Judy and I in the last few weeks have got into the habit of going to yoga on a Friday night. In an attempt not to then go out and get blind, we have been following the yoga by a nice meal somewhere on Oxford Street, then coffee and cigarettes at Grumpy's Bakery . We sit out the front and announce running commentaries on the passing by crowd. Last Friday was the first proper Sydney winter night. There was a brisk south westerly adding a firm bight to the air. Yoga finished at 9 and we decided that with such a chill and considering we were both ensconced in scarves, it was time to have our first curry of the season. We took ourselves to Don Don's Japanese Restaurant near the corner of Oxford and Crown. For $9.50 we had the nicest Japanese curry and rice. I used to go to Don Don's a lot when I first moved to Sydney. I hadn't been for about five years and I don't think the prices have changed in that time. Located in a room slightly smaller than the average living room, the restaurant sits at its absolute maximum 21 people; so it's very cosy. There's actually a very lower east side Manhattan feel to the place. It's usually full of groovy young alternative gay professionals sipping on their miso soup clicking through their blackberries or iphones discussing the day they just had.
Last Friday night was no different. In fact the mean age appeared to be a pleasant 22, making Judy and myself feel like we were there to apply for the pension, not a meal. A pleasant 22 year-old however is Judy's niche market and his face was soon planted with a permanent grin, as if he slipped over in pool of botox. We also realised that not only were we the only guys over 25/30 in the room but also the only ones speaking English. Predominantly French and Portuguese filtered throughout the room. Sydney lately seems to be over-run by gay Brazilians and Frenchmen; flapping their hands and delivering daffy duck stares. Apart from mild amusement, they generally don't do a great deal for me. Whereas Judy has bedded so many of them in the last few months, he's now fluent in three languages.
Judy: Colin. Oh my god, look at him.
Me: Who?
Judy: That one. He's hot.
Me: He looks like Mr Squiggle.
Judy: I love Mr Squiggle.
Me: No strings attached?
Judy: Oh my god it's Arnoldo.
We had met Arnoldo the previous Sunday night at Action (dance party) at the Art House Bar on Pitt Street in the city. I wasn't going to the party due to my assignment procrastination. I was sitting at home highlighting and facebooking when Judy rang me and advised that he had a free ticket. Putting up a dreadful fight, I accepted immediately and drove into town. Action is a leather come denim themed party where men basically take their shirts off and dance around to music which would be better suited to a satanic sacrifice. When I got there everyone was higher than Everest and Judy had made ten thousand new friends, of which Arnoldo was one. Arnoldo was a dancer from Sao Paulo who came to Sydney with Cirque Du Soleil six years ago and never quite left. He still works as a dancer but we're not quite sure where.
Arnoldo: Paulo (Judy) you left me the other night ?
Arnoldo not only looked like Daffy Duck, he sounded like him as well. He had a great body but as Judy always says about muscle maries, "Million dollar body with a face to guard it."
Arnoldo: We were to go disco dancing remember?
Judy: I lost you. We had a party to go to and I couldn't find you.
Which is always Judy Code for "I'm not interested go away."
Arnoldo: Well we must dance once more!
How very dramatic. Was he dying?
Judy: Yes of course
Judy stared cross-eyed at me.
Arnoldo: Please give me your number.
Judy then blurted out a phone number (certainly not his own), continental kisses were exchanged and Arnoldo disappeared into never to be heard from again. We finished our delicious curries, fixed the bill and made our way to Grumpy's.
Grumpy's is a bakery/café located just down from Stonewall and is the perfect position to watch the bedraggled characters of Oxford street walk by particularly when one of them has started working at the café. Carole has been at Grumpy's for about a month and is stark raving mad. She reminds me of a Muppet….a kind of cross between Miss Piggy and a borderline Jennifer Anniston. She wears a different wig each week and makes a killer hot chocolate. She was abusing customers for wanting tea strainers when we arrived.
