They Called Him Horse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How have you been?" I asked.

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

"The sun?" I asked.

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

"No. But, they are good."

"Still together the three of you?"

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

"I love you guys."

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

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

His eyes twinkled like I remember them twinkling.

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

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

Monday Monday

A ten year, daily pot habit and cigarettes for longer, all stopped, all done with. It has been a battle for the last twelve months, but I think I'm on top of it. I'm feeling good about it. (As much as an ex, um, addict, I guess that's what you say, can ever feel they have beaten the habit. It's what "they" say, hey?)
I'd say that each time I've tried to give up, the easier it got. So don't quit quitting, keep trying, eventually you will be successful. Eventually, it just doesn't seem as hard.
The dreams have started again, or at least, I am remembering my dreams again. Yeah! Yippee! I always loved the dreams that I used to have as a kid, which the pot took away.

• One of the HR girls rearranged my life and I was struggling to keep up. Her face kept appearing, in a somewhat ghostly manner, and I kept asking why?
• I parked Mark's Subaru at the bottom of a beautiful blue stone overpass, which I was admiring when the tram came along and I had to dash to catch it. I was struggling up the steep stairs, but I managed to catch the tram.

What day are we on? Day 8 and feeling great. Except for a bad, sore stomach. I don't know what is wrong with it, but it hurts. My house mates have had it, well, they'd had similar stomach complaints. Shane's had it. Matt's had it. The beautiful Sebastian has had it and now two girls at work say they have got it.
David is in San Francisco and while he is there, Sebastian is sub-letting his room until he finds a place of his own. He was going to stay up @ Bolago, but has since decided to come and work in Melbourne. Mark & Luke say it is because he is looking for pussy. He says that he needs to meet more people. I think the two reasons add up to the same motive, actually.
So, I've made an appointment with the doc on Thursday to discuss my stomach problems. I'm not convinced it isn't to do with smoking, or the quitting there of. Probably, some nasty yeast infection, or candida, or some bacteria thingummy. Chlamydia, any one? I naturally have a touch of the hypochondria, so, of course, I have suspected the worst and have steadfastly kept away from the doctor out of fear, thinking it would clear up by itself. But, I had the realisation today that if it is not stomach cancer and not terminal, then there might be a very good reason for it and, therefore, a simple remedy and I don't have to go on in discomfort, like I am. Besides, I thought, better or not, what exactly am I waiting for before I go to the doctor? The passing of blood? Vomiting after food? So Thursday it is, wish me luck.

Aroused Jesus

Jesus came to me in a dream, smiling, he lifted his tunic and let me suck his dick. I didn't have to be asked twice. It wasn't very big, but it was divine.

No Dick, No Love

Jimmy stepped out the door, dressed in shorts and a singlet, raising his hands in the air as if to say that he was ready.

Warren dropped his cigarette on the dirt and ground it with his shoe.

Warren looked Jimmy up and down. "Is that the best you can do?"

"What?" said Jimmy. His face broke into a smile, as if he was saying he was in on Warren's joke. But Warren's face didn't change, didn't break into a smile. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Well."

"What?"

"No fly, no phallus," said Warren, looking at Jimmy. "It's that simple." He ran his hand down over his crotch, as he said it, and let his tongue loll out of his mouth.

"Huh?" said Jimmy. He was always distracted when Warren did that.

"You need a zip to make it look as though you have something to take out."

Jimmy felt a twinge as Warren looked at the front of his shorts.

"But some of my favourite shorts don't have a fly," said Jimmy looking down at his pants.

"Well, you'll always look dickless then." said Warren. He spat on the ground.

"They are comfortable with a draw string, or elastic, waist." Jimmy grabbed at the waistband of his shorts.

"Do you want to be known as a knob, or for your knob?" said Warren. “At least get some knee high socks.”

"I want to be known for my great personality and my sparkling whit..."

"Bullshit," said Warren. "That's bullshit. When you want to get laid, you don't care if people think you're a good bloke, or a funny bloke. You just want them to fancy you and look god damn happy in the process."

"A good personality is a great aphrodisiac."

"A big meaty cock," said Warren, as he grabbed the, not inconsequential, bulge in his jeans, squeezing it tight. "Is what gets the punters wet."

Jimmy shrugged.

"Don’t you want to hear, Yes Jimmy. Yes Jimmy. Yes! Yes! Yes!"

"I don't care. I like these shorts."

“Well, get used to the one hand pump then…”

“I do all right…”

“When was the last time someone went down on you?”

Jimmy opened and closed his mouth. He squinted his eyes, pulled his mouth into a grimace and walked ahead.

“Can’t remember?” asked Warren.

“Today could be my lucky day,” said Jimmy, turning around and smiling. “I could meet…”

“Only if I go down on you,” said Warren.

“What?” said Jimmy, a little surprised. The butterflies in his stomach flapped at the thought.

“Close your eyes, you wouldn't know the fucken difference.”

“I'd know it was you," said Jimmy. "I mean, I'd know the difference.”

Warren smiled broadly. “I bet you’d spoof in seconds, it’s been so long,” he said. "Someone would just need to touch it and ah, ah, ah!" Warren threw himself on the ground and made mock body spasm movements. "Warren, Warren, Warren."

“Not if you’re sucking my cock, buddy.”

“Get em off and we’ll see,” said Warren sitting up. His eyes turned to slits, his expression one of, I dare you.

“Get fucked!” Jimmy didn't like Warren teasing him like that. It confused him.

“Turn around and bend over then.” Warren stood, pointing at Jimmy, turning his hand in a circle.

Jimmy was breathless. He had to keep walking so Warren wouldn't notice.

 

Ugly, Ugly

A new girl started this week. I kid you not, she looks like something out of a lagoon. I was a bit taken a back when I turned around to greet her, as she was introduced to me.

"Christian, this is Fatima."

Ugly. Ooo! Just fowl! Imagine going through life looking like that? Revolting. No, really revolting. Big teeth, overshot jaw, beady eyes.

It was all I could do not to breath in sharply, in shock, as I looked at her.

"Nice to meet you," she said. Did she have a lisp, on nice, or was I imagining it?

Her face seemed to be covered in hair, like a mans. Her fringe came right down, nearly, over her eyes, certainly over her eye brows, which was probably a good thing. She is built like a truck driver, with bulbous thighs and pigeon toes. She has braces, I kid you not and glasses so thick, they look like Myers windows. They make her eyes look bigger than they really are, creepily so. Was she a little cross eyed?

