Stunned into Silence

Wow, a blast comes flying back from the past straight at me, so unexpectedly.

I was having one of those days; end of financial year, my (crap) system had been playing up and it had taken us two weeks, three departments and five patches, supplied by the cowboys who run the software support, to fix it, to get it into some sort of working order to proceed with year end. To say it had been a stressful two weeks is an understatement.

Manny arrived in the middle of it all to collect our tattslotto money. He was off to train out with, the beautiful, Stuart, afterwards. His parting words were that Stuart was looking for car to buy and I have a car for sale... and not just any car.

When Stuart was going out with my house mate at the time, Julien, Stuart had the same classic car as me. In fact, Stuart used to park his maroon Rover out the back of my place next to my white Rover.

Stuart liked my white, manual, Rover so much that he sold his automatic maroon car and bought a white sedan the same as mine, although still automatic, a few years later. I still have my white one, I've been meaning to sell it for some time, but have just been too slack. The old Rover is not worth much, considering I had hung onto it as an investment and I'd be keen for Stuart to buy it now. I really want to sell it, I'm keen to get rid of it, with the minimum of fuss, and I'm really keen to get it out of Lottie's garage.

So, when my mobile phone rang sometime later, with ID restriction, which is often what comes up on my mobile screen when Manny calls me when he is somewhere other than home, in the midst of the whirl wind that was going on in my office, I answered it with interest.

This is senior detective, we shall call him, Bob Smith. I'm looking for a Christian Fletcher am I speaking to him.

Yes, you are.

I would just like to ask you a few questions. Do you have a few minutes?

Yes, I do, I said, a little taken a back. It was supposed to be Manny.

Let me just say first that the Christian Fletcher I am looking for is not in trouble, but he may be able to help us with an investigation.

Okay, I said.

Would you be the Christian Fletcher who attended, we shall say, Smithton Boys Grammar School?

Yes, I am, I said.

Well then, I think you may be the Christian Fletcher I am looking for.

My mind spun. What the? I thought.

Did you know of a teacher named, Peter Morrison?

Oh my God! I thought. Fucken hell! It all started coming clear to me.

Yes, I did.

I am investigating a complaint from a past pupil who has made certain allegations against Mr Morrison. The investigation has been pending since, he gave a year, and that investigation has stalled. The complainant has supplied me with three names, one of which is yours. This inquiry is, I'm sorry, of a delicate nature and the allegations, are of a sexual nature. The complainant believes that you may be able to help with the investigation.

I see, I said.

I don't really remember his exact words after that, my head was spinning, but he went on to say words to the effect of...

I realise this is of a very personal nature and that it may be a lot for you to take in, all of a sudden like this. Please let me assure you that if you choose not to be involve that is perfectly okay. Or if you'd like some time to think about it, well, maybe you could call me back at a later date, or you could come into the station and we could go through some more details.

Wow, I thought. It all comes back in the end, huh? Fucken hell!

The detective had stopped talking. My head was awash with details from my school years, when I was a thirteen year old school boy, when the man in question did try to molest me. There was silence. I hadn't thought about it in years.

All I could manage was um... I had to say something. The detective must have known. I never felt like anything bad had happened to me. The teacher showed me porn magazines and grabbed me on the cock starting to play with it through my pants, asking me if it turned me on. I told him no and to stop and he did stop. I can't remember what I felt.

I guess, I should add that he spent some considerable time working up to that point, though; taking a shine to me, driving me home for a year before this, buying me coffee and chocolate cake at Brummells cafe in South Yarra, treating me... special.

As Tom said, I was groomed. I guess I was, thinking about it in retrospect, but it never felt like that.

Um. Look, um, I'm really busy today and I don't really want to think about this at the moment. I would like some time to think about what you have said. Could I call you back, um...

Yes, of course you could. I would hope that you would call me back though.

Yes, sure.

The detective asked me to keep our conversation confidential - well, none of you know who I'm talking about.

His last question was, Are you still in contact with the accused?

No, I said.

So... what to do?

Then I'd Kiss You

First I’d touch you,

touch your lips

feel your face on mine;

the sweetness of your breath,

the softness of your skin.

I’d feel your heat

as your legs straddle me.

Your eyes look into mine,

as our arms intertwine,

as our bodies touch,

two hard lumps in our pants.

You breathe out,

I inhale.

I exhale,

you breath in.

And then I’d kiss you,

kiss your lips,

feel your mouth on mine.

Your breath,

your saliva,

like toffee apple,

sweet, like you.

 

There he was, that guy. You'd seen him on the beach when you were still pretending to care about the girl you were seeing. He’d nodded at you when you assumed your gaze had locked on him for just that moment too long. You'd seen him out surfing, as you lay on your towel in the sun. He’d walked back up the beach afterwards with his board under his arm, with his wet suit pulled down to his waist. His gaze, you’d thought, had locked onto you for seconds too long. You couldn’t help but smile back. You'd seen him in the pub at night all fresh faced from the day in the summer, sun kissed in his cream cable knit jumper. He’d smiled at you, as he drank beer with his mates.

And there he is now, shirtless, in the unusually warm winter sun.

You wonder where he's been?

It is just him and me

He catches my gaze. I was sure there was a hint of recognition. “Alright,” I say.

“Alright,” he says. 

He has on bright blue board shorts. “Quicksilver?”

“Yeah.”

“Pussy,” I say.

“Okay,” he says.

I had a joint just before I left the house to come down to the beach, and it was really hitting me. And the bulge in his boardies looked way bigger than it should have been. And my filter was pot-shut-down. “You hard?”

He smiles. He moves his hand almost subconsciously down over the front of his shorts. He hesitates, then says, “Yeah.”

“You wanna do something about that.” I hold his gaze.

“Something?” He tilts his head.

“I hear its bad for you…”

“Bad for me?”

“You know, prolonged…”

He smiles. “I’m Jacob.”

“I’m Jack.”

“We finally meet,” he says.

“You remember?”

“Oh yeah, I remember you,” he says. “The…” he stops as though he thinks for a minute. “Handsome guy from the beach with the beautiful girlfriend for whom he doesn’t really seem to have eyes…”

“We split up.”

“I can’t say I am surprised.”

“What you doing down here in this lukewarm sun?” I look up at the sun in the perfect blue sky and think it is only really warm because it is a such still day, no wind.

“Oh, I don’t know? It’s been so dreary these last few weeks, when I saw the sun out today, I just had to feel it on my skin.”

“You are lucky there is no wind.”

“Take your shirt off and lie down here with me.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he says. “I bought an extra towel with me today, I didn’t really know why, but now I do.”

So, I took my shirt off, and Jacob lay the extra towel out next to him, and I lay down on it.

