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 I was home sick for the afternoon. What else is a boy to do...

Doctor, Doctor

A female dwarf goes to a doctor complaining of an embarrassing itch in the groin area.

The doctor looks her up and down, picks her up and stands her on his desk. He lifts up her skirt and puts his head under. A little perplexed, she hears snip, snip, snip, snip. The doctor emerges from under her skirt.

"How's that?" he asks

"Well, it's a lot better actually" she says, "but...........it's still there."

Undaunted, he dives back under her skirt. Snip, snip, snip, snip. Out he comes.

"How's that?" he asks again more confident.

"That's wonderful! What did you do?" she asked.

With a grin the doctor replied, "I trimmed the top of your Ugg boots."

Windy Tuesday

The wind was fantastic, this morning, it blew strong and hard. It makes me feel alive when it blows as strongly as that. The power is fantastic, the motion is exhilarating. I love leaning into it and being held up, as if by magic.

I waited for a second tram, as the first one that slid by was full and I was feeling particularly lazy, not wanting to stand. Gusts buffeted me this way and that, as I observed Gertrude Street up and down. Trams can some times come one straight after another, I was hoping for that. It didn't come that quickly, but quickly enough. Just after I'd given up and had started walking toward the CBD. I only got to the other side of Napier Street, by the time I saw the boom appear just below the power lines, down at Smith Street.

It was still pretty full and as I got on at the front, I had to make my way down the car to the machine.

"Jees, dude," said one chick, who was standing right in the middle of the carriage and by who I had to push, because that's what one does on public transport, apparently. Well, she wasn't making any signs of moving. I pushed passed her with no apology and shoved her out of my way, as I listened to her pathetic whine.

Well, get out of my way then.

Two old chicks sat opposite the ticket machine who gabbed on together about some insurance claim one of them had something to do with. "He did the right thing, he did the wrong thing, my snatch is old and grey because of him... " I couldn't stand by the two of them for too long, old Nasal Nelly and Menopausal Henna.

"Oh yes. Yes. Yes. Yes." Each "yes" sounded like a door closing on an unoiled hinge.

I could still hear their nasal whine when I was in the next compartment.

Luberlips was on the tram with his girlfriend. I don't know if everyone has a person who makes their skin crawl, but I do and I see him on the 86 tram from time to time. He gets on with his girlfriend, who looks like a rather agricultural version of Sigourney Weaver. I think he might be part fish; same small eyes on either side of his head, same mouth opening for air, same hue to his scales across his prominent forehead. He has a mouth like a cats arse, eyes like a pig and lips like every open-shirt, gold-chain bejewelled uncle you have ever come across.

So of course, as soon as nerdy boy put his game boy back into his back pack, next to his lap top and his copy of Hustler and got off, Lubo Boy and Ripley took the chance to sit opposite me, just as a taunt. They only did kissy faces for a split second, thank fuck.

What you resist persists, hey?

There was a fat blond chick, with her hair pulled into an unbecoming pig tail, in a black cardigan covered in dandruff, who must have called everyone she knew in the short time she was on. I don't reckon she was talking to anyone, just pretending to punch the buttons, to make her truly unremarkable self feel/look better, as though she, actually, had some friends.

I try to act small on the tram.

There was a boy who smelt like Brut 33, as I was getting off, with his carefully shaved gottee and his round arse. He must have been about twenty. He smelt like he would never be up wind of any one, for any period of time, without killing them. Did he have a whole bottle splashed over him?

Boy was it strong. I thanked the universe for the fresh air.

Monday

Yes, well, today went okay. Surprisingly. (nervous smile) Beck was back from her week in Queensland, refreshed, relaxed, talking about a beach shake some where, some day.

The day just cruised.

 

This Morning

Oh yes, feeling great. I needed that walk to work this morning, let me tell you. I was a bit wobbly at George Street, as I stepped out in front of the left-hand-turner with attitude. Well, it could have been seen as attitude, but really it was confusion mixed with incapacity and a lot of hope. I was thanking the lordy do da day for waking up at 6.45, let me tell you. So I was out of bed before 7.30. I sooo didn't want to sleep in, I sooo didn't want to be late after getting here all week, last week, at 9.15/9.30. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. But I can't do it this week.

I've got the jitters, just a bit. My eye sight is a bit pre migraine, except without the pain, of course. I'm a bit dazed and a bit delirious. Well, not so delirious but certainly not cranking on all eight, just yet.

Oh universe, why do we do this to ourselves?

Time to keep my head down and my excuses up. I don't want to be questioned too vigorously today. No siree Bob! No long sentences and complex meanings from me, today. Nah, not interested. Don't talk to anyone!

Definitely more coffee!

 

Happy Birthday

I gave Nicholas some pot for his birthday, Friday night. I rapped it in gold paper and tied it with a red ribbon. It still looked like a stingy present when I'd finished, but Nicholas liked it. I knew he would.

We ate in Richmond and then went on to the Exchange. My, my, the Exchange is filled with strapping, twenty something lads, now isn't it.

"This is my cousin, Luke," said Nicholas, as soon as we'd got there.

OMG! He looked like Farmer Dave, except prettier; brighter eyes, stronger aura, whiter teeth. He just gazed back, straight boy bemused. I had him hooked. 3 e's, remember.

It must be against some old law of equity, and well being, that the men in one family should be sooo gifted in the looks department. I tell you, some great, great grandfather, of their tribe, must have been well, a god. Remember, there is cousin Craig, also.

Some woman sat down next to Nicholas and said to him, Please God, tell me you're straight.

Nicholas always acts so bemused, like he doesn't kind of get it.

Sophie was being her usual cool self. I'm never sure if the two of us ever really connect, but we seem to have a few laughs. The was insane Kathy, who stole food from the children's plates that night we went out for dinner. Kathy's boyfriend. Sophie's boyfriend. Some really fat chick who swore we'd met before, a number of times, she said. I know I should feel bad about that, but I truly don't.

Three e's. I don't know how much crystal meth, as Tim just kept rubbing it on my teeth intermittently.

The music was good.

I do hope I didn't get too intense with Luke. What I remember was that I had a small ecky fantasy going on about him in my head as we danced.

Tim got really hammered and couldn't communicate for most of the night.

We left at 6am.

We crashed and landed a short taxi ride after that. We were back at Tim and Nicholas' and it was that stare-at-nothing come-down zone. If you listen very closely you can almost hear the communal hum. I tried to build up the courage (and the energy) to go out into the day, to get myself home, before the sun came up completely. I don't want to fry like a vampire. There were no lights on, we were all slumped. I wanted to be Samantha Stevens and just twinkle my nose.

