Diary of a Gay Thirty Something

By Sean Cockwell

Have you ever come across someone else's diary and fancied having a quick read but didn't because you couldn't face feeling guilty about it?  Well now you can!  Guilt-free!  Welcome to Diary of a Gay Thirty Something.

Meet Johnny Rogers, a soon-to-be single man looking to find new love in the battlefield of gay chatsites, pubs and clubs.  Read about his 'encounters', set against a background of impending redundancy.

Be taken in by a person you can't help but like, a carefree spirit whose heart - if not his todger - is always in the right place.

It's a story about looking for that one true love, a story people of all sexual persuasions will find something they can relate to.  Enjoy!

The diary is written in a way so that it lives and breathes like one a close friend may have written, including spelling and errors in grammar to help make it feel more 'real'
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean Cockwell
• Release date: Feb 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386356035

Sean Cockwell

Film critic for www.mybloodyreviews.com dabbling with doing something a little bit different within a conventional format.

Book preview

JANUARY

A New beginning with some endings...

Thursday 1st January

I slept in. So did Reggie. The argument from the night before was still playing in my head. There was more of a hangover from the argument than my genuine hangover. Reggie got up early and stomped around our room making sure there was no rest for me.

As arranged we were at my Dad's last night having dinner. The evening was going well, it looked like Reggie might just be sober enough to see the New Year in when he just decided to just get up and walk out.

His behaviour has been increasingly odd of late and I'm not sure how much more I can cope with. I told myself when we started going out together that if he played up not to hang around but here we are, three years on and I'm STILL putting up with his ways.

When I returned home last night Reggie had decided he was going to sleep in his own room upstairs from mine in the shared house we live in. I was happy for this. What I wasn’t happy with was how drunk he was and that he walked out from my Dad's leaving me to apologise on his behalf. I couldn’t believe that on returning home I had to tolerate Reggie standing there in front of me talking crap, calling me a cunt and the suchlike.

I didn’t mean to do it but in anger I pushed him, and there was a look of complete shock and surprise. There was also fear showing on his face as he moved backwards from my shoving. I didn’t like having to do that and I hated being in that position, it is so out of character for me.

Today's shaping up to be a miserable day. I think I will focus on what my New Year's Resolutions will be.

Back again, Reggie has gone all meek now, as per usual. He can’t do enough for me, like he’s finally sussed that he has done wrong. I’m going to milk it. He's downstairs cooking dinner for me at the moment and tells me that we can watch what I want to watch tonight - nice!

Friday 2nd January

As if my year hadn’t gotten off to a bad start already, today I awoke to a phone call from my Dad advising me that his Dad, my Grandad, had passed away last evening.

I relayed the news to Reggie calmly but found as I left the house and walked down to get my bus into work this morning that my bottom lip went and tears rolled down my cheeks.

I was grateful that my Grandad was no longer suffering from the cancer and felt dreadfully conscious that I had not seen him leading up to his final days.

I shy away from death. It's not something I find easy to embrace even if during my grumpier moments I find myself rather stupidly wishing it on people that have irked me.

I found myself trawling up memories such as my Grandad always walking me home on a Friday night after I had again tormented my Nan with another gruesome horror movie.

I used to tell him that it should be ME walking HIM home rather than the other way round. I’m fifty years his junior so who's more likely to be a victim of an attack at night on such a rough estate as theirs?

I also remembered telling Grandad when I was much younger that he was fat. I did it to win favour with my Aunt Sue and Uncle Robert. How silly do I feel now looking back on it?

I recalled too how he would buy my brother and I those Figurine Panini stickers and get a huge amount of joy watching us open the packets and peel away the backs before placing them carefully in our sticker books.

He also loved to watch the babes of the family on Xmas Day come round to his home and hand out presents to us all.

My Grandad walked everywhere and he had a strong face, a strong personality.

