very much. What a lovely hamster. Best Iâve seen. Is it time for you and him to go to bed? Oh, no, youâre quite right. You go to bed, but he wakes up. Thatâs how it works. Night-night, anyway. Sleep tight. Well done, Barney, Buster, Bobby.
He told me the hamsterâs name and not his own.
Well done, you.
Once heâd gone I was by myself.
The solitary solitary, there on the lookout for fun.
More likely to find a sea lion in the hummus.
So by myself and bored.
But itâs either that or I turn up on the doorstep with someone who isnât a date and then we spend our time explaining to couple after couple that weâre just in the same room at the same time â no special bond, no special anything â just pals â to be frank, weâre not even that â acquaintances â two people at loose ends simultaneously â although there was that kind of tension between us for a while â some years ago. And then it occurs to me, realisation seeping in, this might be the start of its resurrection â that particular discomfort might be resurrected â and Iâm anxious because I donât want it, but will also be disappointed when he doesnât try anything. I will begin to feel ugly, unsuccessful. Meanwhile, all those inquisitions and explanations have become a burden and itâs full night outside and I have decided I hate the man I came with. I will never see him again. He is a bastard. I wonât even share a cab home with him because we are practically strangers and I donât really live in the same part of town and why should I, if I donât want to â I am a free agent and can control what I do.
At least, those parts of my life which are my own â those I can control. Those parts concerning other people, they are more problematic.
For example, I would rather not have been the solitary at that party.
If Iâd had my own person there, someone I could have talked to, then weâd have hidden ourselves from the bowls of horrific salad and the nasty flans and weâd have chatted, maybe mentioned the hamster.
Yes, weâd have discussed the sensuality of hamsters and those rumours you always hear about film stars and gerbils. I donât see how that would be entertaining, trying to put a rodent in your anus, and surely the animal wouldnât cooperate. Or would you have it anaesthetised? Hypnotised? Trained? And youâd need a delivery system, some variety of piston, or at least a lubricated pipe. By the time youâd overcome the many challenges of insertion, would you still be aroused? Or are there people you can call whoâll perform gerbil installations â professional and quick?
Thank you for phoning. Saturday night is a busy time for us, but please do leave your number and weâll reach you as soon as we can.
Candles and music. By yourself, or with a loved one, and this man there in overalls, smoking a Woodbine for effect and fitting your gerbil. Shaking his head and removing his flat cap when he doesnât quite like what he sees.
Youâve had some right cowboys in here . . . Any chance of a cuppa once Iâm done?
Weâd have talked, my companion and I, about that â about the way people find curious joys, will let themselves be borne along in hopes of them.
My joys would not encompass an evening hemmed in by magnolia woodchip and the reek of discontent while watching a mouth that I havenât the energy to loathe as it puckers and slackens and moistens and grins and no doubt tells me unseductive things about
Fi-ren-ze
and
Tor-in-o
and I have to picture plague rats cantering round inside snow globes up his arse so that I donât hit him.
Thatâs what happens when Iâve no one to talk to.
I get annoyed.
Which is not relaxing.
But this is relaxing.
Should be relaxing.
I am here to relax.
Thread my hands in under the water and fold them smooth at the back of my neck,
He told me the hamsterâs name and not his own.
Well done, you.
Once heâd gone I was by myself.
The solitary solitary, there on the lookout for fun.
More likely to find a sea lion in the hummus.
So by myself and bored.
But itâs either that or I turn up on the doorstep with someone who isnât a date and then we spend our time explaining to couple after couple that weâre just in the same room at the same time â no special bond, no special anything â just pals â to be frank, weâre not even that â acquaintances â two people at loose ends simultaneously â although there was that kind of tension between us for a while â some years ago. And then it occurs to me, realisation seeping in, this might be the start of its resurrection â that particular discomfort might be resurrected â and Iâm anxious because I donât want it, but will also be disappointed when he doesnât try anything. I will begin to feel ugly, unsuccessful. Meanwhile, all those inquisitions and explanations have become a burden and itâs full night outside and I have decided I hate the man I came with. I will never see him again. He is a bastard. I wonât even share a cab home with him because we are practically strangers and I donât really live in the same part of town and why should I, if I donât want to â I am a free agent and can control what I do.
At least, those parts of my life which are my own â those I can control. Those parts concerning other people, they are more problematic.
For example, I would rather not have been the solitary at that party.
If Iâd had my own person there, someone I could have talked to, then weâd have hidden ourselves from the bowls of horrific salad and the nasty flans and weâd have chatted, maybe mentioned the hamster.
Yes, weâd have discussed the sensuality of hamsters and those rumours you always hear about film stars and gerbils. I donât see how that would be entertaining, trying to put a rodent in your anus, and surely the animal wouldnât cooperate. Or would you have it anaesthetised? Hypnotised? Trained? And youâd need a delivery system, some variety of piston, or at least a lubricated pipe. By the time youâd overcome the many challenges of insertion, would you still be aroused? Or are there people you can call whoâll perform gerbil installations â professional and quick?
Thank you for phoning. Saturday night is a busy time for us, but please do leave your number and weâll reach you as soon as we can.
Candles and music. By yourself, or with a loved one, and this man there in overalls, smoking a Woodbine for effect and fitting your gerbil. Shaking his head and removing his flat cap when he doesnât quite like what he sees.
Youâve had some right cowboys in here . . . Any chance of a cuppa once Iâm done?
Weâd have talked, my companion and I, about that â about the way people find curious joys, will let themselves be borne along in hopes of them.
My joys would not encompass an evening hemmed in by magnolia woodchip and the reek of discontent while watching a mouth that I havenât the energy to loathe as it puckers and slackens and moistens and grins and no doubt tells me unseductive things about
Fi-ren-ze
and
Tor-in-o
and I have to picture plague rats cantering round inside snow globes up his arse so that I donât hit him.
Thatâs what happens when Iâve no one to talk to.
I get annoyed.
Which is not relaxing.
But this is relaxing.
Should be relaxing.
I am here to relax.
Thread my hands in under the water and fold them smooth at the back of my neck,
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