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  1. #51
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Tuesday 8 April 2008
    Things I like:
    killing time doing nothing except chilling on the beach. Except when I get too much sun

    Just finished my session with Ian. It was a bitch – I might have got a touch too much sun over the weekend and be very slightly burned to a crisp; getting it massaged certainly was all pain and no pleasure at all. You couldn’t tell where my red tanline stopped and my red boxerbriefs started, is how cooked I got; thank G0d for pubes, otherwise I wouldn’t know where to pull my pants up to.

    Can’t really complain, though – pretty much lived at the beach the last couple of days; went with my old mates Al, Ben and Gareth for a spot of sun, surf and sand and it was brilliant.

    I’ve neglected them a bit of late, which is stupid since I’ve known them all since I was like five and they’re my best mates, and even more stupid when you consider that we all live in the same neighbourhood and although Al and Ben have opted to study at Maties up in Stellenbosch instead of the mighty UCT, they commute daily and are around and available most nights and weekends. Also, Gareth is on campus with me every day although he spends his time on the Commerce side of things at the other end of University Avenue and across The Plaza.

    So I need to put in the hours with my oldest mates for a bit – seven weeks of class and I think Gareth has only met Trevor out of all the guys from class I hang with, and only once at that for about three minutes in the first week of the quarter. He’ll meet a few more at Kim’s bash tomorrow night, of course, and she’s suggested it’s an open enough guestlist to drag Al and Ben along too, so that’ll be a good start. Everyone can meet everyone and hopefully they all get along.

    I’ll admit that six months ago when school was wrapping up I never thought I’d be seeing Paul’s dodgy crew in social circles, so that will be a bit weird. I’ll admit that Paul and Francois were guys I reckoned I’d never have to see (read: fear) again. Also, Kim has invited the others in our lift club; I think she was hoping most of them would decline, but nope. Not sure Victoria’s level of Jesus is going to show her a good time at what will basically just be a loud and raucous piss-up, and I know Kim can’t stand Ryan but has invited him anyway since she doesn’t want to upset him because we all drive in together and that would make things a bit weird if only half of us cracked the nod to her party. Not to mention she might find herself stranded at the university one night if he is pissed off enough by not getting invited. So we’re all invited, even though it will be rather weird.

    Neat segue, though – things with Colin have got a bit weird. I saw a couple of the guys at a house party on Saturday night and Colin and I spent a little time having a quiet chat outside when he went for a smoke break and I went along to keep him company. I like him a lot. He’s extremely well read, he knows a bit about every subject in the world, and he makes me laugh. I pegged him as one of us homos right from the start, you’ll recall. And to back up that observation, he’s kinda flirty, which is weird for me since I am so not used to it, but provided he doesn’t out me it’s flattering and thus fine. To further back up my suspicion I’m also sure I overheard him talking about going to Wings, and although it’s not my bag and I’ve obviously never been there, because that would out me big time, I do know of Wings. It’s a gay club in the Pink Quarter, and from what I can see off their website it’s the mother of all gay clubs, full on, not subtle, in-your-face, doof-doof house music, shirtless DJs, rainbows-all-over-the-show, Underwear Nights, Gogo Boys, and guys-fucking-in-the-toilets-while-snorting-coke-off-the-cisterns gay club. /stereotypes. PS: I’m inferring this last bit; they don’t actually advertise the cocaine part on their website, although judging by the pictures of all those manic revellers in their galleries... not judging, just saying.

    Sounds like fun, I hear you say. Anyway, this is not at all mysterious in terms of what I think I know about Colin. But the other night while we were standing outside he alluded to a mysterious One Who Got Away, called Hannah. Pretty sure Hannah is not traditionally a name given to guys.

    I’m not going to claim any level of skill in body language, but as soon as he mentioned it he changed the subject and wouldn’t go back to it, and I can tell from that this was serious and that the guy is fucked up after it all ended. I do wonder, though, how the rest of it fits in. Bisexual, perhaps? I’m just not sure it’s as simple as that, in that I didn’t think bi guys came off as quite that gay. But I’m also sure he’s not just trying to feel me out and flirting, and then mentioning Hannah to cover it up if I take offence. Seriously, seems like the guy got burned, big time.

    I’m no psychologist, so I have no idea if trying to draw it out of him is likely to be a good thing or a bad thing, but I think he should spit it out. Okay okay, so primarily I just want all the details – I hate not knowing stuff, or only knowing half the stuff, so I really do want the full story. So sue me.

    No other real news to report, though. At least, not from home. The folks have been even more weird the last day or two than previously; a united front, from what I can gather, but something is definitely up. Is it Great Uncle Joe? I bounced the idea off my old mates since they were around when we had him last, giving my reason for thinking this. Al, being an Olympic-class colossal shit-stirrer, reckons my folks are simply getting divorced; the more I deny this allegation the louder he gets about it. Someone wants kicking in the nuts. Still, I’m sure that’s not it – they don’t fight; they don’t play no-speaks. Nothing like that. They’re just... I don’t know, sorta tense. And sorta intense, maybe, but they’re certainly not unhappy, I don’t think. Al reckons they’re obviously not unhappy, because they’ll never have to see each other again. He also reminds us that married men tend to die before their wives and poses the question “why?” before opining that it’s because they want to. Twat.

    It may be a surprise to find out I’m still single, but it shouldn’t be to find that out about Al.

    -C
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  2. #52
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Aaah... got my Charley fix. Now I can sleep tonight.


    I'm curious about Colin. Seems like the type of guy who appeals to me.
    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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  3. #53
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Maybe some of the mysteries will be solved after Kim's bash. You'd be surprised how loose the tongue becomes after a few....lol However, I don't think that will clear up the parents little mystery. That all could be a Great Uncle Joe thing. Next time Uncle Joe won't even call for a medic, he'll just grope Charley and pretend it's another war buddy in distress.....lol What these old coot will do to hold onto a young man.......

    Craiger

  4. #54
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Monday 14 April 2008
    Things I like:
    five-star orgasms

    Yes, you’re reading that correctly – last night I did indeed manage to fire up the ol’ firehose and drown the burning desire in my belly with a rather capacious volume of semen. Fuck me, it was good. I was left to my own devices while the family were out and about – not sure where; don’t really care, if I’m honest – for an hour or so and I just went to it. I’m not sure I should put this into too much detail because it would simply be gratuitous; however, for the sake of completeness I will make a few notes.

    So I was left alone and pretty much as soon as I was sure they weren’t going to come back for something, I stripped down to just my old water-resistant watch and my new tan, and I lay back on my bed, propped up on my pillow with my knees bent and legs spread. It is a position I hope to take with another actual human on top of me at some point, preferably soon; additionally, it is a position in which I hope to find someone waiting for me at some point in the proceedings. A small tube of Nivea Visage facial moisturiser is what I use as an aid when not in the shower, since unlike Foreign Parts as discussed by people on teh interwebz you can’t just buy lube at any old store here in .za. How repressed are we as a society?

    I didn’t even need any of my visual material this time around, nor even rude thoughts of MM or anyone else – it’s been twenty five days since I could last do this; ridiculous at my age. I’ve been popping a titanium-hard cockstand just doing mundane things like eating cornflakes for breakfast, so pretty much as I was unvelcroing – it is a word if I say it is – my boardies my knob was already getting up to its full 6-and-a-bit-actually-closer-to-7-really inches and making a fairly impressive tent in my undies, which I then whipped off with a theatrical flourish (and I’ll admit that I might have even sounded a small and triumphant but poorly-executed imitation fanfare) and the resultant satisfying slap of big, manly erection bouncing back up against stomach. I’ve neglected the weekly haircut for the last couple sessions, too, so I got a good look at my macho pelvic stubble while prepping with a small, pea-sized dollop of the cream all over my bits and pieces. I know it’s weird to be turned on looking at yourself, but cards on the table – I definitely was.

    I was ready to really take it slow and work myself up to breaking point a few times before letting go, but I kinda overshot the point of no return on the second go already and was forced to quickly crank it up and hold off for as many seconds as I could (five, maybe; no need to get the Guinness guys on the phone) while clenching my toes and pistoning the ol’ elbow up to max rpm when it hit.

    J3sus, did it hit. Pow! The first noisy wave lifted me up to an almost sitting position, the second even noisier wave nearly knocked me off my bed and I narrowly avoided being blinded by a wayward blob of flying come, fired up into orbit around my skull like it was propelled by NASA’s own throbbing six-inch crotch-rocket sitting on the launch gantry (which happens to quite strongly resemble a Batman duvet cover).

    The following waves – I lost count, if I’m honest, but they were numerous – hit like a series of punches to the gut and when I had finally stopped moaning and recovered enough breath to sit up again and look at the damage, there was semen everywhere. Oh my days, what a massacre; it was like Cumageddon, which was only in the Director’s Cut of the Book of Revelation. Easily five or six times my usual volume, thick and warm and all over the fucking place – in my pubes, dripping down the shaft, all over both my hands, my treasure trail, several spermy falls cascading down both sides of my torso onto the bed below (Pro tip: Charley says be prepared and always lie on a towel, kids!), and even some up on my neck in a veritable string of gooey pearls, just like in the porn. The one which nearly blinded me had left an artful splat on the wall behind my head and was slowly metamorphosing under the inexorable effects of gravity, heading leisurely down to the carpet.

    It took a while to clean everything up since there was so much of it; I was just getting done and thinking about Round 2 when there was a knock on the door. I wasn’t going to answer, but I did in the end. Quickly pulled on my boardies and went through and opened it and there was a youngish slightly older guy, probably about 23 or so, holding an envelope addressed to my mom. Turns out he’s the new neighbour and they got some of our mail on Friday so he was bringing it over. Mom has mentioned them a couple of times, but this was my first meeting with either of them – a young couple, Cecilia and, would you believe it, another Trevor (better looking than my Trevor, too!).

