week.’
‘Yes,
you’re all loaded,’ said Molly, enviously. ‘You’re never seen in the same
cap-sleeved T-shirt twice.’
‘None
of that’s true!’ Simon sounded agitated. ‘I’m not out every night to interact
with our gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender brothers and sisters. I’m out
every night because I’m a sex maniac.’
‘Always
out on the sniff,’ said Molly.
‘It
rules my life.’
‘I know
it does. From an outsider’s point of view it seems like torture.’
Simon
sighed. ‘I’m so glad. It would be awful if no one noticed how much I suffer.’
Even
through his jacket Molly felt Simon’s shoulder muscle tighten. She lifted her
head and peered at her friend. Simon, nostrils flared, was staring with the
intensity of a gun dog towards a shadowy area under the bridge. ‘What is it?’
she asked.
‘A man!’
said Simon, incredulously, as if this were an endangered species. ‘Tracksuit
bottoms, a tattoo on his neck and he seems a bit drunk.’
‘Oh,
Lord, no,’ said Molly, wearily. ‘Not at this time of night, surely?’
‘I’m
going over to investigate,’ announced Simon, resolutely, never taking his eyes
from the target. ‘You stay here.’
‘Simon!’
said Molly, indignantly. ‘It’s half past three in the morning! You can’t leave
me here. It’s not safe.’
‘I’ll
only be a few yards away,’ said Simon, over his shoulder, by this time already
several steps from her.
‘Simon,
no!’ shouted Molly, but he carried on, disappearing into the shadows under the
bridge.
The morning sunlight came
streaming in through the faded cotton curtains of Molly’s bedroom in Kit-Kat
Cottage. She had slept comfortably and woken up happy, until she remembered her
conversation with Simon the night before. She’d been shocked and hurt when he’d
hung up on her. He must have been drunk, she thought, or well on his way to
getting there. He was such a worry. She’d seen his drinking getting heavier and
heavier over the years, but she was convinced it was entirely because of his
consistently tragic love life. They were so close that it made her almost as
miserable as it made him.
If only
Simon could restrict himself, as Molly knew some gay men did, to furtive,
fleeting encounters with these allegedly heterosexual alpha males, it would be
all right. But in the years Molly had known him, Simon had got himself into a
repetitive cycle of intense excitement followed all too swiftly by wrist-slashing
misery. Now she dreaded hearing about his latest love because she knew for sure
exactly where it would lead. She knew that she’d got over-involved with
relationships herself in the past, and been depressed when things didn’t work
out, but at least her affairs of the heart were in with a chance. Simon only
lusted after the unattainable. If, as had happened once, the man of his dreams
fell for Simon too, and decided to give up his ‘straight’ ways and embrace a
committed relationship, then Simon, of course, went off him instantly. The men
he desired had to be straight and be seen to be straight. A wedding ring was a
particular turn-on, a child seat in the car a plus. A sniff of homophobia in
the mix and Simon was in heaven.
Quite how
it all worked — how Simon managed to get into these men’s trousers — was a grey
area. As far as Molly knew, there were two methods of attack. Sometimes Simon
would target a particular man, slowly but surely seducing him, igniting his
curiosity, then pouncing once the grooming process was complete and sufficient
alcohol had been administered. The other, less time-consuming option seemed to
involve relieving men already in a state of some arousal, be it in cinemas,
saunas, toilets or parks, the any-port-in-a-storm scenario. Darkness seemed to
help things along.
In
either case the outcome was always doomed. Love could not flourish in such
circumstances. Simon was aware of this. As he had told her himself, with
infinite sadness
‘Yes,
you’re all loaded,’ said Molly, enviously. ‘You’re never seen in the same
cap-sleeved T-shirt twice.’
‘None
of that’s true!’ Simon sounded agitated. ‘I’m not out every night to interact
with our gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgender brothers and sisters. I’m out
every night because I’m a sex maniac.’
‘Always
out on the sniff,’ said Molly.
‘It
rules my life.’
‘I know
it does. From an outsider’s point of view it seems like torture.’
Simon
sighed. ‘I’m so glad. It would be awful if no one noticed how much I suffer.’
Even
through his jacket Molly felt Simon’s shoulder muscle tighten. She lifted her
head and peered at her friend. Simon, nostrils flared, was staring with the
intensity of a gun dog towards a shadowy area under the bridge. ‘What is it?’
she asked.
‘A man!’
said Simon, incredulously, as if this were an endangered species. ‘Tracksuit
bottoms, a tattoo on his neck and he seems a bit drunk.’
‘Oh,
Lord, no,’ said Molly, wearily. ‘Not at this time of night, surely?’
‘I’m
going over to investigate,’ announced Simon, resolutely, never taking his eyes
from the target. ‘You stay here.’
‘Simon!’
said Molly, indignantly. ‘It’s half past three in the morning! You can’t leave
me here. It’s not safe.’
‘I’ll
only be a few yards away,’ said Simon, over his shoulder, by this time already
several steps from her.
‘Simon,
no!’ shouted Molly, but he carried on, disappearing into the shadows under the
bridge.
The morning sunlight came
streaming in through the faded cotton curtains of Molly’s bedroom in Kit-Kat
Cottage. She had slept comfortably and woken up happy, until she remembered her
conversation with Simon the night before. She’d been shocked and hurt when he’d
hung up on her. He must have been drunk, she thought, or well on his way to
getting there. He was such a worry. She’d seen his drinking getting heavier and
heavier over the years, but she was convinced it was entirely because of his
consistently tragic love life. They were so close that it made her almost as
miserable as it made him.
If only
Simon could restrict himself, as Molly knew some gay men did, to furtive,
fleeting encounters with these allegedly heterosexual alpha males, it would be
all right. But in the years Molly had known him, Simon had got himself into a
repetitive cycle of intense excitement followed all too swiftly by wrist-slashing
misery. Now she dreaded hearing about his latest love because she knew for sure
exactly where it would lead. She knew that she’d got over-involved with
relationships herself in the past, and been depressed when things didn’t work
out, but at least her affairs of the heart were in with a chance. Simon only
lusted after the unattainable. If, as had happened once, the man of his dreams
fell for Simon too, and decided to give up his ‘straight’ ways and embrace a
committed relationship, then Simon, of course, went off him instantly. The men
he desired had to be straight and be seen to be straight. A wedding ring was a
particular turn-on, a child seat in the car a plus. A sniff of homophobia in
the mix and Simon was in heaven.
Quite how
it all worked — how Simon managed to get into these men’s trousers — was a grey
area. As far as Molly knew, there were two methods of attack. Sometimes Simon
would target a particular man, slowly but surely seducing him, igniting his
curiosity, then pouncing once the grooming process was complete and sufficient
alcohol had been administered. The other, less time-consuming option seemed to
involve relieving men already in a state of some arousal, be it in cinemas,
saunas, toilets or parks, the any-port-in-a-storm scenario. Darkness seemed to
help things along.
In
either case the outcome was always doomed. Love could not flourish in such
circumstances. Simon was aware of this. As he had told her himself, with
infinite sadness
Similar Books
