Audit Guy # 4

The auditors are in, it's that time of year. We have two, usually, who turn up every year. Every few years one moves on and the other moves up, to lead the new fole, all dough-eyed and eager. There's been the good looking athletic, blokey type with the nerdy protege. Then the nerdy one lead the new sweet Indian one, whose chatty, with a dry whit. The latest protegae is Peter. But I chatted to the sweet Indian boy for the first day, he's very cool. He's the sort of guy you feel as though you have always known.

I've got a new guy, Harnesh said. You'll meet him later.

He talked football with Rachel. They are both from Geelong, so, naturally, they are crazy Geelong supporters.

Then today. Cough, cough. Hi I'm Peter. Dark hair, fair skin, a couple of pimples. Blue eyes, like shattered glass. He looked like Tom Cruise, twenty years ago. Big, white shinny teeth. High cheek bones. Dark eyes. Big chest. Nice waiste.

The view is fantastic, he said. Just breath taking.

Yes, it is, I said. The bay is beautiful, it has such different moods.

I bet you get that a lot?

When we first moved to these offices we got told that a lot.

I bet you did, he said. Big smile. Bright eyes, blue. Black hair, my very favourite, I thought.

We wanted to put a sign up saying, Yes, we've seen the view, can we move on, I said.

He laughed. He had gorgeous eyes when he laughed, sparkly. He nearly batted them at me.

We're used to it now, said Rachel.

It's nice to sit back occasionally and just take it in, I said. It's good for the soul.

It's natural light, said Peter. You should be in an internal office. He rubbed his eyes like a three year

old. You end up like... he said. Big smile. We all laughed. He caught my gaze.

He spoke so well. Private school. Have to be. I’m your new auditor, Peter.

God, your gorgeous, I thought.

He was glad to meet us. Shook our hands. Nice and big. He made eye contact. Nice and warm.

He talked a lot, described the process. He spoke precisely. Clearly, kind of practised, but still with a little innocent charm. His eyes twinkled.

He needed recs from Rachel. She did them. He focused on her, intently.

He was solid. Built like a football player. Nice shape. Nice bulge. Big dick. Big package.

He was looking at me, as I looked up. Pretty face. He couldn’t help but smile. He blushed and looked away. He couldn’t hide that I’d noticed. He looked back. He couldn’t help but smile. He widen his eyes and came out of character, just for a second, by nodding his head like he was interested. Just momentarily. Gone immediately. That nod said, I have got a big cock.

He looked back at Rachel. She was asking him what samples he wanted. What was the criteria?

He looked sideways several times. Flirting, was he?

Did he want to pick them, or could we just pick them at random. We could pick them at random. He could pick with Rachel, that was fine. It didn’t matter who picked. He was polite and charming. He said twenty five, at some stage. He smiled a lot. Three months worth. Same forensic drill. Small samples, just for an initial report.

Black pants. Nice arse, solid. Stood squarely. He seemed kind of distracted after that and kept looking in my direction, smiling, picking up on any thing I said.

If the initial report was 100% there may not be any need for further testing. He wasn't sure. Harnesh would decide.

I smiled back. I sat back and watched him.

So are we 100%, I asked.

So far. Sweet smile.

Whatever you want to check, I'm not afraid, I said. There's no other way to be than organised.

So every thing was okay? asked Rachel.

Every thing was great, he said. We found every thing.

Aren’t people like this every where?

No, he said. Crooked smile.

Rachel got him his files and I gave him a lift with the excess ones, back to his desk. He looked back when I returned to my office. I smiled back at him. He blushed again.

He came in a bit later said that there was one thing he was having trouble with. We both helped him with a complicated formula. He was charming. He caught me checking him out a couple of times. He has dimples when he smiles.

He came over later and thanked us. I’m back he said. Smiling with the usual twinke.

Did we pass? I asked.

Why, yes. Of course, said Peter, politely. You passed with flying colours.

Thanks for every thing, said Rachel.

I'll do some more testing in the morning, he said. Half a day.

He was hot. He stood in our office doorway, smiling. Thick thighs. Bigger bulge in profile, like a football guard pushing out from inside. Tasty package.

The tax accountant came into our office. Rachel, sorry. Can I have those figures.

He was looking right at me, as I looked up.

Very nice to meet you, he said, blushing. Eyes ablaze, coming out of character, as Rachel was distracted. He shook my hand firmly, like he didn't want to let go. See you tomorrow, he said, just a little breathily. He let go of my hand. Coughed. Tomorrow. He smiled. He held my gaze as he walked away. Eyes blazing.

Mark and Luke bought the washing machine over. I did two loads. It leaked water on the floor. Great! But at least it works. We watched Big Brother with David and his Mark. When Josh said that he’d met a Manny, at Comfest, I said you’ve got to be joking. He wasn’t joking but he didn’t want to see Comfest Manny again. Just as fucken well, I thought. I'm not sure if I believe what Josh says.

Gay boy Nick went into Big Brother. I tell ya, I think Zoran is a fag. His ears pricked up the moment Nick walked in. He’s the one who makes all the gay comments. He always say he wants to hug the other guys. Sure, In jest, but it still seems to always be him.

Zoran's hot. Pretty. I’d like to see him snog another guy.

We ate Indian and David and his Mark went to his Mark’s house, after Big Brother. They had a fight and, maybe, have broken it off.

Mark and Luke left early, well, early for them, they are not 9 to 5’ers. Luke rolled quite a few joints.

I was pie-eyed watching the Catherine Tate Show.

 

Getting a Little Precious?

Grant Denyer responds to being asked about an exhausting week with the line,

"I feel like I've had sex with a black man."

And he's branded sexist, racist and homophobic? His comments were described as deplorable, pandering to negative stereotypes and that he should be referred to the broadcasting watch dog. We're getting a little precious, aren't we?

He was saying that he felt more fucked than he ever has, like he'd been rogered with a big cock.

Please guys, let's stick to derogatory remarks that are truly hate filled and leave humour out of it.

I kind of see it as a compliment, if I see it as any thing at all. The act that would tire him out the most would be sex with another man and that the man who would tire him out the most would be the man with the biggest cock.