I was looking at the distortion of the stripes in the denim that Nicholas' cock made in his jeans. Nicholas was playing PlayStation. I think Tim had crashed. Nobody was talking. I was just staring straight ahead. As soon as I had Nicholas' cock completely out lined, I decided it was time to get myself out of there and get home. I'm sure he didn't notice. I had no idea what I was doing. I was just gazing at something blue.

The gentle veil of night had started to lift, had started to fade and it was lighting up outside, in the distance, through windows and doorways, in our far away imaginations or at the limit of where our eyes could see, in the distance some place. I knew I had to get going, get out, get home. I was exhausted, I just knew that I had to do it - get home, get to my place, get to bed, under my doona. Everyone else were settling in quietly. I knew I had that long walk...

Oh... that walk up George Street? Is that the longest street in the history of the world, or what?

David was up and about, off to teach, or off to class. He started singing the "sunshine song" to me and I remember hearing myself mumble, I've only just got home, I'm off to bed.

Now, I thought this was at 5am/6am, or something close to that, but David told me, later, it was 1pm, he'd been to class and he had just come home for a short time to look for something when he bumped into me. Goodness, I must have been in bed for a few hours, before that. I don't remember that? At all!

I've pretty much slept the rest of the weekend.

I've been pointed at, laughed at and told to sit down, also, and that's just while I've been at home. 

Day 8 - the Continuing Saga

I haven't smoked for 8 days, 8 whole days. That is 240 cigarettes that I haven't smoked. I can't imagine doing anything 240 times, let alone raising fire to my mouth that many times. Today, the cravings are swirling like a far off wind, like something is unsettled in my distance. It's not close up, it's not something I feel that I have to do, it is not something that is begging to be answered, or needs to be fought off, but it is there, like a dripping tap in the next room, or shooters over the hills firing their guns. It's not immediate, it is not directly apparent, but it is still there.

Bored in the Afternoon

Rebecca is away in Queensland sunning herself. Or was it some family reunion? I should listen more closely. Consequently, I've been acting like a junior staff member, all week. Ah, fuck it, I say. I’ve had long lunch hours for Monday and Tuesday, went shopping Monday arvo and have been going home early. And getting in late. Good thing the people I work with are so self-focussed, nobody notices, other than Rebecca. Monday, I just said I was sick and had to go, not even bothering to sound or act sick. Nobody checks up on me, nobody notices if I come or go. We are a small department all unto ourselves, Beck and I, and nobody cares what I do. But then again, we have HR women in Sydney who are known to spend more time in David Jones than they do in the office, so maybe it is a company wide affliction.

I love new shirts for work, as the shirts you wear so quickly become your uniform. It makes me feel new and refreshed when I catch a glimpse of my reflection, at work, in a mirror or a window, in a new shirt. Some how, I look different.

I bought three shirts on Monday afternoon. I got bored and wandered out for the afternoon to size up DFO. I was, actually, after a frame for a photo of Manny, but I bought shirts instead.

I bought a pink shirt. I'm not really a pink shirt kind of boy, to much latent poofterisim, probably. I don't think I've had a pink shirt before, not a pink work shirt that is. I wore it with my favourite grey houndstooth pants and my black corduroy suit jacket.

Pale pink is a fresh colour, bright and vibrant. It suits me well, like white does.

I bought a brown shirt with a very fine white stripe. I wore that today with my black pants and black wool suit jacket.

Now, all the boys are wearing pink shirts, it seems. Steve, the handsome Asian boy, was in one today, he looked very sharp. I wanted to look him in the eye and adjust his tie (not that it needed adjusting) and run my hands down his chest, he looked so good. My fingers twitched when he spoke to me. The pink with his dark features was very suave - black pants, black shoes, just his beige socks ruined the look.

Tuesday, Late

I did a photo shoot with Manny, to celebrate getting my camera working again. I got a shot that would be great to put in a frame. I don't know if I want to be that kind of boyfriend.

I have gorgeous photos of Manny and crap photos of me.

I'm going on a diet, that's for sure. I'm going back to the gym, David wants to. He thinks me, him and Shane should train out together. I'm going to get myself back into shape. Eeks! I've put on 5 kilos, it shows.

According to "The Secret" I should focus all my energy on being a health, non-smoker. I shouldn't even allow for a second the thought of failing at quitting smoking.

I haven't smoked since last Thursday.

I am a non-smoker.

I went to see Miss Saigon, with Luke and Mark. It needed more oomph! They all sang well, the boys, particularly, sang up high. They were a good looking cast. But, they just needed that extra spark.

As Shane said, That's Tuesday night for you.

Sunday Night at Home

It was like old home week, at my place, last night, as we watched Big Brother. Fancy it being Demet, it should have been that bitch Emma. I like Emma's honesty, I really do, but does she have to be so bitter all of the time?

Manny turned up, actually, I picked him up. I was just on the parallel freeway universe to his place, when he rang from the city saying he'd be home by 2.30. I picked him up at the train station, I was waiting outside in the car just like a real boyfriend.

I spoke to Tom, as I waited in the car. Tom is definitely in Mark W's camp. I can't remember what he'd said about Mark W, but I told Tom that Shane has only ever referred to Mark W as the grumpy cunt. I should have known better, Tom can't keep his mouth shut, but my cute boyfriend was sliding his arse into the passenger seat saying,

"This is a surprise." So I hung up.

We hung out at Manny's for a few hours. When he was cooking his food, for the next however many meals, I decided I should call Tom back just to clarify.

I launched straight into it, as soon as he picked up the phone. "I feel I might have spoken out of turn and gone against all of my house mate vows, just before."

"I'm not going to say anything," laughed Tom with that laugh that even he didn't believe was sincere.

"When I say Shane only ever refers to Mark W as a grumpy cunt, to tell you the truth, he hardly even mentions Mark W at all."

"Is it worse being spoken about," said Tom. "Or not being spoken about?"

"He's too caught up with Matt, or he's been very quiet in his room," I said. "So I don't want you to go repeating..."

"I wouldn't say anything," said Tom. "My lips are sealed."

"Shane has bearly said anything."

Tom said that Mark W has become reclusive and has locked himself away at home with bottles of red wine and crystal and if nobody hears from him soon they might all have to go around with a ladder to make sure he's not self harming. I'm making the bit up about self harming, I just thought it sounded (lesbian) dramatic. But nobody has heard from him, he's doing his man-retreating-to-his-cave-when-he's-hurt routine.

