Kew Boulevard

I was driving down the Chandler Hwy, coming back from the parent’s place, sun shining, car purring and I saw a sign that said Kew Boulevard. Of course, I have seen it many times, the long and winding boulevard. I hadn’t driven down it for the longest time It had all those quaint streets of Kew leading off it that were on different levels depending on which direction you were travelling.

All those memories of Kew around the river. 

The closest memory I had was of Rowan from Kew. Not that that is really close at all. Is it? I have no idea. I laughed to myself, am I an inner city ghetto dweller? I hadn't thought about Rowan in ages.

I met him in the city, on one of those endless city visits that nineteen year olds seem to make. He was a tough looking out of our private boy’s school green and gold uniform. He just looked like any other straight boy, I assumed, in the bog for a piss. He had that look in his eyes, though, I couldn't believe it. He seemed so straight and so tough, but he kept looking at me with ‘the look’ in his eyes we all know so well. Then he followed me out to the basins.

It wasn’t until he nervously said, "Do I know you from somewhere?" that I really knew I wasn't imagining the ‘look’.

“No,” I said.

“We went to school together?”

“Huh?”

Then the toilet door opened and a slightly scared looking effeminate boy exited with sideways looks in our direction.

We both followed his exit.

“Josh,” this guy said. “Josh Grant?”

It wasn’t until then that I focussed in on him.

“Rowan Farrugia?”

“Yep.” Rowan smiled at the recognition and motioned to me with his eyes to go into the now vacated toilet cubicle.

I was shaking, not only because of the situation, but because who it was. Rowan Farrugia, the tough kid from Trinity.

Rowan closed the door behind us. We stood facing each other. Momentarily, we just gazed at each together. Rowan was even more handsome than I remembered him.

He was hot, age had done good things to him. We started off tentatively. I can still remember the first touch of his lips on mine. Once we got going, we did filthy things together in that CentrePoint bog cubicle. The old guys were looking over and under the cubicle from either side.

It was an easy trip, to his place when his parents were at work. It could have been one of the first times I had left the safe confines of my own family structure, and protection and strode out. In the holidays, it didn't matter when.

Not long after I'd got my licence, I ventured over to his place, as one of the first things I did. As a horny nineteen year old, driving across the eastern suburbs for a shag, as funny as it sounds the sun always seemed to be shining, as I found my way through a multitude of back streets that I never knew even existed.

It was the first time we did it in a bed, his bed. He was keen, not nervous at all. We took turns in fucking each other. He was as keen for it, as he was to give it.

It was funny to think that there was a whole other life I had going on for a time there that people would never know about. I would never mix with, never meet. I was practically a strangers in Rowan’s house, as the other people who lived there never knew, as I was there when they never were.