Monday, December 31, 2007

Nicholas

Last day of the year

It was a hot day, all right – skin frying hot. It was 2007’s hottest recorded day, apparently. Tomorrow is going to be more of the same, in the forties. I could feel the sun burning into my skin, like needles, whenever I was out of the shade.
I headed off into the shimmering haze, in the direction of Bolago. I was to spend the night with Leah, the beautiful Sebastian and his friend George, fresh off the boat from Italy. The day was peaking out on the sun’s rays, whited out just around the edges, as happens on a scorcher of a day. The colours were really bright, contrast was on high definition.
The roads were sparsely populated with cars – gentle and serene is what I may have called the day heading up the melting, like licorice, bitumen.
I had to buy petrol – actually, I didn't, I had half a tank, but I like to fill up before I leave town. Besides, I wanted to run the aircon with impunity. I bought a litre of ice coffee milk, I was feeling a little peckish - ignoring Shane's constant reminder. "Flavoured milk may not be high in fat, but it is one huge sugar pill and unless you get yourself back to the gym, blah, blah, blah."
A litre of iced coffee milk plays havoc on the bladder on a long drive and it wasn't long before I was squeezing my legs together for want of a toilet. There is a rest stop about half way, which my bladder was leading me to.
As I pulled into the rest stop, I saw there were 3 guys hovering around a tap. They looked like surfies, even though there was no beach for miles. They had a van parked in the first parking bay. They were all shirtless, swarthy types, sun-tanned, dark. They were wetting themselves under the tap. They looked like they were washing, changing clothes, playing under the sprinkler, like kids. They seemed to be in their underwear. All three were very dark, dark hair, tanned skin. Big, boofy blokes, two with hairy chests, all three with really hairy, well shaped, legs.
I headed into the toilet, noting that they were all pretty cute. I love guys in their underwear, gets me hot.
As I headed back to the car, one of them was heading back from their car, he was close to the toilet door as I came out.
"Jeese, it's hot, ay?" he said, very affably, as I our eyes met.
"It's bloody hot, isn't it," I said.
"I'm Rob," said smiley man holding out his hand to shake. "Too hot for fuck!"
I gathered he meant anything at all. "I'm Christian."
A cigarette is a good prop for a chat. So I lit one and stood. I offered one to Rob, but he declined.
"Nice to meet ya buddy. That's Carl and that's Mick." Each waved as he said their names.
The two other boys were splashing each other with water. Carl was the sexy one, fine, toned, low fat, body in his briefs, wet and not succeeding in keeping his manhood out of sight. He had a fine arse on him. He was washing himself down with water. Mick wasn't bad either, he laughed a lot, big, handsome, smiley face. He had on black trunks, with the thick strip of white elastic around his waste that I always find so sexy on men. Hairy chest, nice bulge. Nice, big legs.
"Good thing it rained recently, otherwise the whole bloody lot could be in danger of going up," said Rob.
"Yeah, I guess," I said. "Where are you guys from?"
"Oh, all over really," replied Rob. "We're on our way to the beach for New Year. Ya want to come to a party down Lorne way?"
I laughed, instead of answering, as I gathered he wasn't serious, just being polite.
"Oh fuck it," said Carl. "I need one of those outside showers like they have down the beach." He pulled down the front of his jocks and washed himself freely. Big grin. I was a bit surprised. I had to look away... what a schlong!
I looked at Mick. His cock lay sideways in his trunks and looked half on the pump, as he jumped as the cold water hit him.
I looked back at Rob.
"So, have you got a missus?" Rob asked me.
"No, no missus."
He smiled broadly and looked around at his mates. "Then you must be loving this, hey?"
What did he mean, I thought. Just because I haven't got a missus? I must have misunderstood him.
He was looking around at his two mates, almost lecherously. I didn't misunderstand, I gathered. We both gazed at Carl and Mick momentarily. Well, I took the opportunity to. Carl was back in his jocks and Mick was trying to gain control of the tap.
"So, who do you think is the best looking?" asked Rob. "Outa the three of us?"
"What?" I asked surprised again.
"Oh, come on," said Rob, as though he didn't believe my vagueness. "You're a good looking guy, you should be able to spot other good looking guys."
"You're all good looking guys."
"Ah, come on," protested Rob. "You have to pick."
I laughed, hoping a laugh would be enough. Some how I didn't expect it would.
"We're a bit messy..."
"How come?"
"We have a pill supply for the eve's party, but we couldn't help ourselves and just had to try a couple of them on for size."
"Really?"
"So, you couldn't tell?"
"No."
"Here am I assuming somethin' and it may not be true," said Rob. "You're probably a good boy?"
"What?" I said.
He leant into me. "Are ya a party boy?"
"Oh yeah," I said. "Have been."
Big smile from Rob. "So that's okay then, ya know what I'm talkin about when I say pills, yes?"
"Yes."
"I'd hate to be talkin' over your head, or somethink, you know."
"No, no, I understand."
"So we're pretty much understanding all around, hey?"
"Yes."
"It's good, huh?"
"Yes, it's good."
Carl pulled his shorts on over his wet jocks, body, hair, no attempt to dry himself. Mick was rubbing the legs of his shorts down to squeeze out the excess water.
"We're short on petrol money." He looked over at the guys. "Um, you see, will be stuck very soon." He looked at me and grimaced. "So, which one of us in the back of the van for a hundred bucks."
Rent boy? Rent boy? I thought. How many degrees of separation? I just looked at him, held his gaze. He held his cool expression, as though he had asked an every day question and he was simply waiting for an every day answer.
He dropped his voice and said, very mater of a factly."Carl's got a really big cock." He glanced sideways furtively and spoke softer. "But you'd like Mick's too. It's pretty nice. You know, if you like that sort of thing. But Carl is the biggest." He smiled. "Biggest of the three." He smiled. "Although none of us have any thing to be ashamed of." He kind of chuckled.
I was speechless, one of those rare moments. I wondered if it was a set-up, you know, I was about to be bashed, my body dumped in the bushes, behind the bog, my car nicked. I started to say a couple of things, but couldn't.
Then I rather lamely said, with a laugh, trying to make light of it. "It's too damn hot for any thing like that."
Rob's face came back to life. "I guess you're right, buddy," he said. "Worth a try, but."
Then I rather inexplicably said, "Sorry."
I looked at Rob and his piercing blue eyes and his mop of black hair, and his cheeky smile - not to mention his perfect hairy chest and stomach. You're the best looking, buddy, I wanted to say. Back of the van, now.
"No hard feelings, though," said Rob. He tapped me on the arm. "Huh?"
"No, no," I said. "Not at all."
"Dunno what we're gonna do," said Rob. "She'll be right, though. Always is, hey?"
"I guess."
"I've got a six-pack in the back of the van. Can I get you a beer?"
"Nah, I'd better get going," I said. "Get out of the heat."
"Okay. Suit yourself. Nice chatting with you."
"Yeah, me too."
"My turn under the tap." He reached for the elastic of his shorts.
I found that I was shaking, as I tried to push the clutch in and get the GTI into reverse.
I found I couldn't get the smile off my face.

