Like every gay boy I've ever known

Tagged

Tagged by Paul Up Late.
Eight things that nobody knows about me. Things I have not told. Let me see?

As a fourteen year old, on holidays, I was attracted to the public toilet near where we were picnicking, when someone said there was a man hanging around it. When nobody was looking, I sneaked around the back way and masturbated in one of the cubicles.

As a fifteen year old, I seduced my well developed twelve year old cousin, Doug. The chase was more fun than the catch. We didn't do much, just play a bit. He eventually suffered from some mental condition and the last time I saw him he didn't know who I was.

I used to steal money from my great aunts purse, as a sixteen year old, visiting on Sunday afternoons. Dementia, cakes - avoid the cream ones - and one hundred dollars, nice afternoon. It was for the thrill, I didn't really need the money. I figured I was cheaper than a nurse at $25 an hour. Big smile. She adored me, as I adored her.
She left all her money to me, anyway. She's the reason I have never rented, much to Tom's amazement.
School. Uni. A couple of years in London. Buy my first house on my return. May be I have always got it all too easily?

As a seventeen year old, I was on Black Rock beach with my grandmother, when she asked, who she called a nice young man, in a black and white striped t-shirt, the time, who was so obviously checking me out, that I made an excuse to go back to the beach after we had got back to the house, to find him. But he had gone, by the time I got back to the water. I found about the bushes though and I had his spoof sticky inside my jeans when I got back to drinking hot chocolate with nan in her kitchen.

I had my first threesome at school, in the bush walking store room. Alex suggested it. I got the store room key. He got Tom. Watching Tom and Alex pash was hot, but we were all a little too nervous for sexual gymnastics.

As an eighteen year old I got caught shop lifting at K-Mart. I just wanted to see if I could get away with it. I don't know what I was thinking? I had the money in my wallet to pay for the goods. I didn't get away with it. I went to court, on my own.
The store detective found me at court. "You don't belong here. You are not like the rest. You're a good kid. Go and see this barrister inside the court." She handed me his card. "He'll represent you. Plead guilty. You'll be fine. No conviction, just a bond."
"Thank you," I said, stunned.
"My pleasure. Now go and see the barrister. You haven't much time."
I got a bond. I didn't even have to speak. The barrister did all the talking. Good thing, I was shaking too much.
I learnt my lesson that day, walking out of the court house. I have never stolen any thing, ever again. Not even a Biro from work.

I cheated on my girlfriend with my best mate, despite always denying it to her.

I was once, ridiculously, a suspect in an armed bank robbery, the investigation for which followed me over seas. My most unlikely friend was suspected of being the mastermind, which was the funniest bit.

Although, the last one was never a secret like the rest. All the rest, I've never told a soul. The bad decisions of youth.

Friday Man

Friday Man was on the tram, this morning. I didn't see him until I was about to get off. He obviously doesn't get on at Brunswick Street, I've got that wrong. He was in casual clothes. Soft cotton pants that bunched around his groin. He adjusted himself, as I gazed at him. He's got bedroom eyes, almond shaped, dark, intense.

He's got a mouth a bit like a Muppet, a sexy Muppet, though. I could put it to good use.

Thursday Morning

I left home right on 8.30. I figure it is the post 8.30am tram that Friday Man catches. It rained for a minute, just as I was about to leave, but stopped pretty quickly. I love the rain. I love winter. I love getting rugged up from the cold.

There are two high school boys who leave their house, some where in my street, about the same time as I do, every morning. They are, let's say, handsome boys of about sixteen and fourteen in their Xavier blazers and ties and suit trousers. (Tom went to Xavier.) Two gorgeous bookends. They were in front of me as I walked up my street, this morning. The taller one gives me sideways looks, the younger one never reacts.

When the first tram was jammed full, I was left on the footpath with the school boy brother's, after it had slid away. I started following them, as they started to walk up Gertrude Street. The brothers walked up George Street and I watched them go, laughing and chatting, as I walked up to Brunswick Street, Friday Man's stop.

Drippy-Eyed Old Woman, with her usual wet, disease sheen all around her eyes, got on the tram with me, at Brunswick Street. Some rat-faced receptionist played good Samaritan giving up her seat for old Drippy-Eyes, looking upon those who remained seated with scorn.

"No," grunted the old woman. "No."

"Oh, but I insist," said, I would suspect a filthy Christian, good Samaritan Woman. "I'm getting off at the next stop." Self serving smile. "Please. Sit down."

Drippy-eyed woman took the seat with her usual look of bewilderment.

Narcolepsy Donna Chang was also on. She lay across the ticket machine, initially, coughing freely over the buttons. I wanted to grab her 4 foot high face and bang it into the edge of the machine. "Other people have to use that machine, Donna! Hand over your phlegmy mouth, please," as her teeth fell from her gums, one by one.

The seat next to Drippy-Eyed woman became vacant and Donna Chang floated herself over to it, holding her handbag ahead of her, as if it was something diseased. The tram made a sudden stop and she stepped on my foot, as she sailed into Back-pack woman, sitting opposite Drippy-Eyed Woman, grabbing Back-pack woman’s tits to steady herself.