Whenever he talked about the Second World War, during which he served in Burma and Singapore, he never talked much about the fighting. Instead he talked more about the silly bickering that went on among the ranks rather than anything that involved firing a gun. His favourite story would be the one detailing swimming in a river there and coming out covered in leeches.

Talk to my Dad about his father and the emotion is different. There is of course that unconditional love but my Dad and his brothers and sisters think nothing of calling their Dad a bastard and all vowed to be a better parent to their own kids.

My Grandad told me that working for a bank I would have a job for life. He used to love meeting me in the bank restaurant with my cousin Laura for some posh nosh. He would glow with pride that two of his grandchildren had achieved such roles within such an organisation. But here I was heavy with heart walking into an organisation that I knew no longer offered the security my Grandad so believed was there.

Work was OK. No one seemed pleased to have to come in for just a Friday and no one seemed to be doing anything. I enjoyed this quiet time as it allowed me the opportunity to get ready for the forthcoming year end accounts so when the shit did hit the fan I didn’t get as messy as the rest.

Saturday 3rd January

I woke late which was surprising given that as usual Reggie had the TV on in our room and not at what one might call a comfortable volume either. I did think about saying something about this but thought better of it. I did tell him that my Dad still has no idea that we are partners or that I am gay. Reggie told me I was a coward still content to live in the closet.

I protested that all my friends know it's just close family I’ve yet to tell. Dad says that Nan has taken Grandad’s death hard. This I found surprising as while they may have been married for years, and I mean years, they were never to be found in the same room as each other so I had assumed that they didn’t get on. My Grandad would always be in the front room, TV remote in hand, always sat in the same chair. My Nan, however, would never venture far from the kitchen. She had her own TV there and saw the room as her post for welcoming guests through the open door, while my Grandad thought long and hard about doing same. Still I do feel for Nan as, regardless of what she may have thought of Grandad while he was alive, that is a long time to be with someone. If he provided her with little else he was always there as company.

Tonight at the Lighthouse a customer phoned in and asked if the original lead actor, who passed away after the brochure went to press, would still be appearing. I told her 'possibly, but they won’t be active, we may just prop them up at the side of the stage or something.' She didn’t see the funny side of it. I expect there being a bollocking for this when I’m next in.

Back home Reggie complained that all he ever sees is the back of me as I perch at the PC working on my reviews. When does the stupid bugger expect me to do my writing? I can hardly do so at either of my two jobs now can I? And it’s not like I’m him, just lounging around at home pretending to find work. Where else in the house can I do my writing?

It's a shared house! I’d only have one of the other two housemates gabbling to me when I’m writing and the last thing I want to do is have to listen to that fat cunt Aziz.

Sunday 4th January

I asked Reggie if he would like to come up and see my Mum with me. He did the usual, said that he felt under the weather, so there were no surprises there. I’ve never known a person so keen to stay in all the time.

Mum was OK. Although her and my father have been separated for some time now she still visited my Dad’s parents on a regular basis to see how they were. She will be attending the funeral this week as will my sister Louise. Louise maybe in her twenties now but I still see her as my baby sister. I still see her as this little bundle of joy that was brought home when I was in my final year of school and more so given her condition of having cerebral palsy. I give her credit for working as a cashier at Sainsbury’s as it can’t be easy with one arm not as well performing as the other. I still feel protective of her and wonder what life will hold and am conscious, more so following recent events, that I will leave this mortal coil before her and hating the idea of leaving her in this world alone.

Back home the evening started off as just a quiet one although soon Reggie was tucking into the wine again and sensing his mood changing with each glass, I too started drinking. It goes without saying that another rather stupid argument followed which led to us both going to bed and not talking to each other.

Monday 5th January

After the emotional upset of having someone close pass away and the continuing drinking and arguing with Reggie I phoned in sick today. My boss Craig responded with a non-committal tone that said he knew I was pulling a sick day. It was needed nonetheless and, as we know, I may not have a full-time job come the end of the year so does me calling in sick matter?

