Ailish McA Green
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