Becki Tam Can

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

I wanna be your man

your man

your man

your man

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

I think I can

I think I can

I think I can

I think I can

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

I know I can

I know I can

I know I can

I know I can

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Give me your hand

Give me your hand

Give me your hand

Give me your hand

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Do you think you can

Do you think you can

Do you think you can

Do you think you can

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Make me a man

Make me a man

Make me a man

Make me a man

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

@26

26

26

26

I’m just what you need

What you need

What you need

What you need

Don’t make me plead

Don’t make me plead

Don’t make me plead 

Don’t make me plead

To be your man

To be your man

To be your man

To be your man

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

Becki Tam

I'm Semi Interested In People

I'm semi interested in people, you know, as long as they don't interfere with my life too much, do their own thing, don't whine or gossip, or bore my pants off, I’m okay with them. Humans are interesting, in a self-focused, selfish kind, poke them and see kind of way. Cats and humans are alike, it's why some humans don't like their feline friends all that much, too alike.

Maybe, they'd make good pets? You know, a couple of throw humans for the end of the bed. 

"I can't sleep, entertain me." 

You know, the pretty ones. Go on, get on with it. Don’t be shy. Oh, don’t make me have to show you, surely your natural juices, your propensity to show off, your need for attention, your need to be important, gives you some idea? Pheromones, hormones, your lick it and see attitude, gives you some kind of idea. How else do any of you shag? It isn’t rocket science. It can’t just be when she is unconscious, surely. Come on, get on with it, I’m waiting. Use each other as a gym set, hang off each other until one of you makes a mess. Show me what you’ve got. Show me what's hot.

The plain ones could still cook & clean, or take the rubbish out, do the garden, sort out your emails, clean up the bedroom after the pretty ones had finished in there. Someone to comb your hair, if you don't mind 'that' near your head.

I don’t know, what else did you used to get your mum to do? Wipe up the stains of poo. Well, you know, when they really get into it.

I could teach them to say lines like a cocky, or stand like a statue, or, maybe, I could just watch them wrestle on a mat, or make them sit up on their hind legs and catch chocolate in their mouths. Clap their hands and honk like a seal?

Of course, there would be a favourite, which, I guess, would get him into fights with the others. But, it can only toughen him up, which can't be a bad thing. You know, Rocky is my favourite. The charismatic one, with big hands, who looks good on all fours.

You know how life works?

So many of them are worth a giggle and a point. And if they can take directions, all the better.

Then again...

Maybe, if they look good in something wet. Sitting on a ball. Done up in a shiny cagoule. Or in nothing at all – seriously, that is only a few of them, in my experience mostly they look better dressed up.

Maybe, if they are sweet. Have no energy to compete. Maybe if they are neat. Or spend most of their time asleep. 

Of course, dead is even better, I think, even if they lie about the place until they stink. They are quieter that way, less demanding, and less likely to be a bother. Of course, those bits that are 'pink' aren't nearly as nice, but that's just swings and roundabout, let's face it.

Ah people? The never ending question? The never ending problem? That nonstop annoyance. You know, do they ever shut up? Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. And if you snap and kill the ‘bitches’, you tend to go to jail. How is that even sustainable? I ask you? The fuckers are just so adorable, and really pieces of shit, all rolled into one, all at the same time. It's such a crime.

I Meant To Give Up Smoking When I Was Thirty

I'm an addict to the "tines" – nicotine, caffeine... Saltine, ha, ha.

I meant to give up smoking when I was thirty. Then it was forty. The next one doesn't bare thinking about, even if it is eons off yet.

Gotta put in some effort.

As for the caffeine, 6 cups a day, but I don't drink them all. Mostly, half goes cold and I go to make another.

Woo-hoo! Woop! Woop! Woop! Coffee wakes you up.

Give them a go, kids, coffee, cigarettes, crackers, you never know, you might just like them.

And on the Saltines, I suggest liverwurst.

Ah, and a sardine.

Omega 3, good for heart health and may have anti-inflammatory properties, good for your nicotine intake.

And there is always cheese, of course. I’ve got to love me some cheese. Crackers and cheese are made for one another.

Saltine. Crackers. Liverwurst and cheese.

Caffeine. How many cups?

Nicotine. You know, you have to give up the smokes, especially for the blokes, otherwise the only cracker you will get is a saltine. I hope you like cheese.

