Kicking Up My Heels...in Heels

by Liam Livings

  “What like?”

  “Hen nights, stag dos, corporate events, that sort of thing.”

  I’d done a few hen nights but hadn’t really started approaching them as such. “As long as it’s what they want. I don’t want to go out there, do a load of camp, old jokes, and show tunes then get booed off stage.”

  “Darling, leave all that to me. If they want a man in a dress pretending to be Marilyn, I’ll make sure you’re the man they get.” He smiled.

  “Why not. Yes, let’s do it. Let’s do all of it. It’s the Plan 2000 part two.”

  “That’s what we’ll call it, if you want.” He wrote it in his notebook.

  Chapter Forty

  LATER THAT MONTH I was at Brighton Pride with Out! but not with them as I’d been before, I was on the other side of the banner, holding a clipboard, shouting out my Out! mobile phone number, telling them where and when they had to meet at the end of the day for the minibus back to Salisbury. Bruce was driving, while I was in the back, keeping the peace, making sure no one misbehaved—mostly.

  Kieran couldn’t join us as he was busy in London. “I’ll see you later, come back up to see me,” he’d said.

  I’d helped the young people design and sew the materials for the float over the previous three weeks at the group—flags, rainbows, lettering on the flats. Once we disembarked the minibus, counting everyone on and off, allocating where everyone had agreed to go, stopped for a toilet and drink stop, I was on the float Bruce had asked me to organise for the group. Which, once he’d explained what I needed to do, he’d thrust a folder of papers from the year before into my hands, I’d worked out what I needed to do through trial and error. If I can get on stage with fake cleavage and a four-foot-high blonde wig and sing “Like A Virgin”, prancing about the stage, I was not going to be defeated by a transit van and trailer and some phone calls to the council.

  The theme, chosen by the youths from the group obviously, proudly displayed in large letters on the flags attached to each corner of the float was All The Gays Of The Rainbow—basically it was celebrating all the different ways there are of being gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgender, and how wonderful, interesting and equally valid they were. Bruce had got a bit carried away with his usual life’s a journey stuff, but I understood and agreed with the basic concept of the float. It had a twelve-foot rainbow made from coloured material, hanging from the front to the back, with rainbow pelmet around the edges, covering the not very rainbow metal bits and wheels and wheel arches of the trailer.

  Everyone came as they were, wearing what made them feel fabulous, what for them was themselves as their most comfortable gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgender identities. There was Tony in his frilly shirt, black leather trousers and long quiff. Some girls wore sportswear, with shaved heads, and whistles round their necks. Some girls chose flared jeans and sleeveless army camouflaged vests, and others wore flowery dresses and heels. Another girl had jeans, a white vest and a tool belt filled with tools from her job as a set builder for theatres. I was slightly disappointed we couldn’t rustle up any dykes on bikes, or even any who’d wear leather for the day, but as the girl with the tool belt pointed out, “When I fell out with the leader of the Dykes On Bikes in Wiltshire, I knew I’d be cut out. And fair enough, she was a woman of her word.”

  “What had you done?” I asked, trying to get to the bottom of the drought of this sort of woman.

  “Let’s say I’m not allowed within twenty feet of the leader, any Triumph or Honda superbikes, or the supplier of the bike accessories she wears, for the next twelve years.” She tapped the side of her nose and shook her head slowly.

  I thought it best not to pursue that particular avenue of questioning, so had continued helping them onto the float.

  Most of the guys had gone for the tiny revealing shorts look, with either a vest or no top, glitter on their hairless waxed chests, but one wore a suit, saying he felt most comfortable in a grey suit, because he felt fabulous in grey and it was his armour against the world on some days. Another lad wore the blue overalls he’d been given by the technical college where he was studying something to do with cars, and there was one who mixed the record decks on the float, playing an assortment of current pop music, show tunes, rock, and country, to make sure we’d covered all the tastes of the young people. One lad had a sign offering free manicures for anyone who could jump on the float and take a seat while it was stopped during the parade. He had quite a brisk trade and was handing out business cards for his new mobile nail technician service.

