by Swan, Tarn
I figured it was an emergency situation calling for drastic action. I was near the condiment shelf. Grabbing the nearest and largest bottle of vinegar I let it drop to the floor. The crash diverted all attention my way, including Twinkles. He hastily and decorously picked up my keys and then headed toward the exit at speed.
I located a shop assistant and made profuse apologies for my clumsy accident, offering to pay for the vinegar. The assistant refused. I didn't push too hard. After all Tesco is just about the biggest grossing supermarket in Christendom. They can afford to carry the cost of one bottle of malt vinegar. They've made enough profit from me over the years.
I finished the shopping on my own, while thinking over the incident. It has to be said. He consciously delights in being provocative at times and he doesn't always give thought to the consequences. I also suspected he was testing me a bit. He was looking for the reassurance of my attention and confirmation of my commitment to him. He had been just as frightened and shaken as I had been by the distance that opened between us, probably more so. He needed to know the balance of our relationship was restored. I would prove it.
At least his going commando saved me the trouble of pulling his pants down before spanking him when I got him home. It was just a case of putting him over my knee, flipping up his kilt and turning his bad boy bottom a shade of red that matched it perfectly.
The meal with Brian and his boyfriend was somewhat strained and there were several distinctly awkward moments. One occurred when Martin ordered a glass of white wine and Twinkles commented that Steven had never touched white wine, he only ever drank red. Martin coldly retorted he wasn't Steven. Twinkles eyed him and then said in a slow, calculated way, “no, that's true, you're not Steven.”
I had a discreet word with him at the first available opportunity. He said he hadn't meant to say what he did. It was something he had been thinking and it kind of dropped out of his mind into his vocal cords and then out of his mouth.
I'm not sure how I feel about Martin yet. I think in a way I'm doing exactly what Twinkles is doing, albeit less aggressively. I’m comparing the poor man to Steven, which places a barrier between getting to know him as a person in his own right. Brian didn’t help matters. He didn’t set a tone with regard to his new lover. There was no overt affection between them, no hand touching, no little smiles, no intimate gestures such as there was between him and Steven.
He met Martin on the Nile cruise he went on at Christmas. Martin, who hails from Scarborough, was accompanying his elderly mother. Every time I say that I get a mental image of all the PP queens looking at each other in that bitchy way they have, pulling faces and simultaneously chorusing ‘ooh, dear, he's one of them, a mummy's boy!’
Twinks has gone commando again. In fact he's completely starkers apart from the hula-hoop he’s swinging around his waist, which is making something else swing. I'm afraid I'll have to go and sort the little tease out properly.
27th February ~ Spring Fever
I'm upstairs having a break from him downstairs, the resident queen. He's been off work today and in between me leaving this morning and returning this evening he's caught a dose of early spring fever. He's topped, bottomed and rearranged the kitchen and the bedrooms and now he's rearranging the living room for the third time. I’m not allowed to sit down on anything.
There was no dinner waiting for me when I got home. I complained and got short shrift. He didn't have time to make frigging dinner for me. He was too busy. Who the hell did I think I was swanning home like the lord of the manor expecting to find a cooked meal ready and waiting? Did he look like Delia Smith or a serf?
I had to make do with a tin of soup and a sandwich and it took forever to track down where he'd put the soup bowls. After I’d eaten he made me clean the blinds and all the downstairs windows, even though I've been at work all day. He’s a slave driver in a pinny when he's in one of these moods.
1st March ~ Friends and Lovers
I always consider the first of March to be the first day of spring. We've got lots of bulbs blooming in the garden, aconites, snowdrops and crocus. The primula and daffodils are also well on their way.
I'm home early today. I had a meeting to go to in Newcastle this morning, but it was soon over, which made a nice change.
Yesterday I broke it to my staff that I wouldn't be leaving them after all, or rather Karen did. In fact she was the one that told them I might be leaving in the first place. It’s like having an MI6 mole as a secretary. I was touched to receive a card and some wine and flowers along with the sentiment that the dictator you knew was better than the one you didn't. Rumour had it that my possible replacement was an even grouchier slave driver than I apparently am.
