Quiet Sunday Arvo

End of the weekend. End of the month. Nearly the end of the first half of the year. Life is going frighteningly fast. Whoosh! Flash... before my eyes. Zip! Gone!

The first month of Autumn, the leaves start to fall. The colours of Autumn, yellow, orange, red, purple, and brown. Natures glory. Dazzling. Then the garden sheds it’s clothes. It’s jackets, its jumpers, its coats, stripped bare for the winter, it is minimalist for the cold. 

“Don’t you love autumn?”

“I prefer summer.”

“But all the colours?”

“No, I prefer summer.”

“Don’t you love jumpers and coats and long walks under the red, orange and golden leaves on the trees?”

“I prefer the sun.”

“But isn’t it lovely to stand in front of open fires?”

“I prefer the heat?”

“Standing in front of air conditioners?”

“Well, yes, I guess,” he said. “And swimming in the sea.”

“Snuggling down under warm blankets and being able to sleep.”

“I just prefer the heat.”

“All those nights you can’t sleep?”

“Yes please.”

“Well… each to his own.”

“Each to his own... and isn’t that a great thing?”

“It’s a great thing?

 

“You’re cold and I’m hot.”

“I wouldn’t exactly put it like that.”

“I would…”

“Would you?”

“You have made certain admissions…”

“Certain admissions?”

“Indeed,” he said. “And the evidence speaks for itself.”

“But surely, you have it backwards?”

“Backwards?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Indeed.”

“How so?”

“Well, if I love the cold, surely that makes me hot…”

“You think?”

“And if you like the heat, doesn’t that makes you cold.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It is only logical, my friend.”

“Only logical, you say?”

“I do.”

“I call bullshit.”

“But you have made certain admissions.”

“Admissions?” you say.

“Yes, the evidence now speaks for itself.”

“I guess, we will have to agree to disagree.”

“I guess we will, even if I hate that expression.”

“You hate that expression,” he says.

“I do. I am clearly right.”

“You think?”

“I just said it, didn’t I.”

“You did.”

Matt, Me & Carlo

It was late last night when the doorbell sounded. Matt and I looked at each other with that time old expression, who could that be at this late hour. I think, Matt even looked at his watch. Perplexed look. We were lounged on the couch.

Standing at the door was a very drunk, very wonky-eyed Carlo. He looked nervous in his drunken state.

"Hi, I hope I'm not..." he slurred.

"Not?"

"It's not too late, is it?"

"No, Matt and I were just watching a movie."

"Mat's here?"

"Yes."

"Oh.

"It's okay, he won't bite."

Carlo laughed and his face almost creased into a smile. "Maybe I want him to."

"Well, maybe he will."

"I got scared the other night when you asked me to come home with you two guys."

"But now you're not?"

"No." He stepped through the door. "I'm still a bit."

"Don't be, we're really friendly." I was trying to make a joke, but it just came out as dumb."

"My parents are down the beach house." His trademark cheeky smile made a glimmer of an appearance. "Can I stay."

"Forever?"

"The night?"

"All night."

"In your bed... with you two?"

"That's very direct."

"Aren't you going to ask me in?"

"Come in."

Carlo sat between us on the big couch. He looked very pleased with himself.

“I’m here to apply for the boyfriend position,” said Carlo.

“What boyfriend position?”  asked Matt.

“The boyfriend to the two of you?”

“We weren’t advertising,” said Matt. “I’m not sure we even have a position.”

“You know, it is often the non-advertised positions that are the most sort after.”

“I see,” said Matt. “At least we all know where we stand.”

“I’d make a great little brother to you two.”

“You think so, do you?”

“Yes,” said Carlo. “I need to learn so much… and I am a really fast learner.”

Matt snorted through his nose. “I’m sure you are.”

I just sat there and listened to the two of them. Matt like him I could tell.

“I am the latest model, all the latest, um, attachments.”

“Money back guarantee?” asked Matt.

“Full service warrantee, 10 year, roadside assist,” said Carlo.

“Can we take you for a test drive?”

“I’m hoping you will,” said Carlo, smiling.

He ran his hands down my leg and Matt's at the same time.

"What are you trying to do, Carlo," asked Matt.

Carlo smiled. "I’m just being friendly."

Carlo lent over and kissed him. Matt kissed him back.

“That’s friendly,” said Matt. 

“Too much?” asked Carlo.

“No,” said Matt.

Carlo looked at me. He leant over and kissed me. I kissed him back.

He kissed me enthusiastically.

Ouch

The pinched nerve, or whatever it is, in my back made it almost impossible to sleep last night. My legs ached, crampy, tingling, creeping, as close to, pain as I have felt without it being painful, the likes of which I have never experienced before.

I woke at 8.15, a bit late to be sure, and I was thankful that I had ironed my shirt last night.

I decided to clean up my work clothes style and so I am today wearing my old, leaky leather boots, but at least they're black with my traditional blue suit pants, I’ve been wearing runners lately. Black runners, but runners none the less. Well, I usually walk when I get up at the right time. 

I have to try and look my best if I am to get away with wearing no tie, against my manager's directive, after the C.E.O.'s comment about ties at the talk he gave. I'm fucked if I'm going to be made to wear a tie, just because of one off the cuff, joking, comment made by the boss.

So, it was a nicely ironed business shirt, blue suit pants and jacket and black boots, which I threw on and left the house as quickly as I could.

I live close to the city, to be sure, but 8.15am wake up is still cutting it a little fine.

I grabbed a muesli bar as I headed into the foyer of our building. There is no time for breakfast if I get up at 8.15am.

Half the guys had ties on, the executive and manager half, and half the guys were tieless, the lower than exec and manger level, of which I am a part. I guess I didn’t have to tell you that. So, I was pleased I wasn’t the only guy going tieless. Fuck the corporate noose, that’s what I say.

You can understand when I say that I headed out to lunch early. My back was still pinching just a little, so I didn’t go any further that the food court in my own building. I did wonder if exercise was a better way to go, and no doubt it probably was, but pinch, pinch, pinch, I gave into it and settled on fat food close by, creamy mushroom pasta parcells.

I saw dark-haired Cam and blond-haired Ben heading out to lunch, as I was coming back. They were both wearing ties, but, you know, the lawyers don’t really have a choice in a law firm. The fee earners have to toe the line, even if they are relatively junior and don’t exactly have their own clients yet, it makes no difference. Baby lawyers had to make a good impression.

You know, they have to work their 50 hours a week and they had to look good damn good doing it too, no excuses. Unlike me, a non-fee earning member of the team. And Cam and Ben did look good doing it.

Oh, how my fantasies explode when I see my two b/f's together. Ha, ha, not that they know that, you understand. That they are my best BFs.

Cam with his handsome face and that delicious realestate across the arse of his suit pants, and Ben with his pretty face and that buldge in his trousers that couldn’t be denied.

Cam was sucking on a pen, as he and Ben walked towards the exit of our foyer.

You know what I'd like to see him suck on? I could imagine Cam's smiley, handsome face as it goes down on Ben’s cock, and Ben's face as he feels the warmth of Cam’s mouth. If the bulge in Ben’s suit pants was anything to go by, Cam would have a mouthful.

