the boyfriend experience # 13 - national sorry day comes early

within a day of putting my ads back up online i had a tonne of work. - 3 rape scenes and cuddle-date - all in one day

rape 1 went along swimmingly. the cuddle date was next. a little asian boy who's rich white boyfriend was away so he would call me to come around. i had been there a few times before. big huge house on the top of the cliffs at Coogee. like most asian guys, he has a perfectly tight little body, easy for my big white arms to wrap and around and hold him while he snoozes. after an hour, he asks me to stay for another hour and slowly makes his way down to sucking my dick. so there i was, kicking back in bed, hands behind my head and looking at the amazing view - the beautiful sunny Sydney day and the sea rolling out to the horizon. oh look a dolphin!

he stopped sucking my dick. oh shit! did i say that aloud? has all that time off made me forget my professionalism? did he hear me cry 'oooh, a dolphin!?!'

no. he was just trying to fit my balls in his mouth...

i head into the city to rape #2

it is a client i have seen a few times before. great guy. we talk about the arts and RuPaul's Drag Race every time. he likes it rough and dirty. he loves to be dominated and raped.

normally i dig this kind of shit. it's so much fun. but with this client i have a problem. he's aboriginal.

damn. it makes me feel a so guilty. a big rough and dirty tattooed white man comes in, throws him to the ground, lays in the boot and kicks him. the white palm of my open hand smacks against the black skin of his cheek. i grab him by the throat and spit in his face and a little piece of my heart cries out
"haven't you done enough? his people have suffered so much already!"
i start fucking his face
"go put scabs in his blankets, why don't you?"
he gags and chokes so i pull my cock out and slap my meat against his face
"HATE CRIME!!!! why don't you get him addicted to refined sugar and flour while you're here...
spit and precum smeared over his face and into his eye
"hmmm, that precum is pretty sweet. so i think i just did because that's mighty refined sugars right there on your face"

luckily, i had a little unresolved anger floating around today, so there was no real problem with fucking the crap out of him

after this white man came and took his babies away and wiped them up with a blanket, we sat, catching our breath, sipping champagne and talking
"yeah, everyone liked Jujubee, but i just had a fondness for Pandora Boxxs dire old skool drag and tragic comedy..."
"i met the contestants of Season 3 when i was in New York ..oh shit, i got a meeting soon at 6pm"

i downed the bubbly and left. as i walked out of the hotel at Chifley Square a friend of mine was walking up in his best skinhead gear, "hey!" i gave him a hug, "you must be room 224's 6 o'clock. i warmed him up for ya!"

the boyfriend experience #12 - day-o

day 1 - move to the beautiful Yarra Valley

day 8 - 'i love you'

day 13 - driving with the new mum-in-law

new mum: "we really want him to settle down. it's so good to finally see him happy!"
me: "why does everyone keep saying that?"
new mum didn't answer

day 14 - for no apparent reason Dj shuts down. turns cold. very cold and a very different person

day 15 - no sex for 24 hours make me a little cranky

day 16 - i overheard Dj watching Two and a Half Men ...and he's laughing *shudder*

day 17 - visit friend in melbourne. i cheer up. the ride out to the valley really feels like i'm coming back home. i apologise for being a grumpy prick

day 21 - while driving Dj says "it's not working out."

day 22 - devastated and confused. i have no idea what to do

day 23 - i spend to weekend with mates in the city to give him space and thinking time

day 25 - i come home to 2 cars in the driveway. a swarm of empty beer bottles. bed and guest bed immaculate. lube bottle way down. douche house still attached to bath
i think not much thinking was going on during thinking time

the third cigarette in the ashtray was his ex. he tells me nothing happened. for the moment, i believe it because i want to believe it. as he is leaving i hear the ex tell Dj, "you've got a really good man there. stop being such a fucking child!"

day 26- my old boss calls. he's under going chemotherapy again.

ol' boss: "if you ever come back to sydney.."
me: "i'll grab a flight tomorrow!"

day 27 -
Dj: "you want to come to ikea?"
me: "to come look at furniture i won't be having in a house i won't be living in? umm, no. i have to be at the airport at 1pm"
Dj: "but you are coming back? aren't you?"
me: "what!?! what the fuck?"

i spend the next four weeks back in Sydney filling in at the ol' Toolshed. i spend the days at the gym, getting my drivers licence sorted and the nights at work. i tried to occupy myself as much as possible to distract myself from being angry. i would have been happy with a good 6 months; instead i got 2 weeks. so after a week of no response to texts and avoiding phonecalls... fuck this! i'm going back on the game!