He also said, "I'll be the host who looks like he's been riding a horse for a week." Now maybe all the horses in the world should take out anti-vilification law suits.

If anything, I see the criticism as homophobic. The good politically correct folk of this world don't want homosexual'esque comments to become the norm in polite conversation?

I mean, that is all very simplistic, but let's save our outrage for people who are really filled with hate.

 

Shopping for Men

I bought Manny some black jocks, when I was shopping, in Myer. Not that I’m that sort of boyfriend usually, but I couldn't resist. As I was standing in front of the briefs display, admiring all of the muscle-bound, undressed pictures, I couldn’t help but picture him in some of them. You see, Manny is a boxer shorts kind of boy, but, his arse and the tops of his thighs are just made for tighter jocks than boxers. I love the hair in the small of his back above his round, firm cheeks. I love the hair escaping under the elastic from his abdomen, spreading out across his stomach.

I was only looking for socks, myself – the ongoing quest of having socks with no fucking holes! Brave new international trade world? Yeah, right. Just give me a pair of socks that will last longer than six months! But it’s funny what the power of advertising will do, hey? My eyes were drawn to the colourful muscle bound, near naked pictures.

I used to have a boyfriend – the Italian one – who couldn’t buy undies without getting so turned on that he’d need to have sex, afterwards. I always think of him when I’m in the jocks section, funny hey? It was exciting going undies shopping with him, let me tell you. Even if we were looking for shoes, or tap washers, or ant poison, if I was able to steer him to the men’s jocks, he’d be captivate, like a kid in a lollie shop. And then he’d look angsty, like he didn’t know where to look and then he’d morph into toey, kind of restless, till he’d finally whisper in my ear, Let’s get out of here. I’d steer him there without saying a word and then it was like magic. I’d just watch his face turn from open and sunny to focussed and serious. He’d almost scowl with the concentration visible on his forehead.

The undies section still holds a certain, what shall I say, special place in my heart… well, not exactly my heart, because of Lauri. I can’t walk passed without thinking of him, without memories flooding my brain.

We did it in a city alley way in the middle of the day, in the labyrinth somewhere behind Myers – ah, what the hell, we were just kids back then – after one undies buying foray. That was hot.

Ah boyfriends – their smell, their taste, their physical presence, the funny things that stay with you. I can still remember what was unique to each of them, with just a whiff of a memory. Those small things that stay with you, I love those things.

I don’t know if anyone else does this, but I can still feel what each of their hands felt like in mine, even Alex. His hand was fine and bony, like there was no extra fat on it and he held my hand tight, like he was in control. Anthony’s – I don’t think I’ve ever spoken about him on here before. There is too much sadness surrounding him (one day I'll write about him) – was long and he used to hold his hand over mine, so often, backwards. Lauri’s was big and fleshy and warm. Mark’s was/is exactly the same size as mine and he’d hold my hand gently, like the connection was something precious. Luke and I hold hands like brothers, kid brothers. Manny holds my hand tightly, like he is never going to let go. His hand is dry with smooth skin.

Alex would lead. I’d lead Anthony. Lauri and I would take it in turns, depending. Mark and I were kind of equal, side by side. I’d lead Luke, more often than not. Manny and I kind of wrestle, in a sense, for lead place.

And… laugh… that kind of describes our sexual roles, too. It’s funny to think of it that way, because there is some truth in it.

I got Manny black trunks, the kind with the longer leg and a defined pouch at the front. I got him three pairs. One pair has a kind of arrow of material pointing down to his bulge, like it needs any kind of high light. I can’t wait to see him in them. I’m tempted to drive over to his place, right now, to get him to model them for me.

Skin like chamois that disappears all the way down the crack in his arse. Don’t you like them fast, hard and fast. Willing to let it all hang out to pass the time in the day. Something to do so boredom doesn’t take them away. Not minding where they leave their card, or their scent by the yard. In your yard, on your furniture, kitchen bench, after the two of you have sparred. All the more fun to remember their claim, on your life and your time, it isn’t a crime to want to indulge in the pleasures of the sublime. It’s friendly, it’s nice, it’s what gives life spice. Let go, drop your trousers, and take it slow, if that is really the way you have to go. 

Oh Come On Boys!

I'm having a washing machine drama; the old girl finally has packed it in. It wouldn't completely drain of water. And then it wouldn't drain at all; the bowl was full of water at the end of the wash, which is a pretty good sign the thing is cactus. I've had to syphon it out with a hose; the times I watched my father take petrol from the car for the lawn mower, when I was a kid, came in handy, after all.

Not to worry, help was at hand. Mark got me another washing machine and all I had to do was lift the old one into the car and go fetch the new one.

Easy! Well, I couldn't do it on my own...

At the risk of promoting negative gay boy stereotypes, I shall continue... knowing full well that I just had the wrong selection of queers in attendance. (Mark is now going to bring it down on his own, Wednesday)

In the middle of draining the machine of water and replacing the tap washer, there were three muscle bound gay boys, gym heads the lot of them, present. Pumped. Toned. Fine, physical, specimens of men. So, naturally, I thought I had it in the bag.

First, we had to deal with the grime that had built up behind the machine over the, how many, years? There was no point letting eight feet shuffle that up the hallway carpet. The spilled water had now mixed with the dust and it had turned it to grey sludge. Mixed in was old soaped powder box rips, wire, bits of card, a couple of soap scoops, paper clips, miniature cake of soap remains, biros, sticks, flea collars, clothes pegs, mouth guards, cotton, wax, scissors, cotton wool buds, dental floss and nail clippings.

Two gay boys looked as though they wanted to faint, as I mopped the dust, water slime and tat into my pan.

"OMG!" said one.

The other clutched his throat. (I kid you not... and I'm not talking about effeminate boys)

"It's only dust," I said. "It's just got wet, that's all."

"Get the disinfectant," said one, as the other's face screwed into a grimace.

"It's just wet dust... predominately!"

I cleaned up the grime quickly, as Biff and Chuck went green and appeared unsteady on their feet.

"All we have to do is move it out the front to the car and lift it in."

"How heavy is it?" said one.