    He introduces himself, sticks out a hand, I do likewise and as just before he takes it I notice I’ve missed a spot and before I can do anything about it New Trevor has some few million of my sperm swimming up his fingers with their tiny flagella powering them through a little bit of leftover man-jam (thanks to Cell Biology 100 for the term flagellum, a sort-of whip-like tail used as a propeller amongst a select few cell types; not to be confused with cilia, which are tiny hair-like fronds which gently oscillate in a “wave ‘em like you just don’t care!” sort of manner. There are no cilia on sperm, of course, but you knew that already).

    Not sure if he realised my hand was a bit wet or not; if he did I hope he didn’t put two and two together, and I also hope I didn’t have a wet spot on the front of my nice ice-blue boardies since I was kinda freeballing at the time because I didn’t bother to dress properly when he knocked. He doesn’t strike me as the sort of guy to have ever had another man’s come on him, so there’s something he can strike off his Bucket List, eh? Perhaps I should tell him that.

    Perhaps not.

    Anyway, he seems like a nice enough guy. We shot the shit for a bit and he mentioned that when they get settled he was thinking about joining the gym, so I did my part and tried to sell him on mine as the better option of the two chains operating near enough to our neighbourhood – I get three free months’ additional membership for every referral, so why not? We’re going to head up there probably sometime this week, him as my guest since the gym allows you to bring someone in for a free session once a month, so he can check the place out. He’s pretty big and in pretty good nick and I presume thus that he knows what he’s doing in a gym; if we end up going together and he can help me build a decent routine it will be a plus for me, that’s for sure.

    In other news, Kim’s party was largely unremarkable – disappointing, I’m sure you’ll agree; the pay-off being hardly worth the setup of a few entries ago – and proof of the pudding, assuming that you’re attempting to eat a sweetly flavoured helping of “if you don’t expect too much, you can’t be let down.” I did get to introduce my old mates to some of my varsity mates – turns out Paolo from the football side and Gareth kinda know each other already because one of Paolo's mates does Economics tutorials in the same group as Gareth so they've met before. Alas, Trevor wisely didn’t scale-up the charm after meeting Kim’s Paul, Victoria didn’t try to get all holier than all of us even though we drank ourselves into a coma, and Paul’s crew kept mostly to themselves and didn’t murder anyone even slightly. I could tell before we got there that Gareth and Al were quite nervous to be around The Crew - old habits die hard, after all - although Ben was being rather positive about it all. Other Paul did remind me about needing a car stolen for the insurance, though, but on the whole it was all a bit of a let-down.

    Oh, and Brent and his penchant for showing off his monster schlong didn’t attend, either.

    That aside, it’s a new quarter. Same course and prac schedule as previously for the next three months; I’ll have a few different modules and stuff in the second semester, but it’s status quo for now. And the football league starts up next week – Dulce and Cubana are looking forward to it. Thanks to Ian, I’m ready for it. Happy times!

    On the minus side, no more sessions needed with Ian. Sad times.

    -C
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  5. #55
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Oh, my. You do have a way with words.

    Here are just a few of the phrases that gave me a .... smile:

    «popping a titanium-hard cockstand»

    «as I was unvelcroing – it is a word if I say it is – my boardies»

    «my knob was already getting up to its full 6-and-a-bit-actually-closer-to-7-really inches»

    «the resultant satisfying slap of big, manly erection bouncing back up against stomach»

    «a good look at my macho pelvic stubble»

    «I narrowly avoided being blinded by a wayward blob of flying come, fired up into orbit around my skull like it was propelled by NASA’s own throbbing six-inch crotch-rocket sitting on the launch gantry »

    «it was like Cumageddon, which was only in the Director’s Cut of the Book of Revelation»

    «all over the fucking place – in my pubes, dripping down the shaft, all over both my hands, my treasure trail, several spermy falls cascading down both sides of my torso onto the bed below»

    Thanks, -d-! Your writing is very good! And so are your creativity and imagination.
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  6. #56
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Glad to see the family finally gave Charley some free time. Twenty-five days would give anyone blue balls. Also glad for Trevor's sake there isn't an acidic content to the man-jam or he would certainly have felt that handshake..... He still may have and we may find out when they trot off to the gym.

    Sorry Kim's bash was so disappointing. At least there was a few drinks to be had. Maybe he will find it more fun when Uncle Joe comes to visit... I'm rooting for good old Uncle Joe.

    Craiger

  7. #57
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Thanks, you guys. I'm having more fun with this bit of writing than the others I've had a crack at over the years and I'm pretty amped that it seems to be getting a fairly good reception.

    Jake - I write like I talk. Let's hope we get that Brazil 2014 trip off the ground and I'll bombard you with it in person for as long as you can stand it

    Craiger - yeah, Kim's bash was a borefest. Alas, this part is actually semi-factual from my own undergrad days; a bummer indeed for Kim!

    -d-
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  8. #58
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Thursday 17 April 2008
    Things I can’t take seriously:
    Mr Questions. I mean honestly, mate, fuck off, would you?

    Okay, so there is going to be some chronic excitement at home. You’ll never guess what I found in the outside bin when I was surreptitiously throwing away some unrelated stuff of my own in the big bin outside under cover of darkness? Well, I guess it was related, in a way, since... never mind. Still, I found a Home Pregnancy Test box! A bit more digging and, under a mound of not-exactly photogenic and largely rotting uneaten cat-food, jackpot – a positive test, with two dark blue stripes. I’m guessing my little Ms Goody Two-Shoes sister – not Miss, note; it’s Ms – Mandy is up the duff! A bit of a surprise, really, since as far as I know she’s not seeing anyone, but you hardly need to be in a relationship to get yourself accidentally knocked up. So much for her massively feminist/pseudo militant lesbianesque stance on the uselessness of men, since I’m pretty sure she can’t go to a sperm bank at almost 17. Of course that latter assumption also raises the preposterous notion that she wants a kid while still at high school, and if that’s the case I’ll eat my hat. We’re not stupid, my family, with a long history of being fairly bright and if Mandy is indeed preggers then it’s a fuck up in every sense of that very useful, ubiquitous, and wholly appropriate phrase.

    The trick now is keeping mum while trying to find out a bit more. I think it might be time for some Facebook stalking. Unfortunately the ol’ FB will be overloaded this coming weekend, since it’s her 17th birthday on Sunday and if I know teenagers and Facebook... On that note, I supposed I’d better go get her a gift. Fortunately I managed to save a bit from last month; waiting tables being not always lucrative and my not-quite-excessive-but-also-not-quite-not partying being a deadly combination when you’re not exactly swimming in money. I guess a Congrats! You’re Expecting! card instead of a birthday one will be more than a touch off-side, although it will be extremely fucking funny.

    Thinking about this a bit, I should probably be more empathetic at this point than I actually do feel; currently I’m more amused than anything else and I’m not sure that’s a rational response to something of this nature. I mean, potentially I’m only a few months away from being an uncle; and more than that, it appears that even my predictable, dull and uber-conservative younger sister has had more sex than I have. How about you let me catch a break, Mr G_d, huh? Yeesh, this has got beyond ridiculous. I’m this close ---> <----, just nanometres away from auctioning my virginity off on eBay, offering a cut of the money to charity to buy myself a smattering of redemption in the process.

    Last practice for D&C today with our first game next Tuesday. We’re the last match of the day on the roster, kicking off with just 15 minutes of Lunch period remaining and I will have to hustle to get to the prac afterwards. We’re playing another group of newbs called Meads United; I can tell they’re new too because their current log position from last season is, like ours, a one of these: – Anyway, it will rule. And hopefully we don’t get prison-raped; although at least that would be sex of a sort for me...

    Mr Questions – my G_d, what a freak. It’s 2008, for shit’s sake, when did anyone last take short shorts out in public as their preferred choice of workwear? I do most fervently hope and pray that he’s not getting any sex here at varsity, because that would be hideously unfair and prove that G_d himself likes nothing more than a good joke and enjoys pointing and laughing at all the rest of us. In Chem today we were asked a question, and with this Prof every question is possibly for one of his magical bonus-1%-at-the-end-of-the-semester vouchers, about the densest element known to man. I guess mercury, but not aloud. Prof gave some clues and I realised what it was; I say “osmium” under my breath, which is correct. Mr Questions practically came in his pants waving his arm around trying to give his answer.

    When Prof continually overlooked him, he resorted to calling out “over here, Professor” in a taunting, sing-song manner; it was simultaneously the funniest, scariest and saddest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. You could feel the collective pity (girls) and disdain (guys and Prof) mount in the air; real, proper resentment, like the type you reserve for bible-bashers who knock on your door when you’re trying to watch porn and beggars who surprise you as you take your cash from an ATM so you can’t pretend to not have any money on you. I don’t think any male in the room was not envisaging putting their fist through his face at that point.

    Eventually, determined to not take the hint, Mr Q blurts out “I say iridium!” and looks around at us, all bright-eyed, chest heaving, triumphant and conquering and looking like he was waiting for all of us to pay homage and lay the spoils of war at his feet while sucking his notably-uglier-than-mine winkie (did I mention mine was nicer than his? It is, you know. Much nicer). You could hear the smug satisfaction in Prof’s voice as he politely replied “you are wrong, sir” and, I shit you not, a loud and obnoxious titter went around the room. Oh, what a beautiful morning it was! I don’t even feel bad for gloating, such is the overwhelming power of Mr Q’s twattishness.