She smiled her gummy, toothy smile at me, as if in acknowledgment of the foot violation, once she'd settled herself. Yes, yes, get some sleep you freak, I thought. She smiled again, as if to acknowledge those thoughts, just as her hands slipped around her hand bag and her eyes slipped shut and she was gone.

I gazed down at Drippy-eyed woman and decided I had to move, as I couldn't stand, or sit, looking at the foul old woman all the way into the city, I could barf my breakfast. Besides, back-pack woman, sitting opposite her, was making all the right moves to be getting off.

I didn't want her seat with its obvious drawback. So, I headed to the back section of the tram.

Slitherin was there, ripping up playing cards, go figure. Revolta was sitting, he was standing. They tried to be too clever by sashaying down to a double seat just vacated, so they could do their guppy-faced, canoodling nonsense that they do. But some whippet of a girl slipped in front of them and got one of the seats, so they had to sit facing each other. Of course, they lent forward, pushing their faces close together. Of course, they made sucky-mouths. Of course they were just vile! Revolta made some joke about the fat man with coffee behind his back, grabbing her chest and making dead faces with her tongue hanging out.

I looked up and down the car, no Friday Man. Damn. Hardly surprising, since I got on at his stop.

 

Friday Man

I admit that I get my jollies from gazing at guy's bulges in the morning on the tram. All those suit pants pushed out, all those strapping boys fresh from their morning wank. Fresh jocks. Crisp shirts. Striped ties that rub over those cocks, as they sit. Bed room eyes. Distracted. Getting some where. Thinking of work. Not paying any attention to what I'm doing.

I just admire them. Freely. Not trying to bring attention to myself. I never go straight from their bulge to their eyes. I'm not trying to pick any one up. I'm just on my way to work and I'm just trying to amuse myself.

I just gaze nonchalantly. And occasionally, like Friday morning, I get that set of eyes that dart a look at me and look away, only to look back again. Nervous. Interested, some how. Tuned in.

Maybe he's noticed, I think. Looking right passed me, but staring peripherally. You know when you've got their attention. Guys who aren't the slightest bit interested, don't notice me looking anyway. It's not in their programming. He was standing up, a seat, or two, away. I was sitting down.

My eyes are dropped easily. Black pants. Nice, round fist of a lump. Well packed. Big balls. Cock to the left. Look blank at the far end of the tram. He does the tell tale look down, looking at what I was looking at. Is it that impressive?

I look up. He is looking at me, I hold his gaze. He holds longer than he means to, he looks away.

I hustle and amazingly get my ticket and a seat, this morning. I slip between people and fluke it. She's fat, tacking up most of the seat. Maybe it wasn't such a fluke. I look up and there he is, diagonally opposite, Friday Man. He looks over at me with intense eyes and looks away. I think he remembers me? I catch his gaze, I hold it. He looks away. I hold my position, he looks back. I hold his gaze again. He's into it, his eyes give him away. He's making the acknowledgement. Connection. He looks away. I drop my eyes to that magnificent bulge, it's like he's got a hand in there.

I gaze at the bright coloured cars through the window.

I look at him, he is returning my gaze, I look away. Look back and he is still looking. I hold his gaze. We sit staring at each other.

I drop my eyes straight to his cock. His legs flex a part, momentarily, as I looked down. He'd have such a big dick, I think. I could see it laying slug-like over his balls. I look up to meet his gaze, expressionless, just a smile in my eyes. He stares back, curious. Head slightly cocked.

A swish of material and a fat woman with assorted carry bags in her hands and a ticket between her teeth is looking down at me. My mind boggles that she might want me to take the piece of card from her torn purse of a mouth and validate it for her. I feel myself recoil.

"No, no, I don't want a seat," she mumbles. She eye-balls me. She takes the ticket from her lips. "I sit all day," she says. She has an accusational tone.

 

Gavin and Steve Get Ahead

Gavin and Steve are studying identical uni courses. Steve, six foot, blond, blue eyes. Gavin, six foot, dark, green eyes. They go to uni, studied law together. Very sweet. Wide-eyed and innocent, if you like. But Y Gen, not hung up.

One of the older, gay, lecturers, at the law faculty, offered them cocaine, help with university marks, even a sport car for a double act.

"I've never married," said Professor Jim Moriarty, professor of ethics. "I have no one to leave anything to."

Fake open fire and animal skins, dim lighting, ethereal decadence.

High up in lecturer, Jim's, Docklands apartment, where he just liked to watch, you know. He never did touch. Gorgeous boys, bookends of blond and brunette, which kept the hormonal elderly lecturer beguiled, until the day he retired, unexpectedly, to his shack, on the surf beach, down the isle.

The two days, curiously, coincided. Videos he'd made, which even Gavin and Steve didn't know about, were returned with property from a robbery at the apartment and promptly handed to the police. There was talk of an investigation by the University, which never eventuated.

"Let me watch and I promise you both a HD," said Jim breathlessly. "You're both smart boys, you going to score well anyway. But a HD is good to have."

Steve came from a poor, rural family, every thing he got he got on scholarship. He'd drunk too much of the professor's liqueur. He was a bit cross-eyed.

Candles burned, incense perfumed the dark, shadowy world of life in the sky. Trance music fill the air, like drums played like heart beats, a message from afar.

"HD. You just watch. No touching?"

