Gallantly Gay Go Go Boys

Gammagoblin is in charge

Green-eggs-and-ham are served from a van

Grit's sometimes come with spam

Gargoyles gaze down shocked

Giddy-up cry the boys in the stocks

As Go Go Boys

Go

Gallantly

Gay,

Apparently, they

Just like it that way.

Black Boys

If I'd grown up in the USA

as a boy whose inclined to be gay

I can not tell you a lie

I'm know those black boys

would have caught my eye 

You Are Both Gooses

It was Looney Wednesday this morning. As I walked down the Bourke Street Mall a blond guy crossing over from the north east corner to south west corner started to scream/moan. I could picture him assuming a military position, pulling a gun from his back-pack and start shooting. I was just heading up the Bourke Street hill to Queens Street, when I saw a girl of about twenty seemed to be hiding just down a lane way. She had a back-pack and was fiddling about in her over-sized denim jacket. As I walked up level with her, she moved around into Bourke Street and screamed,

"There's your knife so you can cut me again!"

She threw a black-handled silver-bladed knife onto the ground, almost at my feet, close enough that I could tell it was serrated and then bolted down the hill towards Elizabeth Street.

The blond guy, now walking down Bourke, said, "You are a fucking goose." He raced over to where the knife was, picked it up and started running after her, with the knife held out in front of him.

I sped up my step and high-tailed it up to Queens Street as quickly as I could, thinking I wanted to get as much distance between them and me as I could... even if they were heading in the opposite direction. It crossed my mind whether I should be scared, or not?

Other than that, the sun shone down beautifully and a gentle breeze blew. 

Last Class

Last night of uni. Last night ever. I’m done. I’m finished. All over. I get my piece of paper. I celebrated the auspicious occasion by completely forgetting and staying at work until 5.30pm.

Well, we were having much more fun discussing Stella’s immanent redundancy, as it’s all been approved, it’s all ready to be delivered to her, but she doesn't know yet. Apparently, Christina (CEO) just said fine, get rid of her. Nothing about her being a young mother with a mortgage, as Hamish had allowed himself to think. Stella has tomorrow off, apparently she is taking Benjamin to the Myer windows and something else, which didn’t, actually, sound believable to me. It would be funny if she was going for a job interview and if she resigned on Monday. That would just ice the cake nicely.

So uni was the usual final night party, food and drink for every one. Do I feel different? No, not really. I don’t think we ever really feel any different, no matter what we’ve done. The same core feelings inside remain the same. (Unless it is negative, like guilt, or fear of recrimination etc) 

 

The Forest

The forest seemed to become darker and more impenetrable the further Macleish travelled into it. The trees seemed to move together with side steps, when he wasn’t looking and when he looked back at the path, after looking at the movement of the trees, the path seemed to head off in a new direction from before his gaze was distracted.

The sounds of animal footsteps and growling behind him kept him moving.

He was lost when he came to a cottage in the only clearing. He approached the once white-painted cottage built between two giant rocks under the grand old pine trees. The back of the cottage disappeared underneath the huge flat rock, which lay on a slant up onto the round boulder directly behind. The back of the house seemed to be attached to the large boulder; wood turned to stone and stone turned to wood at the joining. There were gaps where some original boards from the house were missing leaving dark gaps in the house; some of the gaps seemed to run right into the rock in a dark and mysterious fashion making it hard to see where the house finished and the rock started. There were all sorts of patches and repairs all having been painted white and in all different fading states. The chimney was crumbling, black with soot and covered in moss. The windows were dark and covered on the inside with brown fraying blinds. The moss covered roof covered with a carpet of pine needles and a wild creeper that seemed to snake over from the farthest side. The door was at one end partially covered by a crooked portico that had long since let go from its original moorings. The door itself was covered in peeling red paint over green peeling paint and the cobble stones leading up to the old door were all uneven, every one.

The huge trees dwarfed the house and the enormous boulders shaded all the ground around it, but the sun still shone over the front part of the roof and the door. The house looked very old and still, sitting on its carpet of pine needles, there almost seemed to be a mist where the sun didn’t shine. The forest surrounded it on both sides and the boulders obscured anything behind. The view from the front looked down the narrow valley, a grassy slash in the forest with a gentle decent.