Given the constant squabbling between Reggie and me, it came as some relief when he mentioned that he would be popping into town to sort out a job. He had been out sometime I received the most unexpected phone call. It was Bournemouth Crown Court advising me that Reggie had asked that they call me and say to me how sorry he was but he has been sentenced to six weeks in prison. I put the phone down.

My whole body turned to jelly and if you could indeed feel yourself change colour then I did. I was numb. I did not know what to do. As I do normally when someone traumatic and unexpected turns up in my life my mind starting working out what my alternatives were.

I put myself in Reggie's position and considered it best to remain committed to him in any correspondence during his time in there otherwise make his horrible position much worse. I had images of him frightened and shaking as he was led down, of him alone in that place.

At the same time I was very keen to know what on Earth he had done to end in jail. With Reggie, there's what he says and there's what there is. Would I ever get a straight answer from him? I didn’t think I would.

I phoned Craig at work, I didn’t know who else to call, and did I want the family or any friends knowing? I thought not. Craig was neutral and the shock of all this meant that I had to take stock. I hadn’t said anything out loud since receiving the call and this was the first time my lips had been called into action. I’m ashamed to say that I sobbed into the phone, gasping my words out to Craig as I struggled to control the emotions surging through my body. Craig told me that he would arrange special leave for me so I could find my feet again.

I also called my friend Harry and he was over pretty much straight away. As I talked to Harry I found myself no longer shaking and the upset turning to anger.

As Harry and I talked, the phone rang. It was Reggie. Straight away I asked him was what I was to tell the landlady about his absence. This threw Reggie, I was being practical, and he was looking to be emotional.

Although the phone call was short it gave me some peace of mind. However despite my anger, as I lay down to sleep that night, I couldn’t help sobbing at the thought of someone I knew being stuck in such a horrid place.

Tuesday 6th January

So here I am back in the office, Craig had a little chat with me to make sure that I was feeling OK given my recent bereavement and Reggie’s jail sentence. As always his chat was just so mechanical. He doesn’t mean any of this stuff; he does it just to tick off a little box on his ‘Things to Do’ list. He then uses this as evidence in performance reviews to show his immediate boss as to just what a caring colleague he is. Effectively he is making all the right moves to accelerate up the career ladder.

And I just loathe the way that Mike comes and plonks himself on Craig’s desk and talks ‘gym’ with him opposite me. I’m not great in the shape department, there IS a reason I’m called a bear on the gay circuit, but JEEEESUS! Craig is in terrific shape; I mean you only had to see him as a caveman at last year’s Christmas party just to get an idea of how perfect his figure was but Mike! No way! He talks about the exercises he does as if going to the gym once a week has given him the same figure as Craig. I don’t think so. Craig humours him the best that he can.

Mike just doesn’t know when to quit on a conversation. It can be painful watching him blather on when you can see the other person isn’t that interested at all.

It's the same when he lurks around women in the office. He has this habit of warming to women that are already partnered and it has become a standard joke in the office. Once one of the team spots him doing it we all stop work for a moment to watch and snigger as he tries his utmost to be the kind of fun guy he has no frigging chance of being. He makes me sick.

With the heat rising between Reggie and me, and wanting to talk to them about where he is now and how it has affected me, it made sense to finally TELL the family that I am gay. Perhaps then they would understand then why there has been so much tension between Reggie and me and that we are in fact not just friends but a couple.

All my friends have been told, but then I felt it better they knew as they were more likely to socialise with me and see me flirting with guys. I thought through how to do it. I knew I would have to tell all of my family at the same time and tomorrow’s funeral service would not be the best place. If I were to arrange a time to have them all in the same room I imagine that they would start imagining the worst case scenarios and I didn’t want that either.

There was no other way. I sent them a detailed text about how not only was I gay but that I was also seeing Reggie. I sent it and then sat and awaited the response.

