Philip

TLDR: Only One Load Today, From My Partner Summer days here in Australia make me feel quite horny. It could be the warmer weather, the longer days, or a combination of both. I wash my bottom, and my partner drops the first load into me. For a long time, my partner and I hadn’t been having sex very often. I thought it was because we had reached that point in the relationship where sex wasn’t all that important—that what mattered more was the love we had for each other. But now I think it was because we were going through a rough patch. I wasn’t into him mentally or physically. Things are getting better, though, and so is the sex. I’m hoping his load will coat my insides for the night, but I get a stomachache soon after and have to use the toilet. That means washing out my bottom again. Later, I drive to Pipemakers Park. Sadly, there are only four cars there, which means the night is quiet. I walk around to the glory hole shed and see a man fingering the hole. He’s wearing a wedding ring, and I think to myself that it’s hot. He sucks me, and as I thrust my hips, he gets the message. The next thing I feel is his tight ass on my cock, and now I’m fucking him. This wasn’t part of the plan, I think to myself—I was planning to bottom. After a while, I pull out and leave. I make one round through the shed. There’s only one guy there, and I’m about to leave when I catch a glimpse of someone somewhat handsome. I follow him into one of the dark sheds. We feel for each other, and I pull his pants down. Soon he’s in my mouth. More people walk in, and I take turns letting them use my mouth. Someone dressed in all black turns around and presents his ass to us, but no one pays him any attention. I think to myself that there are quite a lot of bottoms tonight. The guy I’m playing with feels for my ass, which is always a good sign. I spit on my fingers to lube myself up, and he enters me. The fucking is short, and I have another cock in my mouth the whole time. I’m not sure if he comes, but he leaves soon after. I’m still in the shed when a guy in white with a beard tries to kiss me. His cock is below average—shorter than mine. He asks if I want his load. I say yes. He turns me around but struggles to get it in. He thrusts hard and starts humping me. Meanwhile, I’m sucking a tall guy in black. The bearded guy pushes him aside so I can focus on him, but he’s getting soft now. After a while, I stand up and tell him, “Not tonight,” and walk away. He follows me as I enter another shed where a small orgy is happening. Two guys are being fucked, and someone walks up to me. We kiss, and I end up on my knees, sucking him. He’s very rough, pushing in all the way down my throat. I gag a little before he turns me around and fucks me hard, kissing my neck and ears in a way that melts me. The guy in white is still there, watching. Again, he pushes the rough guy aside to try and fuck me. He struggles, and the other guy is back inside me. Eventually, one of them takes me by the hand, and we walk away from the shed, away from the crowd, and away from the guy who doesn’t take no for an answer. Outside, under the moonlight, I see that he’s Indian. We make small talk as we walk behind a large building nearby—a place I used to play many years ago. We kiss, and soon he’s inside me again. He’s very rough, pushing in balls-deep and moving me into all sorts of positions. There’s a pillow nearby, and he tells me to go on all fours. He mounts me. As I look around, with no one around but this stranger behind a random building, I feel a bit unsafe. How silly of me to follow him all the way out here. I could have died—I didn’t, of course—but it makes me think about the risks we sometimes take for sex. Perhaps it’s hotter in our imagination than it is in real life. I pretend to check my watch and tell him I have to go. Luckily, he gets the message, and we part ways. I make one last round to the shed. It’s the same men from earlier. I follow one guy in, and he immediately shows me his bottom, but I’m feeling tired and not horny anymore. He sucks me off, but I can’t get hard. I want to fuck him badly, but I’m just not in the mood. Driving home, I think back on the last two hours of sex. I wouldn’t say it was the best. I remember why I don’t visit Wet on Wellington anymore—a bathhouse. There were too many bottoms and too much competition. I think about the bottoms tonight. They’re fitter and more handsome than I am, so they probably got more action. It makes me realize how tough it can be to get sex sometimes. Then I think about my partner and how lucky I am to have him. With him, sex is there when we need it, along with the emotional bond that’s missing in places like this. Maybe I’ve been having too much sex lately. I think I need a break.

