Smile

He could even smile with a finger in his mouth

You should try it out, he would say.

It’s easy, you know, because into your mouth

a finger was made to go, being the right shape,

long, and sleek and ready. Suck it slow.

Soft, wet lips, I’m sure you've never feel them just so,

smiling all the time, as you go,

in & out.

Rough Enough

You know when that person who thinks you are pretty special wants you to jump them; wants it, needs it. You better be able to give it your best shot, go the distance, produce the goods, make their toes curl, get them to call your name out loud.

Of course, if you are with the right person, it should all cum naturally. You know, your tail should already be wagging for them. They shouldn't have to ask, you know... nudge, nudge, wink, wink.

Especially boys because, you know, we evolved that way. It is in our genes, some may say DNA, we can't help it, it is beyond our control.

Big smile.

That was cute Greek Peter, lovely Peter. Nice Greek boy. We used to work together. We’d get changed at the beginning and end of our shifts. Peter had a great arse and sexy muscular hairy legs. The front of his undies used to hang down full, whenever he’d turn and face me and chat. It was really distracting, not to look down at the kilo of sausage it looked as though he had in there.

He was sweet, too. A really nice guy. He had a lovely girlfriend who really loved him. And I think I know why, from the changing room, I’d love him too.

Where had we been that night? It was a night club, then a pub. Me, Peter and the boys from work. The drinks kept coming. The boys were all trying to out do each other with every trip to the bar. Handfuls of glasses, we did well, not dropping one.  The boys were drinking beers and the schooners just kept coming. 

We all hung out together, which I liked, me and the boys, big Davo C and handsome Davo D, Andy Stewart, Matt A, Campbell, Lincoln and, of course, Peter C.

We laughed. We talked shit and told stories. We joked. We had fun. We all got pretty pissed.

We hung out in the beer garden. Peter got me beers. Then he got me another. “I got us another beer.”

We all got drunk. Peter and I were rolling drunk as we fell out of the pub at closing time. 

We all parted saying we’d do it again some time.

Peter just naturally walked with me.

We tried to catch a taxi home to Peter’s place, but the first taxi driver drove off when we struggled to tell him where we were going.

The second taxi driver also said he wouldn’t take us. “You guys are too wasted,” he said. “You guys need to walk home to whoever’s love nest you are going to be making out in.”

“We’re not…”

“Whatever you say mate,” said the taxi driver. Then he drove off too.

“What makes him think we are fags,” says Peter. “Not that there is anything wrong with that,” he added with a smile.

“Two drunk guys looking to go home together, I guess it’s not so much of a stretch.”

“Whosever love nest,” repeated Peter. “Shheesh.”

“It’s been a good night though,” I said.

“Yeah, but, what are we going to do now?”

“I can walk to my place from here.”

“You just going to leave me here, is that what you are saying?”

“No Pete, you can come home to my love nest,” I said.

We laughed. We started walking.

“You horny Josh?” 

I was really taken aback by that. “What?”

“You horny?” 

It turned me on just hearing Peter say that. “What are you saying?”

“I get really horny when I’m drunk,” Pete slurred.

I pictured Peter in the change rooms with his jocks hanging low at the front. “Come home to my place then,” I said. Deliberately.

He smiled. “Huh?”

We can walk it from here.”

“You got beer at your place?”

“Sure.” I wasn’t certain about the beer. I could have some. I couldn’t remember exactly.

“We can drink more beer and have sex, what do you think?” Pete said wildly, but he was just pissed talking. Full of beer shit frothing up in his brain.

“First one with his pants down is the winner.”  I added, if we were making drunken claims. I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. We both laughed.

“First one with a boner gets, ah, gets, ah." Peter's eyes were drunk wild. "Gets sucked off first.” He laughed drunkenly loudly in the night air.

I’m not ashamed to say that I was getting a chub up with this conversation in the middle of the street in Carlton.

