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  1. #1
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Right

    So I know the diary-as-novel is a pretty old standard these days, but I thought it might be a worthwhile exercise to have a bash at one.

    It's still very much a work in progress with only about 15 entries thus far over the preceding 10 weeks, but I figured I'd start publishing now or fall into my usual trap of hoarding the damn thing for a decade and not letting it see the light of day. So here it is - the first three entries.

    I'll post entries as I finish and polish them, but I promise no semblance of regularity - you've been warned.

    Comments welcome.
    -d-

    ****************

    3 March 2008

    Today in history: Gandhi started a hunger strike in Bombay in 1939. And Time Magazine published its first ever issue in 1923.

    Nothing quite as exciting or memorable as that going on here, I’m afraid. My news of the day is that after only two full weeks of actually being at varsity I am dangerously fucking close to failing Maths 1. Okay, so it’s probably like waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too early to say for sure, just 11 lessons into the semester, but I am so fucking lost already. Grumpy old Mr Botham back at school was right – I’ll need to work much harder to keep abreast of things here at university.

    In other news, none. It’s another week; I’m still feeling my way through this whole thing. More and more, though, I wonder if I shouldn’t have opted to go away to college, like they always do on tv. It would be a worse education, technically, since UCT is the only African university ranked in the Top 200 institutions in the world, but the guys who are here at UCT from up-country or abroad just seem to be having more fun than I am. I mean, if I’m going to bomb out in class I might as well at least be enjoying my time here!

    Trevor is also really starting to work on my nerves. He’s as thick as a plank but doesn’t seem to know this; how in the name of Chr!st he got into university is beyond me. His mom must be sleeping with someone powerful; it’s either that or some or other witchcraft. We have another sodding Physics practical this afternoon as well, and if the last two are anything to go on it will be another late day with me doing all the work while he bumbles along cocking everything up behind me. He already spent the first quarter of an hour of my day up here talking about some pointless crap while I was trying to mingle with my classmates and attempt to actually meet some new people. New people seem to know to shun Trevor instinctively, something I can’t do since we’re paired up for some pracs – thanks, dad, for having a shit surname so he and I are back to back on the class list.

    Okay, be fair – I’m cranky because I’m not getting any sex yet (as usual) and I still haven’t found out the name of the Mystery Man in the front row, the cute one I mentioned last week with the serious haircut and the steel-framed glasses. In my mind he’s built like a tank, and I say something witty to him and he laughs and then for no reason I fuck the bejesus out of him with little ceremony and/or foreplay. I suspect The Clergy would not really appreciate my use of the J-word (even when hidden in another word) when talking about gay stuff, and less so when I should be focusing on my maths, but G0d, he’s hot. Oops – did it again.

    More as it happens. I like having this free period in the middle of the day so I can write this stuff down, even though I should probably use it to try to gain some ground in class.

    -C
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  2. #2
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    4 March 2008

    Fact of the Day: Sponges are animals. I feel like I should have known this and I’m not at all sure why I thought they were plants. I’m glad someone else blurted out plants in class before I did – so much of condescending laughter; it burns us, Precious!

    Another eleven minutes of Trevor to start my day before I faked the need to have a wee and ditched him. Victoria, as only she can, thinks he’s sweet; Kim encourages him, just because she can be a total cow when she has The Lady Troubles. I’m guessing, judging from her complete bovine-ness (is that a word?), that it is PMS-City for Kim at the mo, and in a bitchy way I am kinda glad about that even if it makes the daily commute less than pleasant.

    This is another reason why I should have gone for the inferior education and headed up to Joburg to go to varsity at Wits – living on campus would mean not sitting on the sodding highway for 50 minutes every morning with Ryan singing along to all the crap on the radio, another thing all these foreigners from Up North studying here don’t have to do.

    Caught the eye of Mystery Man yesterday in between classes when our paths crossed outside before Cell Biology, and gave him a smile and a nod. He did not reciprocate. Either MM couldn’t place me, or the smile and nod came across as desperate or maybe psychotic. If the latter, hopefully it was psychotic. I’d rather be thought of as “crazy” if only because it is probably a bit cooler than being thought of as “sad.”

    He dresses nicely, MM, all preppy-cool. I prefer surfer-cool, if I’m honest, which is how I dress (regardless of Kim’s mooing on the subject, the beefy slag), but it suits him. He has lovely tanned skin, which I am both jealous of and would love to suck on for a bit. In my world, there is a tiny, tiny Speedo tan under those linen pants of his but I reckon this is certainly not the case. Mr G_d would have to be smiling on me big time for that to happen, and, well, he generally doesn’t. In my world he’d probably also be wearing something colourful and fun for undies, but given the average .za boy’s penchant for dull boxerbriefs, cheapish and black/white/grey/navy, I suspect those prevail too. *theatrical sigh* The thought of him makes me all tingly, you know, down there.

    Luckily Trevor is not in the same group as me in our lab for Chem practicals because Kim wants us to move in the prac this afternoon and get done ASAP so we can get home quickly. Apparently she is starting a new waitressing job tonight - since cigarettes have become so expensive, I guess Paul has got tired of forking out for them and is making her pay for her own. Hahahahahahahaha bitch. Should I suggest she just put out for him instead, and then when she does point out that that kinda is the very definition of whoring? Tempting.

    -C
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  3. #3
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    6 March 2008

    Things I like:
    garlic bread. Proper stuff, French loaf, sliced into rounds, with garlic and herbs and butter in between, wrapped in foil and then baked to a beautifully tasty, drippy, garlicky unhealthy fabulousness. We had some with dinner last night, for no reason I could see. Usually it comes out when we have finger-food and snacks and that at parties and/or events; not complaining, though, even though it was weird. A peace offering from mom to dad, perhaps? He likes it more than I do.

    I have news - I am becoming gayer, it seems. Hard to believe that just two years ago I’d never really considered it, then suddenly bam! Hard for hard-ons. I have yet to really broach this subject - my sexuality - with anyone except you, Diary, so mum’s the word for now, yeah?

    Still, the reason I am saying this is because last night I was unbelievably horny and I may have actually gone through with it, the very thing I’ve been threatening to do for ages and although everyone on the internet says it’s completely normal, I can’t imagine reading about it in a Men’s Health. Maybe the readers’ submissions in FHM, sure; Bizarre definitely, but until MH carries it I won’t be convinced. Of course you know what I mean, don’t you? In case you don’t, well, bad luck. Still, bitter, slightly salty with a hint of boiled chicken and a bit like household bleach; Jik, to be precise.

    At least what I assume Jik tastes like – I’ve never tasted bleach, I don’t think. Apparently, according to dad, I did have a few mouthfuls of that other cleaning standard, Handy Andy, as a kid before Mom stopped me; the lemon one which itself looks not unlike cum, really. Cum or come? I prefer come, if I’m honest. Anyway, was the guzzling of a bit of Handy Andy as a tot something of a foretelling? Parents, watch out for your baby boys – they might catch The Gay from a bottle of lemon-scented scrub.

    Still, it was in the shower and I had the raging horn while trying to decide whether I should be manscaping or not - since it appears to be pretty common these days, and I don't want to be left behind, do I? - and so I had to take matters in hand. Don't judge me, Diary, it's been a long, dry season.

    As The Moment of Truth approached, a stupid fucking pigeon flew onto the windowsill and scared the living piss – well, come – out of me. Usually I aim it up, up and away and really fire that shit out but I got such a fright I stopped after breaking point and just ended up dribbling into my right hand. Not exactly a five-star orgasm, either, a two-star at most in the end and a waste of a perfectly good buildup, I thought.

    “But hey – make the best of a bad situation,” I said to myself. It took a bit of nerve to actually do it, though – it wasn’t exactly warm by the time I finally went for it, but I’m not sure that would have made it better. I don’t know whether I could do it again, mine or someone else’s. Still, is that a milestone of sexual development I should be proud of? I like to think it is.

