april 2010
i needed a change. i was getting stuck and for some reason i couldn't think of a way out of the very comfortable rut i put myself in. so comfortable i found it suffocating. therefore i did what every Sydney person does when they can't handle it anymore and want to give up - they move to Melbourne.
i wanted to get rid of everything and move out of my apartment. yes, the things you own end up owning you. i wanted to be free of all that. free of my shitty possessions. this meant most of my mates put me on suicide watch. "you know," said andrew, "when people start giving away all their possessions it means they are planning to kill themselves."
i was a little insulted "fine! then give me $50 for that lamp i just gave you!" suicide is messy. i don;t want my Real Estate Agent getting all my bond. in 2 and a half years they couldn't even fix the fucking oven. why would they spend my bond on replacing the carpet i bled to death on? after all, the apartment does have lovely city views, no young urban professional would mind the blood pool
the tightarse didn't give me $50 for the lamp but did trust me enough that i wasn't going to kill myself. what i didn't give away i threw out and left on the street. packed the important stuff and went to move in with my good friend Drew.
may 2010
i've known Drew since high school. she was one of those loud, conversation dominating folk that made everything fun. even when her life is plagued by tragedy she makes it funny and entertaining to listen to. actually, she's much funnier when her world is falling apart. Drew was also an escort and as a woman the money she can make breaks my heart. there i am, running all over town and slaving away over a hot asshole for all day for $200 an hour and then she stumbles home from a day at the brothel with wads of cash and fresh from a shopping trip paid for by some married man
Drew lived in the inner west with 2 wonderful dogs. Cooper, the most cutest and stupidest doberman you are ever likely to meet and Jess a one-eyed mongrel dog rescued from somewhere in the northern territory. i'd have to say Jess was my favourite - annoying as hell, mental with severe separation anxiety, and she looked like a dingo so you just couldn't help but fall in love with her. living with Drew was the change i needed until i could move to melbourne in a few weeks. it was great to have company and not be alone. sit around and relax with a good friend and bitch about sex industry
june 2010
work dribbled on. the days got colder as winter of 2010 was approaching and i was getting less and less motivated about doing anything. within weeks i was just as bored and indifferent as i was when living on my own. i felt i had out stayed my welcome in Drew's Home For Mental Dogs, so i booked a flight to melbourne to check things out and find a place to move to. when you know you are going away you feel differently about a place.
it was my birthday. i decided to have a quiet one, stay out of Drew's space and spend it at my mate Richie's sitting around watching horror films, sinking beers and arguing about the horror film we just watched. blood, guts. beer. arguments. what more could i ask for when turning 33? i went home. Drew was working a late shift and i sat on my old sofa. it had now become a doggy sofa. i was lying in the dark with the dogs curled up beside me, dozing when i got a text. it was from this guy i was meant to hook up with many many times but never did. we'd chatted online. he was never available until 2am or later. by that time i was either asleep or too lazy to travel and he couldn't/wouldn't travel either.
he could only meet at 2am. he is a strict bottom. he has a great muscled body in his slightly fuzzy pictures. i'm nowhere as fit as him. all signs point to him being a crackhead. i'm guessing he's some ice junkie trawling dating sites to get any, every, and as many cocks up his snatch as possible. don't get me wrong. i love sluts. but i hate disconnected sex. i want to feel special, even if it is just for 7 or 8 minutes. since i was leaving town in 3 days, suddenly things became a little more interesting. casual sex seemed appealing again. i regained the urge to sow some seed in case i never come back to these paddocks. so i jumped on my bike to go and bash one up this crackhead's ginger
i turn up at a big terrace house in Petersham. he opens the door. he's pretty damn good looking. almost too good looking. luckily a little on the rough side of pretty. shaved head. unshaved. flannel shirt and dirty jeans. we look like twins (except for the 'pretty face' thing). we sit in the lounge and talk for a bit. his name is Dj. he's fairly quiet and normal. not an icehead at all. he's a barman and doesn't finish work until 2am. if he drinks after work he can't drive to someone else's place for a hook up. he explained all the reasons of why we never met earlier and though i feel like a bit of a dick assuming the worst of him. i'm also barely listening to a word he's saying. he just kept talking and talking and talking. i just wanted to fuck his ass and go home to bed. it's my birthday. shut the fuck up already and just give me what i want!
"you want to go upstairs?"
"yeah, why not"
we go up stairs. everything is great. he's a good kisser. he smells like a man and not stinking of deoderant or cologne. he makes all the right moves without being prompted. he sucks my dick for a bit then i push him back, through his legs in the air and i unwrapped my birthday present. hot ass. muscly. hairy. not too tight. not too loose. dammit, this porridge was just right! i fucked him like a bitch. so much for the disconnected sex i thought would happen, eye contact all the way through. he was all there and not drifting off into his own world like some greedy strict bottoms tend to do. nothing hotter than kissing a dude while you're tearing him a new one
done. spent. we collapsed and i pulled him to my chest. still a bit drunk, i started to doze off a bit. before i knew it, he'd rolled over and we were spooning. i love being the big spoon and i had arms around him, gently stroking the hair on his chest. could this birthday get any better? yes it could. i fucked him again.
we fell back into spooning exhausted. "you can stay. if you want." as much as cuddling up and loving the faint smell that comes off the back of man's neck, my rule is never to stay overnight on the first date. i've learned it 's better to leave myself wanting more
i rode home. that night i slept with a dirty, dirty great big grin on my face. happy birthday to me!
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