Aww, thanks man. I didn’t know you were following my writing escapades. I’ve been following yours too and jerking off to them quite regularly 💦🫶

I got four loads tonight. Here is the account of them. Pipemakers - 19 Dec 2024 1. I see you in the parking lot, tall and muscular, wearing a black shirt and singlet. You have a beard—the type I like. I think to myself that I want you inside me. You are the last of the four men who fuck me. You stand in one of the dark rooms, sucking me off before I suck you. Quite big, I might add. I turn around, and you enter me. You fuck in a slow, rhythmic pace, just you and me in the darkness, until you come, and we part ways. 2. I see you in the darkroom shed. We are watching two other guys fucking, and I suck you off. You’re nice and wet, and I turn around as you enter me. It doesn’t take long for you to come. I stand there, bent over, inviting others to enter me, but no one does. So, I pull up my pants and go for a short walk. 3. I am in the darkroom shed again. You’re wearing a black polo and shorts, and I suck you deep. I’m practicing my deepthroating skills, and you seem to enjoy it. I stand, and we kiss there in the dark. It feels quite romantic—my hands around your neck as if we’re a couple. I swap between sucking and kissing you until you’ve had enough. Then, you turn me around, enter me, and come soon after. I turn back, give you a few kisses on the cheeks, and leave. 4. We exchange glances very briefly before I stand in one of the dark sheds. You follow me. I waste no time pulling your pants down, and you fill my mouth with that dick that continues to grow. I deepthroat, and you moan as you enter me—slowly at first, then faster. You’re my favorite type: rough. You pull my hair, draw my body toward you, lick my neck and ears, and use my body as if you own me. I like to think you do by the time you finish inside me.

Friday, 1st December 2023. I am 32. One. Night-time. I read a post on Squirt that a new glory hole was freshly carved in the men’s toilet so I go check it out. I wait until very late at night when no-one is there. Sure enough, there is a glorious hole, large enough for a decent size cock. I put a dildo through it, suck it, pretend to get fucked by it. A fetish of mine. It would be cheating if it was the real thing. I then drive to Kevin’s. I don’t tell him any of this. Saturday, 2nd December 2023. Two. Morning light squeezes through the small opening of our bedroom blinds. I put on an eye mask to block it out. It is late morning, Kevin is awake, fingers my hole. He is very horny, hard as a rock, but I am still asleep. He slides his dick inside me anyway without any resistance; it is still wide open from the dildo last night. He fucks me deep and hard, on my back, on my stomach, on all fours, until he gives me a week’s load. Then we go back to for more sleep. Sunday, 3rd December 2023. Three. Rain clears. The sun breaks through the clouds. We are at a plant nursery, looking for a lavender and ficus tree. A lovely lady shows us around. “Feel how dry the soil is,” she says, referring to the ficus tree. “That’s how it should be. Many people kill it by giving it too much love, overwatering it.” I can tell she knows her stuff. “And don’t schedule for watering either. Each plant is different, like people, and so should be treated differently.” I leave the nursery. Fresh plants in my hand and new knowledge in my mind.

You’ve hit the nail on the head with this one! I struggle quite a bit at sauna getting loads because there are so many bottoms around!

You are spot on @hntnhole in your observation! He does get a kick out of "taking care" of me by wanting to pay for things, which I am still getting comfortable with. He is indeed very generous and we are still working on striking that very fine balance between him overindulging me and my own confidence in financial independence. It's been super fun using technology, especially AI, to help settle some of our debates--AI has really advance considerably in the past year or so! Two. We have indeed planted Areca's palm, but it is quite isolated in a planter box away from the main garden. I would love to see it spread like wildfire amongst the planter box as it is looking a bit bare(back) at the moment, but I'm hoping that I don't regret it later, as you said. Great to hear from you!

