They Called Him Horse

I met up with an old friend. An old party friend, to be truthful. I don't know how long it is since I've seen him, maybe five years, I guess maybe more than that.

His name is Greg and he used to be the quintessential muscle boy, when we used to party together. He had a penchant for the tiniest pairs of stretch shorts, stretched over his amazing bubble-butt and thighs and... He was a big, boofy boy, all muscles and in magnificent shape - physically perfect, if you like them big, which I don't as a rule, but he was really pretty to look at and really easy to... well, you know? We liked each other.

Short dark hair. Square jaw. Rye smile. Full lips. Easy going. Green eyes. Funny. Unashamedly sexy. Exhibitionistly not shy, it was almost embarrassing, nearly... if you were in with him.

The tiny little shorts were a fair indication of why they used to call him horse.

Actually, everyone used to call him Big Greg, maybe it was only me who called him horse, after those drunken - did I say drunken? Close enough - mornings way out on St Kilda pier, being spied on by the penguins, as the sun came up. Greg sitting down on the rocks, out there at the end of the pier, with the only clothing he had on - enough material for a few small handkerchiefs - around his ankles, had to be seen to be appreciated. It was fun. The sun glinting it's first orange rays in his eyes, on his skin, across my face. The dark sky fracturing, turning light, glowing bright, shiny, new. The day rising out of the ashes of the night.

He used to whinny like a thoroughbred and rub his face on my shoulder when I called him horse. You know, stamp his feet... lick me.

It was the first time I'd seen him in ages. I didn't, quite, recognise who he was, at first, momentarily, although I knew I knew his face. He was out of my head, I didn't expect to see him. And, while he was dressed in a shirt and jeans, pretty much covered up to how I remember him normally, it's funny I didn't remember the handsome face. I was, embarrassingly, blank with him.

"Oh my God! Greg! Fuck!" I felt like an idiot.

"Christian," he laughed. "I've missed you." He wrapped his arms around me and we hugged. Big, bear hug, like he used to always give me. He still smelt as sweet, fresh, clean, like a new day. He has skin like honey, soft, like a babies.

We both smiled like we weren't going to stop. I could feel pain in my face.

"How have you been?" I asked.

"Great," he said. "Living in Brisbane."

"The sun?" I asked.

"Love," he said coyly. He bowed his head and batted his eyes... which always looks fetching on a big, solid boy like Greg. "You? Mark? Luke?"

"No. But, they are good."

"Still together the three of you?"

"Not so much. Best friends, though. We still call each other boyfriends."

"I love you guys."

"They'd love to have seen you," I said.

He smiled, lent into me. "Do you want to go down to St Kilda pier, later, watch the sunrise?"

His eyes twinkled like I remember them twinkling.

It's strange, the passage of time had had an effect, in some sort of intangible way. We were different people, clearly. We were changed. We still looked the same, well, he did, so I can only assume, I did too. But, that spark of familiarity had diminished, lessened, dissipated. The passage of time had come in between us and although I couldn't, actually, put my finger on it, some thing was not the same.

I think we hesitated where once we would have embraced each other. I think we stood back, where once we would have stepped toward each other. We smiled at each other. Stole looks, at each other, out of the corners of our eyes. Smiled. Gazed. Talked over each other and at the same time. Smiled some more. Had butterflies in our stomachs, well, I did. Talked. Smiled. Hesitated. Talked. Hesitated. Smiled.