Oh Monday!

Oh, a big weekend. Woosh! Gone! Head spinning! Don't know how Matt got up and went to work. He's a better man than me. He kissed me good bye from the bedroom door. 

“Hey, babe?”

I managed to open one eye, and even then it was difficult, to see him standing there looking all shiny and new. I don’t know how he did it. I was spinning and I was lying still, barely moving.

Air kisses. Cute.

I’m presently between contracts, so I just lolled about in bed all day, like I had all the time in the world, which I did, essentially, if you get my meaning, drifting, waking, drifting, waking. Joint. Lying back on the pillow with the doona pulled right up under my armpits. Drifting, waking. Drifting. Another joint.

I wanked over the mail boy. I’d just managed to crawl out of my bed swamp, the urge to piss had got too great to ignore any longer. I was standing unsteadily on my feet scratching my arse congratulating myself for having got that far, and there he was with his bike. Cute, Italian to be sure, well, he sure looked like it. Maybe it was creative visulation, I don’t know, I had had some acid at some point in the previous evening. He in those tight blue shorts with great legs, hairy legs that went all the way up to his arse. I lay in bed and visualised what that would look like, I cannot lie. Peeling his out of them. Kissing his lips. Oh yeah, that hot postie guy.

Then I pissed like a horse, which seemed to take forever, you know when that happens. You get bored of it before you ever stop pissing. How much water did I drink? I am the rehydrating queen though, that is true. 

Then back to the day. I lay my head back on the bed, lying out flat. I feel so comfortable I just want to die in the position. I laugh to myself, I wonder if these who had a neurotic come down would let that thought wreck the rest of their day? Nyr! Probabaly.

My head feels okay even if my mouth doesn't. It’s dry. Oh, so dry. Excessive MSG kind of dry. But that may be the pot. I’ve smoked a couple, big grin. Got to stop grinding my teeth and slashing my tongue as I maniacally rub it around the edges of my teeth.

It ends up hurting so bad.

I had new track pants especially for today. There is something lovely about big, thick, new track pants when you are, shall we say, coming down.

I’ve got to stop walking around just in my jocks. I had to chat to my neighbour in that state. She caught me in the back yard, as I tip-toed out to my car, bare-feet tends to entail tip toing, to get my new track pants I thought were out there, and there she was, Jackie Joe, in her back yard, in a bonnet, gloves to her elbows and Ratchet Secateurs in her hands, and then yap, yap, yap, ensure. 

“Oh Josh, there you are?”

“Ah, yes.” What the hell did she mean by that? “In the flesh.”

“You getting out to do a bit of gardening?”

Do I fucken look like I am getting out in the garden? “No, um, no, I’m just going out to the car.”

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something?”

Oh, dear universe, not today? “Oh… yes?” I could hear the feebleness in my voice. Was I having trouble breathing.

“This side fence of our, do you think we need to think about replacing it?”

What? 

“I’m beginning to think it has moved, I really am?”

“What? Do you think? Next door?”

“Next door?” Jackie Joe squinted her eyebrows and looked at me waiting for an explanation of what I had just said.

“The fence.”

“Yes… the fence? Our fence, not the fence next door.” Jackie looked utterly confused.

“You said it had moved.”

“Yes. The foundations just don’t look the same. Have you noticed?”

“Huh?”

“The foundations of the fence. They look somehow altogether different. Not that I can really put my finger on what is different. They just don’t look as sturdy and upright as they once did. Did you say if you had notice? Er? Or not?”

What else could I do but stand there and talk, well, listen, even if for a split second I considered making a run for it? Trunks and a T-shit, it would have looked like I was wearing shorts, I guess. Let’s hope.

“Um,” I say. “I’m just going to go to my car. Now.” That was all I could manage. And then I tiptoed away. Not really sure why I tiptoed? I think somehow it was not to make too much noise which may have started Jacki Joe up talking again.

“Oh, okay,” she said.

The new track pants weren’t in the car. Damn! I peered around the higher fence that separated the car port from Jackie’s place until she had her back turned and was butchering a camelia bush, and I dashed for my back door as quietly as I could humanly manage.

I laughed to myself, as I headed back inside for my trackie pants. Now where were they? Don't ask. Suffice to say, I'd better put a load of washing on.

The new track pants were sitting on top of the washing machine exactly where I had left them.

I should have put on washing. Yes. I should have cleaned up. Yes, of course. Let’s face it, I should have had a shower. How many days had it been. What happened to think it do it? I still remember the exact moment when the day fell away, as I slid my arse into the lounge room couch and leisurely opened my laptop. Oh, you know, when you look up the news headlines, just to see what is happening in the world, and before you know it, you are looking at ladderback chairs in Provence and the sun is setting outside. You know those days.

I remember the moment I saw an unsmoked joint just lying on the coffee table like a gift from the universe.

Well, look at that will you?

I remember the moments not long after when I plumped up the cushions and slid my feet up onto the couch, pulling my laptop onto my lap. Oh yes, I remember that distinctly.

Pretty soon I looked up with who knows what number cigarette between my fingers, to see a hazy smoke cloud hanging in the room, and it black beyond the windows.

Matt will give me that look, when he sees how stoned I am. That look that says disappointment. That look that says he is disappointed with me. Oh babe, sad tone.

"Hey honey, welcome you home," I say. Trying to out cute the disappointment in his face. Trying to use his affection for me to overcome my shortcomings, at least in that moment. Big smile.

Then he'll notice that no cooking has been done and he'll tell me I'm cheeky for trying to distract him with my happy nothing-to-be-seen-here face.

“Chores, you left me chores?’ I happily question. I’m not used to having chores to do, that just hasn’t been my life up until this point.

If all else fails, I'll either suck him off, or send him home to his place. 2006. If he is bemused by my cheekiness, I’ll go for his belt buckle. If he is seriously cross, I’ll have to start an argument pretty swiftly and send him to his place smartly so I can get back to lolling about on the couch pleasing myself, you know, as you do.

Ha ha, yes life can be that simple.

You know, boyfriends are all well and good, you know, sure they are. Oh, it’s true, that I couldn’t see life without him, he is genuinely lovely, and he loves me and he is good for me. Oh, I’d be so lazy without him pushing me and prodding me to do things, when I seriously want to sit on my lazy arse, but seriously I think not living with them is the secret to a happy relationship, you should always have some place else to send them, especially on hangover Monday.

In fact not long after, despite being all Donna Reed this morning promising to make him a lovely dinner for when he gets home from work, I phoned to say I had a killer migraine and I had to take a raincheck, and that he should head home to his place after work. I’m sure I had never said raincheck ever before in my life, which almost threw me entirely, but, you know, as I have said before, I am such an excellent liar, I knew years ago I had to never tell them, as it would not end well for me, and like a pro I kept up the narrative without wavering.

He wished me a speedy recovery and blew me kisses and told me that he loved me.

And when I was done, I rolled myself a great big, congratulatory joint and checked out the cantinas of Tuscany.

Well, you know, the alternative was disappointment all around, and I ask you who wants that?

Blue Pants That Fit Him Well

Brad liked a fancy belt on his jeans. He liked some colour on the pale blue jeans he preferred. Pale blue was definitely his colour, being blonde haired and blue eyed. His mother had taught him to wear pale blue from a young age. She used to brush her fingers through his blond hair telling him he was the most handsome boy in the world.

