Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Well, that would be it then

What a glorious golden afternoon for the last day or 2008. Sapphire blue skies, sunny and warm with the promise of a future that shines.
It wasn't like that around here this morning, let me tell you. We'd dipped out on getting tickets to the parties we wanted to go to, so we had no where to go and nothing to take when we got there, Worst of all, we had nothing for when we got home. We'd been slack. How did we let this happen? Woe is us! It wasn't looking like shaping up to be a very fun and happy new year.
Darkest hour, silver lining. Good things come...
Guido, THE MAN!, popped in around 10.30.
"Yeah, yeah I got your message," Guido said. "I thought I'd be here before this. Sorry I didn't respond."
"That's okay," we said, trying not to sound too panicked, only to sound more panicked, I'm sure.
"Well, I was going to go have breakfast first," said Guido. He looked at each of us and laughed. "But, I guess, you want to go shopping first?... by the looks on your faces." Children around the Xmas tree Xmas morning, dog's face as you open their food for the night.
The three of us agreed in unison. "Well take the shopping option, thanks Bob!"
He laughed again. "I'd already saved you 9."
"Oh, we probably won't need quite that many..."
"Even better," said Guido. "All the more for me," he spoke at us. Yelled. Laughed again, maniacally.
"How many bags?" he asked. "May I suggest 2." He did that eyes up in his top eye lids, as he looked from each of us. Disagreeing will be boring and I will win anyway.
So cheered up was I after that, I have now had a hair cut, bought some new T-shirts, bought a new pair of undies, as I knew I didn't have any clean. Washed all my skanky undies with the pile of dirty clothes that have accumulated over 2 weeks. Three guys living together, we battle for the washing machine. I chatted to my mum, looked on the Internet to see if I could find her a new dog, so we had a long chat. It's kind of sad for a woman who has celebrated new year in London, Paris and New York, not to mention on topical islands in the Pacific, is going to be in bed by 9pm new years eve. I've even been to the framing shop and rehung that painting that has been off the wall for... how long? Well, it's a new year.
I'm quitting smoking Monday, the 3 days I spend in Brisbane with my family for our delayed Xmas, that'll teach 'em! I told them I didn't want to go! I'm still pissed off I buckled under the weight of female disapproval.
David, Shane and I are heading out to something within walking distance tonight, staggering distance home. Good thing we live in Fitzroy. Boy's night out. The three of us have a laugh when we are out together. Big smile.
Now I'm drinking vodka.
Happy New Year.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Every thing went brown

David masturbated, Xmas night, with his new patuli oil, not realising it was a fake tan. Afterwards he drifted off to sleep. Apparently, everything went kind of streaked orange, not the least of which was his sheets.
When David lamented that he was going to go out whoring, Shane, and I, laughed! A lot! No, Shane, and I, are not bitter and single.

Monday, December 29, 2008

Oh hello there

5 days in the country and I have a sore head for sure! Too much of the vino. Too much of the other stuff. Too many chocolates. Too much cake. Big smile.
The sun shone. The sky was blue. The weather was gorgeous. Hot, nicely hot. The days drift from one into another, just as it should be. Forget the time. Forget the date.
I ate. I slept. I lazed around. I watched the cricket, of all things. Pretty South African batsman, J.P. Duminy.
Friends came and stayed. We laughed. We swam.
Luke cooked lunch for 37.
I got DVD's, Doctor Who, The Lair, Rebel Without a Cause, Fatal Attraction, my present to myself. I got books, Judy Walter's Auto biography, she should have got a ghost writer, The Tales of Beedle the Bard, which was good, read in 1/2 a day. And too many chocolates.
I text Mitchell Happy Xmas, he didn't reply.
I drove up and down a few times, as my mother's dog decided to die Xmas day evening. Poor Lottie. Poor Fred. His timing was impeccable.
And all I felt like doing all day today was sleep.
Do we need holidays from our holidays?

Sunday, December 28, 2008


Truth pressed to the earth will rise again

That there is no god and belief in him is useless

That the human race is doomed by global warming

That abortion will be the only hope to save mankind

The tissue from foetus' will be used to save our minds

That marijuana is harmless and will ease our pain

Big business will have to die for us to be born again

Saturday, December 27, 2008

Hot Cops - Wildside

I love Wildside, Thursday nights. My favourite cop show. Alex Demetriades and Aaron Pedersen... woof! Those boys make a hot team.

Alex is bad boy hot, Aaron is good boy hot. What perfect looking men, what a duo.

My favourite episodes were when female suspect tries to get around Alex as she plays with his bulge and he lets her and he talks dirty back to her. Then he arrests her.

My other is when a girl suspect comes onto Aaron and he tries to fight it, but you know he wants to. She kisses him to see if he’s fallen for her. The way he kisses back, you know they are going to.

Both were convincingly turned on. Hot. Sweaty. Flushed. How hot did both those gorgeous boys look?

Thursday, December 25, 2008

Happy Pagan Holiday

This is not the J man's birthday. This was a ceremonial day in the Pagan calender, which the Christian's appropriated to smash the pagans market share superiority.
Jesus was born on another day, not unlike the Queen - the real one, with the matching gloves and the hats.
Just because Jesus hung out with a group of 12 boys, don't go assuming. No, I didn't mean Jesus when I said the Queen. Although, 12 male buddies with whom you are inseparable... you do the maths.

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

When The Cat's Away

Boyfriends Vash and Darbon have been together for five years, since they were both nineteen. They are the same age.

Vash, short, messy blond hair, brown eyes and a goatee, black long sleeved skivvy with a white T-shirt over it, blue jeans rolled up at the base, fell for Darbon, short spiked black hair - with the dorsal fin in the middle, red t-shirt with a thick white stripe around the middle, black jeans, over a discussion about a chair.

They've endured uni, monogamy and professional success and a year living overseas together.

They've just returned to Melbourne. Darbon gets a job straight away, but Vash isn't so quick to sucure employment.

Is Vash trying as hard as he could, thinks Darbon?

Vash spends the days at home. He has the meals ready and the house tidy for when Darbon gets home. Vash gets all that done in a few hours before lunch and then he spends all of his spare time on the net.

Enter, Mateo, long blond hair, brown eyes, a bit of a hippie, scruffy, athletic, sexy. Mateo likes the look of Vash on his home page. The two meet up, secretly not telling Darbon, for coffee and then lunch and then a little humpy pumpy in the afternoon.

Vash falls for Mateo and breaks Darbon's heart.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Phone pests

Since I've been driving around during the day, do you know how many times the light changes to green and nothing happens. Zilch! Zip! We sit there. Hello? Finally the bozo at the front moves, wake up! Of course, everybody is too scared of road rage to toot, now.
What are they doing? Why aren't they paying attention? Driving a car is a relatively simply process, certainly the negotiation of traffic lights is - notice, no matter how few brain cells somebody has, no matter how toothless and ignorant, they can always manage to get a driving licence, a mobile phone and, sadly, a kid. But I digress...
When I had seen the umpteenth person on their phone behind the wheel, it dawned on me. They are on their phones at the lights.
I think people should lose their licence, for talking on the phone when behind the wheel of a car. Well, suspended may be, like when you exceed the speed limit by 30ks. Everybody, clearly, thinks they can combine the two, but they can't, they are kidding themselves to think so.
If the government really means it - Tougher sentencing laws for all.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Early morning

What a beautiful morning it was at 6am.
I tossed and turned all night, not sure why as sleeping is what I do best. It was a hot night, airless, even with my balcony doors open. I finally gave in and rolled a j and headed to my balcony, as the sun rose. A gentle, cool breeze blew, the day was awakening, light was returning to the world, a pink blush was awash in the sky.
A jogger slipped by in tiny black shorts on his solo quest.
The weekend was over, 3 days till Xmas.
The joint was supposed to make me sleepy, sleep till 11am, another 5 hours. Instead, it sent my brain off thinking and I had my lap-top open and was writing not long after.
The is something peaceful and powerful about mornings. The monster awakes, everything is calm. The shadows slip away, the curtain is drawn, you can feel the life seep back on the morning bird's call.
A strapping Indian boy came out of the flats adjusting his crotch oblivious to me. He was a boxer shorts guy, I could see as his cock flopped around.
A middle aged couple walked passed with back packs chatting away.
A grey cloud blew in taking the sparkle away. A light rain fell, fingers strumming on the tin, not even wet on the ground.
Bike rider boy, with nice legs, in lycra. Skater boy with the back of his briefs exposed. Handsome man in a dark suit, flat stomach, nice bulge. Hot chick in a power suit, low cut, the girls were out. Cute delivery man in camel work pants making his rounds.
How I'd like to lick that, I thought, as I gazed, stoned, at the fine curve of the delivery boy's arse.

I smoked another j and slept until 11, ah the life of the unemployed. Now it is just hot, the delicate newness of the day has been burnt away.
End of the year! Fuck me! Whoosh! I guess I should go Xmas shopping?
Ah! Bah! Humbug! That's how the thought of the busy shops makes me feel.
I thought about Mitchel, he's flying home, at 11, for Xmas. He'll be gone a month.

