Fathering a Child

I have a female friend, LouLou, with who I have had a long standing agreement that if she doesn't meet a man by the time her eggs are ripe, then, I would donate the sperm, be the father, whatever you want to call it, to help her to become a mother.

Not uncommon between a straight girl and a gay man.

Well, guess what, she has just split up with the last straight candidate for the role. All over. No hope of a reconciliation. And she is rapidly approaching that age where she has to make a decision, as she is just about to turn 40, in a couple of years. So, we are rapidly approaching the time when this agreement becomes very (fucking) serious and, apparently, according to Mark, it is now, potentially, the time that LouLou may want to collect. Apparently, Mark and LouLou have been chatting, in a roundabout sort of way and we are now at that time where I, suddenly, have become very much "in focus."

You know, when I first agreed to this, I didn't think I'd care. I thought it was a nice thing to do, help out a friend. I could have as much, or as little input into the kid’s life, no problem, no skin off my nose. Easy as...

But, as the time (apparently) approaches, it seems, more and more, that this is not the decision to be made lightly that I had, somewhat unthinkingly, thought it was. It's not just a matter of coming in a cup and handing it over. There is an innocent person's life we would be dealing with. I reckon it would be much easier if I donated my stuff and she went away and I didn't see her again. That would be easy. But, that's not how it would work. LouLou is a part of my life, so any kid would be too, no matter what agreement LouLou and I had to begin with. This would be a kid, who one day, will, most likely, call me on my decision. Us on our decision. If we (it, feels like, it would have to be we) didn't do a good job, do our best for him/her. We'll be as accountable as any parents. 150% for what, twenty years, minimum?

This is a kid who, potentially, sometime down the track could say, to me, You have been a very great disappointment to me. I so don't want that to be the case.

If I agree to this – and, I kind of have already, a number of times, over time – I would be agreeing to be a dad. I'd have to, we'd be in each other's lives.

The funny thing is – funny, as I thought this would be one of the biggest problems - that I can afford to do it. But, do I have the time? Inclination? Patients? Selflessness?

There's a part of me who says, just do it and worry about the consequences later. I do get clucky, from time to time – even if I only ever imagine having a son. There is a part of me who thinks having a kid would be really fulfilling, more so than anything else. I can see that. And, there is a part of me who can see that empty part of my life created by not having a child.

It's weird, but if I was going to do this, I'd want to do it the best that I can.

I told my mum about the proposal, a few years ago, just to get a bit of sanity and experience on the subject. She thought for a minute and then looked at me and smiled.

"I think you should do it. You'd make a great father and your brother and sister have had beautiful children," she said. "I think you'd make a better father than your brother."

Worst case scenario, I guess, is that something happens to LouLou and I would become sole parent to a child, to raise, love, guide and nurture.

Could I do it?

Fuck me?

Would I (want to) do it?

I don't know.

The most likely scenario - I'd help raise him. I'd have to do dad things? The thought of that is appealing and terrifying, all at the same time.

The interesting thing is that LouLou has the same name as my ex-girlfriend, about who I used to have a recurring dream – although, I haven't had it for some time now – that we were the parents of a young boy named Sam. Over the years (perhaps, once a year) that I had that dream, Sam grew up from a toddler to a 10 year old. Maybe, I just had the wrong mother in the dream.

Weekend Football

The Boss Apologises?

So, Pope Benny is going to apologise for the sexual abuse perpetrated by catholic priests.

So, is that for past abuse, abuse that is continuing, as I type, or is that for the abuse that will occur in the future?

Sexual abuse perpetrated by the moral guardians of society? It's a strange concept, huh? Trouble with credibility?

It's the whole celibate thing. I was reading recently that the vast majority of catholic priests are not celibate - not only alter boys, but young men, girls, young women and, an apparent favourite, women who have been widowed/left alone in their parish, for whatever reason.

I've written about Father Patrick, most recently. He's sexy and sweet, don't get me wrong.

I'm sure I've written about my Auntie (through marriage) Ruth, the nun, who has had a thirty something year relationship with Father Murphy. They now live together in retirement and have had a relationship longer than most marriages.

The parish priest from Daylesford, who certainly wasn't celibate, or straight, who came to comfort my friend Philip when his boyfriend Steve died; who ended up comforting Philip physically right into bed.

And this is knowledge that comes from someone, me, who grew up Anglican.

How many Catholics get divorced? How many Catholics use contraception? How many Catholics have abortions? How many Catholics are gay? - other than the priests. After which, the Catholic message has disintegrated.

The Catholic Church is adhering to perception, which has very little to do with reality. They are trying to sell a story that is no longer true.

Just because... the Olympics are next Month

Friday Night

It was a cold night, in Melbourne town, but, not in Myer, no sir. I went there for a rare turn at retail therapy, to cheer myself up from quitting smoking. I thought a pick through the sales tables would distract me for a moment. But, it was one hundred degrees and I was sweating, seemingly, as soon as I stepped foot in the place. I had my eye on a dark blue Tommy jumper, but how could I get enthused to find the right size when my clothes were sticking to me. The sales girl said that it wasn't the first time she had heard that.

"If you hadn't been at this counter," I said. "I would have just dumped the t-shirt here and headed out that door."

"You are not the first person to say that."

So, I headed up Lonsdale Street and stopped in at the porn shop. But, there was, unusually, a couple of gay boys who were looking at the DVDs, who, kind of, pushed me out.

So, I headed home, I didn't want any, anyway. A psychologist would have a field day looking at the number of DVDs I have stuffed in my bedroom cupboard.