Oddly none responded by phoning, they all texted back instead. My other sister Liz, along with her husband Nigel, told me that they had always known I was gay and had no issue with it. In fact they are both chuffed to bits that I have proved to be such a great uncle to their children. They added that they love me for just being me. I started sobbing reading that last part.

Then came one from Mum and Louise, as always typed by Louise and sent on her phone, and they were fine with it too, they also said they knew.

I didn’t hear from my brother Blake till much later and again he knew and was cool. I didn’t get a response from Dad and in not doing so, a cloud started to hang over the family gathering tomorrow.

Wednesday 7th January

This was a day I was not looking forward to. My grandfather's funeral. I was up early and showered and dressed in time for Liz and Nigel to pick me up. We dropped their little George off to be babysat and drove to Gravel Hill for the funeral. The day was sunny, which seemed inappropriate for the circumstances.

As we approached the funeral home I got to thinking of my Mum's mother’s passing back in 1977. Back then I lived on a council estate, which had a reputation for being rough although I didn’t know this at the time, and my Nan had suffered a stroke.

I loved my Nan loads and she loved her grandkids loads too. My cousin Michelle and I always received more special attention from her than the rest. She couldn’t get enough of us. I have never met a woman as warm and caring as she.

When it was explained to me that I was never going to see my Nan again I sobbed. And I mean I sobbed. We are not talking a quick burst of tears and a curled lip as most youngsters do, I had the works, and I had snot running down my face, the works.

I sobbed so much as I walked to my Mum's friend, who was looking after us during the funeral service, with my younger brother Blake that none of the area's bullies went near me. In fact it's almost as if they recognised what that gut-wrenching sound was coming out of me and held back on their usual impulses as I held Blake's hand all the way to the back of the estate.

My Mum's friend Bridget was beside herself when she saw what a state I was in, she didn’t know what to do. I don’t think I stopped crying for a week.

On returning to school I told my form teacher Mrs Shiner as I entered the classroom that I had lost my Nan that Xmas and for once she wasn’t her usual loud self. Instead I saw a glimmer of compassion; somehow she felt my pain.

I still miss my Nan dearly. There is a photo of me as a baby being held by her and I wish my later siblings hadn’t scribbled all over it as it was one I considered precious.

So upset was I when my Nan died that some years later when I was at my final school my Mum was unsure whether to tell me that my Great Nan on my Dad's side had died. Oddly there were no tears but then the bond wasn’t as it was with my Nan. I think this took my Mum by surprise. It did me too.

However years later as I stood in the funeral home listening to the priest talk about my Grandfather I got to wondering how I would react, I did my best not to go to funerals for such a reason. Grief is very personal. I wanted to be alone however as eldest grandchild I felt it right to attend.

I found no tears and instead took to making my younger sister Louise smile in an effort to curb her tears. After the event we moved on to the Branksome Conservative House or The Monkey House as the locals call it, for the wake.

By now we had picked up the wonderful George and it brightened my mood considerably to watch the little monkey take food from my plate and motion for some of my fizzy drink.

My cousin Kerry was dressed up like it was frigging Ladies Day at Ascot with a big hat on that she would smile at people from beneath as if this was the suitable clothes for such an event. Her brother Brian was not allowed to attend after pissing off my Dad, his brothers and sisters by insisting that he was close enough to Grandad that he sit in the head car.

The drinks were cheap in the club and I could see now why my elders visited it. It wasn’t for the decor that's for sure - cigarette-stained yellow wallpaper pulling away from the walls.

I did my best not to get drunk and strive to live life more. Looking at George and seeing a coffin with my Grandfather placed within showed me how fragile and fleeting our existence is.

I need to make changes to my life badly; otherwise I’m going to end as a nobody. I’ve always wanted to be somebody and now’s the time to start making moves to do so.

