It Turned Me On

I headed into the toilet cubicle right after Luke, one of the hot young accountants, came out. Sexy boy. Adorable face. Nice arse. The seat was still warm, as I sat down. 

It turned me on. Well? Gave me the slightest thrill. 😬

Is that sick? 

I Might Watch Porn

A coffee and a joint and it’s 6am. I woke up, I don’t know why. I don’t normally have trouble sleeping, it’s what I do best, as I’ve said many times before.

It’s my day off, what else are days off for? I ask you? Even if I didn’t go to my mum’s home’s owner’s sixtieth birthday party, oh spoil me, meaning that I really have to go to day. It’s why I take the days off, I remind myself. Stoned at the home, oh the pain. I’ve pulled it off before. Many times. He laughs to himself. The light is brittle at the window.

Morning television, if only you could sell it in pill form. Insomnia would be a thing of the past. Clunk goes the remote control and the screen goes black. The birds are cheeping, well how about that. I wish we had magpies though. The sound of the country morning.

Missy is on the bed purring next to me.

Don’t be a pig, repeats in my ears.

I might watch porn.

9am

My sister calls, she and my sixteen year old niece are heading off to see mum, take her out for lunch. Am I going to be there too?

Isn't it always the way. My lazy day in bed evaporates. Well, I was already feeling guilty. I could have done it, if no one had bought it up, you know.

10am.

Smoke last joint, an hour before I have to leave. Time to clean the house. It's my Monday morning ritual, well, it could be if I, actually, did it every Monday morning. I do most. Half. The intention is always there.

My sister will be a push over, she's known me all my life and is unlikely to notice any difference. She won't be looking. But, my sixteen year old niece, she's always just gunning for evidence of Christian's debauched life style. She's the one who has asked/told me I'm gay, inquisitively, on numerous occasions. I've never, actually, taken up the challenge, but some day I will. You know, I've agreed and stuff, but I've never really talked about it. She's always seemed too young up until this point. She'll notice. I better wear sunglasses.

 

Daniel liked standing naked in the afternoon sun, feeling its rays wash all over his skin. It energised him

Haze of Smoke

Sam arrived Friday, after the doctor. We've hung at home all weekend as the others partied around us. 

We head out to eat. He likes to go out, I like to get delivery.

"You are lazy," he says. 

We are trying a new eating house every time we go out, as I dared to suggest, once too often, the favourite I like going to. We went to Rice Queen, Asian influenced menu, not an Asian person in sight. It's kind of eastern suburbs kids cool. Nice. Fitzroy.

Sam’s never seen an old movie; pure twenty first century computer boy. So, we’re starting with my two favourites, Bette Davis and Paul Newman. Shane was still interstate working, house to ourselves.

We watched Whatever Happened to Baby Jane. Sam said it was creepy.

Shane arrived home from Brisbane, in the morning and went into party mode almost straight away, dropping his bags and heading straight out again to a new "contact". With his fingers crossed. 

"I hate leaving it this late, too dodgy." 

He was testing the stuff for the rest of the afternoon, in his room, pretty much. He was getting more and more wide eyed every time we saw him. Mark and Luke arrived. Guido stopped by and I got a little pot for a few joints. Don't know why, I hadn't planned to, spur of the moment. (despite this potentially being the first weekend that I haven't done it, therefore disproving Sam who says that I'm kidding myself about quitting, because I do it every weekend) But? Everyone else was going out partying. (Sad-eyed look, at Sam, as Guido puts the bag in my other hand) It was my reward for not having smoked for the last two weeks, I guess. What can I say? 

We made risotto for all the guys before they when to Beyond. Shane went out and bought the ingredients. Luke did most of it, even though I said I would. We smoked pot all night. Sam saw his first line, his first glass pipe, I should be proud. Yes babe, this is the Ben Cousin's doco. He laughed, wide eyed. He says he's never been exposed to this before. Trips and e's were consumed, with mutterings of them being crap now a days anyway.

Sam has never smoked anything until he met me. He'd never patted a cat, so it's not all bad.

They all went out with their arses hanging out. Big eyes, chewing.

We smoked pot and watched movies into the early morning hours.