I was on my way past the fire station, heading towards Victoria Parade, when a cute, dark skinned boy, headed towards me. His eyes picked up on mine - round, handsome, face, big brown eyes, an adorable smile. He looked back, so did I. Keep walking, don't look back, I told myself, with one voice. Look back, be more involved, what is he doing, I said to myself with another voice.

I stopped, I was looking back too, apparently. He headed over to me.

"What’s going on?" he asked.

"I’m just heading home," I said. "What’s going on with you?"

"Just heading home, too." He smiled. He looked me up and down. "I can't do anything now, I have to go to a bbq."

Straight to the point, I thought. A newbie? I could see the excitement on his face.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"Fitzroy," I said. "Just up the road."

"Oh Fitzroy," he said. "Who do you live with? Do you live alone?"

"Two house mates," I said. "I live with two guys."

"Both gay?"

"Yes."

He smiled broadly. "Are they butch, or young guys?" he asked.

I wasn't exactly sure what he meant. "They are two normal gay boys in the 30's," I said.

"So if I came over to your place would I be walking into a um... er... sex den?"

"Ah, no," I said. "No, you wouldn’t."

"I suppose you go to the saunas?"

"Not so much now a days," I said. "Sometimes."

"I've never been to a sauna," he said.

"Really. I should take you." I think I was beginning to tease him, by this stage. Couldn't help myself. Momentarily, the thought of breaking in a newbie at a sauna appealed to me. Especially, one with such an engaging smile.

He laughed. "Yes. Maybe," he said. "Are you looking for a relationship?"

"Maybe," I said. "I guess. Whatever happens."

"I hear everyone has open relationships now a days."

"I used to," I said. "But now I'm not so sure. I kind of think someone special sounds more appealing."

He looked me up and down. "I can see you have an erection."

Not in this weather, buddy, I wanted to say. That's just wishful thinking. Too cold for a hard-on. He had on cream coloured pants, which seemed to bulge out in the right places. Some people wondered by, I wondered if they had any idea that two guys were picking each other up. I wondered how relaxed with it all, he was.

"Your bulge looks good enough to grab," I said. I watched the couple go. "Right here. Right now."

He laughed and took a step away from me.

I laughed. "I didn't say I was going to. Just that it looked good enough."

I gave him my number and told him to call some time.

His name was Neesha. He was originally from Sri Lanka, via NZ and Queensland.

He said he lived with his family, in the far outer eastern suburbs. When he told me that, I assumed he meant that he lived with his parents, or siblings, but as I left at Eastern Hill, heading down Victoria Parade, I wondered if he meant his wife and kids. Don't know, could be either. Now I'm just fantasising, I thought.

Got sozzled on red wine, with Shane, as the open fire crackled and Big Brother played. Went to Victoria Gardens to watch Get Smart with Shane and Matt. It seemed okay, but as I fell asleep for 1/2 an hour, near the beginning, maybe, I'm not the best judge. Oh, Friday night, end of the week, I was tired. It seemed to be more serious than the television series. And they seemed to make Max a rookie, where in the TV show he was a master spy, which was part of the irony. I liked the way they incorporated the cars he was famous for, the Sunbeam Tiger and the Karman Ghia and the shoe phone, for that matter, even if I missed what the significance of the, what seemed to be a, museum display was.

I also woke with a tickle in my throat, which I couldn't clear, which must have been a treat for the punters sitting around me, as I coughed for ten minutes. Damn cigarettes!

Day 3 though and feeling okay.

Big Brother - Ben Would Make a Great Gay Boy

He is just the perfect template for a gay guy. That's how we want our gay boys to be, just like him. He should be gay. If we had gay conversion therapy, we'd convert him, no questions asked. He'd be taking it up the arse, before he even realised he'd been str*pped and set down on all fours, already lub*d.

Okay, Attempt #?

Okay. Second day of not smoking - oh here he goes again, I hear you all sigh! Seventh day of no pot - not that pot has ever been my addiction. No, I can take it or leave it. Tobacco is my downfall.

I feel kind of warm and buzzy. Warm hands, warm feet, comfortingly so. I feel edgy, but calm. It's like slipping straight into the eye of the hurricane; while it, actually, feels calm, I feel like it could all come apart at any moment. Something is raging far away. There is the ever present threat of destruction.

I've had a cough for a week - you know that means a month, if he's admitting to a week - so, I decided something had to give. So, I gave my cigarettes to David on Wednesday night, so I couldn't wake up and light one straight off. If I just delay that first cigarette in the mornings, I can stop.

I gave up New Years Day, or around about. A few days later, as a belated New Year's Resolution. I had my last puff on a joint Jan 20th, or thereabouts, with Luke.

I started again with the bride, at that wedding, when she wanted a joint, at Easter. With Catholic priest Father Patrick, who wanted to get into my pants. "You should come and sleep over, one weekend, my son," he said, as he ogled me." He used to touch me, inappropriately, on the arse. Not that I minded, I used to play up to him, just a touch. It kind of turned me on in a perverse way, watching his vows unravel.

So, Easter was early, so that's 3 months off, 4 months on; so that's, actually, not so great.

Okay, day at a time. Let's see how long I can stay off them now?

World Youth Day

My favourite quote for World Youth Day - It is supposed to result in 100 new priest entering the seminary, but it will probably, actually, result in 1000 unplanned pregnancies.

 

Green Days

Finite growth,

Finite planet,

I saw graffiti'd on a billboard, from the light rail, on my way back from St Kilda, from the dentist, last week. One second to midnight, all but done.

Environmental issues? Who cares? I think we are screwed! It is simply too late.

We're going down! Hang on!

The last hurrah.

The ice caps are melting, as is the perma-frost in Siberia and we are still pumping more carbon into the atmosphere every year. We're screwed because to save the planet we have to come between man and money, which has never been successful in the past.

