Rogerperrin's documents

My life growing up as a gay man into adulthood with my mother as my constant companion

Part 5 of my story

I got the sneaky feeling that people were looking at Mom in the street. A freaky show. Could have been her beauty they were admiring? Tight under the collar, realising with an Adams apple nervously and angrily bobbing my throat, it just was the erratic clothes, as she grew older, to lead passing folk to smirk in merriment. A new kind of experience; mom dying.

Did you love your 7 children? I scream out my quest to the dawn chorus of birds and frogs more interested in finding their breakfast. This solitary statement tunnels from my village in Lancashire, in radiation formation, to the blending, black holes where the dead still restlessly lurk . There’s never any response. So it is I answer. You. Did yes! You taught us to read!

One fine day she sprung up, leapt off the sheets, fastening her crippled bones together brought a season ticket to go round the world.

Gay teenage Growing Up. Some minor adult content.

life in miami

part four of my story

Part three of my story

Gay, Mother, Son, Relationship, Family Growing Up

Me, My Mother and I THE BREAKING BIT Breaking out and Breaking down and Breaking up. Breaking, breaking….torn across the universe, like a squashed mole nobody loves, my lips froze onto the wall of the farmyard- who was I? Who am I? Yet quite soon to be rebuilt. I am put together like the action man; leg by leg, arm by arm, and then a mouth and a buttock. Well? Will it smile? A nose and an ear....

An account of three days in Wales

Where shall they go for their annual holiday? The East coast seemed a pleasant enough trek as any could be for the three of them. They had already spent time in the locality visiting Scarborough, Staithes and experiencing Dracula’s conception at Whitby; climbing the 199 stone steps on the hilly green grass side leading them to the ruins of The Abbey, overlooking the famous harbour and wearing t...

A short moment of love between me and my father.

Prose

Van Gogh Yellow Ran the fields, country madness, sex in a lane With cars passing (do you want to go in the fields? Too risky, Risky here? Surely.) Complete country pattern of light Falls cumbersome over the lovers Love wasn’t in sight. Evening sunset clamps on the prairie of grass Kissing wild flowers Lilac bright. Though I could be heavy petting Spit dripping from my mouth mingled with colgate...

A short prose

a short prose of a few seconds of teenage life

Manchesterman