Over Population

Call the world's problems what you like, but the reality is that it is over-population, the hardest problem to solve. Because you know, every bastard thinks it is their right to have a child, procreate, spit out a little Jimmy, or little Sally.

So, why do we pay a baby bonus? It's actually an anti-environment policy. It is counter to the times. Seriously, if some clod wants to have a kid, let them pay for it themselves, that’s what I say.

Why are the political parties using refugees as a political tool? When, in reality, we should be embracing the redistribution of the world’s population as an environmental issue. We now have plenty of people, we've just got to move them around, that is the reality.

Funny how there are no barriers when it comes to trade? Free Trade agreements should be used for the world’s population.

Wouldn’t it take the pressure off governments, for countries with low birth rates. You don’t have to produce them, just import them. Easy.

But people doggedly stick to the right to bear kids. It is everybody’s birth right, so those with kids say. They don’t want to consider environmental issues when they want to have a kid. If they want to contribute to the world’s over population, let them pay for it themselves, that’s what I say.

Glove Love

You got to like glove love, in this day and age, when it pours from above and all falls to the ground. It's what's saved the world, the human race, from boring itself to death, well, kind of. Pull the rain coat from wardrobe, vacuum seal it on with the buttons up the front, slide your finger through the fur collar, black on the yellow, and off you go. You feel you’re protected from the rain, being wrapped up, gripped, resisted, you know, all the good things.

Seth and I have been doing it without, but gloves are best. Leather with buttons on the wrist, woollen in prime colours that shout. It feels nice in there, on your skin and the rain doesn’t get in. All that gripping and resisting, skin on skin, feels so much more real. Maybe gumboots with buckles. Warm and smooth. I can actually feel my pulse. I think I can even feel my breath. In, out of the rain. I love it when it pours down, grab an umbrella, push the button on the handle, release, fffffft, bop. I can feel it all the way along, in the wind, feel every centimetre as I give it a twirl, opening like a flower bud in Spring, opening like a baby bird about to feed. I have all of my regurgitated love to give.

Seth and I give ours a twirl. He’d be Gene Kelly – I don’t want to be him when he turned out to be such a cunt, who knew – I’m Donny O’Connor, of course. Let’s dance.

That's just a bit, of course. In and out, test the water. Just a tease, just a taste. Yes, no. Feels good. Should we? We should. When we really get going you can’t even see our feet. Not sure how much safer that is? I guess not a lot? You could still tumble and fall and hit your bonce. I never have in the past, except with boyfriends, post deluge. I'm guessing just the two of us ain't bad.

That's not, actually, true. Rome, was it? When it was three. We'd smoked all the hash we'd got in Santorini. No, it was London, back in my old London town, after how many years? We'd been to heaven, and we were on our way back again, we were high on many things, ring a ding, ding. Let the rain fall from the sky. Galoshes at dawn.

Nuggety Louis used to tap in his mack, stomping in puddles until we were all covered in wet. Sometimes I used to let him have his way, and we’d all be dancing in the rain, gloves, hats, in a choreographed threeway, before we could pull out our brollies and twirl cartwheels of drips away. Louis used to very much like having his face full of rain. He was our Debbie Reynolds, but, you know, still a man.

The Real World

How many people don't live the lives they live in public, as they do in private? You know, those people say one thing, but act in another way in private. How common do you think this is? A conservative American politician is an anti abortion, but when his wife's life was threatened during pregnancy she, effectively, has an abortion to save her life. Homophobes? Racists. People who espouse monogamy, but have affairs on the side. People who espouse family values, but in private it’s a lie.

How many people pretend that the lives they live in public, match what they do in private. If we were all honest and admitted to our sexual proclivities, the world would be a less uptight place to live. There would be fewer scared people in the world.

If we were all honest, the world would be a happier place to live. There would be fewer scared people living in fear of being found out. So many more of us would be happy, not having to pour all of their energies into maintaining the charade.

It's funny what people think. It's weird what people think is important.

I like threesomes with my husband, with another man. He does too.

I like playing the field, the more girls the better.

I like seeing my husband with another man. Two guys are hot.

I like men when they crawl on top of me and dominate me.

I like piss. Drinking it down.

I like cum… all over me.