Karen and Paul are much relieved I turned down the Bristol job. The thought of having to find new babysitters, and ones they might have to pay, was a source of much pain to them. It's nice to know you'd be missed just for yourself.
Twinkles finally finished arranging the living room the other night and called me down to view it. I liked it, mainly because it was exactly the way it had been before he started rearranging it. He pointed out it was much cleaner and he had put different cushion covers on.
I knew from experience that if I attempted to sit down in his, freshly put back to its original state living room, I'd get nagged for 'messing' up his palace. So I didn't try. Instead I grabbed him and hauled him off upstairs before he could start cleaning something else.
After running a bath I insisted he get in with me. As an aid to relaxation there is nothing quite like deep hot water and we have a nice big bath, so why waste it on only one.
We had a kiss and cuddle and then I lay back in the water with him in my arms and asked what was on his mind, as nine times out of ten when he starts turning things upside down and inside out it means he's dwelling on something. At first he denied there was anything on his mind.
“Why do you always assume the worst and look for hidden meanings? It’s like being shacked up with a frigging doom laden soothsayer.”
So, in my capacity as a frigging doom laden soothsayer I kissed his head and asked again, “what’s on your mind, love? I know something is? Tell me or do I have to slaughter a cockerel and search its intestines for information.”
I was glad I'd chosen the bath as a venue for approaching the subject. It made rinsing the subsequent tears and snot from my chest so much easier.
He said he felt everything was changing. Mum was getting married to Prissy. Gill was having another baby with my dad. Brian was seeing someone else, someone who didn't look or sound like Steven. Worse, his best friend had gone on to pastures new and he had no one to talk to about it all. He said he'd tried to contact Lulu that day, but had no joy. It occurred to him that as Lu and Kev spent so much time together they were probably best friends now. He’d end up hearing from Lulu once or maybe twice a year, birthdays and Christmas, if that. He missed him so much.
In an effort to comfort him I said I'd be his best friend and to prove it I would help paint his nails later, just like Lu used to do. He smiled, but shook his head. I was his lover, companion, comforter, adviser, guide, and a friend of sorts, but not his best friend. You didn't cuddle up naked in a bath with your best friend. You didn't make love to your best friend, though you might confide in your best friend that you sometimes cuddled up naked in the bath with your partner. If I painted his nails it would be a completely different act to Lu doing it, an altogether different kind of intimacy.
I understood. Intimate partnership love and friendship love share some components, but essentially they're different.
Twinks and I talk about lots of things, we laugh, we share, we disagree, we nag and get on each other's nerves, much as close friends often do, but there's a different kind of undercurrent to that which exists between friends. I'm not even sure I can put it into words. It’s something mutual and sexually emotionally needful. He was right. I wasn't and could never be his best friend in the sense Lu was, just as Lu co
uld never be his life companion and lover.
I apologised for seeming flippant and said I was convinced Lulu would never forget him and though they might not see each other as much, they would always, always be BFF. They’d shared so many things and there were bits of the past they jointly owned, nothing could change that.
I did paint his nails, but as his lover and partner, not as his best friend.
Seeing as I'm home early I think I'll surprise Twinkles and make something special for dinner. I'll put a bottle of champagne on ice and dress up the dining room ready to romance the man I love.
4th March ~ Domestic Tyranny
Twinkles woke up feeling unwell this morning. He's getting a cold. He's shivery and his balls are aching. He’s snuggled under a fleecy blanket on the couch wearing pink satin pyjamas and watching a favourite DVD, Breakfast On Pluto, while chomping his way through a tin of assorted chocolate biscuits. He’s a great believer in feeding a cold is Twinks, feeding it rubbish that is. He says he might be able to manage some ice cream in a minute, though naturally he can't manage to get up off his arse and get it himself. He needs me to set aside my laptop and get it for him, a cup of coffee would also be welcome, and maybe a chicken sandwich, and a slice of Madeira cake, if I've left any that is, oh and can I froth his coffee please? He wants it frothed cappuccino style with a bit of chocolate powder on top and served with a Rondo Italian hazelnut wafer, better still just bring the tin...am I typing down everything he’s saying to me?
