Stardust Diaries Read online

  THE STARDUST DIARIES

  Book Two

  January 3rd 2006 to May 31st 2006

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2010 Tarn Swan

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The more I think it over, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people- Vincent van Gogh

  3rd January 2006: The Diva Performs

  2006 may not be quite new born, but it is still wet behind the ears so I feel justified in offering the salutation of Happy New Year to all. With one thing and another this New Year’s Eve was something of a low-key event for us. In fact the last day of 2005 was an inclement day on several counts: the weather, I was starting a cold and during the night, despite subzero temperatures, someone ventured abroad to spray paint the words 'cock suckers' on the front door.

  The postman got me out of bed at seven to alert me to the graffiti and to also recommend a cleaning fluid that removes paint from UPVC surfaces. He’d discovered it after someone painted his front door with accusatory messages about his marital fidelity (he suspected his ex-wife's brother who had never liked him) and then there was Twinkles. He chewed my head off the moment I said good morning to him. The full implications of a broken wrist have suddenly hit home. He can't shower, nor can he have a bath or even shave, wash and dress without at least a little help from me. He flung a fit when the top he wanted to wear wouldn't fit over the cast on his arm and he realised he would be limited to wearing loose short sleeved shirts and t-shirts, either that or cutting the left sleeves off all his favourite tops. Then it dawned that he might not be able to dress in full regalia, even if he wore a sleeveless frock the cast would look hideous and how would he do his undergarments, tights, corsets, tucking etc with one hand? Then there was makeup, eyelashes and wigs, which all needed two hands to do properly.

  Of course it was entirely my fault (I might have guessed it would be) if I hadn't upset him before he went to work on Wednesday he wouldn't have been in such a bad mood and he wouldn't have flung up the shutters too hard and lost his footing. I sympathised with his predicament, but refused to be blamed. He then went into full drama queen mode and declared his life was ruined. He wouldn't be able to dress up or dance or take part in the Duplicate A Diva contest at the PP on Friday night. How many Divas’ wore thumping great plaster casts? None! They weren't glamorous. New Years Eve might as well not exist because he didn't have a new dress to wear and even if he did he would look a fright because of his arm. He might as well just stay in and watch Jools-hoote-a-flaming-nanny-Holland on the telly while wearing a shabby old dressing gown and a pair of carpet slippers. His life as a style queen was over. FINISHED! At that point he would normally have flung himself headlong on the couch, but because of his cast he had to settle for a less dramatic and somewhat undignified flopping down onto his rump.

  He began to tuck into the family size tin of Roses chocolates, which Kevin, at the instigation of his evil alter ego Natalie (that Christmas Pageant winning poodle) had given him for Christmas in the hope he'd put on weight and look fat and frumpy in his frocks. He might as well just get frigging fat seeing as he had nothing new to wear and nowhere to go.

  Sadly he's developed an ability to simultaneously complain while comfort eating, so my ears got no peace as he munched his way through the consolatory sweeties: it was the worst Christmas of his life, even worse than the one when I'd brutishly forbidden him to take part in the alternative Miss World Competition, which incidentally he would have won, because most of the other competitors looked like they ought to be trotting around the arena at the Crufts dog show. A right bunch of old barkers they'd been, while he was fresh and lovely. I'd spoiled his shining moment, as per usual.

  By the time he'd finished raging I felt like doing a Scott of the Antarctic and walking out into the blizzard raging outside, either that or stapling his lips together and sticking him in a cupboard until springtime. Nothing placated him. He didn't want a cuddle. He’d rather touch tonsils with a Blackpool donkey than cuddle me. He met all suggestions with negative hostility and I lost patience in the end, sharply telling him to stop bellyaching. What was done was done and he'd just have to make the best of it.

