Coda Josh Grant

I love guy's arses, always have. Ever since the first time I had sex in grade 5 with Tom Syme. I licked his arse, right after we'd sucked each other's cocks, there in the back of the deserted classroom after 15.30. It seemed to be the right thing to do. It always just seemed perfectly natural to me to slide my tongue in a guy's crack. Of course, Tom wasn't hairy then and muscled. He developed blond ringlets when he got older and developed a stocky, masculine build. I wished I'd licked him out then. And there was Alex's arse five years later, it was always my favourite part of him. Well, nearly… I liked getting inside of it any way I could, with any part of my body. Alex in his jocks, I could whack off now just thinking about it. Sexy boy. Perfect butt. Perfect legs. I knew I liked guys from their arse cracks and hair – chests and stomachs, arms and legs. Love them all. Can I slide my tongue right in there? I love that smooth, silky taste. Then there was Andy...

Adultery is not a mental disease but a very normal behaviour among both humans and animals. We should all be encouraged to explore what more and more people are calling 'open relationships,' which means loving many people simultaneously and with no jealousy. Sow your seeds boys. Men who apologise for extramarital dalliances should stop making their lives a model of guilt, sadness and conformism to antiquated, some may say never relevant, Christian values. This sets a bad example for the younger generation of males. The only person close to them who need therapy are their wives. Their spouses welcome their partying ways, as they no longer want to participate, so long as they don't engage in extramarital affairs. If "she" doesn't get therapy, they would be better off divorcing, how can such jealous partners be free to freely enjoy their sexual partners. It seems to me that over the past, 50, or so years, it is only men's behaviour that has been deemed necess...

One year old Buster is way more of a handful than 10 year old Chubby. He knew exactly what to do. He knew exactly what I was saying to him. He sat with me, cuddled up to me on the couch, slept at the end of my bed for 10 years. Chubby was like an old pair of shoes. Buster is like the fastest training shoe. Buster is going to take some work. He runs in the park, when I say, “Go, go, go,” like Chubby used to. He jumps for sticks. He leaps around. He has mental attacks, like Chubby once did. It’s like having an invigorated Bulldog. I am constantly saying to him, “Oh that’s right, you do that.” We run together in the park. When we go passed the skateboarders making that terrible racket on the hard surfacing. We run to the grass, although he runs happily once he hits the soft, green grass, too.

I walked down to the shops with Buster. He kept up with me. And when he wasn’t next to me, he’d be just a bit behind sniffing at something. He came in with me as I did my TattsLotto. “Just keeping look out, don’t sweat it mate, I have you covered.”

Buster is ace. He sat there gazing back at me when  Ristevski  had gone. “What do you reckon?” He came over and wiped his big jowly face across my hand. “We should go for a walk to get to know each other.” He is off-lead trained too, so we commence our walks, like nothing has changed. I got the pooh bags and the lead, and we both stood at the door and gazed out. “Let’s go.” He looked down as he stepped off the first step. Out the gate, and up the street he trotted along next to me. I had to keep checking him as we head to the gardens, because he’s not Chubby. Buster has more white on him, he has more white down his front. Chubby didn’t have the bulldog spot, he had a white flash between his eyes. “Come on mate.” The same happy smile came across his face as Chubby. I stopped to read some graffiti, Bruno stopped to sniff some grass.

My mate Ristevski is heading over to Canada to play hockey, and he wanted to re-house his bulldog, Buster. He called me up and asked me if I wanted him. He is a one year old male, complete with the bulldog spot on his head and all. “I heard you had lost Chubby.” “Oh, yes. I don’t know. Yes, Bruno, yes.” What the hell was I thinking, all the bulldog, without all the work. “What do you say.” “Yes, okay.” Just agree, don’t think about it. “You mean it?” “Yes, Ristevski, I mean it.” “OMG thank you so much,” said Ristevski. “I had no plan B, you were it.” “Okay,” I said. And thought. But, truthfully, I was too excited to think anything into anything.