One. There is a weird dynamic between Kevin and me. He always wants to pay for things, including things that are mine, like my clothes, groceries. I strive for personal independence, especially financially, so we tend to clash. Recently, we have been using AI, ChatGPT, to help settle our debates. It acts as a judge, and we have two rounds to state our cases and rebut each other. The AI’s decision is final. So far, I have been winning. Two. We have started our gardening adventures together. In the past five weeks, we have planted palm trees, birds of paradise, herbs, and ferns. I visit Kevin on the weekend, and I look forward to seeing how the garden is progressing. Today, I noticed that a new leaf has formed on the bird of paradise, and the herbs are ready to be harvested. Spring is becoming a favorite season of mine, for new growth and opportunities are plentiful here. In Summer, we shall reap our harvest, and I can’t wait for that day to arrive. Three. We are watching a YouTube channel called Spanian. He is covered in tattoos and makes travel blog videos. Today, he is in District 4 in Vietnam tasting local eats. He stops at a local kebab shop, and we are laughing because that’s anything but local. Then, he stops at a deep-fried shop that sells fried cheese sticks and fried chicken wings, and we shake our heads at how westernized street food has become in Vietnam. If only, we think to ourselves, he had a local Vietnamese guide. Then he would experience the culture more fully.

Kevin is coming over tonight. I told him over text that we would be having pasta and asked if he could cut some basil to bring over. He has a habit of pruning the basil the wrong way—yes, there is a right and wrong way—so I sent him a picture of a basil plant with dotted lines to indicate where to cut it. I tell him that I will be having my daily nap and for him to wake me up by crawling into bed, give me a wake-up hug. I try to take my nap, but the news of Sam Altman returning to OpenAI excites me, so I stay up way too long to read all about it. I get a bit horny, so I go to Pornhub and watch some porn, jerk off, come, which relaxes me, and I am finally tired enough to have my nap, although it lasts only about an hour. Later. I can hear the door of my bathroom sliding open, and I know that Kevin is here, but I pretend that I am still asleep. I can hear his pants coming off; his shirt follows, and he crawls into bed with me, gives me a hug. “Well, hello,” I say, tired but glad to see him. “Hello there, handsome,” he says, gives me a hug. We lay there like that, hugging each other for almost an hour before I announce that I am getting hungry—it is almost 8 PM after all—so we get up from bed, put on our clothes, walk to the kitchen. Tonight, he is in charge of making the sauce. We have a routine going on when making pasta, which has served us well: he basically does the cooking, and I prep all the ingredients. I cut the sausages in two, squeeze out the content. Then, I dice the onion and the mushrooms. I give him the ingredients, and he begins to cook it. I prepare the sauce by emptying out the content of store-bought Napoletana, and begin to boil the pasta. By the time it is done, Kevin has finished making the sauce, and we combine the two. We don’t talk much during cooking beside the usual “here you go,” when I hand him the ingredients and the “thank you,” in response. We are focus on the tasks and there is a silent connection between us that speaks louder than words. The whole process takes thirty minutes from beginning to end, and we sit at the dining room table, marveling at our creation. “See,” I say. “This is why I much prefer to stay at home and cook. It’s cheaper and tastier.” This is true, and he nods in agreement. We open a can of Coke and share it between the two of us. It’s refreshing and hits all the right notes. I turn on the latest episode of Family Guy and we watch it until the very end. Later. We are in bed now. I am feeling very full and very tired. Kevin is giving me a foot massage. Soft autumn jazz music plays on our HomePod. We talk about what is happening in our lives in the form of updates, which are small short stories. I tell him about my car battery dying on me, and he tells me about the progress on getting his home insured from the recent burst pipes upstairs. The night is getting late—actually, it is only 10 PM—so we both go and floss our teeth, brush them. We tell Siri to turn off the lights, and before anyone knows it, the room is fill with snores.

Just came back from a Japan holiday. Tried out the cruising club, Dick Dogg, and got 4 loads within an hour just before closing time. Will love to come back there for sure when I revisit. Full story here