I got a text from my girlfriend Rachel.
Remember, we are having dinner together tonight in Yarraville.
I didn't remember that? I know I've been hitting the pot a little hard, since I quit the cigarettes, 9 days today, not that it really counts, but I didn't remember anything about dinner.
Sure. What time did we say?
No, you idiot. That's what you say if you are asked.
My girlfriend Rachel has it all, to an outsider looking in. A handsome husband. Beautiful children. Good jobs. But Rachel hangs out at singles bars, saying she is out with me.
Nobody would ask me to verify the story. I think the game is very much apart of it all for her. Rachel says she is bored, with her perfect life. There is boredom in perfection. She needs a thrill, which equates to fucking strange men in hotel rooms... not that I am against that, per say.
I was suddenly glad my life isn't so complicated, while I wondered what the hell I was going to do with the day.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Slept the day away

Mitchel's handsome face was asleep on the pillow next to me. I'd forgotten how nice it is to wake up to a mate to play with, as I slipped my hands down between his legs. He laughed and jumped. I find it hard to sleep with men and Mitchel is a breeze. That must say something?
Mitchel left at midday, something about helping an auntie. He's very family orientated, which, I guess, is good.
David was cross-eyed on the couch when I got downstairs.
"There was fisting and double fisting and punch fucking," said David excitedly. "My e was so good, I can't believe it one and a half and I'm still going."
I rolled him a steady stream of j's to calm him down.
Shane woke up with Gary, who some how morphed into Mark W. by the afternoon. David and I are still not sure how that happened. Shane said he found Mark W. on the doorstep.
We got a real Xmas tree this year, we put red Xmas lights on it.
Mark W. poured vodka's until he announced he was going to drive home drunk.
"But I've got my car," he said when I protested. "It's only down the hill."
By that stage I couldn't see straight.
Conscious drifted into unconscious and the rest of the day drifted into sleep, the house was quiet, not even a mouse peep. The Xmas lights blinked red for themselves.
David had to take sleepers to bring himself down.
When we awoke, we smoked more pot and passed out again.
Ah, lovely Sunday.

Don't lose your head

The head floated in, complaining. Of course, the head didn't return on its own, it floated in on the magic carpet that bought it to us. Persian, I believe.
"Not so aerodynamic on my own," the head bitched, spitting as he spoke. He wanted a drink to calm his nerves, but it just dribbled out onto the floor.
The body walked in hours later, banging into things as it came, no eyes, which only started the head bitching all over again.
"Where the fuck have you been?" said the head. "I had to get a ride back here thanks to you."
The body just sat there and said nothing, because it was blessed in as much it couldn't hear what the head was saying. No ears.
He just sat there and played with himself, which infuriated the head even more.
"It wasn't like I got the fright," moaned the head. "The crystal meth only blurred my vision and gave me thoughts I can't escape."

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Saturday night in the city

Mitchel and I went out to dinner Saturday night, we ate steaks in Northcote.
We came home and lay on the couch, afterwards, Shane was on the other couch, definitely moping.
David wanted Shane to go to Megafist, Shane was resisting saying, what was the point, it would only turn to shit, life was screwed woe was he.
Mark W. got into him about the failure of their relationship, again.
Matt's mum was about to die, after knowing she was sick for only four weeks.
Shane doesn't do stress or single very well.
"All the more reason you should come to megafisterama," said David with a big smile and a flourish of his hands.
I could tell Mitchel was turned on by the discussions of fisting, there was a definite sparkle in his eye. Shane also commented on it, afterwards. Down boy, I thought.
One problem was that we were out of pot and Shane didn't fancy taking d's if he didn't have pot to come home to. Everyone was impressed when Mitchel procured us pot at midnight. His status in the house was suddenly raised to genius, the nice thing was that I don't think he realised.
Then it was mentioned that a certain Gary was going to the fisting party, who Shane fancied. We all saw the sparkle return to Shane's eye and David knew his work was done.
"Gary? Really? Are you sure?"
David would have confirmed it no matter what, if it meant Shane would head out with him.
Then David and Shane were filing their nails furiously, no rough bits allowed, as Mitchel slid one hand through another and smiled cheekily at me. "Huh, forget it," I had to finally say. He and I watched TV, cuddled and kissed.


It’s amazing how life rushes on past, not stopping for you. You’ve just got to hang on and take your opportunities when they present themselves. Sometimes you lose your grip and fall down and that’s okay for a time, but eventually you just have to stick your head up again and grab on.
I had been working for a local construction firm on the site of a new housing conversion – the old brewery was being turned into 300 apartments. The way of the world. Work was good, I’d been unemployed for so long. I got the job through a good high school mate, Adam Boys. Not what you know, but who you know, of course.
Adam, Joel Brady and Tim Wade and I were all mates at school. The four of us grew up together and graduated from high school in the early nineties. After high school, Joel, Tim and I went off to uni, but Adam went to work for his dad in the construction business. We lost touch, as even the most well intentioned friends do. Life moves on in unexpected ways. Whoosh and it’s turned upside down.
After uni, I didn't know what to do with myself. Suddenly school was over and uni was over. Whoosh! What fucken happened? I opened a café and when that went cunt-up, I had a shot at a cleaning business. It went the way of the café and I disappeared into a bong haze for a while with like-minded housemates, after that, ashamed at being a failure.
The black sheep accepts his crown.
Joel passed the CPA exam on the first try and got a job with a major accounting firm. He seemed set. I envied him. On course. Then he discovered drugs and the party scene, I may have introduced him to them. I needed a mate to party with, as Tim had headed overseas to get away from precisely that. Joel grew tired of work and quit.
I felt guilty about it, for the longest time.
Some how we lost five years, in a haze of mediocrity and sedation. Joel, and I, were living on welfare, getting pox job after pox job just to keep our government hand out coming in.
Joel dealt party drugs, to supplement his dole and to get our drugs cheaper, for nix if you were hard-arsed about it like Joel.
What happened to all that promise?
One night Joel ran into Adam, at a club. He was doing well in his father’s company. His firm‘s market share was expanding, profits were up. Adam offered Joel a job. It was a menial job, Adam made that clear, but it still paid more than the dole.
I signed up to do some temp work, three months worth, while some account manager was on long service leave and found myself working in the Adam’s company too.
Tim returned from OS and the four of us started to hang out together on Friday’s right after work. None of us ever had girlfriends to speak of, so we were glad of the company. We’d usually head to a bar close to the construction site, to down a few beers before we headed for home. It was slow, Adam being boss man and all, but over many beers as Friday night dusk fell we became friends all over again.

