Closets are for Clothes

We met a couple of new people who ride on our dolly. Firstly, there is Bayram  a 25 year old Istanbuler. He is from a well-heeled family with a house in Bodrum. He flies down every few weeks during the season. We met him for drinks and lunch. He’s an urbane and well educated young chap with impeccable English. His father has warned him against visiting England, ‘full of homosexuals’ he cautioned. This statement has only hardened Bayram’s resolve to do so. He liked to talk about sex a lot but then so did I when I was 25.

Then there is Joseph, 61, a semi-retired accounts manager from Manchester. He’d only realised he was gay when he was 57 after thirty-five years of marriage (God, why bother?) and talked disparagingly about the poor woman who put up with him for all that time. Joseph has fallen in love with a younger Scouse divorcee. Unfortunately the Scouser has buggered off to Australia. John misses him terribly and plans to visit. I fear a tepid welcome when he gets there as I feel sure that the boyfriend is now banging a different secret drum. They both occupy the same small IKEA wardrobe firmly locked from the inside.

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