Stardust Diaries

by Swan, Tarn

  He'd enjoyed himself for the first hour or so at the PP, especially as Cherie Pie in a rare moment of generosity had invited him to join Lulu and the other chorus girls for a few numbers. No doubt she felt the cast on his arm would prevent him being too exuberant in his movements and keep him pinned to the back of the stage. He'd then exchanged some cattiness with Natalie, had a chat with mum and Priscilla, who were leaving early because mum was tired and they had a bottle of champagne and matching nightgowns waiting at home. Brian had made only a brief appearance and confided he was finding this first New Year without Steven to be unbearably painful. It was the final milestone in the year that had brought about their physical separation. Twinkles said it had taken all his willpower not to cry and the only thing he wanted to do after that was come home. To see in a New Year without me being around to hold and kiss at midnight would be unnatural and he couldn't bear the thought of it.

  Cuddled up in bed we counted in the New Year, toasted each other and listened as 2006 made its debut, not to the peal of bells, but to the thunder of fireworks. 2005 was no more. It had been an eventful year. We experienced the sadness of loss and the joy of new life. We had health scares and along with friends and family we shared a myriad of other everyday trials and tribulations. 2006 now stretches out ahead of us like a twelve-month mystery tour. Let’s hope that we find good health and happiness along the route.

  5th January 2006: Jezebel

  There was a horrible moment last night when it seemed Twinkles had forsaken me for another. I woke up at half past one to discover I was alone in bed. Moreover, I could hear the faint sound of moaning coming from the vicinity of Lulu's room. Padding across the bedroom floor I opened our door and listened carefully. I knew that moan. It was Twinkles ecstasy moan. Something was giving him extreme pleasure and it sure as hell wasn't me. Pulling on my bathrobe I moved across the landing to Lulu's door, my heart pounding. Surely he wouldn't, he couldn't, not my Twinkles, not with Lulu?

  My heart thudded faster still, as I heard Twinks murmur, ‘oh God, oh God, Lu, that is so good. Don’t stop, please don't stop, yes, yes, that's gorgeous, shove it in further, darling. Don’t be afraid to be rough.’ It was more than flesh and blood could stand and I flung open the door to confront them. They both shrieked with fright and Twinkles shot off the bed so fast he almost overbalanced. He had guilt written all over his face. I took stock of the situation in a flash and demanded to know how long it had been going on under my nose?

  They both blushed with shame and admitted it had happened two or three times in recent days when Twinkles had awoken with an urgent need he hadn't been able to satisfactorily attend to on his own account. He knew I would callously refuse to attend to it for him.

  Lulu pulled the duvet up to his nose and quailed as I told him that if I ever caught him poking anything into Twinkles again I would skin him alive. Then I marched my errant lover back to our room and extracted the implement that Lulu had been pleasuring him with from the top of his plaster cast. Swatting him smartly on the head with it I told him to get back into bed and stay in it or I would demonstrate my displeasure in terms guaranteed to cause him discomfort.

  At least the mystery of what had happened to Dominic's bottle cleaning brush after our last babysitting stint was solved. Twinks had naughtily nicked it. It was the perfect instrument for poking into awkward confined places like arm casts to get at otherwise inaccessible itches. We've had a few words about him trying to poke things under his cast to have a sly scratch. It’s a forbidden practice, the risk being that the skin will get broken and infect under the plaster. The hospital fracture care leaflet recommended blowing air from a hairdryer set on cool into the cast to relieve itching. I could appreciate this wasn't as satisfying as having a really good nails to skin scratch, but it was the best that could be offered along with an antihistamine tablet. I took his mind off his itchy arm and relaxed him by pleasuring him in an altogether different way, just so he was clear there would never be any need to seek anyone else's help but mine in that department…and I didn't need a bottlebrush to do it.