I told one of the women at work that I couldn't care less about environmental issues, as I didn't have children. Oh, she raged about it being my responsibility for mankind. Blah, blah...

Why? I asked. Which one of your daughters is going to look after me when I'm old?

She looked holier than thou.

You'd better trade in your Landcruiser, in which you drive your 2 tiny little daughters around, if you are serious, I said. Not to mention the air-conditioning you had installed last summer.

I need that car, she said. It's the only one I feel safe in.

Which you drive to work on your own, I said.

And the summers have been so hot, she said.

Yes, that is, actually, the point, I said... for not having air-conditioning.

I walk to work and I drive my four cylinder car infrequently. I don't consume just for the sake of it. I've switched to renewable energy to power my house, I said. And, I don't have children, which is most of the problem. The government pays a baby bonus for political reasons when, in fact, the biggest threat to the planet is that there is simply too many human beings for the planet to sustain, now.

I say, let the breeders save the planet. Let us gays party like it's 1999... er... 2009?

Luke in Cambodia

Luke says he can't wait to get out of Cambodia. Sure, the work he is doing is rewarding, helping build villages for locals who have been thrown off their land by the government who wants to build resorts in the place of their villages, resorts, the main developer for which seems to be the minister of tourism. He says it's very sad and the people are very poor in the wreck of a country.

However, he goes back to Penong Peng where he stays in a hotel in between working with the villagers. It is there that makes his skin crawl. The paedophiles bring their 10, 11, 12 year old conquests to the breakfast table, showing them off as a badge of honour. Fat, old, ugly, drooling, Aussies, Germans and Americans, he says the place is rife with them. He can't sit with them and eat his cereal, or whatever, he has to get up and leave. He prefers to eat on his own, otherwise his stomach churns at the sight.

"You want a 5 year old to give you a head job Chris, he says to me. No problem. A couple of dollars."

The poor people are so poor, they send their children out to earn money for the family. He says it is so pitiful, it is unbelievable. Surreal.

"It's just awful," says Luke. "Really awful!"

He leaves in a few weeks for the relative civilisation of Vietnam, to meet Mark and he says he can hardly wait.

That's My Boy

Pornography or art? What would you say if I told you he was 15?

Lazy Days

I spent the weekend with Mark. We went for walks, gazed at the stars, cooked a roast and a bread and butter pudding, chatted lots, baked a banana cake, watched some of the DVD, Rome (which was okay, watchable) and watched Sunday Arts, before watching Big Brother. It was a lazy, carefree couple of days. Mark heads to Vietnam, in a few weeks, to meet Luke, who is still in Cambodia.

I did call Manny, on my way back from Bolago, he was pleased that I had remembered his birthday. He asked me if I wanted to meet his new boyfriend Vinnie. I said, May be one day. He said he would invite me to the wedding. I said I'd come, meet Vinnie then. 

That Beautiful Greek Boy

Manny's birthday, today.

Should I call him?

Should I?

Someone I once loved. Still love. (You've got to say those things) Went out with for 4 years. His big heart. His eyes just for me. His soft lips. That blush to his face when he was turned on. His sexy nipples, the direct way to his complete attention. His beautiful soul.

But what did we talk about? His gym, his health issues, his phobias, his money problems.

I miss him physically; holding him, hugging him, sitting on the couch with him, resting my head on his shoulder, holding him in front of me with my arms around him.

I guess, I got back what I gave him, no commitment. A fuck buddy who morphed. We could have renegotiated, but, I just could never see it.

Sweetest boy I ever met, though.

I don't think I'll call.

Andy Lee - Legends Game. Nice Buns, Andy!

After the Work Party

I was pissed off my brain, after the work party.

Charlie and I left the work party together. As we approached Swanston Street, he said, "Which way are you going?"

"Straight ahead," I said.

"Will you be all right?" he said, looking up Lonsdale Street and then looking at me. "You won't come to any harm?"

"No," I said. "But, you can come with me, you know, if you are concerned."

"No," he said. "That would be too dangerous."

Too dangerous? What did that mean? Shrug. "Okay," I said, as he gave me a big hug. "See you Monday."

"Yes, see you Monday."

And I left him on the corner of Swanston and Lonsdale. It was a long walk home from there, you know, staggering. 

Lunch With Charlie

I went out for lunch with Charlie. He's nice. He smiles and his eyes sparkle at me, whenever we chat.

He asked if I was coming to Friday nights EOFY firm party, big piss up. He said good and smiled when I said yes.

Later in the afternoon, he said he enjoyed lunch, as we made coffee, in the kitchen.

That's good, I said. It must have been with someone nice.

He smiled and said, "Yes, with someone nice."

"So did I," I said. "Had lunch with some one nice."

He blushed and smiled and headed back to his desk, looking back and smiling.

But the couple of times I've suggested going out for a drink together, he just smiles and doesn't answer.

It's just nice to have a gay friend at work.

Whose Morally Disordered?

The Pope – homosexuality is an intrinsic moral evil and gay people have an objective moral disorder.

This is something that demands a rational response.

Fuck off, dick head!

What Free Speech?

It is outrageous that laws have been passed that anyone caught wearing a T-shirt that is deemed offensive to the Pope, or Catholics, will now be charged and fined.

Did you want any more evidence that the conservatives are in charge?

Did you want any more evidence that free speech is dead in this, once great, country?

I, personally, wouldn't wear such a t-shirt, and I am not really sure why someone would. Live and let live, that is my motto, even if it doesn't seem to be the churches.