  He decided to direct some of his irritation at his work colleagues. He rang the shop to remind them the contents of the windows needed to be taken out, cleaned, properly mind you, not just a quick rub with a bit of old chamois, and put away in preparation for the New Year Sale. They were to leave a centrepiece of clocks in the watch window and a central display of larger gift items in the jewellery window. It didn't do to leave completely empty windows. It made people think you'd gone bankrupt. Twinkles’ boss, Don, tartly reminded him that having been in the retail jewellery business for over twenty-five years he did actually have some inkling about what needed to be done. He told Twinkles to have a nice rest and he'd see him after the New Year.

  Things degenerated further when Lulu called to say he'd taken the afternoon off work and was meeting Kevin in town to look around the Sales. He invited Twinkles to join them. I could cheerfully have dunked him in a duck pond. Twinks jumped at the chance even though I voiced concern about him going out in the awful weather conditions. I was anxious about his cast getting damp. He brushed off what he termed my spinsterish fussiness and said he'd be under cover most of the time. He then took a deep breath and boldly demanded the return of his favourite department store card. Lu had informed him the store in question was offering an extra ten percent off all sale prices, as well as a buy now pay March deal for card holders. Surely by March all his debts would be paid off in full and all restrictions consequently lifted?

  I bluntly told him that I didn't care if his favourite store was offering an extra fifteen percent discount plus a glass slipper and a Prince Charming with every purchase. He was not getting any of his cards back until I deemed the time was right. I reminded him I was still well out of pocket because I'd had to shore up the joint account he'd devastated in order to pay necessary household bills. I was not about to sanction him buying more fancy fripperies he didn't need? I also pointed out that while buy now pay later sounded attractive in theory, it wasn't because it meant buy now, pay the full amount in March or pay interest at three times the rate of an ordinary credit card. The only real winners in such circumstances were the store and the finance company.

  I know my man and I know his tastes and they're not cheap. He’d spend a sum of money he wouldn't be able to pay straight off in a lump sum and he would once again end up in a debt situation.

  It seemed as good a time as any to announce my decision to permanently ban the use of store cards. It made sense to me. With their extortionate interest rates they’re a financial disaster for people who are not rigidly self-disciplined about their use. Twinkles is one of those people. I didn't expect him to be happy with my decision and indeed he wasn't, but I was less than thrilled with his chosen method of displaying his unhappiness.

  I was treated to one of his full Diva performances and believe me there was nothing at all glamorous or attractive about it. He went for a lavish full scale Grand Opera production. His opening act was to slam his foot into the coffee table with such force that it sailed across the carpet and docked in the lower branches of the Christmas tree sending baubles bouncing and scattering. It was only sheer luck the poor tree remained standing at all. It was the sign
al for him to abandon all vestiges of self-control and free his inner child with a vengeance, the rudimentary child with absolutely no conscience who will kick, scream and lash out at anything or anyone who crosses the path of its temper.

  He went for me, slapping at me and pulling my hair with his good hand. I grabbed him, swung him up into my arms and swiftly transported him upstairs. Despite his struggles and furious attempts to lash at me with his feet, I managed to lie him down on the bed and turn him onto his right side, so his trussed arm wasn't crushed beneath him. I then got behind him, hooking my left leg over his lower limbs to stop him thrashing about and holding him tightly against me until his rage abated.

  It wasn't long before I felt resistance leave his body. He lay submissively in my arms but I didn't loosen my hold, knowing from past experience that the apparent end could be just another beginning. Quite often if he gets deeply entrenched in a particular mindset he finds it hard to let go.

  I asked if he were quite done and he nodded, so I slackened my hold. We were both trembling as adrenalin levels dropped off. I got up and moved across to the window, folding my arms and staring out as I grimly contemplated the situation and calmed myself down. It had been a long while since he'd given way to such raw temper.

  He came to me. Slipping his arm around me he grasped tightly at the back of my shirt, as he sobbed self-condemnation and heartfelt apologies into the front of it. Poor love. He was still trembling. His nature demands he take the dramatic rather than pragmatic approach to any given situation, but he honestly doesn't like it when he loses all self-control. I put my arms around him, rubbing my cheek against his hair.

