Looking In All The Wrong Places: The MILF and the Straight Boy

Posted on November 10, 2011 by Ryan Vox

Inspired by a conversation I had with my friend Paul about the merits of straight boys and what it was like being a gay teenager a decade before GLEE (ie, the days where being a camp-as-a-tent queer teen WASN’T accepted) I wrote this short story detailing one of my memories from those days.

If mild-ish sexual content isn’t your cup of tea then please avert your eyes now. Otherwise, read on and enjoy!

THE MILF AND THE STRAIGHT BOY
(sometime in the mid-90′s)

Remember when you were a teenager and everyone else’s Mum seemed way cooler than yours? There were several Cool Mums amongst the kids in my class at school – not the least of which was Dina – my friend Nicki’s trendy, rock-chick mother with a pierced nose and hipster jeans. Dina was pretty cool. She always let us hang out after school and play music, bash on the drumkit and on the occasional weekend she let us have parties upstairs at the house she shared with her husband and two kids.

On a seemingly unremarkable Saturday night after not having been to one of Nicki’s parties for a while due to some acting commitments I arrived with the party in full swing. One of the great things about Dina was that, not only was she a MILF, she allowed us to drink and quite often supplied alcohol – as long as she was there to keep an eye us. Nicki was one of those who had friends in every one of the cliques at school. She was pretty enough to be A-List, smart and friendly enough to win over the B-Crowd and alternative enough to be part of the group of musicians, artists, actors and stoners. Consequently her parties featured a good mix of these types and this night was no exception.

I was still milling around in the metaphorical closet at this point, wondering whether or not I should step out. I think Dina knew the truth. She was wordly – surely she did. Dina used to flirt harmlessly with most of the boys but I feel, when it came to me, there was a glint of knowing in her eye. As MTV pumped from the television I danced with Dina in the raunchy, seductive way she was known for, especially on night’s such as this where her husband was overseas for business. We moved like prospective lovers courting, her hips gyrating, gradually pushing harder against my groin and, despite my apparent homo-ness, there was a stirring down there.

The song finished and Dina looked straight into my eyes and smiled a wry little smile before sauntering off to go dance with one of the other boys or pour another drink or something. I didn’t know. My head was swimming from the music, the cheap booze and the thoughts crackling like lightning in my brain. I flopped onto the couch next to some of the others I knew, threw back another vodka and sang along to the pop songs playing on MTV. Time blurred in that way that it does when you’re lightly intoxicated and I floated around the various rooms interacting with various people until I found myself emerging from the bathroom out in the pool-house. I needed to pee really bad and knew there’d be no one out there as it wasn’t quite hot enough to be by the pool.

As I moved through the garden back towards the house I could see, in the small slice of moonlight breaking the darkness, the rounded, smooth little ass of Justin – one of the boys from the A-List group. Facing him, her hand rubbing slowly around his crotch was Dina. Justin’s hand was up inside her shirt and he was massaging her breast as they kissed. Either out of shock or awe or intoxication I stood, staring at their interlude until Dina noticed I was there and shifted her hand away from Justin’s goods. He turned, they had been sprung and moved to cover himself until Dina slowed him with a touch of her hand on his arm. With her other, she started stroking him again, smirking at me as she did so. Justin relaxed under her touch and Dina flicked her head at me, beckoning me over silently with a confidence I found reassuring.

Once there, Dina leant in and kissed me hard on the mouth, her tongue darting between my lips with vigour. Before I knew it, her spare hand was rubbing my package through the fabric of my shorts and my pulse beat in my ears, a nervous cacophony that I was rapidly getting lost in. Dina whispered something to Justin who was, by now, full erect in her other hand, and I didn’t care what they were saying or doing – I had given in to what was happening. Without warning, Dina stopped kissing me and moved her hand to the back of my head, guiding me toward Justin’s lips. It was him that kissed me gingerly, pulling back momentarily like he had been startled by something unexpected. Justin kissed me again, more passionately this time but still somewhat unsurely as Dina resumed fingering the bulge in the front of my pants for a few minutes before her hand left it’s station again to take control and lead my head down toward Justin’s hard tool. He didn’t resist as I took it in my mouth and started working it while Dina ran her fingers through both of our heads of hair.

