Good Bye 2006

Happy New Year

I look at my mum and my heart bleeds for her. She's a woman who lived, travelled the world, lived in London for years, spent new Years Eve in Sitches, Santorini, New York, Paris, who met my father on a Pacific Island when she was too bored to stay in Melbourne, when she finally did return home.

I never dreamed of marrying and having children until I met your father... he changed all of that, she has often said. And I love him for it. (Which is why she always said to us, go to university and get a degree and travel the world, never find someone and settle down and have a family) She didn't have me until she was forty, after all.

She and my father did well, amassed wealth, (she could do any thing she wanted, true) but, I can see in her, it all means nothing when you are old and sitting at home on New Years eve, a widow alone.

"I'll be in bed before twelve, don't worry about me."

Happy New Year, Lottie. I love you mum.

I have to get back into jogging or riding my bike. I haven't jogged since I was in Sydney for work a couple of years ago. Jogging around the Rocks and the harbour and Circular Quay, ending at the Opera House, sure beats jogging around Fitzroy.

I was going to start as soon as day light savings started, but I haven't once. I should try down through the Fitzroy Gardens and around the MCG. A couple of times around there should do it.
I used to jog with my dog, I miss him.

I don't want to feel fat next New Years eve. I always get fat when I give up smoking. The demon weed!

Happy New Year.

One More Sleep

Josh and I have been to see two movies in the last couple of days. Josh picked The Queen, a bit like a documentary, but done well with original footage spliced in. It was good, but, I think, I prefer it when Helen Mirrem gets her tits out.

I picked Shortbus, which I thought was great, although, I'm not sure if they were sure where to finish it. I don't know if I'm stupid, but I didn't understand the explanation of the title.

"I used to want to change the world, now I just want to leave the room with a little dignity."

I've been shopping, everything is ready, it is the second last day of the year. Guido is a pal sometimes, he made a delivery last night. He went camping to get away from all of his clients, and the madness that is his life, but found the solitude too much, so he hi-tailed it back to the big smoke. He says only he's seeing select... um... er... people, preferring to let the rest think he's away, but, I reckon, he's probably telling everybody that.

So, it looks like it is going to be the Peel. (Always difficult going out New Years eve, as I don't like getting to clubs until way after midnight) Otherwise, it would be Witness Protection, (which I think I'd prefer) but, I don't know, no car. I don't think I want to dick around with taxis'. It's New Years Eve after all? I'm off to Tim and Nicholas' at day break Monday and I can walk from the Peel to their house.

I just want to dance.

Mark & Luke are off to Tropical Fruits. They left today.

I'm now referring to Manny as the dumped guy. He was supposed to turn up on Thursday and, yet again, he didn't. I'm not calling him. Fuck him! And if I don't hear from him until after New Year, he really will be the dumped guy.

So, I guess, that means I'll be out looking New Years Eve. But, you never find them when you look, huh? So, I guess, that means I'll be dancing away in my own little world until the sun comes up. Hey presto, a new year.

(Hey Harley, I'm up for it)

No New Year's resolutions, they're lame.

Catch 22

I’d like to feel his arms around me, never to let go

I'd like to see Matt Damon with his pants off. I'd like to see Ben Affleck going down on him.
Matt Damon was too cute when he responded to a media question with, My boyfriend's name is Ben.

I’d like to fly to the moon on a lover’s breath

I want to stare into his eyes and feel safe.

I'd like to watch Robbie William's and Jonathon Wilks pashing, high as kites, drugged to the eyeballs. I'd like to watch them shirtless, rubbing the bars in their pants together passionately.

I want to give love its best shot

I'd like to watch Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal, both being method actors, take the first, nervous moves of undressing each other, to get into character.

I want to stop looking, knowing that I have found the one.

Deep, down in the Batcave, I'd like to watch (George Clooney) Batman pull down (Chris O'Donnell) Robin's tights, over the front of the Batmobile and chew out his arse.

I don’t want to be afraid.I don’t want to be afraid.

Whoosh... All Over

It's quiet, all over for another year... except for the extra kilos. I can hear the clatter of Xmas rolling away in the distance, ready to come back from the other direction in... how many days? Start counting all ye olde Xmas'ophiles, Jesus Freaks, myth peddlers, charlatans, merchants & shop keepers.

New Years Eve, here we come!

Jason

A big, buff young guy sat diagonally opposite me on the train, in a blue singlet and long denim shorts. He had a crotch that was full. He was twenty something and gorgeous looking.

Well, being the dirty, crotch perv that I admit I am, I couldn't help but gaze at his. He had big balls, round and prominent. They looked like cricket balls. His cock lay over the top of them, like a slug. He had sexy, hairy legs, well, carves.

He and his three buddies, took up a 4-pod themselves. They looked like four country lads, heading to town. Because of the angle I was sitting, none of the friends could see me clearly. He got it, so quickly; first gaze of his bulge and he was looking at me out of the corner of his eye, coyly. I only glanced. I swear. I was reading the newspaper. He was listening to his ipod, the others were talking, so they weren't, really, paying him so much attention. I had been gazing at his still, handsome face. I love catching people when they are in another moment.

He checked out his own crotch, after I did, like he was checking to see what it was that I was looking at... the realisation dropped, he looked back up smiling and blushing, then looked back at his ipod. Then he'd occasionally look back at me. When he barred up, he crossed his hands in his lap and looked seriously down at his ipod. He'd push down on it, so subtly. He'd look at me intermittently, after that. If our eyes met, he'd stifle the smile and look away, but always holding it just that fraction too long - the gaydar trigger.

Then, his eyes darted over at me, I was looking. Both hands in the air pretending to scratch his back, exposing his hard-on, subtly, for me to see. Nice and fat, dressed to the left. Big. Quick glance at me. A momentary flash of a smile. Back to his ipod.

His name was Jason, one of his friends used it.

I wonder if young couples know that if they name their son Jason, he has a far greater chance of growing up to be gay?

Well, I mean, doesn't it seem like, of all the twinks coming out of Homo School, now a days, most of them seem to be called Jason?

Jason loves Matthew.

I have a hair dresser called Jason.

But cousin Jason plays football.

Jason dumped Kylie for Darren.

Imagine how many young Jason's are having love-ins with all the boy Argonauts, every Saturday night?

Missy is rapped around my foot purring.

I think Josh is home. He sent me an email saying he would be.

