Terry

Terry came over. I haven't seen him since he went travelling, last year. He popped in out of the blue. He's just as gorgeous as ever, those eyes, those beautiful eyes. Olive skin. Black hair. Still no idea sexually, though. I thought he might have learnt something os. New tricks? Live hard, see the world?

Sadly, no. You should have learned by twenty eight, I think. That's when I reckon men are at their peak. But alas. He's pretty to look at naked and he's gorgeous to kiss. Big, soft lips. I'm glad I had dope, I got him stoned and then he went all floppy. And just relaxed. He's nice to hold. He's smart too, just finished uni, the year before last.

bolago station

8 Weeks Till Xmas

Eight weeks to Xmas. What? Already? The middle part of the year just kind of gets away from you.

And the world slips by.

I wanted to be a bloody great success by now. But, I guess, that is the unquenchable wants, one half of the economic equation, of human nature. A bloody great success is a sliding scale, depending where you are along your personal journey.

Depends, what scale you are using? The accountant scale, or the superstar scale. I guess, on the accountant scale, I am a bloody great success. Although, to me, it just seems like a bore, like some how I got side tracked and here I am. Sometimes, I feel like I joined the wrong dots, professionally, that is, because at eighteen I didn't know what the hell I wanted to do.

I want to do architecture, I said in year 12 - all my art through out my whole school life was of buildings, normally terrace houses, or renovations to existing buildings. You know, herritage facades...

You're a business student, said the careers teacher with a snigger. You've always have been, you must take this path...

But, I think, buildings are the only thing I'm passionate about... blah, blah, blah.

You've never done physics, you wouldn't get in. She looked at me if I was mad. Now, here's your business course choices.

How much did you say they earned?

Blah, blah, she enthused.

Oh, okay then.

I had to live before I even knew what dots to go for. I still didn't take writing seriously until years after that. Writing was something I'd always done. I wrote my first story in grade three, my mate Stuart Williams, illustrated. It was so good, it was read to the grade 2's. We wrote a sequal. Writing was something I'd always just done - I kept a journal, wrote poems, made up stories, in year twelve I had so many characters going around in my head, I feared schizophrenia.

But, at eighteen, I did as I was told. That kept me busy for a while.

Success is always void, as soon as you get there, or at least, as soon as I get there, because there has always been something else. Architecture and then writing. Achievements are null and void by the dream of something greater.

It wasn't until my twenty eigth birthday, I remember it well. I could have been a writer all along. But that's just kids stuff. You mean I could have?

Then I spent five years studying that.

Now, I just want to see something of mine in print and have people tell me they enjoyed it. (Other than people I already know, that is) That's all.

I guess the moral to this story, well, for me anyway, is that if I want to go up a scale in success, I need to work twice as hard and not kick back and smoked pot and relax - and not write this blog.

Sad, but true. 

The Devil You Know

Hey, I just found out that my satan, from back in my May blog, is gay. How ironic is that? He's just come out to us all. Big, beautiful, blond... um... Sam. 

Welcome.

(You will be receiving your starter pack shortly. The agenda will be explained to you at a later date)

There Is This Boy [part 8] Dancing Classes

“Painful parades in a parent’s paradise,” said Alex, disagreeably. “Count me out.”

Dancing classes where a high priority on a rounded education of a teenage grammar boy’s agenda. Some where the parents can see their children dance in a re-enactment of their youth, I suspect, as a yard stick of their parenting skills.

All the boys took to it without so much as a whimper, they got to dance with our sister school’s female pupils, so, what was there not to like.

Except Alex, he just wouldn’t engage, when it came to dance classes. He lived by the motto, Look good in what you do. So, if he felt he couldn’t look good in what he was doing, it was natural for him just not to do it.

Of course, no one two-stepped quite as enthusiastically, as Adam. No boy’s shirt was ever quite starched so perfectly, no boy’s bowtie was ever quite so well creased, as Adam’s. He gasped and squealed with all the girls on queue. I kind of wondered if Adam would butch up with the female presence, the universe knows that all the other boys suddenly had bright eyes and a need to flex. No, it just seemed to give Adam licence to be as girly… as a real girl. Safety in numbers.

Some boys have a secret in their crisp white collars and striped ties and their chests puffed out. I fear the secret, but less than not having the boys near. I know the rules. I admit, I look at them, I gaze at them, but that isn’t me, somebody else is in command.

It was so unlike Alex, not to join in, he was a full-on “school” boy. He was vice-school captain, after all. He was usually up for anything that furthered his educational career. Admittedly, it was always glory on the sports field, usually. Or academically. At speech night, he was usually winning rather than helping. He only joined the debating team when he was scamming the vice-captaincy. Say the right thing, do the right thing and Alex was there. Nobody schmoozed better. But artistically, he just didn’t engage.

Alex’s only dance was the dance of success.

I was a keen member of the bush walking team and the school orchestra, both artistic pursuits. Alex was the captain of the cricket and football teams and a champion debater, more hard-arsed, analytical.

Apparently, I was a keen member of the ballroom dancing team, also. Truthfully, I only did it because Adam gushed about it, it sounded like a useful tool to have. I so pictured all the uncles at weddings who couldn’t dance and who just looked like knobs. I so didn’t want to be one of them. Besides, I wasn’t doing anything else on Saturday night.

I didn’t care if Alex wasn’t there, in fact, if anything, it was better for me if he wasn’t. I could just be me, if he wasn’t around, no distractions.

We all gathered to rehearse in Smithton’s decrepit school hall, on Saturday afternoons. I often went with Adam, we’d sleep over at each other’s houses. Why that didn’t give me away, I’ll never know. Our father's were big knobs on the dad's council and somehow it was thought by that association that Adam and I were some kind of old family friends. Our dad's were best mates, who single-handedly built school camps and halls and building's, etc, blah, blah, blah. It was kind of true, but not really. Adam and I were just friends all the way through school, we came through from the junior school, where the majority of boys start in year 7. We were Smithton old timers.

