Day what?

Ah, er, yes, what day is it? Now let me see... um, last Thursday was the day, I believe. Actually it was the Thursday before that. So that would make it? Day 11?

I haven't smoked for 11 days. I did smoke a couple of joints with Luke and Mark, last night and while I'm admitting that is dangerous territory and may even be quite foolish, I don't, actually, count it as smoking, as such. It is a slippery slope, though, don't get me wrong.

I have not smoked 330 cigarettes. I like putting it into numbers, it sounds more real. There are 330 times I didn't reach for my packet, I didn't slide the brown tip into my mouth, that I didn't flick the lighter in front of my face. It's weird, when I think of it in those terms, there really is an addiction going on, hey.

I didn't think of it all the time I was dealing with my arm, but as I was catching the train to Bolago, on Saturday, my first time out in the real world, after so many days at home, those insidious thoughts were straight back in my head. I've got time for a cigarette. But, since the first week of quitting had passed, they weren't excruciatingly strong and they were easy to deal with.

I'm not making any claims, it is a day at a time proposition, (I have given up 4 times this year, after all) but I feel much better for not smoking. I sleep better. I feel healthier, less coughing, less crap on my lungs, my chest feels less constricted. I have more money in my wallet and I have warm feet.

What's not to like?

Boys of the World

I find Japanese boys with Aussie accents hot. "G'day" Handsome Tiko.

French boys should speak for all of mankind, read the script that is, dressed in nothing but boxer shorts. Lovely Sebastian.

I love the way Italian boy's pants fall down, so easily. I love the way they have unmitigated pride in their manhood and how they show them off. Hot Tony.

I love the sweet, tender way Greek boys kiss. I love their hairy chest, legs and arses. Manny, of course.

The way gorgeous Thai boy's swagger, gets me hard. Sexy Art.

Argentinian boys are some of the most beautiful on this earth. Gorgeous Emanuel.

I love the way how strong Lebo boys are. They are "men" even when you enter them doggy style from behind. Danko the lion.

Turkish men are beautiful, they have big round balls they love sucked. They have thick cocks that spray so fine. Coby the brave.

I love the way English boys look all doe-eyed, as they let you undo their belts and open their pants. Their accents make my knees shake. James the prince.

New Zealand boys take it up the arse hard like men. "Do iyt to mi!" Buzz-cut Glenn, with 2 n’s.

I love the cockiness of American boys, I love how their confidence is, usually, backed up with something impressive. Lylie with shinny white teeth.

Aussie boys are hot for it and are laid back about getting laid, either way, whatever feels good. The great southern land. “Beaudy mate,” says Craig, with his thick, hairy chest.

German boys do it in the street and don't think twice about it afterwards. Uninhibited Bern.

Indian boys have the most beautiful skin and they cum in your arms as you kiss. Nadesh with beautiful whites in his eyes.

Chinese boys just want to party hard and get fucked all night. Andrew the architect was lots of fun.

Scottish boys have devilish grins. And you can't understand them after too many beers. Cheeky Paul.

 

Oversized

Roy stood in front of Todd’s door. He rocked backward and forwards on the soles of his feet, as he waited for his ring to be answered.

Todd opened the front door, with a big gesture. Roy couldn't tell his mood, Todd had that look on his face, again – kind of wide-eyed, slightly surprised. Was it good? Was it not? Roy couldn't read it.

“Have you been out to look, at the finished job?” Roy asked, nervously.

“Yes,” said Todd. “You were right, bigger is, um, er...” he looked away. “Better.”

Roy couldn't help but smile; he felt the muscles in his face crease, almost involuntarily. “The way it catches the morning sun, from the side of the house...”

“It is beautiful, you were right to make the suggestion.”

There was silence. They looked awkwardly to the ground. Todd looked passed Roy, as if he was looking at the day and then he looked back.

I thought we could go out, maybe, get a bite to eat... see a movie... perhaps.

“Roy.” Todd sighed heavily. “I can't,” he said. “It wouldn't work...”

“It doesn't matter,” said Roy. “It's not that important.”

“It does to me,” said Todd. “It is important to me.”