I turned and I watched Cam's magnificent arse walking away from me. The sexiest butt of any guy in the company. It such a waste not to put something so great as that to work. What a chunk of perfection. Just perfect. I'd like to see Ben slide his finger into it, you know, warming it up. Some of that fly on the wall stuff, as Ben made a man of Cam taking it doggy style on his kees.

You know what a good use would be for Ben’s tie, tied tightly around Cam’s cock and balls inflating him like the exaggerated car tyres in a police chase in a looney tunes cartoon. I could picture Cam’s thick, naked thighs with his super inflated cock banging against his stomach as Ben penetrated him over and over again.

Truth is, Cam is bordering on arrogant a lot of the time, nothing a good rogering would probably help him clam down with that.

I could almost hear Cam calling out Ben’s name as Ben made him feel good, as he filled him right up. “Oh yes Ben! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

My back pinched, as I turned to watch them walk away.

“Ouch.” I said out loud. I reached out and pushed the lift button.

I bought my hand to my neck, as I twisted my back from one side to the other, as I waited for a lift. I felt my open shirt and no tie, and I felt pleased with the minor victory. Still, tie or no tie, my back is still pinching, damn thing.

Ben came down and saw me early in the afternoon wanting some figures done. 

Ben and Cam, they are always together. In fact, this was one of the few times that I didn’t see them together. I kind of like seeing them together. I’d like to see them together. Chuckle. Ben is nice. Sweet. Easy going.

Ben and Cam are considered star recruits, boys who come with the lot.

Truth is that young hot shot lawyers walk around with a full load of cum all the time, they have to, they have to prove themselves over and over again, if they want a career path to partner. They have to prove they are men of the firm making sure they don’t shoot their load all over one of the dried up old goats who now run the place, or shoot it all over the floor in some uncontrolled emission embarrassing themselves.

It is right that they should experiment on each other, like young colts in a paddock. It’s high pressure work, 100 hours per week, they need release. You know, get some experience with their favourite guy friends before they enter into anything serious and permanent. It’s called growth.

Do chicks know this? That most of their husbands and boyfriends have? Secret men’s business. No matter what they say, there were those times with their mate Brad, or Jack after the drunken work party, or Miles from the cricket club and the few too many they had at the Sunday BBQ, or Lachlan from the footy club when they smoked pot together.

Girls may not like it, but it is true.

Cam saw Ben Monday morning.

“How did you pull up?” asked Ben.

“Yeah, good, I think,” said Cam.

“You remember… the night?” asked Ben.

“Nah, not really,” said Cam. “I just remember waking up about midday yesterday.”

“Any of it?” asked Ben.

“Nah, it’s all a blur, really,” said Cam.

“It’s probably best,” said Ben.

“Why do you say that?” asked Cam.

“You really don’t remember?” said Ben.

“No,” said Cam. “Should I?”

“It was pretty, um, wild,” said Ben.

“How so?” asked Cam.

“We got pretty drunk.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember that.”

“We ended back at my place.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You took off your pants and danced around my place in your undies.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Then you want me to do the same.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“Well, you kind of insisted.”

“I did?”

“You sure did.”

“And did we?”

“Yep, drinking and smoking pot.”

“I don’t remember that.’

“And then you wanted to…”

“To what.”

“Um?”

“Um, what?”

“You really don’t remember?”

“No,” said Cam.

“You wanted to fool around.”

“Fool around?” asked Cam.

“Yeah.”

“What do you mean?”

“Fool around,” said Ben. “It only has one meaning.”

“With who?” Cam asked incredulously.

“It was only me and you there, Cam.”

“What are you saying?’

“I think you know what I am saying.”

“That’s, um, er, ridiculous, Ben. I’m straight.”

“Not so fucken straight on Saturday night.”

“Oh, come on, you are fucking with me,” said Cam.

“Oh Cam, I did, on Saturday night,” said Ben.

“No.”

“First we kissed as we danced.”

“We kissed?”

“You instigated it.’

“I did.”

“Yeah, and it was nice.”

“It was nice?”

“Yeah, sure, you are a good kisser.”

“I am, I’ve been told,” said Cam. “But not with you, Ben.”

“Yeah, with me Cam.”

“I couldn’t have.”

“You did and you liked it.”

“I liked it.”

“We liked it,” said Ben. “It felt good. Close. I liked the feeling.”

“What?”

“You rolled over and stuck your arse in the air like a bike rack,” said Ben.

“I did what?” said Cam incredulous. “No.”

“Well, you only had your undies on, so I didn’t take much…”

“I can’t have. I don’t…”

“And… I haven’t had sex for some time, and it felt nice,” said Ben.

“It felt nice?” said Cam. “What felt nice?”

“To be inside someone,” said Ben.

“To be inside someone?” said Cam, again incredulous.

“It was nice and warm and you held on to me tight,” said Ben.

“I did what?” asked Cam.

“I liked it.”

“You liked it?”

“Yes,” said Ben. “And you made a pretty good showing of liking it too.”

“What?” said Cam.

“I do it again,” said Ben.

“You’d do it again?” asked Cam. “You’d do it again with who?”

“With you,” said Ben. “I’d do it again with you.”

“I can’t believe this,” said Cam.

“You were real keen,” said Ben.

“I was keen?” asked Cam.

“You said you wanted to do it again too.”

“I never did, did I?”

“We really sealed the deal there on your bed, Cam,” said Ben. “It opened my eyes.”

“What?”

“Not to mention, opening…” Ben smiled.

I opened my eyes. I was staring out my office window into the afternoon. I shook my head. I had really arched my back and it now spasmed in pain, bringing me back to the day. 

“Ouch!” I said out loud. 

I straightened up, which helped a bit. I stretched, that helped too. I decided I really need to go and see a physio, the time had come.

Funny Things

I was vacuuming my room; the dust was beginning to pile up in the corners, and tumbleweeds seem to roll across the polished boards with every footstep that I took. I found hunky Ben's red jocks under all the junk. I lifted them to my nose. They still smelt like him.

Ben, Tim and I had taken drugs all weekend. We got messy, it's true. Ben, at one stage, was lying across the coffee table illustrating the fine art of the kissing gourami, his complexion is not dissimilar, kicking his legs and flapping his arms and wiggling his fine arse, when his shirt rode up and the crimson material of his jocks appeared just where the crack in his arse started. I love guys in jocks.

I had the next day off and I saw the crimson jocks discarded on Tim's bedroom floor when I went out to get the mail. Well, I was still a bit toey and short of gaydar... so... I can't believe I am telling you this... I spent the next little while lying on my bed with Ben's jocks under my nose. The front was best, I could smell his foreskin.

I thought about the time that we'd all taken far too much. Tim had passed out. I was spinning in my own, lurid world. Ben got up and said he was going to bed, from my position on the floor, I was looking straight at his crotch. His cock pointed straight up. He caught my blurred gaze, looked down and ran his hand over the front of his pants. His cock hardened up, banana'd, if you like. He looked straight at me out of the very tops of his eye slits, his face was flushed red and I could see the expression he would pull when he was getting sucked off. He pulled his head back and tried to focus.

"Good night."

He staggered off to bed.

Or the other night, when we'd also consumed lots of e's and Ben and Tim were sitting on the floor. Ben turned around and pashed Tim, as he did, his cock banana'd in his pants; filling under the denim like water in a garden hose. The head was pushing at the waist band of his jeans, when it was done. Tim lay his head back on the couch. I got the sense that Ben was looking at me. I lifted my eyes to meet his. He leant down and adjusted himself. Smiled and continued to kiss Tim. I went to bed.