"I'm not good with this sort of stuff," said another, rubbing his muscle bound arms, protectively.

"Why the hell do you guys go to the gym, anyway?" I asked incredulously.

Truly, they looked at me like I had just lost the plot completely.

"Because I want to look good," offered one tentatively. The other nodded in agreement.

 

Wog Boy hair, just the best to run your hands through. I tell you, there is nothing quite like it, as it is good for what ails you. You want to de-stress, find yourself a wog boy and slide your fingers into his locks, thick and strong and full of more body than the local collective gym buddies. I'm an expert on it, with Leigh, and Lauri and Carmine, but not Manny, his always had so much product in it it was set like a rock.

Day Dreams

There is a beautiful Greek boy, John, who works in my office. He's handsome, athletic, with a tendency to smile. He's gorgeous; late twenties, just got married. I have to be careful when I look at him, I have to keep my eyes focused on his face, because if they drift away from his handsome smile, or his beautiful eyes, I find I'm checking him out, before I know it. What a sexy man! And, what a nice person he is, too. Sweet, friendly, easy going. He is just one of those lovely men, interested and interesting.

Sometimes we have to work together on stuff, like yesterday. I had just been talking to Manny before John came into my office. Manny had been talking dirty to me.

John was talking to me about something and I was imagining what he would feel like in my arms, feeling Manny as if he was John. I could feel his breath on my face, like I do when Manny kisses me. I could taste his sweet, warm lips on mine... just as sweet as my own Greek boy.

I was reaching down to the button on his pants...

"Chris... Chris," he said. "Where have you wandered off to?"

"Oh, um?" Refocusing on his gorgeous, sweet face, feeling the hard-on in my pants. Manny's face suddenly morphing into John's - being quite amazed at the small journey I had just been on. "Oh, no where? John?" Laugh. Shake my head again."You wouldn't believe me, um... if I told you." I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead... as I squeezed my legs together, enjoying the feeling of pressure there.

Quizzical look. "So, did you get all of that?" said John

"Yes." Shake of my head. "Sure. Sure." Smile. "I think I got a pretty good idea..."

He smiled back. "Good." He smiled again.

I smiled at him.

View From My Office

Love And Old Watches

After my father died, five years back, my mum gave me 2 antique Rolex watches that were his. He hadn't worn them for years and he only had them because the tropical island on which he lived, where he and mum met, was duty free, or tax free. Speaking of love, which I have read about on a few blogs just lately, what a way to meet? My father had another girlfriend and my mother, initially, told him she wasn't interested, but he wooed her under the palm trees by the Pacific Ocean.

The watches had languished in a draw for, well, many years, as mum, dad and the island were back in the days before they were married. So naturally, I had a look on the internet to see if I could see what they were worth. Don't get me wrong, I have no intention of parting with them and would, in fact, wear them if I wore watches any longer.

Counting those two, I have seven watches that I don't wear. I had quite a thing for watches once, but some how I got out of the habit of wearing them and, of course, I now use my phone for the time.

I just wanted to see if I could see watches like them, for interest sake.

Ever since, I have been receiving spam emails about antique watches. I do wonder what is the point of them sending me this stuff? I understand it costs them nothing and that I should never respond. But why?

Having said that, the spam emailers don't know that they give me a reason to think of my father, every time they send me a new email. I got three of the stupid things today.

Sometimes, I get those watches out and hold them in my hand and think of my dad, quietly, silently, on my own. I can almost hear the crash of the waves on the beach, I can almost see young lovers under the fronds of the coconut palms.

I remember my dad. I miss him, you know. He was the greatest. There was nothing he couldn't do. I think of my mum and the life she lead, now ticked away like those old watches, lonely and sad and on her own. It breaks my heart.

Is love ultimately about having your heart broken... if you live long enough? The ultimate reward for a long and happy relationship?

 

3rd of May

Sunshine and rainbows,

the rain washed the day

feel the cool, winter is on its way.

Big lightening, big thunder

our lives are ebbing away

I can't believe it is the 3rd of May.

Into bed

rest my head

it is what I do best, as I've always said.

As I Begin to Drag My Knuckles Around on the Ground

I've got to get some exercise back into my life, I'm beginning to feel it, when I get up. 

Er?

Not exactly coming into the months known for sportiness. Oh, the dark?

Where did the daylight savings go?

I'd better join the gym? Ha, ha. Go watch all the straight boys grunting and sweating.

Then go watch them in the change room towel drying themselves from the wetting.

I guess they know that we look at them, check 'em out, see who's packing, and who's got naught.

It's all true, worst fears realised for the homophobes, we've checked you with your knickers down, don't you worry about that.

Looking at Girl's Bits

Just recently, it has occurred to me that I look at woman's breasts, I don't seem to be able to help it. Especially if they have a nice pair, or if they are out and exposed. I know this is a very strange thing for a gay boy to do, but my eyes just go there, automatically. I find, if I'm not careful, I'm looking down at a girl's tits when she is talking to me, before I know it, just like you always hear them complain about straight boys. Perhaps, it is the latent het boy struggling to come out. Ha, ha!

Rachel, who I work with, sits to my right. We're great mates, we've worked together for years. But because of the angle on which she sits and because of the way girl's shirts button up, I often find my eyes look down and at the gap that, is so often, exposing her chest, when we chat. It's crazy, but my eyes do it without me thinking.

What sort of crap gay boy is Chris, she must think.

Sometimes, I have to deliberately stare out of the window to stop my eyes from wandering.

It's not a sexual thing, really, it's just an observational thing. I just look, no intent what so ever.

Girl's breasts must drive, more interested, straight boys nuts, is all I can conclude.

I wonder if I have always done it?

This Was the Sky as I Left The Country Tonight

When I was small, and Christmas trees were tall,
we used to love while others used to play.
Don't ask me why, but time has passed us by,
some one else moved in from far away.

Now we are tall, and Christmas trees are small,
and you don't ask the time of day.
But you and I, our love will never die,
but guess we'll cry come first of May.

The apple tree that grew for you and me,
I watched the apples falling one by one.
And I recall the moment of them all,
the day I kissed your cheek and you were mine.