“You are definitely a pale blue boy,” she used to say. She’d slide her fingers through his thick fringe. “What are you,” she’d asked?

“A pale blue boy,” he’d reply.

“And what kind of pale blue boy are you?” she’d then ask.

“I’m my mum’s pale blue boy.”

“Yes, you are my perfect pale blue boy,” she’d say. She would then wrap her arms around him and squeeze him tight, kissing his face all over until he squealed and told her to stop.

The Boyfriend

Matt is such a sexy guy. Handsome and sexy. I love kissing him and sliding my hand down his pants. That flat stomach of his is a slide down which to slide my warm hands. 

He stretches, and arches his back giving me better access. He groans contentedly as I wrap my hand around him.

“How was your day?” he asks.

“Yeah, good,” I say. “How was yours?”

He spreads his legs a little more. “Oh, better now,” he says.

“We should have a joint,” I say.

“Sure,” Matt says. “I’ll roll, you keep doing that.”

I reached for the mullbox on the coffee table with my free hand, we both lean sideways to facilitate the move. I pull it towards me across the polish surface of the coffee table. We both straighten up. I rub Matt’s knob with my thumb, it is suddenly sticky and wet. He clears his throat. I lift the top of the mullbox off. I grab the mulli and the wooden dish into which I will grind the mix. 

I hold up the cigarette packet, Matt takes a cigarette from the box. He is like a prong in my hand. 

I wouldn’t say that Matt’s cock is my favourite part of him. I love his eyes and his smile and his laugh, too.

I lick the cigarette and deftly crumble it into the bowl with one hand. Matt holds the mulli, I work the handle and the ground mix falls into the bowl.

I love Matt’s mind and the way he thinks. I love his sense of humour. 

Matt drops a bud into the mulli. He picks it up and grinds it with both hands.

I slide my hand up and down his cock. He breaths heavily, spreading his legs further apart as he grinds.

I have pre-cut roaches I hand one to Matt, he rolls it into a cylinder as I rub my hand rubs up and down.

I love how kind Matt is to people, he is much kinder to people than me.

I open the machine with one hand, Matt puts the roach in the place it should go. I tip the mix in. I pat it down with my fingers.

Matt is starting to breath heavier, I like that too.

I manage to rip a paper from the packet with my free hand. I hold it up to Matt’s wet tongue to lick, and he does.

Mr Perfect Cock. Straight and thick and long.

I sit the paper in the machine, Matt closes it with both hands. A perfect cylindrical joint pops out. "Do you want first puff?"

Matt tries to answer but it is like he is losing the ability to speak.

“Okay. I’ll go first.” I put the joint in my mouth. My hand is working him now with a tight grip. I pick up the lighter from the coffee table.

Matt looks at me, his eyes close up, he throws his head back against the back of the couch and he cums in my hand.

"Good boy," I say. I light the joint and take a big drag.

Matt shakes.

I blow a cloud of smoke into the room.

Matt puts his hand on top of my hand, as my hand goes back to working his knob. He groans, and looks at me still a little cross-eyed.

I laugh. "Look at you," I say.

He snots and coughs and laughs as well. 

He looks at me with heavy eyelids.

I take another drag on the joint. I offer it to him.

His unsteady hand appears and takes the joint from me.

His dick is now soft and wet and sticky in my hand still down his pants.

He drags on the joint. He exhales a cloud of smoke.

I lay my head back against the couch next to his.

He rolls his head sideways and looks at me. “I made a mess in my pants.”

“You sure did, babe,” I say.

I slide my head closer to his and we kiss gently.

I slide my hand out of Matt’s pants as I hand him the joint. I lick his cum off my fingers. To tell you the truth, I hate the taste of cum, its disgusting stuff, but, it was early in our relationship and they are the things you do.

Matt drags on the joint, watching me lick his cum from my fingers.

Ah, the Truth About Porn

My mate, Tim accused my other mate, and his boyfriend, Nick, of cheating on him because he watched porn. 

My head spun. 

There's a tough call. I mean, I can kind of see his (stupid) point, weirdly, if you have that kind of relationship, you know, buttoned up tighter than a… not really sure how to finish that analogy… a homophobe’s arsehole at a gay orgy. 

You know, if you both agreed to only have eyes for each other, I guess. Maybe? If you had to be that uptight?

I've never thought about it that way before, myself. Cheating, presumably, on your own in a room on your own? Is that even logical? I’m not really sure about that.

Later, I found out that Nick had told Tim earlier that he didn't like Tim watching porn. What? My head spun again.

Oh, I see what this is about now. (is that revenge porn?)

It's not about porn, it is about lying. Is it?

Ah the (unnecessarily) tangled webs we weave.

All the things that could go wrong with a relationship, the trip ups, the fails, the problems, the hurts, the misunderstandings, the let downs, the boring bits, the pain, the lies, even the white lies, I can’t really see the above being one of them.

Is it self sabotage? Or just sabotage?

I mean, seriously, in my book anyway, talk about getting upset over nothing.

Still, if you tell your boyfriend you don’t like him watching porn, and then you watch porn yourself? I, guess, that is something. I’m just not quite sure what that something is?

I wanted to laugh and say, You are kidding me? But Tim wasn’t laughing, as her poured his, who knows what number, chardonnay for the evening.

Nick and Tim aren’t really compatible anyway, I’ve always said that. Tim is a drinker and Nick is a pot smoker and never shall the two succeed. If you are in an addictiondiscordant relationship, it rarely works, I’ve always said that too. Pot smokers and drinkers rarely understand each other.

I would have thought that porn was the safest way to get your jollies which doesn’t involve your significant other. There are all those people, mostly chicks, who tell us that porn is a terrible thing, that it is really bad for us. I admittedly tend to think that is, probably, just girls disapproving of the things men do. I wonder if there is any, actual, evidence that porn is bad for anyone. I don’t know?

I always think of them as Christian Girl Scouts who wouldn’t even let their boyfriends go down on them as they think that is unnatural, you know, those wowsers who bang on about porn corrupting the minds of the youth, but maybe that is just my bias.

Back On The Horse

“I decided I'm sick of sleeping tablets, after being upgraded from Temazapan, which just wasn't doing anything anymore, to a whole Valium, whilst I was in hospital,” says Andre Arno

“The accident?” says Jackson Jones.

“Yes,” says Andre. “Because of the accident.”

“Recovery is a bitch,” says Jackson.

“The thing with Valium is, is that it has a half-life of 22 – it takes that long for you to get half of it out of your system,” says Andre.

“So, you feel groggy?” asks Jackson.

"Over 24 hours it's actually cumulative, and yesterday I just felt kind of slow, drugged, all day.”

“So, no Valium last night,” says Jackson Jones.

“My god, I was awake until 6am,” says Andre.

“Sleep deprivation is a bitch,” says Jackson. “That so leads to errors in judgement.”

“It was kind of okay in a way, with my mind floating around generally happy thoughts, and also thinking about RMIT work that I STILL have to do. Not long now.”

“How’s that going?” asks Jackson.

