texts were flying in from all kinds of people trying to book an appointment. i didn't know the difference between the timid american who wanted my cum all over his face and the straight guy who was picking up the motorbike. i did know one of them was going to turn up at 2pm and it might be impolite to get them confused.
....
"i've hired a sling room. how big are your fists? can you be there at 9am?"
...ugh...
the nervous little scottsman "but your advert says this much. why is it extra if you piss on me?"
....grr....
another late night chem job at Moore Park Gardens ...and then another. also in Moore Park Gardens. in the apartment next door
...disorder...
"i want to get fucked for the first time. i want to have a really hot night. what do you suggest?"
i made a few suggestions then "what is it that you want? i don't know your fantasies. ultimately, you need to tell me"
"yeah. i want to be fucked by a group of guys. i want leather. i'm 19, goodlooking and have a 9" cock. i'll be in sydney next weekend and i have $1000. arrange all that for me."
apart the texts that obviously screamed fake, who would i get around to fuck someone even i have not even seen? and if he wanted me to hire other hookers after i pay them there'll be no cash left for me.
me. me. me.
...disorder...
the chubby little wogboy who needed a massage between meetings. with my large oiled monkey hands i kneaded his shoulders, marvelling at his newly waxed sack and crack i forgot if he wanted me to fuck him or not. his entire body was hairy except for this strip of hairlessness around his arse. like he was wearing boxers of skin. he rolled over and his cock was fucking huge, a beer can could comfortably hide in it's shadow. i had better remember what he wanted soon...
then back to Moore Park Gardens
...disorder...
i missed a party because a trumpeter wanted company and a quiet saturday night in. he was nervous as hell and very happy. i did want to go to the party and accepted the compensation of a late night ride over the Harbour Bridge
then a midnight incall blow job. after 10 minutes or so he seems terribly disinterested in my penis (he seems like the type to call it a 'penis') that he held it away from his face like he pulled it fresh from a pizza that he specifically insisted on 'no anchovies.' then brushing it aside with the back of his hand while he turned his face away.
what is your fucking problem? i wanted the smack the hipster quiff right off this bitch
he actually had too much to drink so we sat and chatted about how amazing the Erika Badu concert was earlier that night.
...disorder...
i made hash brownies so damn strong i had to stop watching Puss In Boots because the plot was too complex. yeah really
...disorder...
the nervous tasmanian that had been aching to see me since i missed him in Hobart 4 months earlier. for all his worries and nerves i was still able to prove to him it was worth the wait
then another 3am blowie, straight as all hell and the second he blew his load would not stop talking about how excited he was the see Madonna's tour in 2 months
...disorder...
"i want to buy your footy shorts. i'll give you $20"
"they cost me $40"
"i'll give you $40"
so the only value my filthy sweaty balls add equals the depreciation? fuck off "i don't think so"
...disorder...
the bi-monthly 3 way i have with another escort and his regular client.
after i pull my traumatised cock out form the greying dead flesh of his anus, crushed for life between the huge overweight and varicosed thighs that i hoist off buy shoulders, he pats me on my tattooed calf cramped from carrying both our weights and he condescendingly says: "this is nice. but that's enough, eh? no more tattoos."
...disorder...
delivering a gut full of piss while cruising through Surry Hills down Baptist and Crown Streets and their endless speed bumps. by the time i crossed William my water was about to break all over the tank of my motorcycle. luckily my bladder held out until i dragged the fucker to the ground releasing a hot torrent of piss into his mouth while i stared out the bathroom window admiring Brett Whitely's Matchsticks by the Art Gallery of NSW
....
when the force that governs you is gone, everything falls in to anarchy.
of course i should be taking care of myself. i could choose see this downward spiral as danger sign of my co-dependancy on the Elk... or i could cheer the fuck up and appreciate that i have someone i care for. it's a nice reminder that i'm still in love
of course i should be taking care of myself. i could choose see this downward spiral as danger sign of my co-dependancy on the Elk... or i could cheer the fuck up and appreciate that i have someone i care for. it's a nice reminder that i'm still in love
fuck. did i say love?
i messaged the Elk late at night while he was gumboot deep in misery and that ever present fine mist of rain Ireland suffers all year round. "are you sure you still want me to come?"
"yes"
"this is your last chance to back out now. i won't be angry. better to say so now..."
"just fucking get here already!"
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