The Solar System

Sunday Getting Things Done

Al Green sings - Take me to the river

Okay, I've cleaned up the kitchen, battled the ants and the dishwasher is on. The washing machine is burbling away. The plants have all been watered, hell, I'm thinking about getting the vacuum out.

Missy is happy, quite playful really, having consumed her first chicken wing, even if she did manage to drag it all over the tilled floor, spreading chicken fat every where.

My third pot of coffee is on the boil.

Do you think that I might be thinking about what Manny might be doing with Stuart, remembering, while Manny has a two bedroom flat, only one bedroom has a bed in it? Even Manny is impressed with StarTac (... er... um... Stuart. Let's call him StarTac. Or would that be StarWang?) physique, remembering, it was Manny that got skinny StarTac into weight lifting in the first place. Nah, I'm not thinking about it, not for a minute.

This is supposed to be my out. Why doesn't it not feel like it?

Perhaps, I will vacuum. Perhaps, I'll go for a bike ride. Perhaps, I'll go for a bloody long jog.

No 8am joint, sure gets you thinking.

Tourists

It's cold, I scuffed around to the shop in sandals. No socks, though. I'm not going to commit that faux pax. Just track pants and crocs is the lowest I care to go. 

"Isn't anything open yet?" said the girl with the stripy hat and a mouth like a Muppet.

"Ohhhhh," was the long soft whine of her companion.

These were the two plain chicks from school, probably best friends from grade 1. The two, no doubt, who would be said to have improved the most since leaving school, were covered from head to toe in ugly chick disguise garb. You know, neck to knee coverage. Realistically, two plain girls looks can only go one way, after leaving school - horrible accidents withstanding.

What do you expect, I thought, at 8.20am on a Sunday morning... when it's over cast and cold.

Tourists, I thought, with the usual Fitzroy snarl. Not a snarl exactly, but a look in recognition that our suburb is invaded every day by plain chicks from the suburban wasteland. Go back to your shopping malls, I thought. 

Saturday End @ 11.11

I ignored a sms from Tim & Nicholas to go over to their place to eat chicken curry. Got to stop being such a hermit. Locked away on a Saturday night. I’m guessing it’s not particularly healthy, but how else do I get intelligent conversation. Chuckle. Just me and the bitch cat. Oh, I don’t mean that, she is lovely. But all cats are bitches, that’s why we like them. 

It's 11.11

Clothes washing, plant watering, vacuuming, stacking dirty dishes in the dishwasher, tidying the old newspapers… 

Freeze the cat's chicken wings before they go off, despite her being totally miffed about the whole idea. Gotta clean your teeth, Missy. She's getting used to them and it isn't quite the same sideways look, as she gave, as before. 

I did none of it. 

Have you ever tried to teach an old cat new tricks? Nah, they won’t be in it. Quite stuck in their eating habits, cats turn out to be. 

My kitchen is covered in ants.

I did fill up the cupboards with food, though, thanks to shopping with Lottie.

“I can pay for my own stuff, mum, it's okay.” I’m a big boy now. I can provide references. Haha.

“No, don't be silly, I'll pay.” So, I hauled a few more things into the trolley. Oh come on, that is just human nature. 

The pot's all gone, thankfully. Maybe tomorrow I can get stuff done.

Time to call it quits and head to bed.

Saturday Running Away

I've eaten two (organic) muffins. I've drunk four cups of percolated coffee. I've smoked three joints.

I'm going to have a pull, shower and get dressed.

Then I'm going to eat my muesli and take my mother shopping, stoned. The most she has ever said is, You look tired today, darling.

I always remember my friend Frank's reaction to the news of drug buses being right along side booze buses out on the road on a Saturday night.

"Oh, no! I'll have to give up driving."

Long Term

Is the desire of some to conquer love, for the feeling of esteem and prize, that it brings? Surely this is why love has become so temporary; forever in faith, until death us do part; a life time of unselfish love.

For what; touching you, touching me, beautiful are the young. Forever is then dependant on my waistline and your wrinkles. I would want to love everything about you; I would want to feel adored in return.

It is fleeting, beauty. For it, you have to give up as much, the world, to find love in return, to be given the moon. Forever comes at a deeper cost, a bigger sacrifice; returns are tenfold if you chose wisely and well. 

Poetry

Luke gave me his poetry to read, cute huh? I re-wrote them, couldn't help myself, it's the writer in me.

