Sunday

Have a Beer, in the garden,

with my mate. 

No shoes, toes in the dirt. 

And then a joint as we chat away. 

The sun goes fades. 

The day gets Cold. 

Then we head inside,

and close the door.

Central heating on 21. 

Toes in the Rug, 

as I sit on the Couch, 

patting the cat. 

My mate leaves.

The light fades. 

I’m home alone. 

Dinner on my lap.

The television makes the room blue,

black enamel in the shadows. 

The fire burns in the hearth. 

red with energy flaming away. 

The detectives’ eyes, look out from the screen

"Somebody else is murdered

in the street. Beaten to death,

so it would seem. What to do? 

Gather evidence, close the case.

Death is close, in the city tonight.

Just another Sunday coming to a close.

Sun Rise

I jogged early, before the sun came up. It is nice running in the dark, the world is quiet and contained, not so much going on.

I couldn't sleep, I was awake for no apparent reason. 

I jogged just in shorts, nothing else. The cold air was bracing on my skin, I knew I was alive with the way it felt. 

I'm warm as soon as I start running. It's sexy. The girls opening the markets gave me looks. 

The cold air was so crisp on my nipples, it made me hard. I didn't expect that. I could feel them with each step that I took. Solid. Bouncing up and down. It was disconcerting, to running, not to life, although it kind of turned me on.

Ha ha. The air was fresh and then the light was new. And then it was light, as the brightens came from above. The contrast kicks in. The world gets depth and width, not just the one dusky dimension any more.

The birth of the day, a nice time to be out in it. breath in lung bucketfuls of fresh air, feel what is real and alive. Feel what is important to the life we live. 

No bullshit at that time of the day, it hasn't had time to gather together and clump, blocking us in. It's freedom, the dawn. It is the ultimate possibility for you and me.

Sun rise.

Listen to my feet beat to my heart on the ground.

Winter Mornings

Between bleary eyes and sun rise.

I’m out on the footpath in my shorts. My legs are cold as I acclimatise, as I get ready to run. It is a tense moment, in anticipation of the pain to come, and the joy that brings.

My shorts feel snug around my arse and my thighs. I’m going for the sockless look, with short, short socks. Just runners, that’s how it looks.

I stretch a bit, then I start to run.

I feel slow and awkward to start off, but that soon drops away.

I soon get into rhythm, trying not to be to heavy footed.

Hasn't it been cold? My balls shrink away to nowhere when I go jogging in the mornings. The hairs on my legs bristle, as my bare skin gets use to the breeze, as the cold slaps my arse, and burns my throat. The cold air touches my lungs. My foggy head spins with the cold wind on my face. I'm all ankles and feet, until the steady rhythm comes, got to warm up, physically and mentally, and then the magic starts. 

The fragile beauty of the sunrise makes my heart beat faster. The curtain is lifted. Dark becomes light, so quickly.

Sublime.

then it is light and still, just the clup, clup, clup of my feet on the footpath and the heave, heave, heave, of my breath in my lungs.

My feet are light, my legs are like clockwork, or pistons, or something. The footpath is clear. I am floating above it. I am a glider sailing down the street.  I am Aladdin flying his magic carpet. My legs are like giant springs, perfectly sprung. The deeper I breath, the healthier I feel.

My steps echo under the shop awnings. They sound thap, thap, on the cross street out in the open. I sail around corner. I float over driveways. I slalom bins on the footpath, it must have been rubbish day.

The park opens up and swallows me at the bottom of the hill. The air transforms, the smell of mulch and grass pervades my nostrils. I am running under the trees. I am starting to warm up. My steps are even, my breathing calm, I am moving with ease, I feel good. I am glazed with sweat.

I pull off my shirt, the breeze is perfect. Just me against the entire world and I am winning. The park casually waves me through.

Back out onto the road. Running up the shopping strip. Two girls heading to work look back as I run past. They say something, not sure what, but I recognise the tone, it was hungry, what we like to hear. 

“You want a piece of this,” I say out loud. That makes me smile. That pushes me on. That’s why I’m doing it, don’t be fooled.

The shops are empty, the footpath cleared out just for me. That’s what I tell myself anyway.

There is a delivery guy delivering bread. The cleaners are just finishing up.

Then I am at my street and I turn for home. My throats burns, my legs shake, as I stretch at my gate.

Bleary Eyes

It's cold. Bloody hell it’s cold! Shit! Really fucking cold. Blow on your hands and rub your palms together cold. I feel the chill in my lungs as soon as I breath it in, like a chill on the inside of me. I can nearly feel it all the way down to my lungs. The air is grey, the sun hasn’t broken through as yet. The stillness of the half-light is breath taking enough in itself. Breath in! Gasp!

“It’s really cold,” I say.

“Brass monkey’s,” says handsome Rolly Gregson. 

Then he shakes his leg and there is a clank, clank, and two large testicles roll out of the bottom of his jeans leg.

Rolly stares at me with his handsome face.

“It’s really cold,” I say.

“Brass monkey’s,” says handsome Rolly Gregson.

And as soon as he says that, there is a chattering and a squealing in the trees as a gaggle of primates runs through the canopy.

“You don’t see that every day,” says Rolly.

“No,” I say.