    Later I couldn’t sleep, so I wrote a poem:

    MM, do you manscape?
    Are you bald like a stone on the beach?
    Or are you natural like Greek yoghurt
    Your bum a little fluffy, and fuzzy like a peach?
    That is a perfect metaphor for
    your butt, so firm and untanned.
    If I can’t put something up inside it
    Could I hold it in my hand?

    And while I’m at it, MM, would you swallow?

    This awesome display of latent literary talent demonstrates why I am majoring in Chemistry.

    It’s Thursday and I don’t have a big prac this afternoon. Paolo, who is across the bench from me in Chem pracs (there are 4 spaces on each bench; 2 on either side), has invited me and a handful of interested others to have a kick-around at lunchtime in the hope that we can put together a team for the indoor football league which starts up next month. New people to meet! I am looking rather forward to it.

    -C
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  4. #4
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Enjoying the slice of South African life, Black. Are there autobiographical elements in this piece?

  5. #5
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    ^thanks very much.

    There are a few minor elements from my own early-mid 90s undergrad days in there, but not terribly much. My own story thus far is even less worth writing about than the protagonist's, I'm afraid. I did however base Kim on my old lab partner and Victoria and Ryan on some of the people in my old lift club, though.

    -d-
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  6. #6
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    7 March 2008

    Things I can’t take seriously:
    emo kids. I mean, really? I remember when music was more music than lifestyle, and I’m the same age as half these idiots. Get a fucking haircut, for one, and two, I’m happy to help you smudge your eyeliner for that tearful look. With my fist.

    Spent the first twenty minutes listening to details of Trevor’s hot date from last night. Um… it wasn’t. I’m a little surprised she (no name; I wonder if she’s even real) didn’t smash an Austrian crystal wineglass from the exotic restaurant over his head about three minutes into the thing, since it sounds like it was the very definition of a dull evening with someone creepy. Kim must be even more PMSsy than usual, since she actually said that. To his face.

    Victoria has been appalled at our behavior – apparently she spotted our Trev at the Student Youth for Jesus house just off middle campus, where she spends a lot of her time, and he has thus grown in leaps and bounds in her mind. Since she clearly has the Jesus spirit in her, I can’t in good conscience even suspect her for liking him just because he’s loaded (he is; I wasn’t joking about the Austrian crystal glasses. Seriously, he drives a new GTi and has a Breitling watch, and those were his 18th birthday presents from his folks. His family is l-o-a-d-e-d). I do wish he’d quit with Charles, though, and call me Charley like I’ve asked him to. Clearly he appreciates my parents’ regal upper-class ideals – in fairness, there hasn’t exactly been a King Trevor popping up in the history books as far as I know.

    Okay, so I’ve remembered why I played hockey at school instead of football. I didn’t do too badly, but some of those other guys… wow, they’re good. Not sure I’d be good enough to make the team, but since there is quite a lot of talent among us we’re thinking about entering two teams and then I should be okay. Nice bunch of guys, too. Okay okay, a nice looking bunch of guys. I stuttered and stammered my way through most of the thing trying to not get a stiffy. I think at least one of them is gay, a B.Com guy from Paolo’s dorm called Tim; and possibly one of the two engineers, Colin, but I’m not completely sure in either case. Did I mention I have terrible gaydar? I blame the emo kids for this as well – at least Back in what experts and historians would wisely refer to as The Day you could be fairly certain that two guys all up in each other’s business were actually gay.

    I bailed on the football earlyish to grab a quick shower afterwards before my maths tut (did I mention I am fucking out something chronic in maths?) because I must’ve smelled like a miner; school being the way it was I’m not used to showering in company so I deliberately went early so I wouldn’t have to get nekkid with an audience of people I sort-of knew. Imagine my dismay when four of the others pitched up to shower ten minutes later. I was being all brave about it and everything, but I kinda had to and oh my days, Paolo is fucking HUGE! Jeebers, his knob is about six inches flaccid; possibly longer down than mine is up, which I don’t think is fair. How sad it is to be a .za white guy of English descent – the black guys and the white Afrikaans guys and the guys with Portuguese blood in them always seem significantly bigger than us, according to the covert studies I've carried out at the gym. I wonder if the English have the smallest cocks in the EU? There’s a Master’s degree for someone in that study; I’d do it if I could touch and take pictures… where was I? Oh yes – the showers. I looked, of course, and I wasn’t the smallest guy there, thank G_d, but I took a super-quick super-cold shower anyway so I didn’t pop a cock-stand with all the eye-candy on display.

    The locker rooms are a little gammy, as well – there is an Odour, for one, and they could use an overhaul. Anyway, looking at Paolo, all freaky and hairy and shit; he looks like he’s wearing a jersey in the shower, it reminds me that after The Taste two nights ago I didn’t get in there with a razor after all – better do that this evening before heading out.

    Yes, that’s right; you read it correctly – I am heading out. I have cracked the nod to a house party, having clearly made something of an impression with the guys playing football. Hello, social ladder; don’t mind me while I climb you.

    -C
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  7. #7
    ********* JUB Moderator Autolycus's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Nice to see a different approach to story telling - your diary is most entertaining.

    Damn! I have admitted that I have read it - surely it is not the right thing to do? Aren't diaries meant to be private?

    Keep writing - I promise not to disclose any of your secrets



  8. #8
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    ^Thanks very much.

    Is anyone else reading? Feel free to comment - pluses and minuses all welcomed.

    -d-
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  9. #9
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Mon 10 March 2008

    Song of the Day:
    Tokyo Police Club – Tessellate. Get it while it’s hot, guys – it won’t be ’08 forever…

    Unlike gorgeous Mystery Man, who appears to be aceing this stuff, I’m even more behind in maths than usual following a workless weekend, and now in the shit at home to boot. Friday’s house party turned into a massive dog show about halfway through and I made the mistake of a.) letting on that I'd never been pass-out drunk before, and then b.) letting some big rugby players mix me drinks all night. I was fine until I had to get up for a piss and by then I realized I was in trouble, but of course when you finally figure out that you’re slurring and can't walk straight it’s already too late.

    I’ll admit I didn’t know one person could puke so much and actually still live. I say that because – and I’m not joking – I managed to lose almost four kilograms since Friday night, according to the scale at the gym. I threw up all over the fucking place. Nothing where it shouldn’t be – at least, not on the carpets or floors so nobody had to clean up after me; not sure those flowerbeds are going to be productive for too much longer, though – but I prayed to the porcelain gods at home for pretty much nineteen hours between 11pm Friday and 6pm Saturday.

    Mom’s anger – and dad’s unofficial hilarity; not helping an already tenuous period of domestic jockeying, as suspected in previous entry re garlic bread – at me daring to "arrive at my house in that... state” had changed to concern when I still couldn’t even keep half a glass of water down by lunchtime, and I’m pretty sure she only didn’t kill me because she thought God would finish me off first. Hell, even I thought I was dying; in between the sweats and stomach cramps all I could think about was hanging on and not kicking the bucket until I shag something (MM, where are you?).

    Note I did say something, and not necessarily someone – this is indicative of my current level of desperation. I blame American teen sex-comedy films about baked goods for this anguish; and for once I identify, and sympathise, with Australian and Welsh farmers. No, wait - I identify with the farmers; I sympathise with their sheep.

    Nevertheless, destroying my reputation and my imminent near-death aside, I appear to have been quite the Belle of the Ball – at least, the male equivalent; the (shaven) Balls of the Ball, perhaps? – and my antics and escapades will live on in my new nickname, Flyweight Charley. I suspect this accolade and new-found respect is related to how little of me is left physically following the amount of mass I lost via the Mystical Art of Being Violently Ill into the Koi Pond. Those fish are expensive; hope they're all okay.

    For once, the pre-class talk was all about me and Trevor and Kim had to suck it up and just listen. I’m sure in my own way I was Sticking it to the Man. Alas, not Sticking it into MM. I have really got to find out this guy’s name.

    Oh shit – I didn’t do the Cell Bio assignment and it’s due in half an hour...