We planned a camping trip for a late January weekend. We decided to leave for the campsite immediately after work on that Friday. What was the point of heading home? Joel volunteered to pick up Adam, Tim and me so we’d only have one car at work that day. Then we could head on to the camping site together. Of course, Adam wanted to take his brand new Peugeot GTI, but Joel won out. Joel and Adam have always been competitive with each other, just always been.
Joel drove a GTHO Falcon. When he turned eighteen his dad gave him the car as a birthday present. His dad had stopped driving the car as a daily driver and the car had been sitting in the garage, under a tarp, so it only seemed fitting. Joel loved that car even if he didn’t always have the money to take care of it.
It was hot. It had rained in the afternoon, which only made the hot day sticky. There were puddles all over the muddy construction site at the end of the day, simmering. There was a hazy quality to the late afternoon sun; steam seemed to be rising from the pools in ground. Hazy. Shimmer.
The four of us met at a local bar for a few of knock-off beers before we headed for the car together. The ceiling tried its hardest to cool us down. The bottoms of our work boots were covered in mud, as we approached the classic Falcon. Joel told us not to worry. He shrugged. The floor at the back was covered with clumps of dried mud, thanks to working construction. Joel shrugged again when he saw me looking at it. “Can’t be helped,” said Joel. He took off his hard hat and got into driver’s seat. Adam got in on the passenger side and Tim and I got in the back seat.
Joel slipped the key in the ignition and started to crank the engine. He pumped the accelerator with his mud-covered Blundstone. He pressed it down about half way. The engine turned over but didn’t spark.
“The Berryman deal has to finalise in a week,” said Adam.
“I know,” I said. “I’ve been onto the warehouse, but so far nothing.”
Tim waved his hands at us. “A whole weekend,” said Tim, grinning. “Nothing but wide open spaces to worry about.”
The engine didn't fire. Joel pushed back in the seat, sat up straight and sighed. He started to mutter to himself, "Come on, come on."
“Here’s to the weekend,” said Tim, twisting the top off a stubby.
Joel gave the pedal more pumps.
“If we get there,” said Adam, looking over at Joel.
Joel looked at Adam, snorted out through his nose and then looked away.
The engine cranked. It caught then chugged again. Joel pumped the pedal. "Come on buddy," Joel whispered.
Cough. Nothing. The ignition lights glowed red on the dashboard.
“I bet with this heat and humidity the thing has vapour locked,” said Adam. “Why don’t you pump it a little more while your cranking and see if that will get more petrol to the carb.”
Joel looked in Adam’s direction and started cranking the engine again. The car was trying to start, but just couldn’t.
We all sat in silence.
Tim pulled a cigarette packet from his top pocket, out of which he produced a neatly rolled joint. “Something for our nerves, gentlemen,” he said. The rich smell filled the car. I felt butterflies in my stomach, at the thought. I hadn’t smoked at all since I’d started work, since I resurrected my life.
Adam put his hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Get out and pop the bonnet.” Adam pushed Joel gently. Joel recoiled with a twitch of his shoulder, clearly unhappy.
He got out of the car while Adam slid over to the drivers seat. He sat with his muddy right boot on driver’s side doorsill and his left boot on the floor of the car.
I puffed on the joint, after Tim.
Joel lifted the bonnet and took off the lid to the air cleaner and looked into the carb. He reached into his pocket and pulled something out and inserted it.
Tim stretched out and rested his head on the back of the seat and closed his eyes. “Tell me when it’s over,” he whispered to me. He touched me on the shoulder.
“The carb had flooded,” said Joel. “Try it now.”
Adam placed his right foot on the muddy ground outside the driver’s door and planted his well worn and muddy left work boot firmly on the pedal and pushed it down to the floor. He grabbed the key and turned it to "start" and kept it there. The engine cranked and cranked and cranked.
I sat back and puffed some more on the joint. Tim declined it when I offered it back to him. “Nah mate,” he whispered, with a flick of his head. “I’ll be humping your leg if I have any more.”
Somehow, I had a joint in one hand and a stubby in the other, from which I was alternating. My head spun.
“Hang on,” said Joel. He made some adjustment. “Okay Adam, try it again.”
Adam pushed his huge boot to the floor and turned the key. “Come on you piece of shit!”
Chug, chug, the engine sputtered to life. Black smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe. Adam gunned the accelerator. Broom! Broom!
“Don’t cane it, it’s still cold,” said Joel.
“I’ll fucken cane you,” said Adam.
“Hoo, hoo, hoo,” said Tim without opening his eyes.
"Like to see you try," said Joel.
The rich smell of unburned petrol filled the passenger compartment. I looked at Tim. He pinched his nostrils with his fingers.
Adam got out and walked up to the front of the car. “You need a new car, mate.”
Joel pushed Adam in the chest, kind of playfully, but not really. “Get in.”
Adam pushed Joel back, then walked to the passenger side of the car and got in. Joel took out the wonder implement, put the cover back on the air cleaner and lowered the hood with a whomp. He got back in the car.
The car rocked gently as it idled.
“Piece of shit,” said Adam grinning.
“You’re asking for it,” said Joel. "Fucken asking for it!"
He pushed the gear-stick into first. The rear wheels spun in the gravel, in the mud, I could hear the spray of gravel behind. We got on the highway and headed for the camping site. We downed the stubbies as we downed the kilometres.
“So how long is it going to take us to get there tonight?” asks Adam.
It was late and getting dark by the time we got there. Adam built a fire, with wood scavenged from not far away. Joel got the tents out. I found the billy, coffee and milk. Life's essentials. I got water from the geri-can. Tim produced another joint and he and I were wasted in no time.
"Can you help me with my boots," asked Tim, holding a leg in my direction. I took his foot in my hand and slowly undid the laces.
"Thank you Alfred," said Tim.
Then I took his other foot and did the same. "You're a natural," said Tim. He stroked his neck with his hand.

Late, after much drinking, Joel grabbed Adam by the shirt and pushed him backwards, up against a tree, on the edge of the camp site. I didn't really know why. Adam held his hands out in the air, as if to say he wasn’t going to fight. They gazed at each other like that for a few seconds, both breathing hard. Still. Silent.
Then Joel did an unexpected thing, when he thought Tim and I had looked away. He stepped towards Adam and kissed him hard on the mouth.
Adam kissed him back... as he rapped his arms around Joel.

Really late, when we were maggoted, Joel and I got to confession time. Tim and Adam had long since gone to bed.
“I pinched some money from work to pay for my lifestyle, back then,” said Joel. “I got out before they realised. Too embarrassed to chase me, I presume.” Then he just smiled at me, waiting for my response. “That’s why I left my job.”
I didn't know what to say.
It wasn’t my fault, then?
Joel shrugged when all he got was the glow of the hot embers in my eyes.

I heard some muffled moaning from Adam and Joel's tent, after we'd all finally gone to bed.
Tim put his arm around me, after I turned out the light. He hugged me as we drifted off to sleep. As Tim snored softly into my ear, just as my body started to melt into the ground, falling into sleep, I heard Adam yell out, moan.
Then all I could hear was frogs.

Friday, December 19, 2008

There's an online company called who are selling great stuff for guys, underwear, swimwear, check out their website, their range is extensive. Apart from the great cloths, they have a sexy website with hot models showing their merchandise off to perfection. Some of their models, woof!

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Free market economy

I wonder how long it will be before the computer companies, who produce the anti virus software, admit that they are responsible for most of the computer virus' in the world?
It's a no-brainer. Simple market share expansion/product placement.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Love This Shot of Kevin Zeigers... Especially Those Jeans

Wednesday, the weeks are flying

I spent the day in bed with my lap-top writing a gay short story. It seemed like the safest place to be, feeling nicotine deprived angst, as I was.
I didn't speak to Mitchel. I didn't feel like talking to anyone.

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

Day 3

Here we go again, day 3 quitting smoking. It's hell!
I need something to bite down on. I've got nothing to say.
Watched Dexter on DVD, washed down with two bottles of red wine, some how it seemed appropriate.
Followed by Mama Mia, dished up in the smoke of a number of joints, for true schizophrenia.
I text Mitchell sweet dreams at midnight. Good night pumpkin, he text back.
I couldn't help but smile, as I lay my pissed/stoned head down on the pillow. Bump. I guess that's my "more effort," one text @ midnight. I laughed at myself.
Do you like it?
Independent and free? Someone who loves me? Nothing should change, if it's right. Surly he fell in love with me while I was being independent and free?
Of course, I am dangerously deprived of nicotine, I could say anything.
Does anybody else hear that ringing?

Monday, December 15, 2008

Out for coffee

I went out for dinner with David, Shane and Sebastian, to the pub, it's a Monday night thing, when I was supposed to be out with Mitchel. Oops. I hadn't heard from him during the day, I assumed he couldn't male it. He text just as my main meal was put in front of me. Bad Christian! What to do now? I thought. How do I slide out of this one. We'd headed out to dinner, actually, it was only 19.45
He and I went for coffee afterwards. He's really sweet, easy to be with, you know, kind of like we've always known each other. It feels so natural, him walking beside me, like that's where he belongs.
I like him. I even melt a little when he is around, I can feel it. When he looks at me, when he laughs. When I push my leg against his and he pushes back just the same. Sweet. Smart. Funny. Makes me smile.
I should put more effort into him.
Death, we flock to it

back on line

I lose my PC for two days and have to use my laptop and then I lose my Internet connection, I've been without it for two days.
Can't connect. Try again. I'm a dummy, if it doesn't work.
I must admit that I didn't stress too much. I took it as a sign that I should do something else, that I should have a break from all things electronically stored. So, I've been reading books, with cardboard covers and pages made out of paper.
You can read a book any where. In the back yard. At a coffee shop on the street. Down the park, as the sun shines. Tucked up in bed, in the afternoon. On the couch with a blanket, as the rain falls. Waiting for the sun to set.
Lovely. It's kind of nice not being joined to my computer at the hip.
I've walked down Smith Street twice, for a coffee and a window shop.

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Rainy Days

I don't think it has stopped raining for the last twenty four hours. It's good to hear, I love the rain. pitter pat... and all that.
wet my heart...
I went out walking in it with my tongue out, around to the milk bar. Spit splat on my face, that feels so wonderful. I didn't half get some looks, though.
wet my brain...
You know once, in Fitzroy, you used to be able to walk around to the shops with a rubber chicken on your head and nobody would react. Different now all the cluelss yuppies have moved in. You know, the types who'd complain about the bums. You know, like the dicks who moved to St Kilda and wanted to get rid of the hookers.
wet my dick as it dangles free...
Fall rain drops fall, wet the soil, wet out dry souls.
Sail boats in the swirling gutters and gather sticks for the blocked drains.

Friday, December 12, 2008

Near Angels

Angel Sebastian wears a red suit. He wears silver boots. He has Gossamer wings. A million pair entwined together.

Sebastian's co-angel is Girl Angel wears white. Her complexion is white. She wears her blonde hair shaggy, like its just been caught in the wind. He blues eyes are pale and rarely seen. She is the shiest of all the angels. Sebastian’s six and a half feet, and proportionate body, sleek and muscled, is more than enough to keep her safe, when their charge makes demands.

Near Angels to Ignatius, Aloysius, Loquacious and Epiphany. As are co-angels Entendre and Dilis. The circle grows.

Angel Entendre – must be carful to be clear. She's a tart when she's under the influence of some upper or downer. A high class tart, but a tart non the less.

Angel Dilis – very energetic young carefree angel, A young stallion, light and beautiful, fine and lean. The very essence of Puck. Dilis keeps Entendre safe.

