Sunday 30 April 2006

Quiet Sunday Arvo

End of the weekend. End of the month. Nearly the end of the first half of the year. Life is going frighteningly fast. Whoosh! Flash... before my eyes. Zip! Gone!

The first month of Autumn, the leaves start to fall. The colours of Autumn, yellow, orange, red, purple, and brown. Natures glory. Dazzling. Then the garden sheds it’s clothes. It’s jackets, its jumpers, its coats, stripped bare for the winter, it is minimalist for the cold. 


“Don’t you love autumn?”

“I prefer summer.”

“But all the colours?”

“No, I prefer summer.”

“Don’t you love jumpers and coats and long walks under the red, orange and golden leaves on the trees?”

“I prefer the sun.”

“But isn’t it lovely to stand in front of open fires?”

“I prefer the heat?”

“Standing in front of air conditioners?”

“Well, yes, I guess,” he said. “And swimming in the sea.”

“Snuggling down under warm blankets and being able to sleep.”

“I just prefer the heat.”

“All those nights you can’t sleep?”

“Yes please.”

“Well… each to his own.”

“Each to his own... and isn’t that a great thing?”

“It’s a great thing?


Saturday 29 April 2006

Matt, Me & Carlo

It was late last night when the doorbell sounded. Matt and I looked at each other with that time old expression, who could that be at this late hour. I think, Matt even looked at his watch. Perplexed look. We were lounged on the couch.

Standing at the door was a very drunk, very wonky-eyed Carlo. He looked nervous in his drunken state.

"Hi, I hope I'm not..." he slurred.

"Not?"

"It's not too late, is it?"

"No, Matt and I were just watching a movie."

"Mat's here?"

"Yes."

"Oh.

"It's okay, he won't bite."

Carlo laughed and his face almost creased into a smile. "Maybe I want him to."

"Well, maybe he will."

"I got scared the other night when you asked me to come home with you two guys."

"But now you're not?"

"No." He stepped through the door. "I'm still a bit."


"Don't be, we're really friendly." I was trying to make a joke, but it just came out as dumb."

"My parents are down the beach house." His trademark cheeky smile made a glimmer of an appearance. "Can I stay."

"Forever?"

"The night?"

"All night."

"In your bed... with you two?"

"That's very direct."

"Aren't you going to ask me in?"

"Come in."


Carlo sat between us on the big couch. He looked very pleased with himself.

“I’m here to apply for the boyfriend position,” said Carlo.

“What boyfriend position?”  asked Matt.

“The boyfriend to the two of you?”

“We weren’t advertising,” said Matt. “I’m not sure we even have a position.”

“You know, it is often the non-advertised positions that are the most sort after.”

“I see,” said Matt. “At least we all know where we stand.”

“I’d make a great little brother to you two.”

“You think so, do you?”

“Yes,” said Carlo. “I need to learn so much… and I am a really fast learner.”

Matt snorted through his nose. “I’m sure you are.”

I just sat there and listened to the two of them. Matt like him I could tell.

“I am the latest model, all the latest, um, attachments.”

“Money back guarantee?” asked Matt.

“Full service warrantee, 10 year, roadside assist,” said Carlo.

“Can we take you for a test drive?”

“I’m hoping you will,” said Carlo, smiling.


He ran his hands down my leg and Matt's at the same time.

"What are you trying to do, Carlo," asked Matt.

Carlo smiled. "I’m just being friendly."

Carlo lent over and kissed him. Matt kissed him back.

“That’s friendly,” said Matt. 

“Too much?” asked Carlo.

“No,” said Matt.

Carlo looked at me. He leant over and kissed me. I kissed him back.

He kissed me enthusiastically.


Thursday 27 April 2006

Ouch

The pinched nerve, or whatever it is, in my back made it almost impossible to sleep last night. My legs ached, crampy, tingling, creeping, as close to, pain as I have felt without it being painful, the likes of which I have never experienced before.

I decided to clean up my work clothes style and so I am today wearing my old, leaky boots, but at least they're black and my traditional blue suit pants, despite them, really, being too small for me now. I have to try and look my best if I am to get away with wearing no tie, against my manager's directive, after the C.E.O.'s comment about ties at the talk he gave. I'm fucked if I'm going to be made to wear a tie, just because of one off the cuff, joking, comment made by the boss.

I woke at 8.15 and was thankful that I had ironed my shirt last night.

I saw Cam and Ben heading out to lunch, as I was coming back. Oh, how my fantasies explode when I see my two b/f's together. You know what I'd like to see them suck on. I could imagine Cam's smiley, handsome face as it goes down on Ben’s cock, and Ben's face as he feels the warmth.

I'd like to see Ben up Cam's magnificent arse. It's such a waste not to put something so beautiful to work. What a chunk of perfection. Just perfect. I'd like to slide my finger into it. You know the fly on the wall stuff, a perfect candidate. Both.

Ah, tie or no tie, my back is still pinching.


Tuesday 25 April 2006

Funny Things

I was vacuuming my room; the dust was beginning to pile up in the corners, and tumbleweeds seem to roll across the polished boards with every footstep that I took. I found hunky Ben's red jocks under all the junk. I lifted them to my nose. They still smelt like him.

Ben, Tim and I had taken drugs all weekend. We got messy, it's true. Ben, at one stage, was lying across the coffee table illustrating the fine art of the kissing gourami, his complexion is not dissimilar, kicking his legs and flapping his arms and wiggling his fine arse, when his shirt rode up and the crimson material of his jocks appeared just where the crack in his arse started. I love guys in jocks.

