Kapitano

Sean, Adam, Drew and Rick are two couples. One has invited the other to their place for an evening meal, and probably later a movie. Rick tells a joke and Sean laughs even though he doesn't get it, while Adam rolls his eyes and smiles - he's heard Rick tell it a dozen times before. Drew helps Adam carve the beef, while Sean spoons out vegetables onto everyone's plate, himself last. Rick nibbles on a baked carrot and makes a little appreciative "Hmm" noise. I sometimes wonder what an anthropologist from another planet would make of our little rituals. The way we dress, act, and speak. The things we say and the things we really mean. I've known these people for years. I was at college with my boyfriend before he became my boyfriend, and we both knew our hosts when they started dating. They were the proverbial odd couple, with an age difference of nine years and contrasting attitudes to punctuality and neatness, but they surprised everyone - including probably themselves - by staying together. Drew has difficulty opening the bottle of wine. He gives it to Rick to try and eventually the cork comes out. Adam sips his wine first. Sean proposes a toast and all four raise their glasses. Two of the men are also having a secret relationship. Sean's boyfriend went to the same school as Drew. Adam's boyfriend once worked for the same company as Sean. Yes alright, I'm carrying on with one of them, and it's not my boyfriend, and his boyfriend has no idea, and if one of us slips and it gets out...well I don't know what'll happen. But it'll be bad. So yes, there is something else going on here. We're both nervous and desperate not to show it. Sometimes when I look across the table and our eyes meet there's a moment of shared fear - so I try not to make eye contact. Someone might see it. There must be a thousand little clues which would tell our alien anthropologist that our hosts are very much in love - subtleties of body posture, movement, expression. Even the way they manage to co-ordinate their eating and speaking, so one holds up the conversation while the other chews. But if that's true, there must be a hundred clues that there's discord mixed in the harmony. They argued earlier, before we arrived. They didn't mention it, but I can tell. They've broken up a few times, once for six months, but they always get back together. Rick passes the jug of gravy to Drew, who offers it to Adam, but Adam signals that he doesn't need any more. Sean starts talking about a documentary he saw on television last night. When the others show interest, he goes into more detail. Sean is Rick's boyfriend. Rick is not having an affair with Drew. I love my boyfriend. I just can't think of anything to say about him. He's just...nice. When he's with me we can happily spend the whole day in separate rooms, so long as we share a bed at the end of it. But when he's not around I miss him terribly. This whole...thing started when he was out of town, about a year ago. I was feeling very sorry for myself, trying to think of an excuse to call him. But then someone called me. I didn't even recognise the voice at first, sniffing and weeping down the phone at me. "He's gone, walked out, says he's never coming back, says he hates me, I don't know what to do, oh god..." So I went over and...yeah, you can guess can't you. We just needed someone to listen, hold our hands and say it'll be alright. Of course they did get back together, and we agreed that we should forget what had happened because we both had really great partners of our own. So let's never mention it again, but before that, let's just have one...last...yeah, right. Adam starts to say something, but is interrupted by Drew choking on a piece of food. Sean asks if he needs help, but Drew says he's okay. Rick looks relieved. The four eat in silence for a minute before Sean takes up the conversation again. Drew is not having an affair with Sean. Sean once went on a date with Adam, but this was their only romantic involvement. Rick takes the last baked potato, cheerfully munching on the leftovers as Adam pours himself another half glass of wine and Drew leans back in his chair, a little overfull. Sean is still talking, the others occasionally nodding to show they're still listening. I am Adam. Who is my boyfriend? Who are the other couple? Which one is my lover? Give your answer in full.

As I recall, it involves hitting a snare drum twice in rapid succession with the left stick, then twice with the right, and repeating. How rapid? Fast enough that you don't much hear the individual hits - more a continuous tone. Generally, rather than try to hit the drumskin twice that rapidly, you let the sticks bounce while pressing them lightly on the drum. You might manage to get three strikes, of lessening impact, this way.It isn't used in pop music, or more than occasionally in Jazz, but you'll know the sound because it's the basic military drum roll.I once studied drumming for 24 hours. And I have absolutely no idea why it's called a paradiddle.