Must go and pick up... um... er... what it is that I have to pick up for new year's eve.

Jasus! I'm off to Lotties for dinner that's why I came home from the country. No more joints. Gotta straighten up. Fuck! I hate staring at her across the table kind of bozz-eyed.

The Second day of Festivus

Don't you just love the holidays? We sat around all day, in front of the open fire and watched the end of the Friends marathon - I was never a Friends fan while it was on, but I piss myself, now, when I watch it - followed by Project Runway - I never watched that when it was on, either. We smoked pot, got the munchies and ate all of the leftovers, all day.

Luke's voice woke me some where around 3am saying, Come on, bed time. I remember being unsteady on my feet, as I got up and followed after him. The shadows from the open fire - that Mark lit, by my bed - flickered across the ceiling, as I drifted off to sleep.

 

Jason & the Argonauts

Celebrate Festivus

Gavin and Steve were sitting on the floor with their backs to the seat of the couch. The Xmas trees lights flashed. Stopped. Blinked. Then flashed again. Gavin had spend Xmas day with his father and mother. They'd both flown back from England together and announced Xmas day they were buying a house together in Melbourne. Steve and his sisters were shocked, as their parents had been divorced for ten years. Steve had spent the day with his family. Boxing day was the first time they'd seen each other.

Gavin had put up the tree, he wanted his apartment to feel, at least, a little Xmassy. It just didn't feel the same, otherwise.

"A week long celebration, starting Festivus Eve," said Gavin. Finishing New Years day."

"You buy presents for all those you love and air your grievances," said Steve. "Then you give them presents."

"And you eat plumb pudding with caramel sauce and cream and ice cream."

"Kriss Kringle?" said Steve holding up four gift wrapped boxes.

"I thought we weren't doing the... present thing?" said Gavin.

"You're the one I love," said Steve. "I couldn't help myself."

It was the first time Steve had said he loved him, just like that, no booze, no drugs, no excuses.

 

God is Dead

OMG! James Brown died, yesterday. I'm going to put Sex Machine on repeat, for the entire day.Thanks James, for every thing.

Festivus

What happened to summer? Not that I'm complaining, mind you. But it's cold, like winter cold. It snowed in parts of Melbourne?

Xmas day went off without a hitch. Like clock-work, really. We gathered at Mark's brother's house for lunch, out in the hills outside Melbourne.

We looked at the new shed on the property, it's huge, of course. And the new tack room, for the wife's horses - she was plastered by the end, naturally. When she told six year old niece, A, who'd taken a shine to me for the day, to put her cold hands between my legs to warm them up, I wondered about taking the fish bowl of Chardonnay out of her hand. I adore her, don't get me wrong, but the demon drink sure takes her away. We looked at pa's new car, took it for a spin even. When pa said to give me a drive on the way back, I wondered what effect the four stubbies would have had on me, as I whirred the new car through it's paces around the windy, country roads. Nice it was too, although, I'd have gone for a darker blue.

Only the children, of which we're not classified, any longer, got presents. The family has been doing its bit for Australia - thank you Mr Costello - the place was littered with babies. Beautiful children, all of them. The family certainly produces gorgeous children - no more on the way, at the moment, even if there is one daughter who hasn't produced. She's had two amazingly beautiful husbands/boyfriends, either of who would have made a suitable sperm donor.

Then we all headed over to Lotties - me, Mark, Luke and friend Julien - to spend a few hours with her. My brother said that he was heading to Melbourne, but he wasn't coming to visit her, which made Lottie cry, Xmas morning when I called her first up. She was calling him a traitor for visiting his in-laws and not her. It pissed me off - if he wasn't up for visiting her, fine, but why tell her? But then when I was there, Lottie said that he was driving down from Brisbane and not flying, so I pointed out to her that he wouldn't even be in Melbourne by Xmas day. I'm not sure if she was accepting that excuse, or not?

Lottie had whipped up a feast, despite me telling her that we wouldn't be very hungry after a big lunch. But, I guess it was Xmas and she wanted to put on a spread, regardless. We'd all blown a joint in the car before we got there. Lottie said we all looked tired... and we were, very "tired" mum.

"Big lunch mum," I said. "You know what Xmas is like?"

Mark fell asleep on the couch, as Lottie and the rest of us, chatted. She was pleased.

We got back to the country by 10pm and watched a Friends marathon, smoking more pot, until the wee, small hours.

Don't you just love Xmas? Family, food, holidays, what is there not to like? 

Happy Festivus

Out All Night

"Why don't you get a key, instead of waking the whole fucking neighbourhood," I barked across the street, from my balcony, as my first words to the world, this morning.

I think of the guy who was slit from neck to chest, recently, for asking a thug to stop hitting his car with a stick.

"Oh sorry, sorry, sorry," she said, quietly. Now she's quiet?

I'd had it. I so wanted to sleep in.

The two kids, who live over the road, must go out all night and not take a key. Last Saturday morning it was Matt's turn; knocking, banging, yelling, screaming out, kicking, for half an hour, or more. Drunk and persistent. This morning it was the girls turn. Bang bang, thump thump, kick kick. "Mmmaaaaaaaattt!!!!!"

I lay in bed trying to accommodate the racket, but two Saturday mornings in a row, it was too much.

I grabbed the mull bowl and stomped off downstairs. There was silence, the banging in my head had stopped. I wondered if she is still sitting on the step?

The morning is cool, a little wet.

Boy, didn't it rain, last night. I walked down to Guido's, it was glorious. Cool and damp, I caught rain drops on my tongue. Every thing was on soft focus, including me.

Jazz played. Singers wailed. Smith Street hummed with people. It's nice to live some where where the streets are alive. I can't imagine living in the suburbs, where the streets are deserted after dark.

The wind blew. I feel alive in the wind.

A car got tooted, when it failed to take off on the green, at Gipps Street. As it started to move, a "one way" street sign fell from the front of it. The bonnet and left hand mudguard were damaged from an obvious collision with the sign. It drove at a snail's pace, into the dark up Hoddle Street. Other cars went clack clack on the debris in the second lane.

I got wolf-whistled, or was it propositioned, as I walked past the Laird Hotel. But, by the way he was slurring his words, I wasn't at all sure if it was me, or the Labrador tied to the pole just outside, to whom he was referring.

A big, red tongue panting in the night.