Now we are tall, and Christmas trees are small,
and you don't ask the time of day.
But you and I, our love will never die,
but guess we'll cry come first of May.

When I was small, and Christmas trees were tall,
do do do do do do do do do...
Don't ask me why, but time has passed us by,
someone else moved in from far away.

I’ve taken the day off to go to Bolago to sign the houses over to each other, so we can stop paying land tax, on each other’s halves. We never did it, it has been stupid. 

I’ve been up since 9am, I don’t have to leave until 1pm. I’ve even had a joint, or two. Let’s be truthful, three. Still got two hours to waste. Yay!

Josh leaves today. He’s catching the train to Yakandanda. Or as I like to say to him, You’re going to Berlin via the end of the earth.

Since he’s admitted (last Saturday night) that he was shit scare and more than a little depressed, at the prospect of returning to Berlin, he’s been his old self and we’ve got on famously. 

SMS. 13.11. Happy second day of your 32 year – Christian

I text as I was driving up the freeway. You can only text in a manual car on a freeway, then it really isn’t recommended.

SMS. 13.19. Cheers. Gets harder over 30 doesn't it?? – Leah

SMS. 13.33. Yup – Christian

I drove to Bolago to do the house sign over. Jill will be pleased, she has been on my case for the longest time about it.

SMS. 14.39. Come for dinner its quiet – Rachel

I didn’t look at my phone again until I left.

SMS. 18.13. I’m at Bolago – Christian

I got home just in time for Big Brother.

SMS. 19.05. What good are you then? – Rachel

Manny called when Big Brother had finished. He has changed his diet, no more fish to see if it is the cause of his elevated mercury levels.

I Burnt My Coffee Pot

7am. I burnt my coffee pot while I was off in dreamland thinking about a day off. The pungent smell of rubber in the air, as the seal in the coffee pot melted, bought me back to reality.

SMS.07.54. No good day. Too many drinks and, when doing the tally of who had called realised u hadn’t so thought I might send a reminder – Leah

Too many drinks, for my ex-girlfriend, now there’s a surprise. Oh no, you never get demanding once you've been on the sauce.

I’m sure I was woozy on the aftermath of pot, at least for the morning.

11am. The truth of the morning was that I was stonkered. Dragging my feet. I’m not sure I’m going to make it, I thought, as I dragged my sorry arse up Young Street. I felt like I was walking a bit sideways, my centre of gravity was a little... er... um, compromised. The walk to work only just cut it. I just start walking and I forgot. That rhythm was good to get the blood pumping, brain cells sparking, lung tissue filtering. Water. Kidneys. Park. Feeling fine. Shop fronts. People. The lift.

Intermittently, during the morning, I had slight head-spin moments, a stumble. A couple of times. Three at the most. I had to check and check and check everything again and again and again. Triple check for autopilot days, to be sure. Avoid the phone. Answer everybody by email, even phone messages. I can get away with it for one day, better than stumbling over my words and feeling found out.

The paranoia only lasts till midday.

A big lunch and every cell was pumping.

The clouds behind my eyes, cleared.

Early to Shine... Healthy, Wealthy, What?

Bing! 6am. I'm awake. What goes on?

I could take today off? I'm having tomorrow off for the yearly financial paperwork sign off. Rachel said take today off too. I said no, don't know why, some strange work ethic. All I'd have to do is text her. She'd be cool with it. What to do?

Would I just be wasting a day? (no doubt)

You know I want to!

An Australian, a Kiwi and a South African

An Australian, a Kiwi and South African are in a bar one night having a beer.

All of a sudden the South African drinks his beer, throws his glass in the air, pulls out a gun and shoots the glass to pieces.

"In Seth Efrika our glasses are so cheap that we don't need to drink from the same one twice," he says.

The Kiwi, obviously impressed by this, drinks his beer, throws his glass into the air, pulls out his gun and shoots the glass to pieces.

"Wull mate, in Noo Zulland we have so much sand to make the glasses that we don't need to drink out of the same glass either," he says.

The Australian, cool as a Koala, picks up his beer and drinks it, throws his glass in the air, pulls out his gun and shoots the South African and the Kiwi. He turns to the astonished barman and says,

"In Strailya mate, we have so many bloody South Africans and Kiwis we don't need to drink with the same ones twice."

 

I spent the day smoking pot and transferring all of my sms’ into my journal. I slept for the afternoon.

I watched Big Brother.

SMS. 18.32. Shits me that u don’t remember my birthday. Make an effort 4 people who care about u coz one sided only lasts so long…– Leah

Ah, and one of the monster people in my life rears their head. Back to me, that message says. We love our monster people for all their monster characteristics, as much as we laugh at their antics. Me, me, me, luv. Me, me.

I didn’t respond, immediately, Nyr! Ordered to wish someone happy birthday? You have been commanded. I’m not exactly sure that’s how birthday wishes work, perhaps her wishes tally for the year was down, I couldn’t see why that might be the case? Chuckle. I didn’t respond immediately, not for four and a half hours. Too stoned.

SMS. 22.51. Happy birthday. Bad day? – Christian

Smoky Saturday

I haven't seen the G man, I was thinking. He gets a girl friend and I never see him again. Just like a straight boy. I miss those nights where he was drunk, after a night out with his wife and he'd hug me drunkenly and tell me he loved me and secretly rub his hard-on on my arse, as he hugged me tight. Often, his wife would be standing next to him. What happened to that Nick? (G's real name)

Truthfully, I like his friendship for many more reasons than the rare drunken moment I have described above – just thought I'd titillate myself with the thought.

I don't know why I thought about him today.

Missy went missing, a number of times, when I was supposed to be giving her medicine. She finished the course, but not strictly in the way it was intended. But finished, none the less. Now she has one suspect tiny, puffy bit, around the abscess. So I'm hoping like hell I don't have to pay another $450 to have her completely healed. I tried to squeeze it, like the vet showed me, but nothing came out and I wondered if I was mutilating her for nothing. But she never acted like any of it was sore, so that has to be a good sign

The cleaning lady is an absolute amazing gem. She cleans like no other cleaning lady I've ever had. She is a one in a million, never to be had more than once in one life time. I've learnt by experience. David and I gave her some extra money this week, in appreciation.