“See,” he says. “It’s nice.”

The sun is like warm honey; I have to admit. “Yeah, it is nice.”

I lay there looking up at the sky as the sun warmed the pores of my skin. I’d got goose bumps, but I think they are caused by Jacob and not the sun.

“Jack with the beautiful girlfriend,” says Jacob. “Who’d have thought.”

Then I started to wonder if he thought we were just a couple of new mates getting to know each other... lying on St Kilda beach… in June. “Ex-girlfriend,” I say.

“Yeah, ex-girlfriend,” Jacob says.

Then I felt Jacob’s hand take mine in his, and you know, the whole world then just seemed to make total sense.

The Thing I Do Best

I don't really understand people who say they have trouble sleeping. It's the latest disorder of the 21st century - too stressed to flake it gracefully. I don't understand when people say they just can't clear their minds enough to let sleep come to them. Count sheep, count dogs, count men; rhythmically sending yourself off. I don't really understand insomnia.

Sleep is what I do best. I can sleep anywhere, anytime. That period between laying my head down on the pillow and drifting off into dreams, is the time I think about so many things. I dream of how life could be. Revise what has been. I write stories. I have adventures with the cute accountant, Michael, he doesn't know what he is capable of. I fly to the moon, swim in the sea, walk in the beautiful forest, float on a breeze. I get lost in a myriad of thoughts, to drift off from. If my mind is blank, I don't get distracted enough to fall under the night time peace. I love that time after the light has been turned off, where I fall happily into gravities embrace. If I'm not a sleep with in five minutes, or so, of my head hitting the pillow, I wonder what is wrong. That's how easily I drift away.

I love it so.

The World Cup

I was in the newsagent today, putting my tattslotto on - cross your fingers - and buying cigarettes, when a man came in and asked if they had any of the first addition of the newspaper left.

No, said the nice girl behind the counter. Sweet smile. She turned back to me and said, It's a bit late for that, the first addition came out 3 hours ago.

What's the first addition got that the next addition doesn't have? I asked.

The scores, she said.

The scores? I asked.

For the soccer, her voice rose to a distinct shrill of disbelief.

I put on my best dead-pan voice. Oh, is there soccer on?

WHAT! interjected the man behind me, incredulous. Where the hell have you been hanging out?

The woman next to me laughed and the other guy just stood there with wide eyes, doing his best impression of bunnies in head lights, not really sure what to say.

I laughed to myself.

Twenty four palms makes a man – Leonardo da Vinci 

Or should that be, twenty four palms makes a man very happy?

They say, it’s what makes a man.

It certainly would in gay world, is all I can think. I know I have been in back rooms where there were 24 palms coming at me in the dark.

The rule relies on simple body math (anthropometry):

1 Palm: The width of your 4 fingers.

1 Foot: 4 palms.

1 Cubit: 6 palms.

1 Man: 24 palms, or 4 cubits tall.

While Da Vinci studied the exact math behind these proportions, Michelangelo used them as a guide when carving his famous sculpture, David. Both masters used these body rules to make their art look realistic.

Remembering, both men were gay.

 

Nicole Kidman gets married in a full catholic ceremony. A divorced woman? Again, let’s have a bet each way. Let’s skip the rules when it suits us. Let's accommodate the rich and the famous with whatever they want.

Religion, what does it believe in?

Expanding its market share... by whatever means.

These religious rules mean nothing.

Nicole Kidman is not alone.

These stupid rules ruined the lives of many people.

The Church of England was created to get round them.

The English Monarchy was almost bought down by them.

Princess Margaret’s life was destroyed really for no reason.

Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn, and Spencer Tracy’s wife whom he wouldn’t divorce were completely altered.

My mate Alexander’s parents were devout Catholics. They had six sons. They wouldn’t divorce when the time came because of religious rules. Eventually, after much anguish, they did divorce and Alexander’s father went onto have three more sons with a much younger woman.

My only question is, why do people still want to do it?

The brainwashing is strong and it starts early.

Hello

Manny just called. It's been over a week. It's funny, I was just making coffee, thinking about calling him to say, I'm guessing you are hanging out with Stuart and/or Glen and I am just leaving you alone because of it. I figured if he wasn't back with Stuart, he was back with Glen. (Even though, Manny has never been with Glen, much to his chagrin and against his best efforts)

He laughed and said that the two of them were doing his head in to such a point that he turned back to the valium bottle and it has taken him three days to get over his pill popping.

I told him he needed his arse slapped because of it... and his voice turned husky and low. I didn't exactly mean it that way... but, why not, I could easily go with that.

Stuart wants to get back with Manny and Glen thinks he is already back with him. Manny suspects that Stuart just wants to get back with him as he has no where to live, not to mention it has only been a couple of weeks since he and Angelo have split up. Glen is already jealous of Stuart.

Manny said to me that he just started thinking of his gorgeous Chris - that would be me, kind of a big smile. Not quite. Back on Manny's merry-go-around withstanding - who wouldn't be tearing him in two.

I had decided not to call him. I had decided to stick with my decision to let him go.

Then the phone rang.

As I talked to him, or at least, as I listened to his Stuart and Glen tale of woe, I just got hornier and hornier. He has this sexual allure over me. Lately, I haven't been getting horny much, not really sure why, probably the cold and the dark, but as soon as I heard his voice... baby!

I wish he'd come over so we can lie together, so I can feel his warmth, so I could smell him, so I could feel his lips on mine. I love it when he is in my arms. I love it when he falls asleep on my chest.

Not exactly dumping words, now are they?

Patti La Belle sings, Love and learn... and my spirit soars on her vocals.

Things You Should Know About Me

1. My favourite singer of all time would have to be Patti La Belle.

2. I hate work, in as much, as I am only making a bunch of rich lawyers (partners) richer. I want to give it up and follow my dream of being a writer. But who’s going to pay the mortgage?

3. I'm mad at John Howard for destroying the fabric of Australian society. We’ll pay for his work in years to come.

4. I think Susan Sarrandon is hot.

5. I haven’t moved in a long time. I love where I live.

6. I am an atheist.

7. My favourite documentary is, The bejewelled toilet seat.

8. I don't believe that someone is completely straight or completely gay. Ah, beautiful (Maltese) Carl. Thanks Alison, as I said, I didn’t won’t to keep him.

9. I used to sing. I was even trained

10. Italians are very hot. (Actually, Greeks, Turks, Arabs… are hot too)

11. I am a struggling writer – struggling to get published, not struggling to live, which is probably part of the problem, I suspect. As they say, a happy life never did a writer any good.

