You Right Mate?

I was standing on the big tram stop on Nicholson deciding whether to catch a taxi or a tram, whichever came first, when this gorgeous, gorgeous boy crossed Nicholson towards me, carrying his environmentally friendly shopping bags. I checked him out big time, he was worth it. Nice single digit body fat, nice line of hair just visible where his t-shirt rode up, nice flash of underwear elastic, nice curve to his legs, nice bulge in his jeans. Then I broke my cardinal rule, I wasn't thinking, I was lost in decision mode; you can check out straight boys all you like, but never look around, never look back. I looked around. He looked back. He turned to face me... although on the footpath by this stage.

“Are you right mate?”

But this is Fitzroy and you've got green shopping bags...

“Yes, buddy,” I said casually.

Gorgeous, I thought.

“Yeah, well, you’d better be.”

He stepped towards me, I think he was trying to sound threatening, or something.

I turned away from him as he was speaking, just to not put too much emphasis on what he was saying, but I caught him turning and walking into one of those thin metal street poles, out of the corner of my eye. I think he hit his face.

I kept turning away, I didn’t look back. I didn’t want the already affronted straight boy to have any other ammunition with which to get cross with me, you know, like being made a fool of.

I wanted his pants to fall off, truthfully. I didn't want any harm to come to him.

Too pretty.