Friday 16 December 2011

If You Feel Lucky

The alley was long and dark, cobblestones covered the ground, there was a light at the far end that burnt with a yellow hue.

A man walked in from the dark end, wearing a knee length jacket and Cuban Heel boots.

A young, athletic man stood under the yellow light at the far end of the alley. He wore jeans and a singlet. His arms bulged with muscles on either side of his well developed chest. His guy crew of four sat around him on empty four gallon drums.

The Cuban Heels clip clopped on the grey cobblestones, which looked like steel grey corn on the cob laid out flat under his feet.

The young athletic man smoked a cigarette, the smoke from which clouded up into the yellow light, like mist on a cold night.

Cuban Heels walked straight up to the young man under the yellow light, as he approached, the young man flicked his cigarette at Cuban Heel's feet. Cuban Heels looked down at the burning red ember at his feet. He looked up at the young man under the yellow light.

"You feel lucky, pal?" said Cuban Heels.

"Lucky enough," said the athletic young man.

"You feel lucky enough to get to me, before I get to you?"

“Lucky enough, sure.”

"Protect your manliness, as you know I'm coming for that first."

“Come for it. Give it your best shot.”

"Suck my cock!" said Cuban Heels.

"Nah, you got it all wrong, mate. It's you who'll be sucking my cock," said the athletic young man.

"So, you are feeling lucky."

Cuban Heels stepped forward and grabbed the young man by the face. The young man didn't try to pull away, he stood firmly defiant, chin out, still.

They gazed at each other, defiantly.

Cuban Heels slipped his hand around the back of the young man's neck. He pushed the young man downwards onto his knees. The young man didn't resist.

The athletic young man’s crew got to their feet, but the athletic young man held up his hand telling them to hold back.

“How lucky do you feel now?” said Cuban Heels.

“Still lucky…” murmured the athletic young man.

Cuban heels rubbed the athletic young man’s face up and down his crotch.

The athletic young man’s crew got obviously twitchy, but they didn’t act.

“How lucky…” Cuban Heels rubbed the athletic young man’s face up against the front of his jeans again. “Do… you… feel?”

“Take it out, and I will bite the fucking thing off,” said the athletic young man.

Cuban Heels tossed the athletic young man down onto the cobble stones, where he landed on his arse. “You’ve got some hutzpah, you know, kid,” said Cuban Heels. He held out his hand to help the athletic young man up, which the athletic young man took. Cuban Heels wrenched the athletic young man to his feet with a jerk of his arm. Suddenly they were face to face eyeballing each other. “I like that in a man,” said Cuban Heels.

They eyeballed each other for several, long minutes. Then they kissed passionately.

The athletic young man’s crew whooped and clapped loudly.


They pulled apart. “You’ve got a strange way of greeting people,” said Felix.

“What’s your name?” asked Cuban Heels.

Felix’s crew of athletic young men, now sitting back down on the drums, began to sit up and pay attention, all four of them. Ready for anything?

Felix held up his arm, and pushed out his chest, and moaned. “This is a strange way to say hello.”

Two of Felix’s crew had slipped their hands on to the handles of their guns in their jean’s waistbands.

Jose took Felix in his arms and whispered in his ear. “I’m going to do you well. If your boys weren’t here, I’d have you bent over one of those drums by now.”

“Oh yeah, man, but my guys are here,” said Felix.

“You’d take it like a girl?” said Jose.

“For as long as it takes my guys to blow your brains out,” said Felix. 

“Get rid of your boys and I will do you up against the wall right now,” said Jose. “Long and hard.”

Felix turned to his crew. “Ha ha, you’d like that, hey.” His boys mummed in agreement.

“I’m telling you…” said Jose. He spun Felix around. Felix resisted. Jose pushed him face first up against the alley wall. 


Tuesday 13 December 2011

Monday 12 December 2011

Sunday Night Out

I went out dancing last night. Popped a pill and went on the hunt for some basic beats.

I found what I wanted. I grooved into the night. It's what I needed, a good, mindless dance. I popped another pill, when the end of the night seemed further away than I'd like.

The lights were good. The music just fine.

I flirted with a cute Italian boy. Nice smile, kind of wanting, he was on something, to be sure. Beautiful eyes, big and brown. We danced and smiled. He was with a girlfriend. They shared each other's water.

I popped another pill, thinking about him. My eyes bled. My teeth clenched. My head floated to the roof and floated there on a wave of doof, doof, doof. Bobbing. Floating  I couldn't see. My teeth ground constantly. My sense of balance faltered from this plane to the next, but in a good way, a funny way, a way that made me laugh, made me feel ten feet tall.

Faces appeared and floated away. The Italian boy asked me something, but the ringing in my ears masked his words. He smiled. I got the sense I was supposed to answer. It seemed funny. That disconnection, half floating on another plane. My eyes bulged as I tried to focus. I laughed. I was smiling. I couldn't stop smiling.

He took my hand and we were rushing through the crowed. Everything changed. His hand felt good in mine, it was all I could feel. Was I collapsing and I just didn't realise? Why would he care? People swayed into view and then out. He was always just passed the next person, just out of sight, but his hand gripped mine tightly.

Cold. The light was suddenly florescent. There were tiles. Everyone was stopped. Milling. It was bright. Hot lights. I shielded my face. I wasn't collapsing, or falling, but my eyes had difficulty opening. Something was funny, deep inside me.

The Italian boy said thanks, to someone. I'm not sure who. Everything rushed if I opened my eyes. Blur.

I was being pushed backwards. It was darker, the brightness was gone. There was a wall behind me.

"I want to blow your mind, handsome man."

My belt was being undone. The buttons on my fly. My legs were suddenly cold.

He took my cock in his mouth. My, already hard, my head spun, dick was suddenly in his mouth. It was warm inside his mouth, as I knew it would be, if I had even thought about it. I was suddenly hot. Sweating. The air was thin. I couldn't breath, but it was okay.

He sucked. My head spun so hard, I thought I was going to puke. His mouth felt good. My last E gushed in my eyes until I thought the top of my head was going to explode onto the ceiling. And so did I explode, heat, hot, fuck, right into his mouth. My kegs were shaking. Suddenly the only thing I knew was his hair in my hands and the top of his head.