I was on my knees now and Dina had stepped back a little to allow Justin freedom of movement to fuck my face hard. I had known this boy nearly my whole life and could scarcely believe that my mouth was slurping greedily on his cock. I looked up at Justin, his face contorted in a mix of concentration and power. Dina watched on, merely a bystander now as Justin grabbed the back of my head with both hands and slammed hard into my mouth with one last powerful thrust, pulling me toward him until I nearly choked, making sure he got maximum pleasure from his orgasm.

And with that it was over. Justin retreated from my mouth once I had cleaned him up, zipped his pants and went back inside the party. Dina tidied her hair, smoothed her top and smiled at me before leading me back inside. I was high on smug satisfaction for the rest of the evening and when I woke the next morning and made my way into the kitchen Dina smiled but looked a little embarrassed. Nicki was blissfully unaware and a couple of the other girls whispered that they heard Justin had fucked Dina last night. Wow. Justin had gone home hours before the rest of us crashed and, despite the silly grin plastered on my face, I had resigned myself to the fact that it was a one-time deal.

Except it wasn’t a one-time deal. But I didn’t know that yet.

Posted in Selfish | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Looking In All The Wrong Places: Jarrod and Ben

Posted on February 28, 2011 by Ryan Vox

JARROD AND BEN
(sometime in late 2000)

The reason, I guess, I say that I’m never really sure how special love can be stems from my long string of failed and disastrous “loves”. I never knew that a guy could be both good-looking and nice and funny and smart and out of the closet. In the past I had only ever seen glimpses of these things. Like one good quality per guy or something ridiculous like that. Jamie was nice and treated me well material wise, but he was ten years older and not the young, sexy and charming creature that I wanted and in the end he turned out to be a cheating arsehole much like the rest of them. He was my most recent before Jarrod and before him the string of sluts and bastards blurs with only the occasional sticking out as more painful than the others; Chris – the guy who cast me aside after a small disagreement and told me I was only being used for my money, but what do you expect from an immature spoilt brat? Ron who loved me so passionately, but couldn’t handle the hurricane of emotions that is my life. Jeremy – couldn’t put up with my negativity was the excuse, but basically he just wanted to sleep around. Steve – don’t even know why he left.

And then there was Ben – one of my “real” loves. Exactly a year to the day before Jarrod I was with Ben. So sweet and more than a spunk I thought he was the one. Until he turned on me viciously and tore my heart out. He slept with about twenty other guys behind my back. No exaggeration.

But they are all remembered for one reason or another. Usually one good reason and one bad reason as if I’m still trying to weigh up the options in my head and decide, probably for the worst, what to do. After all this time. That’s the Libra side in me coming out. What a combination! A passionate and impulsive Scorpio full of gushing love and affection blended with the deep consideration and, still, the stupidity of a Libra. That’s me all over. Always so much feeling, but never quite sure where to direct it.

Cest la vie.

But Ben was my ideal guy at the time. I didn’t know any better. My first boyfriend, Sebastian, the love of my life, had been somewhat of a novice. I think perhaps we were both testing the water when we were together, but Ben was a lot later and I thought I was more mature and ready to settle down when I met him.

I dragged Linda to spy on him with me at his work – Toys R Us, Miranda. The weeks of phone chat and wondering what he was like were all but forgotten when I finally saw him. Across the store there was this beautiful carved face topped with black spiky hair. Smiling at the girl he worked with, he stepped out from behind the counter, gliding along the floor like a surreal being, the hideous uniform that made anyone else look like a fool was stunning on him and ever so sexy. My jaw dropped and smacked the floor. So did Linda’s. Surely I couldn’t have found a being this beautiful and this nice on a phone chat-line? But looks can be deceiving, as I was to learn over and over.

