A life (barely) worth writing about, by Charley

[blackbeltninja]

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

 

[Craiger]

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.

Craiger

 

[JakeLucas]

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!

 

[blackbeltninja]

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

 

[JakeLucas]

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.

 

[Craiger]

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

 

[blackbeltninja]

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

 

[JakeLucas]

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?

 

[rocabar]

Great new entry, BBN!

 

[Craiger]

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

 

[blackbeltninja]

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

 

[JakeLucas]

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!

 

[Craiger]

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

 

[blackbeltninja]

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

 

[JakeLucas]

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.

 

[Craiger]

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

 

[blackbeltninja]

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

 

[Craiger]

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

 

[JakeLucas]

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.

 

[blackbeltninja]

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