We were always just friends. We never acted gay, as far as we were ever concerned. Later, we both had girlfriends. Adam’s dating disasters are legendary. He’s the only guy I know who, in the end, had to be sat down by all his friends and told he was gay. Adam never accepted that he was gay, until late in life, despite being a screamer all the way through.

The hall was grey. The old wooden seats must have some stories to tell, I remember thinking. They were cold and I squirmed around for a while to get warm.

Hands up, Pride of Erin.

Those in charge were too busy organising, to see the boys were all pointing their toes and bending at the hip, with wide eyes that were taking it all in.

The Smithton teachers seemed to be nervous about the girl’s presence; the boys were all perfectly behaved – maybe it was the house masters who were getting hot under the collar at pubescent, girl flesh. (it occurred to me years later)

Step two, three, grab your partner and twirl.

On show night, I couldn’t take my eyes off my handsome school mates, all dressed up in black tie. It was very confusing, a blow to winning the battle. Andrew Johnson and Craig Cameron took my breath away.

Spin your partner, round and round.

There was always such camaraderie amongst all us boys, after we’d been successful in a show the night before. We were all suddenly great mates, friends forever… going places, doing things, I guess. It was the same after a week at school camp, it was the same after the big production at the end of the year. I always played in the orchestra, of course. We were always on a high. We were on a high after the ballroom dancing big night.

We were all in the corridor, before school, basking in the glow of our success, when I caught Alex, out of the corner of my eye, enter through the very end door.

My locker was full of crap, I couldn’t find the book I needed. I’d hardly spoken to him, or seen him, since…

“Good morning,” beamed Alex, no doubt, as I had my back to him and couldn’t see him. But, I could hear it in his voice, Alex perfected sunny.

People said hello and Alex and Dominic A. began to talk about the home work that they had supposed to have had done for later in the day. Alex reassured his team mate not to worry.

“Hello,” said Alex’s voice, close up to the back of my head, so I could be in no doubt who he was addressing.

Later in life, I would register this moment as a significant meeting, where I would turn and take my lovers lips in mine and kiss him passionately. Some where deep down in the being that I was, at that moment, a blank slate, I still think there was a feeling of this.

I looked sideways. “Hello.” I smiled, I was aware of my face moving. I felt warm inside.

Alex smiled nervously, it was unbecoming on him. Alex smiled brightly, when I did. That adult chill, the one that runs through your stomach, after meeting a lover after an absence, ran through my stomach all the way down to my toes, without me ever recognising it for what it was.

“How was last night? asked Alex. “Were you brilliant?”

I was having trouble finding my book for class, suddenly I was thinking that I didn’t have it.

“You should have come, found out for yourself.”

“Wasn’t it great?”

“It was brilliant.” I looked up at him. “You should have come.” He moved his head side to side, as if to intimate he couldn’t decide and was torn.

Alex’s locker was directly above mine, he had the advantage of the height. He was organised long before I was, as I searched in vain. He got his books, closed his locker door and bent down to me.

“I didn’t get to dance with you,” whispered Alex.

You know, I think that was one of the first times that I noticed Alex’s insincerity. It was Alex speak, directed at me, as I’d caught him do to others. He gave me the most advantageous answer, to him, that he could, in the absence of any true feeling about the topic. In reality, it meant nothing to him.

He smiled his famous smile and disappeared into class and didn’t quite catch that I didn’t buy it.

Book found I headed to the classroom door, when Alex’s head reappeared.

“Tonight?”

gay, sorry girls

Blondie

Travis, the cute guy from my work building, one floor down, different company, seems keen again. The one I flirted with for a time, when I was out having a cigarette - I might have to take up smoking again - but then decided that I was stupid to, actually, mix work and sex. Stick with my vows, on such things.

Well, he's been giving me the look, lately. He seems very keen, all of a sudden. But, for one reason or another, I haven't seen him for a little while. Whenever I catch his eye in the lift, he's looking over at me. He was at the station, the other day and he couldn't keep his eyes off me, but I decided to read my newspaper, I hadn't quite changed my mind, at that stage.

I reckon he is on... and I reckon I should. It's not like he works for the same company, after all. Same lift well, though?

He's slim, looks good in a suit, looks good in suit pants. Slim waist, nice arse. I normally go for guys in their thirties, usually, but I'd say he is in his twenties. He's got a gorgeous face and beautiful smile.

I can't even pick up in night clubs, what hope have I in a work lift?

But he does get that nervous, interested thing going when I see him. Definitely.

Nice Greek Boy

Manny and I had phone sex. Just lie back on the couch, Christian and think of angels... with beautiful Greek cocks. Sweaty, Greek soldiers, Athenian warriors in little, short skirts. Think of their legs, where they disappear under their tunics.

Think of Manny's hairy chest. Listen to his sexy voice, low and husky.

"I want to squeeze your nipples."

"Oh," Manny kind of swallows and gulps back up. "Ah!" Gasp for breath! "Ah!" Gasp for breath!

"Ahhhhhh!"

I blew inside my track suit pants, but I feel remarkably calmer, all of a sudden. 

Conservative Values

The thing that really bugs me about the religious right, is that no one ever questions their right to freedom of religion, but they don't afford everyone else the same privilege. If they don't want to participate in stem cell research, gay marriage, abortion, euthanasia, whatever, they don't have to. It's not mandatory. But they form lobby groups to actively work against such things, effectively taking away everyone else's right to whatever it is they believe in.

The religious right can't help themselves, they have to inflict their ideas on everyone else.

Personally, I don't care how many embryos are destroyed to cure cancer and paralysis and diabetes and Parkinson's disease. I put my trust in the good doctors.

Even though I don't personally believe in gay marriage, particularly, I can't see any good reason why those who do, shouldn't be able to do so.