(Oh, you know that is David's need to be liked and his laissez-faire attitude with money, and not really the idea of the tight arse that is yours truly)

I drive over to mum’s, liking driving the GTI 6 very much. I wonder how much better it would go with a new clutch?

There’s fucken cars everywhere on the road.

Lottie is funny and seems quite rational, even if she doesn’t remember the name of spinach. She tells me that she is getting worse, that she is losing her memory. I tell her she should go to a specialist.

My buggery speeding fine arrived in the mail. $215 dollars, although I mistakenly told Lottie that it was $250 and she handed it over. So I actually made on the deal. Three buggery demerit points though.

I spent Lottie's fine money on pot. She'd be proud.

I'm smoking pot and cigarettes. I have to stop smoking. I'm getting really chesty again. Doesn't that sound like something a mother would say? But, unfortunately, true. 

My computer connection connects with my computer, finally. And I down load my sms messages into my journal, contentedly. I wonder if I’m boring. Or delusional. 

I should be writing something real.

Josh came home and said how miserable he has been about going back to Germany and how he’s been depressed and maudlin and he was snapping out of it because he suddenly realised he only had seven days left and then it was back to boring old Berlin and he was snapping out of it. We connected straight away. It was just Josh at his most open and the Josh I adore. He said straight away, Let’s get pot and I went halves, without question. I’m piss weak. David came home from work and just chilled and we all smoked pot and had a great laugh.

David questioned Josh about Germany and he said it was going to horrible. He’s going to live in squalor, for some sense of duty towards the mother land, except he’s 7 generation Australian.

It’s his sudo-christian, rural upbringing, it’s hard to exorcise. Duty smutty, I think. But Josh is seeing the world. It, on some minor level, makes me feel like a lazy bastard. I guess Josh still hasn’t found himself completely.

So back to Germany with her.

Josh goes on Tuesday. I will be sad to see him go. Josh and I have even got health conscious 

David has gone out to dirty sex and take drugs, unfaithful already.

I turned down sex with Manny. I can't drive. And fuck him, he said he was coming over here, today.

The lovely Tony just gave me a star rating on Gaydar. I gave him one back. I’m shaking. My hearts racing. He’s got a photo of his cock, on line. 

I just upgraded him to a flame. His cock looks hot! I’ve always wanted to see it. Fuck, I’d love to suck it.

Next! Shane is on the horizon, a new divorcé. He always moves in here when his relationships fall apart. He is a big pot smoker.

Public Transport

The tram was crowded this morning, full of the usual suspects; half asleep, half stupid, half caring, half capable, half there.

There was a blond boy, standing with his gorgeous dark-haired girlfriend, the contrast in their complexions was immediately apparent. How beautiful are you two, I thought. He had the most piercing blue eyes, the type with pale blue corneas with dark blue circles outlining them.

There was a woman whose thighs were so fat that they seemed to move independently to the rest of her. As she walked, it set of a kind of Mexican Wave in her thighs, under the material of her pants. I'd hate to have been slapped in the face by either of those suckers.

I lent forward to let a guy pass behind me and he stopped and stood in the space that I had vacated, to let him pass. Are people really that selfish, or that self focused, or that unaware? Oh no you don't buddy, I thought, as I lent back and our bums rubbed together. It felt kind of nice, warm, soft. He moved away slightly. You know, just enough. I stood up straighter. Our bums rubbed again. He had, what felt like, a nice arse, pert, spongy. He moved away, again. I stood completely straight. Our bums rubbed again, I could feel his crack on mine. He moved into the rear carriage.

I thought you'd see it my way, buddy, I thought.

Mass Consciousness

One school of New Age thinking tells us,

You have to focus all of your energy on what, or who you want to be powerful in the world. You have to stop thinking about all that is bad in the world, because even if they are negative thoughts, you are still giving all that is bad in the world energy.

You just have to focus on the positive and let all else fade away. Feed all that is good with positive thought and the world will be a better place.

It is that easy. The people have the power to change the world.

Manny

Manny is a bit shy, to have his photo on display. But, Nyr. He keeps me warm on cold nights. Actually, more like I snog him on the couch in front of the TV, but it's all the same thing really.

He didn't ask what I was going to do with the photo, so I didn't tell him. How's he gonna find out, I ask you? I think he was just about to take his pants off, at the time, hence the mood lighting.

He was about to take his pants off, Anzac Day came early.

Drinking and Smoking and the Guys

We were all out at the Laird. It was packed and I was supposed to be meeting Tom.

Housemate David and his new guy Mark. David had had two vodkas and was saying what a cheap drunk he was.

Shane was saying that he was single, emotional and drunk... and looking for a guy with a big cock.

Like that will help, at this point, I told him.

Certainly can't hurt, slurred Shane.

Well then, it's certainly not big enough, I replied.

He-who-shall-never-be-mentioned asked where I'd been and if I'd lost his phone number, pointedly? He provided a steady stream of joints, especially after I'd run out of cigarettes. Every time I asked him for one, he'd reply, How about a joint? He had the never ending Tim Tam packet of joints, so it would have seemed.

Sebastian was there too. He and I said wicked things about Shane, as we are want to do. Shane made some disparaging comment about Matt. Ex-fucking-boyfriends. Spit on the ground.

Like he thinks it's hard to break up with Matt, I said to Sebastian. Shane owns property with Mark W, lets see how nasty that one gets.

"Denial, luv," said Sebastian. "It's a wonderful thing."

Tom never turned up, although I got a few texts from him saying his arrival was immanent.

Manny didn't go, we watched Big Brother together and then I tucked him into bed, figuratively, of course.

"Why who wouldn't have thought that a three-way with and Italian wasn't going to end in tears," said Sebastian.

We both laughed

"I'd like to say that I warned him," I said. "But I actually didn't."

Everybody laughed. I passed the joint.

I didn't stay too late. "I've had a shag, a couple of beers and a couple of joints, I'm ready for bed," I said at 1am.

"Are you okay to drive," asked David, in housemate brotherly love.

