Reading In The Park

I was in the park reading, Dead Europe, Christos Tsiolkos. Good book, it kept me captivated.

The grass was green, the sky blue, a gentle breeze blew.

A school boy from the local catholic boy's school was playing soccer, on his own. The blue tail of his school shirt hung out over his arse. His shirt was unbuttoned and his school tie was pulled to one side. I could see the hairs on his chest.

A cute wog-boy to be sure.

I looked back to my book, not thinking any more about anything.

“Hey mate,” said a voice. I looked up, the soccer player was smiling at me. His foot was resting on top of the white ball. “Do you play ball?”

My mind reeled with a hundred answers.

“Shouldn't you be in school?” I said.

“Sure,” he said, with a huge smile. “But I'm not.”

“Why not?” I said.

He let his head tilt to one side. “It's my eighteenth birthday. I should be able to have the day off on my eighteenth birthday, shouldn't I?”

I refocussed on him. Eighteen, I thought. “Too big for school, huh?” I had to admit, he was sexy.

“Too big today.” He smiled and seemed to point to his crotch, but I assumed he was pointing to the soccer ball. “We could play ball?”

“It's not the type of ball that I'm used to playing with…” I looked him up and down, unashamedly. “But you're close.” I couldn’t help myself. It just came out before I’d really thought it through.

He looked down at his fingers. I think he got it. He seemed to blush. He started to kicked the ball around with his foot. He kept looking up at me, with those big eyes. Stealing glances. Wanting eyes. Intent. Hopeful.

I knew what those eyes were saying.

“My names Carlo,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Josh,” I said.

“You dribbling in front of me?” 

“No, that's basketball,” he said. He laughed, and blushed.

“Oh course, I knew that,” I said.

“So, you wanna play?” He looked at me so intently, I was pretty sure he was using the euphonism.

“I’m not much of a soccer player.”

“You just have to kick it.”

“You make it sound so easy…”

“It is easy,” he said. “All you have to do is give it a go.”

I contemplated giving it a go momentarily, it’s not often I get such an invite, if ever, but my 'danger, danger Will Robinson' voice went off in my head. “Oh, I don’t think I’m much of a soccer player, sorry.” I should have given it a go, I thought.

“You sure?” said Carlo.

I focussed on his gaze, steely, intent, with far too much confidence. I momentarily wanted to challenge him, see how much he had behind that bravado, but that urge left me almost as soon as it came to me, like breathing in and breathing out, the sun was too warm, the gentle breeze too calm, my book too captivating. “Yeah,” I heard myself say.

“Yeah, yes,” he questioned.

“Yeah, no, I’m sure,” I said.

“If you are sure,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Oh well, your loss,” he said.

“I’ll cop the loss,” I said. I wasn’t exactly sure where that came from. I’ll cop the loss, clearly I’d been distracted.

He practiced his fancy leg work, kicking the white ball from one foot to the other, in front of me.

“Okay,” he said.

Then I watched him kicked the ball back to the green lawn where he was to begin with. The kid had good form.

I smiled and went back to my book.

Personal Responsibility

What is with all those stupid forty kilometre an hour speed limits? If we just taught the pedestrians to keep off the road, or if parents put some effort into their kids and taught them the road laws, instead of whinging that being a parent is too tough, we wouldn't need reduced speeds.

Of course, we could solve the child obesity problem by raising the speed limit and making the little fat fucks run.

I’m not really sure why there isn’t education directed at pedestrians, rather than slowing cars down all the time. Surely, if pedestrians stuck to the rules that would go a long way to solving the, um, what problem is it that we are trying to solve? Surely, if pedestrians aren’t on the road, they wouldn’t get hit by cars? Logically. I haven’t heard too many reports of cars being on the footpath. You know what I mean.

Personal responsibility, the notion that individuals are accountable for their own actions, decisions, and their impact on themselves and others. Hmmmm? I’m really not sure how this fits with slowing drivers down because pedestrians are so useless they can’t cross the road without stepping in front of a speeding car.