Thursday 8th January

I received a letter today from Reggie. He asked me not to visit him in Dorchester Prison nor tell the landlady or anyone elsewhere he was. I was at a loss to what I am supposed to tell anyone that does ask. Never mind. It appears that before my meeting and dating with Reggie that he had stolen money from a bakery at which he worked. He had failed to make a few court appearances prior. Because of this, rather than give him a slap on the wrist, which is what Reggie was expecting, they sentenced him to a short prison term to teach him a lesson. It looks like he may be relocated to a ‘softer’ prison, given that he hadn’t hurt anyone physically as part of his crime. It's funny; I did wonder how someone working in a bakery could have earned so much money!

This morning I had to speak to Aziz about a little matter of personal hygiene. It appears that she thinks nothing of letting her monthly female ‘bleeding’ drip on to the bath mat and leaving it there. On speaking to her, she immediately got defensive saying that I was only picking on her because of her colour. I told her it had fuck all to do with that, she was just a sloppy cunt (literally!) when it came to plugging her hole.

I received a phone call from my landlady Lisa later in the day saying that Aziz was upset that I had picked her up for leaving fanny blood on the bath mat. She laughed and agreed with me that Aziz is a stupid bitch, but did say that Aziz was threatening to go the Embassy as she considered it an attack against her race. Lisa told her to do just that. Aziz then backed off.

I forgot to say that yesterday Dad told me that he was cool with my news about being gay and wasn’t being neglectful when he hadn’t sent a text. I take some small comfort from that.

After working at the Bank I returned home and to my room alone thinking ‘fuck it’, if Reggie can piss about and not be honest with me then I’m going to have a few secrets of my own too. I headed online and logged onto Gaydar and made my presence known in the Bournemouth Cruising Room.

I always find it funny how in the Gaydar Cruising Rooms how many people place a yawn emoticon after someone types in that they are looking for a meet. That’s why it’s the cruising room you knobs, to cruise! If you wanna frigging chat, go in the chat room rather than the frigging cruising room.

Anyhow a guy with the username BmthBarry latched on to me. He had been making conversation with me since I had logged on to Gaydar sometime ago. I found him kind of cute but got the impression he was a bit of a bike in the gay community. He didn’t strike me as camp – a definite no for me - and looked nice and cuddly. He told me his address and over I went.

I hadn’t slept with or been naked with anyone else except Reggie since we started courting three years ago, I did wonder how I may appeal to someone else given I had no photos on my profile. He lives in a nice part of Bournemouth but up too many stairs for my liking. Anyhow we drank wine - he has a cat, I HATE cats! What if the disgusting creature tried to lick my balls during the night – and he told me that he never sleeps with anyone unless he considers them boyfriend material. He asked for me to stay over. I took it that he considered me boyfriend material!

As we got undressed for bed there was no build up, any foreplay, no taking each other’s clothes off, nothing. It didn’t get much better in bed either. On kissing him I was told I was too rough. If there is anything I am not it is too rough when it comes to kissing. I am gentle and considered when it comes to kissing; I enjoy it too much to be full-on. I think it was his unsubtle way of telling me there was to be no kissing.

Barry took poppers, I didn’t. As I snuggled up behind Barry I had the odd feeling that I was inside him. I have tended in the past not to fuck people, especially not bareback, but here I was having the queasiest sensation that I had penetrated him with no effort at all. ‘Am I inside you?’ I asked. ‘Ruin the frigging moment why don’t you!’ Barry grunted back. I took it I was. I came inside him and sleep soon followed.

Friday 9th January

Barry was polite in the morning. He made no effort to rush me and I was still bouncing from the notion that I had a possible new boyfriend, someone who works and someone whom I could believe in every word they say.

After I had showered, Barry drove me home in good time to get changed for work. We said our goodbyes and I later went into work all smiley-faced at the notion that I did indeed have something outside the chaos Reggie creates to look forward to.

