I Glasgow

"On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross
The emblem of suffering and shame
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain

So I'll cherish the old rugged cross
'Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged cross
And exchange it some day for a crown"

George Bennard

**

Monday, 14/4/17, 3.43pm.

Huge Georgian buildings tower over me, products of some of the worst abuses in history. Their construction financed from the traders profits of slavery, whaling and tobacco. Renovated, brightly lit office and shopfronts hide their shame, as foundation, concealer, mascara and lipstick hide mine.

Sauchiehall street feels like my old duffel coat, shabby and worn, but safe and warm. Indifferent couples surround my world. Holding hands, laughing, arguing, just living life together! Men and women wrapped up against the cool spring air, yet enjoying the moments of sunshine that brighten our city centre.

They leave me with a heavy heart, it's all I've ever wanted, to be with someone that loves me, for being me. I lost count of the number of people I've been physically intimate with many years ago, due to the numbers, through my inability to separate my past issues from the present.

I'd work six days or nights, and have a Saturday to myself. For nearly nine years the Saturday routine stayed the same, out to some gay club, get picked up, go back to theirs for sex. Always a one night stand, never let them close, never take them to my apartment, give them no part of me. Just a night of intimacy, joy, pleasure, on my terms, for me. The problem with that is, whilst it's fun and safe to give no part of yourself, it leaves you terribly lonely, empty.

Now, nearly a year after my return home to Glasgow, my life's so different. I'm respectable, working with my uncle Vince is going well, yet I can't be open about who I am with anyone. As soon as someone asks about my past, I make an excuse and put distance between us. I think I need a shrink!

To make matters worse, the rain that's stayed off begins to fall, getting heavier by the minute, till it's a deluge. Ducking into the first hotel doorway; I've to laugh, the Garden Inn hotel, the very place I turned my first trick some twelve years earlier at the age of nineteen. Shacking off the water from my jacket, I nod a hello to the concierge and head through to the bar to shelter from the rain till it eases off.

It's very busy with sharp dressed men and women huddled in groups, chatting animatedly about their day. Odd individuals mill about, joining and leaving different groups, they all appear associated in some form. After ordering a glass of house white, that costs three times what we sell it for in the Monkey, I find a seat in the corner by the window, watching for the rain to stop so I can leave. As I'm sat staring into space, minding my own business, she appears from the crowd, walking towards me, smiling. Her long red hair, flows in a delicate tousled mess, caressing and emphasising her black suit jacket. A flared three quarter length gypsy skirt sways seductively from slim sashaying hips. Pale cheeks are highlighted by deep glossy red lips and dark eyeliner lifts her sapphire blue irises to striking effect. As she sits by me,

"I didn't see you in the seminar?"

"You wouldn't, I'm only sheltering from the downpour."

As much as I try to dismiss her, she persists. Her names Kate, she's a lawyer, grew up in Dundee with her mum, dad and brother. Kate adores being in Glasgow and the freedom it's given her. I give her nothing other than my name.

My gaydar has stalled, blown a fuse, I've no idea if I'm being hit on or if this Dundonian is just uber friendly.

An hour later with the rain long since stopped, we're deep in conversation about "Crunchy," the latest trendy place to eat in Glasgow, when she asks if I'd like to go with her to try it.

"When?"

"Saturday, if your free?"

"Only if we can go for a drink first."

Kate slides her iPhone to me, challenging me to put my number in with a nickname she'll have to find in amongst her contacts. Dumbstruck I type in my number but my minds gone blank for a nickname. Do I play it down? Do I put something that shows I'm interested in her? Do I let my sexuality show in a nickname? Is this the reason she wants a nickname?

I type, "Nakedtruth," press save and tell her to text me as I make my exit.

As the doors to the Garden Inn close behind me, a broad smile fills my face as I feel the phone in my pocket vibrate, announcing the receipt of a text. Skipping up the street, I can't stop myself from pulling the phone out and reading the text.

"Corinthians Bar, 8pm, Saturday, nicknames say a lot about people so I'm really looking forward to seeing you. X"

Immediately I bounce a reply straight back.

"Me to Kate xx"

Wednesday, 16/4/17, 8.55pm.

"Hi Yvonne, I've had a crap day. Tell me something truthful about Nakedtruth? X."

"Hiya, well Kate, you know I work at the Monkey Bar. I actually own it along with my uncle Vince! Yay. xx"

*****

Friday, 18/4/17, 9.26pm.

"Wishing it was tomorrow Yvonne, I need alcohol lol xxx"

"You could come to the Monkey, most of your clientele drink here, could be good for business xx"

"Yikes, maybe on a second date? Xxx"

"That's Sunday sorted then Kate xx"

*****

Saturday, 19/4/17, 6.11pm.

My stomach churns as I pull the thick black tights up my legs, ease them over my butt and snap them loose above my waist. My reflection in the mirror disturbs me, red bra, black legs with shimmers of pale blue briefs glowing under the dark nylon encasing my legs, butt and waist, it's not attractive.

The insatiable need in me to appear ultra feminine tonight has occupied my mind constantly since my first meeting with Kate. I've spent the week cursing myself for the way I was dressed when I'd entered the Garden Inn, my torn jeans, naff chunky crop, duffle coat and tatty scuffed boots. I was a stray cat in the middle of a pedigree breed show. That all changes the instance I slide the poppy print satin dress over my shoulders. It glides down over my shape, flutters across my butt, caresses into my waist and nestles, straps snuggling my shoulders, I feel special as I tousle my hair into the 'I've not made an effort,' style. Wolf whistles further embolden me as I pirouette through the Monkey Bar on my way to my first ever proper date.