“I've... I've heard about this new thing,” said Roy. “A relaxation technique.”

“What do you do? Only use the first few inches?” said Todd. “I'm not sure I'd ever get used to that pain... or want to...”

“I love you,” said Roy. Suddenly. Kind of out of the blue. He even surprised himself.

Todd sighed long and hard. He smiled sweetly, nervously. “You have a big heart, and... that's the problem,” Todd said. “It's a damn shame. A damn shame, 'cause I like you a lot.” He stroked the side of Roy’s face. Tears welled in his eyes. Roy wanted Todd to touch him more.

Roy was supposed to be just building Todd's deck, that's all. A simple cash transaction. They'd been attracted to each other right from the beginning, some weeks ago. Roy has fallen hard for Todd. They'd slept together, last Friday, after too much red wine. Todd was, well... disappointed isn't quite the right word.

Roy had just finished off the deck, now. On time and on budget, even with the increase.

“I could have surgery, I guess,” said Roy. His smile disappeared from his face as quickly as it appeared. “If they can do it the other way...”

“Don't be daft,” said Todd. “Not for me... not for anyone.”

“At least I am ready to make suggestions. Try...”

“Such, as it was... that you got it in, or how long you have it in, or how you are…” said Todd, tongue-tied. “No!" He looked at the ground. "I can't." He stepped back. "I'm sorry.”

He closed the door.

“Wait!”

Roy felt like a part of him had died, he thought, with surprise. He felt physical pain. He felt a chill up his back, like a pain from his kidneys, or something.

It wasn't fare, it should be an advantage, but all it does is strike fear into men's hearts... makes them recoil, fearful, back away, bleed.

Roy went out and stood on the deck, in the winter sunshine and his heart swelled, as he looked across the deck to the valley stretching out as far as the eye could see. It truly was beautiful, breath taking and now there was a platform from which to view it. He’d imagined drinking champagne with Todd sitting right there, on his deck. It was bigger, at Roy's suggestion, than what Todd had wanted, initially. It looked grand; he'd been right to suggest the bigger size. Ironic, he thought.

Why do you want such a big one? was the only comment Todd’s mother had offered, when she first saw the finished deck. Todd and Roy couldn't look at each other, after that, it was the morning after the disastrous night before.

Roy wished he'd had time to tell Todd, he'd not be back, not tomorrow, not any time, but Todd had closed the door before he got a chance. If Todd knew he'd never see him again, would Todd have reconsidered? Who knows? He was going to travel and see the world. There was nothing keeping him there, any more, he could stop kidding himself that there was.

Manny, Manny, Manny

Manny called almost on queue, to say he was bored last night so he went out, first to the Laird and then to the Peel. Of course, he was going to call me and come over, but...

... but what Man?

He would, of course, have practically walked past my front door to get to the Laird and the Peel. Well ten metres of it.

Why is it that when I feel that I'd like him around the most, he heads out to entertain himself? (Not that I told him. And I know men aren't, generally, mind readers)

Or, is that me wanting my non-commitment relationship and my non-commitment cake too?

But he always seems to do it. The, admittedly few, - and I guess that is my answer right there, huh? - times I'd really like him to be around, he is always AWOL.

I guess you should just marry me, then... gorgeous, Greek-boy smile, his usual, annoying, answer to any such complaints, I might have. Grrr!

Well, There You Go

My arm made a remarkable recovery, yesterday, between St Vinnies, in the morning and going to see my own doctor, in the afternoon.

How are you, my doctor asked?

Okay, I said. Grumpy. Shitty. Over it.

That's no good, said my doctor. Come on, lets take a look at it.

When I took the sling off, the swelling had reduced, considerably and the redness had almost faded, it was as though he had charm it right back to normal.

I was pleasantly surprised.

No, you still have to wear the sling for another 5 days, said doc. No you still can't drive.

It's very hard typing one-handed. There aren't too many things that are best done one-handed? Speaking of which, Manny has been noticeably absent during this whole illness process. Of course, breaking into that boy's gym, food, body worship regime, may take a little more than a pussy elbow. I may need to end up in emergency on life-support, to gain his full, undivided attention.