“I even got up and reviewed what I had done so far, and made some notes for the report. Considering my goal had been to get back to it by January 31, before the accident, it wasn't a waste of a night.”

“The things you can get done when you can’t sleep,” says Jackson.

“But my god, sooooo sleepy today. I got up at 11, fell unconscious on my couch at 1.30, woke up to some stupid TV show, and I'm still fucked,” says Andre.

“What are you going to do tonight?” asks Jackson. “Sleepwise?”

“Tonight, I'm taking HALF the valium and a herbal sleeper that Mum gave me – she doesn't want to share her Serapax with me,” says Andre.

“And how’s the latest project going?” asks Jackson.

“I was supposed to go up the country again this weekend but I'm not. I should have got organised and gone Sunday – gotta use that car that I bought after all,” says Andre.

“Oh yeah that car has been sitting for long enough,” says Jackson.

“Yes, yes it has,” says Andre.

“Gotta get back on the horse, as they say,” says Jackson.

“I'm also going to the Good Guys and get myself some new AV equipment. I couldn't even watch a DVD last night,” says Andre.

“It’s good to go back to work,” says Jackson.

“So, a DVD recorder/VCR combo ($450 at the moment!) and MAYBE a new TV now that the footy season is coming up,” says Andrea.

“Well, if Scott, or Rolly, or I can help you with your project, just ask, you know that?” says Jackson. “You okay for equipment after the accident?”

“I can't live with a fucked TV, despite my protests about never having time to watch the damn thing,” says Andre.

“So, what are you going to do?” says Jackson.

“I did see a lovely wide screen flat CRT for less than a grand that I think I would really like,” says Andre.

“Is that good enough for what you want to do?” asks Jackson.

“Fuck LCD and Plasma – who wants to pay 3 grand for an idiot box?!” says Jackson.

“Well, if you need me, or the boys help, just ask,” says Jackson.

“Thanks,” says Andre. “What would I do without you guys?”

“What’s the latest one?” says Jackson.

“Hand To Mouth, about homelessness,” says Andre.

“Hitting the heartstrings,” says Jackson. “Good thinking.”

“I prefer to think of it as social interest, myself,” says Andre. “Do you know how much homelessness there is in this rich country?”

“No, but I am guessing it is shameful.”

“Shameful it sure is,” said Andre. “It needs some light shone on it.”

“Light to kill the dark places.”

“Light to let the helpful thinking out into the open,” said Andre.

“Still, you need to get some sleep before then,” said Jackson. “You have to build up your strength before you can save the world.”

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think that was sarcasm,” said Andre.

“Is it my tone?” said Jackson. “Because I meant the exact opposite.”

“You flatter me?”

“Well, if anyone can save the world…”

“That’s a question?”

“It would be you.”

“If I am so smart, how do you explain the accident?”

“Bad luck?”

“Not much of a super hero if my kryptonite is bad luck,” said Andre.

“Super hero?”

“You had me saving the world a few sentences back,” said Andre.

“If you can solve homelessness, you are well on the way to solving equality, which is probably on the way to saving the world.”

“Well, I haven’t solved it yet,” said Andre.

“I know you and what you can do when you set your mind to it.”

“If I don’t fall down and hurt myself,” said Andre.

“Well, that is a given.”

“Flattery?” said Andre.

“Sarcasm,” said Jackson.

“If I don’t become a junkie trying to get some shut eye,” said Andre.

“Well, that hardly seems likely?”

“So, you never read my last study?” said Andre.

“Oh yes.” Jackson laughed. “Didn’t that get the chattering class, um, er, chattering, you recommending legalising illicit drugs because prescription drugs do more harm in society anyway.”

“I’d call that irony, considering my current situation,” said Andre.

“Maybe self realisation, more than irony.”

“Well, yes, of course,” said Andre. “Either way, it spells my downfall.”

“That’s a little dramatic?”

“Or luscious,” said Andre. “It takes me back to my uni days.”

“Ah, how time flies when you are having fun.”

“The problem being, I have too many commitments now days to fall apart,” said Andre. “More is the pity.”

“Oh, you make me laugh.”

“Well, at least that makes one of us,” said Andre.

“You should laugh more.”

“I’ve taken too many sedatives,” said Andre.

“Oh, yes, I’m guessing that would only come across as madness.”

“What would?” asked Andre.

“Laughter on downers.”

“Now there’s a challenge,” said Andre. 

“Like laughing after Botox.”

“Oh, dear god,” said Andre.

“You’re laughing,” said Jackson.

“I don’t know which is more delicious,” said Andre.

“Don’t say I never make you laugh.”

“You make me laugh all the time,” said Andre.

“Just not deliberately, I suspect.”

“Well, I always said you were, shall we say, perpendicular,” said Andre

“When have you said that?”

“Have I never said it to your face?” asked Andre.

“You are still laughing.”

“I must be feeling better,” said Andre.”

“You must be.”

“Well, how about that?” said Andre.

“How about that?”

A Child?

Would I like a child, people ask me? Won’t you miss never having children? Maybe, I will. Perhaps, I'd like a child, I think. Would I? Will I? I don’t know. Maybe, I won’t know what I won’t know.

I'm surprised how taken I am with my nephews. They are cool little guys.

I'd be good as a part time dad. Now, I guess, that is a problem right there. Even I know kids need more than a part time dad.

But, I'm smart, told (you gotta say it that way) I'm good looking, I have good teeth. No health issues. I'm creative and considerate. 

And my mother says I'd make a good father.

“You're better with kids than your brother, who'd have thought,” said mum.

“Who’d have thought?” I asked.

“I don’t mean I’m surprised,” said mum. “I meant you the one not having kids, and your brother is.”

I talk to them like people. I don’t talk down to them. I don't dictate what they should do. But then again, I stay their favourite uncle because my visits are infrequent. They barely see me. And I tell them naughty things. And I don't have to look after them full time.

A little person to go on into the future after I'm dead? Is that what life's all about, having kids, watching how your progeny turn out? Would he look like me, the way I look like my dad? Would he look like his mum? Would his eyes twinkle like hers? 

Would he be kind? Would I like him? Would I want him to be around? Would I want to be around him. Would I approve of him? So many questions? So many unknowns?

I’d want to hear his opinions, to see how he thinks. Be surprised by his questions. I’d want to watch him fall in love, be giddy. Get a broken heart. Pick up the pieces brush himself off. I’d want to see how he deals with that?

I want to see him elated when he has success at what he does. I want to see him be successful, in as much as how he views himself.

A mini me, growing into a full sized me? Is that what we hope for? I don’t know? I don’t need him to be like me. I just want him to be happy. And interesting? And Smart. And Funny. Is that what we hope for, for them to be everything? I guess we do.

Just be you? Surprise me. Whatever you want.

But not in, let’s say, a religious, conservative, prudist, uptight, pig headed, arrogant, conservative sort of way. Oh my, imagine if he came home and said he’d found God. I’d have to take him to a physiatrist, get some conversation therapy. Pierce the theist bullshittiest.

Gay? No, I don’t care. Trans? I wouldn’t wish that for them. But, if he was, then it would be what it is.

Just lovely, smiley, and smart. And his own person, reasoned, and thought out.

Yeah, sure, I’d like the perfect kid. Who wouldn’t.

