I buy a beer
I buy a beer find a table and settle in on the verandah unpacking my book and ciggies fishing up a menu and the ashtray. All props of
sorts. I’m new here. I’ve come looking for fresh people and broader social
horizons.
I’ve heard that he comes here sometimes. So I’m on a mission
of sorts to seek him out in a recreational setting. It’s been awhile.
One time I told him he was a person
of interest to me. Snakes alive! like you would not believe.
He’s a player.
He’s cheeky and charming, handsome well mannered and kinda shy, with a hefty curiosity for life. He’s a prize smart arse to boot with that steely irreverence and bastardry of the clever thinking working man.
You get a sense of my feelings and for my crush. These are substantial praises I sing, he shines brighter to me than all of you lot put together, and that’s all I'll say on the subject.
I quite like this place. Too noisy
and it can hurt my brain…this has a muted vibe and hum that makes for good wall
paper.
The book I’m reading is small-town Americana from Stephen King’s formidable imagination. The beer drinks itself another takes its place, and I order with the kitchen staff.
He is here. I know this before I know how I know this. He calls out to me in greeting and here he is before me.
We shake hands. It is our custom and a pleasant way to make a
greeting. I find it courteous, old fashioned and a little bit three musketeers which I admit to finding attractive.
Like this man whose hand I always hold for longer than we
should.
My friend the self-confessed rake. Who told me candidly that he won’t have sex with the women he likes because it’s simply too bloody complicated.
My friend the self-confessed rake. Who told me candidly that he won’t have sex with the women he likes because it’s simply too bloody complicated.
The grey haired green eyed handsome one who’s gone now to
organise beers and his dinner.
The silly grin of wonderment is happiness writ large upside
my face.
Because I know he likes me too and I’m sure and hopeful for a kiss and the invitation to fool around a little at the end of the night.
He of the genius crooked charm and brain. He feels like home to me. Sappy but true.
We share country as the Indigenies might say.
We share country as the Indigenies might say.
This is our town.
No matter what the banks and speculators do to gentrify we will always belong here to this place.
It’s us that tends and loves this patch of land, us lot who’ve worked it coaxed it built it and fought very bloody hard for every square inch we still claim as our own.
No matter what the banks and speculators do to gentrify we will always belong here to this place.
It’s us that tends and loves this patch of land, us lot who’ve worked it coaxed it built it and fought very bloody hard for every square inch we still claim as our own.
It is our place our home our day dreaming and very much our town.
He tells me he has had them spike our meal tickets together we raise a glass to good health and vitality and we’re away. He has a lighthearted touch with his stories and asks lots of pointed and telling questions.
Our chatter flows as freely as the beers and our laughter... I think the food is good?
Our chatter flows as freely as the beers and our laughter... I think the food is good?
It is late before we know it. Still giggling I roll a ciggie as he offers to see me home.
-Yeah thanks that's lovely.
We hold hands, and I nearly can’t breathe as the world falls away deep into probability and lust.
I wonder to him does this mean that he likes me or that he likes me not?
He turns into me and reckons he is one big like of me and how lovely I am or it’d be real friggin’ scary.
I believe him.
I know vulnerable when I see it staring soft fierce faced at me. I keep hold his hand and kiss it with a flourish like a prince might. Both sides which is unique to me I should think.
We walk on cuddling a bit about each other.
I believe him.
I know vulnerable when I see it staring soft fierce faced at me. I keep hold his hand and kiss it with a flourish like a prince might. Both sides which is unique to me I should think.
We walk on cuddling a bit about each other.
-Let’s go onto the oval. It’s hallowed at night yeah.
Sacred ground.
Sacred ground.
So we do. It’s old early last century old, and I love it. We traipse up to the top of the grandstand and watch the shadows play across the paddock and the sky.
We slowly inch into each other sneaking out new places bold full of shy caress and heated breath. I moan, and he laughs as kisses firm between us.
I know I know I can hear you thinking that this is another good girl falls for bad boy story-like on the cover of a Cosmo magazine, and you’d be well mistaken.
