Spiritual

Brad feels like he's under spiritual attack, and has felt it for a while, he told people at the time of the breakdown.

"It's not just the big things, it's smaller, quieter things, internal things. You might think that it's about the robbery, and while that didn't help, that's not what's going on here," said Brad.

“What’s going on? asked Nell.

Brad and Nell had been friends since kindergarten.

“He's dealing with a lot of subtler issues,” said Nell.

"It's a trying time, but that can be a good thing,” said Brad’s mum. “When you overcome something, a sense of achievement can be a powerful tonic."

"I'm not going to run away from how I feel," said Brad. He leans in and whispers, "I might come away a stronger, better man."

“That’s the hope,” said Nell.

"But it hurts him, his spirit is vexed," said Nell.

"But that's where growth comes from," said Brad’s mum.

"Sometimes, darkness creeps in, and he wrestles against it,” said Nell. 

He talks about that a lot. It's exhausting, and it takes everything he's got.

“He's just so tired now, he's very low energy and feels he's grieving, or something,” said Nell

"Grieving for what? His ex-wife and kids?" said Brad’s mum.

“He married so young,” said Nell. “But, no, it’s not that.”

“Too young to know,” said Brad’s mum. “I tried to tell him.”

"It's very hard to explain, but something has happened recently, where he's not the guy that everyone knows," said Nell.

It is a hot night, Brad has already kicked the blanket off. He is just lying there in his jocks. Baggy whities to be exact. He slides his hand down his pants. He closes his eyes as his fingertips brush down over the stubble of his last trim.

If someone had installed cameras, what would they see? Contentment? Anxiety?

He plays with what’s in his pants. His breathing changes, it takes quite a few minutes, but it eventually changes. He pulls himself under the white cotton. He concentrates suddenly like nothing else exists. Then, he pulls a red, angry erection from his undies, pulling elastic down at the front. He spits in his hand and wrestles the monster all by himself on his bed. He spits on his hand again, and again. Just when it looks as though he is winning, it grows bigger and bigger. Finally, it inflates to be as big as he is when he screams out loud, his entire body spasms ridged, and he ejaculates in huge white sprays into the air like an enormous fountain and then his giant cock starts to beat him to death.

He wakes up climbing up the bed head trying to get away from the pounding phallus. Momentarily, he is terrified. He has cum in his undies. He is conflicted. He breaths hard, recoiling. The realisation it was a dream comes moments later.

He fell back to sleep.

The dreams continued. “They are nightmares, not dreams,” he said.

At least the sleep walking had stopped.

“The sleeping pills help, I think,” said Brad.

“How many are you taking?” asked Nell.

“Does it matter, as long as they work?”

5am in the park. Brad couldn’t quite remember how he got there. He knew well enough that he meant to go there, it was just the getting there he couldn’t remember.

A guy pulls up on the boulevard in a Porsche, gets out and walks into the shadows. Brad remembers where the new guy punctured the dark. Brad finds him just inside the canopy of shadows. Brad had got a good look at him in the light his car door shone, which was good because he couldn’t see a thing now. Just an outline, in front of him. This had to be the guy, there was nobody else around. They start kissing, square jaw, nice mouth, clearly, he likes it as much as Brad. They feel each other’s erections, and the next thing is,

“Do you want to go some other place?” he asks.

Porsche Boy whisks Brad to his place. Then it is up against walls, up against furniture, on all fours on the floor, Porsche Guy takes it like a champion, and he must have liked what he got because he wanted more, real soon, he made that abundantly clear.

Brad knew his modus de operandi was flip them over, hold them down and fuck them hard like a girl. Hold them tight, don’t let them squirm out of your grip. He knew there was more, he loved to lie with Porsche Guy and be soft and tender.

Brad came out to his family with Paolo, Porsche guy. 

“Mum, dad, I’m gay.”

“Is that why you left Nicky and the kids?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” said his father. “Why did you marry her then?”

“I guess, to make you happy.”

“We only want what makes you happy,” said his mum.

His family were pleased that he was happy. His mother hoped it would give Brad some stability, some peace.