Sebastian and George spent the day on St Kilda beach, in the 44 degree heat.
"I have never experienced heat like that before, any where in the world." And Sebastian has traveled a lot. "It actually was hot and actually hurt when you breathed in." He raised his hands and looked speacless.
In true Italian style, they were both beautifully brown.
Leah had a feast prepared, of the million different varieties of cheese, nibbles and biscuits, ham, prosciutto, kabana, nuts, melon, pineapple, dates. Beer, champagne, pot. We drank like fish and smoked like demons. At one stage there were three joints coming at me and I already had one. It was like a bush fire there was so much smoke. We laughed, we played music, we danced, we feasted and toasted the new year.
It was a spectacular night, fresh and warm with the black velvet sky above.

Sunday, December 30, 2007


Home on a Sunday

I got really stoned and decided to hire a prostitute. I had nothing else planned for today, anyway. Well, I decided that I'd never done it and that it was time I did. You know, something ticked off the life time list. Hiring a gorgeous guy for sex, suddenly seemed hot. The going rate seemed to be $200, which seemed reasonable. I can spend $200 in a day on nothing, and never miss it.
I picked a baby nineteen year old with a handsome face, mostly because he was a Virgo - just to see how a serious young man negotiates selling himself. A twenty four year old with a hot, toned body, with the promise of being a sensuous bottom. And an Aussie with a thick juicy cock and a cheeky personality to match, with his own place.
Well. They either weren't answering, haven't answered or were unavailable. I'd have thought hiring a rent boy, in a big city, would have been easy to organise, but, apparently, not. It doesn't seem to be a same day proposition. Things you learn.
Of course, I kept smoking the pot and ended up with, no, not a boner, but an extreme case of the munchies. The rent boy urge passed and the food urge became very apparent.
Fuck it, I headed off to the fish & chip shop. I'd already drunk all the coke in the fridge. And the two ice creams in the freezer. It was a beautiful day out side, sunny with a slight breeze.
Some drunk slag followed me in the door of the fish shop. She was a heavy breather, standing right there behind me, it gave me a chill.
She didn't open her mouth when she talked; she spoke like a Queenslander. The Asian man behind the counter had trouble understanding her.
Her scuffs were once pink and fluffy, but now were grey. They hung off her feet, like some kind of fungus.
"I want half a fisherman's basket."
I wondered if that was half a fisherman, or half a basket?
"Yes, yes, half," said the bald-headed man behind the counter."
"But I don't like scallops, so could I have prawns instead."
Her track suit pants hung off her, making her look kind of lop-sided. It looked like her arse was melting. I stifled a giggle. She looked in my direction.
"You don't like scallops and you want..."
"Prawns."
"Ah. Prawn."
Her stomach hung out under her t-shirt. It was white with blue veins and red spots. It looked like a beer gut.
"That's four prawns. Instead of scallops."
He looked confused. She looked at me, again. Don't look at me, I thought. I should be on top of a rent boy right about now, so there's no sympathy coming from over here.
"Ah, yes, prawn. No scallop," said the shop keeper catching on.
"And I don't want chips."
"No chips?"
Which part of this basket did she actually want?
She had some shiny residue around her mouth, as though she'd applied too much lip gloss on her lips, chin and cheeks. I wondered what it was? It didn't bare thinking about on her paste skin. Maybe she'd just earned the fish & chip money?
"Can I have a potato cake instead of the chips."
"No chips."
"No. No chips. Potato cake." She was starting to pronounce her word phonetically.
Her hair was tied with a scarf; rapped around and pinned. There seemed to be something sticking out of her hair, at the top. Food? Sticks? Beer bottle tops?
"Potato cake."
"Yes, that's right."
I wondered how the five calamari rings in the full fisherman's basket were halved. You can't exactly get 1/2 a calamari ring, now can you? Oh, I guess you can.
"And I'd like that well cooked."
What, I thought?
"Pardon," said the nice Asian man behind the counter.
There was a momentary silence, as there often is when someone says something monumentally stupid. Listen for it next time. If the shop proprietor and I could have come out of freeze-frame for a split second, we would have looked at each other questioningly.
"I'd like it nicely well cooked," she said. She kind of curtsied and touched her face @ the same time.
Someone, at some time had a very different conversation with her, to the one her few brain cells were accessing presently, about having food cooked in certain ways.
Proprietor man simply agreed. What other option did he have?
She just sat and stared blankly out the window, as her food was being cooked, the sun glinting on her shiny mouth. There was absolutely no colour in her face. Her lips were the same colour as her skin...
"Thank you," said the nice, bald Asian man. "You ready."
My head was starting to thump, as I head back up the hill towards home. Pulse rate, hills, you do the maths. What a glorious day. No, really, very sunny, very bright. And at least I could choose the times to be fucked up in it, unlike half-basket alcho woman. And soon I'd be out of it, the sun, that is, nearly home. I shielded my eyes from the suns rays. Nearly home. Splendid. I felt my fingers twitching. Vampire Christian made one of his infrequent appearances. I started to limp, just slightly. Skin stretched from my torso to my arm, like webbing, as I shielded my face from the bright light.
Round the corner, back to my gate.
Beck was leaving next door on her bike. My pointed ears sucked back into my skin. I didn't particularly want to talk, my head was spinning - maybe that last blood... joint I had before I left the house, wasn't a good idea - so I dropped my eyes.
Beck has been ripping out her back garden and replacing it with a veggie patch/orchard. She tells me all about it, one advance after another victory, like she believes I am interested. As soon as I got to my door she was calling.
"Chris, Chris." Fang retraction can be painful if hurried. I covered my mouth with my hand.
Can't avoid her without being rude. Would she notice, now, if I turned myself into a bat and flew away? "Chris?" Too late. I am I to be spared nothing.
"Yes?"
Beck appeared at my front gate.
"A mystery in our back yard." Big, toothy smile. "Seventeen peach pips all in the space of this one, small area." Big eyes. "Mad, hey?" She was doing Miss Marple crossed with Princess Anne, but as a kind of comedy.
Oh please, dear, universe, no. "It's probably a possum."
"Seventeen peaches, in one sitting." Great big eyes. Exclamation. "I don't think so." She might as well have said rightio, or tally ho.
I know you are just going to take any opportunity you can to talk about this. I can already pick the roll you are heading off on.
Oh Beck, I really don't care. "Oh." Big, breath. My pale complexion returned to normal. "I don't know then." Faux grimace. My eyes turn back from yellow to green.
There was an awkward silence, which was the only bit of the conversation I was, actually, enjoying, oddly enough.
Beck looked disappointed, with that hey ho expression plastered right across her gob. I was nearly sucked right back in again. Can't have Beck looking disappointed; I wanted to apologise and to take up the peach pip discussion with gusto. Fortunately, I moved my head around 90 degrees and my whole brain seemed to swoon within my skull, bumping on the inside of the bone, like a dogem-car.
"I just thought I'd tell you." Fallen crest. Enthusiastic, horsey smile sliding right off her face. "For security reasons."
You just wanted to prattle on about your stupid, fucking garden again. Don't give me security reasons. I disengaged.
I turned around and headed inside without another word.
I squeezed the lemon on my fish and assured myself that tonight wasn't new years eve and that I hadn't got my dates confused. I did the 30-days-has-September thing to make sure. Four times.

