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FIFTY IN SIX

Part I – The Break-Up

In fifty years time I’m going to die from heart failure.

There’s no particular reason why it will take my life-organ fifty years to expire, I just find that a logical time span. I’ll be aged around seventy-five then, a right, crusty biscuit, lungs filled with spiteful memories and nicotine, sipping porridge through a straw, looking forward to my next dose of capsule-candy, resting my pruney behind in the swing chairs they offer at the retirement home…

I won’t say I’d be expecting it when I die. Things like that are bound to be shocker. I’m only certain that I’m going to die from heart failure because judging from the volatility of my life at present; I’m not a happy or healthy little vegemite.

So, hi, I’m Brodie, twenty-five years old, poor, sick, dumped and homeless.

I wasn’t all the above listed until about week ago; don’t go feeling sorry for me too soon, I was still poor, sure, but I can’t remember a time when I haven’t been. By end of August I had almost completed my uni degree, secured a stable job, and most significantly, I had a loving boyfriend who made me lasagnes on nights when I came home smelling of beer and grilled cheese.

By the beginning of September, I had lost all of that except my never altering, abysmal financial status. And it was the loving boyfriend who was the catalyst to my undoing.

His name is Connor Gladstone and I was smitten by him in the way young schoolboys are smitten by Scarlett Johansson’s breasts. In the sort of, blushingly needy and fanatical way. Gosh, who wouldn’t be? Connor was sweet and funny and smart and mindful and sugary and spicy and everything nicey…all things Powerpuff Girl’s are made from. Plus, he was sexy to boot, what with his ocean blue eyes, dark, dark hair and kissable teeth.

I would’ve done anything for him. I did everything for him. No lie.

So, when he told me he was going to leave me for a woman, I knew immediately that my hay fever was going to be extra difficult that spring.

The Break-Up (with capital T and B) went something as follows:

It was the six o’ clock news and Connor and I were eating pasta in front of the television. A sulky looking, bespectacled finance reporter was covering the latest Wall Street share slumps in a careful drone.

Connor: Brodie? Can we talk?

Brodie: Grunt. (Eats)

Connor: Look, (Sighs) I’m seeing someone else.

Brodie: Yeah? And? (Continues to watch TV and Eat)

Connor: As in…God, how do I say this? I don’t think we’re right for each other. I know, we’ve been dating for like, three years or whatever and you’ve moved in with me but I don’t think…shit, man, I’ve been seeing someone else for the past month.

Brodie: (Pauses and Registers)… So, you’re saying… you’ve been fucking someone other than me for the past month?

Connor: I didn’t put it that directly but yeah, that’s basically right.

Brodie: And…you’re telling me now? During…the financial reports?

Connor: It seems I am.

Brodie: Who the hell is he?!

Connor: She’s actually a woman.

Brodie: (Long Pause)…A woman? (Another Pause) You’re kidding me right? I don’t know if you’ve realized, but for the past three years, you’ve been dating me. And I’m male. That pretty much makes you homosexual.

Connor: Bisexual would be more correct.

Brodie: Don’t get technical, it’ll give you cancer.

Connor: I’m going to get cancer anyway. I use a microwave.

Brodie: I can’t believe you’re fucking something with a pussy! God, it makes me feel like I don’t have a prick.

Connor: You have a prick.

Brodie: I said feel, Connor, feel.

Connor: (Confused) So, you’re not angry that we’re breaking up?

Brodie: Breakin – WHAT?! Who said we’re breaking up? FUCK, are you DUMPING ME?!

Connor: I’m sorry Brodie. Really, I mean, we can still be friends right?

Brodie: (Outraged) But why?! Are penises suddenly out of fashion or something?!

Connor: It’s got nothing to do with the popularity of penises! It’s just – Brodie, I don’t want to do this to you! But you’ve been acting all cold recently and it’s like I don’t even know you anymore. I don’t understand it. Baby, please don’t make this hard for me.

Brodie: Don’t you dare call me any endearments when you’re dumping me!

Connor: I’m so sorry. I wish I didn’t have to do this.

Brodie: I can’t believe you’re dumping me! It should be the other way around!

Connor: I’m really sorry. I don’t know what else to do.

Brodie: …

Connor: Brodie?

Brodie: …

Brodie: …I’m going to kill you.

Connor: Shit, I knew you wouldn’t take this well.

Brodie: Damn affirmative! (Comfortably embeds his fist in the hollow between Connor’s nose and left cheekbone.)

End Segment: The Break-Up.

Okay, I’m normally not a loud or violent person. But in certain circumstances, I can accidentally let my emotions run rampant and my hellhound’s snap off their leashes. The Break-Up with Connor was a prime example of such a circumstance.

Lend me a little lee-way. I was dumped and distressed; you can’t expect me to act civil.

Cutting things short, after I socked Connor a pretty one in the face, I screamed a long list of creative curses, packed my belongings, towed them to my car downstairs, stole all the money in his wallet, screamed some more and set fire to his apartment.

A few things need to be clarified here. Firstly, Connor only had about fifty bucks and forty five cents in his wallet, so if you think about it, it wasn’t much of a robbery and more of a charity donation than anything. And secondly, I did not set his apartment on fire on purpose. It was an accident, I swear. The accident purely had great timing with a strategically placed lit-cigarette next to a conveniently placed curtain edge.

It was also completely not my fault that the smoke alarm malfunctioned and only sounded when the entire side of a wall and a mattress was engulfed in flame. Plus, I couldn’t help that Connor was outside on the balcony, feeling a wee bit angsty and did not realise until everything was mostly unsalvageable.

And all the while, I was driving away from my burning previous-home, sobbing my heart out and drowning in a personal sea of derision and anguish (background: Leann Rimes, How do I live). Anyway, Connor phoned me when he figured out his wall was smouldering and my heroic conscience forced me to return back to help fight off the blaze. I ended up paying half in damages.

This concludes that I am neither a thief nor an arsonist.

I’m just a poor man with nowhere to live, no boyfriend, a shitty bar job at The Yellow Saucer and set with a dose of rigorous hay fever.