He sucked. He swallowed. He sucked until I jumped with every movement of his lips over the tip of my cock.

He stood up and wiped his face. "You look like you needed that. Come on, pull your pants up... so we can go back to the dance floor."

My legs were shaking so violently, I thought I was going to fall. He held me. His arms felt great around my shoulders and around my waist. He smelt of wog boy cologne.

I'd just done my belt up, my boxers were slimed, and it is suddenly light. Italian boy has me by the hand. Fluorescent. Harsh. "Do you want to wash your hands... honey," he said, as he squeezed my hand. Do you always call boys honey? I ran into two people on the way out, they looked at me disapprovingly. I must have looked really...

Sweating, rushing, dizzy, out of body, that's how I felt. Serviced. Done. I saw a couple of distorted faces rush at me and then rush away.

Dark. Cold. Crashing through doors.

Doof. Doof. Doof. Hot. Sweaty. Heat.

He smiled sweetly back at me and the crowd parted. His girl friend was next to him with the water. They both glanced back at me. He smiled.

The lights flashed. The groove came and got me. I needed to dance. My head was spinning.


Thursday 8 December 2011

All Day On The Internet

A computer, a bag of dope and a pot of coffee... who could be a happier boy? 

A little toast, with mashed banana on it halfway through the day. 

The sun shining in through the window, that always helps.


Thursday 17 November 2011

Thursday 10 November 2011

Nicely Carried Out...?

Nicely carried out.

Nicely carried out...? You really have to get up earlier than that to fool me.

Nearly all of the things you state occurs to become astonishingly correct and which makes me ponder the cause why I hadn't checked out this with you previously.

Have you even read the piece?

This particular piece truly did flip the light on for me personally so far as this topic, issue goes.

Tell me, which bit was the most convincing?

But, there is one position I am not truly as, well, comfortable with, so while I make and work to reconcile that with the true core theme of the point, allow me the observation of what all the readers need to say.

And what would that be? The bit with which you are not comfortable, and the observation of what all readers, you say?

Yes…

Need to say?

Nicely carried out, I say all of that.

I repeat, nicely carried out? ...to you too. You try to flatter me, to get an advantage and, I guess, if I was of, um, average intelligence, or more needy than I actually am, your words may have worked. But, alas for you, this is not the case, so good luck to you.

You misjudge me, I feel.

Well, allow me the observation of what all the writers need to say to you, my good man, nice try.

But, of course.

The conman, the charlatan, the thief, the rogue I’d like to say that I have had much experience with your type, but I have not.

Again, I say you misjudge me.

How did you get passed my photo scanners? I wonder? How did the robot security not kick in on you?

Perhaps you mistake me for someone else?

Does the shit that falls from your mouth even work? I have my doubts.

I am not trying to work anything, I assure you.

Even when I am calling you out to your face, you are still as slippery as ever.

I am sure you mistake me for another.

No sir, I do not. I know exactly who you are.

I would question that, indeed I would.

You have no purchase, here, to question anything.

I was merely congratulating you on your clear success.

No, sir, you were not. I know that. You know that. And yet here we are still deep in your con.

There is no con here, my good man, known, or not known…

I always knew you were a piece of work, but to have the gall to stand here and claim what you are claiming, now, even for you that is quite remarkable.

I don’t doubt that I am remarkable…

I don’t doubt that for a minute.

But I think you are being…

Good day sir.

I think you should let me defend myself from your miscon…

I said good day!


Monday 31 October 2011


To The Guy Sitting Opposite Me On The Tram

To the guy sitting opposite me on the tram yesterday morning, thanks for the perve so early in the morning. It does the heart good... well, it does some muscle good.

I'd found a seat, as I usually seem to, and I first noticed him when he was standing in front of me with his back to me, his grey trousers just seemed to float on his narrow hips and sexy arse. You know what I mean, pants that cling to a guy's hips, but just seem to float on all of his other contours.

Then he turned around and stood next to me, his crotch was at eye height. All I had to do was tilt my head to the right, just slightly, and there was his sexy bulge centimetres from my face, I could make out the width of his shaft. I could see his knob, he looked uncircumcised with the way it came to more of a tulip than a rose at the tip. Then all I had to do was push my head forwards and his genitals would have been grazing my forehead.

But, when he sat down, on the seat opposite, as it turned out, how did those pants fit him, bunching in a mound between his legs. It was difficult looking in his direction, my eyes just kind of followed their own mind downwards, like a car accident, it was hard not to look. I resisted, just a little, but not really so much. What can I say, the flesh is weak.

I’d wait for him to look out the window, then my eyes would drop and feast on the substantial bulge in all its glory. I wasn’t sure he’d be able to bring his knees together, well, not comfortably. The boy had a big sausage on him. When he looked back in my direction, I’d divert my eyes to the right and out the window on the other side of the tram. Tra la la. Then when I saw him in my peripheral vision look out the window again, my eyes would slide back to his big dick. Repeat. I’m pretty sure he didn’t catch me looking. Pretty sure. 😬


Friday 17 June 2011

Thursday 16 June 2011

I Started Smoking Again

I started smoking (cigarettes) again. It's a curse, one that you love and hate in equal measures.

Monday 13 June 2011


Long Weekend

I smoked pot all long, lazy weekend, lying on the couch for days, up the country at Mark & Luke's. All Day, like a jelly having been removed from its mould... wobble, wobble.

What else does one do on the Queen's birthday? I ask you? 

I was lying on the couch on my back with my legs over the arm of the couch with my head on Mat’s knee, as he was looking at his iPad, stoned off my face yet again, when Mark suggested that he and Luke might want some time to themselves.

“Oh? Okay then. Sure.”

We left not long after, late afternoon. 

I think Mark found me too lazy (ha ha) and too stoned to cope with. (pot calling the kettle, but it is their house, of course) 

I even bought all the pot for the weekend and the cigarettes with which to roll my joints and still they weren’t happy. The deal was that Mark would give me half the money. So, right at the end, feeling a little bad about it all, I said, 

“You don’t have to give me any money, but give me what’s left of my half.”

