This is Part 1 of Chapter 117 in the "Queer Theories" series.
Go back to "Inside Out -- Part 4", the previous section.
The narrator is Ron Rosenblum, featuring Brian Kinney, Justin Taylor, Tess Hardy, Sir Kenneth Fielding, Billy Phillips-Smythe, Rowan Conley, Others.
Rated R and contains no warnings.
Summary: Ron has a few thoughts after the London premiere. London, December, 2002.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Watch Queer As Folk on Showtime, buy the DVDs, videos, and CDs. Read the stories and enjoy.
"Take me home tonight.
Take me anywhere, I don't care.
I don't care, I don't care.
And in the darkened underpass
I thought, Oh God, my chance has come at last.
But then a strange fear gripped me
And I just couldn't ask.
Take me home tonight.
Oh, take me anywhere, I don't care.
I don't care, I don't care.
Driving in your car
I never want to go home
Because I haven't got one,
No, I haven't got one anymore...."
Yes, 'The Olympian.' Right. There would BE no fucking picture without me! I hope they all realize that.
I hope Howie Sheldon remembers that when he's taking all the bows at the Academy Awards as the Executive Producer of the winner of the award for Best Picture. Of course, they'll never give it to me directly. 'The Olympian' will get Best Picture, Jimmy will get Best Actor, maybe even Best Supporting Actor for Brian, too -- in remembrance, of course. But they'll never spring for me to get Best Director. A film like 'The Olympian' MUST have directed itself, it is THAT good! Ha! I need a good laugh right now.
I hope Jimmy remembers that when he's being so 'humble' accepting all the Best Actor awards he's going to haul in. Yes, the Oscar, definitely. The Golden Globe probably. Others, too. Jimmy's little shrine to himself will be jam-packed with prizes.
I wonder if Tess will thank me when she has her stupid husband back full time. A fat lot of good he'll do her now. Their marriage has been over for a long time. She ought to cut her losses and run for the hills. At least the woman might save a shred of her dignity that way.
All of my 'peers' in the Business. Fuck them! They screwed me over whenever they got the chance. They called me a faggot, usually to my face. They laughed at my projects. They made fun of my finished films. They snickered at my personal life. And then 'The Olympian' -- the big fag director making his big fag movie! It's TOO humorous. But I'll have the last laugh, even if it is in retrospect. I bet they'll eventually give me some kind of fucking tribute. I should videotape a little speech for them to play in which I tell them all what I think of them. Yeah, they won't be able to replay THAT on 'Entertainment fucking Tonight'!
Because none of these assholes could make a picture this good if their fucking lives depended on it! As I stand in the back of this big airplane hanger of a movie theater on Leicester Square, watching 'The Olympian' unfold for the hundredth time, thinking of all the hours I've spent gazing at these scenes through the camera lens, in the video previews, during editing, and then just watching it over and over and over... It's mine. It's all mine. And it's perfect. I wouldn't change a frame of it. Not a second.
What I want to be remembered for. And I will be.
That -- and Brian. Of course.
Because he's perfect, too. He couldn't look more beautiful or sexy or powerful than he does through my camera. Mine. And no one else's! I watched that piece of trash Dorian Folco made. 'Hammersmith.' Yeah, it's popular over here and a big hit and all the little girls scream over it, but it's still a travesty. Brian in leather and eye make-up, shrieking like a fucking freak. Pitiful. And that kid walking through those scenes looking like some kind of English jailbait. Pathetic. But that film doesn't really matter. It's just an afterthought. Because 'The Olympian' is what's important. The only thing that's important.
And it's going to be the stuff of Hollywood legends. People will talk about it a hundred years from now. And they'll talk about me. And Brian. Yes, it will all be legendary. That's what I have to focus on right now. None of this other shit matters at all. Nothing else matters.
Our names will always be linked. Always.
So I have to steel myself. I have to hang on and get through this shit.
Because it won't be long now....
And then we'll be together. Ron and Brian. Forever.
Sir Kenneth Fielding is hosting the afterparty in -- irony of ironies! -- the ballroom of the Dorchester. It's too funny! Returning to the scene of the crime -- or should I say, the press conference -- already! Of course, Sir Kenneth arranged this party weeks ago, so he couldn't have known what would happen. And Brian wasn't aware the party would be here, either. But it's a funny situation. And the entire atmosphere couldn't be more different.