I had the next day off and I saw the crimson jocks discarded on Tim's bedroom floor when I went out to get the mail. Well, I was still a bit toey and short of gaydar... so... I can't believe I am telling you this... I spent the next little while lying on my bed with Ben's jocks under my nose. The front was best, I could smell his foreskin.

I thought about the time that we'd all taken far too much. Tim had passed out. I was spinning in my own, lurid world. Ben got up and said he was going to bed, from my position on the floor, I was looking straight at his crotch. His cock pointed straight up. He caught my blurred gaze, looked down and ran his hand over the front of his pants. His cock hardened up, banana'd, if you like. He looked straight at me out of the very tops of his eye slits, his face was flushed red and I could see the expression he would pull when he was getting sucked off. He pulled his head back and tried to focus.

"Good night."

He staggered off to bed.

Or the other night, when we'd also consumed lots of e's and Ben and Tim were sitting on the floor. Ben turned around and pashed Tim, as he did, his cock banana'd in his pants; filling under the denim like water in a garden hose. The head was pushing at the waist band of his jeans, when it was done. Tim lay his head back on the couch. I got the sense that Ben was looking at me. I lifted my eyes to meet his. He leant down and adjusted himself. Smiled and continued to kiss Tim. I went to bed.

I thought about the one time... Ben came out of the shower just as I came out of my bedroom. It was a Sunday afternoon, twilight of one of those weekends. Ben's blue eyes focussed on me. His face was strong and gorgeous under his curly blond hair. Strong neck. Curved chest. Pale skin. I didn't think... I was spinning. I could quite easily have thought Ben was Mat, momentarily, maybe... we were tripping... because I would never, normally...

I remember the light went dark around him. I slid my hand up his towel. He kind of jumped as my hand cupped his balls. I moved them around in my palm. I slid my hand onto his cock, which was stiffening quickly. It was warm, and suddenly thick. Ben's expression didn't change, he didn't move.

"Hey Ben, are you hungry?" Tim called out from downstairs. Ben pulled himself out of my hand. Adjusted himself. His towel tented noticeably.


The light returns to the first floor landing. I shake my head and reality swirls around in my head.

“Are you okay?” asks Ben.

I look at him standing in front of me in his towel, his curly hair wet, his smiling face, waiting for a response.

“Oh, yeah,” I say.

“You were miles away,” asks Ben. “What were you thinking?”

“What was I thinking?” I repeat. I can’t help but smile. “Oh, you know, wicker baskets.”

“Huh?” says Ben.

“You finished in the bathroom?” I ask just because you do to be polite.”

“All yours,” says Ben.

“Hey Ben, you hungry,” calls Tim from downstairs, again.


Yeah, maybe I am, he says with his eyes fixed like steel on me. He turns and walks down the stairs, without looking back. "Yeah, sure... I could go breakfast."

I tossed the jocks into the wash.


Monday 24 April 2006

Come Down

Fuck, it really is a dull day, now my eyes crack open and take a good look. Or is that just me? It could be. I feel a chuckle in my chest. Dull as in feeling little, or no pain. It is all I can hope for, at this juncture. I love that word, juncture, I say it out loud.

I wasn’t really sure how I got to the kitchen. I chuckle to myself again. I love this part of it, as much as I like the up. A safe landing, my parachute has been deployed and I am floating back down to earth.

I'm toying with the idea of central heating. Turning it on, not installing it. Well, greenhouse gases, world health. We all consume too much energy. Do you know that Sydney Harbour is now so poisonous that it is no longer safe to eat fish caught in it? I could put on a jumper. Two pairs of track suit pants? Some stripy socks, maybe?

The world is quiet. Quiet and still; except for my ears and that wringing sound within.

And the whir of my coffee machine.

I'm not sure if I'm shaking from the cold, as much as shaking from what I did last night? We did last night

I'm on soft focus, that's for sure. Maybe I should just go back to bed. I need to wake Mat up and send him home... work, he has to go to work. Whatever, then I can have the day all to myself.

I want coke, that's the coke a cola, type coke, you understand, my taste buds are dead and need wakening. It's the only time I want coke, ever drink coke. You know, rather than putting the coin into it to clean it. Wash the barnacles off my tastebuds.

The light is all yellow, golden and flowing. Everything is so still. Quiet. Have I already said quiet?

I take my coffee and head upstairs. Mat is lying face down in the bed, snoring. I sit on the bed and tousle his hair.

“Hey sleepy head, I bought you coffee.”

The regular snoring breaks up.

“You’ve got to go to work.”

He starts snuffling, and snorting. He moves a bit, but he isn’t awake. Movement and sound stop.

“It’s 8am,” I say. I pick up my coffee and take a sip. It is the only time I feel god, with the flavour of coffee penetrating my tastebuds. Caffeine is the only true god.

“How can it be morning already?” asks a faltering voice.

“Well, I’m having it looked into as we speak, but thus far the reports are coming back Monday morning.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate me too, kiddo, but that isn’t going to change what day, nay morning it is.”

“And you don’t have to be anywhere?”

“No.”

“That’s a smug no.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Doesn’t alter the fact…”

“Doesn’t alter the fact you have to get up.”

“Why do we go out on Sunday night when…”

“When you have to work Monday, we had this conversation…”

“We did?”

“Yes, we did and you know it.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“It doesn’t alter the fact…”

“That I hate Perry.”

“You could have said no.”

“Who says no?”

