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A word from Lionel

Hi, my name is Lionel.

Iíve been listening to Earl chatting to you. His problem is he donít know if heís Arfur
or Martha. Heís like most of the so called straights Iíve met, wants his bread buttered
on both sides. At least my sister Trish is honest, sheís a slut. Nothing to be ashamed
of, it runs in the family. Look at mum.  Granddad was arrested more than once for importuning in the Shepherds Bush cottages.

Theyíve gone now, of course and Iím too young to remember them but some of the
older guys at the Essoldo Disco tell me they were fabulous if you could stomach the
smell. Mind you, it couldnít be much worse than this trailer park. Paradise they call it,
well if this is Paradise, give me hell everytime. Itís the factory  round the back thatís
the trouble. Makes canned pet food and I donít know what they put in it but if I was a
dog, and Iím not I can assure you, Iíd starve to death rather than take one mouthful of
the revolting stuff. I'm fussy what I put in my mouth, I can tell you.

Earl sort of suggests I kind of led him on, well that is one great big lie. Heís had his
eye on me for months, especially when Iíve got my white trousers on which show my
bum off so well. Even Trace noticed. So when he called in unexpected, he caught me
just in my Calvin Kleins and I just knew that something was going to happen.

Earl hides a lot about himself. My friend Jason told me that him and Earl used to
indulge at school and after Earl came back out of prison, he looked him up again and
seemed to have developed some rather unusual tastes. I think Trace picked up on that
once when Earl let on about Jasonís size, but she never said anything. If I know Trace
she will check Jason out, if she hasnít already done so.

Oh, she has. ? I must have missed that. Oh well, Trish and I have always shared
everything except fathers. Trace missed out there. With a Jewish father she would
have been a much better cook. Poor thing has to get to her menís heart through organs other than the stomach. It works up to a point, but straight men do like their food
even more than sex, in my experience. 

Gay men of course can live on lettuce leaves. How many gay pubs serve the kind of food straight pubs serve ? Stuff like Cottage pie, Chilli Con watsit, Steak and Kidney Pudding.  Most donít serve anything at all, not even stale pork pies. You could starve to death in a gay pub. Most guys darenít leave to eat out because the hunk they have always dreamt about may walk in while they are down the take away. Sad really.

So thereís Earl with no Trish around, me in my knickers giving, I admit, obvious
signals such as rubbing my hands on the front panel,  holding a Rubber Stuffers
pack I picked up at the sauna and running my tongue over my lips. As I said
Trish may be a slut, but I can out do her any day.

Anyway, Earl is my type, a big bear. My real turn on is my black bear, Winston from Brighton, but I canít be in Brighton all the time, itís too depressing with itís Harrodís Queens shopping for curtains, and it's cutesy wutesey coffee shops, so I sometimes have to make do with whatever is closest to home.

Thank god Trish goes for the big ones as well. Shane is quite a lump of a man and
comes in handy now and again but heís having a thing with mum at the moment. I
hope they are careful, I donít want mum being with child. It would be too much to
have Shane as my lover and common law step father. Itís almost like incest.

When Trish came back I pretended to be asleep but before I knew it Earl and her were
at it like rabbits. I donít know where Earl gets his energy from. He gets his flab from
the Wimpys Trace brings home but if thatís the effect they have on virility, Iíll have
to try one or two. Not that I really need anything to boost my natural energy but I have
noticed that I have been taking a less active role recently with guys and I donít want
to get a reputation.  After all I donít want to lessen my options.

I invited Earl to the Essoldo next Wednesday night. I donít suppose he will go, itís a
bit too much like coming out. Guys like him prefer cottages. Pity, there arenít many
left. They must feel really deprived. Still if he finds it hard to get elsewhere,  the easier it makes it for me.

See, I am a slut.

Bye.


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