Stardust Diaries 2007

by Swan, Tarn

  Putting my libido on hold I flung the bed covers back over my ice queen and ambled downstairs to make a cup of tea opening the back door to enjoy the morning air. The garden looked sorry for itself. Wind and torrential rain had taken its toll on the fragile petals of roses and bedding plants, but still it smelt fresh and looked verdant.

  Doris and Eddie, our resident blackbirds, were on the shed roof with their bedraggled feathers fluffed and wings spread trying to dry out in the sun. They've had a tough season. To our delight they built their nest in the peg basket again only to have their first clutch of hatchlings killed by an athletic cat.

  Undaunted they tried again, building a nest in the honeysuckle where they managed to fledge three babies. Tragedy struck one evening after the little birds left the nest for the first time. A predatory magpie attacked and killed two of the youngsters despite being furiously bombarded by Doris and Eddie. Alerted by the noise, the blackbirds were vociferous in their rage, we dashed out into the garden and managed to help scare off the murderous magpie before it killed the remaining baby.

  It was upsetting. I had to remind myself and Twinks that nature is nature and whereas we pop down to Tesco for our neatly packaged and sanitised carrion the birds and beasts take it where and as they find it.

  My peace was rudely interrupted when Brownlow let his dog out into the garden. The morning calm shattered as it began barking madly, no doubt excited to find sunshine instead of rain. Brownlow roared at it to shut up. Doris and Eddie took to the wing and I closed the back door and set about making breakfast.

  So why was him in frocks in such a frosty mood? Well, he’d been looking forward to a long sunny weekend off work. The shop was closed for some essential re-wiring and re-decorating so he had the luxury of a four-day break from Friday to Tuesday. Being June it didn't seem too unrealistic to expect some sunshine. However Friday and Saturday were dreadful. At one point rainwater seeped in through the French windows in the dining room as the drains failed to cope with the deluge of rain. The patio looked like a swimming pool.

  Twinks still insisted we went out on Friday night. It was a cabaret night at the PP with several renowned drag artistes appearing, as well as a boy dance band with a difference. The difference being that these boys were part girls and pretty damn hot by all accounts, from whatever angle you viewed. The short journey from house to taxi, then taxi to club was enough for the spiteful weather to thoroughly dampen his brand new emerald green knee length gown as well as soak his gold sandals and sheer tights. When he went to the powder room to tidy up he discovered the gown wasn't as colourfast as it ought to be and his natural tan tights were not only damp they were streaked with green dye from his frock. He was not pleased. I told him it wasn't noticeable under the club lighting.

  Of course Natalie noticed and asked if he'd come as Kermit the frog seeing as he had green legs. I could cheerfully have slapped her backside and legs several shades of red. To make matters worse she then sweetly asked Twinks when he was getting his specs, as he'd better hurry up before the wrinkles around his eyes got any worse with squinting. Lulu had obviously blabbed about my mother's observation.

  Twinks was livid and rounded on Lu telling him he needed to shut his bum and give his face a chance because he didn't need frigging glasses. Lu furiously flicked a cocktail cherry at Natalie. It missed and hit Barry in the eye. Big Mary then smartly tapped Lu on the head with his fan by way of retaliation. It was like being on a school outing with a bunch of unruly fifth formers.

  Twinks got his own back on Natalie. He slipped backstage and had a word with one of the drag queens who during her turn made a 'Birthday Announcement' congratulating Natalie on her fortieth birthday and wishing her well with her forthcoming liposuction procedure to have the excess fat sucked from her arse and injected into her penis by way of much needed enhancement.

  The entertainment on stage was in danger of being sidelined as an enraged Natalie lunged for Twinks and tried to rip his head off. I intervened before they got into one of their floor rolling spats, fiercely telling the pair of them if they didn't behave I was going to take them both home. Natalie gave me her best 'huh, hark at him' look and flounced off to the bar. There is no one sweeter than her male counterpart Kevin, but the moment he dons a dress and blonde wig he turns into a she-devil.

