All stories

Sam spat out the clot of earth and pulled himself up to sitting.

“Thanks for the trainers, mate. Don’t forget to bring extra crisps for my lunch tomorrow, yeah?”

With a spiteful laugh Chris cycled off, kicking a cloud of dust at Sam as he went.

Sam gathered his things, brushing the mud off his leotard and collecting his dance shoes from either side of the road. Chris had taken his trainers and his rucksack so he bundled his ballet gear up in his hands and started, barefoot, for home.

At lunch the next day Chris slid his empty tray over to Sam

“Fish and chips for me love, will you?” He winked and sprawled out on the bench. When the others turned their backs to join the queue Chris mimed dainty ballet moves at him and Sam took the tray, paid for both meals and said not a word.

He put Chris’ lunch tray down and went to sit elsewhere, but Chris wasn’t having any of it. He pulled Sam down to the bench beside him and launched into the conversation, spraying chip fragments as he spoke.

“Boys, saw this programme on telly last night about these queer boys doing ballet”

His eyes flashed dangerously at Sam as he grinned and put on a falsetto voice

“Daaarling run me a bubble bath I must prepare my pirouette.” He fluttered his hands and laughed, showing the chewed up food coating his tongue.

There was some scattered laughter. Sam said nothing. Chris enjoyed this balancing act; threatening to tip his secret into public knowledge at any moment, then hauling it back into precarious safety for a while.

“Sambo, where’s my crisps today?”

Wordlessly Sam took a packet of ready salted from his bag and watched Chris devour them. He saw the other boys exchange looks then stare at him.

The end of year was approaching. The last day of school was always a talent show in the assembly hall instead of lessons.

On the day itself the corridors filled with bustling students carrying musical instruments, sheaves of paper, armfuls of homemade costumes. Beautiful Bella Davies flounced around in black cherry lipstick and layers of chiffon, drawing the gaze of every boy in the school.

Chris’ gang would sit at the back being as obnoxious as they could. Sam, however, had other plans.

When the curtain rose to reveal Sam and Bella locked in an elegant embrace, arms and legs entwined, Sam could practically hear Chris’ jaw hitting the floor. And when he executed a perfect grande jete the entire hall erupted in rapturous applause.

When Sam and Bella took their bow, Sam took the microphone and waited for the reverent hush to descend.

“Thank you so much. Bella and I have worked so hard on today’s performance. There’s one person in particular that I must mention. Chris Giles. Your support has meant everything. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us in the way you hoped. I tried to be what you needed, but I couldn’t lie to either of us anymore. Know that Bella and I wish you all the happiness you deserve. I’ll always treasure our time together...”

J: I’m dying for the toilet

S: But I’m in the bath. I’ve just..

J: Looking good hun, need a hand?

S: ..I’ll be fine.

J: Paul’s down Saturday, surprise visit so we’re going out for drinks after the Match, you’ll have to watch the princess, you don’t mind do you?

S: I’m meant to be out for drinks, it’s our office night...

J: Look he’s already booked his flight in. He hasn’t been down for weeks. Sorry it’s all booked now. I can’t change it.

S: But it’s...

J: It’ll be fine you see those lot all the time anyway, this is important....Can you pick up some more milk as well; we’ve just run out.

—

S: Ah thanks, skinny latte please.

T: No worries, my treat. So...how’s It going?

S: Yeah good, you know, the usual. School is chaos. The little one is great. She has her moments of course. But getting along well....

T: Sure...

S: She’s different to most girls you know. We’re trying to get her to do more... He’s putting her back into Ballet. You know he wants to help build her posture....

T: Yeah. Yeah...I thought she didn’t really like dance?

S: No, well, no, she just doesn’t know. You know? She’s so young. One minute she loves something the next she doesn’t.

T: Yeah yeah of course. It’s difficult. I guess he thinks it’s good for her?

S: Oh of course, yeah the class is really highly recommended you know. They have a lot of links with Juliard, you know things like that,...she’ll learn to love it Sam says....Anyway how’s things with you? How’s your new guy at work?

T: Yeah pretty good. Business is doing well, and the new Comms Manager, says he has a good contact at John Lewis; they’re gonna meet for drinks.

S: What just the two of them?

T: Yeah he said that they go way back and he had some new ideas he wanted to run past him.

S: Drinks for the lads?