Tom will blab, it's in his DNA, he can't help it.

I dropped Manny off at a friend's place, who needed a shoulder, on the way to my house. He said he'd be at my place by Big Brother time.

Shane came home from being out with Matt. When I'd slipped off down the supermarket to get t-bags and toilet paper, ten minutes before BB, Manny arrived.

"I'm letting strange men in now," said Shane. Shane hasn't met Manny before. "But, he's pretty cute, so I thought he'd be allowed in." Manny blushed. I rubbed his cheek as he flushed with embarrassment and thought he was, in fact, very cute.

Mark and Luke turned up just before show time.

"Hi guys," said Manny.

"Long time no see," they said, as they smiled at Man.

David turned up just after show time, to meet Manny for the first time... in a long time. Manny's old training partner used to be David's boyfriend, however many years ago.

"See, he isn't a figment of my imagination," I said.

"And about time you made an appearance," said David.

He-who-shall-not-be-mentioned arrived last, sitting next to Manny. As the two of them aren't into BB, they prattled away together. There were shhh's!!!! all around.

David & his Morning Coffee

Lovely Morning

I love waking up at Bolago, they have a coffee machine. Yum!

Other people like the fresh country air, or the kangaroos grazing on the front lawn, as the first visual of the morning. Some like the garden and it's flowers, some like the wide, open spaces, the fire place crackling with red, hot embers, or the grape vine across the doorway, with its yellow, autumn leaves heavy with morning dew.

I, myself, like the rich aroma of the freshly brewed coffee and the peace and quiet before anyone else awakes.

I love the fresh air, crisp and sweetly clean in my lungs. Perfumed with eucalyptus, as pure as nothing-on-the-ground-but-leaves. There is an earthy, bark dampness to it, before the sun rises and evaporates all of mother nature's tears. It smells likes it is from the dirt, from the ground, the soil filter apparent in each inhale.

Ah, the Weekend

I gave up smoking. This is the 3rd day.

Of course, the cold helped. Well? I had given up twenty four hours before the onset of the cold, to be truthful. But, it did help me say no to the joints, last night, I just didn't feel like it, didn't feel like I could have inhaled anything. But, I didn't feel like the red or white wine, either. I didn't feel the chocolate log.

Friday nights are for watching television and falling asleep on the couch before midnight.

Matt cooked Green Curry. Shane rolled joints and filled schooner sized glasses with red wine.

David's Mark - I know, I know, we are over dosing on Marks, all 3 of us have one - complained about Big Brother, but then gave himself away as having watched it during the week, with some detail he knew. We were straight onto him, he had to confess.

Asia became the new Pussycat Doll. 

I'm Sick

I'm home sick. Grrr! I tried to ignore it. I tried to tell myself I'd be all right once I got to the office. I tried, I tried, I tried. But, when I could feel the beads of perspiration running over my forehead, as I sat on the tram, as I went from hot to cold and back, I knew my best effort wasn't going to be enough.

I was in the office for no more than 1/2 an hour, did the one thing I knew I had to get done, for a harridan, bitch lawyer, in Brisbane and then I was out of there.

I've been doing comparative studies on woman who come back from parental leave on a part time basis and then put in for all the extra hours that they work. You see, part timers can put in for extra hours where full timers can't. These woman are highly paid, in the first place, 160K and they have a cheek putting in for extra time. It is, actually, costing the company more for these woman to work part time than it would if we employed a full timer. They are abusing the system.

Anyway, bitch harridan Brisbane lawyer fits into this category. She's been on my case for a week, over nothing - actually, over circumstances that were of her own making, however... all the time she was making demands on me - "I need this now," she screamed down the phone. "Me, me, me, me, me," she said, like the child she has just squirted out her snatch (if it had turned out to be a Labrador, I wouldn't have been surprised) - all I could think was, you'll get yours, and soon, by all accounts, as I've made her a case study in my report, unbeknownst to her. There are a number of awful bitches I could have used - what is it with senior women in their thirties, who go off and have a child, it fries their brains. I call it baby-rattle syndrome, they lose their minds. There are a handful of them who are truly horrible - think they are entitled to every thing just because they have produced off spring and have been told all their lives that the can have it all, just because they are women - but the Brisbane bitch was the one who made herself the biggest target this week, so there she is in my report, mentioned by name.

I emailed my report to the C.O.O. just after I email Ms Horrible her figures.

Damn, fucken colds! That's all I've got to say. I was going hot and cold, as I waited for the lift, at 9.30am. My ears were blocking up. I'm sure I had the shakes.

Damn colds! They make me mean.

I did manage to divert up Elizabeth Street, on my way home, to get a new power cord for my digital camera. Why I thought of that, today, I don't know. But the battery is now charging as I type. How long has that been? Since my car went up in flames? The old cord was in the boot, which I didn't think of until a few weeks after the wreck was taken away.

Now if I can just remember how to use it? Why, oh why, did I buy such a complicated camera?

Boy, have cameras moved on. I only bought my Powershot S80 a year ago and now, just looking at the display models, as I waited for the nice lady assisting me to get my charge cord, 8 mega pixel and 10 mega pixel cameras for 5 and 6 hundred dollars.

I was going out drinking with Tom, tonight. We were going over to Wesley's, to hold him upside down by the ankles to see what fell out, as Perry is interstate. Even Manny was threatening to come out. I haven't seen Tom for ages.

Ah well, that's all cancelled now.

Where's my blanket?

I went to bed and watched the three Lord of the Rings movies.

view from my office window, you've just got to love those clouds

Meme

PART 1: On the Outside

Me: Christian - that's the first name and not the brainless, ideologically unsound mythical rules for living in a real world.

Date of birth: 14th Sept

Current status: long term and short term b/f's, although one may be up for reclassification, right about now - I wrote this bit a few days ago, it's amazing how quickly things change, as I'm back in love with Man, today. Or does that just mean I'm fickle?

Eye color: hazel - depending on the day. Green with orange centres.

Hair color: shades of brown, depending on the distance from my last hair cut and the bottle of dye.

Right or left handed: right. Is that the hand we give with? Give money, give pleasure, give directions?

Zodiac: Virgo - Virgo 2 to be precise. Typically Virgo, too.

PART 2: On the Inside

My heritage: all of my grandparents were English, born frighteningly close together. Thank the universe for crap travel back then, or I could have been born with two heads or a penchant for my sister.

My fear: heights, lung cancer

My weakness: cigarettes, cakes, pastries, donuts.