12. I live in Melbourne, Australia.

13. I always wanted a cool younger brother.

14. I love cars, architecture, and photography.
(All photos on this blog, a part from the few obvious ones, have either been taken by me, or Mark, or, in the case of all the old black and white ones, by my mother, Lottie)

15. I have smoked pot, cigarettes and done drugs in my life.

16. My in-laws sold our beach house for no good reason, a few years back. Surprisingly, they now regret it.

17. My heritage is English, from all of my grandparents.

18. I am 5’10, 75 kilos, brown hair and hazel eyes.

19. I have an IQ of 140. (whatever that means)

20. I let my gym membership lapse two years ago.

21. I have never broken a bone.

22. I don’t have any tattoos or piercings.

23. I own my own house.

24. I was a great slalom water skier, as a kid. Anybody know anyone with a boat?

25. I want to be a really successful writer of novels and film scripts. Dare to dream.

26. I don’t read nearly as much as I’d like to, although I love it.

27. Most guys I’m interested in are intelligent.

28. I fear that I will never fulfil my potential.

29. I love heritage houses. I own an Edwardian terrace

30. I am currently single

31. I tan best in Greece.

32. My best features are my laugh and my... well, I guess you have to be a boy I fancy to know the second one.

33. I have a bit of a thing for wogboys - I once said to a room full of my friends that I don't really have a type and I still believe that I don't, strictly. They rolled around laughing.

34. I think I would have made a good dad. I have kid charm.

35. My favourite holiday is xmas, watching all the idiots break themselves to impress.

36. I love to laugh.

37. I ate so much sushi, I can no longer face it.

38. I love my own company.

39. I had a 3 way relationship for 4 years.

40. I was once the suspect of a bank robbery, where the police followed me to London to watch what I was doing.

41. I own four cars, none of which I drive on a daily basis.

42. An up and coming film director is talking about making my last movie script into a movie. (I’m not holding my breath, though)

43. I don’t think Brad Pitt is that hot. I’d go for Vince Vaughan any day, Jen.

44. I miss my grandmother. She was naughty and nice.

45. I believe in the phenomenon of 11.11. (Recently, a friend of mine told me his ex-girlfriend also saw 11.11)

46. I have already met two of my soul mates, her name is Leah, his name is Mark.

47. I have gained 5 kilos in the last year and I am in the worst shape of my life. (Not that that is so bad, it's all relative, you know)

48. I don’t fear the day my mother dies. My father died a few years ago and I realise it is the unstoppable force of life.

49. I have great respect for most every one of my friends.

50. I’m beginning to believe that capitalism has to be replaced... for the world to survive.

51. I love my four nieces very much. I call them the little bitches.

52. I have a greater appreciation for my poetry than when I was younger. I used to think it was a pointless exercise and that I should just grow up and write prose.

53. I don’t fear commitment with the right person. Currently, I’m waiting for the next one to walk into my life. My boyfriend position is wide open, as I like to say.

54. I love my computer far too much and I get edgy and unsettled whenever it is not working, which luckily doesn’t happen so often.

55. I have an underwear fetish. I think men are sexier in underwear rather than naked.

56. It’s not hard for me to trust people’s intentions, because I always expect the worst from them, so, most often, I am pleasantly surprised.

57. I haven't watched network news programs in over a year. I just had to opt out of the world psycho drama.

58. I don’t want to live any where but Australia, even though I did live in London for a time, which I absolutely loved.

59. I love playing with people’s minds, just to test them. (That’s verbally and pretty much gently)

60. I've travelled the world.

61. The only country I see, at the moment, being aggressive on the world political stage is America.

62. I don’t think humans have the answers. There are too many self-interested forces/agendas from within working against them.

63. I only see god when a black woman sings.

64. I have had many threesomes and now I just want one set of eyes looking back at me.

65. I think Eddie Izzard is one of the funniest comedians alive.

66. All names have been changed, including my own, to protect the innocent.

67. I am afraid of heights.

68. The Simpsons is the best show on television.

69. I love to watch guys wrestle. (I love to watch them kiss and sleep cuddled together, and smile lovingly at each other, too)

70. I truly believe we are all a product of the free-markets evil plan.

71. I’ve become (exclusively) a cat person over time.

72. I was a writing student and I finished my degree two years ago.

73. My favourite saying is, How beautiful it is to do nothing and then rest afterwards.

74. I want to travel into space. I think this millennium will be really exciting

75. I could not live without an open fire.

76. I have only been drunk to the point of puking a few times. Alcohol is evil stuff.

77. My favourite movie is Dangerous Liaisons or The Effects of Gamma Rays on Man in the Moon Marigolds.

78. Sleeping is what I do best.

79. I don’t believe that the human race will survive Global Warming.

80. I will be another year older in September.

81. My favourite number is 3.

- I got this idea from another blog. Thanks Motion Picture Soundtrack, I hope you don't mind.

Not a Good Morning

I went to bed feeling sick. I woke up feeling sick. I ate two ruby grapefruit last night while watching TV and I wonder if they are to blame.

Oh, get to work, I thought to myself this morning.

I have this stupid dressing gown which comes down to my feet, it is treacherous on the stairs. As I went up to the shower this morning, with my ironed shirt in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, I stood on my wretched dressing gown and down I went. It all happened as if in slow motion, I managed to put the cup of coffee down on the top step, with minimal spillage, amazingly enough, but consequently, my left shin took the full force of the fall, as I landed on it on a lower stair, in the middle of my, previously, ironed shirt.

Ouch! Bloody ouch!

I had a shower, but with my stomach still feeling queasy and my shin throbbing, I decided to stay home. Straight after I had called in to say I wasn't coming in, I turned and walked into one of my indoor plants, the end of its long leaf poking me straight in the eye.

I sat down on the floor and felt like crying, like a big baby.

Now I just feel cold and shivery. It is cold today.

Bolago

End of the Weekend Random Thoughts

If a date didn't sleep with me on the first night, I'd consider dumping them, more likely than not. What are you saving it for, I’d probably ask? Think? It's funny what people think regarding sex. (The Judeo Christian mentality has a lot to answer for, and in all honesty, without even getting to the part where the religious say one thing in public and then do whatever they like in private)

So, chop your own wood and, as they say – actually my next door neighbour, Gordon, says – it warms you twice. Chop your own wood? I always thought it was a euphemism, but, apparently, it is the path to enlightenment. That and carry water.

My mouth fell open when my mate Jill told me she hasn't had sex in ten years. 10 years, I thought? I tried to think back 10 years? I’d just come out of a thruple. But then, Jill hired a male escort when the anniversary of her ten years was looming large, so she didn't earn that particular honour. 10 years without. Good for her, I thought. And, apparently, Joel was just the ticket. 