  Given the time of year, I'd been expecting the screams of horror to come at some point. Even so, when they finally came this morning, I still almost vacated my skin and ended up snorting most of my cup of breakfast tea down my nose. Twinks always manages to choose the most inopportune times to express his anguish and I'm usually a casualty. I braced myself as his mules galloped him swiftly downstairs and into the kitchen where he dramatically proclaimed it was even worse than he thought it would be. He’d put on four pounds. FOUR POUNDS! That was heading for half a stone. It was the most he'd ever put on over Christmas. How could I do it to him, how could I allow him to gorge on chocolate and not stop him, what kind of wicked Top was I? I wanted him fat. I wanted someone who was too fat to do anything but sit quietly in front of the telly of an evening.

  While he played out his histrionics I made some fresh tea and then told him some of the extra weight was probably due to his arm cast, which cheered him up. He hadn't taken that into consideration. Lulu chose that moment to walk into the kitchen and tell Twinks he didn't think the cast could weigh more than a few ounces, as it was fibreglass. He then told Twinks he was looking a little bit thicker around the waist. In fact he had the start of a fine pair of love handles. Lulu eats even more rubbish than Twinks, but never puts on an ounce. He’s as lean as a bobby bean, which naturally made his remark all the more galling.

  Twinkles took revenge by retorting that while he might be a little thicker around the waist at least his hair wasn't looking a whole lot THINNER on top, unlike some he could mention. The catty comment sent Lulu running for the nearest mirror to inspect his head. Lulu's dad is almost bald and poor Lulu has a dread of going the same way. I glared disapproval at Twinkles. He merely grinned and poured himself a mug of tea. Honestly, he and Lu are horrible to each other at times.

  As a result of Twinkles' festive excesses and its effect on his figure we are now on a diet. He wanted us to stock up on Heinz weight watcher's frozen meals and tins of soups, but I refused. For one thing they cost a fortune, for another they taste horrible and for a third they contain more calories than ordinary sensible food and they're full of additives. Teddy, I was told, once lost over half a stone by eating nothing but Heinz WW ready meals for a fortnight. I didn't care, we were not adding to Heinz’s share of the dieters market.

  As I type, Twinks is sitting reading a very ragged copy of a slimming magazine he bought at lunchtime, while glancing reproachfully in my direction. Why is his magazine ragged, has he read it cover to cover several times? No. It’s ragged because I swiped it across his backside for throwing out, at its suggestion, the remainder of the Christmas cake that mum off loaded on us because she too is watching her figure. I fancied a nice rich slice with my after dinner coffee and opened the tin only to find a few stray currents huddling in the bottom. He claimed he'd only been trying to save me from myself. The magazine stated that come January, any tempting goodies remaining from the Yule fest should be ruthlessly dispatched into the bin rather than onto the hips via the lips. I told him that when I wanted saving I would let him know and if he felt tempted to try out anymore tips from the magazine I'd appreciate him running them past me for approval first.

  He's given up on the magazine now. He's nibbling my earlobe; no calories in that, and whispering dirty everythings. They’re a bit like sweet nothings, but more fun. Since he broke his wrist we've had to slightly re-invent our sex life, as some of our usual positions aren't really comfortable for him. Lulu is visiting his parents so what better time to get inventive!

  7th January 2006: Beware The Dalek

  I'm in a filthy rotten mood, so if you're looking for sweetness and light I'm afraid you won't find any here tonight. What you have is a man on the edge. I could murder Twinkles I really could. I've sent him to bed for his own safety if nothing else and when I lay hands on Lulu I'm going to give him his head in his hands and his brains to play with, what few he h
as. I've tried deep breathing, counting to ten, thinking happy thoughts and had two large whiskies, but I still feel like a homophobic Dalek with a particular aversion to transvestites. I’m set on exterminating every cross dresser that crosses my path.

  I don't bloody believe it! He's shouting for me in his best hysterical, Tarn, I've got a crisis and you must attend, voice.

  It had better be a good crisis, because if it isn't, if it's an insect alert or a broken nail, I'm afraid there will be no more entries in this journal as I will be serving time for having given in to my desire to EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE!

