Alex

Writing about Alex a few days ago got me thinking about him again.

I wonder what it would be like to be a year 12 kid today? I’m guessing things are radically different to when I was in year 12, with acceptance and all. (Well, I’m talking about my private school in the eastern suburbs. I hope it is more than that)

I don’t suppose it is as free as we all hope it will be one day, but...

Can two boys come out as boy friends in year 12? 

Imagine?

Would Alex and I if it were today? Maybe, is about the best I could say, obviously.

Alex with his floppy dark blond hair that fell down just over his eyes ever so slightly, and his killer smile, just ever so rising up on one side, that always made him look cheeky when he grinned. His school pants that fitted him so well, and how easily they came undone every afternoon up the Kew Municipal offices, or the sports store room, or down the bush walking room. His muscular back, his narrow waist, his round arse. 

How he'd hug me tight, before we parted and headed home. How he’d hold my hand, just momentarily as we made our exit from where ever we were. And how our fingers would slip from each other’s fingers, as we stepped into the open. And how he’d butch it up out in public, always kind of ironically, always with that cheeky smile. How he’d always look back with a nod, often bringing his hand up to his forehead, followed by a subtle wink. And a smile. Ah, Alex.

He got married and had 3 sons who he sent to our old school.

He dropped dead from a heart attack on the final green playing charity golf for heart disease, just over 10 years after we left school.

I wonder how much his heart did, indeed, ache over the years? Living that life? Because, I reckon he was as gay as any gay guy I have ever known?

Don Jnr

Have I ever told you my dirty secret?

I've always thought Don Jnr is cute.

Yeah, I would.

There, I've said it.

I think it's because he reminds me of a boy I went to school with Wes Johnston. I used to pant after him, to be sure. I mean, we were all guys and I was one of them, so I didn't let it show, you know like? Oh, I don't know what it would have been like. I don't know if we had any concept of being girlie? I guess we did.

I wouldn’t exactly call Wes a crush, as such, but a (future gay) boy gets to notice the good looking boys and communal change rooms for sport get you kind of noticing the other (cute) boys when you get to see them all in their jocks.

Besides, I was with Alex by year 11 & 12, Vice Captain of the school, and I think Vice Captain of the football team, so, you know, I wasn't really panting after anyone, Alex kept my hands full. (We did it with each other practically every day, Alex and I)

But, there was Wes. Don't get me wrong, I'm not really sure Wes knew I existed, let alone anything else, but there he was every day, as handsome as you like.

Well, I think Jnr looks a bit like Wes.

Wes had great hair, and a great smile, and those school pants across that arse, I can still picture them.

Not that I would have traded Alex. Nah, I wouldn't have. 

Bush Walking At School

With all this rain, I reminds me of when I was at school, I used to belong to the bush walking club. We used to bush walk all over Australia.

All the bush walking boys were fit lads, as you can imagine, as I was too, even if i do say so myself.

When we used to walk in rain forests, crossing creeks, we used to get leaches on us. They never bothered me, nyr, just burn them off. 

But do you know how many of my big, butch walking mates would suddenly rip their pants down crying out, "Get them off me. Get them off me," suddenly standing in front of me in their jocks. They used to come to me as I was one of the smokers and I had a lighter.

"Sure," I'd say. "Hold still." (This might take a while)

But, I had a boyfriend at school for the last two years, so, you know, what did I care. Alex and I were having sex practically every day, every second day, perhaps. All over the school between 3.30pm when the day finished, and let's say 4.30pm, when the two of us would head home to our respective houses without ever any questions about being late home from school.

Funny the things you think as you watch the rain fall.

The Past Reaching Out

One of my best friends from school, Andrew, has tried to contact me for the second time.

The first time was initiated by me, a couple of years back, as Andrew is now the president of the old boy’s association and I wanted to know what happened to my school boyfriend, Alex, who died unexpectedly some years back. (I have written about him before) But, I’d never known what happened to Alex and I’d always wondered.

So, Andrew’s email address was on one of the old boy’s newsletters, so I sent him an email asking him what happened to Alex.

Well, Andrew said he was so pleased I’d emailed, and that he’d always felt sorry about the two of us not keeping in contact and that he wanted to speak to me, and he wasn’t going to tell me what happened to Alex unless I called him and spoke to him in person.

I have to say that there was a part of me that was touched by that sentiment. But, there was another part of me too that thought if you’d always felt sorry about not keeping in contact why didn’t you do something about it. But, you know, whatever, that is what happens for whatever reason. It still made me smile.

But… it had been so many years; did I really want to catch up all those years? What were we going to do all these years later, have a dinner party, catch up our whole lives over an evening? Play couples? 