Working Boys

I've never hired a prostitute. Well, there was that one time when Mark & I were so off our chops and we ordered an Italian stud, as he was described and, what looked like, a short, fat Mexican arrived. The two of us descended into gales of laughter, in the next room, rolling around telling the other one to get rid of him. But, that time a side... this morning I was bored. I woke up early, turned my computer on straight away. Do you think that is the beginning of a future syndrome? I got to looking at working boys from around the world on gaydar, not really sure why. So, back to my original point, I have never hired a prostitute, who I went onto have sex with and I haven't been to Paris in a while, but those Parisian rent boys sure make me want to do both. Yep, Paris has the hottest working boys. Here is a selection for your enjoyment.

















And then there are the Italians

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Priscilla

There it was, the same Priscilla. The same, lame, dated jokes, the same nauseating stereotypical representations, the same cliches. The same tired story line, the same old road movie, the same old love story with the fatal flaw. But, where the movie had the considerable acting talents of the amazing Hugo Weaving, to pull it through, unfortunately, the stage show did not.
Did it work? Oh, I guess so, in that sausage factory, colour and movement, pump them out, kind of way. A show with the great songs that Priscilla has can't go wrong. But I find the campy characterisations too, too much. It's a view of a world that is really dated - can't we have some modern gay representations? - surely. But I guess the whole musical theatre experience is on retro, at present.

Can we catch up inc.

Max Fanizzi is a good looking Italian boy who has taken the reins of Guido's empire while Guido is in parts unknown. Where is Guido? What is he doing...? Parts unknown? It's like he's, um. Oh? Did a penny just drop? ...laying low... Guido is laying low. Am I normally that slow?
Max is shortish, trendy, with a huge smile, lots of thick, black hair. He's a qualified lawyer, but his party boy ways got in the way at his first law firm. He's sexy and has more personality than any one person deserves. He's a party boy, always out dancing, having a good time. He plays the stock market and is very good at it.
Vandel Caldera is the tough guy, big, athletic, broad shoulders, who enforces things when things need to be enforced, apparently, whatever that means. I didn't ask. He has a tendency to wear blue singlets and jeans. He owns a group of gyms and does very well.
Scott Lara is a strapping, all Aussie boy, ex-football captain, head master's first eleven, tall, good looking, you know the type. He's the financial brains behind the whole operation. He's made them all rich, all before thirty.
You might pick Max as gay, maybe, maybe not. Third generation son of Italian immigrants. No one would ever pick Van - but he likes nothing more than cute, young party twinks with fine... um... er, fits to their jeans, shall we say. Scott's every parent's dream son, on paper, masters in accounting, investment houses in the inner suburbs. But, he's a complete pig with his snout in the trough, when it comes to, shall we say good times, real or manufactured and men.
Max and Van are ex lovers, as are Max and Scott.
Guido, of course, is the Pied Piper of this gang. Max is his play thing, when it suits him. As Scott is Van's. They party hard, together.
Max tells me stuff. As does Guido. Not sure why. I often wonder if I'm special, or do they tell all their clients? They couldn't, they'd be...