It turned out Paolo was a water polo player, and Brad went to all his matches.

They had an end of season water polo breakup on Albert Park.

Paolo wasn’t immediately forgiving when he caught water polo buddy Lachlan hard and erect in Brad’s mouth, in the scrubby bits of the lake garden at 3am. “You should have seen the size of that thing?” says Brad.

But Paolo does forgive Brad, as he describes the girth of Lachlan’s cock as he is rock hard up Paolo’s arse. Brad promises Paolo Lachlan’s cock, and after a particularly messy, drunken New Year’s Eve Water Polo parties, Paolo got Lachlan’s monster unprotected cock up his arse, as Brad and Lachlan took turns fucking Paolo’s hot arse all New Year’s Day.

The water polo team went away together for New Year’s Eve in Lorne, down the coast.

The water polo team thought it would be great hijinks if they burst into Brad and Paolo’s bedroom in the morning.

“Let’s catch the poofs at it.” (That clearly wasn’t thought through)

They were confronted by Lachlan in bed with our two guys. Erect with his hand around it. Brad was wrapped in a doona. Paolo was the statue of David lying down. Lachlan was mass-outed to his entire water polo team, naked. Lachlan’s wife was surprised.

The team backed out as quick as they came in, after seeing brother Lachlan had clearly been up to the gay sex. The three of them had clearly been up to what the boys clearly understood. The guys had no problem with it, they had all been involved in two guys on a girl in the past, (or a couple of drunken water polo players found solace in each other), it was a boy’s water polo team for goodness sakes. They knew exactly what had happened.  The girls give it up to the water polo boys very easily, very easily all those muscular biceps, what’s a girl to do.

They were just shocked. “Beam me up, Scotty,” they all said, as they tumbled backwards on each other. Shocked that they’d stumbled into it.

 

Lachlan threw a rope over a roof beam and kicked the chair out from under him, not long after the team caught him “at it”.

Paolo took it very hard and blamed himself, and eventually went home to the country to reassess his life.

And Brad felt like everyone blamed him. Emotionally attacked by all involved, is what he felt, even if it wasn’t, necessarily, true, it was true for Brad.

Brad withdrew into his own shell, so to speak. He spent a lot of time alone, contemplating life. If the truth be known he was brooding on his lot.

Then he was out one night getting some fresh air, trying to walk off his angst, and he was mugged by a white guy in a hoodie, who had a really big knife.

“Give me your wallet and your phone,” said the guy brandishing the large knife about.

“What?” said Brad not quite believing that this was happening.

“You heard me! Give me your wallet and your phone. And is that a Rolex on your wrist?”

“What?” Brad repeated.

“Give me the watch too.”

“No.”

“Don’t think I won’t use this!”

“Oh, I don’t think anything,” said Brad. “Nothing at all! Not anymore.”

“What?” says the guy in the hoodie with the knife.

“I’m not giving you my wallet, I’m not giving you my phone, I’m not giving you my watch, I’m not giving you a god damn thing.”

The guy in the hoodie thrust the knife at Brad. “I’ll give you one more chance.”

“One more chance! One more chance!” screamed Brad. “That would be the fucken day. There is no such thing as one more chance. Everything gets taken from you, everything ends, and then there is nothing left! Nothing! It is all gone! Gone forever! Never to fucken come back. There are no more chances! None. Not second, not third! Not any fucken thing!” Brad fell to his knees crying. “Even if you are a good person, and you only want good things for those in your life,” Brad sobbed.

“Jesus!” The guy with the knife in the hoodie ran off.

An ambulance came, not that Brad remembered that so much. 

He remembered the weeks he spent in hospital.

He remembered his mother coming to visit him. “Darling, that was a terrible ordeal for anyone to go through,” said his mother.

“I’m the common denominator in it all.”

“Oh darling," said his mother. "If you want someone to blame, blame the priest who used to touch you.” 

“What? No! That's not it.”

“I think it was,” said his mother. 

“No!”

“Something upset you.”

“No. It wasn’t the touching. I liked Father Buck,” said Brad. “No, it was the desertion when he went back to his wife that upset me the most.”

“Oh darling.”

