We met by the old boat pond in Hill Hook as we had done so many times before. I was there on a worn-out old bike that needed a lot of work and he'd arrive on something new or looked new as the staff had probably cleaned it up for him.
I'd known him since I was six when I'd arrived at his school after having moved to the area and he was to be my "buddy." This meant for a week he was to stay with me and show me around the school and introduce me to people who I now call friends. Even though he was a year younger than me in our primary school two years had classes together. It was only a small village school and couldn't afford much in the way of teachers or an education for the matter so we did a lot of singing and putting on plays.
By the end of that first week I'd been invited to his house for tea and a play-date. I was amazed by his house, it was massive. I'd been told to bring swimming togs so did and before dinner he pushed me into a downstairs bedroom and said "go and get your trunks on an we'll go swimming!"
"I'll get changed at the pool," not being shy or one of those kids that had to have trunks under my clothes to save time or embarrassment.
"Really?" he said, "okay then, come on!"
We ran down a long hallway and through double doors which took us into a massive room with a bar at one end, the worlds biggest patio doors at the other and a snooker table in the middle. A full size snooker table that not only could we play under but also on top of! Through another set of doors and into what looked like a Hawaiian Cabaña. Through some pine saloon doors and there we were in the pool room. The swimming pool was bigger than our house and had a slide and massive floating chairs. I didn't realise he'd meant we were swimming at his house! Even though he was currently in his trunks I just assumed we were running to his room, the long way, so he could get dressed and we'd head off.
Swimming ended up playing a big part in our lives as we grew up. Both of us swam for the school and even though we weren't supposed to we would often end up swimming in either the pond behind the village hall or it the old boating pond we were sat at now.
We sat there in silence, smoking a cigarette each and look out on the pond.
"Do you remember the first time we went in there?" he asked.
"Yeah! You cut your foot on something and cried the whole way home!"
"Shut up! I didn't cry!" he said, totally on the defensive.
It fell silent again and we just stared out on to the pond.
"What do you want Ash?" I asked.
"Just to talk."
"About?"
There was another silence.
"Do you fancy a swim?" I asked.
"Nah, not really."
"Well I'm going in."
And so I did. I swam out to the little island in the middle where years earlier a mans body had been found and we'd told each other stories about how his ghost floats across the water at night.
"Can I talk to you?" he shouted across to me.
"If you come over here!" I shouted back.
"No. You come back here."
There was no point trying to argue with him. We he said it as directly as he had that meant he wasn't going to change his mind so I swam back and towelled off.
"What is it?"
"How did you tell your parents you were gay?" he asked.
"Well they knew, I didn't really have to tell them. Why?"
"Because I think I might be gay."
"Well just tell them. Your mom will be fine, I know it!"
"You don't seem shocked."
"Well you are a bit... obvious."
"Really?"
"Yes. Very much so in fact. Your parents will probably already know. I'll bet they've talked about it."
"No."
"Yes."
"They wouldn't have!"
"Well they probably have."
After another cigarette smoked in silence I asked him who else he'd told.
"No one," he replied.
"No one at all?"
"No. You're the first."
"Wow!"
I was only sixteen, he was fifteen, and I'd never had anyone come to me before. Actually Derek had but we'd come out to each other on that night so I don't count it.
"Look Ash, just go home and tell them. Your mom will be fine, your dad will accept it and Heidi will love it."
"Will you come with me?"
"No no no no! You need to do this on your own. It'll be worse if I'm there."
"S'pose."
We had yet another cigarette, hugged and then went our separate ways.
He rang me a few days later to tell me he'd told them and that everything was fine. I already knew this as his mother had rang my mother and my mother had told me.
"Did you know he was peculiar?" she asked.
"Yes. He told me at the pond the other day."
"He was always a very effeminate boy."
"Yes mother."
She wasn't being offensive when she'd called him peculiar. She told people that I was peculiar while talking through he nose and winking. Heaven forbid she should say the word 'gay' in front of my father! "Sandra, get the gun!" is the usual response.
Ash and I drifted apart but always stayed in touch via texts or phone calls or emails. He moved to London and did very well for himself.
My mother rang yesterday and told me Ashley was dead.
It was in this entry where I asked you the following questions:
No.1. How old does the picture look?
No.2. How old do the children look?
No.3. Could either of these kids be me?
Well the picture is from the 1930's. It's two children who went to the same primary school as me. I believe they are both dead. Believe it or not but the children are the same age, 11.