Friday 27th October: 7 fucks, 4 loads (1500 words) I am in Japan, Tokyo. My partner and I decide to check out the gay vibes in the city. There are two cruising clubs that seem popular, one called Volcano and the other called Dick Dogg, about a twenty-minute train ride from the city center. One problem: there is an age limit, 20 to 39 years, and my partner is a bit older than that. Second problem: they are strict on the length of your hair and often reject people who do not have a buzz cut or short hair. I google the reason why, and it says that short hair in Japan is often a sign of masculinity, and the club is obviously trying to target a very specific demographic. I have medium-length hair. Both clubs also encourage safe sex, no orgies, and sex must happen in private cubicles, which seems very restrictive, to put it nicely. We decide to check it out anyway. We make our way to Volcano, about a five-minute walk from a train station, down an obscure flight of stairs to the basement of a ramen building, a single door in a dark corridor with a sign saying "Volcano" and "Members only." A young man, handsome face, is ahead of us, pays for a ticket, and walks through a door. I see a naked man dancing under a glow of violet light, but the door shuts quickly and the only thing between me and fun is the ticket booth. My partner asks for two tickets, the man behind the counter scribbles something on a piece of paper, and I have a sinking feeling about what it is. We read the paper. "20-39 age" is what it says. My partner lies and points to the number 39, nods, but the man does not buy it and crosses both his index fingers, then points at me and puts up the OK hand gesture. So we decide to leave. We are now on the train to Dick Dogg. I try to cheer my partner up. I hope he is not too upset with the rejection. I had a feeling something like this might happen, so we agree ahead of time that if one of us gets rejected for whatever reason, then we both go somewhere different, and if no one takes us in, then we become intimate back at the hotel, which will be just as good, if not better. My partner says that perhaps it's better if I ask for the ticket this time around; that way, they might let me in and let him in as well without taking a closer look. Sounds like a solid plan. We get to Dick Dogg, which is on the third floor of a building no one would bother to take a second look at. We go to the ticket booth and I ask for two tickets, and the young man behind the counter says okay to both of us and we are in! He hands us a towel and our locker key. It is nude night tonight. I forget which hand to put the locker key on to tell others that I am a bottom, so I put it on my right hand instead, hoping for the best. I undress and immediately make a mental note to work out harder at the gym when I get back from holiday. It is 10 PM and this place closes at 11:30 PM. My partner and I agree to separate and have our own fun, meeting back during closing time. The cruising area is dim enough that you can identify people, their face, their bodies, and most importantly, their dicks. It is not dark enough that you have to fumble around with your arms in front of you, and I am sad to report that there wasn’t a darkroom even though it was advertised on their site. There are a lot of attractive young men with nice bodies, but not a lot of action happening, which is to be expected at any cruising club, I suppose. I wish so badly for a darkroom. There is, however, one of those rooms where you can put half your body through a cutout in a wall, resting your stomach or back on the bench provided, such that all that’s left of you is your ass in the room for others to use. I make a mental note to come back to this room. It’s probably 10.30 PM and still there are no action happening so I decide to sit down on one of the benches in a random room. A few men walk past, looks at me, moves on. One guy stops for a tad longer than usual, likes what he sees, brings his dick to my face, and of course I put it in my mouth. Average size. He kneels down and puts me in his mouth, and after a few seconds, we find ourselves in a private room where we alternate giving each other head. I really want him to top me though but he is talking in Japanese and I don’t really understand, so I turn around and motion for his dick to be inside me, but he doesn’t seem to take the hint. So I smile, give him a kiss on the cheek, and walk out of the room. I make my way to the glory hole booth, lock the door, sit down. A few seconds later, someone enters next door, puts his dick in the hole, and I suck it. He is a fast cummer, I swallow. He leaves. Another man enters, much bigger and thicker this time, but for some reason, only puts the tip of the head of his cock through the hole, and I try my best to put more of it in my mouth. He is teasing me, so I rage quit and stop sucking. He leaves. There is some action happening right outside my booth. I look under the door and I’m pretty sure a guy is sucking another’s guys dick and there is a crowd forming, and I’m stuck in my booth. I wait for about five minutes, twiddle my thumb like a nobody, decide that I needed to get out. I unlock the door and everyone scatters. I meet my parter somewhere in the dimly lit maze and he is bored. We decide to get the action going so I lead him to that room with the cut-out. I put half my body through the cut-out, lay on the bench with my stomach so that only my ass is visible in the room. There is a lube bottle attached to a string to the left of me but my partner prefers to use spit, enters me, loads me up in less than five minutes. He exits and immediately somebody enters, raw. I think this man is fucking me with his dick and a finger because it feels slightly odd—a bit like double penetration but not quite there. But anyway, he cums, exits. For the next two fucks, the men are using condoms which I don’t enjoy, mainly because there is too much friction with rubber and there are no reward at the end. I take it like a good bottom anyway. The forth men enters me raw, fucks for about 10 seconds and cums. I do like quick loads, but maybe this might be too quick for my liking. Fifth and six men uses condoms and the six man in particularly takes a very long time to cum; feels like 20 minutes. It’s getting a bit painful at this stage but I don’t move from my position. The seventh and final man enters me raw, also takes a long time to cum but it feels very good. Plus, his bigger than usual. After he cums, I lay there for a moment, hoping for more, but it seems very quiet all of a sudden. And my calf is killing me, having being on tiptoes the whole time. My parter asks for the time, I don’t know, so we head out. The floor is full of lube (and maybe cum?) and my whole leg and feet is covered in lube. I’m sure I left lubed footprints along the whole corridor. We check the time. It is 11.20 PM, almost closing time, which explains the sudden emptiness of the room. I wonder to myself if this place opens later, how many more loads I would have gotten. I go to the toilet and use an eyebrow-raising-amount of toilet paper to clean off the lube, clog the toilet, oppps. My parter tells me shortly afterwards that there is a shower so I use that to clean off the lube. We then take the train back to the hotel and we head back to Australia the next day. Feels good to have a bit of Japan inside me.