The country was great, relaxing, blah, blah, blah. Well, it could have been, if every man and his dog didn't decide to take a drive to the country, after Xmas. Oh, yes, splendid! Shall we? Lets shall? It was like fucking Bourke Street. When some old friend who we haven't seen in ten years, decided it was a nice afternoon for a drive, I bailed, yesterday lunch time. Family, grand parents. Raymond and some old expats, without Adam. Andrew our comedian friend and his wife and kids. A couple of old party buddies. Even Sebastian rolled his eyes and smiled his cute-boy smile, exhaled loudly and said, enough, in his sexy Italian accent.
Luke rolled me a joint and the whole drive home I was thinking about sucking up a few herbs, the house to myself, recharge before New Year. Matt got me a ticket to Nurse Betty. I had to see Max.
I thought I might drive straight over to his place, get it over and done with, before I hit home. You know, you're bound to get into trouble if you leave it half organised at New Year. As I turned the corner, into Max's street, he was sliding a large, black suit case into the back of his sleek, black SRI. He was going to Byron. Ten days.
I tooted, flashed my lights and roared to a halt, in the middle of the road, leaped out of the car and practically said, I'm chasing!
"Running low, my boy?" Straight face Max.
"Low but not out. It would be great if you had some," I said. I was mustering my best debating team argument. Max's face broke into a bemused smile, as he closed the hatch.
"I've just got a ticket to the day party. Come on Max, it was last minute..."
He stepped forward, looked left, looked right, put his finger to his lips and whispered. "Scott and Van are inside. Go to go." Big smile. He leaped into his car - the SRI and the GTI looked good together. Black hat, white hat, in the wild old west - and accelerated away.
The front door was open, ambient music reached out and met me. I walked in. It smelled of a party.
Van was sitting in the couch in his y-fronts. Scott was sitting between his legs, in grey tracksuit pants, with his head resting on, what looked like, Van's semi-hard cock. Big bulge. They were playing some sort of dual control game on the TV. They were both completely out of it. Sweating. Red-faced.
"On the coffee table," said Scott. "Yeah! Max left something, you just missed him."
Van has magnificent thighs, hairy, thick. Big feet. I opened and closed my mouth. He clippers his chest, obviously.
"He said you'd be around, at some stage," said Van. "I'm surprised you didn't see him... Got you!" They both cheered.
The two of them looked incredible. Staring at the television screen, twitching, jumping, their eyes only looking at me furtively. Smiling. Laughing.
I picked up my yellow envelope. I got my wallet out.
"Nah," said Scott.
"Another time, bro," said Van.
I'm sure neither of them had looked at me. It was a spooky moment. A chill ran up my spine. I put my wallet back in my back pocket.
Van's got this amazing chest and shoulders and arms. Muscley. There is nothing as sexy as muscular arms. Scott has great abs with a trail of hair that disappears down into his thin cotton pants, which had managed to cling to his skin from sweat and from where I was standing, it was rapped up neatly like a lamb kebab. Yum!
"You can stay and watch if you want," said Van.
"But...," said Scott. His glance my way, very much said, But you can't. I didn't want to, anyway. Bottom, for sure, I thought. A part from the fact, Max told me. Aggressive bottom, from all accounts.
"Feels less of a man for wanting it up the patootie, in the first place," grinned Max. "So he makes up for it with blokey aggression when he's getting boned."
I closed the door on the way out.
I laughed, as I drove away. How desperate did I sound to Max, when I jumped out of the car? He'll say something when I next see him, bound to. "You should have seen Christian." he'll announce with a cheeky smile. I know he will. I tried not to feel embarrassed, but I did. Wondered what it said about me? I'll have to ask David. We'll have to consult the happy cards, for sure.
I looked at the yellow envelope on the black leather of the passenger seat. What did I care, anyway. I was all set for New Years day, despite no planning what so ever. I smiled all the way home. Nothing to do but rest until then.
Except, Priscilla, tonight. It should be good.

Friday, December 28, 2007

The Christian Message



Feuding Christian sects have attacked each other in a flurry of fists and brooms at the Bethlehem church where Christ was reputedly born, leaving four people injured.
The fight took place at the ecumenical Church of the Nativity, where priests from both the Greek Orthodox and Armenian Apostolic orders had been cleaning up after Christmas celebrations earlier in the week, the BBC reports.
It is understood the fracas began when a Greek priest placed a ladder in a part of the church known be under Armenian jurisdiction.
Up to 80 bearded holy men wearing dark robes became embroiled in the fight, many wielding brooms.
Palestinian police were forced to separate the warring orders by forming themselves into a human shield.
The church, shared between the Greek Orthodox, Armenic Apostolic and Roman Catholic authorities, has long been a source of tension.
It is built over the spot Jesus is thought to have been born 2007 years ago.
Thousands of pilgrims have already packed out the church over the Christmas period, with more celebrations planned for next week.
Nine News

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Wednesday, December 26, 2007


Happy Festivus

Luke and I were out the back smoking j's.
I kissed all the relatives happy Xmas, as they arrived for Xmas lunch, on Boxing Day, Grandpa, Grand ma, aunties, uncles, etc. When I got to a younger niece, she said,
I'd go and freshen your mouth, uncle, before you kiss any more of them. She smiled. As you taste like a Bedouin Joss House.
Oops.
It all went well, anyway. Surrounded by family makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, even if I try to deny it. Well, it does, surprise, surprise. I think it's good for all of us, pulls us out of any selfishness we may be cultivating. Families are honest, they cut through any shit so easily.
But, I like my family, which I know isn't true for everyone.
There were a couple of occasions when I looked up and the room spun and I thought no more red wine for an hour. Unlike me, really.
My plain, freckle-faced, frizzy-haired, somewhat objectionable niece has turned into a gorgeous, blond, how did that happen? There were lots of kids - if I wasn't gay I'd no doubt have a couple of my own. What? 10 and 12. Both doing well in school. We're all in that age bracket, now.
The toddlers had to wait, some what patiently, as we all sang Xmas carols in unison. Nephews bought guitars, there was no stopping us. Grand Ma, all the way down to neices and nephews. We've all got the vocal gene. Three generations. Four, actually. The babies waited patiently, although they were noticeably grumpy, as we all finally staggered back into the lounge room, bunging a Santa Cap on Grand pa, on our way.
And they all left early. Grand Pa, the miserable old bastard turned, right on queue and Grand Pa and Grand Ma, the only two staying, went to bed early.
It was a beautiful night, the full moon bright and silver, lighting up the earth.

Tuesday, December 25, 2007


An Atheist in the Woods


An atheist was walking through the woods.

"What majestic trees! What powerful rivers! What beautiful animals!" he said.

As he was walking alongside the river, he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him.
He turned to look. He saw a 7-foot grizzly bear charge towards him.
He ran as fast as he could up the path. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the bear was closing in on him.
He looked over his shoulder again, and the bear was even closer. He tripped and fell on the ground. He rolled over to pick himself up but saw that the bear was right on top of him, reaching for him with his left paw and raising his right paw to strike him.

At that instant the Atheist cried out, "Oh my God!"
Time Stopped. The bear froze. The forest was silent.

As a bright light shone upon the man, a voice came out of the sky. "You deny my existence for all these years, teach others I don't exist and even credit creation to cosmic accident. Do you expect me to help you out of this predicament? Am I to count you as a believer"?

The atheist looked directly into the light, "It would be hypocritical of me to suddenly ask you to treat me as a Christian now, but perhaps you could make the BEAR a Christian"?

"Very Well," said the voice.

The light went out. The sounds of the forest resumed. And the bear dropped his right paw, brought both paws together, bowed his head and spoke:

"Lord bless this food, which I am about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen."

Monday, December 24, 2007

Something to think about on Xmas Eve

There is enough food on this planet to feed every one, yet one third of the population starves.

... something to remember as you run up thousands of dollars of land fill on your credit card this year.

The Xmas Angel







Sunday, December 23, 2007

Lover

There are 6 billion people in the world and I like you better than all of them.