"Oh my dear no, I only every wanted to watch."

"You promise?" asked Gavin, his voice thick and claggy."

"You have my word."

Gavin looked over at his out-of-it boyfriend, then looked back at the professor. Gavin snorted through his nose and looked angry, momentarily wild.

Steve lay back against the couch. Gavin reached for the waistband of Steve's 501s. He undid the buttons deftly. Steve objected when Gavin's hand slid into his jocks. Gavin pushed Steve firmly back against the couch and pulled his jocks down to his thick, hairy thighs. Gavin took Steve's soft cock between his lips. Steve moaned. It stiffened up as Gavin sucked it. Steve objected again, weakly. Gavin held Steve's arm firmly. "Just lay back," Gavin whispered, sternly.

"Oh yes," whispered the prof, sounding like Monty Burns. "Very nice. Excellent."

Saturday Night With My Guy

Manny gave me a disclaimer before I kissed him, saying he'd had a stomach bug all week and he apologised after I'd stopped kissing him, just in case he'd given it to me.

I hadn't spoken to him all week, so I went straight to his place, without calling, after I had visited Lottie, in the morning.

When I got there he was practising his music. You see, if I had called he wouldn't have answered the phone, because of it. He was trying to tell me off for the lack of communication, as soon as I walked in the door, but he was smiling too much, as he said it, so I could tell he was pleased that I was there.
I like him being my boy. I like that look on his face, whenever I see him, that tells me he is mine.
Not enough, he said. You know how to use a phone, I know that much.

I stepped forward and kissed him and he stopped talking. I sucked his bottom lip in between mine, let go and then licked his top lip. His kissed me back so tenderly I knew I was forgiven.
We cuddled on the couch watching TV shows Manny had taped until late.

I came home, around midnight, to Shane and Matt and my step-daughter Jane. We watched The Ritz, which most of us can recite line by line and the John Water's film, Pecker.
Jane just walked out the front door to catch a taxi in the street. She said she'd come back if she struck out, which was not likely.

3am'ish, I was woken up by Shane and Matt going to bed saying, "Jane must have caught her taxi."

Friday Night Live

There were end of financial year drinks, from 4pm. I read in the paper, at lunch time, that a hit and run driver had drunk four stubbies in the first hour, which I didn't think sounded like that much. I drank four stubbies in the first hour and I was putrid.

Mark and Luke were at home when I got home. They'd come down to the city, to watch Big Brother with us, because they had nothing on for the weekend.

Luke got into rolling. We ordered Indian. The open fire burned all night.

By eleven I was maggotted, pissed and stoned. I woke up with the television in my room on some American religious program, in the wee hours. I hate that! They should be banned.

Is this as good as it gets, I chuckled to myself, as I staggered off to bed, time unknown. Tired, stoned, dark, stairs, I tripped on a few, but managed to stay upright for enough of the performance.

Cold Morning

Joey's noona stood next to me at the tram stop in Gertrude Street.

"No gloves," she said, incredulously. "No gloves?" She raised her hands in the air as if they were a question mark.

She poked me in the arm, as if to make more of a point. Being so short, I guess, she had to make her point any way she could.

"No," I said. "I don't wear gloves.”

She rapped her arms around herself as if to hug. "Brrrrrr. You crrizy."

"I don't own gloves," I said, which isn't strictly true. I have several pairs of vintage, leather gloves from my father and grandfather, handed down to me, none of which I wear.

"I knit you some," she said. “If my Giuseppe wore gloves, 'ed be aloyve todeye.”

"No, no, no..." I started to say.

"For you," she said. "No problem. You noice boy, you keep warm." She rubbed her hands on her arms.

"But I don't wear gloves," I said.

"You wear my gloves," she said. She smiled, encouragingly. "For me," she said. "You wear them for me."

 

Living In The Cross Fire

Shane is onto Tom about him setting Mark W. up with Kim.

I probably haven't spoken too much about Kim, as I haven't seen much of him lately, but he has a whole inter-connected history within my group of friends. Let's just say that when we all experimented with recreational drugs, put them in their proper place and moved on with our lives, Kim took to them more enthusiastically and more permanently than the rest of us. He's lost the love of his life because of them. Well, it was his choice. Most of the guys he's had since have been little more than tweaked out fuck buddies.

Tom and he have had a weird slightly-twisted-never-really-eventuating relationship and a history of messing with each other's lives.

But I digress...

Shane was looking a little bunnies in the head lights, as he told me what he knew of the Mark W/Kim saga. He had the full picture, although he hadn't quite joined all the dots. Tom had told me that he was setting Mark W and Kim up, because he thought they would be good for each other. Two of his favourite people, single and alone. So, I had to be careful of what I said to Shane.

"Kim and Mark... and Tom," said Shane. "That's four days out partying for Mark, around Wesley's birthday long weekend. No wonder Mark hasn't been to work much this week."

"Poor Mark, hasn't he been well?" I ask.

"Poor Mark? Poor Mark! Poor fucking Mark chooses to go out partying for four, maybe five days in a row and then he falls a part afterwards and spends half the week on the phone to me wanting support," said Shane. "And now I find out some how Tom is involved."

