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Tom Jones - Short Story by Kenneth Nolan

They spoke in a sobering, though treacly sweet accent that appealed to my more wholesome desires. Their eyes transmitting beguiling rays of light and hope, subliminal messages, urging young fools like me to walk away from the hedonism and drop to one knee.

However, it was not easy to get a date with a girl from Manly. You had to be able to show her a good time. Just a drink and a chat wouldn’t do, like it would with most girls from other parts of Sydney. It had to be a meal in a nice restaurant, maybe theatre tickets, or at least a movie, with taxi to and fro, and of course, all this costs money.

With the extra money I got from selling Tom’s drugs to the trannies I was always more flush than the other lads, and consequently had more dates with girls from Manly.

Over dinner the princess across the table would speak about: film, literature, poetry, and dance—I would just sit there silently, attentively, surfing on her rhythmical lyrical flow. It all sounded like marriage, babies, and happy ever after to me.

No sex to be had before a long period of wooing and romancing had been completed. As a pleasant evening came to an end, and with bedtime abeckoning—without so much as a peck on the cheek, the beautiful young lady and I would take separate taxis, travelling in opposite directions.

I’d arrive home around midnight, to find Tom sitting at the kitchen table, with no sign of John and Paul. Tom as usual, would be scribbling away, and drugged up to the eyeballs.

‘Why don’t you come to the agency next week Tom and work with us?’

‘No, no—no thanks! You can’t write on a building site.’

We’d laugh together before bidding each other good night. Then I’d climb the stairs, wondering what narcotic delights I would awake to find on my bedroom floor next morning.

Tom preferred to stick with his job at that horrible sex shop in Central Sydney, and who was I to judge him for it?

In one of Tom’s very rare moments of total sobriety (the one single moment if my memory serves)—he told me that he preferred to be different in every aspect of his life, and working in that seemingly depressing little sex shop was enjoyable to him. He explained that his job there gave him the opportunity to complete valuable research.

Research which he would take home to Cardiff and complete his novel about sexual deviancy and drug psychosis. While we, “the Liverpool lads and I”—were left behind in Sydney, married to those Manly girls.

Kenneth Nolan is a Writer from Tallaght, who now lives in Blanchardstown. He is the founder of 2 regular literary events in Dublin, ‘Dreaming without sleep’ which is held in Dublin Castle and ‘The Merg Sessions’ held in Tallaght. He holds Higher Diplomas in Creative Writing and Cultural Studies. In 2012 he won first prize for poetry in the ‘CDVEC Sports & Cultural Awards’.

He has been shortlisted twice for the ‘Jonathan Swift Award’ and his work has been published in Van Gogh’s Ear Anthology, Tallaght Soundings, Brilliant Flash Fiction-Online, Headspace Magazine, The Echo Newspapers, Ink Splinters Anthology, Phoenix Ink Anthology, Creative Talents Unleashed, Flare, Live Encounters Magazine. He has appeared as ‘Featured Writer’ on Dublin South FM ‘Rhyme & Reason’ show and Near FM ‘Writers Block’. His radio play ‘The Twang Man’ has been broadcast on Dublin South FM.

You can learn more about Kenneth’s work online at the following:





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