How many times had I rubbed one out think about Peter in his jocks in the change room? He’d be surprised.

We walked through the gardens. Peter was loud, laughing and calling out to anyone he could see in the distance. “I’m pissed. I’m really pissed. I’ve never been this pissed before.” He swung around a smooth trunk tree. “Weee.” Giggling like a kid.

Our woo-hoos echoed through the trees.

We made it back to my place. Peter was straight into the fridge. He got stubbies out for both of us.

Pretty soon we’d drunk the 6 pack of beer I had.

Peter found a couple of bottles of red wine I had. Soon we polished off one of them.

We were blind drunk.

Then Peter turned green and he said he wasn’t feeling great.

Pretty soon he was vomiting, all down his shirt and pants before he ever made it to the bathroom.

Then he was apologising, as I held him up against the bathroom wall.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god, I drunk too much.”

“Never mind mate, but you’ve chucked up on yourself.”

“I know, I’m bad.”

“We’re gonna have to get you some clean clothes.”

“Oh Josh, what would I do without you?”

“Never mind about that,” I said. "But you’re going to have to take these off.”

“Oh Jesus, I don’t know, Josh.”

“Peter, you can’t, it stinks already.”

“You are going to have to help.”

“Okay,” I said. I held Peter by the chest against the wall. I’m going to have to undress him, I think. Wow, how many times have I thought about that?

I start undoing the buttons of his shirt.

“You must mind doing this,” Peter slurred.

“What?” I said. I had the top buttons undone, I was undoing the bottom buttons of his shirt. His smooth, sculptured chest was coming into view.

“I mean, you like it, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” I pulled his shirt back over his shoulders and down his arms at the same time. “Hold you arms back.”

He laughed that drunken giggle of a laugh. “Do you think I am sexy?” His shirt fell to the floor and Peter was shirtless in front of me. And looking hot, if a little cross eyed.

“Do I think you are sexy?” I repeated. I grabbed his belt buckle and undid his belt.

He stretched his arm over his head and pouted sexy like. “This is pretty sexy, don’t you think?” I undid the top button of his jeans. “You undoing my pants.”

“I’m getting into your pants, Pete.”

“Take your shirt off.”

“What?” And before I could stop him, he grabbed the bottom of my shirt and pulled it over my head. And I was instantly shirtless.

“Now we are getting somewhere,” Peter slurred.

I pulled at his button fly and it popped open, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. “Take them off,” I said.

He pushed his jeans down his thick muscular thighs. “They’re stu… stu… stuck.” Peter giggled. “I’ve never had problems getting… er… getting… um? I’ve never had this trouble before.”

I crouched down to pull his jeans over his calves and over his feet. Suddenly I was at exactly the same height as the bulge in Peter’s undies.

Peter’s hands suddenly grabbed the top of my head. “If you tried to suck my dick I’d be too drunk to stop you, you know.”

“Lift your left foot,” I said. He did. I pulled the left leg of his jeans over his left foot.

“Oh, Josh, I like you touching me.”

“Lift your right leg.”

“Okay,” he said. “You are very demanding.” Then he had to move his balance from one leg to another and he kind of lost his balance momentarily and he fell forward 

“What are you…” doing, is what I was trying to say, but the bulge in his jocks went into my mouth as he lost his balance and momentarily I couln’t say anything.

“Sorry,” he said. He shifted his weight onto his left foot and lifted his right foot and I slipped his pants off over his right foot and he was then standing in front of me in his jocks red jocks.

I looked up at him. I could see he had chubbed up. He smiled down at me with one eye closed.

I stood up. “I think I should just get you into bed,” I said. “Do you need to go home for any reason.”

“No, I guess not,” he said.

“Come on.” And I got behind him and steered him to my bedroom. I held him up as I turned the lamp on. I manoeuvred him to my kind size bed. I pulled the doona back. “Get in.”

“Is this your bed?”

