Chapter 1 – In the beginning…

There was light.  And she said (for this is a truthful tale, rather than those bollocks ones you find in three thousand year old books that have been translated and inferred, transferred and interred, like so much re-chewed food, until the original story is lost for all time beneath the steaming sack of shit we call humankind)…

“It is good.”

And that was enough for me.

“My job’s done here.  I hope you crazy kids have fun with …” and here I was well and truly lost for words, sensing the sensitivity of the situation, and the clear innocence that was soon to be lost so wantonly, I hoped, “whatever it is you intend to …” and I left it there, shutting the door in my own face, so to speak (and quite literally, as I had managed to step backwards into the hallway to make my embarrassing but thankfully abrupt exit).

Phew, I thought to myself, as one often does when relieved.  (We really do.  You’ll see.  The next time you feel relieved after escaping a close call, of the 1st, 2nd, or even tertiary kind, you watch your own mind blow out a hackneyed ‘phew,’ just watch.  We are all as organically linked by cheese as the movies make out.)

I was relieved, and also perplexed, for I had not seen either of them around before, and this was not such a big town, or at least this part of town wasn’t so big, to have missed a couple of so obviously attractive, And innocent, people wandering around.

Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t know everyone.  Just most of everyone.  Which is to say, I know everyone who is worth knowing.  And the ones I don’t exactly ‘know,’ I ‘know of,’ which is quite good enough for me, at least for those sorts of people.

Don’t know what I mean?  Well, let me illustrate it for a moment.  (For those of you irritated by asides and interruptions, or tangents of thought, I suggest you stop right here, and go read Dostoyevsky, or watch 10 Years Younger, while the rest of us unintelligables carry on gabbling through life, ok?  Good.  Now, where was I?)

Here’s where I was going, when comparing ‘know of’ and ‘knowing’:

I know the good people who frequent these streets, where I live as well, from the regular commuters on my train or bus, to the lad who polishes shoes for us (commuters that is), and the woman who walks her dog down the road, with barely a thing on, with the taught-fighting buns which my conscious do goad (with the face like a toad, but from behind, who cares?), to the man who sells me chocolate and smokes, from the little shop on the corner, to the prostitutes selling their wares downtown. This is my home, this place, smelling of old socks and dried lace, and I do not mind it one bit.

Whereas, I know of the bad people, those swindlers and robbers, the murderers and stabbers, raiders and marauders, the men and women of ill-repute, who sometimes step in my way, looking for a light, or some money, or a fight.  To these bad people, I shake my fist, and tell to back off, that I’ve had enough of this, for although I may be a dreamer, a lover, a cad, I don’t want to hurt anyone; I’m not really all that bad.

Back to the task at hand.  Or that had been at hand when I was inside the room, with young innocent blond 1, and young innocent brunette 2.  (There were only two in the room, you can see where I’m at, but when I’m tired my head gets fried, spinning rhymes, like the Cat in the Hat.)

In the room they were wary, standing side by side, but not too close, staring up at the bulb that had burst, as if they’d seen a ghost.  For they were clearly there to do something naughty (or at least I did hope), something downright dodgey, involving handcuffs and a rope.

(That last was not my invention, for I saw it fall out, of her small purple purse-bag, as she moved it to sit down on the couch, her skirt riding up, the slenderest of knee, and even though I twitched and leaned, that’s all that I could see.)

So here they were, these two, staring up at the shattered bulb, looking guilty as anything, if truth be told.

Handyman I am not, no matter how I pretend to be, but I replaced the light-bulb, turning it on for them to see.

And that’s when I noticed the rope, and the handcuffs too.  And if it weren’t for their innocence, I would have thought it were for my notice too, that she nudged the bag, and they fell out, but that’s just my own imagination, gadding about.

I stood there right now, staring at the blank door, my ears pricked up to hear, some sauciness from inside, my anticipation making my crotch twitch, an excitement I just could not hide.

But no matter how close I listened, ear-wigged, or even leaned, there was nothing from inside, aside from their breathing, it seemed.

So I am leaving them to it, and running upstairs, to where my little handyman closet resides, just behind the au pairs, who share the last room on the right, and who, if I had children, would give me a fright, for they are more like a pair of spikey bikers in chains, rather than sweet young ladies to look after your little grains.

Inside my dark closet, cloistered like a priest on the prowl, I flicked on the screen, and blinked like an owl.  There they were, these two, sitting close, side-by-side, and I realised that this was one couple I would have to drive, for nothing was happening, no hint of handcuffs or rope, his hands in his lap, not even trying to grope.  Escaping myself for a moment with hope, I put on my headset, turned up the volume, and listened in, knowing that my soul was sold to the devil forever, for this one small sin.