    Finally Kim says “is it osmium?” and Prof beams at her and then decides it’s worth it and hands her one of his gift vouchers, redeemable for an extra 1% for her end-of-course mark! I didn’t even think that was allowed, but apparently I’m wrong, and now that heifer has my extra 1%.

    There's a lesson in that, somewhere. I think it's probably carpe diem. Right... excuse me while I stand on my desk for a second.

    -C
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  9. #59
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Is that turmoil at home on the horizon?

    Thanks, -d-, for another good installment.
    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

    Sounds to me that Charley has had quite a nice day. Well, night and then day. That is except for the fact that he is still desperate for that tumble in the hay. Maybe Mr. G_d will show some mercy soon...
    He better be careful in gloating too much as being an uncle may mean the dreaded "baby sitting." It will be interesting to see how the family reacts to the joyous news...

    Craiger

  11. #61
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Apologies for missing last week's installment.

    ********
    Monday 21 April 2008
    Fact of the day:
    Okay, it’s more of a Fact of Yesterday; Hitler would have turned 119 yesterday, having been born on 20 April 1889.

    Okay, heading off to watch the first matches of this round of the football during lunch today and giving ourselves a chance to check out the competition. Some of the teams have gone with comedic names such as Unatletico Retardo; others have gone pseudo-clever like us with AC P(h)arma, and some jokers have called themselves FC Barseholona. And then some have gone uber-dull and called themselves Real Madrid and Chelsea; undoubtedly, these are the twats who’ll all pitch up in the club replica kits. Still, Meads United and D&C have a lunch-date tomorrow, and when all is said and done it’s them who’ll be paying for the meal.

    Okay, so as far as punchy slogans go that one needs work.

    J3sus, my old mates are the biggest perverts ever in the history of ever. It was the Party of the Century – Mandy’s Big 17th Bash – this past weekend and she allowed me to invite the guys along and I actually had to elbow Gareth in the ribs on three separate occasions and tell him to close his mouth and quit drooling on the guests. I swear, if I hadn’t I reckon he’d have pulled his cock out and started wanking on them.

    Okay, so I’m not uber-gay, I don’t think. I don’t follow fashion; I hate the house music and the idea of The Scene. I don’t worship divas and I hate showtunes. I’m really not at all trendy. So I’m just plain ol’ gay, but I am gay; even I as a homo could tell that some of Mandy’s little friends are going to grow into supermodels. Damn, those girls know how to get tarted up and work it for a party.

    Annoyingly, given the apparent level of visual talent at the PotC, it seems that little Ms Mandy has surpassed my carefully attained level of High School Cool. Credit where it’s due – she has turned my level onto its stomach and raped it, in the way that the almighty fuck-off new double-decker Airbus would probably molest a Sopwith Camel.

    I’ll admit I did spend some time quietly postulating which of the guys there might be the father of my niece or nephew, but then stopped because a.) it was depressing to think that some hormonal, acne-riddled adolescent is getting to use his cock with an actual live human and I’m not. Also, b.) it was weird to trying to picture them in the act, because of course my sister was the other protagonist in my mind’s eye and I’m sure you’ll agree that that is like twenty six different kinds of wrong, and that’s before you start considering their relative ages.

    We didn’t stay long; being all Out of School and At Varsity and thus cool by inference if not actuality, what would we want to hang with Grade 11s for, right? So we fucked off after an hour or two and ended up… doing nothing, mooching around and driving in circles arguing about where to go for the night. In the end – I shit you not – we ended up buying ice-creams from the Quick Shop at the local Engen garage; the one at the entrance to our neighbourhood, no less, since we didn’t even get out of that, for fuck’s sake. We ate them in parking lot of the shopping center, outside the back door/return slot to the DVD store where Ben still does his time to earn a bit of spending money. Don’t knock it – we get free rentals from him; it’s not all bad. Al and I both wait tables and Gareth delivers pizzas – exactly how middle class and profoundly suburban are we, on a scale from 1 to 10? Don’t answer that. Still, in addition to being not rich, we’re also not cool enough to do anything other than mooch around our own neighbourhood and eat ice-creams on a Saturday night after blowing off a high school party.

    It wasn’t a complete write-off, surprisingly – we got to have one of those profound and critical existential guy conversations like people do in the movies. Quite surreal, the car radio tuned to UCT’s fm station, us munching away on frozen confectionary and shooting the shit about where we’d come from and where we thought we were going to, where we’d be in five, ten and twenty years’ time, which of us would get married first (the others all reckon it’s me), who’d have an affair with a secretary or hot waitress (consensus is Al on this one, even from him), which one would become the hen-pecked, over-domesticated, completely emasculated shell of his former self (me again; worrying), who’d cave in to the mid-life crisis (also me), who’d end up with like seven kids but be the poster-boy dad (Ben), who’d be the eternal bachelor (consensus here is none of us, in fact) and who might end up with a psycho off an internet dating site (Gareth, simply because he is too nice).

    As is typical of things like these, we solemnly promised we’d always be there for each other, we’d always be each other’s alibi if necessary, it would always be us four against the world, all that over-done, over-simplified movie bullshit which you need to say to yourself to feel like you still matter and to believe that you might one day have more purpose than this.

    Of course, much of it was a lot of hollow words on my part, and I feel shit about that. None of these guys even suspect me, I don’t think, and I know for sure I’m not straight now – after years of believing, no, desperately hoping, it might be just a phase, I’ve quietly accepted it in the last year or so – and every day where I don’t tell them is one day further away from being able to keep quiet about this in good conscience. These are my oldest friends. We have so much history. I’ve known them since I was five; I know they’ll understand and it won’t be an issue. I don’t know, then, why I can’t just fucking sack up and tell them. It’s really not so easy, though, is it?

    I came close, I really did; there was a perfect opportunity, a pregnant lull in the conversation right after the soppy bit about us being best friends forever, where I could have just stuck it in there. I should have; I fucking should have. It burns us, Precious! I don’t want to be all OTT about it; I don’t want a massive Coming Out party. I just want to tell my friends the truth and I don’t know why I can’t do it.

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

    Wow! Charley is going through some real angst. Obviously, coming out, even to old friends, is probably the hardest thing to do. You always hope things won't change, but unfortunately, sometimes they do. Most will possibly understand and make no big deal out of it, but there may be one that, though he doesn't say or act it, may choose to widen the space between them. But, this is life. The others will be there for support.

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

    Much of this is so very familiar. It's like a melange of many of my teenage/adolescent thoughts. Where were you when I was 17 and felt like I was the only one who had these feelings? (Oh yeah... right there, in school in .za )

    I wonder if there might be more oddly familiar similarities? Will one (or more?) of Charley's best buds come out to him first?

    Another buffet of lexical delectables and literary keenness. Thanks, d!
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    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Wednesday 23 April 2008
    Things which irritate me:
    5-star build-ups ending in 2-star orgasms

    So since I am laying my soul bare in this journal, I have decided to see if I can spot an orgasm trend and plot it along with my mood and biorhythms, as if it were actual science and not just a record of a bored, horny kid who wanks too much. As it is, I will now keep a star rating at the start of each entry and then analyse the data once I have a sufficient amount. Hooray for introductory statistics in the maths course I’m taking; I appear at least to be able to handle that part of the course for now. Anyway, without further ado:

    **. <--- 2 stars. It was shit. It started well, but the finish was kinda half-hearted, kinda “...who, me? Oh right – sorry!”

    So D&C played our virgin football match yesterday. There was at least one actual virgin on the pitch – me; hopefully several others as well but no guarantees, I suppose. On the plus side, we won. It wasn’t exactly a prison-rape with us only squeaking out 2-1 winners, but the score doesn’t tell the whole story. We were under the cosh for the first half of the first half and found ourselves a goal down within two minutes. Fortunately, I was not on the pitch at that stage so I'm blameless. It was dubious, though; pretty sure our man Tim got fouled something chronic which let them through, but credit where it’s due, the goal was well taken. But then we were all over them like stink on shit, as the saying goes, and it was only thanks to their ‘keeper having a complete blinder of a game that we were still 1-0 down at half-time.

    We did a personnel switch; Russ and Danny were traded for Siya and Tebogo and it was quick interplay between Siya and Tim which netted us our equaliser. Tim and I then traded and I did okay as sweeping cover at the back, holding Meads at bay and outpacing their very slow winger to keep them under pressure before a quick cut from me to Paolo to Tebogo and we were up 2-1 which we held, narrowly not getting to 3-1 and then 4-1 thanks to their man in goal.

    So it was a good start, and the games were pretty well-attended by the other teams checking out the competition. We popped in on Monday to watch and see what it was all about – wow, it is going to be a massacre for us in some matches, I think, but I don’t think we’ll disgrace ourselves too badly, which is good.

    Still no word on Mandy’s imminent progeny; also no word on the imminent arrival of Great Uncle Joe. Not quite sure what is happening on either front, and since I’m not supposed to know either of these things it is quite difficult to play Holmes at home and find shit out about it. How in the living fuck Sherlock actually managed to get any snooping around done without getting rumbled is beyond me.

    On a random tangent, I wonder if he was a looker and a hit with the ladies. I imagine Watson as a fairly staid old fart; probably one of those more traditional English gentlemen and probably not the sort of man likely to set anyone’s nethers a-tingle when they spotted him about town – probably because of the gigantic mutton-chop sideburns and handlebar ‘tache he probably sported, I suspect – but I reckon Holmes probably only played the role he presented while cunningly being quite a demon in the sack. For no good reason, I imagine he was probably quite the adventurous type – translated, basically I reckon he stuck things up his bum from time to time because he knew it would feel mmmm-good. Not necessarily anything attached to another man, per se, but I’ll bet his back door was used to two-way traffic of some or other sort, the dirty sod.