His friends didn’t come because he didn’t tell them. He spoke to a few of them on the phone, but surprisingly few, and he gave vague answers on the questions about what he was up to, and he got away with it.

Nell visited, of course.

“It is over now, and it will never happen again, so don’t worry,” said Nell.

“How can you be sure?” said Brad.

“Statistically,” said Nell. “It won’t. One mugging a life time. I promise..”

“I wanted too much…”

“Hush, now,” said Nell. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

Brad sought out counselling. Well, not so much sought it out, as was advised to seek some by his doctor.

“I thought it was the Africans you had to look out for,” said Brad to his councillor. “This guy could have been me?”

“I don’t know that racial stereotyping is really true of real life,” replied his councillor.

“So, what is true?”

“Sometimes bad things happen to nice people.” His councillor shrugged.

“What about karma?”

“Karma?” questioned his councillor.

“Aren’t you supposed to be repaid with good things, if you live a good life?”

“I think that is how karma is allegedly supposed to work, yes?” said his councillor.

“So, my karmic debt is still not paid for, you know?”

“Paolo leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Lachlan’s death?”

“Yes,” said Brad. “And my wife and kids?”

“Your guilt?”

“What do I have to do to clear it?” asked Brad.

“You think its karma?”

“Yes,” said Brad.

“I think we are going to have to do some more work around all of this?”

“The universe is never going to forgive me, now is it?” said Brad.

“I think we need to start couching all of this in reality, Brad.”

“The spirits are gunning for me, aren’t they?”

“No, they are not.”

There are two canvass chairs on a low terrace facing the sea. There is a table between the chairs, two cocktails with umbrellas are sitting on the table.

The sea gently rolls in onto the white sandy beach.

Brad reaches for his drink.

“You do know that none of this was your fault?” said Nell.

“I think I must take some…” said Brad

“None of it was your fault because you are a bad person,” said Nell.

“I’m glad we came down here,” said Brad. “It is relaxing.”

“It is not some cosmic punishment…”

“It’s hard not to think that.”

“You may have made some bad choices, that led to certain outcomes,” said Nell. “But that’s as much as it was your fault.”

“If I could only go back…”

“You are not a bad person,” said Nell.

“It’s hard not to…”

“You are not under some spiritual attack.”

“I hope that is true.”

“It is true.”

“Thanks Nell.”

“The universe isn’t coming for you,” said Nell.

“But Paolo and Lachlan and the guy with the knife…”

“That’s just life, babe.”

“The dreams and the nightmares?”

“Life,” said Nell. “That’s just life.”

Brad sipped his drink. “It’s not a life I like.”

Love Letter

What I'd buy him, when he was born? My kid.

A warehouse, a website and a Wolseley 6/110. (Could be a P5B Rover V8 Coupe. A 1967 Humber Super Snipe. A Triumph 2.5PI, The grand old dames of British motoring)

First, a warehouse so he gets to keep all the things from his childhood. Don't you remember all the things to which it was said, “No,” because… “You are too young? Don't be ridiculous.” I'm sure we all have them. They never go away.

Mine would have a black 1935 Plymouth, promised to me in Mildura, on family holidays on the mighty Murray River. A bronze 1938 Pontiac, from the bitch Aunties’ neighbour, all I had to do was go and pick it up. A Black 1955 Zephyr, my brother’s first car, I was still four years away from getting my licence. My top deck coloured 1965 VW Beetle, I just needed somewhere to keep it until I had the motor replaced, and repaired the body work. 1954 two tone green Hillman Californian, which I sold because its storage park was no longer available, and I had nowhere else. Oh, and the friend of my parents 1951 Hillman, it was in the back yard when David bought the house. He was always telling me it was mine. It was tan in colour.

I’ve always been into cars, from a toddler, so my mum tells me. But I have never had a garage, never lived in a house where storing sundry motor vehicles was an option, quite frustrating. Dedicated storage for life, that’s we need as babies.

A website. Isn't that the way of the world now, self promotion? Go to university. Start an online business, 1 billion views by the time he's finished uni. Instagram. Youtube. Become an influencer. Live on the income your website makes. Become famous for being famous. Earn millions for just being yourself. Sell it for an astronomical amount. Isn’t that the 21st century dream?