Then I wrote a poem about Luke. He's such a smart and sensative boy, I can imagine holding him in my arms and kissing him, whenever I'm with him at work.

What to say to him? I think you are writing about feelings in general. I think with poetry you need to make the feelings yours. I think he needs to put more of him in them. Don't be afraid.

Then I'd kiss him. Touch the skin on his face. Look into his eyes to see them look in return. 

Melancholy

Sometimes we feel sad, for no apparent reason at all.

Don’t know why?

As well as being able to think, we are able to feel.

For what purpose? So we understand our pain?

So we understand compassion? Understanding? And good?

For what reason? Good and bad. Heaven and hell?

We can choose to believe in something bigger,

to take away our fear,

if that’s what we need.

Or believe in ego, remember to be kind.

Be happy, don’t worry.

Treat others as they would treat you.

Let life guide you through. Follow your heart;

the stories are rich, the journeys are long.

Fulfil your destiny. Dare to dream. 

Self Pleasure

Luke gave me his poems to read,

I notice the hair on his arms, as he handed me the disk;

olive skin, dark hair, a particular favourite of mine,

I wanted to touch him, stroke him and have him not recoil.

I wanted to kiss him; taste him, feel his spit on my skin,

smell his breath on my face, feel his hair in my fingers.

Feel his warm pulse, with all of my touch.

I want to wipe his sticky seed from my abdomen, pull it out of my pubes.

Marriage

Isn't it interesting that the debate about gay marriages is all about straight people. The majority still discriminates. Marriage is crumbling, don't play with its faulty foundations, for God's sake.

If you redefine marriage, by allowing something other than what's been the norm, what will those rascally straight boys want then? Girls have enough trouble keeping them under control now.

Well, what is marriage now? Lets look at the statistics. Less than fifty per cent will make it to ten years.

Something like 98% of straight boys cheat on their wives; (the stats aren't that much better for girls, and closing) something like 90% is in the first three years. Hardly because the honeymoon was over.

(and a lot of gay guys can tell you that a lot of straight guys are notionally straight)

It's all about keeping the flawed patriarchal society in tact. If you have to burn off a few poofters and lesos in the process, well, they are hardly the majority of the vote, are they?

Fair?

When will you give up this foolish notion of society being fair?

Merry-Go-Round

Manny called me at the office, first thing, just as I was in a meeting with two colleagues. I'm not sure why I took the call, except to say I rarely let one of his calls go unanswered.

"I'm still in bed... in my boxers... I've got the hardest cock."

My two female companions are gazing back at me. I swing my chair around and hush my voice.

"Ha, ha, ha. Good morning sunshine. This is early for you, isn't it."

"I know." (Little Britain style)

Manny's exboyfriend Stuart has just broken up with his boyfriend, Angelo. So Stuart has been hanging out at Manny's - quite out of the blue.

"You should see the body on him, says Manny. "He's 75 kilos."

75 kilos, Manny's holly grail.

Stuart was also Julien's boy friend, when Julien lived with me, so Stuart hung out here for a while.

Stuart is hot. He smolders. Buzz cut. Amazing, big, intense, blue eyes. A sly smile. He and Manny were gym buddies, when they went out together. Apparently, sex is what Stuart does best. Both the faces on Manny and Julien stood a testament to his magnetisim, when Stuart and sex were mentioned in the same breath.

Stuart's handsome face kept flashing into my mind all day. He really is a gorgeous boy. He'd been a limosine driver, tellimarketer and kept boy, in the time that I've known him.

Manny called me back, early evening, early for him. 7.30pm. He was slurring.

"Have you taken valium?"

"Yes, four. I've had a stressful day."

Manny doesn't like his routine broken. I was lying on the couch watching Big Brother.

I laughed. "You!"

"Shut up!" insert sexy laugh. "Stuart needs some where to stay for a few days," said Manny. "Angelo wants him out of the apartment before the weekend."

"You asking me?"

"Could he stay at your place, it's not like you don't know him?"

Ah Stuart, my mind buzzed with a collage of images of me and Stuart in front of my open fire. Huge, hard cock. Big balls. Filthy in the sack. Apparently. Ha, ha, ha. I rubbed down on my cock... and the reality is?

"Nah. I don't want to be a part of their break up. I'm happy here on my own... finally."