Mild-mannered sex shop sales assistant by night...
avenger of unfucked horny bottoms by even later night...

this city will have a new hero

the boyfriend experience #11 - i love you

people say it a lot. some people rarely ever say it.

whether you casually throw it about or make it a statement, the choice of how and when to say 'i love you' to someone you're in a relationship with is a difficult one.

it was late on tuesday night. we were banging away. Dj on his back, his legs in the air up over my shoulders. he was doing his usual adorable cross-eyed "surprise kitty" facial expression while i fucked the hell out of him



"i love you," he said

"what?"

"i love you," he said again, grinning his head off

i paused for a bit. sweat dripping off my brow. laughed a little confused. then in a bit of shock forgot what i was doing, then got back into the rhythm

"i..." i replied, "i love... fucking your ass!"

he laughed

it takes a long time for me to get to that stage. even longer when i feel i can say it to someone. i probably should have expressed this emotion before i pack up all my shit and move 800kms away with someone. we had been living together for a week now. it was expected to be a topic of conversation soon, though, it was a bit of an ambush when you're several inches deep into one's mangina dentata and they suddenly say "i love you".

unfortunately, i never got to say it back

the boyfriend experience #10 - home

ever since i was a little kid growing up on the beaches north of Sydney i knew - "this fucking sucks balls" the beaches were awesome but the people in the suburbs around them were nasty. nasty and ugly. with the help of a good friend Tara i mustered up the balls to move to Sydney. it felt like home. loud ,noisy, filthy cities where people would not hesitate to scratch out your eyes just to get ahead of you in a cue is what feels like home to me. a place where people never sleep, unless they have to... or like Sydney they cant because they've done so much meth

though i've always wanted to, i never thought i could live in the country. quiet, slow, dead by dusk, nothing to do but drink, country. in The Yarra Valley, they don't believe it's the country. they think they're part of Melbourne. i'd point to the tiny tiny shadow of buildings on the horizon 50kms away. "that's Melbourne. this might not be the country, but this is the sticks!"

the house was filthy.
"our house," Dj would smile, "it's our home,"
"um... yep."
Gran was a hoarder. Dj's sister had cleaned most of the filth before we got there. i hate to think what that would have been like. i imagined her wrapped in biohazard gear, peeling stiff kittens of the floor, their guts half decomposed into the carpet. i'd support us for a while as Dj got his old job back and i'd clean up the house so we'd have a place to live that wasn't stale with death and littered with rat poison. each room took a whole day to detoxify

the strangest things i found was:
30kgs of sugar. spread amongst 15 different open bags and containers
20 cans of baked beans
14 thermoses
all spread out, but these 3 items found in every room of the house (yes, bags of sugar in the bathroom and laundry)

as well as tons of expired Duramide and a Demis Roussouss diet book from the 70s

the days were out in the sun. planning where 'our' herb garden would be, where 'our' deck would be built "and this is what i want to turn into the grow house ...our growhouse!"

the evenings spent down at the pub slowly meeting the locals. most of them were dickheads you'd expect. his closer friends were overjoyed to have him back in town, and almost all of them took me aside to say 'it's great to see Dj happy again." it's something i never understood. i had only ever seen him happy

the nights in bed. Buddy sleeping in his bed in our room. the second the light went off, buddy would jump up and, knwoing i was the soft dad, would curl up asleep on my side. wedged between Dj and the dog.






it was damn near perfect

the boyfriend experience #9 - meet the parents

September 2010

"i'm going back home for a week," Dj said, "you want to come meet my family?"

before i could say 'yes'. i took him out to dinner, Bloodwood on King Street. i fed him full of amazing food then got us both nice and drunk on sour apple bourbon and officially asked him to be my boyfriend. when he stopped giggling and jiggling his feet, he said 'yes'

i'm a sucker for roadtrips. for many years my dad was a truckie, so being the navigator and riding shotgun is second nature. when we swapped driving, Dj couldn't read a map so it was a long ride down along windy mountain side dirt road through a national park. it added another 2 hours to a 9 hour drive, but who could complain with Kangaroos and emus threatening to attack your car?

first stop was someplace in Victoria's south east, we stayed with a friend of his, and his lifetime not-boyfriend, Peter. as soon as Peter walked into the room it was all about him. loud, arrogant and patronising to all those around him. he rarely took the bong from his mouth but when he did, he was demeaning and bossy to his not-partner Steve and insulting and condescending to Dj. say what you want to your boyfriend, but don't diss my bitch! he filled the night with never-ending tales of Dj being a slut in his younger years and asking him about ex-boyfriends "and what happened to the one with the 10inch cock? you know the one you hounded after at the beach that time in 1997?"

we didn't get on well at all.