Near Angels, those of companion charges, can only look on, tutting their only power really, when near angels misbehave.

There’s no precedent, no boy angel has behaved so defiantly, as Aloysius. It has been deemed, in abstention, by the angel council that first Aloysius must actively seek Ignatius’ forgiveness and then he must wait for Ignatius’ response. As there is no precedent for this, Ignatius can respond in any way he pleases. And if he rejects Aloysius, there will be a schism in the angel kingdom and no angel really knows what will happen after that.

The echoes of the tutting angels can bee heard floating all about.

Maybe Entendre and Dilis can only watch from the sidelines, eating grapes. Dillis is the stoner. Entendre is the drinker. Both cross that another region is threatening the world. Conscience floating in every atom, eventually it must get in.

Angel Betrayal

Tall, dark-haired Angel Ignatius and brown, shaggy-haired Angel Aloysius sleep together in their feathered nest in their moss cave, every night. Aloysius is in Ignatius’ arms, their wings wrapped around each other. Two beautiful lovers, eyes closed, at peace, betrothed to each other, since the day they met. Love at first sight, as it works for all angels.
It is how the angel world sleeps peacefully, everyone in love. It's a delicate equilibrium that takes energy to maintain. Love is dictated by personalities not gender. Total freedom rules. But you don't mess with someone's mate, Angels mate for life, which for them, is forever. All are beautiful, someone for everyone, it has been decreed. Angel law number 1. There is natural balance in the angel kingdom, this law must be maintained, more so than obeyed. It is the angel life-blood.
I don’t ask a lot of my angels, so they have a lot of spare time on their hands. The other angels joke that Ignatius, Aloysius, Loquacious and Epiphany have the easiest gig in the angel world.
Lately, naughty Aloysius has been sleeping with young smouldering dark-haired Angel Angelo, against all angel rules. Angelo hasn't mated yet, he's only just left his mother, Angel Maria. He's only just gained adult angelhood. They are disobeying their own angel code, no good can come of this. Aloysius and Angelo are flying to the dark place to have unprotected sex with each other. Ignatius can feel it, when the two misbehave, as lover angels they share more than a bond, they share their soul.
They do have a current assignment though, I have asked them to find James for me. They should be busy scouting around, all four of them.
Shall I clap my hands?
Ignatius sleeps on his own, at night, he is heart broken, but he is too proud to admit it. He slips silently away at night without a word. He has the thoughts of all the angels, who all disapprove of Aloysius and Angelo, who keep their eye on Ignatius, sending him love.
Raven-haired beauty Angel Loquacious sends Nordic blond Angel Sebastian to sleep with Ignatius. Sebastian flies down to Ignatius in the dark of night and wraps his big strong wings around him, there on the moss in the cave. Of course, Sebastian can only offer comfort, as his heart is with Loquacious, he can’t offer the physical comfort Aloysius offers Ignatius, which is what Ignatius most craves.
Angel Sebastian usually sleeps with Loquacious, on a giant lily pad on the lake, with the full approval of the Angel Council, as Sebastian is one of only two angels in whose arms Loquacious stops talking and slips away to slumber. And they are in love, they only have eyes for each other, all the angels can see that. Sebastian’s girl co-angel usually sleeps with Angel Epiphany in the tree house, on velvet cushions. Loquacious sleeps with Epiphany, the only other angel in whose arms Loquacious stops talking for sleep, and Sebastian’s co girl angel, while Sebastian is comforting Ignatius, in these difficult times.
These sleeping arrangements are also allowed because Sebastian and his co girl angel are the angels of somebody close to me, I don’t know who, my dreams don’t extend passed my story, so they are never far from their charge. In all my dreams of angels, Sebastian’s co girl-angel’s name has never been revealed to me, I don’t know why?
But, Aloysius and Angelo are sneaking away from their charges to be together. The whole angel kingdom disapproves. Angel disapproval lays heavily on angels, to have the whole angel kingdom down on them must be excruciating for the two recalcitrant boy angels. Such disapproval will eventually turn a bad angel back to good, otherwise they will sicken and die. But as angels are immortal; good intentions will eventually win out.
When Aloysius scampers back during the daylight hours, his three co-angels give him the cold shoulder. Ignatius acts business-as-usual, clipped and to the point. Secretly, he is pleased to see his lover and as their emotions are tied, he feels lighter and brighter when Aloysius is around. The two girls are seething, Loquacious vocally, Epiphany cold as steel, almost silent, but Aloysius is sulky, pissed off, drunk on Angelo, and doesn’t seem to care. Epiphany kisses Loquacious long and slow to calm her anger.
Angel Ignatius, with his black tights and hairy chest, his silver wings and dazzling, blue eyes, instructs Aloysius to sleep by himself by the lake, when night falls, the only materialisation of Ignatius’ anger.
“You need to make some decision, Al. Until then, I don’t want you near me,” says Ignatius. His eyes watering and chin dimpling in pain. A pointed finger and attitude that says don’t fuck with me.
Aloysius’ eyes are sad as they lay sulkily on his muscular arm, lying on the shore of the Sapphire Lake. Leather pants stretched across his muscular arse, leather harness across he broad shoulders – he doesn’t even have the good sense to change from his Angelo play cloths when he returns home – brown shaggy hair, wavy down his neck. Plaintive eyes looking up at his cave, he’s forbidden to enter. Messy fringe, unblemished skin, dimpled chin. Green eyes burning like emeralds.
Both angels sleep uneasily.
Angel Sebastian returns to Loquacious with two flaps of his golden wings. And the whole angel kingdom holds is breath in anticipation.

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Not thinking about young men