Jill's still cross with me for still having all my assets tied up with Mark, all these years after we split up. When did we split up? It is a grey area? Mark's my soul mate in life, so what do I care? And if I die, I’ll be dead, so what do I care, anyway. You know, dead is generally the stage when you don’t care.

I love living on my own, finally, but occasionally, because my house used to be such a big party house, when all the boys and I lived here, sometimes it seems like the party finished and I forgot to leave. Just sometimes. You know, around the edges. It’s weird living on my own after all these years. I say I love it publicly, and, you know, shhh, I guess I mean it.

Who'd watch South Park while the Simpsons is still being produced? I just don't have the South Park gene. Nah, not even a little bit, it would seem. It is that ridiculous American humour that I don’t find funny.

There are times that I just need someone who knows me well? All that explaining that I don't need to do. Someone who knows how I think, what I find funny, and what I don’t. You know, that person. Do you know him?

Human beings are beyond redemption, the way they are carrying on, or not carrying on, which may be closer to the truth. The planet is going to hell and nobody is taking it seriously. It is the big problem with human beings, when someone, or something, gets between us and our money, us and the things we want. None of us are getting out of here alive, which is true, but don’t we all want to give it our best shot? I would have thought.

Get Out Of My Head, Will You

Should I call Manny?

I know Glen is back on the scene, having broken up with his boyfriend recently. I haven't heard from Manny all week, not one call, which is the queue that he is otherwise distracted. I know him well, I guess, I know all signs.

Glen has always been my nemesis, actually, I've always been his, in all reality. He was just getting to know Manny when Manny and I met at the sauna that boring Saturday night.

Manny asked me if I was going to use my coat-hangers, which was what endeared me to him in the beginning, that and, of course, his handsome face... and his gorgeous smile... and his wog genes, naturally. It was just that no one had ever asked me that before... I know that doesn't really make sense, but it's not a question I'd expect at a sex on premises venue. I find it's those moments that don't quite fit that are the ones that usually get my attention.

I wandered off downstairs and was getting it off with another guy, but I couldn't get Manny out of my head. I looked down at the other guy, pushing back on my cock, and thought, Nah, I'm off to find that cute wog boy. I literally pulled my cock out of the other guy's arse, wrapped my towel around myself and left, without a word. LOL, what the hell must he have thought?

That was four years ago.

Actually, now that I think about it, Glen was at the sauna that night too. Grrrr!

Glen was possessive and demanding and wanted Manny to be all things to him, so I won, basically. Glen's a liar and he's a manipulator and he's basically not a very nice person, in my opinion. Glen has never, shall we say, been my greatest fan ever since.

But... I know Manny is not going to be my boyfriend... ever. Well, anymore than he is now. I think I have talked about the reasons why. And, Manny wants a boyfriend, you know, the full deal. I don't... well, I do, but... not the full-on kind. I always say that I'll know when I have met the right guy when he is so busy with his stuff that we'll have to make time for each other. (Basically, I want a part time, mostly monogamous lover. Does such a boy exist?) I don't want someone to make me their world, their existence, as Manny wants. I have had that kind before, twice, and it's well, let’s just say what I thought was forever had an expiration date. Now I want a relationship for as long as it is good, no preconceived ideas.

But, Manny and I have the best sex, maybe, the very best. Sexually, we are so there with each other. Just straight into it. We can kiss for hours, hold each other all night, physically we are like one. 

But mentally, we are so far apart.

So, basically, it's time to let go. But the romantic, illogical side of me, apparently, so doesn't want to do that.

Damn that thinking, logical side!

So, the answer is that I shouldn't call.

Glen, you win. But I hope your victory feels hollow, as you are only winning by default - like the Australian Gold medalist speed skater. I withdraw. Good luck, you'll need it. Treat him well, as Manny is, quite possibly, the sweetest, most kind hearted, and nicest boy I have ever met. He makes me laugh. I like being physically close to him, whether it be in bed, watching TV, at the pub, shopping, wherever.

I just feel bad leaving him in your company, but I can’t save him from you. 

I like that space next to me being filled by someone who is mine. I like that duality, no matter where I am, where we are. The other half, as they say. I miss that. 

Waiting, Waiting

Fuck it is cold! I've had all of my hair cut off last night. My ears were freezing, as I went around to the shops for coffee beans, cigarettes and the newspaper.

I was taken a back when I caught sight of my reflection in the shop windows.

I was aghast to see that the public land on the corner of Smith Street is up for sale. Yarra council sold off the public carpark, a few years ago, and now this. Yeah, they really care about their residents. Now we just have to wait for the application to go in for twenty apartments, I guess, all with the parking requirements wavered, no doubt.

My hair started going grey in my early twenties, practically the moment I hit 21, and I've dyed it ever since. Nobody ever susses it out, in fact, most people are surprised when I tell them it's dyed.

"But Chris, it looks soooo natural."

Anyway, this is the first time in a long time that I have had it cut really short and consequently, the first time I have seen the real colour of my hair in years, also. It's dark on the top, but that's it, the rest is really grey. My hairdresser, who is also one of my friends, said he liked it and encouraged me to leave it it's natural colour.

Jill just called to say she has just booked herself into get her roots done at 12.30. She said she was really lucky to get the appointment. She was very pleased with herself. Jasus Jill! So much for leaving in the morning. She had forgotten that my hair was dyed and said, I quote, Wait until your sixty to go natural.

Let it be grey when you're old.

I'm not so sure. I don't know.

I wish it was just salt and pepper, as I find that sexy myself, but it's not.

It's nice to run my fingers through, short. It feels good.

Bolago

Ah the Weekend

Jill and I are off to Bolago tomorrow for their first "Slow Food" weekend. Well, who else would I take for a weekend of eating - good thing Jill doesn't read this.

Actually, nobody reads this... however that's another story.

She's the only person I know who could order the entire desert menu because she couldn't decide... unashamedly. (And then insist I help her)

Jill's off to her personal trainer in the morning - someone who should be clearly sacked - and then she's picking up something or other. She did tell me, my memory is shocking. I think it was lovely glasses. (that's the drinking kind)

She's famously late to everything, lets hope that tomorrow is an exception. I stressed that I wanted to leave when it was still morning.

And then we're off. Amazingly, I have never taken Jill to Bolago? One of my oldest friends? Funny how things like that turn out.

So the only question left is, Peugeot or Audi? I drive, she drives? I know we'll have discussions about it, always do. Usually, it ends up me driving her car, which makes little sense, but there you go. So the

MI16 will get left at home and the A4 will get a whirl up the Calder, most likely.

Ah, fresh air. I love it when I turn into the driveway, I open the windows and smell the gum trees all the way down the kilometre long driveway. Mark calls it his womb, whenever he enters the forest after being away. I can always feel the stress of the city leave me, sucked out by the Box and Manor Gums, disseminated amongst the bracken, returned to the pure earth. 