It involves taking ownership of one's choices, learning from mistakes, and striving to improve. I guess if you step in front of a car and you bounce off the front bumper at speed, ricocheting into the undergrowth somewhere off to the side of the tarmac, you’d probably not step in front of a car again. Problem solved.

This mindset fosters self-reliance, opening your fucking eyes, empowers individuals to make positive changes, like not stepping onto a road when cars are approaching, and contributes to personal growth, not spending months in critical care with multiple fractured bones having stepped in front of a speeding car.

Conclusion, the best way to reduce the pedestrian fatality rate is to increase the speed of cars on the road.

Make the dumb cunts run. You know those morons you see who always cross on the green light, those idiots who walk out into moving traffic to cross busy roads. Paint bullseyes on the backs of their shirts. You could have a speed circuit where the really stupid, completely without road sense, could be pushed out onto the 100 kph highway and crack drivers in pursuit cars could show them by example the foolishness of their ways and poor decisions.

Who has ever been to Moe where the main highway through town has a 6 foot wire fence running along each side of it. Cage fighting with cars for the really nail biting experience.

You could even dose the pursuit drivers up and large amounts of caffeine, nodos, speed, drugs of choice just to make it interesting.

You could throw in the children of the dumb cunts because let’s face if they take after their brainless parents, it’s no great loss and would only add to the sport.

You could take bets. 

Have a stadium.

Sell refreshments.

Have a souvenir sellers. Skin fragments scraped off the road and the cars. Teeth, hair, limbs, odd shoes. Underwear with skid marks to really relive the moment of resolution.

You could sell photos of impact, maybe a series of photos of the bodies going under the fronts of the cars. Stills. Videos. Roll up! Roll up! Come see the blood and the guts and the last expression on their faces before they disappear out of sight, because isn’t that what the people want now, the blood and the violence and the death? Throw in a criminal history and the general public would be more than happy with it.

The black pursuit hardtop is revving its engine. The battered sedan is revving its engine next to it. And next to them is the killer panel van fuck truck still with eyeballs and brain matter splattered across the front, Jack the Knob sees no point in cleaning any of it off.

“I want them to be afraid, I want them to know I mean to run them down.”

Carnivore Casey is slamming the side of his sedan and whooping. “Let’s go! Let’s go! Throw the cunts!”

Killer is revving his pursuit hardtop sitting silently behind his leather mask.

Suddenly, the ear splitting count down siren sounds.

Darko and Juice lift bodies up and over the wire fence dropping them from a height. One gets up immediately, the other lies there until Juice drops another body on top of it. Then fifth and sixth bodies drop quickly followed by seventh and eighth and nineth and tenth.

Darko counts down 3, 2, 1 and then waves the scull flag.

Knob's van makes the quickest take off and accelerates fast with Your Daughter Is Inside scrawled across the side of the van in black letters.

Followed by Carnivore, followed by Killer coming up the rear.

The gathered crowds roar.

The criminals try to run. The first two are hit by Knob and killed instantly. A cheer goes up from the crowd

Carnivore tears one of them apart by grating them across the tall wire perimeter fence. The crowds woop and chant Carnivore’s name.

Killer runs down 3 at once. “AH HAAAAAAA!” He screams. “Ah HAAAAA!” The crowd mimics their hero.

Knob gets two more, as does Carnivore and the Pursuit of Justice, as they like to call it is over, for now. The crowd is cheering.

Threesomes

Matt and I went to the sauna, last night and picked up a pretty wog boy. Big brown eyes and a keen attitude. Handsome face, nice arse.

We'd had a shit load of meth, Audrey bought it over, Saturday morning. Her treat, ‘cause I'd been so good to her. 