"I'm pretty stoned..."

"But you've only had one drink?"

"Two."

"Oh, you're fine then," he replied.

Kiss, kiss and I was off.

I saw Tom's car halfway down a long street, half way to my car. He must have finally turned up. He must have been getting a drink as I left the building. I stood next to Tom's car and felt anxious about missing him. The road was long and dark, far to my car. I looked back and the road was long and dark and it was far to go back. I stood next to his car and bounced on the balls of my feet and shoved my hands deep down in my pockets. The car was like a snow mould, sitting there in the dark. Almost, obscenely white, with it's handicapped permit, against the black of the night.

I was too stoned to walk back. I looked behind me. I kept walking.

Anzac Day

For Anzac Day, I'm going to get Manny to dress up in a private's uniform... and then I'm going to invade him. 

Grrr!

Mario plays soccer, he has great soccer legs

Manny

Manny's a crack up. He was supposed to call me at 6.30pm and he's just called now, sounding dead tired.

"I'm a bit late, I know," he said. "What time is it? Is it too late for you to drive over?"

I'm going to bed to dream about his big brown eyes, his gorgeous smile, his beautiful hairy chest, and other bits of him that I'm sure you can guess.

His head asleep on my shoulder... that always makes me love him.

Sweet dreams, Man.

Morning of Freaks and Beauty

I was in the post office paying two bills. I'd left my half of the money for Josh, but he was too busy watching porn and scouring the internet to go to the bank. Good on ya, I thought.

Mark thinks I'm ridiculous going to the post office to pay bills, but I walk past every morning, it seems so easy.

Get with the 21st century, says Mark. Do it on the internet.

I like the post office, it seems real, there's life there. One of the loud, mental ladies of the area came into the post office and proceeded to give us her banking history and hair dye requirements at the top of her voice, as she waited in line. Apparently, she came in on the wrong day last week when she should have been at the hairdresser. Oh bless her, I thought, as I gazed at the wide grey GT stripe in her otherwise black hair. You might want to try a lighter shade at your age, I was going to offer, but thought better of it. Wouldn't it be nice to have such simple worries. She put a smile on my face, with her nuffy innocents.

I'd left it a bit late to walk, so I hopped a tram. Face-lift lady was on the tram. She has skin as tight as a proverbial drum and androgynous features because of it. I looked out of the corner of my eye at her, staring straight ahead, to get a look at the scars behind her ears. She kind of noticed and craned her creepy head in my direction to see what I was looking at. She's like a plastic mannequin, not a wrinkle, not a line, nothing much moves. I looked straight ahead after she had looked at me, wondering if she was, in fact, a tranny. Not sure, the jury is still out on that one. She put a smile on my face too, which is, probably, more than she can do.

I slipped into my foyer with minutes to spare. Strapping dark, maybe Indian, boy was at the lift, in my foyer. He's my next husband, he just doesn't know it yet. He, he. He has the most beautiful face, square jaw, big, brown eyes, red lips, I can't help but gaze at him. He has a chest you could play drums on and an arse, so chunky and so sexy that, as he exited the lift, I imagined running my tongue through the hairs up his crack, as I followed it... er... him, with my eyes, out of the lift... Jasus! I shook my head. It wasn't even 9am? I would have adjusted my tie, if I wore one. I looked at the girl who remained in the lift, she hadn't noticed.

He put a smile on my face. Which is what I'd like to do to him. 

Shane and Manny

Shane's moving back in. He's "having a break" from Mark W and apparently, he has dumped Matt also. I asked him if "having a break" from Mark W, was a "break" with the idea of getting back together, or if it was a "break" as in the most polite way in saying it's over? He just kind of looked upset and said he didn't know, just a break. Me and my big mouth. I told him if he could even make a single decision while he was going through a break up he was doing better than most.

Josh leaves in a few weeks, after which Shane will move into his room. I amused myself with the thought of texting Josh - if, in fact, he had a mobile phone - saying not to come back, I'd let his room. Just to see the look on Josh's face - if, in fact, I could see his face through a mobile phone.

Shane's been around to discuss it, we had a couple of joints.

Shane and my other housemate, David are ex-boyfriends and David is in Shane's old room, when Shane lived here the last time, when David was his boyfriend. Josh's room was once Fergus' room, who went out with Shane and is how Shane and I met. Shane became an unofficial housemate living here with Fergus, the first time Shane lived here. So, Shane is moving into what is now, technically, his ex-boyfriend, David's, house, into his ex-boyfriend, Fergus', room.

Are you keeping up? Yes, it's a tangled web.

Shane is probably the person I have lived with most out of everybody, nearly, probably, several times, so he's like an old pair of socks. It'll be cool living with him again.

A pot smoker though, one draw back. Shane and I are old pot smoking buddies from way back. Fergus was a big pot smoker, from the era when this house was a big party house. I could easily be reclaiming old habits with Shane around.

Oh well, there could be worse things.

Fergus is dead.

I so wanted to get into Manny's pants this arvo/tonight, but he was in a funny mood and not up for it. I just had to relax and breath, otherwise I would have been begging. Well, not begging, but insistent, cajoling, single-minded, fixated, demanding... may be not demanding, either. But, frustrated... pleading. Oh come on Manny!

He laughed and said, My horny boy. I'm gonna eat again and go to bed.

So, I just said, okay Man, that's cool. (fiddling with my packet of cigarettes)

Maybe tomorrow night, he said. Can we catch up tomorrow night?

Sure! I said, a bit snarly.

I'm going to bed.

Shane's a computer geek, he can finish off David's and my wireless network. Yay! And he can take fucking "Hearts" off my damn computer. Stupid, mindless game.

Too Much Information?

1. Stubble... good or bad? How often do you shave?

I'd say stubble looks good, it feels good, but I do prefer a clean-shaven for a long snog. Otherwise, I get skin irritation around my lips. The secret is to have the same amount of stubble. I love body hair; hairy chest, hairy stomach, hairy legs.

2. How often do you kiss (read make out) with who?

Once a week, if I can. In fact, I'm sure today is the day. I must make a call, talk dirty down the phone.