  Incidentally some might wonder why I refer to Kevin in frocks as ‘her’ but always refer to Twinks and Lu as ‘him.’ I think it's because I first met Twinkles and Lulu as males, before they un-closeted as gender fluid. I only knew Natalie as Natalie to begin with and by the time I met the man behind the woman the habit had been fixed, Natalie was a she. If Twinks reads this he will sternly remind me that once a transvestite puts on a dress, she is she and no longer he, unless it’s Big Mary who prefers to be a he even when frocked and wigged because apparently his she has gender issues and leans more towards the masculine.

  It all sends me dizzy. I do try to practice the correct etiquette, but what might be the correct etiquette for one person might not be correct for another. Transgender folks like the rest of us come in a plethora of different shapes and sizes and have a plethora of opinions and preferences as to how they wish to be identified.

  I suppose it all boils down to a simple fact - every one of us is unique in our own way and we need to accept each other for it instead of constantly turning on each other. We’re composed of bones, flesh and skin. We hurt, we bleed, and we laugh and love. Why should it matter who we love or how we love or how we dress while doing it. Love is the common denominator, though there are those who think love should only be reserved for a deserving few. Of course they are the very people who understand nothing of love, compassion or kindness. They have hearts of stone and acidic minds that dissolve all reasoned thought.

  Returning to the weekend. If anything Saturday was even wetter than Friday. The rain kept tumbling down. Twinkles mood was decidedly sour. By lunchtime my patience had resigned and I could cheerfully have filed for divorce. I told Jonathan I understood he was pissed off at it constantly pissing down, but it wasn't my fault. I didn't want any more ‘ings’ from him as in: stropping, whinging, whining, complaining, bitching, door slamming, snarling or generally creating dramas out of thin air.

  Eventually realising that no Moses like figure was about to appear and cause a parting of the seas, we ventured forth into the waters to grocery shop. Twinks decided he wanted to shop at Morrisons as a change from Tesco, so we headed off to Morrisons.

  Driving conditions were atrocious, which put extra pressure on my weakened leg and by the time we reached the store and parked up it was aching badly. I left Twinks to peruse the aisles for all available special offers while I went for a sit down in the coffee shop.

  I was steering my tray containing my overpriced under strength milky coffee in the direction of a table when someone hailed me. It was Stuart Cramer, the garage owner I’d met when he pranged my car one winter. Stuart's garage was the one appointed to deal with removal of my car after the crash. I had to speak to him several times regarding matters pertaining to my mangled vehicle. He was most helpful. I must admit I like him. He's a decent bloke with a nice sense of humour. He was kind to Twinks when he realised whose wrecked car he was dealing with. He offered to give him a lift to the hospital if he needed one at any time, which considering Twinks once almost wrecked his car as well as hitting him with a windscreen wiper was generous in the extreme. It would have seemed churlish to sit at another table so I joined him.

  He told me his parents were on holiday so it had fallen to him to look out for his grandma while they were away. He had brought her to do her shopping, but she had sent him to have coffee while she shopped in peace without him getting under her feet and wanting things. He grinned saying she still treated him like a seven year old.

  We talked about my accident and he asked if I’d bought a new car. I confessed I was driving around in a hire car and was feeling reluctant to commit to buying a new one, as I didn’t have much luck with th
em with one thing and another. I gave him details of the car that had been fired in a case of mistaken identity. I said I was thinking of buying a good quality used car instead of going for brand new. He said he’d keep his ear to the ground and let me know if any decent cars came up that I might be interested in.

  It wasn't long before I spied Twinkles heading towards us. From the look on his face it was clear the store special offers had not been to his taste. They probably hadn’t involved booze and confectionery. His face clouded further when he saw Stuart. He was rude, ignoring Stuart’s smile and spoken greeting. Glaring at me he snapped he was ready to go through the checkouts and needed some help, if I could possibly drag myself away that is (dirty look at Stuart)

  I was embarrassed and annoyed. Smiling at Stuart I offered my hand and said it had been nice talking with him. He said the pleasure was his, adding that he’d give me a call if a suitable car came up. As soon as we were out of earshot I made Twinks aware of my annoyance and embarrassment, to which he replied. “I'm sure you'll get over it.”