Really?

He’s an accountant, I’m an accountant, seriously, it makes me cringe. I know he isn’t responsible for my (beige) life choices, but it has never been something to which I have ever wanted to admit. I did things when I was young because I didn’t know shit. Oh, fucken universe, how I wish I’d made other choices. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I was ashamed, but I ran away from it for years, being a barman, living in London, then running cinemas, then working Mark’s family business, which turned out to be a bigger mistake. Do you know what the politics is in a family run business, and how powerless your truly are when you are only “the inlaw.” Then I studied creative writing at uni at night, which is when it became crystal clear how I’d fucked up my life, and what I should have been studying when I first left school. That, and learning the piano, that’s what I should have done with my life, and ever since I have lived under a somewhat murky veil of regret. It wasn’t until just before I started this blog that I came back to acc, ou… choke… account, choke… antcy, choke… for the first time, how many years after uni? Well, Mark and I split up and I had to get a mortgage and buy his half of the house… and I thought I’d work and I’d write… but somehow life just gets in the way and suddenly you are just working and pissing the rest of your life away.

Anyway…

Andrew and I had gone the good part of our lives never seeking each other out. Doesn’t they say something in itself?

So, I decided no. It was too late for all of that. I had my life, he had his, for whatever reasons we had decided the course of our friendship years ago. So, I didn’t call.

He sent me a couple more emails. I answered saying how remiss I was about not calling, promising that I would, but I didn’t.

Eventually, Andrew said that since I hadn’t called he’d tell me what happened to Alex, and he told me that Alex had a heart attack and dropped dead on the eighteenth hole of a charity golf match that was raising money for heart disease. Everybody was shocked as Alex was still only 30 years old.

That was a couple of years ago, Andrew and my last communication.

He sent me another email this morning. How was I? Was I coping through this covid19 pandemic?

I wrote him back a very funny email about snorting Hydroxychloroquine of hooker’s stomachs at Mar-A-Largo. Actually, I changed hooker’s stomachs to gogo boys, (slight hint) and wrote I’d been doing dexamethasone down Bethesda way, confirming hooker’s piss really does turn one’s skin orange, blah, blah, blah,

And…?

As much as I’d wished we’d stayed mates all our lives, we didn’t.

I dumped all my school mates after I left school because I wasn’t like all the other boys, if the truth be known. One of the (self-imposed, maybe) discriminations of growing up gay. You lose your mates… I lost my mates.

Alex went on to have three sons which he sent to our alma mater and he became a popular member of the old boy’s association turning up to all the functions and events.

I have a pretty good idea why he dropped dead of heart disease at 30 years of age, that kind of denial will probably do that to you. He sort me out in year 11, his gaydar was keen, as I wasn’t a particularly gay boy. He and I did everything to each other over the following 2 years of school. He was as gay as me. He and I had sex multiple times per week at school and at each other’s houses.

So, you know, there is a part of me that wants to tell Andrew that I am gay, and there is the other part of me that in equal parts doesn’t really want to go through another coming out event. There is part of me who wants to enlighten him, and see the look on his face, as well as here (I kind of like this spelling mistake, so I left it, here, it is like placing it) his reaction, and there is another part of me who seriously doesn’t want to go through that again. Part of me is exhilarated, another part is bored with it already.

However, rightly, or wrongly, all of me wants to out Alex. I’m not exactly sure of the reasons for this, but I know I want to. I wonder if it is the fact that I have never been able to tell anyone about he and I. I never have told anyone.

What about his sons, I hear you say? Yeah, sure, maybe that wouldn’t be kind when Alex isn’t here to defend himself? But, they are grown up now, they are not children. You know, apart from the tickets it sounds like I have on myself, like anything I might say would have that much of a life to get back to them. I’d sure like to see them though, 3 twenty something Alex’s, what’s not to like.

Andrew replied saying I still made him laugh exactly the same way I used to back in school. He told me a bit about himself. His kids, three early twenties have moved back home due to the Covid19 virus.

He asked a question, which I could answer in a reply email, but I’m not going to.

Shrug.

I’m not saying this doesn’t make some part of me feel sad. As I write this, the day outside is wild and windy and dim and there is no sunshine, the day is sad with me.

It’s all gone so fast. When they say you only get one chance at life, they are seriously not wrong.

My High School Boyfriend, Alex

This boy so reminded me of my high school boyfriend, Alex. I know it's not a great photo of him, but he really did look like him. I could hardly take my eyes off him. It was all I could do to stop myself taking more photos of him.

I was waiting for Sam with Buddy and Bruno while Sam shopped. I just gazed at this and remembered… stuff… scenes… snippets. Funny where your mind can go with something coming out of the past to remind you.