I think abortion should be legalised.

Nobody has the right to tell me that I must go on living, if I have decided that my life is too painful to continue with, especially with incurable disease.

The religious right has no qualms about making other people's lives miserable, just to further their own beliefs.

 

Intelligent Design

Intelligent design has nothing to do with science and everything to do with politics. It's a dishonest attempt to sure up the Jesus freak's market share, that's all it is.

Bad Christian!

I took up smoking again, at Rachel's restaurant opening. My long time mate Christopher said he'd given up smoking too - we all used to smoke, but have, mostly, stopped - and some how that translated into he and I puffing away out the front on the street, for half the night, chatting away. Flirting gently, as we do. Don't know why - we smoked, not flirted.

Rachel and I have had a long standing mission to seduce Christopher. We've often joked that when he complains about not getting enough sex from his wife, which he does constantly, that we'd both hit on him. One from one side, one from the other. We decided we'd have to be drunk first and preferably Christopher would have to be drunk too. But thus far our evil plans...

The wedding went well. It dawned on me halfway through the proceedings that weddings are all about fucking, what with the comments and innuendos that go on, endlessly, even in our times of, shall we say, no sheet checking the following morning.

I missed out on the car, he sold it an hour before I called, this afternoon. Crap! I had to get myself back from the country on the train. I had to wait until someone had time to drive me to the station. Grrr!

Never the less, country train travel is so civilised, whooshing through the fields with the sun genly shining in through the window. Lay back, relax. I guess, I'll be doing a lot more of it in the future, huh.

No Tim Tam's Here

If the Genie came to me and gave me three wishes, they would be... peace on earth for all of time, an equitable and fair distribution of the worlds resources, for everybody. And, all Argentinean men, or men of Argentinean descent, would be turned gay.

I clippered my pubes for the first time in years - Manny likes them bushy. I like the feeling of newly clippered, it's like patting a dog. It's much nicer to look at, too, back to the days of turning myself on. I look like a porn star, again.

More Argentinean Men

Murphy's Law

I stayed home, I took an annual leave day. I panicked about this 205 GTI that my sister had found me. All I had to do was call. Of course, I didn't. The only thing to do was to create more time, hence the day off. Now, of course, I can't get hold of him.

I've got a restaurant opening tonight. Pick Tom up from the airport tomorrow morning. Hopefully, factor in seeing the 205. I have a wedding tomorrow night, in the country. And I said I'd visit my mum on Sunday. My life is too busy, I need a car.

A GTI with the sunroof open, heading up the highway, on a beautiful, sunny day, would be just the thing.

Waking up

I stumbled around the corner, heading to the salt mines, this morning. The sun was shining, it was warm. It was a gorgeous day, light and airy. As my gaze stretched out in front of me, for the first time, cracking open to the sudden depth of field, I gazed a pair of jeans-clad legs, with a gorgeous, sizeable bulge, heading towards me. I focused up on Nicholas' smiling face, catching me fully checking him out.

He smiled broadly. He'd just got back from Vietnam, he was tanned and relaxed and smiling. Very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for Nicholas. We squeezed hands and kissed and said we should catch up.

He is so beautiful, impossibly good looking.

He was with his sister, they were heading in the opposite direction.

I think I whistled, after that. 

Bad Start

I woke up at 6am with such a bad head ache that I thought I was going to be sick, one more notch of nausea and I would have been. I took the cream bucket back to bed with me, after I pissed.

I woke up at 8.40, staring at the clock incomprehensibly hoping that it was wrong, all the time knowing that it wasn't. I spun around in circles, as the clock ticked, tick, tick. 8.45. panic! How can I get to work in 20 minutes. I could skip breakfast, skip coffee and get straight in the shower. I looked in the mirror, I couldn't miss the shower, that was clear.

Anyway I looked at it, I wasn't leaving before 9am. Bugger! Bugger! Bugger! Only one thing to do, my boss still wont be in, yet, call and leave a message that you are sick.

I had a new outfit and all to go to work into today and all. Oh?

I just knocked my coffee sideways, the entire amount that spilt out landed neatly in the mull bowl. I was cross, I was relieved. I was cross, I was relieved.

So I made some collages.

Argentinean Men

Random Sunday

I called Manny last week, deciding it was worse to just let it drift off into nothingness than to actually speak up and finish it, if that's what it's come to. Not that I'm saying it has come to that, considering we were never, really boyfriends to start off with. It just seemed childish, all of a sudden, not calling him, so I phoned. I left a message on his answering machine. The phone just rang then, I let the answering machine pick it up. By the time I got to from my computer to the phone, I heard that he'd been in hospital with food poisoning and that he was still recovering. Something to do with his food. I was just about to pick the phone up when I realised, what he was saying were all the reasons, there in a nutshell, why I'd decided not to call him. I rarely see him, unless I drive to his place and when I do see him, mostly, it is about him and his food/eating/health. I didn't pick up.

And considering mine and Manny's relationship is primarily based on sex, I'm not going any where near him while I'm still carrying the five, or so, extra kilos since giving up smoking. Get real, I thought.

Josh got his permanent residency in Germany, now he can finally leave, he says. Although, he does seem to be booking himself work for the rest of the year, so he can't be leaving immanently. I thought he might, considering he just got dumped recently by the beautiful Belgian.

Aby is going to stay with Josh, in a few weeks.

Tom is in Vancouver, saying he may delay his return, as it is all so beautiful. Not sure what Tom's take on beautiful is, him being a completely urban dweller, usually. His beautiful may contain no actual scenery shots.

Shane and Mark W. had the best time over seas, well, they did stumble from one drug-fuel episode to another, on two continents, with the help of a few well connected friends - connected in the sense of knowing the lay of the land, more than anything else.