Given that I've already told you that the picture is from the 1930's I think it's obvious that neither of them are me!
The school "friend" would have seen this picture nearly every week day for nearly six years... while she was was with me!
I can kind of understand her confusion as there is a picture in circulation somewhere of me in a very similar frock stood next to a boy in the year below me. She thought, in the picture, that I was the taller of the two!
... we'll be about thirty minutes from home after collecting Miss Soy UnPerdedor from Shannon airport.
By this point I think Brad will be asleep and I'll be boring her shitless pointing our landmarks in the dark that she doesn't care about and cannot see.
OR... Brad will be pointing out the landmarks while I sleep. Given that I'll be driving I do hope that's not how it goes.
So excited! I do enjoy having friends here. Especially fun friends!
I just hope I'm not too late! God, don't let it be too late!
Here ya go, have a read. My reply is underneath it.
To: Rob Partridge (rob_the_sex_god@everyone.wants.to.sleep.with.me.com)
From: Mary Mark (mary_mark004@yahoo.co.th)
Subject: Hello Mary
Date: 10 May 2009 02:08:32 IST
Attached: 3 images.
Dear Beloved in Christ,
It is by the grace of God that I received Christ, having known the truth; I had no choice than to do what is lawful and just in the sight of God for eternal life and in the sight of man for witness of God & His Mercies and glory upon my life.
I am Mrs.Mary Davidson,the wife of Mr.Robert Davidson,both of us are citizens of the united state of America. my husband worked with the Chevron/Texaco in Hong Kong for twenty years before he died in the year 2003.We were married for ten years without a child. My Husband died after a brief illness that lasted for only four days. Before his death we both got born-again as dedicated Christians. Since his death I decided not to re-marry or get a child outside my matrimonial home which the Bible is strongly against.When my late husband was alive he deposited the sum of 7.5 Million Pounds (Seven Million Five Hundred Thousand Pounds) with a Bank in Europe.Presently,
this money is still with the Bank and the management just wrote me as the beneficiary that our account has been DORMANT and if I, as the beneficiary of the funds, do not re-activate the account; the funds will be CONFISCATED or I rather issue a letter of authorization to somebody to receive it on my behalf (note that you need to activate this account) as I can not come over. Presently, I'm in a hospital in Hong Kong where I have been undergoing treatment for throat cancer. I have since lost my ability to talk and my doctors have told me that I have only a few weeks to live. It is my last wish to see this money distributed to charity organizations and NGO anywhere in the World in helping human race.
Because relatives and friends have plundered so much of my wealth since my illness,
I cannot live with the agony of entrusting this huge responsibility to any of them. Please, I beg you in the name of God to help me Stand-in as the beneficiary and collect the Funds from the Bank.I want a person that is God-fearing who will use this money to fund churches,orphanages and widows propagating the word of God and to ensure that the house of God is maintained.The Bible made us to understand that blessed is the hand that giveth. I took this decision because I don't have any child that will inherit this money and my husband's relatives are not Christians and I don't want my husband's hard earned money to be misused by unbelievers.
I don't want a situation where this money will be used in an ungodly manner.Hence the reason for taking this bold decision. I am not afraid of death since I know where I am going to. I know that I am going to be in the bossom of the Lord. Exodus 14 VS 14: says that the Lord will fight my case and I shall hold my peace. I don't need any telephone communication in this regard because of my soundless voice and presence of my husband's relatives around me always. I don't want them to know about this development.
I await your quick response to this mail as this is my last wish to see this funds transferred before my Death.Please my beloved for further communication on how we are going to conclude this,
I have also attached my pictureS with this email. This is the last picture I took with my late husband, the other two picture was taken when I was admitted at the hospital
Remain Blessed.
Your Sister in Christ,
Mrs. Mary Davidson.
And my reply...
Hello Mary, ("Goodbye Heart" - sorry just had to sing that, and i know it was "Hello Mary-Lou," may I call you Mary Lou?)
Very sorry to read your heart-wrenching story.
As a fellow Christian, reborn only four years ago, I would obviously like to do all I can to help you in your plight.
I only hope I am not to late in replying and you haven't already left us to meet with our Lord and Master.
Tell me what i can do to help you Mary. If God, in his divine light and wisdom, has any power to see your wishes carried out he will indeed ensure there is a branch of this European Bank in Ireland, more specifically in Galway.
