by Paris Lees
Die sez “Money can’t buy ya love, though.” I sez, “Ya coulda told me that before I started sellin’ mine.” But it made me think about how there are some things no one can control. Coz it don’t matter how rich, beautiful or clever ya are. Coz no one can protect ’emselves from dyin’. Anyone, anywhere could die at any minute. I could have foot an’ mouth an’ not even know! I could drop dead – right now – an’ there’s nowt anyone could do about it. Even Madonna. I find that both dead comfortin’ an’ dead scary.
After them girls called us men, me an’ Die were saying how we’d love to do summat good one day, like be the first transsexual to have a number one, or be on the cover of Vogue. I reckon I will do summat like that ya know. God, can ya imagine? I could be the first transsexual on the moon! Like how ya get the first gay person to do summat, or the first black woman. I’ve never heard of anyone like us who’s done owt good, but there’s gorra be some out there who’ve got some talent. People always tell me I’ve got “potential”. Lady Die’s obsessed wi’ Naomi Campbell an’ sez I’m like Kate Moss an’ we should go to London one day like Dick Whittington an’ make our fortunes. That’d show everyone!
I don’t think I could go to London. I reckon I’d get swallowed up in summat proper bad. I wanna go to make money, but Max used to tell me stories about the rent boys down there – an’ they don’t mess about by the sounds of it. He reckons they’ll cut yer dick off if yer on their patch, not that I’d mind. He sez they’re all on drugs. Proper drugs, heroin an’ crack an’ that, although I reckon he might have just bin tryna scare me. But no, there’s too much temptation in London. I know worram like, I’d probably end up dead. That’s what everyone sez when they see me: “Ey up, trouble.” Coz I have this wonderful way of findin’ it.
Passion (Do You Want It Right Now)
If Liam don’t like me, why does he wanna be ma friend? He’s ’orrible to me in front of other people. I can’t work ’im out. It’s like he likes me but don’t like me at the same time – like maybe he’s ashamed of me or summat. But he sez, “Why don’t ya come round one night an’ we can smoke a spliff.” I sez, “I can’t come out on a weeknight unless I stay out all night.” I can’t be bothered sneakin’ back in. It’s bad enough tryin’ not to wake Gaz up on the way out. But Liam sez I can stay over. An’ I just don’t gerrit.
He used to live in Bulwell. Sez he knows Hannah Bailey’s big brother, Simon, an’ they used to look at porn an’ wank off in front of each other. An’ apparently this Simon don’t even know he’s bisexual! I said, “Is that normal? Is that what straight guys do together?” He were like, “Well, it’s what we did.” I just wish everyone at school knew coz Simon’s menna be one o’ the hardest lads in ’ucknall – an’ he’d be the first to pick on me for bein’ “bent as a nine bob note”. If only they knew! When I told Liam that he sez, “Well, he were pretty hard last time I saw ’im”, an’ oh my God, what I’d have given to be a fly on the wall that day! Liam sez it’s massive. I can imagine.
He had some pizza left over so we heated that up in ’is microwave, but it din’t fill me up so I went to the shop an’ gorra treacle puddin’ an’ a tin of custard. That’s ma favourite. I’ve gorra sweet tooth at the best of times, but I proper get the munchies when I’m stoned. He lives round the corner from Forest Road. The buildin’ itself is nice, like proper Victorian, but it’s dead rough round here an’ I were in an’ out o’ the shop like a whippet. Weed makes me paranoid at the best of times, let alone round here. It’s a massive house, but it’s bin converted into bedsits now. I bet it would only have had one family in it when it were new. I’d love to buy a big house like this an’ make it all nice again.
Liam’s on the ground floor. I’d be scared on the ground floor if I lived on ma own in Radford, especially if I mixed wi’ the sorta people he mixes with. There’s a massive marble fireplace behind where ’is bed is, an if it’s like ma dad’s house, it’ll have little fireplaces in the bedrooms an’ all. I’d love that, to get ’em all workin’ again. It can’t be that much to get the chimney sorted out, can it? Just imagine how nice it’d be havin’ a real fire in yer bedroom! Ya could sit an’ read all night an’ fall asleep in front of it. I did that in front o’ the fire at Mammar Rita’s once an’ it’s dead cosy. Imagine doin’ it every night.
There’s loadsa trees on Liam’s street. It’s one o’ the things I like most about Nottingham, it’s dead green. I s’pose they’ve done it on purpose coz people associate us wi’ Robin Hood an’ Sherwood Forest. It would’ve covered most of Nottingham back in Olden Times. There’s a stone cross where Mammar Rita lives in Linby that’s menna mark where the forest boundary were in medieval times, an’ that’s miles out. There were wild stags an’ bandits roamin’ about Nottingham back then. Now it’s just drug dealers an’ prostitutes.