"Welcome," I said. "Nice to meet you too." I sounded believable.

She smiled in return, which made her metal covered teeth prominent and her eyes squinted out of view, all together. She looks like the gateway to Luna Park, but not nearly as attractive.

But, her most prominent feature is her arse. Talk about butt-woman. I'd say 50% of her body is her bum - she is a body attached to an arse. Her bum is so fat that there is only a hint of a crack pointing downwards, on it's lowest edge. She kind of has to swing it as she walks. Coupled with the turned in foot, I tell you, it was all I could do not to laugh, as she waddled away.

Quazi who?

She had a ring on her left hand, which I thought was nice. Someone for everyone. The ring emphasised her stubby fingers. Absolutely amazing - there is some blind guy some where who likes fat chicks, I thought - but nice, none the less. I was kind of pleased for her, if I could have cared at all, of course. Well, I'd only just met her, give me a break, I don't have to care.

Fortunately, she's in IT, away from me, across the other side of the floor, so I won't be having any involuntary gagging, if I come across her unexpectedly.

What must it be like to have been ugly all of your life?

I've always been used to going out and picking up whoever I wanted. I doubt she would have had the same pleasure, without a lot of alcohol being involved.

 

Crazy God Botherers

Isn't it interesting that religious behaviour is so close to being crazy that we can't often tell it apart.

-- Dr Gregory House

 

It Only Gets Better From Here

 .... day 3 - the critical point. David says he's scared of day 3, with good reason. We bite and gnash our teeth so easily. Both Shane and I are on day 3, @ the same time. We've told David to keep his distance, to keep all sudden moves to a minimum, to keep talking to what is, actually, required. David is the happy, chatty, warm one of the inmates, usually. He's always smiling, nothing usually bothers him. He looked from me to Shane and back again, tonight and declared he was going to his room.

I looked @ Shane and said, "Probably, a very smart decision."

Shane hissed something about the next person he was going to kill, @ which point I decided to take myself off to my bed and out of harms way. Out of every one's way.

I'm tired. I'm grumpy. I'm on a short fuse, I can feel it. Everybody is giving me the shits.

I just want to scream and yell and break something, I can feel it in me. I can feel the anger bubbling. Anger that is contained and which, I know, won't come out. It will dissipate before it explodes. But it is there, I can feel it inside me. It is a strange feeling, as I'm, generally, a very laid back kind of guy. Things don't bother me, normally. So to feel the devil inside, scratching, it is, kind of, weird. It's not so much a monkey on my back, as evil in the pit of my stomach.

My mind has done it's normal, usual, mind game stuff... finish a project @ work "Have a cigarette," says my head... sit down @ home with a coffee. "Where are your cigarettes?" says my head.

"Ah, quit it," I say, as I threaten to hit myself. "I've just got to forget."

Just breath, feel your centre, feel the gentleness of the day and everything will be okay, I tell myself.

Everything is going to be okay.

More Catherine Tate, that's what I say.

Day 2... Again

I'm good at giving up, I'm just not good @ staying off them.

Here I am back @ day 2, again. It makes me want to scream. Back here. Back to withdrawing, again. I feel tired and grumpy and out of sorts. I've headed to bed early with my Catherine Tate DVDs.

Nothing much else to say, except good night.

Five more days and I'll feel normal again.

Yeah, he says weakly. Can hardly wait. Waves the anti-smoking flag.

Tries not to think about it.

Nobody is listening, Christian. They've heard it all before.

No, this time! It's going to be great. Watch this space.

I smell better already. My taste buds are cheering. The world is great!

 

Don't Let The Mudwallups Back

That's nice that you've called your PC Tom. What a year, hey?

I have not much on until the next few weeks. It's Schmuddlwetter here - rain trying to be snow and just being ice. Sometimes you can't walk about from slipping. A class here, a class there...

How long is the beautiful Sebastian there for? I might visit him this year if he's back - I liked the pics of his boofy, beefy mates and that he's brought them with him to youse, lucky yeuse! But don't forget, they like it if you call them South Tyrolean, it is an autonomous bit of Italy after all and should never have been hacked off from Austria.

But then, who needs Austria?

I had another meeting on the coast on the weekend for our Peace camp. Now it's more of a "What is Europe" camp. But still, plenty of room for copulation. I am sure we will get pushy stroppy politico-activist types coming anyway so it won't matter so much - they'll complain and find all our holes anyway. But it's coming together and indeed, much to my passing out with my eyes open when I heard it, they will PAY us too - and I was gunna just volunteer. So that's good.

You gunna make backups again on your PC and send em to the vault here for safety, like you did in the past? When I read the first email, about your PC crashing, I thought - faaaaaark. Not happy Jan or anyone. So glad she's right, chook.

When's that book coming out?

How's this for a nice quote: time is our friend, not a robber.

I quite like mulling over it.

The Germans are a bit nuts you know. When I was with the Catholics they had me bedded down with the nephew in the cellar in the roll out mattress arising from his bed. The 14 year old nephew and grandson. They know I'm gay and yet didn't want me in the unmarried daughter's room (my mate Uta) even tho that's what we did. I didn't want to be seen as preditary nor as not accepting the honour of acceptance and it is all very innocent, but for crying out loud - how else do they think these things happen with priests and uncles and family friends...?

I don't know the kid and alone, in a closed room, sleeping (horror): seriously, it's my word against his and as they said, IS there anything we should worry about? and If something DID happen then he would tell us and of course we would accept it as if he told is then something DID happen. My god, avoid the whole thing, and put me in with Uta until the kid is at least of age and maybe then I can get a good night's sleep. An interesting exercise in internalised homophobia too, but really, I know Uta, not him.

And no, I don't know if he was well hung and I missed me chance - he is on the 12 side or 14, if you read me, not the chunky 17 year old side of 14.

Well, Happy New Year to you too and less people dying thanks.

I'm off home to get rotten and watch movies without dicks.

Happy happy,

Josh

 

Flooded River

The Floods

Mark and Luke decided to get out and about yesterday, after being cooped up for days, to see what state every thing was in. There was a break in the weather, a window of opportunity, so to speak. So they headed into Woodburn, the nearest town. They got into town alright, but then the skies opened up again and the rain came down again and it was touch and go getting back to our friend's house again. Our friend M was driving, in their old 4WD – the windows were all wound down, but the windscreen was completely fogged due to the humidity, which T (his wife) was wiping continuously so he could see. As they got closer to home, they saw the river had risen which they had to cross it to get back to the house. So, through they went. They were nearly to the other side when the back of the old 4WD went down into the water and started to fill, quickly. It looked bad, momentarily. But M's skill as a driver, or just plain, dumb luck got them through, when the wheels caught and full acceleration bit into the dirt and the old truck engine roared and up she came, out of the water back onto dry land.