    -F.C <------ note................../proud
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  10. #10
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    I was never good at writing in a diary or journal. Therefore, BBN, I will enjoy myself vicariously through yours. Just be careful with that razor...lol Fun story!

    Craiger

  11. #11
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    ^Thanks, will do!

    174 views so far and only 3 replies? Hmmm.

    Nevertheless... onward!

    -d-
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  12. #12
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Thurs 13 March 2008

    Things which irritate me:
    Trevor, and that almighty bitch Kim. ‘nuff said.

    Praise be – I think Maths is going to be okay. We did Class Test 1 last night – yes, that’s right; it was from 6pm. A night exam from 6pm, following a no-prac afternoon of mooching around from lunchtime? This is another reason why Going Away to College would have been a good idea – I could have headed off to my room for 5 hours instead of loitering around up here doing sweet fuck-all. It sucks not having a car.

    Anyway, I think I did okay at the test and that’s what counts; my level of entertainment will have to hang back in a fairly distant second at this point. So Maths might be fine – yay! Friday’s in-class Chem test is going to be another story, though… just as well that’s happening during the period and not Friday night, because a.) it’s Friday night, and b.) I have crappy Bio pracs on a Friday afternoon. Not sure why the Maths test wasn’t in class – probably because it was two fucking hours long – and the Chem and Physics ones are shorter and fit in during lecture times. Anyway, I am feeling better about the Maths, which is at least some sort of start.

    As we were waiting to go into the exam room, though, just to put my precarious pre-maths mental balance off a little further like the gigantic rump steak of a cow she is, Kim rather gleefully pointed out that someone who can’t hold his liquor is often colloquially called a lightweight, and that in boxing the lightweights are divided into Bantamweight, Featherweight and – of course – Flyweight, hence my new nickname. I am thus trying to find proof that in at least one of the four thousand languages scattered all over this shitty dirtbox of a planet, Kim actually means “obnoxious fat slut.”

    I have not had much luck with that as yet, if I'm honest. Thus, I have also decided to find someone at one of these Wicca/RPG/Fantasy/likewise deranged hippie societies we seem to have plenty of on campus who can put a pregnancy spell on her, and wipe that smirk off her Revlon Whore Red (and, incidentally, perfect-for-cocksucking) lips once and for all.

    Speaking of red, a plus of night-time exams is that thanks to the randomness of the seating for the exam – you draw a number from a box and that’s the seat you’re in; to ensure that nobody can have planned to pass notes to each other during the test, apparently, since you can’t choose your spot – MM was two seats ahead of me and one row off to the right, a Knight’s move in Chess (and a horse I would not mind a ride on, let me tell you!), and I got to stare at his back and imagine rude things every time I looked up.

    His shirt rode up a little as he stood to hand in his paper and jackpot! I got a glimpse of some undies – white waistband, fairly boxerbrief-esque and probably a disappointing, generic, cheap store brand, I would guess from the lack of writing on the waistband (surprising, given the cost of the rest of his kit. Diesel jeans? Hello!), but the rest of them were distinctly and unexpectedly bright, vibrant red. I believe you can tell a lot about a guy by his choice of unmentionables and so this is indeed a turn-up for the books.

    I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy this replay several times later on during some Quiet Time in my bed and I will report the occurrence of one (1) 4-star money shot during these proceedings. I managed to talk myself out of a second taste, however; much as I think I would like to have another crack at it, it was not entirely pleasant last time.

    On that note, Quiet Time is amazingly smooth and sensual thanks to the good folks at Schick and their wonderful disposable Extreme 3 series of razors and shaving gel for Sensitive Skin like mine. I’m not sure I did the cleanest, neatest tidy-up job of my tangled and untamed man-garden, but it wasn’t terrible for a first try and I do love touching it now. Haha I’ve just touched it again before typing this very sentence! Mmmm silky.

    And on that note, we have another kick-around at lunchtime today – 2 hours’ time – and if like last week I get shower company afterwards it will be the first time any other humans have seen my bits all shaved and manscaped. I’d be lying if I said the thought was not a little worrying.

    -C <------ note
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  13. #13
    ********* JUB Moderator Autolycus's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Still keeping up with you - sad most folk fail to add a complimentary remark

    Maybe if your title was 'The Diary of a Sex-starved Charley' you would get more hits and more than a smidgen of responses. Unless your dick is hanging out in every other sentence the readers move on to the next tale of erotica like lemmings falling off a cliff!

    Your sense of humor is terrific - can't wait to read how your next sortie into the humiliation of communal showers pans out, shaven bits and all



  14. #14
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Well- I for one am enjoying this. I LOVE Y'alls sharp wit!

    Auto is right... very few people comment.
    I had one of the more prolific authors on this board tell me, that if his comment to view ratio, was over one (yes 1!) percent, then he felt as if he were having a red letter day...
    As long as Y'all keep posting bb, I'll keep reading!

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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    I have to agree with both above. And, BBN, you have been with us for over 5 years so you know how persnickety some of our fellow JUBers can be. Auto may have hit on something in referring to the erotica most look for, however, I think it's nice to have a humorous, well written story with a few sexual overtones thrown in every so often. Don't get discouraged. Also, I glad to hear that the razor worked well even though I prefer a more untamed man-garden....lol

    Craiger

  16. #16
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Thanks for the compliments and the support thus far.

    -d-
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  17. #17
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Fri 14 March 2008
    # of Days since My Penis last got Touched:
    1
    # of Days since My Penis last got Touched involving Another Real Human: 6782

    So it seems the internet can tell you anything. It says I was born on a Wednesday and at this time I have lived 6782 days; that’s 18 years and change with about five months till 19. Without putting too fine a point on it, that seems far too long to not be fucking other people with some semblance of regularity, myself excluded; and far too long to have not yet had relations with someone at some point in my lifetime.

    At this point I’m wondering whether I could make money as the poster boy for Virgin Atlantic. I’ll be a laughing stock, but at least I’ll get free flights to exotic places during which I'll not join the Mile High Club on. Sad to think that the only time anyone else has ever shaken my moneymaker was to circumcise the damn thing 6782 days ago.

    Neat segue – our group of post-football showerers (still a low five from twelve playing; not nearly enough wanking material for my liking) seems to have a 60:40 split in favour of circumcision with three of us presumably having had our winkies butchered against our wills as babies. I’m not sure how representative these numbers are given our small sample size, but I will make a point of looking even more from now on. Anyway, Colin, Danny and I have been done; Paolo and Russell have not.

    I am thinking more now that Colin might well be gay – I noticed him glancing furtively at Danny while they showered yesterday, and he also gave me the once-over, although I was sitting in my towel since I bailed early to avoid the rush and was eager to not yet put my amateur topiary skills on display.

    Nevertheless, I wonder if I’m Colin’s type? He seems like a nice guy, seven out of ten looks-wise and not in bad shape at all, and unless he is like the world’s biggest grower I don’t think he would do too much damage to my servants’ entrance. Honestly, I could quite easily do worse…

    …but probably not in Chem. I’m pretty sure I saw my arse in a mirror with today’s test. All multiple choice questions, but so few of the answers I worked out were in the options to choose from, so clearly there was some fuckery afoot somewhere. Hopefully they will look at my workings and give me some marks for what I’ve done, although logic dictates that if the workings were correct the answer I got would have been one of the sodding options on the page. I aced Chem at high school, and I had no idea I wasn’t getting the hang of it here; unlike Maths which I was pretty certain I was lost in from like Day 2.

    Ironically, Grant who usually sits behind me was most aggrieved he couldn’t see my answers over my shoulder – no random seat allocations this time; not sure why – because he was hoping to cheat off me and doesn’t believe me that I think I bombed out completely.

    Things are pretty tense at home. Last night the ‘rentals weren’t even talking when I got there and that didn’t change by the time I headed off to bed. I assumed Mandy had pissed them off – she can be divisive and manipulative, that one; very good at playing the rest of us off against each other – but she was still at school at drama practice and hadn’t been home yet. I wonder what is going on. They argue like an old married couple, the folks, but then again it’s because they kinda are.