He’s no saint me neither, and we are strong friends. He’s been scared off by a litany of bad experiences gun shy like lots of us at this stage of our lives.
A little battle weary a little shell shocked, and a little aghast at the toll the battle of the sexes is taking on us all.
He is my most favorite of people. Self aware and kinda worldly worn.
He’s humble as a holy roller of the highest order all brave and quietly full of bullshit and fancy on a daily basis. He has the best sense of fun you’re ever likely to meet.
He’s humble as a holy roller of the highest order all brave and quietly full of bullshit and fancy on a daily basis. He has the best sense of fun you’re ever likely to meet.
We make out in the grandstand under
a slice of lemon moon overlooking the holy hallowed ground. Dry rooting we
called it back in the day.
He is melt crazy kissable.
Fit and strong and sweet like you cannot begin to know. I keep leaning into him tightly embraced and it is the most soulful sexy and sensible thing I can ever think to do.
I make a ciggie as we cuddle and sit wrapped in each other arching and nestling across the skin of snuggle and making promises on the frisson of our affection.
Eventually we get around to gathering ourselves together for the walk to mine.
We stop a couple of times to try on more steamy kisses and
pause to hold tight this fat amazement of sex and sensibility. We grin to echo
all the goose bumps we have raised as we slowly wend the half mile home.
Outside on the footpath I ask him
in.
Inside we fall back into the front door breathing each
other mad and making kisses so dirty your hair might stand on end. We push and
tease and rub at each other swaying a little and shooting from the hip in a
groove that’s as old as time.
I want him weak kneed raggedy breathing want him. If it’s all I ever do I want to lie down with this one. Now and forever and at the hour of my death. Forever and ever amen. Oh sweet Jesus! to never ever really ever get up from this one. Never ever again.
Then Sister Mary Pius starts up in my head. I like him and at the same time I don’t think we should have sex. I’m no wowzer, but I’m no libertine either. I want a slow-paced-fast-hands kind of thang.
In that instant I do the only thing
I can. I punt that Sister Mary Pius right out of the frame.
He pulls away a little sensing my drift and we make smiles
of kisses and still pasted to each other head to the kitchen. He puts the
kettle on rattles about for cups and pats the bench for me to hop up. We set
upon each other as seagulls are to chip.
My breath hitches high in my throat and I ache to have him
in me.
His hands are up and under my shirt grazing stroking and
teasing at my skin brushing against my nipples with a pinch that sees a moan escape
me. Chuckling softly he pushes up my top and takes me into his mouth. Wet hot
me as I cradle him surfing his deft touch.
Can I say how much I like him? his flatteries and clever attentions are how he caught my eye that somber public holiday. See now as we lick kisses and prowl about each other all smooches and biting pash as our hands roam and tease taking sweet blessed liberties.
See the flirting and the fumbling arc of the ever curvaceous filthy minded touch.
See the flirting and the fumbling arc of the ever curvaceous filthy minded touch.
We sigh and shiver kiss hard and groan a slow fierce close
burn a moan of need so deep and us both a bit mean and nasty across the bump and
grind of it all.
We die hard and fast small deaths. Stuck on each others’
greedy fingertips mouthfuls of dirty sweet kisses it is the cannibalised promises
of filthy mutterings that see us take it upstairs to my bed.
And there we leave you my little street urchins and turtle doves all dozy cozy in a mellow sleepy daze as we digest the loving spoonful of righteous crafted fiction
And there we leave you my little street urchins and turtle doves all dozy cozy in a mellow sleepy daze as we digest the loving spoonful of righteous crafted fiction
play nice among yourselves soul fellows and try to be alert
your country needs lerts
Ciao bella
&
from all of us at the mpua hq
a big fat
la dolce vita to youse all
*** the mullers and packers union of australia retains any and all intellectual and creative copyright in this and all or any subsequent and previous posts..the mullers and packers union of australia also respects acknowledges and sources to the best of it's ability all and any other copyrights in play that are used in the commission of the creative goals of the author and the mullers and packers union of australia and all who sail with her. ***