Mark wanted to keep it all for himself. He turned into the middle child and snatched the dope bag away from me, when I pulled out a too bigger bud to take, he snatched the dope out of my hand.

“Seriously?”

Mark can be like that, so no surprise. He is, literally, the middle child in his family, after all.

Mat looked at me with his cheeky face, as I slipped the car into reverse and looked over my left shoulder in readiness to reverse.

“I think we got kicked out, darling.” Devilish grin.

"We got kicked out, honey." I couldn't help but smile. I kissed Mat. Team Us! We didn't care, what the hell! It was probably true, after all. Just far too relaxed.

Ex-boyfriends, there is no counting on them. Ha ha.


Giving it some thought later, they’d probably organised for some ‘trade’ to come over, some country guy with floppy hair and a big dick. Some 20 year old farm boy named Lachlan who gives it and takes at the same time. Oh yeah, there is something in that alright. I get it. As his jocks come down and his semi bounces into view. 

"I've never done this before," he says. That’s moments before he shoves himself up Luke's arse and starts riding Luke. And Luke wails out for more being the total bottom that he is. And the farm boy works his thick thighs faster. Then the farm boy gets speared in his own arse by Mark, letting out a huge yelp as he’s never quite been pinned like that before. Yeah, I get it.

It's still rude, guests are guests. A 'better' offer doesn't quite cut it. But, yeah, I understand, ex-boyfrends are what they are. Would I do that to them? No, quite frankly, I wouldn't. But, whatever, who cares.


And all of that dissolves into the back ground as Mat and I giggles all the way about being kicked out. I role joints when we get home, wishing Mat enjoyed pot way more than he does.


Friday 10 June 2011

I Headed To The Country

I headed to the country to the country, Friday morning. It was my long weekend. Mark and Luke were expecting me. I picked up pot on the way, you know, as you do. Up the country with God's herb what more could you want, I ask you?

It is just nice to get out of the city and its closed in feel, out to the wide open spaces. The blue the green and everything in between. The free flowing sky, the expanse above us all, beautiful and complete.

The fresh air, you can taste on your tongue, that you can feel on your skin, that feels fresh and clean all around you, the perfume of the earth and the trees.


Sunday 5 June 2011

I Ended It

I quit smoking. Again. I know, I know, but it is still better to give up once again, than not to.

Thursday 2 June 2011

I Started Again

I started smoking again, I know, weak as piss.

Actually, it was yesterday, but I have already posted yesterday, so here is the admission today.


Wednesday 1 June 2011

Stinking Bitch

Rachel Borg's cunt smelt. There was no mistaking it, I could smell it wafting around my nostrils, every so often, like passing clouds, that damp, musky, rank odor just passed over me, by me, whenever she came over to  my side of the office.

I wanted to say, take yourself away and wash yourself. "Hey Rach, a bit mongy today."

I wondered if it was her nylon panties across her red lips, excreting gunge? Or was it dirty knickers, not washed, running late this morning. Maybe, it was Rob who pinned her down before she got out of bed, leaving no time for more than a wipe down with a cloth.

Of course, she looked quite happy, oblivious, they say a dog can't smell its own rancidness. Getting up with fleas, indeed.


I don't know what the boy equivalent is? I'm not sure there is one? A smelly foreskin? I'm not sure you can really smell that underneath clothes. Too closed in, to many layers between it and the world. Where Rachel B. had on a dress, with only a thin layer of cotton, I can only assume, between me and her mess.

A dirty foreskin only takes a few sucks and it is clean and the smell is gone? Does a snatch work the same way? I'll have to ask my mate George, he loves talking about that stuff. That is, of course, what girls have in their favour, straight boys don't care if it stinks, just as long as they let them in.

I'm guessing the Sisterhood is scratching at the furniture and grinding their collective teeth over this post. Leaning down and sharpening their claws across the carpet as the growl, at the impertinence of a mere male. Oh, bad me, I criticised a woman and I did it on a personal level. Boo Hoo! Am I bad?

Have you noticed that it is now verbotten to criticise the female of the species, they have this collective Borg consciousness thing going on that just won't allow for it.

Did you pick up that I don't like Rachel B. I don't. 

It is not a girl thing, as such, I work with girls all the time, I mostly have female bosses, just as it happens, all of who have become friends. Rachel B. was just a two-faced bitch. She was my boss and she used to look me in the eye and lie to my face. Yes, I am saying these things because I don’t like her. It is still true that she had vaginal odour though.

Friday 20 May 2011

I Puffed Away First Thing

I puffed away first thing, I didn't even bother to get out of my robe. It was what I got from Sebastian a few days ago

Mat doesn't work that way. I knew that, but I was in denial, kidding myself. But, you know, he doesn’t have to have any just because I am, it’s not compulsory. In fact, if he refrained there would be more for me.

The first thing I did is turn the coffee machine on and head outside to have a smoke. Saying good morning to Bruno, with him responding by lifting an eye lid.


I sat outside on the wicker chairs and rolled a joint.

I pretty much wanted a second joint immediately after I had finished the first. I can't be that person again, I told myself.

Then, I ignored myself and rolled another joint.

Then I had heavy eye lids sitting back in the chair gazing out into the garden, being careful not to let my robe fall open and flash the world.

Not that I really cared. Don’t look neighbours. Or look. I don't give a toss. 


Wednesday 18 May 2011

Tuesday 17 May 2011

Hanging Out

I shamefully decided to call Tim and Nicholas, well, I hadn’t seen them since the Gold Coast trip, now, when was that, last November? I thought of Perry, I thought of Charlie, but I had been meaning to call Tim and Nicholas for I don’t know how long. Since November, I guess.

I was twiddling my fingers at home, which led to boredom and too much time to think. I clearly, I needed a smoke, as obvious as the nose on my face, not that they knew that.

Tim and Nicholas were off to Thailand on Friday.

Nicholas said he had some growth in his ear that was affecting his hearing. He sounded worried about it, when I said I’m sure it would probably turn out to be nothing.