“Yes, it is,” I said. “None of the other beds are made up. I promise I won’t…”

He lurched forward kind of diving into the bed, with his sexy arse coming up in the air as he dived forward.

I undid my pants and let them drop to the floor.

“Where are you going to sleep?”

I headed into the bathroom for a piss. “With you, I am going to sleep with you.”

“I’ve never slept with a guy before.”

“Always a first time.”

I came back into the bedroom and slid into the bed next to him.

“This is a nice bed,” said Peter.

“Roll over on your side,” I said.

He rolled over facing me.

“No, the other way.”

He rolled over the other way.

I didn’t care, I was pretty drunk myself. What the fuck! I took him in my arms.

“What the…” he said.

“I wrapped my arms around his chest. “Shhhh,” I said in his ear.

“Oh.” He kind of groaned, purred. “This is nice.”

I rubbed my face in the back of his hair. “You smell nice,” I whispered. “Surprisingly.”

He pushed back against me. “This feels nice,” he whispered.

I smelt his neck. I couldn’t help myself, and I kissed his neck.

“Oh,” he groaned softly. He whispered almost inaudibly. “That feels good.

I rubbed his chest with my hand. I squeezed his nipple with my fingers.

He took my hand and slipped my finger into his mouth gently, as he ever so gently pushed his arse back against my crotch.

I rubbed his face with my hand. He turned his head sideways and I could touch the entire side of his face, his soft skin, his stubbly cheek.

He felt nice in my arms, big and strong. 

I slide my right hand down his torso and fingered the hair on his stomach and abdomen.

I woke up face down in the pillow. I rolled over. I didn’t feel good. I sat up. the room didn’t exactly spin, but it did kind of.

Peter was on the other side of the bed on his back with his mouth open, he had both his arms over his head. He looked like a cadaver.

The light was bright coming in the window, I hadn’t closed the curtains. I squinted at the day, not sure if it was just me, or if it was super bright.

I was trying to think what day it was? My mouth was dry.

“Hi,” said a voice.

I looked over and Peter was awake. 

“Hi,” I said. “How do you feel?”

“Not really sure,” said Peter. “You?”

“Yeah, okay. I think.”

“We turned it on, hey.”

“We did that, yes.”

Peter rolled over. “Fuck me, I don’t think I’m feeling that great.”

“We can’t…”

He lifted up the doona and looked at himself. “Did we have sex last night?”

“No,” I said.

“Why didn’t we have sex?” he asked.

Now, there was a question I never thought I’d hear coming out of Peter Kappas’ mouth. “I think we both drunkenly passed out."

“Pity,” he said.

“What?”

“I wanted to have sex,” he said. “I remember I was fiercely horny.”

“We were almost too drunk to hold a conversation.”

“Yeah.” He sat up. “Oh, I don’t feel so great.”

“No, me neither.”

“What time is it?”

“You wanted to have sex?”

“Yeah.”

“With me?”

“Yeah, with you.”

“It’s 10am.”

“Oh.” He exhaled out his mouth in a way that made his lips vibrate. “What about you?”

“What?”

“Did you want to have sex?”

“Yeah.”

“With me?”

“Yeah, with you.” he looked at me and smiled.

I couldn’t stop myself from smiling back.

He rolled his hands over in the air in front of him, as if to say, well, there you go.

“10am, you say?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve got to go home.” He exhaled and smiled wanly. “While I still can.”

He got dressed. He said no to food and drink. And he walked out the front door, saying he’d catch a taxi in the street.

“I just need fresh air and sunshine and to move myself.”

He walked to the front door. He opened it, turned to me and said cheekily, “We should get drunk again.” He smiled. “Give it another go.”

“Sure,” I said.

Then he was gone.

 

Muscles

He likes his muscles

he likes looking at them in the mirror in the gym.

He likes other people looking at them, 

even the boys he works out with,

or in the street, wherever he might go.