"I don't really want him staying here, though," said Manny.

"I've got peace and quiet..." For the first time in my life, really. "I've got an open fire and ice cream."

"I asked him about a threesome..."

"With me and you?"

"Yes..."

"You're obsessed."

Insert sexy Manny laugh.

"Don't be stupid. I know him as a friend."

Like that's been a major concern in the past?

"Why do they put me in this situation," asked Manny. "That's why I love you, you're so chilled. You don't stress."

Stuart asked Manny if he could see a future for the two of them. It was all coming clear to me. They make the perfect couple. And I know I'm going to feel disloyal with this, but Stuart may be bloody handsome, but he isn't the brightest star in the galaxy.

Manny's genuinely sweet. Apparently, Stuart has a nasty streak, by both Manny and Julien's separate admission. But he was Manny's boyfriend of four years, so what am I to know.

Stuart is/was/maybe/third hand/once creepily out of Stuart's mouth, out of it on a dance floor... a seeder, he likes to give HIV to people, share it around. There's a whole... what do you call it, movement, I guess. A group who recognise one another for their own particular fetish... apparently... or something like that.

I still like kissing the best, so what do I know.

Stuart gave it to Manny. I pass no judgment on that, other than to say, do not have unsafe sex with anyone, until you have both fronted at the doctors office together and had a test. It is that simple. Well, not actually simple, no. Sorry. It involves a huge amount of trust and intuition and smarts, to get to that point with someone. So, sorry, if for whatever reason you have unsafe sex with someone you don't know, out of it on whatever, where ever, you only have yourself to blame. It's that simple.

Besides, Manny has forgiven him. So who am I to judge?

Poor Manny, what am I saying? He's far too sweet for Stuart. But he'd know better than me. 

Spreading the Word

What is this misnomer of intentionally spreading the HIV virus. Is this an attempt by straight people to interfere in gay lives? Filthy poofters doing what they shouldn't.

There must be someone to blame?

This classification is a contradiction, unless it's rape, nobody can spread any thing intentionally, there has to be complicity.

I see it as typical of the world today. Go around screwing who you like, not taking any notice of all the medical thought on the subject, and then once all of your sins have caught up with you, blame the last guy?

I know I've said it before, but here goes again, it is all about personal responsibility, it's about looking after yourself. Safe sex works if the individual takes responsibility for him, or herself.

Of course, ever sexual partner has only ever made the exception of unsafe sex with you, because you are the sexiest creature ever. Don't be so naive, take responsibility for yourself.

Have unsafe sex if you want, if you really need that edgy thrill, but if the virus swims up your arse don't be a sook, take responsibility for what you have done. 

I think pretty much the same argument could be made for domestic violence, leave the guy the first time he hits you, not the last time.

Poetry to Watch

I've been befriended by a guy at work.

He's like a good looking Eddie Munster. No, not really, but he has that kind of widow's peak, dark hair, big blue eyes. He likes writing too. We talk about books, he's well read and interesting. He's so damn handsome, it's hard not to think of him sexually. Not really sexually, but with that familiarity that gay guys take with other guys. There's a certain social intimacy that gay guys take with each other. It borders on sexual, without ever getting there. You know... um... (good joint) flirt. It's hard not to flirt with him. I have to (sometimes, occasionally) actively stop myself. It's hard, as he's gorgeous... except he's straight. There's always something, isn't there?

He's going to give me some of his poetry to read. Cute, huh?

Flirty accountant Michael is back from leave for his mother dying. I hadn't really seen him around, not until today. I was leaning against my desk, looking out of my office and he was at the photocopier, someone else was there first. He had to wait. I was talking to a colleague. Michael looked sideways in my direction, I took his gaze and held it. He's got big, puppiy dog eyes. He gave his sly, sexy smirk and his cheeks flushed red. The other guy was finished. Michael looked away. How long after their mother's dying are you allowed to hit on them? I mean, what's etiquette?

Cute lawyer Ben got in the lift with me this morning; both arriving five minutes late. He's leaving tomorrow, I haven't seen him around to ask why. There were two others in the lift too, judges, CEO's, billionaires, not sure what, but they had that look about them; well fed, well dressed, air of superiority. Ben stood facing me. Cute, blonde hair, blue eyes. He's one of those guys who has a good package in a suit. The material hugs tight at his hips, and then just flows, bulging out like a fist, beautifully in the middle.