Hopping from one foot to the other, tugging my old duffle coat tight to me, I tell myself it's the cold I'm shielding, not my nerves as the hands on my watch say five past eight. I'm beginning to feel distraught; she's not coming, she's decided I'm not worth the effort, she's had a better offer!

In the orange street lights, amidst a crowd of revellers, a red haired madwoman, arms in the air, screams a breathless "hello" as she wraps her arms around my neck. Pulling me in, her mouth attaches to mine, a tongue slips into my mouth as a cold body spreads itself over and around me, her long overcoat envelopes us, as, dumbstruck, I stand rigid in shock.

Pulling back, her hands drop to mine. Fingers clasp mine, her smiling face talks words I can't hear in my confusion at the unexpected embrace and public intimacy. Kate laughs at my embarrassment, grips my hand and leads me into the bar.

Kate drops her shoulder and her overcoat slithers down her straightened limbs, spinning it round on an outstretched hand, she flicks it onto the back of a high barstool at one of the many island bar tops. Jumping up onto the opposite stool I watch in admiration as Kate ventures through the crowded bar to fetch us drinks.

Seeing her lean against the aged mahogany bar, I drool at her shape. She's like a small thoroughbred horse, a mix of strength and elegance ooze from taught swaying hindquarters, her long red mane resembles a ferocious fire as it tumbles recklessly down the length of her spine, a complete contrast to the bright yellow halter, that curls under and around her torso before, snaking back up around her pale neck. Green trousers snuggle her thighs, stretching tightly around pronounced biceps and calves, flexing and relaxing as her foot digs at the floor impatiently.

Lost in a dreamy disposition I watch her turn, mojitos in hands, sashaying hips swing with each stride on silver Sole Diva platforms. Small breasts tickle and ripple under yellow polyester, stray curls of red hair bounce across her shoulders pulling you in to her bright glorious face. High cheekbones catching light freckles that adorn the bridge of her button nose. Pouting lips, glow liquid like in gloss, emphasising the tongue that points sharply at me, a cheeky introduction of how this nights going to shape.

Four more mojitos and lost to time, just revelling in our own space, Kate finally leans back in her barstool, letting go off my hands and arms she's been touching and stroking the past hours. Her eyes lock with mine, questions fill her mind but nothing comes forth to me, I stare back, a lost inquisition. Her eyes never leave mine, as she reaches below the narrow table top that divides us. Some strange, awkward movements and Kate relaxes back against the back of her barstool again. She raises her hands, in the left a black sock, in the right a silver Sole Diva platform shoe.

A smile creeps across my face as a bare foot pushes between my knees, easing them apart, stroking up and down both my calves in turn. Our eyes don't flinch, locked into each other's questioning minds. The foot forces my left, then right knees further apart. Stroking lightly up each tense thigh, tingles start in my lurching stomach, sensitive nerves begin to electrify, sending butterfly pulses through my body as I sink lower in my barstool, legs stretching out as I surrender to the pleasure.

The ball of Kate's foot finally rest on my vagina, her big toe tap, tap, tapping awake my little man in his boat. Some circling of the ball on my dampness and she slides her foot downwards. Her big toe rests against nylon covered cotton briefs, gently pushing the material into me. Slowly, round and round, the big toe eases itself into my open moistening vagina. My breath begins to catch in my chest, held by a burning passion, showing on my erecting nipples and reddened cheeks.

Kate lazily eases the pressure on me, in turn pointing her eyes to her own waist, directing me to look there! Kate's eyes never leave mine as she fumbles with the button of her trousers. I stare in wonder, confused at what's coming next, till she tugs at her shirt, raising it up over her muscled tummy. Peering through the dim lights of the bar, I search her skin, squinting I finally see it! Kate's a cutter, five, maybe six thin white pencil line scars, delicately tattoo her abdomen.

Scars; of emotional pain, scars of the efforts Kate has made to rid herself of the pains of sexuality angst, scars marking the points where she released her own blood in an effort to ease the pressure on her brain. Her eyes look deep inside me, a knowing grin bleeds across her mouth in realisation that I share those feelings. I'm not a cutter, I cope in a different manner, my release comes through anonymous couplings, fucking with strangers every weekend, always a one off, no ties, no giving or taking, no love, till now.

As Kate buttons up, she rises from her stool, pulls on her coat and gives me her hand. My fingers lace through hers and I hold tight, I'm not familiar with *Publicly Displayed Affection, but it feels warm and inviting. Stepping out onto the street it feels like we are cocooned in a golden aura, I'm convinced everyone in the street is watching us, jealous of our togetherness, our love?

There's a sharp tugging on my arm as I walk dreamily, Kate pulls me up a dim alleyway between two high tenement buildings, pushing into me, arms snaking around me, our bodies rubbing excitedly against each other. Her hand slips under my hem as our tongues battle inside feverish mouths. Fingers rub, nylon across cotton, cotton across my sex, pressing into to me as her toe did earlier.

Gasping for breath I pull back from Kate, she doesn't stop, using the opportunity of the space between us, to lift her hand and ease it into my underwear. Fingers play, twist and curl in the narrow band of my pubic hair. Reaching through and below, like a heat seeking missile latching onto its target, they burrow into me and I throw my arms back around her.

Squeezed against each other, Kate pushes me back against the wall as I grab her butt, pulling our pelvic regions tight together. My thighs begin humping in time with my pulling her butt to me. Her hand tightly trapped between us. Her two fingers jammed inside me, work like a little cock, fucking me between our rutting bodies. a****listic grunts escape our hot mouths, saliva dribbles from the corner of my mouth, our eyes locked in a death stare as Kate fucks me. My eyes telling the naked truth; I fucking love having you inside me Kate, I want you inside me Kate, I'm falling for you Kate!