The air was thick, still and dank, imbued with a sweet smell of pine. The cottage looked to be tumbling down but some how strangely permanent, decrepit but strong; the strength of time exuding from a fragile shell. It had a strange attraction for Macleish, but there was a sense of privacy. It was such a contradiction that he wanted to see what was inside, what or who, of importance, lived inside this crumbling shell. Why did he feel something or someone special was just behind that facade?

He walked to the front door and as he did he looked down the other side of the house that was hidden to him as he approached. This side was covered in doors all weather beaten and crooked and not looking as though they had been opened in a long time. He passed under the crooked portico and pushed the door open, which it did easily and silently and dust fell from the doorframe, over the cobblestones and the maroon carpet just inside. It was dimly lit with a hallway down the middle with many doorways, which divided the house into many rooms, one after the other. He could see through all the doorways except for the end one, which was closed.

He entered slowly and looked around with each step. On the walls to his left were shelves covered completely with books. On his right another door, this was repeated in each room. Some rooms had chairs and some had tables and some had both. He walked through the house and the carpet felt soft under his feet. It was strangely silent even his movements made no noise. Every thing was covered in dust and nothing looked as though it had been disturb in a very long time. Each room was the same, books on shelves, dust, grey blinds and silence.

He walked through toward the closed door. As he finally reached for the door handle to the closed door, he noticed the other door in this last room was open and another hallway, filled like treasure chest, running off at right angles to the hallway he had just walked along. This was despite the house appearing from the outside to be a rectangle. The door handle began to move with a stiff action and a creak, when out from the shadows a voice suddenly came.

“You can’t go in there,” screeched the voice with a piercing wail. And from out of the darkness and piles of things emerged an old woman dressed in ground length rags.

“What?” he said, quite startled and shocked, as her voice seemed to cut right through him to the bone.

“You can’t go in there,” she screamed again, even more fiercely than the first time, if that was possible. She waved a crook at him, which seemed to appear in her hand from out of no where.

“You caaaaaan’t!” The red veins budging in her eyes, she was suddenly in front of him. She stood between him and the door eye-balling him. She looked as though she had taken on the hounds of hell in her time and won. He certainly wasn’t going to challenge her she was too fierce for that.

“What is this place and who are you?”

“Get out, get out,” she screamed and a gust of wind whirled around her and him. “Get out before it’s too late.”

He stepped backwards thinking he could leave through the nearest door. In this strange building one seemed never to be far from a door, there were doors all along the west wall, after all, leading to the forest. And then as if knowing what he was thinking she said,

“Go back the way you came, leave as you entered.” And then on all the walls were still the shelves, but now all at different heights, all on different angles, rickety and shaking, struggling to keep the old books in place. Books of all sizes and shapes, leather bound and hard backed, some upright, some in rows, some now falling to the floor.

“I mean you no harm, I’m lost.”

“You only think you are lost,” she wailed. “It is all known to you. Stop trying to see. Feel! Then you will know the way.” Then he found himself on the front step and he stumbled backwards and he was out in the forest again.

“You don’t belong here, you are not welcome.” She was on the step. ”You have life ahead of you.”

But where am I, he thought. And how do I get back?

“Take the path… on which you can hear the wind.” She was leaning against the frame of the door. She now spoke in a low voice taking deep breaths between each word and her long dress flapped despite there being no breeze.

“But who are you, how do you know what I’m thinking?”

“Go, go, you need to know nothing more. Gooo aaaway!” Her voice trailed off into a whisper that seemed to be inside his head. She spun around holding her hands over her eyes. “I see no harm coming to you.”

Honey for the Bees

It was lonely on the hill under the Weeping Willow; the afternoon sun honey-coloured, its warmth fading. Her white robe lay scattered around her on the ground, picking up grass and seeds in its threads, as she remembered him, his smile, his promise never to leave her. She laid her head down on a grassy pillow, watching the bees.

This was where they met, by the bee-hive, under the Willow, over-looking the valley.

“Do you come here often?” he said. His voice was like honey, soft and sweet, his smile incandescent like a brilliant sunny afternoon.

She didn’t know where he had come from, he was suddenly there and instantly she didn’t care.

“This is my special place,” she replied. “I come here to think and to drink in that view.” She pointed dreamily to the patchwork of fields to the east, as she drank him in, with a sideways gaze, as he looked to where her finger pointed. “It is calm and secluded here.”

“Very beautiful,” he said. “It’s very beautiful here.”

A Bluebird called out from the willow. Warble, warble. Warble, warble.

“I’ve never seen you around here.”