    Hooray for character assassination!
    -C
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    I used to keep a running mental list of my 5 best/favorites.

    Still remember the top 3 with.... fondness.


    As a kid I loved to read Sherlock Holmes stories over and over, and I would watch the old black-and-white Holmes movies. Never, ever had any thoughts like Charley's about him.


    Still curious about what we will learn about Mandy and Uncle Joe.


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

    Somehow I wonder if Sherlock even thought about sex. Seems everything had to have some logic to it and sex isn't all that logical....lol

    I can hardly wait for Great Uncle Joe to arrive. I hope he gets to share a bed with C... That was evil of me, but, it would make for some great dialog....lol

    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

    Thursday 24 April 2008
    Fact of the Day:
    New Trevor is a fucking fruitcake.

    ***

    Right, so New Trevor from next door and I finally got our arses into gear and headed out to the gym last night. It started well – he had a bag full of kit, including a change of clothes. You never know whether a guy is going to be a change-there or a go-home-dirty-and-shower-later kinda guy; I’m a change-there myself, but every time I go with Ben I have to shower at home because he is way too shy to do his thing in public, and I hate going home dirty. And I’m getting less shy, which is good. So New Trevor having clothes with him at least boded well, and not at all because he’s quite sexy and very easy on the eyes and I’d love to look at his winkie, because of course that has nothing to do with it AT ALL. /lies

    Anyway, we get there. Both of us were ready to go already, so we just stashed our bags in a locker and headed upstairs. I told him already I was going to just shadow him and whatever he was planning to do that night was fine by me. I usually do back and legs on a Wednesday, but I skipped my usual chest/arms/shoulders on Monday so I was up for either.

    Man, he is kak strong. I have two or three inches on him, but he’s ripped and there is a shedload of power packed into his frame. So after a quick warm-up, we’re benching. I hit my usual 65, my upper limit; he’s starting “quite light at first, to get back into it” at 90 kilograms. His actual usual weight is 120. This set the pattern for the night.

    “Not unusual, and hardly the behaviour of a fruitcake at all,” is what you’re thinking now. But then it begins. He chirps, all the fucking time. Another guy starts up at the inclined bench next to us; Trevor has a go at him about how he’s lazy and can bench more than that. Good natured, I thought at first, but as it progressed I wasn’t so sure. The usual array of inverted triangles which make up the good ol’ boys in the muscle crowd are doing their thing, he’s having a go at all of them, loud enough so they can hear him. “This guy looks like his mother dressed him”, “clearly it’s washing day, if that’s all he could find to wear”, “my God, black socks and shorts? Jesus!” and, directly at one of those big beefy guys wearing those bodybuilder special-issue pants which look like pyjamas , “ooh, the circus has come to town and all its clowns have the night off.” I don’t think the guy knew what to say; he just stared back at New Trevor.

    So he says all this stuff and not quietly, either. Fortunately it seems his body can cash the cheques his mouth is writing; he must have some kind of crazy-eyes thing going on which I can’t see, but nobody wanted to take him to task for saying it all. I dunno, maybe I’m just too polite, or maybe New Trevor has absolutely no social graces whatsoever. How he got away with it is a bit of a mystery – clearly it was so outlandish and unexpected that everyone has no way of processing it other than to give him a free pass, like he was a foreigner not used to our customs or something.

    Back in the locker-room, it gets worse. He very helpfully explains to one of the larger, slightly older guys why his body shape doesn’t suit his dress sense – he’s like Trinny and fucking Susannah – then calls out “come on, work it, Sexy!” a younger guy who’s surreptitiously flexing near his locker to see his muscles in the mirror across the room. We strip off, hit the showers and the steamroom – he managed to get naked and under a towel before I got to see anything, the sod – and he’s very flirty in the steamroom to anyone in there, racy comments and everything. Seriously, I must have just sat there open-mouthed because he told me to close it at one point.

    Then, I’m taking a shower and he’s in the one adjacent, and he asks if he can borrow some bodywash. I’m trying to pass it to him over the dividers between the stalls and I realise he’s not in there, and in fact he’s just opened my shower door to get it from me and is standing there looking at me. I’ve got over some of my shyness being with D&C, but I’m still not quite at the hanging out naked stage so it was a bit of a surprise.

    Worst of all, while we’re back at the locker changing, as I drop my towel he actually points at my crotch and said “nice pube job, Charley. I think the trimming and shaving really adds of couple of inches to your package” with a dead straight face, like he was the mayor thanking me in all earnestness for long service to the community or something. I heard sniggers from across the locker room and I must have blushed Ferrari red as I turned away a bit. It threw me completely; by the time I’d turned back and before I could make a similar comment or even really pay attention he’d dropped his towel and had his boxerbriefs back on. Plain black; couldn’t discern anything bulge-related through them, so no luck for me there.

    Lastly, the humiliation was completed as we walked out and another dude walked in – New Trevor turns to me and says, volume at around Metallica Concert level, “wow, check that guy's arse out. I’d go gay for that!” and carries on walking like he’s just talking about the weather while the owner of the arse in question – and yeah, wow, it was fine – gave me the dirtiest looks ever in the history of ever.

    I’m not sure how I can show my face there again.

    Worst/best thing about it all, he “had such a fun time with me” that he’s going to join. I’ll get the lone benefit of a partner who knows what’s what – I can tell from how tender I am this morning that we had a good session – and all the benefits of being associated with him and his loud mouth. I suspect we’re going to lose some teeth at some stage.

    That aside, Mom and Dad were all happy and chipper last night; happier than they’ve been in a while. Odd. Not bad, but peculiar in recent times. And last night’s big O – 3 stars; decent enough. I wonder if additional details would be a good inclusion, or if that would just drop my diary into new lows of smut?

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

    New Trevor is an interesting character. Not shy about much at all, it seems. "...adds a couple of inches to your package." Quite bold, a little brazen. What makes him act like that?

    How long until he gets himself in trouble? Will he drag Charley in with him?

    A 3 on the O-meter is alright. I wonder what made it a 3 and not a 4 or a 2.

    And what's up with Mom and Dad?
    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Great new entry, BBN!

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

    It seems New Trevor is going to keep C on his toes....lol Now C has to be a little less shy and start looking when and where he should, not turning red and closing his eyes. Otherwise he will never know if New Trevor is worth hanging with...

    Craiger

  21. #71
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Monday 28 April 2008
    Things which irritate me:
    Not having a fucking clue

    O-mometer: **

    Home mystery over. I had it completely wrong all along. Uncle Joe is not coming to stay. Mandy is not knocked up. How do I know this? My dad told me, in a round-about way.

    I get home early Friday evening, and I’m getting prepped to go out with the guys, and my dad comes into my room. I don’t keep the door shut ever, so he didn’t have to knock or anything, but he asked me if I had a minute. Of course I have time for my old man, so I tell him if he doesn’t mind my getting ready while he talks… he says he won’t be long and he’d prefer my undivided attention. So I sit on the bed and gesture for him to sit down as well – I make sure I’m at the foot of the bed and he’s up top so he doesn’t have a clear view of the bookcase at the end of the bed where I occasionally have to stash… things. There might be a t-shirt lying on the floor at the foot of the bed which might have been used to mop up Thursday night’s festivities, and although I’m sure my old man got up to the same shit I do and he no doubt would understand everything, I’m not all that keen on him finding things stained in come on my floor, right? Right. So I position him strategically and wait for him to start.

    It’s at this point I can tell he’s nervous, and the reason for this becomes pretty apparent. He produces, from his pocket, a pack of condoms. We both start to blush.

    A word on my upbringing – it was quiet, and suburban. We never had The Chat. Ben had a kids' book on where babies come from which explained it all, and I found it there when I was about nine or so and read it. I mentioned it, all excited, when I got home, and that was prep enough for the folks. Everything else, I learned the old fashioned way – the playground at school. That’s where the Playboy was passed around, where somebody had an old videotape stolen from his dad’s porn collection, and of course when the internet and cellphones with internet became commonplace, that’s where we traded info. So Dad and I have never had this sort of chat – and neither have Mom and I, thank G_d – and to be fair, I’ve known the basics for years, and all the more advanced stuff since I was like 14, all of which makes The Chat superfluous, surplus to requirements, and fucking embarrassing.

    Anyway, he puts the ‘doms on my bed and we both avoid looking at them, like they’re a guy who’s got a piss spot on the front of his pants, or something. I can see he’s struggling, but I don’t really want to start the discussion and I’m not entirely sure what angle he’s playing anyway. It was like fucking chess for a few seconds.

    So finally he blurts out a question, asking me if I know what they are and how they work. Okay, confession time – I knew what they were, but up till recently I had no idea what to expect from one. Then I nicked one from a dispenser in the bathroom in the Chem building – there are dispensers all over campus – and I might have actually played with it a bit. Bearing in mind, I had only seen one once before, on my second day of varsity, they had bands playing on The Plaza at lunchtime, and in between two of the bands some hapless woman from Student Health gave us a demonstration.

    She had a gigantic rubber pelvis – hips, erect cock and balls – and she hijacked the stage in between two bands to show us how to put on a condom, since every Rookie Pack they handed out to new students during Freshers’ Week had one in it, apparently. Mine didn’t, in fact, as I discovered when I tried to find it. Anyway, she bravely did this demo while everyone pissed themselves laughing, and I only got brave enough to nick one from the big jar of free condoms about three weeks later, panicking that someone would see me take it or it would fall out my pocket in lectures or something. So I took one and I might have played with it a little bit – don’t judge me, diary; I didn’t write about it when I did it, but it was about a month ago – and I now have a clue about how it all works. No, we didn’t do this at school. I have no idea why.