Part II – The Courting

Happy Hour at The Yellow Saucer is surprisingly, an agreeable time for me. The continuous rain of cocktail orders keeps me occupied with little time to dwell upon stupid, idiotic things like my lack of house, lack of money and lack of boyfriend.

“Long Island and a Cosmo, thanks.”

“Long Island and Cosmo? No worries.”

Three parts vodka, three parts tequila, three parts white rum, three parts triple sec, three parts gin, five parts lemon, six parts gomme syrup and dash of cola. Poured on ice. Stirred. Garnished with lemon.

Two and two thirds Vodka Citron, one measure Cointreau, one measure lime, one measure cranberry. Shaken up. Strained. Garnished with lemon.

“Can I have an extra slice of lemon?”

“Sure thing.”

Garnished with more lemon.

“Margarita, thanks.”

“Margarita? No worries.”

“Hairy Navel, thanks.”

“Hairy Navel? No worries.”

“Masturbating Butterfly, thanks.”

“Butterfly? No worries.”

The night continued as so, until eight pm when Happy Hour ended and the drink orders slowed down. This signalled my sneaky time off to whinge and act all sulky with Agnes Pantoja, my fellow heart-failure colleague.

“Rent is so bloody high,” I whined whilst washing glasses, “I’m staying with my friend Rob at the moment and I seriously have to find a place a.s.a.p. Rob and Diana fuck every night and they’re driving me nuts. Is it really necessary to scream so loud?!”

“Ah, the ferocious aftermath of dumpage has finally befallen on you,” Agnes replied, rubbing lime onto a margarita glass and dipping it in salt, “After you lose your lover, you lose your house, your money, your job etcetera, etcetera and one has to think to oneself, what absurdity is this? Which higher power detests me so, as to eliminate every joy in my life and render me completely devoid of happiness? Is losing my lover not enough to quench your bitter spite? Must you take my home and money also?! It is sheer injustice, my love, but we must it face with strong minds and vigorous spirits.”

At twenty-six, Agnes is sometimes a bit too elusive for me.

“By vigorous spirits, do you mean I should get myself a self pity-fuck to feel better?”

Agnes opened her mouth to answer but instead, flicked her black curls and nodded at a man awaiting some service. I approached him with my painted, polite smile. He smiled back with glittery eyes behind rectangle glasses.

“Hey, Jack Frost thanks.”

“Jack Frost? No worries.”

Jack Daniels. Drambuie. Bourbon. Orange Juice. Grenadine. Sweet and Sour. Crushed with ice. Served.

I returned to Agnes.

“You were saying?”

“Darling, self pity-fuck’s aren’t designed to make anyone feel better for more than a few minutes of passion. It was ridiculous of you to say I suggest so.” She paused once again as Jack Frost Man flagged me down. I glanced at him and blinked away my eye-roll.

“Can I help you with anything?”

Sometimes the former teenage Industrie retail worker resurfaces when I am disagreeable.

“Ah…no, not exactly,” said Jack Frost Man, “I was just wondering whether I’d met you before.”

“We met briefly about two seconds ago,” I replied, being extra cautious to smile and cover up all traces of hostility. I wasn’t in much of a socialising mood, “When you ordered your drink.”

“Ah yes, of course,” he flashed his teeth in a grin, “You just remind me of someone, that’s all. Hi, I’m Kurt.”

Ah, a sneaky introduction.

“Brodie,” I replied and held up a finger as a lady approached the bar, “One moment, please.”

“Tequila Sunrise, thank you.”

“Tequila Sunrise? No worries.”

I mixed the drink for Lady Tequila Sunrise and she tips me.

“What are you doing?” Agnes hissed after I had collected the money and moved back to wash the glasses, “You should have let Jackson take that order.”

I looked at Jackson then. He was tapping tunes on his knees in between stacking glasses, dreadlocks bobbing about. Jackson Johnson is the other bar guppy that manned the bar with me and Agnes. He’s quite the noisy, little bugger, but with such an unfortunate name, he’s allowed to be.

“Why?” I asked, and Agnes gave me a belittling look.

“Clearly you could do with some distraction at the moment,” she said and glanced at Jack Frost Man…I meant, Kurt. I sighed and moved over to perform some of my customer service duties. Such charity, Brodie-boy, such generosity.

“Sorry, about that,” I grabbed a cloth and pretended to be cleaning a glass, “It gets busy around this time.”

“When does your shift end?” Kurt asked, sipping on his Jack Frost, looking politely curious. I scratched my six days worth of stubble, which was more of an unflattering short beard than anything, and frowned in thought.

“I have a break at eleven and I get off at one.”

“Interested in joining me for a cigarette in half an hour?”

I was definitely surprised when he said that for several reasons.

One, The Yellow Saucer was a bar predominantly for heterosexuals. Although I’m unashamedly gay, the people who come in here wanting it in my pants don’t realise that and usually have breasts to go along with their flirty antics.

Two, Kurt was, even though I had not previously mentioned, quite an appealing piece of eye candy upon closer inspection. He had soft looking sandy hair, dark eyes behind rectangle glasses, straight nose, crooked grin and a strong jaw. From what I could see from his sitting down position, he was also built and lean in all the right places.

Now, I, on the other hand, had never had much going on for me in terms of looks. My mud coloured hair was just long enough to tie into a small ponytail, but it hadn’t been washed in almost four days so it resembled something close to dirty ropes. I had blue eyes, but they did nothing by being sort of dull and my nose was too long and my lips too thin. Body-wise I was all big joints and taut skin over skinny muscles.

Add a smattering of six day stubble-beard over my cheeks and I was definitely not up there with those worthy of desirability.

I must have shown my astonishment because Kurt turned a little darker in the cheek area and began stammering rubbish about it not being a date or anything because he wasn’t like that or anything.

“Why not,” I said, shrugging and cutting him off, “I’ll meet you out back in half.”

The grin he gave me was so gracious that I realised he really wasn’t asking me out and that he didn’t fancy me at all, it was just my boyfriend-less, delusional mind feeling lonely and thinking that he was flirting with me.

“Bring a lighter,” he said and left me a huge tip.

