HOT ARAB NUMBER 5

Well Summer finally arrived in Sydney last weekend.....in Autumn; as my pic last Sunday morning from my back balcony over the Hills of Dulwich demonstrates (Easter has since proven otherwise unfortunately). A big blue Sydney sky with enough stench of ozone to make it very pleasant indeed. All of Summer was spent catching up on the monsoonal rains that this part of the world has missed for the last 15 years. The last time we had rain like that I had a perm and a girlfriend. My my it's amazing what a drought can change. So the rain was much needed. However it does tend to ruin one's fashion plans for the season, not to mention one's tan. The weather last week was trully glorious almost causing me to burst into old Church of England hymms about gardening and animals. Instead I went to North Bondi to observe hot men ( Sat afternoon). I actually haven't swum at North Bondi since just after September 11 (2001) when Betty and I were at the beach (quite inebriated as I remember) and Britney Spears came for a swim. Yes I know......am I stalking her? Britney Spears in September 2001 (when she still had her mind and her panties) was in Sydney for a promo visit when the World Trade Towers were struck. This resulted in her being stranded here for as I recall about two or three weeks as there was a flying ban into the US. One Sunday she decided to visit Bondi Beach. Brad and I were smashed at the beach giggling to ourselves reading the Sunday papers out aloud when suddenly all these burly blokes arrived on the beach in black suits. I didn't know whether it was last rites or the Soprano's. And then this twig of a thing ran through the middle of the suits and into the surf. It was Britney. She jumped up and down , screamed and said it was "Great!". Everyone clapped, took photos and she left. Good times.

So Reef oiled up like George Hamilton I found my spot at North Bondi, pulled out my copy of Bette and Joan: The Divine Feud to signify to the masses that I was homoxial.........not that one really has to do that at North Bondi; even the seagulls are gay. Well it was like Arq (gay niteclub) at the beach. All the same rules still apply. Look at each other, pretend not to look at each other, wander around each other, laugh as if ur having a good time (this can look a tad demented if one is on one's own....), smirk at each other then ignore and then look busy on phone. The only difference is that there is sand and water involved. We're all wearing pretty much the same amount of clothing as we would wear at Arq. There were twinks, muscle mary's, bears, leather queens, nancies and those lost in translation. It was the United Nations of Homosexuality. Between the pages of Bette and Joan (I think I read one sentence for the entire afternoon), I was exchanging various glances employing said Arq procedures of mating when Hot Arab Number 5 positioned himself directly in front of me about 3 metres away towards the beach. Hot Arab Number 5? No it's not a perfume. It's a man.We snogged on the dancefloor at Ceasars's (now closed...on parra road at Stanmore) in early 2002 and he was wearing a baby blue abercombrie fitch shirt with the number 5 emblazened across it. We snogged so much I lost weight; all night and never a word spoken. I thought for a while that he might have been deaf. He smiled alot.Regardless, he was so piping, I thought if I took a breath to speak he might leave. And then he did. On the stroke of Don't Leave Me This Way he grabbed both my hands, kissed my forehead and left.

Disastrous. I'd already planned commitment ceremonies, holidays to the greek islands, villas in france, spain and italy, his and his dogs, foster children and perhaps sign language classes. His Batman style exit was not included in my itinerary. Drenched in devasation, I drank 50 thousand more scotches, propositioned myself and asked myself home. I obliged.

But that was not the end of Hot Arab Number 5. We have spent the next 5 years exchanging glances. We see each other at gym, bars, clubs, restaurants, airports...even in Christchurch, wearing the same shirt (he lost points for that). We have never spoken a word to each other. We just glance, stare, smirk and disappear. I find it frustratingly enjoyable. He has these crazy green eyes that give him the ability to lock onto you through a crowded room.....and well....I lose the power of speech. He probably thinks I am deaf too.

So back to Bondi. Hot Arab Number Five took his top off (did I mention he is made out of marble?), stripped down to his swimmers (yes more marble) and started applying sunscreen. Meanwhile I am frantically rearranging myself from my back lying 'seal on a rock' position to the far hotter (yes of course I have a six pack) lying on my stomach position facing towards Hot Arab Number 5. This was accompanied by flurries of sand, sunglasses and reef oil. I must have looked like I was mining for gold or about to lay an egg...one or the other. Hot Arab Number 5 continued to apply lotion all over his marble. I'm settled, Bette and Joan in hand....hide cigarettes to look healthy. What if he can't see my face because of the book? Perhaps I should put the book down I thought. I had to look busy...I couldn't simply being looking straight ahead.My phone: I would pretend I am texting someone. I put Bette and Joan down. Commenced said pretend texting. He continued to apply lotion....he has a lot of marble.