I went down to my family's beach house at Fairhaven with my mum, Lottie. She said she had some old child psych buddy coming down to see her for the weekend, to catch up, she hadn't seen her for months. Lottie wanted to stay the rest of the week, after that and wanted me to go with her. I had uni studies to do, which, according to Lottie, I'd be far less distracted from down the beach. She meant Leah. I must have been in 3rd year. I must have been around twenty.
"Have the weekend as a break and then get stuck into it for five days, just before your exams," said Lottie. "I'll let you drive."
She had her 2 dr green Saab turbo then, (it replaced a cream Saab 99 sedan and was in turn replaced by a maroon Saab 900 sedan, neither turbo, both under powered, but the 2 dr turbo was a different machine) so the offer was attractive from that point of view.
Lottie liked to get me away from Leah, my girlfriend at the time. She didn't think Leah was good for me. The truth is, Leah turned into super woman and ended up having the proverbial "all." Lottie, unusually for her, misjudged Leah's character trait of blind faith in her own abilities as pushiness and selfishness. Although Lottie has denied it on several occasions, she subconsciously knew that a girl wasn't right for her baby gay son. Not that I told her for some years, after that. I used to tell her, more recently, that it was in the realm of things Lottie didn't know that she knew. She says it's rubbish and that she was devastated when I told her I was a poofter.
"My handsome son. I don't see it in you. Can you have a blood test. No grand children."
But, on paper Leah was the dream girl, beautiful, intelligent, vivacious, ambitious, just the type Lottie would go for, if I was straight. She didn't like my second, short lived, girlfriend Deanne either who was smart and beautiful, who ended up a partner in an Architectural firm doing very well for herself. Both perfect females who Lottie disapproved of.
Conversely, Lottie has adored everyone of my boyfriends.
Mothers and sons. Women and boys.
Dad? His tongue drooled out of his mouth and he got all smiley and tongue tied when I took Leah, and later Deanne, down to the beach and he had to share the sand with them in skimpy bikinis. My boyfriends never quite had the same effect on him.
Fathers and daughters. Men and girls.
The weather was glorious, even if it was before the season. It was spring, maybe October. The cool Swede performed like a dream, I thought, as I edged it's nose in under the Tea Trees by the house, in two and a bit hours. "And here we are," Lottie would say upon arrival.
We sat on the deck and drank tea, with Lottie questioning my study schedule for the time up until my exams, as the sun bathed us and the sea breeze cooled us. The ever present sea providing that reassuring, constant roar some where off in the distance; that rolling, crashing power.
Mum's colleague arrived in due course, with her son Evan, who Lottie didn't know was coming.
Evan. let me just sit for a moment and reflect on Evan. Beautiful Evan. He was one of those lean athletic types with big brown eyes, a gorgeous face and a smile that lit up across his lips. Shaggy hair, crisp white shirt, blue jeans and an angelic face, was what greeted me. He was locking eyes with me the moment he got there, which threw me just a little. I decided that I'd been sitting in the sun for too long and my imagination was now playing tricks on me, so I was, actually, relieved when Lottie suggested the beach post haste.
"Best beach on the coast," Lottie said.
But his looks lingered, didn't look away when a boy should. Any chance to look up and gaze at me. Corner of his eye. Straight on intense. Furtive. Questioning. Just a tentative smile the only expression, unless he was responding to something our mums said. Otherwise it was the full focus, the full attention, silently, knowing, as our mother's chatted girl's talk oblivious.
"What do you think, Christian," he said low and husky. Then coughed as if to clear his throat.
"It's a nice beach... Evan," I replied. I tried to smile, but couldn't.
We all got changed. Evan came out in a pair of red speedos which showed to me his near 0% body fat.
We headed down the steep, treacherous hill a mass of towels and blankets and bags and chairs and lotion and extra clothes, the mums piled up like pack mules, Evan and I doing our bit. How Evan wore those speedos, I thought, as he headed down the path in front of me. I know bubble-but is too much of a cliche now a days, but he had the most delectable mounds on him. Thick thighs slightly wider than his petite arse, a look I would come to love in men.
The mums sat on their short legged chairs under the striped beach umbrella, covering their exposed, to the sun, legs in various sarongs or Evan and my windcheaters. Evan and I body surfed on foam paddle boards together. We didn't chat too much, as the waves were good and we seemed to be locked in a silent quest to prove ourselves best to the other one.
Those brown eyes though, they burnt through me the whole time. If ever a million silent words were said by gaze, Evan was talking loud and clear. I tried to look away. His look was fixed on me. His smile was too. Strong and silent. That pretty face of his gazing. It pushed me into a kind of sexual tension, silent, deafening, all pervasive heightened state. We were kind of awkward around each other, getting in each other's way, grabbing to rescue the same board from heading out to open sea, at the same time. Touching, as though by accident. Sliding into each other on the power of the waves.
It was as though a silent, secret love affair had been started that neither of us was quite aware of.
I assumed that Evan was about my age. It seems funny to think that we spent may be 3 hours body surfing and age wasn't one of the things we discussed, but we didn't. We didn't discuss much, hardly anything, not school, not family, not friends. I was kind of mesmerised by this beautiful young man who gave the distinct impression that he was as mesmerised by me. I remember the things we talked about were all things about how we were feeling at that moment. The squeaky sand on our feet, the cold water on our nuts, the power of the waves, how the goosebumps made each of our skin feel. Evan ran his hand down my arm saying he just wanted to see if he could feel my goosebumps. The wind. Sharks. Our different coloured Speedos, which, in truth, just gave us the excuse to gaze at each other. Waterproof suntan lotion. The long white beach once the tide had gone out. Sand up our arses when we sat in the shallows.
Evan and I took turns at hosing each other down at the tap on the balcony made for that purpose when we returned to the house. His speedos clung to him and left little to my imagination, after a direct hit from me with the hose, as, I assume, mine did with him. I avoided having a shower with him, even if Lottie did make suggestions that it would be quicker, as we'd spent so much time luxuriously hosing each other under the tap, that dinner was called when we said we wanted showers. It just seemed too intimidating to my, then, straight boy brain to be contemplating being naked with a boy who I wasn't at all sure what he was making me feel.
Dinner was chicken and salad, Lottie's "quick and easy" meals. Towards the beginning of which Lottie suddenly said.
"Oh Christian, can you share your double bed with Evan? Can't you?" said Lottie. "Otherwise, I'll have to make up another bed. It would be easier. You boys don't care, do you?"
"No." I kind of stumbled. Looked over at Evan and said, "I don't care." He smiled and I got intense butterflies in my stomach flapping around.
"Okay," said Evan. Smile. "Fine with me."
The woman talked early childhood development, ironically and Evan and I ate in, relative, silence, gazing at each other through secret eyes. We sparked up and made an effort to help the other if he wanted something, drinks, salt, serviettes, etc. Otherwise, we just gazed at each other between mouthfuls.
Lottie said something about us being the men of the house and that the two of us probably wanted beer, at which point Evan's mum Carmel shocked me.
"Oh, I don't know," she said smiling motherly at Evan. "I don't know." Quizzical look. Smile. "Okay. Just one." Carmel looked over at Lottie and shrugged. "Probably better that a 15 year old boy drinks with his mum than anyone else."
I couldn't believe it. I gazed at Evan's handsome face blankly, I guessed the word was confused.
"You fifteen," I asked him.
"Just turned," he said.
I drank 2 stubbies and Evan drank one, before it was suggested that that was probably enough.
Lottie and Carmel talked about various theories put forward by professors they knew regarding early teaching methods.
When cards was suggested I made an excuse about being tired and took myself off to bed.
I was exhausted. Mentally exhausted. I felt like I'd been playing come hither, go away, come hither, what am I doing, what do you want, games all afternoon, which were confusing and tantalising all at the same time and suddenly I wanted to lay my head down and, truthfully, hoped that it would all go away.
Evan gave me a lingering look as I said good night.
Also, 2 stubbies were quite enough, as I found myself to be quite pissed as I stumbled out of the room.
I stripped down to my jocks, I usually slept naked, but decided against it and got into bed. Suddenly the day was quiet, calm, silent and finally made sense. Silence inside and outside of my mind, just the white glow of the full moon shining in through the window. I found that I was shaking once I'd pulled the doona over me and I had to concentrate on clearing my mind so my nerves would stop vibrating. Truthfully, I hoped I would be asleep when Evan came to bed, secretly and silently chastising myself for the thoughts and feelings I'd been having all afternoon.
The quiet body hum of sleep had nearly taken me away to a safe place when the light was switched on.
"Oh, sorry, were you asleep?" said Evan, calmly, purposefully.
I gazed at him as he stripped off his blue polo shirt exposing his cherry red nipples and his incredibly defined torso.
"I didn't mean to wake you," said Evan. Some how his words didn't quite ring true, they sounded hollow. Just spoken.
He let his blue shorts slip to the floor and he was standing there in his blue, Superman jocks, the kind with an cartoon application across his plump genitals. The only part of him that had any fat on it.
"Were you... er... um." Smile. "Asleep?"
"No," I said breathlessly. "Not quite."
"Good," Evan said. Then he quickly corrected himself. "That I didn't wake you, I mean." Then he adjusted himself by grabbing Super Man's head.
"No, um... you didn't."
He walked around to the side of the bed, then remembered the light was still on, so he turned and headed to the switch. I got to gaze at his sexy arse, as he scratched it. The hair down his legs. His muscular calves.
My cock was hardening the whole time, that slow move around kind of erection, as if to spite me. I was lying on my side, as Evan approached the bed in silhouette of the glow from the moon. I saw him disappear out of sight, as I felt the bed move and the doona adjust.
Then Evan's arms were around me suddenly, with the intensity of someone grabbing for life itself. Sudden. Strong. Our nipples, our stomachs, our cocks all touched. Bound. Silent. We started to rub hardons together, tentatively. Slow, grind, each stiff shaft moving over the other shift, shift shift. Silently, still. Balls together. Leg hair against leg hair.
His warm, soft lips touched mine, tentatively. Wet. Smooth. I opened my mouth. He did too. My tongue touched his.
"No, we can't," I said breathlessly. And I turned him around and wrapped my arms around him. I hugged him tight under the perception of not allowing him to move again.
Still. Buzzing in side. Amazed I wasn't shaking. Hoping I wouldn't start shaking after that thought. Fear. Warm. Skin. Floating away on what, actually, felt so right, though I still fought it there in the moon's glow. Stop. Truth. Denial. Silent admission. Relax. Melt. Inhale. Bliss. Thank you to the universe.
Evan's nipple was under my fingers, I squeezed it gently, nervously. Evan slid his hand up and took mine and slid them both back down to his superman underpants and I took his thick, curved hardon in my hand and just held it and we both drifted off to sleep.

I thought of Evan on the beach in his red speedos when I saw this photo of Justin Gaston in his red jocks

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

As the day drifts, so does my mind

It's funny, James is an Aussie and Mitchel is Malaysian. He just text, he's moved into the next suburb. I told him I can't remember what he looks like.
Not my usual types. Normally, I'm a wogboy man through and through.
I'm in bed already. I've had a lot of late nights just lately. The sun is just dropping far down in the west, the room is fuzzy with light, the day on the turn to night. Warm, long summer nights, I've missed them.
I've had a lot of sex with a lot of hot wog boys, I'm thinking, as I recline under my doona in front of the teev.
Michael - gorgeous Greek pup with come to bed eyes. What can I say, bluntly? The arse on that boy had to be ridden to be believed.
Lee - pulling down his jeans that first night, to show his thick hairy Greek boy legs. And how he filled out those blue and white striped jocks!
Lauri - okay, let's say it - apart from his Italian beauty, his heart, his soul, his naughtiness, dirty mind, intellect, whit - never again will I ever see a more beautiful cock. Big, thick all the way along, uncut.
Maurice - beautiful smile, beautiful eyes, loved to be kissed as he got screwed. But Italian boys do.
Carmine - buffed Italian gym boy, open heart, dirty mind, shaved hairy chest. Always wanted to play with another so we could both top. Those dirty Sunday morning calls, Come over, we can tandem. I miss them.
Dean - smouldering good looks, took my breath away every time I saw him. A little flabby, puppy fat, the most timid in the cot. Gentle. Tactile. A passionate kisser with the most beautiful Italian-boy come to bed eyes.
Manny - well, I think I've spoken about him at length. Sexy Greek boy, who was the best kisser out of all of them.
Greek boys are sweeter than Italian boys, I've found.
Funny the things you think, hey, as the sun goes down. As the day folds away into the black. As Missy purrs loudly from the corner of the bed. As I puff the last on the j.
That's not counting casual sex, either. Although, Lauri is the only one who was my boyfriend.
Dancing at the Albury that Mardi Gras. He was in front of me, I had my arms around him. He had on a blue, sleevless, checked shirt. It was Sunday night after the party, we were elegantly wasted. We were floating to the music, I was chewing gently on his neck. I can still remember the way he smells, tastes. He was warm, I can still feel him in my arms.
This drunk chick was suddenly beside us, slurring, loudly. I think we jumped.
"You're gorgeous!" Lauri was in front. "You are fucking gorgeous!" She was dazzled by his brilliant green eyes. "Are you angels, sent down from heaven?" I told you she was drunk.