Peter had unofficially adopted Dj as his son. to him he was a young little mascot and vicariously lived out sexual exploits through him - someone far younger and far better looking. that's great. but surely he had something else to talk about? no. i shut my mouth most of the night, so many times coming close to yelling, "listen old man, all the grecian formula in the world doesn't hide that you're a nasty bitter old queen trying to be the aussie bloke from the bush. you're not funny. you're not witty. you're just an old bitch"

i don't smoke but i carried a half-ounce of weed for the Peter from Sydney. it was $180. he gave me $200 and i didn't have change. i said i'd give him the change later. i forgot. i found out months later he thought i was an arrogant prick from Sydney who barely contributed to conversations and never offered to give him change. i'm sorry. conversation with you is boring enough and i really don't feel like talking about how much of a filthy dirty slut my boyfriend was for 4 hours...

[strike one]

a few hours drive to the Yarra Valley. Dj's family, however, was fucking awesome. we first met his Sister. she may have grown up on the edge of the city but the girl had a dry wit you didn't want to be turned against you. she was a smart girl with great taste in music. i had been warned about their mother, but she was fine. i was prepared for a crazy earth mother adorned in flowers wearing a summer dress crafted from a hessian sack, but she was fine. like a regular mum. his dad was a grumpy old man. that's just fine, i think everyone's dad is a grumpy old man. we got drunk with Dj's mates and little brother and snuck home to his old bed with his dog nestled between us

the last day was him meeting my family, or what i considered family that lived nearby. lunch with my sister, husband and 2 year old nephew, and great friend Maria and her boyfriend who provided most of the entertainment by everyone laughing at his inability to drag himself away from constantly the checking the footy scores on his phone.

we drove back home, up through the hills of the Yarra valley with Dj driving and holding my hand all the way back to Sydney. even when it was dangerous to do so. i hate holding hands, i resisted so many times, but he broke me

i was settling nicely back in to Sydney. all the problems i had with that city were gone. i was happy with work. i was drawing and writing again. my sleep disorder had cleared up. i was sleeping 7-8 hours everyday. everything was fucking awesome

after a horror movie night in the Treehouse where Dj go meet most of my mates in Sydney he said: "i had a great week back home. i'm really missing my family. i'm going to move back home. i want you to come with me."

the boyfriend experience #8 - off the track. out to stud

August 2010

i didn't get the Qantas job. so i started working in at the Toolshed on Oxford Street. it was once an infamous porn shop throughout the 80s and 90s but had recently taken a backseat with the gentrification of Darlinghurst and Surry Hills and other similar porn shops opened up. the owners and managers being less cut-throat gangsters and running it more like a legitimate business had softened it's image. i used to work at Signal sex club upstairs so i knew the owners for almost 10 years.

it was a good job. i could turn the music up loud and watch the bottles of lube vibrate along the glass shelving. i was friendly to customers that were used to feeling uncomfortable and soon i learned more about vibrators than i thought there was to know.

vibrator tip #1 - always use cheap batteries. don't get desperate and pull the fancy Lithium-ion batteries out of you remote control when you need to explore those butthole pleasures - it will burn the motor out. cheap ass batteries will prolong the life of your sex toy ten fold

my housesitting days were over and i had moved into a mate's place in Newtown. i was now a proud resident of the Treehouse. Chris Lego who organises the Reclaim the Lanes events, infamous for his vocal politics and making a soundsystem out of a wheelie bin to ignite impromptu mobile street parties anywhere and everywhere was one of the best flatmates one could hope for. i was filling a room for 3 months. many nights spent sinking beers in the kitchen, popping prescription medication and playing strip poker

i texted Dj came over after work one night to one of our poker games. Chris was fully clothed, i was wearing one boot and a sock over my cock

"what are you doing?"

my eyes melting to a close on xanax, "quick! gimme your shirt!" i dribbled through a squeaking voice, "i keep losing!"

i loved living back in Newtown. it's where i lived when i first moved to Sydney in the late 90s. back then it was an awesome mix of good food, filthy bars and venues with rock and punk gigs and live performances every night. it had been cleaned up so much since the Olympics ruined Sydney, but Newtown is till a great place to live.