Putting on his ipod, he finally fell onto his towel. I was hoping he would be lying on his stomach as that would result in our eyes locking. No of course that didn't happen. He lay on his back. I stopped pretend texting. What did I do now? I could walk past him going into the water. But that wouldn't work as he would only see my back not my face ......and I ccouldn't really walk backwards into the water. I could walk around, go into water on the other side and then walk back out of water past him.....just like Daniel Craig did out of Casino Royale. If only I had the body of Daniel Craig and a make up artist. I had to remain wedged in current position and bide my time. I returned to Bette and Joan. Ironically I was up to the part in the book where Joan Crawford is attempting to seduce her second husband to be......by inviting him into her solarium to rub lotion over her back........when he walks in, there she is wearing nothing but a cocked leg and a pair of sunglasses. Perhaps I could have tried a similar thing on Hot Arab Number Five?

Pretty useless if he never turned on his stomach. I returned to Joan's cocked leg and hoped for torso movement in the east.Of course I couldn't concentrate. Reading biographies is not really commensurate to cruising. And any attempted displays of cruising activities on my behalf would be lost on Hot Arab Number 5 who seemed to be intent on tanning his marble chest as opposed to his marble arch. My tontine back on the other hand was starting to resemble a beetroot salad and would progress onto bolognase if I didn't swap positions soon. It was time for a swim.

I jumped up, put my bag under my towel (always fools a junky thief I find) and made my way past Hot Arab Number 5 to the ocean. I kinder made a casual attempt to look down (a bit like an Emu) and lock eyes but I was confronted by a wall of Gucci sunglass. Between the shiney marble and the glossy gucci's, the guy resembled a solar panel. Not a smirk or a grin transpired his lips. Not that I blamed him, my looking down like that, I must have resembled a bald golden retriever.

The water was freezing. I have lived in Sydney now for almost 8 years and I still haven't got used to the temperature of the water; I find it excruciatingly cold. I miss the Queensland beaches……a lot…..the heavy sugary air with that nice warm water. I made my way out past the breakers to calmer waters and decided to lie and float for a while. One of the benefits of having a 22% body fat index is that one is able to float like oil on the ocean. I quite enjoy watching twinks and muscle maries attempting to copy my buoyancy and sinking right to the bottom. I on the other hand could float to Auckland if I wanted.

I looked back to shore just to check that my ingenius decoy to deter thieves from taking my bag was working. It appeared so although one important package was missing; Hot Arab Number 5. His towel imprinted with his marble butt cheeks left firmly on the sand. I scanned the beach looking for him. Perhaps he'd gone for his daily run or with a torso like that, his daily marathon. I then spotted him making his way through the breakers in what appeared to be my direction. What now? There were no phones or biographies to read in the middle of the ocean. Should I look busy or take the sitting duck option? No more Jane Austen games, I was going to wade in the water and blatantly stare at him as he approached. How novel. It was a sure thing. So I did, we locked eyes and he swam straight past. What? Of course he would. That's what we have been doing for the last five years. I don't know why I was surprised. This time however I wasn't going to let him disappear. I swam after him. (Super! I was now stalking amphibiously).

"Hey!" I yelled out to him. If he didn't turn around, I was going to nearly die. If he did turn around, I was going to nearly die. Either way there was going to be a near death experience involved.He turned around and with no facial recognition said, "Yes?". Well it was nice to know he wasn't deaf. What was more concerning was that he now appeared to have amnesia and not know who I was. Perhaps I should remind him. I swam closer with my heart overdriving into a coronary. "Umm you don't remember me? I think I saw you at Trademark last Sunday...". Oh my god I was using Manhunt Message language to have a conversation.This was woeful. Now would have been the perfect time for a shark to come collect me. "Yes I do," he said in a strong middle eastern accent. He looked back down at the beach and then looked straight back at me.......this time covered in recognition and his piercing green eyed smirk. He held both my hands, similar to the last occasion we met, except under the water this time. He then planted a big kiss on my lips. "I have boyfriend. He is arriving now. Thank you for saying hello to me. I must go." He gave me one more kiss and swam back to the beach and vanished. He certainly liked his biblical exits. And there I was stranded at the disco yet again floating on my body fat index wondering what the hell all of that meant.

I swam back to shore. It was 4 o'clock now and the beach was packed with revellers determined to catch a belated summer. The invading purple of Autumn signalled they were fighting a losing battle. I walked back to my towel and to my annoyance found a pile of sand in the middle of it. Thinking the worst, I quickly checked my bag underneath the towel to see if my wallet and phone were still there. Everything was in it's place. Too over it to question, I shook the sand off the towel and in doing so a piece of paper fell out of the towel. I picked it up.It was a handwritten note.

"It was nice to meet you.Chris" ....followed by his phone number. I smirked, left the note in the sand and took myself home.

C