"I'm not sure how we got across that river," Mark said to me. "I thought we were going down, but then out we came.”

And then they were cut off and the road out was declared unusable. It looked as though they were stuck, no way out.

Then today, some old bloke came down the river, with his boat, to collect them. An old timer, who knew the land, and the river, like the back of his hand.

"She'll be right mate," said Jock. "We'll get ya outer there, don't you worry about that." Kip his Kelpie barked from the front of the boat.

They left their hirer car behind @ M & T’s and headed up stream, with Jock, to Balina to catch a plane out.

Mission accomplished. They've made it out safe and sound.

They'll be home tomorrow.

 

Looking At The Flooded River

Mark & Luke

Mark & Luke are on the central N.S.W. coast, after going to Tropical Fruits for New Years Eve. They are staying with friends of ours, in what, is usually, an idyllic setting. It's on a bend in the river, surrounded by bush. It's normally lush and beautiful.

Now, they are almost, completely, flooded in. Luke said he hasn't seen the blue sky and the rain hasn't stopped falling since they got there. They are going to try to get out tomorrow, via forestry roads.

"Yeah," said Luke. "Home a week early." He sounded nervous.

I'm not sure what that means, cracks in the bush, goat tracks, sealed roads? I just hope it doesn't mean they do any thing heroic, or stupid, with swollen rivers.

Please universe, look after them.

Flooding

Flooding

I Think This is Going To Be My New Car

A Renault Megane Sport F1 R26 Turbo

It's Just Too Hot!

I'm melting!

Fuck the pollies for getting climate change so wrong. Or, at least, for doing nothing. It is only going to get worse, before it gets better, because of those who were in charge inaction. You know, like Howard and Bush and Blair. They chose to fight wars for oil instead. Ironic, really.

Matt's been out buying pedestal fans. He bought one for the lounge and we were all very impressed with the cool breeze. And, as they are Chinese made and only cost fifteen dollars, I think we now have five. Matt said he was going to buy one for every room. Nice idea, but what do we do with them in the Winter?

I've got one in my room and I'm loving it sick, so that's all that really matters, huh?

What Colour Do You Think?

Yellow or black? The only two colours the hot turbo model comes in.

Last Day of the Holidays, Before I Return to the Salt Mines

My PC died New Year's Day. Bias hard drive recovery........... I knew it was coming, it has had the wobbles for some time, it is quite old and I need a new one. It gurgled back to life momentarily, today, like a dying corpse in the bed, breathing it's last, as I got the last of my e-mails.

I have renamed it Tom.

Thank goodness for my lap-top.

I've been trying to decide on the options to replace it, for the last month, or so.

1. Docking port for my lap-top to take the place of my PC - have one computer, easy.
2. Or, a new tower, slipping right in to replace the old one.

I think I have decided to go with the new tower and to continue to have two computers. A new tower is going to be bigger and stronger than my lap-top and it means that if anything goes wrong with either computer, I still have another one to use. This way, I'll never be without a computer. I have computer anxiety whenever my computer is out of working order.

It's hot, we are melting. We were going to go to the pool, but we saw sense. I'm watching Oprah, on my first day of quitting smoking, everything, all forms of smoking are being stopped. So kiss my arse if you want me to be nice, is what I'm telling my friends.

David says he is scared. Actually, I'm okay. Love not working. Love being home. Love being on holidays. Love the summer. Love the fact that my chest isn't hurting and love the fact that I can breathe. And quite frankly, if someone has to die in the process of me quitting smoking, well, really it is a small price.

Thinking about the last week, I didn't get to suck a cock at New Year. Sad Face.

However, with my friends doing it hard overseas, I've got so little to complain about.

Josh emailed, he is on his own in his, what sounds like, charming council flat, in Berlin, and I quote...

not to forget, the menacing loomingness of me cheap Berlin council flat, living off takeaways and listening to the radiator hiss and leak, bones knocking, sores festering on me bits. Throw all that in for a party? ...He spent Xmas Day with Catholics? It's troubling, he has to be watched, as he is a recovering Ex-Christian. He had the dirty little christian secret right up until he met me, oh - fuck me - ten years ago.

He's in a dodgy eastern-block internet cafe, where they sell everything from cigarettes to Polish youths. I ordered a 17 year old with a cock down to here and an arse like a ripe melon.

Aby emailed too, apologising for her extended silence, questioning, life, love and the universe. She's been down on her knees in the seamier sides of New York City and Berlin, getting to see the powerful and demented agendas that will, no doubt, affect the whole world.

Apparently, the answer lies here. http://zeitgeistmovie.com/index.html

It tells us things we already know and has it's own agenda, but that being said, it's heart is in the right place - Aby.

I haven't looked @ it yet. I'm not that enamoured about saving the planet, humans don't deserve to be saved, well, I mean, what other species, on this planet, poisons it's own nest? It's not a long term survival characteristic. But for those of you who are...

I'm eating a lovely peach and mango, green salad with eggs and tomatoes and cous cous. Yum! There is a cool breeze blowing from two fans, which Matt bought around.

We're wondering if we should up our carbon foot print and have air conditioning installed. Rather than simply re-arranging the deck chairs, as the planet sinks, we would rather be cool, as we go down.

We're off to the Laird tonight to get plastered.

Thinking about Nick

I was out on my balcony, in the glorious sunshine, having a smoke, when this amazingly buff boy lent out of the window of the house across the road, to see what the noise was that two car loads of, recently arrived, friends were making. Big, buff, beautiful. The way he lent out, I could see right down his abs to the waste band of his jeans. (I think my favourite part of a boy, is when he's shirtless and in jeans, then it is the expanse of flesh just above the waistband of his pants. Pant!) Just incredibly perfect. Buzz cut. Milky skin.

He sent my mind racing off with dirty thoughts.

You know, I must want sex, I keep noticing cute boys every where. I'm not sure why I'm not going out there to get it? I didn't think about picking up a guy at the party new years day, the perfect opportunity, I just danced. (Besides, I find I'm way better with sex straight than munted.)