my house was not far from Dj's house. so when i wasn't enticing him over with sweet poetry such as this...


i'd finish work around 1am, i'd pop i the headphones and stroll over to his house. i'd sneak into his house and crawl into his bed. sometimes i would only make it there 5 minutes before he got home so i'd pretend to be asleep. but when i'd feel him throw his arms around me, it wasn't long before i'd pass out

the boyfriend experience #7 - nesting

July 2010

(updated July 1, 2011)

i was back in melbourne. checking out apartments. networking like a motherfucker to find some share house with the right mix of freaks i'd been looking for

i went to the Laird the have a beer with Josh. everyone knows Josh. it's hard not to. the kid is awesome. i had known him for years in Sydney. i met him on the 422 bus to a Bad Dog party. he was one of those guys that you always saw when you went out. he's like that old lady who danced at Studio 54 until she dropped dead on the dancefloor, but younger and with a beard and more drinking and less dancing. i don't know how he does it, but he can make any occasion fun. if he's there, you just want to be around him

"we've got a spare room! come live with us! hang on i'll just call my flatmates." my troubles were over. "it's gone. i forgot we just gave it to some one earlier today. but he's hot. look." Josh showed a pic of his flatmate

"well, i hope you and your hot new flatmate are happy together..."

the search dragged on. however, i was still living with my sister, her husband and 2 year old son Sam. i made things easier by being a live-in chef and babysitter. i have never liked kids before, but Sam was incredible. one of those permanently happy little buggers. at this time he had a thing for Beyonce. we would dance to Single Ladies and Diva about a billion times. he would even do the hand actions.







work was never really busy but i was the new stud in town. rooting all over the city. smashing man-pussy left, right and centre. but somehow it wasn't as much fun as it should have been. because every day i'd get texts from Dj. phonecalls in the evening. texts before bed and 'good morning' text when i'd wake up.

i wanted to be alone. i wanted to try this new city. i don't want anything complicated

i set myself a test. i would hook up with a guy i'd wanted to bang for ages. Williams was a sexy little fucker. hairy man, scruffy beard and nice selection of tattoos. a twisted fuck into horror films, dark tragedy and camp. you could sit and throw back beers with this guy and never be bored. we were the same age and grew up in the same areas with the same mix of dodgy people when Melbourne was far from this sophisiticated city of culture it is today. i wonder if my parents hadn't feared for me and my sister's lives and moved us all to Sydney i might have have the same fucked-up life he had

he pounces on me and he's a wild son of a bitch. fucking hot and a dirty bastard. it's hot. it was fun. but even as i had that hot ass in my hands i knew i wasn't enjoying it as much as i should be

i got an invitation to spend a few days in Sydney at a beachhouse





i flew up to sydney that weekend and drove to Wombarra on the south coast with Dj for 4 days at a friend's beach house on the edge of the bush where the mountains drop into the sea. the first thing i did was tear my clothes off and run around naked with the dogs. we drank. he smoked. he cooked and we ate. i have fond memories of watching him bend over to take the roast he was cooking out of the oven. it looked so hot i didn't let him get up and whipped out my cock and started pushing it into his ass while he balanced a tray of hot fat, meat with roast potatoes and pumpkins. wisely, he put it back in the oven and he dragged me to the bedroom








that weekend i found out my friend Andrew was competing in the Gay Gaymes in Colonge. in a few weeks his apartment in Sydney would be available for a month. i decided to take it. earn better money in Sydney and see where this went with Dj.

it was a welcome return home to Sydney. back amongst the cheap thai lunch specials and bitter coffee on the streets watching the junkies shuffle by. in Darlinghurst the junkies are so fucking classy they eat sushi. no shit.

i was also back to easily earning over a grand a week in Sydney while able to balance what had quickly become my boyfriend. work had almost become impossible. trying to live out the fantasies of some guy when you know you've got a hot piece of ass waiting for you at home is tough. really tough. not only is that ass waiting, no doubt that ass was cooking buttermilk pancakes and probably picked up a 6pack of beer as well

"he's nesting," my sister said. she missed having me in her house playing with Sam while she got a chance to rest, but she was happy that i was happy

i would time my jobs with Dj's working hours so we could hang out as much as possible.

not only had work become tough to take pride in, but i had one more job that proved a little tougher than most.

i had got call from a guy named Robert. he was an older gent and vague about what he wanted over the phone. prepared for anything i turn up at his house, after a long wait and much shuffling behind the opaque glass, he opened the door and invited me in. Robert was a big man in his 60s. the house was filled with clutter stacked up high against the walls. his legs and jaw were swollen; his neck painfully so. we sat down at the table. drank a few beers, smoked a cigar and talked. although it was physically difficult to do so, all he wanted to do was talk.

