Copyright 1999
 My god Iím done in, I can tell you.

First Earl turned up because Trace was working an extra shift again at the Wimpey.
Then Jason came looking for Lionel who has gone to spend a weekend at a menís
camp. Apparently itís where men discover their inner feelings, like fancying other men.
At least thatís what Lionel probably hopes.

I know someone who went on one once and spent a weekend sitting round a camp fire
eating burnt sausages and singing Ďten green bottlesí. Lionel will be gasping for it when
he comes back, I shouldnít wonder. Serve him right for getting mixed up with trendy,
upper class, pillocks like that Nigel who runs an aromatherapy and  shen fui centre near
the Co-op. A real Harrods queen that one, quite out of our Lionelís class. 

He didnít have to invite him to no Ďmensí  camp if he fancied getting inside our
Lionelís shorts.  Heís not really Lionelís type, too weedy, but Lionel is nothing if not
adaptable especially if there could be something in it for him and he does need a job.
Serving fen shui whatever it is shouldnít be too difficult and as for aromatharapy, our
Lionel uses so much Old Spice, he stinks like a Cairo brothel already.

Anyway, to save Jason being disappointed, we had it away on Lionels bed. Jason
preferred it saying the smell of Lionel lingered on the sheets and it turned him on. I
was a bit insulted, after all it should have been me turning him on not some stale
aftershave on stained sheets. Someone once told me that men like Jason and Lionel can
only make love to women when they  fantasise about another man.

I suppose the opposite works as well which is why so many straight men end up in bed
with queens. If a gay man wants to make it with a straight guy, all he has to do is
sprinkle some drops of 4711 on his sheets, pin a picture of a page three girl on his wall
and wait for his victim to start fantasising then, bingo heís up and in there and ten
minutes later claiming he must have been drunk.

So Jason satisfied and on his way, who should turn up but Shane. Now Shane is the
one I plan to have babies with then one day get married. Heís off mum at the moment
because of the cost of phone calls to  her mobile and it seems Lionels aftershave is
proving a bit too much. Typical isnít it. Every man has someone like me they know
they can always go back to when they have done the circular tour. 

The trouble is I love him. Well I love his size. He is rather large and not only round the
waist. He has a sweet round baby face as well, one that says Ďfeed meí. He does have
rather a large appetite but frankly after Jason and Earl in one afternoon, a hot sweaty
session with Shane held as much attraction as eating an apple pie baked by Prince
Charlesís own fair hands even with custard mixed in a royal golden custard bowl by
the lovely Carmila.

Funny enough he didnít seem keen either and I did notice a few red marks on his neck.
Perhaps the circular tour hasnít finished yet. He actually asked me if I had any apple
pie and custard. Must have read my thoughts. He was dead serious though and I
started having all kinds of thoughts like has he got my mum pregnant or has he been
playing around with Lionel again. Once is OK but I donít want it to become a habit.

Turns out what is worrying him is Trace and Mary. Remember Mary the pre op
transvestite well now sheís a post op. Trace hasnít had anything to do with Shane for
ages as far as I know and Trace is my best friend and tells me everything. So why I
wonder does Shane care a hoot what Trace does with Mary.

It finally all comes tumbling out. Mary is a Muslim chap from up north, Bradford I
think and becoming a woman is not considered a very nice thing for a Muslim man to
do despite the fact that they do chop a little bit off each other quite early on in life.
Now his family is on the war path and Trace confided in him, when I wonder, that she
was worried in case they got her as well.

She is thinking of ending things and asked Shane if he fancied taking her over. A bit
like she handed Shane over to me when the novelty had worn off. Shane was shit
scared. It wasnít that he didnít fancy Mary, she was more women than most but he
didnít fancy having his crown jewels removed surgically or any other way. He told her
he loved me and we planned babies, one of each, Trixie and Trevor, and she said Ďso
what ?í

Nice friend I have, I can tell you. Iíve already put Trixie and Trevorís names down for
the Mantle Street playgroup and I will not have their potential to get born thwarted by
an assassinís knife. So I told Shane not to worry and I would sort it out which I
regretted saying a bit because it took things off Shanes mind leaving room for the usual
things. Shaneís brain does have a pretty limited capacioty.

Now three times in one afternoon is a bit wearing. Itís hard to be as enthusiastic the
third time as the first. Still I did my best and Shane didnít seem to notice. Most men
donít. Just shout out in the right places and it massages their ego, Iíve found. 

Itís a good job we girls donít really have any external sign of our passion that men can
spot easily. I know the nipples are supposed to glow and all that but Iíve yet to meet a
guy who notices. I pity them sometimes. The slightest sign of softness down there
when there should be hardness and they are off to the sex shop buying all kinds of
vacuum pumps, pills and creams. If they stayed off the booze, chicken tikka masala and
chips, walked occasionally instead of taking their Ford escort everywhere and cut out
the fags, they would still be getting hard at ninety. Look at Charlie Chaplin.

Sometimes I understand why trans sexuals have it all chopped off. Makes life much
simpler really. If I was a man, I think Iíd settle for being transsexual. 

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