At work Mike spent most of his time making personal and lengthy phone calls. I find it difficult to get my head round why Craig says nothing to him about this especially when Mike is so loud and so blatant about what he is doing.

It appears some furniture Mike has ordered has still yet to turn up at his flat. From the start of the call there is nothing pleasant about Mike’s manner. He is in the recipient’s face from the off. I’ve had customers treat me like this at the Lighthouse, and while Mike has every reason to be angry, is there any point in being so? Especially with someone on the other end of the phone whose eventual aim is to look into your matter and sort it out for you?

As expected the person on the receiving end of Mike’s tirade handed the call over to someone more senior, a move which exasperated Mike no end as he had to repeat everything he had just said. Mike is like a chameleon in that he changes colour, rather than do so to adapt to his environment, Mike goes through various stages of the colour red, starting with a slightly red and blotchy face, right up to crimson. We were at the crimson phase.

What I detest the most about this carry on is that Mike seems to think that we are all on his side. He aims his call at you too by looking fixed in your direction, hoping you’ll look up and maybe go over and sort his personal crisis out for him before he starts crying. Craig just looks over at me and laughs.

I should do the same I suppose rather than let it wind me up. At the end of these lengthy calls Mike slams the phone down and stomps down the length of desk to sit and tell Craig what had happened. He would rant and rave about the matter for another half-hour or so. Like anyone gives a frigging shit. Arsehole!

Anyhow that evening I stayed in Poole as I was meeting my friend Chris, who escaped the Bank many moons ago now, for a concert at the Lighthouse in just an hour or so.

Chris couldn’t find anyone to keep her company for Gilbert O'Sullivan. Although I had sat, or rather stood, through one his concerts before, I was confident that if I were buoyed up with enough drink I would make it through another show.

Last time we saw him was at the more intimate location of Mr Kyps. The set and lighting was slight. Every now and again an orange light would beam through Mr O'Sullivan's generous curls making him look like a craggy Ronald McDonald. Watching the show just made me hungry for some fries and a Big Mac.

This time the show was at my beloved Lighthouse, a much larger setting. Given that I work there I had the choice of seats early on and went for the row with the most legroom. This allowed me the opportunity to get up and out of the setting as often as I wanted to do for drinks - which I did.

Chris didn’t mind, she was happy of the company. Also, being in the know, I tipped Chris off that he would be doing a signing after. She turned up with good condition vinyl recordings to present to the man after.

It took a good fricking hour before the queue went down and Chris and I were in line to see him. As Chris handed over her vinyl, bordering on awestruck, she told Gilbert that she was a fan of his when she was still at school. Without so much as a thought he answered back, 'Well, that must have been a long-time ago.'

And that was that, an hour of queuing for a backhanded compliment.

Chris was so in the moment I don’t think she fully registered what had just been said to her. I took great delight in reminding her about it as we headed for the car, and then in the car, and again as I got out of the car.

Saturday 10th January

With Reggie still tucked up in jail I took the opportunity to FINALLY get round to seeing Sophie and Bill's new baby, whose name is Howard (which was confirmed to me after I irked Bill by asking how Harry was). I caught the train down to Weymouth and Bill picked me up from outside the station. I could never really figure Bill. We got on really well when he was courting Sophie and he was looking to get on with her family and friends but after the wedding he cooled off towards me.

As a consequence, sat in the car with him, I find myself fumbling as to what to say, feeling I am being judged unfairly but have no idea why. Still the day was nice and sunny so we took to walking their new babe in the pushchair around the quite extensive grounds of the building they live. As Bill talked he mentioned that he felt the loose stones on the path around their premises helped gently jog their young one to sleep.

As is the case, when I don’t know what to say, I do my usual nervous laugh. I then hear Bill say rather exasperatedly to Sophie, 'He's doing it again Sophie, he's laughing at me.' It takes awhile for his words to register and as I do I look at Sophie and she says, 'Oh, It's just Johnny's little way.' But the damage is done. I wasn’t laughing at him. It was nerves. I hate being misunderstood and it tears me apart inside to think that this is why there has perhaps been a distance between Bill and myself since the wedding.