  12th January 2006: Clapped In Irons

  I'm not clapped in irons and both Twinkles and Lulu survived to dress in frocks another day. I got over my psychotic tendencies, though it was a close run thing. I was thoroughly out of humour and sympathy that night and for a few days afterwards until my bruised face felt better. Luckily for Twinkles his shouting for me crisis didn't involve insects or broken nails so I let him live.

  I've been too busy to journal. I'm in the midst of completing a heap of staff assessment reports for work. I detest this annual purgatory just as much as my staff, but the powers that be insist that we all go through it. I had to ask a member of staff, who has been in the same job for 32 years, where he envisaged himself being twelve months from now career wise. Phil’s answer was succinct-retired! A lot of people aren’t interested in progressing up the career ladder. They come to work to earn a wage and that’s that. As Phil said, he wanted to serve his time doing a job he did well and when his time was served he’d be out the door like a dog from a trap. Phil and I filled in the mandatory fifteen minutes of torture time by drinking tea while he talked me through the finer points of greyhound racing. Of course I won't put that in my report. Talking of reports I'd better get back to them. I've only got a few more to do. I should be done by tomorrow and then I can report why Twinks incurred my displeasure so thoroughly.

  13th January 2006: A Budgie Amongst Sparrows

  There was rubbish strewn all over the front garden again this morning, and even worse someone had smeared chicken curry over the windscreen and bonnet of my car. It was disgusting. It took ages to clear everything up. I managed to get curry sauce on my tie and shirt so I had to change. We both ended up late for work. I am so sick and tired of being harassed in this petty unpleasant way.

  To be fair we weren't the only ones singled out to suffer fast food abuse. Several cars in the close had components of takeaway meals splattered over them. It was done courtesy of cretinous yobs on the way home from the pub after a heavy drinking session. It makes you wonder what they get out of performing such deeds. Do they wake up next morning feeling proud because they've upset people? They must, why else would they pay for the privilege of doing it, because when you think about it, that's exactly what they do. They pay out pounds for expensive food they have no intention of eating. Twinks says they're sad losers and he hopes whatever little of the food they did eat gave them explosive diarrhoea complete with rings of fire. It wasn't exactly a sophisticated wish, but I could appreciate the annoyance that prompted it.

  Curious as to what prompted my rage and made me contemplate double homo-side last Saturday night? Then let me take you for a walk down Retrospective Road. It’s a long walk so bring a drink and a packed lunch.

  Saturday was never going to be a perfect day, I knew that several days in advance, but still I didn't expect it to go quite as arse up as it did. To begin with it was Dominic's first birthday and his proud parents naturally wished to celebrate this important milestone by having a bit of a do for him. Given the age of the revellers an evening celebration was out of the question. Karen's parents were flying off to Ibiza on Sunday morning and naturally wished to see their grandson celebrate his first birthday, so the party was arranged for three o clock on Saturday afternoon. Twinkles had applied for the day off so he could attend the rugrat shindig, but was refused on account of it being the opening day of the New Year Sale and the shop would be too busy, which to my mind was reasonable enough. Saturdays are busy days ordinarily in the retail business, but at Sale time customer volume increases enormously and all hands are needed on deck.

  I did sympathise with Twinkles, of course I did. I knew how much he wanted to help Dominic celebrate his first birthday, but I could see his boss’s point of view too. As assistant manager it is part of Twinks' duties to be there on the front line. Twinkles was not at all suited and we had many dark mutterings about looking for a new post and then some more mutterings about how he really ought to be on the sick, as it wasn't easy working one handed all day, especially when trying to get things in and out of the window, it was twice as tiring. Dark mutterings progressed to an announcement. Seeing as he couldn't go to Dominic's party he didn't think I should go either. He said it wasn't fair of me to witness an important stage in our godson's life without him being there. It was disloyal and besides I'd be on the photos and he wouldn't. I thought it was a selfish attitude and said so, remarking that had the situation been reversed I wouldn’t expect him to miss out just because I couldn't attend. I asked if he thought it fair to deny Dominic having at least one of his godfather's at his birthday party? He immediately said Dom wouldn't notice anyway, because he was too young. I firmly said I was still going to attend. I wanted to go and Dom was as much my godson as his and I had a right to enjoy time with him.