The Yarra looked so black, as Guido and I blew a joint on his deck. Dark and mysterious, as the soft, sprinkle of rain covered it like a fine net. Guido was pissed and had dropped a pill, fifteen minutes before I got there. I got the feeling he wanted me to take one, too, as he mentioned the fact several times.

"Put hairs on your chest," said Guido, as he handed me the joint.

"Thanks."

"The meaning of life," said Guido.

"What?"

"The only meaning there is."

I thought he meant the joint, but then I realised he was looking down at the river, again. He chugged on a long neck.

I was a bit wobbly, as I headed back home; two long necks and a massive joint. Guido rolls base ball bat joints, a dying art, you don't see that much any more. They blow your head, well, the way Guido rolls, anyway.

I bought a lamb kebab, I had the munchies, something bad, by the time I made it back to Smith Street. Drunk guys, in twos, were battling for taxis. There was a lot of fast talk and taxis' fleeing. My mouth was like the Sahara, I could hardly swallow.

The world was on tilt, beer goggles, everything was beautiful.

I was damp through by the time I pushed my back against the front door to close it behind me. I so needed to be wet, damp through, after the days of heat we've had and the days of heat we've been promised. I was beginning to feel that I'll never feel cool again.

I slid down the door and sat on the floor and ate my kebab. My wet shirt was cool on my back. 

Just Rude

I was out side having a cigarette, just minding my own business, getting the job done, as they say, in pariah's corner, just outside the door and to the left a bit. You know the regular faces, if you're a regular yourself. I wonder if they have names for me, like I have names for them?

As I said, I was minding my own business, when this pinched-faced bitch, in a button up blue suit and a pony tail, pulled so tight at the top of her head her eyes bugged, walked by. Officious, twenty something lawyer type, thinks she knows every thing. I blew my cigarette smoke in her path, just how it was, I didn't see her coming. I didn't mean to. She turned and stood face to face with me, waving her hand in front of her rat-faced features furiously, so close to mine that her fingers were practically swatting my nose.

She had such a look of rat-faced determination and triumph on her face, it was sickening. I was surprised by her actions, taken aback with her aggression and the invasion of my space.

It was just rude!

And then it just came out. I spoke without thinking. First thing that came to mind.

Deadpan. "I bet it smells better than your cunt!" Broad day light; bound to be a client of the firm, some how. Or a new grad. I winced at the thought.

Her rat-faced expression changed to one of such startled, wide-eyed surprise, it was all I could do not to laugh, as she beat her hasty (nasty) retreat.

Water

Suddenly there was a handsome policeman standing at his open roller door watching him water his ferns during times of water restrictions.

“Sir, you do realise there are water restrictions in force?”

“Yes, officer. I do understand there are water restrictions.” 

“It would be highly illegal to water your whole garden,” the young policeman smiled. “I certainly hope that isn’t what you were planning?”

“No, officer. I wasn't planning on watering the whole garden. Just my tree-ferns, officer.” He couldn’t help but notice just how fine this young policeman was. “It's been… hot.” Really handsome. “They cark it at the drop of a hat.”

“There are legislated times for watering during the day,” the young copper said. 

“Yes, sir. I do understand there are times for such things.” 

“Can you imagine where we’d be if people didn’t follow the laws.”

“Yes, yes, I do understand that if everybody did it,” Lemmings, the lot of them, “we'd be in awful strife.” 

“You won’t break the restrictions in future, I hope?”

“No, officer. I don't plan on doing it again.”

“And you will stick to the times you are allowed to water.” 

“Yes, yes, I'll stick to the legislated schedule. 

“Can I trust your word?”

“I promise. (Makes crossing motions across my heart)”

He watches the beefy arse of the handsome copper walk away.

Lucky, I have high fences and lots of creeper. Huh? He thinks, as he pushes the button on his roller door to close it.

Thursday Night

It's too fuckin' hot!

We ate Japanese, in Smith Street. We drank coffee, outside in the street, so I could indulge my (continuing) nicotine habit.

Wow, said Josh. Everybody, just everybody is going to Q&A.

Um, well, we are, practically, sitting right outside it.

Ah, yes, said Josh. Precisely.

More coffee?

It was just too fuckin' hot! The sweat stuck to my face like a face mask. The air was thick and still. Not a breath in it. Cars doors opened and shut. People milled. Gone. Sucked into the vacuum of the heat.

We walked the Gertrude Street hill with heavy feet.

Luvin' Myself

Manny came into work and sat with me for a while, while I worked - Rebecca was away at a funeral. It was nice having him there, we laughed together, we chatted and talked dirty. I felt him up, under the desk, like a teenager. I played with his hard-on, as he stumbled over his words.

I slipped my hand up under his shirt, in the lift and played with his nipples, as I watched his eyes roll back into his head.

"Don't." He pushed my hand away. "I won't be able to go out into the street," he said, with a smile, as he adjusted himself.

I waved him good-bye, in Bourke Street, because while I've got this damn cold sore - did I mention that? - I'll be luvin' myself, for a while.

What else can you say, really?

I've always found high rise bathers sexy

Strange Ideas

Paris Hilton says that she is celibate and that sex is sacred?

Why do people have such screwy idea about sex? (The religious right has a lot to answer for, but we all knew that, now didn't we?)

What is there not to like?

It's a good recreational sport. It's a good way to pass the time. It's a good way to get to know some one. It relieves the tension. It feels good. It's best done with somebody you love. But, then again, isn't everything best done with somebody you love?

P.S. Devilishly Handsome Michael.

Oh yes...

When I got to work this morning, the first person I saw was Michael, we were both getting coffee.

"Good morning," I said.

"I thought you said you were going to the Xmas party, Friday night," said Michael in a some what accusatory tone... I wasn't expecting. We held each other's gaze.

It was the first time we would have been drunk together, since the Xmas lunch, where we got kind of chummy. He told me his boyfriend didn't understand him, we hugged each other... kind of caressed... then he left.

Five years was... oops... is a long time to be faithful.

I held his gaze, as I poured the hot water into my coffee mug. He was serious. His eyes burned a little too long.

"I was." Smile. "But something came up and I couldn't make it," I said. "Was it good?"

"Yes." Pause. Customary, gorgeous, Michael smile. He picked up his coffee and looked cheeky. "I didn't get home until 5am." Smile. Shrug. Pause. Then he walked off, without looking back.