How excited I was that first time, me and you, up the Kew Municipal Offices, after school. Kissing each other.

Ah Alex, lovely Alex. I used to go and watch those legs kick the football in year 11 and 12 footy matches. He used to come looking for me afterwards still with wet hair from the showers. We used to sit together in class and push our thighs against each other, I can still feel his thigh against mine. School camp, I used to sneak over to his bed when all the lights went out, just for a second, even with all our other class mates were in bed around us. Just seeing his handsome face light up when he’d see me. Standing together as equals, partners. Belonging, even if it was secret, the delight of the clandestine. Feeling what it was like having someone who picked me.

Two years of love and laughter and learning what it meant to be something to someone, for the first time.

Then after we left school, it kind of finished. Oh, those first summer holidays after year 12 ended when we got together a lot. Empty houses with parents at work, and siblings out, or working.

But then, with no school as our reason for being together we drifted apart because, of course, two boys just weren't meant to be together.

I really hope that has changed. I hope all the people who are against it are heading to hell. I hope the gays of the world, present and future, stick their fingers up at all those people who are against them.

Meeting Up With An Old School Mate

I stumbled across the email address of my best mate from school, Andrew, and in a moment of 'think it, do it' madness, I sent him an email. 

A number of years ago, my school boyfriend, from years 11 and 12, and a year after we left school, Alex, died and I have never known how he died. (I have written about him previously) I asked Andrew that question, the subtext for which he is unaware of, at present. 

Andrew and Alex both remained involved in the school over the years since we left, on committees and what have you. Alex got married and had sons, Andrew has sons, they sent them to the school, so I knew Andrew would know the details of Alex's death.

Andrew was blown away, said he had never wanted to lose touch with me. He said he knew the answer to the question but he would only answer the question once I was sitting in front of him drinking coffee with him. He gave me all his numbers to contact him. 

But now I seem to have lost my nerve, stupidly.

I haven't seen Andrew since we left school.

Despite the fact that I live a completely out life in everything that I do, meeting up with my old school buddy seems like coming out all over again. Not to mention telling him about Alex and me.

Yesterday and today were my days off and I was supposed to phone Andrew to meet up, but I wimped it. Stupid me. So stupid really, Andrew is a lovely guy and he will only react in a positive way, I would think. It is just an energy drain, I feel exhausted by it before I have even tried.

Not to worry, I'll get my mojo together about it shortly. I want to see the look on his face. Actually, I only really wanted the answer to the question. But, if I have to find out the difficult way, by exposing myself, so to speak, I guess I can do that too.

Fletcher and Roberts

Me and Alex. Year eleven was a big year for me, romantically. Alex and Leah. Alex and I had been noticing each other all through year 10. We got together in year 11 assembly, Alex just asked me straight out in his usual confident style. Alex always got what he wanted.

I don’t know why I was thinking about him this morning?

Leah and I got together at the back of a youth group church hall, chaperoning fat Wendy and her first date, Hammer. My hunting grounds knew no bounds. Oh, I shouldn’t write that, it was a time of discovery.

It quickly became Fletcher and Roberts in year eleven. Only one teacher whoever, really, picked it. Mr Brock, Lachlan Brock. The rumour was always that he was gay. We found out after we left school who were the gay teachers, but I don’t think we ever really knew it while we were at school. The French teacher. The school camp master. The biology master. The bushwalking master. Oh yes, the head of music, that was the only scandal Smithton had to endure. The Group Head Master of Music left his wife and eloped to the Gold Coast with a year twelve boy, as soon as the year was done.

But, other than that, there was no funny business.

I only know that because I walked into The Peel with Alex, it was a Sunday night, the day we screwed. And as if to, literally, say you cannot escape your past, all five masters were standing at the back bar. We turned on our heals and walked straight out the door again. We laughed so hard, read nearly crapped ourselves, as we fled down Wellington Street. We walked back to North Fitzroy where Alex’s car was. He got in and drove away. What are the chances, I ask you. Maybe, our old Smithton masters held up the bar at the Peel every night, who knows.

It must be 10 years ago that I read that Alex had died, in The Smithton Old Grammarian. Just suddenly like that, In Memorium. I was shocked. Ten years after we left school. I always thought we’d meet up one last time. I was ready for our ten year reunion, my ten year man, I’d learned some new tricks. I still don’t know what from? Gone.

