Wardrobe

“I’m looking for Nirvana, as I assume we all are.”

“Narnia?”

“You call it what you like, and I’ll call it what I like.”

“But, it is wardrobe doors.”

“Yes, indeed. There is nothing wrong with your eyesight.”

“So, you’d be looking for Narnia, surely?”

“Nirvana, my friend. Nirvana.”

“You don’t get the reference?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The lion, the witch and the wardrobe.”

“That sound like lunch at my inlaws.”

“Lunch at your inlaws?”

“Except, of course, Uncle Ryan still hasn’t managed to kick the closet door open, so who knows that.”

“You are losing me?”

“Auntie Freda’s cream sponge would certainly qualify as nirvana, though.” He clutched his neck at the thought.

“Narnia?”

“As I said, call it what you like, but one bite of that sponge and you’ll be calling out to god.”

“Calling out to god?”

“OMG!” He throws his head back and yells out.

Aqua & Black

Aqua and black, it does come back. And I hear that tan is, in fact, the new black.

Everything old is new again. The 60’s is hip, hip to all the young people who were not even thought of in the 60’s. Hipper than they could ever really contemplate, back when hip was hip and not some word that rolls off the tongue as easily as personal space and you are making me feel unsafe.

Oh, those heady patterns, back in the day when heady was heady and not just a giddy turn over the latest fashion statement.

Aqua and black are sharp, sharp enough to cut your finger on if you carelessly get too close to the hype.

Combine tan with white and you will be doing alright, nothing goes better you see.

Wrap it up, I’ll take it, all the people in the know are telling me so. It is so pleasing to the eye I could cry.

I mean, it’s fashion. You have to be prepared to cry.

Home Sweet Home

where I can tuck myself into bed

not a care

when it all becomes too much to bare, 

queue the stripper music, 

er, bear,

out there,

where the people

stop and stare

unaware,

or not,

if it is fair.

or not.

I've still got home.

There is no place like it,

that is not a cliche,

it is a universal truth.

(Sorry to all the people who come from an unhappy home life)

I had a childhood full of sunshine and love,

So, my home is somewhere I crave,

when I am away from it,

and out in the world.

I wish it could have been true for every one of us,

I truly do.

If I could wave my magic wand,

and scatter my enchanted fairy dust,

that is what I would wish for,

for every one of us.

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.

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.

White Towel in the Shower

That’s Dominic, Dom for short

with his hairy bum, that smile and a sausage like a well developed Bratwurst.

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 asked.

I remember Dom from our days of clubbing together, and those little shorts that he used to always wear. Tiny little shorts that used to look like they were painted on him. And how those shorts fitted him, accentuating all his curves. When I say curves, well, I’m sure you know what I mean.

Those shorts and those curves were very much admired. Dom was never short of a date.

We used to have fun, Dom and I. We’d powder our noses, if you know what I mean, and we would dance the night away, until we were covered in so much sweat, we would literally drip. 

Neither of us wore more than shorts, so we’d glisten. I remember Dom’s hairy chest being covered in sweat crystals. I remember Dom running his finger tips over my smooth chest saying, “You are all slippery.”

Then we’d dance some more.

We were always there for the last song. 

We’d always be exhausted as we walked out, more often than not holding each other up, not really because either of us needed to be held up, more so because we liked the way it felt, in each other’s arms at the end of the night.

We’d head home and have showers with big fluffy white towels. I always had fluffy white towels. Then we’d sit in track pants and t-shirts and we’d drink tea, vibrating as the sun came up.

Sometimes we’d powder our noses, once again and go to recoveries. Sometimes. But mostly we’d play music and smoke pot and laugh until we were too tired to laugh any more.

Dom was a great mate.

Gorgeous

I slept with twins, Caleb and Callum, they were nice boys.

Identical they are, only their mother can tell them apart.

There was certainly a sense of deja vu about the whole thing, you know, in micro seconds,

as I am guessing you can well imagine.

We were a 'thing' there for a time, the three of us,

but only for a short time, it's not really socially acceptable,

you know, brothers and all. But it was fun while it lasted.

And they were truly twins in every sense of the word,

you know, just in case you were wondering.

Nice guys, uninhibited, as I assume you have guessed.

And the best thing was that I was the centre of attention,

which I didn't mind, not one little bit.

I kind of miss them, they were lovely. Exciting. Full of puppy energy, 

20 something year olds, the three of us. 

There was no stopping us once we got going.

Remember those days? Blush. Those boys were fun.

It was a fantasy, in the middle of which I suddenly found myself.

I remember thinking at one dance party once, when all of our E's were kicking in, and Caleb took one hand, and Callum took the other hand, and they led me onto the hot and sweaty, heaving dance floor, how the hell did I end up in this? I mean, I liked it, and all, it was far too much fun, and there I was, with two identical guys who only had eyes for me. (behind my hand whispering) and each other. Kind of. With encouragement.

It was? I mean? Hard to put into words. It was, I imagine, what it would feel like to be picked up by a tornado, spun around and then deposited back down some place, still spinning. It really was.

We went to dance parties in our undies. The three of us. They encouraged me to go in my undies. We got three pairs exactly the same.

We flew to Sydney for Mardi Gras. We danced at the after party.

We went to carnival. We danced at the tea party.