Are you trying to tell me something, Michael, I pondered.

I've never slept with someone from work, before. Never. It's kind of a rule, I have. But, I reckon it might just be one of those things you should notch up on the belt, before you die.

"Christian Fletcher, this is your mission, if you choose to accept it..."

good night.

Monday Night's Still Alright

Josh and I smoke pot together and all is forgiven. Best mates, again.

We smoke more pot and Josh heads out to get laid.

Tom only has a cold, as it turns out, but is admitting to the slippery slope of drug addiction. Did I say he was in hospital, last week, 3 days, but booked himself out for Kylie and a couple of points of crystal?

Manny called, he was hot for it, he was on his way over...

I, of course, have a cold sore, so I'm taking my sorry arse off to bed. (for a pull, you can be sure.)

Old But Gold

You don't often get gold like this, and I know it has been shown before, but I just had to. Can you imagine Mr Sheen's wet, little tongue going to work on the Crown Princess small, pink nob. It would be like the sound of pigs snuffling in the dirt.

Britney's Minge

Or this... you don't often get to see some skank pop star with her minge out. You can certainly take the girl out of the trailor park... I think it's dead anyway, isn't that it's tongue hanging out?

Good On Ya

I came home and fell asleep on my bed drunk and woke up @ 3am.

Josh and I went to Simon's Xmas party. It was more of a family affair than a group of friends, but Simon's gay nephew was there, as was David, Simon's ex. Simon's gay sister and his gorgeous, younger brother were also there, as well as Simon's boyfriend, Bern. Simon had cooked up a feast, there was a mountain of food.

It was gorgeous sitting out the back in the sun, drinking beer, catching up.

Later in the afternoon, Josh was bitching about going, he wanted me to call Tom so we could go over there. Josh eventually got bored and headed into the study to read books, I guess, just in case his boredom wasn't evident enough. So, as Simon's nephew said he wanted to go, I said that I thought Josh wanted to visit another friend and could he give us a lift to the city. At which point, Josh appeared at the back door and said, It's you who wants to visit a friend, not me, so don't try to blame this on me.

The boy just has no idea, sometimes. No really, he so often has no clue, funny for someone so intelligent.

I just stood there with my mouth open.

We parted company on Princess Bridge, a short time later, after I had told him what a fuckwit he can be, sometimes.

When I got home, Mark called and wanted me to tape something for him & Luke, So you think you can dance... and the last thing I remember, in my drunken brain, was lying on my bed thinking what schlock it really was. How could they watch this stuff... and then it was 3am.

I was up to witness Josh crash his way through the door dead drunk, insisting on telling me that I was still his favourite and that he still loved me... insisting how he'd like to bust up his good friend's relationship, because he sudden found one of them irresistible... tall step, eye spasam. Hick!

Whatever, I thought, as I headed back to bed. (Only because he was drunk, not because I was still cross with him, you understand.)

 

Smith Street

Sunday Morning

Yesterday morning, I got up early, nobody was around. The sun was shining, the sky was blue. It was hot, early. I wrote for a while and got pissed off with Blogger for not uploading my photos. I was going to pinch some of Mark's, cool sunset shots. I guess that was instant karma. What am I talking about? Mark wouldn't have minded, even if he didn't know I was using them on the net.

I smoked a couple of joints and then had a nap in the afternoon. You know, flat out. And because I took Friday off to help them out, it felt like a Sunday, but was still only Saturday.

Mark & Luke drove me home.

Josh had washed both my dressing gowns, just so I had none to wear. That was how he put it, anyway. It looked like a Chinese laundry, when I got home. He had laid out a collage of newspaper clippings on my bed, for my pleasure. They were cool, they made me laugh.

Josh's scared of Mark & Luke, he always gets nervous when they are around. I must say he put in a valiant effort, though, not disappearing to his room until he had put in a decent show. He thinks Mark & Luke don't like him. They don't.

I think he was pissed off, a bit, that I'd said I'd come home so we could go out, but I got a cold sore, Saturday morning. I'm like the girl in the motor bike helmet, in the cold sore ad, absolutely. I feel like a pariah when I have a cold sore. Dirty. Unclean, like I have oozing cancer. I probably should get therapy. Ha, ha. Instead, I just lock myself indoors.

I think that Josh was a bit miffed that I ate Indian take away and watched bad American Art-house, instead, with Mark & Luke. He went out with his mate Deano, the one who is famous for falling asleep, up Josh's arse. Josh never quite forgiven him... they are now just mates.

Jeff and Raymond came over, to say farewell. They have now sold their house in Fitzroy and are moving to Brisbane. Raymond finally convinced Jeff that it is too cold in Melbourne, bloody winger. I think it's all in his fucking head. Sure, Melbourne is colder, but it only takes twelve months to acclimatise. Anything after that and it's just self-indulgence. I think it becomes a mental thing, he can't just let it go and relax.

Personally, I think it is more of a statement on their relationship, all this too'ing and fro'ing. They earn a squillion dollars between them, so, since they can afford to, they lived in a flat, they bought in Brisbane, for a year, while their house was rented out, which Raymond loved. And now they have lived down here for a while, which Jeff loved. But they have now sold up down here and are going to buy a house up there.

No matter where you run to, you'll always find yourselves there.

See ya guys, have fun.

Good luck in the Brisbane summer, Jeffy boy - Fitzroy through and through. (Once a Mexican...) I'll miss you. (despite not seeing much of you since you have been back)

It is another glorious morning, just of the city variety, this time. The sun is shining. The sky is blue. Missy is meowing at my feet.

I've already had a joint and am considering another.

I got up early to blog, so I could before Josh gets up. I can stop any time I like. No, I can. I can.

The Country

It's sad to keep a cockie in a cage, if you have ever seen how majestically they fly.

It's no wonder that they are called cocky, they fly their magnificent wing-span with attitude.

Squawk, squawk, they call, as they wield around to a preferred branch.

The swans glide across the lake, as the sun reflects in it.

The trees rustle, as a gentle wind blows.

The grape vine over my head sheilds me from the heat of the sun sun.

Dappled, on my face.