Alex and I were Audio Equipment organisers, Mr Brock was the head of that department. Audio Visual, I guess, down the strange corridor into a world all of its own, lots of black. It even had its own smell, a black smell. Mr Brock used to live down there. He was really a senior teacher, in superiority, Year 10 Group Master, but because of his position, non-teacher, we didn’t, exactly, treat him as such. Or was it that we always knew that we were men of the same persuasion. I don’t know now? That wasn’t easy to grasp. Not that I thought in those terms back then, it was really just a feeling that I didn’t understand, and I seemed to connect with other males who didn’t understand those same feelings too. And occasionally we’d reach out to each other, and not always sexually, despite what others, who may want to bring us down, might say. Brock never wanted to have sex with me, nothing like that, but it is natural to connect on gay men alike basis. Not that I thought so clearly then, I only think this stuff now, looking back. All I knew was that he’d smiled and I’d smiled and some how we were both at ease when we did that.

Alex and I always went down together, we volunteered, we’d volunteer for everything, Alex and I, knowing the two of us, we probably made detours to the change rooms to suck each other’s cocks, you know, just on the way. The vice captain of the school and the captain of the football team and a lead batter in the under whatever’s cricket, and I was head of the debating team, yes, I know, hot, quite a smart kid, leader in the 500 competition, played in the orchestra, one of the leaders in the bushwalking club, I guess, known for having a big mouth. Well documented as a smoker in year twelve, one of the guys the year 12 group master would bot cigarettes off, if he was out. He’d deny it, I guess, but that was the era that I went to school.

This particular day, Alex was away, I can’t remember why.

It was first period, we needed audio visual equipment. As I struggled with the trolley, Brock leapt up and opened the door for me. He laughed and said, “Fletcher and Roberts," said Brock. "It's always Fletcher and Roberts. Where is your side kick?"

“He’s away, sir.” Shrug. “I don’t know why.”

“It’s always Fletcher and Roberts, isn’t it?” He looked me directly in the eyes. I felt like I had been read, his look of understanding was so strong.

"I don't know what you mean, sir." I didn’t really understand why I was blushing. Suddenly exposed.

“You two are buddies, always together,” said Brock.

I’m sure I looked blankly back at him, I seem to remember being lost for words. Did he just imply… was rushing through my mind? The first person, well, there is Tab, the first adult.

“Oh, don’t think that is a bad thing,” said Brock. “I think it is nice.”

I would have denied it, I could have, but I didn’t. I knew, that he knew, and that I knew he knew, and he knew that I knew. It was one of the most terrifyingly truthful moments of my life.

And it was okay, the world didn’t stop. My head didn’t explode, like I expected it to.

And I went straight to fucking Alex’s arse in my mind, that is really what Brock is talking about, as that’s all it could ever really have been, by that stage. I remember I blushed and smiled.

The moment froze. Just me and Brock, suddenly I grew as big as he was in my mind. I instinctively knew that Brock was gay too, in that moment, and he was a successful, reasonably good looking, gay man, telling me that life was okay.

I’m sure I would have though of a response, now we’ll never know, because right at that moment, my sparkly, sun-shining-out-of, Alex stumbled through the door, with what seemed like even more floppy hair, the strands separated with sweat, smiley face. 

“Sorry. Dad’s car wouldn’t start. Did I miss anything?”

And then it was Brock and Fletcher and Roberts, in Brock’s office, just the three of us. Brock smiled, and as if he knew I was stuck in the moment, and needed someone to say something to snap me out of one of my first ever epiphanies, Brock looked at me and then to handsome Alex and then back to me. “No, you are just in time to help Christian,” said Brock.

And you must remember that Alex was at my shiny-new-toy stage so I was keen to keep looking at him. “No. Nothing.”

Alex looked at me, then looked at handsome Mr Brock and then looked back at me. Alex shrugged. “Good then.”

“Take the other end of the trolley,” I said.

“Nice talking, boys,” said Brock. He went back to whatever it was he was doing, I didn’t really notice.

But, I can tell you, that Alex had on what looked like his second pair of suit pants, maybe his pants were at the dry cleaners, he was clearly wearing last years pair for whatever reason and they were tight over his muscular arse, as he manoeuvred around the trolley. Grey woollen trousers, freshly ironed white shirt, striped tie. Blonde floppy hair. A fringe. Blue eyes. Big, handsome smile. I can close my eyes…

“What was all that about?”

“Nothing.” I was still processing it, I told Alex in real time, as I came to my realisation. “Me. You. I don't know?"

"What do you mean?" Alex is not dumb, he's one of the smartest guys I know. I saw him withdraw, as he realised what “it” meant. Scared. New material to deal with. He looked at me. Serious eyes. Processed. The world didn't explode. Cock of the head. And there was that smile, the smile that launched a thousand deals, the smile that broke my heart.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

Eventually, one of the boys, Scotty Bug, a few years after me and Alex, and well after he left school, a couple of years after he left school, moved in with Brock as his lover. But Brock would have taught him. Scotty Bug the athletic swim star. The champion hockey player. Who became Dr Scotty Bug. Brock and Bug. They had a long term relationship and, as far as I know, they are still together.

