Green Room II
Last night, Bob and I played pool in town. We were in the mood to celebrate Bob's first day of freedom from the drug biz. Big bro was there with a group of friends. As soon as I spotted them, I wanted to leave. "Ignore them and enjoy the evening," was Bob's advice. It was his treat, and I was reticent to spoil his night.
We played a few games between ourselves and some other guys until quite late, when Big bro approached Bruce and insisted on using the table. Bob explained that we had a game to finish, and that another group was already in line. Big bro poked Bob in the chest and, again, demanded the table. I grabbed Bob and suggested we leave. A fight with big bro would be another one too many. Big bro took a handful of my shirt and snarled: "It's a pity you've turned into such a chicken shit." I should have raised my hands in surrender. Instead I took hold of his wrist. His knee immediately struck my balls and sent a searing pain through my groin, then to my head. My knees buckled. Bob was amped to climb into big bro, and would surely have beaten the crap out of him, but I convinced my mate to leave.
"Don't fucking do that!" he complained angrily as we entered his car. "You can become a target if you want but don't turn me into a lowlife chickenshit. I could have handled that dickhead."
"Yeah, right," I groaned as I cradled my nuts in an attempt to ease the pain. "Sorry for being such a lowlife chickenshit. Go back to the pub and beat him up. I'll phone the hospital and tell them to expect you."
"Jesus, you've changed."
"Yeah ... getting beaten up regularly by fists does that to a person."
"I hate to spoil this evening, Stuart, but you just stood there like a dork while he climbed into you, for fuck sake. A while ago you would have flattened him before he got a chance to raise his hands."
"I was waiting for him to give me a blow job."
Bob collapsed laughing, which eased the tension. "That's what I'm here for."
Graham arrived late Sunday to ask if I would join him and his girlfriend for pizza. It was okay but by night's end I felt like a spare wheel. No need to peek under the table to know she was playing with his thighs. He sported a huge hardon when he rose to leave the table. All night, they pecked at each other and, one time, he attacked her neck in vampire fashion. Hahahaha! He made me realize he was no longer a little kid. Meanwhile, I felt uncomfortable and wished Melanie was there to make it a foursome.
I noticed a friend of mine outside the restaurant and spent a while chatting to him and his girl. This was not a cool time for me, and I was pretty sure Graham knew it despite my attempts to appear normal.
Much later, Graham and his girl were ready to leave the restaurant. I arranged to meet him back at my place for his sleepover. But on arrival home, I worried about his safety, and whether I should have accompanied him and his girl back to her house. However, he rocked up quite soon with a small rucksack on his back.
"I'm sorry for what happened," he said as he dropped his bag on my bed. "I should have made it another night. You looked totally raw."
"I felt like a spare wheel."
"Anyway, you're here and that's what matters. What would you like to do?"
"Check out a surf vid?"
It was an old surf movie, probably made in the 70s. It was a good laugh to watch a whole different vibe back then, and to hear Graham's chirps about the hairstyles and baggies. We sank a few beers, then I took a shower while he listened to music. Later, I made hotdogs in the kitchen. I can do that. Hahaha!
Dressed in our boxers, we sat on my bed to eat. Graham had me in hysterics as he spoke about his swimming. But once he mentioned big bro and how brilliant a swimmer he was/is, I told him about the confrontation at the pub. "Oh? So you learned nothing from what I taught you about boxing?" The little shit.
"There's a crumb on your pec," I observed as I used a finger to flick it off, but not before I fingered his nipple. "Did you and Kyle ever kiss?"
"Why? I can't remember. I don't think so."
"I just wondered."
"Isn't it weird, though? Two guys kissing?"
"Are you asking me because you want to kiss me or something?"
"I'd like to taste what your girlfriend tasted." Actually, his casual attitude toward the convo surprised me. I thought he might freak but he didn't.
"Like tongue kissing?"
"So you want to like... try to kiss me?"
I did, and he responded with astonishing enthusiasm. When our lips finally peeled apart, I asked: "So, I guess I kiss pretty good, huh?"
"So why don't you have a girlfriend?"
"I dunno. Maybe because my face is still a mess after my dad beat me." I paused a moment. "Graham?"
"Are you enjoying this?"
The last time I visited Fremantle, I had to make my own way to the house. Then I was greeted at the door by a slap across the chops. What would happen this time? I wondered as I entered the airport baggage area.
I can't begin to tell you how cool it was to see Brett's smiling face waiting for me. He was relaxed and friendly, which made me feel more than welcome. You need to understand something about Brett's face, G. He's capable of making you feel lower than shark shit, but also of elevating your spirits to dizzying heights. In this case, it was the latter. I felt 10 feet tall, and beamed from ear to ear. It was just so damn good to see him.