They seem to be discovering travel, just lately. 

But no pot, Nicolas was out, or Tim was making him abstain or something.

So, I headed home. No, not as soon as I realised there was nothing to smoke, no, not that soon. I chatted a bit.

But not too much, no, my mission was done there, after all. And while I love Tim and Nicholas, loved Tim and Nicholas once, without the bong being offered to me every so often, well, as shameful as you might think this admission is, why would I be there. Oh yes, I know, what a bitch, but without pot, they are less interesting, let’s face it.


And as it turned out – do I have to admit to the possibility of a god with this happening – Sebastian arrived, soon after I got home. 

“You doing anything?” asked Sebastian.

“No,” I said.

“Well, roll this into something.” 

He handed me a larger than normal plain white envelope open at one end. I smiled to myself, as I spied the gunger inside that envelope.

As if my self-focused, contact of old friends for ulterior motives counted for nothing and I was, actually, being rewarded with the universe providing. Lovely. It’s pretty charmed when you think about it. Hey?

And there you have it.

“Do you have cigarettes?” I asked.

“No,” said Sebastian. "I told you I quit."

Shane said no too. He's quit also,

So, I had to go around to the shops to buy some cigarettes to mix with the pot because we have all quit smoking. Go figure. Still, it was the least I could do, even if my feet were hurting from all the walking, I had already done, chasing my addictions.

Sebastian, and I, sat on the wicker chairs on the back veranda, smoking spliff after spliff, talking shit about the world.

“Life is good,” I said.

“Yeah, pretty good with me too,” said Sebastian.

“You wouldn’t be dead for quids, now would you.”

“No, not for a second,” said Sebastian. “Not for anything.”

We gazed out into the garden, out into the world.

“You rolled another one?” asked Sebastian.

“No, not yet,” I said.

“Well,” said Sebastian. “What’s stopping you?”

“Oh, dunno,” I said. “Waiting for you to give me the nod, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Just keep them coming, I’ve got nothing to do for the rest of the day, how about you?”

“No, no plans.”

“Well, go on, get rolling.”

“Your wish is my command.”

So, there you go. If you want some sort of moral to this story, I guess it would be, um, er, chuckle, get to and bot off your friends, because even if they can’t provide what you need, the universe will hear you and it will provide where other fall short.

Do you like that?

“You got that joint rolled?” asked Sebastian. “I’m gagging for another over here.”

“Voila,” I said. I held the freshly minted joint in the air. 

“Well, its no good to any one unlit,” said Sebastian. “Would you care to do the honours.”

“I would care indeed,” I said.

I flicked the lighter, the white cigarette burned red at the far end, I sucked the herby tasting smoke into my lungs. I took 2 more drags then I handed it to Sebastian.

Sebastian took the joint from my fingers. “You are a prince among men,” he said. He puffed on the joint. He blew the smoke into the air. Then he turned and looked at me. “Why aren’t you rolling the next joint?”

“Oh, yes, I’m on it.”

“Idle fingers are the devil's, um, er…” said Sebastian.

“I’ve always said that,” I said.

We both laughed.

Sebastian handed the joint back to me.

The day was gentle and serene.


Monday 16 May 2011

I Quit

I quit, again, after another weekend of smoking pot.

I'm a good boy. What a good boy am I.


Thursday 12 May 2011

Wednesday 11 May 2011

In Your Pants Company

The In Your Pants Company makes it perfectly acceptable for its staff to declare a love for sex, giving the illusion they're sexually availability in their friendly greeting.

"I love sex." Let's face it, who doesn't, with the attractive staff. "Can I help you?" Can I help you with something new to cover your body, can I help you with life.

It gives customer service a whole new meaning, the gals with their skimpy tops, and the guy’s bare chested with the elastic of their undies showing.

Staff have been "turned on" for their customer's pleasure with big, bright, and colourful 'sex' buttons they wear.

"We will take our pants off to get In Your Pants." 

Woo Hoo, there should be more of it, is what most focus groups say. Strapping guys and sexy gals, all tactile, suggestive and at times shivering with anticipation... of a sale, of course.

The badges are part of the Sex & Life advertising campaign for In Your Pants Clothing Co and new lust theme based designers shopping experience. 

The campaign also features the large image of a semi-naked woman, with gaffer tape over her nipples, having her jeans unzipped from behind, by various beefy men. 

It also features a large image of a strapping young man having his jeans pulls off by a gaggle of pretty girls, just leaving him in his undies, which we can see he is clearly enjoying.

She's Lovely! A bit Girl Next Door, if you know what I mean. But, it's not just for the guys, it is for the gals too. The guy’s sales team are just as provocative and just as cute.

Got to love that; it’s an edgy and chilled and cool approach to selling, with no hang ups and no limits to get a sale. Sure, it is for the young, but when isn't sex.

"We will take our pants off to get In Your Pants," say the guy shop staff, as enthusiastically as their gal counter parts.


But, you know, what I love the most, is listening to all the wowzers squeak and squirm and show the world their sexual hang ups. These are the same religious based campaigners who didn't understand what oral sex was. The leader Madge Vickers-Waffle blushed and said quite seriously, "I don't believe any god fearing man does that to his loving wife, not in my experience, " when it was explained to her that cunnilingus is not, in fact, a South American Trumpet player.


These guys & gals are giving everything for a sale and, on some occasions, I mean everything and they are loving it. A big smile, a quick song and dance routine, tell some jokes, all in the name of fun and, of course, a sale. You’ll love it too.


Tuesday 10 May 2011

I Hear It's The Latest Thing

I've seen a lot of mix race couples around lately, as much as I hate to use that particular term.

I hear it's the latest thing to be an Asian/Caucasian mixed couple.

Cutting edge love, they say.

Cutting edge.

Asian girls traditionally like Asian boys and white girls traditionally like white boys, but not so much anymore. White girls are liking Asian boys more and more and Asian girls are liking white boys just the same. Their children are usually beautiful, the best of both races.

Just as, pretty Asian girls are catching the eye of white boys and pretty white girls are turning Asian boys on, Asian boys are liking white boys and Asian girls are liking white girls just the same.

