Shopping for Men

I bought Manny some black jocks, when I was shopping, in Myer. Not that I’m that sort of boyfriend usually, but I couldn't resist. As I was standing in front of the briefs display, admiring all of the muscle-bound, undressed pictures, I couldn’t help but picture him in some of them. You see, Manny is a boxer shorts kind of boy, but, his arse and the tops of his thighs are just made for tighter jocks than boxers. I love the hair in the small of his back above his round, firm cheeks. I love the hair escaping under the elastic from his abdomen, spreading out across his stomach.

I was only looking for socks, myself – the ongoing quest of having socks with no fucking holes! Brave new international trade world? Yeah, right. Just give me a pair of socks that will last longer than six months! But it’s funny what the power of advertising will do, hey? My eyes were drawn to the colourful muscle bound, near naked pictures.

I used to have a boyfriend – the Italian one – who couldn’t buy undies without getting so turned on that he’d need to have sex, afterwards. I always think of him when I’m in the jocks section, funny hey? It was exciting going undies shopping with him, let me tell you. Even if we were looking for shoes, or tap washers, or ant poison, if I was able to steer him to the men’s jocks, he’d be captivate, like a kid in a lollie shop. And then he’d look angsty, like he didn’t know where to look and then he’d morph into toey, kind of restless, till he’d finally whisper in my ear, Let’s get out of here. I’d steer him there without saying a word and then it was like magic. I’d just watch his face turn from open and sunny to focussed and serious. He’d almost scowl with the concentration visible on his forehead.

The undies section still holds a certain, what shall I say, special place in my heart… well, not exactly my heart, because of Lauri. I can’t walk passed without thinking of him, without memories flooding my brain.

We did it in a city alley way in the middle of the day, in the labyrinth somewhere behind Myers – ah, what the hell, we were just kids back then – after one undies buying foray. That was hot.

Ah boyfriends – their smell, their taste, their physical presence, the funny things that stay with you. I can still remember what was unique to each of them, with just a whiff of a memory. Those small things that stay with you, I love those things.

I don’t know if anyone else does this, but I can still feel what each of their hands felt like in mine, even Alex. His hand was fine and bony, like there was no extra fat on it and he held my hand tight, like he was in control. Anthony’s – I don’t think I’ve ever spoken about him on here before. There is too much sadness surrounding him (one day I'll write about him) – was long and he used to hold his hand over mine, so often, backwards. Lauri’s was big and fleshy and warm. Mark’s was/is exactly the same size as mine and he’d hold my hand gently, like the connection was something precious. Luke and I hold hands like brothers, kid brothers. Manny holds my hand tightly, like he is never going to let go. His hand is dry with smooth skin.

Alex would lead. I’d lead Anthony. Lauri and I would take it in turns, depending. Mark and I were kind of equal, side by side. I’d lead Luke, more often than not. Manny and I kind of wrestle, in a sense, for lead place.

And… laugh… that kind of describes our sexual roles, too. It’s funny to think of it that way, because there is some truth in it.

I got Manny black trunks, the kind with the longer leg and a defined pouch at the front. I got him three pairs. One pair has a kind of arrow of material pointing down to his bulge, like it needs any kind of high light. I can’t wait to see him in them. I’m tempted to drive over to his place, right now, to get him to model them for me.