  Bruce and I had put our foot down at the haircuts and pedicures, sighting health and safety and the risks involved in scissors, and exposed verrucas or corns.

  I was dressed as a rainbow peacock—a six-foot rainbow tail feather, and rainbow headdress, with little bird’s feet shoes and tights. I had been worried about out staging the others, but when Bruce pointed out when had that ever worried me before, and as long as I had my Out! mobile on me at all times, and I didn’t get drunk he’d be happy.

  As we reached the park, where the parade ended and we had to get off the float, I was relieved I’d opted for the float and not the walking behind the float, as poor very much worse for wear Tony had.

  Tony threw the banner on the ground then lay on the grass, his hand over his head, and his eyes shut. “I’m done. I can’t walk another step. Leave me here, don’t worry about me. Don’t disturb me for at least an hour. I’m not moving from this spot, love. I’ll sunbathe.”

  I blew my whistle, got everyone’s attention, then said, “Back here, at the minibus at nine o’clock. You’ve got my mobile number, it’s on the cards I’ve given you all. What time do you have to be back?”

  Silence, then someone burped loudly and said where was the beer.

  “I said, what time is it?”

  A few people shouted the time, so I asked again, this time a decent chorus replied, “Nine o’clock.”

  “And where do you have to be?”

  “Back here,” came the reply.

  “It’s hot. Drink water. Stay in the shade. Put on sun cream if you’ve got it. If you haven’t, me and Bruce have some you can use. Take care of yourselves and each other. And don’t get so out of it you don’t know what you’re doing. Been there, done that, it’s not pretty. Now everyone, off you fuck, have fun.” I clapped, then whistled, and gradually they dispersed, leaving me, Bruce, and Tony.

  I jumped off the float, adjusting the peacock’s tail as I landed, then crouched next to Tony. “Love, you can’t lay here all day. I’ll get you some water. You sit here. I’ve got to help sort out the float. You drink some water, sit in the shade.” I pointed to a nearby tree, helped him to his feet and walked him to the tree. “Then I’m pretty much off duty.” I looked at Bruce.

  He nodded, then pointed to his mobile phone.

  “And we can do what we want. How’s that sound?”

  Tony waved me away, pulled his fringe over his eyes, lay down under the tree and blew a long raspberry.

  I gave Tony a bottle of water, helped Bruce with the float, then sat next to Tony under the tree. Truth be told, I was very much all passion spent. I could have easily laid down next to Tony, heads together, his fringe covering my eyes too, with a bottle of water, and not moved until the designated time the minibus was due to leave for home.

  So, rather than resisting too hard, I did exactly that. For a few moments of course. I climbed out of the costume, leaving the shorts and vest I’d worn underneath. I lay on the grass and felt the dappled sun on my face, warming my cheeks, Tony’s hair covering my eyes, and his breathing slow and steady right next to my face.

  Then I heard the unmistakeable jangling of car keys and remembered last year’s Brighton Pride. I opened my eyes and to one side, I saw a man in cut off denim shorts, with little wisps of white material falling from the torn bottoms, and a white hairless chest, red neck and face, with a very definite circular tan line where his T-shirt had ended at the neck and arms. He jangled his car
keys again, smiling, then licking his lips. I had the unmistakable itch, and I needed it scratched. I knew only one thing would scratch it well enough. I took my wallet from my pocket, opened it quickly and seeing the shiny packet I had hoped for, put it back in my pocket.

  I stood next to the man with the keys, smiling. “All right. What jangly keys you’ve got. They are big.” I pushed his hand up to my eyes, examining the keys as they shone in the sunlight.

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “We going then?” He started walking towards the trees fifty feet behind us.

  “You’re not buying me dinner first?” I was following him, quickly now, eager to see what we could get up to together.

  “You what?” He turned, brow furrowed, nose screwed up.