My perfect pizza: seafood and artichoke

PART 3: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow

Your first thought waking up: I'm home on my own, I can blog with impunity - sad but true - before I have to leave.

Tomorrow: quitting smoking

Your bedtime: usually midnight, depending on how Big Brother Up Late is going

Most missed memory: my grandparents, great uncles and aunties. My wonderful father.

PART 4: Your Pick

Pepsi or Coke: Coke, if I had to choose, but neither really. I tend not to drink soft drinks. Now for coffee...

McD or Burger King: neither, unless I'm pissed or out of it and then it would be Maccas. But neither, really. I live in Fitzroy, there is just much better food.

Single or group dates: single, now a days, but group once. Now, I just want one set of eyes to concentrate on. One heart, one mind, one body.

Adidas or Nike: Adidas. It is no surprise to me that the Nike shop closed down in Melbourne, talk about crap service. My vintage Romes still get an outing from time to time.

Lipton Tea or Nestea: Nerada and lots of it if I've got marijuana to accompany it.

Chocolate or vanilla: vanilla, from a bean

Cappuccino or coffee: isn't that the same thing?

PART 5: Do You...?

Smoke: Yes

Curse: Jesus fuck me Christ the cunts are expensive

PART 6: In the Past Month, Have You...?

Drunk alcohol: a little, not too much socialising of late.

Gone to the mall: no, spare me. I hate shopping. I only do it if I really have to, under sufferance. Dodgy gay gene? Maybe?

Been on stage: no, not in the last month. Although, all of life is a stage.

Eaten sushi: yes. I haven't been able to eat it for the longest time, having overdosed on it last year.

PART 7: What Were You Doing...?

1 minute ago: blogging

1 hour ago: blogging

4 1/2 hours ago: sleeping, dreaming of Zorbs and the swarthy, auburn-haired, Prince Zebulon - with his thick tighs and his sexy smile.

1 month ago: you can read for yourself

1 year ago: Oh, you know, wondering when I'm actually going to get my life together to stop blogging and finish off all those short stories and novels that I have half written.

PART 8: Finish the Sentence

I love: my boyfriends, my friends, travelling the world, old cars, old houses, old things, people (some), tat, my cat, beautiful sunny winters days, real coffee ground fresh from beans and lemon slice, which is what I'm consuming as I complete this.

I feel: I have to embrace Manny and make him my own, love him more and criticise him less.

I hate: John Howard, religion, stupid things that don't need to happen, like knocking over my coffee.

I hide: nothing, usually. This blog.

I miss: my multi million dollar trust fund

I need: a little peace and quiet to get some real writing done.

Getting Close To You

Kids Are Running the World

I cleaned out and old cupboard and tossed a whole lot of old pills into the rubbish. They weren't prescription drugs, mostly old lotions and potions long out of date. But, what about the children, you say? I did feel a slight twinge, but, I would say, keep your children out of the rubbish dump, unless you are aspiring to be Fagan.

What responsibility do I have to other people's kids, when I choose not to have kids myself? Why should I be responsible for other people's kids?

And my bathroom cupboard is clean. Yay!

I hate 40 kmp speed limits. Or 50 kmp, or whatever... If there is actually a school crossing, fair enough, but so often there isn't? Parents, teach your wretched children to stay off the road, will you! It's why so many adult pedestrians are irresponsible.

We need to teach more personal responsibility. It isn't always someone else's fault, you know.

I don't often look at porn on the internet, but if I feel the need to do so, I want to be able to. Parents should supervise their children's internet viewing, instead of calling for censorship.

How long will it be before blogs are censored?

Again I say, kids aren't running the world. Just because parents of today have some psycho drama guilt about working too hard and not having enough time for their kids, it doesn't mean the rest of the world is guilted out and made to give kids every thing to compensate.

Is it always true that you get back what you put in?

I may need a kid to look after me when I'm old, but with my attitude, that is hardly likely, huh? May be we should all have kids, it sure a damn sight cheaper than a deposit on an old age home. But then you need to have two, you can't populate the world with only children. Financially, the rest is just free fall, till death.

I am The Hierophant

Divine Wisdom. Manifestation. Explanation. Teaching.

All things relating to education, patience, help from superiors. The Hierophant is often considered to be a Guardian Angel.

The Hierophant's purpose is to bring the spiritual down to Earth. Where the High Priestess between her two pillars deals with realms beyond this Earth, the Hierophant (or High Priest) deals with worldly problems. He is well suited to do this because he strives to create harmony and peace in the midst of a crisis. The Hierophant's only problem is that he can be stubborn and hidebound. At his best, he is wise and soothing, at his worst, he is an unbending traditionalist.

 

Hello Death. We've Been Waiting

What do you think happens after you die?

– nothing. I'm a speck of dust in the history of mankind. Gone. Forgotten, all to soon.

Do you believe in heaven?

– No. It is a human construct to illustrate their ignorance.

Do you believe in hell?

– only if I have to watch a fat chick masturbate.

Do you think you will be judged after you die?

– After I die? A lifeless corpse being berated by worms? Is that what you mean?

How many people will attend your funeral?

– I'm not having a funeral - the simple and the stupid can keep those irrelevant traditions for themselves. You know, so they know the loved one is, actually, dead.

Would you rather that people cry or laugh at your funeral?

– (not actually having one withstanding) Laugh and be irreverent, most definitely.

What's better: shot in the head or downing pills?

– They are the only choices?

What should be written on your tombstone?

– It's just nice lying here.

Would you rather die childless or divorced?

– childless. I want all of my lovers to be with me until the end. But then again, I'm supposed to out live them all to spare them the pain.

Do you want to die in the morning, afternoon, or night?

– At dusk, just as the light turns to dark.

If you had a million and a half dollars to leave, whom would you leave it to?

– I'm not leaving a will. Let the bastards fight over it to the death.

What kind of flowers do you want at your funeral?

– Lillies and Julia roses.

On your deathbed, which moment will you most remember?

– Mark's face and every moment I have ever spent with him.

Have you ever watched someone die?

– My Rottweiler died in my arms? I watched the life disappear from his brown eyes. I watched them turn hard and glassy

What's the most gruesome death you can imagine?

– cancer.

How often do you think about death?

– Often. Too often.

Is fear of dying your number one fear?

– I don't see it as a fear, I see it as a process, a conclusion. I fear every thing and every one I would miss. Or is that, who would miss me?

Do you believe in reincarnation?

– No, I don't.

Have you ever wished someone you loved were dead?

– No, I haven't. That's a contradiction in terms, surely?

Do you consider life short or long?