"i'm not well. i'm an old man. i am not going to get any better. i am dying. i have crippling arthritis in my jaw. my eyesight is going and so is my memory. i've lectured at many universities all over the world. i want you here to share some of my stories. pass them on to you because soon i will not be able to talk at all. if a lecturer cannot lecture, what good is he?" he told me about his youth/ growing up in South Africa. his first uncomfortable sexual experience which became his first unrequited love. traveling the world. coming to Australia. his friends (what was left of them), his family (a lack of) and his lovers (also a lack of).

he asked some questions. my responses were brief, because i wasn't there to talk, only to carrying him on to his next story, and towards the end of the second hour, the reason why i was there. "i'm going to kill myself. i'm going to kill myself soon before this gets any worse. you are a good man, of good character, i can tell that from the time we have spent together tonight. i'm not asking you to assist me, but i want you to be there for my closest friend after i am gone. that's what i will pay you for."

he paid me very well for my time and we arranged another appointment in 3 days.

i sat outside in the cold for a while, then went directly to Dj's. and dragged him to bed
"are you okay?"
"no. you can go back to what you were doing in a minute. just hold me until i fall asleep, okay?"
he did

later that week in the second appointment with Robert drank more scotch. i went to get us both dinner (he wanted fish & chips) and briefly visit his friend that i would be meeting after his death. i was to say nothing of Robert's plan. this guy was also a university professor type, but extremely uptight. i returned Robert's. he pointed to a toshiba laptop on the chair "take that would you. it's got things on there i don't want my family to see after i'm gone." he tried to give a few other thing, but i said i will take them next time i see him. "maybe next time you could sleep over."

"i'd like that" i smiled

it was far more relaxed the second visit, but it was still a heavy agreement. Robert called the next day to see if i was okay and that we would make another appointment soon. after a few days i heard nothing from him. i called and left messages - phone, text and email - no response to either. he could have easily forgotten about me or even unable to use his phone anymore. i should have chased it up more, but it was far too big for my little brain to deal with. for the first time since being with Dj my sleep disorder had returned. i never heard back from Robert or his friend.

there was nothing untoward on the laptop. just a racy Aussiebum Advert, a few head and shoulder webcam pics of himself and an image of Carravaggio's Conversion of St Paul







one day soon after this while driving through Petersham, the lights at the corner of Crystal and Douglas streets, Dj asked:

"so when do i get you all to myself?"

i grinned, "when you ask. what is it that you want?"

"yes. i want you."

that night i was more than happy to take my adverts offline

the boyfriend experience #6 - the talk

june 2010

it's a delicate situation when you tell someone you are a prostitute. even more so when you dating

the only thing i can recommend is 'the sooner the better'. as soon as you think you can trust someone and you feel they need to know, just tell them. the longer it drags on the weirder it can get and the more severe their reaction could be. some think it's awesome. some think it's disgusting. most people think it's interesting and their reaction lies somewhere between those two extremes

the biggest problem is it attracts the ones you want to repel, and drives away the ones you wish would stay

normally i tell people straight away. if their mates, i'll tell them fairly soon. if they're a hook up i will usually tell them straight away. after we've fucked and 90% of the time they will say "so you going to charge me for that?" most of the time they're joking and i politely laugh like i've never heard it a hundred times before. one time a guy was seriously asking.

i didn't tell Dj earlier because he was just a fuck. i was leaving town. no reason to tell him. he was still just a fuck, but a good one and we'd hung out a fair bit. i was also getting a sense that he was thinking of me a little bit more than just a fuck buddy. so was i, but not to the same extent he appeared to be.

it worked out badly the last time i told someone i cared about. i had told my friend Drew that i was going to tell him. she was more than happy to have me stay at hers should the news go down badly. i could go on and never tell him or anyone. or i could do it to damage and ruin chance of a relationship. i might even be doing it to permanently sabotage any chance i may have of a relationship

"so what do you do for work?"

in bed, i'd purposely baited him into a conversation about work and baited him to ask, "i'm an escort." he didn't understand. "a manwhore. a hooker." he gave no response. "a prostitute."