It is a modern world, it is a new time with choices expanding. Why deny yourself. Why? Thank the universe, we all collectively sigh in relief. Barriers are being broken down. Love is expanding. Suddenly, the world is a bigger place. Brighter too for everyone.


Monday 9 May 2011


I Can’t Be Trusted

I stole the rest of the pot and smoked it, right out from under my Max's nose. I took it out of his draw, by his bed. He always says he is hiding it and either I am smarter than the average thief or good hiding places are hard to find, as I always find it. I smoked the lot, didn't share any of it.

He didn't say anything, too busy trying to be healthy, I guess. Or, he just didn't notice, which I find hard to believe. I would have noticed if it was mine. I don't know, I don't really care.

I can't be trusted, I told you that.

I just go into his room, and start looking. It is never hard to find, I always find it. I sometimes wonder if he'd installed a camera, it wouldn't be hard to do. And wonder if he'll spring the photographic evidence on me, you know, out of the blue. But, he hasn't, I guess, obviously.

I tell myself, I am not going to do it again, but then I am back in there going through his draws. Again.

I can’t be trusted.

And I’m his friend.


Sunday 8 May 2011

I Smoked

I smoked pot... joints and good food, and an open fire. How better to spend a Sunday night, I ask you?

It was a wintry night outside.

The whole gang was over.


Winter Is Here. It Was The Old Gang, Kind Of

I cooked breakfast for Sam. We watched It’s Complicated until 2pm, Meryl Streep and Alec Baldwin. I remember when I used to lust after Alec Baldwin, BeetleJuice comes to mind, that must be a long time ago now.

Then I had to leave for mother’s day with my brother and sister.

Sam went home.

Eddie came over after he’d seen his mum. Cam had gone for a float with Max and Eddie didn’t have a house key to get in. I head over to pick Sam up on my way home, but I knew Eddie would be waiting, but he wouldn’t be locked outside for long, if at all. And he wasn’t.

Sebastian cooked pasta and Cam made a salad.

Cam rolled joints and after he and Eddie left, Sebastian pulled pot out of somewhere, he’d been keeping that a secret, and we kept smoking. We were maggotted by the end, just like old times.

Winter is here. It was the old gang, kind of.

Saturday 7 May 2011

Friday 6 May 2011

Magda Still Looks ...

After everything, all the advertising and television and magazine articles, and all the talk, somehow Magda still looks fat fab. I love Magda, I think she is fabulous, really fucken fabulous, but the diet isn't working so well the work she’s done.

I guess I should just keep my mouth shut, yes I should, it's not something at which I’m good. 

If you can't say anything nice and all that… but let's face, she appeared on the cover of New Idea – seriously credibility plummets to zero – she had pretty much sold out, giving me permission to say what I like.


Thursday 5 May 2011

Hello Handsome

He smiled at me with his amazing blue eyes. You know when you think, look at you, who could be that perfect. Something inside me melted.

His red lips parted just slightly, as the corners of his eyes creased in joy. That square jaw I wanted to run my tongue along. That dark brown hair I wanted to run my fingers through. You know, kind of rough, well, certainly not timid.

I could feel a swoon. I could taste the sweat on his skin. I could feel the warmth of his breath. I could taste the spit on his tongue. I could feel his wanton enthusiasm as our face connected and our hands grabbed for the other one.

I'm sure he winked. I stopped myself from winking in return, just in case I had imagined it. I smiled, though, I couldn't stop the smile spreading across my face. The creases in my cheeks almost hurt with the intensity I felt there in the sides of my face. I nodded. He did too.


I turned and walked away, I stopped myself from looking back. Then I questioned my decision and I felt a chill as I turned and looked behind me, just to see the last part of him turning back to look in the direction he was headed thinking that I hadn't turned back to look at him.

Wednesday 4 May 2011

The Mute Button

I thank the universe every day for the mute button, one of the greatest inventions by man, silencing the incessant advertising drivel and calming the world. It is possibly one of the most evil things invented by man, advertising. It hates the world and mankind, it only likes it's selfish self. It doesn't care who, or what, it steps on to make a sale. It doesn't care what truth, or lie, it needs to tell, to flog its wares. The truth means nothing, nothing at all, only money talks, isn't that swell?

Advertisers should be banned, put on a deserted island and waterboarded with their shouty adds, or forced to eat their shit, packaging and all.


Sunday 1 May 2011

Saturday 30 April 2011

Smoking, Never Quit Giving Up

I quit smoking, yes again.

Jesus fuck me Christ, I hear you all say. Enough!

Yep, is my answer. I shrug.

What is it they say, never quit giving up.


Friday 29 April 2011

Tuesday 19 April 2011

Bugger It!

I started smoking again. Just at night so far, he says nervously. I get by in the day. Having something in my mouth, maybe that's it, taking that physical ache away. 

That gnawing pain. Fuck it, hey. Give me a fag, take that away.


Sunday 17 April 2011

I Smoked Pot

My house mate had pot, what can I say?

I whacked off good to porn afterwards, it's good for that. Straight boy porn, doing it with a guy for the first time, I love it. It is my favourite porn to watch. That angst. The reticence. That giving in. That getting into it. That enjoyment. Yum, yum.

Saturday 16 April 2011

I Stopped Smoking

I stopped smoking, again. It is better to stop again, and again, and again, than to not.Yay!

Tuesday 12 April 2011

Not a lot of ugly... left

Belinda is getting thinner and thinner and, I have to say, uglier and uglier. It is quite sad, really, she is still wearing the same clothes she used to wear before the apparent anorexia took hold, which only accentuates the problem. Rather than the temperamental, up and down, bitch boss, if she loses any more weight, we will have to call her the stick figure cadaver.

I wish she'd just... oh, I don't know what? You know, get it over and done with, eat even less... book into a facility, leave the company, go on a long holiday, just go away, she is a nightmare, haunting the staff. You weren't that nice when you were athletic and healthy, you certainly aren't any nicer now.  