3. Have you ever placed a personal ad or answered a personal ad?

Yes, both, but not for a long time now, though. I never found it a good way to meet people. I'm more your in-the-flesh kind of boy. I have little desire to date, as I have sex covered with a sexy partner just for that purpose. I'd rather do the boring bits on my own.

4. Where was the first place you ever had sex?

The back of my fifth grade classroom.

5. After a night of great sex, who do you tell? How much?

I don't really tell any one. I think about it to myself for a while after, bask in the after glow. Occasionally, I used to tell Tom, but no really gory details, though. Although, I'd be up for telling, if someone asked, but it just doesn't go that way.

6. Have you ever kissed your partner on the lips after oral sex without brushing teeth, nor washing/gargling/rinsing out mouth? Turn on or off?

Yes, all the time... from all areas back to his mouth. It is neither a turn on, or a turn off. It's just a part of good sex.

 

There is this boy - My twin Gareth

Gareth Barclay was my first platonic boyfriend, in grade 6. He had dark, curly hair, as I did. He had good looks, he was popular. He needed to shave, in grade 6. (I'm not sure boys ever shaved in 6th grade, but that is my mental picture of him)

He looked like me and I looked like him, amazingly so from all reports. He was my first, and only, twin experience thus far. (Well, not exactly, but we’ll get to that much later) We used to drive the teachers nuts. They couldn't tell us a part. “Gareth, Christian? Christian, Gareth?”

"Which one are you? Christian or Gareth?" asked the library teacher. "I can never tell you two a part. I wish you’d stop coming in together."

It would make us both smile.

We both liked it. We used to find each other to stand in line together.  I remember us holding hands, but that is probably me and we probably didn't. (Then again, in grade 6?) We were inseparable all year. We had the twin thing going on there for a while.

Gareth was boisterous, he played football at lunch times. He always came in for the afternoon with his shirt tail hanging out. But he was sweet to me, as I was sweet to him. (sweet on him) We had our own thing going on. We always sat together, we wanted to be bookends. Old Dickson used to get furious.

Albert Dickson was our 6^th grade teacher and my nemesis. He was cruel and vindictive.

"If you dear boys do insist on sitting together," he'd whine like Bernard King. "Although, why a thoroughly nice boy like Gareth wants to sit next to a thoroughly horrible boy like Christian – the old bastard hated me - "I will never understand." I think he could sniff a younger, cuter, smarter gay boy present and used to think, I have to tear him down, for my own preservation – "You will have to wear name tags."

"If one of us is thoroughly horrible and one of us is thoroughly nice," I would ask cheekily. "Why do we have to wear name tags?"

"Thank you Christian," he'd spit back. "I can pick horrible, when I hear it."

Gareth would rub my back when Dickson was mean to me, Gareth was my hero, he'd always find me, we'd always hang together.

I got shingles that year, from being forced to spar beyond my years, by a biter old homophobe, married forty years with children – in his polyester suits and cravats and his coiffured grey hair. (The man was the biggest closet homo, I don't know how people couldn't see it?).

Both our mothers picked the wrong one of us as their son, in the school photo. It was a set-up. We asked them pointedly. I was amazed when Gareth told me.

"My mum picked you, saying it was me." I was taken aback when my mum did the same thing, even if Lottie only hesitated over Gareth and then picked me. After which, I remember I sighed in relief.

Gareth went to a high school from year 7. His parents could no longer afford the fees, or something, I can't really remember now. All I heard was that he was leaving. We were both devastated. We said, "Twins forever," the day he left. We shazambed! our knuckles afterwards, in silence. We gazed at each other for the longest time, our last time together, before Gareth's mother pulled him away by the hand. I watched him go, as he did me.

I've never had another twin – everyone would say years later that David Sweetman looked like my brother, but never another twin. I wonder if Gareth still remembers? I wonder if he still looks like me?

 

Monogamy

I guess I believe in emotional monogamy, rather than sexual monogamy. In this world of whirling faces and too-many-men-not-enough-time kinds of attitudes, it's nice to have someone special in my life.

I don't think I'm really up for casual sex, any more. Don't get me wrong, I used to be, (Tom says I've slept with more men than anyone he knows. A claim I, naturally, dispute) but even when I was, shall we say, more of an enthusiast, I was so often left with the feeling, afterwards, of I-wish-I-hadn't-done-that, or get me out quick. This is not a judgement thing, fuck whoever you like, I would encourage you, even. But, I'm not sure that I ever found it that fulfilling, to be honest... not as fulfilling as having a boyfriend, sure.

I think it always used to be about self esteem, I think it always used to be about self acknowledgment and I think I now know that's not how you get those things.

I've always had this joke with Tom about knowing the name of the guys who we'd just fucked. Tom never cared, hardly ever bothered to even ask. But me, I always asked. Afterwards, I could always tell Tom their names. I could never just do the completely anonymous sex thing. I always had to find something I liked about the guy, otherwise it just wouldn't work for me. Even if it was snatched conversations in the dark, at a sex on premises venue. At some point between giving the nod and watching them blow, I'd have to stop and chat a bit. Often, that snatch of conversation was crucial to whether I'd continue, or grab my towel saying I needed a break.

I was always more interested in what was attached to the cock, more so than what size it was.

My point being... and I think I do have a point left here some where... to me, monogamy isn't about sex, monogamy is about wanting to be with someone. Monogamy is about being attracted to who someone is and wanting to be with that person because you want to be... and getting that in return. It is about mutual attraction. It's a heart thing. It's about being warm and fuzzy inside when they are around and them feeling the same way. It's about being honest, it's about being safe (that's the old fashioned meaning), it's about being nurtured, it's about being sure. It's about connection.

It's about holding hands, just naturally.

It's about leaving together, because you just don't want to leave with anyone else in the entire world.

And sexual monogamy?

I wouldn't accept my boyfriend leaving me on a night out to chase after someone else. I wouldn't accept him not turning up when he's supposed to because he's having sex with someone else. I wouldn't accept him interrupting my time with him because of someone else. I wouldn't accept him chasing after other people all the time. I wouldn't accept him being obsessed with finding extra marital sex. I wouldn't accept him sleeping with my friends or ex-lovers. But, if I was doing what I'm doing, otherwise happily entertained and it happened to come along for him, then it wouldn't matter, I wouldn't mind. Good luck to him.