“Oh, I’ve seen you,” he said Then he seemed embarrassed by his forwardness, as though it just came out. He blushed, crimson.

“I want to fly to the moon,” she said. “Will you hold my hand?”

He reached out and took her hand with his, bringing her wrist to his mouth.

He was the bee-keeper and these were his hives. He called her honey, the sweetest thing he’d ever known. She called him her prince and her stomach buzzed at the thought of him. His hair was as black as night and his skin sun-kissed, golden-brown, his eyes blue like the sky.

She had always been allergic, as she found out as a child, when she got stung in the garden, her breathing became laboured and her tongue swelled. She dreamed of it turning blue for years afterwards. It was the only repetitive dream she had from childhood. A constant reminder of what happened to the little girl, still inside her.

She was thrilled when he got fresh honey from the hive, they sat and fed it to each other. The sweet nectar ran down their faces and covered their fingers, which they sucked until clean.

At last, I’ve found you, her heart ached. All my life I’ve been waiting for this moment.

He said he’d never leave her; he’d been waiting all of his life for her, as well.

And then like his charges, one sting and he was gone. One night she had, before he died in her arms and the physical presence of him faded away. It was like he had been just a dream himself. She didn’t know how she had got through these last months.

She could still feel his sweet lips on her skin, on her lips. She could still feel his chest against her face and his face in her hair. When she was in his arms the world, somehow, made sense, as it drifted into soft-focus and nothing else mattered.

The Raven called her name from the top of the Weeping Willow. Warble, warble. Warble, warble.

Bells rang in their tower, as Sunday begun. They floated on the air from the valley beyond and as they did, the setting sun reflected in her eyes; orange and red in the sky, white light in her corneas, a glowing ball balancing on the very top of the hills to the west.

The shadows crept along the ground, passing over her and engulfing her, as she was telling the bees, of her sorrow and pain,

“Tell him I’m ready,” she whispered. “I’ve been ready since he left me, I just had to face my fear.” That was until she had realised that there was nothing to be afraid of, she had nothing left to lose.

I’d die without him, she had thought, as he held her. She finally knew what love was; dizziness as she looked at him, an all-invading ache at the thought of losing him. She had allowed herself to feel the smugness of happiness when he promised her forever. She lost herself in her dreams which reflected in his eyes, never wanting to wake up. She couldn’t remember life, as it was, before she met him. She wanted to reclaim that promise of forever.

She lifted the white, wooden lid and slid her hand inside.

The Raven called from the willow weeping sadly, Fly, fly, fly and it flapped its wings and flew off into the night.

There was the sound of white fabric rustling on the breeze.

The willow stood sentry to the hive on the hill. A gentle breeze blew across the empty grass.

The bees were silent.

 

Telling the Bees

The peel of the church bells

floated on the air

from the valley beyond

and as they did

the setting sun reflected in her eyes

Orange and red in the sky,

white light in her corneas,

a glowing ball

balancing on the very top

of the hills in the west.

The shadow crept along the ground,

passing over her and engulfing her,

as she was telling the bees,

of her sorrow and pain.

So Few Men

Some chicks hate gay boys because of the competition they pose on the man market. It always strikes me as odd because, according to what's most widely accepted, they have 90% of the market covered, 80% on Saturday night.

Devan laughed. "Where do I fit in?"

"Nowhere, buddy," I said. "You guys don't fit in anywhere. You're not even a good bi-sexual. You, pretty much, only sleep with girls."

"No, I don't," said Devan seriously.

"When was the last time you slept with a guy."

"Um?" He squeezed his lips together. "Um?"

"Well?"

He laughed. "I don't remember."

"So, you don't even figure in this conversation," I said. "You're just giving it to chicks anyway."

"Okay, I'll shag a guy."

"Go on then," I said. "Let's go get a drink and put you to the test." I was on my feet in moments. "Let's go." Devan got to his feet with a defiant look on his face.

"The Laird?" I wanted to see Devan make good on his claim.

"Sure, I'm up for it."

"Or a sex club?" I said, as we headed down the hallway.

"Let's go for a drink."

"Chicken." I opened the front door.

"Fuck off," Devan stepped into the front yard.

"You have to pick up a guy and take him home," I said, as I followed him down the front path.

"Okay. How will you know that we do anything?"

"Dev, I was never planning on being in the room with you, your place or a sex club." We were walking in the middle of the street, Dev was next to me. "There has to be a certain amount of honesty involved."

