Coda Josh Grant

Steve sat in the middle of my bed, last night, wrapped up in my doona, he looked right at home. Smiling, relaxed, head cocked to one side. He's asked me a couple of times, just lately, what is wrong, when, I guess, I have been looking at him too intently. He runs his hand down my face and says, "Hey, what's with you?" Then he pulls his head back and pouts his lips and smiles, all at the same time. "Oh, nothing," I hear myself say. He tilts his head and touches my chin. "Sure? You seem..." "What?" I ask. "I don't know, different..." "Nah," I say. I shrug. Somehow a shrug negates the lie. "I'm fine." But, I'm not fine. Steve is cute, sexy, hot and I think I'm falling for him. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but, it has kind of sneaked up on me. I've always liked them dark and cute, of course Steve is dark, all Thai boys are. And before you ask, no, it's not true. It’s a good size, thic...

George and I went running. He was wearing a pair of footy shorts. "How am I supposed to concentrate with you wearing them?" He did a twirl, well, a spin, smiling. “Do you like them?” Sexy, thick, hairy thighs, a round arse and the nicest bulge, it didn't hurt that the shorts were a little small on him. “Did you have them painted on?” He looked down at his bulge because that's where I was looking. We both looked up, he smiled. “Makes it look more than a handful, don’t you think?” He grabbed it in his hand and squeezed. "When are you going to let me play with that?" He laughed and started running. "You can, if you can catch me." George told me that Sophie was happy that I knew and even happier because I didn't judge them. She said it was a relief and while she didn't kid herself that everyone would react like I did, she was pleased that their first reaction was positive. We ran down to the Yarra and then all the way along to Punt Road bridge....

Steve came over, we fucked. I came up his arse. He likes my cum up his arse. I've been barebacking his arse, well, since uni. That day we met in the union when he blushed as he realised I was looking at his firm, round arse. He's got the hottest arse; round, firm with just a spray of black hair all along his crack. We were in the bogs not long after that, him against the wall, me up him hard; panting heavily, trying not to make a noise as other guys used the urinals. Ah, to be that young and that stupid again. I’d cum in him before we’d spoken more than two words to each other. I don't know why, but he was the only guy ever who I only used spit with, no condom. Steve and I have never used them. Always slippery skin on slippery skin. Not sure why? Not sure why I made the exception with him, when I hadn’t with anyone else. I guess you've got to have skin on skin with someone? We all need to. Maybe, it was exam stress? Maybe it was those beautiful eyes, full of lust? Maybe...

It was either exercise, or suicide, this afternoon, ha, ha, the walls were closing in on me. Suddenly, even having no time at all, the world seemed boring. It isn’t just about being busy, you know. Kill me now, I thought. Time was a big, empty hole continually needing to filled. You know when the nothingness becomes dizzying and the point of it all escape you. So, it was either the noose, or the track shoes, the razor blade, or the jogging shorts, pounding the footpath, or pounding the Yarra from the Westgate. It could have gone either way. Ha, ha! I chose exercise. I had gym clothes at work. I got changed and left the office. Up Exhibition Street, up Rathdowne Street, to The Carlton Gardens. I ponded around the gardens until Hack Hack Dumphrey was totally out of my mind. It was kinda hot. Temperature hot, not sexy. Sunny, not sleazy. Fragrant, not rancid. Vitamin D, not Hep B. Wind in my hair, not sweat in my rear. This is where life lives, not in the towers built to celebrate...

George turned up at my place in the early hours. He text me to ask if I was up, a text that was so badly written that I wondered initially if it had been written in his pocket with the movement of his leg. George had been out somewhere, I never really got where. I was in bed. I tip toed to the front door in my jocks and let him in. He was fucked up on pills, he said. He headed straight for my bedroom, pulled off his shirt and jeans and crawled into my bed. I’d got fucked up on pot before I said good night to the world. I sucked on George's tits. I wanted him to lactate that's how into it I was. He did, of sorts, as he came in my hand, rock hard, his jeans and jocks around his ankles. He screamed out as his knob squirted jizz. His body jerked with each spurt of virginal white fluid. "Ah! Ah! AH! AHHHHH!" I licked it off my fingers, as he collapsed, out cold. Straight boy spoof, it tastes so sweet. I chastised myself for taking advantage of Georgie boy, when I promised ...