"You know, I'm not sure if Tom said that the three of them were out together the Sunday after Wesley's birthday." I was back peddling. I had quite unthinkingly given Shane that information. I spoke without thinking, a few days ago, I was distracted, it just slipped out.

"The last thing that Mark needs right now is some junkie playing with his mind," said Shane. "What does Tom have to do with this?"

I shrugged. Tom was doing it for his own amusement. Putting Mark W. and Kim together would give Tom a greater power base from which to operate. I said nothing.

"Why is it that every time I look around Tom is meddling in my life?" said Shane. "Why does he want to?" I thought, for a moment, Shane had tears in his eyes.

"I think he's bored." I felt immediately disloyal after I'd said it, but it was the truth.

Sexy Footballer Ben

Can you imagine how sexy Ben C would have looked drugged off his mind? Crystaled with a hard on. Yum!

He looked good in training. Back playing this weekend. Welcome back Ben.

Crisp and Clean

I changed my sheets. How much of a grot am I? The cleaner made my bed. She put the doona the wrong way up, you should have seen the state of it. I blushed.

I reckon I change my sheets every few months. Tom says that's disgusting. I say that mostly it's only me, with the odd wog boy pubic hair, who slumbers in between them. And I certainly would object to my bed smelling of Manny.

So, I was stoned struggling at midnight, balancing precariously on my mattress trying to get the cover to fall down over the damn thing, cursing the whole time when it wouldn't. But eventually it did and I didn't die, as I suspected I might. Now, I have my sixties spots doona cover. Many shades of green, which, somehow, goes with my Edwardian décor. Good design goes with any thing. It's a happy doona cover, it makes me smile whenever I walk into my room.

So how often, is often enough to change your sheets?

C.B.D. Shooting

He's pretty cute, really. I guess the guys inside will be loving him, pretty soon.
It's a high profile murder and attempted murder, I guess he'll be getting the maximum.

I wonder how he feels about sex with men?

The initiation - late one night in his cell, taken by surprise, held down by Chopper and Lefty... getting shown as much compassion as he showed that lawyer, the back packer and the girl now minus a kidney.

"You're going to be our bitch, pretty boy, if you want to survive," says Killer, as he undoes his belt.

Our boy, Christopher, struggles, but is over powered. No one comes to his cries of help, as they grab him by the hair.

Lonely Tom

Tom complained that we all have hot boyfriends and he can't even crack it for a plain one. He sounded sad, when he said it.

"You've got Manny, David's got Mark and... and Shane has, um, er Matt (Tom gives himself away for having meddled in Shane's relationship with Mark W., when he says it that way. I don't think he realises he does it) And I've got no one."

We've all agreed that our Mark quota is full. All three of us have one.

I think what Tom was really saying was that he was missing coming around and hanging with me, Shane and David, like he always has, albeit never living together before, because he knows he has fucked it up so badly with Shane...

It only dawned on me the other day why Tom hasn't been around, because of he and Shane. I'm usually Tom's staunchest ally, but I know he acted reprehensibly by getting in Mark W.'s ear. Yes, yes, Tom we could all see that Shane and Mark W. were on the rocks. No, that certainly doesn't give you free licence to act as relationship counsellor.

"I'm only trying to help," said Tom the last time I saw him.

No, I wouldn't say that Tom was only trying to help himself, because it's not deliberate, but when it comes out looking like he has, you'd be forgiven for think it so.

Tom is the devil incarnate, as far as Matt is concerned. Mark W. is the enemy. Perry is a fuck whit. It's funny seeing such an obvious crack appear in my friendship base, it's interesting to see a new perspective on it all.

"I know one thing," said Shane. "I so wish Tom would get a fucking life, so he could start leaving mine alone."

Tom's in Queensland and Sydney, this week, chasing the sun.

Where Am I? (Anna)

Anna woke to bright sunlight in her eyes, the bed was soft, she felt numb. There was humming in her ears. She didn't know where she was, momentarily, it all looked hazy and unfamiliar. She blinked her eyes a few times and the haze cleared some what. She was in her own bed. She giggled under her breath.

"Ahh! Ahh!" was the soft moan, barely audible. Maybe kissing, lip noises.

She rolled over and looked side ways to see Ethan and Christopher kissing.

Ethan's bare, thick, hairy legs. Christopher was sniffing him. Ethan was in briefs with a T-shirt. Christopher was shirtless.

She could see Ethan's hardness in his jocks. "Ah. Ah. Ah. Ah!" Ethan said, as Christopher touched his face. He obviously enjoyed it.

She closed her eyes tight. Soft ambient music played. She wanted to drift off again, she felt safe and warm.

"Ah yes. Kiss me again," said Christopher

"That feels good," said Ethan, breathlessly.

Anna remembered dancing on the dance floor with Christopher & Ethan - her two handsome men she liked to pretend. She didn't remember any thing after that. It was all a blank. She's had an awful lot to drink, she remembered that much. Ethan had given her a pill. Or was that Christopher?

She got up on one arm and her head throbbed. "Oooo," she said.

"No, no!" Ethan whispered. "Don't stop!"

"Anna's awake," said Christopher. He squeezed Ethan's arm.

"Is she?" slurred Ethan. He looked over to her and patted the bed next to him.

Anna groan again. She could feel her mouth go dry, as she tried to speak.