I’d been good to her? What? When? When I didn't throw her out of the house when she lived here when she was too dumb to grasp even the simplest shred of consideration for her fellow human beings. We’d wake up with stoners and druggies Sunday morning on our couch we'd never met before who Audrey had bought home, the names of who she didn’t know, she having disappeared to her room leaving them to it. It took many repeats of this, and much explaining before she got it. 

I guess that’s what she meant, but, you know, who cares.

Pipe?

We had Viagra to counter the effects of the meth. It’s not that either of us really need it but, of course, it is just nice to know. Take a whole one and my head spins, much more so than on recreationals. You know, it’s a confidence thing when you are, say we say, entertaining.

A pretty wog boy, what was his name? Tony? Nick? Jason? I can’t remember. He was really keen when he found out we were a couple.

“Both of you?” he asked.

“Yeah, we only play together,” we said.

“Yes please,” he said.

We took turns fucking him. He loved Matt and my big cocks, couldn't get enough.

He wanted to be split open. 

"Tear me apart with your hard cocks," he slurred. “You two have great cocks.”

I think he may have taken something?

“Do you think?” said Matt.

He gasped for minute, so it would seem, as we double fucked him. I was on my back, he was straddling me, and Matt was behind him. 

He took it like a champ.

“Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He shook. He dripped with sweat. He groaned. And pushed back as much as Mat and I pushed forward. He kind of chocked on nothing when we were both inside him. 

“Oh cum in me, cum in me,” he demanded. We both had on condoms, so he could fantasise all he liked. We looked after him properly. We both came up his arse, as he spasmed like a wild buck his big fat cock spraying me with his cum.

He wanted our number so we could do him again just like that, but, he was just Sunday night recreation, nothing more. You know, more fun than the Sunday night movie, not more fun than cuddling up with my boyfriend later.

He was nice though, his name was Anton.

Matt and I showered afterwards. The hot water was good, washing off all the stickiness. I think it is my favourite part of the sauna, those big showers spraying all over me. Watching all the men naked in the shower room.

Anton showered with us, two shower heads, 3 bodies. He was keen to stay with us.

“You guys come here often?” Anton asked.

“No,” I said.

“Not really,” said Matt.

We went there often enough, but not all the time, certainly we weren't there weekly, just those nights when the mood took us.

“You guys are so nice,” said Anton.

“You’re pretty nice yourself,” I said.

“Yeah, we are nice,” said Matt.

“I don’t often meet nice guys at places like this,” said Anton.

“The place is full of nice guys,” I said.

“All these guys look pretty nice to me,” said Matt.

“Not like you guys,” said Anton.

“Oh, that’s not true,” I said. “There are lots of nice guys.”

“Not honest ones, like you,” said Anton.

“We’re pretty honest,” said Matt. He shrugged. “Anything else is, um…”

“Dishonest,” I said.

“You two finish each other’s sentences,” said Anton.

“Do we?” said Matt looking at me.

“Do we?” I said looking at Matt.

“You just did I then.” Anton’s voice raised up at the end of the sentence.

“It’s better to tell the truth and live with the outcomes,” I said.

“Than live under the fear of your lies being found out,” said Matt.

“The truth is never as scary as the lies,” I said.

“And in the end, the only thing telling lies gets you not being trusted,” said Matt.

“You guys blow my mind,” said Anton.

“Nyr,” I said.

“It’s really just obvious,” said Matt. “Lies really get you nowhere.”

“Well, nowhere good,” I said.

“Can we get married?” said Anton.

Matt tousled Anton’s hair. “You’ll be okay.”

I started soaping up Anton’s back. Matt started soaping up Anton’s chest. “Oh, I could so get used to this,” said Anton. He closed his eyes.

When we’d finished, we pushed Anton under the warm water and kissed each other.

We both grabbed our towels and headed to our lockers.

We got dressed with Anton chatting throughout.

When we were done, we both turned to Anton.

“See ya kid,” said Matt. He kissed Anton on the cheek.

“It was fun playing with you,” I said. I kissed Anton on the other cheek.