  The journey home was a nightmare with the rain assaulting the windscreen and his voice assaulting my eardrums with accusations of purposely arranging to meet Stuart. I pointed out that it was he who had wanted to go to Morrisons, not me. He demanded to know what Cramer had meant by giving me a call about a car. I explained. He decided Stuart was stalking me and using the car as an excuse to get close to me.

  It was complete and utter nonsense and he knew it. He was using the situation as an excuse to hype himself up and vent his spleen because the weekend wasn't going the way he wanted it to go. I told him he was a bad tempered brat and I didn't want to hear another word out of him.

  As soon as I parked the car he exited it like a fury, storming up the garden path and into the house slamming the door behind him, leaving me to unload the shopping. By the time I got indoors he’d stropped off upstairs. Leaving him to sulk I shoved the shopping away, dried myself off and made a pot of tea. I was pouring a cup of it when he appeared in the kitchen carrying a small vanity case. Sticking his nose in the air he made an announcement.

  “I’ve called a taxi. I’m going to Lu’s to get ready to go out tonight. You can contact me when you’re ready to apologise and beg my forgiveness for your treachery with that gay straight acting bastard Cramer.”

  I raised my brows. Me apologise and beg forgiveness? I didn’t think so. Banging down the teapot I had one of those whirlwind moments you usually only see on speeded up films. In an eye blink both he and his case were back upstairs. I shoved the case in the wardrobe, him in a corner, cancelled the taxi, called Lu to say Twinks was running a temperature and wouldn't be out that evening. I then set about lending truth to the lie by significantly raising the temperature of his backside by application of my hand to its bared contours. His behaviour had been disgraceful. He thoroughly deserved to be disciplined for it.

  After my initial rebuff I sought to bring a thaw to his cold shoulder by serving him breakfast in bed on Sunday morning. Success. The break in the clouds outside was matched by a break in the clouds inside when he thanked me and then apologised for his behaviour of the day before. My second attempt at wooing was more successful and our reconciliation was of a pleasingly passionate nature.

  The day continued to bloom. It was Father’s Day. I’d invited my dad, Gill and Janet to lunch with us. Twinks was courtesy itself. He told Gill she was looking well and pregnancy suited her. She said she might look well, but her back was killing her, so he insisted she put her feet up on the couch and rested. He then insisted on massaging her feet with lavender oil, making her almost purr with pleasure.

  Karen, Paul and Dominic also joined us for lunch. We got godfather cards and a little basket of flowers from Dominic, which he first tried to present to Janet. He adores Janet. He cuddles her and tries to kiss her and lift her up. Twinks told Paul and Karen it was a sign he's desperate for a baby sister or brother and if they wanted they could avail themselves of the guest room. They declined. Gabby popped over to visit and helped Twinks play with the little ones. All in all we had a happy family afternoon.

  I've got to go. We’re off to a late screening of Ocean's Thirteen and Twinks is bellowing at me to get a move on or we'll miss the trailers. I don’t know why he’s fretting about it, because when we get to the cinema he’ll complain about the boring frigging trailers going on forever. Contrary isn’t in it.

  19th June ~ Ringmaster

  I've told Twinks if I get the scent of a circus coming to town he can wave me bye-bye because when it leaves I'll have done a Nelly the elephant in reverse and packed my trunk and gone with it. I reckon I can easily get a job as a ringmaster after living with him and his performances. How I'm not white haired is a miracle.

  His first performance involved the weather this morning. He didn't want to get up because it was raining. It was frigging raining! AGAIN! It was the weather forecasters fault. Surely they had some control over the bloody weather? He was phoning the met office to DEMAND an explanation. I finally managed to stop him ranting and get him out of bed.

  Performance number two involved bleach. He decided he needed to visit the loo just before we left for work. He took forever, so I bawled up to ask what the heck was keeping him. He bawled back that he was just having a quick wipe around the bathroom. It was grubby. I was cross and told him to leave it or we'd be late. Seconds later an ear-shattering scream cleft the air. He appeared at the top of the stairs screeching and jabbing at the front of his trousers. For a horrible moment I thought he'd trapped his penis in his zip. It wouldn't be the first time.