    Anyway, to get things moving, I pick up the pack and say thanks, and he starts. I was expecting something about waiting, and true love, but nope. I’m guessing Dad either thinks I’ve done it already – given how many girls at school got knocked up last year, I’m not surprised – or he is really being liberal about the idea of sleeping around, I don’t know. Anyway, he talks about being prepared and unwanted pregnancies and not doing anything careless and how abortion might be legal but it can’t be an easy mental thing and how babies can change your life and how Mandy has the church thing and they aren’t worried about her as much as they are about me and it hits me – nothing about STDs, nothing at all. Almost like they know STDs are often fixable but babies not so much, and it’s like he’s had a pregnancy scare of his own and I know I wasn’t a shotgun baby and I wonder if maybe him and Mom, or him and a previous girlfriend, had to have an abortion one time and suddenly it makes sense.

    The pregnancy test I found in the bin was Mom’s, not Mandy’s. The family happiness I wrote about on Thursday must have been an all-clear, the red tide, and presumably the test I found in the bin was a false positive, or maybe they all change colour if you leave them long enough. Either way, the rentals were stressed and prepping for #3, and this is why I’m being given a pack of condoms. And I misread the entire thing. Guess both Holmes and boring Watson have one up on me after all.

    He doesn’t ask, but to spare myself the agony of waiting for it I tell him the opportunity hasn’t presented itself just yet but I’m glad I’ll be prepared. Dad smiles – couldn’t tell if he was being patronising or if it was something else; relief, or even gloating at my inexperience – and ruffles my hair like I’m just a kid again, and he tells me I’m going to make some lucky girl very happy someday, and I smile while I lie through my teeth and, very quietly, with a gentle sigh, another little piece of me dies inside.

    Mr G, I don’t ask for much, you know I don’t. But I need some help here, Mr G, I need some guts, even if only for a day or two. Please please please.

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

    Another good episode!

    I could really feel the awkward discomfort between Charley and his dad.

    I certainly can relate to Charley's embarrassment about trying to get his hands on a condom. I remember the first few times I got some, it felt like everyone was staring at me and thinking, "you??? you're getting condoms??? condoms???" Ha!

    Now that Charley has a few and knows how they work, maybe he will get to use a few soon.


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

    First off, I'm really disappointed that Uncle Joe is not coming to stay. I was really looking forward to that.....lol I'm glad Mandy is not PG as it could really be devastating at her age. Next, I think Mr. G will guide C. in both his need for guts and maybe add a need for that condom besides. C should get down on his knees when he's talking to Mr. G...... and at other times as well...

    Craiger

  24. #74
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Wednesday 30 April 2008
    Things I like:
    Serendipity

    Big O-mometer: ****

    Second mystery solved in a week, and second one solved by not me: Antony.

    So D&C played again yesterday, and we were lucky to escape with a draw against one of the res teams, The Clever Boys from Smuts House. Smuts is the res on Upper Campus, one of the original twelve buildings built as the start of the University, and to win a place there to live in as an out-of-town student is very prestigious, reserved for the best and the brightest. Hence the team name, the smarmy arseholes. We were looking forward to showing them a few tricks and striking a blow for the little guy.

    We got drilled. They pulled our pants down and bum-fucked, us with no lube.

    Fuck me, it was like The Sun vs the Snowman Army. How the hell we didn’t lose that game like 13-0 I have no idea. No, actually I do know how – the Gay Porn twins had a blinder; Cam outstanding in goal and Zack terrorising their left side. However, the rest of us kinda didn’t quite bring our A-games out our kitbags. I got arse-raped in midfield to the point where I subbed myself off before I could do too much more damage; Paolo could not find touch up front and couldn’t time any passes to Siya and his lethal left foot. Even with changes in and out at half-time we were hopeless. Out of ideas, out of sorts, just wrong. We managed a legitimate goal from some scrappy defending right at the end of the game, and we were given one earlier which the ref says went in that I know didn’t – their keeper does too; the side netting is missing on one of the goals and the ref reckons it went through but I know it sailed a few inches wide – and they only managed to put two past us, somehow. We all know we got lucky with a 2-2 draw. Still, we’ll take the point.

    I had a prac afterwards, and it was okay. When I was leaving it, this dude I've seen in most of my classes was too. We haven't chatted or anything. Our leaving simultaneously was perfectly timed, by Fate not me, and I was a little surprised when he made eye-contact and held the door open as I approached.

    I mumbled my thanks, trying very hard to telepathically tell my winkie to behave. He was wearing white linen pants and they’re semi-see-through in the afternoon sunlight; I could make out some dull grey boxerbriefs quite easily and they set my heart all a-flutter. G_d, I sound like Emily Bronte.

    And then he spoke to me! His voice doesn’t sound anything like I imagined it; clearly a local accent (I thought he was from up-country), and much softer and more tenor than the thumping and authoritative baritone I thought he had and which I will admit I have had tell me to do rude things in my fantasies. Looking good, right?

    Even better: “You played football at lunch today.” I nod. “You okes did well last week, but this time? I think you got lucky.” I agree and allow myself what I hope is a self-deprecating but still suave and dashing wry grin while I acknowledge it all. “It’s Charley, right? I’m Antony.” We shake hands.

    You guessed it, folks, I am shaking the surprisingly soft hand of MM, who knows my name and has clearly been watching me.

    My recollection beyond that is little hazy. I’m sure what else we chatted about for the next couple minutes as we walked out of the building and halfway down Jammie steps before we went our separate ways at the entrance to the rugby fields will come to me at some point; hopefully before I see him again in class later today and he says hi again. The only bit I really remember after all that was wanking up a storm in the shower last night.

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

    aha! Mystery Man has taken notice of our Charley! Maybe the attraction is mutual.

    «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 agree and allow myself what I hope is a self-deprecating but still suave and dashing wry grin while I acknowledge it all. “It’s Charley, right? I’m Antony.” We shake hands.»

    That seems like enough ceremony.



    Thanks for another good one, d.
    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

    Yeah! MM has finally been outed.... and its about time. Now C better not screw this up if he ever wants to use that condom....at least before it rots and turns to dust....lol

    Craiger

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

    Monday 5 May 2008
    Today in history:
    It’s a biggie – 78 years since Afrikaans was declared an official language here in .za, 47 years since Alan Shepard became the first man in outer space, and the anniversary of The Battle of Puebla in Mexico on Cinco de Mayo, among others.

    So Next Door Trevor mowed their front lawn yesterday while I was mowing our front lawn as a favour to my dad. I like Trevor; he’s fun, and funny, and bit of a breath of different air which is not necessarily fresh. Their lawnmower is more hardcore than ours – there’s money there, big money somewhere in the background, I think – and much newer, and I was a little surprised when Trevor popped out with it to mow their lawn after chatting to me while I was mowing ours since I thought they’d have a garden service. Anyway, we mowed simultaneously. Only major difference was our dress – boardies and a t-shirt and shoes for me, standard summery wear; just a pair of boxers for Trevor. Yes, you read that right. No, they definitely weren’t shorts – he stripped off to his undies on the driveway while talking to me and dropped his shorts, shirt and shoes onto the boot of his car in the garage while he got the mower out and got set up to go. It was nice though and very social. We got through a six-pack of Black Label while we mowed. Well, Trevor got through five of them while I managed just a single, but hey – free beer, right?

    I mentioned there’s money next door somewhere – I think it might be with the missus. There seems to have been some or other witchcraft at play there, since he seems to carry a significant level of resentment towards her folks for all they seem to have done. They bought the house as an investment; Trevor and Cecilia live there rent-free. Her folks maintain the place, put in an automated sprinkler system, electrified the garage door and put in a security system, sprung for satellite tv, and frequently drop off gifts of groceries and other stuff. I’m not sure if he views this as unnecessary meddling or them pissing on his territory and lording it over him, but he doesn’t exactly come off as grateful. To be fair, I might get a bit annoyed myself; but then I’d remind myself that I wait tables 4 shifts per week and attend classes part time while my missus works four full days per week and takes classes at night and between us we actually couldn’t afford a fraction of what we have here. I’m not having a go at the guy, but this is his situation in a nutshell – she works, he has a typical student income and life while living the lifestyle of a sorted young professional. I mean, you can’t have it both ways. But I can see why he seems antsy about it all.

    It was a little tough to concentrate with his junk swinging about like a pendulum in those silky boxers. I’m not a fan of silky boxers; used to sleep in a pair until I was about 13 when I switched to cotton since the fake silk irritates me. But although they’re entirely unflattering and not at all revealing, I don’t think I could ever walk out in public in my boxers. For no good reason, either – I mean, you’re covered; you’re as naked in them as if you were down at the beach, but I think that having people know they’re my undies would freak the living bejeebers out of me. I think Al would agree, actually – he won’t even walk around the house in his boxers which he sleeps in. Soon as he wakes up, he puts on tracksuit pants or proper shorts over the top. I mean, that’s OTT and I’m not that bad. But I doubt I could mow the lawn in mine.

    Also, let’s not forget that my mom would have kittens if I even tried it. She’s so old-fashioned about weird things like that. “What would the neighbours say?” etc etc. I should mow in my undies next time, and then when she shrieks that famous phrase, point out that the neighbours were the ones who started it.

    In other news, not much which is good. House party Friday night which I was comparatively well-behaved at; and I shot the shit with Antony this morning for as long as it takes to walk from Chem to Physics, about 2 minutes. I must say, and this is a bummer, that apart from our chat after last Wednesday’s prac he really hasn’t initiated any further conversation and I’m not sure whether or not I was imagining it but he didn’t seem all that keen to chat this morning when I accosted him, either. More as it fails to happen.

