Designer Vagina

Something strange and fun happened on the way to the pool last night, Ivy pool that is.  Ripped_panel_beater and I were up for a pay-day break- out, so we were on a our way to The Strand Arcade’s free Cointreau Christmas Cocktail Party when I decided it was best he didn’t drink on an empty stomach after the last few disastrous nights out where he had drunk before eating and ended up shit-faced at the dinner table sleazing onto poor innocent girls trying to eat at the tables around us.  So seeing as Mr. Panel Beater had been kind enough to sponsor the last few big boozie nights out due to funding issues my end, tonight was my night to reciprocate, so off we went to sushi on Stanley Street, and then walked through Hyde Park into the city.  We missed the Cocktail party and went to Marble Bar (boring), then Zeta Bar (also boring) both in the Hilton, then made a bee line for Ivy, and choose Ivy Pool, which was also full of stuck up suits without a clue how to party, despite drinking like fish.  But at least it was busy.  We struck up a conversation on the island in the middle of the pool with a bunch of bankers from the Royal Bank of Scotland, and were suitably bored with our time with these wanker bankers, when out of the night a very glam glam, tall leggy brunette came bounding onto the island and wanted a chat.  She told us she hosted parties, then asked for coke, then told us that the hot blonde that the whole club was staring at, who she was here with, was a high end escort.  Suddenly her motives seemed to crystallize, and she was viewing the island with the 5 males on it as a money making opportunity.  Seeing as last time were out Mr. Panel Beater had bought drinks for girls who turned out to be hookers, I was thinking to myself what is it about this guys, does he had “will pay for sex” tattooed on his forehead?  We were in the middle of the pool with the whole club looking on watching this extremely hot hooker poll dance the umbrella, lap dance me, and generally shake her money makers at the whole place trying to drum up business.   I decided I wasn’t happy being part of this public spectacle after a little while and voted myself off the island and went and talked to her friends under palm trees.  Apart from the extremely tarty looking hot blonde (you have never seen some one spend so much to look so cheap, if my fucking blackberry camera was any good I would have photos to prove it) there was also an extremely hot Italian stallion and a rather nice faggy handbag along for the ride.  Turns out the Italian was disappointingly brought up in England and sounded like one of those unfortunate characters off East Enders.  He was tuning the hot blonde something chronic, and was forcefully asking her for sex in front of me.  Which was hilarious because despite looking the goods, his attitude shot himself in the foot.  I love it when hot people don’t have the brains to turn themselves in the lethal package they could be if they only had nice manners.  Mr. Panel Beater latter found out that the blonde had treated herself to a vaginal resurfacing and she actually wanted to fuck the Italian but couldn’t due to her new designer vagina, but the Italian didn’t know this and just kept begging harder and harder, so funny when we all knew why she was saying no.

Out of nowhere a hot black beautiful young man, who says he is a cage fighter from Los Vegas appeared on our sun lounge, flirting outrageously and feeling me up in front everyone even though he had a “girl friend” in tow.  She was apparently his promoter doing the rounds of Sydney booking him a fight for sometime in the future.  She was majorly in love with him and I could tell she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown as she was so deluded she had let herself believe that a guy, who looked like him, would ever fuck her more than once.  She had another suitably frumpy white girlfriend in to toe who kept trying to pull Mr. cage fight off whoever he was draped over at the time saying “Those too are engaged”  Apparently they had only met at the airport 4 days ago and fucked once.  Other frumpy white women would come up and go week at the knees talking to His Royal Black Hotness, salivating all over the concrete, it was sooooo bizarre.  His Royal Black Hotness ran off to the toilets with the leggy coked up brunet and the gay hand bag, and Mr. Handbag reported that his big black cock was indeed as big as he was promoting all over the club and that he had sucked him off for 5 minutes in the toilets with an audience, got to love those toilets at a Ivy pool, the only club where they encourage group sex in the showers!