“I’ll be fine, make me a double espresso and point me towards the CBD…”

“Are you claiming I said that?”

“You did say that.”

“Do you have any proof of that?”

“I didn’t know I’d need proof.”

“There are many things you need in this world, my friend.”

“Like a giant tow rope and a winch to get recalcitrant boys friends out of bed the morning after the night before when they said, oh, no, no, no,. I’ll be fine with these lines, these small lines, I’ll be able to run a marathon in the morning after this.”

There was silence for quite a few minutes.

“Are you quite done,” came Mat’s croaky voice.

“I believe I am,” I replied.

“You know, I hate you too.”

“So much hate so early in the morning.”

“Isn’t that the very definition of Monday morning?”

“Okay, are you getting up, or am I pulling the doona off you.”

“I’m getting up.”

There was another period of silence, but no movement.

“Do you want me to count to 3?”

Momentary silence.

“Are you still there?”

“One.

Momentary silence.

“Two.”

More silence.

“I will pull the doona off you.”

More silence.

“Can I distract you with sex?” Mat says.

“Three.”

“No.”

I ripped the doona off like a bandaid, one tug and it was off.

“OH GOD I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW!” Mat sits up. Only one eye is open. 

I can’t help but laugh.

“I thought you were on my side.”

“I’ll go make coffee.” I leave the bedroom.

15 minutes later Mat appears in the kitchen, looking adorable, I have to say, but maybe I am a little biased. Jeans, black hoodie, backpack. I hand him his coffee. He takes it like he is on auto pilot. He downs the coffee in one gulp.  

“Bye,” he says. He stands at the kitchen door with puckered lips. I kiss him. Moments later I hear the front door open and close.

I sit at the coffee table with my third coffee and roll a joint. God’s herb seeps from my mouth, the familiar aroma of which infiltrates my nostrils and it is only me and pot in the world at that moment. I lie back on the couch and take another drag.

The coffee washes the barnacles from my tastebuds.

The light is all yellow, golden and flowing. Everything is so still. Quiet. Have I already said quiet?

I feel that reassuring chill of being alone tingle in my spine like electricity.

And nothing to do all day, which I just know I am going to do with enthusiasm.


Sunday 23 April 2006

Sunday Morning

I feel like shit, if I am to be truthful. It’s 6am. Matt has headed to bed. I am going to join him. I’ve been farting about, not sure what is still working in my system, but something is. I’m just bumping into walls, you know ‘that’ often funny stage, post drugs, coming down, having dropped off to sleep, but before you sleep for real.


Matt and I went around to Perry and Wesley's, late sometime after midnight. I don't know, 1am, 2am. They had friends over from Adelaide; another Wesley, Wesley Foot and Sam and girlfriend Michelle, so we went to help entertain them. One of the boys was gay, and the other was in a relationship with Michelle. Matt explained it to me before we got there... but I was pretty stoned. Raised eyebrows.

Of course, the speed came out, the joints flowed and the beer was guzzled.

Sam and Wesley Foot were chatting and friendly, Michelle had passed out on the floor. Pretty, blond gay boy and a blokey mid thirties straight boy.

Sam was cute, I couldn't help but catch his eye. Blue tracky pants, I couldn't help but look. We caught each other's eye several times. He had that kind of smug, I know I'm good looking, sort of thing going on. He was gorgeous.

We flirted for the first part as we all sat around the table chatting, until my out-of-it brain cells suddenly cranked into life and I realised I'd got it all wrong. Sam went over to see if Michelle wanted to go to bed... and it all clicked into place. I had the boys mixed up. Sam's the straight one, the other Wesley was the gay one. My reality changed. My head spun.

How stoned did I say I was?

But we'd been making eyes at each other, Sam and I. I looked over at him. Michelle staggered to her feet and stumbled off to bed. Good night. Sam followed her out of the room.

Wesley Foot had the floor. He visibly morphed into a much gayer bloke, as I listened to him. His speech suddenly had a hint of the gay precision - why is it that most gay boys talk like they went to elocution lessons? Wesley was talking about the e he'd taken. Apparently, the Adelaide crew were all on e's.

It's good. I'm flying.

Sam came back into the room, he suddenly seemed much more like a footy player; his vocal precision had suddenly reduced to... may be private schooling. He had the heavy eye-lid thing happening, of drugs coming on.

She's going to have a sleep. I feel great.

Sam lit a cigarette and warming himself in front of the fire. Perry was questioning him on flying to Europe. Perry and Wesley B. are planning a trip overseas for the winter.

Perry just kept lining up the lines of speed. I'd told him I was really stoned, had forgotten Matt had said we were coming to visit, made apologies about being more stoned than I anticipated.

This is just a little pep-me-up line, smiled Perry, as he handed me the straw.

The two things that I do the best, snort lines and sleep. When the other's had their heads down, or were in anticipation of the act, I gazed over at Sam's crotch, as I sniffed. Just kind of did, wasn't planned, just where my eyes landed, so to speak. I was clinging to my nose and sniffing the sour gloop, for all it was worth, my eyes were free to wander, no one was looking at what I was doing. There is something about guys in blue tracky pants, Sam was no exception.

Perry was talking about LSD.

I looked straight up to Sam's face, it was flushed and smiling. He held my gaze, intense, rushing. He knew what he was doing, feeling sexy. He liked me looking at his big cock. His eyes had the ecstasy droop. He looked away, had a big grin.

I've never tried it, Sam said to Perry. He looked back at me, momentarily. But I want to. He looked back at Perry.

What? I thought.