Although, if I ever travel the party scene again, I want to do it with Shane's little black book, that's for certain. First night out, Shane sidles up to Mark W early in the night, who wasn't having a good time straight, and says, Come on, the head drag queen has got us coke, follow me. How do you do that? is always Mark W's response... all our responses, pretty much. And the rest of the holiday, pretty much, went from there.

Shane has a talent for it, an eye, or should I say, ear. You could drop Shane blindfolded any where in the world within sniffing distance of a ghetto and all of your, shall we say, personal needs would be fulfilled, in no time. What's not to like?

Tom says that Mark W (Actually, thinking about it, both Marks are Mark W, but this Mark will be the only one known as Mark W, from now on - gosh, that's going to be hard for me to keep up, after a smoke) still hasn't physically recovered. Although Shane denies that he landed back in Melbourne asking how long till Sleaze, while Mark W. was helped off the aeroplane by two nurses. Shane says it never happened.

When is someone going to out Ian Thorpe? Okay, I'll do it.

"I slept with Ian Thorpe. Big dick. Total bottom."

Did the Christian right take over both sides of Australian politics without anyone noticing? Or is it just me?

Don't smoke and eat at the same time, even if it is only soup, in a cup, it's bad for you.

Transmat beams, not so far fletched... ah fetched. I sat on the couch and transfered photos from Tim's phone to my phone, via bluetooth.

In the history of living in this house, I have never heard the neighbours television. What have they got in there, one of their deaf, old, fucking mothers? Well, they are lesbians.

They are forcing me to put music on? Unbeliveable! I'm listening to Christina Aguilera. I was in HMV and there was a greatest hits, of hers, for five bucks, and since she is the only one they claim, of the new crop of young girl singers, who can, actually, sing, I bought it.

It's like I'm listening to Australian Idol.

Guido came right over with the pot, I can see that was a bad connection to make, already. I didn't even feel like it, this morning. It was just habit, I was out. Bloody hell, what happened to my resolve from barely a month ago? I'm an idiot! I can't be that person, again, I'll die a failure. I'll get nothing published, no film scripts sold.

I need a new phase, in my life. In fact, I feel like I may have missed the beginning to the new phase, I reckon I should be a few years in, by now. It's like I got stuck in phase four - I can break my life up into distinct phases, all as different and as rewarding as each other. I calculate that I'm at the end of the 4th Chris millennium. (That's Chris years, naturally) But something's happened in the last few years, and I'm now beginning to feel that there has been a failure to launch with phase 5.

Maybe it's time for some new tricks? The universe forbid!

As my mate Josh loves to tell me, ad nausea, dragging himself out of a life time of otherness in Dubbo. No, you do it. You, have to do it... don't ever forget.

I've pretty much coasted through to this point on good fortune, sad but true. A happy, wealthy childhood never did any writer any good. Now I have to display some once of talent, that I'm so reckoned to be blessed with, if I'm to steer the good-ship-Chris to his, in fact, chosen, next phase.

Phase 5 awaits you, sir. 

Alex, one of just a couple of photos that I have of him

There Is This Boy [7] More Coming To Terms

Circa year 11, Smithton Grammar School,

First class of the day, Mr (maths) Brett – as apposed to Mr (accounting) Brett – refused to be drawn on the subject of the infamous, bordering on legendary, Reynolds class fame. (The fame being, the most disruptive, most disagreeable, smartest, naughtiest, most universally loved, most exacerbating, group of boys that the school had ever had in one class, in it's entire illustrious history... or some such rot) It was a disruptive move, on our part, to be sure. He was on to us.

“Apparently,” said Mr Brett. That was the only word he would offer on the topic, in his usual, clipped manor, speaking with his back to us, as he wrote on the board.

He was one of the good teachers, who liked us, who had us totally under his control. He would never stand for any of our nonsense.

“You are just trying to impress us,” I said.

He stopped writing at the board, hesitated, tossed the chalk up in the air and caught it and turned around with his another-foolish-victim-I’m-going-to-enjoy-this kind of smile on his face.

He never lost his cool, Mr Brett. Never needed to, he had students in the palm of his hand, always. He enjoyed a joke, he enjoyed intelligent banter, he was funny, interesting and tough and it was a very foolish student, indeed, who took him on, who dreamed that he could get the better of Brett. I knew how much, or, in fact, how little, I could actually say and get away with it.

“No, I’m not,” smiled Brett, looking straight at me. Come forth said the spider to the fly. “I’ve actually never been impressed by rumours.” Smile – care to add anything, kind of look? “Oh.” Smile. “Ah." Broader smile. "That would make a very good essay question, I do believe.” Tactictory move, daring me to say another word, as he opened his, now famous, essays given as a punishment page, in his teacher’s diary.

An essay was considered a stern warning and in Brett's idea of learning the only possible escalation for breaching a stern warning, was a Saturday detention. No excuses at all would be entertained, short of a team of lawyers hired by your father. That was the true sting of Brett's essays.

I said nothing further.

“Well?... Just as I thought," said Brett. "Now, back to... maths, shall we?” he’d say in that slightly, mad professor way of speaking that he had.

I shut up instantly, so as not to break the longest, impossible, record held by a member of our R class, I had never been landed a Brett essay. I was cheeky, engaging, provocative, at times, but I always knew when to stop. I was mostly lumped in with the smart kids, after all.

Alex came in late, near the end of the class. The seat next to me was spare. Our eyes met. We smiled. He crashed down in the chair.

Mr Brett kept quiet, as soon as Alex entered the room. Brett’s eyes followed Alex all the way to his seat. He raised his eye brows waiting for either of us to speak, which was a sure essay topic, 500 words. Brett always said, that being late, occasionally, was inevitable, it was a fact of life and that if you entered the room quietly and didn’t disturb the class, every thing would be cool, as he liked to say. He always emphasised cool, if ever he said it. He always raised his thumb, as he said it. It was just one of his idiosyncrasies. To speak, was to disturb the class. We said nothing. We stared a head. It was the first time we'd seen each other.