You know, if I was going to have a kid? Find some nice girl to donate sperm to. If I was going to do that? If? I don't know? The world hardly needs more kids, hey? For me to be a part of the great breeding experiment. I don’t need to be a part of.

So, if there's a nice lesbian out there who wants a cute gay boy to father her child... sure, I’d think about it.

But, you know, you can’t help but wonder some times. How would he turn out? How would he make me feel? I’m guessing the more important question is, how would I make him feel? What would he look like when I look over at him and our eyes meet?

Promise

A promise is made

When eyes say good day

At The Pool

I headed down to the pool in the morning. It was a sunny day, the sky was blue. I wanted to top up my tan, you know, just a bit, graduate to a light tan, if you know what I mean, rather than white for summer.

I went for a swim as soon as I got there, you know, just to wash off the heaviness of life, and the day, to feel fresh, rejuvenated.

I laid out my towel. And settled down with my new book.

I sensed something, what it was wasn’t apparent to me straight away, but I could sense something.

I’d been stretched out on the lounge for some time reading my book, the sun was glorious, it had been all day.

It was getting late in the morning, and the golden sun was as intoxicating as having warm honey tipped over my skin.

I looked up most nonchalantly, not really looking at anything in particular, just having a break from my book, when our eyes met.

I couldn’t help but smile.

He was standing there in his white trunks with his hairy chest and great, muscular legs. Just my type, I thought. (Of course, he was)

And now he was leaning by the side of the pool, his handsome face pointing my direction, his gorgeous eyes drinking me in.

My stomach buzzed and I had no chance of concentrating on my book after that. I kept glancing up to see if he was still looking in my direction.

He was.

Well built sexy boy, hairy chest and great legs, dark hair and olive skin, just the way I like them.

Michael, Alex, Nick, Maurice. Gorgeous smiles. Hair through my fingers. Soft lips. Skin like velvet.

I looked up. I kept looking up. My eyes were defying me. He was still looking at me. 

I adjust my position and straightened out my book, as though I wasn’t going to look up again.

I looked up again. He was pulling his lean body out of the water. He didn’t pull the white material of his trunks away from his crotch, so it clung to him hiding nothing.

He walked over. Hairy legs, hairy thighs, a trail of hail up his stomach joining to the hair on his chest. He was smiling. He ran his fingers through his black hair.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m, um, Angelo. How are you?”

“I’m… er…” my tongue tied, I spluttered. “Angelo, is it?”

“I like a man who likes to read,” he said.

“I like a man…” I went blank.

“Well,” he said. “That is direct.”

“With a nice…” My eyes dropped down to his thighs.”

“I like a man who is direct.”

I raised my eyes up as fast as I could. “I’m Josh. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m away in my book…”

“I’ve been watching you, reading away.’

“I love coming down here with a book, it’s... it’s…”

“Gives you something else to look at.”

“It gets me through my stack of unread books.” I smiled.

He smiled. “I think I have had enough sun and I’m ready to head home for a shower.”

I felt kind of sad he was going already. “Okay, nice to meet you.”

“I just thought you might like to come too?”

“To have a shower?”

“Oh, um, to get a coffee, perhaps?”

“With you?”

“Yes, with me.”

“A shower?”

“Coffee,” he said. He blushed. “But, I guess we can’t have me being clean, and you not.”

“I guess not.”

“I just live in the next street,” said, er, Angelo.

“That’s handy.”

“It is today.”

I stood up and faced him. I looked him in the eye. “I like a man the same height.”

“You are very forward,” he said.

“It is you who is picking me up.”

“Is this a pick up?”

“I’d say yes,” I said.

“Okay,” he said. “Shall we go, Josh?”

And, er, Angelo was just what I needed for the afternoon. I didn’t know, er, Angelo was what I needed, but he was what I needed after all. He was good for… relieving the tension. Like a massage.

Matt had the day off. He followed me to the pool, secretly. He made a great Angelo. Cute. I love you.

Cameras and Cohabitation

Nell met me at my place and we both smoked a joint as we walked to the café. We found a table and chairs in the sun at what is our favourite café on Brunswick Street. It was definitely time for sunglasses, as the sun was bright and we were both still feeling the effects from what we took Saturday night. 

We both had coffees. I was waiting for my ham and cheese croissant. Nell had ordered some sort of Ice Cream Sunday, she said her weight was down again.

I was staring at the people walking by. I had a bit of a body hum going, which I kind of like, even if I’m never really sure if it is a good thing. There is a part of me that always wonders if it is my body working hard to get rid of the toxins, or if it is some short of shut down from me pushing it too hard?

“I like people who don't think it's wrong to hide tiny cameras in the bathroom to spy on their flatmate’s boyfriends.”

Nell pulled her shocked face, which I have to admit I kind of like. “You can’t say that, people will think you are weird.”

“Oh, let them think I’m weird, who cares,” I replied.

“Worst still, they’ll call the police on you,” said Nell.

“Yeah, you know how people love to do the right thing.” I made parenthesis in the air with my fingers.

“It’s because people are bored, or they see what interesting lives other people are having, and they want to spice theirs up” said Nell. “Then they can’t help it. I think it is in our DNA.”

“Spice theirs up?” I questioned.

“Sure. People are buttoned up, stressed out bored.”

“You think?” I sip my coffee.

“Yeah, sure,” said Nell. She puffs on a cigarette.

“Of course, I’ve never had to resort to that…”

Nell looks confused.” 

“Mini cameras.”

“Oh,” Nell mouths. She blows a perfect smoke ring, intentional, or unintentional, I wasn’t sure.

“I have always had a boyfriend.”

“Gabe,” said Nell. 

“Yes, Gabe, and others,” I said. “But, I like people who like such things.”

“Really?”

“That lack of fear.”

“What would Gabe say?”

“Oh, he’d be in it sure,” I said. “You know, if we were talking about our housemate Benjamin.” I couldn’t help but smile. “Let’s say.”

“Let’s say,” said Nell. “What a waste he is to woman kind.”

Ah Benjamin, to watch you towel dry. How sexy you'd look wet, gazing down. Thick thighs, solid arse, big chest, that black hair and those blue eyes. How sexy were you, after we'd all taken those pills, standing there in front of me, in blue tracksuit pants, smiling, as I watched the blue fabric struggle to contain your fat sausage. You knew. You knew no one was looking, you stood for a while. It's hard to look anywhere else, when I'm sitting on the couch and your bulge.... Except for your smiling eyes and your knowing – e – look. You looked sexy when you brushed your arm against it, when Tim came back into the room.

“Um, hello,” said Nell. “Where have you gone? Come back to me now.”

I shook my head and refocussed on the present. Nell was looking at me with a concerned look on her face.

“You just checked out,” said Nell. “I was just about to check for your pulse.”

“What?” I laughed. “Ha ha.”

“Where did you just go?”

“Oh, I was just day dreaming.”

“I was concerned you were having a flash back to what we did on the weekend,” said Nell. “You know you read about it, people slip into a catatonic state…”

“I was just knocking on my unconsciousness’ door,” I said.

Nell looked horrified.

“Happily. It was a happily,” I said. “I could go back there.”

Nell could be a bit of a drama queen. She always said it was because she hung around with so many, actual, drama queens, and it had rubbed off.