  In an effort to compensate I suggested we visit Dominic on Friday night to give him his birthday present and help him open it, which we did and we all had a fine time. All the same, Twinks woke up with an attitude on Saturday morning, though he claimed he didn't, accusing me of faultfinding, nit picking and character damming. This from the man who then criticised the way I stacked the breakfast pots into the dishwasher saying it was shambolic and I had no organisational abilities. How I ran an entire department at work was a frigging mystery to him when I couldn't efficiently organise and stack a dishwasher. I played the authority card and told him if he didn't shut up I'd take the plug off the dishwasher and make him responsible for all washing up duties for a month.

  When I dropped him off at work he was still in a less than sparkling mood. He doesn’t really mean to be petty and begrudging, he just can’t help feeling jealous especially if he feels excluded in anyway.

  The party was lovely and I videoed as much as I could so Twinks could watch it later. Dominic's face was a picture of awe and amazement when the candle on his cake was lit. He pointed at it, his mouth a round O of astonishment and then looked around his captive audience inviting us all to share his wonder. He soon got the hang of blowing and the candle was re-lit several times for his entertainment. Every time he succeeded in blowing out the flame (aided and abetted by his daddy who was standing behind his chair) he applauded himself. It was delightful. Some of the other children also wanted a turn at candle blowing and the cake was soon liberally awash with infant spit. I discreetly picked the icing off my bit before eating it while mentally blocking the echo of Twinks' voice telling me what a fusser I am.

  Someone gave Dom a balloon to play with, which worried me, as he kept biting at it. I was terrified it would pop and a piece of rubber would lodge in his throat. I bribed him to give it up for a chocolate finger. Twinks voice once again chipped into my subconscious muttering about me being neurotic. I told it I didn't care and didn't it have any customers to serve? It’s a funny thing, but when you've been with someone a long time you can never really go anywhere without them. You carry them with you. Everything I enjoyed I wished Twinkles were there to share it. He's part of the fabric of my being and I wouldn't change that for anything, not even when he's seriously pissed me off over something.

  By the time the party was over my jeans and shirt were daubed with sticky icing, juice stains, sick stains, snot and all the other accoutrements that go with gatherings of small children. I also lost a wager to Paul who bet me a fiver that Karen's auntie Alma would have my arse before she had his. She did too, even though I was really ca
reful and kept my front to her when speaking. She caught me off guard when I was filming the candle blowing ceremony, sneaking up behind me and squeezing my left buttock, and none too gently. She can't keep her hands off men's backsides. She’s an absolute menace, an elderly female pervert. She looks like Miss Marple all grey haired and demure with sensible shoes and a genteel manner, but the moment a male backside looms on the horizon she turns into a female Benny Hill and has to have a pat or a grope.

  My heart sank when I picked Twinks up from work and noted that his face was sporting citrus lips. I detest it when he's got his citrus face on. He draws his lips together as if he's sucking a particularly tart lemon. His mouth was puckered tighter than a virgin anus. As well as sour he looked tired and I guessed he'd been rushed off his feet all day. I would have liked nothing better than to wrap him in a hug of love and sympathy, but experience has taught me that when he's busy sucking a lemon he tends to reject any sweeter offerings.

  Once we were in the car he snapped out an acidic ‘and?’ I guessed this was his way of asking how the party went, so I calmly leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek telling him it had been very nice and he would enjoy watching the video. He made a comment about really looking forward to watching footage of a party he couldn't attend and then lapsed into an arm folded, lemon lipped silence.