Watching the 2000 Olympics from Australia and all

those boats sailing past the Opera House, Sidney wanted to

see it in person and saved for nine years for this vacation of

a lifetime. And then the rains started and Sidney must make

up for three lost days of vacation time in the four remaining

days. Everything begins with a cruise of the harbor and

sailing past the venerated Opera House itself and ends with

a celebration of Australia Day with new found friends.

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uncan

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mlrpress

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are

used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or

persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2013 by Duncan More

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole

or in part in any form.

Published by
MLR Press, LLC
3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.
Albion, NY 14411

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Cover Art by Deana Jamroz
Editing by Kelly Anderson

ebook format

Issued 2013

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Ever since I had been in high school and glued to the 2000

Summer Olympic Games, I had wanted to go to Sydney, Australia,

and now at the age of twenty-nine, I had saved enough cash to

do it right —seven glorious days to take it all in, the trip of a

lifetime! Or so I thought. I had been smart enough to remember

that the seasons are reversed from here in the States, and so I

booked my holiday for late January, figuring I’d be sick of winter

by then and could use a break. Unfortunately, I no sooner had

checked into my hotel than the rain started, and I don’t mean a

brief four o’clock shower. No, I am talking major rain, three days

of almost steady downpour. All I could do was watch television,

use the gym in the hotel for a good workout, and hit the bar for

some socialization. But I had not come 9800 miles to do these

things. I could watch television and drink beverages and workout

at home in Baltimore. I also had not come 9800 miles to get laid.

I had no trouble doing that at home either, although I must admit

I met some very interesting guys both in the gym and the bar,

but as I said, I could do that back home.This was a vacation —a

chance to totally relax, take in sights I wanted to see, and not have

a worry in the world.

Finally on the fourth day, the sun came out, and I really

could start playing Tommy Tourist. The first thing on my bucket

list was a boat cruise in the harbor. I wanted to relive all those

sailboats, yachts, colorful barges, ferry boats, and motor boats

filling the harbor, sailing under the bridge, floating past the

magnificent opera house. The concierge was able to book me

passage on one of the afternoon tour boats that was offering

exactly what I wanted to experience, and by one I was on the

water, listening to the tour guide pointing out all the sights as we

passed by them. I had taken the concierge’s advice on booking. I

chose to be outdoors in one of the smoking areas, although I am

not a smoker. The other option was one of the inside areas with

windows and a fancy luncheon. I also had taken the concierge’s

advice on what to wear —super casual like a pair of sneakers and

shorts and a white tee shirt because many passengers got soaked

from waves splashing against the hull.

2 Duncan More

After the rainy days, the summer sunshine was a welcome

relief, hot as it was! I had taken off the tee shirt, stuck it in my

rear pocket, and enjoyed the breeze over as much of my body as

I presumed the law would allow in public.

In my joy at a sunny day and my hurry to get to the harbor, I

had forgotten to take care of certain biological functions before

boarding and an hour into the harbor tour, I had to answer

nature’s calling. I quickly found the restroom below deck, but so

had five other passengers, so there was a short line waiting for

people to relieve themselves.

It was while I was waiting in line that I felt I was being

watched, and I don’t mean a casual in-passing kind of glance; I

mean intent staring as if someone were memorizing every inch

of my body. I looked around, and my eyes quickly found the

cause of my feeling. About nine feet away from me, there was

this gorgeous, six foot tall guy with long, sun-bleached blond

hair combed straight back standing next to the staircase railing. I

don’t know how to explain how I had failed to notice him when

I descended other than that I was not really cruising, and maybe

he was following me. Clad only in a pair of blue jeans, he had

broad shoulders like mine that tapered to probably a twenty-six

inch waist and a chest and abdomen that was as well-muscled as

mine. He had one hand on his hips, and the other was raised to

hold onto the staircase rail. It was almost as if he were posing for

the childhood song, “I’m a little teapot,” although he was neither

short nor stout, just one hundred percent virile, and he definitely

was cruising me, and my body obviously had an effect on him, as

I could see an erection bulging in his low-rise jeans. It had to be

at least seven inches long as it nearly reached his belt loops.