Dev laughed as though he was about to get away with something.

"Souvenir his jocks."

"No," insisted Devan.

"Take a photo of him naked on your phone?" One of Devan's hobbies is photography.

"Oh, come on!" We were heading down Gertrude nearly at Smith.

"I will just believe you if you tell me you did it."

There were taxis and people everywhere in Smith Street. Sunday night seemed to be buzzing.

"I'll try to take the photo."

I laughed. "I wasn't really serious."

"About picking up a guy?"

"Nice try," I said. "About the photos." I slapped Devan on the back. "Let's go."

Guys like Devan, he's handsome, no surprise there. When we used to all "party" hard, he used to do boys and girls. He used to like picking up straight couples to play with and gay boy bottoms, if he just wanted to get off. Since we've all been partying less, he has tended to have girlfriends.

“I want his jocks, too.”

“What?” said Dev.

“I’d really like them still to be warm though.”

“Seriously,” said Dev.

“I guess that’s not practical though, really, is it,” I said.

“How do you know that I haven’t just given you a pair of my jocks?” said Dev.

“Do you really want me to be sniffing your jocks while I’m having a pull.”

“Er,” said Dev. “No.”

“So, the photo and the jocks.”

“How am I going to get his jocks.”

“Oh seriously,” I said. “When you are up his arse, just tell him you really want them.”

“Nice,” said Dev.

“It will make him cum,” I assure you.”

“Okay, photo and jocks,” said Dev.

We stepped though the club doors. “I’m getting us drinks,” I said.

“I’ll go scout around.”

“You go get him, Tiger,” I said.

“It’s been a while since I have got the pants off another lad,” said Dev. “I’m getting half a chub just thinking about it,” said Dev.

“That’s my boy,” I said. “Beer?”

“Schooner.”

“Schooner it is,” I said. I headed off to the bar.

There was quite a huddle at the bar, all the guys were looking for refills and the barmen were being called out to all over the joint. Finally, I got two schooners after what seemed like an inordinate amount of time.

When I got back to Dev was chatting to young good looking, fresh faced guy.

“This is Nate,” said Dev. He looked like the cat that had got the fucking cream.

“Hi Nate,” I said.

Dev lent over to me. “Did we put money on this?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“I’m sure we put a hundred on this?” said Dev.

“Okay, sure,” I said. “The photo and the jocks, and I’ll have the $100 waiting for you.”

“Nate has been partying, haven’t you Nate.

“Yes, yes, I have said Nate.

“Nate is very keen,” said Dev.

“I’ve been partying quite a lot,” slurred Nate.

Nate had on a long sleeved shirt with a tail at the back hanging down over the back of his jeans. Dev gave me a look, big eyes like he wanted to show me something. He pulled up Nate’s shirt tail and show me Nate’s firm, round arse. He held up his hand with a thumbs up.

“For a straight guy, you are pretty keen,” I said.

“Nate likes it that I am straight,” said Dev.

“Yeah, it turns me on,” slurred Nate.

Dev lifts up Nate’s shirt tail again and slides his hand inside the back of Nate’s jeans and pulls up the elastic of Nate’s jocks. “Blue Calvin Kliens,” said Dev.

“Yeah, blue Calvin Kliens are my favourite,” said Nate.

“Okay,” said Dev. “Blue Calvin Kliens.” He looked at me and smiled.

I saw Devan the next night at the pub when I was out drinking with Charlie and Kalvin. Devan almost walked past me, but stopped when he caught sight of me out the corner of his eye.

“Hey, Josh, how are you mate?”

“Good Devan, and you?”

“Yeah good,” said Devan. “I have something for you?”

“Have you?”

“I sure do,” said Devan. He pulled blue material out of his coat pocket. “One pair of blue Calvin Kliens, as promised.”

“What is going on here?” asked Charlie.

“This definitely looks like a story?” said Kal.

“How did you get them?” I asked.

“He’s still asleep in my bed with a buttplug inside him. He didn’t care.”

“Who is?” asked Charlie.

“What are you talking about?” said Kal.

“Trade from last night,” I said.

“Whose trade?” asked Charlie

“And,” said Devan. “And…” Devan pulled out his phone. “and…” He thumbed the screen of his phone. “Better than you asked for.” He held his phone up so only I can see it. “Young Nate, very, very happy with my dick in his arse.”

And there was Nate lying on his back with his legs in the air with a cock very definitely inside him, be it Devan’s, or whoever’s, but, I had to accept that it was Devan’s.