Somebody Loves You

Somebody loves you baby, maybe it's me.

Somebody wants to be yours, who could it be?

Somebody goes weak when you are around,

Somebody wants to claim the love they have found.

Maybe you notice, maybe you don't,

Maybe you'll find him, maybe you won't.

Maybe it will be fleeting, maybe forever,

Maybe you could make a slave out of me.

 

You Get Out What You Put in? Nah, Not Always

Fair. Life is fair. It is a strange concept. What does fair mean? That we all have exactly the same number of things, that we all have exactly the same experience. Isn't that the only way that life can be fair? It's a manifestly unsound concept. Fair can't be measured, so how can it be a scale?

You get cancer, I win the lottery. Someone has a healthy child, while someone else is infertile. We construct the notion of fair to cover life's contingencies, but such things can't even be placed on the same scale.

The best we can hope for is a kind coincidence - being born into a good family, being blessed with good health, being smart. The best we can do is put out positive energy.

None of us want life to be fair, anyway, we want life to be generous. None of us want to truly be like the next bloke, but really, isn't that what fair is?

Life is chance. I believe you can gather positive energy around you, if you send out positive energy yourself. I believe you can attract like-minded people - but what about opposites attracting? You can find your tribe. But I reckon that's it, that's all the power there is.

Good people die young because they had a liking for fatty food, fast cars, phobias they never admit to, genes they didn't know they had... or a million other reasons, that we don't necessarily know about.

But what is good?

I don't believe that drug dealers are bad, for instance. They are just supplying a demand, they are selling to willing buyers. They are demonised by the good people who fear what they don't know, stressing out big time and dying young because of it. Hypertension is the biggest killer of the good. So the good people have to be protected from the bad people, is that what we mean when we lament the good dying young?

Good people are always making up stories to explain what they don't understand. People will see and hope for what they want to believe.

What is bad? Perception.

So the good never die young, just people die young.

We spend so much time trying to understand life that we'll latch onto the merest slip of reality and start weaving. Great myths, religions, traditions are born. None of it's true, but if someone believes and it makes them feel better, what's the harm?

As long as life is fair... and it never can be. Life isn't fair.

Not all deeds have consequences.

All goodness doesn't have rewards.

The only meaning life has is the love we find a long the way. Everything is chance, or stories made up to explain every thing in between.

Besides, random has a lot more scope for being more exciting than fair.

The Enterprise

Nice, Huh?

Well, I was vague this morning. I blame it on the cold, it's been freezing, rather than any thing I got up to with Jill or Tom last night. The wind blows right through me, if I haven't braced myself for it, as I turn the corner of my street. A quick inhale, then I'm okay. I don't mind the cold, really, although it can sneak up on you. I don't mind the rain. I don't mind winter. I don't like the dark. It's the shortest day today, by the way. That always makes me feel hope, feel like I can finish contracting and can start to look out upon the world with optimism.

Winter is on its way, Northern Hemisphere. He, he, he.

The tram was full; the kids with their head phones going chick, chick, chick; The Bitch, in her fishnets and fur, (I should take a can of red paint, one day) with her blonde hair pulled torturously tight into a bun. So tight that it makes her look a bit slant-eyed; the mentally-retard Aboriginal who wails and sings. I like him, but the punters look predictably scared - after all it's what we're being taught to feel by conservative politicians; suits, power and blokey; year twelve boys still in their pants bought for year ten; chicks in school uniform gathering in groups.

The tram was so full, nobody had to hang on.

I kind of fell in, lost my footing and just kind of stumbled to the back. People tend to get out of a falling man's path, rather than catch him before he hits the floor. As luck would have it, the woman in that strange single seat at the back, got up to leave, as I careered into the back wall. I literally fell into the seat behind her, as I ricocheted off the advertising board.

I had to put my hand over my mouth to stop myself laughing at what I had just done. Nobody notice, or, reacted.

Sardines, I thought. We're all sardines, on the way to being industry fodder. People stared grimly ahead.

My head was thick, I'd slept late. I'd got ready in record time and left the house without eating my breakfast. I'd sprinted to catch the tram, as it rattled past me in the street. Whoosh! Spiritually, I was still wrapped up in my sheets snug and warm.

Whoosh! I was jammed in this cylinder, with other plain-faced worker ants, now hurtling away from home. I sat back, relaxed, surveyed them all. Counted to ten.

The woman standing in front of me had on a sparkling top, it shimmered on all angles as it curved tightly on her pregnant stomach. It was like shot material catching all the rays of the morning sun, changing colour and glowing, simultaneously. It was fascinating, it captured my attention with delight.

It changed from red to green and then it changed back again, whenever she moved. It was dazzlingly, really.

Another woman over the other side, stood and asked the pregnant woman if she wanted a seat.

No thank you, I'm getting off at the next stop, said the pregnant woman. A rainbow of red and green shimmied across her back, then it danced back again, as she turned to thank the other woman. It looked fantastic.

Then she turned back in my direction and lent towards me and said, It would be a pity if anyone else had bothered to offer me a seat. Her voice became shrill and loud by seat; she was doing a mighty fine impression of Cruella de Vile. I could see the veins in her eyes, as I cowered.

Then she beat into the man next to her, literally, Excuse me! Excuse me! I'm getting off!

So fierce was she, the crowd parted, much more space was suddenly found, as she pummelled the next guy, only having to air-pummel and look threatening, after that, as every body got out of her way.

I was taken aback. I watched her go, I'm sure, with my mouth open.

I guess that would be me, I thought. Fuck! The morning spun. I closed my mouth and eyes.

Mars

Coffee Table & Gone

I scraped a joint off my coffee table, hows that? I'm not sure what that says more about my house cleaning, or my dope smoking, or me? Nah, Tom came over last night with his pot bag.

And now I'm off to Tim and Nicholas' to smoke bongs. Great, mate.

And later, there will be the midnight stumble back up George Street to home. Ah, that mindless, late night stumble back up George Street, I can now do it with my eyes closed. Ha, ha. It is just one foot in front of the other, again, and again, and again, and again…

Random Sunday

Renee Geyer sings, Love is a drug.

The house to myself, how many years have I been waiting for this? Do I feel bored? Do I feel set free?

I'm continually thinking about Manny... I'm supposed to not care. I'm supposed to be happy about this latest development.

I found a pair of Nicholas' jocks down beside the washing machine, unfortunately, they were clean. Pity.

I'm beginning to realise that my world view is being shaped by my computer screen. How the hell did that happen? (As we all know, there is usually a very good reason why people use computers) I've got to get out more and smell the fresh air. Vitamin D anyone?