Now I must admit that I am accustomed to being cruised but

never by someone whose body was hotter than mine. For me it

was usually some guy twenty years older than me or so out of

shape I couldn’t even fathom having sex with him or by a twink

who lisped with every ‘s’ he said. Never by an Adonis such as

this! I smiled and nodded briefly in his direction before moving

one person closer to the rest room door. I was next in line and

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really had to go. I was sure I had at least a quart of liquid to get

rid of.

When I came out of the restroom, he was gone. Evidently

he had enough of me for a fantasy jack-off session. I wondered

if he would imagine me as a top or bottom, French- or Greek-

oriented, butch or fem, dominant or passive. As I said, I had

not traveled 9800 miles to get laid, but I definitely would not

have said, ‘No,’ to this particular gentleman. I hurried topside and

listened as the guide continued his speech as we passed various

sights worth noting, and then I had the feeling again that I was

being watched. I looked around, and this time I spied him one

deck up leaning against the railing watching me and the harbor

skyline. Being a bit further away from the tour guide, not many

people were on this deck as many of the tour guide’s words could

not be heard even though there were speakers all over the ship.

When he caught my eye, he motioned for me to join him with

his right hand as his left seemed to be massaging his crotch, but

I couldn’t tell because of the solid railing. Now if this Adonis

wanted to get a little frisky with me, I was not going to say, ‘No,’

as I said. However, the voice of the tour guide was directing our

attention to the Opera House we were nearing, and I turned my

attention to it.

“Pardon me being so forward,” said a voice from behind me

softly, “but I just had to get to meet you.” It was him. “I simply

must compliment you on your physique. You know, all those veins

popping out over your biceps and running down your forearms

and the two veins bulging below your abs and running down into

your shorts. Magnificent!” He rested both hands on the railing

close to mine. “And you have got the most erotic nipples I have

ever seen on a man, so large and perky jutting straight out like

that. They just beg for some oral attention. I’d have to be crazy

not to tell you that I’d love to worship your whole body in any

way you liked. I don’t know which way you swing, but I could

definitely give you a release like you’ve never felt before.” He

moved his hand closer to mine. “How many hours a week are you

in the gym working out?”

4 Duncan More

“When I’m home in Baltimore, I usually get to the gym four

times a week,” I replied. “What about you? I mean that physique

of yours shows a lot of time doing reps as well.”

“Five evenings for about ninty minutes each time.” Then he

looked at me quizically. “Baltimore? Where’s that? Never heard

of it.”

“Eastern coast of the United States.”
“Tourist, eh?”
“’Fraid so. Three more days here and then three days in

Hawaii before heading home to the snow and cold.”

“Don’t ever have to worry about that here. So, what do you

say to my offer? Can I please you, or am I stuck with just a fantasy

of what could be? I’ve got some protection in my wallet in case

you want to fuck all day.”

I moved my hand ’til it was touching his. “I’d say you’ve

just made yourself a date. Just don’t think you’ll be the only

one pleasing someone. I like hot stiff cock as much as you,” I

confided, “and I’m sure I’d have a nice time with what you’ve got

packed away there.”

His hand covered mine as we held onto the upper railing.

He continued, “By the way, my name is Sidney —named for

the English poet, not the city, but everyone calls me Sid. My

mother idolizes Sixteenth-century British writers. She had me

memorizing some of her favorite poems all the way through my

early teens. My favorite line, though, was ‘Gather ye rosebuds

while ye may,’ except I wanted to share my rosebud with guys

from the moment I first hit puberty and discovered sex.”

“My name is Raleigh, but my friends call me Bucky. It seems

we have a second thing in common —the reasons our mothers

chose our names. I was named after Sir Walter Raleigh. I don’t

know if she thought I should be an explorer or a poet, but I have

had a few adventures with a queen in my life —just not the type

of queen my namesake did.” He joined me in a hearty laugh.

We chatted during the rest of the tour, hands touching hands.