Tonight it's just like a fucking New Year's Eve party with everyone celebrating and congratulating each other. You'd think these people all had something to do with this film. But everyone wants a piece of a winner, don't they? Everybody! Shit! It's so ridiculous. Producers who wouldn't return my phone calls a year ago. Actors who refused to read my scripts. Guys who would have rejected me flat a month ago... It was the same back in Los Angeles and it's the same over here. But I'm not laughing. No, not at all.
Sir Kenneth keeps giving me these creepy looks. He smiles at me, but it's a phony smile. He knows all about what I made his stupid little boyfriend Hughie do and he hates me for it. But as the host he's got to put on a good face for everyone here. Fuck! He should be thanking me! Hughie was a two-faced little lying bitch. I didn't twist the kid's arm. Hughie was a born sneak and Fielding is well rid of him. Besides, he's already got another flopsy-mopsy boytoy in tow. These guys he goes for -- shit! Could they BE any fruitier? It embarrasses ME and I'm a faggot! I'd be ashamed to fuck one of those guys behind closed doors, let alone drag him with me everywhere dressed in a purple velvet caftan! Well, it LOOKS like a fucking purple velvet caftan! Jesus. No wonder Sir Kenneth was so hot to get into Brian's pants! He was starving for a real man for a change. Well, I hope he enjoyed his little taste, the limey bastard.
That's another thing Brian will never forgive me for -- making him feel like he was being set up for Fielding's personal use. Like he was being pimped out. And I let it happen. Because I wanted Fielding for the film. Just another blunder in a long, long series of them. Not that it matters now. But if I could have done so many things differently along the way, maybe it wouldn't have come down to this. No, it didn't have to. I made the mistakes. Brian made the mistakes. And now what is going to come next is just inevitable. It is. There's no turning back now.
Sir Kenneth smiles at me tightly as he gestures for me to come over to him. What the fuck does he want? If he's planning to ream me out, I don't need to hear that shit tonight!
"Ronnie, my dear," he says, oh-so-politely. "Do you know Billy Phillips-Smythe?" And he pushes his boytoy at me. Forget it, Ken -- I'm not interested in Flopsy-Mopsy!
"Right. Pleased to meet you." And I shake the kid's hand. His handshake is as limp as jello. He just stares at me with his eyes wide open like I'm the fucking boogie man. Makes me wonder what horror stories good old Sir Kenny has been filling this kid with. I'm tempted to say 'boo' and send him scurrying for cover!
"Billy, why don't you go over and greet some more guests? I'd like to speak to Mr. Rosenblum for a few minutes," says Fielding, sending Flopsy off on some fake errand. Wonderful. NOW he's going to ream me out!
"Listen, Kenny," I say. "I don't need to hear any shit from you right now, so if you don't mind...."
But Sir Kenneth stops me. Now he's all business. "I wanted to discuss a project with you, Ron."
That stops me. "A project? Like a picture?" He's up to something.
"Yes." Fielding plays with the glass of champagne he's holding. "I'm working on securing the rights to an older picture I would like to remake. And if I do, then I believe you are the only director who can do the story justice."
Now I have to stare at HIM with my eyes wide. "YOU want to work with ME?" I say, shaking my head.
"This isn't about personal feelings, Ronnie, my dear," Sir Kenneth says, his voice frosty. "This is about acting. And about making movies." He pauses. "And Brian."
"It figures," I say in disgust. "I should have guessed that Brian would figure somewhere in your little scheme. Put your tongue back in your mouth, Kenny -- Brian is not available, or haven't you been paying attention to the newspapers?"
"This is a business proposition, Ronnie," Fielding says.
"Sure it is!" I laugh. "It's always business when Brian is involved! Does your new boytoy know that you are honing in on 'La Diva' as your next project? He might not like that. Or is he as flexible as little Hughie was?"
Fielding's eyes glare at me, but his voice is so cordial. You have to love the Brits for that! "This has nothing to do with Billy -- or my personal life, Ron. Or my friendship with Brian. This has to do with a part that I am dying to play. And I believe that the only person who can play opposite me and make it work is Brian. This picture would be the perfect follow-up to 'Hammersmith.'"
"Then why don't you get your pal Dorian Folco to shoot it for you? Leave me out of it!" And I turn and start to walk away. This guy has a lot of fucking nerve! Wanting to pair up with Brian again! And then wanting ME to direct his little lovefest!