  I darted up the stairs to assist in the liberation process, but it wasn't necessary. His penis was safe and sound. In the process of sluicing Domestos around the toilet bowl he'd managed to splash his suit trousers with the stuff. They were ruined, the colour had come out. He couldn't go to work now, not with suspicious white stains on the front of his trousers. People would think I'd gotten excited in the car and ejaculated on him, either that or he'd opened his fly to have a crafty wank and left evidence.

  I was vexed with him for fiddling on with bleach and sharply told him to change into his other suit. He couldn't. The trousers had a dodgy zip. He’d been meaning to ask my mother to change it for him, but kept forgetting. He couldn't possibly wear trousers with a dodgy zip to work, what if he exposed himself to a customer? He could get arrested.

  This man spends a queen's ransom on frocks that will be worn only once, while begrudging spending any more than he has to on something he needs every day for work.

  I told him he'd have to wear his jacket and keep it fastened all day. I also told him that after work we were going shopping to get him a couple of new suits. He was outraged, reminding me that the summer sales were about to start. He needed to keep funds free for pretty bargains. My reply was a resounding TOUGH! Work suits came first.

  I meant it too. I picked him up from work this evening and we drove to the retail park. He now has two smart new grey suits hanging in his wardrobe. Both had money off them so that was a plus. I personally treated him to a new shirt and tie to go with the suits, for which I got scant thanks. He would have preferred me to treat his lady within to the diamante toe post sandals he spied in the window before entering House of Frazer and heading for the men’s department.

  Time to go. I'm going to open a bottle of wine, ply my little lover with it and when he’s relaxed and as putty in my hands I’m going to recommend he visit the optician. Last night at the pictures he complained the closing credits were unusually small and fuzzy and he couldn't read them properly. They weren't. They were the same size as normal and looked clear enough to me. Cover me. I'm going in.

  21st June ~ Chocolate Cocks and Celebrity Frocks

  At breakfast this morning I mentioned it was Midsummer's Day receiving a sour look from him in frocks along with the comment: “what do you want me to do about it? Dash to Stonehenge to dangle my dick at sundown!”

  He's a waspish little sod a
t times. He’s still annoyed with me for suggesting he make an appointment for an eye test. To say it was met with a negative response would be an understatement.

  “You’ve been listening to your mother again. She’s a menace. There’s nothing wrong with my windows thank you very much and I should know, I’m the one looking through them.”

  He’s adamant he doesn't need glasses or any other form of optical aid. I told him I wanted him to give the subject some serious thought and from the viewpoint of health rather than vanity. Short sight isn't serious in itself, but it can have offshoot problems such as headaches and eyestrain. The subject is on temporary hold.

  He took forever getting ready for work this morning. He had all his ties out looking for one that complimented the coloured earrings he'd decided upon. None of his ties were suitable, so he went through all mine. They were even less suitable. Apparently my taste in ties is deplorable. I pointed out he'd bought me many of them. He denied it saying I must have taken the ones he'd bought back to the shop when he wasn't looking and exchanged them for frumpy ones.

  Under threat of death he finally made a choice and we set off to work. On leaving the house we discovered someone had spray painted a graphic image of two stick men emblazoned with the words ‘chocolate cocks’ on our front garden gate.

  Twinks was all for blaming Brownlow, but then he's all for blaming Brownlow for everything from litter on our grass to global warming and the implosion of Black Holes in space. Given the crudeness of the drawing I thought it was more likely to be young teenagers. I had a dental appointment this afternoon so had taken a half-day off work. After going for my check-up I spent a good hour cleaning up the gate. It was hard work.

  It's raining again, but sadly not heavily enough to postpone going over to Teddy and Maurice's for an evening of ‘summer pleasures.’ I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. God knows what ‘summer pleasures’ will entail, though at least the food and drink will be excellent. Teddy is a lavish host. I think Maurice would sometimes prefer it if he were a little less lavish.