“He looks very happy,” I said. Which he did.

“Who does?” asked Charlie.

“The boy took it like a chook.”

“Who did?” asked Kal.

I laughed. “How do chooks take it,” I said.

“Have you ever seen an egg come out of a chook’s arse?” said Devan.

“Makes your eyes water,” said Charlie.

“Yes, I have, and I kind of guessed that is what it means,” I said.

“Just thinking about it,” said Kal.

“The kid loves it, can’t actually get enough of it,” said Devan. “$100 thanks.”

I pulled $100 out of my wallet and gave it to Devan.

“What the hell is going on?” said Charlie.

“Yeah, what gives,” said Kal.

“Just collecting on a wager,” said Devan.

“I bet on Devan’s gayness…”

“Aren’t you straight?” said Charlie.

“Ish,” I said.

“Yeah, don’t you have a girlfriend?” said Kal.

“Yes, Aimee is my girlfriend,” said Devan.

“I’m bi,” said Devan.

“I did not know that,” said Charlie.

“Me either,” said Kal.

A week or so later I saw Devan out. He was being followed by Aimee who was leading Nate by the hand.

“This looks very cosy,” I said.

“Cosy it is,” said Devan. “The three of us.” 

“Aimee,” I said.

“Josh,” said Aimee.

“Nate,” I said.

“Josh,” said Nate.

“We’re going to the bar,” said Aimee. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, I am good, thanks.” I’d just got a drink.”

Aimee led Nate to the bar.

“So, this looks like it is going better than expected.”

“Aimee and Nate love each other,” said Devan. “Aimee finds it hot to watch me and Nate. And Aimee so loves two cocks in her so much, now Nate wants two cocks in him, care to joins us to make the lad's fantasy come true?”

“Oh, a bit too incestuous for me, don’t you think?” I said.

“It’s just that I know you have a big one and young Nate wants two big ones in him, as you could expect.”

“Nah, not for me,” I said. “I’ll have to pass. It’s just not really my scene.”

“They are a couple of monsters the two of them,” said Devan. “The two of them just want to be pounded all night.”

“Two hungry mouths to feed,” I said. “You’ve certainly made a bed for yourself.” I laughed.

“Ah yeah, but it is good though,” said Devan. “Its really good.”

“You devil you,” I said.

“It’s the best of both worlds, I’m in bliss, to tell you the truth.”

“Nirvana?” I asked.

“Pretty much,” said Devan.

Aimee arrived back with the drinks. “Nate’s hold a pool table.” She handed a schooner to Devan and then disappeared again.

Devan held his beer out. “Cheers,” he said.

“Cheers,” I said.

We both slugged our beers.

“Look at you, you cannot stop smiling,” I said. And he couldn’t.

“Life is pretty good,” said Devan.

With both drank our beers and surveyed the milling crowd.

Jasus Xist

What is he good for? What is real? 

I stubbed my toe. "JASUS XIST!" 

Things go really badly. "Jasus XIST!" 

You see a nice piece of arse. "JAsus Xist!"

You are elated. "Jasus Xist!"

You are surprised. "JASUS Xist!"

You are amazed. "Jasus Xist!"

There is no god, so just relax. "Jesus Xist."

That Old Story

Jesus is blocking the doorway for most of us. If he'd just get out of the way, if all of that brainwashing from childhood would vanish, we could all, hopefully, pass through to freedom and live much freer and happier lives, judged only by our own moral compass. Yes, we all have one, it's just that the Jesus Heads habitually attempt to stop us using them.

Sometimes

S O M E T I M E S

Sometimes...
When you cry...










No one sees your tears.






Sometimes...

When you are in pain...

No one sees your hurt.






Sometimes...

When you are worried..

No one sees your stress.






Sometimes...

When you are happy..

No one sees your smile .


-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

-

But FART!! Just ONE time...

And everybody knows!!


Gotcha!!
You thought it was going to be one of those heart-touching stories!

 

Table For Two

She saw him on the far side of the street, heading her way. He was looking up at the names on the shops. He was concentrating so hard to find “The Granite book shop,” that he looked as though he was going to walk right past her. It was no longer Granite’s, she hadn’t realised.

“Dean,” she called. He looked around, saw her, smiled in acknowledgement and immediately started surveying the cars for a gap to cross.

He smiled broadly, as he approached her. She thought his eyes looked nervous.

