Big Bum Brad

I say hello to the services boy, Brad, this morning as I head to the kitchen. Red hair, cheeks flushed red. He has really a big arse and tight pants that stretch across his big, beefy butt. (I always think of my old friend Fergus when I see a boy with a big, beefy arse. Fergus used to say that we have to be nice to new fathers, as they are in need, and we should be nice to boys with big arses as they are a gift from the universe) He’d look good in his jocks, (Brad, not Fergus. We know gymed up Fergus always looked good in his jocks) I reckon, he’d be tumbling out of them. (Brad, are you keeping up?) Red heads traditionally have big todgers, it is the universes way of making up for everything else it did to them. (I’ve always found them to smell funny too, but from my, extensive research {too many pots down the Laird followed by obvious pointing and slurring} that may just be me. Maybe, I have a chemical mismatch with gingers?)

I saw him in Myer shopping on Saturday, I’d recognise those chubby red cheeks anywhere. I went to say hello to him, but he didn’t seem to recognise me and besides his name went straight out of my head. Brad. Big bum Brad. Red hair, but kind of blokey with it. He’d have thick, pale thighs and red pubes.

“Were you shopping in Myer on Saturday?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I went to say hello, but I don’t know your name.”

“I’m Brad.”

“Hi, I’m Christian.”

He said he thought he’d lost his car keys when I saw him and he was in a mild state of panic. It turned out his partner had them, who I presume is a girl. Funny, when a guy says his partner, I always picture a nice boyfriend for him.

Chubby 25 year old Brad, with the boyish face, would have an older boyfriend, somebody in his thirties, who’d be the out-going one. Brad would be the quiet one, who’d be led by the hand by his gregarious boyfriend, Tim, maybe. With those lips, he’d be an excellent cock sucker. (Brad, not Tim) Although, Tim would really love his chuddy young red haired boyfriend. Tim would show Brad the world. They’d get a dog, Alfie, the Labrador, and they’d buy a house in Preston. They’d shop at the market, with a wheelie trolley on the weekends.

Funny the things you think.

“Nice to meet you,” says Brad.

“I’m new," I say. "I started a month ago.”

“Welcome,” says Brad. He smiles. He heads to the lifts, as I head to the kitchen to get my morning coffee.