    This weirdness of the last few weeks is more than a little odd. I wonder if they’re still having sex; or perhaps a lack of desire on someone’s part is causing all this. Eeeuw, now that I think about it – do I really want to know that my folks are still getting their legs over at their age?

    Odd. I will do some detectivating at some point. But only after quickly getting all that sodding Chem figured out. I do hope this doesn’t fuck up my DP too much.

    -C
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  18. #18
    ********* JUB Moderator Autolycus's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Sadly, geographical location precludes any possibility of giving you that long awaited touch. However, your daily dose of diary notes is quite touching in a metaphorical sense



  19. #19
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    What can we do to help????? Give us some clue as to your needs and we'll see what we can arrange. Always glad to help a fellow traveler in the hormonal world of sexuality.

    Craiger

  20. #20
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Tuesday 18 March 2008
    Things I like:
    heavy drinking

    I have a hangover. Another big night out for young Flyweight Charley (is there a lower weight?) and although I didn’t organically water the garden last night like last time, in a way I wish I had since I don’t think I’d be sitting here feeling as shit as I do if I’d mokked it all up on the way home instead of keeping it all bottled up inside like a tough guy’s emotions after he fucks out completely in a maths test.

    A lot of people went out on the piss last night, since it turns out rather a lot of us may have very slightly fucked out completely in that maths test which I thought I did rather well in. I didn’t. When I looked at my mark on the board, I’m pretty sure a bit of wee came out; thank heavens for double-lined pouch front boxerbriefs by Bad Boy Inc of Brazil so I didn’t get a wet spot on my boardies; and while I’m at it thank heavens for black boardies for in case.

    On the plus side, nobody in my little lift club – including Kim, thank G_d – did well, so I’m not the only one sitting here nipping about next semester. We all have a lot of work to do, it seems. The car stank of piss on the way home yesterday.

    I think MM did okay, given that the marks went up yesterday lunchtime and he seemed quite chipper during class today while most of us were feeling very sorry for ourselves indeed and refusing to look Prof in the eye as he gave today’s lecture on matrices. I wonder if somehow I could kill two birds with one stone and get him to tutor me in Maths in exchange for sexual favours. MM, I mean, not Prof. Eeeuw, he has a huge, fuck-off beard! On a related note, could I be the first person in the world literally forced into prostitution by mathematics?

    Even thinking about that is aggravating my headache. I managed to hide it all from my mom this morning only by some or other black magic, and I practically had to drink half a bottle of Listerine to cover the reek of whatever was seeping out of my pores when I stumbled out of bed still in my jeans from last night. I kept them on – seems getting that plastered interferes with your parasympathetic nervous system, according to the Bio lectures we had last week, and that’s why you get the whiskey dick and can’t get it up. It causes the alcohol equivalent of cold-water shrinkage, and I didn’t really want to encounter my already unimpressively average knob in that state so I didn’t get undressed for bed in the end.

    Not sure exactly how many units I had last night either, but my wallet is kinda light at the moment; either I drank half a distillery or we were being raped by the inflated prices down at The Naut. Then again, if you knock back enough Jaeger bombs, that is certain to perform a complete and total cashectomy on even the most stuffed money clip. That’s right, kids, Trevor has a money clip instead of a wallet. I’m clearly not doing this right.

    Also in the glow of too much booze in the car on the way home, I might have very slightly fantasized about doing something x-rated with him a little bit; very worrying indeed since I only realised what was happening and with whom quite far into the damn thing. So you see, kids, this is why binge-drinking is bad. This has been a public service announcement.

    -C
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  21. #21
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    I love it!

    I've known for a while now that you are a bright, clever and witty guy, with a sense of humor that tickles my funny bone.

    Until now, I've just been able to see the "waistband" of your mind. I've always wanted to see more. And now... jackpot!

    Thanks, -d-

    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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  22. #22
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Thanks for the latest entry, bb!

  23. #23
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Oh god! I remember those days. College seems to have an ill effect on all young students....................

    Craiger

  24. #24
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Such a complicated life! Maths, hangover and a sad state of abject limpness coupled with unrequited lust - enough to make any man, straight or whatever go to bed in his jeans

    For all your angst - I am loving it!



  25. #25
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Wednesday 19 March 2008

    Today in history:
    Big day for shitstorms, it seems, with the 26th anniversary of the start of the Falklands War and the 5th anniversary of Bush Jr’s declaration of war on Saddam all happening today. Also, on this day in 2002 crazy old Comrade Bob managed to get our northern neighbour Zim booted out of the Commonwealth. It’s people like him who make the case for the non-existence, and/or against the omnipotence, of G_d. I mean, one loony, syphilitic octogenarian shouldn’t really be able to wreak as much havoc as he seems to without someone up top getting a touch pissy about it all and seriously fucking his shit up for him to prove who’s boss. So how about it, Mr G?

    Did some shopping last night and might be sporting a single pair of red boxerbriefs myself as I type this, imitation being the sincerest form of flattery (stalkery?) and all. However, I couldn’t quite bring myself to buy the cheap nasty ones I’m pretty sure MM had on, from that low-cost giant who everyone except me seems to love shopping at, so I got mine from Woolworths.

    A bit of internet research seems to indicate that US Woolworths is very different to ours in that ours is quite upmarket and theirs apparently isn’t. I don’t usually get my stuff from there, since although they have made strides it’s still aimed way too old/dull/conservative usually, but their socks and jocks are good quality stuff if you aren’t looking for brands since they don’t carry branded gear, and none of my usual brands had anything in red, so Woolies was the obvious choice.

    These ones are not the eco-friendly ones from the organic cotton range at Woolies, simply because I refuse to wear anything with the word Organic printed on the waistband in a shitty, faux-handwriting font. J3sus, organic underwear? Is this really what we’re coming to? My undies are nasty, maltreated, battery cotton, just like the stuff from the cheap and nasty megastore mentioned above. But much better quality because they’re from Woolies. So I’m an elitist – sue me.

    Also, if I'm going to have something written in an almighty, fuck-off sized font on the waistband for everyone to read, it would be a brand. A good brand, or an expensive brand, or an infamous brand, or a brand with some street cred, and it certainly wouldn't fucking say Organic on it it big effeminate hippie handwriting.

    I do wonder how the low-cost giant does as well as it does, you know. Down at the gym and all over campus you see these guys wearing hideously overpriced Puma trackies or Guess jeans and Nike shoes and Oakley sunnies with an el cheapo t-shirt and undies from these guys on. Surely you make sure that the stuff which you dress The Twins in is good quality? I don’t get that at all.

    Everyone here in .za is so brand conscious and yet everyone has tons of cheap, nasty shit in their cupboards from these guys. One of the guys in PhysEd last year had some of their shoes to train in. He bragged that they cost less than ¼ of my New Balances and he could easily afford to replace them when they fucked out every 6 months. I’ve had those Newbs for 2 years now and they are easily going to manage another two, and they aren’t fucking up my spine and hips when I run in them. Who’s laughing now? Twat.

    This is actually bugging me, now that I think about it. For fuck’s sake, MM, get some decent G_ddamn underpants! I wonder how weird it would be if I bought a decent pair for him and slipped them into his bag? Actually, don’t answer that. Too weird, right, especially if I got spotted – try to explain that away: "No, I didn't steal his; I bought these for him. Hmmm? Oh... no reason." Either way, I wouldn’t wear a pair of boxers or anything which I found lying around which I knew weren’t mine, so why would he? Bad idea. Although... no, bad idea.

    And come to think of it, it’s amazing how many people seem to forget their undies and leave them lying around at the gym, all sweaty and stretched and holey and horrible with skidmarks in. Probably because they’re all too fucking lame trying to hide under their towels to change after showering remember to pick up their kit. Wankers. People changing under towels is my pet peeve. Even during my shy HS days I didn't ever do that. Not that I'd stand there like some guys did, legs akimbo and tackle out, but I'd have a t-shirt on and just quickly drop my towel and put my undies on; no weird towel-based Cirque du Soleil-inspired contortions to make sure nobody spots anything like those other tossers do. For fuck's sake, man up, all of you!