“You look different?” He furrowed his brow. They kiss.

“It’s my hair.” Donna reached up and touched it.

“Oh yes, of course.” He took a step back to look. His eyes widened.

“Do you like it?” said Donna and she fixed her eyes on his and waited for a reply.

“Do I like it…?” He took hold of her hands. “You’ve just had it…cut?” His voice quavered up half a tone.

“Yes,” she said. His face relaxed. “Do you like it?” He looked at her hands.

“Um…err…yes.” He looked back at her face and smiled, nervously. “Yes of course.” He blushed. His shoulder twitched. “I like it a lot.”

“Sorry I’m late,” he says. She looks all right, how he remembered her. “It doesn’t seem to be called Granite anymore.” She looks apologetic. Nice smile.

“No, I should have told you.” She shrugs her shoulders. Natural. Calm, like he imagined normal people did. He liked her, again, instantly. Now, if he could only stop looking away every time their eyes meet. Just nerves, he takes big breathes. “I don’t come into the city, much.” He suddenly remembers when the last time it was that he came into the city last. “Except when I met you.” He looks straight to his feet when her eyes meet his. “Of course.” He finds he is holding his hands clasped in front of him. He hadn’t done that since his grammar school days. His cock jumps with a flash of excitement.

Handsome. Polite. Sexy. “I forgot when I gave you the directions, comes from living in one place for too long.” It must be nice to be just a kid. I bet he still lives with his parents.

“But it must feel nice to find a place where you feel like you belong?”

Idealistic, as well. She felt a rush of maternal lust. She wanted to play mother son. The joint she had smoked loosened her inhabitation's. He looks like her sexy nephew, Leo.

She steps back to look him up and down… Nice! He’s looking at me, he’s smiling. Oh…say something, before my cheeks explode, they are so red. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” he says, as he fiddles with the ring on his little finger.

Silence. Her head spins, as traffic whizzed past on the street, with intermittent gusts of wind at her feet.

Younger men, she thinks and she has to stifle the smile on her face. “Shall we go in?”

Table for two. He’d picked the restaurant, to meet. She picks the round table, so no advantages. Clearly it was his version of classy, chick picking up décor, to be sure. It was mind numbingly expensive. The wallpaper was flock. The lighting was so low, it was almost impossible to see her meal. A quiet hush fell over the darkened room, when all the seating was complete. Just the candles, like it was some bizarre ritual, a sea of candles held up in ceremony to their wealth and whispers. It’s all ours, we intend to keep it, the whispers say. She suddenly feels back in the eighties.

He is so young, what the hell am I doing?

“Oh.” He stands up, almost with a bow, but not quite. His napkin falls from his lap to the ground. “I’ve got the fifty dollars for you.” He pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “Before I forget.” He hands her the money. “You saved my life that day.”

He sure is handsome.

He retrieves his napkin from under his feet.

They look at their menus. He sneaks a look at her, she catches him and smiles. His eyes dart back to his menu. She touches her hair and then looks back at the seafood risotto.

She resists the urge to rub his thigh with her foot.

The waiter takes orders for drinks and reminds Dean that it is no smoking when he goes to light up.

“I should give them up,” Dean says as he slips the packet back into his pocket.

The waiter wipes the table and deposits a bowl of cashews in front of them.

“Nelson Mandela is coming out,” she says. “I went to get tickets. I had only just got here, myself. I was scared that I was going to keep you waiting.”

“Is he a singer?”

“Nelson Mandela?”

“Nelson…” He raises his hands up and smiles the smile of men when they know they’re wrong, but have to maintain the superior position. It’s a kind of a put down from the losing side. Years of patriarchal society. “Who?”

They need to breed that smugness out of them, she thinks. Generation Y. He has beautiful eyes. A hairy chest, all ready. What am I doing here? This is madness.

“African politician,” she says, as she picks at the nuts. “Was in jail for most of his life.”

Dean shrugs in response.

“Your drinks,” says the waiter.

“Today is the anniversary of my parent’s marriage,” she says. “Forty years. I can remember when it was twenty years.” She sips her champagne. “Do you believe in forever?”

She brushes her hand against his. He doesn’t pull away. It’s a good sign.

“Yes, I do.” He smiles nervously. “Forever, that is.” He smiles again. “Aren’t we taught to... all our lives.”

“I want... “ What is she saying? Too late now to stop. “Um... er... to be just like my parents. He slides his hand over hers and squeezes, then pulls it away again.