Mental well-being is crucial, particularly for gay men navigating this rather complex sea that we call "life." Today, I found myself wrestling with thoughts that I suspect many of us have faced at one point or another. I'm sharing this intimate narrative in the hope that it resonates with those of you on a similar emotional journey, as a reminder that you're not alone in this struggle. --- Something is weighing heavily on my mind tonight, so I decide to go for a walk to grab some fresh air, or at least breathe it in. It has been raining all day today, and the clouds still linger in the sky. I think it will rain later, but for now, I am safe. I did the wrong thing by comparing myself to someone else today. His name is Edwin Hung. I saw a photo of him on Facebook a long time ago, but I forgot to note down his name; today, his photo appeared on my Facebook feed, and I took this opportunity to stalk his profile. He is probably in my top five for most handsome men of all time. He is an architect, part-time model, and lives in Singapore. He is turning 36 this November. He was born in Malaysia. As a side note, I am quite impressed with my researching skills, although I sometimes feel that I could put my research skills to better use besides stalking men on the internet. And this is when the comparison began. I think about his life and how glamorous it looks on his Facebook and Instagram. He is traveling the world constantly, eating good food, and probably lives in a really nice house. The good life, as one might call it. His Facebook is filled with adventures with friends. And then I look at my life in comparison, and I’m working a job that pays below the average Australian. I don’t think I am as handsome as he is, as much as I like to be on a high horse, which in turn is standing on a pedestal. I don’t live in a fancy apartment in the heart of Singapore, and my meals consist of roast chicken and Up and Go to keep the cost down low. In short, my life pales in comparison to his, and it makes me feel a bit sad. There aren’t too many cars on the road tonight, which isn’t surprising because it is getting late. I see a lightning strike somewhere in the distance and, sure enough, the sound of thunder rolling in, a harbinger for the heavy rains that are forecast tonight. I decide to make my way back home, the thought of this man still on my mind. I know the life of an Instagrammer might not be as it appears. It is carefully curated to give people the impression that one is living a perfect life when, in fact, their life is anything but that. Edwin could be very stressed and work long hours at his architecture job, and having free time might be a luxury to him. His holidays, extravagant, probably, might come far in between, and although he shares many pictures with friends, he could be feeling very lonely inside. I don’t know what his relationship status is (well, it says single on his Facebook page, but who knows), but a loving partner is very hard to come by. I have dated for a quarter of my life so far, and I know that it is not easy in the gay world to find that perfect partner, someone who tries to understand your insanity and put up with your delinquency, which we all have to some degree, although we might not readily admit it. I look back on my life, and I am happy. I am not an architect, and I don’t live in a busy and rich country like Singapore. I don’t have too many friends, and I don’t eat fancy food every day unless you consider dried dates among the list. I am not Edwin Hung. I am uniquely my own person with my own strengths and weaknesses, trying to live the good life no matter how different it may be from others. I believe a large part of living the good life is the ability to touch other people’s lives through your existence, just being who you are. I hope that my existence has changed the lives of others, from being a significant part of their lives with my partner and friends, to people whom I will never meet through my stories that I share. And you know, that’s enough for me.