Yours with much Christian love and understanding and hope. You will be in my prayers tonight.
I've always been one those Mac-Fans that accepts there is still a place for PC's in the world of 'puters. Lets face it, if there were no PC's what would us Mac people have to complain about?*
Recently though I have noticed that Microsoft do seem to be on the attack a bit more rather than on the defensive what with the "I'm a PC and I wear shoes. I'm a PC and I go to the toilet. I'm a PC and I can sneeze" adverts, and then the series of "Laptop Hunter" ad's in America where they gave people a set amount of money and told them to go buy a computer and everyone came back with PC's mainly because they were cheaper than Macs or there was a lack of resellers.
Well as much as I'm for the equality of PC's and Macs (I have to say that Macs Rock and PC's are shit - as a Mac-Fan I'm legally obliged to say that) this advert is absolutely brilliant! Well done Apple and up-yours Microsoft!
If you were to start at the beginning of my blog or the original versions of dissertations I've written before various people got hold of them to edit and correct them for me you'd be forgiven for reading the following section of Ten Reasons Why and deciding that it's not possible, or you could come to the conclusion that I was very lucky and in the right place at the right time with the right collaboration of friends and colleagues.
It was the October of 1988 when a school teacher handed out our English assignment. We had to interview someone and make it sound interesting. I can hear him now telling us not to even think about interviewing either one of our parents or each other and I instantly decided I'd interview the teacher. My thought process was two fold. Firstly I could sit there telling him how fantastic he was and he might just give me a higher grade and secondly it would mean I wouldn't have to bother trying to work out who else to do. I'm sure that somewhere in the back of my head there was also the fact that he was gay, not openly but obviously, so there had to be a connection there between us somehow, something that would make this assignment easier.
I tentatively approached his desk while my peers turned heads to talk about who'd they interview. I could hear people saying they'd make it up or go to a parental workplace and interview someone there. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Steven Dawes, a fellow pupil, get up and begin making his way to the desk. He'd had the same idea as me, I just knew it. I had to get there first so I sped up my walking a little bit and won the race. Amazingly Steven slumped and walked off which meant, even more amazingly, I'd been right!
"Yes Partridge?" said Mr. Peters.
"Sir, I'd like to inter..." I started.
"No, you're not interviewing me. Now go away and find someone else!"
I walked away dejected and little pissed off that my English teacher of four years knew me too well.
At home I complained over dinner that I'd got no one to interview when father made the suggestion that I interview Brian Norris. Brian was a family friend who was journalist and also hosted his own TV show. My parents had been friends with him and his family for years and had holidayed together for as long as I could remember. Mother then suggested that I interview his wife instead, Deborah Norris. Deborah was a celebrity in her own right as a journalist and very successful author. In fact these days, since Brian's retirement, she far more well known in her circles than he is in his.
Later on that night I made the call and interviewed her. Although she'd watched me grow up and I wasn't shy around her I was finding it very difficult to ask her anything that would give me chance to write something that would get me a good grade. Finally the call was over and it was time to write it up properly. A week or so later I'd handed it in and awaited my marks.
I was stunned when I got an A for it. As I've said countless times in blogs and letters, my spelling is awful and my use of grammar is ridiculous but I get the point across. Anything I'm doing that is going to be used professionally is proof read over and over again by various different people before it goes out to anyone so to get an A for a piece of work I'd done was a big achievement for me, and I'm quite sure it was only for the subject matter and not the actual quality of the work!
Come the March of 1989 I was preparing for my GCSE's and getting confused over what I was going to do in the September. Should I stay on at school to do my A-levels or go to college and do a City & Guilds in something? What would get me a job and get me some money? While sat in a French lessons trying to explain to Jean-Claude that I'd lost my train ticket the North Station and needed another one before we could take the trip to the church, there was a knock at the door. A first year walked in, blushed, passed a note to the teacher and said, with a very croaky voice, "Mr. Peters sent this sir."
"Partridge, Mr. Peters wants to see you in his room at break time," he said.
The classroom burst into laughter and people starting wolf-whistling and making kissing sounds which make the French teacher blush. One look at our French teacher and you knew he was the sort to wear white y-fronts with a white vest tucked into them and the slightest hint of anything semi-erotic would make him cough and splutter, go bright red and try to change the subject. Making him blush was one of two ways we got out of doing anything that could be considered learning. The other was to ask him to tell us about life in France. We had things like this with all of the teachers and I'm sure they didn't realise what we were doing. If they had of done they'd not have carried on surely? With Mr. Davis, our history teacher, we just had to ask him what films he'd seen recently. With Mrs. Former, our Maths teacher it was a case of asking what life was like in the school when her father taught there. It always worked.