Natural Highs

1. Falling in love.

2. Laughing, so hard your face hurts, with good friends.

3. A long shower.

4. No lines at the supermarket.

5. A special glance. (a nod & a wink)

6. Getting mail. (getting laid)

7. Taking a fast drive on a winding, country road.

8. The morning sun on your face.

9. Lying in bed listening to the rain outside.

10. Hot towels fresh out of the dryer.

11. Chocolate milkshake (vanilla or caramel).

12. Wanking in the bath.

13. Giggling.

14. A good conversation.

15. A long deserted beach

16. Finding 100 dollars in your coat pocket.

17. Laughing at yourself.

18. Looking into his eyes and knowing that he loves you

19. Fresh bed linen.

20. Running through sprinklers .

21. Laughing for absolutely no reason at all.

22. Having someone tell you that you are gorgeous.

23. Grass between your toes.

24. The wind.

25. Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you.

26. Waking up and realising you still have a few hours left to sleep.

27. Your first kiss.

28. Sliding your hand down his pants.

29. The smell of a puppy.

30. Having someone play with your hair. (or feet)

31. Long, sweet dreams.

32. Good coffee on a Saturday morning.

33. Road trips... with the low, setting sun on your shoulder and the open landscape stretched out in front of you.

34. Swinging on swings.

35. Making eye contact with a cute stranger in the street.

36. The smell of freshly baked bread.

37. Having your nan send you homemade biscuits.

38. Holding hands... warm and firm.

39. Running into an old friend and realising that some things never change.

40. Watching the expression on a friend's face as they open the perfect present from you.

41. Watching the sunrise.

42. Getting out of bed in the morning and being grateful for another day... off.

43. Knowing that somebody misses you.

44. Getting a hug from someone special.

45. Knowing you've done the right thing, no matter what other people think.

Off To The Country

I've realised that it is going to be rather hard to write my blog and keep it anonymous, away from prying eyes, with Josh around. He is smart and quick and inquisitive and if he spots me writing it, even for a milli-second, he'll be into it and reading the lot. He'll only have to catch a glimpse of the name and...

I love the freedom anonymity gives me. I don't want an audience of friends reading it, not for a second. Already, I'm beginning to modify what I might say about him, in my head, just on the off-chance.

Grrr!

But, I did change my home page from Blogger to Google, this morning, just to keep that much away from him, when he uses my computer. May be a little late, but better late than...

"Everyone is blogging," he said, after he checked his emails the first time.

I should have thought of that, before he got here.

Anyway... I'm off to the country.

Home is Where the Heart Is

You know, sometimes I look around my house, especially when the sun is setting and the day is drifting into night, when the light has become fragile at the panes of glass and it seems so still and quiet, contained and silent and it, almost, makes me feel sad. Not sad in a sad way, but sad in a reflective way. Melancholy, maybe, for all the things that have gone before, all the people I have known, all the good times and, yes, all the bad times - for all the things that have been.

I always wanted to live on my own, right from the very start, when I moved out of home and bought my first house. Tom still can't believe that I have never rented. I was fortunate to have had an old aunt, who despite having been married for thirty five years, was most probably a lesbian (Lottie had been reading up on the "gay" gene, at one stage, how it is, allegedly, passed down through the maternal side and came to the conclusion that my aunt was where I got mine from. Thanks Auntie, I love you even more because of it. I miss you, when I think about you like this) and who never had children, who left me enough money to buy myself a house. It didn't seem like such a big deal at the time, I didn't feel rich, or anything like that, but was more involved in finding a house that I could afford, which was, probably, the cheapest house in Fitzroy, at the time, but a house and mine. So, I guess I was lucky, even though I didn't think that way at the time. I was breaking out and discovering the world and that's what was on my mind, rather than reflecting on my good fortune.

Well, anyway, people turned up and flatmates need homes and friend's needed to congregate and I never ever did manage to live on my own, until now - which is kind of ridiculous, as my current house is twice as big as my first house, which would have been a much better proposition as a single person's dwelling, anyway...

Don't get me wrong, I've had the best time, the most fun and have had the most amazing friends because I shared my house and life. We all had more fun than any group of friends ever deserved to have. We loved, we laughed, we played, we talked, we fought, at times and we all, nearly, not quite, slept with one another. We scared new-comers, who didn't quite fit in, we embraced and loved those who did - some fitted into both categories, Tom ran from the house, on his first visit, but then became the main instigator in the scaring, eventually. It was a big party house, there for a time and we all partook, guided and cajoled... we got quite a reputation and a number of us had the strange experience, when we were out some place of being invited to a great party by a perfect stranger, which, as I'm sure you have guessed, turned out to be here.

Many a time some trade would utter, as his first words, as he was being led in, I've been here before.

I loved every minute of it and wouldn't change one, single second...... which is probably why my time on my own hasn't quite been the euphoric experience that I have harboured since my first days in Fitzroy.

When the sun is going down and the day has become brittle and I sit (purposefully) in my lounge room and drink in the quiet, I can still see all the faces and I can still hear all the laughter.

And I'm not really sure if I want to live on my own, any longer.

Anyway, my (rather long-winded) point is that I no longer am going to be living on my own. Josh lands on my doorstep tonight, after five years in Berlin, for a couple of months, at the least. He is hyperactive and naughty and I love him dearly.

And Mark called me earlier this week to say that our friend, David M, is heading to India and is looking for some where to live when he comes back, in a couple of months, for six months. Then today, David called me, when I was flat out and some how I found myself saying yes, to which David M practically squealed with delight and then said, I'd so love to live with you Chris, it would be for six months to a year, max. It will be great! (Suddenly, it is a year?) He's centred and spiritual and oozes calm and tranquility, (Even if most of his yoga students don't know he was once a filthy crystal addict, bottom, I do) which only makes me want to mess his hair and throw dirt on him.

And he who shall never be mentioned - one of my closest friends, who specifically forbade me to ever mention him in my journal that I have kept through all of the above mentioned times and which I, from time to time, threaten to publish - asked me months ago if he could move in...

which I had started to consider, just recently.

So, there goes the neighbourhood... here, take my hand, hang on tight, here we go again. Every thing will be grand.

And my house old mate, Simon, called today - I called his boyfriend, Bern, for car advice, yesterday - to say that we hadn't seen each other for three years - three fucking years, my how busy we all have got - and that I'd better get my arse over to his place on Sunday for a Xmas barby, as it had been far too long.

Is there something in the air... other than smoke?

Who is going to be next?

Or is that three?