Actually, that's not really fair, but I would have thought he would have turned up to see how I was with me being home, sick for three days.

Actually, thinking about it, I wonder if he even knows? It all seems to have happened so quickly.

When did I last speak to him?

He's better in a towel than a crisis.

Sunny Friday

8am

I watched American comedies, all afternoon. What else was there to do? I just wanted the day to pass. I favoured Jennifer Aniston, not sure why?

I'm much more of a Jennifer fan than an Angie fan, Brad's an idiot! But I'm also more of a fan of Vince Vaughan's looks than Brad's, until I watched "The Break up" in which Vince is fat and not attractive.

"Rumour has it" was good, but then again anything with Shirley Maclaine in it has to be good.

I really liked "Friends with Money." It was more internal than the others.

I also watched "The Devil Wears Prada." Streep being a bitch, it has to be worth a look.

I didn't necessarily watch them for their quality, but their quantity was pretty much assured to make a quite afternoon on the couch disappear. I wanted fluff and pretty fluff at that.

Anyway, I'm off to hossy for more antibiotics, straight into my veins, as one of the good doctors so aptly put it.

It's 11.11.

As I slipped passed the fat lady on the wheelie bed, on my way out, puffing on a ciggy, with the whiter than white sheet almost covering her gangrenous toe and past the rake thin man, in the Sydney Swans trackie top, on crutches juggling his ciggy on his good side, I slipped on my beanie and it was all I could do not to cry, as I headed to Gertrude Street. I'm not very good at being sick, 3 days and I'm over it. The doctors think my arm is getting better; while the swelling and redness is becoming less intense, it is still spreading out further along my arm. I'm sick of the sling pulling on my neck and I've got to wear it for another week. I want to drive, I want to go to the country. I want to use both my hands.

I could feel the sun glistening on my tears, as they sat on my cheeks, as I walked towards home. I wiped them away and nobody noticed. I felt so alone.

Of course, that should read, I felt so sorry for myself. Mark has offered to come down every day from the country to look after me. My friend Jill says she is at my call twenty four hours a day and that I must call even for the most trivial thing - she knows of a woman who died from septicaemia from a rose thorn prick, recently. Jill calls daily, as does Mark. Lottie has offered to come over and stay.

But you know, when I'm sick I just want to deal with it myself; into the world on your own, out of the world on your own and when it's matters of illness and health, again, you have to do it yourself, nobody can do it for you.

I must call Tom. He had a kidney biopsy, today.

Phobias and the Like

I guess I can say that my poisoned elbow has got me over my phobia of needles. I've had a drip in my forearm vein for 3 days, which is unheard of for me.
I remember, the first time I had a drip in my arm was for a CAT scan, some years ago. I very nearly freaked out, on that occasion. I remember feeling a glimpse of what completely loosing it felt like. I remember thinking, I'm a second from completely freaking out! I was sliding down that murky tunnel. The machine buzzed and I slid further in.
I couldn't let that happen. I wasn't going to be that person. You see, you have to keep completely still for a CAT scan and my logical brain (thank the universe for it!) thought, The reality is that eventually they would just put me back in here to start the scan again, if I did freak out. They would only make me do it again. And I didn't want to do that. The machine buzzed and I slid again.