I want to document my experience when I was a single gay man. I’ve noticed that few people here discuss the health risks associated with gay sex, or perhaps I haven’t done enough research. There’s a lot of talk about the joy of unprotected sex, something I’ve indulged in during what some might call “my slut years.” I won’t claim to be a saint. In the past, I cheated multiple times out of curiosity for what unprotected sex felt like, but I was too afraid to try it. When my last relationship ended, I began taking PREP, frequented a local sauna (Wet on Wellington in Melbourne, Australia), and spent many hours there having sex with anonymous men. This two-year period also involved hookups from Grindr and outdoor cruising. For a while, it felt great; then, it didn’t. About six months into this lifestyle, I started experiencing constant diarrhea, and my bottom was quite itchy. I visited the Melbourne Health Clinic and was treated for gonorrhea and chlamydia. A few weeks later, I experienced similar symptoms and learned I had contracted gonorrhea again, along with hemorrhoids. At this point, I became hesitant about unprotected sex; I didn’t want to contract any more STDs. Nevertheless, a couple of months later, after recurring diarrhea, I tested positive for Mgen and was prescribed three different antibiotics. The increased potency of the medication led to more side effects, including diarrhea. I spent a good amount of time in the restroom, and I’m glad my job allowed for frequent breaks. It was around this time that I was diagnosed with irritable bowel syndrome (IBS). It’s hard to say if my actions and the subsequent medication led to IBS, but I’ve read that it can be caused by changes in gut bacteria. The last straw in my journey with STDs came when I tested positive for genital herpes. This disease has a negative stigma, and as you may know, it’s a lifelong condition. I’m currently on a two-year suppression medication plan, and I’m fortunate that I haven’t had an outbreak yet. I’m now in a loving relationship with a wonderful partner, who understands my past and the journey I’ve taken to get here. I sometimes wonder if I made the right decisions during those years, and despite the health issues, I believe it was the right path for me. It made me appreciate my health more and freed me from the nagging “what ifs.” My partner is open to the prospect of me having sex with others, but given the past STDs and us having to use condoms, the logistics of testing and treatment are not sexy at all. If you’ve stuck around to the end, thank you for reading. Just know that while gay sex can be a lot of fun, it comes with many health risks that I don’t think are discussed enough these days. Different people react differently to the symptoms associated with STDs. In my case, I got the short straw.

@lancguy14 Oh dear, this was such a silly (and funny) mistake on my end. I did a quick word search and found five instances of the name “Fernando” in the story, which I have edited to the correct name. Thanks for pointing that out. I hope it didn’t confused the readers, and if it did, please forgive me🙏. This is an original story that I have written. For those wondering about the name confusion, I posted a chapter from this story a few weeks ago called “Working Title: The Second Chapter,” where the main character was named Fernando instead of Matthew. I decided to include real places in the story (e.g., Wet on Wellington, Sircuit, Coles, Woolworth—actually, it should have been called ‘Safeway’) in the time period of 1990-2000’s, so I decided to go for a name change to reflect this. I thought the search-replace function I used replaced all instances of Fernando into Matthew, but it appeared that it missed a few times. In fact, back in 2017, I written a story called “A Series of Unfortunate Breedings” including the character Fernando and his sexual adventures, under a different username and pen name, so I decided to go back and finish this story (the majority of the original story has since been removed on Breeding Zone for violating the rules). The story you have read is the remastered version of this original story ☺️ @drscorpio Thank you for letting the story ride. I will keep the rules in mind for future stories ☺️