Kiss Him



Saturday, December 22, 2007

Day 5

Missy and I are laying in bed listening to the rain, feeling our addictions ebbing away. (hers, of course, is food) It's day 5 of quitting, for me. It's a lazy Saturday, for sure, as I gaze at Missy's eyes, slits of cat contentment. I stroke her, she bleats feebly.
I'm supposed to be going to the country. Some time today, I'll still get there.
I wanted to ride my bike over to my mums - fuck the planet, it is never going to survive anyway, it can stop raining now. My chest hurts, which, apparently, according to David and Shane, is to be expected once one gives up smoking. I wanted to do some hard exercise, just to see if that helped sort out the old lungeroos. I thought, fuck it, I'm going to ride in the rain anyway. But, just riding the bike back from the servo, having pumped up the tyres, put me off the riding in the rain idea.
So, me and Missy remain tucked into the bed clothes, going no where.
I'm on holidays, so I don't, actually, have to do anything.
Now, should I watch Dreamgirls or porn? I think it will have to be Dreamgirls, as I don't think I can whack off in front of Missy.

I pissed most of the day away, as you do on the first day of your holidays.
Now, I'm off to Bolago... in the rain. The rain has been amazing. I love rainy days, like we have just had, it seems like ages since we've had such days. Years, maybe.

I love you long time

Christopher smiled when he thought about Titania. I love you long time, he thought. He promptly beat himself up for being so racist? Sexist? He wasn't sure.
He poured milk into his coffee.
Was this Anna playing a joke?
She could pay for accommodation, but not with money. She liked to be very accommodating. He laughed to himself. It had to be Anna, playing out some fantasy, using him as a part of some elaborate story she was using to create some short of art. Maybe? He wasn't sure about that. But it had to be her.
The newspaper was on the doorstep covered in plastic.
He didn't answer, of course. He wasn't going to be sucked in, quite so fast. He'd thought of a couple of replies. He was a swim suit model and he'd be in Queensland for some time on a photo shoot. He was a racing car driver and would be spending the next few months in Monaco. He was going to jail for drug trafficking. He'd met a rich older woman who was taking him to the Bahamas for a summer of sex and one hundred dollar bills.
He sat at the breakfast table with his coffee and his newspaper and stared out at the sunny day.
Christopher had an older woman when he was eighteen, much to his mother and father's disgust.
"That woman's just using you for sex," his mother would say venomously.
"Just as I'm using her," Christopher would reply, not entirely truthfully.
Chelsea was fifty two and gorgeous and she did take Christopher to the Bahamas. She liked Christopher in his swim suit.
"I like to show you off," said Chelsea. She stared down lecherously at how well his speedos fitted him across the front.
Christopher glanced up at his wall of photos of friends and wondered why he didn't ever have a photo of Chelsea amongst them?
It made Christopher's mother sad, he and Chelsea, she couldn't let it go. People are weird when it comes to sex, especially mothers and fathers when it concerns their children, Christopher soon learned. Illogically so. His parents turned into monsters, threatened Armageddon. Told Christopher he'd be psychologically, and quite possibly physically, scarred for the rest of his life. Told him he'd die early because of "HER," as his mother put it.
Chelsea was a gorgeous and vibrant woman whose husband had died a year earlier, unexpectedly, in tragic circumstances... and Christopher was eighteen, after all. A man, by all accounts, able to make his own decisions.
Christopher thought of Chelsea and shook his head. She taught him to be a man. She taught him to stand up for himself. She taught him to laugh and not to take life so seriously, as it could all end tomorrow. She taught him how good sex could really be.
Christopher sipped his coffee and wondered where Chelsea was now?
Christopher's parents took some thing that was innocent and good and turned it into poison. He was never able to fully forgive them.
Ultimately, he let Chelsea down, when he chose his mother and father over her. But he was young. Chelsea fell in love with him. 52, 18. She never asked him to be exclusive, just to be with her when he was with her. In the end, she understood and simply kissed him on the forehead and said good bye and then turned around, like the classy lady she always was and walked away without turning back.
Christopher decided not to use the older woman story with Anna... Titania
He glanced over at the emails on his lap-top in the corner of the room and wondered what he might say in return?
It was directly after Chelsea, when Christopher was feeling particularly battered and bruised from the assault by his parents against her, that he fell into Robert's arms. Chelsea had been the first person Christopher had told that he suspected he could be attracted to boys too. Chelsea encouraged him to embrace it and not to be freaked out by it, as Christopher always had been. Christopher shook as he told her. So when Robert hugged him in his arms, to comfort him over the break up with Chelsea, Christopher just let Robert kiss him. It just kind of happened, one minute they were mates comforting each other, the next minute, without words or discussion, they were lovers. Just like that.
Christopher orchestrated for his mother to walk in on him and Robert, not so long after that. It was an act of revenge for Chelsea. Robert was mortified. Christopher moved out of home not long after that. Robert departed also, for some young girl named Kylie, who he married and whose life he wrecked when he left her pregnant for his tennis coach, Matthew.
Christopher wondered what had happened to Robert? Some Rainbow Lorikeets called out in the the back yard before they flew away.
But Titania/Anna, he'd have to think of an appropriate response. Maybe he should fess up about Ethan and that night at his place? That would shock Anna. He thought better of that. Maybe, he'd just invite Titania to come and stay and then simply wait for her response.

Friday, December 21, 2007

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Aeroplane

I was over at Gabriel's Subtext and he was writing about children on an aeroplane, which reminded me of a short story I wrote a few years ago. So, here it is, my answer to annoying children on aeroplanes.