The Black Hotness managed to ditch the wicked white witch and hang with our little hot posse, when I asked where she was, he said “who cares” and the hand bag said “probably at the bottom of the pool drowning her broken heart” and I said “weighed down by the ball and chain that she is” hahaha we all laughed at her delusions. And Pain. Hahaha I’m still laughing now. Turns out the_opens theory that white women who have black boyfriends, are all greedy bitches, might be true (See An Existential Crisis) Turns out the tarty blonde wasn’t a hooker, she was banker who dressed like a tart, and the brunet ran invite only swingers parties and the Italian had met the blonde at one of those.  And both women had children!  Visions of the tortured Saffron Monsoon waiting at home for her drunken mother to come home, “I guess you havebeen making a spectacle of yourself all over town again mum, I can’t go anywhere because of you, thanks a lot, I hate you, you fucking slut!”  The brunette wanted to go for a ride in the inflatable swan in the pool and was trying to negotiate her way into it in 8 inch heels, the whole club was watching with baited breath and with cameras ready to catch the moment she went tits first into the pool, but unfortunately she must of managed a moment of clarity in her coke haze and it never happened.

When I got home I realized I actually picked up last night’s under pants and put them in the wash hamper, this was one of Bridget Jones’ points in her manifesto on telling the whole truth about Bridget Jones at age 32.  I’m only 30 and managing to do it, slightly drunk, and I guess a blog is a little like a diary.  So I am either two years ahead of Bridget or that movie has educated a whole generation on how to not end up a lonely old spinster who is eventually eaten by her own Alsatians after dyeing alone.

The Chase, Fantasy, Touch and Orgasms'

I only just realized the other day that a whole lot of different things are going on in matters of sex and romance, and when I broke it down I came up with these four main areas of motivation.

Some people hate the chase, and only like it when the deal is done, seal and delivered.  People who like the security of having someone there for them are not likely to constantly be on the chase.  I used to hate the chase, until I realized how much hard work relationships are, now I love going hunting.  But only when I’m on a winning streak, I hate periods when no one is interested in me, rejection is so painful. 

Fantasy and Projection to me are the honey moon period, when you’re in the thrill of getting to know someone, and the 42 different faces of Eve haven’t just been discovered, and you’re both still flat out hiding all the sides of each other that you don’t want the other person to see.  In fact I think I am addicted to the honey period in jobs as well, that’s why I’ve had so many.  Projection and reflected glory are two things I have done much of in my 20’s.  Putting someone on a pedestal, fantasizing about wooing them, not thinking I was good enough for them, and then letting a reflected sense of self worth develop when then do finally through me a bone of affection, attention or even just tolerance.  Thankfully therapy got me out of that cycle, I no longer only feel safe in other people’s approval, I will let myself give me some as well.

I sometimes only want a massage when I go to a sauna, but it’s hard to negotiate that when sex is the selling point of a sauna, but sometimes I can find guys who only want the same.  I have a friend whose grandma gives her hugs flat out when she visits as she must know what it’s like to be young, single and looking for affection.  The things we get ourselves into just to get a hug.

I’m a big old Samantha when it comes to orgasms.  “If I RSVP to a party, I intend to come.”  I love the big O ending, but occasionally don’t care, I guess everyone’s different.

I have been dating a German tourist the last few days and I can’t express just how nice it has been.  His manners are amazing.  He is in a relationship back in Germany, but isn’t cheating as they have an arrangement when they travel separately.  I have only ever done this one time before and I ended up feeling a little bit used at the end, but I was inexperienced and have different expectations this time.   I’m not cheating, he’s not cheating, and hey we live on other sides of the planet, so what expectations can there be other then to enjoy each other’s company when we can and let the good times roll while they last.  It’s a bit like a war time romance, its feels intense because you both know “one of us could die any day now”.  Except it’s not die, just back to reality when the holidays over.  I find it interesting that the German_Tourist is so affectionate.  If I was on a break from a 12 year relationship, that’s right guys you read correctly, 12 YEARS – unheard of in Sydney, I would have thought sex with strangers would be the focus of a holiday fling, not cuddles, I thought that’s what relationships are for.  2 days nearly full time hanging out, and he’s off to see some more of Australia, but will be back in Sydney when he’s seen enough.  I got a phone call tonight saying he wishes he wasn’t in Melbourne, back in Sydney with me, it’s nice to think that maybe I am the best thing about Australia, well at least to one person.  But hey what can I say, I’m like the good time girls of yester year, I know how to show a visitor a good time, and I’m not just talking about in-between the sheets.  I love Sydney, and as my friends from interstate have told me in the past, when I show you my Sydney, it’s pretty fucking cool.