I thought about the one time... Ben came out of the shower just as I came out of my bedroom. It was a Sunday afternoon, twilight of one of those weekends. Ben's blue eyes focussed on me. His face was strong and gorgeous under his curly blond hair. Strong neck. Curved chest. Pale skin. I didn't think... I was spinning. I could quite easily have thought Ben was Mat, momentarily, maybe... we were tripping... because I would never, normally...

I remember the light went dark around him. I slid my hand up his towel. He kind of jumped as my hand cupped his balls. I moved them around in my palm. I slid my hand onto his cock, which was stiffening quickly. It was warm, and suddenly thick. Ben's expression didn't change, he didn't move.

"Hey Ben, are you hungry?" Tim called out from downstairs. Ben pulled himself out of my hand. Adjusted himself. His towel tented noticeably.

The light returns to the first floor landing. I shake my head and reality swirls around in my head.

“Are you okay?” asks Ben.

I look at him standing in front of me in his towel, his curly hair wet, his smiling face, waiting for a response.

“Oh, yeah,” I say.

“You were miles away,” asks Ben. “What were you thinking?”

“What was I thinking?” I repeat. I can’t help but smile. “Oh, you know, wicker baskets.”

“Huh?” says Ben.

“You finished in the bathroom?” I ask just because you do to be polite.

“All yours,” says Ben.

“Hey Ben, you hungry,” calls Tim from downstairs, again.

Yeah, maybe I am, he says with his eyes fixed like steel on me. He turns and walks down the stairs, without looking back. "Yeah, sure... I could go breakfast."

I tossed the jocks into the wash.

Come Down

Fuck, it really is a dull day, now my eyes crack open and take a good look. Or is that just me? It could be? I feel a chuckle in my chest. Dull as in feeling little, or no pain. It is all I can hope for, at this juncture. I love that word, juncture, I say it out loud.

I wasn’t really sure how I got to the kitchen. I chuckle to myself again. I love this part of it, as much as I like the up. A safe landing, my parachute has been deployed and I am floating back down to earth.

I'm toying with the idea of central heating. Turning it on, not installing it. Well, greenhouse gases, world health. We all consume too much energy. Do you know that Sydney Harbour is now so poisonous that it is no longer safe to eat fish caught in it? 

I could put on a jumper. Two pairs of track suit pants? Some stripy socks, maybe?

The world is quiet. Quiet and still; except for my ears and that wringing sound within.

And the whir of my coffee machine.

I'm not sure if I'm shaking from the cold, as much as shaking from what I did last night? We did last night.

I'm on soft focus, that's for sure. Maybe I should just go back to bed. I need to wake Matt up and send him home... work, he has to go to work. Whatever, then I can have the day all to myself.

I want coke, that's the coke a cola, type coke, you understand, my taste buds are dead and need wakening. It's the only time I want coke, ever drink coke. You know, rather than putting the coin into it to clean it. Wash the barnacles off my tastebuds.

The light is all yellow, golden and flowing. Everything is so still. Quiet. Have I already said quiet?

I take my coffee and head upstairs. Matt is lying face down in the bed, snoring. I sit on the bed and tousle his hair.

“Hey sleepy head, I bought you coffee.”

The regular snoring breaks up.

“You’ve got to go to work.”

He starts snuffling, and snorting. He moves a bit, but he isn’t awake. Movement and sound stop.

“It’s 8am,” I say. I pick up my coffee and take a sip. It is the only time I feel god, with the flavour of coffee penetrating my tastebuds. Caffeine is the only true god.

“How can it be morning already?” asks a faltering voice.

“Well, I’m having it looked into as we speak, but thus far the reports are coming back Monday morning.”

“I hate you.”

“I hate me too, kiddo, but that isn’t going to change what day, nay morning it is.”

“And you don’t have to be anywhere?”

“No.”

“That’s a smug no.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“Doesn’t alter the fact…”

“Doesn’t alter the fact you have to get up.”

“Why do we go out on Sunday night when…”

“When you have to work Monday, we had this conversation…”

“We did?”

“Yes, we did and you know it.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“It doesn’t alter the fact…”

“That I hate Andy.”

“You could have said no.”

“Who says no?”

“I’ll be fine, make me a double espresso and point me towards the CBD…”

“Are you claiming I said that?”

“You did say that.”

“Do you have any proof of that?”

“I didn’t know I’d need proof.”

“There are many things you need in this world, my friend.”

“Like a giant tow rope and a winch to get recalcitrant boys friends out of bed the morning after the night before when they said, oh, no, no, no, I’ll be fine with these lines, these small lines, I’ll be able to run a marathon in the morning after this.”

There was silence for quite a few moments.

“Are you quite done,” came Matt’s croaky voice.

“I believe I am,” I replied.

“You know, I hate you too.”

“So much hate so early in the morning.”

“Isn’t that the very definition of Monday morning?”

“Okay, are you getting up, or am I pulling the doona off you.”

“I’m getting up.”

There was another period of silence, but no movement.

“Do you want me to count to 3?”

Momentary silence.

“Are you still there?”

“One.

Momentary silence.

“Two.”

More silence.

“I will pull the doona off you.”

More silence.

“Can I distract you with sex?” Matt says.

“Three.”

“No.”

I ripped the doona off like a bandaid, one tug and it was off.

“OH GOD I HATE YOU SO MUCH RIGHT NOW!” Matt sits up. Only one eye is open. 

I can’t help but laugh.

“I thought you were on my side.”

“I’ll go make coffee.” I leave the bedroom.

15 minutes later Matt appears in the kitchen, looking adorable, I have to say, but maybe I am a little biased. Jeans, black hoodie, backpack. I hand him his coffee. He takes it like he is on auto pilot. He downs the coffee in one gulp.  

“Bye,” he says. He stands at the kitchen door with puckered lips. I kiss him. Moments later I hear the front door open and close.

I sit at the coffee table with my third coffee and roll a joint. 

God’s herb seeps from my mouth, the familiar aroma of which infiltrates my nostrils and it is only me and pot in the world at that moment. I lie back on the couch and take another drag.

The coffee washes the barnacles from my tastebuds.

The light is all yellow, golden and flowing. Everything is so still. Quiet. Have I already said quiet?

I feel that reassuring chill of being alone tingle in my spine like electricity.

And nothing to do all day, which I just know I am going to do with enthusiasm.

Sunday Morning

Matt and I went around to Andy and Frankie B’s, late sometime around midnight Sunday. 

Matt and I had been home, we’d messed each other up for hours. We’d had showers, changed our clothes and headed out again.

Recoveries? Kind of.

Andy and Frankie had friends over from Adelaide; another Frankie, Frankie Smith and Ryan and girlfriend Michelle, so we went to help entertain them. Frankie Smith was gay, and Ryan was in a relationship with Michelle. Matt explained it to me before we got there, but I was pretty stoned. Raised eyebrows.

Of course, the speed came out, the joints flowed and the beer was guzzled.

Michelle had passed out on the floor, while Ryan and Frankie Smith were chatting really friendly. A pretty, blond gay boy and a blokey mid thirties straight boy. It’s interesting to see the types mix.