Carole: Fucking idiots ……what morons would want to strain the tea themselves?
What dickwits? Can you believe they got into Tony (the barista) for straining the tea before it was brought to them?
Judy: Dreadful
Me: Appalling
Judy: Two hot chocolates please Carole.
Me: Straining optional
Carole disappeared into the café, her blonde horsehair wig following. Judy and I settled at our favourite table just next to the old pale green electric metre box, safely situated a couple of tables back from walking traffic. This gave us plenty of room to pass commentary on those walking by without fear of them hearing us and retaliating.
Oxford Street on a Friday night (well any night for that matter) is a car crash of cultures, sexualities, styles and a lot of things waiting to happen. From our table we look into the bay maree of inner Sydney life with all its slices of pizza, chicken wings, dim sims and chikko rolls fried and well on the way to being over-cooked. Occasionally you get a piece of fruit walking by like the 20 year old bubble ass boy we saw wearing pinstripe shorts, a tight apricot shirt and pink slippers (yes …slippers…yes…pink) licking a gaytime ice block……in ten degree weather! This kid slapped the nancy back into boy. He was Lolita meets Mr Humphries. He stopped traffic literally…. The Chinese tourists at the next door table clapped, the homeless man thought he’d found his wife and the arab bouncers at Stonewall were confused yet strangely turned on at the same time. Bubble ass boy was clearly a hot looking guy who unfortunately had his sense of style hijacked by a munchkin. He minced passed the café.
Judy: Is it an act?
Me: An act? He’s on tour.
Judy: Maybe he's peddling beauty products.
Carole : Fuck off you fucking faggott. Jesus he's always catwalking around here.
Carole was back with our hot chocolates and obviously had not taken a liking to our gaytime friend and his amazing technicolour outfit.
Judy: Carole ….you can't say that!
Carole: Yes I can. He hangs around here trawling for business and twice he's walked away without paying for his coffee.
Me: What do you mean by business?
Carole: The world's oldest profession darling….what do you think?
Judy: Oh my god he's a hooker?
Carole: Trawls for trade going from coffee shop to coffee shop. He targets the old timers.
Me : Is he always licking a gaytime?
At that point gaytime himself turned on his heel and walked back past the café giving both Judy and myself the eye. It was good to know we fell into his target market. I lit another cigarette. Judy and Carole remained in conversation about the hunting habits of young hookers. I looked to my right and found myself being stared at. I caught him out. He grinned, put out his cigarette and went back into the New York Slice pizza store two shops away. Carole was now explaining to Judy that she sold quilts for a living. I was very curious as to who Mr Starer was. I decided to go and get some money from the ATM located next to New York Slice. I walked past and Mr Starer was located behind the pizza counter. He was middle eastern…..tall, dark eyed, curly haired, lanky swimmer's build…early 20s....not exactly my type but quite pretty just the same. I withdrew my money. I turned around and there he was right in front of me.
Mr Starer: Hello
Me: Hi!
He came right up to me and whispered in very broken English.
Mr Starer: You are mine in half hour. I kiss you everywhere.
Had I been sold on e-bay without knowing or had someone finally read my manhunt profile?
Me: Oh thank you. Ummm…I'm John
We shook hands.
Mr Starer: I am Ahmed. We meet later yes? I kiss you on lips and then I kiss you from inside.
He then grabbed me around the waist leaving me in no doubt as to what he meant by kissing me from the inside.
Mr Starer: I must have you.
I love arabs. It's all or nothing. It's either completely blank you or they will start a world war if they don't have you.
Me: Well not tonight. I'm really tired….I have to go home to bed.
Mr Starer: Why not?
Me: I'm tired
Mr Starer: I want you
It was like every relationship I'd ever had reduced to two minutes.
Me: I will give you my number and we'll catch up some other time…just not tonight
Mr Starer: I will have you.