My croissant came, with Nell’s ice cream Sunday, which was very elaborate.

“Look at that will you,” said Nell. She beamed at the sight of it.

“I like people who are open to any new ideas, not closed off according to what their parents have taught them.”

“Would you be horrified if someone secretly filmed you?” Nell asked.

I bit into the buttery, warm hamy goodness of my flaky croissant. “Nyr, I couldn’t care less.”

“I only think girls and gay boys would object,” said Nell.

“Girls and gay boys,” I said. “Is that misogynistic?”

We both laughed.

“I’ve never had a gay boy, so I can’t comment,” said Nell. “You’ve had a straight boy.”

“Ah Carl, I never knew a straight (Maltese) boy's cock would taste so sweet,” I said. 

“Oh, stop it,” said Nell. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

“A good thing Alison knows about our love affair.”

“She did?”

“Yeah, sure, they had an agreement.”

“Was he cool about it, you know, afterwards?”

"Guy's try to pick me up, like I'm a poofter, or something," I think, was the last thing he said to me, out that night the first time I'd seen you since we slept together.”

“That’s funny.”

“I like people who are honest,” I said. “How’s it going with what’s his name.”

“Ha ha,” said Nell. She rolled her eyes.

“Danko.”

“Ah Danko, Lebanese boys are so secretive about who chews on their foreskins. I thought I'd given up the back seat of Holdens years ago.” Nell laughed.

“What? I asked.

“Oh, I had to bang his brains out in the back of his Calais to get him to admit to who he’d been fooling around with.”

“What made you think that?”

“Stella said she knew.”

“And?’

“Well, he’s always honest, um, when he’s in that position…”

“State.”

“Yes.”

“Seriously?”

“I don’t think there is enough blood to work both,” said Nell. “Seriously.” Nell laughed. “He just can’t function mentally to lie.”

“And.”

“He swears he hasn’t… and I just stop what I’m doing, what I’m doing, leaving him in suspended animation and he … um, if I said begs… ‘I haven’t babe, not me, I never would…no… no…no…can we please… can you…” said Nell. She mimics her boyfriend Danko perfectly.

“Wow that’s, that’s.” All I could do was laugh.

“But it’s bad news for Stella though, apparently its Armin.” Nell sucked her top lip into her mouth waiting for my response.

“Stella’s Armin?”

“Yep, been doing the dirty,” said Nell. “It looks like Stella has got it around the wrong way.”

The waiter came and we ordered more coffee.

Nell lit a cigarette. I had quit, but I must have looked longingly at her cigarette, and she picked her packet up and offered me one. I took it without saying a word. Nell flicked her lighter and lit it.

“I like people who are artistic,” I said. 

“Who are we talking about now?” asked Nell.

“Spiro.”

“Ah Spiro, how I’d like to run my hands through his curly hair.”

You were getting out of your car in those white, cotton pants. It was hot, so were you. You saw me looking. You followed me upstairs. I couldn't help but notice how much you grew. You looked so sexy as you masturbated for me. A (uncut) cock that is thicker in the middle than at each end, is so, so sexy. I won't tell your boyfriend, I promise. And no, it doesn't count, because we didn't touch, each of us just enjoyed the show.

“Hey,” said Nell. “You have tuned out again.

I snapped back into the present at the sound of Nell’s voice.

“Don’t do that, it is creepy,” said Nell. “Your sunglasses are so dark I can’t see your eyes, and it is as if you have just stopped working.”

I laughed. That joint we smoked was now really kicking my arse.

“Spiro gave me one of his paintings to hang in that group of paintings I have on the wall in the lounge room.”

“How is Spiro?”

“Oh…” I shook my head at the image that came to mind. “Yeah, he’s good.”

Our coffee came. Macchiato for me, and a latte for Nell. There was a plate of banana bread as well.

“A minute on the lips,” the waiter said as he put it down.

“Banana bread,” said Nell. She pushed the plate towards me.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I said.

“Rude,” said Nell, referring to the waiter. She was joking of course.

“I like people who are up front,” I said. 

“I saw Andre, did I tell you,” said Nell.

“The boy we both nearly had,” I said.

Ah Andre, I should never have turned you down that time you said, "I guess you want to have sex with me," after we'd shared ecstasy tablets. Mark told me that you bashed the last man you had sex with, afterwards, after I turned you down. Call it intuition, I guess.

I shook my head. “I did it again, didn’t I?”

“You are like one of those wind up dolls, that just keeps running out of wind,” said Nell. “You feeling okay?”

“Actually, I feel kind of luscious, really chilled out.”

“You tell me if you become unconscious, won’t you?” Nell drags hard on a newly lit cigarette.

I take another cigarette from her packet and light it. She watches me as I do, but she doesn’t say anything.

“How do I tell you if I become unconscious?”

“Oh,” Nell looked at me and smiled. “Do your best.”

“I like people who are unconscious,” I said.

“What?” said Nell.

“Did I tell you about Jay and Jamie.

“No.”

Ah Jay, Jamie taking your cock out of your jocks and sucking it until it was hard, as the sun rose and you snored... he shook all over, apparently. You're a big boy, Jamie said. Then he was nervous – and guilty, just a bit – and slipped it away again. He said it was hot, too. I guess, it's not the normal thing for a gay friend to do to a straight friend. But you did crash tanked into his bed, in your jocks that Sunday morning as Jamie was trying to sleep after a big night out. What did you expect?

“Hello,” said Nell. “Jay and Jamie? You wound down again.”

Then I was wondering if that was a story I should be telling. Young Jamie and my step son Jay collapsed into Jamie’s bed unconscious early Sunday morning.

“That’s a story for another time,” I said.

I puffed on my cigarette.

“I like people who are contented and honest,” I said.

“I ache for it,” said Nell.

“Honesty is a big turn on,” I said.

“No matter what they say?” said Nell.

“No matter what they say,” I said. “How else do you know who they are?”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” Nell blew a cloud of smoke into the air. “No idea.”

We both sat back in our chair. We both stretched as the sun warmed both of us.

“Words, or actions?” I asked. “Which ones do you think give you a sense of who someone is?”

“Words. No, actions. No, both,” said Nell. “The two are inextricably linked, really.”

“That’s a big word for brunch.”

“You can’t separate the two.”

“I think it’s actions.”

“No, it’s both,” said Nell. “It has to be both.”

“No,” I said. “You have Benjamin being strictly monogamous and then rubbing his, I would say, tasty bulge for me when he thought no one was looking. What about Spiro saying he can’t have sex because he doesn’t want to cheat on his boyfriend, then coming upstairs and tossing off for me? What about Andre getting it on with you and then punching you up? What about Jamie, saying he respects Jay’s heterosexuality?

“Oh, it’s guys,” said Nell. “Guys are cunts.”

I laughed.

“What about Carl?” asked Nell.

“The lovely Carl’s words and actions are the same. He’s the only honest one in the bunch.”

“So, you think honesty is in short supply?”

“Well, what I am saying is that it’s the honest one you want to go for.”

Nell scooped the last mouthful for ice cream into her mouth. “No shit sherlock, we can tell you went to uni.”

“But it is a very basic thing, isn’t it? Honesty?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Nell. She pulled another cigarette form her packet.