"Kiss him," said Anna.

"Okay!" said Christopher. He nuzzled Ethan's ear with his nose.

"Ah, ah, ah," said Ethan. Christopher put his mouth over Ethan's.

"You know he's straight?" said Anna.

"Ahh!!! moaned Christopher, kind of muffled with his mouth over Ethan's. "Is he?"

"So are you?"

"Yes," said Christopher.

She watched the two boys kiss tentatively.

"He's got nice lips, they are soft," said Anna.

"They are," said Christopher.

"I like kissing him the best," said Anna. "He tastes the sweet."

The two boys looked at her and smiled, crookedly. Out of it. Anna wanted to laugh.

"I've got to piss," she said.

Anna got up and went to the toilet. She didn't want to leave, but her bladder ached. She squatted on the toilet, the seat was cold. A chill ran up her spine. It felt good to be expressing the ache in her abdomen. It was a relief, as her tension ran out of her snatch.

When she got back, Ethan and Christopher were sitting side by side on the bed, Ethan dressed in track suit pants. He looked concerned. Serious. Christopher looked out of it.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh," she wailed, as she slipped between the two of them. "You two looked so cute to...

"Are you..." started Ethan.

"Don't say it," said Christopher.

She took their hands in each of hers - they were big and warm. She felt so close to the both of them, as she held their hands. It felt so intimate, she could have cried. She looked sideways at Ethan, he looked straight ahead. She looked at Christopher, he smiled wanly.

"Pull the doona up," she instructed.

The two boys cuddled into her on either side and they all fell asleep.

daisy

It's All Over Now Brown Cow

I feel wrecked, alarmingly so. Every time I stand up I get bad head spins. Every thing seems to hurt. I can't believe it is already Monday, just about, I groan at that idea.

Apparently, I got really out of it in the end, for the last, oh shall we say, few hours. (nervous smile) Tom filled me in, with glee. I have to conclude that a club/dancing regimen is too strong for a lounge room get together. And then people were still giving me pills. Couldn't they see what state I was in? Were they mad?

Tom even did. I remembered that.

"Oh, I just wanted to see if you could get any messier than you already were. And you did. Perry gave you one just because he was giving everybody one."

So two over my prescribed number, any fucken wonder I was a space cadet.

"Nothing awful happened," said Tom. "You didn't play with yourself in front of everyone, nor did you hit on anyone, you know, sleazily."

"Well, I'm glad about that." Not having considered that I would have done either of those things, until then. "And R @ S had it out, which kind of took the heat off you nicely." R @ S have deep seated animosity, going back years.

"I didn't hear any of that." And I didn't.

"It was in the front room," said Tom. "But they were still going each other, animatedly." Tom dropped his voice a little. "They both just got angry and left, pretty much soon after that."

"I think I wanted to leave for the previous few hours before I did," I said. "But I couldn't get it together to do so." That was the best I could do. I had twelve hours of party and seven hours worth of memories.

"I know how that feels," said Tom.

"So R & S, hey?" I said

"After R avoiding S, skilfully, for the first half of the evening, S then hugged R from behind, waiting an inordinate amount of time before speaking. Aren't you going to say hello to me?"

"Oh, that's just creepy," I said. "With their history."

"Upon hearing S's voice, realising he was being hugged by the devil, herself, R exploded. At one point I was ready to dive in between them, because I really thought R was going to hit her."

"Oh great," I said. "I always miss the good stuff."

"Well, it made any thing you did," said Tom. "Look kind of charming, in comparison."

And, apparently, Warren was in the other front room letting the two bears touch his hard on. Apparently, one of the bears boasted about the smell of Warren's foreskin on his fingers, as he left. So there you go. I was too out of it and missed all of it.

Fitzroy

And the Sun Also Rises

It's raining. The skies have opened up to wash all of our pain away. I love days-after like these. Colour set to brittle, as the fire burns as the rain falls.

The fire was still burning from mine and David's 4am soiree. Yeah for open fires. I worked out what day it was and promptly cancelled the cleaner. I guess that's not so terribly fair, but I'm the boss and it's my house.

David came striding out, dressed ready to leave, like he was a man on a mission. Tony left at 6am to go to work. David was off to Wet on Wellington. Once they get the taste for it and a nose full of drugs... insatiable!

David wore a T-shirt with Jesus Christ on the front, with his chaps to Woof Club. Halfway through the night he was wearing it in his back pocket, when he felt water running down his leg. He'd just been in the toilet blowing the boy on a promise for months, Tony.

"I baptised Jesus in a poofter dunny while I was blowing the boy who I most liked, at that moment," said David. He was smiling broadly.

Shane hasn't appeared since Saturday night. He'll be at Matt's.

Missy is lying on my bare feet keeping them warm. There is something quite sensuous about animal fur. I'm getting quite turned on.

There is silence, except for the crackle of the wood as it burns in the fire place and the clack of the keyboard keys as I push down on them.

I don't half feel like shit, though. Like a train wreck. I think, for the rest of the day, I should be referred to as Kerang. Well, that's the noise you're left with after everything has stopped working, anyway.

Now, Where Was I?

I went to Wesley's thirtieth birthday. Shane and I got him riding gloves. He's bought a new bike, he's really getting into it.