    -C
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  26. #26
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    aaaahh.... got my Charley fix!....

    I already feel like Charley is one of my best buds. Can't wait to hear what he's been up to.

    Good one, -d-!....
    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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  27. #27
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Bless Charlie. He's really concerned about the proper underwear for MM.....lol
    I hope he gets into his pants soon and straightens him out.... But, on the other hand, it's fun bitching and dreaming.

    Craiger

  28. #28
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Friday 21 March 2008
    Fact of the day:
    I suck at self-evaluation.

    So remember that which shall never be spoken of again, the erstwhile horrendous maths test I discovered I was quite bad at having thought I’d probably actually done rather well and thus had completely the wrong end of the stick? The same thing happened again – I aced that Chem test. Well, aced is too strong a word, but it turns out they round the answers to the nearest x-many places and that’s why I wasn’t getting the exact answers they were. Still, 76% is a first-class pass, and I thought I blew it. And I thought I aced maths when I fucked that one up, so clearly the only real thing which needs recalibration is my internal scale of Wow, Look How Well I Did/n’t!

    One thing at which How Well I Did/n't was the football yesterday. I did something chronic to my back at the kick-around. No idea what; I went up after a long ball and felt it tweak in the middle, and although it was kinda very slightly tender when I limped off to the showers afterwards I can barely fucking move today. Not great with a dissection on the cards for this afternoon’s Bio prac on those tiny lumbago-esque prep benches. I suspect I am going to need to be stretchered off to the car this evening afterwards, and can see that Kim will probably try to hurry me along because she has to file her nails, or something equally self-centered and pointless, just to aggravate it further.

    Just what I need – a completely twatted spine which will rule me out of attending anything cool this weekend. Fortunately, nobody has suggested anything yet so it will probably be the usual pool games and piss-up at the Spring Chicken or The Naut, neither of which will be significantly better or worse than the last time I was there, (Maths Mayhem Monday four days ago) and probably well worth skipping to recuperate and practice some maths instead. Assuming I can sit up to work, that is.

    Sadly, I strongly suspect that a slow, steady wank later is out of the question, since even typing this is killing me and so I'm going to end it here. This entry is unwanted, awkward, embarrassing and socially unacceptable - effectively the journal equivalent of a premature ejaculation.

    -C
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  29. #29
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Charlie needs MM to come by and give him a full body massage. Not only will that bring him out of pain, but improve his depression of the Maths test (among other things.....)

    Craiger

  30. #30
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Monday 24 March 2008

    Song of the day:
    Hey There, Delilah – The Plain White Ts. Okay, so local radio is KILLING this song almost a year after it came and went in like everywhere else. Welcome to the arse-end of the world, where they’d stick the hose in if the planet needed a decent purge.

    Worst. Weekend. Ever. Firstly, my back is still in its poes, as we say here in the rock'n'roll northern suburbs, so I spent the last 60 hours or so stretched out and moaning every time I had to do anything. I have a physio appointment booked for lunchtime here at the university Sports Injuries Clinic. Not sure this is a sports injury, but they have on-site physiotherapists and they’re cheap for students, so what could possibly go wrong? As it is, I about killed my back beyond all reasonable death by having a dig under my bed Saturday morning trying to find my er… stash of visiosexual (it is a word if I say it is) stimulatory material. Not sure why I bothered, since as predicted on Friday I couldn’t even find a position which was suitable to allow for a nice and measured build-up to the point of stress release, but I had the blue balls by late Friday night so I thought I’d have a bash at having a bash. Boy, am I regretting it.

    Anyway, not entirely sure what to tell whichever physio gets me; honesty is the best policy is all well and good but do I really want “injury further aggravated while patient attempted to locate masturbatory accessories” written on a file somewhere where someone might read it?

    The whole episode was weird in and of itself, since I’m sure after the last time I, um… exercised, I put it in its usual place - a shoebox under my bed, cunningly labelled Std 9-10 Physics Notes, but it seems I’d put it into another box entirely. I’m getting a bit alzheimery, it seems; worrying at just 18.

    Secondly, things have been upped by a few notches of weirdness at home which didn’t help things. The ‘rentals are clearly not speaking; even Mandy has pulled her ditzy high-school-girl head out of her arse for long enough to realise something is amiss and I’ll admit for the first time I am genuinely worried about what might happen to our little family. Dad and I were watching the football yesterday afternoon; Mom was out and Mandy was… I don’t know, doing whatever it is 17 year old girls do (I’d like to think she was having a lady-wank, but I doubt it. Eeuuw, though – even considering it is like eleven different kinds of wrong). At half-time, Dad kinda looked at me lying there on the couch and said something like “I guess I’ll be able to do a lot of that sometime soon, lying around waiting for something nice to happen.”

    I don’t think he was having a snipe about my doing nothing since he knows I’ve done my back in, but if not then it certainly was a hidden message of some sort. As it was, as soon as Mom got home a few minutes into the 2nd half, Dad decided he had to urgently go do… something, anything, out of the lounge and away from my mother even though he and I were really enjoying the game together. We. Ird. I wonder if one of them is sleeping around or something. Clearly they are massively disinterested in one another at the moment.

    Apparently I was missed by all the guys during the series of traditional piss-ups over the weekend. It’s nice to fit in, and, as I've long suspected, I am a nice guy and everyone deserves a mate like me. I can tell this is bugging Kim big time because, thanks to the bf Paul and his crowd of dodgy friends, she was quite The Business back at HS and here I am, the living breathing epitome of not-hugely-popular-but-more-popular-than-her. Quite frankly it is pretty obvious that I am clearly The Guy and everyone else is really just being polite when they include her in discussions. Basically, she’s kinda become my consort. But don't say that out loud if you enjoy living with your extremities attached to your body.

    Still, perhaps my mom was right and I really am a catch, in which case MM can cast his rod in my direction any time… or perhaps he should just get into the water and let me nibble on his worm for a bit.

    Okay, even I can't believe I actually just wrote that.

    -C
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  31. #31
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    aaaahh... another Charley fix!

    Intriguing and very clever (as usual).

    A great way to start the day... especially a Monday.

    Thanks, -d-!
    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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  32. #32
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Rods and worms....you'd think Charlie was going fishing........maybe for M&M's....

    Craiger

  33. #33
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Wednesday 26 March 2008

    Fact of the Day:
    Asparagus makes your wee smell all putrid. I learned this during a quick piss between Physics and Chem when Mr Questions, the very strange kid at the urinal next door, apologised for the smell he was emitting since he’d had asparagus for dinner. He seemed a little too surprised I didn’t know this, like I didn't know my own name or something; and even more surprised when I suggested it might actually be a little TMI.

    He certainly is an odd one; annoying, too. He also has a punch-me face, like some unlucky people do. He's called Mr Questions because every time any lecturer asks “are there any questions?” he fucking has one, without fail, in addition to chirping and commenting and asking questions and trying waaaaaaaay too hard to be #1 throughout the lecture anyway; not always relevant or even related to the topic at hand, either, and usually not clever and neither deliberately comedic nor genuinely stupid and thus funny otherwise. He's also short and I'm guessing has a complex about it, hence the posturing.

    And he wears stupid clothes. Not cheap'n'nasty, just ill-fitting and badly chosen, like he's an elaborate joke which we haven't all caught yet. Either that, or his parents hate him enough to not tell him he looks daft and acts like a tit.

    And he has stupid hair.

    Someone needs a kick in the balls, hard. Still, now I know about asparagus and urine – yay, I suppose, because let’s be honest, who knows when that might be the final question on Who Wants to be a Millionaire? On the plus side, since he stood half-side on, I got a look at him and my cock is bigger, and nicer, than his. Having a nice-looking cock is important, I think, and mine is incredibly photogenic.

