Tuesday, 18 April 2017

Okay, Okay, I Shouldn't Have Eaten Those Mushrooms





The Land cruiser was really comfortable on the trip back into the city, he thinks he may have nodded off. He forgets how high the, what is essentially a, truck is off the ground, when he gets out at Tim’s place in Brunswick, and he slides out in an ungainly fashion. He’s sure he was grabbing on for safety handles as it all gave way below him.

That’s funny, he thinks. Is he unsteady on his feet?

Tim leans into the back of the car to get the mushrooms. “Maate? You ate from both bags.”

“No I didn’t,” he says instinctively. What?

“Both bags are open,” says Tim sounding like mum.

“I couldn’t have.” Even he heard the quaver in his own voice.

It was as if Tim sniffed his admission in the air. “Maaate?”

"Okay, okay, I shouldn't have eaten those mushrooms," he says. He holds his stomach and wonders if he is turning green.

"Maate? Maate? You didn't eat the red cap ones, did ya?"

Red cap, gold cap, I ate them like I'd eat potato chips. "Dunno..."

"Oh maate..."

"I don't reckon..." What the hell do mushrooms do to you?

"You sure?"

"Nah, of course... I'm... I'm not sure." He was sure alright, he knew he'd eaten them, but he didn't want to look like a complete idiot, now did he.

"I told ya just to eat the ones from the first bag, the ones I'd picked..." Tim says. “And then only a few.”

A few? Now suddenly there is a number restriction? "Yeah, yeah, I listened to ya..."

"So, did ya?"

"Did I what?" He was having trouble keeping up by this point.

"Just eat them from the bag, eat the ones I picked?"

Don’t question me. "Yeah, yeah, I think so..." he didn’t, actually, remember eating any of the damn mushrooms, he just knew he had eaten them. One by one as he gazed out the window.

"You think so?" Tim’s voice squeaked ominously.

"Yeah, okay, I did. I did, okay." Why did his voice squeak?

"You don't wanna eat any of them red ones, or any of them gold ones, from the other bag, you really don't want to do that."

"Sweet." He didn’t look at the colour of them. WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT COLOUR?

There is silence for a minute.

That's all you are going to say? He thinks. Does he feel well? Is he beginning to feel sick? Is it psycomatic? "Like, why?" he asks.

"Why what?"

"Like what will happen?"

"Oh maate, I couldn't say. Wouldn't like to say. Not really sure."

“Give it your best shot.” He was suddenly feeling desperate, and he didn’t entirely know why?

Tim makes sucking sounds.

"Don't say that." What the fuck does that mean? I don’t like the sound of that.

They hold each other’s gaze.

Tim’s mouth creases first. “So, I have one question for you.” Tim holds his hands out, flat in the air. “Then I’m done.”

“What is it?” You only have one question? This is my life we are talking about.

“Why were both bags open, when I got them from the middle of the back seat, next to where you were sitting?”

He’d done coke in Sydney with Mardi Gras queens after a long weekend of taking every other drug he could get his hands on. “You must have put them in the car that way.”

“I didn’t.”

“You must be mistaken.” He’d done MDMA and trips with drag queens in London until the sun came up.

“I’m not.”

He’d done MDA with drunk girls in Milan. “Ah… er…ah” was all he could manage. He was thinking about the time he got a lift across Milan with a willowy black woman, with bright red lipstick, in a bright red Fiat 500. Was everything suddenly looking red?

“The second bag was what we’d all picked, but I just hadn’t checked it for poison’s rooms.”

Silence.

“What if I did?” He holds his hands in the air, he’d suddenly exposed an uncomfortable truth about himself.

Tim sucks in breath.

That sucking sound, the only other time he’d heard that was at sex on premises venues with guys sucking cock in the dark areas. He is sure that isn’t good in this situation.

Tim looks into the second bag. “The ratio of poisonous is disturbingly high.” Tim sucks in breath again. “I should take you to get your stomach pumped.” His eyes blink fast. “It would be the kindest thing.”

“What!” Even he hears his own voice squeak.

“Did you eat…” asks Tim. His right hand does a kind of Sale of the Century’s model’s hand gesture to the bag he is holding in his other hand. “These?”

Ambulance. Emergency. ICU. All flash through his mind. “What?”

Saturday, 15 April 2017

Maggie's Night Spot



Serendipity was swinging around her pole slowly, it was a slow night at Maggie's Night Spot. None of the regulars were in, just a few losers who seemed to be staring down the misery in their pint glasses, more than they were staring at the girl's tits. 

Where were all the fun guys. The drunk guys. The guys with full wallets. The easy guys. A grab of your tits and they were happy.

Serendipity had a hand full of lard, so she just kept spinning around that big, greasy brass pole. 