Cancer Tom & Cancer Kylie

Tom's going into hospital today, for some tests, he has a lung problem. He & I went to Perry & Wesley's 8 year anniversary bbq and some guy named Brett's, from Adelaide, farewell to Sydney - he's been building up in the gym all year in preparation and, yes, he'll go down a treat in Sydney because of it - who apparently I have met before, but I couldn't remember him. Tall, dark and handsome, you'd think, would be immanently remember'able, but no. Every one's first words in reply to Tom's news, were, Of course, you have given up smoking? But no, Tom sat there all night and hacked his way through every cigarette. Through all of his cancer treatment and his lungs have always been a weak point, Tom has never given up. He hates being told to do anything and he has steadfastly refused to quit. The hospital wanted to admit him yesterday morning, but he refused.

Tom has Kylie tickets for Saturday night and he says no matter what he's going, even if it is with drip pole in hand. (I don't think so) He says that the St John's Ambulance, or whoever is providing medical back up, has had to be greatly increased due to the greatly increased numbers of cancer patients who are going to Kylie's concerts in a show of solidarity.

Tom said, that she wears so many feather boas so that no one can, actually, tell that she is singing through her trecioctomy.

Perry, who is a big Kylie fan, who went a few days ago, says that she is so lack lustre on stage, hardly moving much at all, apparently, that it is clearly evident that she is way down on energy to previous concerts, due to her illness. In fact, all the people last night, who had been to see her, (all big fans) all said that she is washed up. This is it, this must be her farewell concert, they said. It is over for her. They said the concerts were okay and the costumes and sets are faaabuuulous, but she was a mere shadow of her 2002 best.

Personally, I've always thought that "the singing budgie" was the best description of her talents.

Time to retire to Paris with your millions and your handsome boyfriend, Kyles. (Even if I predict that he'll dump her for a fully working model, you know, with ovaries, in the foreseeable future. That's the way it goes, sad but true)

It's over, babe.

And Now For a Real Singer...

https://youtu.be/iToGHi-c4RQ

Give Me An Inch...

Just looking back over my blog for the last week, or so, it all got a bit too gay, now didn't it. I was never going to be that sort of blogger. Hmmm, how did that happen? Maybe, I'd better take my camera out this weekend and make amends.

Note to self, go easy on the fag shit, Chris.

But before I do, Patti La Belle has a new cd out, The gospel according to Patti La Belle. (Squeal!)

 

Something to Chew On

Monday Night... and Everything is All Right

I gossip about frivolous things, but I never tell secrets that shouldn't be told. I can always keep secrets, I'm good at it, if I know I have to... because I learnt long ago that...

... my mouth gets me into trouble... big time! (I first learnt that when I was persecuted by my grade 6 teacher... I was too smart for him and he didn't like it. I ended up with shingles @ the age of 11) Too blunt, my boss said to me the other day, shaking his head. I say what I think.

People don't like that today, they mistake someone disagreeing, for rudeness. (They mistake passion for attitude)

I live on my own, so nobody cares if I flush the toilet; wash the dishes, clean the house or leave the place on a weekend. (I must get out more. I'm not at all sure that blogging is good for me.)

I'm never satisfied with my body, which is stupid, as we'll never be as good looking as we are today.

I'm going to buy a treadmill.

I don't care about people, necessarily, I'm good with my own company. People are stupid... mostly.

Rat-faced receptionists the lot of you. (until proven otherwise, of course)

I'm very laid back - a friend of mine said, you are so laid back, it must get uncomfortable with all that pressure on the top of my head.

I'm so the opposite of a control freak it is probably detrimental to my well being. Take more control over life, I say. Is it just my inherent laziness?

I'm rarely jealous of others - I share my life, my house and my boyfriends with ease... although the latter is in for reconsideration.

I must dump Manny... ah, beautiful Manny... so I can get some intelligent conversation in the evenings... you know, like a real boyfriend.

I'm a whinger only @ work... but that's because I'm so sick of people not doing their job properly. I hate it when I hear my voice whine, because I'm not, generally, like that. I hate that work does that to me.

I never leave the water running while I brush my teeth, but I cheat with the water restrictions. But I figure that I don't water nearly as often as I'm allowed to, so what difference does it make if I water during the day, instead of at night?

I think and analyse too much, at the expense of "doing." I am the world's worst procrastinator.

I judge people. But I don't care about being judged. Give it your best shot. (Be clever with it and I'll love it, no matter what you say)

I'm rarely offended... you'd have to be really going to do that.

I don't have any goals, dreams, I seem to have exhausted them all - oh yes, to be a published writer, I nearly forgot.

I've been feeling down this last week and several people have called my boss to ask if I was all right. "Chris is just not his usual bubbly self, is there something wrong."

Is there something wrong? (I've been sick, truthfully) Have you not been listening for the last, oh, year? Do some work you lazy cunts!

I have cynicism in bucket loads to spare - I have to work at being positive. People can't handle the truth.

I'm considering monogamy for my next boyfriend - it's time they can put up or shut up, keeping it special for the two of us suddenly has some appeal.

I've got my act together about a car. I've made two inquires about Peugeot 306 GTI6's. Yay for me.

I'm smoking too many cigarettes, yet again. How did that fcuking happen?

He who shall never be mentioned - you would have had to have been following very closely to understand - bought over 3 joints and we smoked them all.

Beach Boy

Bad Penny

I just have to make a comment on that, in my opinion, poisonous piece of slime, Pauline Hanson's threatened return to politics. My question is, how is a racist like her able to take a place on centre stage, in Australia, to spew her evil, mostly untrue, racist bile? Surely, the anti-vilification laws - which I don't agree with, just by the way, but in this case I'll make an exception - can be used to shut her vile mouth?

Even more disgusting, is the fact that she may be vilifying certain members of Australian society to a) earn money, on her past efforts she would stand to make, something like, $200,000, even if she looses at the next election, or b) she may be doing what she is doing now to generate publicity for her up coming memoirs, to be published shortly.

 

Boyfriends 2

top.............................................................................top
sexual power struggle...........................................wrestle for dominance
large and uncut.....................................large and cut
loves Beau.......................................smitten by Vince
open relationship...............................tag-teams young bottoms
laid back.......................................hyperactive
only play together

Plays, Bulges & Dance Parties

I was thinking about dance parties, as I strolled passed Fed Square, not really sure why. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the cute boys in the city - walking home after seeing Tomfoolery, which was very good, funny and satirical. How cute is Burt Labonte? (middle, picture below) For a moment there, I daydreamed about how he would look in my bed in the mornings, with sleepy eyes, as my boyfriend - maybe it was the sense of fun that the play produced, maybe just because it was Saturday night and I was heading home... and not heading out.