But Sir Kenneth holds on to my elbow. "Because, Ronnie, this is a picture about Hollywood and homophobia and fear and paranoia -- all things that YOU know about intimately. All things that YOU can bring to this project in a way no one else can. This is a story about stardom -- and the price an old, closeted star must pay as he descends into madness. And the price his younger lover must pay, too. A fatal price."
Now I really laugh. "What are you planning, Kenny? To remake 'Sunset Boulevard' with fags?" And Sir Kenneth stares at me. Just stares at me. And then he looks over at Brian, standing across the room between Jimmy and the kid. "Shit!" I say. "You ARE! That's exactly what you are planning! Forget it! You'll never get the rights!"
"I almost have them, Ronnie," he says, smugly. "I am working on it right now. I'll play the Norma Desmond role, except as an old Shakespearean actor, like an Olivier or a Gielgud, who is trying to make a comeback. And Brian will be perfect as the young writer who becomes my lover. I already have the outline. I want you to direct and do the script as well. You are the only one who CAN do it, my dear."
I want to blow him off. Tell him he's crazy. But the more I think about it, the more I see that it's a fantastic fucking idea. And Sir Kenneth is right -- it's the perfect follow-up to 'Hammersmith' for him and Brian. Perfect. Except that... that....
"I have to think about this, Kenny. Have you talked to Brian about it?"
"Just in passing. He said it sounded interesting."
"Well, we'll see." Yeah, I think. We will definitely have to see.
I walk away from Sir Kenneth and lean against a pillar in the ballroom, watching Brian and that kid work the room. Everyone in the place -- fuck, everyone in the British film industry! -- wants to shake Brian's hand. Kiss him. Hug him. Tell him how great, how brave, how wonderful, blah blah blah he is. And how great, et cetera, Justin is, too. Fawning over HIM! Like that kid did anything but stand around, waiting for Brian to fuck him! That's ALL he ever does! And now they are treating HIM like he's some kind of star, too! It's sickening.
It should have been US walking down that red carpet together! Me and Brian. When I turned around and saw him kiss that kid right there in front of the theater, with all the flashes going off and the people cheering their fucking heads off -- that should have been US! And it would have been if... so many ifs. Just so fucking many ifs!
"This is YOUR night, Ron," says Howie Sheldon, sidling up next to me. "So why don't you look too happy?"
"Fuck YOU, Howie."
"I told you to get over Brian and move on. Even after all that's happened, all the crazy publicity, this picture is still important," Howie tells me. "That's what you have to focus on."
"Of course. All that crap with Brian and the kid is just gossip. It's meaningless," I say. Meaningless. And it is.
"We're lucky, you know," says Howie. "If Brian had been playing a traditional romantic lead opposite a woman we COULD have been screwed -- and screwed royally. But this actually seems to be playing out in our favor."
"Well, if it wasn't, Howie, I'm sure you would have figured out a way to spin it in our favor," I reply. Howie Sheldon is such a fucking hypocrite! "After all this, maybe YOU'LL have some balls and actually take poor William out in public now and than. I bet he'd like to go to a party or a restaurant once in a while just to get out of the fucking house!" William is Howie's long-time lover. But Sheldon never takes him anywhere. Everyone knows Howie is a queer, but I guess he doesn't want anyone to think he's a REAL queer with a boyfriend and everything. Howard Sheldon is such a gutless wonder! They ALL are!
Howie looks at me coldly. "My personal life is none of your business, Ron."
"And neither is MY personal life your business, Howard!" I counter. "So don't YOU or the studio tell me how to live my fucking life! Or who to cast in my pictures!"
Howie narrows his eyes at me. "You still think that you're going off on location in the desert with Brian? For 'Red River'? Think again, Ron! You two are a fucking accident waiting to happen!"
I sniff. "It's a done-deal, Howie. I have control over my own pictures and Eastwood agreed to Brian's casting -- and there isn't a fucking thing YOU can do about it! Brian has a contract!"
Howie takes a sip of his Cosmo and frowns at me. "Don't push it, Ron. I'll pull YOU off that picture -- and I can do it, too, as Head of Production at Terra Nova. I'll put on Charlie Fuller to direct. He did that Western for TNT, so I know he can handle it. Or I'll replace you with Dorian Folco. He's hot right now."
"You wouldn't fucking dare! That's MY project! MINE!"