Brett returned to speaking and drawing on the board.

Alex turned to me. “Hi,” he said softly. His eyes sparkled.

"Hi," I said. I swooned, just a bit.

I got cold feet and tried to leave last night, after school, but Alex was waiting when I went to go home.

“Come on,” said Alex. “Let’s go.” Smile. “Follow me.”

It was that easy. He pushed through the door at the end of the hall and was gone. I looked around, nobody was there, the hallway was empty. I grabbed my bag and followed Alex.

We crossed diagonally across Mary Street and headed for the Municipal Buildings. Alex has got a round, hot arse, in his grey, flannel pants. Nice thick thighs. Broad shoulders. A floppy, blond fringe.

“I wasn’t letting you get away, tonight,” said Alex. “You still want to, don’t you?”

Alex has a beautiful smile. I only got a momentary glimpse of it, I could tell he was taking this seriously.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. My stomach was suddenly feeling queasy. My cock was semi-erect. I was self-conscious of it hard in my pants, as a mother came towards us with her daughter. I slid my bag off my shoulder and let it slide down in front of me.

“Nice cock,” said Alex, as he looked between me and my bag. “Good afternoon,“ Alex said, broad smile, as he looked back at the strangers, not missing a beat.

“Come on.” Alex jumped over the gardens, around the car park and ran towards the side of the building away from the street. The park came right up to there and met the dark grey asphalt. The public toilets were out of view, set under the building. Alex pushed the door open and went in. I followed straight behind him, not looking around, pretending, hoping to be invisible. I tossed my bag on top of his and went into the cubicle after him.

Alex unclipped the waist of my school trousers, he undid the fly and slid his hand inside my jocks. I undid his pants and did the same. His pubes were coarse, his cock was stiffening – out side ways – his balls were hot. We kissed each other passionately, as we played with each others cocks, for the first time. I melted on his lips, it was everything I’d known it would be. I knew I was going to want to do this again and again, as soon as our lips slid over one another. Hot, wet, slippery, sexy.

We pulled our shirts open and pushed our pants down to our ankles and felt passionate, skin on skin, legs, cock and balls, stomachs, chests, lips, mouths, smiles, eyes, sex.

His body was tight; his cock was hard. It felt good and was all over far too soon. I’d never really made another male cum like that, with everything I had, before. Did we really do that? Have I ever liked anything more? No.

I can still taste him on my breath, feel his hands on my skin, see the white milky cum spurting out of him.

“Christian!” Brett was rolling the “r” in my name furiously. My eyes focused, Alex’s face, smiling.

“Chris,” said Alex, nervously.

“Christian Fletcher, for the third time, do you know the answer?” Brett was standing directly in front of me, with his impatient face on.

Alex smiled. I sat up straight. I ran my hand through my hair, for a seconds pause, my head spun. I looked at my watch.

“Yes, Mr Brett,” I said confidently. “I believe I do... know... know the answer.” I glanced at Alex.

"Excellent," said Brett. He smiled. "Well lets have it, then?"

The bell sounded for the end of the class. Brett waited for my answer. The natives got restless; once one starts to pack up, they all do. The noise crescendoed. The two of us were frozen in time.

"For next class," said Brett, breaking the connection.

I exhaled and sat back in my chair, as the tension drained away.

Alex brushed my arm and smiled. "Fuck!" he said.

I gazed at Alex, smiling at me.

Isn't it Hot, at One Minute to Midnight, Mr Howard?

So, if this crazy weather is the culmination of global warming, I think we can safely assume that it is going to get worst before it gets better. It's going to get worse because nothing is being done yet to change it, or at least, there is a certain time lag in reducing green house gases, even after we take action.

It can't just be done in days, it takes years.

I was some what pleased, though, to see a member of this disgusting government linking weather change with global warming and actually talking about changes that need to be made to fix it. Well done you lying, rat politicians, baby steps are better than none, better than denial, which has been our governments stand, thus far.

We should all be voting on environmental issues in the coming elections, state and federal.

The Antarctic rains have tightened and constricted, so they now cover a smaller area, now missing the southern half of Australia. There are more tropical rains, so the rain now falls on the northern half of Australia. The dry part of Australia will now be the once lush southern half.

Actually, Mr Howard, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather vote for a govt who isn't preoccupied with licking George Bush's arse for a free trade agreement and who isn't taking us into wars specifically designed to maintain the wealth of the existing few. I'd rather vote for the pollies who are going to stop Victoria losing its snow fields and its beaches.

The people need to speak and they need to vote green!

Funny The Things You Think, Some Times

My brother moved to Brisbane a few years ago. The two of us have never got along, not that we didn't get along. We never fought or argued, we never disliked each other. We were never enemies. But, we never had much in common. We never had much to say to one another. There was no great brotherly love, not mates, not best buddies.

We're two such different people. He's a very straight, older brother. He's a right-wing family man. I'm a lefty, pot smoking poofter.

When he moved to Brisbane, I was happy for him, he had a good opportunity. I didn't think much else about it. I kind of thought it was fitting that we made the external distance match the internal distance, if I thought anything at all.

Suddenly, today, I just sort of started thinking about him. It suddenly dawned on me that with the current living situation, I will never get to know my brother. We don't have a chance this way. I can't just drop into see him, not that I ever have. It made me sad for the first time in my life.

Funny the things you think, some times. Hey?

Three

At Best...

Perry tells me all the goss. My mate Shane, who lives with his boyfriend Mark, is having a thing with Matt, which I already knew, Tom told me. Apparently, Shane's all time most perfect relationship ever, according to Perry, who, I must add, has a talent for embellishing, just a bit, was my three-way relationship with Mark and Lauri. It is being held up as the ultimate yard stick, if Perry is to be believed.