“How can you go and leave me?” said Anton. He pulled a faux pouty lip.

We both smiled at him. Then we both hugged him at the same time.

“Stop, you are giving me a chub again,” said Anton.

“Oh, to be 20 again,” I said.

“Look after yourself, kiddo,” said Matt.

We headed off into the night afterwards, the fresh air refreshing, and soothing.

I put my arm around Matt’s shoulders as we walked to the car. The fresh air was nice against my sweaty skin. I felt so attracted to him and what we’d shared. Boyfriends who share together love together.

I couldn’t have loved him more at that moment. Sharing brings us together, I think it always does. Couples who play together, as they say... Or is that what I say? I don't know who?

"You hungry?" I asked. 

I slid the key into the door lock and the central locking went clunk. I looked up at Matt on the other side of the car.

"Maybe," said Matt. He smiled his adorable smile. "You not eaten enough?"

"I didn't swallow anything," I said.

I slid into the driver's seat. Matt slid into the passenger seat.

"Black Cat?" asked Matt.

"Yes, just what I was thinking."

I slid the key into the ignition and started the car.

Elton John’s Benny and the Jets started playing.

I selected reverse.

Quiet Weekend

Matt came over Friday night and stayed the weekend, we had the house to ourselves. Time for a quiet, healthy weekend. Pjs and socks.

Friday night we headed out and ate Ramen sitting on three leg wooden stools, before coming home and falling asleep on the couch. Very Friday night.

We went jogging each day, early. I’m good in the morning. Matt, not as good in the morning as me.

He’d stand out on the footpath bleary-eyed. Shirtless, small shorts. We got whistled at, which made us smile. We ran well, we compete when we run, of course, we can’t help it.

Getting whistled at inspired us to run fast, stronger, longer, bigger, taller. I couldn’t help but slide my hands up the back of Matt’s shorts when I thought nobody was watching, feeling his bum, as we stood at the lights.

Matt jumped. “Hey, hey, hey.”

“Pretty boy moved fast,” I said.

“It was a surprise attack.”

“You don’t usually mind,” I said.

“Your hands are cold.”

The lights changed and we both sprinted off.

Then there is serious competition, as our feet go whap, whap, whap and the footpath as we both jostle to get in front of the other. Okay, well, perhaps not get in front of the other, but not get behind. You know, he who comes last has to go bottom when we get home. Ha ha, not quite, but we are competitive and we don’t like to come second to the other when running.

It isn’t long before we fall into step and there is only the sound of one set of runners hitting the footpath as we sail down the street next to one another,

You know, I think that is my happy place, running in sink, ha ha that is only when we both soap each other up in the bath, um, er, in sync. There is a purity of motion, a sanctity of purpose, as we move like two well oil machines, especially on the road when the sun is coming up, or setting for that matter, that half light seems to put everything in perspective, somehow. I think it is the newness of something, or the last vestiges of something else that makes that moment special in time.

Matt cooked, Spaghetti Carbonara, no cream. I made a flourless chocolate cake. Hit it with some cream. The best thing.

Sunday, Matt made burgers, and I made raspberry muffins, they’re easy, poof, done. 

We got DVDs and a bag of pot. I introduced him to weed, I stuck a great, fat joint into his mouth and lit it. He took to it really well. He’s a natural. (He liked the newness of it, the taboo, I guess, but eventually, he would you know, take it, or leave it, not like me. He’d smoke it just because, as he said, I made him, but he wouldn’t look for it, other than that)

We were bleary-eyed and cuddled up late Sunday. Laughing. Ah, good times.

I Should Have An Aching Head? But That’s Not How Our Godless World Works

Matt and I got really wasted last night. Of course, that's just the build up to when we get home.

We got pills from Audrey, kind of unexpectedly. Oh, you know, she’s always good for a deal out of that small handbag she always carries and that dumb expression she always wears.

