Luke Allan
Ursula Cheng

Carolyn Angelo
Tobias Cook

Tom Benn
Kirsten Cowie

Emily Bone
Andrew Denholm

Sarah Christie
Elizabeth Stewart

Jack Clark
Eileen Glass

Edward Keeble
Imogen Scott

Kerrick Newstead
Anette Fritsen

Laura C-Harries
Lindsay Grime

Daisy Dawes
Alison GlanvilleJones

Sam Elliot
Laura Darling

Martin Gaston
Gillian Kirkland

Mary-Caitlin Hentz
Sarah Tanat-Jones

Kirsty Kelly
Jaimie Lane

Miranda Jackson
Trine Mangernes

Ailish McA Green
Lindsay McBirnie

Gina Mortlock
Lucy McCririck

Richard O'Brien
Elizabeth Walker

Vidur Nauriyal
Sophie Newell

Sophie Playle
Marc Noble

Kirsty Smellie
Fiona Purves

Frankie Taylor
Genevieve Ryan

 

People call me John. I’m a thirty-seven in December, solicitor-advocate. I’m highly competent but dreadfully unfocused for the most part. I conceal this well. I adore the dislocation of my work, my fitted suit and platinum tie pin, my six figure salary - I can even see the building lights wink from my city apartment.
My favourite smell is moisturised skin after intercourse. What a peculiar answer, John, I hear you cry. Well, what a fucking peculiar question. Now - Let’s revel in our shared peculiarity and continue:
My favourite room is hers; where the Venetian’s are permanently closed and the bed is always unmade.
I exercise in my basement gym at 2am every other night while also attending the local fitness centre with a work colleague - only twice a week but one must keep up appearances.
I watch pornography to relax and sometimes I even watch her. She is undoubtedly my favourite possession.
I dislike my acne scars and disguise them with five-o-clock shadow, other than this I am highly confident in my physicality. I maintain a full set of hair, a strong jaw line. Many men could do worse than I.
The last thing I stole? I stole a packet of cigarettes from the chink newsagents in the dock districts, the other night. It was on the way back from the underbank. I like to meet her there. I take great pleasure in straying from Yuppie-dom - especially by night.
It has been four and a half minutes since I was last naked in front of her. My white shirt is pressed and on my back. She remains in a state of undress as her little fingers knot my tie and fastens my cuffs. Guilt keeps me from sleeping sometimes, so I have to go see her - She always says my big eyes are tired. Paperwork and the spirit cabinet. Another cardio session in the basement will give me enough pain to dislike the 06:45 buzzing. I do sleep fine. I don’t dream - not anymore. But when 2am calls I will not be in my bed alone.
Music? I like to fuck her to Tricky but when I’m not riding cliché I listen to anything remote or indistinct.
Night of the Hunter was my favourite film as a child. Faggot Laughton was a genius of a man. I always dreamt vividly of the trip down the river.
A client told me the other afternoon I should take a trip to hell to see if I could blag a return. They said I’d have no trouble. I think Hell is a little extreme. I was thinking more the south of France.
I do not lie. Never to myself. Never to her. I just keep the truth sacred, hidden away from soiled hands and prying eyes. I know I don’t need saving quite yet, as long as I have her smiling.

 

TEXT by Tom Benn + IMAGES by Kirsten Cowie