Sam turned sideways in front of the fire, rotated. He was a sexy boy in profile; the front of his tracky pants bulged out beautifully between his thick thighs. I could see the shaft of his cock pushing out on the blue cotton. I looked up to his face. He was looking at me, smiling, he looked away.

Wesley was talking on the phone, everyone's attention was drawn to him. I waited until Sam and my attention connected. I ran my eyes down Sam's front, resting on his beautiful bulge. Sam smiled and then looked down at himself, then looked back to the others. Then he snatched a look back at me. He was turned on. He turned 180 degrees and was, pretty much, facing me. Nobody was looking. He slipped his hand into his track pants pocket, grabbed his cock, ran his hand along it, squeezed it and let it go, as if adjusting himself.

Wesley has invited someone over, who was so drunk he'd just been asked to leave wherever he had just left.

So, you asked them over here, laughed Perry, pointedly.

Sam looked around as Perry spoke. He rubbed his chin and then cast his intense eyes back at me. They were burning.

I'm tired said Matt. I caught Mat's eye, he nodded his head in the direction of the door.

Yeah, come on babe, let's go.

Sam gave me, what I'm sure was, a knowing smile, as he said farewell. Nice to meet you.

Yeah, you're a sexy boy too, I thought, as I gripped his warm hand. I let it show on my face. I hope the rest of your stay is just as pleasant, I said. He held my gaze, good for him.

I hope so too, his eyes just as intense. He liked playing. The e had diminished his inhibitions, he was feeling sexy. He was comfortable showing it. Gotta love the new generation of straight boys.

We smiled at each other.

Gotta love 40kph speed limits, makes the amphetamine fuelled drive home much more pleasant. We talk calmly, Matt reassuring me the whole way that I'm driving just fine.

We lay in front of the open fire when we got home and listened to Randy Crawford until we fell asleep, my head on Matt's chest. We woke at 5am and took ourselves off to bed.

 

Saturday 22 April 2006

Carlo

Carlo says that he wants me to put him down on his knees. He says he wants a man bigger, taller and stronger. He says that I make him swoon... which is kind of nice. Well, anyone who says that you make them swoon, must make you feel good. Mustn't it?

I've known Carlo for a short time. I think we met at a carnival, or one morning after being out clubbing, when the sun was rising and the night was shrinking and the day was bursting into blood-shot eyes. 

It wasn’t any of those things, they must have been other guys. We met in the park.

He's dark, a little woggy, not much, just around the edges. I know some people might take that as an insult, but it isn’t, not on the gay scene, in fact it’s really a compliment, if it is anything. Gay guys like wog guys, they are sort after, by some guys. They are definitely a ‘type’ some guys have. Dark hair, olive complexation, thick hair.

“We come as a pair,” I said.

“What?” Carlo said.

“We only play together, Matt and I.”

“The three of us?” said Carlo with big eyes.

“Well, yes. We don’t do stuff on our own.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s Matt and my agreement around playing around.”

“Oh.” Carlo looked as though he was considering the possibilities.

He's good looking in that lean, throw them around kind of way – that's what he says he wants me to do to him... he wants Mat and I to do to him. Throw him around, pin him down.

“How do you know Matt is into it.”

“I’m just hoping he is,” said Carlo. “I hope you will both be into it.”

“What if he’s not?”

“Surely you can talk him into it.”

“How do you even know…”

“I just look at you.”


Matt and I were out last night at a club. It was late, we were sitting down for a moment. Carlo burst into our vicinity, out of it, pretty much, himself. E'ing off his brain, to be sure. Somehow, he crawled onto my lap, facing me and snuggled into my chest. He really fits into my arms neatly.

Matt just smiled.

“So, this is your handsome boyfriend, hey?” Carlo whispered in my ear.

“That's him.”

“So, you weren't lying?”

“What? Lying? No. Here...” I took his hand... “touch him, he's real.” Carlo's finger tips stroked Matt's chest. Matt tousled Carlo's hair.

“Nice to meet you,” said Matt.

“Yes, me too,” said Carlo. He squeezed Matt's nipple between his fingertips.”

Can I kiss you?” Carlo whispered in my ear.

So, Carlo and I kissed, for the first time.

Me, just dressed in my camo pants and Carlo in a pair of footy shorts. He has a sweet mouth, I was surprised; gentle, inquisitive, sensuous. His skin soft on mine.

“Can I kiss him, too?” Carlo asked pointing to Matt.

“You'd have to ask him,” I said.

“Is he nice to kiss?” asked Carlo.

“Yes, very nice,” I said.

I got hard watching Matt and Carlo kiss.


Friday 21 April 2006

Lets Go Dancing

It was a short week. It just flew by until today, which seemed like three days in itself. I didn't have much to do, I should have just taken the afternoon off, but by the time I realised it was 4.30 and there did seem to be much point.

But now it's over, so what do I care.

Let's go dancing.

Friday night is my night out of choice, now. That way I have two days to recover and not just one. If I go out on Friday night, when I come-to it is Sunday morning. If I go out Saturday night, the next thing I seem to know is that it is Monday morning.

No!

It kind of spoils the whole thing.

But waking up Sunday morning, it doesn't, really, matter how you feel, you've got 24 hours to pull it together.


Thursday 20 April 2006

Summer's Over

My ex-girlfriend, Leah, sent me two books to read. The Life of Pi and The Five People You are Most Likely to meet in heaven. I know when my marijuana smoking is up, my reading falls away. 