As a native son and proud of his city, he told me what else I

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should really plan on seeing while here on vacation, where there

were fabulous out-of-the-way restaurants, and some of the

hottest bars in the city. He also filled me in on the upcoming

4

th

national holiday, Australia Day, which is like our July

celebrations —cook-outs, fireworks, the whole nine yards. It was

totally serendipitous planning on my part —I had never heard of

this holiday. It would be a wonderful final day down under before

hitting the island paradise.

I accepted his invitation to go to his place following the

cruise instead of returning to the hotel, and I was glad I did.

The moment we were inside his modest apartment, he laid one

forceful liplock on me as he wrapped his arms around me in a

tremendous hug. “Pash me, mate.”

I looked quizically at him, not understanding.
“Use your tongue when you kiss me!”
I tasted one of the sweetest mouths of my life. It was as if

he had been sucking peppermint candies all day —so fresh, so

sensual.

He pulled our naked chests together and ground his pelvis

against mine. My meat, of course, immediately began to respond.

He led me to a sofa, and I sat down and lay back a bit, with my

head resting on the arm but with my feet still on the floor. He

sprawled his body across the rest of the sofa and aimed his face

right for my nipples. Broad strokes of his tongue across each one

in turn transformed my semi-rigid prick into a throbbing hard-

on, but he was in no hurry to release it and devour it. Instead,

he kept licking and sucking on my nipples like a famished one-

month old baby. Moans of pleasure emanated from him as he

worshipped them. Only gradually did he divert his oral attention

to my pecs and abs, while his fingers toyed and pinched my saliva-

soaked nipples. I had often lightly toyed with my nipples during

masturbation sessions to porno videos, but I never fully realized

how sensitive they were to full-blown oral attention until now,

and this guy was definitely a master of tit pleasure.

As he continued an oral exploration of my exposed abdomen,

I ran my fingers through his silky, sun-bleached hair. It was such

6 Duncan More

a contrast to my thick, wiry brown hair. Gentle palm pressure let

him know how much I was enjoying what he was doing. Finally

his fingers left my nipples for the snap at the top of my shorts. In

an instant, he had the zipper down and was licking the pre-cum

that was already oozing out the tip. Then he licked up the sides

of my shaft and deep-throated the entire prick in one smooth

motion. With his hand only guiding the shaft into his mouth,

he bobbed up and down for a few moments before returning to

kiss me.

And then he guided his chest to my mouth, and I licked

his nipples as he had done to me. I had never really been a tit

worshipper before, but I knew from his performance what he

wanted me to do, and so I complied. If I thought mine were

perky, his nubs came right to attention as he moaned over and

over those common words of ultimate pleasure, “Oh yeah, mate,

do it!”

I don’t know if it were his sweat or the remnants of mist

from the harbor clinging to him, but there was a saltiness to

his flesh that made licking his body even more enjoyable than

his mouth. When he had enough satisfaction on his nipples, he

maneuvered his body upwards so that now the playground he

offered my tongue centered around his navel. I licked all around

it and sucked on it, pulling gently on the few stray hairs that

grew there with my teeth and lips. As I opened the top button

on his jeans, he sensed my urgency to get some of his real man-

flesh. He got off the sofa and let his jeans fall to his ankles. Like

me, he was not wearing any undergarments, so I had quick easy

access. I sat upright and grasped his cock and steered it towards

my tongue, and although he was totally hard, the foreskin had

not yet retreated. But that only took a few licks to resolve itself.

I am one good cocksucker, after all, and then this delicious cock

was buried deep in me, and my nose was enjoying the aroma of

his pubic hair. I almost just wanted to keep him buried in me and

enjoy the feel and the aroma, but he had other ideas. Out and in

he worked that delicious-tasting man-pole, and I let him control

the scene and the speed. I just wanted the pleasure of pleasing

him as much as he had pleased me. I wrapped my arms around his

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muscular buns and gently squeezed them like a masseur kneading

a knotted calf muscle to work out a charley-horse.