The Final Chapter To the choices that we make in life. Matthew makes a pit stop at the closest Woolworth to buy some duct tape. He uses it to tie the man’s hands and feet together along with his mouth and drops him in the boot of the car, and resumes his travels to the Grampians. The drive is fairly long, and they don’t reach the peak of the cliff until well into the night, when the moon has already made friends with all the stars in the sky. He pulls the man out of the boot of the car, who is still asleep from the drug, places him a few meters from the edge of the cliff, sits beside him. He stares at the man’s face while he is sleeping and a rush of emotions floods Matthew. He feels a dash of anger from being infected by this man, his life changed ever since. He never asked for this difficult life and it only took one night to change everything. He wonders where life would have taken him if he weren’t infected. He feels a sprinkle of pity for the man, whose time had not been kind to him, now very old and very sick-looking, laying there on the muddy cliff. He wonders how long the man has left to live. And most importantly, he feels a pinch of hope, for Matthew’s life is not over yet, there’s still a bit of time to live out his life, especially now that Somchai is a part of it. He wonders what Somchai is up to at the moment. The man stirs as the drug wears off and he immediately panics when he realises that he is bound and gagged. He begins to squirm like a worm, and in doing so, edges closer and closer to the side of the cliff. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Matthew says. The man continues to wiggle until he faces the edge and the edge faces him, his eyes widen, stops moving. Matthew sighs and pulls the man away from the edge, rips the tape off his mouth quickly and painfully, sits back down beside him. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” asks the man. “Well, I was going to throw you off the cliff.” “Do I know you?” “You don’t remember me, do you?” The man looks at Matthew's eyes and he does remember, even though it has been a very long time ago. “You’re that kid from the truck stop toilet, aren’t you? Boy did I enjoy fucking you. Wish your old man had joined in.” The man laughs cruelly, showing what’s left of his stained teeth. Fury takes over Matthew and he punches the man right in the jaw, but he continues to laugh, though through obvious pain, blood dripping between the gaps in his teeth. “Go ahead and kill me,” says the man with the scorpion tattoo. “I’m going to die anyway, one way or another.” Matthew looks at the man and waits for him to continue. “And by the look of your face, you’re on the same boat as me. We are both going to die from AIDs, and there is nothing anyone can do about it, so we might as well let the world burn as we go down along with it. There is no beauty on this planet, just pain and misery.” The sun begins to rise very slowly from the east. The first light breaks the horizon and it creeps its way across the landscape and chases away the night. When the light washes over the man, Matthew can see clearly that the man is dying, not only from the outside, but within his soul. He sees himself in the dying man, like a mirror being held in front of him, and he is afraid of the person that he has and will become. Ending this man’ life, Matthew realises, will not give him closure, for the man had died a long time ago—metaphorically speaking—when he had given up hope on his life. He is a wandering shell that walks the earth, struggling by, waiting for the time when death comes knocking at his door. “You are wrong,” Matthew tells the man. “There is beauty in this world. You just didn’t find it in this lifetime.” Matthew takes a knife hidden in his jacket and lunges at the man, who is taken aback and yells for mercy. The knife slices the air and cuts cleanly through the tape bounding the man’s hand, freeing him. He drops the knife to the ground, looks at the man’s eyes for one last time, starts the car and drives off. The man is shaken by what he has witnessed, grabs the knife and slices the tape bounding his legs. He sits at the edge of the cliff for a few hours, pondering his life, his future and, deciding that there is none, pushes himself off the cliff. Matthew comes home just before ten in the morning. Somchai is still asleep, snoring, naked. He slides into bed and stares silently at him. Somchai’s face is peaceful in the illumination of the light that filters through the window. A few minutes go by and he opens his eyes, slowly at first, then much too wide. “Where were you?” Somchai asks. “I had to take care of some business,” Matthew says. The distance between them becomes non-existence as they hug each other. They embraced each other now, and they embraced each other for the years to come, past their wedding day, and past their honeymoon, and past the many difficult hospital visits that were yet to transpire. Matthew was happy for the remaining years of his life, now with the bottomless pit filled to the brim with the love that he shared with his partner, who had stayed with him until the very end. Sometimes, we can’t choose what happens to us when we are young, but we always have a choice now and into the future what happens to us.