I really needed their support following what had happened with Reggie. Sophie is not only my longest-term friend but also a cop. She would know about the conditions Reggie would be facing in jail. However now I felt I could not bring the matter up. I did what I normally do when feeling threatened or under attack, I went into my shell.

Back in Poole I worked at the Lighthouse. We had a retrospective of Mike Leigh’s work showing. I like Mike Leigh’s work. I feel his better pieces to be Secrets & Lies and Life is Sweet and considering I am not a fan of actor Timothy Spall and his being in both, that’s no mean feat.

Anyhow my work colleague Cathy fielded a call regarding Leigh’s tear jerking Vera Drake. When asked what it was about rather than ask me, given my expansive film knowledge, she asked quickly out in the back office before returning to the phone caller and announcing ‘It’s about abortion.’ The caller, not surprising remained unsold on the picture.

I finished the day enjoying a couple of pints with my housemate Martin and his girlfriend Charlotte.

Sunday 11th January

I just had to get out of the house today. 'Joe' was online and was home alone, his partner working out of the area for the next week or so.

'Joe' liked to talk up scenarios for our possible ‘meets’ as we would chat online. He liked the idea of me turning up naked at his house (not going to happen) and when there, that another person walks in and finds me sat there in the altogether and have sex while 'Joe' looks on.

I’ve never been watched having sex and I must admit it did appeal to me but that was as far as I was going to take that idea. I was only going to talk about and enjoy the thrill of thinking about it.

'Joe' and I have met before and while he claims not to be into the sex act of shagging he did end up wanting it but this time was different.

This time he picked me up from outside the same church as usual and wore a shirt open down his groin area and had tracksuit bottoms with holes in strategic places. His cock was obvious and was firming up nicely as I did that 'porn star' talk that 'Joe' was so keen on. I would touch his chest as he drove and stroke his cock gently.

As we pulled up as his house 'Joe' composed himself and the games started afresh as we entered his house. We acted out a scenario that he had talked about. 'Joe' went to the kitchen to make us both cups of tea as I took off my clothes in the vast living room and sat reading a newspaper. 'Joe' came back in pretending, as part of the scenario, that he hadn’t noticed that I had no clothes on and as he placed the cup of tea to my side lightly brushed my balls.

He went to the TV and asked if there was anything I would like on. I asked for something that wouldn’t distract from my reading. He put on some gay porn. It featured muscle bears in leather, groaning and thrusting into each other with some light bondage and the promise of some fisting thrown in, fisting is something I SOOOOO did not want to see.

'Joe' and I talked small talk as I read the paper. He presented me with a bear magazine and I flicked through it. He told me he would like to take some photos of me much like the ones in the magazine. I have never been confident about my looks so I wasn’t prepared to do that. That said, at the back of my mind I had thoughts about whether there could be some decent money to be made from posing for such photos.

'Joe' talked more his possible plans for me. He would want to film me too. I enquired as to what would be expected of me but I should have guessed the answer. Being my porn star he said. Nice!

Anyhow the muscle bears grinding away on TV was doing nothing for me; porn doesn’t so I asked 'Joe' if he would take his shirt off and play with his tits for me. 'Joe' did just that, puckering up his lips as he did so. He told me that he likes to stick clothes pegs on his nips when he's chatting online (freak!) and that he likes to use poppers. I try not to use poppers if I can.

'Joe' says he’s a bit of an animal on them so best leave that alone then. I then told him to dance a little for me lap dancer style, which he did with that short stocky frame of his.

'Joe' is a good-looking fella but he can’t kiss for toffee and his attempts at being sexy just make me laugh inside. Still, it got me out of the house, and I got my rocks off. He's harmless enough, he just likes to talk about what he wants to do, and this fires him up more than doing it.