"oh. okay," he still lay there stunned. his eyes dancing back and forth across the ceiling, caught up in thought but not saying anything. he rolled over with his back to me. not in a bad way. just how we normally would lay together in bed

i let him think about it for a bit and be the one to say anything he needed to. but the silence had dragged on for a few minutes and he was still deathly silent. his mind would be developing scenarios. he would be making his own assumptions about what goes on. most likely all would be negative and i needed to stop those cyclical thoughts

"come on. ask me a question. ask me anything."

"i don't... have any questions"

"yeah you do. you're thinking about it right now. just get it out now mate and ask anything that comes into your head."

"ok," he thought for a bit, "do you kiss?"

"only if i want to. usually it's not needed"

"are you safe?"

"of course. i don't want some old dude's poop on my dick... amongst other things."

slowly he asked more and more questions. loosening up and relaxing on the subject. he's no stranger to homo stuff. he was a big gay pin-up boy for years in Melbourne. he began to understand it's a whole lot less dirty and sleazy than people imagine it to be. of course, it can be dirty and sleazy as hell, but only if i want it to be :) "i thought of doing it myself. i think it's the only thing i haven't done. though i reckon i've done it in exchange for drugs a few times," he smiled

"yeah, every homo has whored a part of himself out for at least a beer or two"

we drifted off to sleep. i didn't sleep all that much that night so i knew that i was holding him the whole night.

the next day the interview went really well. i kicked ass. i caught up with a few mates and Dj drove me to the airport (after a brief snog in an abandoned car park nearby).

the boyfriend experience #5 prince of a thousand enemies

June 2010

Sydney greeted me with the same grey wet clouds that Melbourne had doomed everyone to for the last 2 weeks, but it was still warmer. it had only been 2 weeks since i left, but it felt so like months. Dj picked me up from the airport and we went straight to the cinema

i love cartoons. unless you have the same affliction, i don't think you can understand. it must be difficult for a logical person to understand how another could relate to things that aren't real and empathize with them, let alone sit there for 90 mins watching them.

i think it's related to my chronic anthropomorphism (humanizing inanimate objects). everything has a personality to me. the tired looking shopping bag slumped in the corner exhausted from the day of carrying grandma's groceries. the worn tractor tire lying in the paddock, though unused for years, she still hopes for the days of proud service as she plays hide and seek in the long grass that almost covers her. this macbook, suffers the abuse i treat it with good humour, thankful for the places it take it. sometimes these object i see have more personality than people. sometimes i feel guilt that a coin has been in my pocket for days when i know it's been longing to be exchanged for a beer. is it a form of Autism? like the opposite of Aspergers's syndrome?

fuck knows

i have watched Faces of Death and snuff films and been bored out of my mind but i've cried at every goddamn Pixar film since A Bug's Life (except The Incredibles because it didn't have a sad moment and Cars, because that was shit. a bunch of cars learning the true meaning of friendship? seriously. fuck off).

So when Dj not just jumped at the chance of seeing Toy Story 3, but had the same crazed rasp in his voice when i suggested he see it with me, i was over the moon. i had to be careful though. this was officially a date and my track record with being able to man-up during animated films was appalling.

Finding Nemo - i took my older sister. 5 minutes into the film she was crying "i thought this was supposed to be a kids film!" by dealing with similar issues to Fight Club, when the end of the film came, i was weeping also

Ratatouille - all the parallels of a gay rat wanting to be accepting by his family and society for his forbidden love of food (i.e. cock) made a little lump appear in my throat

Wall-E - i saw it with a good mate and seated beside 5 other grown men our age. i cried. twice. choking back tears and those short staggered breaths that let everyone around you know you are weeping. when Eve couldn't get a response out of Wall-E at the end my eyes were so full of tears everything on the screen was fuzzy white and brown blurs

Up - i was smart enough to see this one by myself. surely a relationship that blossoms between an old man and a young asian boy would be full of smutty double entendres. little did i know that i would be gushing tears in the first 15 minutes. a miscarriage. unfulfilled dreams. death. this is no fucking kids film. my 3D glasses pooled with tears while the sleeves of my hoodie were damp with snot

that's just Pixar. Don Bluth knew how to pull my strings. Land Before Time. Secret of NIMH. An American Tail (as i kid i cried by just seeing the trailer)

one of the most severe experiences was watching the underrated Iron Giant fragile and coming down after a 3 days drug binge.

i know where this tradition began. Watership Down. every child of the 70s and 80s was traumatised by that (otherwise known as kindertrauma)



now, don't get me started on Pan's Labyrinth. i will only say a few words - grown man. no breath. weeping. seated at the exit row for all to see when the lights came on during the credits