The piano player, Johnny, was playing honky tonk, as if he were on Serapax. Serendipity knew he drank two bottles of red, and smoked half a bag of weed before he came on. The jukebox of emo go slow.

Serendipity spun and she spun and she spun.

Daaaah, Dah, Dah, Daaah, Dah, dah, daaah. Dah.

Serendipity spun and she spun and she spun.

Daaaah, Dah, Dah, Daaah, Dah, dah, daaah. Dah.

"It is me, they are coming to see," saig Johnny. "To forget about life for a while."

Daaaah, Dah, Dah, Daaah, Dah, dah, daaah. Dah.

Daaaah, Dah, Dah, Daaah, Dah, dah, daaah. Dah.

Serendipity spun and she spun and she spun.

Daaaah, Dah, Dah, Daaah, Dah, dah, daaah. Dah.

"Man, what are you doin' here?" Johnny screamed.

“Oh, la la la, di da da, la la, di da da da dum.”

Daaaah, Dah, Dah, Daaah, Dah, dah, daaah. Dah.

Serendipity spun and she spun and she spun.

Daaaah, Dah, Dah, Daaah, Dah, dah, daaah. Dah.

Serendipity spun and she spun and she spun.

"Well, we're all in the mood for a melody."

Johnny’s fingers crash off onto a classical music version of Hey Big Spender, still with a stripper’s beat, naturally. Tits and arse. Snatch and feathers. "Da da-da da da-da da da-da da da..."

Serendipity spun and she spun and she spun.

"And you... " Johnnie’s voice soared.

Johnny plays a crashing piano solo. High art. Avant-garde. Da da-da da, da da-da da, da da-da da da.

"Got us feeling alright," wails Johnny’s bluesy voice.

Daaaah, Dah, Dah, Daaah, Dah, dah, daaah. Dah.

Serendipity spun and she spun and she spun.

Daaaah, Dah, Dah, Daaah, Dah, dah, daaah. Dah.

Serendipity spun and she spun and she spun.

The guys weren't coming in. Serendipity was getting a pain in her shoulder for no money, for no cash. She spun and she spun and she spun.

Daaaah, Dah, Dah, Daaah, Dah, dah, daaah. Dah.

Serendipity spun and she spun and she spun.

“Oh, la la la, di da da, la la, di da da da dum,” sings Johnnie.

Heels click across the concrete floor. “Step it up a bit, you two” says Maggie. “People will think somebody has died here soon, if you keep that up.”

“Not exactly a jumping night,” whines Serendipity.

“Well, do something about it,” says Maggie. “It’s not a fucken wake.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Shake your arse, get ya fucken tits out, that’s what I fucken suggest,” says Maggie. “Before I get up there and show you how it’s really fucken done.”

Serendipity spits her gum. “That won’t be necessary,” Serendipity says, on all fours, twirking her arse slowly in the air. Serendipity gets to her feet, she steps up to her mic. "Fuck you,” she wails at Johnny, pointing in the air at him. She breathes in deep. “It is me,” she pulls her tits out. “They are coming to see," Serendipity wails. She slides her hand down her stomach and into her panties and clearly into her vagina. "To forget about life for a while."

Johnny’s harmonica soars as the piano pounds.

Maggie whistles. The boys instinctively make their way to Serendipity’s stage. “That’s my girl,” yells Maggie. Two thumbs in the air as she walks away.

Serendipity kicks her leg high. She shakes her tits.

“Oh, la la la, di da da, la la, di da da da dum.”

Two of the boy’s wolf whistle.


Hector is at the front of the stage. The young, Greek fish monger from up the market. Handsome Hector.


Serendipity grabs her mic and goes down on her knees in front of Hector, black g-string and black leather boots. Serendipity wraps both her arms around Hector’s head, she slides on of her nipples into his mouth.

The punters go crazy. If Hector gets to suck tit, it means the rest of them have a shot of sucking nipples too. Hector sucks her breast like a poddy calf.

Serendipity stands up. “The minute you walked into the joint.”

“Boom! Bang!” Johnny ponds the keys.

“I could see you were a maa, an, an an aan,” sang Serendipity.

Da da-da da, da da-da da, da da-da da da, Johnny plays

“A man of distinction.” Serendipity slides her g-string to her anckles.

Da da-da da, da da-da da, da da-da da da.

“I pop my cork for every man I see.”

Serendipity squats in front of Hector. She slides a finger into herself.

“Spend a little time with me,” Serendipity sings.

Serendipity takes Hector’s hand and puts it on her hand, the finger of which she is fingering herself.

“I pop my cork.”

Serendipity fingers herself open for all to see.

“I pop my cork.”