So, I thought of one thing and I concentrated on it with every thing I had. I transported myself out of that dingy, basement laboratory out on to a beautiful country road with one of the most beautiful saloon cars ever made, the Jaguar Mk 2.
I looked at every detail of that beautiful car, from rear bumper bar to the gorgeous boot, to the exquisite door handles, to the spoke wheels (they do come without spoke wheels, but naturally I wouldn't be thinking about those cars) to the beautiful grill and sexy head lights, to the "Leaper," the bonnet ornament, in ever, minute detail. It took blue, maroon and green saloon cars before the scan was done. I went into stasis, to stop myself from completely falling a part.
The nurses voice came in and retrieved me from a very far away place.
Okay Christian, we're done.
Get this thing out of my arm, were my first words.
Yes, yes. Just a moment and...
GET this thing out of my arm NOW!!!! I bellowed, through gritted teeth. I'm sure the veins in my eyes were burning red. I'm sure my intensity engulfed her immediately. She whipped the needle out without another word needing to be said.
So you see, when the doctor, at St Vinnies, told the nurse to put the drip in my arm and to leave it there for three days, I felt the same anxiety rising up from the pit of my stomach, bile washing my teeth, but I told myself it would be fine. Just stop, be calm, don't worry. I told myself not to look away when it was being inserted and I didn't and it was fine. I watched the 2 centimetre needle disappear under my skin, into my vein, and the world didn't stop and I didn't die.
The point is, that I've had this drip in my arm for three days and I've hardly thought about it.
I guess you can get used to any thing, it's just a matter of going through it. I guess you can get over phobias. It's beginning to itch, but that is a different problem.
I've got over my phobia of flying, by telling myself that I'm just not scared any more. I told myself the fear was irrational, as flying is one of the safest ways to travel. I told myself that if I can push my car up to 150/160 on the country roads around Bolago, without a second thought, I have no right to be scared of flying. And it worked.
I now seem to be over my needle phobia... I'll make a junkie yet. Ha, ha. It suited me when me and my friends got into drugs, when half of them got into injecting speed, my needle phobia kept me standing with the half who wouldn't shoot up. We were told we were wimps. We were told we were children. We were told we didn't know what we were missing. As it turned out, the ones who did shoot up all ended up having a problem with it. They are all fine now, but that is a different story for another time.
I'll have to work on my fear of heights. But, I reckon that the height phobia has a greater physical element to it. It makes me disorientated and nauseous and dizzy. I'm not sure how to deal with the physical manifestations. I think the mental ones are easier to deal with.

Kiss Me

A Loose Piece Of Skin, Who'd Have Thought

I picked at a loose piece of skin on my left elbow, nonchalantly, in a beer garden, as I drank beer with mates, on a carefree, balmy Friday night, two Fridays ago, at The Laird. Who the hell would have thought that would lead to 3 days in hospital (as an out patient) hooked up to an intravenous drip. My arm has to be in a sling for how long?

Ahhhh!

Yes, I have to go back to hossy tomorrow. And then I have a high dose of oral antibiotics to take for the next week. The infection is half way to my shoulder and half way to my hand. My elbow still resembles a witch's hat... or is that skin pulled tightly over a witches tit, with puss for the nipple?

Bloody hell!

The moral to this story is, um? Moisturise your elbows?

Oh, I don't know. Fucken hell?

The Arm Gets Worse

The doctor said that I should come back if I didn't notice it easing off in the next two days.

Today, the infection wasn't just my elbow, oh no, no, no, it had spread half way down my forearm. So I called the doc, who was off for the next three days, so the receptionist said, Just come in, I'll get another doctor to look at it.

When I was at the clinic, I asked if I could see my own doctor, as I didn't want to see Doctor X, but no, my own doctor was remaining busy and some what out of reach.

No, I can't squeeze you into see your own doctor, said the receptionist. But you are the first in line for Doctor X.

Okay, now I have to say it, I thought. The trouble is that I don't like Doctor X, I explained.

Oh, okay, I can put you in with Doctor Y, at 12.

Cool, I said. I like Doctor Y, he's a nice bloke.

The few times I've seen Doctor X, he has treated me like an idiot, but more to the point, I have thought he was an idiot.

Oh my goodness, were Doctor Y's first words, as I showed him my elbow.

That can't be good, I thought.

Anyway, he sent me to hospital. I've been in St Vinnies getting intravenous antibiotics, for the afternoon. (other people go out for a long lunch) I now have my arm in a sling, a drip in my arm and the rest of the week off work. (other people go to Fiji) I have to go back tomorrow for more intravenous antibiotics. Yeah!

Now, I'm going to lay on the couch and watch day time television. I wonder which is worse, hospital or day time television?

Sickness Abounds

This was the email I sent to Tom, this morning -

I've got a sore toe, sore knee, sore forearm, sore elbow. I have a bad, dry cough and I feel cold-like sick. At least, I don't have a head ache today, but, I guess, the day is still young.

How are you?

I wasn't to know that during the day my elbow would swell like a baboon's arse, to such a degree that I'd be having it cut open by 5pm and drained of puss.