Months later the novelty of having a boyfriend had worn off for him and Ben was tiring of me. I wasn’t always the happiest place on Earth but was I that bad? I started to suspect that something was going on so I looked through the received text messages on his mobile; I just got out of the shower and I’m so hot for you. Wish I was there and we could do what we did the other night. Luv Joe. Who the flying fuck was Joe? What did he do with my boyfriend the other night? But I let it slide. And slide our relationship did; til one night when I got what was soon to become a familiar message; We need to talk.

But there was to be no talking, just further text messages that turned abusive and the replacement boy who was there kissing my boyfriend on the lips and sleeping on my side of the bed had something to say; This is Pat, ruler of Ben’s domain. Get a fucking life and leave us alone you fuckin’ freak. Needless to say I went feral.

I convinced myself as I have done since that Ben would come to his senses and he would return to me. I sat in my room, collecting the petals from the roses he gave me and put them in a shoebox with all the things Ben had left at my house. Part of a spell to recall one who hasn’t been faithful. The box was still under my bed and I was still waiting a year later. I’ve only seen Ben four times since. Once at the Easter Show, twice in the audience of Pepsi Chart on Channel 10 and at a trashbag gay night club the night I met Jarrod.

But it wasn’t until three or more months after the break up that I found out the true extent of how much he was sleeping around behind my back. I went feral again but to no avail. First thought was that I should go and have some tests done just to make sure. I didn’t need to, but that’s another story.

It amazes me now how much Jarrod reminds me of Ben. I mean in looks. Exactly one year after Ben I am dating a guy who could all but be his twin. So much alike and yet so very different in personality. Bizarre. One part of me half expects Jarrod to turn out like Ben. But the other half knows that he won’t, because I could never be hurt like that again. I’ve developed a callous now over my heart and maybe that’s a hindrance because it’s harder for people to get in, but at least it stops me from being so hurt.
Ben was nothing but a fantasy that I painted in my head. His personality and sweetness were an act on his part and a well-orchestrated illusion in my mind – a tradition that I would carry from relationship to relationship. All’s fair in love and war though; I broke Scottie’s heart to be with Ben and I was to pay for it. Sometimes if the mood is right and there’s something in the air, I still pay for it. I can occasionally feel Ben by my side, the fantasy of what I believed him to be is stuck in my head and I miss him

(the illusion)

from time to time. It was fun when it was fun. First time I didn’t have to sneak around on account of him living in his grandparent’s garage. First time since Sebastian that I fell arms open into the gaping, sharp-toothed jaws of love. But it’s over now and the past is the past. But why does the past hurt so bad? And why does it come back to haunt us?

Posted in Selfish | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

sob story

Posted on February 24, 2011 by Ryan Vox

You can go out to the Smoking Area of this office at any given time, on any given day and there will always be a woman crying out there.

I’m not quite sure why or how but there is always some crazy, emotional boo-frickety-hoo taking place in the one area where people go to escape their melodramatic co-workers.

No, I don’t mean that it’s the same woman every time. I mean it’s random women – different all the time. Either being comforted by a co-worker in person (who more often than not looks embarassed or mortified) or a loved one via phone.

Sometimes she’s blonde, sometimes brunette, sometimes fat, sometimes thin – but she’s always crying, sobbing, about something.

Posted in Selfish | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Looking In All The Wrong Places: Wrong Place, Right Time

Posted on February 23, 2011 by Ryan Vox

Looking In All The Wrong Places is a series of short, autobiographical stories I wrote somewhere around a decade ago.

I’ve decided to publish them (and possibly continue the series) after re-discovering them while cleaning out old files in my office and realising that, though they may be sometimes confronting or downright terrible, they are an insight into a jaded, cynical, opinionated and often immature boy that – like it or not – is a big part of me.

I won’t be presenting them in any particular order and I have updated some of the pop-culture references to ensure the context is understood at the time of posting.