Nick turned up at my door. “This is early?” “What time is it,” said Nick. “I have no idea.” “How was grandpa?” “Oh, you know,” say Nick. “He scratched the wound open again.” Nick shivered with delight. We sat on the back veranda and smoked pot. I was fucked, I couldn’t remember when I last slept. I’d passed out a few times, but when had I slept? It had been quite a week. “I think I might just have a nervous breakdown, they are all the rage,” I say. I cough as I blow out the joint smoke. "What's the point?" says Nick. "Nobody will fucken care." “Nobody will care?” “That is the sad irony of suicide.” “Irony?” “What is the point? With a society that is now built on spin and lies. Politics of image over substance. We’ll all look away because that just isn’t pretty.” “Maybe I'll take a gun and blow my brains out. The world wouldn't even take a collective blip at me doing it. Wiped up in hours, forgotten in days.” “The world would have already moved on. Pretty...

Robin has alabaster, white, skin. He looks like he hasn't even spent seconds int he sun. I'm not sure if that is weird, of not. Everything else about his body is perfect. His physique is perfection.

Nick took himself home, he had some date with a dady he’d made somewhere along the way. George called and said he was coming over. He arrived with Sophie. We smoked the rest of the meth he gave me. We lay on the floor and listened to music, in a kind of three pointed star pattern, joined at our head. Sophie kissed her brother, he returned the kiss, passionately. She looked at him like a lover. He looked back at her like a lover, I didn't know if it was intentional, or not. Gorge stood up and smoked a joint, passing it to me and to Sophie. She admired the curve of her brother's pants for the longest time, I could see clear as day. This was the first time I’d ever seen it close up. Sophie saw me watching her, gazing at her brother. “George's got really soft lips,” she slurred. She got up and left the room. "Is it because you are fucked up?" I asked. He shrugged. "It helps, but it’s not necessary." "But that's kind of... unnatural...

Scott and I met in a bar in Oxford Street. "Suck on my tits," said Scott. It was his thing. His nipples were like bullets. He groaned as I sucked. As the sun came up in Darlinghurst, Scott lit the glass pipe as I sucked his nipples. He gently lifted my head and slid the glass pipe into my mouth, like I slid his nipples into my mouth. He flicked the lighter, I coughed on the smoke. He slid his tits back into my mouth.

George gave me meth on Saturday. Nick and I took the week off and had been doing it since Sunday. Nick had the week off to do other things, but he clearly didn’t do any of those things. I managed to get the week off at short notice, ha ha. We’d been out all night, at 80, and were out of cigarettes for the mull, so Nick set off down the street at 8am. He thought he’d get away with no jocks, denying his Italian heritage in the process. Nick was wet between the legs, he said he could feel the sweat on his thighs as they slipped together with every step he took. He could feel the weight of his semi-hard cock in his tracksuit pants. The cock ring was doing its job. He wondered if anyone would notice, as he walked down Johnson Street. A woman in her fifties smiled and winked. She even turned her head as he passed by. Nick smiled. "I've got a big fucken dick." "I know," I said. Not that I ever wanted to know that fact, but I did know it. "She wanted it." ...

Yes, dark and swarthy. Italian, Greek, Lebanese, Turkish, Maltese, any of the nationalities that would fit into the wogboy category. I've always had a weakness for this type, it's quite common amongst gayboys. Many of the ex's have all been wogboys. So, you know, Asian boys aren’t that much of a stretch, dark, exotic, amazing skin, and like Greek and Italian boys they so often like to bottom. And to a lesser degree, they have a very similar family life, all based around food and eating, and to less importance, making money. Families are families, let’s face it, they are more similar than the people who want to divide us want us to believe. I don’t know why I have the attractions that I do, but really, who gives a fuck. I think it is good, I like who I like.