He likes his muscles, he likes to watch them grow.

He likes looking at them when he is alone at home.

Strong Enough

I don't always have people on my side, I mostly have to fend for myself. You know, if you want something done...

But, it doesn't matter, as I am strong enough. That's what a friend said when I question doing it alone? But you don't need people on your side, you are the strongest person I know.

Yeah, but sometimes it would be nice.

“Yes, but you don’t need it, do you?”

“Oh, I don’t know that I am any different from anyone else.”

“I think you are?”

“Really? You know me better than I know myself?”

“Well, that isn’t unusual. I think our friends do know us better than we know ourselves.”

“I don’t know that is true. Necessarily.”

“You think everyone is perfectly self aware?”

“Oh, well, no, I guess I wouldn’t, exactly, say that.”

“So, you concede that I am right?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t exactly say that either.”

“What are you saying?”

“I think it was you who was saying?”

“That you don’t need people on your side to make it in life.”

“And I would say that is your opinion…”

“My opinion of you.”

“Yes, that is what I am saying.”

“You know there are people who say you have no right to know someone else’s opinion of you.”

“Who says that?”

“Embrace the freedom of not caring what people think of you.”

“Oh, I didn’t say I cared.”

“But clearly…”

“Well, I guess it appeared…”

“When you do not seek or need approval, of others, you are at your most powerful. 

“I wasn’t seeking it, you were giving it.”

“True freedom comes from not worrying about what other people say about you.”

“It is a hard one to master, though.”

“When you truly don’t care about the opinions of others, you have reached a wonderfully awesome level of freedom.”

“Do we need to talk about the true meaning of awesome?”

“Let’s accept it as given for the moment, for the context of this discussion.”

“Okay.” I grind my teeth in quiet chagrin.

Purple and Blue and Lime Green

Purple and Blue and Lime Green. Soft cotton. And goose down. Surrounding me. Comfy, toasty and warm. It is the place I go when the day has worn me down, or when I have worn the day out. I pull the purple and blue and lime green up to me chin and breath a big breath out. It is my safe place, my happy place, my escape from the world. It is what I can depend on most in my life. It is always there, it is always waiting for me, it is always my safety. It is where I can cry into the night, or feel joy and delight. It is my cocoon in which to regenerate out of sight. No explanations necessary. No discussion needed. Shut down and rest.

Walking Home

When I walk home in the winter evening at dusk, after, some may say too many, drinks at work, looking down watching one foot step and then the other, one step after the other, step, step, step, I never feel quite so alone.

“Hey mate, what are you doing?”

“I’m watching my feet.”

“Why are you watching your feet, mate?”

“So, I don’t feel quite so alone.”

“Shouldn’t you be watching the way you are walking home?”

“Oh, I’m part bat,” I say. “So that is okay.”

“Part bat, you say?”

“Yes, that is why I can watch my feet this way?”

“That is why you can watch your feet this way?”

“Yes, I can see my feet and then I’m not walking alone.”

“You can see your feet so you aren’t walking alone?”

“And my bat senses guide me home.”

“Your bat senses guide you home?

“And all the way, I never feel alone.”

“Because you look down and watch your feet?”

“Yes, if I didn’t look down, I might just feel the defeat.”

“Watching your feet, you never feel alone?”

“That’s right, as I make the long walk home.”

“As you make your way home?”

“Yes. Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That echo.”

“That echo?”

“Yes. There is an echo.”

“An echo, you say?”

“Yes, a district echo?”

“No. I can’t hear it.”

“Oh look, it has stopped.”

“It has stopped?”

“There it is again.”

“Again, you say?”

“Yes, again.”

We both stop talking and listen? He has no idea. I laugh to myself inside.

“You say you are part bat?”

“Yes, I can see in the dark.”

“It must be great to see in the dark.”

“It is when you are drunk and you have to get home, it is essential.”

“I have never seen a bat putting one foot in front of the other.”