Somebody elses kids

Aren't I mean? David has a girlfriend who I can't bare. She is the big events coordinator for the new millennium. All show, all singing, all dancing, sell, sell, sell, full of shit. Big smile, big eyes, "How fascinating, Daaarrrrllinngg!"
I don't believe your sincerity for a moment. I don't like you!
A week, or so ago, when I had the house to myself, David asked if she could come and spend the night, as she lives way out in the boonies and she had an early flight to catch at Melbourne airport. When David was in Sydney and Shane was in Adelaide.
"I'd rather she didn't, to tell you the truth." Me and her alone together for the night. Ah! I'd rather have my dick cut off.
Just now, David came and asked how I'd feel about having two kids in the house tomorrow while he baby sits. "No way," I said. I decided not to sugar coat it. "I hate kids." Not, actually, true, but close enough for this exercise.
"I guess I'll take that as a no?"
I knew who's kids they were and I wasn't having any part of this eventuating. I just knew it would happen more than once, if I allowed it to happen in the first place.
"I'm not sure how else you could interpret my reply," I said to David.
I don't like her, I thought. So, why should I inconvenience myself for somebody I don't like. Life just doesn't work that way. Not that David knows that I don't like her, I never saw any point in letting that cat out of the bag on that issue.

Justin Gaston - underwear model

I want to make it through

I went out looking for James. Well? Crazier things have happened, I can assure you.
Instead, I found Marty. Short blond hair, steel blue eyes, big mouth, just made for kissing. Angular face, handsome, a day's growth as sharp as needles and the smell of alcohol on his breath.
The bastard must have put his tooth through my bottom lip, some time when we were kissing and crawling over each other. I didn't realise until after we'd had sex, when I realised the beard rash couldn't, actually, be inside my mouth.
Another one who wanted to be fucked without a condom. The majority of the boys I have sex with want to be fucked raw. One of them last week, pulled the condom off me and said, Do it to me now. Drug fucked eyes, desperate for it.
Do these guys realise that being positive isn't that great? I watch my mates deal with it. And while all of them are healthy, there are side effects to the pills and all sorts of minor heath issues that can occur. Not to mention living with the angst of a virus eating its way through your blood, on a daily basis.
I want to be negative when they find the cure. I want to be able to say, I made it through. I don't know why, silly really, but it's just my thing. It just seems to be a part of the problem to not really care.
I wondered about the unsafe sex issue, as I tongued the split in my lip, as I lent against the wall trying to convince myself to go home. I did a couple of laps, lusted after Crazy Boy. Laughed, when one of the other guys said, He scares me, nodding his head in Crazy Boy's direction.
I grunted in agreement and thought to myself, I find him captivating.
But, with a split lip the choice about staying was really taken out of my hands.
Crazy Boy came up to me a bit later and said, Are you staying much longer?
I'm not sure why, except we do chat a bit when he's not running from one place to another. And I do eye the bulge in his pants... so, I guess I know why we chat.
No, I said. I'm heading home. And I headed out the door.

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

On the 9th day of summer

And today it rains...
I'm on the coffee table with my lap-top and Missy is sitting between my feet demanding attention. If she sits up on her back legs she can rub her head against my hand as I type. If it wasn't so damn annoying, it would be adorable. Not to mention that she is purring so damned loudly, looking up at me with her feline eyes hoping to sway my attention, I can hardly hear myself think. She is so soft, I think, as I intermittently pat her head, she closes her eyes and looks in bliss.
It's turned cold, who'd have thought. I'm tempted to light a fire, but I'm resisting, too indulgent. It doesn't hurt us to feel hot, feel cold, feel inbetween. It's okay to feel different temperatures, our worlds don't have to be kept at 21 degrees all our lives. It's good for us, makes us feel.

Monday, December 08, 2008

Monday Morning

It was a gloriously sunny day, as I drove down from the country. The road stretched out in front of me, sweeping over the hills and out of sight. The sun shone in through the sunroof, warming my forehead, neck and shoulders. I shivered with its warmth on my bare skin; goosebumps give me a thrill, bring my skin alive.

Back to the grind, I thought, such is my grind now a days. Ha, ha! I wondered what all the office workers were doing? As Labelle's new cd played, Back To Now. I laughed, as I swept into the right lane and overtook a mosey-haired woman and her child making long work of a short drive. She gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles and stared, unblinkingly, a head. The kid looked at me dumbly from the back seat, like a nodding-head dog, which should have been on the back shelf.

Monday morning. Gotta luv em, I thought.

The paddocks were the colour of wheat. The sky the colour of sapphires. The day was shiny, the world looked new, fresh and inviting, sparkling under the midday sun.

What was I going to do for the day? Anything I wanted, worlds and oysters and all of that. I'm as free as a bird, I suddenly thought. I resisted the urge to tweet, although I wanted to.

Sunday, December 07, 2008

Boys will be boys

I've been playing Y*ville on F*cebook, it's a vitual world. It's funny and a great waste of time when I'm supposed to be working.
I'm trying to create a beat, down by the beach. Well, isn't that, traditionally, where gay boys hang out to meet? Otherwise, it's just boys meeting girls. I've been hanging out down there, chatting to guys.
A couple of boys have got it, lately. One boy, a twenty year old Italian whose having trouble telling his parents he's gay, took me back to his place, oddly enough. Two animated charaters rubbing up against each other. A little weird, let me tell you.
But one guy doesn't make a beat, huh? Let's see how many other gay boys I can attract.

Saturday, December 06, 2008

That boy James

I head around to the shop mid morning to get cigarettes and the newspaper. When I get back I'm chatting to David in the kitchen when he says something about the camo pants and red shirt I'm wearing.
"If you went out dressed like that you'd get fisters coming up to you."
Apparently, red is for fisting, which David is into. So is Shane actually. And me, no, I always say to the two of them when they talk about some guy's arse nibbling at their elbow, Whatever happened to a kiss and a cuddle?
David suddenly looked closely at the front of my pants. "What's on your pants?" he asked.
I looked down to see my pants covered in white spray right across the front of them.
"Um." They were the same pants I wore to 80 the night before. "Ah, the lovely James." I smiled and looked back at David. "He sprayed like a fire hose... as he had the most perfect fire hose to spray with." Uncut, slightly thicker in the middle with the most perfect knob sticking out of his foreskin. The type of cock you just want to go down on. The type of penis you want tucked away in your boyfriend's pants.
"I'm going to find him," I said. "Somewhere, sometime, he'll be there." I smiled. "I was stupid not to give him my number last night."
I looked down at my pants and thought that I had better wash them before I go to the shops again. Even if I, really, wanted to keep them just the way they were. I ran my finger tips over the white spray and thought of James, sending my best come hither thoughts to him.

Christian Values

A Santa and his elves have been assaulted by angry parents at a shoddily-run Christmas theme park after complaints of extortionate entry prices and excessive queue times, according to reports.
Simmering tensions at the much-maligned Lapland New Forest, in west England, descended in physical blows after Santa reportedly began refusing to sit children on his knee and charged parents an extra $20 to have photos taken.
"The final straw for one dad came when after four hours he was told he would have to join another queue for his child to get a present," park worker Adrian Wood said to British tabloid, The Sun.
"So he marched up and punched Santa on the chin."
But the chaos didn't end there: Mr Wood, who worked on the front gate, said he quit his own job after being struck by an enraged punter.
And a further 25 staff were told by their temp agency to walk out after three employees were also punched while posing as Santa's elves.
"We can't expect our staff to take constant abuse and do not want to put their safety at risk," said Richards Events spokeswoman Sue Holzher.
The park was already under fire for charging a $70 entry fee per person and variously lambasted in newspaper reports as a "glorified car boot sale" and "like a warzone".
The Dorset Trading Standards Service has received more than 1000 complaints about the park and plans to give it a thorough inspection.
But a spokesman for Lapland New Forest insisted "95 percent" of customers who visited the park left satisfied.