  I doubt he had expected me to blithely hand over his store card and wish him a happy shopping spree. I think he was subconsciously looking for an excuse to vent his frustrations regarding hi broken arm and all its ensuing annoyances more than anything else. Perhaps he thought he'd get away with it because of his condition? If so then he was mistaken. I was not going to condone an outburst on that scale. His behaviour had been unacceptable and I refused to tolerate it. I couldn't put him across my knee because of his arm, but I still disciplined him.

  After removing his jeans and briefs I made him lie on the bed on his right side with a couple of pillows supporting his left arm and upper body, thus preventing him from falling forwards, as I very soundly spanked his bottom. To his shock I concluded punishment with six hard strokes from the sole of one of the slippers that my aunt Helen presents me with every Christmas. She does so even though mum has repeatedly told her I don't wear slippers and they only end up in a charity shop.

  When his tears dried and he was calmer I informed him he'd done his Diva act for the day and there'd be no repeat performance because he was confined to bed. If he so much as wanted to change position or go for a pee he would need to seek my blessing first. He didn’t complain.

  I got under the covers with him, initially for a few minutes as a means of completing the making up process, but we both fell asleep, only waking up when Lulu clomped into the bedroom and flopped down on the bed showering us with a heap of carrier bags.

  I sourly asked if he'd ever heard of privacy and knocking? He said he had knocked, several times. He also remarked he might have guessed he'd find us in bed and no wonder we hadn't answered his phone calls to see where Twinks had gotten to. We were always bloody at it. We, he stated, were the kind of men who gave rise to the legend that gay blokes were obsessed with fucking. It didn't register that I was still fully dressed. He was too interested in showing off his purchases, allowing us no say as to whether we actually wanted to see them.

  He'd bought lingerie, including a bra that looked like it could comfortably house a couple of footballs. He said he was thinking of doing a Jordan and increasing his bust size. Big Mary had promised to lend him a pair of his gigantic rubber tits to see how they looked on him. He’d also bought a new dress, new shoes, new handbag and a monster size pack of condoms. They had cost him three quid for fifty and he reckoned he could flog them for a pound each at the PP, especially downstairs in the Leather Bar where the condom machine in the gents was always empty. Bear Daddy was a shagging machine all on his own, and as for Rick…

  I closed my eyes briefly praying to the God of rented property that the flat Lulu had his eye on didn't fall through and he moved into it very soon. Fond as I am of Lulu, I'd had enough of being three. I wanted to be two again. I couldn’t help but wonder whether some of the recent situations between Twinks and I had been exacerbated because matters of discipline had of necessity been more covert than overt.

  Lulu had also bought a present for Twinkles. He presented it with a flourish, his eyes shining with the pleasure of giving a friend something he knew he wanted, but couldn't buy for himself because he was having some 'cash flow' problems lately. It was a new dress. He said it was his way of saying thank you for letting him stay with us for so long. He’d also bought him some divine, 'wait till you see it, darling,' silvery blue eye shadow to complement the dress and some pewter sheen tights with gorgeous little blue rhinestones around the ankles. And for Tarn, he grinned happily as he fished a gift set comprising of shower gel and a pair of socks out of one of the bags and dangled them in front of me. Lu is much like Twinks. Let him loose in a shop with a Sale on and his use of plastic knows no bounds. It’s a magic amulet that brings the holder all they desire.

  Twinkles adored the dress, lovingly stroking the satin material. It was a three quarter length sleeveless evening gown in royal blue with a matching stole. Lulu thought the stole could be adapted to make an attractive sling to disguise and support Twinkles' cast.

  To be truthful I was vexed with Lulu. Twinkles didn't deserve to have expensive gifts bestowed upon him. There was little I could do about it. I had no control over Lulu. I was therefore proud of Twinkles when he hugged Lulu, but told him he couldn't accept the dress, because he knew Lu was already drowning in interest weighted monthly credit card payments. He then proceeded to gently lecture him about money management and having the strength and good sense to budget, just as he was doing. I kept stum.