Kurt was simply bored on a Friday night and wanted a smoke with the bartender who he thought looked like a nice enough guy to have a smoke with. That was how at eleven fifteen pm Friday night, I went out and had a smoke with him.

Which is also how I ended up naked next morning in Kurt’s bed.

Part III – The Resultant

Waking up in a foreign room with no clothes on and few memories of the night before can instil great boughts of panic in ones mind. But, waking up in a foreign room, naked, memoryless and suffocated can make one go hysterical.

The suffocation part was the main reason to my waking. I have quite irritating hay fever. Ever since the beginning of the month, I’d been waking up every morning to a stuffed up nose and itchy eyes. I should be used to it now, but it doesn’t stop my brain from thinking I’m trying to deprive it of oxygen.

So, in a flurry of panicked and stiff limbs, I scrambled out of Kurt’s bed and ran into the ensuite bathroom to look for my hay fever tablets. This, I found, was quite in vain because I didn’t live with Kurt and the chances of him having my hay fever tablets was close to zilch. After a large dose of mental swearing, I settled for blowing my nose. Naturally, the effect of blowing my nose was to make it extra blocked. This was when I became extra hebetudinous and thought, life blows.

A soft grunt from Kurt signalled that I needed to get out of his house a.s.a.p. Flurries of questions invaded my head. How do I get out of here? Where are my clothes? How did I get here? Did I fuck him? Did he fuck me? Did I skip work? Oh god, I skipped work. Am I going to get fired? Why don’t I have a hang-over? And again, where are my clothes?

Questioned clothes were on the floor near the bed and I struggled into my trousers and decided to call Agnes. I couldn’t find my phone so I sneakily used Kurt’s.

“– Lo?” Her voice was all low and gluggy with sleep. The time was 5:36am according to Kurt’s alarm clock.

“Aggy? It’s Brode. Just a question, did anyone notice slash take over for me when I skipped work last night?”

“Shit, darl,” Agnes groaned and I heard a rustle as she rolled over, “It’s goddamn five in the morning. I just fell asleep. Now I’m awake and I don’t think I can go back to zed-land anymore. You also sound sick. Got flu?”

“Hay fever. Sorry, anyway,” I said urgently as Kurt twitched. I lowered my voice and cupped my hand over the receiver, “But do you know if anyone took over for me?”

Agnes yawned and I suffered the discomfort of hearing it over the phone. “Ummm…” she said and sniffed, “Oh yeah, you left early for ‘personal problems’. Well, that’s what you told Mark anyways and don’t worry about it, Jackson and I excelled in the task of completing orders in your absence.”

I sighed in relief and sniffed back snot. “Thank you so much. You’re a gem, you know that?”

“Naturally,” said Agnes and I could hear the smile in her voice, “You owe me one. And next time you decide to go clubbing with some blond cutie, make sure he brings a friend along so I can force him to toil in your place.”

“As you wish, Princess, as you wish.”

“I am the Queen, you fool!” Agnes howled and I winced, “Now go fuck off.”

“As you wish, my Queen,” I said and was about to hang up when Agnes yelled at me to come back.

“Brodie! Brooodie! I forgot to tell you something!”

“I’m here, I’m here,” I said, “Go on.”

“I think I know who your ex dumped you for,” she said and I stiffened.

Small facts I forgot to mention, Agnes is the only one at work who knows I’m gay and knows about Connor (the wankhole). She’s also met Connor on several occasions and it turns out she’s part of some distant, distant friendship network with him. Strange how things are connected in life.

“How the hell did you find that out?!” I hissed with my heart suddenly battering against my ribcage. One step closer to heart failure.

“Simple,” said Agnes, “Georgette’s my friend.”

“No offence, but I hate your taste in friends.”

“No offence taken. I’m not that fond of her myself. The thing about Georgette is that she’s…she’s a widespread kind of woman, you know? And she’s really more of an acquaintance.”

“Clever pun on the ‘widespread’. What’re the chances she’s going to cheat on him?”

I had to ask myself then, why do I care? Why do you care, Brodie? He dumped you for god’s sakes; it has nothing to do with you if he’s hurt. Right?

“I don’t know,” said Agnes, “I just saw them coming of out of that toasty bar above the Lindt café. What’s it called? Red Hound or something?”

“Bluebird,” I corrected.

“Red Hound, Bluebird, same difference. But I saw them last night on my break and they were all snuggly wuggly sweetie pie, and sorry about this Brode, but frankly, Con’s going to get quite screwed over.”

“Serves him right,” I spat, “I hope this Georgina is spread super wide.”

“That’s simply vulgar,” said Agnes in a bored tone, “And it’s Georgette, but you say too much and I’m gone. Good day.”

And with that, Agnes hung up on me.

So, dear Connor basically left me for a free prostitute with a name akin to those in generation W. This was one big, fat, blow to my self esteem and I figured I really detested life in the way my mother detested weeding. You pull and you pull and you pull every week to keep your lawn smooth, but those darn weeds just keep coming back and what can you do, but pull.

There was nothing more I wanted to do at that moment than to set that lawn on fire and pave over the ashes.

“Enjoying your reverie with my phone?” asked Kurt from somewhere near my waist. Kurt was propped up on his elbow with his hair all messy and the sheets hanging off him in a very, very, awfully, teasing manner.

I screamed in shock inside my head and I prided myself in managing to keep a calm countenance on the outside.

“I’m just about to leave,” I said matter-of-fact and hastily placed down his phone. I couldn’t resist the flicker my eyes made to his downstairs as he sat up and studied me.

“Why don’t you stay for breakfast?” he asked, voice warm and cracky with sleep.

“I…” I gaped at him stupidly as my brain scampered around for words, “I really need to be somewhere to err…hit someone.”

Immediately, I began cutting my mental wrists for being an imbecile. I was always weak and never very eloquent in face of attractive, sleepy men.

Kurt, thankfully, chuckled softly. “Well, I hope that person you’re planning to hit, isn’t me. If you want, you can take a shower. It might help you feel better?”

His shower indeed, sounded very tempting and I was sure I didn’t smell anything close to roses, but I really wanted to leave.