Friday, December 05, 2008

A hot photo from AXN magazine

Thursday night at the tubs

I went to 80 last night. I was, kind of, into the idea of saving myself for Mitchell, but, a boy has needs and Mitchell isn't, exactly, coming forth with the answer, shall we say.
Besides, I want a boy who'll roll over and put his arse in the air. Why am I always hooking up with tops?
I think I'm into the idea of giving a monogamous relationship a go. I've never had one in the past, but, I reckon, I'm up for it now.
First boy off the rank was John. Beautiful smile. Gorgeous face. Nice, too. Friendly. Pretty much as soon as I got there, he smiled at me, I smiled at him. I think we have a winner.
Face in the pillow and an amyl bottle up his nose, which I normally like. Big soft lips that liked to kiss and his ankles around his ears, what's not to like? But, how do I put this, clearly I wasn't the first one to go there on the night. It's like holding a plank of wood by the tip and waving it around in the air. Nothing, really. He was loving it, but me, couldn't feel a thing.
So, I took the condom off and was heading out the door to find a new playmate. John continued to lay on the bed, with his fingers inside himself requesting, asking, wanting me to do it to him without a condom. "Please, please, that's what I want."
Over the next few hours I noticed that John was the bike for the night, with a continual parade of men into cubicles. I wished, at that point, that I hadn't been one of them. I guessed he got what he wanted.
Note to self - don't go off with the first pretty face you see in future.
David fucks the guy he is seeing without a condom, despite the guy being negative and David being positive.
"He knows, it's his decision," says David. "What's the big deal?"
"The big deal will be when he discovers he is positive," I say. "I would bet that he won't be so happy about it then."
Then there was walking, walking, walking. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Gazing down the dark corridors, to see them bend around empty corners. Listening to the music. Smelling the smell of sex and amyl and bodily fluids drifting on the air. Watching the bodies appear out of the dark only to disappear into the shadows. Wondering why you can't smoke? Listening to the guys getting what they want. "Yes, yes, yes!" Vocal bottoms, you gotta love 'em. Standing. Leaning. Thinking that I really should go home.
Then along came James. Gorgeous, really. Nice to kiss. Beautiful dick, uncut. Thick. Really pretty. He wanted to connect afterwards, but, by that time, I was in I-just-want-to-get-out-of-here-mode. Shame. He had a gorgeous smile and was really nice. I wished I'd given him my number now. It wasn't until I was half way up Peel Street that I thought, Hey James, do you want to catch up another time?

I don't usually go for blonds, but how hot is this guy?

Thursday, December 04, 2008

Filthy straight boys

Shane went to Adelaide for a conference and met a nice Spanish boy. They had a nice time. They spent the weekend together.They had a long Sunday together, before Shane had to fly home late that night.
They were walking hand in hand, late Sunday night, on their way back to Shane's hotel room, for him to pack, when they came across a bunch of drunk straight boys, drinking outside a local pub. The lads yelled comments, dirty poofters, filthy faggots, arse fuckers (like that's an insult?) fudge packers, you know the lines. All that testosterone wrapped up in fear. It would be hot, if it wasn't so ugly.
"Was there one who was yelling the loudest?" I asked. There usually is, with fear and torment in his eyes.
"Yeah one," said Shane. "Who was louder, more anxious and more obnoxious than the rest."
He's the one with the dodgy straight gene and he knows it, depending on how truthful he is with himself.
"It's sad that he just can't ask a nice gay boy to calm him down with a good headjob."
Another nice girl's life potentially ruined.
"It's so obvious," said Shane. "He wanted it so bad."
Apparently, he was at the back of the pack, practically climbing up on his mates backs to spit his insults with his flushed, red face.
"How come his buddies don't see it?" I asked. "You know, we think you protest too much. It won't be long, straight boy's are evolving too. They'll see it, eventually."
Shane shrugged. "He was also the hottest too."
"Isn't that always the way."
Shane and Spanish boy kept walking, hand in hand. Heads up, no fear. Gay boys have strength now, safety in numbers, powerful in wider acceptance.

Hot Christopher

Britney Spears

You know, I'm fascinated with Britney Spears. I couldn't care less about her music, but I'm always interested in her.

I just watched that documentary she made and if that was really from her heart, soul, mind and not scripted for her, she's impressive.

Wednesday, December 03, 2008

Would the real Dy Barnett please, um, er, stand up?

We get to St John’s Toorak, finding a parking space directly outside. As we walk in, we are handed an Order of Service and I notice that there seemed to be a 20 year age gap between this woman and my mum. A university lecturer who is 20 years younger than her student? I hold up the picture on the front of the Order of Service.
“Is that her?”
“Yes, yes, that’s her,” says mum.
“How old is she, mum?”
“Oh, my age.”
We walk in and find a seat. Mum sits on the isle and I sit one seat in. Men in dark suits, women in their best afternoon dresses congregate, before they take their seats.
“So, how do you know this woman?
“Oh,” Lottie brightens up at the recollection, “when I lived in London, Dy and her husband lived in Switzerland and I stayed with them often. They were very generous to me.”
I thought she was Lottie's university lecturer, even that seems to have changed. I forgot momentarily, I thought she'd correct me.
“Mum, according to this,” holding the Order of Service up as evidence, as if, I suspected, I needed it. “Dy was between 10 and 15 years old when you lived in Europe.”
“Oh,” continues Lottie undeterred. “She drove a car and everything.”
Everyone had arrived, the priest enters indicating the show was about to start.
“Who is her husband?”
"Peter. Peter is her husband."
As it turned out, this woman’s husband’s name is Peter.
"What happened to him?"
“He died, darling.”The priest looks like every other deluded man who ever put on a frock... cassock, with that same pinch-face, sad look that they all have.
“Welcome, blah, blah, blah. Peter, Dy’s husband, would like to speak first.”
I look at Lottie. She looks at me.
“Did they have any children?”
“He was married before and he has a son.”
“No other children?”
“No, dear.”
The priest stands again. “The first dedication will be read by Dy’s daughter Sarah followed by Dy’s other daughter Amanda.”
“Be funny if we were at the wrong funeral,” Lottie offers. We both laugh.
I’m thinking about how many other small stories are being played out at Dy Barnett’s funeral. I wonder if Dy had a sense of humour, as I know I’d be laughing at mum and me, if I was her.
Sarah says something about when her parents were married, which was some fifteen years after my mother lived overseas.
I didn’t need any more evidence. I laugh.
It is amusing. Funny. Make a good story. Be voyeur and drink in all of the virginal knowledge. A complete story offered up. It's like a big secret that only Lottie and I are in on.
The first hymn starts up. Lottie asks me if I don’t know the words when she looks over to see me mute. I respond by singing the arse off Immortal Invisible, my years as a choir boy have often held me in good stead.
The hymn finishes and I lean over to Lottie and say, “Let’s go.”
She gets that steely look in her eye, which I hadn’t seen since childhood and refuses. “It would be rude.” She’s on the isle and moves to block my exit.
“What?” Incredulous!
“I’m not doing that,” she says. “I could never be so rude as to walk out of someone's funeral.”
"Someone you know..."
We all sit. Amanda gets up, who clearly had issues with her looks growing up, as she mentions it several times. So bad was the picture she painted, that I was left gazing at a now beautiful woman thinking to myself, You must have knocked them dead at class reunions.
But, we’ve missed out exit point. More dedications. Then the sermon.
I wasn't thinking it was nearly as amusing, as I first did, after Lottie's refusal to leave. Then the priest launches into all that Christian mumbo jumbo, the reasons for people still believing in it completely elude me. Just listen to a priest next time you have a chance, the stuff he sprouts is on the same believability level as Lord of the Rings, or Harry Potter.
The priest's near final words to his sermon are something like the following,
“Those who live with Jesus love will go on to live in the eternal light. Those who do not live with Jesus love will not.”
Rubbish! That was enough for me.
“You are even making me listen to this nonsense.”
Lottie smiles, as best she could, under the circumstances.
I am getting out. I have a good mind to walk out in the middle of the prayers, which would have mortified Lottie, but settle myself with the thought, this is someone’s funeral, even if you don’t know them, keep your calm and your dignity, Christian.
To top things off, as if they needed that, guess who the final song was by? The only person who is banned from ever being played in my house, ever! I knew David would get a laugh. Celine Dion, Because You Love Me. I wasn't staying for that.
I take Lottie by the shoulder and push her back gently.
“I’ll see you outside.” At which point, I step passed her and head for the door.
Head up, forward like a Galleon, as Joyce Grenfell would have insisted.
Lottie does know a Dorothy Barnett, Dy's real name, who, amazingly, is married to a Peter, just not this couple.
Dy, the one we don’t know, sounded like a nice person who had an interesting life. She sounded as though I would have liked her. She loved her kids, you could hear it in the way they spoke about her. She seemed like she had it all, but was struck down by a rare illness, I imagine, when she had everything to live for. Dy, it was, actually, fascinating to listen to your life. In your honour...

I call Mark & Luke, as I'm waiting for the service to end and we all have a laugh. They are incredulous. "You have to be shitting me," says Luke.
I collect Lottie, as she is coming out of the church. "I suppose you want to head back to the house for tea and sandwiches?" I say, as I take her arm.
We both laugh, as we head for the car.
Lottie's final words were that she enjoyed the funeral. She found it, just, fascinating.
"Well, there are several churches within walking distance of your house," I say. "You could toddle off to a funeral a day and be continually fascinated."