“You expect them to fly?”

“Yes, I expect them to fly.”

“That is a different kind of bat altogether, my friend.”

“I didn’t know there was another type?”

“Oh yes, it takes all sorts to make up the world.”

“All sorts?”

“All sorts.”

“I think I hear that echo.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

I laugh. “I have to go.”

“I have to go.”

I turn and walk away.

“Nice talking,” he says.

“Nice talking,” I say.

“Talking, talking, talking.”

 I don’t say anything else. Those last few beers I had are really starting to swirl in my brain.

I look back and smile.

He smiles at me. He puts his pointer finger to his forehead and then lifts his hand into the air.

I touch my forehead with my finger. I turn and walk away.

I look down at my feet. One foot. Another foot.

Rich

The richer you are, the more likely that you are to lie and cheat to maintain your wealth. That's what capitalism encourages.

Whatever it takes to stay at the top.

Do what you have to do to remain king of the crop.

It doesn’t matter who you have to step on, or knock off the rock.

Kings of industry, conservative commentator’s gods.

And conservative politician’s reason to breath.

Right wing punter’s ability to dream,

even if they will never realise that level themselves.

That doesn’t seem to matter, as long as they have something to which to aspire, they can go on living in their own personal denial.

The rich paradox, some may say is pretty vile.

The rich get to keep their wealth, with integrity, or stealth, and those who will never have it, mysteriously, clap to their good health.

White Towel in the Shower

That’s Dominic, Dom for short

with his hairy bum, and sausage like a small arm.

But mostly we remember him for his kind and gentle ways

and his good heart.

“He’s lovely,” people would often say when describing Dom.

Quite possibly for different reasons depending who you ask.

Beauty

Is it a curse to be too beautiful?

Do you think you'd ever know if people liked you for who you were and not how you look in a towel?

Do you think you could live with such hardship like that?

Can you imagine the different life that the beautiful live?

People looking at you, all eyes in the room.

People hitting on you, all wanting to sleep with you.

The dates you’d have, just like that.

Can you imagine having anyone you wanted?

Never going home alone.

Sunday mornings with a different face,

someone new inhabiting your space.

Learning their names, saying the right one out loud,

never being alone in a crowd.

Never confusing a boy for a girl, 

because they’d both want to get with you,

that is for sure.

Girlfriends and boyfriends galore,

never having to pay, or even the score.

It doesn’t cost the beautiful anything to stay.

The cost of inclusion is the smile on your face.

Matt Online

I met up with Matt online. It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. We got chatting, easily, he invited me over.

He didn’t live very far away, we were both in the northern suburbs. I’ve always said northern suburbs gays are the best.

He met me at the door smiling dressed in shorts. We had that moment of sizing up as soon as the door swung open. He past my quality control, as, I guess, he did mine.

We chatted for a short time sitting on his leather couches. He seemed nice right from the outset. One thing led to another, and we headed upstairs.

We fucked in his bed.

He wanted to do it without a condom, he would have done it. I so wanted to. We didn't.

He's got a housemate who does lots of interstate work, so he's often home alone. Matt was home alone this day.

I was keen on Matt right from the beginning. Matt took a little more time to be sure about me. That’s how it went. In fact, for a really brief moment, I thought that Matt was going to say no, he didn’t want to be my boyfriend, but he didn’t say that. Obviously. But, you know, it was a strange feeling, the possibility of being rejected by someone I was keen on. I’d never been rejected, before that, it would have been a first for me.

Use The Remote

“Use the remote, is my term for changing the story, changing the back drop, changing your life. You know, if you could point the remote at boring people, uninspired jobs, people who talk loudly into their mobile phone in your ear.”

“Point it and do what?”

“Banish them.”

“Like a wand?”

“Yes, I suppose, not wanting to get too Harry fucking Potter about it. Point it at whatever you wanted to pause, or change, or replace.”