I've realised, just lately, that I've become a terrible crotch watcher. I'm not sure when this particular new turn started? But I have. I'm wondering if men's jeans/pants are cut differently to how they once were, as I never used to be like this, in the past. This is a new revelation. But men now a days seem to have much fuller crotches than they once did, or that I remember. The interesting thing is that blokes pick up on it, where I was once of the opinion that men only noticed women, they didn't notice what other men were doing. But they do - I guess there is greater emphasis place on the size of the bulge than there once was. They react in interesting ways - mostly I find they smile, more of a quizzical grin than a smile of recognition, but a smile none the less - pleased that their manhood is getting the recognition that it so rightly deserves. My personal favourite is the ones who look down just to check how impressive their bulge actually is. Some guys stare back, in a kind of wanton, I love it when some one looks at my cock, kind of way. Men are very cock-centric, straight or gay.

But I digress... dance parties?

A guy I knew, Neil, I'm not really sure what to call him - really an acquaintance, the boyfriend of a great friend - wore a T-shirt to one dance party that said, Good girls deserve rape. The evil, rat-faced little bitch, who deservedly died of AIDS some years later, wondered why, late in the night, he was held by one boyfriend, in a dark corner of the dance floor, while the other boyfriend shoved his finger, forcibly, up his arse.

Shane wore a T-shirt to another dance party that said, Bob a head-job, he found that guys were making him suck their cocks all night. He said to me at the end of that particular night, that he was on a personal best for how many cocks he got in his mouth for the night.

But the outfit that I wore to another dance party, sure opened my eyes. My mate Andrew and I went to one Red Raw in matching, private boy's school uniforms. Andrew and I looked very similar, both with dark hair and green eyes, like we could have been brothers, people used to all comment on the fact. (In fact, we introduced each other as brothers there for a time) Dressed in identical outfits and being particularly baby-faced (at the time) and, even if I say so myself, both quite handsome, we caused quite a stir, let me tell you. (Because of the outfits, you understand) I have to say that there are a lot of men, out there, in all age groups, who have really serious school boy fantasies.

Not only were we propositioned by many, many men, we were proposition in the filthiest way you can possibly imagine. These guys not only hit on us, they gave us lurid detail of what exactly they wanted to do to us and what they wanted us to do to each other. At times it was a feeding frenzy, I kid you not. I'm really not exaggerating. I have my fare share of propositions when I've been out, but I can't imagine that it is in any greater number than any other boy about the place, but that night... jasus!

The other thing that also got a lot of these guys going was when we told them we were actually brothers - a little trick that Andrew and I played on more than one occasion - and then pashed each other, or slipped our hands down each other's pants, that little show always made the punter's tails wag, let me tell you. Gay men have serious brother fantasies too, don't be mistaken.

One gorgeous guy, dressed only in Calvin Klein's, with muscles to spare, who was particularly smitten with us - he told us that it was love at first sight and that he'd do any thing to get us into his bed (I think he even offered us money) - practically spoofed in his pants when we told him we were, actually, brothers and then made out in front of him. At the risk of being a little too tacky with the detail, as I kissed Andrew, I slid my finger up his arse, which made him moan (and go all floppy) in that hot way he always did. Calvin Klein man slipped his hand down Andrew's pants too, just to be sure that my finger was truly inserted. The bar in his jocks, after that performance, was saturating his white underwear with pre-cum, by the time we had finished.

Andrew and I ran away to dance, after that, leaving him begging us not to leave him.

We took each other home, in the morning, not taking up any of the many offers that came our way... and... I'm sure you can guess what we did all day.

I Think I Can, I Think I Can...

Oh I am so wrecked. After partying with Tim and Nicholas, Sophie and Jenny, all night, I got home at 7am, or at least, I was lying in my bed at 7am. I so wanted to transport Manny over, with a wiggle of the nose like Samantha Stevens, or have him appear in a pink mist like I dream of Jeanie, so I could slide my hands into his jocks and lick his body until we both fell asleep. I called him and slurred down the phone, When you wake up, jump straight into a taxi and get your arse over here.

I think I was asleep five minutes later, so it was a good thing he didn't, me sleeping like the dead and all.

Now I've got to get myself to the concert hall by 4pm to see a play, Tomfoolery, with Lottie. I feel exceptionally plain. Just fucked! I'm okay, if I don't move. My mouth is like the Sahara.

Manny's just called, apparently, he couldn't understand what I said on the message. All I heard was something about a taxi, he said.

Get over here, I demanded. (Before I throw all of my toys out of the toy box) I need to do things to you. (I know I've got that tension building up in me, that only Manny can dissolve)

There was a brief pause and then his voice came back all husky and low. I've just organised to go to the gym with Stuart. He's had an argument with his boyfriend and needs some company. (Good for him)

I'm beginning to forget what you look like.

Manny laughed.

What time will you be home from the play, his voice said, silky smooth.

About 7, I guess.

I'll be there by then, he said. I need you... too.

Good boy, I said. Correct answer.

So, do I walk to the concert hall, as I usually would, hoping like hell the exercise might just clear my head. Or, do I wimp it and catch a tram, it is as hot as hell out there today, after all.

So, it's on with my vintage Adidas Romes and out the door. Wish me luck.

 

Burn Baby Burn

The city is covered in a pall of grey/white smoke. You can see it and taste it. It gives everything an eerie, almost translucent glow. (Paul up Late is right, it would have been a great day to take photos)

The high country is alight, with several fronts expected to join up into a 100 kilometre fire front, some time over the weekend. Some say it could burn all summer and that by the time it is finished 25% of the state could have been burned, from the middle, east to the coast at the pointy bit. We haven't seen conditions like this since witches-tit Friday, way back in 39, oh how the old timers will be able to reminisce.

Linking?

Am I a complete idiot - I'm not, I can show you my pieces of paper - but I just don't get the linking thing. I'd like to link to the blogs I read and like, but it all seems too difficult. It makes me feel like I need a degree in IT. Is it as hard as it appears to me? Or am I just stupid? (Be kind)

Manny's Nipples

It's not a good photo, I know, just taken with my phone. But they are the nipples I like to... well... (blush) big smile.