I like being tied up.

I like being smacked… my safe word is magnolia.

I like smelly foreskins.

I like stinky cunts.

I like taking it up the arse.

I can’t orgasm unless I am punched in the face.

I want my genitals to be stapled up my arse, after which I’m douched with my own blood.

I hate cum on my skin.

I like dressing up in school uniforms.

I like running the city, and dressing up in a French maid’s outfit in the brothel being told I am a bad girl.

I like fucking the dead, it is the only way I can do what I want to do.

I like men to take a crap in their jocks.

I like a woman to piss her knickers.

I like construction workers.

I like nurses.

I like school teachers.

I like them young.

I can only fuck when I am off my face on drugs.

I like doing it in public.

I like being caught by a stranger.

I like old woman.

I like them to pretend that I am forcing them.

I like being raped, it is the only way I get turned on.

I want the whole football team to fuck me on the back line.

I want to fuck my son’s girlfriend.

I want to be fucked by my daughter’s guy.

I like big girls, with veins in their legs.

I like men with cocks as big as my arm.

I’m a chubby chaser, they have to be big boned.

I like dress ups.

I like being chock a block as the sun comes up.

I don’t like any more than three, otherwise it is too much of a head fuck.

I like being messed up.

Caught up, tied up, fucked up.

I like that moment after everyone is done, and my body hums.

I like something on which to chew.

I get turned on by anything that is taboo.

It has to be risky, otherwise what is there to do?

@24

We are much adored,

pretty much like nothing that has come before.

It is our time to explore,

and find what our believes and needs

are at the core.

We are never more beautiful than @24

that mush is known,

and our minds can be easily blown,

with what other people 

want us for.

You want me to do what?

Put what in where?

Because you care?

You say I’s not queer,

Everybody give a cheer.

It is a first for me,

Now let me see,

As I have never thought about that before.

So many discoveries,

So much to explore.

As long as it’s not going to hurt?

Not physically you say,

My heart will be okay.

Just a bit of soul searching

Once we are done.

Excuse Me!

People get very nervous if you walk around with your laces untied. You know, if I walk around with my laces untied.

I take my shoes off at work, and work in my socks. I find it more comfortable that way. I have naturally hot feet, hot in my leather shows. They don't smell, oddly enough, they never smell. I wonder if smelly feet is genetic, or something?

So, if I want to walk further than the photocopier, or even head down stairs, naturally, I have to put my shoes back on. Sometimes, I just slip them on and head to the lift, leaving them untied on purpose. You know, just to see. And it is easier that way.

Oh, I am just lazy, I’ve told you that before. Just slip them on, why bother tying them up if I am just going to take them off again. I always wear lace up shoes, never slipons. I hate the look of slipon shoes. They are for old school gays, or aging car salesmen. You know, for guys who have unbuttoned shirts, and multiple gold chains, who wear too much cologne.

I don't really see what the problem is, I can walk around no problem with the laces flapping in the breeze. I don't know what neurosis is at work there, something from our dim, dark, hereditary past, or childhood indoctrination, but there is always someone, with a furrowed brow and a nervous look, who points and nudges and says, 

"Excuse me, your laces are undone." Nervously. Often more than one person. Sometimes they line up. Well, no, they don’t normally line up, normally. (The thought just makes me smile. And we all need to smile more)

Occasionally there is a chorus. "Excuse me?" "Excuse me?" "Excuse me?" That’s one after the other in the office, or the tea room, or waiting for the lift, rather than a choir, you understand.

Such childhood trauma, I think as I saunter past, seemingly oblivious. Whatever?

Occasionally, one will chase me, tap me on the shoulder, and make me see the danger to my life and limb that I am clearly missing.

That always makes me chuckle.

You know, Sandra from reception, who married Brad and had 2.4 kids. Who only does it missionary style with Brad on Saturday nights.

(The 0.4 kid is in special needs school, of course)

Or Gail, from accounts, whose favourite expression is “It’s just not right,” whenever she encounters anything that didn’t come in her catholic, not quite middle class suburbs childhood package.

It makes me laugh mostly. What people concern themselves with. Seriously. And if I said mind your own business they would be offended. Of course, I wouldn’t say that, as I like the look of Mothering Sundays plastered right across their worried faces. Of course, I do. Who doesn't?