#111d

♪♫ Buffalo gals can't you come out tonight, 
        come out tonight,
           come out tonight
      Buffalo gals can't you come out tonight,
          and dance to the light of the mooooooon ♪♫

That's what I heard at 6.02am when I turned the key in the lock and pushed the front door open. I found John in the living room singing away to his collector edition DVD of 'It's a Wonderful Life'. The only acknowledgement he gave my return was:
“Oh, so you're back then. Good, I've been busting for a shit all night!”

That was the last straw. He wanted the toilet, he could fucking have it. I spun him around, wheeled him off and emptied him out onto the bathroom floor like he was a wheelbarrow full of muck. “Stay in here with the rotting meat, because that's what you are, fuckin' ROTTEN!” Then I closed and locked the door from the outside. I needed rest and some proper thinking time.

John wasn't to be the only one locked in. Not knowing where Brian was, if he was even curled up naked somewhere in the apartment, I hit the bedroom and clipped the door closed behind me. Short of Death himself, no one was getting in here for a while. John could stew in his own excrement for as much as I cared.

I flopped down on the bed, not the floor, and shivered with delight as I sunk into the soft mattress. I had forgotten what it was like to sleep and not have ones back bone grate and hit against a hard floor. I popped a tranquilizer in my mouth, pulled a light sheet over my body and laid staring at the cracked paint on the ceiling. Gravity pulled at my face and the swelling and pain flared up again. I suppose I should have cried. It was now open warfare with the man I love, but there were just no tears to be had. Maybe later. Maybe when this is all over I will cry forever, but not now.

And then Morpheus came.
And the pain subsided.
And just for a moment he took me far, far away...

♪♫ Buffalo gals can't you come out tonight, 
        come out tonight,
           come out tonight
      Buffalo gals can't you come out tonight,
          and dance to the light of the mooooooon ♪♫

6 comments:

  1. I think it’s wonderful that Mrs Spencer asked no questions about your assailants, nor bothered to phone the police.

    No doubt, like any good mother, she is thinking:

    He will tell me when he is ready.

    I can think of no other reason for her actions…

    ReplyDelete
  2. MRS WINTHROPE, A PLEASURE. I'VE BEEN A FAN OF YOUR PARTICULAR KIND OF SERVICE TO THE LORD FOR MANY YEARS. SO I'LL TAKE THIS ONE MYSELF.

    QUESTION THE ASSAILANTS: WELL THE TRUTH IS, AND HARD TO ADMIT AS IT IS, THIS IS NOT THE FIRST TIME SOMETHING OF THIS NATURE HAS ARISEN. A FEW YEARS AGO THERE WAS AN INCIDENT AT A NIGHTCLUB WHERE TRISTRAM WAS FOUND UNCONSCIOUS IN OXFORD STREET WITH HIS PANTS AROUND HIS ANKLES AND COVERED IN SPERM. THEN THERE WERE NUEROUS DISCOVERIES I FOUND IN HIS WARDROBE AND WEIRD PORN CHUCKED AROUND HIS APARTMENT LIKE TABLOIDS! SO I'VE AN INFORMED FEELING THAT TRISTY WASN'T SO INNOCENT IN THIS SORDID AFFAIR, JUST THAT IT DIDN'T QUITE PAN OUT AS HE'D PLANNED. IT WAS EITHER GOING TO BE OR POOR BRIANS MOTHER FINDING THEIR SON IN THE YARD (NOTHING MORE THAN A HUMAN TOILET) I'M ACTUALLY QUITE THANKFUL IT WAS ME,

    POLICE: I THINK THE ABOVE ANSWERS THAT IN THE MAIN. AND GOD KNOWS IF BRIAN IS EVEN REALLY LEGAL MEAT! I MEAN ONE HEARS STORIES LIKE THIS ALL THE TME, 13 YEAR OLD BOYS WHO LOOK A LOT OLDER GETTING INTO SUCH AWFUL SITUATIONS. NO, I THINK IF I'D HAVE CALLED THE POLICE TRISTY MAY VERY WELL BE WRITING FROM A POLICE CELL AS WE SPEAK. PUT ON THE SEX OFFENDERS LIST AND HUNTED DOWN LIKE A WOUNDED GAZELLE

    AND I KNOW TRISTY WILL NEVER TELL ME ANYTHING, I GAVE UP ON THAT HOPE MANY YEARS AGO. ALL I CAN DO IS TRY TO PROTECT HIM WHEN HE DOES FALL FOUL OF CERTAIN ETHICS AND COMMANDMENTS. I CANNOT SAVE HIS SOUL BUT I CAN SAVE HIS LIFE FOR ANOTHER DAY AT LEAST. HE'S MY TICKET TO HELL, MRS WINTHROPE... AND THE BLAME IS NOT ALL TO HIM.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Well done misses Spencer! At leased sumwon is willing two speek the trueth around hear!

    Tristy, it woz just a gayme... ohkay, admitiddly it did ghet a little outta hand, butt it woz yew who thirst sirjested that wee kinda take fings two the necks level. Eye mean, yew didn't menshone that b4 yew, eye woz in the chair! how yew frettened two leave me there and knot remove m'eye cockring untill m'eye dick went gang-green and fell off!

    Abbeygale's write, yew r just a pissy little drahma qween!

    ReplyDelete
  4. ARISTOTLE, yeah I said IT! thats an outrageous lie! yeah you was in the chair for all of 3 seconds, but not on muy command and while you was there I didn't so much as fart in your diretion. No, is was all planned along tuime ago by you and John, probably all the escret tweeting in the yard that was going on. If you wanted to fuck y man, or more, have him fuck you there were easier ways to do it than that. And I'll tell you now: THINGS ARE CHANGING! Never again will you're crusty little mouth, ever breath in the air of MY apartment again. You're barred and if I ever wake to find you in their like on saturday, not only will you be out, but John will be to! So think of that.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Sow yew wozn't over John's ear, wisperring awe the nasty little eyedears your mined had cum up wiv? No? It wozn't yew who thirst sirjested john take a piss on yew, no? It wozn't yew who said: now your gonna bleed! Who wanted two handcuff me two the tayball and put m'eye face in? Cum on!

    And d'yew really fink it woz enyfing two do wiv sects? That John woz rocking a huge hard-on as we bashed the chips outta ya? ha. It woz revenge Tristy, revenge four passed sins. Sins that yew fink no-won nose about. Well, john nose... John nose evryfing.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Mrs Spencer. What you say makes sense and I do sympathize.

    I am great friends with many Catholic priests and bishops and we all know how important it is not to get the cops involved.

    We are cursed with deviant family. Pray with me now that they find a cure. (Though I realize this success would mean the Pope is out if a job).

    Brian the Postboy: you are beyond redemption.

    You are the Serpent in Tristram's Window Garden.

    ReplyDelete

 
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