I do, actually, know why. From always having open relationships and sharing my boyfriends with all the punters, happily, I have, some how, morphed into a serial monogamist, without even trying. I'm not so interested in casual sex, any longer, it so often means nothing. I just want a regular guy I can call mine. Just a nice boy who has a healthy sex drive and a dirty mind, that's not too much to ask for? I love the after glow of good sex, it's calming for days.

It's what I miss about having a boy friend, being able to play with him, whenever the urge takes me. I haven't had sex since July, since Manny. Well, I have, with an old sexy buddy, but that's just draining the pipes. It's not hot sex like with Manny or with someone I really like. I miss Manny physically, only physically, is that a bad thing to say? I still want to have sex with him, but, over all, I don't miss him enough, truthfully. I don't miss him enough to go back to making the allowances I used to have to make with him.

This year, I need to find a new boy friend.

Time for Nick to make an appearance.

(If you don't understand the Nick reference, I explain it 2nd Sept 2007)

I guess that means a year of going out on the hunt. Be still my sweet liver.

In the mean time, I might just sit on my balcony, in the glorious sunshine and watch the world go by. I so love not going to work.

And We Gently Come Down

What a gorgeous day, blue skies, sunshine and a cool, cool breeze. I've been around to the shops twice, couldn't get it all in my brain the first time. A bit frazzled, 3 e's. The breeze up Gertrude Street was heaven sent. The out of it people were not - a buff, shirtless boy with his girlfriend, who couldn't have got his eyes to both look in the same direction, if he tried. And a couple of boguns, in ACDC t-shirts, who headed into the shop, in front of me, and spent up big on booze.

Nurse Betty was fun; inside dance floor, balcony to groove on, buff boys, good music and most of my friends were there. And, I feel remarkably good, all things considered. A little frayed around the edges, sore jaw, a little achy, but, pretty much, okay. Who said drugs were bad for you? Take no notice of your parents kids, experiment and find out for yourselves. It's funny really that the authorities and parents only give you the down side, they don't tell you that the majority of recreational drug uses are having so much fun.

The feuding factions (of my friendship base) weren't both represented; Shane staid away, so the ex-boyfriend, Mark W, and his posse could enjoy themselves. David didn't go either, as he'd been in rehab, he, he, he, actually a retreat for six days where he wasn't allowed to speak. So he was floating on his own, natural, cloud when he got home, just as I was leaving for the party.

There's always one boy at every dance party with who I become fascinated, for at least part of the night. Some times for a short time, some time for much longer. Drugs do that to me. There's always one. Eyes, face, chest, the way they dance, the curve of their arse, the way they laugh or smile, some body part that captures my imagination. Last night, it was a hairy-chested, shirtless, stocky, whiskered-face, beautiful blue eyes, scruffy hair, pieced nippled, Aussie boy. He was just wearing jeans, which sat kind of low on his hips and gave him the most perfectly shaped bulge in his pants. Seemingly, shaft down, giving him that long, half-bonner, separating his two, large round balls, look. You could see his genitals, nicely cupped by blue denim. I couldn't take my eyes off his bulge, for the first few hours of the night, on and off. It's not really a sexual thing, as such, more of a fascination. Although, if it's a boy's cock you are looking at, it can't help but be sexual.

He got it too. I got his attention. He was a cool dancer and he started doing subtle moves that involved his hands in the waist of his jeans, pulling his pants up, pushing them down, generally showing his bulge off. As his beautiful blue eyes came to gaze at me with intent. He was gorgeous.

And Nick, I hear you ask? Well, my good mate Sebastian - there are a couple of Sebastians, so don't get confused. Let's say that this one is Sebastian C and the other one is Sebastian P - turned up with a cute Italian boy. And if he hadn't got my attention already, he certainly did when Sebastian said, "Christian, this is Nick." We spent a lot of the night dancing together. I realised Nick reminded me of my ex-boyfriend Lauri. He had the same smile - it was so the same smile as Lauri that it threw me a little. He had brown eyes instead of green. When Lauri used to get excited, or out of it, he had a line that used to form straight up his forehead, with a couple of faint ones either side, we used to call it his chooks foot. Quite amazingly, Nick had the same thing. But, I was too aware of getting carried away on drugs and being too full on with him, so I held back all night. Probably, the completely wrong tactic, no doubt, but that's what I did. Even the fact that we both flirted really gently and intermittently with each other, smiles and responses, throughout the night didn't stop the reserve I had with him. We made comments about people, with our eyes, all night. You know if people invaded our dancing space, or were really out of it. We'd both end up laughing because we just got what the other one was meaning all night, just naturally, without any words of explanation.

However, Sebastian loves nothing more than a protege to go out with, so I'm sure I will run into Nick again.

At one stage, when I was coming back from the bar with my bottle of water, I thought I saw Tom, out of the corner of my eye, dancing on the dance floor. After the party, I was telling David and he responded with, "How do you know it wasn't Tom?"

That never occurred to me until David said it, which sent a chill up my spine, because I hadn't thought of it that way.

I must be more out of it than I realise, as my eyes welled with tears, as I thought of Tom.

My first New Year without him.

Love you Christian.

Love you Tom.

New Years Resolution

I'm off to the day party, Nurse Betty, where the following exchange is going to take place.

Dressed only in jeans - my favorite look on a boy - thick-thighed, chunky-butted, (lets be real, what gay guy isn’t a size queen, top or bottom) pistol packing, shirtless, strawberry-nippled, cheeky, out of it wog boy, walks up to me and smiles.
“Hi, I’m Nick, I’ve seen you around.”

I've decided to ditch my twenty first century mantra, Just care less, with a new wish for the new year, David would be so proud. 2008 will be great.

Happy New Year.

Nicholas

Last Day of the Year

It was a hot day, all right – skin frying hot. It was 2007’s hottest recorded day, apparently. Tomorrow is going to be more of the same, in the forties. I could feel the sun burning into my skin, like needles, whenever I was out of the shade.

I headed off into the shimmering haze, in the direction of Bolago. I was to spend the night with LouLou, the beautiful Sebastian and his friend George, fresh off the boat from Italy. The day was peeking out on the sun’s rays, whited out just around the edges, as happens on a scorcher of a day. The colours were really bright, contrast was on high definition.

The roads were sparsely populated with cars – gentle and serene is what I may have called the day heading up the melting, like liquorice, bitumen.

I had to buy petrol – actually, I didn't, I had half a tank, but I like to fill up before I leave town. Besides, I wanted to run the aircon with impunity. I bought a litre of ice coffee milk, I was feeling a little peckish - ignoring Shane's constant reminder. "Flavoured milk may not be high in fat, but it is one huge sugar pill and unless you get yourself back to the gym, blah, blah, blah."