  I think Lulu was secretly relieved that Twinkles refused the dress because even at the reduced price it was expensive. He insistently pressed the eye shadow and tights saying they had only cost a few pounds and he'd paid for them with real cash money, so no interest worries. At a discreet nod from me, Twinkles happily accepted. I then told Lu that Twinkles wasn't feeling well and evicted him and his purchases from the bedroom.

  Once Barbara Streisand (aka Lulu) had departed for Diva night at the PP, I made myself a hot toddy, light on milk and heavy on whisky. My cold was beginning to worsen and I was in need of something soothing. I also made Twinkles a hot toddy, figuring it might help soothe his bottom, which he claimed was still aching from my brutal administrations.

  He asked permission for Lulu to send him phone pictures of who was duplicating who at the PP in the Diva contest. I said yes, as long as it didn't make him tetchy about what he was missing.

  I ended up massaging his feet and painting his toenails, toppishly insisting on choosing the colour myself, midnight blue with a hint of silver glitter. It looked nice I thought, like stars in a night sky. As I carefully applied the polish, trying not to sneeze at crucial moments, he made me play guess the Diva, as Lulu relayed pictures from the PP. He was most put out when I correctly guessed that Natalie was Britney Spears and rather a good one. He claimed she looked more like an overblown Maradonna after a heavy night on the town. Didn't he mean Madonna as Maradonna was a debauched footballer? He darkly said he knew what he meant. Big Mary had me flummoxed. I still don't see how a hefty bearded man thinks he can pass himself off as Christina Aguilera. I don’t think she'd be flattered. Considering it hadn't been the best of days it ended fairly equably.

  By New Year’s Eve my cold had come upon me with a vengeance. I felt ghastly. Every muscle in my body ached. I had tender swollen glands in my neck and tender swollen gonads in my groin. I regretfully told Tw
inkles that if I still felt as ill later in the day then it would be unlikely I'd make it to the PP for the New Year’s Eve celebration. He tried hard not to be upset, but he was and I felt for him. I told him my being ill didn't mean he couldn't dress up and go out and enjoy himself. I stayed in bed and he brought me hot water bottles, flu medication and hot drinks, but by teatime I felt even worse and all I wanted to do was sleep.

  Lulu helped Twinkles apply his makeup and wig and get into his ‘new’ dress, which was full skirted so didn't require any tucking to be done (Twinks didn't trust Lulu to safely handle his balls or treat his penis with due reverence) it just needed a light corset under it to give him some shape at the waist and bust. The 'new' dress was actually an expensive fancy nightgown. Mum had sewn a lining into it to preserve his modesty and give it some weight. It looked beautiful. It was an ideal style and colour to compliment the new boa and peacock feather fan I’d given him for Christmas. I told him he was the most beautiful queen in the world and he was to have a good time, but not get drunk. I didn't want him falling off his high heels, not with one arm already out of action. I also warned him not to brawl with Natalie, or anyone else for that matter.

  They finally set off for the PP leaving waves of perfume and clouds of face powder in their wake. Pulling the duvet over my head I gave into my misery. I awoke several decades later drenched in sweat to find two hours had passed and the thought of not greeting the New Year with Twinkles was lying like a weight on my mind.

  I dragged myself out of bed, splashed my face with water, considered shaving, but decided the dark stubble studding my jaw was a sexy compliment to the black bags under my eyes and left it. I pulled on my best trousers and the shirt Twinks had given me for my birthday and then I auctioned my soul for a taxi. Shrugging on a jacket I sat shivering on the bottom stair and waited for it. Flashing headlamps beyond the glass in the front door heralded its arrival. I heaved myself to my feet, opened the door and stared, as Twinkles got of my taxi, waved it away and tip-tapped up the path towards me. Tucking his arm through mine he fluttered his eyelashes, stuck out his chest and said, in best Barbara Windsor voice ‘I see nurse Twinkles has arrived in the nick of time, let's get you back to bed, you naughty boy.’