And a Wolseley, because you should always appreciate the past, how things once were. And a 6/110 is something nicer than the laptop we are otherwise glued too. Wooden trim. Leather seats. The smell of luxury.

Invest his private school tuition in shares, and send him to the best public school. A Trinity Grammar school education never did me any good. All the wrong advice. I got my year 12, second time around, at a public school, my one year of a free school that my mother promised she always wanted for me.

His grandmother dies and leaves him a block of flats in St Kilda. The lawyers got most of it by the time the family stopped fighting over it.

But then his great Aunt dies and leaves him a family home in Malvern, which he sells and buys a terrace house in Carlton.

(Well, that’s how it happened in my family. Isn't that how it happens in all families? They say it was the lesbian in her, she and I were very close. I was her favourite. You'd think I'd vote conservative, but I don't. Minimum live wage, free medical and free education. Welfare for anyone who wants it. Make the huge corporations pay the tax they are evading, pay for it all. They want the world to buy their stuff, they can support the world, it is a simple concept. They are my politics.)


Sam lives in Carlton, rent free, mortgage free. Finishes Uni. Sells the website for a billion dollars. Well, okay, if not a billion… exactly, how much is that anyway? Can anyone calculate a billion in their heads? Is it even a real number? Or just a concept that politicians and the rich talk about?

He'd gut the Wolseley, updating it to 2018 specs. Sleeper, just because he could. He'd marvel at the exhaust note. The low growl of the modern turbo charged V8. It's a modern world, you have to keep up.

He'd have a beautiful wife, Shannon, and a son, Ethan. (They say it goes boy girl, our family is due another queer boy. The last generation was a lesbian.) A terrace house. And a beach house, really a shack, up the coast, with sea views. He'd have made enough for a couple of houses, a classic Porsches, as their 'other cars', and million dollarss shares. (The money that wasn’t spent on a fancy education) Set for life

Bettye Lavette sings, Ain't No Sunshine.

My heart is full, Sam would say. (That is a rather obscure movie reference to a 1958 De Soto Firesweep. American cars were at their pinnacle in 1958)


They’d have a second child, that would go without saying, quickly after the first, another boy, Noah. Shannon would be keen to have children quickly, so she could get back to her career. She still wants to make partner in as close to normal time span as is possible. Babies don’t get to have their mothers any more.

They’d hire a French au pair, to teach the boys French.

Sam continues to be an on-line influencer. He makes a lot of money. Do you know the money those guys make? Not a job that can be taken over by robots, any time soon.

Ethan would grow up to be straight. Noah, would forever be Ethan’s gay little brother.

Sam and Shannon adopt a Cambodian girl, Chivy, when they are back packing around Asia the first big holiday they have, after becoming parents. They visited an orphanage. Shannon was insistent when she saw the conditions in which the children live. Chivy, which means life, Shannon was in tears.

The boys were still quite young, and they loved having a sister, right from the beginning. The have 2 au pairs, they move into a big, detached house in Carlton, that has staff quarters, just by chance. The year after Shannon made partner. Shannon is super woman. She joins boards and gives talks to woman about how they really can have it all.


Sam has a warehouse full of stuff. He has set aside space for Ethan, Noah and Chivy. Sam is the stay home father.

The Wolseley has had a full electric conversion. It’s now one of the fastest cars on the road.


The truth is that Sam would probably fuck one of the au pairs. He and Shannon would have an acrimonious divorce. He gets the house in Torquay, she gets the house in Carlton. He would have the kids every other weekend. And we have a completely different “Set for Life.”

But, let’s say that didn’t happen. Sam turns out to be one of the good guys after all. Yay. Yeah, sure, there had been those two occasions, conferences interstate, she had legs up to her… Sam had too many wines, she saw something she liked. It was a once off thing, it meant nothing. And then there was that second conference, he swears to this day he didn’t know she was going to be there. Sam stopped going to conferences. But that was all, other than that, Sam only ever had eyes for Shannon, and she for him.