I wash Liam’s dishes up for ’im. I reckon that just about every pot, pan an’ piece of cutlery is dirty so he’s like, “Perfect time to do ’em then, eh?” I wanna ask ’im, “Liam, why did ya invite me?” but I daren’t. I don’t want ’im to tell me to leave. There’s a police siren outside. He sez, “Oi, you’ve missed a knife” – an’ pulls out a dagger. I’m like, “What ya got that for?” He sez, “Ah’ve gorra carry it, there’s people after me. It’s self-defence.” I don’t say nowt so he guz, “Ah can’t help it, can Ah?” I go, “But ya wun’t actually use it, would ya?” An’ he’s like, ‘If Ah ’ad to Ah would.” I sez, “Liam, ya could kill someone.” But he sez it’s not ’is fault, it’s just the situation he’s in. I can’t help thinkin’ it’s Liam’s fault he’s in that situation – I mean, ma Aunty Ray don’t have to carry a knife round with ’er, does she? But I keep ma mouth shut.
He’s only gorra single bed. I sez, “Liam, where am I gonna sleep? Shall I jump on the sofa?” He guz, “Don’t be daft, it’s cold. Gerrin wi’ me. It’ll be our little secret.” An’ I’m like, I am gonna sleep in a bed wi’ Liam? What the fuck is goin’ on? He sez, “Yer a rent boy, aren’t ya? Don’t worry, Ah’ve done it too.” But funnily enough this don’t surprise me at all, coz a lotta rent boys are straight or bisexual, or at least they say they are. Clients love that. That’s almost as good as havin’ a big dick. Or bein’ young. Some of ’em only do things wi’ men for money, they’ve got girlfriends an’ everythin’! Part of me thinks everyone’s a bit gay, deep down. I’ve just met too many two-faced men. He guz, “D’ya make a lotta money?” So I’m like, “I do alright. D’ya need to borrow some?” Coz I’m thinkin’ if I help ’im, he might start treatin’ me like a proper mate. But he guz, “Ah’ve heard ya love to give head.” Honestly, the rumours about me!
He guz, “D’ya wanna finish this?” An’ hands me the spliff. Then he sez, “Let’s go ter bed.” I don’t really know what to do so I take ma jeans off coz I can’t really sleep in them, canna, but it’s cold an’ I feel a bit stupid so I keep ma T-shirt on. “Cold, innit?” he guz. He’s got ’is back to me. “Why don’t ya lean into me?” he guz. “Keep warm an’ that.” I’m like, Oh my God, I can’t keep up wi’ this. But then I start thinkin’, Am I missin’ summat here? Like, does he fancy me? Cause I’m terrible at this sorta thing. I’m used to people just comin’ up to me an’ askin’ me if I wanna suck their cock for a tenner. I’m no good at readin’ between the lines. Subtle is not ma middle name.
Obviously I’m dead turned on, but what if I’ve gorrit wrong an’ he guz an’ tells everyone? Oh God, what if it’s a set-up? What if he’s just windin’ me up to take the piss out of me? He obviously takes a great deal of pleasure in humiliatin’ me in front of everyone, it wun’t surprise me if they all jumped out an’ started laughin’ their heads off. I can just see it now, Fag Ash poppin’ out from behind the curtain shoutin’, “Surprise! As if Liam would fancy you! We’ve gorrit all on camera!” But just as I’m thinkin’ it, he reaches back an’ feels me. An’ it’s not to make a fool of me.
Toxic
He calls me up an’ sez he’s got summat to tell me, summat he ca
n’t say over the phone. Will I come an’ meet ’im? I sez, “Sure, I’ll come into town. Shall we meet at the Left Lion?” But he sez he can’t be seen wi’ me coz he don’t want anyone findin’ out he’s gay. Sez, “When ya next goin’ cottagin’?” I sez, “Sat’day. Ma GCSEs are comin’ up so I do actually have to go to school for a change.” He sez, “Where d’ya go, Trinity Square? Or Market Square?” So I tell ’im I were gonna go to the ones by Trent Bridge coz I like the sinks. “Perfect,” he guz. “Out the way.” Although he sez I’m a ’eadcase coz o’ the sink comment.