Alex would smile, and he’d kiss me, he had big, soft lips. He’d giggle when we kissed, as if we were doing something naughty, or like we were doing something good. Well, only in the very beginning.

Sometimes, I’d sit next to Alex, in the dark, as we watched some audio visual, which the two of us would have set up, so we’d sit down the back, last to take our seats. I can still feel his woollen trousers stretched over his muscular thigh. I can still feel his hand pause just that little bit too long, as our fingertips caressed, before he’d pull his hand away, and I instinctively would pull my hand away too. Only Tab ever noticed, he looked at Alex and I in ore, I’m sure. Sometimes he’d comment, quietly, whispered, and Alex and I would look at each other, then look back at Tab, blankly, not giving an inkling away to him. But, he always knew. He knew that we knew he knew. The two of us just never gave it oxygen with him, it frustrated the hell out of him.

You know those dogs in the Bugs Bunny cartoon, the bulldog and the little dog that was always asking the bulldog what to do. Alex and I were two bulldogs, and Tab was the small yappy dog. However, where the little dog always came out tops in the cartoons, he never did in real life, not with Alex and I. The little dog never had his day and after school Alex and I did not share Tab’s rise to the top of the medical profession, to heal people, to make up for his mogul father’s lack of love in Tab’s life.

We pushed the trolley out into the quad, but still between the building so nobody could see us. Alex came right over close, puffed himself up, pushed his chest out, he had a good chest, and said, 

“Is Brock onto us.”

“Yeah,” I said all breathy, I can still hear myself say it. I nuzzled Alex’s neck. We pushed the trolley around to the classroom. Through the door into the main corridor, up the far steps, the steps travelled less often, the smokers steps. We’d carry the trolley up three flights. The smokers would look nervous, puffing away on their fags on the top floor. Alex would push the trolley in from there, I’d smack him on the arse as he went. Nobody noticed. Nobody said a word. We were the smart kids, it was probably ironic. I’d sit with Chook and MacDonald and bot a puff on a smoke. A couple of puffs, and then I’d run after Alex, managing to touch him again, before we’d get to class. He’d jump at the classroom door when I’d touch his arse. He’d give me big eyes, from under his floppy fringe. And a serious face. Some times he’d lean across and kiss me as he opened the door, I don’t know how we didn’t get caught, but we didn’t. But I am sure we were always jumpy when we re-joined the others. Nervy. On edge. We were both jumpy around one another, like someone had just pinched someone’s arse, usually someone had, I’m surprised nobody noticed. But I think year 12 boys are naturally touchy, kind of exploring their territory. And probably jumpy.


It was five years after school, that I met him again, in the street in North Fitzroy, just out of the blue, we bumped into each other.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He’d had his hair cut short back and sides and I wanted to shag him so bad. Who is that sexy guy? That was my sexy man. He was married by then and had two sons, maybe three. He sent them to Smithton, he was big on the dad’s committee. So what, I'd say, I was still seeing Leah, when she'd go out, and get drunk, and couldn’t find a shag, and she’d be at my window at 3am wanting to screw, I didn’t give him that much detail. I met him on the island outside Piedes. He looked hot, the short hair really suited him. I told him I had an empty house just around the corner. Which I did. 

What could he say? 

We shagged on my bed, he was very enthusiastic, like no time had passed, but all the time had passed, as we both now knew what we were doing. He was a man, he fucked like a man. There was no way I wasn’t putting my cock up his arse. Where Roberts had been the dominant figure while we were at school, the way he shut me out of his life after year twelve, after his mum pretty much sprung us. We were dressed, and we were just sitting on his back deck drinking juice, when she came home, unexpectedly early. I had just forced him to take my cock up his arse, when he told me he couldn’t see me any more.

“Come on Fletch, it’s not school any more,” said Alex. “Its time to grow up.”

I pushed him on to the couch and pulled his jeans down, and pulled his jocks down, he struggled, but his cock gave him away. He was soon kissing me back, telling me how much he wanted it, again. There was his mother’s hand cream on the table, the next thing I had it on my cock and then I pushed my cock into his arse. He thought I was just roughhousing around, right up until I penetrated him, ah a couple of 18 year olds. He struggled, I struggled, then I pushed him forward onto his hands, he was off balance, he went over real easy and I pushed my cock up to my balls into his arse. He inhaled sharply, I can still hear that to this day. And I fucked him hard. He came violently all over his parent’s leather couch.