It's always the same. They always leave me, and they always wait till I've just decided this time it's the real thing. This time it's perfect and they'll stay forever. And now Bob's gone too, just an hour ago. He was so sweet about it - it was him who cried, not me. Said he still loved me but...it would never work. The first time it happened was...how long ago? With Steve. I honestly thought it was the happiest night of my life. He'd come home from work early and made us a wonderful candlelit dinner, with wine and three courses. I thought... ...I thought he was going to tell me he'd decided. To commit. To give up that wife of his and be with me. But he wasn't proposing, he was leaving. The meal, the candles - it was his way of trying to soften the blow when he said he wanted to go back to his wife. He was so...charming about it. He was charming in everything he did. And just as I stopped telling myself he was too good to be mine, he wasn't mine anymore. That time it was me who cried, and he took me in his arms and held me close, wordlessly, for a long time until I stopped. I knew it was the last time he'd ever hold me, so I took each moment and tried to make it last. He kissed me, the bristles of his beard against my mouth. And then he was gone. He didn't look back, but I watched him walk away until I couldn't see him anymore. Then I...drank the rest of the wine, cried some more, walked around the flat for a bit, and lost for anything else to do, went for a walk. I can still remember every detail of the evening. I found a park bench and sat down to collect my thoughts and wipe my eyes. I didn't even notice there was someone else there. He asked if I was alright. He smiled at me, asked if there was anything he could do to help. He said his name was Ste... Wait a minute. That can't be right. His name was... His name was... It was Steve. So...this was when Mike left me. Yes it was Mike the chef who cooked me the meal to say goodbye. But Mike didn't have a beard. And anyway I didn't live near the park then. Steve was the only one with the beard, and Mike was married. And I actually lived with Steve, for six months - we moved into a new flat together. It wasn't a whirlwind romance - I mean, it took us nearly a year to admit that somewhere along the way we'd become more than best friends. It seemed silly to live separately when we spent all our time round each other's places, so we found a place and just moved in. He even started speculating about adopting a child together - but I said it was way too soon for that. Secretly I thought it might not last - he was a wonderful guy, so supportive and patient, and I couldn't help wondering whether he'd really want to stay with someone like me. Then one night, I honestly thought it was the happiest night of my life. I can still remember every... He came home from work early in the evening and... ...he kissed me, the... ...no. that can't be right. It can't have been Steve. It must have been John. No, John was later, after Carl. So it must have been Dave - except I met Dave in the park after Pete left. No that was Sam. But it couldn't have been. Was it Bob?

Complicated relationships. David could get rid of Jase if he really wanted to - what's Jase going to do? Tell Celia? No one'd believe him. So David doesn't really want Jase to "fuck right off". Jase obviously gets off on controlling men like David, and perhaps David is drawn to being controlled. Celia and Sean - oblivious in their different ways, but seemingly happy. And David is seemingly happy with Celia. How many of us have been in one or another of these characters shoes? Nicely done - obviously it's a first draft but the rough edges don't detract. And hey, you've actually followed my suggestions - I'm flattered. So of course I had to do an "hour" story of my own...

Oh wow. Looks like I'm appreciated . I might have to get an editor. I shall submit it to the story page. And then spend a week reading what everyone else has put there. Thanks people.