I love ’em. They’re really good quality. Marble, an’ that’s dead expensive, innit? There were some round the fireplace at the house on Annesley Road, although that were green an’ this is black, wi’ bits of white runnin’ through it. It’s cold an’ hard an’ looks like it’s bin here for about a hundred years. It must be Victorian. The wood’s started to rot where it meets the edge, but it still looks proper grand to me. Bet the taps would’ve bin dead shiny back in Olden Times. I like washin’ ma hands in these sinks. It feels old fashioned. Sturdy. There’s even a bit scooped out the marble for the soap to go – an’ they still put actual bars of soap out, although they get this scummy jelly collectin’ round ’em. It’s probably full of germs, but I like things bein’ how they used to be. It could be dead nice, this place, if they did it up. Wish I could’ve seen these toilets when they were new.
He turns up wearin’ a new coat – a denim parker, an’ one o’ them hats wi’ graffiti on it. They sell ’em on the market outside Broadmarsh, but he insists it’s the real thing, proper expensive like. It is nice. I want one. He’s a hard one to read, Liam. Not like Max. I always felt like Max actually wanted to see me. I never felt like he looked down on me. I don’t even know what Liam thinks about me, apart from thinkin’ he’s better than me. He sez he don’t like boys who are girly – OK, so why’s he hangin’ round wi’ me then? It just don’t make any sense. The most annoying bit, though, is that the more he makes me feel like dirt, the more I like ’im.
He walks up to the dryer an’ pretends to dry ’is hands before he even sez, “Ey up.” He looks paranoid. I’m like, “Er, hi Liam”, so he guz, “Don’t call me that in here.” Worram I s’posed to call ’im, Doctor Beat? He could’ve warned me we were usin’ pseudonyms. Not that he’d know a word like that. People do use fake names, but there’s only us in here. I ask ’im if he’s ever bin here before, but he sez they closed down the ones he used to go in. He’s gorra few clients he’s bin seein’ for years, but no one else knows about it. Sez he’s told one of ’em about me. Sez ’is name’s Dean.
He’s thirty-four. Gay. Pretty normal, apparently, not dead sexy but not mingin’ either. Gorra bit of a bald patch an’ a belly, but that’s nowt compared to what ya see in here. Liam reckons he’s got loadsa money. I don’t really like the fact that Liam’ll get paid for settin’ it all up, but it is what it is, innit? He’s probably gerrin too old for this client. I bet this Dean’ll end up likin’ me more. I ask Liam if he’s told ’im how old I am, so he guz, “Ah’ve told ’im ya turnin’ sixteen next month, but he’s not bothered about that. He wants ya in a bed, not in some shithole like this.” Sez, “Can I give ’im yer number?” So I say of course. Well, no sooner am I on the bus home than this Dean starts textin’ me. Sez he’s heard all about me an’ is lookin’ forward to meetin’ me. Askin’ loadsa questions. I run out of credit so he offers to put a fiver on for me. Sez he’s dead excited about what he’s gonna do to me.
On the Beach
I’ve not told Lady Die about this Dean. He’s made me promise to keep it secret, although I’m dyin’ to tell ’er that me an’ Liam are now partners in crime. Speakin’ of which, I’ve gorra new wig. Me an’ Lady Die nicked it from the Debenhams on Market Square last Thursday. It’s not real hair, but it looks proper bo. I felt a bit bad stealin’ summat so expensive – it’s not like nickin’ an eyeliner, is it? – but Die sez it’s not our fault we need things other people don’t, an’ she’s gorra point actually. Coz I’d just grow ma own hair if they’d let me. She’s already nicked one. It’s dead long an’ she’s always losin’ ’er earrings an’ findin’ ’em in it two weeks later. I’m desperate to give it a wash. They’ve got these big stairs in Debenhams that no one uses coz everyone just takes the escalator, but I really like ’em. They’ve got big marble steps an’ this wide wooden banister an’ I always get déjà vu on ’em. There’s like this little room about four floors up wi’ loadsa wigs. It’s not really connected to the rest of Debenhams. It’s not even really on a floor, it’s like halfway between the third an’ fourth levels. God knows how they make money, coz yer’d never know it were there unless someone showed ya.
It’s run by these two old women who sit there smokin’ all day. They look like an old pair of leather handbags. They’re quite chilled though, so ya can actually smoke, right there, in the shop. They’ve bin up there chuffin’ away since the sixties, by the sounds of it, coz they’ve both got dead deep voices. People say, “Ya can always tell if it’s a man or a woman by the voice”, which might be true a lotta the time, but ma voice is dead feminine so ya can’t always go on stereotypes, can ya? I remember when I first called round for Smanfa – I must’ve bin about nine or ten – ’er mam shouted, “There’s a gel wi’ a shaved ’ead askin for ya.” I mean, for fuck’s sake! Smanfa loves that story.