“Thanks, but I seriously have to go. Err…it was nice meeting you? Well, it was nice from what I can remember of whatever we did last night.”

Lots of loud music, plenty of drinks, fogs of smoke and some fantastic sex in vague detail was all that I could really recall if I thought hard enough. I sneezed and sniffed back snot.

“You don’t remember anything from last night?” Kurt asked with a small frown.

“I’ll be going now,” I said, using my fantastic conversational diversion skills.

“Look, Brodie,” said Kurt, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. I promise I did not stare at the way the sheets shifted around his unclothed hips. “Just take the shower, I insist. You can go wherever you want afterwards.”

God’s above, he was so very charming in the way he offered his bathroom, so being a natural Adam in the Garden of Eden, I took a shower. I also used the opportunity to shave my stubble-beard.

I exited the bathroom smelling clean, looking beardless and breathing oxygen through my nose without snot in the way. Kurt wasn’t in the bedroom anymore understandably, so I grabbed my belongings and started to search for the exit. Looking around his apartment, I discovered Kurt was quite well off and I began to feel like I was imposing. I mean, I didn’t even have a home anymore. Seeing a wide screen television in his living room did nothing to make me feel less poor.

I finally located the front door but Kurt stopped me before I got anywhere near it.

“Brodie. Hi,” he waved uncertainly at me with a spatula from his open kitchen. He was wearing a white wife beater and green hula-hoop boxer shorts. “I made pancakes. Sit down.”

“I…” I said and looked around hopelessly, “I…really don’t want to impose or…”

“I’m offering,” he said and slid a plate of pancakes piled high onto the bench. He sat down himself and nodded to a stool opposite him.

“I’m refusing,” I replied stubbornly and inched toward the door.

“Now, I’m demanding,” said Kurt with a completely serious face, “I demand you join me in pancaking.”

“Gee, I really don’t want –.”

“Did I say you had a choice?” he said, cutting me off, “Sit. Enjoy. Because it’ll hurt my feelings if you leave as I have made enough pancakes to last until next month.”

“You’re going to regret this,” I said as I sat onto the offered stool and speared four pancakes onto a plate, “I’m a brilliant freeloader.”

“I’ll suffer,” he replied with a smirk and began eating himself. He took a bite of his pancake and made a face at his own creations. “Erk. These are terrible.”

“Really?” I asked, shovelling fried dough into my mouth without hesitation. I’m poor. Poverty makes all free food taste good. “I think they’re fine.”

“You don’t have to be polite,” Kurt said, putting down his cutler, “Hey, why don’t we go out for dinner some time and try some real food?”

My heart made this massive leap onto my tonsils and I had to place down my fork unless I started jabbing my own eyes in disbelief. Was this man asking me out? For real? The focused gaze told me that it was for real, for real.

“See, the thing is,” I said, carefully picking out my words, “I’m really not one for luxurious cuisine. I’m sort of in a very, sticky financial situation and I just came out of a very, sticky relationship, so pretty much, I’m a sticky person you don’t want to get stuck with.”

“Some special acquaintance with glue?” Kurt asked and folded his arms.

I cut to the chase. He didn’t have to make fun of me. “I don’t extend relationships with people I had one night stands with. It doesn’t flow that way with me.”

“We had a good time though.”

“Agreed, but I’m not comfortable with it.”

“Fine,” said Kurt and picked up his fork, only to remember that he didn’t like his pancakes, “If it makes you uncomfortable, let’s just go for drinks. No, I’m not asking you out on a date. I am merely asking you as…as a person I want to get to know better. Friend, if you’d like. Are you free tomorrow?”

I squinted hard at Kurt and decided to put my conversation diverting skills to action. “I used your razor. Sorry and thanks.”

“I noticed,” replied Kurt, “You look younger without all that…” he waggled his fingers around his face and pushed up his glasses in the same motion, “…hair. Anyway, tomorrow?”

“Can’t,” I said and crammed cold pancakes into my mouth to give myself some time to think of an excuse, “Work.”

“Tuesday, then?”

That man just didn’t give up.

“There’s no place open since no-one goes out drinking on Tuesdays.”

“We’ll find somewhere, I’m sure.”

I had no reply to that and Kurt grinned. For a second my heart leapt, and then plummeted because I realised then how much I really disliked Kurt. And despite the magnificent blush that spread over my face when he told me I was easy to win over, I dreaded the coming Tuesday.

Part IV – The Date

It turned out that Kurt was completely wrong. We didn’t find a place on Tuesday to drink at. It was Tuesday, for lemon’s sake, ­no-one drinks on Tuesdays. I was already in a very sour mood because Connor called to timidly inquire if I had a place to stay and I ended up hanging up on him and wallowing in self-pity again.

Then I remembered I had to go out with Mister No-Is-Not-an-Option, Dumbdick Kurt, and promptly lapsed into an even sourer mood. And then when that dreaded Tuesday came up, Kurt somehow made the drinking venue is house and logically, I fell into an even sourer, sourer, sourer mood.

Then to make things quadruply sour, I got drunk in about forty seconds at Kurt’s place and forgot all my previous sourness. I probably didn’t mention, but I’m a very happy drunk.

“Mawidge!” I cried, swinging my bottle of whatever over my head. We were in Kurt’s living room, surrounded by numerous six-packs of beer, bottles of unidentifiable liquor, plastic cups, chips, weed, gummy snakes, peanuts, etcetera, etcetera. It was perhaps only ten pm and I was already on Pluto. I faced my imaginary audience and flung my arms out. “Mawidge is what bwings us togewer today!”

Did I tell you that I absolutely adore The Princess Bride? It was playing on loop on Kurt’s widescreen television as we rolled around in drunken stupor. Kurt’s glasses were falling down his nose and he was chowing down chips by the fistful.

“Mawidge!” cried Kurt and mimicked my drink swinging, spraying chip crumbs everywhere, “The bwessed awwangement, that dweam wiffin a dweam...”

I laughed with snorts we swung our arms around each others shoulders, merrily chanting away in our speech impediments. “... Ven wuv, twoo wuv. Wiw fowwow you fowever. ... So tweasuwer your wuv…”

“And do you, Pwincess Buwwercwup!” I shrieked and pulled Kurt closed to my face. His breath was hot and not particularly nice smelling, but what did I care. He hooted and tilted his face in my grasp. I pressed his forehead flush onto mine and threaded my fingers through his hair.