Pornography, from the Greek meaning "Writing about prostitutes". Pornos - Prostitute, Graphia - Writing. It's a word spoken only by those who don't use the stuff - indeed, by those who don't want anyone to use it. "Police broke a pornography ring", "Pornography = Rape", "Save our children from pornography". Have you ever heard anyone say "I love pornography" or "I'm going to watch some pornography tonight"? No. Real people don't have pornography. They have porn, which is completely different. Ten years. Ten years of being there for each other, of talking and listening to each other, of hurting each other's feelings and making it better. And now you tell me it's all over. And why? Because you think you might have found someone else. So what if we haven't had sex in four years, or kissed in two, or hugged in one? Yes I've been keeping track. You know why? Because I care, that's why. Because I care about you. About us. But now you're saying there is no more us. As if you haven't spent the night in dozens of other beds before coming home to ours. As though I haven't done the same. We've both been to saunas and cottages and parks, and afterwards we compared notes. In our home. We're supposed to be friends, goddamnit. And now you say you think it'd be best if we didn't see each other any more?! What is this?! Porn is text or images designed with one purpose only - to assist masturbation. A lot of people get it confused with erotica, and sometimes to be fair there is an overlap. Erotica give you a little rush of sexuality, in the broad sense of the term. It gives your hormones a pleasant jolt without requiring you to follow things to conclusion. It suggests the enjoyment of another's body without pushing you towards penetration or orgasm. Erotica is sexually sensual, not just sexual. Maybe that's why some erotica is great art, but no porn is. Porn doesn't get you in the mood for sex, though erotica can. Porn is what you use once you're already in the mood for sex with yourself. Porn is just boring if you're not already a little aroused. So who is he, this other man you'd rather be with than me? Does he even exist, or is he just an excuse to leave me? Is that what you really want, to be alone? I could understand that; You don't have to lie. Ten years of our lives. And what have you left me with? A box of the letters we wrote when we were apart, a headful of memories, and a stack of your mucky DVDs. Half of them with your name in the credits. There you are, freshfaced and eighteen, getting off with two strangers in a barn. There you are again with a different haircut, making exactly the same noises with someone else. Aroused. Now there's a word. It can mean "awake", or "angry", or "with an erection". When we arouse the wrath of the gods we provoke nemesis by committing hubris. More Greek words. Psychologists talk about "arousal" to mean something like alertness. They're probably the only people who say "Are you aroused?" to mean "Are you paying attention?" But when you wake from sleep - when you're "roused" - why don't we say you're "aroused"? Especially because when you wake up, first thing in the morning, you're probably...aroused. I was reading one of your letters, from when you were setting up photoshoots in Europe. Your descriptions and photographs of the churches and caves - they made me want to be there, so we could explore them together. I always liked going places with you. Do you remember the time the truck broke down a hundred miles from anywhere, you built a fire, and we slept under the stars, huddled together for warmth? Masturbation is another word used by people who don't want you to do it. No one says to themselves "I think I will masturbate tonight" - they say "I'm gonna have a wank". You can imagine religious nutjobs holding placards reading "Masturbation is evil!" - but not "End wanking now!". Pornography - Porn. Masturbation - Wanking. Do you remember how we met? The final scene of one of your films is of an orgy - you and twenty youngsters who look just like you in a forest. If you look closely, in the background, one of them is me.

The rain started to fall harder so I quickened my pace. I was going from nowhere important to nowhere very much. It was getting dark, and I didn't want to be late for nothing much. Beside me a red faced man in his forties bustled along under an umbrella. His paunch was wheezing, and raindrops wobbled on his bald pate. Then, sauntering towards us was the boy I'd often seen before. Eighteen or nineteen, straight dark hair styled into spikes under the hood, white leads trailing from ears to Ipod, baggy lowslung jeans and those same old battered trainers, the logo on his teeshirt plastered wetly to his torso. Oblivious to everything but his music, he obviously didn't know how angelic he was, and well, that just made him more angelic to me. I slowed so I could have a few more seconds drinking him in...before he passed, unaware as always. I took a quick look backward, at his tall swaying frame, before dragging my eyes away with a mental farewell, and promise to do it all again soon. I glanced at the man with the umbrella, and... ...saw that same look in his eye. Taking in every detail as he looked back, trying to make it seem casual. The wanting to take, the pleading to give. So there's someone else who understands. I wonder if, maybe, seeing as we both can't have, you know, that one, we could, perhaps. No. He wouldn't want me. Because I'm too much like him. Too old, too needy, too...used up.

Hi Camy. I finally signed up to AW, and I'm listening to "Broken Heart" now.Very nicely sung, with your usual pitch-perfect range and the kind of emotionality that's intense but believable because not melodramatic. Envious, me? Huh!I also enjoyed the arrangement and production - it's got the sweetness of a typical C & M number, but punchier than before, with more prominent in the bass.With everything that's moving in your pipeline (oo er missus), it looks like the muse has visited and decided to stay. No doubt with his feet on your couch and keeping you awake at odd hours with inspiration.