As requested I went to see Mr. Peters during the break. I hadn't got a clue what I'd done wrong but it would be something major and nothing new really. I was quite used to getting called into teachers officers as I wasn't the most obedient pupil.
"Ah, Partridge," he started, "I err... have some err... news."
"Oh?" I was quite sure I was about to be expelled.
"Yes, it's about that piece you wrote about Deborah Norris."
"Oh?" I said again, now thinking he'd decided I'd faked it so I was already getting my defence ready.
"Well you see, I was err... rather impressed with it."
"Oh right."
"Yes... and err... I... well you see I edited it a little and err... offered it to the local paper."
"Okay."
"And they printed it."
"Oh cool."
"And sent me a cheque for £15!"
"Fuck me!" I exclaimed. Fifteen quid was a lot of money in those days!
"Excuse me?" he said chuckling.
"I mean wow!"
He told me when it would be printed and apologised that it was under his name then he gave me the £15 in cash. Fag money!
A few months later, as I was just starting my GCSE's I was again called to see Mr. Peters. Once again sure I had done something that was worthy of an expulsion this time and not just the usual suspensions I'd suffered from day one at the damn school. Thankfully I was wrong.
Mr. Peters explained to me that the article about Deborah Norris had been sold to a Sunday magazine and he'd been sent a cheque for £200. Which he gave to me! Apparently he'd been contacted and asked if he was interested in writing some more freelance pieces and he'd confessed that it was a pupil of his that had written the piece. Apparently they'd been quite interested in this fact and wanted to know who my agent was. Mr. Peters had arranged for me to meet a man called George the next day at school who, if I agreed, would be my agent and/or manager and get me more freelance writing work.
I was amazed that this opportunity was falling into my lap given that I couldn't spell, so thankfully I wasn't amazed or let down when it got ripped away from me... sort of!
A few days after my meeting with George he rang me to say he'd been in touch with a newspaper and they wanted to know what I was going through as I approached my GCSE's. He'd also been in touch with a local newspaper and touted my services so they'd asked for something about the school. Neither article got published as both were utterly atrocious. George was interested to know how I'd done one article so well but the others so badly so I explained, although I'd thought Mr. Peters would already have done so, that he'd edited my basic article before he'd sent it to the paper. George was not happy as this was essentially proving that I couldn't write but he'd told people about me and how wonderful I was. All lies I'll have you know, and no I'm not trying to extract any kind of sympathy from that comment. Yes, I have a way with words but not when you ask me to write them down, I really am rather untalented when it comes to spelling and grammar.
George decided he was not going to give up on me. I would say this was because he was a teeny bit of a money grabber and could see I was too. He sent me a list of things to write about and asked for a thousand words on each. I did as I was told and it was from that task that the seeds of my future... or rather part of it... were born.
One of the things I had to write about was my favourite film. As some of you will know it's Rebecca. The original though with Laurence Olivier and Joan Fontaine and Judith Anderson as the marvellous Mrs Danvers! (can't really change those names can I?) George decided that the piece I'd written about the film would be great, once he'd edited it a little. So, with the intervention of Mr. Peters, a contract was drawn up where by George would get more than his usual cut as he edited my pieces before sending them off, and all I'd write about was films and the odd article about the actors in the latest blockbuster. An agreement was made with the local cinema and as well as receiving review copies of films on VHS I could go to the cinema and see the films before they were made public with the other hacks and freelancers.
Sadly George couldn't get many of my articles published as no one really cared about the opinion of a sixteen year old when it came to films. They didn't think I could be objective enough and would say things like "yeah so there was this big fight and this stuff happened and WOW THE SPACE SHIPS WERE REALLY COOL!" They couldn't have been more wrong.
I rang our family friend again and explained my dilemma. Given his line of work he should have been able to help and sure enough he did. He put me in touch with a few trade magazines, all of who were dying for honesty rather the usual tripe dished out by film reviewers who were obviously getting back handers from either the studio, an actor's agent or an editor (who was him(or her)self getting back handers from the same people) to talk about how wonderful the film was when it quite obviously wasn't. I'd happily tell anyone who'd read that I thought Ghost was rubbish (although Demi Moore did a good-ish job), and a few years later I was told off by one cinema goer for actually daring to say that Sharon Stone and Michael Douglas could really do with not being in anything ever again after the mess they'd made of Basic Instinct.