He has already asked me to visit him and his partner back in Germany, with a little lie of we met in a bar not a sauna.  If his partner is ok with me staying then ok, why not, except that I really like what I have seen of this guy and if he were single I think I could grow old with him, admittedly based on 2 days so the honeymoon phase is well and truly still in swing.  I’m probably playing with fire letting myself think of it as more than a holiday fling.  As I type this I can’t stop my fingers from quoting Carrie when she finds out Burger has a girl friend “I wonder how happy they are?”  Is he looking for an out? Are there problems?  I’m only joking; I think I will only be able to manage 10 days together, spread over 3 weeks, that will probably push my limit when it comes to commitment.

Do You Have A Life Less Than Perfect, Plan

And I don’t mean are there flaws in your life plan, I mean do you have a backup plan incase life doesn’t run as well as the dreams in your head.  I’m 30 and I have to say until I thought of writing this about 20 minutes ago, I didn’t.  I’m Gen Y and believe in personal development, part of which is dream big and it will come, like the secret philosophy or Tony Robbins.  But I have to say my life so far is so far from my dream track that I think it’s time I had a reality check and a backup plan.

What if you get sick?

What if you never get a career that fulfills you?

What if you never get a job that pays well enough to save for retirement because they only pay just enough to get by and live?

What if you never find someone to share your life with?

What if you never reach your desired body image?

What if your family and friends aren’t there for you they way they should be?

What really got me thinking about all this was, I am a little scared about having my next HIV test, and came to the conclusion that if I am going to keep living the way I have been, then I need to be ok with some possible bad luck.  I by no means practice unsafe sex, but you never know when your numbers up and sex is such a messy business that I don’t really think that “safe” is the correct term it is really only “safer”.  And Safest would be no sex.  But I’m not ready to go down that road, so I have to be prepared to sit somewhere on the risk verses pleasure cure.  What would you do if you found out you had HIV?  I think I would wish I had heeded all those chastity sermons from church and family.  And then be glad that I didn’t need to save for retirement any more…..lol is too soon for jokes?  I guess I am writing this to practice being more cognitively aware of how my life would change if it happens.  I could only date in the HIV+ community, and at the moment there are only 14,000 people in the whole of Australia with it, there are my options narrowed down.  No children. And I would have to bring any thing I wanted to do forward.

Please leave any other life changing things we should know in the comments below, thanks.

Does any one have any good ideas for when life doesn’t go as well as you thought it would?

Frivolous Fun Under The Sun

Today was Saturday, a sunny 28 degree November day and I went on the SHE (Soulful House Experience) 6^th Birthday Boat Cruise.  Not a transgender boat party as my brother asked, “She party, is that boat full of trannies?” No. No its not, it used to be a fab eastern suburbs set, and it was still heaps and heaps of fun, but I guess after 6 years a few too many westies know about it.  Sure it was still very very cool and fun, but most of the hot straight guys who had their shirts off looked like the typical festival bogan, with bad tattoos and pimples all over their back which I guess means they are on the juice (Roids if you don’t know the lingo).  And their chests were clippered and not particularly well, with big patches of missed body hair, I mean really get yourself a gay friend who will teach you something about man-scaping, you all have the looks and muscles to work with, but your execution and delivery let you down.  The handful of hot poofs on the boat only had all the girls going gaga over them because of their attention to detail.

Drunk bogan social skills are still about 100 years behind gay culture.  In 8 years of going to gay clubs I have never once scene a fight.  And when you think about it there are clubs and dance parties with 500 plus drunk and drugged men and no trouble.  What is it about gay men that make us so well mannered even when we have had a skin full?  There was a big fight on the boat and blood went everywere.  And the bouncers had trouble keeping the two groups separated because what can you do on a boat? Through them over board?  We had to pull into Tarronga Zoo ferry wharf and throw one group off.  The upper deck looked like something from CSI or dexter with the amount of blood spatter everywhere.

The Thursday Night before I was at Arq and all the drunk uni students who had been at the Oxford Art Factory decided in their wisdom that they would be “so cool” and go to a gay club and bring their drunk suburban level of interaction with them.  Thanks guys and girls, thanks a lot.  I mean I really don’t mind if want to have a trip to gay land, but do you really had to shit all over Disney land when you go there?  Learn how to interact and behave or fuck off, please.