Try harder, please, perhaps I should tell her she is fat. (chuckle)


I guess that's wrong? But, you know, in this fast-paced, non-stop world, it is so hard to differentiate between what is right and what is wrong now a days, don't you find? There is so much going on, it just spins your head, don't you find. Throw in political correctness and you don't know what you are allowed to think any more, let alone say.

I guess, I shouldn't say stuff like that - people will believe me. Not funny? Not funny.

I wish Belinda would evaporate, quite frankly, the last image of her face resembling Munch's Scream, before she is gone. Poof! How she choses to do it is up to her, really, a rope over a beam, a jump into a stream, scones, jam and cream. Who cares? Nobody will care? Her family barely care about her, from what I hear. Obviously, nobody cares now. Stupid cow. Just stop haunting our office space, making our lives a misery. It is really hard to enjoy work when you have an unpredictable, unpleasant, bully standing over you. Get therapy so the rest of us can get on and be happy.

Sunday 10 April 2011

Friday 8 April 2011

Smoking - I Don't Seem To Make it Stick.

This smoking thing, I just don't seem to get on top of it, it just seems to be my weakness.

Bloody hell! Bloody hell!

I can quit, but I just don't seem to be able to make it stick.


Monday 4 April 2011

She'll Be Scaring Small Children Soon

Belinda looks terrible, but what anorexic doesn't. She looks like a cadaver walking.

She'll be scaring small children soon.

Fuck, she scares me. Although, that may have more to do with the fact of having a mental defective in charge of me than how sad and ugly she truly has become.

I wonder if she enjoys being the office bitch? She seems like she does, the way she weilds her power. 


"No minion dare speak back to me, as I will bring them down with my anorexic death stare."

Leave them standing at the door, they'll wait some and then they'll wait some more. She's the boss, it gives her power. Sad really, when you think about it.

When she left me standing there at her office door, over an extended period of time, I'm sure just so it made her feel like she had a big, gorgeous cunt, when she looked up, I just wanted to look her in the eye and ask, Belinda, do you think anorexia is someone hating themselves, or do you think it is the only way that person knows how to gain control over their lives?

Of course, I should be feeling sorry for her, but she was always a bitch, even before she got sick. It, actually, didn't take illness to make her an awful person, she always was unpleasant.

Friday 1 April 2011

Sad Belinda, Bitch Belinda, Let's See Her Dead in a Ditch, Belinda

Poor sad Belinda, never quite measured up, never quite obtained the happiness that her family and friends seemed to achieve. She never seemed to be able to control her destiny, never quite making it, never quite getting on top of this thing other people gloriously call their fulfilling lives.

She worked hard at her job, and worked hard on her body, and worked hard on her mind, but none of it ever satisfied her.

The harder she worked, the uglier she got.

The harder she worked, the uglier the world seemed to be.

The harder she worked, the sadder poor, old, sad Belinda became.

The harder she worked, the more everyone around her came to hate her. (she was a bitch, after all)

She achieved a lot, but the more she achieved the more none of it ever satisfied her.

No matter how much she grabbed at it, life just seemed to remain out of her control.

No matter how far you run, Belinda, or how high you jump, for that matter, you'll always find yourself there... with one sibling that hates you.


Tuesday 29 March 2011

And He Starts Again

I started smoking again. I couldn't say no. It was a weak moment.

Stress, I was stressed.


Friday 25 March 2011

Tum Di Da

I stayed up late watching YouTube. Tucked up in my bed, with my lap-top on my lap catching up on my English soap, Emerdale. I love the two gay boys.

You gotta luv it, tucked up in bed at night.

So, I took a sickie, you know, as you do. Sometimes you've just got to, it's called mental health. We should all be encouraged to take our sick leave, I'm sure we'd be a far less sick society if we did.

Oh, life is so meant to be enjoyed. My accounting firm could do without me for a day. 
The workers should not feel guilty taking their sick leave, otherwise you are just contributing towards the partners new Mercedes. Instead of doing journals, I did lunch instead.

Lovely.

Wednesday 23 March 2011

I Gave Up Smoking

I gave up smoking, it was a struggle this time. I dithered and dallied, but now it is done. He says confidently.

Friday 18 March 2011

The Black Car

It had been raining for the last few days, but it had just stopped for a short time. It was a momentary relief, for it seemed to have been raining continuously, forever. And, indeed, it nearly had. There had been just constant rain and it seemed to dull the senses, and tire the spirit making one feel dizzy with the damp and less keen on life, because of it.

The memo said, ‘If you happened to have been parked in the Flinder’s Lane car park last Friday, at around 7am and you saw a black sedan with the license plate quite possibly JM 0 something, or JN 0 something, or possibly YJM something... could you please call the number supplied. You may be able to assist with an enquiry regarding a woman who allegedly parked in the car park at around the same time.’

Amy was taken back a little, as she had seen the car in question. Jeremy Marshall, 30 years old. Her Jeremy, his BMW JM 030. She had parked behind it, as she had on other occasions. Amy's car had been parked in the underground car park from 6am on the morning in question. Amy had been one of the first people to arrive, but she hadn't seen anyone else in the car park as she exited through the back stairwell. The back stairwell was the closest to her office and it gave her a reason to walk the five flights of stairs, rather than being lazy and taking the lift. Of course, she could take the lift and just go back to the gym. Or suspend her membership, at the very least. But, using the stairs gave her a sense of, actually, doing something healthy, you know. Gym membership, or not. No further action required.

Had she seen anyone that morning? She didn't think so, she couldn't quite remember now, as she really hadn't take that much notice, as she struggled with her two bags and her leather coat – it’s all very well having a briefcase with wheels, but the stairs? Was she talking on her phone and therefore distracted, as she was so often as she arrived at the office? Yes, Jeremy had called her to discuss the two of them, she thought as she gazed at the number plate.

Would anyone else remember the two door car? She only remembered because the car meant something to her. Of course, the car isn’t a sedan at all, as it said in the email, it is a coupe. She felt relieved and then wondered straight after that thought why she should feel relieved at all.