So there ya go, I sound like a girl an’ these wig-mongers sound like drag queens, even though they’re not. They’re easily distracted, so me an’ Lady Die were able to get one each. That’s terrible, innit? I do actually feel quite guilty about it, but they’re so bleddy expensive. Over a hundred pounds! That’s a week’s wages. The one I got were menna be a hundred an’ thirty. For a wig! Lady Die sez that’s daylight robbery, so we’re only doin’ what they’re doin’ to other people. Sez it serves ’em right. The way she makes it sound, you’d think we were Robin friggin’ Hood, stealin’ from the rich to give to the poor. I guess we are, in a way.
So these old bags are like, “Are you two in a show?” An’ Lady Die starts goin’ on about how she’s a singer an’ I’m thinkin’, If she tells ’em she’s in an S Club Seven tribute band, I’m gonna scream, so of course the next words out ’er mouth are, “I’m in an S Club Seven tribute band called S Club Heaven.” An’ I’m thinkin’, Don’t do it, Die. Whatever you do, do not offer to sing. “D’ya wanna hear me sing? I’m Rachel Stevens.” An’ I just look at ’er gone out, coz she’s Bradley – Rachel’s white, for fuck’s sake – but they don’t know who’s who anyway an’ just go, “Ah, that’s nice, sweetheart. Go on, then.” Why does everyone assume I’m in a show? Do I need an excuse to want long hair? Although they probably think yer a pervert or a serial killer if yer not in a show. I just told ’em I’m gay, coz everyone knows gay people love dressin’ up. I don’t know why Lady Die’s so nice to everyone. ’Er an’ Fag Ash are always goin’ up to strangers like, “Ooh I love yer dress, babe!” an’, “Have ya had a good night?” They always find out where the party is though, so I shun’t complain really. So as she’s singin’ away to ’em, I stuff this long red wig in ma bag. Cheers, yer royal highness!
I felt awful when we come out, but this is worram like, innit? I bet they won’t even notice till they do a stock check in like four hundred years. Anyway, I bought a wig comb that cost seven pounds, so they have had summat out of me, an’ it’s not ma fault they don’t have better security, is it? No cameras or nowt. They’re askin’ for it, really. Lady Die’s on ’er third wig, the sticky-fingered slag. I’m not doin’ it again though, I don’t wanna take the piss. An’ anyway, I’m not sure I can sit through another performance of “S Club Party” without stranglin’ ma best mate. It were worth it, though. Makeup makes ya beautiful, but the hair’s the bit that makes ya look like a woman. Lady Die sez, “What would ya rather be – an ugly woman? Or a pretty transsexual?” It’s a tough one, but I sez transsexual coz I reckon most guys would rather have sex wi’ someone dead prett
y, even if they know it’s not a real woman.
Wigs keep ya warm in winter while ya waitin’ for the bus, which seems to be the thing me an’ Lady Die spend most our time doin’ these days. But when yer in the club it can get dead hot. I get paranoid sometimes that someone’ll pull it off. It only takes one dickhead, an’ let’s face it, Nottingham’s full of ’em. People ask us sometimes, “Is that yer real hair?” An’ ya wanna tell ’em to fuck off, but ya have to smile an’ say, “No, it’s a wig, it’s nice, innit?” Or say it’s hair extensions, although I don’t like lyin’. I wish I could afford extensions, but I cun’ anyway coz I can’t walk around wi’ long hair as a boy. Sometimes people ask us if our boobs are real an’ I’ve come up wi’ the perfect response: “Well, yer not imaginin’ ’em.” I’m always thinkin’ of stuff to say back to people.
I pretend I’m stupid when people first meet me. Adults always try an’ patronize me coz they think I’m too young to know owt, an’ I hate it. I were in the chip shop once, the Food Factory, an’ I’d actually bin out as a boy for a change so I had ma black denim jacket from Leicester on when this old faggot come over an’ sez, “I bet ya don’t know who that is on yer coat, do ya?” I sez, “Che Guevara. An’ it’s a jacket, not a coat.” Obviously I an’t gorra fuckin’ clue who Che Guevara is, but I made a point of askin’ the bloke who sold it me coz ya can’t not know who’s on the back of ya jacket, can ya? I s’pose I’m gerrin quite grown up now. I’m gonna be sixteen next week. That’s positively ancient for a rent boy, innit. I reckon I’m gonna stop smokin’. I just know that as soon as I’m allowed all the fun’ll go out of it.