I can't read when I'm stoned. I just wanted to lay in front of the fire and read, but I'd had two joints by the time I'd thought about it. I needed a bean bag and a Balinese foot masseur. Perhaps a drink with an umbrella... nah, winter, a Bloody Mary instead.

My ex-girlfriend worries about my literary up-keep and my teeth. And, of course, my smoking. She takes the, I'll-look-like-a-hag-at-forty-if-I-keep-smoking, approach. She's cruel enough to point out the crow's feet that I never used to have. Matt kisses me and says where, whenever I bring it up with him.

I think I'll get KFC.


Wednesday 19 April 2006

Out With My Love

I went to a play with Mat. We parked on that road next to St Kilda Road and we ran through the gardens hand in hand, under the lights in the trees. Mat looked so handsome and happy. I love those moments with him. Two boys out on the town, together. Just him and me.

The play was good, really well written. Doubt. It was about a catholic priest who was suspected of molesting an altar boy.

It was funny, in the most part. The crusty old nun in charge of the school was excellent and hysterical.

The boy's mother, basically, said, if that was what her son had to do to pay for a good education, so be it. Your teenage son pays for his schooling with his arse? Interesting proposition, sensible. The mother said that she thought her son was gay anyway.


Tuesday 18 April 2006

Special Bond

You know, I don't ogle straight boys per se. There is such a thing as the straight boy, gay boy code of ethics. It goes something like this, they promise not to punch us and call us faggots and we promise not to hit on them, or turn their girlfriends against them. Or get together and punch them up - let's face it, more of us, per head, go to the gym - for calling us faggots. They admit that they like us and acknowledge that they understand that it isn't that we are trying to make it compulsory. Just optional, no recriminations

But, it is true, many a straight boy has been helped out by a gay brother quite happily... well, all down line of history, really, let's face. Drugged straight boys can always be relied on for their pants falling off. Ecstasy poofs wasn't coined for no reason. Drunk blokes, are nearly as good. Isolated blokes. Blokes in prison. You get the picture. It's secret men's business. Never to be spoken of in mixed company. Eros forbids it.


Okay, so gay boys can’t always be trusted to keep up our end of the Special Bond, gay boy/straight boy code. The key word is always, because nearly always we do. But sometimes, when your straight bro is pissed and grumpy, or pissed and weepy, sometimes it can help... him.

"My girlfriend doesn't understand me."

"Oh really, come sit with me, I’ll try to make you feel better."

“What?” he says. He looks cross-eyed. He shifts over to the chair next to mine.


Then the gay guy gets to work on him. He pretends not to understand what it going on as his pants come undone. 

It turns to steel. 

It leaks precum magnificently. 

It is not long before he pushes the back of my head down hard onto his monster that just about cuts off the gay boy's air supply and he shakes violently and then squirts his sour jizz over and over and over into my throat. He shakes and makes gagging sounds like he too can’t get air, until he goes all floppy like a rag doll.

The gay boy has to swallow it.

Straight boys are usually grateful... and happy. They seem to be the most frustrated market segment. It calms them down. It's a service.

They always blow like rockets.

They usually become all gentle and submissive. Oh, I don't mean up the clacker... but sensitive to every touch. Men like being stroked and admired.

He laughs and whispers in a really croaky voice. “I so needed that.” He had an impish. Grin on his face. His jeans were still unbuttoned. His beautiful cock was shrinking quickly.


Sunday 16 April 2006

Alone On A Sunday

All weekend I was on my own. I played Etta James and Nina Simone. Saxophone and stillness. I played Marianne Faithful, the German stuff. Beer halls and piano accordions.

The house was clean. Spotless. Shining. I'd even washed the floors.

I didn't go outside, except to get the newspapers, which I devoured with joint after joint. Then I was stoned and the rest of the world faded away. 
I was surprised to see people when I went to get more milk in the arvo. Suddenly they were there, I get used to being on my own, so easily.

I lay on the couch. My head spun.

The light was golden. Birds chirped. Nina really did sound like a bloke. I lay on the couch and let the music take me away. The light faded, the day drifted away.


Thursday 13 April 2006

It Can Always Get Worse

It Can Always Get Worse

Just when you thought you had the world's worst HR manager in the world, along comes one that's worse.

Is Kate the new term for poisonous fucken bitch?


I can just picture her, off duty, rat-faced and wanting it. Shuddering jaw, vibrating teeth, inhaling, 3am, empty bar, full glass. She’d be fallin’ about if she wasn’t hanging onto the bar so tight.

She’d be mouldy down there, you know, ugly, hairy, stink. 

She’s wacked on the bitterness of middle aged and alone. You can see it in her face when she looks at you. I can see it in the way she stares. A barely subdued anger at life letting her down emotionally. There's a desperation in her eyes. Going back to god unopened, I suspect. Well, healed over anyway. 

I should do her a favour, (not personally, you understand. Shudder) except my straight mates wouldn't play, I don't reckon. It would be like dunking them in cold water… couldn’t get them drunk enough. Their sausages would return to the cave for the first time in their lives.

“Josh, we have standards,” Andre would say. “Not even with your dick.”

“She’d let you give it to her raw, I’m pretty sure.”

“I’d be too concerned about getting puss out my knob,” Jackson would say.

“We did it when you were wasted,” I’d say.

“You could get me that wasted again,” says Jackson with a smirk. “But not her.”

It would probably make her nicer to be around, though. Surely one of you boys could fuck her back to life again.

“Nah, not me,” says Rolly.

“Me either,” says Scott.

