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.
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