a popular misconception is gays are all flushed with pink pounds and disposable income, but only last week gerard came across a vaguely handsome destitute man on the charing cross road and twigged it was his first love, a thickly set ginger haired doll called finbar, who used to help gerard with his unfinished homework, or rescue him from bullies spoiling for a ding dong in school playgrounds back home in donegal.
finbar felt intensely embarrassed when their eyes locked in on the busy london drag. he attempted walking past, but it was too much, and both men felt compelled to turn around for a double take at one another.
after sixty seconds of gushing emotion there on the pavement, gerard haled a black cab and without question took finbar back to an awfully twee apartment on brick lane with a spare room, and immediately ran a hot bath. he felt like doris day making him supper while finbar languished in his first proper bath for months.
gerard got dangerously drunk on the milk of human kindness, and for less than a week selflessly nursed finbar back into looking and feeling human again, but it didn’t take long for the busy queen to come up against his own self serving conceits…within days, finbar’s intrusion began to get on gerard’s petty little disco tits, and every grain of superficial saintliness began to flake way at an extraordinary speed…
in an effort to kill off his own guilt, gerard offered finbar three hundred pounds in a neatly folded wad of twenties, but finbar being the wilful complex man he always was, refused it and walked away into the cold winter morning.
for years gerard stayed away from london’s west end unable cope with another accidental encounter, but he had learned a dark truth about himself, and as much as he tries to push that drama to the back of the mind, it’s forever there to chew on… no bad thing really.