A litre of iced coffee milk plays havoc on the bladder on a long drive and it wasn't long before I was squeezing my legs together for want of a toilet. There is a rest stop about half way, which my bladder was leading me to.

As I pulled into the rest stop, I saw there were 3 guys hovering around a tap. They looked like surfies, even though there was no beach for miles. They had a van parked in the first parking bay. They were all shirtless, swarthy types, sun-tanned, dark. They were wetting themselves under the tap. They looked like they were washing, changing clothes, playing under the sprinkler, like kids. They seemed to be in their underwear. All three were very dark, dark hair, tanned skin. Big, boofy blokes, two with hairy chests, all three with really hairy, well shaped, legs.

I headed into the toilet, noting that they were all pretty cute. I love guys in their underwear, gets me hot.

As I headed back to the car, one of them was heading back from their car, he was close to the toilet door as I came out.

"Jeez, it's hot, ay?" he said, very affably, as I our eyes met.

"It's bloody hot, isn't it," I said.

"I'm Rob," said smiley man holding out his hand to shake. "Too hot for fuck!"

I gathered he meant anything at all. "I'm Christian."

A cigarette is a good prop for a chat. So, I lit one and stood. I offered one to Rob, but he declined.

"Nice to meet ya buddy. That's Carl and that's Mick." Each waved as he said their names.

The two other boys were splashing each other with water. Carl was the sexy one, fine, toned, low fat, body in his briefs, wet and not succeeding in keeping his manhood out of sight. He had a fine arse on him. He was washing himself down with water. Mick wasn't bad either, he laughed a lot, big, handsome, smiley face. He had on black trunks, with the thick strip of white elastic around his waist that I always find so sexy on men. Hairy chest, nice bulge. Nice, big legs.

"Good thing it rained recently, otherwise the whole bloody lot could be in danger of going up," said Rob.

"Yeah, I guess," I said. "Where are you guys from?"

"Oh, all over really," replied Rob. "We're on our way to the beach for New Year. Ya want to come to a party down Lorne way?"

I laughed, instead of answering, as I gathered, he wasn't serious, just being polite.

"Oh, fuck it," said Carl. "I need one of those outside showers like they have down the beach." He pulled down the front of his jocks and washed himself freely. Big grin. I was a bit surprised. I had to look away... what a schlong!

I looked at Mick. His cock lay sideways in his trunks and looked half on the pump, as he jumped as the cold water hit him.

I looked back at Rob.

"So, have you got a missus?" Rob asked me.

"No, no missus."

He smiled broadly and looked around at his mates. "Then you must be loving this, hey?"

What did he mean, I thought. Just because I haven't got a missus? I must have misunderstood him.

He was looking around at his two mates, almost lecherously. I didn't misunderstand, I gathered. We both gazed at Carl and Mick momentarily. Well, I took the opportunity to. Carl was back in his jocks and Mick was trying to gain control of the tap.

"So, who do you think is the best looking?" asked Rob. "Outa the three of us?"

"What?" I asked surprised again.

"Oh, come on," said Rob, as though he didn't believe my vagueness. "You're a good looking guy, you should be able to spot other good looking guys."

"You're all good looking guys."

"Ah, come on," protested Rob. "You have to pick."

I laughed, hoping a laugh would be enough. Somehow, I didn't expect it would.

"We're a bit messy..."

"How come?"

"We have a pill supply for the eve's party, but we couldn't help ourselves and just had to try a couple of them on for size."

"Really?"

"So, you couldn't tell?"

"No."

"Here am I assuming somethin' and it may not be true," said Rob. "You're probably a good boy?"

"What?" I said.

He leant into me. "Are ya a party boy?"

"Oh yeah," I said. "Have been."

Big smile from Rob. "So that's okay then, ya know what I'm talkin about when I say pills, yes?"

"Yes."

"I'd hate to be talkin' over your head, or somethink, you know."

"No, no, I understand."

"So we're pretty much understanding all around, hey?"

"Yes."

"It's good, huh?"

"Yes, it's good."

Carl pulled his shorts on over his wet jocks, body, hair, no attempt to dry himself. Mick was rubbing the legs of his shorts down to squeeze out the excess water.

"We're short on petrol money." He looked over at the guys. "Um, you see, will be stuck very soon." He looked at me and grimaced. "So, which one of us in the back of the van for a hundred bucks."

Rent boy? Rent boy? I thought. How many degrees of separation? I just looked at him, held his gaze. He held his cool expression, as though he had asked an everyday question and he was simply waiting for an everyday answer.

He dropped his voice and said, very mater of a factly."Carl's got a really big cock." He glanced sideways furtively and spoke softer. "But you'd like Mick's too. It's pretty nice. You know, if you like that sort of thing. But Carl is the biggest." He smiled. "Biggest of the three." He smiled. "Although none of us have anything to be ashamed of." He kind of chuckled.

I was speechless, one of those rare moments. I wondered if it was a set-up, you know, I was about to be bashed, my body dumped in the bushes, behind the bog, my car nicked. I started to say a couple of things, but couldn't.

Then I rather lamely said, with a laugh, trying to make light of it. "It's too damn hot for anything like that."

Rob's face came back to life. "I guess you're right, buddy," he said. "Worth a try, but."

Then I rather inexplicably said, "Sorry."

I looked at Rob and his piercing blue eyes and his mop of black hair, and his cheeky smile - not to mention his perfect hairy chest and stomach. You're the best looking, buddy, I wanted to say. Back of the van, now.

"No hard feelings, though," said Rob. He tapped me on the arm. "Huh?"

"No, no," I said. "Not at all."

"Dunno what we're gonna do," said Rob. "She'll be right, though. Always is, hey?"

"I guess."

"I've got a six-pack in the back of the van. Can I get you a beer?"

"Nah, I'd better get going," I said. "Get out of the heat."

"Okay. Suit yourself. Nice chatting with you."

"Yeah, me too."

"My turn under the tap." He reached for the elastic of his shorts.

I found that I was shaking, as I tried to push the clutch in and get the GTI into reverse.

I found I couldn't get the smile off my face.

Sebastian and George spent the day on St Kilda beach, in the 44 degree heat.

"I have never experienced heat like that before, anywhere in the world." And Sebastian has traveled a lot. "It actually was hot and actually hurt when you breathed in." He raised his hands and looked speechless.