    I have a second session booked with Ian, the spunky physiotherapist I was assigned at the Sports Clinic on Monday. He seems like he knows his stuff; although if I’m honest he’s hot enough for me not to care how good he is. Theoretically, the worse he is the more times I’d need to see him and get massaged by his very firm hands – win-win, I thought. He’s short – well, shorter than me and I’m only 6’1” – and dark like me, but he’s pretty solidly built and is a little older than me; around 26 or so, I’d guess. I tried to act casual while he went through the examination, not easy when his hands are all over me, and I managed to not spring a boner, which is good.

    He’s going to do another session at lunch today and take me through some stretches and exercises for me to do on my own in the meantime. Since he’s going to be around there loosening my lower back muscles like he was on Monday, I made sure to wear my new red undies. If I’m completely honest and a little boastful, they make my bum look incredible – I’d fuck me in them, and no mistake. I might have a tiny fantasy where he’s massaging my lower back and then completely accidentally my boxers come off – no idea how; I’m pretty sure that, outside of porn, the physics of undies conveniently magically accidentally falling off while you’re lying face down on a physiotherapy table is impossible, but hey – and to spare my blushes and make me feel more comfortable he gallantly strips off too, and then for no discernible reason I say something art-house, a real non-sequitur like “I’m not sure how much I like the shade of blue on these carpets, you know” and in response he rubs his chin thoughtfully, then grabs me and we fuck like rabbits.

    Not exactly Mills and Boon, I know; and about as far from respectable Anais Nin-esque erotica as a Wayans Brothers film is from an Oscar. Anyway, I’m rather looking forward to it since this is the only action I can lay claim to having had at this stage of my life… not sure why – I’m in decent shape and I’m not a complete mutt looks-wise so surely at my age, all Barely Legal and all, I am as desirable as winning the lottery?

    In other news, I clearly watch too much porn. Damn you, the Internet!

    -C
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  34. #34
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    So many of Charley's thoughts about things seem so very familiar.

    Looking forward to hearing about the physio session.
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    MM is going to be furious. Charley has a new boy, Ian. Which means, MM had better snap to or Charley will forget him..... Seems our Charleyboy likes shorter people. I seem to remember MM is a bit shorter as well. Also, what a great place to learn all about Asparagus' effect on piss. Restrooms are always educational. Now to see what nimble fingers roam.

    Craiger

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    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Friday 28 March 2008

    Song of the Day:
    Beirut Flying Club – Nantes. This is a strange but haunting track I heard on campus radio today. “A nice idea, but far too much accordion to be taken seriously,” I thought airily at first, but turns out I was simply a.) being a smug and pretentious twat, and b.) wrong.

    I’m seeing funky, spunky Ian again for the 3rd time this week at lunch today, before the prac this afternoon. In my mind, we're dating; I'm not a client. Apparently, he says, the bulk of problem is not my back but in fact is my neck, although I’ve been compensating for it a bit and as a result I have a lower back spasm inthat sexy place where you find a tanline. Paolo simply calls it crack-strain. Okay, not quite, but Ian did spend some time working the muscle layers around there in an almost-exactly-but-not-quite bum massage. I like to think of it as foreplay, but my already shitty gaydar picks up sweet F.A. from Ian.

    I can tell from the VPL I can see when he moves that Ian has not joined the boxers/boxerbriefs revolution and is still wearing old-school briefs, like we all did sorta 5 years ago and people still had to dodge dinosaurs on their way to school in the mornings. Some of the guys in Phys Ed back at high school in the last two or three years there firmly maintained anyone wearing briefs was gay, even though this is the most ridiculous stat to ever have never been proved. Of course, in high school boys are largely a bunch of fucking spackers whose development is more arrested when they herd than it is when they are found singly - as you get a school of fish and a flock of birds, I propose the collective noun "a retardation of teenagers" - but that’s neither here nor there.

    My old PE class thus would simply say QED if Ian’s undies were mentioned; although given their collective dumbness I doubt they would ever actually say “QED.” Still, I’ll admit to having seen a lot of briefs in gay porn, but I‘ve seen a lot of boxers and boxerbriefs in it as well.

    Speaking of which, we had two new guys joining the kick-around whom after meeting I’ve privately dubbed The Gay Porn Twins – Cameron and Zach, both uber-twinky, blonde and interchangeable, and with completely pornesque names. They aren’t actual twins, but looks-wise and dress-wise and everything it's as near as dammit. Soon as I saw them this was the first thought to spring to mind: perhaps I should get them drunk and find a video camera and make us all some money. I’m pretty sure from the look on Colin’s face that he was thinking along the same lines. I wonder where I can find two cheap pairs of crisp, white Calvin Klein briefs for them to wear in it.

    Rereading the last few entries I’ve made, I appear to have something of an underwear fetish. Typing this into Google images with Safe Search off reveals exactly how much of a fetish this can become; note to self: not for the faint-hearted. I’ve always thought fetishes shouldn’t involve health risks; I’d like to point out that mine is clean and wholesome and doesn’t involve any physical interaction with other people’s used unmentionables AT ALL. I may have an underwear fetish, but it’s not the fucking weirdo kind, yeah?

    -C
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    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Another great entry, BB- Keep it up!

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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    My week of vacation is over.

    But there is another episode of "Charley."

    "...working the muscle layers around there in an almost-exactly-but-not-quite bum massage."
    Oh, my.

    Oh, my, indeed.
    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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  39. #39
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Amazing, entertaining, amusing indeed. I can't wait for more.

  40. #40
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Monday 31 March 2008

    Things I like:
    Sex, drugs and rock’n’roll. Okay, wait, sorry – those are the things I think I’d like. Let me correct that.
    Things I know I like: solo sex, over-the-counter drugs, and radio-unfriendly modern rock that they play at the Spring Chicken most nights. Still, I’d like to think that this is but a start. An inauspicious start, to be sure, but the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Most days it feels like I’m still kinda trying to find my shoes. But it will get better.

    It had better get better.

    Please G_d let it get better please please please.

    Meanwhile, things have not got better. My back is feeling a lot better, but I kinda did something stupid with Ian at my third session on Friday and it was all a bit of a cock-up, literally.

    So I’m face down on the massage table, shirt off, shorts loosened and lowered a couple of inches so he can work on my lower back. I gallantly offered to strip to my undies, but he said not necessary. I should seriously stop flirting with the guy - I'm sure I'm about as subtle as an egg-fart. He’s massaging away, big time; we’re shooting the shit about random stuff. It’s what he calls deep tissue massage, really working at the lower levels of muscle and he has to knead and push quite hard to get to where he’s trying to get to. At some stage he leaned on me a little harder than necessary and I must’ve winced or twitched or something because he apologised immediately and for some reason I replied “I enjoy a bit of pain in my pleasure from time to time” and judging by the look he gave me… it was clearly something of a faux pas on my part. I hurriedly tried to gloss over it, saying I meant that if the pain meant he was working harder to fix my back, it would be a pleasure to have it, but I don’t think he bought it. Hell, even I didn’t buy it. I felt like such a tit. What I should have said is something like “I’m kidding” and laughed, but I didn't. Of course.

    To further aggravate matters, each push from all the deep kneading is causing my pelvis to move against the table and bam! Erection. I dress up to the left normally so my winkie’s expansion is simply sliding up into place along my groin and while I’m grateful I don’t need to adjust anything it doesn’t occur to me that with my shorts half off and a skinny-fit pair of boxerbriefs on it is probably quite an obvious bulge from the side which of course – thank you, G_d – is the side he’s standing on. He begins to work the muscle closer to my hip and suddenly my blatant hard-on is grazing the side of his hand. It took two or three strokes, me lying there in horrified silence, for him to realise what was going on and look down and make the connection and man, did we both ever blush. He apologised profusely but now I look like a fucking pervert – I’m sure in his line of work this sort of thing happens all the time, but I’m also sure that the bulk of his patients don’t preface it with “I enjoy a bit of plain in my pleasure from time to time,” which of course changes the complexion of EVERYTHING. Not to mention me continually volunteering to sit there in just my undies.