I'd write about it, but it's long since over. And I'm only writing about the present here, I've decided.

At it's best, it was sublime, being loved by two beautiful men. Being thought of by two, having two hands to grab, just naturally, at the end of the night. Curling up with two to spend the night in watching videos, smoking pot. Turning, at the end of a dance party, to see my two leather-clad boyfriends following behind me. What, they'd both say in unison... and smile. Gazing into blue eyes and green eyes. Feeling like the rest of the world could just melt away. Ah.

At it's worst, you had the potential to have not only one, but two, more often than not, equally pissed off boyfriends, at the same time. There is three relationships going at the same time, not just one. So, the dynamics are kind of different, but the same, all at the same time. We were together for five years, slept in the same bed, did everything together.

We intimidated more than we picked up, at sex clubs. A lot of guys just got confused and shrank. We partied hard. We were social animals.

The three ages of man, said a friend of Laurie's, we met in Sydney, one time - the three of us were ten years apart in age, equally - The three of you are fascinating, he said.

I thought I was going to be with the both of them forever, I truly did. And we should have been. Our fears got in the way, in the end. Fear of each other.

So Shane is giving it a go with Matt and Mark. Good for him. I have no advice to give Shane. Other than the obvious, be honest. But I guess, the next time I'm on a dance floor, oh, sometime around 6am, whooshing on whatever, Shane will have a lot to say.

Mid Week Blues

I don't know what to write, any more? I'm finding blogging dificult right now. I just don't have anything to say. What could I have to say that would be remotely interesting?

Blah, blah. Blah, blah.

So this is what it's kind of got to?

I didn't go to my work lawn bowls, tonight. The boys were treating it like a straight bbq, booze food. I decided I'd made the right decision. I did go to the trivia night last week, but that's the first thing I've been to in years. I decided I should at least make some effort. It was fun. And of course, Queen Victoria had nine children. Stupid Chris!

I know that I just naturally kind of say no to things, not sure why? It's because I've always been good on my own, liked and looked forward to my own company, I have always had stuff I wanted to do. But now, living on my own, saying no to things sort of gets you forgotten.

I guess that's what I've been feeling, a bit lately... it was some thing my mum said last night at dinner.

"Oh Chris, you have more friends than any one else I know."

Do I, I thought? Where did they all go?

May be I did? No, I do. Did. Do. I think I have locked myself away just a little too much, lately. I haven't seem much of any body.

It's the first time I haven't had a boyfriend, or girlfriend... relationship, partner. Ever. I've always been in relationships, ever since school, up until the last few years. I think, in my self sufficiency, I'm missing the other half. I'm ready for a cool boyfriend - one that has a job, life, friends, things to do and places to be.

Gotta get out more.

I said to Mark that I was going out to Throb to find myself a new boyfriend.

You mean... another boyfriend?

One for the city, I said.

I'm still your boyfriend?

Oh, I thought. It felt nice. That will never change, I said.

Good, said Mark.

I forget I have a long term, long term relationship. Silly, huh? Of course, we were twelve when we met. Ah, falling in love. Well, he lives in the country and has a boyfriend of his own... but you already know that.

I saw Perry on Monday night and he relayed all the goings on, and bad behaviour, of all of my friends over the last few months. I did get invited to a few things, I have to say, but for one reason and another, I couldn't/didn't go.... helping my sister out in her time of being licenseless, was a good thing. But I didn't get invited to a lot of things.

Gotta start saying yes.

Rachel asked me to go see her new restaurant tonight, but I got too stoned. Jill text me and asked what I was doing. Leah calls me every second day as Miss Quit Line to rally me against the evil baccy. She's not at all happy about my dope consumption. "It's a slippery slope, Fletchy. You're living in a dream world." Ah, my old girlfriends from my teenage years, they're still hanging in there.

Poofs are so this very moment.

I have to stop being such a hermit.

Maybe it's just because it's been winter and dark. The light makes me feel a live, may be I'm just waking out of the winter slumber.

May be that's what I'm feeling. Today it is thirty-something degrees, after all. Suddenly, it's like mid summer.

Life

Where will life take us? It's an adventure and you have to keep moving forward. No pass-outs on your first one hundred years. How many of us knew, ten years ago, that we'd be in this place today? None of us knew. Where will we be in ten years? How may of us know? Really?

That's the excitement?

Is there any more to say?

Live life to the full. Dance like there isn't a tomorrow.

Get out from behind your computer.

Whoosh Bang Morning, Like Aunt Clara Landing

I slept all night on the couch. The last thing I remember was Super Size me, a joint and a cup of coffee and my bunny rug, curled up on the couch. My filthy little secret of finding Morgan Spurlock sexy, being fed by his antics with fast food.

I knew I'd over done the night time hours on the couch when my eyes cracked open and the day was already becoming light out side. I knew I wouldn't be slinking off to bed for the final few hours. I knew that was it, that was my morning.

I woke to all of those ghastly morning shows with the truly awful Carl Stefonivic and the dull, lets-just-sack-her Jessica Rowe. And who is the other personalitiless chick on 7? with that other bald twat? Awful! They are all just awful! How could you single Jessica Rowe out of that sea of beige? What is current program policy with morning television, get the most bland, ordinary, talentless on-air staff, so the general public don't feel threatened.

Jasus! Look at the time? Jeepers! I've ironed a shirt... scraped the dope crumbs off my kitchen bench and smoked it, well, it was either that or have a cigarette, at 5.26am. Let's hope it doesn't have much of an effect, as I've never been to work stoned before. I clearly need to take myself in hand, don't know what's wrong with me lately? Unsettled. Giving up cigarettes does strange things to you, I wouldn't recommend it. Ah well, I can always say I'm a bit hey fevery.

Anyway, must get myself into the shower. Wish me luck!