"How's it going in Byron?" he asked as we shook hands, and then headed to the parking lot.
"Pretty cool. Got a lotta catch-up to do at school. Stuffed up the first term. Been surfing with Graham a lot."
"You really like that kid."
"He reminds me of Kyle in so many ways."
"How are the Ts?"
"Okay. They spend a lot more time together now. You know, going out to dinner, weekends away. That kinda thing. They were always close, but I guess they realize how important being together is now that Kyle's gone. Every moment is just so precious."
"They're wonderful people; always treated me like a son."
On the trip back to the house in the Bug, Brett informed me that Fingers was away for week, which meant Brett and I would share the house alone--a chance to get to know each other again. My feeling was that Brett and I were friendly but not actual friends. He had a way of keeping himself at an arm's length. Not the easiest person to get to know on a more personal and intimate level.
Brett was aware of my pathetic inadequacies in the kitchen, so he elected to be chief chef. He had me there, though, helping, showing me what to do, teaching me to cook. He was like a mother. And that was another fascinating aspect of Brett's character: tough as nails one minute, yet treat you as family the next.
"Where did you learn all this stuff?" I asked as I peeled a carrot.
"I had no choice. It was just me and my mom after dad split. I had to clean, wash, cook, iron and all that other crap. But it's handy. You should learn, mate."
"No need. We got a housekeeper and staff."
"So the staff are smarter than the boss?"
"Never thought of it that way."
His vibe meant that sex was an inappropriate topic. Even when we discussed Kyle sex never entered into the conversation. The vibe was comfortable, and the absence of sex as a topic didn't bother me at all. Okay, so I cracked a boner each time I saw Brett in briefs or boxers, but I sorted that out later in the shower. You gotta believe me, G, when I say that Brett is a god. That bloke is simply awesome.
The black guys at the barn where the yacht was built were all rows of sparkling pearlies when they saw me. No way a white bloke could smile like those fellas. They shook my hand `til I thought it would fall off. But it was great to be welcomed back with such cheerful enthusiasm and affection.
Thankfully, I didn't need to sand fiberglass during the first few days. I was able to work dressed in boxers without fear of fiberglass dust. Instead, I sanded timber. What I didn't realize at the time was the way wood dust penetrates your pubes and foreskin. What a hassle! In the shower, I saw little bits of mud around my cockhead. Not a good look! Hahahaha!
Fingers phoned the second night and we spoke for ages about how cool it was to have me as a guest. He couldn't wait to get home. Hey, I couldn't wait either!
The following night, Brett made it plain he wanted to be with his girlfriend. He left me home all alone with the TV remote and a fridge full of beer. Hello? Bleh. So I took a walk into town where I found a pub. Seemed inviting enough. I wandered in, ordered a beer, and saw a chick sitting by herself. She was mid 20s and latched on to me right away. What can I say? I wore Levis and an open shirt over a black T, which hugged my bod.
"The problem with good looking guys," she said, "is that they're always full of shit."
"How do you know?"
"Been there, done that--more times than I care to remember."
"Me too, but the other way around. I've had more bitches than you've had breakfasts, and they're all useless."
"Sounds to me," she smiled, "we're both still searching for the right person to come along."
We laughed at the sound of our own sarcastic comments. After about 4 beers, her fingers found their way under my T and played with my pecs.
"What are you looking for?"
"A real man--like what's under your shirt, Stuart."
"I got other stuff I can show you, but it's not under my T."
It was an offer she couldn't refuse. We left the pub and headed back to Fingers' house. Almost as soon as we opened the door, it became an orgy, which made me realize just how desperate I'd become for wild sex.
"Forget the condom."
"Sorry, babe--can't do that."
Then the shit happened. She rummaged around in her bag and produced the coke. By then I was way past refusing, so we snorted a few lines. Now I can't remember if I wore a condom the second time around.
Brett arrived home while the girl and I were in the act of snorting. He glared at us but didn't say a word to me. However, he told the girl to fuck off out of the house. Pronto.
Naturally, I was totally pissed at the way Brett handled the situation. "Listen, Brett..." was as far as I got before he pushed an angry finger up my nose.
"Don't," he growled in his deep voice. "I'm not interested. You're pissed and you're fucked."
When morning arrived, I was still dressed in the clothes I wore the previous night. I'd obviously passed out, and crashed on the floor where I collapsed. I checked on Brett, who was still asleep.
I showered, pulled on a clean pair of briefs, made two coffees in the kitchen and took them back to his room. I shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes right away, but he was definitely not a happy little chappie.
Not a word was spoken while he made his breakfast in the kitchen, all the while treating me as if I didn't exist.