Back To The Big Smoke

Fresh air. Dirt between ya toes. Not showering. Burnt food. Cold Tea. Boy, I feel great!

Manny has dirty knees and, how do I say this without being completely tasteless, some stretching where the sun shines out from and he feels great for it.

"I so needed that," he said, as he stood up beside the creek and pulled his jeans back up.

Fresh, air, fresh water, fresh attitude. Refreshed.

 

Camping

Going camping, good weekend for it. Don't ya think?

Shitting over a log. Pissing in a stream. Stars at night. Warm by open fire. Billy tea. Red coals against the black night sky. Canvass flapping. Dingos sniffing around for scraps and babies. Hug me honey, keep me warm.

 

Sitting up in bed late at night

Suicide Screen

“Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolf,” playing on a repeat cycle on the television. She was found hanging from a roof beam in front of it, with a fluro arrow pointing from her to the television saying the movie was how she saw the world.

Just couldn't face another weekend.

Don't Understand

An Italian woman who never learnt to speak English decided that at the age of sixty she’d had enough of living in a world she couldn’t communicate with, so she started voicing her anger loudly in Italian, in the street wherever she may be. At the tram stop, at St Vincent’s Plaza, she would tell everyone what she thought of the state of the world.

She had to be taken away, eventually.

Okay God

Now, before any of you God botherers get into me for what I've said over the last week, let me just say, I'll take my chances with the big guy.

If you do exist, Lord, smite me, show your disapproval for the things I have said, if you indeed disapprove.

18th Dec 2008 - still here. I've heard nothing from the big G. Silence. And my life has been good. Sweet. And why would that be so? Other than in books, myths don't have too much sway with the living.

11th April 2011 - still here. Still happy and well.

 

Handsome Catholic priest

God Wanted Me To Be Excited

I used to fiddle with myself under my cassock when I was a choir boy. I'm sure God wanted me to be excited by church.

I imagined, he spoke to me directly. "Make yourself... full of grace for me, and for all the choir boys and priests who have come before you."

He'd appear like a white light over the alter while the sermon droned on. "Love your... fellow man, in my name and my son's name and in the spirits name. Amen."

"Amen," I'd say.

Silly Old Arthur

Arthur Batson, organist Holy Trinity, hated me because the old perve wanted me. I could feel it when he was near me, that angst he used to have. Those eyes. Those mean little eyes.

He had God to see him through, which didn't, actually, stop him from shaking with pent up homo lust for my 12 year old choir boy form.

The miserable old bastard made my life hell, essentially, because... I remember the look in his eyes. I've seen it many times since.

He was a man who had god?

Hot Jewish Boy

I used to have sex with a hot Jewish boy from Balaclava. Ira. Sexy Ira. He was smouldering hot, sexy, handsome. He had a habit of being shirtless, and with those abs why not. How he used to fill those black jeans that he used to wear, had to be seen... those calves, those thighs, that arse, that bulging crotch, that curved, flat waist. He had all the right curves. 

And he was a real boy, big and bounding and beautiful.

Without fail, he used to shake and ask for god's forgiveness every time I made him cum, every time his thick cock creamed itself. White gobs of glue used to pour out of him. Often. Shabitsa! The boy had a nice, thick wand on him, really beautiful with a pretty snipped end. And it used to stay hard, long after he'd made a mess of himself.

I was never sure if he was praying for forgiveness because another man was playing with his piece, or if it was because he was cheating on his girlfriend?

I guess it didn't matter which? 

Divine Scent

I want to sniff the shroud, just to see if I can smell the sweet scent of the man.

What do you think he smelt like? Popcorn and bullshit, I’d guess. Popcorn for the spectacle, and bullshit for the obvious reasons.

And maybe cheese, for the cheap and of low quality nature of the message and its unsubtle or inauthentic way of trying to elicit a certain response from the punters.

 

And God Said

When I play God he says, No greater act can a man perform than to spill seed with his brother. Such acts will lead to eternal glory and the promised land complete with virgin boys playing lutes. 

(okay, the lute players aren't virgins, but none of us want them to be virgins anyway, that's a straight guy thing. We like our lute players to be men… and to know what they are doing. You know, out of the box trained)

The J Man Said

I dreamt last night that the J man said, All men who lay down and spill their seed with me, will go on to eternal glory with the love of our benevolent God... who loves everybody.

Apparently!

Apparently, the J Man still had the largest dong. Peter came in bigger, but magically J's appendage just grew a little... according to the gospel according to Oscar.

All the D Boys were envious.

John The Apostle could vouch for its size

The D Boys were envious of his love too

Sexy God Fucker

Saint Germaine and Angel Sebastian had a thing for Jesus.

Apparently, the J man was the hottest boy in the seminary.

Up in the hills, where they contemplated daily to the universe.

Togas made of muslin, ivy circles for their heads.

Before the halo. Before the wings. Before the fishes, before the bread.