“I just think it is interesting how many versions of the truth people are willing to accept to have a relationship.”

Nell offered me a cigarette. 

“He’s never hit me before.”

I took a cigarette from the packet. 

“Pulling each other off isn’t cheating.”

She leant over and lit it for me. “Like your honesty about your smoking?”

“That’s different.”

“Somehow, I thought it might be?”

“I’m not lying about smoking.”

“You tell people you have stopped all the time.”

“Oh Nell, no one seriously gives a shit if I smoke, or not.”

“So, why tell them you don’t?”

“As I was saying, I am fascinated with how many versions of the truth people will work through to justify their relationships?”

“Do you think Danko and I do that?”

I puffed on the cigarette and wondered why I ever give them up. “No, I think you are very honest with each other, and I think Danko is very sweet and seems to only have eyes for you.”

Nell puffed on her cigarette. “Do you and Gabe do that?”

“No, I think Gabe and I are very honest with each other,” I said. “You are probably a better judge than me?”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

“So, we’re good?”

“And isn’t that what counts.”

“Absolutely.”

“As long as we’re good.”

“The rest of it is just the fucken circus.”

The waiter walked up to our table.

“Yes, two more coffee,” I said.

“Just keep them coming,” said Nell.

“We’re solving the world’s problems,” I said.

“I’m not sure what the world would do without us,” said Nell.

We both laughed.

“Two coffees,” said the waiter. He turned and walked away.

The Backroom

Dim lights and heat, nervousness as the boys mill about.

Tension is thick in the air, you can taste it, smell it.

My knee hits the barrel, it sounds like a gong. There was black plastic and tape all over the walls

Dark shadows, sweat and thick legs, places where it was too dark to see, but you could still see it writhing, there in the black. Men and more men cloths and skin all wet.

His T-shirt sticks as he tries to escape.

Muscular arms and moist hair, kneeling in the dark.

deep breathing, whimpers and grunts.

Tight grips with strong hands,

strong tall backs, bent over

wide shoulders and thin waists, jockstrap,

muscular legs all taught.

I feel in the dark, I get skin slippery and hot.

A knowing and nervousness and heat thick in the air,

as a slippery thick worm slides into its mark.

He groans anonymously in the dark.

Rubbing of skin, on skin, buffed bodies bounce off each other,

a hand slides up my shirt, touching nipples

hands rub across my chest

on my thighs, on my buttocks and my groin,

as the buttons on my fly come undone.

Browned summer skin, his T-shirt is over his head, well developed chest, beautiful breasts, I suck his nipples in return, beautiful curved legs disappearing into my crotch. Rub my cock hard, rub my balls.

Strong hands, holding me and pulling my balls away from my body. I think I want to come.

Sweaty chests against my sweaty back, I kiss him backwards and pull my cock free from grip.

Bulging shorts pressed against bulging shorts, pressed against my arse. Worked up and down, with a promise of what's to come. I'm easy for it.

I step side ways to get my breath. The drugs are spinning my head.

Two young boys rub up against each other, boyfriend tourists, at my back. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, they look fresh and sweet.

I turn and hold them in my arms.

I discover a big bulge rubbing against a shapely buttocks encased in stretch cloth as my hand slips between them.

"What's your name?"

"Brett," says bottom boy now being sandwiched between us.

My hand disappears up the Brett's shorts, he has delicate hair on the back of his thigh, against the hair on his lovers strong thigh, as he shows how their love might be.

Brett wants it, I can feel it.

"I'm Joel." He moans as he rubs his bulge into Brett's arse.

We kiss.

Joel smiles. His red lips suck the back of his Brett's neck, wet and hungrily and hot. Brett's thick neck chewed as he submits.

The stubble chin on his chin brushes my mouth as I grab his hairy armpits, and kiss his lips. His breath is sweet. He's sucking a mint.

"I want to show you how I fuck him," whispers Joel, as I taste Brett's sweet lips.

Joel's thick muscled arm around his hairless torso, holding him steadily in place. A boyfriends love, never to let go.

Brett lay his head on my shoulder as Joel's hand expertly explores the inside of his stretch black shorts. I kiss him. He writhes.

I suck his nipples, as he whispers, "Fuck me," in my ear.

I kiss his muscular abdomen, it is wet with my thick breath, as he is held.

My tongue licks his thighs and his shorts and his stomach.

He moans as the button rips and his shorts come a part. I suck his cock, as Joel's fingers fill his crack, pushing his cotton underwear inside him.

Brett moans, ready for his fill. His briefs are hooked under his balls. He's got work boots on, pale leather, as he sticks his arse in the air.

I twist his nipples with big strong hands, I squat to my feet.

Brett's crotch bulges, as his arse is massaged against his Joel's hard cock, as they slide together. Brett's breathing is thick, he bucks like a foal.

Buttocks in hands and hands on buttocks gripping tightly, Brett's tiny hips. Fingers slipping inside him, he's open and ready. A knowing, a wanting, heat and moistness. Our sweat drips.

Our lips are together, tongues together, Joel bites Brett's back and traces his spine.

Bending forward and kissing and caressing and holding and wanting.

Hands in his arse, Joel's hard cock slippery with lube.

beautiful manly arse flowering, perfect in its roundness. Bending and touching. Joel is tonguing his short black hairs, spreading his legs.

Thick brown muscular legs apart, fingers caressing, tongues licking.

Our tongues exploring, teeth and mouths, Brett is desperately moaning as Joel's tongues explores the inside of his arse, his sweaty velvet ring.

"Oh babe."

I lick his ears, as I massage his thick round testes, rubbing the length of his hair covered thighs, pushing his legs back still with his shorts around knees

His long hard shaft bounces, I grab it and rub it and hold it as tight as I can. He moans loudly, I squeeze tighter.

Our faces are bouncing off each other, teeth and tongues and rubbing. I lick his face, around his eyes. I am holding his hands.

I look around and there are men encircling us, showing us their cocks wanking with their scrotums bouncing out.

It's getting hotter, all thoughts gone, but flesh into flesh.

Joel's hard penis is against Brett's buttocks.

My scrotum's against his face and he's sucking and slurping as hips grind against his.

Beautiful male bodies perfect in nakedness. Thick hairy chests, tight waists hard cocks rubbing together. Mouths on mouths on mouths, arms against arms,

Joel's hands are on Brett's back pushing his buttocks down, as he squats on his thighs and takes my cock in his mouth. Joel's knob slides into Brett's arse crack, he instantly bends forward. "Ah...yeah," he groans.

His mouth sucks my balls. His legs divide. With our mouths engorged, Brett is impaled.

"Ahhhhhhhhh," he crescendos as he's filled, his moan vibrating on my knob. Joel's inside him.

"It's okay, we're boyfriends," Joel whispers to me, in the dark, as I put my hand around what's left of his slippery cock.

And then there is no room for my hand, as Brett takes the whole length.

Brett groans low and long as he gets his fill. I can just reach Joel's lips to kiss him hungrily.

Brett squirts his cum.

"Ahhhhhhhhh," he crescendos again. Stands up straight and shoots white fluid in five squirts, all down my leg.

Joel moans and spasms and ejaculates all over Brett's back.