I've now served his needs, so he's happy, though he claims the slice of cake I've cut for myself is bigger than the piece I cut for him. I've denied it of course, though if a tape measure were mentioned I might have to eat my slice quick. I suppose I should be grateful he's speaking to me, even if it is mainly to demand food. He certainly wasn't speaking to me yesterday. We had a falling out on Friday night and consequently I didn't meet him for lunch yesterday. He said he needed a break from my overpowering presence. I said DITTO with knobs on.
We were mutually annoyed with each other. I with him because he'd behaved atrociously and deserved my annoyance, and he with me because he felt guilty and knew he deserved my annoyance, but was in denial over it. He decried me as a picky, sanctimonious pain in the arse, a self-righteous snob, a spoilsport and humourless with it. He didn't know what he saw in me. I was bossy, domineering, and a domestic tyrant while he was downtrodden, oppressed, bullied and brutalised.
My annoyance was less verbose. I told him he was naughty and not fit to be let out alone. I then grounded him for an unspecified period. Why? It was because of his shenanigans at the PP on the aforementioned Friday night. He got absolutely slaughtered. It was Cherie Pie’s birthday. The cocktails were flowing like high-octane water, so he wasn't the only inebriated person on the premises by any means. However he was the only one I had personally told NOT to fall willing victim to a cocktail slaying.
I wasn’t actually present, not at first. I'm suffering a cluster headache phase. It happens sometimes after I've had a severe migraine. It takes next to nothing to trigger another bad headache. I could feel one starting on Friday afternoon while I was at work, getting a familiar dragging feeling behind my eyes. I took a couple of my pills and told Twinks I was sorry, but I was going to have to give the PP a miss that evening as the smoke and noise would do nothing to soothe my cranium.
He got all dressed up and I dropped him off outside the club where I informed him I'd booked him a taxi for half past one. It earned me a sour look, but I didn't care. I like to know his transport home is arranged when I'm not with him. I wished him a pleasant evening and told him not to get drunk, reminding him he had work to get up for. I then returned home where I took myself to bed with a cup of herbal tea and a book, a gay whodunit called, 'Somebody Killed His Boyfriend.' It wasn't long before I was seriously considering killing mine.
It got to eleven and I was thinking about settling down to sleep when the phone rang. It was Brian. I groaned as he said there was trouble brewing at the PP and Twinks was in the thick of it. No surprises there then. He'd had a good few drinks and was showing every sign of having a good few more, despite Brian and Rick telling him he'd had enough.
Twinks and one of Empress Gloria's courtly entourage, Lady Sophia Lovemen, were at loggerheads. Brian said they had locked claws virtually from the onset of the evening. I wasn't much surprised. There's been bad feeling building between them for a while and I knew why.
Twinks was livid because Cherie Pie, ‘that pompous over inflated old pantomime Danny La Rue’ had given Lady Sophia the job as Lulu's replacement in the chorus line-up. Twinks reckoned it should have been his job. He knew the routines, he knew the songs and he should have filled the space left vacant by Lu's departure. He’d earned it and anyway, everyone agreed that Sophia sang with a voice flatter than a hedgehog under a truck wheel.
To make matters worse Cherie had a cold and sore throat that night. She graciously bestowed upon the upstart Sophia the rare honour of covering several songs front of stage. Usually Cherie, cold or no cold, guards her place in front of the microphone more jealously than the wicked queen from Snow White guarded her place in front of the magic mirror.
Twinkles wasn't the only one put out by Lady Sophia's swift rise to prominence. The other chorus girls were also annoyed that they, of long and loyal standing behind Cherie's ample shadow at the back of the stage, had been overlooked. Jealousy stalked the land. Rumours flew about The Pie generously sharing her sweet cream filling with Lady Sophia along with something hot and tasty in the meat department in exchange for stage favours.