– I don't know, I'm only half way through. Ask me as the dusk turns from light to dark.

Do you think you have a soul?

– I think I have life. I think I am the sum of all of my experiences. I think I have energy that I put out into the world. I think that will all cease to exist the moment I die.

Assisted suicide for a terminally ill person is:

– wonderful.

If you were cremated, where would you like your ashes?

– Under the gum trees, in the Aussie bush.

– or blown into the eyes of everyone I have ever loved.

Would you choose to be immortal, if you could be?

– No. The only point to life is the journey and the people you meet living it.

What do you think of ouija boards?

– They make good cake trays.

Thank you Ric.

 

the thinker

Lazy Day

I didn't do any thing yesterday, just home, left to my own devices. Jacked off twice, I was bored. I watched 3 movies, Intimacy, Don's Plum, Rules of Engagement. I just wanted to lie on the couch under my red blanket and do nothing. It was that kind of day. I fell asleep sometime when it was light and woke sometime when it was dark. Mission accomplished. I wished it was raining. The house was in darkness, just the glow from the television, just how I like it. I wished I’d had some pot, but I didn't. Shane was screwing Matt, which was the reason, I found out later, that he didn't move in. That’s cool. He could hardly string a sentence together, all except that he was lying on top of the Italian, after a big night Friday. Frying pan, fire, was all I could think. He’ll see me today, he said. I said something about mother’s day and he didn't seem to comprehend. I ate a lamb kebab. I went out looking like shit, so I pulled on my favourite hoodie. I turned Manny down, he rang some time while I was enjoying the dark and the quiet and, of course, interrupted one of the movies. He banged on about the lump on his nose and how he was going to go and see some one about it next week. He said come over, that little Manny was expecting me, right there and then, if you get my meaning. But all I could think about was the fact that he was 100 metres away Friday night and that he couldn't even get it together to come over, nay, didn't want to come over and see me. He'd been at 80 watching movies. I think at that point, I decided that I was going to dump him. Yeah, yeah, I know, I always say that and all it takes is for him to slide his shirt up and pull his pants down and look at me in that way. But, if we were ever in the same room, it would fucking help. I called Mark and Luke and Luke said they weren't doing any thing and that I should have gone up there. I thought about taking off, there and then, picking Manny up on the way, and screwing him under the bright, country moon. But, I thought, fuck him. Step into my life, of your own accord, buddy!David came home from teaching and called Shane, to find out where he was and then went to bed. He's teaching all day tomorrow. Missy jumped up and nestled in the blanket and meowed softly and rubbed her head against my hand, as if to say, don't worry, I love you. I patted her head and chucked her under the chin and she purred loudly and I called her my little princess. 

The Sun Sets on Josh's Time Here

Royal Park

In Through the Out Door

Josh left. He just grumped at me when I asked him if he'd washed the sheets, jokingly, not expecting him to have, as he whirled around trying to get every thing done, before the taxi arrived at 6pm. “Give me some fucken credit,” he said. “Washed, folded and dried.”
He left forty dollars on the kitchen bench for the bills. "Since you keep going on about it, he said."
I asked once... just to needle him, sure, but only once. That's what it's got to. He's so stingy with his money, any mention of it sends him into a spin. I worked them out this morning, they came to about ninety dollars each. He never paid the last of his rent. I didn't ask about that and strangely, he didn't mention it.
We just stood in the kitchen in the remaining minutes before the taxi arrived and had very little to say to one another. How long had he been here? Five months.
He arrived a friend, botted off me non-stop and left a... judgement reserved. See ya, buddy. One day?
I had my hair cut, finally. Yey! Well, it was either that or curlers. Ha, ha. I like it long, but it's too hard to manage. It was about three weeks over due. I had to go back to my old hairdresser, as my new hairdresser, by default – he-who-can't-be-mentioned left the salon and went back to teaching – is moving, from Fitzroy, because a needle exchange is opening up directly across the street. They can't have that, oh no, no, no. It's no surprise to me the owner lives in Templestowe.
I introduced myself as Christian Fletcher speaking to the old hairdresser who, halfway through the appointment booking said, "Is this Chris from xxxx?"
"Yes, Tony, it is."
"What's with the serious voice? I didn't recognise you."
"I'm at work," I said. "I guess that must be my work voice."
"I know Chris from xxxx, not Mr Fletcher," he laughed. "Don't use the other voice again, it's intimidating." We both laughed. I didn't realise I had a work voice.
He has a new apprentice who is amazingly handsome. He's a grunge boy with tats up his arm. Black hair, dark features, gorgeous smile. He wears his jeans under his arse, exposing his pert, round butt. The cops told him to pull his pants up, late last Friday on the street. When he and his mate – I didn't get a gay vibe or a straight vibe from him – mumbled fuck off under their breath the coppers arrested him for drunk and disorderly and locked him up for a few hours. My, my, it is conservative times that we live in, to be sure.
The apprentice lifted the back of his black t-shirt, cheekily. "See, it's not so bad."
"No, not bad at all," I said. Very nice, I thought.

Shane came over and got the key. He moves in today. Next! He looks shell-shocked, but, then again, he and Mark W have been together for five years, so it’s pretty much to be expected.
“I’m just going to bring my clothes over,” said Shane. “I just have to get out of there. I have to get away from Mark. I just need to get out.” He looked exhausted.
Shane's an aggressive bottom, so I guess we'll have a procession of big blokes through here, in the next little while, giving him comfort.

Me, David and Shane, being house buddies, it’ll be fun.

A Night on the Couch

Manny is going through a weird period. He's not happy. His poisonous, born again Christian mother is on his case, which always depresses him. You're going to hell, you know that don't you, she says. For your wicked lifestyle choice.

How many valium he takes is in direct response to how often he sees his mother.

He said, Thursday night, that he had someone else interested in him and he didn't know what to do. You know, because I can't commit to him. I guess that is supposed to make me sweep him up in my arms and tell him he's mine forever.

You do what you have to do, Man, I said.

I think commitment develops over time. I don't think giving it a title makes it any more real or any more permanent, or any more committed. It is what it is. It is about two people who want to be with each other, who, pretty much, only have eyes for each other. That is the two of us. But, because I won't give it an official label, because I won't call it something, will you marry me, Manny still thinks of it as temporary. I've been with him for 4 years, I've been monogamous with him for about three years. He says it is the longest relationship he's had.

But if you want to be boyfriends... you know Manny, you would have to, actually, step into my life, from time to time. Like tonight, Manny called and asked if I was sober. I'd only had one joint with David, we were watching The Note Book - American schmaltz. David said it was one of his favourite movies. I laughed at it's corniness.

