Page 13 of White Noise

I didn’t really have hips. Nor did I have a bum, and clothes tended to just hang off me like I was some kind of clothes hanger.

Not that I cared. Not really. I’d come out of my box just like this, and there had never been anything I could do about it. I was Matthew Winston, and if people didn’t like that, they could do one. I’d grown up not caring, and I was not about to start now.

My phone chimed from the sofa as I crawled back up there, burying myself under my blanket.

Connor Kincaid. Two new messages.

Cringe.

Double cringe.

Connor Kincaid posted on Instagram.

Infinite cringes right there. I’d followed Connor the actor. Then I’d followed the real him. He’d followed me back. How stupid was I?

I didn’t want to look. I didn’t want to get myself more involved than I already was. He was a major television star. An influencer. A bisexual icon.

And I was…

Me.

I still looked. It was a nice picture of him curled up on the sofa, perhaps at home.

Messages: two. Just as the notifications had said.

I like that you’re open about yourself. It makes things easy to relate to. I feel we kind of know each other a little.

Despite you sending Xs at me. You can always block me if you think I’m annoying, but I think we should be friends.

I didn’t know how to feel about that message. I got a sudden pang of guilt. Con Telford was a star, but Connor Kincaid was obviously lonely. A sad lonely bloke who probably just needed a hug.

I didnotwant to hug Con Telford.

I moaned into my sofa blanket and threw my phone onto my little coffee table. Then I turned notifs off and left it face down. There. No distractions.

I had umpteen union emails that I really should deal with. I was part of my Teachers’ Association Pride committee, and I still hadn’t started on getting our float registered for next year’s London Pride. This year’s plans also needed attention, and I needed to send emails, make phone calls, draw up basic plans, write lists.

I switched on BBC1.Antiques Roadshow, where some pensioner was getting his mum’s old wall clock valued. I sighed.

BBC2.Songs of Praise. I switched the sound off. Sighed some more. Picked my phone back up. Typed.

Dinner Monday? After the gym. My treat.

I pressed send. Then I screamed at the screen.

No can do. Shooting until midnight Monday. But I can do Tuesday since it’s a day off. Have a meeting with my agent in the morning but can definitely do after the gym. 8-ish?

What was I doing? Setting up a date?

8-ish is fine. See you at the entrance or something?

He replied straight away, like he had nothing better to do in his celebrity world than sit around texting with me.

Looking forward to it. C

My hands were shaking, trying to figure out how to reply. It really wasn’t that difficult. All I needed to do was to write something cheerful and positive.

Except I didn’t feel very cheerful and positive. I had no issue meeting up with complete strangers to get naked and do the horizontal tango. I was quite happy to stick my dick in people. Even happier letting people stick their dicks in me. I liked a good blowie. I liked…

---