Hector’s finger disappears inside Serendipity.

The boys all start to cheer.

Serendipity stands.

“For evvvvery… Maaaaaaaan,” she wails. “I” She turns to face the men full frontal nude. She blows air kisses. “Seeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

Lights up. Serendipity takes a small bow. Lights down. Serendipity heads for the back of the stage.

The next stripper Coral, with her python, heads towards her.

“Well,” said Serendipity. “I think they are warmed up enough now.”

“Yeah, thanks a fucken lot for makin’ my shift that much fucken harder,” said Coral.

“If you’ve got it, you’ve got it.” said Serendipity. “What can I say?” She laughed 

“Well, next time you decided to wake up from your fucken drug nightmare and do some fucken work for a fucken change, instead of thinking about how you are gonna fuck Johnny next,” said Coral. “I’d have bought my dog in if I’d known that.”

“Maggie is on the snarl, apparently we aren’t bringing in enough of the filthy.”

“Was that her down the front,” asks Coral. “That I saw tonight?

“Perhaps we should do a double act?”

“Have another nosefull and come back out,” said Coral. “I could ditch the snake if you do.”

“Nah, I got me a big, Greek stallion tonight.”

Johnnie’s piano started to wail on stage.

Coral stepped up to the microphone.

“I was five and he was six.”

The door banged shut behind Serendipity. The music stopped.


She had told Hector to meet her out the front. She didn’t want to leave him standing around the building. Serendipity knew what slags the girls were. Any handsome thing with a pulse.


“You been waiting long,” Serendipity said to Hector.

“No,” said Hector. He laughed. “You know how long I have been waiting.”


Some Greek men are truly gifts from the gods, thought Serendipity, as her head hung off the side of her bed and she saw her room upside down. Hector snored. She didn’t make him use a condom. She didn’t have one. He didn’t have one. She took it as a sign. He could be the one, she thought girlishly to herself.

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Half Good






South African, Rita Kindervarten is an old lady. She finds herself half way across the road on the central median strip looking at Billy back on the footpath. Billy helped her, but he got distracted and left her halfway across the street, when his mobile phone rang.

“I’ve got to take this.” He retreats back to the first side of the road, when the other side of the road is blocked with oncoming traffic.

Billy repeats back what the person on the other end of the phone is saying, as if he can’t quite believe what he is hearing, the effect was the entire conversation, in a really macabre manor, as though Billy was answering himself but not listening.

Billy was standing in front of a shop window, Rita can see that he thought he looked pretty good in his three button cream sixties suite, as he looked at his reflection in the glass. He did, his thin black tie and his pointy crocodile skin shoes.

“I can’t wait for this nonsince, Rita mutters to herslf.

Rita is trying to cross the other half of the busy street on her own. Cars rush passed, and Rita is shaking, as she tries to judge their speed. Rita's macular degeneration makes it almost impossible for her to see the approaching cars.

Rita is going to be killed.

Billy realises what he has done. “Gotta go.” He flips his phone shut, and he dashes across to the middle of the road and takes Rita's arm. “Steady on old girl.” Just as Rita is about to step in front of on-coming traffic.

"Rita, I am so sorry," says Billy.

"Eets not the ind of the wurld, Beelly," says Rita.

"I shouldnta done what I done, Rita," says Billy. "It's the voices, Rita, it’s the voices." He holds up his phone.

"Never mynd Beelly, yr ere now," says Rita. "Let's geet across."

"On the count of three, Rita."

"Roytio, Beelly," says Rita. "On zee count of thhree."

Billy takes Rita by the arm and escorts her to the far side of the road. Across three lanes, in between cars flashing passed them on either side. "Immaculate Degenerate, or not, Rita. Immaculate Degenerate, or not."

"Yes, Beelly," says Rita. "Yes, Beelly."

"Run!" says Billy. A truck approaches them in the far lane.

Rita Screams.

Billy drags her to the footpath just in time.

"You're moi 'ero, Beelly. You're moi 'ero."

"That was close, Rita. That was close."

Rita clasps her hands to her forehead. "I felt zee vind, Beelly. Zee Vind from the car passing su cluse."

"You nearly felt more than that." Billy laughs.

Rita laughs. "Don't say eet, Beelly. Don't say eet."


It reminded them of home, the windy back blocks, those tumbleweed streets of where they came from, the hills out the back of Bolago. As kids, Billy and his mates used to hide in Rita’s garden. They would scramble about being up to no good, and sometimes Rita would hear them.

“Is there somebody there,” she would call out. “Or is it ze wind?’