Sure I am Man. Where are you?

I'm just around the corner.

Come over.

If I come over can you drive me home?

I'm watching a movie. I was in track suit pants. I was on the couch with a rug over me and a cushion. I was in my bunny slippers. There was another joint in my sights.

I thought we could go to my place, he said.

Come over here and watch the rest of the movie with me, I'll cuddle you and make you forget you angst and I'll drive you home after.

Can't you come to my place?

Well sure, after the movie.

I just want to get home, replied Manny. Just you and me.

Come over here.

Nah, I'll call you tomorrow.

Okay, see ya.

And he was just around the corner.

David and I smoked what was left of the pot watching Big Brother, the games and Up late. We cooked pesto pasta and ate yogurt. We watched the search for the new Pussycat Doll, against my better judgement, as David has been living being a new pussycat doll all week, since watching the show last Friday. He's been breaking into one of their routines on whim, all week, all over the house. The answer I got to the washing machine problem last weekend was, I bet you wish your girlfriend was hot like me...

autumn leaves

Autumn at Last

The leaves have started falling, finally. It seemed weird that we are nearly at the end of autumn and the leaves are still hanging onto the branches, grimly. But, they were starting to blow up Bourke Street in gusts of wind, today. It was kind of lovely, a living carpet of triangular leaves floating above the concrete, swirling one way and whooshing another. They floated across my feet, drifted around my ankles and then were gone again.

I think autumn is my very favourite time of year. Even late. I must go down to Fitzroy Gardens and watch the yellow fall across the sea of green, watch the black branches of the elms start to appear, watch the world fall slowly away to the sparseness of winter.

Big coats, scarves, maybe gloves... er... maybe not. Feel the bite of cold on my face, feel that certain kind of alive that only crisp, clear mornings give.

I love the seasons, I love the change. It's true, I care less for summer now that it is becoming so hot and if it wasn't for the dark, maybe, winter could be my favourite. Although, it is hard to beat the colour of autumn or the awakening that comes with spring. Maybe, it is these in between seasons that I like the best?

Cute

Audit Guy # 4

The auditors are in, it's that time of year. We have two, usually, who turn up every year. Every few years one moves on and the other moves up, to lead the new fole, all dough-eyed and eager. There's been the good looking athletic, blokey type with the nerdy protege. Then the nerdy one lead the new sweet Indian one, whose chatty, with a dry whit. The latest protegae is Peter. But I chatted to the sweet Indian boy for the first day, he's very cool. He's the sort of guy you feel as though you have always known.

I've got a new guy, Harnesh said. You'll meet him later.

He talked football with Rachel. They are both from Geelong, so, naturally, they are crazy Geelong supporters.

Then today. Cough, cough. Hi I'm Peter. Dark hair, fair skin, a couple of pimples. Blue eyes, like shattered glass. He looked like Tom Cruise, twenty years ago. Big, white shinny teeth. High cheek bones. Dark eyes. Big chest. Nice waiste.

The view is fantastic, he said. Just breath taking.

Yes, it is, I said. The bay is beautiful, it has such different moods.

I bet you get that a lot?

When we first moved to these offices we got told that a lot.

I bet you did, he said. Big smile. Bright eyes, blue. Black hair, my very favourite, I thought.

We wanted to put a sign up saying, Yes, we've seen the view, can we move on, I said.

He laughed. He had gorgeous eyes when he laughed, sparkly. He nearly batted them at me.

We're used to it now, said Rachel.

It's nice to sit back occasionally and just take it in, I said. It's good for the soul.

It's natural light, said Peter. You should be in an internal office. He rubbed his eyes like a three year

old. You end up like... he said. Big smile. We all laughed. He caught my gaze.

He spoke so well. Private school. Have to be. I’m your new auditor, Peter.

God, your gorgeous, I thought.

He was glad to meet us. Shook our hands. Nice and big. He made eye contact. Nice and warm.

He talked a lot, described the process. He spoke precisely. Clearly, kind of practised, but still with a little innocent charm. His eyes twinkled.

He needed recs from Rachel. She did them. He focused on her, intently.

He was solid. Built like a football player. Nice shape. Nice bulge. Big dick. Big package.

He was looking at me, as I looked up. Pretty face. He couldn’t help but smile. He blushed and looked away. He couldn’t hide that I’d noticed. He looked back. He couldn’t help but smile. He widen his eyes and came out of character, just for a second, by nodding his head like he was interested. Just momentarily. Gone immediately. That nod said, I have got a big cock.

He looked back at Rachel. She was asking him what samples he wanted. What was the criteria?

He looked sideways several times. Flirting, was he?

Did he want to pick them, or could we just pick them at random. We could pick them at random. He could pick with Rachel, that was fine. It didn’t matter who picked. He was polite and charming. He said twenty five, at some stage. He smiled a lot. Three months worth. Same forensic drill. Small samples, just for an initial report.

Black pants. Nice arse, solid. Stood squarely. He seemed kind of distracted after that and kept looking in my direction, smiling, picking up on any thing I said.

If the initial report was 100% there may not be any need for further testing. He wasn't sure. Harnesh would decide.

I smiled back. I sat back and watched him.

So are we 100%, I asked.

So far. Sweet smile.

Whatever you want to check, I'm not afraid, I said. There's no other way to be than organised.

So every thing was okay? asked Rachel.

Every thing was great, he said. We found every thing.

Aren’t people like this every where?

No, he said. Crooked smile.

Rachel got him his files and I gave him a lift with the excess ones, back to his desk. He looked back when I returned to my office. I smiled back at him. He blushed again.

He came in a bit later said that there was one thing he was having trouble with. We both helped him with a complicated formula. He was charming. He caught me checking him out a couple of times. He has dimples when he smiles.

He came over later and thanked us. I’m back he said. Smiling with the usual twinke.

Did we pass? I asked.

Why, yes. Of course, said Peter, politely. You passed with flying colours.

Thanks for every thing, said Rachel.

I'll do some more testing in the morning, he said. Half a day.

He was hot. He stood in our office doorway, smiling. Thick thighs. Bigger bulge in profile, like a football guard pushing out from inside. Tasty package.

The tax accountant came into our office. Rachel, sorry. Can I have those figures.

He was looking right at me, as I looked up.

Very nice to meet you, he said, blushing. Eyes ablaze, coming out of character, as Rachel was distracted. He shook my hand firmly, like he didn't want to let go. See you tomorrow, he said, just a little breathily. He let go of my hand. Coughed. Tomorrow. He smiled. He held my gaze as he walked away. Eyes blazing.

