(no subject)
"Come," said the boy. "Lets go down to the sand. Let's do what we want to do. Let me be a man for you..."
Dead end street, Northern Beaches. It's a headland that looks back along an ocean beach, waves crashing upon its still-warm sands. It's about 1am and I'm waiting. I'm a bit early.
I'm about to call him when his 20 year old rugby-player frame appears by the door of my car. Scares the bejesus out of me. His blond surfer hair glints under the street light.
Bit of small talk. He leads me up a path, rough-hewn in the side of a hill, just above the tree line. He ducks through a break in the scrub, and I dive in after him.
A clearing. He lays a blanket out, continuing the small talk, and lays down, resting back on his flankers' arms. An invitation, perhaps. I kiss him, straddling him, and kissing down his neck, lifting up his shirt and kissing his chest...
A wailing siren in the distance shakes me. "It's the Beaches on the weekend, babe, don't worry about it."
I couldn't. I was enjoying this too much to care. If real love had anything to with it, it was made on this blanket tonight.
"Come with me boy. Just take my hand. I'll let you see what you wanna see. Come on, be a man for me..."