HR? What’s it short for? A hormone repository for single females until a man makes them honest women.

“No, just no,” the four boys say in unison.

Too much? Yeah, I know. It's not all women, it is just the type of woman who goes into HR.


"Vagina dentata," says Scott.

"HR girls famously have Alsatians in their knickers," says Andre.

"That cunt will snap at you, like alien, so buyer beware," says Jackson.

"Not for me," says handsome Rolly. "I don't usually go for something... er, so agricultural."


Wednesday 12 April 2006

Well Hello





Aby emailed me just out of the blue, an Easter greeting. Two chocolate bunnies, one with its arse bitten off, one with its ears bitten off. One says, my arse hurts. The other says what?

I haven't heard from her since, well, you know what. I've only seen her once in between, just by chance.

I am surprised.


Tuesday 11 April 2006

The Darkness

The end of daylight savings is apparent, already, as though the curtains have suddenly been drawn. It makes Tuesday night seem even more miserable than normal and the darkness so early in the week, constantly, ominous for the rest of the week. Or am I just being dramatic and just having one of those weeks?

The autumn is beautiful. I've only just noticed. Have I been that busy? The leaves are yellow and falling from the trees, already. Yellow, orange and red surround me.

Life, death, birth.


Monday 10 April 2006

Drinking

Mat and I go out for drinks. I tell Mat about Carlo, he's impressed.


“There is this 18 year old…”

“There is this eighteen year old?” Mat kind of tilts his head sideways just a bit and waits.

“He’s been chatting me up.”

“An eighteen year old is chatting you up?”

“Yes.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“And where did you meet this… 18 year old who… is chatting you up?”

“In the park.”

“In the park?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing in the park?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you?”

“I was reading a book.”

“And what was the eighteen year old doing?”

“He was playing soccer.”

“You were reading, and he was playing soccer?”

“Yes.”

“Who was he playing soccer with?”

“Just himself.”

“So, he was kicking the soccer ball rather than playing soccer.”

“Yes.”

“Not, um, two pursuits I can see with a lot of cross over.”

“Well, no, I guess not.”

“So how, exactly did you…”

“He asked me to play soccer.”

“He asked you to play soccer.”

“Yes, he asked me to play soccer with him.”

“Is the a euphonism?”

“No.”

“And did you, um, er, play… soccer with him?”

“No. Soccer?”

“I did wonder.”

“I turned him down.”

“For soccer?”

“Yes. Soccer. He went back to playing with his ball and I kept reading my book, on the grass, in the sun.”

“So, why are you telling me this?”

“Because, um, I couldn’t help smiling, I could feel it, you know when you are trying not to, spread across my face…”

“You wanna play ball with him?” said Matt.

“Of course, it’s ‘we’ might wanna play ball with him.”

“Okay.”

“Because I think he wants to play ball.”

“With us?”

I slid my hand across the table and took hold of Matt’s hand. “Yeah. We could have fun with him, I reckon.”

Matt shrugged. “Sure.”


“See, there should be more love in the world,” I cheers Matt, as we drink our first beer.

The bar is slow. We practically drink alone.

Matt smiles and touches me on the nose, just as I am thinking I'd got away with being naughty. (you never get away with anything, not really) Matt always knows what I'm thinking.

I have steak.

He has fish.

The last unrenovated pub in Fitzroy, opposite the commission flats. You see, there are something's for which to be grateful for the commission flats. The less fashionable end of Fitzroy. It doesn’t bother the residence of the suburb, just the tourists. I guess it will get its turn.


I love Fitzroy's graffiti. It is a part of Fitzroy's character. Feminism started with my mother.


Sunday 9 April 2006

Getting to Know Carlo Better

I was jogging back down Gertrude Street. I nearly hadn't gone jogging at all, as I was so comfy at home before I left. 

Nyr, is how I felt. 

So, I had to, eventually, push myself out the door with the promise of a joint as soon as I got back. (Why I just didn’t just smoke the joint first, I don’t know)

So, it was later than I had intended. I was nearly home and there was Carlo heading towards me. American football guernsey, blue and silver and American loud. Trackie pants. Dark blue.

We smiled at each other as we approached. I was going to jog right by, Santana's guitar was soaring on my I-pod in my ears, and I was on the beat, I was a fully integrated machine.

Isn't that him? Yep. It is him, I thought. Parachute out, pull the strings from my ears. 

“Hey. Hi.”

My heart is pounding in my head. I rested my hands on my knees. I look up. He has stopped. He is smiling. I can't talk. What the hell am I doing? Speechless in front of this kid.

“Hi,” he says.

“How are you?”

“Yeah. Good. Heading home.” He looks down. He shuffles his feet. Looks up. “Bored. You?”

Big breaths. “Yeah. Good. Not bored.” A gasp for breath A car horn sounds. We both look around, as if we'd been caught. Well, I can’t speak for him, of course. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing.” 

“Me either.” Breath, just breath. He's smiling. Look at you. How gorgeous. It's just admiration. Nothing else. Broad shoulders. How does he fill out those track suit pants like that> Leaning on my knees I'm looking right at it... them.

“You going…?

I straighten, stand up and my eyes go straight from his track pants to his eyes. He's looking right at me. He realises, just like that. He blushes and moves his hand with a jerk, twitches his fingers. I blush too... what am I doing?

“I'm going home because... I've, got nothing else to do.” He smiles.

“Me either.” I smile too, I can't help smiling at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“So where do you live?”

“Just around the corner.”

There is silence. We both smile, nervously. My breathing is returning to normal.