In hindsight, that was the tactical phone call to sure up the proposal, later that night. She was a bit hung over from the night before, she remembered she was concentrating that morning, more than usual, her head ached, and she didn't want to forget anything. She must have looked a wreck. She laughed, at the thought, more of a defence mechanism than because she thought it was humorous. Lucky there isn’t any security footage attached to this email. She wasn't hung over on alcohol. She'd realised lately that she couldn't smoke anything, if she wanted a clear head. Although she hadn't stopped, it was Jeremy’s influence, so it was vagueness she was battling.

I don’t want to call anyone, she thought. I don’t want to get involved. What did she care, Jeremy had asked her to marry him, just out of the blue? Well, clearly not just out of the blue for Jeremy. Amy’s head spun with every bridle picture she’d ever seen, as she found herself saying yes. She deleted the memo and then emptied the trash.

She wondered if she should call Jeremy.

What enquiry could this be assisting with, she also thought?

If Jeremy was on the phone to her? What time was that? What could he have to do with another person? Woman?

She decided to call him.

“Jeremy, there is an email circulating around our office about anyone seeing a black car with the number plate something like your number plate last Friday morning in my parking lot?”

“Really,” said Jeremy. “Funny hey? But… but… I didn’t park in the parking lot, last Friday. I was at a clients all morning.”

Amy hadn’t really thought that the memo was referring to Jeremy’s car at all, she suspected that she was being a drama queen, open to salacious gossip as we all are now a days, that was until Jeremy had just obviously lied to her.

Still, he probably wouldn’t be stupid enough to park in the car park in the immediate future, whether he has, actually, done anything or not.

She felt relieved, of sorts. Her mother’s words came into her head.

“Stop mothering that boy, he’s more, um, worldly than you give him credit for. He’s more…” Her mother shook her head.

Tim, Amy’s PA, was dutifully at his desk.

“Morning,” he said, as he did every morning. “When do you want to go through your schedule?”

“Oh, give me a moment,” replied Amy. “I’ll let you know when I am ready.”

She closed the door to her office and sat at her desk and switched on her computer, hoping that work would replace the troubled feeling she had.

She couldn’t get Jeremy out of her head.

She decided to go and make coffee.

“I’m just going to make a coffee.”

“I could go down stairs and get you a real one,” said Tim.

“No, it’s okay, I’m in the mood for instant.

Tim looked perplexed.

In the kitchen they are discussing the email and the rumour of what it all might have been about.


“What’s it about?” asked Amy.

“Oh, some girl got her bag snatched by some whack job,” said Dave from IT. “Apparently, the whack job took off in a black Holden. That’s why they are asking for witnesses, to collaborate the story.”

“A Commodore,” you say?”

“I said Holden,” said Dave. “But yes, I believe it was a Commodore.”

“Oh, a Commodore.”

“Yes.”

That let Jeremy off the hook, thought Amy. But why did he lie? Why would a man lie to his girlfriend, she thought?


She couldn't stop thinking about it all afternoon. By 3pm, she told Tim she was leaving for the day. She headed to the local gadget shop and purchased a GPS. It was the magnetic type. The nice sales boy said she could just attach it under Jeremy's mudguard on his car. Once she had done that, it was simple to track where Jeremy had been.

She wasn't really sure why, but she wanted to know why he'd told her a lie.

Jeremy's BMW was still in the car park when she got down to the basement carpark. Amy felt a chill run up her spine as she looked at the black car. She walked to the back of the coupe. She looked up and down the driveways, they were clear. She opened her bag and slid her hand in. She stopped. Hesitated. Looked up and down the driveway again. She slipped her hand out of her bag, clicked it shut and turned and walked back down the driveway to where her car was parked.

She walked directly to the back of the car. She looked around for a final time and then reached in under the rear mudguard and attached the tracking device. Then she just casually walked away. Her stomach was in a knot, belieing the whole scene.


Wednesday 9 March 2011

I Thought This Was a Family Site

I thought this was a family site, commented one of the punters.

WTF?

What on this earth made him think that?... other than wishful thinking.

It's funny how just because the government uses the "family" platform and just because marketers use the "family" platform to increase their respective market shares, with, or without, actually giving a damn about families, the general public, hoodwinked as usual, thinks that the world is family orientated. It almost borders on arrogance. No, really.

Let me give you the heads up, nearly the same number of people in society don't have kids as do and those who don't have different ideas to child friendly family values.

If you choose to have kids, great, that is your choice, but don't expect the rest of the world to be responsible for your choices.

The rest of us have different values.

Tuesday 8 March 2011


The Only Time

The only time we are truly relaxed is when we are sitting on the toilet. That is when you can just let it all go without fear. Any other time there is always a part of you hanging onto something, be it only a small part.

People like Madge Vickers-Waffle perhaps hang on tighter and longer than most people. People like her, the scared people, who can’t truly let go because they have Jesus setting the rules.

Most religious activists, whether they admit it to the world, or not, or if they spread the word by stealth, which is so often the case now a days, just need to sit on the dunny and pull their huge cork of self righteousness out of their puckered arses. 

I tell you, they'd feel much better.


Monday 7 March 2011

Abortion

I've been reading stuff about abortion lately, none of which really made sense to me. It was all about the trauma and the unhappiness, but I never saw that amongst my friends who'd had abortions.

I've had a number of girlfriends who have had abortions, in fact, I think the majority, so I thought I'd ask them how they felt about it now.

Unanimously, they all said that it was the pregnancy that was the problem and not the abortion.

One said, she couldn't imagine being tied to the father of the child for the rest of her life because they'd had a baby together? She said that would have been the true nightmare. Now she is married to a partner she loves with who she has had children and life couldn't be better.

One said, she wasn't ready at the time, and a termination made so much sense. It would have been such a trial to complete uni and live her early twenties with a child. She so wasn't ready when she was found herself pregnant.

Now she has a beautiful son and she doesn't ever think about that first time. She has never had any regrets.

Another friend said, she never thought about it. She never wanted children. It was easier than having her appendix removed, she said. Quicker recovery time.

Another friend said, a problem? No. Why do you ask? It's not exactly like human beings are in short supply on this planet, now are they.

I've been reading about the pain an abortion creates, I told her.