    I should have said something, but I was mortified and so was he. The next twenty minutes were Silent City, and to make things worse my fucking cock didn’t go down the entire time, which is what you get when you haven’t been able to wank for a week. Thank goodness I don’t ever have pre-come, because that would have been a damp and sticky disaster. I’ve always kinda felt a bit cheated for not having a few drops of pre-come leak out to show my appreciation of things, but on Friday it was like winning a very small and very specific lottery. Anyway, I have another session booked for lunchtime today and I don’t really want to have to go see him again, but I don’t want to have to stop the therapy, either. What an abortion. I’ve decided I will apologise today; it’ll be even more embarrassing, I’m sure, but at least I’ll know I did my part. What a shocker of a session.

    And of course with my back still all shit, I still can’t find a decent position to rub one out. No point in just taking a quickie, I don’t feel, and I don’t think it would help anyway since I’m all about quality and there isn’t much worse than a disappointing orgasm when you’re really in need of a good one. But this is becoming unbearable. If indeed blue balls are a real phenomenon, mine must be a fairly fetching and asphyxiated shade of indigo by about now.


    -C
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  41. #41
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    aaah... A hard-on at an inopportune time. The story of my pubescent life.

    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Boning up during a massage is nothing to worry about. It happened to me and I don't have any problem in the precum area... Charlie needs to think about MM during those times and maybe he will surprise both himself and Ian.....lol

    Craiger

  43. #43
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Tuesday 1 April 2008

    Fact of the day:
    The universe is about 16 billion years old; the Earth apparently only about 5 billion. Humans that were more human than ape (debatable, in some people’s cases) as we know them have only existed for about 200 thousand years. They reckon the earth only has about 500 million years left in it of support of life as we know it, even though at current rates the population will be close to 500 billion by the year 4000.

    Things are still strained at home. Mandy is driving my mother spare over the OTT planning for her upcoming Big Birthday Bash in a couple weeks time and in turn my mom is bugging my dad, who has been crankier than usual. This is quite common for this time of year, actually. Then I overheard the ‘rentals talking in hushed undertones on Saturday morning about how “it would be really strange to have all that again after such a long time” and I didn’t quite know what “all that” was. The only thing we haven’t had in quite a long time which springs to mind is a big Sunday roast; I doubt that’s the issue, though, and I doubt I’d be terribly popular if I were to crack that one at the dinner table, either. Dad would laugh. Mom... not so much.

    Then last night – they don’t realise how sound carries in the house sometimes – my mom said “and remember how weird Charley was about the whole thing” and suddenly it hit me. The other prospect – chilling, at that – is that it might mean Great Uncle Joe is coming to stay. He stayed with us about five years ago for about six weeks while his kids – my mom’s cousins, living abroad – were trying to place him in a home after Great Aunt Hilda died. He’s very old and very senile and was in need of care after her death and it was a bit of an ask with him staying with us. I don’t mean to be a poes about it, but he’s not exactly all there in his head and his thinking I was everyone from his son to his wife to you name it got a little old and a little tired quite quickly. It sounds selfish, but I was thirteen and unless you are a very specific type of kid who is good with this sort of thing – I wasn’t – you just don’t really know how to handle all that without coming off as a spoiled brat.

    Then one sunny afternoon while I was watching TV I suddenly became his old army buddy who died in his arms, shot through the neck, during the defending of Holland in World War 2. Scared the living fuck out of me, that part – he just grabbed me from behind, strong for an old guy and I couldn’t get loose, and started crying in between telling me it would be okay and yelling frantically for a medic. It lasted about thirty seconds, maybe, a lifetime to the terrified adolescent I was back then, before he switched off the scene in his head completely and just stopped. I only heard about the army buddy later on from my dad, because apparently that little flashback happens regularly enough every couple of months, but I’m still scarred. Please tell me Uncle Joe isn’t coming back for an extended stay.

    That aside, things at the house appear to be at the uneasy truce stage. Even Mandy seems to be more conciliatory than usual and has reigned in her die-hard feminist diatribes on my mom’s oppression by the household males – dad and me – for the sake of peace in the ol’ homestead. Seriously, that’s like the breaking of the Seventh Seal; time for all of us to worry, perhaps?

    In other news, we have new neighbours. Haven’t met them yet, but my mom says a removal truck unloaded some stuff there this morning. What are the chances that they have a hot, gay son who’d love to experiment a bit? Oh, no, wait… it’s not Christmas, and at last count I don’t think G_d owed me any favours; scratch that. I’d even forgotten the previous ones were moving out, since we weren’t ever big buddies with them. As for the new ones... probably an annoying old couple with an antique, reeking, small, yappy-type dog who’ll look for any excuse to kick up a stink about everything like a pair of relentless do-gooders hell-bent on paving the roads into the 9 Circles with their intentions.

    Ian… well, he cancelled yesterday’s session. They left me a voicemail during 5th period saying he had to go somewhere urgently and they’d like to reschedule if I could, so when I got there straight after 5th without checking my voicemail I changed it to tomorrow morning during 4th period, my freebie when I usually update you, Diary. Don’t miss me too much! Anyway, I wonder if it’s genuine, or if I scared him with my monster cockstand on Friday and he’s trying to get me moved to another of their physios, or booted out of the practice entirely? Don’t want to have to explain that one to my mom if I can help it… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous.

    -C
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  44. #44
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    hmm-mm.... mysteries!

    Uncle Joe? Something else?

    And new neighbors. Someone interesting?

    Intriguing.
    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Uncle Joe sounds like he brings a bit of spice to your life, Charley. Don't be too hard on the old coot. Also, remember, "ask and ye shall receive", so...........even though it isn't Christmas, G_d may grant your wish. Ian just needed to take a breather after the excitement of his hand touching that swollen organ. He'll be back looking for more........lol

    Craiger

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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Quote Originally Posted by Craiger View Post
    Uncle Joe sounds like he brings a bit of spice to your life, Charley. Don't be too hard on the old coot. Also, remember, "ask and ye shall receive", so...........even though it isn't Christmas, G_d may grant your wish. Ian just needed to take a breather after the excitement of his hand touching that swollen organ. He'll be back looking for more........lol

    Craiger

    I think we shall all be back looking for more! This is a really good journal



  47. #47
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    ^. ^^. ^^^ and a few more ^^'s ago - I'm glad you guys are still reading.

    -d-
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  48. #48
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Sorry, guys, this is a looooong entry.

    Friday 4 April 2008
    Things which irritate me:
    Having a prac on Friday afternoons while everyone else pisses off home early for the holidays.

    Especially when this particular Friday is the last day of the quarter and we get a “well-deserved” week off lectures next week. Seems ridiculous if f you ask me, since we’ve only had classes for like 7 weeks, but I’m not complaining too loudly. My back is about 70% there and should be back up to full speed in the next couple of days, Ian reckons – that wank is going to be spectacular, let me tell you – so the extra couple of days to veg around won’t be bad and hopefully I can still contribute some to the football team.

    I made the cut, you see – we kinda all did. You can have up to 10 players on the roster and you’ll rotate from a choice of a match-day 8 during the game. One of the guys, Rene, can’t commit since he has lunchtime tuts next semester and another one, Stewart, doesn’t want to be in the competitive side and so they are just playing socially with us, hence Paolo’s sourcing of the Gay Porn twins as cover. We went through a ream of names before deciding to go comedic and pop-culture with Dulce & Cubana while wearing hideous t-shirts with knocked off D&C logos on as our uniforms. Misspellings are intentional, btw; these are the names of two local watering holes. In addition to the Spring Chicken and The Naut, of course, and The Crowded House and The Ruby and The Pig and The Crowbar and Lloyds and Comic Strip and and and. /obvious namedropping re social life

    Ian… yes. Turns out it was a genuine emergency on Monday, which is why he had to cancel, and that’s all. I have not been booted out of their practice and in turn have not been outed to my folks, thank G_d. It did occur to me later that it’s a private practice, renting space in the Sports Center and not technically part of the University at all; there was no way this was going to pop up on my academic transcript (already looking shit at the mo; can you imagine what it would say? Maths 101 – failing; Cell Bio 100 – simply adequate; Physics 104 – surprisingly good; Chem 101 – not bad; Other notes – your son is a pervert who wanted a happy ending to his physiotherapy massage so we’ve had him expelled. PS: did you know he was gay?).