She was holding court with her gay goons, in that white chiffon air-head way she has of being in this world.

Rhys was there, looking like the gayest straight boy ever, as only he can. All those muscles and blond hair, and his shirt undone down to where, with his alabaster skin? And the top button of his button up fly undone. It couldn't be, look-at-my-cock any more blatantly, really it couldn't. Talk about gay-baiting. Who is he trying to attract?

In an unfortunate drugged out episode, I once told Rhys that I really wanted to see him cum. He told me I was disgusting and not respecting him, with his tits out and his pubes showing every weekend at a gay bar. Nyr, what did I expect, from the gayest straight boy on the planet.

Matt and I danced like men possessed. The music was good. The pills were surprisingly good. I went up like a rocket and floated around the ceiling for a good few hours, as did Matt smiling and sweating and dancing like a mad man.

We got home late. We fell in the door still with our cloths sticking to our sweaty bodies.

I licked Matt's arse and sucked his fat cock on the couch, as the sun came up. I got kind of single-minded about it. He didn't mind, of course. Lying there like a prince. Ha ha.

I love all his pre-cum, he leaks like a ship going down. Man the lifeboats!

He sat on my face with me pulling his big hard cock like a handle as his balls slapped my chin, until he was so wet and eaten out that he backed all the way down my body and straight onto my hard cock, which he fucked himself on until his beautiful big fat cock sprayed cum all over my chest, as I pumped a huge load up his arse.

Then we collapsed in a sodden, sticky mess on each other on the couch just as the sun started to shine in the lounge room window, pulling one of those cotton blankets over the two of us where we past out for some hours.

Sometime later, after coffee and the amazingly gorgeous warm water of the shower revving us enough to soap each other up and towel each other down before pulling on clean clothes and vibrating in the soft wrap of clean cotton clothes.

Matt headed home this morning, he looked completely fucked. He wanted to get a decent amount of sleep before he has to head to work tomorrow. I tried to talk him into taking a sickie, but you know the get-to-work-on-Monday-morning rule we live by, well Matthew takes it kind of seriously. 

I'm buzzing, but fucked, stretching out on the couch thinking I am just going to do nothing today.

You know with that all enveloping, body humming like engine run on after stopping after a big, chemically enhanced night, I only have enough energy to roll a couple of splifs and to pull that cotton blanket back over me as the warmth of the day envelops me, and I think fuck it all, tomorrow will take care of itself, why do I have to concern myself with it today? Why? I ask you? Tomorrow will be here soon enough. And with that thought, I stretched out and luxuriated in the soft comfort of the cocoon I had made for myself in the safety of my lovely couch.

Farting About And Visiting Mum

I was doing my computer art, all morning. I smoked pot and got lost in it. My happy place. Lovely!

At 2pm, I decided that I just had to get up and go to mums, as I'd told her I'd be over. And I stood her up last weekend, after all. So, I got ready and left.

When I was nearly there, I remembered that she said she was going out in the afternoon, come in the morning, she said. Doh! Idiot! What a waste of time, served me right. But, you know, I was nearly there, so I might as well pop in just in case she was home after all. You never know, if what she was going to do was cancelled.

I got over my alarm phobia by marching right up to the house and punching that code into the key pad and shutting the damn thing off. There! Done. Don’t be such a pussy in future.

She wasn’t home.

The house was empty.

Now there was something that I came over for, I thought, as I stood in the silent kitchen. It is funny how your parent’s house seems different, in a sense, when they are not in it to give it life. Oh, yes, the lawn. I walked to the front window and looked out. The lawn was in desperate need of a cut. How did I not notice as I walked in?

My pace quickened. I found the shed key. I headed out the back door.

The key twisted sideways in the shed door’s lock, and the door opened with a squeak, and a scrape across the paving in front of it. The shed smelt of the oiliness of equipment and, petrol, which I thought was a good sign indicating there was possibly petrol to run the machine. I crossed my fingers, meaning I wouldn’t have to go to the petrol station to get some.