Films became my lovers, my bitches and my passion, and still are today. I don't just watch a movie and say whether it was good or bad, I watch for editing and continuity. I analyse the story and the acting. They have been the cause of many arguments, but have also led to more than the odd door opening up for me. In fact it was films that lead to me having my own radio show, a story that'll do for another entry.
I don't write anymore and there are many people grateful for that, and I really don't think it's something I want to (or could) get back into, but I enjoyed it while I did it. Occasionally Brian will comment to my parents that I should do something more but, and again I'm not looking for anyone to tell me otherwise or boost my ego, I'm really not that good. I was just honest and had a great passion for the subject.
To give you an idea of how crap a writer I actually am, I read this through four or five time before I made it a "friends only" entry for Brad's viewing. He found many more mistakes!
Without those people who helped me I'd never have done something wonderful and had a great time doing it. I got to meet and interview some fantastic people (and write about people I'd never met as though I had!) and write utter rubbish about total crap made by morons... and sometimes I'd actually enjoy a film.
"You spurn my natural emotions, you make me feel like dirt, and I'm hurt." sang the Buzzcocks, although when I sing it in my head I hear the Fine Young Cannibals and not Pete Shelley. Essentially though, whomever I heard, it still brings across the same question. Have you ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn't have fallen in love with? I have.
I've been in love three times but only once was with the wrong person. Everything else was just lust although at the time it was full blown movie love and one day we'd fly off somewhere and live the rest of our lives and millionaires, never having to work although we would but it would be in something we wanted. It wasn't actually all that long ago that I stopped having those kind of thoughts!
His name, the one I shouldn't have fallen in love with, was Luke. He was everything I looked for in a partner. Tall, six-pack, gorgeous, kind, considerate and treated me like a God!
There is a bar in Birmingham called Route 2 (it used to be Route 66) although people only ever refer to it as Route. Our nights out would usually start in Angels, a lovely quiet bar where we could meet chat and drink. We'd then move to Route as the drinks were cheap and they had a dance floor. Here we would really get in the mood for a club. I say a club like we had a massive choice. If you ignore the dives and hovels Birmingham's gay scene at the time only really had one night-club, The Nightingale.
Done with Angels one night we moved into Route. It hadn't long become Route 2 and the staff were behind the bar in crisp white shirts with the Route 2 blue and red logo on the left breast. They all looked stunning and Queenie (a name Andrew was given without choice!) and I were being our usual bitchy selves and rating each one out of ten for their ability to carry off the new uniform and then he came from the end of the bar strutting down towards us. He hadn't been there long but knew we were regulars as the other staff had pointed us out on his first night and thankfully the manager of Route was good to his regulars, especially us. Luke knew the three of us as Queenie, Sissy and Mandy although in reality we were Andrew, Duncan and Rob.
"Yes ladies?" he asked, "what can I get you?"
"Well are you on the menu?" asked Queenie.
"You couldn't afford me love!" he replied to which Queenie huffed and walked off to find us a table, shortly followed by Sissy and I with drinks. Two each as it was a two-for-one offer. This was Queenie's night to drive so we were all drinking! We would always take it in turns to drive but when it was Queenie's night he paid for a taxi for all of us to and from his apartment in town, and we all stayed at his, which made for interesting nights when one of us picked up some trade!*
The night went on with us eyeing up the twinks and trade that came in. We wanted to miss the act that was on at the Nightingale so had planned on staying in Route until we got a text from another friend saying the act was on stage, then we'd head over and grab a recently vacated table. The text came in but Queenie insisted we stayed in Route until closing and revealed he'd suddenly developed a bit of a "thing" for Luke. Convincing me to buy the next round from his money he asked if I'd talk to him and see if he was single and try and find out what his "type" was so Queenie could try and fit himself into that type and swoop in and grab him.
As any good sister should, I did as requested and found out he was single, working three jobs to get money for his business venture, had two brothers and lived with his mom. I found out his type and was quite shocked to hear how closely I matched it. Serendipity didn't visit me often and now it had it felt warm and fuzzy. I recounted our conversations to Queenie and he gave me more instructions. I was a little pissed off with this, as Queenie would have known should he have been paying more attention, so I stormed over to the bar and asked someone to fetch Luke.