Having said all that I will not be writing anything in deep today I will just be posting my photos when I get them off my phone and say “wish you were here”

They flew The Shape Shifters out from London for the boat party, and they had apparently had trouble getting their DJ bags through customs at the airport due to traces of substances on the bags.  “Well officer, of course there are traces of substances on my bag, I’m a DJ, how could there not be.  I mean every DJ’s bag has traces of coke, ice or syphilis.”

And seeing as it was November I heard the guy who was supplying me with champagne say “November is truly the worst month of the year, it’s the only month you can’t tell who doing Movember and who’s a pedophile.”

I Just Saw My Dignity Leave In A Body Bag

My metamorphous is complete.  I had often wondered how the beautiful young gay boys with lovely skin, faces and bodies so full of happiness and hope for life, somehow change into the bitter, old, ugly queeny poofs you see on a week night in Stone Wall, who don’t care about themselves and dress SO inappropriately for their age and body condition.   Well this evening I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass of a shop window and I realized it had happened to me, I was there, I had reached that point and 30 years to early I might add.

Bad attitude and hate life, check.

No money and live off other people, check.

Feel bitterness towards large percentages of the community and family, check.

Know what day pension day is, check

Don’t have a car, check.

And the final nail in the coffin was I left the house in a Nike running singlet to go to a club on a Thursday night.  Arq at that, with a drag show.  Mmmm, how had I arrived at this place?

Well a blog is no place to retrace life’s disasters, well actually it might be, but I’m not going too, but I do know how I ended up in Arq on a Thursday night in a singlet.  It was a hot night, and has been warmer than 28 degrees and stormy for the last three evenings and I looked like a blimp in a white T shirt, my only other clean top.  So that explains how the singlet made it out the door on my back.

And I was out because a friend of mine had been arrested the day before on drug charges, and seeing as I don’t believe in being a fair weather friend, and this friend has been very good to me, I wanted to be there for them the last two days.  To be clear, I hate drugs and have nothing to do with them, I am friends with this person for totally different reasons and we are defiantly not drug buddies.

We had a few drinks at the Beresford on Thursday afternoon to lick our wounds after the stressful day at the police station the day before, and I thought now was as good a time as any to come out to this friend.  I told him how I hadn’t considered myself gay in the past because I couldn’t date guys, but found them perfectly sexy.  But recently I had not met any females that I felt attraction to, so thought maybe things were changing for me.  He was fine with it, as I knew he probably would be, as even though he is straight, he once let a leb boy try and wank him off in the back smoking lane at Arq , saying “If you can get me hard I will fuck you in the arse, but if you can’t then I’m right, I’m not gay”.  So in full view of a watching crowd, the leb boy went for gold with his hand down his my mate’s jeans so he could get fucked, but as my mate said to him “I told you, I’m not gay.”  My mate said something interesting, he said he wishes he was gay, because life would be heaps easier, for sex and this is the one I hadn’t heard before, he said he wishes he could live with a mate for the rest of his life, as women give him the shits.  But he said he just can’t get attracted to guys no matter how he tries.  I am the opposite I can’t get emotionally close to a man, but I have no problem with sexual attraction.

Current social thinking would say that I am gay because I find guys sexually attractive, but I find it fascinating that if you prefer the emotional company of men, you are considered straight as long as you don’t have sex with them.  This explains misogynistic men.  Sex with women yes, emotional involvement, no.  I guess this explains why there are so many men out there who only want to fuck women and hang out with their mates.  I don’t think that those types of guys should get the right to claim that they “love women” because in my mind they fuck women, in lots of ways, and love their mates.

This brings me to Friday night where I was at a table of three other straight guys that I went to school with, and they are all good looking and of European backgrounds.  I know all their wives and girlfriends and two have children.  Well it came out that they had all been at the hookers before dinner.  I hate that.  I hate being part of a lie, what am I supposed to do next time I have to speak to their partners.  It makes me wonder if their wives are in on it?  Do they have an arrangement but they pretend to be cheating?  And if not, why get married?  They are only 30, very wealthy and good looking; don’t get married if you don’t think you can keep a promise.  Are they just being greedy?  I love honesty so I am not sure how they could publicly make those vows and then in less than a year be doing regular runs to the whore house. 