“Your dinners,” says the waiter.

“Never really thought about it,” Dean says. He shifts in his chair nervously and tucks the napkin into the collar of his shirt, as the waiter puts the oversized white plate down in front of him.

Red meat. Green vegetables.

She couldn’t help but picture him in a party hat. Oversized plate. Huge cutlery. Streamers. Balloons.

“How old are you anyway?” asks Dean.

“Forty,” she says. She wonders if he’ll believe her.

“Wow!” He sits back in his chair. “Really?” His voice rises above the hush. The woman with the big hair and the pale blue suit, buttoned tightly across her bosom scowls. The man with the silver grey hair winces, both turn instinctively towards the outburst.

She blushes and giggles nervously. He likes that.

“How old did you think I was?”

“I thought you were in your late twenties,” he smiles. He checks the other patrons have stopped looking. He leans in close. “You have great tits for a forty year old.”

She blushes, not expecting that. They both sit back in their chairs and smile, gazing at each other.

“And you are twenty?”

He smiles. Blushes. Starts to say something but then doesn’t. Smiles again. Then looks her in the eye. “Eighteen, just turned.”

“I’m old enough to be your mother,” she says and immediately regrets it.

“I know,” he says, with such an intense stare she no longer regretted her last remark.

“Please don’t tell me you are at school, living with your parents?”

“I still live with my parents,” he says. “Most of my friends do.”

“School?”

“No, left last year,” he says. He rubs his foot against her leg. “But I’ve still got my Xavier uniform, if you want to see me in it.” Cheeky grin.

She felt a stab in her stomach. He was coming onto her. He was beautiful, unblemished. She really wanted to lean across the table and kiss him.

“Do you want desert?” Donna asks.

“No.” He rubs his stomach. “I’m training tomorrow.”

It is a low stress day, she decides as she walks up the street alone. It is probably best. She thanks the universe for them, low stress days, not young men. Those days when you swim in the fast lane and don’t get hurt, don’t get trodden on. Those days when your brain tells you that you just don’t have the tolerance for any of that bullshit anymore. The pretence. You just got do what you’ve got to do.

He looks disappointed when she says she is going. She said she was tired, but she just had to get away and think about what it was that she was about to do.

She should have fucked him, he was choice cut. Suddenly, the feeling of tiredness left her. She thought about his smiling face. She positively skipped those last few steps to her car.

She took out her mobile and bought his number up on the screen. She wanted to strip him down like a project.

Come over tonight, late... for your desert, she texts. I won’t tire you out for training, too much, I promise.

Sure, (smiley face) don’t tell mum, he texts in return.

Why is Manny with Glen?

Manny asked me if I knew why he was with Glen.

I said that the two of them had tried longer than I’d been around and that they both had a need to give it a go.

He spoils me, said Manny. And you know I like that. And you and I are never going to progress past what we are now, are we? (Silent pause) I know that. (Change to sexy voice) But you make my cock hard, whenever I think of you. (Sexy laugh) I’m hard now.

Manny and the Other Bloke

I had lunch with Manny and we both got turned on and wanted to... um... eat each other. But Manny is still going to have a relationship with Glen, I told him that he should, get it over and done with and just do it.

Glen wants to spoil him with money. Manny's going to let him.

Manny was going home to put more scabie cream on. Give a boy with OCD scabies and you can bet your bottom dollar he will get obsessive with the cure.

Lebanese Gracie

The merry go round was silent, still. He could see the chipped enamel paint on the eyes of the horse’s heads. The Ferris wheel stood like a giant, frozen to the spot, eerily silent, except for the intermittent clang of metal. Ticket Booth’s shut up. Shutters closed. Chains padlocked. Queue barriers empty, flapping in the breeze. Just a maintenance man using a drill, as litter blew past him like tumble weeds.

It was like being at the farm sales yards after auction, with his farmer uncle, when everyone had gone home.

He strode in dress in faded stove pipe jeans and Cuban heels, worn on the outsides of each boot. He walked over on his boots that way; his mother said it was because he was a cowboy in a passed life, although with her strong Lebanese accent she could have been saying cardboard puss love. Maybe she was suggesting some packing for her beefy son's bad podiatry.

He headed for the maintenance man.

"Excuse me?"

The maintenance man kept drilling, didn’t turn or acknowledge until he was done. Then he let the drill slide to the ground, wiped his face with an old rag he had strung through his belt and looked in our man's direction.