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

    I guess Trevor is making a fashion statement. Or, maybe it's the new rage to mow your lawn in undies...lol Anthony may have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed. Two minutes that early in the morning isn't enough time to develop any social skills. C. better give him more leeway. He won't regret it......

    Craiger

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

    Just got home from a week of vacation. I was hoping to find another chapter, and here it is.

    Jeez, I can just picture Charley in boardies and Trevor in silk boxers.

    I'd like to have a pair of silk boxers.... Trevor's.
    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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  30. #80
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Apologies for the delay in updates.

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

    Thursday 15 May 2008
    Today in history:
    It’s another biggie – the launch of Sputnik 3 and 4 two years apart, the launch of the last spacecraft in the Mercury project, Mercury-Atlas 9, the founding of Las Vegas, the sentencing to death of Anne Boleyn. And the opening of the first of many McDonald’s.

    There is some fucking weird shit going on at the gym. I was there last night, my usual Wednesday, and Next Door Trevor was down with a 24-hour bug and didn’t come along. So I did my usual thing, a few warm-up sets on one of the circuit machines – got into a minor argument with a sanctimonious old twat about my using a circuit machine without being in the circuit; I know I’m technically in the wrong, but there’s only one of those machines, it’s good to warm up with, and it wouldn’t have killed him to go to the next one along and come back to this one a minute later, but I digress – as well as some arms, shoulders and chest. Might have surreptitiously checked out the various cuts of beef on display, as I always do, but kept to myself as usual.

    Later, in the locker-room, the weirdness started. First, I’m pretty sure I got the come-to-bed eyes from a dude in the showers after that. He was directly across from me, shower doors open, and spending waaaay too much time washing his gentleman’s area. As usual, I had my shower doors closed – I’m old skool; so sue me – but I could see through the frosted glass that he was kinda checking me out too while doing it. Not a bad-looking guy, I suppose, as I discovered when I finished my shower, but a little old for my as-yet undeveloped taste since I’d guess he’s probably early 40s and that’s like the same as my dad. Still, does this mean that the Stories and Legends of What Those Dirty Old Men Get Up To in the Gym Showers is true? Was I cruised? I'd say I'll do some detectivating, but since it turned out I was kinda shit at it last time with Mandy's non-pregnancy and the visit of Great Uncle Joe, I'm not sure I should expect any results.

    Anyway, that was how it started. Then, more weirdness – Angry Chinese Dad was there along with Sad Little Chinese Boy, his son. I’ve seen these two before, and there is something just not cool going on there. ACD is around 40, I’d guess, and SLCB must be about 14 or 15. He’s not big, but he has some facial hair and things have started happening down below so that’s the kind of age I’d put him at.

    ACD always seems furious; I don’t speak the language so maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree entirely, but it seems like SLCB does not want to be there and ACD drags him along every time. I’ve never seen them in the pool or the aerobics area or the free weights area, just the locker room. It seems ACD comes for a de-stressing steam and shower, and SLCB comes along because he’s told to. As I said, I don’t know what’s being said, but ACD always seems to be raising his voice, and although SLCB seems to do what he’s told, you can see the resignation and dejection in his body-language. Once or twice ACD has said something and SLCB has replied with plaintive indignation, and ACD sounds like he’s about to tear the kid a new one. Usually they sit in silence, except when ACD barks something to the kid, who just nods and does whatever it is.

    I’ve never wanted to be fluent in a foreign language as much as I have since watching these two.

    Last night took the cake, however. At some stage, I left the steamroom for my shower. A minute or two later, these two came in and took cubicles as well. SLCB tried to take the one on the end, next to mine, but ACD had a meltdown and eventually after a very short argument, SLCB ended up across from him on my other side. I was about to go for a second session in the steamroom when I heard more shouting and turned back to see – ACD had charged out of his cubicle and flung the doors of his son’ s cubicle open. Seriously, the look on his face... I feared for the kid’s safety. There was much loud talking, and the same quiet pleading from the kid, then ACD folded his arms and stood there stark bollock-naked with his arms folded watching the boy shower and barking instructions. From my vantage point at the entrance to the shower area – I was pretending to towel-dry my hair – I could see that every time the kid turned away, ACD reached in there and turned him round again so he was always facing outwards.

    Seriously, it was fucking creepy - I have no idea what was going on; I can’t imagine the kid was having a wank or something and needed adult supervision to make sure he did only what was necessary, but I’m pretty sure that an invasion of privacy at that sort of level must be illegal. I really wish I knew what the hell was happening, and I really wish I could speak Chinese.

    Not sure what I could have done, but I also feel really shit for not having done something, anything, about it at all. Stereotyping, sure, but I’m fairly sure ACD would karate-chop me in the face if I confronted him, and I’m not entirely sure what’s going on so I might have the wrong impression entirely, but... I dunno, the whole thing was extremely unsettling and I don’t know what to do.

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

    Charley's back!

    Like Charley at that age, I was never quite sure when I was being cruised. Looking back, it seems it was happening a lot. If I had only known.
    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

    Maybe ACD is acdc and is taking advantage of SLCB. Are you sure they are father and son? C. should graduate from "old skool" and leave the door open some time. He may not regret it.....lol Some 40 yr olds could show C. a thing or two.

    Craiger

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

    Dale, it's like a voyeur's dream, sans sex.

    Nice style.

    I enjoy your crafting of the reveal, so to speak.

    Thanks for sharing your talent.


  34. #84
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Friday 16 May 2008

    Things I like:
    when summer stretches into May. It’s warmer than it should be for this time of year, but I’m neither complaining nor concerned.

    Not much to say today, except that MM – sorry, Antony; must get used to the fact that he has a name – actually came to find me before class and we hung out for a bit, chatted about all sorts of things while waiting for class to start.

    I’m pretty sure he was giving me more than the ol’ once over, clearly checking me out, up and down, and maybe, just maybe I’m in with a shout. Not that my gaydar is completely aces, but I reckon I'm getting a vibe there...

    At the end, he invited me to a house party tonight; said “bring some of your mates if you’re keen because I don’t know how many people you’ll know there, but it’d be cool if you came.”

    Yeah, it’d be cool if I came (inside him)! Happy Weekend to me.

    -C
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  35. #85
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Just started reading your diary and wanted to tell you that I laughed out loud a couple of times. That's rare for me. Keep on truckin'.

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

    Another party, another chance for Charley to find what he's looking for.
    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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  37. #87
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Tuesday 20 May 2008

    Things which irritate me:
    when things don’t go that well

    Big O-mometer: * The unrewarding consequences of a wank which you have when you're really not in the mood for one. FML.

    So we got hammered at the football yesterday, 4-0. They played well, and we played shit, and it was as comprehensive a whitewash as you’re likely to see this side of a hardware store specialising in the stuff. The less said about it the better.

    Went to Antony’s house-party Friday night. What an abortion. First I got into an argument with Ben and Gareth about going, because they don’t know anyone and rather wanted to go elsewhere. After much cajoling and whatever from me they agreed we could go there and give it an hour or so and then bail if we weren’t having fun.

    That wasn’t the argument, though – it was because when we got there I “ditched them to hang out with my varsity mates” and kinda left them to fend for themselves. Okay, so mea culpa – I did do that, even though in the argument I swore blind (and swore, a lot) that I didn’t. But it gets worse, kinda. After about two hours – we got there about 9ish but I things had started early because already people were ticking already and one guy was emptying the contents of his stomach into the pool – we were one of a handful of groups still standing and it was clear that the party as it was was over and most people were just going to sleep it off. Al was coming through after work and we were going to go elsewhere, but I sent the other two off with him and said I’d meet them at the Naut after I’d said cheers to everyone I knew there, so they’d gone.

    I’d barely said two words to Antony the whole night when he stumbled over to find me, completely pissed, and asked me to come upstairs with him. Of course, I jumped at the chance – inside Mystery Man’s boudoir, moi? Why, certainly! – and off we traipsed, him barely conscious and me kinda helping him walk, because it really was that bad, and wondering whether my luck was in that night.

    Halfway up the stairs he nearly falls. Seriously, I could hear my arse-hole clench because I thought we were going to go over in a heap and break our necks. He grabs hold of me, I managed to hang onto both him and the banister somehow and… while I’m making sure we don’t die and offering a quick thanks to Mr G that we’re still in one piece I swear he groped my bum. I mean, he had hands all over trying to stabilise himself, but… I’m certain he did; it was a pretty definite squeeze and I’m sure I’m in with a shout. He’s still swaying a bit but I can tell the almost fall has had an effect and he’s noticeably more alert. Anyway, he kinda looks into my eyes and grins as the adrenaline leaves his system and eventually moves his hand off my arse and we proceed upstairs with me, ever practical, wondering how the hell I’m going to get him dressed and back down afterwards.

    Another stumble going around the corner through a doorway and bam! We go down with a bump and I get half the wind knocked out of me as I break his fall with my whole being and he laughs his head off when it becomes apparent that neither of us has died.

    So we’re lying on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, me trying to catch my breath and I am suddenly quite conscious that he’s on top of me and that the squidgy collection of warmth and sponginess pressing into my gentleman’s area is what is apparently his quite sizable cock and balls and that although my left arm is flung out on my left side, my right is casually resting across him in such a way that my hand is on his butt and with the slightest increase in pressure I can feel the seam on the arse of his undies bisecting a buttock which is flabbier than I would have expected, but firm enough and warm to my touch. He’s gazing deep into my eyes, stripping my soul naked as I look up at him, a shy but definite grin scampering across his lips as the moment stretches in time, much longer than anything without meaning would.