I am on an aeroplane returning to Australia from San Francisco, the city with the bay that is always cold, where the mist rolls down from the hills in the afternoon like a big fluffy white doona shaken out to air. We are into that long boring period, about the three-quarter mark. All the tricks the airline has devised to make the time pass quicker have been trotted out, bad food and bad movies and everyone, including the staff, have settled down to see the flight out.
The passengers are looking tired, or bored, resigned, or just miserable. A comfortable position is near on impossible to maintain and the best drug combination is tricky. Irregular mounds stretch out in front of me in rows, some blanketed some not, in the sunset lighting now in place. The quiet hum of the aircraft, seemingly all around me, is as constant as a heart beat, like a meditative “OM,” somewhere in my subconscious.
I am post Valium. I did sleep a little despite my fear of dying, er flying. I have read some magazines and eaten twice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see people pass by on their way to wherever – the choices are limited.
My travelling companion, Mark, has three seats next to me – the aeroplane is not even half full – and he has just reclined, waiting for sleep to take him. The hostess, with far too much make up and a permanent grin, tells me that this flight is the longest single flight anywhere and with head winds they have to carry less passengers to conserve fuel.
“There isn't much fuel to spare by the time we get to Australia, perhaps forty-five minutes, tops.”
I’m not so sure I wanted to know that small fact.
I sit here lit up by my brighter than bright reading lamp pondering what would make the time pass the quickest. I try to read.
It’s quiet now, except for two toddlers running around the aircraft, an irritating three-year-old and his slightly older, curly blond-haired sister. I have just returned from the galley with my second cup of coffee. Caffeine is a poor substitute for nicotine. I did bring some nicotine patches with me, but I’m avoiding using them. I want a cigarette with smoke and ash and the full draw back experience.
“Ahhh! Oooo! Squeal! Squeal!”
Fucking children I say to Mark, but he is nearly asleep. What’s the mother doing, I think. “What is this, a flying creche, or an adventure play ground thirty thousand feet up?” They scamper past, too short to be seen because of the high backed seats, until they are upon me. And then gone again, just as quick.
I involuntarily reach for a cigarette.
This smoking thing, as pathetic as it may sound, is really a bit much. It is one thing to choose to sit in non-smoking to avoid the putrid smoking section, but there is a big difference between sneaking to the smoking section for the odd ciggy and prohibition. One could get very edgy if one allowed oneself to.
I open my book and wriggle into the most comfortable position possible.
Suddenly there is a slap to the seat in front of me and a whack to my fold down table. “Ahhhhh,” and then the tap, tap, tap of little feet running away behind me. I catch my coffee but drop my book.
“Children running around the cabin, there should be a law against it,” I turn and grumble to Mark. His response is a warbling in-take of air through his nose, like a growling dog, followed by a large exhale.
Perhaps, I’m nicotine deprived? I’d thought of tripping the youngest one, as he passed by on one of his previous laps, but it was a spontaneous reaction and my foot simply hit the underneath of the seat in front. I gritted my teeth.
Surely someone will complain.
I want to verbally abuse them, but they don’t stop long enough by my armrest for me to swing my mouth into action.
The space waitress comes into view, strolling by with that look left, look right, look left, thing they do.
“Excuse me?”
“Yes,” purrs the over made up Miss Plastic.
“Can you shut these children up and stop them from running up and down?”
“They are children.” Her smile disappears and is replaced by a look of contempt. “What do you expect me to do?” Weak flash of a smile. Raised eyebrows.
What do I expect you to do? She looked really tired and some what annoyed by my request. “Never mind,” I say. “Kids will be kids... I guess.”
Repeated flash of the plastic smile and off she walks.
I see, I thought.
The little brat’s modus operandi is to run up one aisle and down the other, crossing over through the toilets and galley section, squealing and bouncing soft toy Kangaroos off each armrest, as they pass by. Whack, “Ahhh,” giggle, giggle. Whack, “Ahhh,” giggle, giggle. Their little blue eyes maniacal, their laugh possessed. Lisa Simpson, “I am the Lizard Queen.”
A shiver runs up my spine.
They look very pleased with their game. After about an hour, I want to take them by the throat and choke them until they are dead. Them, as blue faced corpses, amuses me for a millisecond.
Perhaps, the lack of nicotine has made me unusually crabby. I don’t mind children generally, but definitely only one at a time and probably only those known to me. I smile at the thought of my nieces tugging at my arms and calling me uncle.
They round the corner and are heading back down the aisle, in my direction. I've had it. Something has to be done.
I have to think quickly, what plan of action will be the most effective? When I say effective, this is a revenge mission, so “effective” roughly translates into causing harm, hitting out, getting the little bastards, bothering them as much as they are bothering me, for what now seems like hours.
I stand up. I feel big and suddenly they look very small.
I have to time it properly to ensure a clean get away. I need to be as close to the galley as possible, to ensure escape. I step in to the aisle and walk toward them. They are about to meet the unstoppable force. My eyes squint, my mouth curls into a nasty grin. They are side by side as the gap closes. Perfect, lost in their own, annoying, little world. They are looking up at each passenger, as they thump the armrest of each chair, laughing. It is the usual act. I simply walk right through them, no warning, nothing to indicate that I have even seen them. They ricochet off my thighs. I hear thuds and tearful outbursts, but within seconds I am around the corner and out of sight.

The boy is sitting on his mother’s lap, his face smeared with tears, as I return from my sojourn in the toilet. His curly hair almost seems finer and his face, some how, more angelic than I remember. The brat daughter is in her seat reading, as mother is comforting the boy child. They are laughing, a little, between each other, poking, prodding, although they are finally confined to their seats, by their mother. The boy child gives me a withering look as I walk by, or am I just imagining it?
When I get back to my seat Mark asks me if I am pleased with myself, as he woke to see the whole thing unfold.
The girl fared better being spun sideways into a gap between two rows of seats. Her squealing, brat brother did not fare so well. He connected with an armrest, heavily, with his head and as the ensuing, hysterical wail indicated, some pain was inflicted.
I am, indeed, pleased.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

feeling like crap

I'm not feeling well; pain in the chest - or is that from the push ups, Monday? - upset stomach, feel like I've got an ulcer, getting by on Milanta. I don't know if it is a virus, as Shane says it is, says he had it last week, same pains in the chest, then Matt had it. Or is it the humidity, or because it is day 3 of quitting smoking? (oh hell, it always seems to be day 3, will I ever pull this off?) Or is it because it is the end of the year and the madness of Xmas has fallen upon us? Whichever, I'm hiding in my room with my lap-top and copies of Far from Heaven and Dream Girls, pretty gay, huh? But, some how I've got stuck on schmaltzy American, Men in Trees.
Far from Heaven is incredibly beautiful, even if the story lines are not - I tried so hard to make it go away. I thought I could do it for you and the kids.
I've never seen Dream Girls - And I am telling you...
... all I need is for Nick to turn up to watch them with me.
Lick the sweat off my chest.
Kiss me between mouthfuls of popcorn.