We went drinking at the pub in old jeans and flannelette shirts and played pool until late, stumbling home drunk. 

We drove down to Wye River to my family beach house for the weekends. We hung out with the straight surfer dudes, Harry and Joe, and their mates, who were endlessly fascinated by the 3 of us. Funny how straight guys just naturally understood the ease with which the three of us could have sex, nothing else seemed to matter.

We holidayed on the Greek Islands and hung out naked on the beaches. 

We picked up a 20 year old German boy, Felix, on Santorini, who all three of us fucked. We had drugs we got from an Australian bar owner, we swapped for an old iPhone. Then we had to extend our stay by a week to take all the drugs. Felix said he feared he would never walk properly again. We videoed ourselves doing it. Felix said he had fallen in love with all three of us and was heart broken by the time our stay came to an end. We left one teary Felix waving us good bye

We bought puppies. 

We went on picnics in the country on the weekends taking the puppies with us. 

Guys admired us. Wanted to be us. Asked endless questions about how it worked. Did they? Of course, guys wanted to know that. Not exactly. But I couldn’t say they didn’t, either. Of course, there were people who didn’t approve, of course there were. Some people were even hostile, but they were in the minority and we just avoided those types as best we could.

I could even tell them apart in the end. Callum had a certain spark in his eye. Callum’s smile was kind of different.

It was a fun time.

Lunch

There is a guy who is a waiter at the cafe where I eat lunch, with short hair and a baby face. He wears an apron tied around his waist. He wears his black pants so low on his hips that they only barely cover half his arse. With his white shirt tucked into his low hung pants, the soft white cotton covers the top of his cheeks, clinging like Lycra, like arse cleavage. 

I’m not complaining, such things don’t bother me. I imagine it might bother some people, people with kids, of course, old people who have forgotten life, too old to remember biting into a ripe peach when the juice runs down over your chin.

“What would you like?” he asks.

“Shouldn’t that be ‘are you ready to order’?” I reply. I’m not sure why I was antagonistic.

“Sure, if you like,” he says.

“Well, go on, say it,” I say. I know why I was being antagonistic, I was a bit pissed.

I can hear him breath in. I watch his surprising taught chest expand. “Are you ready to order? Sir?”

“Because, I know what I’d like?”

“Well, that’s a good start. What can I get you?”

“I am pretty sure it’s not on the menu?”

“I’m not following?”

“That is a shame.”

“Because I can only help you with things that are, actually, on the menu?”

“Are you sure about that?”

He pulled his eye brows into a furrow. “I’m… pretty sure.”

“Because I would dispute that…”

“Would you?”

“Yes, if there was anyone who could help me to what I’d really like, it would be you.”

He tilted his head and squinted his eye, his expression said I have no idea what you are talking about, which was a great shame. If I was really honest, his expression also said, I wish this guy would get on with it, I have other customers to get to.

I had a brunch meeting with Cinnamon and we’d ordered pastries and wine and Cinnamon and I had ordered a bottle because it was cheaper than by the glass and, of course, we’d drunk the bottle, you know because it was there. We’d already done the work we needed to do and we’d got onto the younger generation and how they thought they knew everything, unquestioningly, and how annoying that was. We both just wanted to do their heads in, you know, just once.

Cinnamon wanted to take the guys and put them over her knee. “Oh, I’d like to…” She swept her hand through the air.

I wanted to baffle them with words so much so they’d realise for themselves they didn’t know everything.

“No, it has to be physical,” Cinnamon said. “Skin on skin.” She looked far more excited than she should have been.

“No, it has to be cerebral, it’s the only way you can get them to change.”

My waiter cleared his throat.

I came back into the moment and found myself staring directly at his trousers, my gaze had wandered as my mind thought of the earlier meeting in the day.

I instantly raised my eyes up to his, just as he self consciously shuffled from one foot to the other. He was blushing just a little, so maybe he had some idea to what I was drawing attention.

“Oh, I… I’ll have coffee, thanks,” I said.

“Coffee is on the menu.”

“Yes, of course,” I said. I smiled as if I didn't know what he meant.

He held my gaze. I assume he was waiting for my special order.

I smiled and tilted my head. I wondered if he was putting himself through uni?

“Coffee?” he repeated.

“Yes,” I said. “Coffee.” I was light and breezy personified.

He furrowed his brows as if in question? He turned and walked away, and there it was, the arse cleavage walking away.

I could hear Cinnamon say. “Youth, it’s lost on the young.”

“Humour is too, apparently,” I’d say.

“Oh, darling you are asking too much of them.” 

“I thought he’d be amused, at the very least, dare I imagine him being flattered.”

“Not, if you are not in his demographic, he’s not going to be.”

“Oh yes, I forget.”

“He’d think a 28 year old is ancient.”

I laughed at the thought.

The white coffee cup was put down in front of me at that moment. I was still laughing when my eyes met the humourless waiter’s eyes. He gave me the strangest look, somewhere between confusion and fear. I was tempted to extend my tongue completely out of my face and cross my eyes at him, maybe stick my thumbs in my ears, which kind of made me laugh more.

He backed away from me as if he thought I was nuts. I could see it written all across his blemish free face.

“Anything else?” He asked. You know, kind of contractually obliged.

“No,” I said joyously. I pursed my lips and flicked my head, kind of carefree. I felt free, I suddenly didn’t care, really about anything.