I drop my eyes, I can see that he has packed his cock downwards, I don't care if he notices, he's always flirted, he leaves tomorrow. I can see his nob pushing the material out from the inside. I reckon he's circumcised. I just want to step forward and cup it in my palm. I look up. His eyes look up at the floor numbers above the door. He looks back at me. He can't stop himself from smiling. Nervous. He's turned on. He looks down at his feet, still smiling. I clear my throat. He glances up at me. His eyes dart to the other two captains of industry, then look back up at the floor numbers. Still smiling, despite himself. My floor. The doors open. See ya Chris. See you Ben. He smiles and pulls his head back, as if to really look at me for the first time.

Poor Manny, I'm Treating Him Bad.

I don't know why, but I have put on about 6 or 7 kilos this year. I mean, I know why, my diet has been shitfull and I've just stopped exercising. Pretty simple, really, but why this year? I don't know?

It's weird, I actually feel fat for the first time for the first time in my life.

I mean, as much as I hate to say it, I suppose I know the reason. In the last four years I've, pretty much, only had sex with Manny. Okay, that is not completely true, but it is kind of true. And I rail against monogamy? Well, that’s not exactly true either. I’m for whatever makes you and your partner happy at the time. It can be anything you want.

Monogamy breeds complacency. We should all fuck around to keep ourselves on our toes for our significant relationship.

Manny's hot for a threesome, but, I lived in a threeway relationship for four years, and the attraction for them has never really come back. So although I've had plenty of experience with two other guys, one set of eyes looking back at me is what gets me going now. Manny and I have never had a threesome. He's had sex with other guys. I have too. But between us, it wouldn't come much over ten guys, probably not as many as twenty guys. We're talking two of us over four years. Maybe not ten, even. That’s not many for gay guys. (I know, straight guys hate us) Who keeps track of those things anyway?

Neither of us have gone looking for it, it's just what has come along.

Neither of us have committed to each other. We say we'll be friends forever, who will have sex with each other, when the two of us are single and available.

For six months of the four years, Manny met a guy who he thought he fell for. Because the other guy thought he was in a monogamous relationship, Manny and I didn't see each other for five of those months. I refused to cheat on the boyfriend by having sex with Manny. Come back when you're single, I told him. In the sixth month, when it was all but over, well? I'm no saint, don't get me wrong, but seriously, why do I want to be the reason they break up? Who wants that angst? I'm not climbing through windows for anybody anymore.

I've had love twice where I've said I'll love you forever and, at the time, I believed it to my very core. Men who changed my life irrevocably for the good, for having met them. One was a hot DJ, still is. He has the beat to his soul. He has the most piercing green eyes. The other is a gardener, with huge ideas. He has created marvels. He has beauty to his core. He changed my life forever.

I loved my girlfriend as a teenager, in the very same way, although not to my very core, but almost, just as good for first love. I loved her. I just didn't know yet that there was better sex, for me. I liked having sex with her, at the time. We're still best friends.

If only Manny was ‘more’, wanted ‘more’. His only fault. True. But it is big. Too big. And it's not even that he isn't smart. When he told his parents that he was gay at the age of fifteen, they threw him out of home and out of school. His mother had become born again Christian, a few years earlier, after Manny's brother was crippled in an accident. But that's his story and I shouldn't be telling it. So, part of it has just been a chronic lack of opportunity, but...

He is hot sex. The only thing he does is go to gym, so his body is incredible. He has an eating disorder, of sorts, gym junkie food, so he doesn’t carry an ounce of fat, literally. Grrrrrrr, just thinking about him.

We're the same age.

Tom says, All my gay mates have hot boyfriends, at the moment. Where’s mine?

Manny has the sweetest heart. He has the filthiest mind. He has the most handsome face. He’s funny, he makes me laugh.

But his conversation rarely gets beyond, you guessed it, gym or food… or let’s watch a DVD. He hasn’t done anything else... except wash dishes.

So, in a truly spectacularly human, contradictory way, I’ve got fat because I’ve become complacent because I’ve had Manny on tap and it’s kind of settled me. But now that I’m feeling fat, I’m avoiding him, because essentially it is only a sexual relationship and I don’t want him to see me as a porker.

I could lose it in a month, or two, for him, but he keeps me contented, so far, so why bother. So, I avoid him as repayment.

Am I nuts?