 

Red Jocks

I was vacuuming my room; the dust was beginning to pile up in the corners, and tumbleweeds seemed to roll across the polished boards, every time I moved. It had to be done. When I was done, I headed out onto the landing and then down the stairs, one by one. I gave the hallway the once over, well, I was into it by then.

I vacuumed into the doorway of Tim’s room.

I saw hunky Ben's red jocks on the floor by the bed. The same jocks he’d been wearing the other night.

Ben, Tim and I had taken drugs all weekend, at home, laughing and joking and playing music really loud. Ben, at one stage, was lying face-down across the coffee table illustrating the fine art... of something, when the crimson material of his jocks appeared just where the crack in his arse started, as his trackies hugged his cheeks. I love guys in jocks, remembering Ben's a bottom.

My day off, what am I to do to amuse myself? I saw the crimson jocks, again, discarded on Tim's bedroom floor, when I went out to get the mail. When I came back in from the mailbox, I stood in the hallway and gazed into the bedroom. Then I thought fuck it... what the hell… they still smelt like him. Yum! I spent the next little while lying on my bed with Ben's jocks under my nose. The front was best, I could smell his foreskin.

I thought about the time that we'd all taken far too much. Tim had passed out. I was spinning in my own, lurid world. Ben got up and said he was going to bed. From my position on the floor, I was looking straight at his crotch. His cock pointed straight up. He caught my blurred gaze, looked down and ran his hand over the front of his blue, track pants. His cock was rock hard, banana'd. The cotton of his floppy pants kind of stuck around the hard shape of him, like a rocket. He looked straight at me out of the very tops of his eye slits, his face was flushed red and I could see the expression he would pull when he was getting sucked off. He rubbed his cock again. He pulled his head back and tried to focus. He rubbed his hard cock again. He smiled.

“Good night,” he said.

He staggered off to bed.

Or the other night, when we'd also consumed lots of e's and Ben and Tim were sitting on the floor. Ben turned around and pashed Tim, as he did, his cock expanded in his pants, filling out under the denim like water in a garden hose. The head was pushing at the waistband of his semi-unbuttoned jeans, when it was done. Tim lay his head back on the couch. I got the sense that Ben was looking at me. I lifted my eyes to meet his. He leant down and adjusted himself. Smiled and continued to kiss Tim. I went to bed.

I thought about the one time... Ben came out of the shower just as I came out of my bedroom. It was a Sunday afternoon, twilight of one of those weekends. Ben's blue eyes focused on me. His face was strong and gorgeous under his curly blond hair. Strong neck. Curved chest. Pale skin. I didn't think... I was spinning, really stoned. I could quite easily have thought Ben was Manny, momentarily, maybe... we were both tripping... because I would never, normally...

I remember the light went dark around him. I slid my hand up his towel. He kind of jumped as my hand cupped his hairy balls. I moved them around in my palm. I slid my hand onto his cock, which was stiffening quickly. It was warm, and suddenly thick. Ben's expression didn't change, he didn't move. Fully barred, he’s impressive. I squeezed it hard.

“Hey Ben, are you hungry?” Tim called out from downstairs. Ben pulled himself out of my hand. Adjusted himself. His towel tented noticeably.

“Yeah, maybe I am,” he said, with his eyes fixed like steel on me. He turned and walked down the stairs, adjusting himself as he went, without looking back.

“Yeah... I could go, um... lunch, sure.”

I tossed the jocks into the washing basket.

bolago station

What a Day!

What a beautiful day. Missy is pleased to see me. She's still licking my foot.

At Bolago, they were having seventeen jazz musicians turning up for dinner, they casually told me over breakfast. I just wanted peace and quiet. Mark said I was smoking too much pot, again, to mask his disappointment. Luke said that it must have something to do with drugs and that he smelt a rat. But there wasn't, if you don't count the regret of last night? Quite spooky really, as one thought, as distant as it was, was that I could go out dancing tonight, I've got the drugs, after all.

I felt a bit guilt-targeted, they wanted me to stay. But, I decided that everyone I know act on how they feel and do what they want to, on whim... all of them. I probably made the wrong decision, but when I want to be still, seventeen musos, singing gorgeous songs, making beautiful music, aren't... um... err... what's wanted. So here I am. I'll probably be bored before I know it and want to be back up there... no doubt. (But down here, I have a car)

The weather is sublime.

Bolago station was bathed in golden light. The whimsical Harry Potter'esque architecture of the period train station is just so gorgeous. It's nice to travel by train just to see it and on a near-perfect day, where in the world is nicer? The blond guy, with his girlfriend standing on the platform chatting, just glowed; flawless eighteen year old skin, angelic, baby face, square jaw, blue eyes - beautiful girlfriend. He had dark hair dyed blond long ago, with the black roots well and truly visible, making his mop of hair sparkle in the sun light. He laughed and chatted to his girlfriend. Occasionally, she'd kiss him, which had a direct effect on the front of his eighteen year old shorts. And just in case I didn't see it quite clearly, he absentmindedly grabbed it and gave it a good itch, as he gazed at his chatting girlfriend, completely oblivious. Big and fat, like a banana. The train was forty minutes late. Some how it didn't seem to matter.

There was a message on my answering machine from Manny. Apparently, he turned up in-need-of-cheering-up, sexy laugh, last night, around midnight. Well, there's a thing. 

Friday A Go Go

I picked up my sister in Bundoora and drove her home to her place, giving her back her car. I have done more for her than her husband, while she is without her license, so Lottie likes to point out. She thinks the husband should be driving her to work and picking her up, so she doesn't have to stay away from home. It would be four hours minimum of driving, but he is a house husband, after all.

I so didn't want to drive my sister to the country, let me tell you. I so wanted to go to Throb and take drugs and get laid. But, I said I would, so I did.

Tom has left me his car, as he is in San Francisco. He wanted to go and see San Fran in the day light, you know, sun and culture, as opposed to dingy shooting galleries at 4am, which has been his norm. But the way he was hitting it before he left, some how, I have my doubts.