My cum splashes on the floor in the dark.

Think it, Do It

Sometime that thing you expect to be the hardest, turns out to be the easiest. And that can be in so many things in life.

So, go out there and give the hardest situation a go, with the least amount of apprehension, and just make it happen, because you don't know how hard it is going to be until you go and try it out.

And then, sometimes, its done, just like, you've done it.

Sometimes you are smarter than you think.

@ 22

This Is Where It All Started

“This is where the original blog, started. FletcherSatchel,” said Fletcher.

“Here?”

They both look around. Everything was white, colourless, a blank canvass.

They look back at each other.

“Oh, yeah, pretty much,” said Fletcher. “There was another post where I made fun of Allah, but I took that down. You know, who wants that aggravation.”

“For a laugh.”

“Yeah, for a laugh,” said Fletcher.

“Ah, those crazy religious nuts.”

“Yeah. So, this is where it originally started, then,” said Fletcher.

They both look around. It is white as far as they can see, nothing but white.

“This is where it started.” He makes a wide arm movement meant meaning to take the whole place in.

“Yes,” said Fletcher Satchel. He raises his hands up in the air. “This is where it started.”

They both look around again. Colourless. Featureless. Blank. An empty canvas.

“Wow! Who’d have thought. This place.” He waves his arms around.

“I know, it’s hard to believe now,” said Fletcher.

“Hard to believe now. Such an inauspicious place, you know, to start.”

“I know,” said Fletcher. “There was nothing here.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing,” said Fletcher.

“How it is when things start out.”

“So many people still can’t grasp that it all came from nothing,” said Fletcher.

“But have no problem making up stories to, er, explain, er, what they don’t know.”

“Fantastical stories,” said Fletcher. He suddenly had a large leather bound volume in his hands.

“Unbelievable stories.”

“Stories that becomes sacred,” said Fletcher.

“Simply because so many people said they were.”

“Stories that make no sense,” said Fletcher. He flicked through the pages of the old leather bound volume.

“Stories from which they take truths that aren’t even there.”

“Selectively,” said Fletcher.

“Even Cherry picking the bits that suit them.”

Fletcher tosses the old leather bound book into the air in front of him and then kicks it away.

“Anyway, there have been so many changes since then, of course,” said Fletcher.

Text begins to slide along the white ground like the opening crawl from Star Wars.

“So many changes.”

“And it is all the better for it,” said Fletcher. “So many improvements.”

“So many improvements.”

Text begins to slide across the white sky.

“It is so much better for it,” said Fletcher.

“You have worked hard and made so many improvements.”

“Oh, yes, I’d like to think I have,” said Fletcher.

“You’ve really made something of all of this.”

Paragraphs begin to slide under their feet.

“I’m glad you have noticed,” said Fletcher. “It is very gratifying to have it noticed.”

“Oh, yes, I think it is very good.”

Text slides by where the white walls were

“Thanks, that means a lot,” said Fletcher.

“Well, you have worked hard.”

“Not as hard as I could have, I wasted a lot of time, but I have been at it more recently,” said Fletcher.

“Well, I still think you have done a good job.”

Paragraphs fill the walls, floor and ceiling, sliding past.

“That’s nice to hear,” said Fletcher. “It makes a change from patting myself on the back.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the way of the world, hey?”

“Hey?” said Fletcher. “So, I’m not the only one who thinks that.”

“Nah, of course not, that’s the way it goes.”

“That’s the way it goes?” said Fletcher.

“Yeah, sure. You pat yourself on the back until one day, against all odds someone, somewhere, may, possibly notice.”

“That sounds disheartening?” said Fletcher.

“Ha, if you are allergic to being disheartened, you’re in the wrong game, mate.”

“Wrong game?” said Fletcher.

“Sure. Grow thick skin! Or, get yourself a dog, it will be much easier in the long run.”

“Woof, woof,” said Fletcher.

“If you want to get noticed, it’s probably easier to start a religion, or buy a gun.”

“A cult, or a colt,” said Fletcher.

“There you go, you’ve got the idea.”

“Bang, bang.”

So, Where Do We Start

So, where do we start? I met Matt when he and I were employed to be barmen in a new bar opening up.

We were the barmen. We’d got the jobs through who we knew and not really what we knew. I was a friend of the owners PA. and was recommended by her. The owner trusted her judgement implicitly.

Matt was the son of the owner’s best friend, and the owner owed his best friend a favour.

We were both told to turn up by the owner midweek to help with the setup, and get familiar with the layout for the opening on that weekend.

There was also Mark who was going to be the third barmen, but Matt and I were going to be the main guys.

We hadn’t met before the Wednesday we were called in.

As it turned out, I was attracted to Matt the moment I met him. He was a good looking, masculine, guy who was funny, who seemed to like me.

“Hi.” Matt shook my hand with a firm handshake.

“Hi.” I shook his hand. It was warm. It felt good in my hand. I smiled, I felt it on my face.

He smiled. Dark hair. Blue eyes. I almost had to shake my head to snap myself from his gaze. 

But, we were busy. Everything was happening.

Steve the owner seemed to know who I was the moment I walked in, I guess, because Matt had got there before me and had, of course, introduced himself.

The bar was a mess, it was absolute pandemonium, all hands on deck, all systems go. Matt and I look at each other at one point.

“This is never going to open on Saturday,” said Matt.

“I know. Right?” I said to him.

We both smile conspiratorially.

But they pulled off a miracle, and it did open. Our first Saturday night was frantic, we learned everything on the job, we were crap at the beginning, but we got good at it quickly.

And even if I do say so myself, we were both handsome and appealing and we got away with a lot with charm alone.

The bar closed at midnight, because the owners didn’t want to work later than that, which was good. It was open Thursday to Sunday nights. Matt lived around the corner from me with his sister, Marta, in North Fitzroy, as it turned out, so we hung out a lot after work.

Matt was dating some girl when we started working together, but he split up with her pretty quickly after we started working in the bar together.

We wore black trousers and a white shirt and a black waistcoat changing into them before work and changing out of them after work. I used to perve on Matt in his jocks as he got changed. He always had a great arse. And thick thighs with just the right amount of hair on them. He caught me looking a few times, and he’d just kind of give me a look, followed by a quizzical kind of smile.

It started off by Matt driving me to his place and me walking home to my place, saving me a tram trip. But it only took two trips home to Matts place and he invited me in.

Then, pretty soon, Matt was saying to me.

“You coming over to my joint?” he’d ask after we finished.

“Yeah, sure,” I’d say.

Matt’s sister worked a job that required her to travel interstate a lot, so it was often just Matt and I back at his place in Batman Street, before I’d head home to my place around the corner.

Sometimes we’d smoke pot. Sometimes we’d suck on nitrous capsules. Mostly we’d drink coffee and eat and rave on and unwind from the bar before I’d head home.

We were both going to uni during the day, we were both in our last year.

I found I missed Matt on the nights the bar wasn’t open.

This went on for 6 months, until the end of the first semester, when the two of us went out drinking at a late night bar celebrating passing everything, celebrating we only had 6 months to go.

Matt’s sister was interstate when we rolled home to Matt’s place blind drunk. 

We were laughing and messing about. Really, I think we were just finding excuses to touch each other, we’d been very handsy for the last few hours.