Toy Story 1&2 had not moved me so dramatically. so i thought i was safe. the film was fucking amazing. then came the incinerator scene. it just went on and on. they couldn't die. could they? they started holding hands and accepting their fate and i start blubbering like a school girl. my date beside me, was sure he picked up a man from the airport but what will be sleeping in his bed that night could not be respected again. a dominate top whore. deliverer of savage beatings of knuckles and steel cap boots. pissing in the faces and mouths of self-loathing business men across the globe. (brief) porn star. mean fister. sadistic torturer. ass raper. crying like a schoolgirl with a scraped knee.

my fears, as usual, were just stupid fears. Dj was so engulfed by the film he noticed nothing.

as for the whore part, i had not told Dj yet. i decided to tell him that night

the boyfriend experience #4 - cold cold melbourne

June 2010

Melbourne was cold

yes every body complains about the weather here. last year's winter in Melbourne was the worst it had been in years. constant grey. constant rain. freezing icy winds. i was housesitting for my sister in North Epping - the very northern tip of Melbourne's ever-expanding urban sprawl. a few years ago North Epping was mostly farmland. now it was just another suburb. the icy melbourne wind was even cooler coming from the empty farms from the north sweeping through this new legoland housing development where only a third of the completed houses were occupied. it had regular police patrols because the crime was so bad of people breaking in and stripping the empty houses and vandalising them. i love going for midnight walks when i have the land to myself so i was constantly followed by police. it didn't helpt hat i look like a dodgy cunt, dressed in a black hoodie, worn skate shoes, headphones blaring angry 90s punk and metal, tattooed and a beanie pulled down so low i was nothing but angry eyes with a scruffy beard

it's a bit of a trek to get into the city and see friends. so it only happened one or two says a week when i had a job lined up. right now, there wasn't much work going around. a few of my good mates in Melbourne had left for overseas or moved far away and being in the city was not as much fun as it used to be. so most days were spent lounging around, cooking those winter meals you can graze on for days, laying on the sofa curled up with the my sister's cat, Bella, the grumpiest little shit i'd ever had to care for. now 10 10, Bella is a tortoiseshell who had mellowed in her older years. she used to hate me. fine. because i hated her snooty furry ass. now she wasn't being terrorised by my sister's 2 year old son and only had me for company - we got on fantastically.

one evening i had just got the finishing touches on my tattoo. the last of the white ink highlights on my 3/4 sleeve. 3 hours of agony in a St Kilda studio. the finer the needle the more it hurts. this hurt a fuckload. at 7:30pm i rode from St Kilda to Epping. from one side of melbourne to the other. the end of peak hour traffic meant i spent near 2 hours on a motorbike in the rain and near freezing temperatures. the only thing that stopped my whole body from succumbing to uncontrollable shivers was the insane heat coming from my freshly tattooed arm. it was on fire.

by the time i got home my knees were knocking, fingers numb and purple, nipples were like bullets and my cock had shrivled up into a cold white cashew frozen above a scrotum so tight it was like the stone of an avocado with wrinkles. if it shrank any higher into my crotch they could be considered ovaries. 15 minutes in a hot shower and most it had returned to normal. i was happy to see my little fella working again. like that scene in E.T. when Elliot thinks he's dead and suddenly E.T. comes back to life. it was kind of like that. i couldn't resist and i had to rub one out

Bella curled up on the lounge beside me. i had a cuppa tea and chocolate mud cake, within reach. a xanax in me belly blissed out with a cartoons on the tv it was shaping up the be a perfect night in

then i got a text from Dj. i'd been getting texts from him since i left sydney. a couple of messages every day. i decided to give him a call and we spoke for a while. i hate talking on the phone, but xanax is a wonderful thing. under the influence, i could have talked all night



two days later i found out i had a job interview with Qantas in Sydney. i wanted to try living in Melbourne, but i wanted that job.