All About What Ya Packin In Ya Toga

Could you imagine in the gay bible, The twelve disciples would be chosen by... you know... their size. The J man would still have the biggest wang, but the boys would be chosen so they didn't feel embarrassed in the river when naked in the company of the other men.

Hairy, naked, Arab men. They'd wash each other's backs, like friends, mates.

The J man famously preferred boys who'd had the snip, but having a foreskin wasn't a deal breaker. I imagine that Judas had a lovely chamois hood hanging down.

The men would look at it, just below the surface of the water and wonder.

Blue sky. Sunshine. The bank of the river dirt, broken by olive trees.

Gay Jesus

Love me Jesus. Love, love me Jesus.

Love me Jesus. Love, love me Jesus.

You’re the god of man, I want to feel your love in my flange

I want to feel how much you can, cuming all over me like I’m your man.

Love me Jesus. Love, love me Jesus.

Love me Jesus. Love, love me Jesus.

God Will Bless You

Some years back, when my mate Stephen died, the catholic priest, from country Victoria, came to the house for the wake. Amongst all the gay men present, he got drunk on too much wine and had to stay.

In the middle of the night, I went to the kitchen to get a drink. I’m good in the dark, so I never have to put lights on. I’m like a rabbit, I eat my carrots.

As I stood in the dark in my jocks drinking juice straight from the juice carton, I could see over to the other wing of the house and into Stephen’s handsome partner, Phillip’s bedroom. And I could see the priest comforting the widow Phillip, with what was obviously Phillip’s cock in his mouth.

I pulled the orange juice carton away from my lips. What are you doing? I thought.

God will bless you for this my son... you are a mighty fine, young mane, I thought next. That made me smile.

I was pretty sure catholic priests shouldn’t be doing that.

Monogamy

"Yes, of course I'd want to know," said Adrian. "Because that would be the life that he is leading."

"I don't know. I think it's all over by that stage," said Veronica. "It would mean that I wasn't special enough to have kept his interest."

"I never liked telling, somehow it was mine. It meant that I still had it. The trouble was, I never really knew what it was."

"Something is always broken, afterwards," said V. "That can't be gotten back."

"Too hard. It's human nature," said Adrian. "Why set yourself up to fail? Why deny yourself?"

"So many to choose from."

"I always wanted to meet my soul mate," said Adrian. "Everything else is negotiable, when you've got forever covered."

"You haven't had a partner for years, Adrian," said V. "Who was the last?"

"I don't remember," said Adrian. "It just got easier to work."

"I'm tired of waiting."

"Internet, Saturday night 'That's Adrian'." Adrian made jazz hands. "It's not me."

"Is that the name you use?" asked V. 

Blakey Boys

Brother Carl comes out in his boxer short. Chiseled chin. Chiseled chest. "Cheryl-Anne where are me jeans? Me good black ones? You know the ones that..."

"Make ya arse look sexy? On the line out the back." Carl heads out the door.

Indigo watches him go, eyes fixed, turning at the neck.

Cheryl-Anne exhales loudly. "Yep. It's the fucken boys in this family who got the pretty gene."

Brother Matthew comes through another door. Blazing blue eyes, hair as black as coal. Indigo's head swivels in his direction. He's shirtless, wearing jeans and boots. He nods his head at Indigo and smiles. He takes an apple and orange and starts heading out the door.

"Put a shirt on Matt," says Cheryl-Anne.

Cheeky Blakey boy smile. "But the girls prefer..."

"Shirt Matt!"

"But it seems such a waste to cover him up," says Indigo.

Matt smiles, before he heads out of the room.

Then out comes baby Timmy in a white towel, freshly showered.

"Hey, I can't find any of my jocks!"

"Jesus!" says Indigo.

Cheryl-Anne turns to look at her. "Don't you go lookin at him like that. He's a child..."

"He doesn't look like a child," says Indigo, as her mouth drops open ready to drool. "Baby!"

"I'm eighteen," protests Timmy.

"They're all like that..." Cheryl-Anne smiles. "The boys are the pretty ones in my family."

"Drop dead gorgeous," says Indigo. Cheryl-Anne puts her hand over Indigo's mouth.

"Folded in the laundry hamper. Do you think you could open your eyes." She waves her brother away with her hand. "Now go, git!"

Cheryl-Anne removes her hand from Indigo's mouth, shaking her head. "Don't let them hear ya," says Cheryl-Anne. "The boys have big enough egos already."

"Gorgeous boys," says Indigo breathlessly.

"That one doesn't think the sun shines out his dick yet," says Cheryl-Anne. "He's the baby..."

"Some baby," says Indigo.

She rolls her eyes. "But, he will, just like his big brothers."

The HMAS Earth

"The world's fucked, we're all going to die!" he wailed, as he ran passed in his life jacket and lept from the back of the boat without hesitation.

Hesitation stayed on deck with me, Nyuk, Nyuk, Nyuk.