My god there was no such thing with this guy as romancing the girl a little. It was like being hit over the head with a club. I went to give him a fake number when I noticed the single vein going up his arm and over his bicep. I love that. He was hot and I'm as two dimensional as the next homosexual. I scratched out the fake number and gave him my real one.
C
Last Friday night was no different. In fact the mean age appeared to be a pleasant 22, making Judy and myself feel like we were there to apply for the pension, not a meal. A pleasant 22 year-old however is Judy's niche market and his face was soon planted with a permanent grin, as if he slipped over in pool of botox. We also realised that not only were we the only guys over 25/30 in the room but also the only ones speaking English. Predominantly French and Portuguese filtered throughout the room. Sydney lately seems to be over-run by gay Brazilians and Frenchmen; flapping their hands and delivering daffy duck stares. Apart from mild amusement, they generally don't do a great deal for me. Whereas Judy has bedded so many of them in the last few months, he's now fluent in three languages.
Judy: Colin. Oh my god, look at him.
Me: Who?
Judy: That one. He's hot.
Me: He looks like Mr Squiggle.
Judy: I love Mr Squiggle.
Me: No strings attached?
Judy: Oh my god it's Arnoldo.
We had met Arnoldo the previous Sunday night at Action (dance party) at the Art House Bar on Pitt Street in the city. I wasn't going to the party due to my assignment procrastination. I was sitting at home highlighting and facebooking when Judy rang me and advised that he had a free ticket. Putting up a dreadful fight, I accepted immediately and drove into town. Action is a leather come denim themed party where men basically take their shirts off and dance around to music which would be better suited to a satanic sacrifice. When I got there everyone was higher than Everest and Judy had made ten thousand new friends, of which Arnoldo was one. Arnoldo was a dancer from Sao Paulo who came to Sydney with Cirque Du Soleil six years ago and never quite left. He still works as a dancer but we're not quite sure where.
Arnoldo: Paulo (Judy) you left me the other night ?
Arnoldo not only looked like Daffy Duck, he sounded like him as well. He had a great body but as Judy always says about muscle maries, "Million dollar body with a face to guard it."
Arnoldo: We were to go disco dancing remember?
Judy: I lost you. We had a party to go to and I couldn't find you.
Which is always Judy Code for "I'm not interested go away."
Arnoldo: Well we must dance once more!
How very dramatic. Was he dying?
Judy: Yes of course
Judy stared cross-eyed at me.
Arnoldo: Please give me your number.
Judy then blurted out a phone number (certainly not his own), continental kisses were exchanged and Arnoldo disappeared into never to be heard from again. We finished our delicious curries, fixed the bill and made our way to Grumpy's.
Grumpy's is a bakery/café located just down from Stonewall and is the perfect position to watch the bedraggled characters of Oxford street walk by particularly when one of them has started working at the café. Carole has been at Grumpy's for about a month and is stark raving mad. She reminds me of a Muppet….a kind of cross between Miss Piggy and a borderline Jennifer Anniston. She wears a different wig each week and makes a killer hot chocolate. She was abusing customers for wanting tea strainers when we arrived.
Carole: Fucking idiots ……what morons would want to strain the tea themselves?
What dickwits? Can you believe they got into Tony (the barista) for straining the tea before it was brought to them?
Judy: Dreadful
Me: Appalling
Judy: Two hot chocolates please Carole.
Me: Straining optional
Carole disappeared into the café, her blonde horsehair wig following. Judy and I settled at our favourite table just next to the old pale green electric metre box, safely situated a couple of tables back from walking traffic. This gave us plenty of room to pass commentary on those walking by without fear of them hearing us and retaliating.