Apparently, I have a major infection.

Have I been feeling unwell? asked the doctor.

I have been feeling like a crock of shit! Doc.

I'm not surprised, she said.

This was Tom's email that awaited me when I got home.

How are you? How was your weekend?

Mine was very quiet, I barely left the house. I have “kidney failure” apparently – I’m still pissing so apparently it’s not deadly. They told me this on Friday. Of course, I pooh-poohed that and said, “I’m dehydrated! I’ll go home and drink!”

Well, I drank and I drank and I drank and yesterday my kidneys still only showed “10-18 per cent” functioning. 

So, today I am waiting for them to call when they have a bed.

I've had to withdraw from most of Uni, already missed last week.

Oh it’s all ‘challenging’! I don’t like having to change my plans!

BUT, I will let them do what they need to do and finally let my body rest, as well.

Anyway that’s me. Grrr!

Gimme a call on the mobile sometime soon?

xxxx T

I wasn't to know Tom was admitted to hospital in the afternoon. I was going to go and visit him, but my elbow is very sore and I don't think I could drive. I know I couldn't drive, maybe, if I had an automatic, but I don't. It's my left elbow, I'm sure I couldn't change gears and steer, at the same time.

I can't bend it above my chest, which may be because of the way it's bandaged up rather than the incision itself. I laughed, when I tried to drink my tea while I was on the phone, even when I swapped hands, it was still useless. I can't work two arms at once, no matter what I have in each hand.

When the local anaesthetic wore off, it really started to hurt. 

Michael and I didn't speak. Nothing, not a peep.

Lovely Michael

The lovely Michael, at work, sent me this email, quite out of the blue, yesterday afternoon.

Michael

Behave now :o)

What? I thought, feeling the faintest chill of excitement. I wondered what he meant? He told me a few days a go how he wants to split up from his boyfriend, is in the process of splitting up with his boyfriend. I thought, when he told me, now is my chance to sleep with him, break all my rules about work colleagues for the first time. (Ha, ha, not really, its just the thought that is tantalising) You gotta love gay boys sympathies, now don't you?

What was he thinking? (with the email)

How should I respond?

Christian

make me :)

I wondered what he'd reply with? Michael and I have been friendly enough, a little flirty, in the beginning, but not so much lately.

Michael

Touche` :o)

Same mouth diagram. Does that say something in itself?

Christian

nice mouth action... imagine if the wind changed.

Is that too tacky, I thought, as soon as I sent it? Is this all in my own mind? Am I being too obvious? Or is he flirting with me?

Michael

Naughty!

Pull back, leave them wanting more? Or go in harder? I couldn't decide, so I pulled back, just for the time being.

Ah, handsome Michael, with the gorgeous smile. I wonder what his intentions are?

We'll see what happens today?

 

Who Cares About the Environment?

John Howard unconvinced about the climate change catastrophe

The only move our disgusting Prime Minister makes, as far as global warming is concerned, is to roll out a nuclear energy package that will make his rich mates even richer.

This has nothing to do with green house gases, or the environment, it has everything to do with the free market economy and the uranium industry. He stacked an inquiry so he'd only get a favourable outcome for nuclear. The little bastard, 70 year old, Prime Minister is just using it as an opportunity to get enrichment of uranium acceptable with the electorate.

He is still not taking the environment seriously. This is not the time, nor the issue, to be a political opportunist, Howard.

He seems to have been successful, thus far, in hoodwinking the public into believing that nuclear energy is green, in the sense that nobody is challenging him on the claim, when it is any thing but green. It is marginally cleaner that coal, when all things – mining and toxic waste – are taken into account. But it is still trading one filthy fossil fuel for another.

When are we going to get some, actual, inspiration from our leaders on the worlds problems, other than mining the hell out of the planet, shooting anyone who disagrees and licking that great super power America's arse?

You know, I didn't think there was anything left in politics to make me go HEY YEAH! Yes! Yes! YES! YES! YES! (a la Meg Ryan from When Harry met Sally) but there is and it is up to the very good people of Bennelong. Come on guys, do the rest of Australia a favour and give that little fucker, our disgusting Prime Minister, the ignominious end that he truly deserves. Come on, vote in Maxine McKew! Hell, you could vote in Janet Howard’s cancerous cunt, for all I care, just give Mr Sheen the fitting political end that the little wart so truly deserves.