The kids grow up. Go to uni.

Shannon becomes Special Council at a tier one law firm, working 3 days per week. She job shares with another former partner winding down. She still earns three time the average wage.

Sam sells his online business. He invests in property after the great property slump of 2019. He buys a warehouse complex cheap, enough room to store the entire family’s dreams. He thinks he might write novels. He has been a veracious reader all of his life. He has a warehouse with all the books stored in it.

Ethan becomes an architect. Noah becomes a poet with A PHD in creative writing. Chivy follows her mother into law. She becomes a partner of her law firm at the extraordinary age of 26.


Ethan builds luxury homes all reminiscent of the house in which he grew up. Noah becomes semi famous when some of his funny love poems go viral on the internet. His books of poetry sell out. He becomes a best selling author at a young age. Chivy always has the drive to get to the top.

67 Ford

He had a bronze 1967 Ford Falcon. It was his pride and joy. He bought it from the original owner, a fact he was clearly chuffed about. That meant something, that did, only the second owner. He said it proudly. It meant the car had clearly been loved. It was no accidental purchase this car. 

"Only people who really love XR Falcons, drive XR Falcons," he said.

She knew she was meant to be impressed, that much she knew.

"So, you love XR Falcons?" she said.

"They are my favourite car ever," he said.

He looked at her expectantly. She was used to boys looking at her expectantly because they wanted something, but this wasn't quite the same look as those boys who wanted her to show them her knickers.

"She runs like brand new," he said.

She got the distinct feeling that he wanted her to ask him to let her hear it run, so that is what she asked.

"Go on, let me hear what she sounds like."

She wondered what made this car a she, but she decided not to ask.

The engine roared into life with a single turn of the key. “Bwup, bwup, bwup, bwup,” was the sound the engine made.

The only thing she could think to say after he started it up was, "Is this a V8?"

"Yes," he said. 

"Oh jeez," she replied.

"Nervous?" he asked.

"I am now I know it is a V8."

"Don't stress," he said. "I'll be gentle."

"Please," she said. "This is my first time."

"We don't have to," he said. "Not if you don't want to."

"Oh no, I wanna," she said. "I just didn't expect to feel it quite like this. Through…"

"Through the seat?" he asked.

"Yeah, I didn't expect to feel it, um, er, that way." She looked down at her lap.

"Oh," he said. He laughed. "It's nice though, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"It is the cylinders."

"Oh," she said.

He gunned the accelerator.

She squealed.

He laughed. He gunned the accelerator.

She giggled.

"Should I spit me gum?"

"Dunno…"

"You'd know better than I would," she said. "I don't wanna choke on it."

"You're not gonna choke on it."

"You sure?"

"Only if you inhale on it."

"Am I gonna inhale on it?"

"Dunno."

"Are you gunna make me inhale on it."

"No, I don't reckon."

"Well, I don't know what its gunna feel like."

He suddenly pulled his left foot from the clutch, and pushed his right foot to the floor. The car raised up at the front and took off.

She shrieked.

The old Falcon sped across the field at a cracking pace. He whooped and hollered.

She screamed out, "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! YES!"

Beth and the Lemons

I got up at 4am. I woke early and couldn’t get back to sleep. It's the trouble with going to bed early; falling asleep on the couch in front of the TV and then stumbling off to bed.

I went jogging at 6am, just as the sun was coming up. It rained. It had already started as I was leaving, but I thought, hoped, it would stop. It got heavier. I pulled my hoodie over my head, to keep my head phones dry.

By the time I got home, it had stopped. And I was freezing. I stood in front of the fire in the lounge. Bruno snuffled around my feet and licked the sweat off my legs. It tickled.

I was just drying my hair with a towel when there was a knock at the back door, it was my neighbour Beth.

“You been jogging in the rain again?”

“Yeah, well, gotta do what ya gotta do.”

“It will lead to no good,” said Beth. “I’ve told you before. Pneumonia and death not long after.”

“Good morning to you too, Beth.”

“And a jolly good morning it is too.”

“I’ve got to keep it all trim,” I said. “I never know when I have to use it.”