It was long after Rita’s husband had passed and Billy could hear the sadness in Rita’s voice. As his mates scrambled and scattered in fear of being seen, Billy would take one last look at the woman in the single globe lit back door, as if the pool of that single globe was the tapestry that was left of her life. He’d call out as softly as the wind, “It is only ze vind.” Before he’d scatter through the garden as quiet as a mouse.

“Er.” Rita’s voice would herumph. It would be the last thing Billy heard, as he dashed under the second story growth of Rita’s vast garden. The resignation of loneliness. It gave him a chill.


Years later, Carmel, Billy’s mother’, died and it was her funeral. Rita was the tiny figure sitting quietly down the back. Afterwards, Rita plucked up the courage to say something to Billy. Billy’s mum, Carmel, had been the first local to be kind to Rita, after she immigrated to Bolago. She approached Billy and told him what a wonderful woman his mother was.

Billy and Rita kept chatting.

“I thought you were mad.” Billy picked up a sandwich from the plate.

“I thought I was going mad,” says Rita. “We’d been married for 30 years.” She scooped a sausage roll deep down into the tomato sauce that it looked as though it dripped blood as she bought it to her mouth.

“Do you still miss him?” asks Billy.

“Ivery day, Beelly, ivery day.”

“How long has it been?” asks Billy.

“Fifteen yars, Beelly. Fifteen yars.”

Billy misses his mum, Rita never had any children, they stay close.

One night, a couple of years after Carmel’s death, after a huge batch of egg nog made by Billy’s sister, Amanda, Billy told Rita the story of what he and his mates used to hide in her garden.


The cars begin to rush again on the lane they’d just crossed.


“Don’t say it, Beelly, don’t say it.” Rita giggles.

Billy laughs nervously. "It vas zee vind, Mrs Kindervarten? "It vas ze vind?"

"It was zee vind, Beelly," asks Rita. "Ze vind?"

"Yes, Mrs Kindervarten. Ze Vind."

"Er," says Rita. She shrugs.

"Zee vind," says Billy.

"Ve made eet," says Rita. "That is all that matters, Beelly."


Sunday, 26 February 2017

Louis





Louis is standing next to me, dressed only in those shorts that are barely more than boxer shorts.

It must be a dream, I must be going to wake up, I think. I am going to wake up. Sexy, fucken Louis.

I didn’t know where he came from, he didn’t say.

He stood sideways to me. I squeezed his pec with my left hand. My right hand pushed into the rear of the thin cotton of his undies until my fingers were inside his cheeks. He doesn’t pull away, he doesn’t flinch, he lets my fingers fill the crack in his arse unopposed.

I screamed, I had a finger in his arse. I slid my finger inside him. I felt his depth to his tail bone.

He didn’t speak, not even when I took his undies down. Of all my mates boyfriends, Louis is the one. He’s the one I’d break all my rules for. He get’s my cock out. “I’ve heard it’s big,” handsome Louis whispers.

He puts lube on my cock.

He lets me slide it bareback into him. He doesn’t resist, not for a millisecond. What he does, he gets up, he leans his hands on his knees, so I can get the entire length of my cock deep in his arse.

His teeth chatter as I slide into him. I kiss him.

I wake up. I am masturbating and heaving. My cock is hard, I am tugging at it furiously. I’m sucking in air. My knees bend as I kick the doona off.

“”Ah..ow…ah…ow…ah…ow…ah…ow…”

I lean over and get two mints from the mint box. I spit into my hand. The mints make it all pepperminty and fresh. It makes me salivate more, that is the real reason.

I roll back onto my buttocks. I think about Louis’ arse the last time he came over to our place. I walked him out to the car at the end of the evening. His jeans hung off his sexy arse, showing his red underwear elastic, like one tug would have them down to his ankles and I would be looking at him in his undies.

I push him forward. My cock is already hard, I just have to spit on it again and it is wet in my hand and it slides into Louis arse nice and smooth and wet. He braces himself on all fours and then he relaxes his hole and my cock pushes into him, skin on skin.

I spit into my hand again. I am sitting upright. My cock is rock hard and wet. I stroke my cock with, long hard strokes, imagining Louis’ face as my cock penetrates his hot willing hole. He moans. He is open, I am all the way inside him.

“Do it to me,” he commands.

I have Louis down on his stomach. His legs are bent. His rock hard cock bounces in mid-air. I am humping his arse, fast quick strokes. Louis is gasping for breath underneath me. I am pounding my cock into him. He moans the loudest when I pound all the way into him. He is like a rag doll when I am all the way deep inside him. As I pull out of him, that is when he turns into the light, sinewy alley cats who just wants it jammed hard inside him again. I pull out of his glistening arse and I spurt big wads of cream fluid into the air.

Most of it falls onto my sleeping jocks. I wipe it off with a towel from the dirty clothes hamper. Good morning.