Lovely Daniel

Daniel Radcliffe's Equus photos show the boy has grown up.

Harry Potter strips down, I’d like to see that, I thought, so I went on a hunt to see what I could find. What I found is that we’re really screwy about nudity, aren't we.

Here’s what one reader said - which was representative of quite a few.

He was such a good actor until he ruined his reputation and respect with this stripper act! gross! He’s ugly now!!!!!! - Aimee

Parents complain of shirtless Harry Potter photos. Spare us all!

Why are we so fucked up about nudity, or Daniel’s stripper act, as so many of the punters have commented? I guarantee there would be barely an audible squeak if he was killing people with a gun rather than taking his clothes off.

Why do we not blink at violence, but gasp at nudity?

Why is the human body not a thing of beauty?

And no, Kimberly, it’s not wrong that you want to cover him in chocolate. Bobby is bringing the whipped cream.

Also what’s the objection to his body hair? As you can see, he hardly has any. Sterilised into oblivion?

I loved the mental picture of the pro-nudity pundits, when they commented on his nude scenes, If he can pull this off, it will be good for him and his career.

I’d like to watch him pull it off. The Equus role, that is. Best get myself to London, hey?

The truth is that I’d rather read about Equus and look at Daniel Radcliffe’s toger than hear the endless regurgitation of Iraq atrocities and the Taliban's resurgence, Iran's nuclear Armageddon, global warming, or how evil Islam is going to bring about the end of the world, as we know it.

How do I feel? (Day 4)

The constant gnawing and the gentle lightness in the relief; a juxtaposition of amazing opposites. It’s a good, freeing feeling and a slow, nagging shrinkage of essential fuel for every cell – although ever cell, actually, feels so much better, if they could only stop kidding themselves and acknowledge that the change is for the good. Everything is better; breathing, lungs, warmth of the peripheries. I've got toasty feet, which can be somewhat distracting. Not to mention sleep, which is as light as a souffle and as fulfilling as one hundred nights of slumber.

Grumpy leg and grumpy arm syndrome, actually, feel good; comforting, alive and fulfilling, like feeling is returning. Clean – like the disruption is facilitated with mountain fresh water… and good intentions. Without the constant poison of cigarettes, there is a certain lightness of being.

It’s all good. Maybe the angsty feeling is “normal” and it’s just that I've smoked for so long that I can’t recognise it, any longer.

The secret is to just stop thinking about it, to get it out of your head, but I want to scream out loud and rage against the world and I want to shrink myself down into the smallest, stillest ball.

I feel like a rat-bag with the best of intentions.

I'm already snotting up and coughing up crap, which is truly delightful, but this weird cold that I have had may have something to do with that. The dry, hacking cough. You should see the tissue, first thing in the morning. Eew! But, as Lottie says, It's better to get it out than in.

Rachael, at work, has had the same cold. She is on her second batch of antibiotics in an attempt to get rid of it. Maybe, I need some drugs too?

Delirious

I went to bed early. I don't think Josh quite believed me when I said, at 19.30, that I was going to. But, day 2 of quitting smoking, I just have to keep a low profile. I had something quick to eat and then headed to my room. I don't remember what I watched on teev, as the withdrawal from nicotine makes me sleepy, tired. Drained, really. I drifted in and out, the shadows reached in through my windows and balcony doors and stroked my head. Sleep is as light as a feather, without the poisoning effects of cigarettes. For the first week, sleep is best, just give in, don't fight it.

In a sense, it is like floating on a cloud, as every cell in my body re-adjusts; alive with withdrawal, or alive with life, it's perception. Glass half-full, glass half-empty, just depends how you look at it.

The twilight world of withdrawal. Floating, in a sense, free, freeing. I admit that my bed is my favourite place to be. Whoosh! Whoosh!

I remember opening my eyes and seeing Manny sliding his pants down. I remember him sitting across my lap, his hairy legs, his slender arse. I remember his cock hard on my stomach, as he leaned down and kissed me and whispered, Are you awake?