“Man and wife,” he whispered and slid his hands over my waist, resting them gently on my hips. I shivered and leant in.

Kurt turned before my lips could touch his.

I frowned and tried a little harder.

My lips landed on his cheek as he turned again.

I am happy drunk; however, I am not a very bright or quick drunk. Indeed, Kurt’s actions were creating extraordinary confusions in my intoxicated head. His eyes were burning into my own and I pouted. Oh, he has very dark brown eyes, like coffee beans. Ugly simile there.

“I told you last time,” he murmured when I keened unhappily, “I don’t kiss.”

I blinked as my brain slooooowly registered this piece of information.

He. Does. Not. Kiss.

“All right,” I said, sloppily letting him go. I made a pronouncement. “I don’t either!”

“You told me that alread – whoa!” he gasped when some insanely horny part of my brain decided I ought to start giving him a blow job, “Take it easy, mate.”

Of course I’m taking it easy, I thought as I sucked him off in a drunken delirium, if I can’t kiss him on the mouth, it doesn’t stop me from kissing him elsewhere. Kurt sagged back against the sofa and stroked my hair away from my face in a continuous rhythm as I did my work.

With a soft gasp-grunt and jerk, he gripped my hair hard and came into my mouth. I was never a big fan of semen but it never occurred to me in my inebriated state to remove myself when he went over the edge. I washed the taste down with beer and attacked Kurt’s throat as he was still panting from his orgasm.

“Ah, fuck.”

It was all hands and nails and teeth and hair and heat and sweat and a condom in his back pocket and somehow, I had him bent over and I was fucking him hard into the sofa.

Sex usually entails minimal tête-à-tête, but not so when Kurt is involved. Annoying fact about Kurt: He likes to talk in the middle of sex. God forbid.

Our sofa-fuck conversation went something like this:

Kurt: Ah, shit! Fuck yes, like that, like that.

Brodie: (Grunts)

Kurt: Ugh. Shit. Dinner. (Gasps) With me. (Gasps) Ahh fuck. Next Friday?

Brodie: (Grunts)

Kurt: Oh god, yes! I won’t (Gasps) let you – ugh – say no.

Brodie: (Grunts)

Kurt: I take that as – Ahh! Right there! – a Yes! YEAH!

Brodie: (Grunts)

Kurt: Agh!

And that was how he managed to sneakily ask me out, again.

I detest him.

Part V- The Dinner

“Agnes, I’m not ever going to forgive Connor. He’s the one that ditched me for some breathing blow-up doll, so I am completely in the right to make a choice and never have business with him again.”

It was Friday. I was working the afternoon shift and it was the break just before the evening dining started. All I did during set-up, when there was something to do, was flap a few table cloths, arrange a few sets of silver, and voila! Pay cheque please.

“Brodie,” Agnes pretended to set the table next to the one I was pretending to set, “I’m not suggesting you get back together with him. I just saw Georgette getting it on with another womanthe other day and I’m saying she’s extremely bad for his health. The only way he isn’t going to plummet into abysses of woebegone, is if you have a little chat with him.”

“It’s not my fault if Georgina –.”

“Georgette.”

“Georgette, same thing, fucks him over his head. He left me! It’s been almost three weeks since we broke up and honestly, I think I’ve moved on.”

“Sweetie. If you’ve moved on, you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable talking to him and you’d also have the heart to forgive him. You’re still bitter, child.”

“I’m not bitter!”

“But not entirely sweet either,” said a low voice behind me and I turned to find Kurt in a business suit, grinning like a he'd won an easter raffle.

“Table for one?” I said stonily.

“You’re so cold when you’re sober,” said Kurt and he grinned at Agnes, “So what’s Brodie bitter about?”

“He was discarded by his boyfriend of three years for a street side prostitute and is presently experiencing brutal heart break and plentiful ego-contusion.”

“I’m over it,” I snarled and Agnes put her hands up in defence. I turned to Kurt, “We’re not open until half past five. Please remain outside, or I may have to shepherd you from the premises.”

“You have such a pretentious way of stating things,” Kurt replied with raised eyebrows.

“You’re merely unfamiliar with class.”

I laughed internally at the irony of it all.

“I’m just here to confirm our dinner tonight,” said Kurt and I noticed Agnes jerk in my peripheral.

“I didn’t think your offer was legit,” I replied. We were in the middle of fucking for crying out loud.

“All my offers are legit, no matter what situation they’re presented in.”

Robert Deng, my friend who I was currently stealing living quarters from, chose that moment to barge in and evict me from his home. Things about Rob are that he’s Asian and has a buzz-cut with a fish bone pattern shorn into his fuzz. Nothing else about him is of importance.

Rob stalked over to me and clamped a hand on my shoulder.

“Brode, I need you out,” he said bluntly, sticking his thumb behind him in an ‘out’ motion.

It took me a while to figure out what he had just said.

“Excuse me?” I said, disbelievingly “Are you – are you kicking me out?!”

“I need the room,” he shrugged, “Sorry, buddy, but you’re gone.”

“Rob, shit mate, I have nowhere else to go. I ain’t going back to my parents, for fuck’s sakes. My mother still owns doilies!”

“Brodie, who is he?” Kurt interrupted, giving Rob an icy look and placing a hand on my free shoulder.

“No-one,” I said and dismissed him with a hand wave.

“Who the fuck’re you, maaaan?” Rob cawed back at Kurt, and suddenly noticed Agnes, “Oh, hey, Aggy. How’s it hanging?”

“My tits are firm and perky as per usual, thank you Robert,” Agnes replied.

I shrugged Kurt off and steered Rob him into a corner and away from the other two lunatics.

“Robbie, just give me one more week,” I pleaded lowly, slinging my arm over his shoulders to create some more privacy. I could basically hear Agnes and Kurt eavesdropping. “One more week and I promise I’ll be out.”