Ryan was cute, I couldn't help but catch his eye. Blue tracky pants, I couldn't help but look. They were kind of tight on him. Good legs, I couldn’t help but notice. We caught each other's eye several times, I wasn’t expecting to, or looking to. He had that kind of smug, I know I'm good looking, sort of thing going on. He was gorgeous.

We flirted for a bit as we all sat around the table chatting, smoking joints and talking, you know kind of side eye, smiles, you know how it goes. 

“I had the best time tonight,” said Matt.

“Me too,” said Frankie B.

“The good old Squeal, hey,” said Matt.

“I had the best dance,” said Andy.

My out-of-it brain cells were kind of confused, kind of boggled, when it came into focus that it was kind of wrong when Ryan went over to see if Michelle wanted to go to bed, and it all kind of clicked into place. I was kind of making flirty eyes with the wrong guy. Ryan's the straight one, of course he is. I knew that, but why had he been making flirty eyes? My reality kind of went zoosh. My head spun. As we chatted and laughed and made jokes, and smoked pot, I kind of forgot it momentarily.

How stoned did I say I was?

But we'd been making eyes at each other, Ryan and I. I looked over at him. Michelle staggered to her feet and stumbled off to bed. Good night. Ryan followed her out of the room.

Frankie Smith had the floor. He visibly morphed into a much gayer bloke, as I listened to him. His speech suddenly had a hint of the gay precision – why is it that most gay boys talk like they went to elocution lessons? Frankie S. was talking about the e he'd taken. Apparently, the Adelaide crew were all on e's.

“It's good. I'm flying,” said Frankie S.

“I’ve got this new dealer, his stuff is always good,” said Andy.

“We can always do more,” said Frankie B. with a sparkle in his eye.

“Now, there’s a surprise,” said Andy.

Ryan came back into the room, he suddenly seemed much more like a footy player; his vocal precision had suddenly reduced to... may be private schooling. He had the heavy eye-lid thing happening, of drugs coming on.

“She's going to have a sleep,” said Ryan. “I feel great.”

“What a quitter,” said Andy.

“I expected more,” said Frankie B.

Ryan lit a cigarette and warmed himself in front of the fire. Andy was questioning him on flying to Europe. Andy and Frankie B. are planning a trip overseas for the winter.

Andy just kept lining up the lines of speed. I'd told him I was really stoned, had forgotten Matt had said we were coming to visit, made apologies about being more stoned than I anticipated.

“This is just a little pep-me-up line,” said Andy. He smiled as he handed me the straw.

The two things that I do the best, snort lines and sleep. When the other's had their heads down, or were in anticipation of the act, I gazed over at Ryan's crotch, as I sniffed. Just kind of did, wasn't planned, just where my eyes landed, so to speak. I was clinging to my nose and sniffing the sour gloop, for all it was worth, my eyes were free to wander, no one was looking at what I was doing. There is something about guys in blue tracky pants, Ryan was no exception.

“Whose interested in doing some acid?” said Andy. “I’ve got some good stuff.”

I looked straight up to Ryan's face, it was flushed and smiling. He held my gaze, intense, rushing. He knew what he was doing, feeling sexy. He liked me looking at his tight track pants. His eyes had the ecstasy droop. He looked away, had a big grin.

“I've never tried it,” said Ryan 

“Well, it is probably time you did,” said to Andy. 

Ryan looked back at me, momentarily. “But I want to.” He looked back at Andy.

What? I thought.

Ryan turned sideways in front of the fire, rotated. He was a sexy boy in profile; the front of his tracky pants bulged out beautifully between his thick thighs. I could see his cock pushing out on the blue cotton. I looked up to his face. He was looking at me, smiling, he looked away.

Frankie B. was talking on the phone, everyone's attention was drawn to him. 

“You what? Tonight? Oh no, that’s no good… come over here and we’ll look after you,” said Frankie B.

I waited until Ryan and my attention connected. I ran my eyes down Ryan's front, resting on his beautiful bulge. Ryan smiled and then looked down at himself, then looked back to the others. Then he snatched a look back at me. He was turned on. He turned 180 degrees and was, pretty much, facing me. Nobody was looking. He slipped his hand into his track pants pocket, grabbed his cock, ran his hand along it, squeezed it and let it go, as if adjusting himself.

Frankie B. has invited someone over, who was so drunk he'd just been asked to leave wherever he had just left.

“I told him to come over here and we’ll look after him,” said Frankie B.

“Okay,” said Andy.

“He’s really pissed,” said Frankie B.

“So, you asked them over here,” said Andy, pointedly. He laughed.

Ryan looked around as Andy spoke. He rubbed his chin and then cast his intense eyes back at me. They were burning.

I'm tired said Matt's eyes, as he nodded his head in the direction of the door.

Yeah, come on babe, let's go, my eyes said back to him.

“I think we’re going to go,” I said.

“Oh, so soon,” slurred Andy.

“So soon?” I said. “It’s 6am.”

“Time flies, ay,” said Frankie B.

Ryan grabbed my hand and gave me, what I'm sure was, a knowing smile. “Fair well, my friend,” said Ryan. “Nice to meet you.”

Yeah, you're a sexy boy too, I thought, as I gripped his warm hand. I let it show on my face. 

“I hope the rest of your stay is just as pleasant, as…” I said. I smiled. He held my gaze, good for him. 

“I hope so too,” he said. His eyes just as intense. He liked playing. The e had diminished his inhibitions, he was feeling sexy. He was comfortable showing it. Gotta love the new generation of straight boys.

We smiled at each other.

Gotta love 40kph speed limits, makes the amphetamine fuelled drive home much more pleasant. We talk calmly, Matt reassuring me the whole way that I'm driving just fine.

We lay in front of the open fire when we got home and listened to Randy Crawford until we fell asleep, my head on Matt's chest. We woke at 9am and took ourselves off to bed.

I feel like shit, if I am to be truthful. It was 9am. Matt had headed to bed first. I was going to join him. I’ve been farting about, not sure what is still working in my system, but something is. I’m just bumping into walls, you know ‘that’ often funny stage, post drugs, coming down, lost in some reality, but before you sleep for real.

But bed was really comfortable once I got there. I, actually, love that sink down into the memory foam mattress, encapsulated safe inside as the light shimmies beyond the curtains.

Lazy Saturday

Lazy Saturday, got to love them, especially following a lazy Friday. Good Friday I just got stoned, there didn't seem to be anything else much to do. I could have hung off a cross in a loin cloth, but it's been done, with Matt wailing at my feet also just clad in a loin cloth.

I settled for chocolate, let's face it, chocolate is the meaning Easter has for most people. Chocolate eggs, basket, what else does it mean?

Today I cleaned, got my house in order.

I'm sick of the way Matt's lips quivers when he sees more evidence of my wayward house cleaning.

Good music. Good pot. Once I got going, it was like riding a bike. Turn the tunes up!

Cobwebs first, might as well be scientific about it, start from the top. Now where is that extender handle?

But then Matt called and said he fancied going out for a drink, and we ended up at The Laird in the beer garden.