    More than that, before I could get my big apology out – which I’ve been practising all weekend – Ian jumped in with one of his own, saying he should have watched where he was putting his hands and everything and saying how it was unprofessional. He looked really bummed and I felt so bad about it I wanted to cry. I did manage to stop myself from saying “no, no, I enjoyed it, really!” to try to make him feel better, since even though it was true that would have just dropped me 15 feet into the shit, so I just nodded and said I barely noticed anything.

    In other news, if I die today I’m on my way to Hell for lying to Ian, but I think it needed to be said. He’s still fairly new at this, currently in his first year out since finishing the course and doing the internship. So he’s only been at it for four months, and I guess it would have been his first scandal had I complained. So it’s only fair on my part to put the poor guy at ease and I’m sure you agree with me on that, right? Especially since it’s not like he did anything wrong. He’s actually younger than I thought he was at only 23; just a kid, for shit's sake.

    Anyway, even though I’m on leave with the University’s undergrads taking vac, I do still have a session with Ian next Tuesday since they don’t shut down. Around that, I shall be watching tv, hanging out with some mates both from school and varsity and hopefully introducing some of each group to some in the other, hopefully hitting the beach to buff up my shoddy excuse for a tan before winter, and of course catching up on some assignments and whatnot for classes. And surprisingly I have even cracked the nod to Kim’s birthday bash on Wednesday night along with Trevor and a few of our other classmates which should be interesting. because lastly, a bit of info which is sure to become the stuff of scandalous legend – Trevor has the hots for Kim! He was asking today whether he should ask her out. I tried in vain to mention the bf, Paul, but our Trev just kinda glossed over all that and reckoned he could bring as much to the table and probably more than Paul can and is going to make a move next week, he thinks.

    A word on Paul: Paul is a nutter. Paul will cut you. I’m sure deep-down he overplays all that stuff and is probably significantly brighter than he made sure he came across as to be all main-piel and big-dick back at school, like some guys do so that people don’t expect much from them and thus aren’t let down. But Paul runs with a tougher crowd than most, of bigger misfits than most. I knew a couple of those guys from Technika (a long story for another time) and in truth some of them do have hearts of gold, but in an honour amongst thieves kinda way, and literally so. Let’s meet the gang:

    1: Crazy-eyes Francois.
    He’s a Leo whose favourite pastime is coming across as genuinely disturbed, probably because he is. Particularly when he carves exotic pictures and words like “mame” (presumably he means “maim”, but hey) into his forearm with a rusty old compass, which he found on the floor in English, during Afrikaans class. My old mate Alistair was in the same maths class as Francois, and by all accounts inspiration would strike out of the blue and he’d do it there, too. It is surely only a matter of time before Francois kills his entire family with a home-made hacksaw-nailgun combo (my bet), and/or joins a suicide cult (Al’s bet), although I suspect he will view it as a homicide cult and not hold up his end of the bargain while generously helping everyone else to hold up theirs. According to the SA National Parks and Wildlife Board Guide to Dangerous Animals, this one is worth avoiding at all costs.

    2, 3 and 4: Other Paul, other other Paul, and Martin.
    These guys all had minds like steel traps and were inseparable from Way Back in The Day since they’ve been mates since they were about three. Anyway, Martin casually happened to mention one day that during break-time they’d figured out and tested a path to take which would allow them to walk right past the passive infra-red intruder detector in the main corridor of the Technika building without setting it off. They’d also worked out how to jimmy the door with the dodgy lock into the main workshop and then get into the lab there virtually undetected. Conveniently, that night the Technika building was broken into, the door was jimmied and a lot of expensive stuff was nicked from said lab. Conveniently, the alarm didn’t go off. Conveniently, among the things which got nicked was a pair of top-end digital multi-meters which both other other Paul and Martin had expressed a desire to own during our prac sessions in that lab two days previously. Co-incidence? Maybe, I suppose. Cops came in to investigate and we all got fingerprinted so they could eliminate which prints were ours; since we’re the only people who use that lab, this would easily identify which were the criminals’ prints. Conveniently they found only the fingerprints of the twenty four of us plus our two teachers all over the place. Guess the crooks wore gloves, eh?

    I coached other Paul (yes, there are three Pauls in total) for physics and chem and some maths which he was struggling with in our final year; in return, at Valedictory, he told me in solemn earnestness “You’re a good guy, Charley, and I gave you a rough enough ride here at school and still you stuck up for me and helped me out and I respect that. I wish you every success in your future, and I owe you one. So if you ever need your car stolen for insurance purposes, you let me know.”

    5. Geoffrey
    Don’t call him Geoff, or he’ll fucking ninja-kick you in the face. Craig, one of the guys in our Technika class, found that out the hard way when we were supposed to be working and instead all twenty four of us were fucking around, like you do when you’re an unsupervised adolescent with a penis left in a room full of expensive stuff you shouldn’t be touching.

    Geoffrey was fond of setting things on fire, usually with a can of deodorant and a lighter. This pseudo-arson became his thing after his phase of making pea-shooters – basically catapults which fired out a small pellet made from scrunched-up paper compacted into a tiny ball and tied with sellotape with a drawing pin put through the lot so when it hit you, it stuck and you bled. This pea-shooter phase only stopped when he stupidly shot Fat Carl in the butt with it (in addition to three Pauls, there were three Carls in the ill-fated Technika class; all quite fat, but only one was really fat enough to earn the name and had been teased about it for too long) and Fat Carl went on a massive, frothing benny and pounded the living fuck out of him. Geoffrey defended himself well at first – karate was his thing, you see; see earlier comment re ninja-kicks and faces – but Fat Carl took a few solid punches without going down, braying like a retarded rabid mule while backing Geoffrey into a corner, and then rushed him, and sat on him and it was the beginning of the end.

    Geoffrey dropped out of school the following year, but from what I gather from Kim him and her Paul are still good mates. Yay!

    6. Brent
    Brent is of Greek descent and has the singular honour of owning the largest dick I have ever seen in person. It is fucking huge. I would do very rude things to it if given half a chance, truth be told. Those pr0n 10-inchers which are really 8-inchers are significantly smaller than the massive tree-trunk which is Brent’s flaccid, uncut Rolls-Royce of a penis; I suspect an erection must at the very least make him quite dizzy.

    Realising early on that whoever was next in line size-wise was running in a solid but quite distant second, it was Brent who pushed for school showers after Phys Ed and who spent as much time as possible with no clothes on, always getting naked while were changing for PE or sports even though he could have kept his underpants on. I suppose that were I as genetically gifted I’d have done much the same sort of thing.

    Unlike the rest of Paul’s crowd Brent wasn’t really a bad, scary or dangerous guy. But he did have an entertaining and largely unsanitary habit of skommeling around in his underpants during Maths every lesson and removing a solitary pube which was dropped into our unbeloved teacher’s coffee mug, onto her angora wool jersey, into her bag, or, in one case, onto her head as she bent over a desk to help another kid with a tricky bit of calculus.

    7. Paul himself
    And lastly there was Kim’s Paul, who picked a fight with another pupil in the boys’ toilets one day before school during which Paul stuck a pencil into the other’s neck.

    Full-on into, not a graze or a wild slash at the guy, but into. Like when you put a spoon into a bowl of custard.

    In. To.

    How most of these guys didn’t get expelled is beyond me.
    So Kim’s Paul runs with the baddest of the big dogs, and regardless of what Trevor thinks he can bring to the table he still pisses like a puppy. I suspect that, if he gives this a go despite my warnings, we might have seen the last of the poor chap and I'll need a new prac partner for next term.

    -C
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  49. #49
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Great new entry, bbn. enjoying the backstory... the party could get- er, interesting!

  50. #50
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Another good read!

    It will be interesting to see how all these new characters figure into the story.

    Thanks, -d-!
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