"Be quiet, Ron," says Howie. "You wouldn't want to make a scene." And the prick turns and walks away. Bastard!
I go to the bar and get myself another drink. Of course, 'Red River' is meaningless, just like everything else. Fucking meaningless. There won't be any 'Red River' -- unless... Unless Brian and I.... Yes. There's still plenty of time! He could still come around. I know he will. I know how much he loves me! Even after I hit him in the hotel room -- he couldn't hit me back! He can't! He can't hurt me! That just proves what he feels. And it WILL be okay. If I can just get him to talk to me, like we talked that first night at the hotel in Pittsburgh. When I made him SEE what we meant to each other. When I showed him how we were meant to be together. Yes, he could see it then, believe it then. And it could still happen again. It WILL happen again....
I look across the room and see Harry Collins and that arrogant boyfriend of his, Gerard Milton, the 'Great Ac-tor'! ha! He's a fucking ham! He's the kind of show-off the Brits think are 'good' actors. Sir Kenneth has a little bit of that in his stage roles, but thank God it doesn't come across that way on film. No, Fielding is a REAL actor, not like Gerry Milton and his crowd of phonies. Milton was trying to schmooze me about a role earlier. Yeah, I'd cast that fucking Justin in a picture before I'd cast Milton! Unless I had a part for the rear end of a horse!
And then I see that crazy woman. The redhead that cornered Brian and I in the lobby here at the Dorchester a few months back. She's with Harry Collins and his party. The woman thinks she's some kind of psychic. Some kind of fucking WITCH is more like it! Of course, I see that fucking Justin go over and give the woman a big hug! It figures! He probably hired her to cast some kind of love spell on Brian -- and Brian is just enough of a superstitious Mick to believe in that shit! No wonder he freaked out when he saw her that last time. I turn and go in the opposite direction. She's the LAST person I want crossing my path tonight.
Tess Hardy keeps coming over and trying to talk to me. I wish she'd just give it up. It's obvious that Jimmy and I are no longer friends. Jimmy's made that perfectly clear. He used me for what he wanted -- a great role in a great film -- and now he's fucking finished with me. Well, fuck HIM! And I tell Tess as much.
"Oh, Ron," she says. "Don't be that way! Jimmy is your best friend. Nothing has changed."
"Of course it's changed, Tess," I answer. "What does Jimmy need ME for? After all, he's got Brian now, right?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Ron."
"No, Tess, don't YOU be a blind fool!" I look her right in the eye. "If you can't see what's so fucking obvious then I feel sorry you. Jimmy is so hooked on Brian it isn't funny. And there's nothing you can do about it. Because Jimmy would destroy himself in two seconds just to get Brian's attention. He's almost done it already a bunch of times -- on 'Letterman,' on 'Larry King,' on the press junket -- you name it. He's done everything but get down on his knees and suck Brian off in the middle of that press conference. One day he's going to slip up and go too far -- and then he'll really see what it's like to be a faggot in Hollywood. And it isn't pretty. That isn't something that even 'America's Boy Next Door' can survive. Because Hollywood won't accept Jimmy Hardy as a queer, Tess, and neither will America."
"I think you're drunk, Ron," says Tess, her face grim.
"Yeah, but just because I'm drunk doesn't mean I'm not telling the truth! You'll find out! What does it take for you to see the light, Tess? Walking in on Brian fucking Jimmy AGAIN?"
"I think I need to end this conversation right now, Ron," she says. And she walks away.
I head for the bar for another refill. I'm standing there and a guy comes up to me. He seems familiar, but I can't place who he is. He's just a kid, really, with red hair. He's not bad looking, but he's not great looking either. He smiles at me. I know THAT smile. Right. Just what I need.
"Can I get you a drink, Mr. Rosenblum?" he says. The accent is kind of cute. And I'm kind of horny. Especially with Brian in the room -- I'm always horny just watching Brian. Even when he's walking around holding hands with that fucking kid!
"I already have a drink," I say, leaning back against the bar. "And I don't know you, so why don't you fuck off?"
"Actually, we HAVE met," says the redhead. He's persistent, you have to give him that. "Last summer at the Chatterton Hotel. I'm an actor now, but I used to work there as a busboy. My name is Rowan Conley. I'm Nick Parr's boyfriend. You know him? Nick is Dorian Folco's assistant director."