Later in The Columbian Hotel, my mate started chatting to two pretty girls who turned out to be hookers.  This didn’t faze him at all, he prefers hookers for girlfriends anyway as he reckons they are the only girls who truly know what men are about.  Interesting philosophy, and more honest then the cheating husbands I guess, but it all brought me to a sordid place where I have been hanging out with a drug criminal, cheaters and prostitutes, how did I fall so fast, and where has my dignity gone!

Help Police! Stop That Man!

I had the most arresting expirence today. I was in Mosman possibly the most conservative suburb in Australia, waiting at the bus stop out the front of my brother's business, which I might add relies entirely on image and reputation, when an elderly man, who I thought may not have been all there says to me "Are you Greek?" "No, I'm Australian" I said, taking off my cool sunnies as I said it so he could see I had blue eyes. "Oh" he said "You very good looking boy" "Very good looking" he said it arching his eyebrow to signal he didn't mean it in a plutonic way, he wanted me to follow him around the corner. I looked away to ignor him, thinking oh fuck my brother or one of his employees is going to walk past and see an old man trying to pick me up. Next time I turned around this old guy had his cock out waving it at me, on Military Road in front of all of Mosman to see. Luckly the bus arrived, and I got on it, and thankfully he decided against following me, but he thought about it and walked up and down past my window trying to get my attention.

I'm Getting My Moejoe Back

The weather in Sydney today is amazing. I woke up feeling like crap, still sick and decided the only thing that would make me feel better would be a sun-bake and a swim. A sun-bake always makes me feel better when I’m sick. I have been told that the UV helps the liver break down the white blood cells that the body produces to fight the infection, and the ache one feels in one’s body is the dead white blood cells piling up in one’s blood causing the muscle ache. Well all I know is it always works for me. Today is bright sunny blue skies with a gentle crisp breeze from the south, the PERFECT weather. And to top it off a huge thunderstorm has come in this afternoon, which I love, I love summer thunderstorms. I drove to Bondi in my ute with an old burnt CD playing, MGMT Electric Feel, Wham, Club Tropicana and If You’re Ganna Do It Right. I get to Bondi and get a park right on the beach, there were only about 1000 people there today, and everyone was in a great mood. I love it when you can feel the happiness and positive energy just flowing out of people and it was defiantly flowing out of me.

 Hot tanned beautiful people everywhere, happy mums and kids, so much love being felt that even the odd ugly like me dotted amongst the waxed chests and tanned six packs felt there was enough love to go around today. I always go to North Bondi because of Speedo’s café and Dean’s Panorama, and because I can even find free parking at Bondi, UNHEARD OF you say. North Bondi is also obviously the gay beach of Sydney. It’s funny how you can tell who’s gay they always where bright speedos too small and tight. It’s like a gay fashion thing to show off the package. I hate it and love it at the same time. Hate it because it’s gross, but love it because I love it when people put themselves out there like that, life can be so dull and conformist some times, and assaulting the world with a full view of your penis, penis head and balls and swimmers up your butt crack seems to one way of saying FUCK YOU to conformities.

It’s like when girls go to gay clubs and take of their shirts and dance in their bra, it’s one of the few places females can feel safe enough to let it all hang out and release the inner tart they have to hide everywhere else, so they don’t get grabbed and raped in the toilets of straight clubs. Brittney Spears was at North Bondi sun-baking topless when the September 11 attacks happened, so I read, and my friend runs the security at Zetta Bar at the Sydney Hilton, and apparently Paris was sitting by herself in a corner unnoticed by anyone on the Tuesday one week before she was sentenced to jail.

A Few years ago when Paris had been flown out for some news year party, my mate Mr_ANU and I were walking back from a big night in the cross to my family’s Sydney House, a glam terrace in Surry Hills, we were on the corner of Victoria St and Oxford St when suddenly the night sky went Bright White as we were walking past Ruby Rabbit and De Nom, it was the paparazzi waiting for Paris to leave and she did just as we were walking past and jumped in the waiting silver BMW 7 series. The funniest thing was there were a bunch of Paris wannabe girls who looked like her and were trying to talk to her as she left, and one tall skinny talk blonde ran down Oxford Street after the BMW banging on the window shouting “Paris let me in I’m just like you, let me in, let me in” how hilarious, what a loser! Earlier that night as were walking past the Hyatt down in rocks, the crowd from Big Brother were partying in the street and came up to my friend Big_Red and asked her for a light and a cigarette, she loves BB and said in a flash, I don’t smoke but I will help you get one, so like no one else could this 5’10 plus heels red head stopped every one the street asking for a cigarette, with Rob and David in tow asking or Ciggies. I hate Big Brother, but it was a pretty cool spontaneous moment which could have lead to an invite back to the party inside the hotel except Big_Red blew it by asking for photos with them, LOSER!