A stoned 30 year old is a walking hard on. It started when we were fixing the down pipe and he was up the ladder and he dropped his pants. We fucked when we first woke up. I made coffee and I made him scrambled eggs, with the left over mushrooms from the risotto. That much of dating 101 I mastered. Various people passed through in varying stages of decrepitude, ghosts of evening past. We smoke pot with our breakfast with coffee. Sam gave me that look that said we'd be going to hell for this, then he took the joint from my hand. Shane disappears up stairs after breakfast and wasn't seen again. He picked up a 21 one year old version of Matt and was in love. Sam has this amazing effect when the pot hits him, he gets this particular coy smile and he gets as hard as a rock. I watched him pull himself off on the couch, in front of the open fire. He's hot. We smoked more pot and drifted back upstairs and he experienced his first butt-plug. Just dope, I swear.

I'm exhausted. Now I'm just waiting for Sebastian to come over and cook dinner. Captain Misery too, no doubt. He went to Beyond, if you get what I mean? I'm stoking the fire as I type. My head is spinning.

Sam left. "I'm sick of the marijuana, I'm going," doing his best mock-stern look. He looked at me with those knowing eyes. "Don't be a pig."

I'm going to have a sleep.

Pass out, fade to black.

Blood Tests, Marriage Certificates

Sam and I are off to have blood tests. I guess that signals marriage, hey? Today. I went this morning, he's going at 4pm. It just seemed like too much for me for us to go together. Shaking my head, just too cute.

Sam called his non-gay medical centre at QV, last week, who said they only do blood tests with letters from a doctor. WTF? What does that even mean? What kind of medical centre... oh, never mind. I forget sometimes that I live in gay world and that things operate quite differently beyond its boundaries.

As Tom used to say, not every one lives in the ghetto and takes drugs and dances the weekend away, Christian. I've since stopped taking drugs, but I'm sure you still get my point.

Sam called my gay doctor, who said just come in you don't even need an appointment. Of course, that was wrong too. You may not need an appointment for a blood test, but you firstly need the paperwork which you can only get from seeing the doctor.

I rolled my eyes and strummed my fingers on the counter.

Of course, I got there first thing. "Let's get this over and done with." So, I had to hang around for an appointment. I bumped into Mark W. and two other friends R & Z, it was like old home week. Mark was getting his nerve pills, R was getting his monthly medication and Z was having his cock swabbed, as something was dribbling out of it. We all raised out eye brows at Z's story, but we're all old friends, we've all been there. We laughed about it. Z said something about the cause being a bad tackle on too much meth. R asked him if it smelt and we all recoiled.

"No," said Z. He grimaced. "It sticks my foreskin to my boxers, though." He tried to smile. We all recoiled again.

I went in first. When I came out, I said, "Good luck." Mark looked nervous, R said, "yeah thanks for that." Z did a boy scout salute.

The Best Culinary Decisions

I forgot to get sushi. It was raining, I got on a tram instead of walking home. I was going to eat healthy all week, I promised myself. Oh well.

I was crossing the road heading off to get my fish & chips for dinner, when a jogger came prancing towards me in little shorts and a white singlet, tall and lean, as if the universe was emphasising my food choices. As I looked as his lithe limbs and small black shorts hugging his athletic arse, I rubbed my pudding-bowl of a belly and wondered if I was, actually, making the right culinary decisions?

 

Risk Aversion

Apparently, the 21st Century fear, that makes parents fret about their kids, turning them into scared spoilt brats, despite the fact that crime is generally down on what it was twenty years ago, is called risk aversion.

Translation - living your life in fear. 

Cosmo Jarvis - Gay Pirates

Ooooo!

 Oh, I'm feeling a little bonged-over, I can tell you. After a week of not smoking, I let loose last night. Oh my head? Well, it was my birthday. I'm feeling plain, the pain, oh the pain.

I might go back to bed.

Coffee.

Sunday nights, when they are special we put a table cloth on the table and set the silvery cutlery and we call them our white cloth dinners. Barmitzphers, engagements, birthdays. Happy birthday to me.

Soup, asparagus souffle, roast pork, chocolate mousse and apple and rhubarb crumble.

Sebastian cooked the mains and Luke cooked the deserts.