Brian said he had already intervened in a couple of heated skirmishes between Twinks and Sophia, but it might be best if I got down there as Twinks had dropped into one of his "difficult" moods and nobody could do a thing with him. He was beyond reason and out for trouble. I told Brian to try and hold the fort until I got there.
By the time I arrived Lady Sophia had taken the stage determined to have her moment in the spotlight. In a way I admired her nerve, as she wasn't finding it easy to be heard above a chorus of jeers and derisory comments.
Chief among the hecklers was my own little star, Miss Twinkles. He was yelling drunken and scurrilous comments at every turn with the crowd, bitches to a man, slyly encouraging him. The song Sophia was trying to churn out contained the line: 'I wish I knew how it would feel to be free.'
It prompted Twinkles to yell, "I THOUGHT YOU'D KNOW THAT ALREADY DEAR. RUMOUR HAS IT THAT YOU'RE NOT ONLY FREE BUT THAT YOU GIVE FRIGGING REWARD POINTS TO NECTAR CARD HOLDERS.”
Sophia had obviously had enough because abandoning all pretence of being a lady she bellowed a series of explicit threats and expletives and launched herself off the stage and onto Twinkles. The feathers literally flew as she plucked and tore at the feather trim on his evening gown. It was like watching a fox run amuck in a hen house. I hastily waded in to try to separate them, while fighting off Cherie who was trying to claim a birthday kiss. It was bloody madness.
Sophia was wearing a gown split up to the thigh on one side. By the time Twinks was done it was split to her chest and not only could you see her foundation garments, you could see her left bosom as it fell out of her skimpy bra and dropped to the floor where it was spiked by a high heel. Twinks let out an agonised scream as a clumpy shoe slammed down hard on his foot.
They ended up brawling and sprawling onto a table, upsetting drinks everywhere. Gloria overheard a less than flattering remark about her pal from one of the table inhabitants and took exception. Before you could blink there was a full-scale catfight in progress. It was like a scene from a Pink video. I furiously hauled Twinkles out of the fray, getting jostled, kicked and scratched in the process.
Leaving Brian, Rick and the club bouncer to sort out the other brawlers I took Twinkles home. He claimed I'd ruined his evening by turning up just as he'd begun to really enjoy himself. I slapped a muzzle order on him, telling I didn’t want to hear another word from him until further notice.
We had words, heavy words followed by heavy action. He was shocked when I not only spanked him I paddled him hard. It’s fortunate he works in retail and much of his work is done from a standing position, because he wouldn’t have enjoyed doing a desk job that day, not after I’d finished with his bottom. I'd told him not to get drunk and he'd ignored me. I wasn't putting up with it. He behaved disgracefully and deserved to be disciplined.
He's demanding my company now. He’s tired of being a grass widow because of a computer, and maybe if he attached a keyboard to his person I'd pay him more kind attention. Sometimes I wonder which one of us is really the domestic tyrant around here.
7th March ~ Sucking and Crunching
Twinkles cold progressed. He went from a desire to feed it with anything and everything to a desire never to allow food or liquid past his lips again because it hurt too much to swallow due to a vicious sore throat. By last night, thanks in part to a rigorous programme of gargling with tepid salt water, it felt a bit easier. He thus felt able to risk sucking some menthol and eucalyptus boiled sweets to help clear his stuffy nose.
The thing about Twinks and boiled sweets is he can't resist crunching them. He sucks for about five seconds before his jaw goes into automatic action. He then deafens all around him as he grinds and masticates. I'm mighty relieved the same mechanism doesn't kick in during oral sex or I'd be a eunuch by now.
He was shattered after work yesterday. They’d been busy in the shop. It was the final day of their winter sale and in abidance with custom any sale stock still left was reduced by a further twenty percent in an effort to get rid of it. I sometimes wonder why they bother having a sale open to the general public. Twinkles and the rest of the staff lay claim to most of the stuff before it even gets in the windows. They get some real bargains because they still get staff discount off the sale price. I'm not complaining. We end up with some beautiful items to give as gifts. Saves us a fortune.