In true Italian style, they were both beautifully brown.

LouLou had a feast prepared, of the million different varieties of cheese, nibbles and biscuits, ham, prosciutto, kabana, nuts, melon, pineapple, dates. Beer, champagne, pot. We drank like fish and smoked like demons. At one stage there were three joints coming at me and I already had one. It was like a bush fire there was so much smoke. We laughed, we played music, we danced, we feasted and toasted the new year.

It was a spectacular night, fresh and warm with the black velvet sky above.

 

Home on a Sunday

I got really stoned and decided to hire a prostitute. I had nothing else planned for today, anyway. Well, I decided that I'd never done it and that it was time I did. You know, something ticked off the life time list. Hiring a gorgeous guy for sex, suddenly seemed hot. The going rate seemed to be $200, which seemed reasonable. I can spend $200 in a day on nothing, and never miss it.

I picked a baby nineteen year old with a handsome face, mostly because he was a Virgo - just to see how a serious young man negotiates selling himself. A twenty four year old with a hot, toned body, with the promise of being a sensuous bottom. And an Aussie with a thick juicy cock and a cheeky personality to match, with his own place.

Well. They either weren't answering, haven't answered or were unavailable. I'd have thought hiring a rent boy, in a big city, would have been easy to organise, but, apparently, not. It doesn't seem to be a same day proposition. Things you learn.

Of course, I kept smoking the pot and ended up with, no, not a boner, but an extreme case of the munchies. The rent boy urge passed and the food urge became very apparent.

Fuck it, I headed off to the fish & chip shop. I'd already drunk all the coke in the fridge. And the two ice creams in the freezer. It was a beautiful day out side, sunny with a slight breeze.

Some drunk slag followed me in the door of the fish shop. She was a heavy breather, standing right there behind me, it gave me a chill.

She didn't open her mouth when she talked; she spoke like a Queenslander. The Asian man behind the counter had trouble understanding her.

Her scuffs were once pink and fluffy, but now were grey. They hung off her feet, like some kind of fungus.

"I want half a fisherman's basket."

I wondered if that was half a fisherman, or half a basket?

"Yes, yes, half," said the bald-headed man behind the counter."

"But I don't like scallops, so could I have prawns instead."

Her track suit pants hung off her, making her look kind of lop-sided. It looked like her arse was melting. I stifled a giggle. She looked in my direction.

"You don't like scallops and you want..."

"Prawns."

"Ah. Prawn."

Her stomach hung out under her t-shirt. It was white with blue veins and red spots. It looked like a beer gut.

"That's four prawns. Instead of scallops."

He looked confused. She looked at me, again. Don't look at me, I thought. I should be on top of a rent boy right about now, so there's no sympathy coming from over here.

"Ah, yes, prawn. No scallop," said the shop keeper catching on.

"And I don't want chips."

"No chips?"

Which part of this basket did she actually want?

She had some shiny residue around her mouth, as though she'd applied too much lip gloss on her lips, chin and cheeks. I wondered what it was? It didn't bare thinking about on her paste skin. Maybe she'd just earned the fish & chip money?

"Can I have a potato cake instead of the chips."

"No chips."

"No. No chips. Potato cake." She was starting to pronounce her word phonetically.

Her hair was tied with a scarf; rapped around and pinned. There seemed to be something sticking out of her hair, at the top. Food? Sticks? Beer bottle tops?

"Potato cake."

"Yes, that's right."

I wondered how the five calamari rings in the full fisherman's basket were halved. You can't exactly get 1/2 a calamari ring, now can you? Oh, I guess you can.

"And I'd like that well cooked."

What, I thought?

"Pardon," said the nice Asian man behind the counter.

There was a momentary silence, as there often is when someone says something monumentally stupid. Listen for it next time. If the shop proprietor and I could have come out of freeze-frame for a split second, we would have looked at each other questioningly.

"I'd like it nicely well cooked," she said. She kind of curtsied and touched her face @ the same time.

Someone, at some time had a very different conversation with her, to the one her few brain cells were accessing presently, about having food cooked in certain ways.

Proprietor man simply agreed. What other option did he have?

She just sat and stared blankly out the window, as her food was being cooked, the sun glinting on her shiny mouth. There was absolutely no colour in her face. Her lips were the same colour as her skin...

"Thank you," said the nice, bald Asian man. "You ready."

My head was starting to thump, as I head back up the hill towards home. Pulse rate, hills, you do the maths. What a glorious day. No, really, very sunny, very bright. And at least I could choose the times to be fucked up in it, unlike half-basket alcho woman. And soon I'd be out of it, the sun, that is, nearly home. I shielded my eyes from the suns rays. Nearly home. Splendid. I felt my fingers twitching. Vampire Christian made one of his infrequent appearances. I started to limp, just slightly. Skin stretched from my torso to my arm, like webbing, as I shielded my face from the bright light.

Round the corner, back to my gate.

Beck was leaving next door on her bike. My pointed ears sucked back into my skin. I didn't particularly want to talk, my head was spinning - maybe that last blood... joint I had before I left the house, wasn't a good idea - so I dropped my eyes.

Beck has been ripping out her back garden and replacing it with a veggie patch/orchard. She tells me all about it, one advance after another victory, like she believes I am interested. As soon as I got to my door she was calling.

"Chris, Chris." Fang retraction can be painful if hurried. I covered my mouth with my hand.

Can't avoid her without being rude. Would she notice, now, if I turned myself into a bat and flew away? "Chris?" Too late. I am I to be spared nothing.

"Yes?"

Beck appeared at my front gate.

"A mystery in our back yard." Big, toothy smile. "Seventeen peach pips all in the space of this one, small area." Big eyes. "Mad, hey?" She was doing Miss Marple crossed with Princess Anne, but as a kind of comedy.

Oh please, dear, universe, no. "It's probably a possum."

"Seventeen peaches, in one sitting." Great big eyes. Exclamation. "I don't think so." She might as well have said rightio, or tally ho.

I know you are just going to take any opportunity you can to talk about this. I can already pick the roll you are heading off on.

Oh Beck, I really don't care. "Oh." Big, breath. My pale complexion returned to normal. "I don't know then." Faux grimace. My eyes turn back from yellow to green.

There was an awkward silence, which was the only bit of the conversation I was, actually, enjoying, oddly enough.