My favourite was the beetroot salad. (Even if I can easily mistake the effects for bowel cancer the next day)

But, back to this morning. Cough, cough! My muesli went down the wrong way, and now I can't stop spluttering. My head booms with every hack. My nose seems to have let loose with all of the activity and now it feels like I'm in the midst of a cold. My eyes are watering from all the hooking while my nose drips.

Shower.

Anything Is Possible

Ah, Saturday morning; the gentle hush, no need to rush.  Don't you just love that lazy feeling of the first morning of the weekend? Coffee, computer, anything is possible.

What am I gonna do?

Before I have time to think, Sam texts, he's just up the road, he'd just had brunch with friends, do I want him to drop in?

Yes, I say. I feel excited at the thought. It's nice? That warm feeling, like a sunrise inside. I haven't had a shower. I'm still in my pyjamas. I guess, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Big smile. 

He doesn't care.

David tells me I'm married, Shane calls him my boyfriend, so does Mark and yet I resist. I don't know why?

I don't have to call it anything. It's funny how people rush to label it. It has to be something, it has to mean this, it has to be going there, we have to be doing that. Why can't it just be? I'm enjoying the moments; a string of lovely moments.

A bit like Saturday morning, enjoy the moment, and the rest of the weekend will follow naturally.

I just like being with him, I don't try to make it any more complicated than that.

I Wish Fev Would Flash His Willy At Me

There was no talk of Fev being threatening, or aggressive, or predatory because, don't you worry, it would have been headlines if he had. It just seems like he was drunk and dopey. So, why didn't the woman just laugh it off? You know, the famous, she'll be right attitude that Aussie's once had. Put it away before you embarrass yourself. Is that as big as it gets?

Is it because every incident like this is now a potential suing opportunity. Every mistake made by the famous and wealthy, or whoever, is a chance for the nobodies to drain them of some easy money?

I think it is.

I reckon he'd have a nice one, too. Italian sausage and all. He's a big boy. (Raised eyebrows) Should we look at his feet. Thumb to pointer finger tip measurement? Direct correlation to his height? Divide by his weight and multiple by 100?

What do you reckon he did? Grabbed the waist band of his pants and just pulled down? "Here, look at this."

Or, do you think it was more casual, you know, like a wardrobe malfunction? Oops! Although, I'm not sure how you'd just casually drop it out? You know, like some people may not even notice.

I reckon it would have been boning up... although, pissed as a maggot... well, that's how I picture it, anyway. Big smile.

Come flash it at me Fev, I won't complain like a little girl.

Ice Cream Truck

Sam Has Sent Me The Latest Picture In His Car Collection. He May Turn Out To Be Perfect, Yet

Sam Has Sent Me The Latest Picture In His Car Collection. He May Turn Out To Be Perfect, Yet

Sam has sent me the latest picture in his car collection. How cute is that, he may turn out to be perfect, yet.

I'm always banging on about cars, taking him to see them, stopping him in the street to look at them. Explaining their history. You know, getting him to admire them. Teaching him the language. Broadening his horizons.

After he took a photo of a car in the street, a 1950's Wolseley 1500 to be exact, to impress me with his observational skills, I suggested to him, somewhat tongue in cheek, that he should take more and I could start a collection of his cars photos. He is now up to number 4. He has a good eye too – the Wolseley, a VW Beetle, a Citroen 2CV and a beautiful powder blue Mini 850. Gorgeous.

Beautiful, I say.

Old, he says.

Suck On That Faggots!

Oh, who cares what Stephanie Rice said on her tweet. "Suck on that faggots!" Really, how shameful. She should be put to death, immediately.

Come on guys, surely we're not that precious. Who cares? It must be obvious to all she didn't say it with hatred and spite. Technically, a faggot is a bundle of sticks, after all. She didn't say, Filthy cock suckers should die!

What a precious little bitch Ian Roberts has turned out to be. "She is an idiot ... and anyone who continues to endorse her as an athlete is an idiot as well," Roberts told the media.

What? She now deserves to have her life ruined? That's what he's saying, isn't it?

There are more important things. Stop rushing to be outraged.

Oh, stop elevating the banal to something is just isn't. Lighten up. There are people in this world who don't have access to fresh drinking water.

2026 - I don't think I agree with what I have written here any longer.