"I've met the guy. But I've never stayed at the Chatterton," I say, brushing him off. "I wouldn't be caught dead at a sleazy dump like that. It's a place for quickies and...." Then I look at this guy again. "You're the trick who was coming out of the door of Brian's room! You have a lot of fucking nerve bringing THAT up to me!"
"Oh, no, Mr. Rosenblum!" says the redhead. "It wasn't what you think! I was there to see Justin. I'm HIS friend."
"Sure," I reply. "That's why you were zipping up your fucking pants and why Brian was wearing nothing but his robe! Well, fuck YOU, Ronan!"
"The name is Rowan. Please, Mr. Rosenblum. It was all a misunderstanding! Believe me! If you'll come over here, I'll explain it all to you." The guy beckons me through a door and into a service hallway. "I have some modeling photos of myself I can give you. And a reel with my best acting bits. It's mainly commercials, but I had a couple of scenes in 'Hammersmith' that people said were good. If you'd please look at them, I'd appreciate it. I'm very serious about my acting career."
Yeah, he's a real serious actor. "I'm not interested. My next project is a Western and I don't need any fucking Englishmen."
"I'm Irish," the guy says. "And I can ride a horse! All Irishmen are grand with horses! I'd make a super cowboy!"
"I don't think so...." I answer.
And then he puts his hand on my fly. "Let me show you a little bit of what I can do, Mr. Rosenblum. I know that you're single right now -- and Nick and I have a very open relationship."
"I bet you do," I say, as he pulls out my dick. In two seconds he's on his knees and working away at it. I close my eyes and try to concentrate, but it's no fucking good. No good at all. It's the same way with everyone I'm with. No one compares to Brian and he's all I can think of. So I try to pretend that's who is sucking my dick, but it's useless.
I was so fucking hard watching Brian get out of that limo over at the premiere my cock practically broke through my fly. And then when he leaned down and kissed that kid in front of the whole crowd I almost came in my pants. That should have been US standing there! That should have been OUR moment! And it would have been if I hadn't been such a fucking idiot! If I'd only let Brian tell the press the truth when he wanted to, and then stood beside him the whole time, supporting him and advising him, then everything would have been completely different. He would have forgotten about that fucking little Justin and now our lives would be perfect!
So I try to focus on Brian, but I can't. I look down and see this red hair and feel this guy's mouth -- and he's pathetic. I can't even stay hard. Finally, I pull out and push him away from me. "If that's an example of your technique, then I'm beginning to believe your story, kid. Brian would never put up with such a bad blowjob in a million fucking years!"
The redhead stands up and smirks at me. "Oh, I didn't suck him off. I FUCKED him!" he says.
Now I laugh right in the guy's face. "In your dreams! I know Brian better than anyone else in the world and he doesn't bottom for anyone -- and certainly not for a creep like YOU! I'M the only one he lets fuck him, so don't give me such a bullshit story! Go back to your busboy job, kid. The audition is OVER!"
And with that I turn and walk down the hallway. I have to get the fuck out of here. Out of this party. Even out of this city. I still have interviews and a bunch of shit scheduled, but I just want to go home. I have a lot of important things to do in L.A.!
I turn down another hallway. Now I'm lost in the service corridors of the Dorchester Hotel. I need to find the lobby and go back to my room. Then I hear Brian's voice. Or I think I hear his voice. I think I hear it all the time, even when I know he isn't around. Even when I know he's a thousand miles away.
But then I hear it again. There are meeting rooms all along this corridor. I listen and put my ear to a door. It's definitely Brian's voice. I push the door slightly and look in. It's a conference room and it's dark in there, but the curtains are open, letting in the lights from outside on Park Lane, so I can see exactly what's going on.
And what's going on is just what you'd expect when it's Brian. And that kid, too -- Justin. They had to get away from the party and fuck! After all that's happened and those photographs and all the shit that came down -- there they are, fucking away. I mean, anyone could walk in! I could just walk in -- if I wanted to. But I don't. Instead I watch them.
Brian has the kid on the conference table on his back and Justin is completely naked -- his clothes are scattered on the floor -- while Brian just has his trousers down. And the kid's legs are so high up that they are next to his ears and Brian is drilling his ass like he's looking for oil. And that kid is moaning and whimpering, pulling at his own nipples, and then grabbing at Brian's hair, and then gripping the edge of the table to brace himself.