I've got to take Lottie to a funeral this afternoon. It is for one of her university lecturers who taught her at uni.
I don't think I would know any of my university lecturers even if they came up to me and greeted me by name. But, fifty years later? No way.
"Universities were much smaller and nurturing, in my day," says Lottie. "She was so good to me, good to all of my year group, we could never forget her."

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

Small waist
narrow hips
thick thighs
tight shorts
thin cotton
pushing out
stomach hair
elastic, skin
warm, flat
course curls
sweaty heat
thick base
kiss lips
gaze down
laying flat
palm shaft
squeeze quick
turning round
within grip
hardening curl
rising up
slide down
quick breath
feel sticky
end moist
squeeze again
first moan
up and down
legs adjust
big and strong
breath in
legs shake
kiss lips
breath out
eat face
tighten grip
grabs neck
gulps breath
oh yes!
got him!
here goes
shaking legs
gulping mouth
on tip-toes
aahh! aahh!
serpent roars
hard, thick
gurgled scream
spasm legs
pulse, pulse
hard, strong
splashing hand
sticky, hot
squirt warm
strangled breath
shake, stop
slow kiss
stubble, end

Monday, December 01, 2008

Happy Summer

Woosh, zip

Goodness me! Smoking and writing till 4am. Scampered off to bed, finally, at 5.30. thinking, if I didn't, the next thing I knew would be the cleaner walking in the door at 10am. Remembered I had to leave money and written instructions as soon as I got comfortable, as David was interstate and couldn't, I promised. Decided I could legitimately sleep through everything with minimal fallout. The cleaner would go home with no money, essentially that was the worst. Up at 1.30pm. I think I'm getting the hang of this quite nicely.
Thick head, though.
Need coffee.

Wandered down stairs, wondered where the cleaner was? Thanked the universe as I listened to her call in sick message. "Not bad... God," I said... then dissolved into laughter. "5 million, a house by the sea and a thirty something Italian who thinks I'm, well, you and then we'll talk seminaries."
Jumped at the bean grinder whirring into action.
Couldn't read my first text because my right eye was gunked up, again. (How many medical appointments is this going to take?)
Reeled back at the day light like a vampire, as the front door swung open, as I headed out for cigarettes and the newspaper. Went back for my sunglasses on this overcast day.
The shop felt like a mighty long walk away away.
Thanked the universe that I never took to alcohol.
Returned to the loft, in a flutter, as my right eye started it's weeping trick in the wind, again.
Returned calls. Actually, decided after the first phone call only to text.
Switched on my computer. Wondered how bad sitting at my computer yesterday for 16 hours really was for me?
Opened Tropical Fever. Wondered if I could get a little boy on boy action in the first sex scene? Decided it will have to wait until the third sex scene.
Decided on more coffee.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Sunday morning

Tim's birthday lunch. Date with Mitchell. Both Saturday. Birthday barbie starts at 3pm, easily can excuse myself by 7, pushing 8pm.
Nicholas looked handsome in dark tracky pants. He fills them out good, especially from the side profile. I think he know it, though. I've caught him with a coy, blushing look... as he declared his meat "cooked" from the bbq.
Tim had knock off Prada sunglasses he was very proud of.

"Oh spoil me," I said to myself, as I washed hands. "Great barbie!" I thought of texting it to Mitchell, but thought the explanation was beyond me on a phone keyboard. Laughed at myself for retreating to the toilet." I laughed, almost ashamedly, at myself in the bathroom mirror.
"One of your best friend's mother has an epileptic fit in the middle of a birthday lunch, Christian and you think the equivalent of, Oh there's a thing, I need to go to the toilet.
Judi had been picked up off the floor and removed, when I returned, may have been the best move of the afternoon.
Didn't stop her having another bong, mind you.
That and deciding to stick to my original plan, when I got cold sitting in the court yard and leave at 7pm. It was 7.30, but half an hour in Christian time, let's face it, is on time. I was staggering off up Napier by 7.36, in the cool wind and the dying afternoon sun.
Mitcell was over by 9.30. We watched a movie, Trust that Man. Mitchell picked it out from all the Asian knock offs David brings back from his travels.

Mitchell finally christened my sheets. Made his claim. Left his mark. He is the same size as me, I like that. He feels good in my arms. He feels comfy snuggling on the lounge. He looked cute asleep next to me on the pillow, this morning.
We drank coffee and ate muesli and smoked cigarettes sitting on the back veranda in the morning sun.
I'm not used to having someone around Sunday mornings, so to speak. Out of practice. It was easy. It was nice. He left right on queue.
I was impressed.
I had the day to myself.
I wrote.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

Long weekend

Ah, home alone. David and Shane are interstate until Monday night. Shane went Thursday, David went Friday. I've got the house to myself.
Matt took advantage of Shane being away and came around yesterday morning and he and I had breakfast. Matt's just got back from L.A. While he was there, he got 2 bags of coke, one for him and one for the guy he was staying with. They put them in the side pocket of Matt's backpack. Well, the dance party, whatever it was, came around and Matt took full advantage of his and, he assumed, so did the guy he was staying with. They had a good time. Great party. Best Matt had been to.
It wasn't until 3 days after Matt got home that he reached into the side pocket of his back pack, looking for something, or other, that he discovered that the guy he was staying with never took his bag out of Matt's back pack, it was still in there. Matt had carried it out of the US and into Australia.
Do you believe that? Big grimace. Head shake. Oops! Matt's customary cheeky laugh. Shrug.
Jees Matt, I guess I could have baked you a cake with a file in it.
Tell me about it, he replied. Fuck me!
Matt has the most beautiful brown eyes, just by the way.
Suffice to say that Matt has had a fairly "busy" week, shall we say, since he has been back.
Anyway, gotta go see my mum, I have ignored her for two days.
Gotta go to a bbq for at Tim and Nicholas' for Tim's birthday. I don't have to take anything.
I stayed up until 3am writing Tropical Fever, got 10 pages done. Now for the first sex scene.
Must go and have a shower. Mustn't fart around on my computer until the morning has drained away like so much sand in an hour glass.
Mitchell has gone AWOL?

L's picks for 2008

L's top 5 for 2008 -

1 - Labelle - Back To Now
2 - Grace Jones - Hurricane
3 - Hercules and Love Affair - S/T
4 - Duffy - Rockferry
5 - Friendly Fires - S/T

Friday, November 28, 2008

Stars are good today....especially after your revelations last night

I thought I might have a go at writing erotic romance novels for girls. I would have to write under a chicks name, or course, but that's okay. A friend of mine is a connoisseur. Apparently, there's a lot of two boys, one girl, as these are girls fantasies, of course. There is even gay sex between the boys, as straight girls fantasise about 2 boys together, apparently, as much as straight boys fantasise about 2 girls together, even if girls don't publicly admit it quite as much.
I could write that. How hard can it be?
Pulp fiction is the place to make money. Literary novels never paid the bills, except for a small few.

I told Shane last night. He sent me my stars - he and I are the same star sign - thinking they were good, as far as my idea was concerned.

Be glad of any errors of judgement that you have ever made. Celebrate your dodgiest decisions. These, it now turns out, are coins with which you can afford to buy yourself a safer future. The more you can lay claim to, the better the purchase you can make. There is no upper limit. Don't be ashamed of what has happened. Just be glad of what's suddenly starting to become possible. By drawing on what has gone wrong so far, you can now summon the strength and wisdom to make something come wonderfully right.

My friend Jill, who is the devote, is also a marketing guru, as it turns out. Hello! Got to use what you've got. There is a good chance that if I finished the book, she would do every thing she had to sell it, which, after all, is her field of expertise and romance novels are her passion.
Jill lent me four books to read, to get acquainted.
I sat up in bed and read one of the book.
Oh my! Goodness me. It is such crap! The writing is so bad, it's unbelievable. Just crap. No character analysis. Such scant setting it's almost laughable. I'm up to chapter 10 and the only descriptive detail of the three main characters has been the mention of their hair colour.
No subtext, no discriminable theme, pretty much straight into the sex. It's really just porn described in words. That's what a good number of chicks want.
I smoked a j and got turned on, once I'd got use to the abysmal writing, which is what this stuff is designed for.
So, let's take all of the above and use it as a positive; I should be able to bang one of these books out in no time. Even if I dumb my writing down, it will still be far superior to what I'm reading, even if I do say so myself.
I've got a plot line worked out already. Remember, it never has to be rewritten passed the cliché stage.
Wealthy heiress, whose family paid her money rather than showed her love all her life, attends a country soiree at a fabulous country estate. Another fabulous weekend in her thoroughly empty life.
She meets a high class male prostitute, lets call him Zac and a Hollywood leading man, lets call him Alex, who are both holidaying at the hotel. The two men are old school buddies. The Hollywood actor is a method actor and he is about to make a movie about a bisexual man. The prostitute has made a shit load of money and is now contemplating changing his life, the problem is prostitution is all he's done, since he was seventeen, when that high powered, career-focused female colleague of his father's paid him for a weekend away. He doesn't know how to do any thing else.
A steamy manois de tois ensues.
The male prostitute becomes the eventual hero, the heiress the heroine.