“Awww, man,” Rob whined and scratched he back of his neck, “I really don’t wanna do this to ya, mate. But my mum’s coming from overseas to stay with me and I need the room. I’m really sorry, buddy.”

“Jesus,” I hissed. Mother’s are trouble. “Don’t worry about it then. I’ll leave.”

“Aw, man, you’re a legend,” he smacked my back apologetically, “Cheers, mate. Sorry!”

Rob left and I rubbed my face wearily, groaning.

“Aggynessa,” I whimpered turning back to the eavesdropping duo, “I’m homeless again.”

“And so the repercussions of dumpage persist…” Agnes said airily, shuffling away to set another table, “How great it must be to be young…”

I looked at Kurt and he glanced away.

“What?” I asked.

“Is he your – are you – never mind,” he said and flushed slightly, “Nothing. Anyway, how about dinner tonight? I know a place near the wharf which is really nice.”

“I’m not into –.”

“Fine dining, I know,” said Kurt, “Just let me take you out this once. I’ll shout if that’s more incentive for you to join me.”

I stared hard at him and he gazed unwaveringly back.

I sighed. “From previous experience, I know it’s futile arguing, so I’m not going to waste my breath and just say, do whatever, you bastard.”

A brilliant grin made his eyes crinkle and I reddened because I sinfully thought that it was cute. He casually clapped me on the shoulder and leant in. “You’re a quick learner, aren’t you?” he murmured, lips against my ear. He moved away and my splendid blush crimsoned even further. “I’ll meet you outside here at half six.”

With that and a satisfied smirk, Kurt whistled away. I gawked after him and fumed.

“Once again, you’ve caught yourself an arsehole,” Agnes said as we watched him exit. I sighed. One step closer to heart failure.

At half past six I had changed into black, snug fitting turtle neck and dark trench coat over my work trousers and black leather shoes. I definitely wasn’t dressed the part for lavish dining, but that couldn’t be helped. I didn’t have any other clothes except my work shirt.

Kurt was around two minutes late and strolled towards me in his smart, dark suit and shiny shoes. The wind buffeted his hair to the side and I could see him mouthing swear words at it in the night lights.

“Bloody wind,” he hissed when he reached me and took off his suit jacket, “It’s not even nice wind either, it all hot and stuffy.”

“Change of season,” I said and promptly sneezed.

We began walking down The Promenade and made small talk on things like sport and movies and house prices. I found out Kurt was twenty-eight years old and worked for Price Waterhouse Coopers as a credit controller or something equally as mundane as that. I flushed at the fact that I was still completing my double degree at uni and had an annual salary that was a barely over half of his.

“You’re only twenty-five?” Kurt said, “You act a lot more mature than I was when I was twenty-five.”

“What the hell were you doing at twenty-five? Still watching the Disney Channel?”

Kurt laughed. “And you’re a lot more cynical and angry than I ever was. Also, don’t diss the Disney Channel. Hannah Montana is awesome.”

“I’m embarrassed to be walking with you,” I said and quickened my step, although I couldn’t help the grin that spread my face.

Kurt laughed some more and trotted after me. “Aw, come on Brodie, don’t discriminate. That’s so close-minded of you,” he placed his hand on my waist and steered me to the right, “We’re here.”

My eyes boggled out from the sheer magnificence of the ship Kurt was presenting to me.

“Magistic Cruises,” I said, staring at the floating restaurant, “Fuck, I can’t afford to eat here.”

“Too bad. I already dished out two eighty bucks to book us a table with a view.”

“I can’t pay you back a hundred and forty dollars!” I screeched in horror, “My wallet will bleed!”

“You told me you were a brilliant freeloader,” said Kurt calmly as he dragged me aboard, “Time to show me your skills.”

I grumbled and grudgingly followed him. Kurt talked to the doorman guy about our reservation and I surveyed my surroundings. The place was outstanding! The soft lighting and plush carpets and the ultra-modern table and set design and oh my good god, I was drooling. I basically salivated over the awesomeness of the place and soaked it up greedily with my eyes. Couples and groups were being shown their seats and some people were chatting by candle light with glasses of wine and others were on the outer decks with glasses of champagne.

Then I saw something that made my heart hurl out of my mouth.

Amongst all the other diners, sat Connor and a gorgeous redhead who I assumed to be Georgina – Georgette, sorry.

I must have stared very hard because Connor took that exact moment to look up and our visions connected in one terrible, terrible instant.

His jaw unhinged and almost hit the tabletop when he saw me and I think I was pretty much doing the same.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asked, putting a hand on my arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said airily, stealing one last glance at Connor. He was looking furiously from Kurt to me and vice versa. Georg…ette…called him back to her world with a finger snap and I followed Kurt to our table.

I instantly forgot about Connor because Kurt had reserved us a window table and holy moley foshuzz, the view was absolutely stunning. Complete city night lights reflecting off the harbour and all the ambience that came with that.

In a nutshell, I gushed like a complete tourist and almost screamed with pleasure when I realised dinner was a buffet. A BUFFET, I repeat.

“You’re shitting me,” I said, staring at the seafood.

Kurt looked at me amused over his wine glass. “Waiting for something?”

No, I thought and scuttled excitedly over to the food. Buffet! Buffet! All you eat! Insertion of fat schoolgirl giggle.

I loaded a bit of everything onto my plate and I nothing could have dampen my mood. Or so I thought, until Connor came up behind me and requested a little chit chat.

“Brodie?” he asked lowly, loading food onto his plate next to me. I didn’t realise how much I missed his voice and I wanted to saw out his Adams apple.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” I said coldly, shifting over to the next food tray.

“Brodie,” Connor said a hint of anger and urgency filtering into his voice, “Just – What the hell are you doing with him?!”

“What?” I asked, giving Connor a startled look.

“That guy,” Connor glares in the general direction of my table, “What are you doing with him?”

I stared furiously at Connor. “What’s it to you what I’m doing with him?” I hissed and Connor winced, “What’s it to you who I’m with at all?”

He looked away with a weird expression and bit his lip.

“Just – just – stay away from him all right? That guy is bad news.”

“Same goes for your date,” I shot back and moved back to my table.