I wouldn't accept him lying about it.

Missy and Manny

Missy has a big lump on her back. I told her she was a little bitch because of it. More fucking money! My finances haemorrhaging, at the moment, big time. Doesn't rain but pour, hey? She's cranky because I'm not feeding her until we return from the vet. Actually, where has she gone? Shit! Gotta go and find her. Half an hour till we leave.

An hour, or so, later...

Missy is now in hospital having her abscess lanced. She didn't go quietly, meow, meow, meow, all the way. Even a chuck under the chin, through the bars, at all the traffic lights didn't help calm her. Poor Missy. I'll pick her up tomorrow. Of course, it was decided that she should be micro chipped, as I have never had that done, another fifty dollars, then I can register her with the council, something that hadn't occurred to me until tonight. Not sure why?

Manny got depressed, yesterday and went to the pokies and blew all his money, so, of course, I bailed him out.

"I want to ask you for a really big favour," he said, first thing in the conversation. "I've got myself into a jam."

Oh, here we go, I knew what was coming next. That boy? Bloody hell! I so wanted to say no. But what do I do when he hasn't got any money for food for two weeks? Let him starve? My rational, thinking self says yes, let him. If I keep bailing him out, he'll just keep doing it. Won't he?

But, he hasn't done it for a long time.

I said to Rachel that I was lending him money, again, waiting for her to scold me... my yardstick. But she said, Poor Manny, what can you do? She likes him a lot.

He came into work and got $500 from me.

"Thanks, you saved my life."

I waved him good bye and kind of suspected that I was, maybe, doing the opposite. That boy? I should slap him rather than give him money.

He called me tonight and said cheekily, "Come over and I'll work off some of the debt."

"Ha ha," I said.

"I've shaved." Cheeky laugh. Always a good thing for a Greek boy to do before...

 

 

Sand and Stone

Two friends were walking through the desert. During some point of the journey, they had an argument and one friend slapped the other one on the face.

The one who got slapped was hurt, but without saying anything, wrote in the sand:

Today my best friend slapped me on the face.

They kept on walking, until they found an oasis, where they decided to take a bath. The one who had been slapped got stuck in the mire and started drowning, but the friend saved him.

After he recovered from the near drowning, he wrote on a stone:

Today my best friend saved my life.

The friend who had slapped and saved his best friend asked him, "After I hurt you, you wrote in the sand and now you write on a stone, why?"

The friend replied, "When someone hurts us we should write it down in sand, where the winds of forgiveness can erase it away. But, when someone does something good for us, we must engrave it in stone where no wind can ever erase it."

Gun culture

So some guy took a gun and shot thirty odd people dead. Why does America feign disbelief about this? It is the original gun-totting, war mongering, shoot 'em dead Texan Ranger country.

Your president sanctions killing, advocates war and, as the Governor of Texas, he put more people to death than any other governor in the history of your country.

On an individual basis, it is tragically sad. I can't imagine anything more terrifying than being hunted down by a mad man, in a place where you are supposed to be safe, where you are supposed to be growing, where you are supposed to be free to steer your young life in the most positive of directions. It is the stuff nightmares are made of.

But with the crazy gun culture in America... if you guys want guns, the right to bear arms, you've got to live with it. I can't imagine, as a nation, why you would want that.

Ages of Men

The man with the obvious wig, like a clichéd helmet of hair that my eyes were drawn to immediately, was sitting opposite me. What was he thinking when he looked in the mirror this morning, that nobody would notice? It looked ridiculous and I couldn't help blurring my eyes to see what he would have looked like without it. I wondered if he put it on like a bike rider would put his bike helmet on, one swift easy action. (clip under the neck?) It didn't even have a part just a join where the thatching met before heading off in opposite directions in two, big, mono-coloured sweeps around each side of his head.

He looked kind of sad sitting there, looking out from underneath it. Sad and obstinate in his age defying gesture, like a man sitting there with, something like, an ice cream cone up ended on the top of his head that nobody is supposed to notice.

The man next to him had shinny, coal black, hair, goatee and sleepy puppy dog eyes looking out from under his fetching droopy eye lids. He stared expressionless out of the tram window at the morning. Such a perfect study of fine male features; a straight jaw line, clear blemish free olive skin, black eyebrows like his hair, red lips with a perfectly shaped (the thing between your lip and nose) underneath a perfectly straight nose. All captured in a momentary snap shot, perfectly still and oblivious to my gaze.

Politicise my morning with your dark expressionless look; beauty captured perfectly still, encapsulating every little boy’s journey into manhood.

Don’t scare me, wig man, I shan't look at you. Don’t show me my destiny, however many decades it might be away.

The ages of man.

Before – dark-haired beauty.

After – bewigged decay.

The essence of men, like a still life, a study, a life drawing in front of me to view, to distract me, to attract my attention, to repel me, as I mindlessly trundle up Bourke Street, early for work.

What a Loser

Tom Watson is a loser, Tom Watson is a loser.

I've done a detailed spread sheet on this.

Tom Watson is a loser, Tom Watson is a loser.

They are not taking me seriously!

Tom Watson is a loser. Tom Watson is a loser.

Cry blond boy, cry

Tom Watson is a loser, Tom Watson is a loser

Did ya mother not give you enough attention?

Loser. Loser.

OCD mummy?

I'm not compulsive. I'm NOT compulsive!

Loser, loser. Tom Watson is a loser.

Cleanliness is next to Godliness.

Take that tie off loser boy.

Do I have to wear casual clothes on casual Friday?

Tom Watson is a loser.

Play with my head, because I'll play with yours.

We're nearly there...

Loser boy. Loser boy.

Tom Watson is a loser. Tom Watson is a loser.

Interesting Health Fact

Did you know that in the human body there is a nerve that connects the eyeball to the anus? It's called the Anal Optic Nerve, and it is responsible for giving people a shitty outlook on life.

If you don't believe it, try to pull a hair from your arse and see if it doesn't bring a tear to your eye.