Borne from Nottingham, based in Bournemouth, writer Gavin Topley has graciously allowed The Riviera to share his uniquely harrowing short story "Thorn's Thoughts"
I’m not gay; I mean I don’t think I am. Needs must though, and at the end of the day it means I can work as much or as little as I feel like. Like tonight I’m feeling pretty shitty so I’m just going to stick around to earn enough for a smoke, a bag of chips and to pay the hostel for the week. If I can get business where they want to suck me off and I can make them blow before I do, sweet deal I can move straight onto the next punter without having to break. Ideal. Early night. Fuck sticking around in the pissing down rain. Fucking Manchester weather; what a pile of shite.
I found out about this when I was like thirteen. I was living in a kid’s home because to be honest no-one gave a fuck about me. My Mum was only bothered about where her next bag was coming from and my Dad, well fuck knows, but anyway I’m chatting off topic. So I’m living in this kid’s home and was waiting about outside for Frankie to show up. Next thing I get a text to say she’s pissed her Mum off so she aren’t allowed out. I finish my fag, throw it down and am about to get on my way. So some bloke, must have been like 40 or something, walks over chatting on about it being bad for you to smoke, and how I look like I’ve ‘lost a pound and found a penny’. Somehow we get onto chatting about Frankie and where I live and how the staff have withheld my pocket money this week because I’d snook Frankie in and we’d got caught by the shift leader fucking on the sofa. So the bloke is like “oh you’re a horny little fucker then”, and I tell him I suppose so. He asks me if I want to earn double my pocket money and fuck the staff. So I’m like yeah fuck the system bring it on sort of thing. He says he’ll spot me a score if he can suck my cock. I haven’t looked back since to be honest. I mean one thing I do know is that that bloke and punters like him are fucking pervs, I was a fucking kid. At the end of the day though I can handle myself, and even though there are the creepy fuckers, like most of ‘em are alright.
Don’t get me wrong like I don’t chat to them like I’m chatting to you now. I make sure I come across street, so they don’t think they can fuck with me. It’s how it has to be. Anyway they fucking love chav lads so it works well for business, and keeps me safe.
Like there are those regulars you get to know and it’s kind of they get to care about you, and I like that to be honest. It’s good to be cared about, ya know? Like there’s this rich guy and he’ll pick me up every now and then. We’ll head to his house and he’ll be like “look buddy, we’re just gonna have a little bit of a party, get fucked up, and you’ll leave with a ton in your sky rocket”. He has bare drink in his house so whatever you ask for he’ll disappear to the kitchen and get it. Then he’ll be like “right matey what chems are we after?” Whatever I ask for he makes a call, soon enough there’s a knock at the door and it arrives. Like I think he cares about me in his own way and it’s nice that someone does.
The only other time, apart from Frankie and to be honest fuck Frankie, but yeah the only other time I’ve felt cared about was in the Atkinson Unit when I was locked up for keep lifting crates from the local Tesco. The staff there proper gave a shit, and they even helped me get some GCSE’s while I was locked up. Me; fucking GCSE’s, jokes!
Anyway, punters; so there’s this other bloke who picks me up and wants me to beat the fuck out of him and spit on him and shit. Easy money you’d think but I always come away from it feeling like I’m the one who’s just been battered. I’m a bit of a soft lad really.
So anyway Frankie’s parents have always fucking hated me. I’m not good enough for her am I and so when she found out I do rent, I suppose that was an excuse for her to agree with them. I kind of get it but then I’ve been doing it for four years behind her back and she’s loved me, so I can’t see it makes that much of a difference. Anyway fuck the snotty little bitch. I don’t fucking need her. If she can drop me that easily once then she’ll do it again and fuck that. I don’t need to be treated like a piece of meat that can be picked up and put down when she feels like judging me. So I’m sat here on Skype. It’s my birthday and she obviously feels sorry for me and wants to make herself feel less of a prick. So she’s Skype calling me. As it goes I’ve fucking had enough. Like seriously though how much shit can one person be dealt. So I’ve decided to call it a day at 17. I’ve got bare Valium that Holly, another girl in the hostel gave me, a couple of boxes of Paracetamol and a bottle of Vodka but she doesn’t know that yet. I’m going to pick up in a second and she can fucking deal with the result of her actions like I always have to. Anyway sorry, I’m chatting bare breeze. Time to go take care of business. Peace out. Thorn Schandridge.