Beck looked disappointed, with that hey ho expression plastered right across her gob. I was nearly sucked right back in again. Can't have Beck looking disappointed; I wanted to apologise and to take up the peach pip discussion with gusto. Fortunately, I moved my head around 90 degrees and my whole brain seemed to swoon within my skull, bumping on the inside of the bone, like a dogem-car.

"I just thought I'd tell you." Fallen crest. Enthusiastic, horsey smile sliding right off her face. "For security reasons."

You just wanted to prattle on about your stupid, fucking garden again. Don't give me security reasons. I disengaged.

I turned around and headed inside without another word.

I squeezed the lemon on my fish and assured myself that tonight wasn't new years eve and that I hadn't got my dates confused. I did the 30-days-has-September thing to make sure. Four times.

 

Working Boys

I've never hired a prostitute. 

Well, there was that one time when Mark & I were so off our chops and we ordered an Italian stud, as he was described and, what looked like, a short, fat Mexican arrived. The two of us descended into gales of laughter, in the next room, rolling around telling the other one to get rid of him. 

But, that time a side... this morning I was bored. I woke up early, turned my computer on straight away. Do you think that is the beginning of a future syndrome? I got to looking at working boys from around the world on gaydar, not really sure why. 

So, back to my original point, I have never hired a prostitute, who I went onto have sex with and I haven't been to Paris in a while, but those Parisian rent boys sure make me want to do both. Yep, Paris has the hottest working boys. Here is a selection for your enjoyment.

And then there are the Italians

Priscilla

There it was, the same Priscilla. The same, lame, dated jokes, the same nauseating stereotypical representations, the same cliches. The same tired story line, the same old road movie, the same old love story with the fatal flaw. But, where the movie had the considerable acting talents of the amazing Hugo Weaving, to pull it through, unfortunately, the stage show did not.

Did it work? Oh, I guess so, in that sausage factory, colour and movement, pump them out, kind of way. A show with the great songs that Priscilla has can't go wrong. But I find the campy characterisations too, too much. It's a view of a world that is really dated - can't we have some modern gay representations? - surely. But I guess the whole musical theatre experience is on retro, at present.

 

Can We Catch Up Inc.

Max Fanizzi is a good looking Italian boy who has taken the reins of Guido's empire while Guido is in parts unknown. Where is Guido? What is he doing...? Parts unknown? It's like he's, um. Oh? Did a penny just drop? ...laying low... Guido is laying low. Am I normally that slow?

Max is shortish, trendy, with a huge smile, lots of thick, black hair. He's a qualified lawyer, but his party boy ways got in the way at his first law firm. He's sexy and has more personality than any one person deserves. He's a party boy, always out dancing, having a good time. He plays the stock market and is very good at it.

Vandel Caldera is the tough guy, big, athletic, broad shoulders, who enforces things when things need to be enforced, apparently, whatever that means. I didn't ask. He has a tendency to wear blue singlets and jeans. He owns a group of gyms and does very well.

Scott Lara is a strapping, all Aussie boy, ex-football captain, head master's first eleven, tall, good looking, you know the type. He's the financial brains behind the whole operation. He's made them all rich, all before thirty.

You might pick Max as gay, maybe, maybe not. Third generation son of Italian immigrants. No one would ever pick Van - but he likes nothing more than cute, young party twinks with fine... um... er, fits to their jeans, shall we say. Scott's every parent's dream son, on paper, masters in accounting, investment houses in the inner suburbs. But, he's a complete pig with his snout in the trough, when it comes to, shall we say good times, real or manufactured and men.

Max and Van are ex lovers, as are Max and Scott.

Guido, of course, is the Pied Piper of this gang. Max is his play thing, when it suits him. As Scott is Van's. They party hard, together.

Max tells me stuff. As does Guido. Not sure why. I often wonder if I'm special, or do they tell all their clients? They couldn't, they'd be...

The country was great, relaxing, blah, blah, blah. Well, it could have been, if every man and his dog didn't decide to take a drive to the country, after Xmas. Oh, yes, splendid! Shall we? Lets shall? It was like fucking Bourke Street. When some old friend who we haven't seen in ten years, decided it was a nice afternoon for a drive, I bailed, yesterday lunch time. Family, grand parents. Raymond and some old expats, without Adam. Andrew our comedian friend and his wife and kids. A couple of old party buddies. Even Sebastian rolled his eyes and smiled his cute-boy smile, exhaled loudly and said, enough, in his sexy Italian accent.

Luke rolled me a joint and the whole drive home I was thinking about sucking up a few herbs, the house to myself, recharge before New Year. Matt got me a ticket to Nurse Betty. I had to see Max.
I thought I might drive straight over to his place, get it over and done with, before I hit home. You know, you're bound to get into trouble if you leave it half organised at New Year. As I turned the corner, into Max's street, he was sliding a large, black suit case into the back of his sleek, black SRI. He was going to Byron. Ten days.

I tooted, flashed my lights and roared to a halt, in the middle of the road, leaped out of the car and practically said, I'm chasing!

"Running low, my boy?" Straight face Max.

"Low but not out. It would be great if you had some," I said. I was mustering my best debating team argument. Max's face broke into a bemused smile, as he closed the hatch.

"I've just got a ticket to the day party. Come on Max, it was last minute..."

He stepped forward, looked left, looked right, put his finger to his lips and whispered. "Scott and Van are inside. Go to go." Big smile. He leaped into his car - the SRI and the GTI looked good together. Black hat, white hat, in the wild old west - and accelerated away.

The front door was open, ambient music reached out and met me. I walked in. It smelled of a party.
Van was sitting in the couch in his y-fronts. Scott was sitting between his legs, in grey tracksuit pants, with his head resting on, what looked like, Van's semi-hard cock. Big bulge. They were playing some sort of dual control game on the TV. They were both completely out of it. Sweating. Red-faced.

"On the coffee table," said Scott. "Yeah! Max left something, you just missed him."

Van has magnificent thighs, hairy, thick. Big feet. I opened and closed my mouth. He clippers his chest, obviously.

"He said you'd be around, at some stage," said Van. "I'm surprised you didn't see him... Got you!" They both cheered.
The two of them looked incredible. Staring at the television screen, twitching, jumping, their eyes only looking at me furtively. Smiling. Laughing.
I picked up my yellow envelope. I got my wallet out.

"Nah," said Scott.

"Another time, bro," said Van.

