Boys, Boys, Boys

 SMS. 6.44. Morning Christian how are you feeling today? – Tom

SMS. 6.48. Er, miss? Look @ that, it’s morning? Is it Tuesday? – Christian

SMS. 6.48. Yes Miss only 4 days until the weekend – Tom

SMS. 6.51. (Tom) Actually 3. Joint? – Christian

Subject: hot Italian cock

ahem,

now that i have your attention i wish to talk to you about our hansel and gretal most excellent adventure.

the universe decided our paths to cross 2 years ago and reckon it is due time we moved a little faster on our collaborations.

i love our idea and the treatment you wrote and on returning to Melboring i have decided that i pussy foot around no longer.

we are making a low budget feature film.

that's all there is too it.

i am meeting with our producer on Friday.

what i need is the 1st scene and the treatment of course.

so do you reckon you could bang out a 1st scene and tighten the treatment a tad by Friday?

from now on we are going to set deadlines with each other as clearly we cannot be trusted with our futures.

we can aim for 1 scene a week, and we will email it back and forth to each other as we edit and collaborate.

lets go toots.

i want to start filming in January.

xx

Aby

ps. i will endeavor to collect my stuff from yo' roof next week. my apologies on it taking this long. i would do it this week but Rob is working on a shoot and i need his muscles...

pps. i love you very much.

Subject: 62nd in line

Hello hello hello hello hello.

You are now in position 62 in emails received – 62 other emails since I last was graced with your silvery tippy tap.

Dead?

I am registering your fat or thin, Mister Moo

L O D

Josh

Subject: Is this the line? I've got number 62.

62nd in line? 62nd in line? You make me sound like the little known Princess Bernice from Shropshire. You know all sharp implements have to be hidden when that one visits the palace. She’s got a wild look in her eye, you can be sure.

Oh groan. 62nd in line @#$%^! Jasus! He writes one miserable email on the 20th of Sept and he thinks he’s… for goodness sake! (And yet, my last email to him was on 27th Sept… ha, ha… and his last email to me was on 20th Sept. Curious. And! I do believe mine was some 30 lines and his… um, 4. However, makes no never mind. Perhaps I should point it out to him? Nah, you know what she’s like, always right… all that counting would have made her cross already.)

Okay, now if I can just rattle the last of those pills and powders out of me, nose, brain, I might just be able to think of something to say.

Goodness me, what day is it?

6am Tuesday.

I see.

Big breath.

Who?

Oh… maudie moo. Lovely.

Now let me think?

Well, you may point your nasty little finger at Australia and kack like a kookaburra, but I’ve got three words for ya, Conservative Christian Coalition. Yes, well, those apples turn bad at the drop of the proverbial hat, now don’t they. Anyway, moving on… you’ve got to live with that for how long?

I went to a wee party on Saturday night, a birthday party in the country, at a winery. Lovely. The lighting was harsh, the décor austere, but the company was handsome, the boys flirty, the music was good and the surroundings picturesque. I danced most of the night, as I do. I tell ya, there were cruisey boys with packed jeans. We may think we are all superior and upitty, upitty, up on the north side, but them south side boys… sluts. They all, just about, seemed just about happy to give it away.

Towards the end of the night, I started making eyes at this cute boy, who started making eyes back at me; gorgeous, boysey, nice smile, nice bulge, which was got my attention initially... he caught me looking, it made him smile and twitchy, in a good sort of way. Every time I looked over there he was gazing back with I want to fuck you eyes. Yum!

This, of course, only prompted his boyfriend to wrap his arms around him tightly and not let him go, or out of his sight, for the rest of the night. The damn boyfriend was onto me in minutes… milliseconds… instantly; hardly had a moment to enjoy his boyfriend without him interfering. Gosh them boyfriends are untrusting and possessive… and have excellent gaydar, I must say. I had no intention of taking him from him, no, no, not for a moment… even if I may have had some tiny little hint of an idea of, perhaps, borrowing him… No, no, I was only flirting, promise. But no, not a chance of the boyfriend unhanding him. What’s this world coming to, I ask you? He looked sexy lying in his boyfriends arms on the couch with his eyes blazing for me. He was hot!

Slutty, crystal hot. Gotta love it.

However. A bunch of them were staying at my place… and I was supposed to be supervising as we had some real guests staying as well. (And Mark and Luke are in Vietnam) I was whirling by the open fire, spinning nicely, as the sun kissed the day with a hint of its imminent arrival, surrounded by bodies, of which there should have only been six. When they all started smoking crack, in the lounge, I decided it was time to head to bed and leave them to it. (that makes it sound like I didn’t have any? Well, it can remain a mystery then.)

The attached one was still blazing in my direction. Beautiful eyes, the ones you fall for. He was a naughty boy. See… but don’t touch. I want you, but you can’t have me. It was all too much.

My bed was gorgeous. The world stopped.

I woke at 4pm and they had all left, just the way I like it. Well, not exactly how I always like it, but on this occasion, I could sit gently in the sunshine and drink my coffee without a care or need to look after anyone, so it was good.

Momentarily, David came out of somewhere bleating about being deserted. Actually, more incredulous that Shane had left without him. (That Shane) I’d registered that I needed to think, when James appeared out of somewhere else. James who, I asked? But then James packed David up and took him away and all was quiet with the world again. Just a gentle hum, remained.