Finally, he suggested we adjourn to the bedroom. We did. It

was the messiest room I had seen in a long time. Piles of worn

clothing were in one spot; some dirty dishes perched on the end

of the dresser; three erotic magazines lay scattered on the floor; a

totally unmade bed, a dead houseplant filled the windowsill; and

piles of newspapers on the nightstand completed the view I was

presented with. Only the wastepaper basket seemed to have had

any recent attention. It was obvious that he had not anticipated

meeting me or anyone else for a quick sex session. Nevertheless,

I wasn’t here to write a review for

Better Housekeeping magazine; I

was here to have a good sexual release and give one as well.

Once we were prone on the bed, he got on top and went

back to worshipping my nipples while massaging my dick back

to full rigidity, and then he flipped into a sixty-nine and devoured

me while offering me his manhood. We sucked each other with

him on top, me on top, side by side, and when I let my tongue

stray to his balls, he really moaned, “Oh God, that feels so good.

Really use your tongue on my nackaz. I love that!” While ‘nackaz’

was evidently a purely Australian term for scrotum that I had

never heard before, I am good at deducing meanings of words in

context, and I used my tongue for his pleasure and mine.

Then, after allowing me a few pleasurable moments of licking

his bag and balls, he presented my face with his ass. He reached

back with his hands and pulled his cheeks apart, giving me total

access to his anus. I licked and nibbled ’til it was flexible and as

open as an all-night diner, and he reached back, held my dick, and

guided his hole right to it and took it all in one swift lunge ’til all

his weight was resting on my pelvis.

After only a few minutes though, he dismounted. He got

off the bed and went to the nightstand. He opened a drawer

and extracted a condom and wrapped my anxious cock in latex.

All he said was, “Now that I am loosened up enough to take all

of you, I want to give you the best ride of your life.” And he

squatted right back down on me. “Now fuck my freckle. Make it

8 Duncan More

the fucking kuta, mate! Really cream my clacker! Root me!”

Although I didn’t understand some of the words he was using,

I knew exactly what he wanted by the tone of his voice, and like a

ceramic horse trapped on a metal pole on a carousel, he went up

and down. One hand massaged his nipples, and one hand stroked

his own meat. Sweat from his body dripped all over me as his

passion increased. Then he insisted on lying underneath me and

letting me straight fuck him, and then it was him on his back with

his legs on my shoulders. He wanted my cock in every position

that was humanly possible for us to unite. I was happy to please,

but this last position was always my favorite, for while I am butt-

plugging, I can ususally start licking and sucking the cockhead of

the guy I am with. I just wish I was a tad more agile so I could get

more of the shaft in my mouth, but I guess I am too tall, for my

head is just too far away from my dick to get more than the head

of a cock in my mouth.

His ass was so hot, and he was using his interior muscles to

urge me to climax, tightening and relaxing it with each plunge I

made. Slowly pulling back ’til just the head was trapped inside

and then ramming it all in. We were in perfect synch —muscle

and organ. When I felt my nuts tightening, I asked if he wanted

me to cum yet. “Yes, ram it home, mate! I’m almost ready to

send out goobers, myself.” I made a few more fierce jabs and

achieved orgasm deep within him. At nearly the same moment,

I felt the final swelling of his cockhead and wrapped my lips

tightly around it. I could hardly swallow the huge load he was

sending into my mouth quick enough, but I did my best to enjoy

the creamy goodness of it. It was nectar and probably a three day

build-up. It dribbled out the corner of my mouth onto my chin. I

swallowed and then used my tongue to lap up what had escaped.

Passion spent, we lay together for another half hour or so,

just kissing with light foreplay or, in this case, after-play. I was in

no hurry to leave this Adonis, and he seemed in no hurry to get

rid of me.

“You know,” he said, “all I wanted was to suck your dick

because you are so hot. I never expected all the pleasure you gave

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me. I really enjoyed it. You throw one mean fuck. Tell you what

—I said I was free all day and you are on holiday. Why don’t I

show you where to get a good meal —dutch treat of course.” We

showered and dressed and he took me to a small, out-of-the-way

restaurant I never would have patronized. Now it wasn’t a fancy

place —no maitre d’, no waiter trying to grind pepper tableside

or grate some cheese on a salad, but it was a clean place, properly

lit, and a friendly waitress.