I grabbed the handle of the mower and unfolded it to the upright position. I unscrewed the petrol tank lid and looked into the tank. It looked shiny and silver in there and the liquid that was in there looked kind of blue too. It almost sparkled, it was a little mesmerising. So, sparkling, or not, the tank was somewhat empty and I needed to find the can of petrol. 

Oh, please let there be a can of petrol. Of course, it was me who cut the lawn last, and who therefore handled the can of petrol. What happened last time? Oh, I couldn’t remember.

I glanced up at the shelves and above my head was the can of petrol. I fetched it off the shelf it was on and placed it on the shed floor. It felt heavy as I lifted it down. I quickly unscrewed the tin lid and looked inside hopefully. It was full of petrol. I scanned the shelves again and found the bright yellow funnel.

I pulled the mower out into the sunlight with a bang and a crash out over the door frame of the shed. I slid the bright yellow funnel into the opening to the petrol tank. I grabbed the can of petrol and swished it towards the yellow funnel. I poured the petrol in. 

Glug, glug, glug sounded the petrol until it overflowed just a bit and I pulled the bright yellow funnel out of the mower tank. Some of the petrol spilled out and over the mower in a big, wet patch.

I peered into the tank and it was full. I screwed the cap onto the tank. I put the funnel and the can of petrol with the remaining petrol in it back up on the shelf.

I pushed the mower onto the lawn. I put my foot onto the body of the machine, grabbed the handle and took the starter rope handle in my hand and I pulled it with all my strength. 

The mower spluttered into life for a second and then died.

I repositioned my foot, took hold of the rope starter handle again and pulled with even more determination. The mower fired into life again for a few seconds and then died again.

I pushed the choke lever up to full. I repositioned my foot yet again. I grabbed the rope starter handle again and pulled with even more determination. The mower roared into life. The revs kicked up to very fast, blue smoke poured out of the engine in a big cloud.

I slid the choke lever to the middle of the gauge and the revs fell into the normal range. The mower sat buzzing with life. 

I stepped back into the garden shed and found the safety glasses and slid them on.

I stepped back out into the sun, took hold of the mower handle and started pushing it across the long grass. The smell of cut grass hit me immediately.

I avoided pushing myself up against the vibrating handle like I did when I was a teenager, but I thought about it. The thought made me smile.

The back lawn was quick, as we had a tennis court in our back yard, so there is not so much grass. All those years of family tournaments now lay quiet.

The front yard is not that easy, as the front yard is terraced, four terraces to be exact. And there is a pond with gold fish. Not so many gold fish now a days though, just a couple.

I managed as a kid to master moving the mower from terrace to terrace without having to turn it off. I'd tip it up on its back wheels and rolled it to the edge of the stone wall separating each terrace. Once the back wheels were balance right on the edge of the short stone walls, I’d lower it down until the front wheels rested on the grass of the next terrace down, then I would roll it forward on its front wheels until I had rolled it forward far enough to lower the rear wheels down flat. I'd retained that skill. 

I emptied the cut grass catcher at the end of each terrace behind the camellia bushes in the garden.

After I was done, I sat in the kitchen and ate mum's banana cake and drank some tea. I figured that was how long I had to wait. Then I could go without waiting any longer for mum to get home.

Truthfully, she could be with any of her girlfriends. She could be home at any time.

There, done, now Jen and I can go out tonight. Well, you know without guilt. We could go out if I’d visited mum, or not, but this way I had done my son’s duty, so to speak.

Right attitude, you question?

I visited. I can't help it if mum wasn't home. I showed up.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my mum, she is the best mum in the world, she’s funny, and quirky, and smart, and lovely, and lonely now that my dad had died, it’s true, but, I can’t have her cutting into my pot smoking time too drastically, now can I? Ha ha. You've got to get your priorities right in this world, if you are going to get anywhere? Isn’t that what they say.