The Fourth Chapter September 2001. Matthew is 25 years old. To the love of his life. At this point in the story, Matthew has had sex with hundreds of men, infecting each and everyone of them with the incurable strain of HIV. His soul is a bottomless pit that can never be filled no matter how many men that he sleeps with, but he truly believes that when he finds the man that had originally infected him, and carry out his revenge, that this bottomless pit can finally be filled and that death, whenever that may be, will come peacefully. It is a cloudless night in 2001 when he feels weak on his knees after releasing into a man at his job at Wet on Wellington. He had felt this weakening feeling before, but not to this extreme, and as the man thanks him and leaves the massage room, he collapses on the floor and blanks out. He awakes in the bed of a hospital, connected to monitors that beeps and buzzes all around him. A man is sitting there beside his bed and it takes a moment for Matthew to register that it is Somchai. He is asleep on the chair, head down, chin on his chest, snores softly. Matthew finds this kind of cute, in a way that he never felt for this man before. He awakes moments later and is startled to find Matthew finally awake and he closes the distance between them with a hug. The doctor comes in and informs Matthew that he had collapsed three days ago and has been in the hospital ever since. His conditions have stabilized and he is due to be released soon but the doctor still has one piece of news that he wanted to share with Matthew. He had been diagnosed with AIDS, which in this day and age with the current medication would mean that he needed to get his affairs in order, a saying which meant that he didn’t have much time to live. The doctor exchanges a look of sadness to both Matthew and Somchai and slowly exits the room. The sadness lingers in the air and does not exit even though the window is left slightly ajar. It smothers the two young men in the room and conjures up a steady stream of tears as they embrace one another. “You didn’t have to come here,” Matthew tells Somchai. “I know. But I wanted to,” he replies, and in that moment, from the way Somchai’s eyes look at him, and the energy in the room, Matthew knows that they hold a deeper connection, one that transcends the realm of this existence and into another one. It is nighttime when Matthew wakes up with his cock being serviced. Somchai has left for the night—doctor requests—and when he opens his eyes, he is surprised to see it is one of the male nurses that had come in to check up on him. He is quite good with a cock in his mouth and Matthew relaxes and lets the nurse do his thing. In a few moments, the nurse pulls down his pants and begins to ride his cock, ever so quietly as to avoid unnecessary attention, and in a few strokes he releases inside the nurse. He stays there for a moment to take it all in, squeezing his ass tight to milk every last drop but a few drops does manage to drip out of his ass and down his legs as he gets off, but he doesn’t mind and pulls up his pants and go off on his merry way to resume his job. Matthew falls back asleep. This repeats for the next few nights until he is released from the hospital. When the weekend arrives, Matthew heads back into Wet on Wellington to resume his job as a masseur, but life still has a few more curveballs installed for him. The Boss informs him that his service is no longer needed. “We can’t have you going around infecting people with HIV,” says the Boss. ‘It’s bad for business. If they die, who will come here then?” Matthew stays silent. He did not tell the Boss that he had been infecting people ever since the Boss had taken him into this role for the last seven years. He did not tell the Boss that there was no way of knowing whether someone had HIV, or any other sorts of bugs for that matter. And he did not tell the Boss that he too, probably has HIV after having sex with Matthew in the early days of his career. He remains silent and leaves the sauna early for the night and visits the nearby gay club, Sircuit, to drink away his problems, and it was on this particular night that he meet someone whom he wanted to meet for a very long time. Sitting at the bar, by himself, is the man with the scorpion tattoo on his right forearm. He looks much older than Matthew had remembered, but he would recognize the man from anywhere and anytime, and tonight, Sircuit is the where and now is the time. He sits next to the man and orders a drink, strikes up a conversation. He is surprised when the man does not recognise him, not even a little, and when he is distracted, slips a pill into his drink which sizzles and disappears. The bartender sees this but does not say a word, having witnessed too many acts of this kind to even care. The man drinks his glass, becomes drowsy, and Matthew offers him a ride home, carries him to his car, but drives in a direction other than either of their homes. If there was a place to dispose of a body, it would have to be the Grampians.