"Yes Mandy?" he said.
"Look, it's Rob, not Mandy, and him over there," I said pointing to Queenie, who suddenly perked up and then went bright red "is Andrew and he's having hot flushes just thinking about you and is hoping if he can buy you a drink in the 'Gale later you'll go home with him so Sissy and I can sit in his lounge and listen to the two of you have sex. Now, what do I tell him?"
"Don't go to the 'gale. Stay here!" he said laughing.
"What? That's not a fucking answer!"
"Yes it is. Stay here. You'll see."
I returned to the others and passed the message on. Sissy and I agreed that staying here was acceptable so we did. At 2am a doorman started walking around the place asking people to finish up and leave. When he got to our table he asked us to move into the room at the back. The back room at Route was lovely and decked out like an gentleman's club with big leather seats and dark oak coffee tables but we rarely went in there as you couldn't see the potential trade walking in.
The manager came and sat with us and we chatted and he bought us drinks over and then one by one the staff joined us. We weren't the only customers still there and we'd been at a lock-in in Route before so nothing was surprising. Sissy and I actually knew Mark, the manager, quite well and I think Sissy had once dated him but it was a subject, like most of Sissy's ex's, that we didn't talk about.
Luke sat next to Queenie and they got chatting and sure enough a few hours later Sissy and I were sat in Queenies lounge listening to them having sex. Sissy and I had been meeting for nearly a year in Queenies lounge for MQCD's or Mid-Queenie-Coital-Drinks to give them the full title. I used to lie in bed trying to go to sleep and then one night I heard someone sneeze. I knew damn well it was coming from the lounge and the could still hear the sex so it had to be Sissy. I joined him and from that point on, anytime we heard the snap of a condom we'd knock on each others door and come into the lounge for a coffee or more alcohol. Eventually we'd hear one of them use Queenies en-suite and this would be the cue to go back to bed.
In the morning I was the first one up, as usual, and made myself a coffee. It wasn't long before Luke came out of the bedroom. He looked stunning with his messy hair, tired eyes and wearing only boxers. I think I actually stopped breathing for a short while as he walked over to breakfast bar and didn't start again until he smiled and said, in a rough low sexy voice "mornin' gorgeous!"
"Good morning," I replied and smiled, "coffee?"
"Please."
"So you had a good night last night then?"
"Well, I suppose!"
"Oh come on, Andy's not a bad shag. I've had him!"
"Yeah but when he's not the one you want it's just sex. I prefer to make love!"
I didn't know whether to get down on bended knee and propose there and then or if I should just vomit out of the window onto the passing public but I think my face was comment enough.
"Oh come on," he said, "don't look shocked. You know that was aimed at you!"
"What?!" I said, "I mean WHAT?!"
"Last night when I told you my type, you must have know it was you I was describing."
"Well, yes, I did think that but ... well ... !"
"I've seen you out, I know you're not shy! I've kinda had a crush on you since I started working in Route."
"Right. Okay. So you had a crush me and you fucked Andrew! Great!"
"Well you virtually ignored me when I came over to join you at the end of the night."
"I had to. He wanted you and you don't mess with a sisters mister!"
"Well I won't be seeing him again!"
"Does he know that?"
"Yes. I made it very clear last night, before I came back actually."
"Good!"
"So what are your plans for today?"
"I shall go home, do some washing, some work and then meet up with friends for drinks tonight."
"Fancy breakfast?"
"Yes of course. I'll make you something. What would you like?" I said trying to the good host in a friends house!
"No no, go get dressed, I'll take you for breakfast."
"Oh. Okay. Sounds... good."
"Leave a note for your friends. You won't be coming back here."
"Sound ominous!"
"No," he laughed, "well not unless you have a kinky side I'm not aware of!"
Breakfast was wonderful and it turned into lunch at his place then drinks out that night with him joining us. He was an utter gentleman and that night when he dropped me home he walked me to my door, kissed me on the cheek and left. In the car on the way back I'd already invited him in but he'd refused saying he knew it would lead to sex and he didn't want just a one night stand so would wait until we were both ready. I was ready but ended up waiting nearly two weeks!