Back to today. I couldn't help but walk down the street with a smile on my face. It has been so long since that was the case, my level of happiness was as high as when I was 19 and it was my first year out of school and the world truly was my oyster. A friend from school and I used to cruise around Canberra in a brand new black Porsche 911 convertable with a red leather interior. We were 19, good looking, members of the Porsche Club studying architecture and law and loving every minute of life. We would go down to the beat by the lake in Canberra which pumps better than any Sydney beat because every one goes to same one, and do the ever so suductive cruise round with the top down on the Porsche and guys would see us and get in their cars and chase us because they wanted us that badly, and we would just speed of laughing. I have concluded that I was so happy back then because I didn't know how hard life can be, so I was all optimisum. 10 years on and I know when life has gotten as good as its going to, I know there are no mountains left to climb. It's impossible to have limitless optimisum when you know there are limits. But I have decided it's safe to be optomistic again. I feel safe to dream, and know that they are dreams, and even though I know how hard it is to keep all the balls that we juggle to keep life working in the air, I feel safe to focus on the bright things in life, and not be purpetualy vidulant in antisipation of the next disaster. I had a gorgous little salad at Charlie's Chicken Shop on Queen Street in Wollarrah, opposite where the Keating used to live and then I sat on a bench under a Plane tree on Oxford Street today and watched the world go by for half an hour. I went to my favorite gay book shop and talked about the new books with the staff, and then to my fave cafe and chatted with the own for a bit and then drove home, happy and feeling very safe to feel happy.

Katie Perry, Firework

How Invested Are Your Friends?

In the episode of Sex and the City where the girls go to Atlantic City for Charlottes’ 35th birthday day the sequel, or as Carrie called it “Charlottes’ thirty faux birthday”, this episode has Carrie obsessing about not wasting time on guys who come and go, but investing time in her friend ships which she is convinced will be the only relationships that count and go the distance, because as she points out women live longer than men. Charlotte doesn't want to skip over the drama that comes from relations with men, as she says “That’s life, that’s everything, I don’t want to skip over life.”
Carrie says “You don’t wake up one day with enough money to retire, you invest for your retirement, it’s the same with friends, you don’t wake up one day with friends who are there for you, you have to invest in your friendships.”

As gay men we are not famous for relationships. As a demographic I would think that we rate the lowest in successful long term relationships, in fact I don’t know any older gay male couples I know my friends don’t either, so it’s not uncommon to not know any men who can go the distance. It would be interesting to know who does better statistically between Lesbian and Straight couples.

So based on my own observations and I think social evidence women are much better at forming and maintaining relationships with large networks of friends. I know as gay men we are pretty special and talented socially and I guess almost a hybrid between male and females, in as much as we often have female levels of social skills trapped in a male body.

So if I take a stab at some rough statistics and hypothesize the reality is that 95% of gay men will never end up in a relationship that goes the distance, that leaves a whole bunch of lonely men. So if friendships are the answer and I think they are the only answer in this situation, how do you make sure that your friends are as invested in your happiness as you are in theirs?

Let’s say that girls are the typical friends of gay men, but they get married and partner off, they are always going to put their children and husbands before their gay friend, even if he is her best friend. Then there is the sharing with the husband. Straight guys are my best guy friends, I actually only have one gay friend, but it’s not a clever idea to rely on straight men for the level of intimacy that most of us need and want, as that’s not their strong point.

So I find myself at a place where I am questioning certain friends’ commitment to me. It’s not really their fault as I have just arrived at a place where I am cognitively aware of what it takes to be a committed good friend, not just a fair weather friend. In an interview I saw Sarah Jessica Parker say that she is grateful for playing Carrie because it taught her how to be a better friend in real life and I would have to agree, that the friendship that the four girls in SATC portray would be the highest functioning friendship group I have ever seen.
I have tried to educate a few friends around me how they could be a better friend to me, subtly , but it’s like water off a ducks back, they are not as invested as I am, and change is something that does not benefits them. Well it would, but they can’t see it yet.

