Coda Josh Grant

Steve stayed the night. Blush. Quietly so nobody can hear, he is my weakness, I have suddenly realised. It's good, and scary all at the same time, you know, letting another human have that much. I find I am suddenly thinking about him. Then at other times my mind goes to him and I am wondering when I am going to see him again. I find I am thinking about the time in between, almost despite myself. It’s wonderful, and disconcerting, all at the same time. No, not really, it’s not disconcerting.

Look at the handsome Asian boys all in a row. With their brown almond eyes and skin that glows. Their square jaws and their beautiful black hair. Kiss the cute Asian boy, feel his soft skin. Hug him. Make him feel loved. It does get in. There was a time there where I only want to fuck Asian guys. Butch Asian lads with Aussie accents, tongue out, I couldn’t get enough of them. I don’t know why, but it wasn’t something I felt a need to question. It just was, and it was good.  It really was a phase, and it culminated in Steve, the perfect boyfriend. And he was great, but, I think, I wore him out in the end. Poor Steve, he really was too good for me. He tried to be laid back and a hustler like me, but it wasn’t him, he couldn’t do it. Shame, as he was really the loveliest a guy could ever meet.

I found Rowan. It was one of those chance meetings, almost 10 years after we’d lost touch.  I was out at a gay bar drinking with Nick, and Nick had got lucky and left with some guy.  It was late, and I had nothing to do the next day, so I just stayed sitting at the bar. Note for any reason other than it was one of those nights when I was just too lazy to walk my lazy arse home. So, I drank. People came and went. The bar was busy, then it wasn’t so busy. The barmen were efficient. It is kind of a lonely vigil sitting at a gay bar on your own until the late hours, when you don’t want anything from anyone. Eventually, I was contemplating heading home. Some guy bumped me, I looked around to see who the clumsy arse was, he mumbled some apology, and it was Rowan. “Hey!” said Rowan “Hey!” “Fuck me!” “Straight to the point.” “I wasn’t expecting to see you.” “No,” I said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.” “What are you doing here?” “Drinking,” I said. “Er, being gay. You?” “Um, er, meet...

Amanda and Rick, my parents, said that if I met a nice girl, who I really cared about, then yes, I was allowed to bring her home and sleep with her. That was pretty much the sex talk. Girls I'd met the night before certainly didn’t qualify. There was never an age prescribed, other than the girl had to be old enough that her parents wouldn't arrive on the doorstep and demand to know why my parents were allowing their son to screw their daughter. She had to be her own person like that, only answerable to herself for her decisions. In other words, come from a family of sane people and not from a pack of religious wowsers – my words, not theirs. I think it is healthy. Teenagers should be encouraged to screw each other in the safety of their family home. That way they learn about life, they learn about each other in a safe and controlled environment. But, I never did. Was that because I slept with boys? Do parents worry about someone else's son screwing their son? Maybe they do?...

I went out dancing last night. It had been a busy week, work had been full on. I wanted some distraction, so I popped a pill just before midnight and went out just after midnight. I found good music and a pretty crowd, sweaty, and enthusiastically dancing. One of my favourite DJs was playing. It's what I needed, a good, mindless dance.  Yvonne was there, lurking on the edge of the dance floor, the way she does, always on the lookout, as cool as you like, so I got another pill and I popped that too. “Yvonne?” “Josh?” “You having a good night?” “It’s a bit quiet.” “Can I make is busier in a small way?” “What?” “Pill?” “How many?” “One?” “A very small way.” “It’s okay?” “I’m not standing here for my good looks.” “No.” “I’m glad I can write that off with you being gay.” “Oaky.” “Here.” “Thanks. The usual?” “Transfer?” “Yes.” “You’re a gem.” “I know.” The lights were good. The music was just fine. I got on the dance floor and danced. I love that feeling of getting high and getting on th...

I'm sitting up in bed smoking joint, as the sun comes up. What time is it? I fell asleep watching TV. I was dreaming about being lost in some religious cult. The rat-faced priest was holding my arm, holding me back, Sister Mother Maria was trying to stop him from stopping me. My head was spinning, as they yelled religious truths at me, kind of like a chant. When I woke, the evangelicals were blaring from the flat-screen TV. “Reeepent in the name of JeeZUS, our lord and sayvyour. Amen. Amen!  That's what the insomniacs are given a diet of, what they get when they are at their most vulnerable, sleep deprived. It's akin to water-boarding wearing you down, where you will accept anything, admit to anything, believe anything, I suspect. I so object to them, that American disease, the TV evangelist coming to Australia like a virus.  I stare at them, I smoke my joint. I allow their insanity seep into the room, if momentarily. You have to view it as satire, you have to, otherwise it...