so fast I almost trapped Twinkle’s tongue.

  Lulu listened patiently as I bawled him out, said a perfunctory “sorry, Tarn” and then got down to business, informing Twinkles The Rocky Horror Show was in town. He’d got a bunch of cut-price tickets courtesy of the post office doing a bit of poster promo for the show.

  Twinkles immediately forgot he'd been caught out half-naked and almost in flagrante delicto and letting out a scream of joy hugged Lulu and dragged him upstairs to start planning the costumes they'd wear when they went to see the show. They’d have to be better than the last time and the time before that and before that. I was left with thwarted desire and the television for company.

  They did return later to quaff wine and watch a film with me. Lu was dressed in a tight red PVC mini dress and red fishnet stockings, while Twinks was in a purple satin corset with black stockings and suspenders, plus a tiny thong that left his arse bare. I told him that no way on earth was he wearing such an outfit beyond the confines of the Swan residence. His bottom was mine to see and savour and not for viewing by the general public, besides he’d get arrested for indecent exposure.

  It’s Twinkles day off today, he's still in bed. I've also taken the day off. I fancied some quiet time with him. I got Karen to fax me a few bits and pieces which needed to be done and now they're done I'm a free agent. I'm going to go re-join Twinks in bed. You know what they say: ‘gather ye rosebuds while ye may, old time is still a-flying and this same flower that smiles today tomorrow will be dying.’

  To those of you with spouses and lovers I say enjoy them today, but first put on the door chain and slip the bolt, just in case a passing gay transvestite with a key decides to drop in unannounced.

  31st October 2006: Gomez loves Morticia

  Twinks is a member of several online support groups catering for cross dressers, transvestites and transsexuals. It's something he takes very seriously and he does his best to offer consistent support and advice to the variety of members that come and go. He has a tendency to get involved with individual members, rather than operating purely as a group member giving sporadic, impersonal advice on the group forum. In recent months he's been involved with someone who has just about drained the life from him, but who gives nothing back.

  The man concerned, a closeted transvestite, makes massive demands on Twinkle’s online time and emotional energy. He sends pages of woes and problems, which he demands immediate responses to. However, he thinks nothing of leaving Twinkles' emails unanswered for weeks on end. It gets him down. He torments himself that he may have inadvertently said the wrong thing and caused the man to turn against him.

  Twinks finds any kind of rejection, be it real or perceived, very hard to cope with. Online life, as I've said before, can make huge inroads into real life and cause a great deal of hurt. It's something psychologists ought to take a good look at. Lu had a similar problem with someone a short while back. He finally got wise and said fuck it, they're not worth it and declined to be involved any further. Lu can be a dizzy duck, but every now and again he displays a surprising flash of common sense. I'm hoping Twinks will get to the same point. If not then I'm afraid I'll have to intervene and get to it for him. I'm not standing by and watching him tear himself to shreds over someone he will never meet face-to-face, and who sees him only as a utility to be called upon at whim. Apart from anything else I get the fallout and to use the local Chav parlance - it's doing my head in.

  I finally lost patience with him this morning when he went through his emails and instead of taking pleasure in who had written to him he worked himself up into a tizzy over the one person who hasn't bothered to reply to an email sent weeks ago. He ranted and raged over it and ended up slamming his fist into the keyboard in temper, loosening several keys. I’m afraid my hand had a few sharp words with his backside. Sometimes I think computers are the curse of modern life. They cause more strife than anything.

  We've both been off work today. In fact I'm off for the whole week. I'm owed some holiday. It's the PP Halloween Ball this evening and Twinks has spent most of the afternoon getting ready for it. The theme this year is The Addams Family. All the PP ladies will be turning up in costumes indicative of Morticia. Twinkles interpretation is stunning, even if his gown is somewhat on the gossamer side. It looks like a black lace cobweb. He’s a little exhibitionist given half a chance. He makes Cher look demure. However, be assured, his naughty bits are very decently covered at my insistence.

  Gabby is having a Halloween party to make up for not having had a birthday party this year on account of being on holiday. She roped Twinks in as resident makeup artist, so he's gone over to her place in his Morticia garb. He’s armed with his makeup toolkit and oceans of glitter to turn Gabby and friends into Halloween glamour princesses. He loves being the centre of attention in any capacity. He’ll be in his element. I'd like to bet that most of the party girls mums stay around for the event. He'll be posing for more photos than a Hollywood Starlet.

  I suppose I ought to think about getting ready. If he comes home and finds me sitting un-costumed at the computer there'll be trouble. Yes, I'm goi
ng in costume. I was nagged into it. I'm going as Gomez. I'm having trouble getting the moustache to stay in place, even with spirit gum. The damn thing tickles and makes me sneeze and I dislodge it. I'd have much preferred to go as Lurch, but Twinks insisted that Morticia had to have her true amour on hand to adore and serve, so Gomez I am.

  Sometimes I wonder which one of us is actually the submissive in this relationship, that boy of mine winds me around his little finger.

  6th November 2006: Reading Matters

  On the whole Twinkles is more a magazine reader than a book reader, but from time to time his female workmates recommend and press their current literature upon him. To be honest I wish they wouldn't. At their insistence he read Angela's Ashes, which sent him into a deep depression, as did The Thorn Birds and a book called The Flowers Of The Field. It wouldn't be so bad if he kept all the tragedy to himself, but if he's upset he demands I keep him company, reading aloud, between wracking sobs, large portions of whatever text is draining his emotions. He can't help it. It's his nature to empathise with things, too deeply at times. His friend Barbara once took him to see a stage adaptation of Susan Hill's, The Woman In Black. By the end of it both cast and audience were more traumatised by his reactions to the play than by the play itself. It's rumoured the actress who played the ghostly and frightening Woman In Black turned to drink in order to get over having Twinks in the audience. Babs has refused to go to the cinema or the theatre with him ever since.

  Last night his gift for empathy reached such a level I felt obliged to confiscate the book he's been reading lately, courtesy of Susan at work. It’s a novel called The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields. He was getting in such a state over it. I was in danger of suffocating under a sea of discarded tear drenched Kleenex, as he sobbed his way through a chapter cheerily entitled ‘illness and decline.’ The author writes beautifully, but it's like being cut with a razor. If you can take the exquisite emotional pain, fine, if not, bail out. Twinks was distraught. Something about the text hit a raw nerve with him and he was close to making himself ill over it. I can't bear to see him turn himself inside out, so I took the book away until he’s feeling emotionally hardier.