Tuesday Night

I went to Club 80 and had a shag. I’d been feeling apprehensive, don’t know why, guess... um... er, I was feeling out of practise. But as Tom used to always say, they are not going to come knocking on your door. There weren’t many people there, but it would seem I could have had my pick of them. I had four of them after me, as soon as I was in the door. And I like to get a lay of the land first, stand back and observe for a half hour, or so.

I hooked up with Lionel, Leon, how quickly they forget. He was sexy. Blokey. Nice voice. Muscley. Good kisser. Fat cock. Nice nipples. Hairy chest.

Two guys in the dimmed light, kissing.

Afterwards, he asked me if I went there regularly? He asked me if I, usually, went on a week night. I walked straight out. I'm slow, (sometimes) I don't always pick up on the signs. I guess, I should have stayed and chatted. That's how you get to know someone, hey? Didn't think. I was done.

Fred

Fred came to stay for a week. Lottie is in Brisbane with my brother and my sister.

David and Shane went to Port Douglas for 7 days. I promised them my Cyclone & Flood dance sometime right about now, actually. Ha, ha.

It's just me and Fred and an open fire on a cold winters night.

Missy had her, "You must be fucking joking" face on, when she first saw Fred, just before she disappeared up stairs, not to be seen again.

Weekend Football

Dancing Queen

The Queen reportedly stunned guests at a Windsor Castle party by strutting her stuff to Abba’s Dancing Queen.

Radio presenter Chris Evans told listeners a friend had been at the party. “The meal was had, the speeches were made and then the disco commenced. Apparently, she loves to get down on the dance floor.

“That’s a true story and she said audibly to the guests around her: ‘I always try to dance when this song comes on because I like to dance and I am the Queen.”

MX 20th June 2008

 

What I Think About When I Think About Men on The Tram

Morning Tram

 I noticed a blonde boy in a blue suit on the tram, as I stood up to get off. He adjusted his pants, you know I looked as he walked toward me to the middle door. Thirtyish. Handsome. I stopped next to him, rather than continuing to front door, like I usually do. He continued to adjust, his jacket, his tie, his cufflinks. Nice suit, fitted him well.

He glanced in my direction, right next to him looking at him. Blond hair and a nice mouth, kind of interesting, slightly turned up at each corner. I slid my eyes down his front. He looked down. Then he glanced back quickly.

The tram stopped he got out in front of me. He had a masculine walk, manly. Two thick legs firmly placed on the ground, as the line of his suit fitted nicely over his arse.

He looked back, as he went left and I went right. I smiled.

He looked back all the way down Bourke Street.

"Yeah, buddy," I thought. "I'm interested too. Nice."

I’ll be keeping my eye for him, in the mornings, let me tell you. The 8.30 tram.

Home For The Day

Christian's feet

Thursday Too

I'm home again, it's a glorious sunny day, looking out from the inside with the central heating going and not being able to feel the chill in the air out side.

As much as I might deny it to myself, trying to convince myself that I'm just tired, I know I'm pissed off about my small pay rise and bonus; the pay rise is not even one hundred dollars a week and the bonus well, I'd like to tell them to shove it up their arses.

I don't know why I'm shitty about it, I know the process, I knew it was coming.

You see, what really shits me the most is the fact that our executive director of HR messed up the remuneration process, in the first place, by using a flawed model and she bought in a budget that was 600K short, which she reported to our COO. She knew her model didn't balance when she gave it to the analyst who was in charge of the details of the rem process. Our analyst told her quickly where the fault was and adjusted the forecast. After which, the exc director went about shaving every bodies ratings down in a desperate attempt to bring the rem increases within her models range, to save face mostly, but also to save her pay rise on her 500K salary and her 100K bonus.

This woman is absolutely useless, every thing she touches she messes up, usually finding someone to blame, generally a disgruntled staff member who has conveniently left the firm. I've seen it happen over and over. As one of the HR managers said to me recently, in hushed tones, "I'm still yet to determine exactly what value the exc director brings to the company."

Our nat director of HR would only say that she was a very driven woman.

She has scant knowledge of HR. I heard from a source at her previous employer that her departure was not regretted, although it would be denied by them.

The woman is a nightmare, everything she touches she seemingly fucks up. A number of HR managers have said that they don't want to ever have to report to her again.

But some how our CEO loves her. She has managed to win us a few awards, which seem to dazzle the CEO. Lets take Female employer of choice; I saw the data, I think she (finally, 10th attempt) cut it from April to March 2006/2007 with a totally unrelated base year of 2004. Essentially, she is so driven that fraud is a viable option for her. And the CEO is sucked in and the rest of us lesser mortals suffer through her incompetence.

How she keeps her job, is a complete mystery? I reckon, as clichéd as this is, she must be sleeping with the CEO. No other explanation fits.

Of course, I'm just a, relative, shit kicker in the company - even if I do have application knowledge that nobody in the firm has, being the connection between finance and HR - but it is end of financial year and they will be jittery about my absence. But they can just suck my dick while I lounge around at home contemplating life.

I should call a few agencies to see what jobs are on offer. I would, if I wasn't such a lazy bastard.

Did I mention that it was my 5 year anniversary this month. That should be long enough for anyone to work in one job.

So, 9.30. It must be time for a joint and a little brewed coffee, just to ease into the day.

Contemplation

Hump Day

I made it out the door, I wanted cigarettes. I got to the milk bar and realised I didn't have a lighter, but the nice milk bar lady produced one for me. I stood on the footpath and inhaled, as a tram sailed by. I took another puff and looked back the other way to see another tram approaching, just behind the other. I puffed on my cigarette and observed that the 2nd tram was practically empty. I contemplated chucking the cigarette and making a run for it - really, just across the road. I looked back the other way to see if a 3rd tram was coming, feeling a bit like a clown at the carnival, as I did. Tram number 2 pulled away and tram number 3 didn't materialise. I watched both 1 & 2 disappear out of sight, around the corner into Nicholson Street.