I had to cut his cock off, even though I was tempted not to, as it is my very favourite, but there are somethings that, maybe, I just want to keep for me.

Xmas Party

Oh, my head should be hurting, I drank an awful lot, it's a good thing that I don't get hangovers. Lunch was at midday, I think I got home at 9pm - it was still light, anyway. My head should be hurting and while it's not, I don't feel great. The shakes? No, I wouldn't say that I have the shakes, exactly. Maybe, a slight internal tremor. A little buzz in my system, maybe and not, particularly, in a good sense.

Cute (gay) Michael sat next to me and we drank beer, one for one, with me pushing the numbers up and him complying - just how I like my boys to be. I had squid and the fish of the day and tirimisu. It was a lovely lunch and a gorgeous day.

Cute Steve sat opposite me - and for all you racist idiots (although, even differentiating here, is kind of racist, in itself) there is a hot Asian boy - who has just changed from IT to Finance, my boss, Rebecca, sat next to him. We didn't stop talking the whole lunch. I flirted with Michael, just a bit, which, I'm sure, Rebecca picked up on. No, she did. Michael has the most gorgeous smile - for all you boys who are bought to your knees with a sexy smile.

We all went drinking afterwards, naturally, at some Irish pub.

I raved with gorgeous Luke, I am so attracted to him. He said he wanted to sit next to me at lunch, that I was his favourite, but it didn't work out that way. (He was quite tanked by then) I wanted to lick him, when he said that. (Let me just say here, for the record, that one of my golden rules, vows, if you like, is that I never hit on straight boys and I never do, no matter what I might say here in the privacy of my own blog. If we want straight boys to respect us, we must remember that it is a two way agreement) He is sooo adorable, smart, interesting, passionate, handsome, I could talk to him for hours. (I 'd marry him in an instant, he has perfect boyfriend written all over him, in my eyes, except for...) At one stage, I said something about a pretty girl and he responded like it would make any difference to me, which was the first time he and I have hit the me-being-gay territory. Then we talked about that and politics and drugs. I said we should take ecstasy together and he hi-fived me and said he'd love to... on a hill, looking at the stars. Jasus! I thought, when he agreed, the before mentioned agreement withstanding, I'm not sure that I could be trusted to keep my hands to myself, if Luke and I got trashed on drugs together. No, no, of course I could, he says nervously.

Michael told me about how his boyfriend didn't understand him and how his relationship with, I shall call him, Justin, wasn't so good, which was the first time he and I have openly discussed our gayness together. He basically said that he was staying in it because they owned a house together. Well, I told him what I thought about that and he agreed. However, a short time later, he left, kind of suddenly and a number of people wondered if he was okay, as he looked kind of upset. Oops, I thought, I hope I didn't cause that. But, he'd drunk beer with me over lunch and then he'd changed to spirits, at the pub and I noticed him hitting them back real hard, as I chatted to Luke. So, he was pretty smashed, which could have been the reason he left, which, after all, was the reason I left myself, not long after that.

I staggered up Little Lonsdale Street, maggotted. (My spell checker wants to change this to faggoted, is there such a word? Weren't we all faggoted at birth, at conception?) If I thought about it and I consciously tried not to, I had the feeling that I just wasn't going to make it, too far, too drunk. So, it was stare at my feet time, one foot in front of the other, think about nothing else. If I tried to focus on anyone else, I could feel the mongoloid expression tight across my face, like quick drying cement.

Manny called, not long after I got home and true to how the sound of Manny's voice always makes me feel, all the alcohol went straight to my cock and I soooo wanted him to come over. I was promising him the world, I think even marriage. (Oh the demon drink) Even money, for a taxi and not his body, you understand. His voice just got lower and more husky, which always drives me nuts - in a good way, as only he can. But he didn't come, it was too late for public transport, despite me getting a number of pregnant pauses from him, which is always the sign that I've just about got him hooked. Damn him not having a car. Even talk of his sexy Greek-boy nipples, didn't get him here, my fail safe - when I have his nipples between my fingers, he is completely under my control, I can get him to do anything. Now, if I'd only had a proxy, to lift his shirt and squeeze them tenderly, he'd have been at my place, guaranteed.

 

Boy's Bums

 Oh baby, they sure look good on you

I don't know why young, straight boys want to wear their pants around the backs of their thighs. I don't know why they want to expose their, often, gorgeous arses, with only a thin piece of cotton fabric between them and the rest of the world. But sometimes my mouth just drops open with the sheer beauty of the indent of their arse cracks, seemingly, chewing their jocks from the inside. I know that girls like sexy men's arses too, but not quite with the same interest that we do. I'm not sure why they want to do it, but sometimes I just want to thank the universe that they do.

Dive right in, the water is fine!

There was a young wog-boy on the tram yesterday, he couldn't have been much more than eighteen. The arse on that boy had to be seen to be believed and he was doing his best to show it to the world, in his black jocks. I must have smiled a little too intently, as his smile back was kind of quizzical.

Yeah buddy, I want to slide my tongue right up inside of you, was what my smile was saying. Throw you over the back of the seat and spread your cheeks and taste everything you have on offer.

He kept looking over at me for the entire ride, kind of nervous.

I reckon he was one for our team... even if, perhaps, he didn't know it yet. 

Boyfriends

bottom.........................................top
greedy.....................................8 inches
flirtatious...................................monogamous
perfect bubble butt........................strong and powerful

What a Beat Up

As adults, we should all be free to put into our bodies what we see fit. The whole war on drugs thing is a political beat up, policing what is, essentially, a victimless crime. It is creating criminals for political purposes to make the government of the day look as though it is doing something. In fact, the war on drugs is not dissimilar to the war on terrorism, it is creating the problem; by prohibition, you allow the criminal element to flourish, you allow the prices to be high and you allow huge amounts of money to be made.

To say that people who take drugs are all drug addicts, is akin to saying that all people who drink alcohol are alcoholics. If you took all the money out of policing - and allowed the police to concentrate on real criminals - and put that money into health, for the percentage of people who do have a problem with drugs, we would all be far better off.

I say decriminalise drugs.

I've heard it said that marijuana is Australia's biggest industry and the world's second biggest, behind the car industry.

Our Lord and Saviour