I've been hanging out with my mate George all weekend. (I have two Greek mates named George, Half the Greek boys in the world seem to be named George. The other George, I will refer to as G, so you guys don’t get confused) George is a great guy, good looking, Greek, fun to be around. George's sexuality is ambiguous, at best. It's kind of non-existent, to be completely accurate. He says it's fluid and he won't be tied down to a label,  “Life's too short and all that, Josh.”  Nick reckons he's a closet case who, and for whatever reason, he can't kick the closet door open. I don’t necessarily think life is so black and white. George has a twin sister Sophie, who he is extremely close to him, they do everything together. They do everything together. Their Parents died in a fiery car crash when George and Sophie were 17. Their parents were rich, the archetypal hard working Greeks, who started out as cleaners and ended up owning many of the buildings ...

Free Love is the only common consistent factor in all of my group of friends. It is the tune we most often play. And, if there was just a little bit more of it in the world, we’d all be better off. Why do we go to free judgement and free anger and free greed and free selfishness so easily, and not so much for free love? Is it because of the cat-arse-mouth Christians, or Muslims, who tutt tutt at anything closely resembling love, free, or not. Is it because we have elevated ‘the family’ so high to lubricate the society that conservative politicians want, and free love doesn’t gel with that paradigm. Or is it because trade/consumption is so important now that we need such a bland idea of life to sell to the maximum number of consumers. Is it conservative politicians? Is it you? I know it isn’t me. Coda-Josh... free love... the recording of the facts... it is the most played melody... we all fuck in the end, even if we don’t talk about it.

I'm going to write about my life, and the changes in my life to try to make sense of it all. I'm quitting my corporate job and I'm going to take a career break. I'm not sure when this is going to happen, but I can feel that it is imminent. I have decided that it would be a good thing. These are the feelings I'm having as I write this Blog. Of course, I don't live in isolation, there is the cast you have been introduced to. But, I think you'll get to know them better as I go. Let's just say, Nick is still my best mate, we've known each other for years. Mat has gone, departed the scene. Sam has too. Steve is my ongoing fuck boy, who seems to be gaining a more permanent status... as I write. Not sure why, I guess, I like having him around. We didn't see each other for quite a while, while Steve was overseas, (that’s why we stopped seeing each other, Steve went overseas) but we have reconnected lately. Here goes, I'll see if I can keep up this ti...

What is the most common human emotion? What do you think we feel most often? Joy? Fear? Elation? Triumph? Exhaustion? Jealousy? Anger? Do you think it is love? I guess that may be close. It is sex... despite us all denying it for the most part, and some of us denying it completely. I figure that's really what life is all about. And it is? It is reproduction, of course it is. I figure that's what this blog is all about. Food comes in close second, that's what I reckon. Hunger. I am hungry for you. I want to eat you all up.

I've done pretty well, climbed the corporate ladder, got places and am well respected. Whatever that means? I toed the company line, kicked plenty of goals, made them money. It should be great, I should be a pig in shit. Straight to the pinnacle, such achievement, such a straight trajectory. I'm a bloody great success! So, why don't I feel like one then? I feel like I have done everything everyone has ever wanted of me and in that "doing" I'm now wondering if I forgot about what I wanted. I'm trying to squash down the felling of unfulfillment. Just try a little harder, work a little longer, be more contentious, and you'll feel good again. I found that when I enjoyed repairing internal mail envelopes, more than my actual work, I realised something had to give. Maybe, I thought, I could be a $80 per hour mail boy.

No inference of sexual orientation is meant, or implied, by the appearance of any image on this blog Images are used for illustrative purposes only.