Brian's becoming a major concern. This morning as he passed he actually stopped and looked over the gate into the yard and pulled a really strange face when he noticed the curtains hadn't been moved since last week. I'm starting to realise just how many things can lead to me getting caught and it's impossible to think of them all. The big fear is that my life ends up as one long routine to evade detection.

After Brian moved on I saw him stop again a little further down the street and ask the Garbo tranny from No.38 something – probably if he'd seen John. The Garbo tranny, who was standing outside in a cloche hat, 1930's trench coat and smoking from a long black cigarette holder, rolled his eyes and gave a camp flick of the hand, sending ash over his shoulder and brushing us off as insane. As Brian stole off to the right, the Garbo tranny turned to the left, whipped his cigarette holder out his mouth and blew a thin stream of smoke from a sexual looking opening between his lips. When he thought enough time had passed he turned back around and mischievously eyed Brian's behind, psychologically licking his lips as it became smaller and smaller in the distance.

I too watched Brian now. The melancholic way he finished his post round as if all the hope in the world was gone for another day. As he mooched across the road he gave one last longing look back and then was gone. It will almost certainly be that little shit who'll blow the whistle on me, alert the authorities to John's disappearance. Other than Verity (and she's now out the picture on that score) there really is no-one else. John's family? Ha, they couldn't give a toss. And anyhow, they've not had any contact with John for almost three years – since just after the funeral of his brother Luke.

Luke was as queer as a thatch cottage, so even before the death the family had slid all their hope stakes over to John. Imagine then how devastated they were when an unidentified relative reported back that he'd spotted John squeezing my groin and tonguing my ear outside 'Molly Moggs' in Soho. Well, he became an overnight outcast. Even worse, he also took on his parents frustrations for Luke's homosexuality and so become double the disappointment. In the space of a month the McManus family felt they had lost both their sons. The only family member John kept contact with was an uncle who owned an antique shop in Shropshire. Occasionally he'd send John money and a note, but even then John very rarely replied or sent a word of 'thanks' back. So, I'm quite certain that it'll be Brian who reports John's disappearance. I won't try to stop that, but I will prepare for it. I think the time has now come where I must get rid of the wheelchair and battery charger before it's too late. So tomorrow evening I will carry my plan through: dress up as John and drive the thing out of town and dump it somewhere. If it is found (which I suspect it will be) well, that won't be such a big deal. Maybe John dumped it himself? Found his legs again? It doesn't matter, it just cannot be found here, that's all.


  1. I feel a bit bad for Brian now, too. He's a little shit, but maybe he really did like John?

    Great, you humanize the lot of them now. Where am I to place my sympathies?

  2. Hiya Simon, it's more that the situation has humanized people, brought out their emotions whether it's loss, regret, want, longing, understanding, etc... and it's what really happens. There comes certain times in life where no matter who we are or how someone is perceived that their base human emotions will come out. I'm sure Brian really does feel he's lost something, that maybe there was something about the less explicit innocence of his relation with John which he cannot find in the dark corners of sex clubs. And of course in Tristrams journal Brin is a monster because Tristram feels he had a lot to play in the absolute breakdown of the relationshp, but maybe in John's journal Brian is an angel. History is very subjective, and the way people are painted into it also. Who really knows what Brian is??? Or Tristy? or John??? But I'm sure they all hurt and feel and can be hurt. X

  3. Found that pig farm yet? She is going to play with you: you are now her
    personal marionette. I hope you enjoy bondage, because the strings are
    going to get shorter and tighter as time goes on. The bitch has got to

    Awesome story. =]

  4. Gurney, thanks for continuing to read. Pig farm... no, I'm no Bricktop (though our hairstyles are a little similar.)
    Verity, yes, she'll be a source of worry for sure but I believe in her as an integral and honest person and see no reason why she'd play games. If I could have kept my wrong-doing to myself I would have, but it wasn't possible - I had to unburden myself. If thre are future consequences to pay, then so be it.... X

  5. Dear Tristram,
    Having carefully considered your potent doom, I feel this quote belongs with you. I found it one night at the library.
    'One stroke on canvas can create a masterpiece. He who opens his eyes will c it'- A.H. (I think that's an 'a' but it could be a 'd' )

  6. God, so it was either Adolf Hitler or David Hasselhoff... I'm fucked!!! X

  7. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mo8Qls0HnWo

    hopefully it's a 'd'. Then again that could also mean DOOM.


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