Coda Josh Grant

Ewan Loves these briefs. He smiles and says it nearly says his name. I offered to get a white marker and make him complete. He smiled, but turned me down. "Too close to the jewels," said Ewan. "You think you have jewels," I asked him. "I've known a few girls who thought it was precious." "They meant small and cute?" I said. "No, rare and hard to find," said Ewan.

I was walking down Lygon Street behind two very fit lads; one had a big, square arse and the other had a little, firm one. Both so hot. Masculinity walking away from me, walking like the big, strapping men that they were. Very nice. They both had hoodies on. I passed them just to see their faces and they were so fucking handsome, short hair, number one's, Scandinavian or Dutch, or something. I couldn't help fantasise about them both being on their knees with their jeans around their thighs, turning, looking back at me as I slid a well lubed finger into both their tight holes. Can you imagine them groaning, despite themselves; dropping their heads down and groaning, feeling the pleasure, pushing back despite themselves, as their rings grip and ungrip around each of my probing fingers.

Watching Bruno and Murray kiss is pretty hot. They are both really sexy boys.

You know, I love guys kissing. It's so fucken hot. Apparently, girls like watching two guys kiss too, well, evolved girls, girls who aren’t diminished by religion, or held hostage to conservative ideas.  In this new age, it may not strictly be, isn't strictly, the guy saying to his girlfriend, I'd like to watch two girl’s babe, can't you do that for me? The girl may make requests instead. And we all know by now, boys don’t, actually, mind a bit of dick either, despite what they might say.

I've got to say what a fit lad Tommy is. I love that term when guys describe guys that are attracted to, as he's really fit. The mornings Tommy doesn't have to be at uni, he comes over in his tracksuit pants and crawls into bed with me. Then there he is, with his track pants around his ankles, big, fat, hardon, pointing upwards with tight skin and bulging veins. Like rock. It always feels like latex, as my hand closes around it, until I have made it slippery with lube. A couple of strokes. "I love having my cock played with," says Tommy, every morning. He melts as the lube dissolves into slippery liquid all the way up and down his hard shaft. "Ahhhhh!" He kisses me hungrily. I love that. He smells good, tastes even better. Warm and sweet. I love the stubble on his chin, the hair on his chest, his big, muscular arms. He shakes as he cums, he kind of vibrates up and down his limbs. I do the head with my thumb. Fist around the knob, he shoots high into the ...

Demetrius Papas in a white cap looking as cute as a button. He's Gordon's trade, more than trade now, I guess. He's a nice guy, really sweet, and funny.

Nigel and his boyfriend, Cam, in front of the online camera. They two of them are really cute together. "Why do we like each other?" says Nigel. "It's really black and white," says Cam with a huge smile.

Just lately I've noticed that Steve cab be, what I have come to realise, a raggy little bottom. Just like a lot of bottoms, he gets cranky after certain amount of time with no bum action. He may not say why, I don’t think he know he’s doing it, but he just gets snappy. Sometimes, I wonder whether they/he even know why? He's good at passing it off as other things, but mostly he is good at passing it off as nothing at all. But, when things just don't add up and I have a nice big doobie, and I take myself out of the firing line, it can become clear to me. No matter how handsome and successful and high up the food chain they get, eventually they have to be held down and, well, fucked, it is that simple. Steve's no different. He's a much nicer man afterwards. He'd been a little bitch all night. Then I headed to bed first and fell asleep. He came in turned the light on, then off again, then stomped off into the shower, banging doors. "What's wrong." ...

I'm an addict to the "tines" – nicotine, caffeine... saltine, ha, ha. I meant to give up smoking when I was thirty, and clearly that isn’t going to happen. And the next "big one" doesn't bare thinking about, even if it is eons off yet. I’m just about there, there I said it out loud. I’m just about thirty, not the next one. Gotta put in some effort. As for the caffeine, and the 6 cups a day, well, that’s not so bad. (And you know, if he is admitting to 6 per day…) It is like red wine, new research says it is now good for us. Woo-hoo! Yadder, yadder, yadder, yadder, yadder, yadder, yadder! Woop! Woop! Woop! Give them a go kids, you never know, you might just like them. As long as you stop smoking by thirty, you’ll be fine. I recommend you take them up, piss off your parents, be cool around your friends. And on the saltines, may I suggest liverwurst. Ah, and a sardine. Although, sardies are best on fresh cooked toast imbued with a little tomato sauce.

Call the world's problems what you like, but the reality is that it is over population. So, why do we pay a baby bonus? It's actually an anti-environment policy. “Oh, you know, mum, dad and the kids are the backbone of conservative voters, fuck the planet.” Why are the political parties using refugees as a political tool? When, in reality, we should be embracing the redistribution of population as an environmental issue, rather than adding more people to an already overcrowded planet. We are literally breeding ourselves to death. It is no longer a right to have a child, it is now a luxury. The hetros having children should actually be paying a child tax, not receiving a baby bonus. “Hey breeders, stop breeding, no one will care if your genes aren’t carried on. Stop being so god damn self focused.” Having a child now is an act of extreme selfishness.

Nigel and his boyfriend Cam online with Lachlan, they tried to encourage Lachlan to come around to their place for a threesome, so far Lachlan hasn't been enticed. What Nigel and Cam don't know is that Lachlan was tempted, and may well take them up on the offer sometime.

Eddie Balcan has that hot, wog boy thing going on. I think it’s the eyes, dark and brooding, I think it’s the skin, olive in complexion, I think it’s the walk, you know, like there is certainly something I have to make allowances for when I walk. And those thick, red lips, made for kissing. He’s Turkish and there has always been something that I have found to be consistent with Turkish men, a certain base sexual desire that knows few bounds. He’s sexy, handsome, has a number one haircut and muscles from dedicated gym workouts. I was Eddie's "buddy" and mentor when he was a grad. I was wildly attracted to him, let me tell you. The first casual clothes Friday he wore a tight, striped knitted jumper with a white t-shirt. He had on an old faded pair of jeans, you know the type, that had gone all soft and hugging. They had a button fly, which seemed to be straining on the buttons to stay fastened up. That night was work drinks, we gravitated together and drank stubbies. I don’...