"The Judeo Christian tradition that's what easter is about," said Stewy Holmes. Blond hair, blue eyes, very popular with the lads, with his surfer boys looks, even though he is not a surfer boy, but has always been conflicted with his religious beliefs. He can’t quite give them up like any intelligent person. Ironically, his first sexual experience was as a choir boy with a hot young trainee priest who well, had no inhibitions about his, um, moral requirements. You’d think that would have changed him, but no…

"No, not any more, it's about eating too much chocolate and having multiple days off as public holidays," I said.

"No, it is still very much a Christian..."

"Oh, still very much 60 years ago, but nobody cares about some dumb Christian fairytale now a days..."

"They do..."

"Oh please, no, and you know it is fitting for the corporate world to steal it from them, as they stole it from the pagans for market share."

"There is a whole world of Christians..."

"You know they say it is about 8% of the population who are practising Christians, less than the 10% who are gay, so Christians are even more irrelevant than they have ever been."

"That's a lovely sentiment to put out on easter," said Stewy.

"It would be even lovelier if the Christians were down to a lesser percentage than that."

“Like what percentage are you suggesting?”

“Zero.” I couldn’t help but smile, I could feel it in my face.

“That’s not a percentage, that’s eradication.”

“Percentage, eradication, potato, patarto, it’s just how you look at it.”

“Do you understand what good faith does for people?”

“What? Like you? Who can’t love the person you are attracted to, and when you do mange to find someone who satisfies you for a minute, the moment they cum on you, you are screaming out to the universe for help.”

Stewy and I went to school together. He lived in a famous architect’s architecturally designed house, and I thought it was amazing. We got reacquainted in first year uni and we used to hook up regularly for fuck sessions. I think I may have been better-the-devil-he-knew kind of arrangement. Anyway, when Stewy felt the need to get, well, you know, he’d come and find me, with that look on his face, a cross between hopeful and someone who was about to break the laws of nature. It was always a turn on. We had regular sex all through uni. Stewy is cumphobic, he’s a normal gay guy while he is having sex, in fact he’s really bloody good at it, but as soon as he has cum, if I had cum on him, or even if he'd cum on himself, he be screaming out, “Get it off, get it off, get it off.”

Always disconcerting when you just wanted to lie in each other’s sticky arms and enjoy the cum down.

“That’s not fair,” said Stewy.

“Really? From where does that angst initiate?”

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“Oh, come on you two,” said Matt. “It always ends up in this exact conversation.”

Some people think Stewy is a bit slow when they first meet him, but the truth is he has a genius level IQ.

“The thing you will never acknowledge is that religion and faith make the word turn,” said Stewy.

“So, say the people with religion and faith,” I said.

“Can we just enjoy our day off,” said Matt.

“The holliest of days in the year,” said Stewy, with that unquestioning moral superiority that just makes me want to grab him by the throat.

“The great chocolate festival,” I said, with that snide taunt that I am sure makes Stewy want to grab me by the throat.

And in days gone by, we may have just fucked enthusiastically to get it out of our systems.

“Philistine,” said Stewy.

“If you want to live your life by the mythical stories of 2000 year old illiterate goat herders…”

“Oh, come on…”

“…then good luck to you, but stop making it out to be of any importance to the 95% of the population who don’t believe any of it.”

“Happy Easter,” said Matt. He held out his beer to chink glasses.

“Happy harvest,” I said. “With a chocolate chaser.” Matt looked at me like I was incorrigible.

“Happy Easter,” said Stewy.

We did a perfect three way chink of our beer glasses.

Carlo

Carlo says he wants a man bigger, taller and stronger. He says that I make him swoon, which is kind of nice. Well, anyone who says that you make them swoon, must make you feel good. Mustn't it? 

Is it reciprocated? Maybe? I don’t know. 

I've known Carlo for a short time. I think we met at a carnival, or one morning after being out clubbing, when the sun was rising and the night was shrinking and the day was bursting into blood-shot eyes. 

It wasn’t any of those things, they must have been other guys. No, we met in the park, when he was kicking a ball.

He's dark, and kind of wog boy, not much, just around the edges. I know some people might take that as an insult, but it isn’t, not on the gay scene, in fact it’s really a compliment, if it is anything. Gay guys like wog guys, they are sort after, by some guys. They are definitely a ‘type’ some guys have. Dark hair, olive complexation, thick hair.

“We come as a pair,” I said.

“What?” Carlo said.

“We only play together, Matt and I.”

“The three of us?” said Carlo with big eyes.

“Well, yes. We don’t do stuff on our own.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s Matt and my agreement around playing around.”

“Oh.” Carlo looked as though he was considering the possibilities.

He's good looking in that lean, throw them around kind of way – that's what he says he wants me to do to him, he wants Mat and I to do to him. Throw him around, pin him down. Greedy boy, I think.

“How do you know Matt is into it.”

“I’m just hoping he is,” said Carlo. “I hope you will both be into it.”

“What if he’s not?”

“Surely you can talk him into it.”

“How do you even know…”

“I just look at you.”

When Matt and I were out last night, it was late, we were sitting down for a moment and Carlo burst into our vicinity, out of it, pretty much, himself. E'ing off his brain, to be sure. Somehow, he crawled onto my lap, facing me and snuggled into my chest. He really fits into my arms neatly.

Matt just smiled.

“So, this is your handsome boyfriend, hey?” Carlo whispered in my ear.

“That's him.”

“So, you weren't lying?”

“What? Lying? No. Here...” I took his hand... “touch him, he's real.” Carlo's finger tips stroked Matt's chest. Matt tousled Carlo's hair.

“Nice to meet you,” said Matt.

“Yes, me too,” said Carlo. He squeezed Matt's nipple between his fingertips.”

Can I kiss you?” Carlo whispered in my ear.

So, Carlo and I kissed, for the first time.

Me, just dressed in my camo pants and Carlo in a pair of footy shorts. He has a sweet mouth, I was surprised; gentle, inquisitive, sensuous. His skin soft on mine.

“Can I kiss him, too?” Carlo asked pointing to Matt.

“You'd have to ask him,” I said.

“Is he nice to kiss?” asked Carlo.

“Yes, very nice,” I said.

I got buzz watching Matt and Carlo kiss.

Matt smiled looking at me as they pulled apart. 

Carlo smiled looking at me also.

My pills were kicking my arse. 

The two of them looked hot together, yeah, sure they did, of course, but, you know, I’m really keen on Matt. And yeah sure, Carlo would be an interesting diversion, and as I looked at the two of them, I could see what they’d be doing to each other, and sure it would be hot, but I like Matt.

We sat cuddled up in the back bar. Frankie walked up and was chatting to Matt. I was kind of watching the circus. I was watching the parade of guys wander by and then wander by again, as everything buzzed.

“He’s really nice,” Carlo said to me.

“Yeah, I know,” I said. Carlo looked so cute. I could see the lust in his eyes.

Lets Go Dancing

It was a short week and it just flew by until today, which seemed like three days by the time we got to the end of it. I was because I didn't have much to do, isn’t that the way, busy is always better to get through the day at the salt mine. I should have just taken the afternoon off, but by the time I thought of it, it was 4.30 and there did seem to be much point.

But now it's over, so what do I care.

Let's go dancing.

Friday night is my night out of choice, now. That way I have two days to recover and not just one. If I go out on Friday night, when I come-to it is Sunday morning. If I go out Saturday night, the next thing I seem to know is that it is Monday morning.

No! That’s not the way.

It kind of spoils the whole thing.