There was a soft sun and a gentle breeze. I looked at the time, it was 8.34. I looked up and down Gertrude Street a few more times, still feeling like the clown. Close your mouth Christian, I thought. I laughed to myself. It seemed like such a gentle, calm morning standing there on the footpath watching the world go by. Life. I looked at the time again and it was 8.40. Then, I don't know why, I just thought fuck it, I'm going home. Just like that. No agonising over the decision, like I usually do. No second thoughts, none. I headed back into the milk bar and bought the newspaper and then sauntered back down Gertrude Street to home, feeling free and brewed some coffee.

More AFL Boys

Frost/Nixon

Mark and I went to see Frost/Nixon at the MTC. We both loved it, thought it was great.

Frost over acted, but Nixon was particularly convincing. The narrator was sexy, nice bulge in his pants.

We sat behind Jeff Kennett and Felicity. She looked great. He looked fat.

Weekend Football

 

Shine a Light

Got up early. And wrote. Transferred all my (150) sms’ to my journal. Had my first joint at 8.30am. Went back to bed, 10.30am. Wanked. Got to the hairdresser at midday. I wanted sexy Sam to cut my hair, but I got the Asian chick. She did a good job. I closed my eyes and drifted, let her do her thing. I was stoned. [2008] I’m an imaginative fella, I can pretend it was sexy Sam running his hands through my hair. 

Got to the pet food shop before it closed. Bought pet food for Missy, Fred and Spook. Got to mums at 2pm. We ate for pies for lunch. She is always pleased to see me, even if she says the days are fine for her, it is the evenings that she finds hard on her own. 

Got home at 16.30. 

I got to Cinema Nova to see Shine a Light at 17.00. It was hot. I guess, you'd have to be a Stones fan. Great cinematography. We were right up on stage with them.

I sniffed around Borders afterwards. Lots of people in Lygon Street. Bought two drinks on the way home to quench my unquenchable thirst. Don’t know what that about.

Rolled my second joint.

Shane went to Matt’s.

David is in his room.

It’s 20.45.

I should head out to a sex club. Get my dick sucked. Suck a dick. You know, just to make the evening pass. I always think about James at moments like these. Now James had a blood great dick on him. Like a piece of granite in your mouth. That was a dick to suck on.

Sex and the City

We went to see Sex and the City, last night. Victoria Gardens, Shane must have booked the tickets. David & I are much more Cinema Nova. It was okay, a bit same old same old. It was just a movie. It made me laugh out loud, quite a lot, even if it never occurred to me to cry. (Mark's seen it twice and has cried both times)

David thought it was too intense, but then he has just split from the love of his life. Shane thought they were dysfunctional for the sake of being dysfunctional. I guess he meant he could see the construct of the story, which clearly wasn't seamless. I thought, a couple of times, how long is this movie?

White Undies

look at that

Masturbation

I've turned into a chronic masturbator. I've got a great porn collection.

I think I need a boyfriend.

I've got to stop smoking pot. I've got to stop doing nothing.

I think I need some goals, above my waist.

It's those long, dark winter's nights; bunker down, keep warm.

It's company. Distraction.

It's all there is. Sensation.

Science Fair

Here's a photo that my exboyfriend sent me from a science fair.

I think Josh Lawson is hot. He'd make a perfect boyfriend.

I wanted to lick him, Monday night, flirting with Paul Mcd

My previous boyfriend of the Josh Lawson type, Mark. Luke is too. Mark and Luke are so alike.

(for those who have just joined us, Mark and I were long time boyfriends. Luke entered our relationship, and sometime later I left. That's how it goes sometimes.)

Sexy Zac

Sebastian Goes Home

The beautiful Sebastian goes home to Italy, today. Cheeky, gorgeous, handsome Sebastian. He's been offered his old job back, tour guide in Europe. Taking tours all over the continent. He can speak five languages. Some people have it hard.

He told me I made him laugh, as we hugged in Bourke Street. He said he'd miss me.

Look after yourself, I said. I'll miss you lots.

Tight squeeze. I didn't want to let him go, he felt nice, safe, in my arms... for a straight boy.

I'll miss his, "Oh my gord," in his Italian accent, when he is amazed, or surprised by some thing.

I'll miss his fun and his enthusiasm and his coolness with the world.

I'll miss his coy, bashful look when I tell him something sexual. Or his playfulness, like when I told him I'd look when he suggested going to a nude beach.

Smart. Funny. Handsome. Such a nice, easy going guy. There should be more like him.

I'll miss him. Ah, well, I guess it is a good reason to go to Italy.

Apparently, we're all going to Greece, next year. Mark told me, as he, Luke & Sebastian had coffee with me in Bourke Street this afternoon. Sebastian's last coffee. Our friend Millie has a house in Greece, in the Peloponnese. I guess that makes up for this year. Luke is off to Cambodia on Sunday, for a month, to complete some work he did with orphans. Then he's meeting Mark in Vietnam for another month. He won't be home until the end of August. They didn't invite me.

"You wouldn't have been able to get the time off," said Mark, as his excuse.

"It still would have been nice to have been asked," I said.

"Get off your arse and start writing," said Mark. "Then you could have holidays whenever you liked."

Monday'itis

Monday night. It is cold. The heating has stopped working. Great!

Monday night. What a dreary night is Monday. The beginning of a soulless week, drifting into next week, drifting into next year, drifting into...