So that brings me to my next question how do you make your friends as invested as you? Or how do you choose and make friends that will be?

This is VERY IMPORTANT to gay men, their friendships are their life support system. Our friends have to be there for us the way a partner would be, as we don’t have anyone else. Lots of gay men are abandoned by their families, don’t have children and have sporadic partners. We get sick and sad just like other people if not more. We have financial problems, sure we may not have children, but we also have to pay a mortgage off on one income.

If you don’t make your own traditional family, then how do you get your urban sudo family to feel as though they are in the same boat as you? How do replicate loyalty and “where all in this together” outside the traditional family unit.

This is a big question and one that has only formulated as I was writing this, so I don’t have the answer. But I read that nearly 8 million or 40% of Australians will live on their own by 2030? I can’t remember when, but it means that the quest of replicating the support network that families usually provide is something that nearly half of us will have to face.

Please leave any good ideas below.

I Shop There For I Am

Day one of correct diagnosis, and I felt like going shopping, so I went to what I realized is the gay oasis of the mid west, Rhodes and Ikea. I had noticed in the past that a few hot wog boys seemed a bit frisky in the toilets of Ikea, vigorous shaking of their willies at the urinal and general peacocking, and thought maybe it was a bit of a beat, but today while at the coffee club I noticed that lots of bi curious wog boys seemed to either work or shop there. I take gay Sydney for granted cause I live near the city but I hadn’t really thought what people who live west do when they want a little gayness. Go to Ikea and Rhodes seems to be the answer.

I paid one hot wog daddy a teeny tiny bit of attention as we seemed to shop at the same speed around Ikea, and by daddy I mean 36 with a child and wifey, and he was pretty good not giving into the attention, but the look of surprise on his face when he realized that some one thought he was a bit of alright, made me think his wife must be a bit of a ball and chain. He was very special looking, tall, athletic, with a decent face and muscles that rippled through his cream cable knit jumper and jeans, and yet he seemed to have no idea how high his stock would float on the open market. But later when I was in Rhodes shopping centre just outside of Ikea and he was by himself he let himself enjoy the attention a little more openly and obviously, it was nice to see paying someone a little attention can give them a little ego boost. I love hot wogs they’re such attention whores like me.

I went to Target for a quick shop, and while lining up a hugely fat white woman in front of me was buying Sex and the City 2, there was no way she would be getting any sex in the city, which made me think, were those 4 women her role models, her heroes? Are sexually loose Manhattan women really living the dream for overweight women of the western suburbs? What a novel thought. Is Sex and the City’s target audience, people who can’t get sex?

I'm Angry

No post about sex today, I am using this blog to high light the PATHETIC state of public medical care in Sydney. I could go into more detail but as it is probably boring to you all I will just put the letter that I sent to the Sydney Morning Herald and the Telegraph bellow. I wonder if I will get published. Health care is a hot topic, so I might.

Letter to the Editor

I have just been correctly diagnosed; well I hope I have after 4 months of hell. I have had 13 courses of antibiotic and 11 trips to the doctors and 2 to ER. I would like to say openly that I have been let down by some of the Medical community. My regular doctor at Broadway Medical Practice, you didn’t both testing me for anything even though I came to you 5 times in 10 days. Sydney Eye Hospital on Macquarie Street, I came to you in an ambulance and you told me I had had a panic attack and I overheard the doctors saying that you thought I was faking it for attention seeking purposes, because I was stressed out. I was stressed out, I couldn’t breathe, but not because I was stressed. The Doctor at Bulli Hospital Emergency, you told me that I didn’t need antibiotics even though I told you I thought I had a chest infection. I have finally been found to have a streptococci’s infection in my lungs and it was found in the first round of blood tests. The doctor at Darlinghurst Medical Centre, thank you for finding it, but you were incredibly rude and hard to deal with and the way you blamed me for the state of my health as I was burning up with a fever was not helpful. And you also blamed me for self medicating, did you not read the notes from the other doctor at the practice who put me on the drugs that you said were masking my symptoms, I read them they were on the computer screen in front of you. 4 months of bad health, I have lost 3 jobs due to not being able to work; I have been extremely depressed due to poverty and bad health and being badly medicated. To all the medical staff who were supposed to be helping me, none of you did your job. If this is common place in the Sydney public health system, you should all hang your heads in shame, you are pathetic.

