It appeared, however, that by virtue of a Twitter frenzy, the press articles had had the exact reverse effect, in that they actually improved his popularity and public profile. For the first time in his fifty two years, though now no longer possessing a flat six pack, with a wine red nose and a disheveled dress sense, he was being lauded as an icon of male libertarianism. The Daily Mail absolutely loved him. Though Henry wasn't at all sure that particular endorsement helped much. It was a bit like Machiavelli praising one's ethical rectitude.
Henry understood the rules of this game blindfold. Why were they holding his ex wives testimony back? Even he couldn't wait to hear what those three queens of his life had to say. Scandals always had a limited time and momentum to them, before fatigue set in. As long as you kept feeding them daily with new, fresh and juicy details, the fickleness of public interest might not depart. At some point the focus and pull of these revelations would inevitably need to be re-adjusted, or brought to an ignominious ending.
As though someone had a line tap on his innermost thoughts, the next day all three of his wives - Nola - Jessica & Patricia -were on the front pages of the tabloids. And were they complaining about his infidelities? No. They all were quite happy for him to play away from home, because it left them free of the pressures of 'servicing his needs'. According to them he was so perpetually rampant, his 'needs' became literally oppressive to them. The down side of his widely spread infidelity was they were constantly seeking treatment for a venerial infection, or other such like. They made no complaint about the generous financial arrangements once they'd divorced him either. This was all going quite swimmingly well. Then Patricia, his most recent and longest lasting wife, dropped in an offhand comment that exploded into the awaiting stagnant cesspool.
She started talking about Chalfont/Clarissa, and how he'd always been Henry's favourite offspring, but 'to an unhealthy degree'. When asked what she meant by 'unhealthy' she was frank. He liked to get into the bath naked with him when he was a child.' And left the statement hanging there unexplained, then blurted out - 'You'll have to ask Chalfont/Clarissa about all that. All I'll say is that it marked him. If Chalfont/Clarissa is a little confused about themselves today, then this is largely his Father's fault' Henry's eyes bulged, he covered his mouth lest anyone heard him scream, then cried out loudly - ' That is the lowest fucking level'
The teasing nature of the press attention, was now approaching its smutty hub, that waste of space that was his son. And he was still his son, even if he now wore makeup, heels and a heavily ruched silk dress to work. Chalfont/Clarrisa worked as a personal assistant to some up and coming trans designer, that Henry had never heard of. The photo used in all the papers showed his son had had quite bit of reconstructive work done recently. Where he'd got the money for this did perhaps not require a palm reader, look no further than one of the tabloids. To Henry he looked ever more like an arche, but high glamour version of his own Mother. In other words - patently ridiculous.
The interviewer wasted no time getting to what she wanted to hear about.
'Could you tell me more about your childhood in relation to your Father, those times in the bath with you'
' What I remember is he loved to be naked and play with my toys in the bath with me. I don't remember if my Mother was around or not. I was young, two or three, I didn't think it odd at the time. It was fun playing with Dad. He appeared to get more and more enthusiastic, then onetime he got a hard on. Delighting in showing me his engorged member, he put a small hat and pair of goggly eyed glasses on it. Shouting 'ride em cowboy' repeatedly. This happened just the once'.
'So he never did that ever again'
'No, not that.'
'Do you mean he did something else.'
'Well, he did used to dress up in Mum's clothes, when she was out. He got an erotic kick out of that too'
'He was aroused by it?'
'Yep, but. Mum and Dad divorced shortly after this. I've always assumed there was a link. My Father has always been completely lead by his dick, a devoted wife was never going to be enough for him. I was never enough for him either. He criticises my behaviour repeatedly. Unable to please him in whatever I chose to do, I recognised a long time ago I'd never win with him. So now I just do whatever the hell I want. Since I started transitioning he refers to me as ' only a fig leaf of a man left' or ' that prosthetic woman'. So, as you can imagine, I want little to do with him.'
The bathroom incident Henry recognised, but not the inserted innuendo - the 'pedo' slant being put on it. He and his wife, had, during their days experimenting with Viagra and other performance enhancing drugs, taken to walking around the house stark bollock naked, all day long. Both often in a highly charged states of arousal. Patrica knew that, but was deliberately omitting her part in this account of their permissively sexual decadence.
The hard on in the bath had taken even him by surprise, which was why he'd tried to make fun of it. It was truly embarrassing to recollect. Particularly because he recognised how badly this was now landing. His explanation, however true it might be, would not diffuse any scurrilous misinterpretation, it may even make things worse. For in matters of sexual ethics, public opinion, often quite rightly, wants to believe the very worst in people. Any desire to establish the factual truth of the matter, being the first casualty slaughtered on the altar of salacious gossip.
No comments:
Post a Comment