I'm sure neither of them had looked at me. It was a spooky moment. A chill ran up my spine. I put my wallet back in my back pocket.
Van's got this amazing chest and shoulders and arms. Muscley. There is nothing as sexy as muscular arms. Scott has great abs with a trail of hair that disappears down into his thin cotton pants, which had managed to cling to his skin from sweat and from where I was standing, it was rapped up neatly like a lamb kebab. Yum!

"You can stay and watch if you want," said Van.

"But...," said Scott. His glance my way, very much said, but you can't. I didn't want to, anyway.

Bottom, for sure, I thought. A part from the fact, Max told me. Aggressive bottom, from all accounts.
"Feels less of a man for wanting it up the patootie, in the first place," grinned Max. "So he makes up for it with blokey aggression when he's getting boned."

I closed the door on the way out.

I laughed, as I drove away. How desperate did I sound to Max, when I jumped out of the car? He'll say something when I next see him, bound to. "You should have seen Christian." he'll announce with a cheeky smile. I know he will. I tried not to feel embarrassed, but I did. Wondered what it said about me? I'll have to ask David. We'll have to consult the happy cards, for sure.

I looked at the yellow envelope on the black leather of the passenger seat. What did I care, anyway. I was all set for New Years Day, despite no planning what so ever. I smiled all the way home. Nothing to do but rest until then.

Except, Priscilla, tonight. It should be good.

The Christian Message

Feuding Christian sects have attacked each other in a flurry of fists and brooms at the Bethlehem church where Christ was reputedly born, leaving four people injured.

The fight took place at the ecumenical Church of the Nativity, where priests from both the Greek Orthodox and Armenian Apostolic orders had been cleaning up after Christmas celebrations earlier in the week, the BBC reports.

It is understood the fracas began when a Greek priest placed a ladder in a part of the church known be under Armenian jurisdiction.

Up to 80 bearded holy men wearing dark robes became embroiled in the fight, many wielding brooms.

Palestinian police were forced to separate the warring orders by forming themselves into a human shield.

The church, shared between the Greek Orthodox, Armenic Apostolic and Roman Catholic authorities, has long been a source of tension.

It is built over the spot Jesus is thought to have been born 2007 years ago.

Thousands of pilgrims have already packed out the church over the Christmas period, with more celebrations planned for next week.

Nine News 

The Gay Message

Happy Festivus

Luke and I were out the back smoking j's.

I kissed all the relatives happy Xmas, as they arrived for Xmas lunch, on Boxing Day, Grandpa, Grand ma, aunties, uncles, etc. When I got to a younger niece, she said,

I'd go and freshen your mouth, uncle, before you kiss any more of them. She smiled. As you taste like a Bedouin Joss House.

Oops.

It all went well, anyway. Surrounded by family makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside, even if I try to deny it. Well, it does, surprise, surprise. I think it's good for all of us, pulls us out of any selfishness we may be cultivating. Families are honest, they cut through any shit so easily.

But, I like my family, which I know isn't true for everyone.

There were a couple of occasions when I looked up and the room spun and I thought no more red wine for an hour. Unlike me, really.

My plain, freckle-faced, frizzy-haired, somewhat objectionable niece has turned into a gorgeous, blond, how did that happen? There were lots of kids - if I wasn't gay I'd no doubt have a couple of my own. What? 10 and 12. Both doing well in school. We're all in that age bracket, now.

The toddlers had to wait, some what patiently, as we all sang Xmas carols in unison. Nephews bought guitars, there was no stopping us. Grand Ma, all the way down to neices and nephews. We've all got the vocal gene. Three generations. Four, actually. The babies waited patiently, although they were noticeably grumpy, as we all finally staggered back into the lounge room, bunging a Santa Cap on Grand pa, on our way.

And they all left early. Grand Pa, the miserable old bastard turned, right on queue and Grand Pa and Grand Ma, the only two staying, went to bed early.

It was a beautiful night, the full moon bright and silver, lighting up the earth.

An Atheist in the Woods

An atheist was walking through the woods.

"What majestic trees! What powerful rivers! What beautiful animals!" he said.

As he was walking alongside the river, he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him.

He turned to look. He saw a 7-foot grizzly bear charge towards him.

He ran as fast as he could up the path. He looked over his shoulder and saw that the bear was closing in on him.

He looked over his shoulder again, and the bear was even closer. He tripped and fell on the ground. He rolled over to pick himself up but saw that the bear was right on top of him, reaching for him with his left paw and raising his right paw to strike him.

At that instant the Atheist cried out, "Oh my God!"

Time Stopped. The bear froze. The forest was silent.

As a bright light shone upon the man, a voice came out of the sky. "You deny my existence for all these years, teach others I don't exist and even credit creation to cosmic accident. Do you expect me to help you out of this predicament? Am I to count you as a believer"?

The atheist looked directly into the light, "It would be hypocritical of me to suddenly ask you to treat me as a Christian now, but perhaps you could make the BEAR a Christian"?

"Very Well," said the voice.

The light went out. The sounds of the forest resumed. And the bear dropped his right paw, brought both paws together, bowed his head and spoke:

"Lord bless this food, which I am about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen."

Something to Think About on Xmas Eve

There is enough food on this planet to feed every one, yet one third of the population starves.

... something to remember as you run up thousands of dollars of land fill on your credit card this year. 

The Xmas Angel

Lover

There are 6 billion people in the world and I like you better than all of them.

Kiss Him

Day 5

Missy and I are laying in bed listening to the rain, feeling our addictions ebbing away. (hers, of course, is food) It's day 5 of quitting, for me. It's a lazy Saturday, for sure, as I gaze at Missy's eyes, slits of cat contentment. I stroke her, she bleats feebly.

I'm supposed to be going to the country. Some time today, I'll still get there.

I wanted to ride my bike over to my mums - fuck the planet, it is never going to survive anyway, it can stop raining now. My chest hurts, which, apparently, according to David and Shane, is to be expected once one gives up smoking. I wanted to do some hard exercise, just to see if that helped sort out the old lungeroos. I thought, fuck it, I'm going to ride in the rain anyway. But, just riding the bike back from the servo, having pumped up the tyres, put me off the riding in the rain idea.

So, me and Missy remain tucked into the bed clothes, going no where.

I'm on holidays, so I don't, actually, have to do anything.

Now, should I watch Dreamgirls or porn? I think it will have to be Dreamgirls, as I don't think I can whack off in front of Missy.

I pissed most of the day away, as you do on the first day of your holidays.

Now, I'm off to Bolago... in the rain. The rain has been amazing. I love rainy days, like we have just had, it seems like ages since we've had such days. Years, maybe.