I took drugs. I've only got sketchy memories of it all now. I flirted with straight boy all night. It all went so fast. I've got about ten minutes of memories, for what was a twelve hour affair. We danced a bit. The fire burned. I must have been zoned. Perry asked me to leave. I must have been wasted. It was 10am. I'm now thinking, thinking back, as I scanned the room, on my way out, maybe everyone had gone and maybe I hadn't noticed. I'll have to ask Tom.

I think the favourite part of drug taking is the time alone afterwards, in my bedroom, where my mind soars through a myriad of fantasises and stories, all more colourful and richer and more real because of the state of mind. There is a certain cold hard edge to reality on drugs. Like the sun is whiter and people and things have a harder outline.

It's an internal journey, now.

Where, a few years ago, it was all about going out, being out, socialising, dancing, seeing people, meeting new people, hopefully. It was about picking up, let's be honest. Now it's more about me, I guess. The phone rang during my hazy Sunday and I thought that's probably Manny. And I thought, I could even have my perfect, Greek lover here too, if I chose.

I didn't smoke any cigarettes. It never came into my head. Now that I think about it, I think people were going outside to smoke. That's why I don't remember any cigarettes gaining my attention. And whenever I went out side, I'd just be heading straight back in, it was freezing, like the Arctic out there.

I still haven't smoked any cigarettes, how long has it been? I've lost track. I guess that is a good thing. Yes, lots of joints, that's why I'm not saying too much. Not making any claims, yet. But, at least, I'm halfway there.

Oh yes, flirting with the straight boy? It was funny, I thought, early in the night, the only guy here who I'm attracted to here, is straight, wouldn't you know. Rectangular head. Laugh lines that alternated as dimples, depending how hard he was laughing. Big, bright eyes and a smile as open as a ray of sunshine. He was in his thirties, father of two. He'd already been introduced to me by Perry as his straight mate, Warren. He chimed in with a sex story about his wife, if we were talking sex stories. But for the rest of the time he was making eyes at me. Gorgeous big brown eyes. He was making seriously interested eyes, at me. Gay boy connecting eyes, where he was looking. You know, when the pupil completely dilates when they look at you and your gazes lock. I was a bit fixated on him.

I first noticed him standing at the fire place, while I was sitting on the floor. I noticed the big banana bulge in his pants, well it was at my eye level, it was hard not to. I was lying back with the seat of the chair as a pillow, looking up, nobody was looking at me. It went down his leg in an arch, like he was wearing boxer shorts. I was just lushing not really joining in the conversation, enjoying the view - I could see that it was lying flat down his leg. It was long and thick, with the outline it left. Nice straight boy meat, on display. It looked like it was getting bigger, the more I watched it. It turned, when he made a big hand movement and seemed more prominent than before. I could just picture it hanging there, with nice big balls, freely, in his boxers, pink and veiny.

I was not thinking that anyone was noticing what I was doing. I heard his voice become louder and I looked from his bulge to his face, quite unwittingly and he was looking down at me. Smiling, as if he was saying, what are you doing? I know you are looking at my dick. He looked away and then back. He looked away again, with a cheeky smile, if he caught me checking him out. He'd look away, smile, like he couldn't help it, and blush, if he caught me gazing at his cock. We played look-smile- look-away eye tag, after that. Until he turned face first to the fire, with a suspected stiffy. He sure woke me up. He was gorgeous. Funny. Witty. Charming to the other guests around him. Sexy, with his jeans bunched up around his genitals, as he lay back on the cushions, chatting.

His eyes said he wanted to badly. He was checking me out, too.

He had that healthy, straight blokeiness to him. He had a beautiful smile. He smiled a lot, especially, when his eyes connected with mine. A shy, blushing, knowingness that was so, so sexy. Like him saying, that he would, with his eyes, giving in, submissively. Those looks, those times we connected, he was saying, sure I'm interested, I'm turned on. I like the way you are making me feel.

It doesn't mean he has to, either, of course.

The next day was Sunday, every one would have just wound down and gone to sleep. Nobody would have noticed him sneaking off, even if he was staying with Perry, I think he was. His wife and kids are not in Melbourne. He so could have come over, if what I saw in those eyes was true.

Don't you just love long weekends. I've been up drinking coffee and smoking pot with David. He went to Woof Club and took drugs and picked up some boy, Tony, who's been on a promise for a number of months.

I have no idea what day it is.

Don't you just love long weekends.

Do the Crime...

As for Paris Hilton, it is hard to feel sorry for somebody who continued to drive, after being caught driving already on a suspended licence, who could afford to have a driver follower her around twenty four hours a day, if need be, with out braking a sweat. Paris probably already employs people.

It begs belief that she was as uninformed as she makes out that she was.

Come on Paris, stupidity isn't attractive.

She's in the jail hospital, chilled out on Valium, the only place you'd expect a party girl to do her time. Do you think she has sleeping eye shades to wear?

Not that I could careless about Paris Hilton. Any day now she'll find some poor sap, probably the son of some billionaire and marry him and disappear off the radar altogether to live a thoroughly unhappy life. Happy life? Who the hell cares.

Surely, with all that money, you'd have a chance at a happier life? You just have better resources with which to attack it.