T: Something like that. I don’t mind. He’s got better networks than me, and as long as it helps my business. Just the way it is sometimes. But yeah he’s been, fine. It’s all good.

—-

G: This queue is ridiculous isn’t it?

S: Sorry?

G: I said this queue is crazy. They’re so slow in here...I’m just picking up a friends prescription.

S: Oh ok.

G: Just doing them a favour ya know?

S: ...

G: You live round here is it?

S: No I work nearb...

G: Oh wait I can guess. Yeah. You’ve got to be a nurse, or a model?

S: Ha. Um no, n...

G: That’s a shame. Nurses uniform would look good on you.

S: I, uh.

H: NEXT

S: Sorry

H: NEXT. Madam what’s the issue please?

G: Uh um. I wanted to see the pharmacist?

H: I’M afraid he’s busy.

G: Probably having a fag out back.

S: Oh. Um. Is there someone else I can speak to?

H: SURE! You can come back tomorrow when the queue has gone. What’s the matter?

S: Well it’s kind of personal

G: Lady stuff?

H: LOOK, take some ibuprofen. That helps them with the pain. Is that all?

S: No. It’s not that. Well it’s...

G: I’m picking up a subscription

S: You mean a prescription

G: Yeah. For a friend.

S: Sorry, it’s just...

H: I’ll take a look for you now mate

S: Sorry

G: Cheers pal

S: Um

H: LUV, as I said, ibuprofen, or some girls find a hot water bottle helps.

S: It’s a bit more complicated actual...

H: WELL you’ll have to see the doctor then

S: I really just need to speak to someone who understands

G: It’s not clots is it? They’re disgusting.

H: NEXT

Hello. Yes. Jim Clot, head of head of robotics? Excellent.

Hello, it’s Julia here, your CEO. Yes, that one. I’m good thank you, yes, yes.

Now, first things first. Just to remind you. I’m Julia, your female CEO. Female, as in woman. Female, as in slightly disturbed by your department’s drive to produce a range of female only sex-bots.

Yes, that one.

Yes, I understand you’ve taken my feedback on board, and I’m looking at your response right now. But tell me, when you went ahead and designed a range of male sex-bots, did you – by any chance – talk to any women?

I see. And these women weren’t bitter former lovers, or they had some kind of python fetish? I see. Excuse me one moment.

Gary, set me up a meeting with the officer in charge of local mental health. Thank you.

Back to the matter in hand. Yes, I’m looking at it, right now. Yes, impressive is a word I would pick, but also horrifying, and horrified – that’s me, by the way. Yes, yes, I understand your point, but here’s the thing. Yes, I know I’m not an expert in robotics, but I think perhaps you’ve gone slightly overboard when your demo model turns around quickly and sweeps an entire cabinet free of glassware.

Yes, yes, we’ve all noticed the “girth”. For this you consulted? I see, yes, Cosmopolitan magazine.

Sorry, what was that? Bubble bath? Ballet? Now you’re just reading from the feature “ten top tips for a perfect date night” on page fifty-seven.

Back to the matter in hand. Let’s see. How can I put this? When a Daddy really loves a Mummy they take their clothes off and he puts his…insider her…yes, that’s right. I can’t decide what would happen if this thing ever got near a real woman, he’d either push her off the bed or inflict some hideous internal injuries.

Yes, yes, the muscles are certainly impressive. Sorry, what’s that? Give him a can of diet coke? Why would I? Fine.

Gary. A can of diet coke for our “guest”.

Yes, yes, he’s opening it now, and – oh, I see. Yes. Very impressive. He’s now drinking diet coke and cleaning windows at the same time. No, the female members of my office have not been driven into a state of sexual agitation. No! I will not play Etta James.

And no…hang on. Yes, now I understand why you felt the need to equip him with an appendage that prehensile. Really, the same technology found in retractable self-coiling hosepipes?

Might I add the word disturbing to our list?

Gary, my next call, please. Thank you.

Good morning. Hello. Is that the head of animatronics? Excellent.

It’s Julia here, your CEO. Now just to remind you, I’m Julia, your David Attenborough loving CEO, as in, the CEO who strives for accuracy in products dealing with the natural world.

I have some concerns, about your new product. Yes, I understand that resources are stretched, and I applaud your ingenuity. But really, I don’t think we can market a lifesize realistic elephant with something called the NubTrunk™.

