Coda Josh Grant

I went walking in the afternoon, for some exercise and some Malaysian food. I was doing the Swanston Street circuit, giving my knees a rest from running. The sun was shining. I ran through the park on the grass, then I walked. I headed up Lygon Street for an ice cream, lemon and passion fruit gelati. I'm sure it was probably too cold for an ice cream, but the old chick running the place laugh a too-many-cigarettes laugh and said "Nah, I've already had two today." One could perhaps tell from her girth. A cute young wog boy in grey track pants was walking up Lygon Street. He had a bag flung over the shoulder of his blue t-shirt. The t-shirt hugged his chest. The track pants hugged his arse, nice it was too. I was just looking back at him, at the bulge in the front of those grey jersey pants, it hung down long and I reckon I could see the head finishing it off, when his eyes met mine. I think he saw what I was looking at. Nice eyes. Handsome face. He had nice...

I spend the long weekend at home with a crystal bag and porn on dvd, hard drive and online. Shrug. I don't mind being on my own with meth, in fact I like it. I love that feeling, those filthy thoughts that come from the crystal pipe. Everything becomes a filthy mind fuck, everyone is in my sights. I get really sick thoughts, some of which I would never share with you here. Not a chance. (Oh, I could, they are nothing, I’d get arrested for) Let's just say, I never have to watch MILF's fucking their hot sons ever again. Those hot sons, good sorts. My son’s best friend. We see how you look at him. Daniel was away in Sydney after spending the week up there for a medical conference. 
There was a ring on the doorbell and I don't know why I answered it, but I did and it was Candy. I love Candy, she is such a boy in a girl's body. She is such a filthy beta male, just missing a cock. She's just dirty. She and I get on really well. 
"Look at you," she sa...

Nice legs, baby. Now let's just slide you out of those briefs... come on, spread your legs, there is a good guy. If you get Alex with a nose full of something, or a gut full of grog, he lets all the pretence go.

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.”