My sister returned from holidays. so i booked flights and headed back to sydney for 3 days

the boyfriend experience #3 - last night in Sydney

june 2010

i was all packed and ready to go. i had said most of my final goodbyes to all my friends in sydney. so many farewells in cafes. so many cups of coffee no doubt it would be summer before i pass a solid stool again. i would miss them all so badly. many people don't like Sydney because it can be mean and cruel and unforgiving. that's partly why i love it. also, i love it for my friends that are there. i would see them soon, but not soon enough.

i hadn't seen Drew for days. i'm guessed she was mad and wanted me out of her house. so i walked the dogs and stayed away as much as i could in the last few days

i was walking back from the cafe on the corner, polishing off a coffee when my phone rang. it was Dj from the other night. "you want to grab a coffee or something?"

i don't need the coffee. i need the 'something'... "i'd love a coffee, i haven't had one yet today," i lied

he lives in the Portuguese Chicken Quarter of Petersham. we ate. we talked shit. went to the cafe around the corner. it's run by a crazy man who has opened a gallery out the back of the cafe. Dj is from Melbourne. he'd only been here just under a year. having 2 strong coffees within an hour i started an argument over the preconceived notion of Melbourne being great for coffee and Sydney being shit. i think it's out-dated and Sydney has easily caught up. in the midst of a caffeine overload i should shut my fucking mouth if i wanted sex again. i shut up. we went back to his place and fucked again.

Dj was lying on my chest when he asked "you want to stay for dinner?"

food. sex. cuddles. food.

holy shit. i'm in love.

as dusk hit, we walked his housemate's dogs around the footy oval. 2 beautifully stubborn staffys. one a spoiled brat. the other a proud old bitch hobbling along behind. she was old and gorgeous. not as gorgeous as the footy team Dj and i were perving on. making smart ass comments about raping the little one. rape can be funny, but only when it's about raping a man. men love any action. no matter what. they crave attention. waking up in a gutter with no memory of the night before and discovering a few bruises, a burning sensation and your with you bum stuffed with bloody tissues - it's all in good fun!

Dj cooked dinner - perfect steak on a bed of bakes sweet potato mash (yes, it was so fucking good i remember it a year later) while i sat and drank with Tim, his housemate. Tim is incredible. it's rare you find an older poof who genuinely listens to what you have to say. not an ounce of pretention. no pompous attitude. you could drink with that son of a bitch all night. if there wasn't the promise of more hot nasty sex with Dj, then i would have

i stayed over that night. curled up spooning a freshly raped ass. i'm a cuddler. i will cuddle the fuck out of someone. Dj and i did. all night. i woke up the most rested i had in months. possibly a year or more. after some slow snoozy morning sex, Dj cooked breakfast. poached eggs with wilted garlic spinach on toast.

food. sex. food. beer. sex. cuddles. sex. food. sex - i was in heaven

after a long kiss goodbye that turned into another botty bashing. i went home. Drew was home and in a great mood. she'd met a guy the same day i met Dj and she'd also been having tonnes of nasty stuff up her 'giny. on a rainy sydney afternoon i boarded the plane for melbourne. i'd had a rough time, mostly due to my own stupid mistakes and decisions. but the final few days were incredible. the best send off i could have asked for

the boyfriend experience #2 - happy birthday to me

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!

shopping - II

so i met up with the guy who offered to take me shopping. he was a real person and not a not nut job.

he was pretty cool and got a new pair of steel caps boots i needed and socks. we had lunch and just chatted having a nice easy monday afternoon together

"let's do it again sometime."

"sweet!"

do stupid people have the right to sexy times?

the grammar nazi in me:

a) wants to abuse the cunt for texting like this
b) be more of a cunt and reply "??? i dont undrstnd ur txt"

unfortunately for him, i'm uncut, so:

c) lie and say "yes, i'm cut" meet him. fuck him. then give him a lecture on texting like a fucking retard
d) lie and say "yes, i'm cut" meet him and hope he's dumb, lebanese, hairy and fucks like an animal... mmm lebs :)


***note: had to edit this pic because i forgot to blur his email. i'm sure he isn't getting spammed but it's not very discreet. ahh, fuck it, with a bit of digging i found this - check out his freaky manjam page!

shopping - I

not that i'm soliciting on Scruff. they're approaching me. is it possible to have a sugarboy?



daddy really does need a new pair of boots ...and jeans ...and a car ...and a new motorbike

i don't want to hear it

some client will talk and talk and talk. most of the time i listen. sometimes it's interesting. other times you just want them to stop



but despite what suckers of The Secret believe, wishin' and hopin' and prayin' doesn't make something happen. they will talk and talk and talk until you get the ball rolling... or balls rolling ...in their mouth. sometimes it's nerves. sometimes it's their ego and they want to impress a hooker. either way, you got to learn to block it out. even when it is interesting and you don't want to remember personal information of a client it's good to employ a little white noise in your head. if you don't have any white noise of your own. i highly recommend any Autechre album