We tripped over and fell about, as we walked into Matt’s lounge room. I flung myself onto Matt’s couch and as he tried to sit next to me, he kind of fell and landed on me.

“Oh, sorry, how drunk am I?” Matt said.

“You’re so pissed,” I remember exclaiming. I grabbed him with the intent of throwing him sideways onto the couch, but, my hands rapped around the muscles in his arms and squeezed, I remember thinking instantly he felt too good to let go of. His eyes met mine, and they burned through me, like they never had before.  

I could feel it deep down in that place that goes buzz when you suddenly lose gravity. I held his gaze, because I suddenly couldn't look away.

That thing happened when all of the rest of the world melted away, including our inhibitions and worries and the things that hold you back.

It was just Matt and I.

And suddenly, 6 months of unrequired love, er, desire, er call it what you want, and we just started kissing, no hesitation at all. 

We devoured each other there on the couch, no holding back. We suddenly couldn't get enough of each other.

He led me to his bedroom by the hand. We both collapsed into his bed, tearing each other’s clothes off. We didn’t stop, not for a moment, until we were fucking furiously on his bed. No condoms, barely any lube. We couldn't get inside each other far enough.

In the morning, Matt was snoring the sleep of the dead. I got up and got dressed and headed off to my place without waking him.

Yeah, sure, I wondered about what we had just done? I’d never done that before, the unsafe sex thing? With my straight work colleague too. Matt was very straight. He was my fantasy straight boy fuck, but was that a reason for unprotected sex? Well, you know, not so straight, when I think about him on his knees in front of me taking it, telling me how much he loved it, and how much he was always going to want it up his arse. Had I just fucked up a great relationship? What the hell was going to happen now?

Thursday night at work was the first time I saw him, or spoke to him. 

We were a little strange with each other, it was true. I’m not sure what you’d call it. I wanted him to say it was okay, that we were okay, but he was unusually quiet. I wanted to say the same thing to him, but I was nervous.

Then about 15 minutes into working, as he was preparing some drinks for a customer, he turned to me and said, “Why did you leave?”

“Why did I leave?”

Matt put the drinks on the bar.

“Yes. Why did you leave?”

Matt took the money and headed to the register.

I served my own customers. I prepared those drinks.

“I don’t know. I thought it would be weird if I didn’t.”

Matt served the next customers at the bar.

“And then you didn’t call?”

I put my customer’s drinks on the bar.

“I was waiting for you to call.”

My next customers wanted coffees. I went to the coffee machine.

“I was waiting for you to call,” said Matt.

I frothed the milk for the coffee as the coffees poured.

“I should have called,” I said.

Matt walked past me with drinks for his next customers.

“I should have called,” said Matt.

I put the coffees on the bar. I took their money to the register. I walked back to serve.

“Are we okay?” I asked.

Matt pulled stubbies of beer from the fridge.

“I’m okay,” said Matt. “Are you okay?”

Matt put the beers on the bar. My customer wanted two bloody Mary’s.

“Yes, I’m okay,” I said.

“All I wanted to know is that we’re okay,” said Matt.

Matt served his next customers. He made cocktails.

My next customers wanted cocktails too.

Matt looked at me with his cheeky smile. “I want to do it again.” 

“Pass me the Cointreau,” I said.

“Only if you say you want to do it again too.”

“I want to do it again,” I said.

Then Matt smiled at me, and the frown he’d been wearing since he arrived at work disappeared, as did all the tension in his face. And he looked at me, you know, in that way that, I have to admit, made my heart flutter and made me feel I was floating above the ground. We had a great night after that. I even slapped his arse at one point when we were in the cool room together. That felt good, feeling him in my hand like that.

Yeah, sure we went home that night and did it all again.

After that, our nights together after work, when Matt’s sister was interstate for work, Matt and I would have sex Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights at his place, every night after work for the rest of the year, before I went home to my place.

Eventually, Matt’s sister asked him what was going on with him and I.

“What? Nothing,” said Matt.

“Really? Nothing?” said Marta.

“No.”

“Oh, okay,” said Marta.

It was one Saturday morning, and the two of them continued making breakfast.

“I’d just woken up, said Matt. And I was bleary-eyed and I kind of panicked questioned her, where I probably should have just kept quiet.”

“You said nothing?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Matt. “I guess.”

“You know it’s okay,” said Marta. “I like Josh, there’s no judgment. I was just being interested.”

“Okay,” said Matt.

“I think Josh is a nice boy,” said Marta.

“Yeah, he is,” said Matt.

“You two seem to be getting along really well,” said Marta.

“Yeah, we are,” said Matt.

“Like really well,” said Marta.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Matt.

“It seems like the two of you are inseparable,” said Marta. “Always hanging out, laughing, messing about, it seems really nice. And just kind of sudden.”

“Yeah, so? We are. It’s true,” said Matt.

“It’s nice that you have, ah…” Marta looked at Matt and smiled. “You know.” She smiled again. “A nice boyfriend.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Matt.

Marta shrugged. “That’s all.” She smiled.

“Well, um?” said Matt.

Marta looked at him as she buttered her toast.

“I guess.” Matt put milk in his coffee. “Er.”

Marta looked back down at her toast. “It’s okay.”

“Josh is,” said Matt.

Marta cut her toast, picked up one side. “Is what?” She took a bite of the toast in her hand.

“What you said,” said Matt.

“And?” I asked. I wanted to hear what he said about me, of course, I did.

“And what?” said Matt.

“What did you say next?”

“What?” Matt seemed unusually vague.

“To Marta? What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?

“Yeah, nothing.”

“What do you mean?” I even heard my voice’s pitch rise up.

“Let it go.”

“No, I want to know what you said?”

“Nothing.”

“How could you have said nothing from that point.”

Matt shrugged.

“Well?”

“I cried,” said Matt. "Okay."

“What?”

“I cried.”

“What?”

“I cried.

“You cried?”

“It just happened. I don’t know why? I guess it was the pressure releasing like the steam from a boiling kettle.” Matt smiled nervously. "It just burst out of me."

“Very poetic,” I said. “And what did Marta say?”

“She hugged me and told me it was alright,” said Matt. “Stupid really.”

I hugged Matt.

We had blood tests, of course. We went to my doctor like the cutest couple, well, in my mind anyway. I introduced Matt as my new boyfriend to my doctor. I sneaked a sideways look at Matt just after I said he was my boyfriend. Matt was serious, blood tests were serious, but he smiled just a little. My doctor didn’t even say anything when we told him that we’d been having unsafe sex. Well, I mean, he didn’t wag his finger at us. He did ask Matt his sexual history. Then we went and had tests. 

They were both negative, of course. I guess I shouldn't say, of course, because that is not always the case for two boys who have unsafe sex, but it was in Matt's and my case. We celebrated that night by cuddling on Matt’s couch and watching a late movie in each other’s arms, feeling a certain freedom that we didn't feel before. 

Marta came home late and we continued cuddling on the couch.

“Nice to see you Josh,” Marta said.

“Nice to see you too,” I said.

“I’m going to leave you two to it,” said Marta. “I’m tired and I’m heading straight to bed.”

“Good night,” said Matt.

“Good night,” I said.