Looking back over June's blog, it got quite gay, now didn't it. Note to self - write about more interesting things, the whole world isn't gay, you know. Despite what we might all say/think. (Even if so many straight boys aren't as straight as they would have you believe)

I'm going to settle for avocado on toast - thanks Lottie. Bloody hungry now. House cleaning, who needs it?

2nd note to self - don't write about bending down. It still amazes me that certain bloggers write about relatively inane stuff and still get comments in the hundreds. Are people really that bored, out there, I think, as I munch on my (fascinating) avocado toast. Is it because she never, actually, kissed the prince?

Note to all - in Australia, ass is spelt arse. Unless, you are fully accepting of America destroying Australian culture.

Not that I'm writing this for the comments - big smile.

Now there's a surprise, according to relationships psychologist, Shirley Packham, Jamie and Katie, from Big Brother, aren't expected to last past 6 months outside the BB house. You needed a degree for that? Jamie's like a really bad poofter, soft - almost girlie - with muscles and Katie is just a dumb slapper.

Hang it! Where's Guido's number? This reality stuff is a bitch. Reminds me of what a friend said just recently - Chris, you are so successful, with a pot habit a mile wide. Imagine if you didn't have a drug habit, I reckon you'd be the C.E.O. Not really sure what, exactly, that was supposed to mean? But there you go!

Nuclear power is now considered environmentally friendly?

I seem to have ants crawling on me. Now there's something new.

People today are scared, often, over ridiculous things. The conservative political agenda - keep them scared, keeps them spending.
Our poisonous Prime Minister doesn't seem to have the good decency to retire, despite being an old, old man.

Surely, Ian Thorpe is gay.

Oprah Winfrey has to be careful of impulse purchases?

How much plastic surgery has Kylie Minogue had? She's beginning to look it now. Apparently, Kylie and Liz Hurley go to the same surgeon. They say that if you swap the wigs on Kylie Minogue and Liz Hurley, you wouldn't be able to tell which is which? They picked the same face out of the catalogue.

Alex Dimitriades could cum on my stomach any day.

So much for not being so gay.

Looking through the snaparazzi pages of the newspaper, I didn't recognise one face.

Anthony Callea is surely gay. Speaking of Anthony, my, my, my that mix in water fibre is sure doing the trick.

Why does Paris Hilton want to be known as an international whore? (As my mate Shane would say, You almost say that like it's a bad thing)

On the Isle of Wight, Kate Moss tells her audience to say no to drugs?

I've just cut wood - I decided to do it other than in the dark & stoned, for a change - and I'm exhausted. Fuck, I'm a pussy. It's early evening though, time to light her up.

Tom will be over soon to watch BB, hopefully, he'll bring some pot.
Weak as piss, I know.

I've smoked twenty cigarettes since 9am. (it's now 5pm)

The Solar System

Sunday Getting Things Done

Al Green sings - Take me to the river

Okay, I've cleaned up the kitchen, battled the ants and the dishwasher is on. The washing machine is burbling away. The plants have all been watered, hell, I'm thinking about getting the vacuum out.

Missy is happy, quite playful really, having consumed her first chicken wing, even if she did manage to drag it all over the tilled floor, spreading chicken fat every where.

My third pot of coffee is on the boil.

Do you think that I might be thinking about what Manny might be doing with Stuart, remembering, while Manny has a two bedroom flat, only one bedroom has a bed in it? Even Manny is impressed with StarTac (... er... um... Stuart. Let's call him StarTac. Or would that be StarWang?) physique, remembering, it was Manny that got skinny StarTac into weight lifting in the first place. Nah, I'm not thinking about it, not for a minute.

This is supposed to be my out. Why doesn't it not feel like it?

Perhaps, I will vacuum. Perhaps, I'll go for a bike ride. Perhaps, I'll go for a bloody long jog.

No 8am joint, sure gets you thinking.

Tourists

It's cold, I scuffed around to the shop in sandals. No socks, though. I'm not going to commit that faux pax. Just track pants and crocs is the lowest I care to go. 

"Isn't anything open yet?" said the girl with the stripy hat and a mouth like a Muppet.

"Ohhhhh," was the long soft whine of her companion.

These were the two plain chicks from school, probably best friends from grade 1. The two, no doubt, who would be said to have improved the most since leaving school, were covered from head to toe in ugly chick disguise garb. You know, neck to knee coverage. Realistically, two plain girls looks can only go one way, after leaving school - horrible accidents withstanding.

What do you expect, I thought, at 8.20am on a Sunday morning... when it's over cast and cold.

Tourists, I thought, with the usual Fitzroy snarl. Not a snarl exactly, but a look in recognition that our suburb is invaded every day by plain chicks from the suburban wasteland. Go back to your shopping malls, I thought. 

Saturday End @ 11.11

I ignored a sms from Tim & Nicholas to go over to their place to eat chicken curry. Got to stop being such a hermit. Locked away on a Saturday night. I’m guessing it’s not particularly healthy, but how else do I get intelligent conversation. Chuckle. Just me and the bitch cat. Oh, I don’t mean that, she is lovely. But all cats are bitches, that’s why we like them. 

It's 11.11

Clothes washing, plant watering, vacuuming, stacking dirty dishes in the dishwasher, tidying the old newspapers… 

Freeze the cat's chicken wings before they go off, despite her being totally miffed about the whole idea. Gotta clean your teeth, Missy. She's getting used to them and it isn't quite the same sideways look, as she gave, as before. 

I did none of it. 

Have you ever tried to teach an old cat new tricks? Nah, they won’t be in it. Quite stuck in their eating habits, cats turn out to be. 

My kitchen is covered in ants.

I did fill up the cupboards with food, though, thanks to shopping with Lottie.

“I can pay for my own stuff, mum, it's okay.” I’m a big boy now. I can provide references. Haha.

“No, don't be silly, I'll pay.” So, I hauled a few more things into the trolley. Oh come on, that is just human nature. 

The pot's all gone, thankfully. Maybe tomorrow I can get stuff done.

Time to call it quits and head to bed.

Saturday Running Away

I've eaten two (organic) muffins. I've drunk four cups of percolated coffee. I've smoked three joints.

I'm going to have a pull, shower and get dressed.

Then I'm going to eat my muesli and take my mother shopping, stoned. The most she has ever said is, You look tired today, darling.

I always remember my friend Frank's reaction to the news of drug buses being right along side booze buses out on the road on a Saturday night.

"Oh, no! I'll have to give up driving."

Long Term

Is the desire of some to conquer love, for the feeling of esteem and prize, that it brings? Surely this is why love has become so temporary; forever in faith, until death us do part; a life time of unselfish love.