Just me, feeling lonely in a houseful of people. It's a cold and dark thing. Hibernate.

I bet Tony would agree. He was sent out into the world with his bags, today. Gone, not to return. He leaves for America on Thursday. Over. He sold up everything he had to come here. He's going home to nothing.

Mark just called and he asked if I’m alright. And I am. Winter blues, maybe. I feel blue. Don't know why?

A new week. Another Monday. Next!

I’m going to iron a shirt and go to bed. The usual, huh? I seem to be doing that a lot lately. Heading to bed, I should be running. It’s funny, you know, all the girls in my life scoff when I say I’m too fat, like it’s unbelievable that I would even think that.

The boys don’t – yes, you've put it on... luv. Smile.

The girls in the coffee shop call me handsome. They tell me dirty jokes, and try to sell me muffins.

Comfort food. I've given them up, I swear.

I should go to the movies more. Dark, but warm.

Weekend Football

Glasshouse

David has broken it off with American Tony, so Tony is heading back to the USA, after selling up his life for a chance of love with David. I can't imagine what it would feel like to be able to gather all of my worldly possessions together in two suitcases, when I was in my forties. He sold his car and gave up his place and now he has to go home to nothing and start again, now it hasn't worked out with David.

So we sat in front of the open fire, Mark, Luke, me and David and deconstructed David's input into the whole David/Tony affair - jumping in the deep end, after only knowing Tony for, at the very most, ten days, on holidays in San Francisco, early in the year. Opinion was divided. Tony is an adult and he made his choices, end of story. David should take into account and did have some responsibility for what Tony was giving up to be with him. I was of the opinion that Tony is an adult.

David said he turned into a bastard. He said it bought up all his old hurts from previous relationships, unexpectedly.

Mark & Luke were down so we ate Indian take-away. Mark & Luke always want Indian take away. Missy slept, luxuriously stretched out, in front of the orange flames, all night.

We walked to the Glasshouse to listen to the DJ line up. There was a chill in the air. The night was dark and shiny. The music was good, the lights were flashing, the smoke machine was pumping. But, there was too much xx chromosome represented and not nearly enough xy.

We got there at 1.45am, fuck the 2am lockout.

There were a couple of adorable straight boys dancing, with eyes only for their girlfriends, though. We all liked the bulge in the tall Italian boys pants. Shane said, He'd be like having a tall Matt. Bigger, taller, stronger. Shane's eyes sparkled at the thought.

We're friends with the owner, Maria, so we chatted with her for a while.

Nice beer garden, I don't think I've ever been out there. We could have taken a joint, after all.

The beautiful Sebastian was to have met us, after he'd been to two other parties, but he text late to say he'd picked up some girl and that he was heading home with her. 

Lights Up

The State Govt

If The Brumby governments answer for road congestion is dropping the road speed limits on freeways to 80 kph, they really have run out of ideas, are way past their use-by date and have to go.

You know, as their answer to the perceived binge drinking problem is prohibition. You know, as their answer to the delicate environmental issues of the world is to dredge the bay.

Shane was horrified when I said I was disillusioned and was going to vote Liberal.

Ha, he, I said. I'm going to vote Greens. (confused, perplexed face)

Brazilians strip for the environment, I'd like to see that

On the Tram

It was the whole gang on the tram this morning.

"It Boy" in casual clothes and his hair cut to a number 1. Nice. He was sitting down so I couldn't see "it."

Slitherin and Revolta were up the back making their usual kissy faces. Oo! Get a room! Get brown paper bags!

Pretty boyfriend was there minus pretty girlfriend. I hope they haven't broken up.

Dripping eye woman, with her wet, gooey eyes, her faded floral house dress, dirty black coat, men's shoes and wheelie trolley.

Face-lift lady, with her stretched plastic skin and fixed expression. She looks like an android and if there ever was an argument for ageing gracefully, she is it.

Sparky was there too, reading his newspaper.

The two cute Xavier schoolboy brothers got on with me. The older one is hot. He's going to get so laid in a few years. Drunk at pubs.

Even the screamer was on board - with his spidery hands and mouth like a torn purse.

Clearly, I haven't been walking enough to work.

Public Transport

Cute wogboy. White cap turned backwards. Gottee. Olive green hoodie. Big brown eyes. ipod. Snug pale blue track suite pants. Bulge to the left. Clearly. I saw him first at the tram stop, as we pulled up. He was miles away, listening to his music. He had a habit of touching himself, like wogboys do.

As he walked up to my seat in the tram, I could see the shaft of his cock. He sat next to me. He rocked to his music. He was warm, I could feel his body heat. He felt good sitting next to me. Solid. Present. Nice thighs. Nice hands.

Couldn't We Get Rid of Rudd Now?

Couldn't we get rid of Rudd now? I mean, he did what he had to do, get rid of the poisonous Howard. Well done Kevin. Gold elephant stamp.

But really, he's a claytons Howard anyway. Filthy conservative Christian. "Those photos are revolting." I mean, surely we can do better. He stopped the gay marriage bill in the ACT. Couldn't we go for a man of the world, instead of the nerd prefect.

Maybe he could have a recurrence of his heart trouble and Julia Gillard could take over. I know, that voice, that hair, but I reckon I'd be willing to give her a chance.

Weekend Football

I love it when they kiss

Sunday Morning Long Weekend

I went out on Friday night to the Peel. Smoked meth, with Shane, before we went.

I've felt fucked up ever since. What day is it?

I wanted to shag all weekend, but, of course, a cold sore appeared Wednesday and took care of that. I wanted to misbehave. So pissed off; what karma was this? I'd been looking forward to the long weekend.