Here’s the first:

WRONG PLACE, RIGHT TIME
(sometime in 2000)

Two weeks ago as I walked up Oxford Street in Sydney to meet Johnny and (hopefully, definitely) run into Jarrod again, it occurred to me just how much I really disliked the place and the entire group and scene. I had never been a ‘scene-queen’ because, to be honest, I find the whole culture disgusting. (Trashy, effeminate guys in tight tops with a reality TV star attitude does not turn me on).  All I can see when I look at them is a life that will get them no where.  I shouldn’t criticise because they’re probably quite happy – but that life is not for me.  Especially now, I can’t see myself as a pierced forty-something queen in tight singlet and leather pants hitting on an eighteen year old in the Midnight Shift by showing him my nipple ring.  It didn’t do it for me when I was eighteen so why would it work on any other eighteen-year-old?

I pondered all this on that night as I strutted up the street, nose held high in the air, staring past the looks of older guys and ignoring the ones behind me saying what a fine piece of meat I was.  Meat?  Sorry, thought I was a person? I must be mistaken.

Seas of faces swim past me as I head toward the ‘Shift where I know all my ‘friends’ will be and even though I look through them I can still tell what they are thinking and what kind of guys they are.  With a sideways glance I can differentiate the sweeties from the one-night-standers, the users from the commiters, the shy from the show-offs.  All of them fit the stereotype so well and I’m certain that I fall into one category or another as well.  Just not sure which.  Another piece I’ve yet to fit to the puzzle.

But one thing is for real.  I don’t consider myself to be like them.  I’m neither gay nor bisexual nor straight.  I’m neither a sweetie nor a one-nighter.  I’m a person.  I’m not proud of being gay, but neither am I disproud.  I’m just the way I am.  It’s like taking pride and announcing that you have blonde hair and marching in a parade because of it.  So what?  Are people supposed to bow down and worship homosexuals on Mardi Gras night?  If so, then I don’t want a part of it.  I don’t want to be labelled as So-and-So’s ‘gay friend’ or ‘the gay guy from my office’. All I want is to be labelled as a person for after all that’s what I am.  Sure, I might have a different sexual preference to the norm but I also prefer horror movies over comedies or love stories.  Do I get a parade for that?

And so I enter the ‘Shift on a Saturday night.  Haven’t been here in at least three months (the only time I do is when I’m desperately bored), but nothing has changed.  The older men are ganged around the walls at the front and back, just waiting for a younger guy to slip away from his friends.  (Mmmmmm, fresh prey). The place reeks of stale alcohol and sweat as if the walls were decade old sponges absorbing the filth from the hundreds of bodies crammed in and from the line spewing forth into the street.  Britney Spear’s face leers at me from the TV on the wall and oops, she did it again as Johnny and I squeeze through the groping crowd to join the others up the back on the dance floor.

I take off my jacket and start to bop away as the familiar monotony kicks back in and I dance like a whore to the same-old, same-old music.  Arms in the air and gyrating my hips I feel so uncomfortable, but when in Rome.  You see my problem is this, I’m dreamin’ away, wishin’ that heroes they truly exist, I cry watching the days, can’t you see I’m a fool in so many ways.  You’re right Britney, one hundred percent right.

No sign of Jarrod as I continue to sway to the beat.  Johnny mutters something about Jarrod being up in the pool room with Jackie. I thought he would have come out to see me by now.  My insecurities flutter.  Guess he’s not interested.  Should have known better than to get hopeful.  But the words he spoke to me that morning as we left the club at eight am come back; “Of course I wanna see you tonight.”

Maybe, maybe I’ll hang on for a bit longer.

Sure enough he appears after what seems like an eternity, pushing through the crowd in our direction.  I pretend not to notice him edging closer – testing to see if he’ll approach me or whether he’s forgotten me already.  He stops and starts to dance with one of my ‘friends’ -  someone I barely know.  They move rhythmically, stepping closer until they are breathing in each other’s faces.  I peer out from the corners of my eyes and scowl as their dance becomes personal and sexual.  The brushing of lower bodies infuriates me as they run their hands over one another, looking deep through the eyes and into the souls that linger underneath.  Swaying, caressing, almost loving. I cannot stand it and I turn away – diverting my eyes as if from the blinding sun.  I do not look again but Jarrod steps into my line of vision now that they have pulled apart.  My eyes remain grounded, focusing on the swarm of legs dancing in my vicinity.  I am mad and do not so much as glance in Jarrod’s direction but centre my attention on Johnny’s new boy, Bradley.  Brad dances with me to Ricky Martin and we move closer – gaining more sexual tension by the second until we grope at each other.  I can sense Johnny staring in disbelief and Jarrod looking also.  Two can play at this game.