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

The Navy Ambush


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Monday, December 17, 2007

Monday sickie

Ah, Monday morning. The rush, the crush, the blush of the working week starting all over again. Busy, busy, busy, must fly.
But wait, I have to go to the tooth doctor, at 12.15. Who in their right minds organises a dental appointment smack, bang in the middle of the day? I guess it was me.
The city by 9am, the beach suburbs by 12.15. It just seemed like too much rushing around to get to work and then get to St Kilda, so I took a sickie.
The usual amount of guilt washed over me, as I slipped back into bed, you understand. But not too much.
The sun shone gloriously as I drove down Punt Road, with time to spare. My gums are much better, the dentist, Martin, is so pleased. As I am.
"You've been smoking, though," said Martin, a little on the accusatory side.
"Yes, a little, but I've stopped now," I said.
Nothing like a little creative reality visualisation.
There were plenty of buff boys in shorts and singlets to keep me amused, in the sun in the beach side suburb. I bought a falafel, afterwards, and enjoyed the moment, perving on them as they walked by.
I've had a mid afternoon nap, my balcony doors open, a gentle breeze stroking my skin.
Now I'm going for a massage - I think I'm getting a sore back from sitting at my computer for too long.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Midnight show

We ate at Chocolate Buddha and then ate ice cream and window shopped at Southbank, until Sebastian looked too bored to be ignored any longer. So we took him to the observation deck at Eureka Tower.
Then it was on to the Spiegletent to see La Clique, midnight show. Me, Mark, Luke, Sebastian, Leah, Mark's sister Alex.
Amazing. They were all amazing. Incredible athletes and consummate performers. The English strong men, what bodies, not a gram of fat in their Union Jack jocks. The ribbon girl, bald and amazing, hanging upside down in mid air. The Norwegian rubber man, Captain Froddo, double jointed sliding his body through two tennis rackets. The French man, queen of the tent, singing queen songs, telling stories of sleeping with two patrons a night, riding his unicycle fast around the tent. The beautiful girl with the hoops, she could spin them in opposite directions on her body, at the same time; the hoops just seemed to slide up her body from the floor. The naked Australian girl with one hundred sets of pearls around he neck and the huge song, throwing herself about. The (famous) handsome boy in the bath, what a hunk. The diva puppets, how cool were they?

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Friday, December 14, 2007

Friday afternoon

Pissed. No, really pissed. It's hot, very hot. Work Xmas party. I ate prawn cocktails and eye fillet, rare. We were @ Young & Jackson's. It was a boozy affair. I drank James Boags. I sat opposite Charlie, we smiled coyly at each other. We, actually, walked down together, oblivious to our co-workers coming up behind. We chatted and laughed. He's really nice.
They all went onto the River Bar, afterwards. I, wisely, staggered away. Charlie had gone home too. Last year I got home @ 3am, after ending up at some nightclub dancing, off my cha chas. (Or was that the year before? Can't remember.)
"You're a good dancer," they said.
"It's all a part of the poofter gene," I said. "You trade catching and throwing for an ability to dance."
I don't remember the walk home.
I've been lying on the couch with my arm across my forehead, since I got here. Bang, bang. Oooo! Alcohol is not my drug of choice.
Lovely Sebastian is here. He is laughing at me and my decrepitude. He is staying for a couple of days. He's getting his CV together, so he can apply for a job, possibly be sponsored for residency. He has tourism and social work degrees and speaks five languages.
Did I mention that it is hot? I took migraine tablets. Oh my head!

Thursday, December 13, 2007


Buggered

I came home and lay on my bed and fell straight off to sleep. I was buggered... not even Friday, I thought. Nobody was home. I could do as I pleased. (Not that I couldn't usually do as I please, to be true) Oh, it was glorious, so nice, nothing to worry about, think about, clear my mind. Drift away on the sweet feeling of nothing matters, right there for that second, everything can wait; glorious oblivion, sinking into my bed sheets.
Bring!
What? Was that the door bell? Oh? Wasn't Sebastian coming to stay? No, I didn't hear anything. No. It was my imagination.
Bring!
I guess not, I thought, as I was drawn back from the deep tunnel of slumber, unwillingly. Ah, back into the present. Oh, back to reality. Back from my dream of the Milanese soccer team filing into my bedroom, dressed only in small, white shorts.
I struggled to my feet. Bugger! I'll never be able to return to them. Angelo, Carlos, Nickos, Dino...
I opened the door to Sebastian’s smiling face.
Hey Chris? said Sebastian. Did you remember I was coming?
Sure. Sure I did. I thought my face was going to crack with the smile it was attempting to produce.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007


Madeline

Jack checked his watch and wondered why Gerry had not phoned in, as he hadn’t arrived for work that morning. It was unlike Gerry. Jack decided not to worry about it, whatever the reason he was sure Gerry would explain in due course.
Later in the morning, with a mounting problem with the computer network, Jack dialled Gerry's home phone number and was greeted with a child's whisper. “Hello?”
“Is your daddy home?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” whispered the small voice.
“May I talk with him?'
The child whispered, “No.”
Surprised and wanting to talk with an adult, Jack asked, “Is your Mummy there?'
“Yes”
“May I talk with her?”
Again the small voice whispered, “No.”
Hoping there was somebody with whom he could leave a message, Jack asked, “Is anybody else there?”
“Yes,” whispered the child. “A policeman.”
Wondering what a cop would be doing at Gerry's home, Jack asked, "May I speak with the policeman?"
“No, he's busy,” whispered the child.
“Busy doing what?”
“Talking to Daddy and Mummy and the Fireman,” she whispered.
Suddenly, there was the sound of a loud engine in the background, Jack asked, a little startled, “What is that noise?”
“A helicopter,” answered the whispering voice.
“What is going on there?” demanded Jack, now truly concerned.
Again, whispering, the child answered, “The search team just landed a helicopter.”
Alarmed and a little frustrated Jack asked, “What are they searching for?”
Still whispering, the young voice replied, with a muffled giggle, “Me.”

Tuesday, December 11, 2007


from Russia with love

Hello. My name is Titania.
I write to you a woman from Russia. I am 26 years old! The same age as you, Christopher.
I want to find the man for serious relation in your country, while I visit and site see.
I am athletic and blond. I cannot find the man in Russia for myself because it very difficultly in Russia. It is a lot of men in Russia who drink alcohol and touch each other and I'm not like it.
I want to create a home and to live in your country because the government care about people. I want to live and be sure in the future.
In Russia it is not possible to live easy. I want to tell about myself a little.
I live in city Cerenkov. It's 1000 km from capital of Russia Moscow. My city small and very beautiful. I work as the seller in shop home appliances. I learn English at night school.
I'm a cheerful girl who likes to go for sports and do all what like are usual peoples.
My history: I'm with my girlfriend were going to go in your country as tourists for search of men for serious relations. But my girlfriend could not go with me. She had problems with her family, who want her to marry and settle down, here in Russia.
But very soon, I will receive visa and I don't want to lose a chance to arrive in your country. I will receive visa in 7 days for your country.
Now, I'm in Moscow also and waiting for reception of my visa. It will be great if you can meet me and we can to have relations with you. I'm understand that it very good, but probably it's destiny for you and me. I understand that you will ask me "Where did you get my e-mail?"
I'm right???
Okay, I got your e-mail through a girl I met in my city. Her name was Anna. I gave her my letter and she told me that she will send my letter to you. And I will be very happy if YOU will answer me.
Anna showed me some photos, you are very handsome. I would very much like to accommodate you, judging from your photo.
I will be very happy you will write me and we will have our meeting very soon. And it is possible we a meeting in 7 days because I can arrive to you. I can pay for accommodation, but not with money. We come to some arrangement, I'm sure you understand. I'm very open minded. I like to please.
Please tell to me about yourself a little!
I send to you my photo with hope that you will like it and answer to me back. I will wait your answer so much. I would like to stay with you for a few months.
Write to me on e-mail : Titania_busty@hot4ru. Your new friend.