Oh, what do I care, anyway, I'm in the country with my feet up, for some peace and quiet. Well, that's what I'm telling myself, anyway.

Matt text me, Come bid for me at the Laird Auction... I'll make it worth your while. I wondered if that meant what I thought it meant, or had I just smoked too much pot?

The open fire burned and the frogs called from the lake, as I drifted off to sleep.

Thursday Night on the Turps

Pissed. I'm pissed.

I've been to the work trivia night. We came embarrassingly last. We reckon it was rigged. But it's a university based company, we've all got a degree, at a minimum.

The beautiful Luke sat next to me. I found that I kept touching him. On the arm. Rubbed my leg against his. Punched him. Hugged him. High fived him when we got one right. Noticed a cute girl at the same time as him - which may not be exactly the image I was going for. Laughed with him. Gazed at him. Tousled his hair, as I said good bye. He didn't back way from any of it. He was pissed too.

When I absentmindedly rubbed his arm, I decided it was time to leave.

I staggered off into the dark. I tried to run for a tram, but ended up laughing in the middle of Bourke Street, when I couldn't get one foot in front of the other, quickly. Those watching must have though I was nuts. Alcohol is just wicked stuff. Not my first drug of choice. Too goddamn messy for me. Hick! My eyes go on half vision. Hick! My brain does too, but I keep it tightly in check on the evil brew. My face goes numb. My mouth gets a mind of its own. My whole orientation to the world gets slightly skewed. Off balance.

A pissed girl on the tram flirted with me. Gotta love a big city. The trip home felt like I was on a rollercoaster, on slow mo. I stepped sideways off the bloody thing, at my stop, I'm sure. Beer-eyes were on as I staggered up Gertrude Street, laughing. That unsteady, weeeeeeeeee, feeling, whenever I change direction on booze, is funny. It makes me laugh - and quite possibly unapproachable - even when I'm determined not to find it funny at all. It's the same feeling as the downward motion on the swing in the park... quite possibly as a sixteen year old. Same funny gene.

Fresh and Clean

You shouldn't use the ironing board as a table to mull dope on. It doesn't matter how careful you think you are. Thank the universe I looked in the mirror before I left for work. Can you imagine? Probably, nobody would have noticed any way, I was telling myself as I wiped the green bits off my white shirt.

People don't notice such fine detail, normally, I don't think. But imagine if one person had realised. Me totally oblivious... I can laugh now.

 

Carla Meets Steve

Steve chewed vigorously, Gavin twitched, as they watched the 4 o'clock show.

"Enjoying it?" slurred Steve.

"My head is thick. The base of my neck is stiff. My eyes are only half open. This is an effort," said Gavin. Steve put his arm around Gavin's naked shoulders and pulled his boyfriend into him. Gavin was only wearing jeans.

"Gavin! Gavin!"

Gavin looked around to see if he was the Gavin somebody was calling to. His sister, Carla, was next to him. "Gav," said Carla. "I spotted you from the dance floor."

"You didn't tell me you were coming?"

"Only decided at the last minute," said Carla. "Have you been here long?"

"A while."

Carla looked at Steve. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"This is Steven."

"Hello." Carla was twitching and looking wide-eyed. She stepped back and gazed Steve up and down.

"My, my, little bro. I can see what you see in this one."

Gavin looked at Steve - Shaggy, blond mane, hairy chest, 6 pack, snug shorts, thick, hairy thighs. He looked back at Carla and blushed. All of the women in Gavin's life thought Steve was hot. He was. Carla caressed Gavin's cheek.

"Look at you little bro." She sighed. “Happy in love.” She smiled again. Carla looked from her brother's face to Steve's and back again. “Even I can see that.” 

Where is Manny?

You might be wondering where that cute as a button Greek boy is, who occasionally shares my bed... although, not so much this year, thinking about it. Well, quite frankly, I'm wondering where he is too? I decided not to call him, just to see where that lead and... nothing. Not a word. Not even a phone call, which is unusual for him. He may be, seemingly, incapable of getting himself over here, but he's a phoner. He phone's regularly, just to say he'd been in the area, more recently out playing pool with Stuart, but he didn't drop in. Not seeing him, unless I drive over there - he's always happy for me to drive over there, but no car lately - but silence is really unusual. And with his penchant for popping pills when he's down... I guess I should be more concerned than I am.

I'm torn, between moving on with my life or staying attached to Manny.

You see, I've got my sister's car tonight. 

Where is Missy?

I went away Saturday morning. I didn't see Missy until tonight, she wasn't around last night, or this morning. To tell you the truth, I was so busy thinking about Fred that I forgot her altogether.

Tonight, as I got to the front gate, she was four houses down, on the front fence, screaming her head off.

"Help, my food bowl is empty!"

You've got to love a cat's sense of humour. 

bolago

Delicate Light

What a beautiful morning, crisp and fresh. The birds are singing in the trees. The tinkle of the waterfall plays, as it feeds water to the stream running through the garden. The swans are swimming on the lake, in pairs. Daffodils and blossom sparkle yellow. Everything is green.

A lap-top in the garden, is impossible to use. I can't see anything, other than the relection of the glorious day.

My idiot brother has bought mum tickets to Brisbane out of Avalon. My sister and I are both in the country, relatively close to Melbourne airport. So pretty soon I have to drive across country to Avalon, pick up my mother, drop her off home and then drop my sister in Bundora, at a friend who lives near her work, as she is without her licence for a month. She got caught doing 148 k.p.h. up the Calder. She said she was in a hurry.

Clearly, I agreed. She graciously leant me her car.

Four hours of driving, or sitting in a garden on a glorious day? Being dropped at the train, complete with period train station, as the sun goes down. I know which I'd rather. I think being carless has its advantages. It kind of slows me down a bit, allows me to see more of the journey.