    We lie there for the longest time, our crotches in close proximity, his breath sharp and warm across my cheeks in the quiet. I realise we’re in his bedroom as he eventually gets unsteadily to his feet and extends an arm to help me up.

    It’s nice and tidy; not as spacious as you might think, given the size of the house, but not a prison cell. Computer in the corner, small tv on the chest of drawers, micro hi-fi on the bookshelf. An interesting collection of books in there; mostly aimed younger than we are, that’s for sure and nothing profound or wow which I could see. He tells me to sit on the bed and he plonks himself down next to me and puts his arm around me and rests his head on my shoulder.

    I can’t believe how well this is going. I only half-entertained the thought when I wrote Friday’s entry that something was going to happen since I’m not 100% sure he’s gay and I have nothing concrete to go on that he’s at all interested in me if he does like boys, but this has gone to places I never thought I would actually ever go. He looks into my eyes again, and grins a shy grin, and I’m wondering what the rules say about taking advantage of someone who’s clearly completely pissed if they’re doing all the coming on and you’re just letting them. He’s still looking into my eyes and I wonder if I should lean in for a kiss.

    Suddenly we get accosted by some random chick who comes into his room – I’d seen her around; clearly she’s in with his family or an old friend or something because she seems to know her way around the place quite intimately. I’m wondering if she’ll figure out something is happening and kinda leave us in peace – dilemma; nobody knows about me liking boys and she’ll work it out quite quickly. But I don’t know her apart from seeing her around here at this party, and so from that perspective she doesn’t know anyone I know to tell them about me. Still, do I want anyone to know? But I’d have to come out sometime, and of course Antony would clearly know if we did anything, so… and of course, this is it, my First Time at stake and it’s kinda a no-brainer.

    So I decide I’ll wait for her to leave and presumably she’ll figure out soon enough that she was interrupting something. But no – she sits next to him on the other side. Annoying; I wonder how I can subtly suggest she should just fuck off.

    “Sorry, he gets kinda handsy and touchy-feely and flirty and soppy when he’s had too much.” Sure, whatever, lady, too many words ending in y in that sentence. “He’s still a bit new to all of this and is a bit of a messy drunk.”

    “Haha, yeah, aren’t we all?” Thanks, bye now!

    She’s kinda looking at me, and I’m kinda looking at her, and the air is pregnant with expectation. I’m about to tell her I can take it from here, but thank G_d I don’t.

    “We came up to get the special stuff.” I think that’s what MM said; he’s mumbling.

    “I don’t think that’s a good idea, giving out your weed. Everybody’s had far too much already,” she says to him. She catches my eye and rolls her eyes. “Boyfriends, eh?”

    A bit presumptuous, I thought, if he’s been telling her we’re an item already; flattering, though.

    She looks at him, resigned. I’m wondering how much longer this cock-blockage is going to continue and also wondering what excuses I’m going to give the guys for being late since I can’t tell them I was sexing the guy. It’s worth mentioning that I have decided I am absolutely intending to sex the guy at this point, assuming it gets that far. “I love you,” he says, and I’m thinking that’s a little OTT since nothing has actually happened yet but I am grinning like an idiot even though I know he’s pissed and he probably only likes me, not loves me. “Do you love me?” he asks, and I think maybe I should kinda play along so this chick doesn’t think I’m just going to use him. But what to say?

    “Of course I do!” I reply. At the same time as she does.

    It takes a second before I realise my gaffe and my stomach drops away as I feel the blush starting around my ears.

    Fortunately, they both laugh. “Great joke! You’re a good mate, Charley,” he says and gives her a big kiss.

    “Thanks for helping him upstairs. I’ll put him to bed,” she says.

    “Yeah, best thing, I reckon,” I replied. I just want to get the fuck out of there. “Think I’m going to hit the road.”

    “Thanks for coming, Charley,” he says. “We should hang out more.” I thank them for hosting, smile graciously and leave to go and get really, **really** drunk with the others, Mom’s considerable and limitless wrath be damned.

    I seriously need to find myself a working gaydar, ASAfP.

    -C
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  38. #88
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Oh! Charley was almost there!

    I score this one ****.
    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

    Oh, so close, but I have a feeling C. isn't out of the picture yet... MM has to watch his p's and q's as well. Particularly when gf is sitting next to him. You don't lay on top of someone, staring into their eyes and letting them feel your gentleman's parts without searching for something... and I don't think it was the special stuff...... C needs to give him another chance. I'm rootin for him.

    Craiger

  40. #90
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Tuesday 2 June 2008

    Things I don’t like:
    Having to Do the Right Thing

    It’s exam time; things have been pretty busy and I haven’t had much time to update. Don’t hate me, Diary. Anyway, this one is important so I’m writing it. Tough, too – I might actually cry a bit while I write this, and I’ve not cried in ages before last week.

    So I was home alone grafting last week Thursday, hitting the maths pretty hard, and texting the guys from class as an avoidance mechanism when there was a knock at the door. It was Ben. I invited him in, glad for the distraction, and we went to my room. I made coffee and we had some small talk. He wasn’t quite there, though, if you follow me, seemed a little agitated and not quite right. He’s also writing exams, and I know he’s bombed at least one and taking some strain, and that’s what I thought it was.

    So we carry on, but I’m talking and he’s kinda half-heartedly there and I’ll admit I was getting a little irritated that he’s come over and distracting me and not really giving it stick, just sitting there fidgeting and pointless. Suddenly he looks me in the eye. Not to claim any level of mysticism or psychic ability, but I went cold and the hair on the back of my neck stood up. He tells me Mr Pancakes is sick.

    Mr Pancakes is the old family dog, a quirky Corgi who has been there a while, maybe 7 years. He followed on from Mr Hamilton, the family hamster who was unfortunately disposed of by Mr Magic, the erstwhile family cat. There was a Mr Cokey as well, who was also a cat which disappeared somewhere along the way. I’m not sure why everyone gets a Mr name, but they all do. Three days after The Tragedy of Mr Hamilton, they were heading down the highway when Ben’s mom spots a puppy running into the bushes. No idea whose or how he got there, they rescued him and voila – Mr Pancakes. He’s been Ben’s ever since; the family mutt, sure, but pretty much he’s been Ben’s child and friend.

    I express my concern about Mr Pancakes and ask what is wrong. Ben is a little vague, won’t look me in the eye, and rattles off a few things. He’s not eating and he’s in some pain. From what little I know, it doesn’t sound good, but then again I’m not a vet. I ask what’s going to happen.

    For a while he’s quiet, looking at his fingers. He looks at me again, then away. “We have to put him to sleep,” he says, and then the poor guy just dissolves. He’s trying to keep a brave face, I can tell, but he catches my eye again and it’s tickets. He just crumples and starts crying, hard. I don’t mean a few tears and an emotional catch in the throat, I mean bawling for every incidence of injustice for every little kid in the world. The guy is completely inconsolable and I’m completely fucking helpless. He’s not the emotional sort, so this is weird. I am a soft touch for tears, though, and his distress set me off and I started crying too. So there we are, 18 and 19 and crying like we’re six again for a long, long time.

    It wasn’t even cathartic – we just cried, all secure in the knowledge that it isn’t going to change anything and Mr Pancakes is still going to die. I’ve known Ben since I was five and suddenly fear grabs hold of my intestines because I know why he’s here.

    “When do you have to take him to the vet?” I can guess the answer. He went to the vet yesterday and they got the news; the vet said to take him home for one last night so they could say goodbye. It’s today, and Ben needs to be convinced that now is the time and that Mr Pancakes deserves to go quickly and without distress, that waiting any longer would be cruel. Ben knows all this, but Ben has never been the leader and sometimes needs a firm hand to force him to make the decision, and from now on, for a while, I’ll be the guy who killed his dog. But it needs to be done. I’m pretty sure his family have said their goodbyes and Ben has said he’d do the deed and I’m the one who gets to be moral support. No time like the present.

    “I’ll come with you. You just say when and we’ll go.” He cries more; lots more. I leave to get him some tissues and a shot of Dad’s good whiskey while I compose myself for what comes next. This will not be a quick process, I know that. I know that we’ll get to his house and he’ll have every reason in the world why we should wait a bit and I’m going to have to be a bastard and force his hand or it’ll never get done. For the first time, I understand why politicians are resistant to euthanasia, and I realise that this is growing up and it’s pretty shit.

    He downs the whiskey in one gulp – we’ve all done some growing up this year – and we go. At the house, he surprises me by getting straight to it. I get to drive his mom’s car and he’s going to carry Mr Pancakes for the last time. I can see the dog isn’t well, he seems almost grateful to be going. I get a lick on my hand and a few wags of his tail while he whimpers, clearly in some distress, but this isn’t about me. I’m getting ready to play the bad guy, do my best impression of tough love and insist we get going, but Ben surprises me by gently picking the pup up and heading straight to the car, leaving me to lock up.

    All the way there, just three minutes’ drive, he’s talking quietly to Mr Pancakes, straight into his ear, chucking him under the chin and stroking him all the while. I don’t want to use a term like sweet nothings, but that’s exactly what they were and it struck me, admittedly inappropriately, that Ben is going to make an amazing lover one day and an even more incredible dad.

    I pull up outside the surgery and there’s an open bay right in front of the place. It’s across from the big Dutch Reformed church; there’s a crèche on the opposite corner. The streets are quiet since it’s a work and school day for everyone except us. I wonder what will happen next, whether Ben is going to be okay, and whether now the part I dread will happen, but he passes me the dog and makes to go inside.