“That’s grown up,” I said. 

I can still see him wiping the cum from his hand and stomach, his jeans and jocks around his thick thighs. We’d cleaned up. We were very relaxed. His mother came home right after that. The air smelt of the two of us sweating. She looked at us strangely, me warily. Alex said, “This is Christian.”

“Nice to meet you Christian,” she said, like she really meant the opposite. She could clearly sense something about me. I sensed she sensed it. “I’ve heard so much about you?”

“Nice to meet you Mrs Roberts,” I said. She wasn’t supposed to be home. I stood up, I’m sure I looked and sounded guilty. “I’ve got to be going.”

“Already,” she said. She meant the opposite.

I had my mum’s Saab, it was the summer after we left school. His parents were away, my parents were away, we caught up for sex through that whole period. I was fucking Alex and I was fucking Leah. It was the only time I ever cheated in my life and it was for the entire time I was with Leah. Shrug.

Alex and I went to Tasmania. Alex and I drove to Adelaide. Alex and I fucked in hotels around Melbourne. Alex and I had sex all the time Leah and I were having sex. I was getting good at it. Screwing Leah, screwing Alex. Alex and I were going out together, that glorious summer after we left school.

Then, Alex’s mum came home unexpectedly early from the beach house. I think she’d heard a lot about Christian and her son. Alex walked me out to my mum’s car.

“She could smell your arse in there,” I said.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“A mother never forgets the smell of her only son’s arse.”

Alex looked back at the house, then looked back at me. He couldn’t help but smile. “You really are disgusting.”

I drove away off into the sunny day in the cool Swede, feeling pretty chuffed with myself, I remember. 

After our next meeting, he told me for the first time that he could never see me again. Broke my heart. We lost track. He wanted it that way.

He said he could never see me again, for the second time in his life, as he left my house that day. His jocks would have been glued to his arse all the way back to his wife. He would have to have had a shower as soon as he got home, not to be found out. Her husband came home with another man’s cum up his arse, I’m sure he would have done anything for her not to find out about that. Well, not that I knew of. Broke my heart again? No, I never expected him to, it was over by then. Just a memory. I was discovering my new suburb and the places men go to meet each other. But it was good to catch up. One for the road. He was his beautiful self. We weren’t jumpy with each other, sparking off each other. Devoured each other for the last time. I sent him back to his real life.

“Do I say its good seeing you again? It’s good seeing you again.” He smiled, and nuzzled my neck. He hugged me passionately on my veranda in the afternoon sunshine, as if he didn’t care who saw. For the first time ever, really.

I never saw him again.

The Loves of My Life

Alex, Leah, Anthony, Mark, Lauri, Luke, Josh, Manny, Sam.

My significant partners in life. Have I forgotten anyone? No, that's it. I'm good with my ex's, unlike people I hear about. I wonder what it would be like to line them all up in a room, in police-line-up style and see what they all have to say about me?

Alex is dead, I don't know how he died? The vice captain of the school and the captain of the footy team who hit on me in year 11. It was quite a cliche really. He went off and got married and I lost contact with him. One day, I am sure, I will find out what happened to him. I often find, those sorts of things come to me, often in the most unsuspected ways. Sexy Alex, lovely Alex. I would guess his death had something to do with the stress of living a double life, as that boy was very keen on gay sex, let me tell you.

I have a half planned out, somewhat written novel about our school boy love. I guess I should pull it out and dust it off and write some more.

I'm not speaking to Leah, she turned into a judgemental bitch and a pain in the arse, more recently, and I just decided that I just didn't have to listen to her any longer. I think that's what moving to Sydney to mix with the corporate elite does for you. I never told her that I was walking away, I just stopped talking to her. Last year she sent me a birthday card saying it felt funny that we were, seemingly, no longer speaking. But, even then, she couldn't help herself and in her closing, again, she cast judgement on my life. I am sure she doesn't even realise. Of course, I'll talk to her again, we were teenage sweethearts, we will patch things up and we will be fine. She is scheduled, at a date yet to be decided, to cop a mouthful from me, I can assure you. (as I probably will from her) I was a little beaten down by her constant criticism, I'm not really sure why now, but now I am not, both barrels are loaded and ready.

I'm tempted to get the Alex issue out of the way with Leah, while we are somewhat estranged. She was okay with me being gay as long as she knew that the men came after her and not before and I lied and assured her that it was true. But, it is essentially true, as my big gay sensibility certainly didn't happen until after she and I had split up. However, it has been a guilty secret for me, as we developed into great friends over the years and I thought it was something that I should own up to... on many occasions.

