Dark Secret

I woke up with the TV on and a cock ring pressing my cock into a rock-hard monster. I smeared on some vitamin e crème and took care of the problem.

Anthony is asleep. His chest is hairy, running down his stomach to the elastic around his waist. He’s in cotton boxers; there is something swollen inside them. How Georgia likes to play with it in the mornings, when Anthony is asleep, she told me with a smile. It swells to steel in her grip. And then he makes small, little boy, noises in his sleep to which Georgia listens. His handsome face contorts gently, as if he is dreaming. But, she loves what happens, mostly, when his limp limbs turn into a man’s, as consciousness comes to him, and he hugs her, squeezers her, kisses and looks into her eyes with his beautiful baby blues.

Subject: details

Moles

I have to work on Monday, so you'll have to catch a taxi, chook.

My work number is 9xx2 xxxx.

My mobile number is 04xx xxx xxx.

You'll have to come and get a key from me at work.

What day is it today? Saturday. I guess you may be getting on that big silver bird soon. Hopefully, you'll get to read this before bon voyage.

See ya m'ndy

Christian

I went over to mum’s and took Fred home. It had been raining all morning, so I took the opportunity to wipe my wet car down with an old towel, just to bring it back to looking dirty. The gunk from the Gum Tree had not washed off in the showers we’d been having.

I went to visit Tom. Shane and Mark W. were there when I got there. I love the way Tom plays with Mark W. Mark’s handsome face turns child-like and he smiles innocently at Tom’s gentle flirting.

Shane had discovered a remote smoking rotunda in the grounds of the hospital, because he parks in the high-rise car park out the back, perfect for smoking j's in. So, of course, we part took.

After Shane and Mark W. left, Tom asked me if I’d mind if we went up to the room and rolled another j to smoke. Of course, I said I didn’t mind. Tom commented on the flowers a girl was carrying, oddly, as she left the hospital. Tulip heads stuffed into styro-foam by short stems, all of purple hues. I said, for a funeral, after she’d rounded the corner and was out of sight. May be that wasn't the most tactful comment... in a hospital.

Tom’s very social in the grounds, he says hello to everyone and says he has met quite a few of the inmates already. (I was just being my usual, cynical self?)

On the way back, Tom said that he was feeling much better, everything has gone exceedingly well, thus far. Tom said that he no longer had a dark secret to contend with, it was now gone, the implication was, it was a great relief. His dark secret; he always believed that his first bone marrow transplant was not going to last, that further treatment was going to be needed, that it "never" was all over. And now it was; his secret was gone, or the necessity for it was gone and a weight had been lifted. The implication for now, is that Tom now believes he has been cured… for the first time.

We smoked the j in the rotunda, as the rain fell, as I contemplated his revelation. It felt like a revelation, as I sat there and gazed at the wad of cling-wrap pressed vacuum-sealed-like to the skin on his neck, marking the wound that made his permanent IV line possible. I couldn’t get my head completely around what made Tom’s revelation remarkable, so, I guess, I stuttered a little for conversation, perhaps just in my mind, as I knew I was distracted with my processing. I can process and speak at the same time, but after a j, it’s like making an old PC do two things at once. (Damn our organic basis!)

But it was a slow, dank afternoon and conversation came easily and gently between the two of us, as ugly people parade passed, from the car park to the hospital, often with gaudy flowers and a purpose of step, and from the hospital to the car park, often with a serious gaze and a look of disapproval upon the sight of Tom, hooked up to a treatment pole, coughing his lungs up after a drag of the cigarette between his fingers.

One of the pool-playing Lesbians from VACRO rang and said she was coming to visit. Tom was obviously pleased. He said to me, after he got off the phone, that he’d have to move me along. He says he’s just loving all of the attention, if the truth should really be known.

Subject: details

That's no prob Shaz. Will do. can you leave me SOME goods in the mullbowl?

I will be shattered anyway. Wake me when you come home. In Geneva, but in Berlin tomorrow and off on German Monday.

So see you Mondy.

Work bastards!

Moles

It was dark as I turned into the laneway, at 17.30, when I got home. I felt like I’d been gone the entire day.

Tim and Beau were watching TV, just a candle was burning, it seemed gloomy with no fire. They seemed to huddle kind of small in the darkness. Tim was asleep.

“We tried to get the fire going,” said Beau. “We even resorted to metho…but that didn’t work either.” Beau smiled angelically. “Neither of us can use the axe.”

“Couple of fucking girls,” I replied.

Beau laughed his musical laugh. It’s a joy to hear.

The fire place was full of paper ash and large, charred logs. They were black and smelled of chemicals, as I chopped them down to size, turning my hands black in the process.

Subject: details

Good on ya Heidi. I’ll slave at the office, as you yodel down the mountain.

Shattered? Right by the evening? You’re optimistic. That flight drains your blood. You won’t be okay until you’ve re-filled your veins, miss.

Christian

Freud what our mothers did to us as kids.

Jung collective consciences

Sartre the idea of self. The idea of freedom and choices that form our liberty and life’s direction.

We watched Funniest Home Videos, when I had had ideas of studying Sartre. We watched far too many episodes of Keeping Up Appearances, when we could have been watching Parkinson, but I was far too comfortable to take myself off upstairs and, somehow, it seemed rude for me to do that, breaking the camaraderie of the three of us.

We watched the repeat of Live8.

I woke up on the couch at 6am. As I was checking my emails, Beau briefly got up, wandering into the kitchen in his maroon jocks, riding up the crack of his sexy arse. Beau has the sexiest arse – solid, masculine. I’d so love to taste it, split beaver across my tongue. He microwaved some milk in the kitchen, before he went back to bed, saying he hoped warm milk was the cure for insomnia.

I switched off the light and pulled the doona up to my chin, as the outside was turning with its first blush of light.