Coda Josh Grant

Was it wrong that when I read about those girls with the eighteen year old footballers down Phillip Island I got half a mongrel? What was it, eight, or so, athletic young men on the jack. Big eyes! Big exhale! Maybe, since we live in a Law & Order kind of society, now a days, when everyone is banging on about punishments fitting crimes, those athletic young 18 year old men could be given over to, oh I don't know, a group of tweaked gay boys in a fuck den for eight hours of rape in return? Let's see how much blood and semen their tight, peachy little arses can accommodate? I'd like to watch that too. Too much? I’m not sure that is any worse than people thinking 10 years in jail is too lenient a sentence? Surely a weekend locked in a gay sex club is equivalent. Cum soaked red, sore holes for everyone. I mean, this is deterrent, not punishment, am alternative to be locked away.

Steve came over, he was toey. I always know, he's fidgety, doesn't concentrate on what I'm saying to him. "What? What did you say?" "That's the third time you haven't listened." "Is not!" he protested. But his smile gave him away. He tried to stop it, but couldn't it spread across his face. "You know you're not." "Am too." I caught him in my arms, he faux-struggled to get away. I pushed my nose into his hair, as he nuzzled me back. "I know what you want." I push him up against the bench from behind, kiss his neck, kiss his mouth as he turned his head hungrily. “What do I want?” he whispered. I reached around and unclip the buttons of his waistband and fly. His pants fell open and down to his thighs, so easily. Then my fingers are inside his jocks and pressing into the hairy crack down the centre of his round arse. He groans, his breathing gets shallower. I pull his jocks off his hot arse and get dow...

I hope I am not I'm wasting my life at the speed of light. Getting drunk. Smoking too much pot. Keep counting of what I’ve got. Shagging too many guys, having too many highs. And not dancing enough. Buying stuff. It all begins to blur after a while. And we all forget to smile. Mike, Alex, Carlo, Graham, what was your name? Did I just use the wrong one, while I had my fingers up your bum? Life is funny, although a lot of the time you wouldn’t know it. What else is there? What else really matters? Love, life, everything else is just fill. The way I wear my suit. If I make budget, or not. The way my suit shirt captures my chest? What angle is best? Who cares, if I sleep until noon? Whack off in my room. If I get a new car. If the economy grows. If anyone is on the dole. If a lawyer gets the work. If 5% of the population eats, while the other 95% sleeps. If straight boys turn, if Christians burn. We all end up as ashes in an urn. Nothing really matters more than the people ...

You know, it's a shame, I say that all the men aren't gay. Of course, they got it in 'em flop it out, grinin You can touch it 'cause I'm spinin. Drunk as a bitch ya fingers make me twitch stick it in 'em.

Straight boy's cocks taste better than gay boy's cocks. I think it is the intensity with which they whack them down our throats that makes them taste different. All that fucken angst. You know, when their knobs first pass our lips, it's such a surrender. An annihilation to everything they believe, were taught as boys, held true. I guess, the first time is the hardest. Everything they have to let go of. “Just pull those little shorts down, mate, I can do the rest.” The way they shake, the way they demand, the way they pump their load down the back of ya throat and then walk away without a word. Barely a thank you. It's hot! Fuck it is hot. “I don’t need to be romanced, or for you to buy me pretty things.” The jogging boy in the park who gets sucked off unexpectedly in the bushes. “I don’t care if you have a girlfriend, or a wife.” They taste different. They smell different. They shake different as they shoot their sprog. “How about a kiss? No. Oh come on big boy, you hav...