Guest Blog: Everyone I've Ever F*cked.
#3: Brian - The Shiver of Ice and Whiskey
A seedy, middle aged artist.
Oh, how the overly romanticised had fallen. We were friends, would chat about our paintings. One New Year's Eve, I held this artist, and kissed him in a hot, steamy pub. By chance, he'd moments before drained his tumbler of whiskey on the rocks. A chaste, warm, cuddly New Year's kiss - but his mouth tasted of sharp, full whiskey, and shocking cold ice. It was a surprise, and I pulled away, looked at him fresh.
It was months before anything came of it, but I knew right then that I'd have him someday.
This was the first truly casual, emotionless lover I'd accomplished. In contrast to the flailing but passionate Byron, Brian was competent, but unmoved. He lived a street away, and with a defiance that was frankly hard hearted, I'd flout my newly acquired teenaged curfew by wandering over to Brian's house and holding his plump smooth body close, to have wordless, inartistic sex every day before teatime.
Eventually the coldness, the seedy nature of the coupling began to dawn on me. I began to wander to the park to wash with freezing water in public toilets and cry, instead of finding my way home for the family meal. Brian's art didn't seem all that inspired (I believe a Trafalgar Square pavement is his canvas these days), his home a stinking pit. I started to realise the too soft bed was the only part of his life I'd truly seen. My next lover pointed out that everyone else in the town was completely aware that Brian was an ex-con, the local drug dealer, had a history which was well known. And I was glad that at the time it had been wordless.
Posted by Clytemnestra, as part of the Twelve Guest Blogs of Christmas