“I gotta go,” I say. “Nice to see you.” I look down again at his tracky pants. It's an automatic response. Nice legs. This would be so easy. No.

“Okay.”

“I got to go,” I say. I can feel my heart beating in my chest. The butterflies in my stomach are saying, hang on, wait a minute. I start to walk towards home. My head is spinning. I can't help but smile. I think my line is school boys from the area. I've got a bit of a chub, though, thinking about him, despite the line. I'm not dead inside.

I only glance back, as I turn the corner into my street. He's walking behind me. I get to my front door. I walk inside and close the door. I lean my back against the inside of my front door. I breathe out. I breathe in. It is dark in my front hall, except for the slash of street light, from window above door.

I'm suddenly cold, my legs are shaking. I should change. I step into the hallway.

There is a knock on the door.

I turn back.

The door creaks as I open it. He’s standing there.

“You followed me?” I ask.

“Clearly.”

Was this good? I couldn’t decide.

“This is where you live?” he states, more than asks.”

“Clearly.”

“Not bad.”

“If you like this sort of thing?” I say. I couldn’t help myself.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

We held each other’s gaze.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asks.

What happens when we close the door, I think? “Sure, come in.” I stand to the side of the hallway and usher him in with a hand gesture. I look out into the street, just to amuse myself, to see if any of the neighbours are watching.

He walks ahead of me.

“Keep walking until you get to the end…”

“Like walking the plank,” he says.

“All the way to the end, my friend,” I say. I immediately regret it.

“Nice house,” he says.

“Well, thank you.”


I pull on track pants and a hoodie I left in the lounge room.

“Do you jog often?” he asks.

“I try to,” I say.

“It’s what I see you doing most.”


“You still playing soccer?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says. “When I have someone to play with. Not always the case.”

“It must be better.”

“Who do you, um, play with?”

“What?”

“Do you have a partner?”

I wonder if he asked that question that way deliberately. “Yes.” I was going to say Matt, but I say, “His name is Matt,” instead.

“Matt?”

“Yes.”

“Does he live here too?”

“No,” I say. “He lives in Brunswick.”

“Brunswick?”

“Yes.”

“Why doesn’t he live here?”

“We like our own space.”

“Oh.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Do you live with your folks?”

“Yes.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes… both.”

“They are still married?”

“Yes.”

“To each other?”

“Yes.”

“Well, congratulations on that.”

“Congratulations?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say. “And what do you want to do?”

“When I grow up?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, ah, I don’t know.”

“Don’t you have to know right about now?”

“Um, yes. Um, no. Um, Lawyer,” he says feebly. “Doctor.” Sounding just as feeble

“Oh.”

“You sound disappointed with my answer.”

“No, it’s your life. Doctor. Lawyer. Both good vocations. What draws you to each of them?”

He shrugged. “Being told they were both good things to do.”

“And they are good things to do, for doctors and lawyers,” I say. “But you?”

“I don’t know, but you are right, I do have to make up my mind pretty soon.”

“You should do something you love. It makes it more bearable.”

“Bearable?”

“Going to work every day, you’ve got to do something you love,” I say. "To do it every day."

“Well, um…”

“What do you love?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or, who do you love?”

“What makes you think I love…”

“Oh, come on, a good looking boy like you, the girls… guys must be throwing themselves at you.”

“Nobody is throwing themselves at me.”

“Oh come on, with your looks, I’m sure you are being humble.” I am beginning to regret this line of conversation, but weirdly I don’t seem to be able to stop myself.

“No, nobody,” says Carlo. He looks at his watch. “I guess I should be going.”

“I haven’t even offered you a drink, we just got chatting. How rude.”

“That’s okay, I should get going anyway.”

“Okay,” I say. I wondered if I scared him off, not that there was anything from which to be scared off.

He heads up the hallway, and leaves the house.

I go and have a shower, my track pants and hoodie are sticking to me from the sweat of running.


Villa

Beautiful Things

I was just thinking about Italy; the air, the sea, the country side, the beautiful villages. What fun I've had in Italy. The six months I spend there a few years ago. The sun is different around the Mediterranean, I can lay in it all day – fake tan followed by SPF30, of course. The air is lighter, the sun kinder, the air lighter, the light softer. I go a golden brown.

Any wonder why the Italians, as a whole race, are beautiful.


Saturday 8 April 2006

Run for My Life

Saturday, time to play. Time to make my boyfriend smile, oh, I've already done that, earlier. And he liked it. Smiling as he wiped the sweat away, and the lube from his arse.

Then it's time to pull on my jogging shoes and run for a mile, so my boyfriend continues to smile, when I pull my clothes off.

I love that feeling of pulling the cotton material up and over my arse. Ffffppp. I love the way they fit me. I love the way my thighs feel so exposed, just in those little black shorts. I love the way I can feel the air blow around me down there. Does my, er, ah… look big in these.

Up on that cushiony cloud, step, step, step. Mind clear. Push myself along. Nobody can touch me. I'm a machine. My legs are like springs of steal. I slide through the air. I am oiled, I am greased, I am fluid. I am the hot knife, the day is the butter. I am in my cocoon of silence, all that exists is what is in front of me. That is where my focus is, the footpath disappearing under my feet. The rhythm of my heart, the rhythm of the bitumen, the rhythm of life, the rhythm of existence beating in my chest. Into the zone, the world blurs like it’s on time lapse. I am strong. I am powerful. I am invincible.