    “He doesn’t like it in there, the smell, so I want to make sure they can take him right now. That okay?” He goes inside, and I’m gently cradling the dog and trying to be brave and ensure I don’t hurt him. I get a lick on my ear for my trouble. Ben comes back out; with a curt nod, it’s time. He opens my door and I pass Mr Pancakes over, and in they go with little ceremony while I lock up the car. I manage to get into the surgery to see Ben heading into a consultation room and I follow him in. The vet is young; mid 20s, I’d guess, strong-featured and pretty. On another day we’d be perving over her, but nobody’s heart is in it. She has a sad smile on her face and I get the feeling that this sort of thing still stays with her and, although sensible and humane, is not something she’s comfortable doing, not yet. For no logical reason, I’m grateful for that.

    “Can you give us a minute?” Ben asks, and she nods and withdraws out the back door into the bowels of the practice. I’m not sure he wants me to stay, so I give the dog a pat, then a big kiss on his head, and tell Ben I’ll be outside and go out to the reception.

    We’re the only people there, me and the receptionist, an elderly lady who just screams loving grandmother and who tells me that Mr Pancakes has been coming there forever, and she remembers him as a pup coming for shots and to get neutered a little later. I suspect she probably does and she’s not just looking at the file and making it up.

    Time passes; I spend it looking mostly out the window at nothing. The weather is kinda bleak, typical for June, and following the script for a day like today. After about twenty minutes, Ben comes out and without meeting anyone’s eye walks to the car. His body language, the dejection and sadness evident in the slump of his shoulders, hits me hard. I follow him out, unsure of how to proceed and wondering if I should say something which may be welcomed or may just be viewed as a cliché. He’s waiting at the driver’s door – guess my work driving his mom’s lush new Megane is over – and I give him the keys.

    “Are you okay, Ben?”

    He’s quiet for a long time, then he nods. “I’m going to take you home, then I’m going to drive to Sunset and watch the sea for a bit. Can you call my mom and tell her everything? I’m just… I don’t want to talk to the folks just yet. Please ask her to give me a couple of hours before phoning.” He looks at me. “Yes, I’m fine to drive.” And that’s that.

    At home, I don’t want to leave him like that but he’s adamant and although not strong he’s known to be stubborn; I will lose this battle. He manages a quiet “thanks,” and my choked out “I’m so sorry, Ben” brings a fresh wetness to his eyes as he drives off.

    He texted me later, thanking me again for everything, and we grabbed a cup of coffee at The Chameleon Café on Sunday. I think he’ll be okay. I hated it, though, having to be there. He didn’t need me much in the end, and damn am I glad I didn’t need to force him along, but the complete helplessness of it all hit me pretty hard and I don’t like seeing my loved ones in distress, mostly because I don’t know how to handle it. Does it make me a terrible person? I think it does. He’s not the most hardcore of us, Ben, but it will bug him to have lost it in front of me, or anyone. Al, for all his machismo, is the one with his heart on his sleeve; I think he’d be better about it all. Still, Ben’s got some healing to do.

    G’bye, Mr Pancakes.

    -C
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  41. #91
    Contra Spem Spero rocabar's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    A another well crafted entry, BBN.

    The juxtaposition between the sadness, and the gentle humour, was brilliantly handled.

    Thanks for the satisfying read.

  42. #92
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    That one brings back some sad memories.
    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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  43. #93
    JUB Addict Craiger's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    That truly does bring back sad memories. I lost my little companion of almost 17 years and it was probably the hardest thing I have encountered. Time has a way of healing, but the memories are there and even though the pain is gone, the void is still extreme. I have vowed not to have another until such time as I know he will outlast me. I don't think I could go through that again. A very touching chapter in the diary.

    Goodbye Mr. Pancakes!

    Craiger

  44. #94
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Thanks everyone for the continued support.

    -d-
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  45. #95
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Thursday 5 June 2008

    Today in History:
    It’s another biggie – assassination of Robert Kennedy, Declaration of War on the Iron Curtain states by the US, Elvis terrifying everyone with pelvic thrusts doing Hound Dog live on tv, the start of the 6-Day War, first ever reports of what turned out to be AIDS, That Guy stops the tanks in Tiananmen Square, the Bose-Einstein condensate is first made, the first journey of the Orient Express, and the British capture Pretoria during the Boer War. Gosh. I hope everyone is paying attention - there will be a test afterwards.

    Maths is over, for now. I think it went okay. Thanks, Mr G.

    I’ll have to do some more detectivating - which I'm so good at, as you know - to work out what is going on. "What is he on about?" I hear you thinking. Well, for some unknown reason, Al sent me something unexpected by text last night. No idea why; it was an error and was meant to go to someone else, but I have no idea who. I’ve played chivalrous and dumb, though – he texted again like half an hour later saying “fck sry **pls** 4gt lst txt mbrrssd xpln l8r kept 2self long story!” in true unpunctuated Al form, but I wrote back saying “What text? Didn’t get anything” even though I did.

    I got a picture. Of Al’s c0ck. At full mast. I’ve seen his room often enough to recognise the background and know it was taken there, so I’m assuming it’s his unless Al also has something big he needs to tell us.

    Of course I couldn’t write back and say that; discretion, valour etc. Guessing he thinks he got away with it, but no idea who it was intended for since his response indicates it wasn’t supposed to come to me, but I am intrigued. Embarrassingly I have not yet deleted it, for reasons I cannot adequately explain.

    More as it happens.
    -C
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  46. #96
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    Random c0ck pics.... hardly ever happens to me.
    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

    I was going to say the same thing, Jake. I never seem to get anything as exciting. C. should keep it handy. Never know when it might inspire him to....well you know. I did see something the other night. Went to dinner with friends and one was showing me a photo on his Iphone. I flipped to the next photo and someone's big ass was staring me in the face. He was a bit embarrassed, but it was fun to look at............funny too, he was eating sushi.............

    Craiger

  48. #98
    The old familiar sting blackbeltninja's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    3 months - apologies.

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

    Tuesday 10 June 2008

    Things which irritate me:
    writing exams

    Right, so by the time the next entry rolls around, I’ll be on leave for 5 weeks with one semester of university under my belt. Not necessarily the best semester ever in the history of ever, mind, but done is done and that’s what will count in the end. Cell biology just finished, Cem on Friday and Physics on Monday, and then... holidays. Not exactly beach weather, being June in the southern hemisphere, but a recharge is a recharge.

    Al has been a little scarce since The Incident last week. Not sure if he can tell from his phone that I did get that text after all or he’s just grafting – we all are, I suppose – but he’s been quieter than usual. Still no closer, then, to knowing whom he was sending the weenie picture to. Actually, I suppose I should probably not call it a weenie, all things considered... not going to say anything else which might incriminate me, but I’m sure you get my drift, eh? Eh? Damn, genetics – what a bitch. It’s a real lottery, that.

    So I got made at the gym Thursday night by Trevor. What a fuck-up. We’re on our way there and we’re just shooting the shit. He’s bitching about Cecilia, and work – waiting tables isn’t fun; been there, done that – and how the study-from-home programme is very easy to fall behind in; the usual chit chat. We get to the gym and head to stash our crap in the locker room and the chat had since progressed on to high school, and one thing lead to another and he’s waxing lyrical about past girlfriends. Seems he was not exactly a wall-flower – lost his virginity at 14 to an older girl and pretty much didn’t stop. I’m wondering whether I should be making up a number for safety’s sake – not going to pretend I have a hundred notches on my bedpost, but perhaps just saying there is one will be less mortifying. I’m wondering whether I should volunteer this information or wait for him to ask when he blindsides me and his behaviour up there suddenly makes sense, because he’s asking if I’ve ever been with a girl or if I knew already and just started with guys.

    Thank G_d we’d got out the locker room by then and were already at the Pec Deck because I’m sure that’s not what the patrons want to hear. I’m not entirely sure what my face looked like in response – shock, offence, disgust – because he looked suddenly very wary for a split second before recovering – “shit, sorry, man, I was under the impression you were gay. Not sure why, though. My bad,” and carrying on like nothing had happened.

    Of course I didn’t ‘fess up, because that would be a.) useful; and b.) clever. So there it was, another golden opportunity which I spurned. I made absolutely sure to not check out any guys, and made even more sure to ogle every set of boobs which jiggled past after that, just to hammer my point home and doing fairly well at it, I thought.

    The session finishes, we get cleaned up – still no view of anything he has; although now perhaps I understand why he lets nothing get seen – and we head home, still chinning about nothing in particular. We get to his driveway, chat another minute or two, and then I say cheers and as I start to head back across the garden to our place he stops me.

    “Hey Charley, I’m sorry about earlier. But you know, if you were a homo it really wouldn’t bug me, hey.” Earnest, sincere, just waiting for me to take up my role as the protagonist.

    So of course I did exactly what you'd expect and I laughed it off with a smartarse remark and, with drums sounding in my head, watched a second golden opportunity float off on the stiff breeze, wasted and unused. I’ve read that the first step in coming out is coming out to yourself, and I’m wondering if maybe I haven’t done that properly which is why I keep fucking out on the next step. I’m a little lost, a lot lost, and I don’t really know where to find that bit of fortitude I need to move things along.

    What if I don’t get this right and I’m still paralysed with fear in twenty years’ time, or more? At this point I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared, big time.

    -C
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  49. #99
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    More Charley! Thanks!

    Identifying with Charley is so easy for me because so much of the story could have been taken directly from my own experiences, thoughts, feelings, desires and regrets.

    I'm fairly certain that -d- and JL would hit it off and get along famously.
    Just one choice -- and you never know which one -- just one choice will change your life forever.
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  50. #100
    Resident Enginerd thermodynamics's Avatar
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    Re: A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

    I, too, feel as though this story is written about me. Especially head-in-the-clouds Charley.

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