“Who was that?” Kurt asked immediately when I sat down and stuffed my food moodily into my mouth.

“No one,” I spat and poked at my oysters.

Kurt speared four different seafood’s onto his fork at once. “I think I know him,” he said and frowned, “He looks familiar.”

“Don’t talk to him. He’s my goddamn ex,” I snarled, mutilating my fish with my fork.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt paused, “Do you want me to hit him over the head with my wine glass?”

“That’s very sportsmanlike of you,” I grinned and stuck on an accent. “You'll be all, Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die! And you hit him with your glass.”

“Something like that, only I’m not Inigo and he didn’t kill my father. You really like The Princess Bride don’t you?”

“It’s my favourite book in all the world.”

“Evidently.”

I amused myself for the rest of the cruise by imagining Connor getting smashed over the head with wine glasses and gradually, I began feeling a bit better. Even the gloomy looks he kept firing at me all the way through to the end of the cruise at nine thirty, couldn’t dampen my high spirits.

“Hm, it’s early,” Kurt said checking his watch when we were back on shore, “Since dinner wasn’t one hundred percent amazing as I had wished it to be, what do you say about some bar hopping?”

“I say it’s a fantastic idea,” I said, placing my hand on the small of his back as Connor disembarked.

“That’s a first,” Kurt replied, genuinely surprised at my compliance.

“I am a man of unpredictability.”

Part VI - The Lattermath

Kurt and I squabbled over which bar we should go to and we ended up going to Jambi House (a predominately but not exclusively gay bar) because it was closest. It was free entry since it was so early and I threaded my way to the bar to order myself a drink. An hour later, after a gin and tonic, a dry martini, two Jagerbombs and about five beers, I was pretty much gone.

“You know what, Kurt,” I yelled over the music, slinging my arm over his shoulder and nuzzling my head into him, “You’re really not a bad guy at all.”

“About time you realised,” he shouted, easing a glass out of my hand, “Easy on the liquor.”

I grinned happily up at him and he blushed, but didn’t look away when he grinned back. He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and something in my chest began to flutter and beat. It was probably the alcohol more than anything, but I still felt great.

“Hey, Brodie,” Kurt said, loud enough to hear over the music. He shifted closer to me, “You know how we agreed that these outings were solely for friendship purposes? Well, I’ve been thinking and mayb–,” he stopped abruptly as he spotted something from over my shoulder.

“Don’t look,” he said quickly, but I was looking already.

If I were to rate my luck on a scale of zero to ten, with ten holding the highest percentage, I’d give myself a minus forty million. For sitting at the end of the bar with his arm her waist was Connor and Georgette. They hadn’t noticed me but I had noticed them for sure.

“Brodie,” Kurt said sharply and I turned back to him, an angry scowl over my face, “Take a drink and calm down.”

“Fucking stalker…” I hissed, gulping down something.

“Do you want to leave?” Kurt asked, “Or I can go…I don’t know, talk to him or something? Come to some compromise.”

At that moment, I turned around and saw that Connor had noticed me and Kurt. An ugly glower was gracing his normally pleasant features. He stood up and with a few swift strides, he was almost behind me.

“No need,” I grumbled, “He’s here to talk to us now.”

“Better be nice then. Hi, I’m Kur –!”

“You stay the hell away from him!” Connor shouted, surprising both Kurt and I by shoving Kurt in the shoulder and standing between us.

“Hey! Back off, buddy,” Kurt retorted, shooting up and shoving Con back. He and Connor glared at each other as I watched with increasing interest. I merrily sipped my beverage.

“We’ll be back in a moment,” Kurt mumbled against my ear and Connor bristled.

“Don’t touch him!”

Kurt merely wrenched him close and said in a politely dangerous voice, “Let’s have a talk.”

The last thing I saw before Kurt dragged him away and into the male restrooms was Connor’s furious, yelling face. I imagined Kurt throwing Con into the nearest cubicle and beating the daylights out of him and I almost went after them. I even stood up and walked towards the bathrooms but thought better of it.

Instead I began to dance. Yes, I can dance. I’m a great dancer, especially when I have spiteful feelings and nine drinks coursing through my veins. Immediately, I felt someone start grinding up behind me.

“Looking good,” the Mysterious Dancer rumbled, lips against the bit of neck under my ear. The feeling of his teeth against my skin when he grinned made me shiver.

“Sorry, I’m taken,” I said and turning around to gyrate along with him. A white lie of sorts, but whatever, I was still flirting.

“Doesn’t faze me,” he laughed, sliding a chocolate arm around my waist, “So am I.”

“Actually, I think I’d better go check on him,” I said, pulling free and grinning. Mysterious Dancer shrugged and slapped my butt as I pushed through the bodies to the male restrooms. I wondered if Kurt and Connor had beaten each other to bloody piles by now.

I passed through the corridor wallpapered with patterns of roosters and tennis balls and into the bathroom. I immensely regret walking in there because what befell my eyes made me lose about thirty years of my remaining life. It was basically an instantaneous heart seizure.

Lodged in the space between both the hand driers were Kurt and Connor.

Making out.

Tongues, teeth, lips, hands. Totally, completely, enormously, making out.

Connor’s hands were gripped in Kurt’s hair as Kurt pressed him up into the wall and ground against him. The sounds they were making were absolutely ridiculous, what with the groaning when Kurt ravaged Connor’s neck and slid his hands up his shirt.

“HAWFUCKAZZA!” I shrieked, so gob smacked enraged that I couldn’t even swear proper, “What the FUCK?!”

Kurt and Connor tore away from each other and gaped at me. Like, fuck, you don’t kiss! I mentally screamed, Kurt you dirty liar!

“I’m going to kill you,” I said to neither one in particular.

“I can explain,” said Kurt, holding up his hands.

“Jesus fuck me, I definitely can’t,” Connor said as I glared lividly at both, torn between deciding who should be murdered first.

“Brodie, Connor and I hooked up when you guys were still together,” said Kurt hurriedly, “This isn’t anything, I swear! We’re not –!”

I whirled on Connor who cowered. “You cheated on me with Georgina and Kurt!? Wait, so it was Kurt first and then Georgina? SHIT! Who else have you shagged!?”