But waking up Sunday morning, it doesn't, really, matter how you feel, you've got 24 hours to pull it together.

I met up with Matt after work. He met me at my work. We went and ate pasta in Bourke Street, you know, get it in quick so it has time to process, leaving enough time for an empty stomach.

Matt looked his cute self, naturally. We saw Andy and George they were showing some friends around the city, and looking for some where to eat. I think they may have wanted Matt and I to join them, but I wasn’t in the mood to be too social.

Oh, I don’t know, when I’m am going out to have a big night that is all I can really concentrate on. It’s kind of my meditative state to get myself mentally prepared for the evening ahead. I can’t do extraneous conversations and be on for other people. I have to conserve my energy just for me. Okay, that might sound selfish and maybe it is but there is a difference between selfish and self conserving behaviour.

So, we finished our pasta meals, you know, good carbohydrates for energy later in the day. We ran off down Bourke Street towards home all abuzz with excitement. 

And then we were in for the wait before we could go out. Of course, we luxuriated in showers and shaving and clippering and moisturising, it was a little late for fake tan, but I slapped some on, but I wacked some on anyway letting it set while I was doing everything else.

It was just jeans and a t-shirt for me, Matt wore the same thing, but he had a vest as well.

We didn’t want to go out until after midnight, so we had to wait an hour, or so after we’d finished getting ourselves ready.

We were only going to the Squeal, so we didn’t have far to go when we finally headed out the door. 

We did lines around 11.30pm and we took pills just before we left. Then we drank plenty of water.

We got there just before 1am. I love that feeling when I first get there, that “WOOF” of music and heat and sweat and people. And it all going off.

I got drinks at the bar, Matt stood behind me. Then it was straight onto the dance floor. Our pills started kicking in pretty quicky so we danced and danced.

Summer's Over

My ex-girlfriend, Leah, sent me two books to read. The Life of Pi and The Five People You are Most Likely to meet in heaven. Of course, she believes in all that heaven bullshit, so I guess she'd have an easier time of a book like that. She says Life of Pi was one of the greatest books she'd read. I couldn't get into it.

I don’t think the heaven myth should continue being spread to kids especially. Let kids chose, if they want to, after the age of 18, but until that age, they should be free of Christian indoctrination. Leah, and I, have had this conversation, which is the only reason I mention it.

Leah has, unfortunately, become so much bossier over the years, some would say overbearing, having risen up to run corporations, she really runs her friends as she would her support staff now a days, which can be tedious, especially as she is pretty much oblivious to it. So, you know, sending me books is less of a nice thing to do and more of a demand that I read them.

I think I may have made some comment at some point that my reading has fallen away. So, of course, Leah has stepped in to solve the problem.

I know when my marijuana smoking is up, my reading falls away. I can't read when I'm stoned. As much as I may want to, I should just give up on the idea and lie in front of the fire with a bean bag and, perhaps, a foot masseur. Perhaps a drink with an umbrella, although at this time of year when summer is over, maybe Bloody Mary instead.

I can read, actually, it's just that I don't remember any of it. I get to the end of a chapter and? No idea? 

My mate, Benny says, "Remembering is so over rated. Shall I roll?"

Leah will chastise me for my pot habit telling me it is a weakness, a flaw in my character, quite happily as she quaffs down a couple of bottles of red to give me the lecture, completely oblivious to what she is doing, let’s face it, double standard, but that’s Leah.

She worries about my literary up-keep, so she says. I think she just has control issues. And she worries about my teeth. We both have periodontal problems. And, of course, my smoking. We both used to be very good smokers and have both quit. Although, for a while there, we’d both revert to smoking whenever we got together, which, of course, she has always blamed on me. Naturally. Which kind of goes against her superior qualities, attitude, don’t you think? So easily influence, blah, blah, blah. But who am I to judge?

She takes the, I'll-look-like-a-hag-at-forty-if-I-keep-smoking, approach. It’s not beyond her to point out the crow's feet that I never used to have. The two of us being sweethearts at the age of 16, and unblemished.

Matt kisses me and says where, whenever I bring up wrinkles with him.

So, I don’t really see her as much as I used to. We were great once together, but seriously, that was a long time ago.

I thought we’d be friends until the end, I thought we’d make lovely old people together, with so many years of memories, but maybe not. I don't know?

The summer of our relationship ended years ago, now it is just the winter of our discontent. Except there is no throne in our case, except the one Leah currently sits on, of course.

You’d think it would suggest unhappiness on Leah’s account, but apparently not. She is happily married. Stu seems like a nice guy, of course, Leah has completely rearranged his life, personally and professionally, but a nice guy none the less.

They got married on my birthday, which caused our friendship group to collectively roll their eyes. I think the sentiment was that she still can’t let Jacob go. But, that was many years ago, so many that I guess they have proved their relationship a success. Master and subordinate. Ha ha, that’s just me being bitchy.

Out With My Love

I went to a play with Matt. We parked on that road next to St Kilda Road and we ran through the gardens hand in hand, under the lights in the trees. Matt looked so handsome and happy. I love those moments with him. Two boys out on the town, together. Just him and me.

The play was good, really well written. Doubt. It was about a catholic priest who was suspected of molesting an altar boy.

It was funny, in the most part. The crusty old nun in charge of the school was excellent and hysterical.

The boy's mother, basically, said, if that was what her son had to do to pay for a good education, so be it. Your teenage son pays for his schooling with his arse? Interesting proposition, sensible. The mother said that she thought her son was gay anyway.

It's different for a gay boy, that kind of thing. It is not something as a society we like to talk about, but it's true. Of course, straight people can only judge society by how it affects straight people, that is definitely true. There is no sensibility other than a straight perspective.

Special Bond

You know, I don't ogle straight boys per se. There is such a thing as the straight boy, gay boy code of ethics. It goes something like this, they promise not to punch us and call us faggots and we promise not to hit on them, or turn their girlfriends against them. Or get together and punch them up - let's face it, more of us, per head, go to the gym - for calling us faggots. They admit that they like us and acknowledge that they understand that it isn't that we are trying to make it compulsory. Just optional, no recriminations

But, it is true, many a straight boy has been helped out by a gay brother quite happily... well, all down line of history, really, let's face. Drugged straight boys can always be relied on for their pants falling off. Ecstasy poofs wasn't coined for no reason. Drunk blokes, are nearly as good. Isolated blokes. Blokes in prison. You get the picture. It's secret men's business. Never to be spoken of in mixed company. Eros forbids it.

Okay, so gay boys can’t always be trusted to keep up our end of the Special Bond, gay boy/straight boy code. The key word is always, because nearly always we do. But sometimes, when your straight bro is pissed and grumpy, or pissed and weepy, sometimes it can help... him.

"My girlfriend doesn't understand me," says Rob.

"Oh really, come sit with me,” says Will. “I’ll try to make you feel better."

“What?” says Rob. He looks cross-eyed. He shifts over to the chair next to Wills.

“How are you going to make it better?” slurs Rob. Smiling. Drunk.

“How much have you had to drink?” asks Will.

“Yeah, a shit load,” says Rob. “I’m really pissed.”

“You know I’m gay, don’t you?” says Will.

“Yeah, gay boy Will, I know,” says Rob. He tousles Will’s hair. “You guys are always so good looking.”

