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    Lovecot: A Life in the Closet
    Lovecot: A Life in the Closet
    Lovecot: A Life in the Closet
    Ebook41 pages41 minutes

    Lovecot: A Life in the Closet

    By David Morriss

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    About this ebook

    True stories of a life in the closet. From the cottage to the theatre to the STD clinic tales of a double life, double standards and double trouble. Born in an era when homosexuality was not accepted, living a secret life in a world that has moved on.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDavid Morriss
    Release dateFeb 20, 2016
    ISBN9781310729546
    Lovecot: A Life in the Closet
    Author

    David Morriss

    I live in London. These words are true

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      Book preview

      Lovecot - David Morriss

      LOVECOT a life in the closet

      By David Morriss

      Copyright David Morriss 2016

      Smashwords edition

      LOVECOT

      My visits had grown gradually less frequent over the last few years, down from once or twice daily to barely once in a fortnight. Then even less until barely at all. Once when I simply couldn't help myself.

      Since I was last there the walls had been covered in a different type of graffiti, there ain't no black in the union jack, you nigger loving bastards and so on. And there were small stickers with the same kind of sentiment. Gone were the age... likes... meet... genuine, or at least the few remaining messages were faint and dated over a year ago. Some of the stickers had been partly ripped off, enough to erase the offensive part of the slogans they carried. But there were too many to rip them all down.

      Most times it had been shut lately. Shut down because of cuts no doubt, and because of Aids. I hadn't seen him since just before Christmas when he was with some white kid in glasses. He crouched and his head went back and forth at the kid's groin, and the kid placed a hand on either side of his head. And I had always thought I was the only one, that he waited in there all day and all week just for me. Romantic old fool that I am. An old man watched on, but it was really too dark for him to see anything.

      Jealousy led me over to the place they were engaged, and my presence drew them apart. My old lover stood aside and watched as the white kid took me out and went down. The old man looked on, I was out in under two minutes. The next time I passed the place was shut.

      Shut for all of the Summer and part of the Autumn. I thought it was shut for good. The closed for repair sign gradually faded and fell into a large pool of water that had gathered beneath the locked iron gate. Weeds climbed the old damp walls and the branches of a nearby tree draped gracefully over the roof. A sad old monument to my unknown soldier.

      Perhaps he was still in there, all locked up and nothing but bone, the jaws of his skull still open and waiting. Or perhaps he crawled the night streets like a wolf, fists pocketed, all hunched in his old leather jacket and ten to two feet.

      Some of us took to the parks or the bus shelters, and some stayed at home and became faithful and frustrated husbands. Some even dared to ask those questions in an open street, do you have the time followed if answered appropriately by do you want a fuck. I learned early not to trust a man who was bold enough to ask such questions in public. Once in a moonlit field and once behind a bush on a Saturday afternoon.

      Then tonight, after giving up all hope, I walked past to see the old iron gates flung open and wide. Each time I passed I prayed they would still be shut. Shut so I could carry on in the direction of home and a normal wholesome life. Each time for nearly a year. And each time I

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