Oxford Street on a Friday night (well any night for that matter) is a car crash of cultures, sexualities, styles and a lot of things waiting to happen. From our table we look into the bay maree of inner Sydney life with all its slices of pizza, chicken wings, dim sims and chikko rolls fried and well on the way to being over-cooked. Occasionally you get a piece of fruit walking by like the 20 year old bubble ass boy we saw wearing pinstripe shorts, a tight apricot shirt and pink slippers (yes …slippers…yes…pink) licking a gaytime ice block……in ten degree weather! This kid slapped the nancy back into boy. He was Lolita meets Mr Humphries. He stopped traffic literally…. The Chinese tourists at the next door table clapped, the homeless man thought he’d found his wife and the arab bouncers at Stonewall were confused yet strangely turned on at the same time. Bubble ass boy was clearly a hot looking guy who unfortunately had his sense of style hijacked by a munchkin. He minced passed the café.
Judy: Is it an act?
Me: An act? He’s on tour.
Judy: Maybe he's peddling beauty products.
Carole : Fuck off you fucking faggott. Jesus he's always catwalking around here.
Carole was back with our hot chocolates and obviously had not taken a liking to our gaytime friend and his amazing technicolour outfit.
Judy: Carole ….you can't say that!
Carole: Yes I can. He hangs around here trawling for business and twice he's walked away without paying for his coffee.
Me: What do you mean by business?
Carole: The world's oldest profession darling….what do you think?
Judy: Oh my god he's a hooker?
Carole: Trawls for trade going from coffee shop to coffee shop. He targets the old timers.
Me : Is he always licking a gaytime?
At that point gaytime himself turned on his heel and walked back past the café giving both Judy and myself the eye. It was good to know we fell into his target market. I lit another cigarette. Judy and Carole remained in conversation about the hunting habits of young hookers. I looked to my right and found myself being stared at. I caught him out. He grinned, put out his cigarette and went back into the New York Slice pizza store two shops away. Carole was now explaining to Judy that she sold quilts for a living. I was very curious as to who Mr Starer was. I decided to go and get some money from the ATM located next to New York Slice. I walked past and Mr Starer was located behind the pizza counter. He was middle eastern…..tall, dark eyed, curly haired, lanky swimmer's build…early 20s....not exactly my type but quite pretty just the same. I withdrew my money. I turned around and there he was right in front of me.
Mr Starer: Hello
Me: Hi!
He came right up to me and whispered in very broken English.
Mr Starer: You are mine in half hour. I kiss you everywhere.
Had I been sold on e-bay without knowing or had someone finally read my manhunt profile?
Me: Oh thank you. Ummm…I'm John
We shook hands.
Mr Starer: I am Ahmed. We meet later yes? I kiss you on lips and then I kiss you from inside.
He then grabbed me around the waist leaving me in no doubt as to what he meant by kissing me from the inside.
Mr Starer: I must have you.
I love arabs. It's all or nothing. It's either completely blank you or they will start a world war if they don't have you.
Me: Well not tonight. I'm really tired….I have to go home to bed.
Mr Starer: Why not?
Me: I'm tired
Mr Starer: I want you
It was like every relationship I'd ever had reduced to two minutes.
Me: I will give you my number and we'll catch up some other time…just not tonight
Mr Starer: I will have you.
My god there was no such thing with this guy as romancing the girl a little. It was like being hit over the head with a club. I went to give him a fake number when I noticed the single vein going up his arm and over his bicep. I love that. He was hot and I'm as two dimensional as the next homosexual. I scratched out the fake number and gave him my real one.
C
6 comments:
Love reading your stories, Colin. You're a very good story teller.
We love the Gumpy Baker. We also go there when we visit Sydney. :)
...and he will have you...from the inside...
This story should come with a 'to be continued' at the end.
"I kiss you from inside" Sounds like you may get a good rimming. ;)
If a stranger grabbed me in the street I'd be pissed. Now I don't mind being objectified occasionally by men but it ain't gonna happen with someone that has already overstepped a boundary.
And your a fellow yogi too.
Has he called yet??? I'm dying to find out how the "kissing you from the inside" went!!! ;-)
Another classic TMC tale!
Best post. Ever.
Dear - I can't WAIT to hear what happens in the next installment! You've set us all up now....
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