"Ah." Eyebrows up. "Yep?"

"Do you know what happened to madam..." He looked over in the direction of the stall he thought his sister used to occupy.

"That fortune teller, Lebanese Gracie from stall 3?"

“Yeah, that’s her…”

“She's been bung for a while mate. Got it all wrong with Nostradamus and the coming of Fox to Sydney Show grounds. Mad, bad…”

“I don’t understand…”

“She's been put away. Didn't have a visa, or somefink…”

Our man looked confused. “But she’s Australian, I don’t think…”

“Oh buddy,” the maintenance man looked weary, pushed at his hair as if there was something in his fringe. “I got that from Josie.” He raised his eyebrows and grimaced. “Notoriously unreliable, so don't put too much chalk up on what SHE sayed.” He smiled a world weary smile. “But she and… um… er…”

“She’s my sister. Madam. I’m her brother Anton. I’m trying to find her…”

“I’m Keith.” He held out his hand to Anton, they shook, Keith held Anton’s hand a little longer than what was required. “Josie’s your girl, then. She and your sister.” Keith made O’s with the pointer finger and thumb on each hand and the rubbed each O together.

“Can I talk to her?” Anton said. “Is she around?” Anton smiled his most convincing smile.

Keith looked him up and down, almost checking him out on the downward look, so much so Anton moved his hand to cover the front of his jeans, involuntarily. Keith cocked his head. “She’d like you, okay.” Keith looked down Anton’s body again. “You know what she’d want for information…”

“I’m sorry?”

“And it’s strictly payment up front with our Josie…”

“What do you mean?”

Keith tipped his hand to his face, as if he was having a drink. “No what I mean?”

“No… not really.”

“A fine boy like you.” Keith looked him up and down again. “She’d be very keen...”

“I thought you said Josie and my sister were…”

“Josie likes ‘em young and Greek…”

“I’m Lebanese.”

“Whatever! You’re just her type.” Keith raised his eyebrows. “You go in there and tell her you’re Gracie’s bro.” Keith cocked his head again. “You’d be lucky to get out of her caravan without torn cloths and losing skin…”

“I’m sorry?”

“You got skin.” Now Keith was looking at Anton’s crotch. Keith looked up again. “Know what I mean.”

Anton didn’t quite know what to say.

Keith looked down at Anton’s jeans again. “Like chamois, I bet.” His tongue slipped out the corner of his mouth, running around the bottom lip surface.

“A fine boy like you…”

“Can you just tell me where to find Josie, please?”

“You’re a big boy, aren’t you?” Keith raised his gaze up to Anton’s again and looked at him with lecherous eyes. “What’s in it for me?”

“In it for you?” repeated Anton incredulously.

“For information on Josie. Supply and demand,” said Keith. “What do I get? What have you got to… um…er… show me, in exchange?” Keith smiled, then he dropped his eyes back to Anton’s crotch.

Anton shifted on his Cuban heels and felt something like the embarrassment that he always thought the bulls, at the show, must have felt when his farmer uncle was inspecting them for quality and size.

Josh's Man

Brown eyes and big hands

envelop me.

Incomprehensible grunts as he

wants me

feels me to be his.

Burrish jowls

thick neck

tenderly thrust

back,

behaired back taught

and legs wraught, each taught by seasons of soccer and hockey past

to give, but not give lightly.

A plough of a man

turning the cynic's heart

to sods and clods of love's

own earth,

and fertile ground for my own desire to want to hold and have part.

And manky foetid ranky reeks of cheezy smeggy crud

curdishly,

bold and unashamed,

line the rim

of his airy hanging skin,

of folds something-metres long and bobbing earnestly, energetically

pulsating smooth as silk, oily like olive-paper

weighty as a boulder

pumped and shining as a plum

and sweet as a fart.

Slow

I want to rub cocks

and fuck as the sun fades

orange in the west

long shadows

mist on the glass.

I smell your musk.

no where to go tomorrow

who knows what time it is

as the open fire burns slow

no lights but its flickering glow

burning orange

on our naked skin.

Sonnet

I have to say good bye

I know I'll break your heart

but it's time to stop eating

from a shelf down

I'm not heading along that path

to find another ten years gone

Big fish small pond

but I never agreed to a bird bath

I need an ocean in which to swim

with someone bigger than me

I'm the ocean floor, only those above

I want to dream about space flight

with you right there with me

understanding what I understand.