No, it was the smartest thing for me to do, at that time. I never think about it now. It wasn't a problem. In and out in no time. She laughed. I think I was out dancing the next night.

Another girlfriend said, maybe if she'd already had children? Maybe? It may have played on her mind, picturing if they'd turn out like the others. But, she had her kids quite a few years after that and she never really connect the two. It was just something she didn't want at the time.

All of them said it wasn't a huge drama. They decided to go ahead with it and they did. All of them said the drama was the unplanned pregnancy, not the unplanned abortion.

They all said they were very pleased that they had that option.

You just fix it and move on, said J. It is as simple as that.


Sunday 6 March 2011

My Computer

My computer is a distraction from the real world.

Stare at the screen. Ever thing else is a dream. Me and this screen, is the only thing that is real. This is my world, and I love it so. It’s what loves me too. Loves me back, when I get it down. 

My best friend,

in the world.

Dependable.

My rock.

(It just needs a cock)

To be the perfect distraction,

there you go.

It’s a ho,

with only eyes for mo.

It is love as I caress, 

with my fingertips.

I finger it all day,

and it never says stop,

that’s enough,

do it to me for as long as you like.


Tuesday 22 February 2011

The Older Woman

“Don't say what, Julio, say pardon,” Bridget said.

I laughed. It seemed like the most preposterous thing to say.

Bridget and Julio both looked at me surprised. More startled.

I looked at Garth.

He looked back at the Bridget and Julio.

Garth took me by the arm and lead me out of the room.

"I realised that, although my mother is the most impossible woman in the world, Julio loves her. He really loves her."

I didn't say anything. I thought the thirty year age difference spoke for itself.

Garth didn’t say anything about that.

“How do you think…”

“Don’t even go there,” said Garth.

“But, do you think…”

“I said don’t go there,” said Garth.

“Don’t you…”

“No, I don’t, she is my mother.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”


Thursday 10 February 2011

We Were Just Two Lads Being Mates, Living Our Lives

I used to go watch Jason play footy for Glenroy. He looked hot in his shorts – nice bum, hairy legs, big bulge, muscular arms in his sleeveless jumper. He was just one of the lads as he hung with his mates… all slapping each other’s arses as they showered.

We all drank beer afterwards and the rest of them talked about girls, as I caught Jason's eye and he'd smile at me momentarily before he join in with the others.

He’d be all hey-ho macho and one of the boys, I used to love it. A tough northern kid.

Then he’d say quietly, Do you want to suck my cock? Then he’d blush. Straight boys (straightish) are hot when they blush.

Then I'd be sucking his big fat cock back in his room before his parents got home from where ever they were, most likely the market, or Jason's sisters place, wondering what his mates would have thought if they could have seen him spread legged.

He'd wipe his spoof off the lino on his bedroom floor with his jocks when we were done and say, "Come on, let's shower before the olds get back."

A couple of times his parents were home before we'd finished snogging in the shower. They never thought anything of it, it never crossed their minds. We were just two lads being mates, living our lives.


Monday 7 February 2011

Something Lost

It's funny thinking about Jason. He was fiery and passionate and beautiful. A wog boy to be sure. We kind of had a special bond, kids from different sides of the tracks make good friendship. Day time movie premises. I bet they wouldn't show the hot fucking, skin on skin; we couldn't get enough of each other's genitals. We were always pulling each other's pants off.

He seemed so alive and his extended family seemed like a circus going on around him.

The funny bit is that I have his parent's phone number. It wouldn't be so unrealistic that they haven't moved, they'd lived in that house for years.

They loved me. They thought I was funny. They were all so earthy, in away. They called me Jason's boyfriend, even though I don't think they suspected. We were both kids in their eyes. I was different to them, so I was just Jason's buddy. School friend, that's how he passed us off. They'd give me Jason's phone number, most likely. They'd certainly pass mine on to him, I think.

What would happen, do you think?

I live on my own.

What if he'd never found love?

What if he was married, but had lost the love?

What if he was married... boys cheat, they all do. He'd come over to my place and fuck and feel no guilt. Guys don't feel guilt about that stuff. If it involves their cocks, they don't care about anything else. It would be different, that's all.


Sunday 6 February 2011

Keilor Park Drive

I was driving down the Calder, sun shining, car purring and I saw a sign that said Keilor Park Drive. It was like something I didn't know. I had no information on that. It was somewhere I had never been and somewhere I would probably never go.

The closest I had was Jason from Glenroy. Not that that is really close at all. I laughed to myself, am I an inner suburb snob? I hadn't thought about Jason in ages.

I met him in the city, on one of those endless city visits that sixteen year olds seem to always do. He had that look in his eyes, hungry, I was attracted to it straight away. He seemed so straight boy and kind of tough, I wondered if it was some weird game he played, but he kept looking and then he followed me.

And when he said, nervously, "Do you know somewhere to go?" 

I felt nervous, but I knew I wasn't imagining it. It was suddenly real, not a game anymore.

He was hot and we did filthy things together in the CentrePoint bog. Upstairs, where guys used to line the walls, when they felt safe, they used to look over the doors. There would be people looking through every crack, sometimes they would speak. They'd scatter as soon as someone new came through the door, to every corner, looking away. then it would start again. Someone would move into position. The new guy would step forward to look over at the guys in the cubicle, who were back at it first, prove your "stripes," prove you were one of us.

It was the first time I went home with someone. It was a hell of a trip, to his place in the northern suburbs, when his parents were at work. It could have been one of the first times I had left the safe confines of my own suburb and my mother's bosom. In the holidays, it didn't matter how long it took.

Not long after I'd got my licence, I ventured out to his place, as one of the first things I did. As a horny eighteen year old, driving across town for a shag. It became apparent that there was a lot I didn't know, as I found my way through a multitude of suburbs that I never knew even existed. They seemed to be going for miles. I'd never seen these streets before. It was a foreign land.

I'd just left school.

It was the first time we did it in a bed, his bed. He was keen, not nervous at all.

It was funny to think that there was a whole group of people who I would never mix with, never meet. The other side of town, so to speak. People I would never know. Strangers in my own city, who lived around Keilor Park Drive.