“Meditation,” said Beth. “I’ve told you before. Too much emphasis on,” she looked at my crotch, “ya thing…”

“Beth!” I laughed. I turned away ever so slightly , self consciously.

“Empty vessel, Joshy boy, empty vessel. You just end up chasing it around and your never ending wants leave you unfulfilled.” Beth’s right eye ticked, like she was winking at me. “Ends up driving you nuts. Driving you nuts, Josh.” She ticked uncontrollably, momentarily.

“Jogging is my meditation…”

“False god, Josh my boy, false god…”

“It is when I relax…”

Beth held her hands out in front of her like she was holding the entire world in her hands. “You think,” emphasis on the think, as she pulled the world towards herself, “you are relaxing, Josh, but you’re not…”

“But, I am…”

“No Josh, no Josh. You are still feeding your ego. You are doing it all for the wrong reasons. Besides, high impact is never going to lead you to nirvana.”

“The wrong reasons?” I pretty much knew what the answer to this was, why I asked I don’t know.

“You want to be discovering inner peace, not outward beauty.” Beth’s shoulder rotated quite unexpectedly. “Inner peace, Josh, not outward beauty.” She flattened her palms and slid them through the air in front of her. “Sanctuary is inside every one of us, we just have to take the time to look for it.” Her hands spread out like stars, as she briefly closed her eyes.

“Would you like a coffee, Beth?”

“The devils brew, Josh, the de..vil..’s brew.”

“Well, I was just about to have one.”

“Lemons,” Beth suddenly said. “I want lemons.”

Ah yes. She had stopped me in our street yesterday, to say is was curd making season, or some such thing. Out in the sun shine, in the light of the day, Beth talks at a much quicker clip, and she kind of cowers and speaks to the ground, as though the sun is super powering all of her anxieties. But I did get that she wanted lemons.

I glanced over at the fruit bowl to see a number of the yellow fruit hiding amongst the mandarins. “Help yourself.”

“You are a prince, Josh, a prince,” said Beth. “What would I do without you?”

“What would I do without you, Beth?”

She stepped with one foot, and kind of slid the other one behind the first, right up next to me. “You are not moving, are you Josh?

Beth has OCD and agoraphobia. “No.”

“You wouldn’t move on me, would you Josh?”

“No plans to, Beth.” We often had this conversation.

She glanced around, I am not sure why, then looked back at me. “Good.” She looked at the fruit bowl and talked while still gazing at it. “I’m not sure if I could cope if you moved, Josh. Pippa and Joe and Tommy either.” Our other neighbours, husband, wife, gorgeous son. She looked at me. “You still banging that boy?”

“Tommy?” I asked nervously. I was guessing she meant Tommy, but as I said it, I wasn’t sure.

“Yes, Tommy,” said Beth. “Young Tommy?”

“No,” I said. “Not for some time.”

“He is too young for you, anyway.”

“I’m only in my thirties.”

“Yes, old enough to know better.”

“Tommy is in his mid twenties.”

Beth’s eyes widened and she pursed her lips as though I was proving her right. I had to change the subject. “Nobody is moving.”

“Nor Rob and Sally,” Beth reached out to the fruit bowl and picked out three lemons, one by one. “Rob and Sally aren’t moving, are they?”

“Not that I know of, Beth.”

Rob and Sally are in their thirties, they are a professional couple with no kids, they have been married for ten years.

“I don’t want Rob and Sally to move either.”

“I haven’t heard.” Strapping Rob and funny Sally.

We all live in six single fronted terraces, three either side of a narrow street.

“I’d blame you Josh.”

I thought of Rob. We had a street party last Xmas. Rob drank too many beers and stayed back to help clean up, and.... what can I say? I’m not going to say no, now am I.

Rob had left his hoodie behind, it was on my kitchen table the next morning when Beth made a visit. I think I grimaced at the thought of the previous night, when she questioned me about the hoodie’s presence. She worked it out instantly, and I was too hung over to lie convincingly, when I was put on the spot. She called me a dirty dog, mumbled something about having to reassess our relationship. I promised her it was out of character for me, and it was. She crossed her heart and pressed her fingers against her lips, her way of us saying we must never speaking of it again.