I obsessed over the middle eastern security guard. Shiny black eyes, olive skin, strip of beard on his jaw line, black hair. I kept eye contact up with him for half the night. When he did a circuit of the dance floor, when he was in the darkest section, he'd turn and maintain eye contact, whites glowing, pupils piercing, trace of a smile. He'd find me on the dance floor with his dark gaze, as he stood his post, at the top of the stairs. Eventually, I was standing on the step with him, perving down his front, imagining just how beautiful his penis was, when he turned and spoke.

He said, Do you want to go inside.

I asked him to repeat it, receiver down to 20%, which he did.

Do you want to go inside?

I couldn't understand what he meant. I tried to reply. Every thing was hazy. It became very apparent to me at that moment, I was too fucked up to speak.

Pity. What did he mean? What did it matter, I had a cold sore.

I was saturated by the time I came off the dance floor. I asked the big smiley blond guy, who'd been trying to gain my attention all night, the time. It was 5am.

I was glad I bought my jacket. It's good to be a friend of the DJ also, no cloak room to deal with. It was cold outside.

I turned off my bedside lamp just as the morning was seeping into my room. It seemed like another world laying there in that fractured light. Every thing silent and still, except for the ringing in my ears. Peace.

WW1 Dead

I'm never really sure why Australians are digging up Flammel, in France, to find the remains of those soldiers whose bodies were never found.

Why? If you got all the bones, from the mass grave and piled them up, the relatives would never be able to pick out their relatives. Relatives who could have only known of their soldier relative by family stories.

Is it another twist of religion?

Who, exactly, are they doing it for? I heard one of the relatives say, I've walked in Uncle Harry's foot steps for three days, I've never felt closer to him. Never felt closer to someone who was well dead before he was born?

There is no benefit to be gained by digging up soldiers bones, let's face it, one hundred years later.

My ex Says Christian Bale Could Play Me

Charlie

In true Oprah fashion, I decided that Charlie just wasn't into me. I've made several suggestions to go out and have a drink, or get together on the weekend and he has just laughed, or not answered. So, I decided that I was mistaken about any attraction there and I decided to stop trying. Even though he always seems to want to hang with me at work functions and the like.

Whatever Charlie, I thought today.

Tonight, we had drinks for our financial director who is moving interstate. Charlie came to my office and said, Time for drinks, are you coming?

Yeah, sure, I said.

But when I wandered around to drinks, I hung out with two of the IT guys. Cute Daniel and serious Pete. Daniel's gorgeous - dark curly hair and green eyes.

I notice, after a little while, that Charlie was standing on his own, a lot of the time, where normally, I'd be hanging with him. I felt a little bad, but... oh, I don't know. I guess I must like him. I guess it is a defence mechanism. But, I didn't go over when he was on his own.

When he went to leave, he made a point of coming over and saying good bye. Giving me his cute smile and interested eyes, the way his does.

Maybe, he's got a boyfriend he's not talking about - neither of us have specifically said we're gay to each other, although everyone in the office knows I'm gay. I don't think he has told anyone he is gay. Tonight he said he wasn't the marrying kind, as he looked over at me, after Bec asked him a question about marriage.

Have a good weekend, he said.

Yeah, you too, I said.

Then he looked a little awkward, as if he was waiting for me to say something else. But, I didn't.

 

I Have a Foreskin Like Chamois

Really sexy

I Like It Played With, I Take It Out A Lot

Smooth

Respect

Respect without any responsibility, it seems to be the latest idiot expression of today. It's the 'I' generation, it's 'me' culture. Everyone one has a birth rite now, quite frightening, more often, god given in it's belief.

Respect was once earned, it doesn't seem to be the case any longer.

Every idiot thinks they deserve respect today.

You Show Me Yours And I'll Show You Mine

Recovery

Hello my name is Christian Fletcher and I am a pot head. I fell off the wagon at easter, with the bride, the day after her wedding. I'm here to confess.

Perhaps, I should go? The marijuana version of AA. I think the beauty of those schemes is that you don't have to have given up. Of course, that is the ultimate aim, bottom line is you just just have to confess. You can still use and go, though. I wonder what it would be like? Could be interesting, I might learn something to help me stop.

Must stop smoking tomorrow... it's making me feel like shit. Bad Christian!

Straight Boy Love... Who Doesn't Like a Bit?

I love the sub genre of porn, gay for pay. Straight boys who do boy on boy for money. They're hot. Bent Straight. You can tell if they are straight, or not. Straight boys are different, they have a different attitude. They have straight boy cockiness, knowing they are the alpha males of the world.

I've had a thing with 3 straight boys, Simon, Carl and Warren. It's always like it's an adventure to them, I have found. Everything is a discovery - after a couple of pills, or a skinful. There's a certain walk on the wild side feeling with them, like they are giving something up, surrendering to dark, well denied, urges, curiosity.

Giving up their pants, I've always found easy with them, giving up their lips always seemed to be the harder thing. They were usually real coy about that, to start with. Then they always seem to revel in the equal strength and they kiss passionately, once they give into it. They just want to be loved, deep down, like the rest of us.

Warren was your classic ecstasy poof. He had a long term girlfriend, with whom he lived, who did not take drugs, or approve of them. So she didn't want to know what Warren did on his nights out with the boys. He liked to be admired. He liked the attention.

Carl was your classic metrosexual. He was a beautiful show pony who only ever partied at gay clubs with his girlfriend. He used to flirt unashamedly while he had his girlfriend in his arms. The two partied long and partied hard and on the rare occasions, Alison, would leave early, or leave him alone at a club, he used to snatch gropes with gay mates. Occasionally, we'd head home accompanied, too drug-fucked to remember it afterwards. Natch.