Mark and Luke bought the washing machine over. I did two loads. It leaked water on the floor. Great! But at least it works. We watched Big Brother with David and his Mark. When Josh said that he’d met a Manny, at Comfest, I said you’ve got to be joking. He wasn’t joking but he didn’t want to see Comfest Manny again. Just as fucken well, I thought. I'm not sure if I believe what Josh says.

Gay boy Nick went into Big Brother. I tell ya, I think Zoran is a fag. His ears pricked up the moment Nick walked in. He’s the one who makes all the gay comments. He always say he wants to hug the other guys. Sure, In jest, but it still seems to always be him.

Zoran's hot. Pretty. I’d like to see him snog another guy.

We ate Indian and David and his Mark went to his Mark’s house, after Big Brother. They had a fight and, maybe, have broken it off.

Mark and Luke left early, well, early for them, they are not 9 to 5’ers. Luke rolled quite a few joints.

I was pie-eyed watching the Catherine Tate Show.

 

Getting a Little Precious?

Grant Denyer responds to being asked about an exhausting week with the line,

"I feel like I've had sex with a black man."

And he's branded sexist, racist and homophobic? His comments were described as deplorable, pandering to negative stereotypes and that he should be referred to the broadcasting watch dog. We're getting a little precious, aren't we?

He was saying that he felt more fucked than he ever has, like he'd been rogered with a big cock.

Please guys, let's stick to derogatory remarks that are truly hate filled and leave humour out of it.

I kind of see it as a compliment, if I see it as any thing at all. The act that would tire him out the most would be sex with another man and that the man who would tire him out the most would be the man with the biggest cock.

He also said, "I'll be the host who looks like he's been riding a horse for a week." Now maybe all the horses in the world should take out anti-vilification law suits.

If anything, I see the criticism as homophobic. The good politically correct folk of this world don't want homosexual'esque comments to become the norm in polite conversation?

I mean, that is all very simplistic, but let's save our outrage for people who are really filled with hate.

 

Shopping for Men

I bought Manny some black jocks, when I was shopping, in Myer. Not that I’m that sort of boyfriend usually, but I couldn't resist. As I was standing in front of the briefs display, admiring all of the muscle-bound, undressed pictures, I couldn’t help but picture him in some of them. You see, Manny is a boxer shorts kind of boy, but, his arse and the tops of his thighs are just made for tighter jocks than boxers. I love the hair in the small of his back above his round, firm cheeks. I love the hair escaping under the elastic from his abdomen, spreading out across his stomach.

I was only looking for socks, myself – the ongoing quest of having socks with no fucking holes! Brave new international trade world? Yeah, right. Just give me a pair of socks that will last longer than six months! But it’s funny what the power of advertising will do, hey? My eyes were drawn to the colourful muscle bound, near naked pictures.

I used to have a boyfriend – the Italian one – who couldn’t buy undies without getting so turned on that he’d need to have sex, afterwards. I always think of him when I’m in the jocks section, funny hey? It was exciting going undies shopping with him, let me tell you. Even if we were looking for shoes, or tap washers, or ant poison, if I was able to steer him to the men’s jocks, he’d be captivate, like a kid in a lollie shop. And then he’d look angsty, like he didn’t know where to look and then he’d morph into toey, kind of restless, till he’d finally whisper in my ear, Let’s get out of here. I’d steer him there without saying a word and then it was like magic. I’d just watch his face turn from open and sunny to focussed and serious. He’d almost scowl with the concentration visible on his forehead.

The undies section still holds a certain, what shall I say, special place in my heart… well, not exactly my heart, because of Lauri. I can’t walk passed without thinking of him, without memories flooding my brain.

We did it in a city alley way in the middle of the day, in the labyrinth somewhere behind Myers – ah, what the hell, we were just kids back then – after one undies buying foray. That was hot.

Ah boyfriends – their smell, their taste, their physical presence, the funny things that stay with you. I can still remember what was unique to each of them, with just a whiff of a memory. Those small things that stay with you, I love those things.

I don’t know if anyone else does this, but I can still feel what each of their hands felt like in mine, even Alex. His hand was fine and bony, like there was no extra fat on it and he held my hand tight, like he was in control. Anthony’s – I don’t think I’ve ever spoken about him on here before. There is too much sadness surrounding him (one day I'll write about him) – was long and he used to hold his hand over mine, so often, backwards. Lauri’s was big and fleshy and warm. Mark’s was/is exactly the same size as mine and he’d hold my hand gently, like the connection was something precious. Luke and I hold hands like brothers, kid brothers. Manny holds my hand tightly, like he is never going to let go. His hand is dry with smooth skin.

Alex would lead. I’d lead Anthony. Lauri and I would take it in turns, depending. Mark and I were kind of equal, side by side. I’d lead Luke, more often than not. Manny and I kind of wrestle, in a sense, for lead place.

And… laugh… that kind of describes our sexual roles, too. It’s funny to think of it that way, because there is some truth in it.

I got Manny black trunks, the kind with the longer leg and a defined pouch at the front. I got him three pairs. One pair has a kind of arrow of material pointing down to his bulge, like it needs any kind of high light. I can’t wait to see him in them. I’m tempted to drive over to his place, right now, to get him to model them for me.

Oh Come On Boys!

I'm having a washing machine drama; the old girl finally has packed it in. It wouldn't completely drain of water. And then it wouldn't drain at all; the bowl was full of water at the end of the wash, which is a pretty good sign the thing is cactus. I've had to syphon it out with a hose; the times I watched my father take petrol from the car for the lawn mower, when I was a kid, came in handy, after all.

Not to worry, help was at hand. Mark got me another washing machine and all I had to do was lift the old one into the car and go fetch the new one.

Easy! Well, I couldn't do it on my own...

At the risk of promoting negative gay boy stereotypes, I shall continue... knowing full well that I just had the wrong selection of queers in attendance. (Mark is now going to bring it down on his own, Wednesday)

In the middle of draining the machine of water and replacing the tap washer, there were three muscle bound gay boys, gym heads the lot of them, present. Pumped. Toned. Fine, physical, specimens of men. So, naturally, I thought I had it in the bag.

First, we had to deal with the grime that had built up behind the machine over the, how many, years? There was no point letting eight feet shuffle that up the hallway carpet. The spilled water had now mixed with the dust and it had turned it to grey sludge. Mixed in was old soaped powder box rips, wire, bits of card, a couple of soap scoops, paper clips, miniature cake of soap remains, biros, sticks, flea collars, clothes pegs, mouth guards, cotton, wax, scissors, cotton wool buds, dental floss and nail clippings.

