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."

See, No Concealed Weapons

Synchronicity

It's a shame I'm not answerable for the sick leave I take, because this was great.

Beck, my boss, went to a funeral, Thursday. It was in Geelong, she went with her brother, she took the whole day off. She told me yesterday, at work, that her brother and his wife had caught the same bug I had had.

Really? I asked. (Laughing to myself)

Did you go to the doctor? asked S, one of the other girls from our office.

No, chimed in Beck, it's a virus, there's no point.

Same symptoms? I asked, trying to keep my incredulity hidden.

Yes. They had a dinner party and a number of guests came down with it, said Beck. Initially, they were worried that it was food poisoning.

Really? I said.

Yes, it came on with a headache, followed by nausea, without vomiting,

No, I didn't vomit either, I added smooth as silk. But I felt like it for 2 days, I said to S.

Stomach pains and diarrhoea, followed by feeing fluey, said Beck.

What could I say? I took the Friday off with my stock standard sick day excuse of a migraine. Sunday night I had diarrhoea, which I always get after taking E's, which I used as an excuse when I slept till the wee hours of Monday morning and couldn't face work. Tuesday morning, I couldn't stop coughing from all the pot I'd smoked from the previous three days, so I said whatever it was that I had had gone to my chest.

It's nasty the things that are going round, said S.

Beck agreed.

It came on so suddenly, I said.

That's what my brother said too, said Beck.

I quietly chuckled to myself as the conversation moved on. The often repeated mantra of my good friend Jill came into my head. You lead a charmed life, Christian Fletcher.

Face of an angel, my aunties used to say to me as a child, heavy on the irony.