  “I’m joking. Don’t worry.”

  “You coming with me then?” He turned back in the direction he’d been walking then pointed to the trees ahead.

  “If I must, I must.” I followed him to the woods.

  He took my shorts and pants off, then knelt on his knees and gave me the most vigorous, fast and furious blowjob I’d ever had.

  I stood, my eyes closed, his hands on my bum, pushing me in and out of his mouth, faster and faster.

  Then he stopped, stood, unzipped himself, and pushed me to the ground, thrusting himself into my face.

  Fair’s fair, I suppose. So, I got stuck in, among the wiry hairs, and musky smell, trying to copy how he’d been with me. After a while of really putting my back into sucking him off, I came up for air and turned around while handing him a condom and lube. I didn’t have all day and I wanted to move on to the main event.

  HE STOOD BEHIND me, his pants still round his ankles, after rubbering up and slicking himself and then me, he was pushing into my bum, his hand reaching round the front, grabbing me, and pulling tighter, harder, quicker. It didn’t take many thrusts deep into me and he came and then with a few strokes on me, was all it took, and I too was done. He wiped his hand on my leg, and before I could pull my shorts and pants up, he was gone, the only sign of him ever being there was the condom on the ground and lube around my arse.

  I dressed, then walked from the trees to rejoin Tony under the tree.

  Tony sniffed the air as he sat up, leaning against the tree, pulling his fringe from his eyes. “You dirty bitch. Have you just got a bit?”

  “Might have done.” I cursed myself for not bringing deodorant as well as sun cream in my little bag of supplies. “How’d you know?”

  “You reek of it. Sex. It’s pouring from everywhere. And spunk.”

  I started putting sun cream on my arms and neck, hoping the smell would take away from the other smell.

  “Oh, and you’ve got a bloody great blob of something on your T-shirt.” He pointed to the shoulder, where a damp mark was spreading from the inside.

  “So, sue me. Kill me. Disown me. I am Kev and I needed a shag. Nothing you haven’t done, when the mood’s taken you.”

  “I hope you were…”

  “Yes, Mum. Very.”

  “I’m rested now. You’ve got your end away, so are we ready to have a look around this cesspit that calls itself a pride festival? Have you seen the state of some of them? Wondering around, they don’t even know who they are, never mind where they are, eyes like bin lids, grabbing bushes, hanging on for dear life. There was a girl over there.” He pointed towards one of the dance tents, surrounded by crowds leaving and entering, carrying bottles of water. “Having a conversation with that bin, telling it her life story, where she’s from, asking it how she can get home. Poor love, I think she’s left some of her brain in the dance tent.” He stood, holding his arm out for me to help him stand. “Come on.”

  We weaved and dodged our way past the worst of the clubbing festival tragedies. Others who had been carried to the first aid area on stretchers, tongues hanging from their heads, eyes rolling back so only the whites showed. Some people had makeup running down their faces, plenty of tears. There was a woman drinking from a vodka bottle in a bedraggled wedding dress, pushing away a man on his knees. All of life as we knew it was here, with us, now, at this festival.

  We went on the slide together, at the top, the sun reflected on the silver metal of the slide. We jumped on our sacks and rushed to the bottom, the gentle undulation of the slide gave me a slightly sick feeling in my stomach.

  We jumped on the merry-go-round, picking horses next to one another, and laughing and shouting the whole way round, turning to see the messy people with their eyes practically falling out of their heads, tongues lolling about, as their horses bobbed up and down.

  I held onto my horse’s head, shiny light blue, with a yellow mane and leather-effect reins. I felt like a character in Mary Poppins, when she jumps into the chalk picture.

  As a treat for being so good and responsible, mainly, I bought us a gin and tonic each at one of the bar tents next to the dance tent. We sat in the bar, smoking in silence, enjoying the laughter and shouts of everyone around us.

  Tony flicked his fringe from his eyes. “One drink. You and one drink. You sure this is all you’re having?”