Beth had investigated the lemons as we spoke and she put one of them back in the fruit bowl and chose another. She looked at me. She grimaced. “It had a blemish, you don’t mind, do you?”

“Whatever lemons you like, Beth. Take them all, I don’t mind.”

“You’re kind, Josh, very kind,” said Beth. “You will always be alright because you are kind.”

“Thanks, Beth.”

She held out the lemons in front of her. There was an awkward moment of silence. “A bag, Josh?” said Beth. “Do you have a bag?”

“Oh… yes.”

“A supermarket bag, Josh. Might as well make it double use, while we can, before they ban them, you know.”

I pulled a grey plastic bag from my grey plastic bag carrier, screwed to the wall of the pantry.”

“But… clean.”

“Huh.” I held up the bag I had selected.

“Is it clean?”

“Of course.”

“It wasn’t used to carry raw meat, was it, Josh?”

“Um…”

“Or fresh fish,” said Beth. She pulled a face. “Fresh fish would be worse.” She laughed that self-conscious laugh. “No fresh fish.”

“I can’t vouch for every bag, Beth, you understand, but as far as I can remember...”

“Could you look.” She motioned with her chin. “Just a quick look. Humour me, Josh.”

I waved the bag through the air, so it would open up. “There.” I pushed my hand through the bag turning it inside out. “Clean as.”

“Could you put it back the other way,” said Beth. “So, the outside continues, er, to be on the outside.”

I pushed my hand back through the bag. Beth pushed the lemons into the bag.

“Gotta go. I’ll find that mediation book, for beginners,” she laughed, more of a self-conscious snigger than a real laugh. She took hold of the back door knob. “Inner peace for dummies.” She laughed some more. She disappeared through the door. I turned towards the coffee machine and pushed the button to turn it on.

“Ah Josh…”

I turned to see Beth in the doorway again. “I didn’t mean you were a dummy, Josh. I didn’t mean that at all. I just wanted to say.”

The coffee machine whirred. “No problem, Beth.”

She smiled. She twitched. Then she was gone again, with the rustle of a plastic bag.

Out Jogging When Tim Stepped Up Beside Me At The Lights

Thick dark hair, widow’s peak, don’t think I didn’t notice that. He stood next to me at the lights. Like Eddie Munster all grown up, don’t think I didn’t think that.

Nice arse.

He looked sideways at me. Our eyes met. He held my gaze for just that moment too long. He hurriedly looked straight ahead again, when he realised I wasn’t breaking his gaze.

The sun shone. The sky was blue.

I was going for a jog passed Melbourne uni. He just kind of looked at me and I just knew by his eyes. I wasn’t really looking for it, not really, I was just out running, enjoying the sun shine, headphones on. But he looked to long. Thick, dark hair, widow’s peak, which is a bit of a weakness for me. Sparkly eyes, nice smile.

He looked away.

He looked again. He held my gaze. We were at the lights, Swanston and Elgin, trams and all, so we waited for some time for the green man. He stepped ahead of me. I waited for him to look back, before he got to the other side. He looked over his left shoulder. He headed down Elgin Street. He looked back. He looked back. I kept my eyes fixed on him, so he saw me looking each time he looked around.

He turned into the first laneway. 

I turned into the laneway behind him.

We headed down the laneway behind one of the buildings there, on the corner, just before the pub. It was that easy. I wondered, momentarily, if I was misreading the situation, hoping I wasn’t, otherwise he’d find me down the lane with him, not knowing why. 

But, I knew that I wasn’t. This wasn’t my first rodeo, and he wasn’t my first cowboy.

That familiar buzz, it came back to me quickly. Nice arse, good legs, nice eyes.

He got behind a dumpster and took his cock out. “I want to be sucked off.” Nice and thick, uncut. He looked nervous, I reckoned he was 20 years old, I should have felt his arse crack for dew. 

“You live around here?” I asked.

He lived in the eastern suburbs with his parents. He said his name was Tim. He said he was in third year at uni.

I got on my knees and deep throated him. Straight down. Eddie Munster’s cock. His breathing changed instantly. 