Beautiful Morning

Manny came over early. We lay together in bed playing with each other, as the sun came up. If that's not too much information. Sometimes I wonder if I should hold back, or not? I admit it, I only ever watched Big Brother Uncut, to see the buff boys wangs.

It is a gorgeous, sunny morning. The birds are tweeting. The sky is blue. The sun is shiny at the window.

Manny said he couldn't get enough from last night. I blushed. Let me just say that his muscular, hairy abs looked good wrapped in my doona.

Now he's off to his gym in Richmond and then off to see his poisonous, bible thumping, mother. He has to lay with the devil, to be able to stomach the pious.

I wished him luck.

He smiled at me like he loved me.

The sun shone dappled through the Hibiscus leaves on to the front path.

Kissed The Boy And Made Him... No, Not Cry. He May Have Called Out...

I'm sitting up in bed, blogging, watching Big Brother Up Late. Smoking a J. How good is this?

May be I need to get out more?

No, no. I've been out, performed my boy friendly duties. Kissed him all over. Licked every bit of him. Left him smiling.

He's gorgeous. It's easy doing the monogamous thing with him, not that either of us have promised that.

I feel so relaxed. That twitch has gone. Ha, ha.

Now I'm all heavy eye-lidded and warm.

I can hear the night continuing, with laughing in the street out side. I turn off the light and snuggle down. A boy calls to his girlfriend to wait up. He sounds drunk.

My ash tray is on the balcony, I have to brave the freezing cold snap in Melbourne Town to retrieve it. Brrrr! I contemplated ashing on the floor boards, I was soooo comfortable. Now my toes are cold.

These late night "call me" adds are a trip, aren't they? Jasus! She licking the other one's tits!

Life's good. I've got many blessings. Mark for forever, Manny for the here and now. A good job. A great house. Many friends, who I mostly ignore, I'm famous for it, but that's another story.

Life's good.

I'm just being thankful for them. It's what "The Secret" tells us to feel. We should give energy to what is good.

(It can't hurt)

New things won't come into your life until you are grateful for what you have.

(Maybe? But when did positive energy ever hurt anyone?)

 

Hi from G

G called with the opening line, "You still haven't sucked my cock."

"Any time you like, baby" I said.

"What's a boy gotta do?" said G. "To get some action?"

"Just close your eyes, head back," I said. "And enjoy the show."

He laughs, kind of sexy and drops his voice down low. "So are you into foreskins, big boy?"

"Like how!" I said. "Take your pants off."

"Are you a knob boy, Chriso?" said G "Do you like the shiny helmet against your tongue? Do you suck it into your mouth like a strawberry? Do you suck it right down?"

"Deep throat."

"Would you deep throat me, babe?" said G.

It made me laugh. "You straight boys kill me," I said.

"How are you?" said G. I could almost hear the smile on his face. "On this most beautiful day."

It was 8pm at night, but who was counting.

"About time I heard from you, you big poofter," I said.

His girlfriend has been keeping him happy. "Sex and food, on tap," said G. "Sex and food. What else do I need?"

"Oh, your friends?"

Valentina swallows. "That's the only friend I need," said G. "Life's great, mate."

Of course, he only wanted to know if I had any pot. His source was dry. It's the only time I hear from him.

Sad but true.

 

view from office window... lovely blue

Vaneer of...

You know, I was kinda rooting for Tony Mokbell. Not really, but? There was a part of me that wanted him to get away with it. It's just supply and demand, what he was into, pretty much. There is the murder, of course, bit of a sticking point, granted. But in a sense, it's an industry that is criminalised by it's very illegality, more often than not, for political purposes. You need a boogey man to be a good politician. It's the prohibition that brings the violence, not the drugs. If it wasn't illegal, Tony Mokbel would probably still be worth 50 million, or whatever and respected.

Isn't the perfect economic model, completely free market forces? Aren't they the forces of the conservative argument?

You know, that is if I cared about Tony Mokbell at all, which I really don't. I just think it's interesting. You could argue that the people Big Tony was responsible for the demise of, were all players, all up to their necks in it. They probably all got what they deserved, which is probably what most of frightened, middle, Australia thinks anyway.

How many innocents have been destroyed by perfectly respectable tycoons? 

Close the Door

Yeah! I'm on my lap-top in my bedroom on the, now working, wireless connection. My housemates may never see me again. Wow, away from everyone, no more shutting stuff down because housemates come home, or because people arrive. Any time of the day or night; no more running down stairs with a good thought.

No more shutting it all off and heading to bed. The end. Actually, that could be good and bad. Feed the addiction, no more limits. Yeah! Oh?

I could lose friends.

It's cool sitting up in bed, though. Teev on. Joint lit.

Bolago

Sunday

The country sky is blue with grey scattered clouds floating by. There is a chill in the air. The sun is luxuriously warm when shaded from the wind.. There is a gentle breeze.

The self help group are on the jetty, wailing heavenwards in thanks for all they have learned over the five day intensive.

I’m worthwhile. I’m genuine. I’m authentic.

I wish they'd go home. When we say 3 day intensive, everybody knows that is two and half days, with you leaving at lunch time.

I’m on my fifth joint and in trouble again for smoking pot in the house, making it smell like a Bedouin Joss house.

