Watching some kind of antique pornography found in the cupboard to the left, you wouldn’t know it was a cupboard unless you opened it. No-one there exhibits any typical reactions – like arousal or shock or boredom. cc seems interested, bounces like a prelude to something, and says: “the shed there, no there – it’s out of shot now – it’s for keeping pigeons, racing pigeons.” Everyone shifts the intensity of watching in the hope of noticing something, a pigeon probably.
Some kind of quality fixes the moment, 5 faces in the light of the screen scouring the background to outdated flesh on flesh for a glimpse of a pigeon
When A comes over he is cagey and distant although he is glossy and radiates good health like a well kept animal. I sit in cc’s room and write this.
On the way back from the all night garage, when we come to the main road he holds out his hand and it’s vaguely parental I guess, or something. I take it anyway and don’t release it after we’ve crossed. We have sex in the grounds of the Nurse's Home though it feels grudging and bad tempered. I graze my forehead on a tree. When he sinks his teeth deep into my shoulder in the throes of - passion, or whatever I spit out “don’t fucking mark me” he laughs says; “you should say ‘bitch’ – don’t fucking mark me – bitch” engendering some fantasy of leaving him weeping in the moss.
"It’s just a fuck" I mumble at his back when he kind of storms off out of there without waiting for me to button my trousers or anything.
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I like the word cagy. I think I read you use it before. I'll have to steal it.
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