A Quickie in Collingwood

I drove down from Bolago this morning so I could go to work. However, I got home to a group of people, in my lounge room, Tim, Jesse Tim’s sister, Mitch and Jason. Euro trash pop blearing out from the speakers, Tim was clearly in charge of music. I was handed vodka and pineapple juice and we played charades and Celebrity Head, instead.

I was playing on gaydar when they all got home. I’d already hooked up with a long time interest, Logan, who lived in Collingwood, just down the road, as it turned out. I’d always fancied him, but had never propositioned. Somehow, we got chatting and he invited me down to his place. I went out, just left the house, without announcing that I was going; as they all laughed in the lounge. I just slipped out and had sex with Logan in the middle of it all.

We met on the corner of Wellington and Language. He stood with his foot up on the wall behind him. He looked like a rent boy. I was sure everyone driving past would be able to pick the promise of sex radiating off him. The thought made me laugh, as I headed down Language toward him.

Nice face. “G’day, I’m Simon,” he said kinda smoothly. We did it in his ultra cool apartment, down by the old silos, off Wellington Street. It’s an ultra stylish and chic complex; a really, really cool warehouse conversion. Fucken brilliant. Raw brick walls, not patched, just as they were. Huge spaces. Minimalist. A thin veneer of modernity spread across it like lacquer. Bare. Sparse, strong spaces. Nothing could date it. He’d nearly finished the renovation.

He was a builder. Designer. Fast. All action, not a lot of talk. Nuggety body. We built up a sweat, suddenly against his lacquered wardrobe doors. He was a nice kisser. Muscled body, glisten with sweat, under dim lighting. He told me I was very handsome. Am I? I thought.

“You’re real cute,” I said.

I rushed back up Language Street, clothes sticking to me, lube squelching between my legs. Beard rash. Suspected hickey. Messed up hair. Sweating. Smelling of sex. I never have a shower after sex. I always put my clothes on and head home. That way I can smell him all the way home and into bed. Everything I was wearing would go in the dirty clothes basket, I’d have a shower and float to bed. You know, if it was after a night out.

I sneaked in and headed straight up stairs. I freshened myself in the bathroom mirror, before joining the rest. They never question my absence. Nobody noticed anything. We played charades until the light started turning brittle outside. Then we collapsed into a stupor and rested.

There is something really sweet about Jason. An innocent allure, like I want to kiss him. Tim said he had an ugly cock; Mitch showed Tim some footage of him sucking Jason off.

I slipped out so easily. I made cameo appearances in the lounge room, nobody said a word. Carmine messaged me, some time ago and I tried to message but he didn’t answer. I think I’ve blown it with him. Left it too long.

Then some friends of Jesse’s arrived a bit later. Tracey and… I forget his name. We went to collect Silvia Romero later, as she was upset about splitting up with G.

It was raining. The Commodore was warm. Modern. We slipped through the night air. Jesse’s friend drove. Whoosh! Through the Paris end of Collins Street to Russell Street. Her apartment building was built without car parks, as they are only sold to people who don’t own cars. You know, eco friendly was the implication. I wondered if that was just a scam for old buildings turned into apartments.

We were home in no time. Silky smooth, big city, night air.

Tim and Silvia proceeded to polish of bottles of wine, after that. Get silly then tired and emotional, you know the drill.

Subject: all me bags is waitin' Oi'm gittin the call... (John Denver)

Josh

Get on that train and no more lip! You are on your way. You3wanted it. You got it. Now off you go. We’ll be having a fab time while you are in Germiania. Enjoy!

Christian