“It is a part of the gay gene,” says Will.

“I reckon that is right,” says Rob.

“Well,” says Will. “There is one sure fire way I know how I can make you feel better.”

“Oh… ah…you know I’m straight?” says Rob.

“One blowie isn’t gonna make you gay,” says Will.

“You guys sure are straight to the point,” says Rob.

“No pun intended,” says Will.

“You guys are funny too,” slurs Rob.

Then the gay guy gets to work on him. He pretends not to understand what is going on as his pants come undone. 

It turns to steel. 

It leaks precum magnificently. 

It is not long before he pushes the back of my head down hard onto his monster that just about cuts off the gay boy's air supply and he shakes violently and then squirts his sour jizz over and over and over into my throat. He shakes and makes gagging sounds like he too can’t get air, until he goes all floppy like a rag doll.

The gay boy has to swallow it.

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

They always blow like rockets.

They usually become all gentle and submissive. Oh, I don't mean up the clacker... but sensitive to every touch. Men like being stroked and admired.

He laughs and whispers in a really croaky voice. “I so needed that.” He has an impish grin on his face. His jeans were still unbuttoned. His big jizz string cock is shrinking quickly.

The drunk one may bring his finger to his mouth and say, “Shhhhh, don’t tell anyone." He may laugh.

The drug fucked one might just want to take the gay boy in his arms and pass out.

Mostly, they will always have some kind of special bond moving forward, and there may even be a re-visit at some point in the future. Often, actually, but not promised. You know, once you go gay, it is easy that way.

Even out in public, let’s say at the pub, the straight boy will have a bond with the gay boy, kind of unstated brotherly love where they’ll have something unexplained going on. They will be mildly affectionate towards each other. Mates who have shared something. And the straight boy, gay boy code of ethics will continue on, just changed in ways neither probably expected.

And they will probably go on to hook up again, more than likely, on one of those lonely long nights, and there will be a good chance it will be reciprocal the next time, with the new skills both have learned.

“Mack, and Andy, and Jack are turning up soon, so be cool,” says Rob.

“Be cool?” says Will. “When haven’t I been cool, you big dope. I’ve kept your secrets.”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Rob. “You know all the boys.”

“Yeah, sure I know all the boys, they’ve all met me before.”

The guys arrived. They hugged Rob. They say hello to Will. They all ask how Will is. They bought rounds for each other, each buying a round for everyone there. They talked work and girls and footy and cars, as they drank their schooners.

Around midnight they were all leaving, all a bit pissed. None of them were driving.

“Hang around, you know, afterwards,” said Rob. As Will followed him out the front door of the pub. 

They guys all hugged good night. Mack and Andy walked. Jack hailed a cab immediately and drove away.

“I thought you were meeting up with Sienna?” says Will.

“Yeah, I was, but she’s a lot of hard work and perhaps I just feel like it,” Rob smiled at Will. “Being done to me.” Rob had a habit of pointing with his chin. “Tonight.”

“What? You want it up the arse?” says Will.

“Ha ha,” Rob grabs Will in a headlock. “You are funny.”

“Hey,” Will calls out.

“But, I’d put it up your arse,” Rob whispers in Will’s ear.’

“You know I don’t take it.’

“But you’d do it for me, wouldn’t you?” asks Rob. “I’m sure you’d like it.”

“What are you like,” says Will. “You staying over.”

“Yeah, sure, if you’ll have me?” says Rob.

“Come on,” says Will.

Alone On A Sunday

All weekend I am on my own. I play Etta James and Nina Simone. Saxophone and stillness. I play Marianne Faithful, the German stuff. Beer halls and piano accordions.

The house is clean. Spotless. Shining. I even wash the floors.

I don't go outside, except to get the newspapers, which I devour with joint after joint. Then I am stoned and the rest of the world fades away. 

I am surprised to see people when I go to get more milk in the arvo for coffee. How many cups a day? I get used to being on my own, so easily. And then suddenly there are people. People. People. Walking towards me. Across the street from me. Walking behind me. Footsteps. Footsteps. Footsteps. On no. Where did you all come from, I think? What are you doing here? There is so many of you. You don’t have to be a genius to know they are tourists from  the suburbs.

The lovely gentle lady behind the counter at the milk bar smiles her sweet smile.

“How are you?” I ask. It comes out fine even with my dry mouth.

“Yes, good. I am good,” she says. “And you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” I say. “Just enjoying my Sunday. Lots of people about.”

“Yes, yes there is today.”

“Any reason?” I ask.

“Sunday, I guess,” she says. “People have more time.”

“So many of them though,” I say. I pull a face.

“No, it’s good,” she says. “Good for me.” She smiles.

“Yes, yes, of course,” I say. What was I thinking? Of course she wants the people around. “Goodo.”

“You just need to head inside, away from them all.”

“You know me well,” I say. I am a little surprised.

“You been coming here for years, now,” she says.

I wasn’t sure if that meant she liked me, or if I was boring. “Predictable?” 

“Interesting,” she says.

I think maybe she is being generous and perhaps I should take my milk and take myself in doors. “You are being kind,” I say.

“No, not kind,” she says. “True.” She hands me back my change.

I lie on the couch. My head spins.

Does the nice lady in the milk bar think I am boring? Am I over thinking it? I drink my coffee. The bitter taste feels good on my tongue.

The light is golden. Birds chirp. Nina sings, I Put a Spell on You, Nina really does sound like a bloke, I think. I lie on the couch and let the music take me away. The light fades, the day drifts away. The dark hangs in the lounge room threatening to take over, and then it does. There is nothing beyond this room and everything is still. Silent.

Just Nina Feeling Good.

I close my eyes. My body hums. I can feel myself sinking into the couch. Sinking, sinking. The evening exhales the day light and everything starts to fade into everything else. The shadows join up. I’ve never felt so relaxed. I almost feel like I am floating in time. Just me. There is nothing else.

I feel good.

If I never see another human being, I don’t think it will bother me. I don’t need anyone else, I tell myself.

Drink it in, even if it is through the pores in my skin. Absorb the serenity. Osmosis, anyone? I giggle away to myself in the almost completely faded light. I wonder what the nice lady in the milk bar would think? And I giggle all over again.

If I never do another thing for the rest of my life, I think I’d be happy. Happiest. Fulfilled.

It Can Always Get Worse

Just when you thought you had the world's worst HR manager, as tall an order as that is, along comes one that's worse.

We had Ms Incompetent, it-must-be-someone-else’s-fault, Rita, and we were pleased when she left. We all breathed a sigh of relief.

But, then we got Kate. What can I say about Kate? Is Kate the new term for poisonous cow? Continually stressed, highly strung, prone to yelling.

I can just picture her, off duty, rat-faced and holding up the bar with a spilling, “white whine glass.” So many breathy Ws. Shuddering jaw, vibrating teeth, inhaling any company passing by, but then it’s 3am and the bar is empty. Her glass is still full. 

“Fill me up,” she slurs to the barman. 

She’d be fallin’ about if she wasn’t hanging on so tight.

She’s on her own, you know, sweaty, fidgety, alone. A swivelling 360 degree head, any noise desperation fixates on.

She’s wacked on the bitterness of middle aged and the prospect of missing out. You can see it in her face when she looks at you. I can see it in the way she stares. A barely subdued anger at life letting her down emotionally. There's a desperation in her eyes. How did this happen to me? 