“Click, stop.”

“Whoosh, change.”

“Zap, they evaporate.”

“You catch on quick.”

“Oh, you are speaking my language.”

“Ha ha, I thought you’d like it?”

“Get rid of the annoying people.”

“Women who have babies and then complain its hard being a mother.”

“White people who say they are being discriminated against?”

"Devout Christians."

"New age spiritualists."

"Oh, the mouth breathers."

“Road-ragers.”

“Hypocrites.”

“Homophobes.”

“Bigots.”

“Racists.”

“Conservative politicians.”

“Priests with long fingers…”

“Oh, ah, ha ha, ha ha! Stop, stop, it’s not really about making the world better.”

“Oh no?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s about self.”

“Just when we were having fun…”

“I know, I know, too much fun.”

“So…”

“I think we all can, change our own stories. We can make our lives better, if we really want to.”

“It's about changing the things you don't like?"

“I think we all can.”

“If only it were that easy.”

“If only? Why not, I say. Perhaps, it won’t quite be as easy as magic.”

“Pity.”

“But, oh, but.” He laughed. “I don’t want to sound like a cliché.”

“What? We’re all the masters of our own destiny.”

“Yes, all that crap.”

“But someone has to be.”

“And no one gives a crap about you, except you, of course. So, you have to do it.”

“You have no choice.”

“It’s aspire, or die.”

“Man up, or cry.”

“Live your best life, or shrivel and…”

“Gaze at everyone else and wonder how they managed to navigate through all of this?”

"Forever."

"Forever more." Shrug.

“It’s a meditation on regret. The opposite, actually.”

“Ah, regret? As the sad saxophone plays.”

“You can’t live your life thinking if only I’d tried.”

“Nothing sadder.”

“Use the remote is all about living your best life, clicking off the TV, clicking off the internet, clicking off the people who bring you down, clicking off the distractions that do you no good, and making the most of the time you have, that’s what it is about.”

“Sit down and write something.”

“You catch on quick.”

Blue Shutters

Blue Shutters

Said the man who stutters,

Although he could almost not get it out

So, he pointed instead,

And made a sign for his heart to mend,

Leaving every other word right out.

I Guess it's a Compliment

I enchant and entrance and make people’s lives better and their work experience more enjoyable and then I leave and they never hear from, or see, me again. And their lives are not as full as they were when I was around.

According to an old work buddy, I ran into. Almost his exact words. How about that? One of the few times in life that I have been speechless.

I guess it's a compliment.

I laughed and changed the subject, asked him how he was?

That is too much to live up to.

Funny the things people think of which that you are often completely unaware. I heard myself stutter. Wow, I thought, I have never heard someone say such things about me. I couldn’t help but smile. I was kind of waiting for the punch line.

“Oh, well, thanks,” I said. “Wow.” The wow just kind of came out.

“Haven’t you ever heard that before?”

“No, never.”

“You must have heard it, as everyone felt that about you.”

“Oh, come on, you must be exaggerating.”

“No, no, I’m not exaggerating, ask anyone who we worked with.”

I was waiting for the punch line, but it never came.

Dancing In The Doorway

Dancing In The Doorway
like nobody is watching
isn't that what they say?
Yeah, sure we're aware its a cliche.
Let the dancing spirit take you over,
let your creative soul,
take full control
and give in.
Submission. And breath. And breath. Float away.
It is a sin
if you are doing it the right way

Dreams

My best mate at school always wanted to be a dashing ambulance driver, speeding through the city saving lives. I hear that he’s been driving RACV vans for the last fifteen years.

Raymond Andrews and I were mates from 6th grade. He was socially awkward, but loud and funny and I found him appealing, I guess. We had interests in the same things, many cars.

Raymond was playing his sax at the base of the stairs leading up to the 5th grade class rooms. The 5th grade class rooms from where I had just progressed down the stairs to 6th grade.