Angry
Newtown

Something I didn't put in the letter that was interesting is the rude old prick of a doctor who actually found what is causeing my bad health, said that I shouldn't be using medical practices for my health care as they are only for "the 5th teir in society, the dreggs and lossers who have no money and who will never amount to anything" its nice to know thats what the doctor thinks of his patiences in a bulk billing practice. And just because its obvious I am not a street person, by the way I speak, act and dress doesn't mean I have money, I was acctualy amost homeless last month, thats why I need to use a bulk billing practice.

My Balls Over Floweth

To any of my friends who read this, if you’re not in a particularly sexy or curious mood, don’t read this, as I’m about to get graphic, not dirty, but graphic.

Jesus may have once said that the whole world would fit in the palm of his hand, but I doubt very much my balls would. They are enormous at the moment. I have always been very well endowed in the sack department, but today they are positively…. well I don’t know what they are other than impressive. No one has ever been able to fit them both in their mouth at the same time, and today I can’t even get them both in one hand. It may have something to do with the large amounts of steroids I am on for my lungs; yes I have pneumonia again, but only one lung this time….. yay for small graces, but I thought steroids made ones balls smaller, thats what we were taught at school in health and fitness education. I was also having a big dick day, I love it when my penis needs both hands to be taken care of. If any ladies are reading this, you may not know that a man’s’ penis changes size from day to day. It may be fully erect, but for example my fully erect can be up to 2 inches difference in length depending what day it is. It has to do with diet and stress. Coffee is a constrictor as is menthol, so any breath mints or cough lollies make it smaller. One Lebanese man once said that he couldn’t wait to fuck me after a glass of red wine, he was already big, like 8 inches and with a fat girth, but he said that after red wine it grew another inch!!

I guarantee you that I only went to Body Line tonight because I have been feeling terribly sick and unable to work, and BL is my cheap version of a day spa, I feel pampered and much better after a long spa and chilling out listing to the awesome music they play there. MR_Soul was there tonight, and I wanted to tell him that I had written about him, but attraction is such a fickle thing, it didn’t seem right to tell him, even though I talked to him twice , but I definitely wasn’t up for love making as I was feeling terrible and I have him on a pedestal at the moment. I don’t want to ruin it with medioca sex.

After a few hours I was starting to feel better and gave in and did a 3 way with a South African couple. One was black and one was white. I think this is the first time I have ever been a guest star in a relationship, and to top it off it was with ebony and ivory, but I was so bored. How over sexed must I be when I have just had two firsts like that and I’m bored.

After my day spa session I went to get some food and someone taped me on the back and I spun round and this cute young man who had been sitting at the bus stop had followed me up the street and said “Hi, would you like a blow job?” in the middle in the street at only 12:30 pm on a Wednesday. So ok it was Oxford Street, but am I really giving off that much sexual power that guys feel the need to fall to their needs and service me? Come to think of it maybe he was a hooker trying to drum up business. Either way I smiled in shock and delight and said “no thank you”. If he only knew what Olympic sex feats I had just been pulling off, I was exhausted.


Today is the day after Melbourne Cup and there is cool wind blowing, it’s so nice and refreshing and as I was walking up South Dowling Street back to my ute, the street was deserted and quiet, I had the first feeling of peace in the city I have ever felt in the 3 years of living in Sydney. It was as peaceful as when I used to go for walks around O’Malley and Isaacs back in Canberra in the pine forest and over the reserve at Mt Mugga Mugga. And as the wind rustled through the beautiful fresh green Maple tree leaves on South Dowling Street, with the street light making the leaves glow green, I had a comforting thought. The sudden cool snap made it feel like autumn had arrived out of nowhere and that there had been a change of season. And this feeling of a change of season made me think that when it is time to settle down there will be a change as dramatic in me, and that I am not being silly living this sexually free, I felt like I was having a little natter with God and he/she was telling me that the sexual freedom that I have been living and exploring the past decade was his gift to me. Other people get bogged down in things like mortgages and career paths and relationships and children. I have none of these at 30 and feel left behind some times, but I truly feel that I was shown how lucky I am tonight. Anyway it felt nice to be happy with my lot in life and not anxious about missing out and falling behind due to my own choices.