“It’s really cold,” I say.

“Come over here and I’ll hold you to warm you up,” says handsome Rolly Gregson.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” I ask.

“Come over here and I’ll make you a hot drink to warm you up,” says handsome Rolly, stepping sideways to show me a fully equipped kitchen just behind him.

“It’s really cold,” I say.

“I’ve got a jacket in the back of my car, mate, I can get it for you,” says handsome Rolly Gregson.

“That would be great,” I say.

He points to his white Alfa Romeo GT Junior, parked a few car lengths down the street.

I rub my gloved hands together, as he heads to the car.

Rolly returns with the jacket.

“I don’t see you drive your Alfa Romeo GT Junior very often.”

“No, I don’t drive it nearly as much as I expected to,” says Rolly. He tosses the jacket to me, and the two of us head off on our walk.

“If I rubbed your nuts, do you think you’d feel warmer?” I ask.

“I’m not sure, but I’d understand,” says Rolly.

We both laugh.

That Special Bond New Year’s Day

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.

Jackson, Rolly, Scott and Andre had been out to a big New Year's Eve party in the city. They'd taken pills, they had snorted powders, they’d all had a great time.

They’d run into a couple of other friends, Jamie being one of them.

At 6am, Jackson and Jamie walked out of the party together. They’d lost Rolly, Scott and Andre and they were heading out to find a taxi to share.

Jamie is really drug fucked, but feeling really good. He can’t help but notice how handsome Jackson is. Big and built and sexy, filling out his jeans just perfectly.

“You got a girlfriend?” asks Jackson.

“No,” says Jamie

"My girlfriend doesn't understand me," slurs Jackson.

They get to the main road.

“I’m not into girls,” says Jamie.

“What?” says Jackson. “There’s one. Taxi!”

Jamie thinks Jackson looks like a footy player as he stretches up to hail the taxi.

“I like guys,” says Jamie.

“You don’t say,” says Jackson. “I would never have picked it.”

The taxi pulls up on the main road. The two boys get into the cab.

“How’s your night?” asks the taxi driver.

“Good,” says Jackson.

“Good,” says Jamie.

“Where to, guys, another club?” asks the driver.

“Nah, time for home,” says Jackson. He puts his arm around Jamie’s neck. “Time for home?” he asks Jamie.

“Sure,” says Jamie.

Jackson gives the driver his address.

“How much have you drunk?” Jamie asks Jackson quietly.

“Oh, I’m really maggotted,” whispers Jackson.

The taxi drops the two boys off at Jackson’s place, just as the sun is coming up.

Jackson opens the front door and gestures for Jamie to go in ahead of him.

“It’s good to get home,” says Jackson. “I’m really fucked.”

"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 Jamie.

Jamie put my hand on Jackson’s firm thigh. 

“That does things to me that it shouldn’t,” says Jackson. He laughs.

“Do you want me to take it away?”

“No,” he mumbles.

“It’s nice to be touched,” says Jamie.

Jamie slides his hand up Jackson’s thigh. “Oh,” says Jackson. “That…”

Jamie shrugs. “That what?” He looks down. And he can see what it is doing to Jackson. “Oh, Jackson.”

“Don’t say anything,” says Jackson. “That’s is very confusing.”

Jamie undid the waist button on Jackson’s jeans.

“Don’t…” he could hear Jackson swallow. “Don’t do that,” Jackson says really half-heartedly.

Jamie pull Jackson’s jeans apart and there he is with a big erect bulge in his white jocks. He’s clearly got a hairy stomach and, most likely, chest, Jamie thinks.

“Wow Jackson, that is impressive.”

“I’ve always had a big cock, didn’t you know,” he says.

“Well, I’ve heard stories.”

“Girls are frightened of it, you know, when they first see it.” He laughs drunkenly. “But just about everyone one of them get to reaallly like it,” he slurs. His cock goes rock hard. “You can’t touch it though, Jamie.”

But Jackson doesn’t move. He doesn’t try to cover himself up.

Jamie grabs the elastic of Jackson’s jocks and pulls the front of them down, Jamie don’t care, off, and his big dick springs out.

“Oh Jesus, Jamie, you shouldn’t be doing that.” 

Jamie grabbs it in his hand, it really is a beautiful cock.

“No, Jamie, no.”

Jamie leans down and slides it right into the back of my throat.

“Oh Jesus, Jamie… no… no… no…”

Jackson is leaking precum that has that sour pre-cum taste. Jamie sucks it tenderly, enjoying the feel of it in his mouth.

“Oh, fuck me, Jamie, you fucken know how to do that.” Jackson’s just letting Jamie, Jackson is putting g up no resistance.

Then Jamie gets to work on it. It turns to steel. It leaks precum magnificently. It is not long before Jackson pushes the back of Jamie’s head down hard onto his monster that just about cuts off Jamie’s air supply and Jackson shakes violently and then squirts his sour jizz over and over and over into Jamie’s throat. Jackson shakes and makes gagging sounds like he too can’t get air, until he goes all floppy like a rag doll.

Jamie had to swallow it Jackson’s load completely.

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

They always blow like rockets.

Jackson blew like a rocket.

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.

Jackson 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.

He tousles Jamie’s hair. “You are alright.”