  I nodded, taking another small sip from the plastic glass, enjoying every bittersweet gin flavour as I swallowed it. “I’m on duty still. Can’t turn up in a worse state than some of the young people, what help to Bruce would I be then?”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.” He took a big gulp of his, then announced he was going back for another, and what did I want.

  “Tonic water.” I smiled, blinking my eyes at him quickly.

  “I’ll ask them to put a tiny gin in, for old time’s sake.” He walked away.

  “You will not. Or you’ll get me fired.” I took another tiny sip of my drink, watching Tony as he reached the front of the queue to ask for our drinks.

  He mimed a tiny amount by putting his thumb and forefinger together, then pointing to the glass.

  “Tonic water,” I shouted.

  He shrugged at the barman, who obliged.

  Tony handed my drink to me. “Tonic water. And me, asking for it. Whatever next.” He flicked his fringe from his eyes, licked his finger and smoothed his eyebrows.

  “It’s the new me. I’m post Millennium. I’m enacting the Plan 2000 Part Two. It’s all Ian. He’s given me a thirst for it. If I can do it when I’m performing, and I love that, it’s not like work by the way. Why would I fuck up this chance Bruce’s given me? Throwing it back in his face.”

  “Didn’t stop you fucking like a horny teenager in the woods though, did it?” He turned away, taking a big gulp of his gin and tonic.

  I could smell it, the bitter taste wafting over to me, as I looked at the bottom of my empty glass and compared it with the full glass of tonic in my other hand. “It was one blowjob. In the woods, well out of sight of everyone else. And I’ve not had a bit in months. It’s like the desert, barren. Deserted, even. Aren’t I allowed to scratch that itch when it comes? You can’t tell me you’ve never done that the same.”

  He handed me a cigarette, then lit his. “Fair point. Yes. But I didn’t do it when I was still on duty.”

  I crouched forward round his lighter, took a deep breath, inhaled the cigarette, then blew out a huge fan of smoke around us. “Fuck me, you can’t expect me to have a complete personality transplant. I am trying. I’m doing my best to behave. And Bruce knows what I’m like, he’s known me long enough. I’m not suddenly going to sprout angels’ wings, and become like… I dunno, Kieran.”

  “He’s hardly whiter than white, from what I’ve heard.”

  “But he’s not me though, is he? He’s not had sex in a park, in a festival, in the toilets of a pub if I remember rightly.” I shot Tony a look that said, don’t you dare.

  He said nothing, instead taking another sip of his drink and puff of his cigarette, blowing it in a huge column in front of his face.

  “Small steps, love. Small steps.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  BACK AT THE minibus, quarter of an hour before the
designated time, we counted the youths in. I stood with my clipboard and a list of names, ticking people in, then telling them to either stay in the minibus, or nearby, and not to run off. At the time of departure, we were still missing one, the young lad who was doing manicures on the stand, handing out his business cards—for a business he’d yet to set up, but anyway. Ross, he was called. Seventeen, full of promise, enthusiasm for life, and a pretty insatiable appetite for men that would have put me and Tony to shame at his age.

  I showed Bruce the list, pointing out who we were missing. “What do we do?” I looked at my watch.

  “Has he got a phone? Anyone got his number? Let’s try that first before we panic. I refuse to panic about it, just yet.”

  I announced Ross was missing and asked if anyone had seen him, and did any of them have his mobile number.

  There were a few shouts he’d been seen disappearing to the woods at the back of the field where the festival was held. Those woods, where I’d itched my scratch. And those woods, during a pride festival meant only one thing.

  “How many times?” I asked.

  “I saw him when we arrived, he went straight there. And later, when I’d got a burger for lunch, he was still hanging about,” a young lad shouted from the back, with a giggle at the end.

  I was far from in a giggling mood.

  The girl in the flowery dress and long blonde hair said, “He was there when I walked past at four-ish. Big smile on his face. Mud on his knees and T-shirt.”