Ray was new to the school in 6th grade.

We became friends instantly, as I remember it. And we were mates all the way through school.

Ray had a habit of making up stories to make his life seem grander. He once said that his father drove a Jensen Interceptor, which was easily disprovable as Ray’s father used to drop him off at school in his Statesman.

There were other things he made up lies about, but, you know, that never really seemed to matter to me. Ray was larger than life, I didn’t care.

Funny. Ray was the one who admitted that he was smitten by a blue-eyed, blond-haired class mate, of Swedish heritage, in our year, Lucus Lindstrom. Ray used to pine after him. It was Lucus this and Lucus that, always Lucus.

“Isn’t he beautiful.”

“Lucious Lucus.”

“I want Lucus.”

No one would ever pick Ray as gay. (I was the only one who heard the Lucus talk) He played his sax and he was a star footy player. He played footy with Alex, my crush, who became my boyfriend in years 11 & 12. Ray and I were kind of the keeper of each other’s secrets. Not that I ever admitted to Ray about Alex.

As I said, Ray wanted to become an ambulance driver. He wanted to dash about the city at high speed. He always said he wanted to do that, it was his dream job. He wanted to pick up the boy nurses.

“Have those guys fall for me, then rip them out of their cute nurse uniforms, after a tough job.”

He liked guys smaller than him. “Just so I can bend them over,” he’d say.

Ray left school in year 11 and became an apprentice motor mechanic.

He went to work for Stillwells, because Bib was a buddy of Ray’s father. He had high speed Monaro’s. Ray took me around the boulevard at 100mph, I nearly shit myself.

I went to uni and became a finance guy. Ray never said anything about me when I went through my girlfriend stage.

Ray and I used to rally Ray’s Toyota Celica. Ray would drive, I’d navigate. It used to scare the shit out of me, I don’t know why I did it, I thought that was good for me at the time. They were night rallies mostly. I got good at check points and all that stuff. I remember dust and headlights.

Ray lived with me when I bought my first house, after I’d lived overseas and split up with my girlfriend. We used to hang out at gay bars playing pool on Sundays primarily. The great Sunday afternoon drinking session at the Laird.

Five, or so, years later, we fell out over money. Stupid, really. It was so unnecessary. 

I was back living in London. Ray had moved somewhere else, a while before I went to London, Prahran, I think. I’d left my house locked up. I hadn’t sorted anything with it before I left. My parents were dumbfounded with my behaviour. A friend was going to London, she asked me if I wanted to go? I couldn’t think of a reason not to? I just bought a ticket and went, it was one of the few spontaneous things I have done in my life.

“Josh, you really should have sorted something better than this?”

“Can you just go and check on it once in a while?”

“Yes, sure,” my dad said. “But, you know it’s not exactly in your mother, and my area.”

“You two are great.”

“Seriously, Josh, you should have done better.”

“I’ll buy you something nice on the continent.”

“You don’t even know when you are coming back?”

“No, I told you that.”

Ray and his boyfriend Liam had been asked to leave their rental, I think in Prahran, the owners wanted to move back in suddenly, of something. 

My strapping cousin Roly Gregson had just left his wife of a few years, and wanted to rent my room while he explored his... he was vague about it.

“Ah Josh, big favour,” said Roly. “

“Sure, anything, you know that?”

“I just need a place to crash while I sort myself out. Is your place free while you are overseas.”

“Yeah, sure, Roly.”

“Could I rent a room?”

“Ah, not exactly free, one of my old housemates wants to his old room with his boyfriend. You guys could rent the house together.”

“Yes, sure,” said Roly. “That sounds like something I’d be interested in.”

I’d spent my summers up at Roly’s farm. We shared a room, and pretty soon we shared a bed, and more. It’s true to say, I looked forward to my couple of weeks up the farm Xmas holidays because of Roly.