Monday, December 10, 2007

Monday, Monday

Wake @ 7am, play on blogger till 7.45 then decided to watch porn, you know the drill. Roll over, the sun is shining.
Shane's up early and showered and ready before I am, which is unheard of, but I still leave the house first. He doesn't usually get to work till 10am.
Monday morning, a bit wobbly. The sky is blue. Pay all telecommunications bills, home, mobile. I change direction, having left the post office first towards Brunswick street, so as not to walk passed the asbestos house. I'm sure it has been detoxed, when it was wrapped in plastic and yellow tape, but there it sits, no windows open to the breeze.
Walk to Spring Street, catch a tram. Machine out of order, love that. Cute boy sitting opposite me, with head phones, a handsome face, square-jawed and long shiny hair, twentyish, with a nice big bulge. You know those boys who have crotches like the Olgas. He had headphones on. He jiggled his foot constantly. He pulled the bright gold ring on and off his left hand, as he gazed blankly out the window.
I smoked a fag out side work, crotch watching; timing my entry into the building against the pedestrian traffic from King Street traffic lights. Then I get less annoying twats, first thing in the morning. I've realised, just lately, that I don't really talk until about 9.30, once the second coffee kicks in. Dumb cunts in elevators are too much until morning tea.
Easy day.
Still smoking.
Shane's in Sydney.
David is having his back covered in a tattoo.

Sunday, December 09, 2007

Xmas party

Friday night was the company Xmas party, in the C.B.D. on the Yarra. I sat next to the C.E.O. She looked gorgeous. I walked in with her, arriving at the same time, by chance. We talked about travel and Bolago and our parents.
The grads did their annual review. All singing, all dancing, all a whizz with a video camera.
I, fortuitously, had to go to the toilet, just before they went on, to be greeted by near naked, buff young men getting changed in the toilets. Two of the most handsome ones just in their jocks. Nice lunches, boys. Nice hairy chest. Nice muscles. They all smiled, they were pumped.
There was a band, we danced, it was a drunken affair.
I'm sure hot Steve, the analyst, left with one of the most gorgeous girls in our office. He's married, with a new daughter and lives in Beaumauris, she's single, beautiful and lives at South Bank. They left around 22.30 and he was seeing her home. You do the logistics.
Lucky bitch.
I spent a lot of the night with Charie, the new gay boy in the office. He tried to sit with me, at the beginning, but I didn't see him until me and Campbell, one of the oafs in the office, took our seats and it was as if the music stopped in musical chairs and Charlie was without a seat. Drat! I thought. I looked to the other side and thought, I couldn't exactly ask the C.E.O. to move, hey? Not that I wanted to.
He's gorgeous, handsome. We danced together, we gave each other looks. Smiled a lot, well lubricated on beer. He wanted me to go to the after party, but I had to be at Bolago on Saturday. So I wandered off at 1am saying I had things to do the next day.
I reckon I'm going to get into his pants, though. You can sense those things.
I turned into Flinders Street thinking it was, in fact, a long way to walk drunk, as I staggered a bit. I turned around and a taxi was driving by, so I stuck my hand up and he stopped. Just like that. As we drove through the city, people on every corner wanted a taxi, or wanted to get in. Nothing to see here, I intimated, as we swished through the night, thinking how I had just fluked it big time to get a taxi, like I did. (I heard later that people were waiting on average an hour to get a taxi)
One hammered, gorgeous straight guy indicated he'd let me suck his cock for a ride, but the lights turned green and we were gone, before I even had time to realise what it was that he meant.

Saturday, December 08, 2007

War

What is the difference between war and peace, the sign said, held by the old woman.

I don 't know, answered the sign of the twenty something man standing next to her. I've only ever known war.

Sad, hey.

Friday, December 07, 2007


Jodie Foster

Jodie Foster won an award and in her acceptance speech she thanked her long term partner Cydney. And all these people have commented, whats the fuss about, I don't give a squat, who cares, another story about a famous lesbian, ho hum, the interesting bit would be, it's shocking that people treat gays any differently, just be thankful it is not you or your children, boring, there is more important issues, homosexuals are sick, Go girls you are normal people, don't forget, why should it matter?
It's kind of like even the ones who are for us are kind of clueless about it.
Good on you Jodie for being brave. Bravery is always impressive.
You know, good on her for coming out. It's still about raising the profile. It's all about marketing, getting the gay brand out there. Truth over comes ignorance. Contact makes us normal. We always were normal, but the red necks, bigots, homophobes, fuck wits, god bothers, etc, have to find that out for themselves. So in that sense, good on her.
After all, it was the worst kept secret.
But why would she want to, for want of a better expression, come out? Remember, she's had stalkers and crazies after her. Some guy shot the president because of her, for fucks sake. Why would she want to make her private life fodder for every fruit cake in the world?
All she did was to thank her partner, in an acceptance speech, for all of her support and it's news all around the world.
One day, some time in the future, maybe it wont matter. Personally, I kind of hope not. There is interest in being in the periphery, in not being the "norm." But for the beige, cardy wearing, twin set, aching for the marriage ceremony and the house and the dogs in the suburbs, kind of gay, in forty years of gay rights/lives/openness, we haven't won them all over yet, not by a long shot, so I don't think we'll be melting into the furniture in any of our life times, not completely. It will still matter for a long time yet.
We're still getting execute for our sins in some countries. We're still demonised by the Catholic church - while we suck off the priests. We're still accused of being a vocal minority group seeking special rights, if we ask for equality. I bet you the majority of non-gays still think that we all wish we were straight, which is a subconscious way of categorising us as second class citizens. It's still viewed as some what of a handicap, a bit like diabetes. Today's teenager's slang for lame, or second rate, is gay.