Lauri moved overseas and we don't talk much anymore, but we are still friends... I guess. The two of us have grown apart and he has a new boyfriend who I have always got along with on a personal level, but he bought that all undone with some rather unwarranted and mean criticism of Mark, someone who he has never met. As all of my friends know... well, not so much close friends, you understand, as they all love Mark... but the rest, if you criticise Mark around me, it will not go well for you. Clearly, laugh, it was a memo Leroy didn't get.

Oh... I'm not talking to Josh either. Actually, I'm not talking to Manny, either. Oh, and I thought I was so good with all of my ex's.

Josh tried to use me, bot off me once too often and we cut ties. Sadly, the final time, he probably really needed my help. But, he'd made a habit of it and that final time I said no. It was a classic case of the boy who cried wolf once too often. I only realise that now, as at the time I was very disappointed in him and angry that he would try it yet again. Pity, really. He lives in Germany now, so shrug. I expect we will never reconcile.

But, I will always be grateful to Josh, for coming into my life like a whirling, spinning mass of colour and movement and picking me up and taking me out of my long, far too long, sadness about splitting up with Mark.

Manny dumped me over the phone for Vinnie... as I watched an Anna Nicole Smith Special on TV, as it turned out. He called just as it started and I was a little distracted as he gave me the news... and I was slow on the uptake of what he was saying. I, rather unbelievably, asked him to repeat what he had just said, as I wasn't, exactly listening.
He called me recently, saying he and Vinnie had split up wanting he and I to get back together again. He called three times, I didn't reply to his calls. Ah, Manny, I thought. Sweet Manny, have a good life, won't you, as I deleted the messages from my answering machine.

Okay, well, that is less than a 50% success rate, in a sense. Anthony, Mark and Luke are fine. Anthony struggles a little with life, after having mental health issues for most of the 2000's, a direct result of the drug taking we all indulged in in the 1990's, but essentially, he is good, even if now he struggles with alcohol. 

Funny, now that I think about them all, they have all been beautiful, handsome, from Alex to Sam. I have always had attractive partners. I guess, Josh, maybe the exception, but, maybe, I am just being a bitch. He was, is, one of the smartest people I have ever known, though.

And, of course, Sam is the loveliest, naturally.

So Like Alex

I was kind of surprised... lying in bed watching teev. Truthfully, I had a crappy head ache and I was laying back in the dark, wrapped in my bed clothes, comfy as... a pussy on a woollen blanket. I'd been gazing mindlessly at the TV from my place of warmth.

Sam skyped me earlier, he was busy looking for a new job. He knew when he took this current job that he was a computer programmer taking on a help desk role and that it wasn't, actually, going to work for him in the long term. I would have thought long term was longer than two months, but you know, what do I know. If you don't like it, look for something you do, good for him.
He was enthusiastic and my head was paining me and i tried to listen, but...

Anyway, I started watching Fresh Meat, a TV show that I'm sure I've seen before, once of twice. The actor who plays the posh character had been on Graham Norton when he was very funny. And then. OMG! There was Kingsley, real name Joe Thomas. He got my attention straight away. How much was, is he like my first school boyfriend, Alex? I have written about Alex before, he died a few years back and I never got to see him again and now I never will. 

Kingsley is so much like Alex, it is quite uncanny. Wow. Amazing. It was kind of nice, he took me back for a moment. Funny how some one can remind you... a look, a smile, those eyes, an inflection, that certain indefinable...

Nick T

I was cleaning out my attic... well, I can't lie around and smoke pot the whole time. Although, I have always found as long as you keep going, on the trajectory you would have if you haven't had a joint, everything will get done and in a much nicer frame of mind. It's only really if you stop, then you are a gonna.

Anyway, I was in the attic and I came across a box of photos. In one shot, there was Nick T pretending to be a knight, or something, Alex had the sword and was ready to joust him. It's a hot shot, Nick T has that swagger as Alex R charges. Ah, first love.

Bradley B is in the back ground, with his hands on his head, in shock at what is about to take place, pulling his t-shirt up exposing his stomach. I'm not really sure why.

Nick T, Greek, built like a race horse, the school tough, wog boy alfa male. His partner in crime, Nick S, Greek, built like a tank, school tough, wog boy alfa male. A bit of a meat head, just on the quiet, best to be avoided. But, I was always friends with Nick T. He was fuck-off good looking, zero body fat, lean body, cheeky, smart, dashing, wog boy, just how I liked them. I always remember when he was late again for his umpteenth assembly, when he'd come in his running clothes the last time and had got told off, and the change rooms are too far away, as we could see the head master leave his office across the road. He just stripped off right there and then and calmly changed into his school uniform. There was one moment there when he'd stripped down to his beige jockettes, I realised what men should look like. I don't remember any of the other boys ever looking quite... like... that. (maybe Alex when he was naked and lying underneath me)

He came right up behind me in pottery class, which I remember to be year 11, but why I was doing clay work in year 11, I'm not really sure. It doesn't make a huge difference to the outcome. What I remember, I was at the deep sink washing something down with plenty of water. Although, it would be my only mixed class, with other houses, otherwise classes are divided right down house lines and I would never have a class with him.