In a few minutes time I take the risk and look at Jarrod.  He is dancing, not so slutty this time and he smiles at me, his lips spelling the greeting; “Hey…”.  I can see in his eyes that something is not quite right with him and I turn away without response.  Not in the mood to be fucked with tonight.

The rest of our night consists of Jarrod kissing me and then disappearing only to reappear dancing in someone else’s pants before kissing me and repeating the cycle until about three am when I have the shits so bad that I’m ready to leave.  I make my annoyance known and he explains about the first-time drug use.  He has just thrown up and seems a bit more grounded now, so I’ll stick around.

But as they say, the rest is history. He says he loves me and I cannot help but believe him because I see the honesty and affection glowing from his eyes.  He smiles at me for no reason – says it’s because I make him so happy.  We spend every spare second together, we are not afraid to show our love in public and most of all we are not afraid to show our love and commitment to one another.  He is affectionate, passionate, funny, sweet and intelligent.  The good looks are just a bonus.  He makes me smile too.  My brain is still filled with questions and doubts, but my heart says go with the flow and don’t fuck it up this time.

Posted in Selfish | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

You’re so fat! Now eat this cake!

Posted on January 25, 2011 by Ryan Vox

When I was a kid we used to visit family in Goulburn, a large country town, every holiday.

I used to watch TV shows and holiday movies and wonder why my grandmother wasn’t like the doting, cuddly, sweet-natured ladies with rosy cheeks depicted in these fictionalised accounts of Christmas or Easter. My Grandma was a slim, well-presented, active member of the community. She presided over the Hospital board, fundraised to build a new school hall, catered functions and still found time to keep a lovely home and look her best. But when it came to us kids, my sister and I, being two of five grandchildren, things were different.

Grandma was cold and distant with us. Weren’t grandmothers supposed to spoil their grandkids, especially at Christmas and birthdays?

“You kids have far too many presents!” she would say. “You don’t need all these. That’s just greedy.”

Weren’t grandmothers supposed to be plump, smiling and have an apron full of treats?

“You’re getting fat. I don’t know why you’re getting so fat.” she would say as we sat at the table eating our lunch.

“I don’t know either Grandma.” I would reply.

“Well you should know!” she would exclaim, her voice resembling a screeching cockatoo, “You shouldn’t be eating so much!”

I didn’t know what to say. I would sit in silence.

“Your mother doesn’t want fat kids! Your mother has enough to worry about without you adding to it.”

“I know, Grandma.” I would agree sheepishly.

“You don’t say ‘I know’ to an adult! It’s rude! You don’t know better than an adult does! You say ‘Yes, Grandma’.”

Silence for a beat. Anything I say now will be deemed rude and quite frankly I was very scared of this woman.

“Now, if you go into the freezer in the laundry there’s some fairy cakes, lamingtons and slice in containers on the third shelf. Bring them out please.”

Did Grandma just call me fat and then tell me to go and get some cakes? If i’m so fat why has she just let me eat four fairy cakes and three lamingtons and is asking me if I would like more? I wondered.

I didn’t think I was fat. Chubby cheeks maybe, but not fat.

I wondered if she were the same with my cousins? Had she been the same with my Mum and aunt when they were growing up?

I wondered if she loved us, my sister and I? Most things she vocalised indicated that Grandma was ashamed and disappointed in us. Maybe even disgusted? But she always made sure we had had enough to eat – even in between scolds for being greedy and fat.

Posted in Selfish, Weight Loss | Leave a comment