#80

“John, what's going on with the postboy?”
“In what way, Sweets?”
“In the way that didn't you find his behaviour just a tad odd? Like he kind of knew you?”
“Well he does know me, he said so himself, darling”
“That's not what I mean. It was more than that and you know it .. So, d'you feel like telling?
“There's nothing to tell, not really Love. Just we chatted once, a week or so ago. He was doing his afternoon round and I had wheeled myself out front for some air.”
“And where was I?”
“You was either on the toilet talking to your mother or round the back pruning the Dracaena.”
“And what did you speak about?”
“Oh, this and that... you know..”
“Sex... did you speak of sex?”
“Tristy, how would a five minute conversation turn to sex? And you know my cock is pulled up lame at the moment, you know that!Really! You've gotta curb this jealous streak of yours, it's a mental illness with you and so detrimental to my recovery. But, as we're speaking - me sensibly - there is something...”
“What? what is there? Oh no...”
“From tomorrow, and every weekday forthwith, I'd like you to have me up, dressed and sat outside so I can catch Brian on his morning delivery. But don't get excited, it's just someone to chat to, you know, stem the loneliness. Apart from you I've no-one and sometimes I need to talk too!”
“You must be joking! John! How could you even ask such a thing? If he wasn't as queer as Hitlers famous bollock, maybe, but no chance. That'd be like booking Jack the Ripper into a brothel. No, I won't do it! I won't!”
“Then I'll do it myself! Even if it means tumbling off the bed, slithering across the floor and heaving myself up into the chair, NAKED! But I will not let you control my life by manipulating my disability. You've a very cruel streak running through you Mr Spencer. I've witnessed that quite a bit recently. It's like the mould in a lump of blue cheese. You should be very careful about that.”
“If you can indeed get up and out, all by yourself, then do so, but I will have no part of it. I will not stop you, I will not block you, but I will not help you. What you're asking is awful... Just plain awful.”

John wrapped the conversation up with a flurry of “fucks” a mumbled “cunt” and an inner smile so wide he looked like he had a bone in his mouth. Knowing me as he does, my puny moral resolve and my fondness for absolute and utter humiliation, he lay back in the cool of the fan and chalked another victory down to himself.