“Clot!” Said Mistress Sonja “Bring me the right bubble bath now!”. She whipped him across the face with a desk diary and looked at the ceiling, “Why always must I endure these hopeless pigs?” she implored to an imaginary audience of fellow dominatrices. Her imperfect English sounded flawless to Nigel, like everything about her. He crawled from the room on his knees, naked except for his mask, feeling proud that he had finally pleased her enough to earn a weekend as her slave. It had cost him a fortune and a lot of punishment training, for being slow. stupid, disobedient and for coming when she’d put him in chastity. Now his weekend of pain and pleasure was here, he felt like he was experiencing a kind of divine ecstasy.

At night he slept in a small hutch with his hands and legs shackled.

“Imbecile” screamed Mistress Sonja slapping Nigel’s buttocks with a rolled up wall planner. “I said the dirty cleaner’s costume, the clean one is too good for you!! Remove it now!” “Yes Goddess, thank you Goddess” replied Nigel, feeling lucky to have witnessed the porcelain beauty of her skin and to have kissed her 10 inch heels.

He was not allowed a light and made do with a small bowl to defecate in.

“Useless Creature bring my Moet” commanded Mistress Sonja “and as a special treat you may drink the champagne of my piss while I enjoy the real one, then I will consider punishing you with my holy staple gun!” , it was the thing Nigel had fantasised about most whilst waiting so patiently!

He drank from a small pool of yellowing water trying not to cough up the tepid liquid and to remember that it gave him strength.

On Monday Nigel returned from his “golfing weekend” to his wife, his family, his house in Surrey and his job as senior office manager for a firm of stockbrokers. He felt somehow purified like a medieval priest who had worn a hair shirt to punish himself for impure thoughts. That evening he took his wife for a meal and to the ballet. He barked their order at the young Slovenian waitress without looking at her or asking his wife what she wanted and afterwards did not leave a tip because he felt the girl seemed cocky. Life was good and his weekend had cured him of the nagging guilt he sometimes felt when witnessing the sea of destitution outside the station on his way home from work.

Saeed, aged 11, shuffled in his tiny hutch as he had every night since he was 4 years old and picked at the hardened callouses where his too-small shoes had rubbed his feet. He waited hopefully for daylight and the 12 hours he’d spend working in the rocky field where he could at least see the sky. Was his gangmaster right when he told him he was lucky and that others would pay to be treated as well as he was?

She groaned as she heard the screaming in stereo for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Her 9 month olds’ cries echoed down the landing and reverberated through the crappy speakers on the baby monitor next to her bed. She felt like someone had mixed sand with treacle then poured the mixture into her already bloodshot and sunken eyes, to clot on the lashes and goop up the corners in a desperate attempt to persuade their host to keep them closed more than an hour at a time. Some hope.

Hauling herself from the spare bed to which she had consigned herself until the night feeds desisted, she fumbled for her dressing gown. Inside out. Fuck it. At least it wasn’t upside down.

Stumbling down the corridor she tripped over her own slippers. That’s where they were! What kind of sleep deprived zombie would leave her slippers in the middle of the landing, she berated herself, rubbing her elbow where she had knocked it on the wall. The next day it would be yet another bruise whose origin she could not recall.

Her back ached as she hauled the baby from the cot and he groped for her breast. Sitting there in the dark she struggled to stay awake while he snuffled and suckled hungrily. Her mind wandered back to her life before children. She had never appreciated how much sleep she’d had, for starters! And how limber she had been. Her years of ballet had served her well, her body had been strong and supple, and despite her slight figure she had borne him well, with an uneventful pregnancy and a calm gentle birth. The months since had been a different story. As the relaxin had fled her body she was left with back pain from which no bubble bath could offer relief, and a pelvic floor which left her dreading every sneeze.

She glanced down at her infant. The dim light from his night light illuminated only the bare minimum of his features, but she knew every millimetre of the visage from the hours she had spent gazing at him, in this exact position, as he fed from the body in which he had grown. The slightly upturned nose, the beautiful long eyelashes, the dimple in his chin, the soft downiness of his hair. She had never known she could feel this strongly about anything. That she could go through so much for such a tiny being, so much pain and exhaustion and frustration and irritation, and still feel a love which brought tears to her eyes and a lump to her throat.

She bent forwards to place a gentle kiss on his forehead, lifted him sleepily back into the cot, and tiptoed from the room. She crawled into bed, eyes closed as soon as her head touched the pillow, to awake two hours later to the same routine.