For what; touching you, touching me, beautiful are the young. Forever is then dependant on my waistline and your wrinkles. I would want to love everything about you; I would want to feel adored in return.

It is fleeting, beauty. For it, you have to give up as much, the world, to find love in return, to be given the moon. Forever comes at a deeper cost, a bigger sacrifice; returns are tenfold if you chose wisely and well. 

Poetry

Luke gave me his poetry to read, cute huh? I re-wrote them, couldn't help myself, it's the writer in me.

Then I wrote a poem about Luke. He's such a smart and sensative boy, I can imagine holding him in my arms and kissing him, whenever I'm with him at work.

What to say to him? I think you are writing about feelings in general. I think with poetry you need to make the feelings yours. I think he needs to put more of him in them. Don't be afraid.

Then I'd kiss him. Touch the skin on his face. Look into his eyes to see them look in return. 

Melancholy

Sometimes we feel sad, for no apparent reason at all.

Don’t know why?

As well as being able to think, we are able to feel.

For what purpose? So we understand our pain?

So we understand compassion? Understanding? And good?

For what reason? Good and bad. Heaven and hell?

We can choose to believe in something bigger,

to take away our fear,

if that’s what we need.

Or believe in ego, remember to be kind.

Be happy, don’t worry.

Treat others as they would treat you.

Let life guide you through. Follow your heart;

the stories are rich, the journeys are long.

Fulfil your destiny. Dare to dream. 

Self Pleasure

Luke gave me his poems to read,

I notice the hair on his arms, as he handed me the disk;

olive skin, dark hair, a particular favourite of mine,

I wanted to touch him, stroke him and have him not recoil.

I wanted to kiss him; taste him, feel his spit on my skin,

smell his breath on my face, feel his hair in my fingers.

Feel his warm pulse, with all of my touch.

I want to wipe his sticky seed from my abdomen, pull it out of my pubes.

Marriage

Isn't it interesting that the debate about gay marriages is all about straight people. The majority still discriminates. Marriage is crumbling, don't play with its faulty foundations, for God's sake.

If you redefine marriage, by allowing something other than what's been the norm, what will those rascally straight boys want then? Girls have enough trouble keeping them under control now.

Well, what is marriage now? Lets look at the statistics. Less than fifty per cent will make it to ten years.

Something like 98% of straight boys cheat on their wives; (the stats aren't that much better for girls, and closing) something like 90% is in the first three years. Hardly because the honeymoon was over.

(and a lot of gay guys can tell you that a lot of straight guys are notionally straight)

It's all about keeping the flawed patriarchal society in tact. If you have to burn off a few poofters and lesos in the process, well, they are hardly the majority of the vote, are they?

Fair?

When will you give up this foolish notion of society being fair?

Merry-Go-Round

Manny called me at the office, first thing, just as I was in a meeting with two colleagues. I'm not sure why I took the call, except to say I rarely let one of his calls go unanswered.

"I'm still in bed... in my boxers... I've got the hardest cock."

My two female companions are gazing back at me. I swing my chair around and hush my voice.

"Ha, ha, ha. Good morning sunshine. This is early for you, isn't it."

"I know." (Little Britain style)

Manny's exboyfriend Stuart has just broken up with his boyfriend, Angelo. So Stuart has been hanging out at Manny's - quite out of the blue.

"You should see the body on him, says Manny. "He's 75 kilos."

75 kilos, Manny's holly grail.

Stuart was also Julien's boy friend, when Julien lived with me, so Stuart hung out here for a while.

Stuart is hot. He smolders. Buzz cut. Amazing, big, intense, blue eyes. A sly smile. He and Manny were gym buddies, when they went out together. Apparently, sex is what Stuart does best. Both the faces on Manny and Julien stood a testament to his magnetisim, when Stuart and sex were mentioned in the same breath.

Stuart's handsome face kept flashing into my mind all day. He really is a gorgeous boy. He'd been a limosine driver, tellimarketer and kept boy, in the time that I've known him.

Manny called me back, early evening, early for him. 7.30pm. He was slurring.

"Have you taken valium?"

"Yes, four. I've had a stressful day."

Manny doesn't like his routine broken. I was lying on the couch watching Big Brother.

I laughed. "You!"

"Shut up!" insert sexy laugh. "Stuart needs some where to stay for a few days," said Manny. "Angelo wants him out of the apartment before the weekend."

"You asking me?"

"Could he stay at your place, it's not like you don't know him?"

Ah Stuart, my mind buzzed with a collage of images of me and Stuart in front of my open fire. Huge, hard cock. Big balls. Filthy in the sack. Apparently. Ha, ha, ha. I rubbed down on my cock... and the reality is?

"Nah. I don't want to be a part of their break up. I'm happy here on my own... finally."

"I don't really want him staying here, though," said Manny.

"I've got peace and quiet..." For the first time in my life, really. "I've got an open fire and ice cream."

"I asked him about a threesome..."

"With me and you?"

"Yes..."

"You're obsessed."

Insert sexy Manny laugh.

"Don't be stupid. I know him as a friend."

Like that's been a major concern in the past?

"Why do they put me in this situation," asked Manny. "That's why I love you, you're so chilled. You don't stress."

Stuart asked Manny if he could see a future for the two of them. It was all coming clear to me. They make the perfect couple. And I know I'm going to feel disloyal with this, but Stuart may be bloody handsome, but he isn't the brightest star in the galaxy.

Manny's genuinely sweet. Apparently, Stuart has a nasty streak, by both Manny and Julien's separate admission. But he was Manny's boyfriend of four years, so what am I to know.

Stuart is/was/maybe/third hand/once creepily out of Stuart's mouth, out of it on a dance floor... a seeder, he likes to give HIV to people, share it around. There's a whole... what do you call it, movement, I guess. A group who recognise one another for their own particular fetish... apparently... or something like that.

I still like kissing the best, so what do I know.

Stuart gave it to Manny. I pass no judgment on that, other than to say, do not have unsafe sex with anyone, until you have both fronted at the doctors office together and had a test. It is that simple. Well, not actually simple, no. Sorry. It involves a huge amount of trust and intuition and smarts, to get to that point with someone. So, sorry, if for whatever reason you have unsafe sex with someone you don't know, out of it on whatever, where ever, you only have yourself to blame. It's that simple.

Besides, Manny has forgiven him. So who am I to judge?

Poor Manny, what am I saying? He's far too sweet for Stuart. But he'd know better than me. 

Spreading the Word

What is this misnomer of intentionally spreading the HIV virus. Is this an attempt by straight people to interfere in gay lives? Filthy poofters doing what they shouldn't.

There must be someone to blame?

