We never did picturesque long walks, but scaring the shit out of pikeys was good enough.

We never did picturesque long walks, but scaring the shit out of pikeys was good enough.

1. They’re Accepting Of The Unexpected

And no, I’m not talking about ‘coming out’, I think he saw that one coming a mile off. But a couple years after coming out and beginning to grow out of the get-so-drunk-in-Soho-and-falling-asleep-in-the-baggage-compartment-of-the-night-bus-while-dressed-like-a-slutty-school-boy phase, and growing into the copious-amounts-of-legal-highs-while-sweating-my-tits-off-under-the-archways-of-Vauxhall phase, he saw a different side to me for the first time. It was London Pride, and naturally we’d spent the day strutting around town in zebra print underwear, knee high football socks and a ripped vest. At the time it was totally fierce, but looking back I shudder a little. Anyway, we were in Vauxhall and I bump into a guy I’d fooled around with on holiday the year before. At the time I wasn’t exactly ‘clued up’ about GBL and the rules about how to take it safely. For instance; I had no idea that you could only take one ml every hour, and you couldn’t mix it with alcohol. When I’d taken it for the first time (which was the year before, from the same guy) I was drinking all day, taking it whenever and I had a RIOT. I threw my drink at a bitchy tranny and ended up sprawled around a stranger’s toilet lobbing up the contents of my stomach lining, but at the time that all seemed very natural to me. And don’t get me wrong I had one of the best orgasms of my life that day – so how could this drug be bad?

Well, after bumping into this guy in Fire and taking a couple shots, I was feeling on top of the world. Although twerking on the podium, with my eyes rolling back in my head and gurning like…


…I probably didn’t look it. Not to mention sweating like Ken Barlow at Fischer Price. And stumbling around in briefs with a semi on show. Definitely not the freshest look. But let’s just go with ‘hot mess’. So I’m walking through one of the rooms, and fall into one of the tables. I think
That’s weird, I’m not even drunk…
Then it happens again. And this time there’s a man holding me up from under my arms. And I’m thinking
Who da fuck? Tryna cop a feel while I can’t stand upright. And then it happens a third time. And this time I’m being carried to the medic room. Oh the glamour. At least I wasn’t dragged. After spending three hours passed out, having water thrown in my face, my shoulder pinched and jumping up in shock to smack my head off the brick wall – I was starting to understand that all drugs have bad side effects. Least of all being that my smokey eyes were now panda eyes and in the process I’d lost all my money and the remainder of my drugs. The security kicked me into a taxi and that was that.

So when I burst through his bedroom door looking like a cracked out prostitute that had been thrown down a quarry, asking for £30 for a taxi, he looked me up and down, rolled his eyes, pointed towards his wallet and told me that I was going to the bank and paying him straight back the next day.

2. They Give Good Tranny Advice


Last year I was doing a New Years Eve photoshoot where everyone at the magazine was getting trannied up for a laugh.
Potential ankle-breaking heels? Check. See-through dress? Check. Long blonde weave? Check. And as I’m throwing it all into a bag…
“Why are you putting the wig on the bottom? It will get squashed.” My dad states.
“Because it’s raining, so if the rain comes through the bag it will get wet and be ruined.” Like, duh.
“Put the wig in a plastic bag, then put the shoes on the bottom and lay the wig on top.”
As if I just got schooled in tranny 101 by my own dad.

3. They Still Have The Awkward Sex Conversations


A couple weeks after my dad found out I was gay (catch the full coming out story, here) he tried to broach the sex topic – something that should just not really be done from a straight dad to a gay son – unless he’s really clued up. Unlike my dad…
“You be careful you know.”
“Yes dad, I know.”
“Especially if you’re putting things up your bum.”
“You might damage yourself and you’ll lose control of your bowels. You could just be walking one day and you might shit yourself.”
Might I add, this was in PUBLIC.

4. They Protect You

This is possibly one of my favourite stories about my dad! We were drinking in our local pub, my dad was on one side of the bar, and I was at the other – I call it “semi-social”. It’s how you get your dad to still pay for your drinks while retaining street-cred. Baring in mind I was only 16 – so he wasn’t letting me wasted anyway. So I’m drinking with a couple mates, and this vile skinny skag-head who’s drunk off his arse, tries to crack a joke by saying he’ll knock me out. (Can’t remember why, but probably due to plenty of White Lightning Cider and the repression of his own sexuality), so like any normal (closeted) and larey 16 year-old I stepped up to him. He head-butts me in the face, and my nose – being the honker it is – bursts with blood.

My dad sees me looking like some shit out of ‘Carrie’, and asks what happened. Cut to my dad – who isn’t a small man on any scale – charging through this pub which is about the width of a bowling lane knocking punters out of his path as he went. The meerkat of a man scurries out the back door quicker than you can say “mincer-in-disguise”. My dad gets his address off the barmaid, before getting a crow bar out of the boot of his car, and goes to the guy’s flat.

I’m only sixteen, and hadn’t really this angry side to my dad so am trembling like Gareth Gates in front of a pair of tits. He smashes in all of the windows, and shouts through the letter box that if he sees him again, he’ll “put a bomb through his letter box”. Nobody has seen him since. *Files nails*
5. They Can Be Our Dad And Our Mum

I was unfortunate enough to lose my mum at quite a young age, and growing up without one can be particularly hard. Luckily I had an older sister that became a mum, sister and friend rolled into one. My dad never really took up that role, and I understand being a traditional father, having a gay son was hard – so he tended to just drive me wherever I wanted and make sure I lived comfortably. When it came to wanting advice, I had Google.

But I remember one day I came home from a night out crying (blatantly getting emotional off the alcohol consumption) because one of my friends had slept with a guy I’d been texting. I know, it’s a rare coincidence in the gay world. But as if I’d got that upset over some random hoe. *files nails*
And he said, “it’s not worth getting upset about. That friend was obviously not a friend and that person was obviously not worth anything at all. You’re better than both of them… now sleep. You won’t be half as upset when you wake up.”

Other posts you might like:
>> Sex And Another City
>> November: Tranny Realness
>> The Manifestation Of A Mean Girl