There time is up an hour, or so, after lunch, so I have decided to postpone my departure. If they’d been staying until tonight, or tomorrow, I’d be packing up the GTI and hoofing it back down the highway to peace and quiet. I’m sick of tip-toeing around. Well, not exactly, but it is good if their time in the house is up soon.

I sat and ate lunch on a seat that had daises growing up through it. Harry stretched out in front of me, on the sand, in front of the atrium door, and I thought that he was the last of the Fletcher Dynast Bedlington Terriers. Mum wont get another, I wouldn't think. But, at some point in the future somebody will refer to a funny blue dog and say to me, I bet you don’t know what sort of dog this is. And, of course, I’ll be able to respond with, It’s a Bedlington Terrier, of course.

Harry goes home Wednesday.

I didn’t think of David at the prescribed time of his birth, as promised. So what do I tell him? There's always next year.

Day Whatever?

Still no cigarettes, although I have smoked so many joints this weekend I feel inauthentic making that claim. But, still no, actual, cigarettes put to my lips and lit, just for the sake of smoking a cigarette. It's a couple of weeks, maybe?

The country sky is blue, with scattered grey clouds floating by. There is a chill in the air. The sun is luxuriously warm. There is a gentle breeze.

The self help group are on the jetty, wailing heavenwards in thanks for all they have learned over the five day intensive.

I’m worthwhile. I’m genuine. I’m authentic.

I’m on my fifth joint and in trouble again for smoking pot in the house, making it smell like a Bedouin Joss house.

The guests time is up an hour, or so, after lunch, so I have decided to postpone my departure. If they’d been staying until tonight, or tomorrow, I’d be packing up the GTI and hoofing it back down the highway to peace and quiet. I’m sick of tip-toeing around. Well, not exactly, but it is good if their time in the house is up soon.

I sat and ate lunch on a seat that had daises growing up through it.

I didn’t think of David at the prescribed time of his birth, as promised. So, I didn't make the 3 wishes as I said I would. One for me. One for him. And one for humanity.

So what do I tell him?

Am I that greater an actor to be able to lie?

Ozzie, Ozzie, Ozzie

When ask if he knew who Danni Minogue was, Ozzie Osborne replied, No idea. Is it Kylie's dad?

Coffee & Cake

One of the big bosses was down, executive director of blah blah. Another one of the incompetents, with a 6 figure salary. The big boss lives in Double Bay, in Sydney. I can't help but think of it whenever I see her.

There is no love lost between her and I. When I was first introduced to her, she couldn't even take her eyes off her Blackberry long enough to look me in the eye. She couldn't take her eyes of her Blackberry at all, instead, she offered me her limp hand, as a consolation prize for her attention.
Ah Double Bay. I used to hang out in Double Bay with Mark and our mate J. Mark and J worked in television together. We had fun, being silly, playing ladies in the Double Bay coffee houses, slagging off all the Double Bay Matrons, after they'd come over to say hello.

J was born and bread there, it is her stomping ground.

"That one cheats on her husband with young boys she pays money to," said J. "Very young boys." I looked at J, the corners of her mouth curled down. "School bags, school uniforms," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"That one has uncontrollable thrush." I listened to the nylon of her stockings rub, as I watched her sashay away, her big arse wrapped tightly, shaped like the rear of a fifties caravan, moving like the rear of a Rottweiler.

"That one is a self-harmer." J shook her head as if it was hopeless. She looked so nice, normal even. But then I realised that she had on neck to knee clothing, once J had pointed it out, on a 30 something degree day.

The Double Bay matrons, with their hair set like helmets, would slink off, in that way that only Double Bay matrons move, chin out, bags clutched, chest out, arse tight, like time means nothing and we'd talk like children, behind our hands, about them.

Ah Double Bay? I must go back and have coffee there, some day and reminisce.

Friday Arvo Relax

I came home from work, in the afternoon. I'm not sure if I'm feeling sick, or just bored. Lack lustre, hot and cold, unable to concentrate, sure! But, actually sick, or just opportunistic, I don't know. But, here I am. It's nice to take some time off. Sod it! Get fucked world.

I walked home in the weak sunshine, the wind blew and it was cold, but I pulled my jacket to my throat and the worst winter could do, thus far, was not effecting me, in the slightest. The infection is on the inside. Ah-chew! Out of sight. Cough. Cough.

The woman, in the lift, glared sideways at me, after I had sneezed. Get fucked, I thought back at her. She looked away.

I had my big, black leather jacket on, my wings of steal.

Only cold in the head. Tissue?

I've got to go pick Julien up from the airport by 8pm and head up to Bolago. I've got mum's dog too, as she is at my sister's place. I haven't told Mark, he'll be pleasantly surprised. Not. I hope he doesn't slobber too much in the car. The dog, either.

It's David's birthday on Saturday night. He's issued a decree that we all have to do a "thing" for him at 21.50, the exact time of his birth. A wish for the person thinking of him, a wish for him and a wish for humanity.

When I said how about this for the wish for humanity, We gave it our best shot, it didn't work, we might as well just pack...

No! said David. No, no. Only positive affirmations. Only positive affirmations. He waved his hands over me as if to cleanse something that was unclean. Thank you!