It couldn’t happen again, surely…three spins on the Wheel of Luck for three wins!
No luck for the whole day, then your wife says she wants a lie-down before dinner. Down to your last $10 chip, you thought the wheel would be as good a place as any to lose it.
You won. And again. And again. Letting it ride was working, as you were up to $1250 now. One more go, you think, and you win! $6250! Without wifey you were winning, one more for a killing. The croupier spins…
Behind you, your wife’s voice calls, “Oh, Darling…”
Sitting there in the concert hall, Bevan thought this must be what heaven is like. Eyes closed, head back, satiating the aural beauty of Handel’s Messiah, it was the first time in forever he truly didn’t have a trouble that could bother him.
He’d been a lover of this piece since childhood, when his grandfather first played it for him on the old record player. He still had that old record, too, as it was the only thing he had kept when pop died in an impoverished state.
Now, aged forty-three, he was hearing it live for the first time…
A letter arrived from one of his best friends. They still kept contact, but it was still unexpected. He’d always felt that she was his best friend, and perhaps at some stage his feelings got overly pronounced, so strong that he couldn’t take it anymore. No problem from her side, but he had chosen to cease contact except when absolutely necessary.
He had realised that he had settled. Settled, but not for her. He now knew, in his deepest, most personal mind-space, that she was his soul mate, his improving influence, his completion.
It really hurt to hear her voice…
Lucy was a lovely girl. From the first time he'd met her she was friendly, open, and accepting of him. And she was beautiful too. Her beauty didn't help him to overcome his pervertedness at all: from day one he'd always thought of her as Juicy Lucy.Tonight Lucy and her dad were coming over for dinner and, although he'd known George for a long time, he was making an extra special effort to impress Lucy, and he was nervous.
-- KNOCK KNOCK --"G'day Dale, how are you?""I'm great George. Welcome to my home.""Hi, Dale-y...""Hey Juicy." Oh no...
Driving around in the rain always relaxed him. In fact, there’d been times he’d been at home at the commencement and he’d jumped in the car for a drive for no reason other than the rain. Many said that people drove like idiots during rain, but he really couldn’t care. For him, it was like a moving meditation, the beauty of the falling water with the ongoing sound of the drops hitting the car. The heavier the better, he believed.
Tonight it was heavy, and at times he couldn’t see the road. And now he was semi-submerged in Lake Catarona.
The interior girlfriend understands a cyclist. But goddammit, the exterior girlfriend wants to spend more time with her boyfriend than she’s getting!
Angie had been with Richard for eighteen months now, and she loved him greatly, and believed he loved her. He was a cyclist, fit and toned, and his physique was definitely part of the attraction. But, religiously, regardless of the weather, he had to do two training runs a day. It was at the point now where cycling edged out relationship time. It was Richard’s obsession.
She’d tell him: her or cycling.She honestly wasn’t feeling that confident…
Is this what a eunuch feels like? Having experienced regular marital conflict, been subject to insolence from children, and degradation from their mother, my response was to close the shutters. I chose to forget about attempting to impart an upbringing of distinction and virtue, as all prior efforts had faced open disdain and contempt. Taking the road less travelled is too difficult for them, and I’ve now succumbed to it myself, in order to survive. I now simply listen to the arguments and sharp, crass dialogue, mostly without response.
I still have my balls; it just feels like I don’t.
“Happy birthday, dad! You’re 70 this year, right?”
“Well thanks mate, but I’m actually 69, and my birthday was yesterday, but I’m happy you rang, even if you mucked up the date.”
“Oh no…sorry dad, I thought today was the 29th…and 69? I was almost certain you were 70 this year…”
“It doesn’t matter, like I said, it’s the thought that counts, and it is great to hear from you.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll take you to dinner to make it up –“
“Hahaha! I’m pulling your leg, mate – I am 70 today.”
“Dad, sometimes you’re a big old bugger…”
As he took the pen offered to him by the shop-assistant to sign his credit card slip, he instantly went weak at the knees when he held it.
Oh man, what a beautiful pen! It feels great, and it looks great too…awesome. I wonder how tricky I’d need to be to not give it back to her and keep it myself…
He slowly scrawled his signature, smiling smugly the whole time. Her watch made him self-conscious. Finished, he held the pen out with the slip.
“Oh no sir, you keep the pen…promotion.”
Free? Now I don’t want it…
Today I kissed Corey. I took him by surprise, but initially he kissed me back. We’ve been spending lots of time together and I thought he had similar feelings for me as I have for him, and his immediate reaction made me feel I was right. It also made me feel very excited. His lips were softer than I imagined in my wettest dreams, and it seemed like I was in heaven.
Then, as if given an unexpected shock, he pushed me away, called me a fag, and kicked me in the balls.
I still love him though.