Monday 12th January

Conscious that I was in Birmingham with Craig next week to do presentations on the ARRT system they were about to take on, I wanted to do as much training with the new temp Danny Wells this week as possible. However, the little shit phoned in sick though, so the training is hardly off to a good start nor is his career with the Bank, it was meant to be his first day.

In my heart of hearts I know that I will not hear from Barry again and that yet again I have been played by a poofter that has just reinforced my opinion of gay men - period. They are all liars and users and quick shag merchants. I hate them all.

I received another letter from Reggie today, funny that when we are together there seems to be nothing but lies and more lies, but in his letters openness and honesty prevailing. I am finding out allsorts about him, such as he asked me if I would arrange for some catalogue goods he has to be sent back. I never knew he had a catalogue and I never knew he was ordering goods either. What is he paying for them with? He never has any money! Still, there’s some comfort to be had with him now being in the softer, more open prison near Bristol. It sounds like he might be home sooner than the six weeks sentence, maybe even after three, we’ll see.

I hate being alone and I hate sleeping alone even more. Even as a child I used to sneak into bed with my younger brother Blake for comfort and now as an adult I find myself seeking the same with men though it means that sex is always on the cards. If that means me not sleeping alone then what the Hell.

I met with Kevin, whom I haven’t had sex with since going out with Reggie. I was really excited, as Kevin is a dab hand at knowing how to press my buttons when it comes to bum fun. He took some rather fun photos of me in leather which I posted on Gaydar once, and that attracted the wrong attention, I’m not into leather at all.

Kevin and I had sex and then we took to sleeping. In the early hours I heard Kevin shout that he had enough. I was curious as to what of - he said my snoring. Given that he was sleeping on his good ear and he is deaf in the other, this is no mean feat. Is my snoring that bad? Obviously so. With nothing further pleasant to say Kevin stomped off home and left me to sleep alone, which is exactly what I didn’t want.

Tuesday 13th January

Today Craig and I had a run through of the presentations we are going to do at Birmingham next week. Craig is a competitive fella and likes setting himself personal goals to develop himself.

He is not comfortable speaking or presenting to a room full of people. In our run through Craig was all fingers and thumbs, his right leg shaking a good one under the desk. I am confident that we will do OK whereas Craig has taken on my normal role of fretting and getting stressed about it.

Again, no Danny! Time is ticking away and I’ve yet to get him licked into shape for completing reconciliations. What’s he playing at? I wouldn’t have the nerve to phone in sick two days on the trot especially my first two days in a new role.

The Lighthouse tonight was OK, nothing to write home about. One of the house managers, a right miserable sod called Boris, was mooching around the foyer so I thought I would make small talk with him. I mentioned that the venue was likely to get busy soon to which he retorted that he saw no reason that it should. I said The Vagina Monologues is on tonight and it's playing to a packed house. ‘No it's not,’ he said.

I pointed towards the place’s shop where Vagina Monologue T-shirts, programmes and other produce was piled up. All of this clearly showed that it was performing in our theatre that night and that loads and loads of people were coming. ‘Well, no one thought to tell me!’ he huffed. Aren’t you like the frigging house manager Boris, you should FRIGGING KNOW, not be told you daft cunt. What a prick!

Wednesday 14th January

I heard from Dad today that my cousin Brian had been in a car accident, one that involved three cars all going up into the back of his. Brian wasn’t hurt – fortunately - problem is though that he shouldn’t have been driving the car he was in anyway.

Yes the car was his; however he hadn’t got it insured yet. Despite his Mum saying that she would get it insured for him, Brian was insistent that he would drive his brand-new car to the insurers himself.

So there was no chance of him getting into a car accident Brian reasoned that if he drove down the smaller side roads rather than the busier ones then he should be OK.

What he didn’t consider was that taking your eyes off the road, even just for a second, to find ‘perfect musical accompaniment’ that an accident is much