This classification is a contradiction, unless it's rape, nobody can spread any thing intentionally, there has to be complicity.

I see it as typical of the world today. Go around screwing who you like, not taking any notice of all the medical thought on the subject, and then once all of your sins have caught up with you, blame the last guy?

I know I've said it before, but here goes again, it is all about personal responsibility, it's about looking after yourself. Safe sex works if the individual takes responsibility for him, or herself.

Of course, ever sexual partner has only ever made the exception of unsafe sex with you, because you are the sexiest creature ever. Don't be so naive, take responsibility for yourself.

Have unsafe sex if you want, if you really need that edgy thrill, but if the virus swims up your arse don't be a sook, take responsibility for what you have done. 

I think pretty much the same argument could be made for domestic violence, leave the guy the first time he hits you, not the last time.

Poetry to Watch

I've been befriended by a guy at work.

He's like a good looking Eddie Munster. No, not really, but he has that kind of widow's peak, dark hair, big blue eyes. He likes writing too. We talk about books, he's well read and interesting. He's so damn handsome, it's hard not to think of him sexually. Not really sexually, but with that familiarity that gay guys take with other guys. There's a certain social intimacy that gay guys take with each other. It borders on sexual, without ever getting there. You know... um... (good joint) flirt. It's hard not to flirt with him. I have to (sometimes, occasionally) actively stop myself. It's hard, as he's gorgeous... except he's straight. There's always something, isn't there?

He's going to give me some of his poetry to read. Cute, huh?

Flirty accountant Michael is back from leave for his mother dying. I hadn't really seen him around, not until today. I was leaning against my desk, looking out of my office and he was at the photocopier, someone else was there first. He had to wait. I was talking to a colleague. Michael looked sideways in my direction, I took his gaze and held it. He's got big, puppiy dog eyes. He gave his sly, sexy smirk and his cheeks flushed red. The other guy was finished. Michael looked away. How long after their mother's dying are you allowed to hit on them? I mean, what's etiquette?

Cute lawyer Ben got in the lift with me this morning; both arriving five minutes late. He's leaving tomorrow, I haven't seen him around to ask why. There were two others in the lift too, judges, CEO's, billionaires, not sure what, but they had that look about them; well fed, well dressed, air of superiority. Ben stood facing me. Cute, blonde hair, blue eyes. He's one of those guys who has a good package in a suit. The material hugs tight at his hips, and then just flows, bulging out like a fist, beautifully in the middle.

I drop my eyes, I can see that he has packed his cock downwards, I don't care if he notices, he's always flirted, he leaves tomorrow. I can see his nob pushing the material out from the inside. I reckon he's circumcised. I just want to step forward and cup it in my palm. I look up. His eyes look up at the floor numbers above the door. He looks back at me. He can't stop himself from smiling. Nervous. He's turned on. He looks down at his feet, still smiling. I clear my throat. He glances up at me. His eyes dart to the other two captains of industry, then look back up at the floor numbers. Still smiling, despite himself. My floor. The doors open. See ya Chris. See you Ben. He smiles and pulls his head back, as if to really look at me for the first time.

Poor Manny, I'm Treating Him Bad.

I don't know why, but I have put on about 6 or 7 kilos this year. I mean, I know why, my diet has been shitfull and I've just stopped exercising. Pretty simple, really, but why this year? I don't know?

It's weird, I actually feel fat for the first time for the first time in my life.

I mean, as much as I hate to say it, I suppose I know the reason. In the last four years I've, pretty much, only had sex with Manny. Okay, that is not completely true, but it is kind of true. And I rail against monogamy? Well, that’s not exactly true either. I’m for whatever makes you and your partner happy at the time. It can be anything you want.

Monogamy breeds complacency. We should all fuck around to keep ourselves on our toes for our significant relationship.

Manny's hot for a threesome, but, I lived in a threeway relationship for four years, and the attraction for them has never really come back. So although I've had plenty of experience with two other guys, one set of eyes looking back at me is what gets me going now. Manny and I have never had a threesome. He's had sex with other guys. I have too. But between us, it wouldn't come much over ten guys, probably not as many as twenty guys. We're talking two of us over four years. Maybe not ten, even. That’s not many for gay guys. (I know, straight guys hate us) Who keeps track of those things anyway?

Neither of us have gone looking for it, it's just what has come along.

Neither of us have committed to each other. We say we'll be friends forever, who will have sex with each other, when the two of us are single and available.

For six months of the four years, Manny met a guy who he thought he fell for. Because the other guy thought he was in a monogamous relationship, Manny and I didn't see each other for five of those months. I refused to cheat on the boyfriend by having sex with Manny. Come back when you're single, I told him. In the sixth month, when it was all but over, well? I'm no saint, don't get me wrong, but seriously, why do I want to be the reason they break up? Who wants that angst? I'm not climbing through windows for anybody anymore.

I've had love twice where I've said I'll love you forever and, at the time, I believed it to my very core. Men who changed my life irrevocably for the good, for having met them. One was a hot DJ, still is. He has the beat to his soul. He has the most piercing green eyes. The other is a gardener, with huge ideas. He has created marvels. He has beauty to his core. He changed my life forever.

I loved my girlfriend as a teenager, in the very same way, although not to my very core, but almost, just as good for first love. I loved her. I just didn't know yet that there was better sex, for me. I liked having sex with her, at the time. We're still best friends.

If only Manny was ‘more’, wanted ‘more’. His only fault. True. But it is big. Too big. And it's not even that he isn't smart. When he told his parents that he was gay at the age of fifteen, they threw him out of home and out of school. His mother had become born again Christian, a few years earlier, after Manny's brother was crippled in an accident. But that's his story and I shouldn't be telling it. So, part of it has just been a chronic lack of opportunity, but...

He is hot sex. The only thing he does is go to gym, so his body is incredible. He has an eating disorder, of sorts, gym junkie food, so he doesn’t carry an ounce of fat, literally. Grrrrrrr, just thinking about him.

We're the same age.

Tom says, All my gay mates have hot boyfriends, at the moment. Where’s mine?

Manny has the sweetest heart. He has the filthiest mind. He has the most handsome face. He’s funny, he makes me laugh.

But his conversation rarely gets beyond, you guessed it, gym or food… or let’s watch a DVD. He hasn’t done anything else... except wash dishes.

So, in a truly spectacularly human, contradictory way, I’ve got fat because I’ve become complacent because I’ve had Manny on tap and it’s kind of settled me. But now that I’m feeling fat, I’m avoiding him, because essentially it is only a sexual relationship and I don’t want him to see me as a porker.

I could lose it in a month, or two, for him, but he keeps me contented, so far, so why bother. So, I avoid him as repayment.

Am I nuts?