Watch me go, if you can. What me explode into being a man. What me sizzle under the sun. Thup, thup, thup sound my feet on the ground. I barely touch down. I am poetry in motion, if only in my own mind.

I smile, as I wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.

Gertrude Street > Queensberry Street > Swanston Street > Elgin Street > Johnson Street > Home.

I stagger in the door. I’m exhausted. It is good exhaustion. I feel great exhaustion. I grab a glass of water. I can hardly stop my hand from shaking as I raise it to my mouth. I drink it down. My legs are sweating and stinging at the same time. The sweat drips into my eyes.

I pull off a shoe. I push the other shoe off with my big toe. It is a family trait, gene, really powerful big toes. I can pinch people with them that brings them to their knees with tears to their eyes. I can barely pull the wherewithal together to remove my socks.

I head to the shower. My wet t-shirt sticks to my skin, so much that I have trouble pulling it over my head. I roll my wet shorts and jocks down in one motion and they lay curled together at my feet.

I can barely turn the shower taps on, my hands are weak. But, I feel great. I feel shakingly fantastic as the water cascades down onto my red skin glistening with sweat.

Afterwards, I make tea.


Friday 7 April 2006

Carlo Reappears

I saw Carlo around at the shops, he must live locally, now there's a thing. He was on a scooter, one of those shiny silver ones. He had on tracky pants and a singlet and dark, sun glasses, which he lifted when he saw me. Cute. Smiling. Nervous. I couldn't help but look him up and down. He blushed and kind of looked away. Cute. He smiled broadly. I smiled and acknowledged him. Kept walking. I didn't turn around. Why would I? I hardly know him.

Wow. A school boy. No, I thought, as I walked on by. He's only seven years younger than me, at eighteen – legal school boy fantasies, who'd have thought.

I watched mums with their kids walking towards me. I wondered what they'd think about if they knew why I was smiling, what I was thinking about Carlo. One mother smiled so sweetly at me, I was already smiling, so I couldn't help but smile back. We held each other’s gaze momentarily.


I was kind of surprised at myself, because young guys weren’t really my thing. I liked guys my own age. Young guys were, um, how can I put it, kind of dumb. I like my partners to surprise me with the things they know, and the things they say, you know, make me think about things I wouldn’t normally think about, and that only really comes with a certain amount of maturity.

I couldn't get the smile off my face, though. 


Mat and I smoked pot after he’d finished work. I waited until we were nice and stoned before I broached the subject, well, thought of it, truthfully.

“An eighteen year old school boy,” I said. “Tried to pick me up in the park.”

“What?” he said. “When?”

“A week ago.”

“Where were you?”

“I was reading my book on the grass. It was a lovely day. And this eighteen year old kid appeared.”

“Seriously?”

“He was playing soccer on his own and he wanted me to play with him.”

“You must have misunderstood what he meant.”

“No, he asked if I’d play with him.”

“He meant soccer.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure.”

“Oh, he must have.” Mat handed me back the joint. Mat screwed up his face in that adorable way that Mat screws up his face. “No.”

I puffed on the joint and handed it back to him. “I just saw him around the shops today. He must live around here.”

Mat puffed on the joint. “Are you serious about this guy?” He handed the joint back to me. 

“No,” I said. “It’s just a thing.” I shrugged. I handed the joint back to Mat.


Thursday 6 April 2006

Preacher Man

The only boy who could ever reach me, was the son of a preacher man.

The only boy who could ever teach me, was the son of a preacher man.

Yes he was, he was, ooh, yes he was (yes he was)


How well I remember

The look that was in his eyes

Stealin' kisses from me on the sly

Takin' time to make time

Tellin' me that he's all mine

Learnin' from each other's knowin'

Lookin' to see how much we've grown and


The only boy who could ever reach me, was the son of a preacher man

The only boy who could ever teach me, was the son of a preacher man

Yes he was, he was, oh yes he was.


Wednesday 5 April 2006

Shorter Days

Didn't it get cold all of a sudden. And dark. On my jog now, it's like mid winter, although maybe now quite that cold. But cold to what it was a few weeks ago.

Thump, thump go my feet on the footpath.

Life retracts and we become smaller and paler and we curl ourselves tighter for the winter and the cold. We become smaller because of the dark, or is that lack of light.

Thump, thump, thump go my feet on the footpath.

We slide down into our shell, our cave, our mansion. We hunker down for the short days and the long nights and the dark and the rain. The never ending September rain nearly drives one batty before it is over. Before Xmas. Cabin fever they say. Cabin fever, that is what they call it. When we all get shut in for just a bit longer than is healthy for anyone. The days are so short, some days we don't even notice them come and go, buried below seal pelts and buffalo hides, in front of wood burning orange and red.


Monday 3 April 2006

Gentry

A mate of mine who has just moved to Fitzroy said that he was joining some sort or residents committee to fight the graffiti.

“What graffiti?” I said.

He sounded incredulous. “What graffiti?”

Raymond is a yuppie, to be sure. Just been in Fitzroy for a short time. He moved down from Sydney for love.

You know, it's like the idiots who moved to St Kilda and then wanted to clean up the prostitutes. Roll of the eyes.

Same goes for those who move to Fitzroy and then want to clean it up.

We're good thanks. No really. “Coffee?” Oh, you like some of our ideas. "Banana cake?" But you want to scrub the walls and paint them beige.

You know what, if you don't like prostitutes, or graffiti, or people who are living their lives, or art, of life lived differently... If you don't want to know anyone who is different to you, you know what, stay in North Balwyn, kids. Do the world a favour.