I remember his soft lips. He's grown a beard, at present, it's, surprisingly, soft on my face. I remember his smell, that Manny scent.

Just passing by, he whispered in my ear. I just wanted you.

I felt like the guy in the Sheridan sheet add, as he got dressed again. He's so beautiful, I think I was purring.

That's the first installment of your reward, said Manny.

For what?

For quitting smoking, he said. There's more where that came from, if you stay off them.

I promise, I said, sleepily.

That's my boy, he said.

Then he was gone...

And now, him being here seems like a dream. Was it just a dream? Was he here? I'm really not sure, now. Do you think he'd be offended, if I called him to ask? How offended could he be, at least I'm dreaming about him.

I guess, I could ask Josh. He would have had to let him in.

Stranger

If only she could get away from him, she could out run him, easily. He was grossly fat, after all. Disgusting. Like jelly, it was true. He breathed with his mouth open. He repelled her. He had small, closely set eyes.

He was all hands, arms, he seemed to have more than the usual number. He kept hold of her, no matter how she struggled. She could smell his BO, pungent and sour, as he held her tight, his arm around her neck. She could feel his spongy fat, against her chin, as he dragged her through the garden.

How naive had she been? This sort of thing happened to other women, not her, not women she knew. He just wanted directions - could she look at his map and tell him the direction he had to go. He just said he needed more light to see it, through the gate into the sun. She hadn't even realised until he grabbed her, it just didn't occur to her. He held her in a head-lock, with his fat fore-arm jammed up under her jaw, as he pulled her out of sight. He was saying that she shouldn't resist, that she should give-in, that way she would come to less harm. She was going to be his play thing, for a while. If she resisted, he couldn't guarantee what he would have to do to her.

He had bad breath, sour, like onions and off-cream. His voice was soft and gravely, like a strained whisper.

He'd dragged her into an abandoned house, she'd never taken any notice of before. Her shirt had ripped, a nail had jammed her in the back, from a door frame, it was supposed to keep the door closed. Her mouth turned dry with the pain. Her shirt felt wet where the nail had got her.

He'd thrown her to the ground, on the dusty, concrete floor and she was still winded, as she felt him on top of her, his hands slide up her skirt, from behind. His fingers under the elastic of her panties. She froze, didn't know if she should kick or squirm.

"Roll over! Roll over!" he demanded.

She rolled to her right. She had to think. Quickly. What was she going to do? She had to do some thing, before he did. It was only the two of them, now.

He was crouching. He went to stand up, but he slipped and fell sideways, onto his hip and elbow, like a whale out of water.

She pulled her legs to her chest, without thinking too much. It was instinctive. He was repulsive.

"Hey!" she screamed. He looked up. She felt a surge of power from the pit of her stomach the likes of which she had never experienced. Her legs shot out like uncoiling springs.

He looked completely surprised, as her high heal struck him in the cheek, puncturing the flesh, blood spurted, as his hands raised to meet it. Her other un-shoed foot struck him in the eye. She felt her teeth clench so hard, as her foot met with his eye socket, that she wouldn't have been surprised if she'd broken them all. She could feel the bone of his scull on the heal of her foot. She wanted to shake it clean, wash it, cleanse it.

He went over backwards. His head fell back, his mouth open like a torn purse. He went over like sixteen bags of shit.

She scrambled to her feet, tried to. Couldn't. Fell. She was shaking, uncontrollably. Powerless.

His head clunked on the concrete floor and rolled sideways. His mouth open, his eyes open, staring at her. The high-heel of her shoe still puncturing the flesh of his cheek.

She pushed away from him, slid across the floor, until her back was against a wall. She pushed herself up it, to her feet. There was blood on her arm, from the nail. She walked around the edge of the room to the door, so she didn't have to go close to him, lying prone on the floor.

She looked back at him, the grotesque thing, like something congealed on the bare floor. She looked away.

She ran out of the derelict house. She coughed, as she breathed in the fresh air. She couldn't stop coughing. Sobbing. Coughing, as she tried to breath. Her face was wet, with tears, salty, not sticky like blood.