Brian pauses for a moment and takes hold of the kid's dick, stroking it.
"Don't stop now! Brian!" Justin pants. "Fuck me harder!
"I'll fuck you so hard I'll break this table, Sunshine," Brian purrs. "How much do you want it? Maybe I should pull out now and just suck you off?"
"No! Don't STOP!" the kid begs. "Just fuck me!
Brian pushes the kid higher up on the table and climbs up on top of him. "Wrap your legs around me, Justin," I hear him say. And the kid does, locking his ankles around Brian's back, just above that perfect ass. Then Brian pulls almost all the way out of the kid's ass -- and then rams his dick home, making the kid cry out as he pounds him against that table. And then cry out again. And again. And again.
I'm certain that any second the door of the room is going to fly open and a crowd of people are going to burst in with cameras. But no one does. Brian makes that growling-grunting-sighing sound that means he's coming. The kid must be coming at the same time, because he wails like an animal, and then they both gasp for breath.
Then Brian leans down, kisses Justin, and whispers, "I love you."
And the kid smiles and says, "I love you, too, Brian." And he wraps his arms around Brian's neck and they just lie there on that table, clinging to each other.
I watch them -- and it doesn't bother me. No, not at all. I've seen it before on my video tapes. I've watched them fuck many times on screen. And seeing them do it live, right in front of me, doesn't disturb me. Because I know that it's really ME that Brian is saying 'I love you' to. It's like Brian is sending me a special message. Reminding me when he used to say it to me all the time, again and again. I love YOU. It's really ME Brian is kissing. I know it is. ME that he's making love to -- or I'm making love to him. It doesn't matter which is which, because it's all about US. That's why he came to this room. He knew that I'd see him here. He KNEW it. That's how connected we are. Totally. Completely. Perfectly.
The kid -- Justin -- he isn't real. He's here, but he's not actually HERE. He's not important. He's not legendary. Not like Brian and I are important. Not like Brian and I are going to be legends. I have it all in my head. I can see exactly the way it will be. Beautiful. Perfect.
Finally the two of them get up and get dressed, laughing the whole time like they've pulled one over on everyone. Laughing and kissing as they put on their pants and Brian buttons up the kid's shirt and tucks him in. "See? No worse for wear!" Brian says. "And no one the wiser!"
"You're bad, Brian! Soooo bad!" Justin giggles. "We could get into such trouble!"
"I don't care, Justin! What are they going to do? Print the photos on the front page of 'The Sun'?" Brian pushes the kid against the door and starts kissing him some more. "I'm hard again," he says.
"You're always hard, Brian! You'll be hard at your own funeral!"
"I fucking hope so!"
"I want to suck you off, Brian. Let me."
"I don't have another condom, Justin."
"Brian, you're all right. You know you are! We don't need a condom for a blowjob. I've done it a million times. Just let me do it now." And the kid drops to his knees and pulls out that perfect cock.
And I pull out my own cock. I'm harder than I've been in ages. So hard that I can't stand it. I jerk myself off while that kid works on Brian's perfect prick. But it's ME who is doing it, really. I feel myself on my knees in front of Brian. I can smell him, taste him. No one else is like Brian. No one else feels like that, smells like that, tastes like that. I am the one sucking him off. Making him moan. Making him shoot.... Brian and I come at exactly the same moment. I hardly have time to back away from the door and pull out my handkerchief.
"That should hold you, Brian -- at least until we get upstairs to the room!" I hear Justin's girly little laugh.
Brian leans over to him and kisses him again. "We better get back to the party. I bet Jimmy is looking all over for us. We're lucky he didn't walk in on us and want to join in!"
"Poor Jimmy!" Justin sighs. "And poor Tess!" And they go out the door, shutting it softly behind them.
I walk into the room and over to the conference table. I put my hands on the table, feeling the warmth where they were lying. Feeling Brian's body. Feeling him coming. And I have to smile.
No, it won't be long. Not long at all. Because Brian and I will be together again. We'll be together. I'll make love to him one more time -- and that's when I'll do it. Just when he comes. Just when I come. And that will be it. Cut. And print. The perfect ending.
"To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die...
To die by your side,
Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine.
There is a light that never goes out.
There is a light that never goes out...."
From "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out," by Morrissey and Marr.
Continue on to "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out -- Part 2", the next section.
©Gaedhal, August 2003.
Updated August 10, 2003.