You could almost feel sorry for her?

You wonder if you know anyone who might be able to cheer her up? I mean it can't always be combat, maybe another approach is needed. Maybe these HR dragons need love, not derision. A new approach? Except my mates wouldn't play, I don't reckon. It would be like dunking them in cold water… on a dark night

“Who is it?” Andre would ask.

“What is she to you?” Jackson would ask.

“You want us to do what?” Brent would chime in.

“HR woman. I think she is probably just lonely. Maybe one of you could make her happy,” I’d say.

“Josh, we have standards,” Andre would say. 

“You’d change her life, I’m pretty sure,” I state.

“I’d be too concerned about her changing my life,” Jackson would say.

“You could get yourself drunk,” I’d say.

“You could get me that wasted,” says Jackson with a smirk. “But no.” He’d shake his head from side to side.

“It would probably make her nicer to be around, though. Surely one of you boys could sweep her off her feet and back into life again,” I say.

“Nah, not me,” says Brent.

“Me either,” says Andre.

“You know you’d be making the world a nicer place for everyone concerned,” I say.

“Take one for the team?” Andre would question.

“You think this is a civic duty?” Jackson would question.

“Did you say HR?” Brent would ask.

“No, just no,” the four boys say in unison.

Too much? Yeah, I know. It's not women, it is just the type of woman who goes into HR. The holier than thou types, with allusions of grandeur.

“It would make my life better,” I say

"That’s not promised," says Brent.

"HR girls famously have aspirations to be better than the next person," says Andre.

"That personality will snap at you, like alien, so buyer beware," says Jackson.

"Not for me," says handsome Brent. "I don't usually go for something... er, so Dissociatively disordered."

“Is it true that they are all Geminis?” says Andre.

“Prefects from school,” says Jackson.

“You could change my life,” I say.

“Nah, sorry,” says Andre.

“You’re on your own,” says Jackson.

“Barp, barp, I’m out,” says Brent.

“She might blossom with love,” I say.

“She might not too,” says Brent.

“I make it a habit of not dating anyone from the HR gene pool,” says Jackson.

“I think the singles bar is where she belongs,” says Brent.

“Well thanks guys. What have you got to lose, even giving it a go?” I say.

“Our happiness.”

“Our peaceful existence.”

“Our lives.”

Well Hello

Aby emailed me just out of the blue, an Easter greeting. Two chocolate bunnies, one with its arse bitten off, one with its ears bitten off. One says, my arse hurts. The other says what?

I haven't heard from her since, well, you know what. I've only seen her once in between, just by chance.

I am surprised.

The Darkness

The end of daylight savings is apparent, already, as though the curtains have suddenly been drawn. It makes a Tuesday night seem even less bearable than normal with the darkness so early in the week, constantly, ominous for the days that follow. No respite for 3 days. No hope until the weekend. Or am I just being dramatic and just having one of those weeks? I have working arms and legs. I have a roof over my head. Isn’t that what they say? If you have food to eat and a roof above, you are doing much better that a lot of the world. And here I am complaining about a few extra hours of dark.

Oh, the dark.

The autumn is beautiful. I've only just noticed. The yellow, the orange and the red leaves. All that colour does the heart good. Have I been that busy not to notice? The leaves are yellow and brown falling from the trees, already. Yellow, orange and red surround me, but is quickly falling away.

Soon the trees will be bare, and the nights as long as they are going to get, the sun in short supply.

It’s kind of a shame that the days have to get so short and everything has to fall away, that we have to be stripped of so much, holding our breath, slowing to a crawl, before we can breathe, and stretch, and drink in the light once again, like it is never going to end, like it always will be. How quickly we forget. Collars up, coats drawn in tight, layers thrown on, it’s going to be dark, and cold, and probably wet, no complaining thanks, it’s not like you didn’t know.

The abundant colour of life. The cold, bare sticks of death. The delicate buds of birth.

“But, of course, we like to complain.”

“It’s our middle name, homo complaining sapiens.”

“It’s a hobby, a pastime, a way of life.”

“Of course it is, if people didn’t complain, some people would never speak at all.”

“Not a word.”

“Not a word.”

“As my grandma used to say, If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”

“There are a lot of people who never got that memo.”

“Half the human race.”

“Oh, I think you are being a little unkind.”

“I believe I am being generous.”

“Is that irony, if you think about your grandmother.”

“It’s not irony, if it is true.”

“By the very definition.”

“By the very definition.”

“But is it true?”

“Oh, so true.”

“People love to complain?”

“Love to complain.”

“Why do you think that is the case?”

“As I said, with some people that actually wouldn’t have anything to say.”

“Harsh.”

“But true.”

“So true.”

“It is easier to be negative than positive.”

“How so?”

“Being negative you just have to go to the painful bits, and revert to being a toddler. To be positive takes a certain amount of creativity, you know, seeing how things could be.”

“Like visualising the days in summer?”

“Instead of staring out the window into the dark.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Drinking

Matt and I go out for drinks. I tell Matt about Carlo, he's impressed.

“There is this 18 year old…”

“There is this eighteen year old?” Matt kind of tilts his head sideways just a bit and waits.

“He’s been chatting me up.”

“An eighteen year old is chatting you up?”

“Yes.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“And where did you meet this… 18 year old who… is chatting you up?”

“In the park.”

“In the park?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing in the park?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you?”

“I was reading a book.”

“And what was the eighteen year old doing?”

“He was playing soccer.”

“You were reading, and he was playing soccer?”

“Yes.”

“Who was he playing soccer with?”

“Just himself.”

“So, he was kicking the soccer ball rather than playing soccer.”

“Yes.”

“Not, um, two pursuits I can see with a lot of cross over.”

“Well, no, I guess not.”

“So how, exactly did you…”

“He asked me to play soccer.”

“He asked you to play soccer.”

“Yes, he asked me to play soccer with him.”

“Is the a euphonism?”

“No.”

“And did you, um, er, play… soccer with him?”

“No. Soccer?”

“I did wonder.”

“I turned him down.”

“For soccer?”

“Yes. Soccer. He went back to playing with his ball and I kept reading my book, on the grass, in the sun.”

“So, why are you telling me this?”

“Because, um, I couldn’t help smiling, I could feel it, you know when you are trying not to, spread across my face…”

“You wanna play ball with him?” said Matt.

“Of course, it’s ‘we’ might wanna play ball with him.”

“Okay.”

“Because I think he wants to play ball.”

“With us?”

I slid my hand across the table and took hold of Matt’s hand. “Yeah. We could have fun with him, I reckon.”

Matt shrugged. “Sure.”

“See, there should be more love in the world,” I cheers Matt, as we drink our first beer.

The bar is slow. We practically drink alone.

Matt smiles and touches me on the nose, just as I am thinking I'd got away with being naughty. (you never get away with anything, not really) Matt always knows what I'm thinking.

I have steak.

He has fish.

The last unrenovated pub in Fitzroy, opposite the commission flats. You see, there are something's for which to be grateful for the commission flats. The less fashionable end of Fitzroy. It doesn’t bother the residence of the suburb, just the tourists. I guess it will get its turn.

I love Fitzroy's graffiti. It is a part of Fitzroy's character. Feminism started with my mother.