And yesterday, Mon, I was, actually, beginning to think about my work requirements and the prospect of going back to work tomorrow – which is now today, are you keeping up? – when I got a gorgeous text from Jane which said, “Nothing going on here. Stay at Bolago another day, if you want.” It was hardly the point that I had already traversed the southern tip of our fair continent – may be run by conservatives, but at least it’s not run by conservative Christians! (um… then again?) – and was already back in Fitzroy. It made no never mind.

So here I am. How are you Moo?

Just got news of Tommy, it looks like there might be a hint of his bladder stopping bleeding, the thing that has kept in hossy for all this time. The news wasn’t good last week when they stuck a camera up his wozza in the vain hope that they may just be able to quarterise the offending point, only to find that his bladder was oozing blood from everywhere, you know, like the water-wall at the gallery.

Sometime later…

Midday, I believe. I finally got myself off gaydar with the sentiment of, I’m wasting my life. A few minutes later I found myself laughing again, after I’d played four games of Hearts. Goodness! Take me away from… that filthy mull bowl.

“Whoosh. No, no, I’m over here.”

“Well, what time is it?”

“I believe, er… I have been here for… um… six hours. Six hours?”

Jasus! 6 bloody hours? Where is my head. Big laugh. Big sigh. Look around. The sun is shinning. In fact, the weather has been soooooo glorious these last few weeks (auntie Elsie’s arthritis just clear… er… um cleared up) that we all would be fooled into believing that summer is nudging its way in. Bright open blue skies, sunny light drenched days, nothing but fresh air. You gotta love it.

Back with you me luv.

Too stoned to take my washing upstairs, so I’ve got it hanging off everything in the lounge. But at least it’s done, not an addict yet.

62nd in line? 62nd in line? Grumble. Grumble.

Um?

Gosh I’m hungry.

Nobody is here, the house is quiet and still. Just my beating heart (quite possible still effected by the amyl) and the faint twitter of birds, intermittently. Oh dear me, big sigh. A tram rings its bell, somewhere in the distance. The whores next door argue, but screech off into nothing. A roar from the men on the building sight, as one of their own ejaculates inside a circle of work men. Then it is quiet. Mrs Kalianis greets me, as I check the mail at the gate. I ask her about her son Milo, she says he’s doing fine. Milo has come-to-bed eyes and packed tracksuit pants that have to be seen to be appreciated. He often walks bare-chested, in the summer, anyway, he doesn’t mind me looking down at it. It turns him on. More than once he has only started to walk off as it was getting hard. He once said, "I'll come inside with you, if you like." But, I thought he was joking and took no notice. I've often wondered since?

I make sardines on toast and celebrate the day. I look at the mess the kitchen is in and scurry back to the study.

My mouth is bloody dry.

I think I’ve got the shakes.

Aby’s back from New York, she met all the directors she wanted to meet and then some. She sent me an email about the work beginning… yawn, not today it isn’t. A low budget feature film. It is very doable. I only have to write the script, I don’t have to make the bloody thing. But why do I procrastinate so? I could actually do it. In fact… um… er…

I guess that’s cheerio me lovely.

So, there you go.

Time for tea.

Christian

Subject: hot

great i'll look forward to reading the 1st scene of our FEATURE FILM this week.

And can you please start telling people about this, so they can also shame us into actually doing it by inquiring occasionally on how it’s all going.

Aby

ps. thought you might get a giggle and a woody out of this... ah little scamp!

pps. speaking of scamps hows Tom? im scared to call! i hate it when his off me and you can never tell which way its going to be! so give me the go ahead.

Note: forwarded message attached.

Subject: hoi

Mister Fletcher, Fletcher of Fletchers, the Fletchster,

Tis true indeed, ideedy-doo. I have gotten away (yet again I say, again again!) with my crossness trick and scored another email (again again) from Fletchery never having writ nothin meself deserving thereoftherebywhichof-ness. Hee hee ha ha tis to chortle.

I be fine. Y'know, they whinge and they moan and they carry on but when they actually come to school, them Josh Gales find it's not that bad (today) after all. I even wrote me mother last night in great detail detailing me midlife crisis and god I hate (aspects aspects love) teaching I'm turning into a maggot (turning Doll?) becoming disinterested and disaffected and complacent and lazy and why oh why doesn't the garden bring me any more pleasure and dear oh dear do I hafta, and so forth and so on. But lo, tis not selfsuch, twas much easier today than I thought.

Not that I'm that organised mind – but I managed to get some marking done on the weekend and that put me a smidgin ahead.

Who am I kidding? It's you I'm talking to. Actually I had a great idea while showering at 6.20. Don't go to work (at British school). So I chucked a sickie. But living with the Bernster it had to be cloak and dagger. I actually went to the underground, read Animal Farm on the platform for an hour and then all secret squirrel snuck back to the flat and had the lovely day at home. Slept until 3 and then marked my bum off (not a pretty sight). I could have been uncovered at any moment – it was like being 16 and staying home from school to have a wank after Ray Martin (not that Ray does anything for me I'll have you understand). It was dark when I left and I had to pretend it was dark when I came home, but that's me first sickie at the private school and you've gotta test the system hey?

Gotta go to a meeting,

Boi!

Josho

Diet – muesli, 2 spanokapita’s and 3 chocolate éclairs.