Our relationship blossomed and although, co-incidently, he only lived a few streets away from me with his mother he spent most of his nights at mine. I met his brothers, all of whom were just as good looking as him. His mother was divorced from his father but I met both of them, on separate occasions, and both appeared lovely although his dad had a darker side I discovered months later.
We'd been together three months or so when he announced he was going to start his business up and would be off to see a bank manager that day. I was very pleased for him and wished him luck. That afternoon I got a text saying "Fucked off and annoyed! Going for a drink!" I replied asking where and that I join but never got a reply. When I rang his phone was off. I wasn't worried though. He was an adult and quite capable of looking after himself.
As midnight ticked by I tried his phone again but still it was switched off. One, then two o'clock and although I wasn't exactly worried I was concerned. He was my partner, I wanted to hold him and tell him there are other banks and that maybe I could sort funding out. I wasn't going to bed until I'd seen him or at least heard from him and that finally happened when he stumbled through the door, paralytic, at half past three.
"Where have you been?" I asked as I threw my arms around him.
"Out. I texted you and said I was going for a drink!" he snapped.
"Yeah but I didn't think you'd be so long,"
"If I want to go out I will!" he shouted as the back of his hand connected at high speed with the side of my face.
I stood there shocked, not knowing what to do. He slumped into the sofa and I went to bed telling him to fuck himself.
The next morning he was very apologetic and explained how he'd had a bad day. He'd got refused for a business loan and ended up smashing his car up on the way home, while sober I should add, but this lead to him going for the drink. He'd rang his dad who wasn't helpful, and never really was, and this lead to him getting very angry and drinking even more until he finally paid for a taxi back to mine. He got quite upset and assured me it would never happen again and I believed him. Why wouldn't I? Here was my perfect man, down on his luck, angry, pissed off and now crying and begging my forgiveness, which he got.
A few weeks later, after a similar disappointing day a similar beating took place only this time it was a punch not a slap. And I punched back. This lead to the two of us rolling around my lounge exchanging punches until he begged it to stop, and it did. Again tears, both of us apologetic and assurances we'd sort it and agreed not to tell anyone.
A week later I was on the phone to a friend telling them everything that had happened and I hadn't heard him walk in. I was slapped around the head a couple of times and actually took it, thinking I obviously deserved it as I betrayed his trust by telling someone else of our issues. I never fought back that time, or ever again.
For five, near six, months I was beaten, pushed, punched and pinched and every time it brought on tears for him with promises it'd never happen again, even thought I might have deserved it he'd always add.
When there was anyone else around he was the perfect partner which made it very difficult for any of my friends to believe me when I told them. One friend was so outraged at my lying that she took it upon herself to go and see Luke's mother one Sunday morning and tell her everything I said and advised her to encourage Luke to dump me.
His mother didn't take too kindly to this and promptly marched around to my house and began banging on the door. Letting her in she marched straight past me and into the lounge.
"Where is he?" she demanded.
"In bed!" I said although I could hear him up and scrambling for clothes, "what's wrong?"
"Stay here!" she said as she marched upstairs.
A few minutes later, with much complaining, she appeared in the lounge holding Luke by the ear and twisting it so he was in a lot of discomfort.
"He's leaving you. It's over!" she said.
"WHAT?!" I shouted.
"I know what's he's been doing and I'm ashamed to call him my son! He's just like his bloody father!" and with that she frog-marched him out the door in his boxers and walked him back to her house.
She rang about ten minutes later and through the sobbing I told her how I didn't mind the beatings and loved him and wanted him back and then she explained about his father and how he'd done the same to her. Thankfully, when my friend told her what I'd been saying she knew the truth and had decided to intervene.
Marcus, Luke's brother, turned up an hour or so later and over a coffee he told me how Luke had confessed everything to him and Doreen (his mother) and how sorry they were as a family. Marcus was actually there to collect Luke's stuff and the two us chatted some more while we packed. Damn shame he was straight as he'd have made a suitable replacement for Luke.
I only saw Luke again in passing although he did call me once to apologise. I called him a few choice names and hung up. I'd moved on by then! Obviously!
*I feel I should explain that trade can be anything from a rentboy looking for a client to a potential ex-partner.
I have found myself quite thoughtful recently and have decided to begin a set of reflective posts.
I have often started work on my autobiography and then done very little with it. The current edition stands at about one hundred and twenty pages and is filled with a lot of me babbling on about rubbish and why I've been inclined to write it. I think, by writing one event at a time, not only will it help me focus on that one thing it will also make me see which events should be in there and which are useless.