Two gay boys looked as though they wanted to faint, as I mopped the dust, water slime and tat into my pan.

"OMG!" said one.

The other clutched his throat. (I kid you not... and I'm not talking about effeminate boys)

"It's only dust," I said. "It's just got wet, that's all."

"Get the disinfectant," said one, as the other's face screwed into a grimace.

"It's just wet dust... predominately!"

I cleaned up the grime quickly, as Biff and Chuck went green and appeared unsteady on their feet.

"All we have to do is move it out the front to the car and lift it in."

"How heavy is it?" said one.

"I'm not good with this sort of stuff," said another, rubbing his muscle bound arms, protectively.

"Why the hell do you guys go to the gym, anyway?" I asked incredulously.

Truly, they looked at me like I had just lost the plot completely.

"Because I want to look good," offered one tentatively. The other nodded in agreement.

 

Wog Boy hair... just the best to run your hands through

Day Dreams

There is a beautiful Greek boy, John, who works in my office. He's handsome, athletic, with a tendency to smile. He's gorgeous; late twenties, just got married. I have to be careful when I look at him, I have to keep my eyes focused on his face, because if they drift away from his handsome smile, or his beautiful eyes, I find I'm checking him out, before I know it. What a sexy man! And, what a nice person he is, too. Sweet, friendly, easy going. He is just one of those lovely men, interested and interesting.

Sometimes we have to work together on stuff, like yesterday. I had just been talking to Manny before John came into my office. Manny had been talking dirty to me.

John was talking to me about something and I was imagining what he would feel like in my arms, feeling Manny as if he was John. I could feel his breath on my face, like I do when Manny kisses me. I could taste his sweet, warm lips on mine... just as sweet as my own Greek boy.

I was reaching down to the button on his pants...

"Chris... Chris," he said. "Where have you wandered off to?"

"Oh, um?" Refocusing on his gorgeous, sweet face, feeling the hard-on in my pants. Manny's face suddenly morphing into John's - being quite amazed at the small journey I had just been on. "Oh, no where? John?" Laugh. Shake my head again."You wouldn't believe me, um... if I told you." I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead... as I squeezed my legs together, enjoying the feeling of pressure there.

Quizzical look. "So, did you get all of that?" said John

"Yes." Shake of my head. "Sure. Sure." Smile. "I think I got a pretty good idea..."

He smiled back. "Good." He smiled again.

I smiled at him.

A View From My Office

View from my office art

Love And Old Watches

After my father died, five years back, my mum gave me 2 antique Rolex watches that were his. He hadn't worn them for years and he only had them because the tropical island on which he lived, where he and mum met, was duty free, or tax free. Speaking of love, which I have read about on a few blogs just lately, what a way to meet? My father had another girlfriend and my mother, initially, told him she wasn't interested, but he wooed her under the palm trees by the Pacific Ocean.

The watches had languished in a draw for, well, many years, as mum, dad and the island were back in the days before they were married. So naturally, I had a look on the internet to see if I could see what they were worth. Don't get me wrong, I have no intention of parting with them and would, in fact, wear them if I wore watches any longer.

Counting those two, I have seven watches that I don't wear. I had quite a thing for watches once, but some how I got out of the habit of wearing them and, of course, I now use my phone for the time.

I just wanted to see if I could see watches like them, for interest sake.

Ever since, I have been receiving spam emails about antique watches. I do wonder what is the point of them sending me this stuff? I understand it costs them nothing and that I should never respond. But why?

Having said that, the spam emailers don't know that they give me a reason to think of my father, every time they send me a new email. I got three of the stupid things today.

Sometimes, I get those watches out and hold them in my hand and think of my dad, quietly, silently, on my own. I can almost hear the crash of the waves on the beach, I can almost see young lovers under the fronds of the coconut palms.

I remember my dad. I miss him, you know. He was the greatest. There was nothing he couldn't do. I think of my mum and the life she lead, now ticked away like those old watches, lonely and sad and on her own. It breaks my heart.

Is love ultimately about having your heart broken... if you live long enough? The ultimate reward for a long and happy relationship?

 

3rd of May

Sunshine and rainbows,

the rain washed the day

feel the cool, winter is on it's way.

Big lightening, big thunder

our lives are ebbing away

I can't believe it is the 3rd of May.

Into bed

rest my head

it is what I do best, as I've always said.

As I Begin to Drag My Knuckles Around on the Ground

I've got to get some exercise back into my life, I'm beginning to feel it, when I get up.

Not exactly coming into the months known for sportiness. Where did the daylight savings go?

Looking at Girl's Bits

Just recently, it has occurred to me that I look at woman's breasts, I don't seem to be able to help it. Especially if they have a nice pair, or if they are out and exposed. I know this is a very strange thing for a gay boy to do, but my eyes just go there, automatically. I find, if I'm not careful, I'm looking down at a girl's tits when she is talking to me, before I know it, just like you always hear them complain about straight boys. Perhaps, it is the latent het boy struggling to come out. Ha, ha!

Rachel, who I work with, sits to my right. We're great mates, we've worked together for years. But because of the angle on which she sits and because of the way girl's shirts button up, I often find my eyes look down and at the gap that, is so often, exposing her chest, when we chat. It's crazy, but my eyes do it without me thinking.

What sort of crap gay boy is Chris, she must think.

Sometimes, I have to deliberately stare out of the window to stop my eyes from wandering.

It's not a sexual thing, really, it's just an observational thing. I just look, no intent what so ever.

Girl's breasts must drive, more interested, straight boys nuts, is all I can conclude.

I wonder if I have always done it?

This Was the Sky as I Left The Country Tonight

bolago

When I was small, and Christmas trees were tall,
we used to love while others used to play.
Don't ask me why, but time has passed us by,
some one else moved in from far away.

Now we are tall, and Christmas trees are small,
and you don't ask the time of day.
But you and I, our love will never die,
but guess we'll cry come first of May.

The apple tree that grew for you and me,
I watched the apples falling one by one.
And I recall the moment of them all,
the day I kissed your cheek and you were mine.

Now we are tall, and Christmas trees are small,
and you don't ask the time of day.
But you and I, our love will never die,
but guess we'll cry come first of May.

When I was small, and Christmas trees were tall,
do do do do do do do do do...
Don't ask me why, but time has passed us by,
some one else moved in from far away.