And funny thing, when I first bought my house, and I was there for the first night, no furniture, just a mattress on the floor and a bag of pot, Roly dropped in unexpectedly and I’d got him shit faced stoned and had sex with him again.

So fast forward 6 years, I was pretty sure what Roly finally wanted to sort out.

So, Roly, Ray and Liam moved into and agreed to rent my house.

I don’t need to tell you mum & dad were pleased about that.

Pretty soon after they moved in there was a problem. Roly thought they should all pay 1/3 each of the rent, as there were 3 of them. Ray and Liam thought they should pay half each as Ray and Liam shared a bedroom. I said I didn’t care, they could work it out.

Roly paid me 1/3 of the rent every week without fail, while they were all in dispute, saying if it was decided that they should pay half each he’d pay me the rest.

Ray and Liam stopped paying rent altogether saying they’d pay when the rent situation was sorted out.

So, as I am sure you can understand, I was having a great time in London, and the rent on the house in Carlton seemed like a lifetime away.

A couple of times I asked Roly, he said that no decision could be made, and it went on.

Finally, months later, I asked them if they had made a decision, they said no, they couldn’t come to a decision, so I said I would make the decision for them, there were 3 of them, they could pay a 1/3 each.

Ray and Liam moved out the next day. They never paid me any rent. And I never saw Ray again. We’d known each other for 20 years, and it came down to him paying me a couple of thousand dollars in rent, over which he ditched our friendship.

Roly lived there for a little while longer, I just charged him 1/3 of the rent. I don’t know if he ever ‘sort things out’? It wasn’t all that long before he met a girl called Robyn who became his girlfriend.

I never saw Roly again, either. Before I returned from London, he stepped in front of a grain truck on Dynon Road and was killed instantly, from all reports. My handsome, strapping, lovely cousin Roly. I’ll never know if that was him ‘sorting things out’ or if it was an accident. There was some talk about him wearing thongs which were broken after the accident. His mother clung to that as what caused him to get killed, those damn broken thongs.

Many years later, my boyfriend at the time and I ordered a pizza, and when the delivery boy turned up, it was Liam.

I ask him how he was?

He said fine.

I asked him how Ray was?

He said fine. Living in Prahran.

I asked him what Ray was doing.

He told me Ray was an RACV guy. You know, road side assist.

Just Do It

In all the time that you worry about a task you need to get done, usually I find that the task could have been easily completed in all the time you spend worrying about it.

Funny how we don't see it.

Funny how we don't just do it and worry less.

Life could be much easier.

I guess it is all about self esteem. Well, it has to be, now doesn't it, otherwise we'd simply go straight ahead with all the confidence that is required and get the job done.

Think less, act more. That is not to say, don’t think, you have to do that, of course. But less time getting lost in it.

Don’t we all want an easier life? More rewards, sure, but less stress. If we believed in ourselves more, to a greater extent, surely that means less time sweating the small things, shit, even if they are big things, we’d still have less turmoil if we got them done quicker.

“Yeah, but how do you get to that, um, er, what would you call it?”

“Is Nirvana too strong?”

“That place where you don’t stress, you know, excessively?”

“Oh, don’t ask me, I only know this shit in theory.”

“So, you are a fraud?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call me a fraud, just because I am offering advice on life that I don’t fully embrace personally?”

“But people will think it is possible, because you are giving the impression that you have mastered it.”

“None of this shit comes with guarantees. I’m just offering what seems logical. I don’t think that is difficult to understand.”

“Except, actually doing it. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps? I don’t think it makes it any less true.”

“Actually, I think it might. You are offering up theory that you yourself haven’t proved.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“Altruistically?”

“Yes. I have a friend who says, think it do it?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure and it seems pretty reasonable, that kind of mantra.”

“What does this friend do?”

“Oh, he’s a, he’s a… what does it matter what he does?”

“It matters. What does he do?”

“He’s new age self help guru.”

“Seriously?”

“Don’t roll your eyes.”