Water, noise.

Nick T comes right up behind me and as he passes slowly behind, he asks, "Fletcher, you gay?"

You are just setting me up, you bastard, I thought we had more than that. "No," I say, amazed that I didn't choke or fall down.

He takes hold of whatever it was passed me that he was giving the impression he was reaching for and passes back behind me. "That's a pity because I want to fuck you."

I was speechless. I scrubbed at what was in my hand. I flipped it over. My stomach tied into knots. I looked sideways to where Nick T was moving back to, he was looking back at me smiling.

I can't believe that he is setting me up to get punched up by him and his Neanderthal friend, Nick S.

But, his eyes were soft and gentle, like he'd put himself out there honestly. He smiled back at me, before his head turned and looked the other way. One last look back, what I would recognise some years later, a soft and beseeching face.

They all piled onto the balcony as soon as the bell went. I was still distracted by what Nick T said. I slowly packed up, as my stomach buzzed, as a chill ran through me. He meant that, he wasn't shit stirring. I looked around to see if he had quietly waited, he hadn't. The room was empty and he had gone.

It wasn't until a few days later, when I was heading off to hockey practise, that I saw Nick T again. He was dressed in his running gear, that black singlet, those sheer-at-the-sides shorts that seemed to split over each hip.

"Where are you going?"

I hold up my hockey stick. "Der."

"Der."

At which point the running master comes up behind Nick.

"Where have you been?"

"What? What do you mean?" It was the middle of the week, where did he think I'd been.

"I've been looking for you." Smile. "Wondered if..." looks over his left shoulder. "you'd thought any." looks over his right shoulder. "more about what I said."

"Come on Trakas," let’s go." says Mr Green.

"What?"

"The other day."

Huh

"Art class."

"Art class?" I was trying to be so nonchalant and that sounded like I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I wasn't joking."

Green pushed him along. "Mr Fletcher, might I suggest that if you would like to speak to Mr Trakas he will be back in precisely two hours." He looks at me. He pushes Nick. "Move."

"Wait for me."

"Okay," I heard myself say.

Then he was bundled onto the bus by Green and was driven away. Two hours is five thirty. Hockey will go for one, then I can piss around and help clean up, then it will just about nearly be five thirty.

Did he really mean it?

I ran onto the hockey oval. I wonder if it is too cold for a skins team.

Nature or Nurture

I was born gay, I have no doubt. I was always same sex attracted, even as a kid. With my cousins down the beach, it was always the boys I was attracted to.

I used to paw over my mum's women's magazines looking for the men's underpants ads, you know, when I was four, five, six.

At kindergarten, I used to get Steven Roth to drop his pants, in his tree house, so I could look at his penis. He was blond and cute and I reckon I had a crush on him. So what was I, five.

I remember being fascinated with the boys legs in assembly in grade 2/3, so I was eight, nine

I used to get very excited going to my dad's cricket club changing room after the match, nine onwards

I had sex for the first time with Nathan Miller in Grade 5, eleven.

All of my friends think they were born gay. Some of them had girlfriends who they feel they were pressured into having by society. So did I. It was a different time.

A young gay friend of mine says that he never ever had any thought that he might be with a woman, that kind of attraction has always been blank, nothing, to him. "Like knowing what it is like to live in Cuba."

I tried to conform, I had a girlfriend for a number of years. We're still great friends. I loved her, I so wanted to be different. I think that's the bit I object to the most, society pushes you into the hetro box, unthinkingly, uncaringly. Imagine how different our experience would be if being gay wasn't an issue. The authenic growing-up-gay experience. Can you imagine?

"Hey, mum & dad," blush, quick glance, (in my case), "this is Alex."

"Lovely to meet you Alex," says mum.

"Great to meet you son," says dad. His hand held out straight in front of him ready to shake.

"Mr and Mrs Fletcher, the pleasure is all mine," says Alex - always every mother's dream son.

We be sat next to each other at dinner. We'd be able to sneak touches under the table when nobody was looking.

I guess it's changing now. I guess it's all relative – thank the universe we didn't grow up in the 50's. You know, get taken down the back paddock and have a hot poker shoved up your arse for your difference, or beaten up, or whatever.