Simon was young, six foot two and only a few fucks passed twenty. He hung out with us gang of young gay boys, an old school chum of an ex boyfriend, who propositioned him one night and invited him to join us and he did. Plain old curiosity.

None of them were shy, once they crossed the line. And they were all good at it. Enthusiastic. Into it. Make me feel good is such a universal emotion. Other gay friends have said once you make it clear to them, certainly party straight boys, they'll stray way more then any of them are admitting to. Boys just like sex, generally.

Getting back to porn, I've discovered Amateur Straight Guys and Circle Jerk Boys. Got to luv that last name.

Do You Come Here Often?

2am Lockout

The Crown Casino is exempt from the 2am lockout and, apparently, according to a few well placed police sources, it is the place where a lot of the trouble comes from. The casino will become the only place in town that people can go to. Apparently, a lot of kids are coming in from the suburbs because their local pubs have become pokies outlets. There is no lockout in the suburbs, because the suburbs are riddled with gambling venues.

Are the gambling receipts down?

We are legislating ourselves out of existence. Now they are saying that lemon essence needs to be restricted and only sold to people over 18 years, because, now that alcopops have gone up in price, kids are turning to food flavouring to get pissed cheaply, according to last nights late news, which only went to confirm all the reasons why I don't watch the news any longer. It just makes me wild that we are turning into the great nana country.

What with the Bill Henson fiasco - a world renowned photographer is held up to ridicule, because one zealot is using him as a scapegoat to further her cause.

We are legislating how people live their lives and raise their kids, the smoking ban with children in cars - we don't need legislation we need education.

The conservatives have wrestled away the power, that's for sure.

We don't need more prohibition, we need less.

You vill do as you are told! It is goot for you!

If they are going to misbehave on alcohol, let's give them a gambling alternative, shall we say.

The Boys

The tuxedo was coming off. Warren knew, it was just that Jimmy didn't. Warren couldn't get over how handsome he thought Jimmy looked in his tux.

They stumbled along the footpath together, as the dark light broke allowing patches of light to light their way.

They were in Fitzroy, they stumbled in Christopher's gate.

"Open up! Open up!" They banged on the door. They were both still drunk from Nika's wedding. It was late. They were up to mischief.

"Open up! Open up!" Warren banged on the door with his open hand. He leant his forehead against the old wooden door.

"Open up! Open up!" Jimmy yelled, as he slapped the door with his open hand. Warren pulled his head from the door, his eyes shooting open. "Jesus!" It sounded like a gun shot.

"Open up! Open up!" Warren yelled as he slapped the door again.

A light flicked on in the hallway.

The door opened a crack. "What?" said a croaky Christopher voice.

"Let us in," Warren and Jimmy said in unison.

The door opened to show Christopher standing in front of them in his jocks.

"Nice," said Warren cupping Christopher's bulge, before Christopher pulled away instinctively.

"Where's Titania?" asked Warren, as he and Jimmy enter the lounge room.

"Left," said Christopher.

"Why?" said Jimmy.

"I told her the truth."

Warren and Jimmy stopped in their tracks and looked at Christopher. The both inhaled audibly. They looked at each other and shook their heads. They looked back at Christopher. "And she left?" they said in unison.

The three of them are lying on Christopher's double bed, looking up at the ceiling, holding each other's hand. Christopher is in the middle in his jocks, framed by four legs in black cotton.

"You know, I think I really liked her," said Christopher.

"How long is it since you've had sex?" asked Warren.

"Oh, months." Months? It had been months. He couldn't remember the last time?

"No, could easily be a false positive," said Jimmy.

"What?" asked Christopher.

"You're still in the post-glow of the grateful period," said Warren. "You haven't committed to anything yet, have you?"

"No, just sex," said Christopher. He was grateful, even he knew it. He'd been getting really toey over the last few weeks, it had been becoming distracting, all he had on his mind. He'd even been sizing the fifty-something tea lady at work. She had on a low cut inform, Friday. She'd had nice tits. Red hair, she was all right, he thought, as she asked him, "One or two?"

He'd thought orgasms. "Two," he said, in such a sexy way the tea lady blushed, as his eyes came up from her chest. She'd meant sugar.

"What?" asked Jimmy.

Christopher looked round at him. "Huh?" Where was he?

"Two?" said Warren. Christopher rotated his head to look at him.

Christopher had said that out loud, he was surprised.

"Maybe two dates," he covered. "Maybe we'll go on a second date."

Silence. Christopher's head spun. He could feel Warren and Jimmy on either side of him. He could feel their heat.

"So what's going on with you two?" asked Christopher. He looked at Jimmy, still with his bow tie on.

"Us two?" Jimmy said.

Christopher looked at Warren, shirt undone, jacket still on.

"Going on?" Warren asked.

"Do you think I'm blind?" said Christopher, looking from Warren to Jimmy.

"Are you two playing hide the sausage?" said Christopher. He looked at Warren.

Warren said nothing.

"Are you gay?" Christopher looked at Jimmy. He said nothing.

Christopher looked back at Warren.

"Yes," said Warren. A smile spread across his face.

Christopher looked at Jimmy. "How long has this been going on?"

"Just started."

Christopher looked at the ceiling. "My two best mates are homos."

"Get fucked," said Jimmy. He punched Christopher on the shoulder. It hurt.

"What do you call it then?"

Jimmy and Warren both grinned broadly, as Christopher looked from one to the other, but said nothing.

"What about you, Christopher?" asked Warren, as he slid his open hand up Christopher's thigh.

"You know you want to," said Jimmy, sliding his hand up Christopher's other thigh.

Christopher slid both hands over the front of his white briefs. "Ha, ha."