“Baby, please, you don’t understand,” Connor pleaded, looking at Kurt for assistance, “And it’s Georgette. I didn’t mean to –.”

“I goddamn adored you like fucking BUDDHA!”

“Brodie, baby, please!”

And before he could Baby, Please me anymore, I punched him in the face and ran out.

“Wait! Brodie!” Kurt yelled, looking down at Connor who apparently smacked his head on a hand drier after I hit him and crumpled.

I stormed out of the restroom and smacked into Georgette who was chatting up some girlie with big breasts.

I grabbed Georgette by the forearms and hissed an angry, “Your boyfriend is a slut,” before I shoved my tongue down her throat and pashed her like crazy.

“Oh, my…” Georgette gasped, clearly out of breath and in a daze by the time I let her go and ran out of the bar.

I sprinted and sprinted and sprinted past all the clubs and bars full of party people and ended up in some desolate street in the middle of whoop-whoop. The night was warm and I realized with some irritation that I was crying like a three year old who had grazed his knee.

I sat down at a deserted bus stop, lifted my shirt over my face and sobbed into it. My mind went through the whole dramatisation of heart broken thoughts. Oh, pain! Oh woe! My heart is shattered in pieces! I will never love again! I can never trust again! Oh the bullshit that is life, so on and so forth.

After I had cried my fill, I sat there in the deserted bus stop, hiccoughing and solemnly dripped snot onto my shirt.

After a while, heavy footsteps signalled someone’s arrival.

“Brodie, there you are.”

Ah, for Pete’s sake, leave me alone.

Kurt leaned against the side of the bus stop and panted. He had obviously run after me.

“Go away!” I croaked, voice heavy with mucus.

“No,” he said and sat down next to me, “I have to explain something to you,” he paused and struggled for words, “I err…I met Connor about two months ago and um…it’s – it’s true, that I was using you to get to him. I –,” he swallows, “ – I don’t know, but for some insane, delirious reason, I thought Connor would get jealous and come back to me if I, I don’t know, fucked around with you a bit.”

He ran a hand nervously through his hair and I sniffed up some snot.

“But once I got to know you, god, I barely even know you at all, but after that second night, I couldn’t stop – shit, I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Kurt flushed and looked at his feet, “I don’t know. Sometimes I ask myself what I’m actually doing because Jesus Christ, I care about you.”

He rubbed his chin and bit his lip, “It screwed up tonight. Just…I’m sorry Brodie, it screwed up. I’m so sorry,” he opened his hands in defeat. “There. It’s out.”

Silence broken by a solitary sniff is what greets him.

“Brodie, please say something.”

“Do you fancy me?” I whispered so softly Kurt had to ask me to repeat it.

“Do I fancy you? Fuck, Brodie, look at me,” he touched the side of my face tentatively and I turned, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

But you did. Wankhole.

He scrubbed snot away from under my nose with his sleeve and let his hand linger near my cheek.

A ragged sigh left me and I leaned into his palm. “I hate you,” I whimpered and he drew me close to him and I leeched some warmth. His hand smoothed back my hair and my eyes fluttered shut then open. “You won’t even kiss me.”

Kurt licked his lips and cupped my face. He searched for something in my eyes and his nose touched my cheek as he leant it. “I won’t kiss you because…” his eyelashes spread over his cheekbones as he glanced at my lips, “I can’t because…I’ll go crazy if I do…” he whispered and I felt his breath rebound off my mouth.

He closed his eyes and his lips hit the corner of my mouth as I turned in the last second. His eyes snapped open in surprise.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, clearly hurt and confused.

“Your glasses are dirty,” I said.

“Oh, really?” he said and took them off to wipe, “Thanks for tell –!”

He never finished that sentence because I punched him then, right in the centre of his obnoxious lying face.

“I don’t fucking kiss,” I snarled as he slumped against the bus stop bench, out cold. Noting from the extreme pain in my arm and his unconscious state, I must have socked him a good one. I also think I broke his nose.

Now, I’m normally not a loud or violent person. But in certain circumstances, I can accidentally let my emotions run rampant and my hellhound’s snap off their leashes. And sometimes, I don’t bother calling my hounds back.

I wiped the remnants of tears and snot off my face, dusted off my trousers and began to search Kurt’s clothes. I extracted his wallet, took all the money in there, removed his shoes and swung them onto the electrical wires. I additionally made a paper hat out of a discarded newspaper for Kurt’s head if it got cold, removed his trousers and set fire to them.

I lit myself a cigarette, returned my lighter to my pocket and watched the small pile of black material fizz and crackle on the cement sidewalk. It was beautiful in the way it softly flickered and danced in a small radius of light and warmth. It calmed me down a lot and I was sure it would keep Kurt warm for a short period of time.

To clear up a few misconceptions, Kurt had about ninety six dollars and eighty five cents, and considering his wealth, this would barely be any skin off his nose. I’m not entirely emotionless because I did feel a little flip of guilt, watching the burning pants.

I mean, from heart break, to heart restoration, to heart break again, I don’t think this lump of muscle in my chest can take anymore drama. That fire was only lit so I could provide myself some solace for my suffering organ and prevent any other drastic impulses. It was purely good intentions.

That just goes to show that I am neither a thief nor an arsonist.

I’m just a poor man with no house, no boyfriend, a crappy bar job at The Yellow Saucer and enduring a bothersome spell of hay fever.

Oh, and I am most certainly, definitely, absolutely, a man who will die from heart failure.

Okay, I wrote so much it probably doesn't even qualify as a one-shot. I also tried writing in a style that was a little bit more linear than I usually do, but that was pretty much fail at the end. Also, my idea is about as creative as a mollusk and horrendously predictable, so the part of the challenge where I needed to put in a surprise kiss was fail again.

I have HUGE issues with tense. It always screws me up someplace.

Anyways, I HOPE YOU ENJOYED! (longest bloody one-shot ever. I had to take a break when I reread it because it was so wearisome.)

I'm going to the Rihanna and Chris Brown concert. Yey for me and my RnB fo shizzle ma nizzle word.

Baskets of love,