So, the reason for this post itself is not only to tell you my thoughts and plans for this blog, but to ask for your help.
As regular viewers will know I've been quite personal at times in this blog, sometimes in friends only entries and sometime blatantly out in the open about topics and subjects that some of you would rather I didn't talk about.
If you've read then you have some idea of the things I've been through, the things I've seen and experienced, the laughs and sadness I've had and you have some knowledge of the events of my life. Of the things I've talked about what do you think should go into my reflective pieces. You can leave a comment here or send me a PM, even email me if you wish but what do you think I should do a piece on. Which aspects of my life should I extend on. Essentially I'm leaving you in control! Now I think about it the idea of you lot being in charge of my blog is a little worrying!
Just so you're aware - should you wish to avoid them - the title of all the entries connected with my reflective pieces, or my memoirs, will begin with "Ten Reasons Why..." Why I'm using that as a title may come up at some point and some of you, at least one I'm sure, will have already seen something connected with it elsewhere on this site but that has since gone and been replaced.
You say to someone you're an ex Club Kid and you get one of three reactions.
Reaction number one sees them say "yeah I used to love clubs too!" and then you spend an hour trying to explain that you didn't mean that you used to love clubs, although that was part of it, but that you were, as far as you and your friends were concerned, an actual Club Kid! This will lead on to reaction number two., if they didn't go straight to that one anyway, which is when they look on blindly, not really having a clue what you're on about. So again, you spend time explaining who the Club Kids were and how, even though he was a cold-blooded killer, you worshipped Michael Alig but thought James St. James needed to shut the fuck up! This will lead on to reaction number three unless they already knew who the Club Kids were which means there was no need for them to go through reactions one and two. Reaction number three sees them say things like "yeah whatever!" or "you're too young!"*
Now, rewind the conversation and say to the person, when talking about your younger days, that you used to dress in outrageous clothes, dye your hair various shades of un-natural colour, wear more make-up than most drag queens and sit in clubs feeling far too euphoric over the fact you've not had a proper piss for four days because you've been dosed up on ecstasy for a week and not only do they believe you but they often have similar experiences, but maybe not all in one go.
Today I had all three reactions while chatting with a house-keeper at work. We began talking about our youth and the places we'd frequent and I mentioned that I was an ex-Club Kid who should have known better.
"Yeah, I used to love clubs!" she said. 'Here we go!' I thought and went on to explain what a Club Kid was which, as I knew would, lead to reaction number two, which lead to more blank looks and onto more explanation and reaction number three. Sadly for me it was disbelief that I could be a Club Kid and not that I was too young!
So I took each part of my youth and together we analysed it. I showed her pictures of Mandy and pictures of her/my friends and then we discussed clubs and other elements and eventually she could see how I was Club Kid.
I don't for one minute consider myself an original Michael Alig Club Kid but we knew who they were and what they did and we copied. Hence the name Mandy and her best friend Sissy. These names weren't chosen out of a hat, we were given them. Porche DePosh, Miss Tillie, Mandy, Sissy, Legs Wide and Danny B ruled the gay scene in our particular locality and were in the press on a weekly basis, either drug-fuelled and semi-naked, drapped over some poor unsuspecting twink desperate to be part of the clique or lounging like the predators we were, with champagne in one hand and a Sobranie in the other, discussing our next outfit or hair colour.
Click the images for the bigger picture
I wouldn't say I'm especially proud of those days but they happened and I wouldn't take them away. You could say it's part of what made who I am, but it could also be that they stopped me being who I should have been. I'm only in contact with one other person from those days and even now they is an unwritten about discussing certain elements of our past, both of us slightly aware that we are now different people, for the better, and not the evil drug-fucked bitches we once were.
It's my birthday in a few weeks, I'm not telling you the actual date, and it'll be twenty-two years since I first donned a back-combed hair style, bright red lip stick, eye-liner as lip-liner and yellow and black tights, and that was just to go to school. It'll be twenty-one years, to the day on my birthday, that I stepped into a night club with Sissy and Legs Wide and announced to the world that Mandy was here, queer and there was no stopping her! Soon the three became four, then five, then six until eventually our numbers grew and we were the Club Kids, or one set of them anyway, for the Midlands.
It's not wonder I have no hair and bad back these days!
*Not often I hear that one but it's nice when it's happens!