He’d turned 21 at the beginning of the year and had been dating his girlfriend, Emily, since year 11. He looked like a private school boy. He said he was. Preppy. Strapping. Like he’d have played on the football team.

He went to Xavier College, so he had all that catholic guilt, as well. Pent up. I could feel it. And a long list of gays, Tim and John, my mate went to Xavier college too.

“I have been asked if I am that Tim from Xavier.”

“He’s more my age.”

“He was some years before me,” he said.

“Oh? Yes, I guess.”

He had a nice smile, even the nervous version that I was getting.

He had the same girl he been with since they were teenagers. He’d got around none the less, all the time in his monogamous relationship.

Tim was a talker, I liked that. 

I sucked his cock, good and hard, it felt good in my mouth. He moaned like he liked it. He had a nice dick on him, big and straight and hard. 

He said his girlfriend wouldn’t understand. That was hardly surprising.

His cock dribbled a fair amount of precum and it was hard like a metal bar, pumped with blood. Rock hard. It was nice to suck, nice and smooth and shiny, that shininess that only comes when the blood is fully pumping. I sucked him hard, he tasted good. It didn’t take long before he was trembling in his ankles and then his legs, up on the balls of his feet. 

“Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Fuck… yeah! Oh… yeah! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

And then he was holding my hair in his fingers, up on his tip toes, I moved my head away, and he shot his load next to my ear, shaking as he shot cannon balls of cum out of his beautiful dick, in big, white wads. Splat! Splat! Splat!

He moaned. His cock was post-cum tender.

He shook his hands in flicks, as I got to my feet. It was enough to see him enjoy himself, I didn’t need to cum too, besides, I haven’t had my cock out in the middle of the day since I was his age. Uni public toilets were a favourite, he reminded me of those days. And he didn’t seem to care, if I came or not, as he buttoned up his jeans with sticky fingertips, little fingers extended. Scrunched face.

“I wanna do it again,” he said.

“I thought you were straight?”

“I a… I a… ahhhh…” the final sigh was like him letting go of all pretence. “I am. I guess. I don’t know?” said Tim.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” I asked. 

“I… um… I still… um… wanna do it again.”

 “You don’t know if you have a girlfriend?”

He was tongue tied. “No. I mean, no I don’t know…” Big, brown eyes.

“What?” He was goddam cute. We both laughed.

“I know.” He blushed. “I have one.” Was he flirting, or what? He’d just cum. Oh to be young. “A girlfriend, that is.” He smiled. He was adorable.

“What are you studying?”

“Law.”

“I should run a mile.”

“Why?” 

“You are me 15 years ago.”

“How so?”

“Melb Uni. Law. I did it too.”

We both looked at each other. He was cute. I could tell he was thinking the same thing, it is nice to feel.

“Give me your number,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Give me your number, you’re nice.”

“What about your girlfriend?

“What about her?”

“You need to tell her.”

“What?”

“Are you gay?”

“I don’t know?”

“Come on, you are going to have to do better than that.”

He shrugged. “Whatever.” He smiled. “Sure, I like it.”

I laughed.

“Don’t laugh.”

“You’re gay Timmy…”

He shrugged. “Don’t call me Timmy.” His eyes got really big. He smiled. “Only my mum calls me Timmy.”

I gave him my number.

“Can I call you?”

“Sure, I wouldn’t have given you my number otherwise.”

He smiled. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” I said.

He walked away backwards. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” I said again.

He smiled. He was so damn cute, I felt drawn to him. “Fifteen years isn’t so much of an age difference, is it?” he called back.

“No,” I said. “But a girlfriend is a problem.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Okay,” I said. I wondered why I cared?

He walked away, up the lane.

I pulled on my headphones.

He stopped again at the end of the laneway. He smiled. Waved. Then disappeared out of sight.

I chose U2’s Vertigo. I jogged out of the lane to Elgin Street. I couldn’t help but think of Tim. He made me smile. I laughed, which was a sign that I liked him. How on earth could I know if I liked him? Those things just happen sometimes, you know, you like someone. Who can explain why?