When we seated ourselves, Sid said, “You should try

something made with beef. It’s all homegrown —not imported,

raised on one of the stations in the Outback.”

We had an enjoyable meal. I took his advice and chose beef

tataki. One mouthful and my tastebuds were singing its praises.

It was delicious, as was his recommendation of a wine called

Coonawarra.

If I were by myself, I probably would have ordered

a hamburger, fries, and an iced tea, not venturing to try something

I had never heard of before.

“Okay, you’ve got to explain something to me,” I said. “I

know what the Outback is, but what is a station?” I had weird

visions of cows grazing outside a train or bus depot and knew

that didn’t make any sense.

“Oh, a station is what you Yanks call a ranch. You know, like

the Ewings live on. We Ozis do get some of the American shows

like

Dallas here.”

“I see; that makes more sense. All I could picture was a subway

station or a bus station, and it just didn’t compute.”

“You in the mood for a little taste of the gay nightlife here in

Sydney?”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been stuck in the hotel for three

nights with that damn rain. I’d love to.”

There was a small bar just off Oxford Street that he claimed

had the hottest men on the continent. We shot some pool against

a few of them, and, of course, we lost because I am a poor shot,

but it was enjoyable. Like everywhere else I had been on my trip

here, I found the people friendly and curious about America. Sid

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and I played a few video games. In the back corner was an old

Pac-man game, and I taught him a pattern that would get him, at

the very least, to the five bell level every time. We played a pin-

ball machine based on

Star Trek that had some very interesting

features like transporters and wormholes. You got the ball into

a hole, but you never knew where on the playing field it would

be ejected.

The only fault I could find with the place was the music. It

was all ballads coming from a jukebox —slow, sort of depressing

ballads. I am more accustomed to the heavy fast beat of the

current Top 10 on the charts kind of sound.

While enjoying a third bottle of Foster’s, I finally asked him if

there was a place with more up-tempo music, something I could

move my body to and really get into. Sid suggested his favorite

club which was only a few blocks away. It felt rather strange to

be able to walk down Oxford Street with his arm around my

waist and not have a single person stare as if we were the most

disgusting sight on the planet, quite a change from home where

such a simple gesture of affection would make us pariahs to

be avoided at all costs. And I loved it —the freedom to be me

without disapproving gawking and bullyish slurs like “fuckin’

fag” and “homo”.

And I loved the club —great music —some I knew, some I

had never heard before. Sid was kind enough to identify those as

native Australian performers. All I knew about Australian singers

was that AC/DC, the BeeGees, and Olivia Newton-John first

gained fame there. What I was hearing were performers that

might just make it State-side. We began to keep a list of some of

the better ones so that before I left, I could get the music for my

favorite club at home, being good friends and former trick with

the deejay there.

We were crotch-grinding on the dance floor to the Bee Gees’

“To Love Somebody” as if we were dance partners of years, and

his nice tenor voice was softly singing in my ear.

When

he got

to the line “

If I ain’t got you,” he grabbed my buns firmly and

held them still as he moved his rod back and forth against my

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protrusion. He stopped singing and just asked, “Can we get back

in bed together tonight?”

How could I deny such a request when my body was already

crying for such a repeat? “Yes, but in my hotel room. We really

left your bed a total disaster area.”

“Let’s go.” We quickly finished our beers, stopped at a nearby

drugstore for some lube and what he called frangers and hailed a

cab. With semi-erect pricks still evident in our shorts as we passed

through the hotel lobby, anyone who was the least observant had

to know where we were headed and why. And had there been

cameras in the hotel room, we could have made the hottest sex

video ever posted on the Internet.

And I mean hot. For we both now knew how to most please

each other, and this was no slam-bam-done encounter. We tongue-

worshipped each other’s entire body, we hugged, we talked,

we sucked, we totally enjoyed each other, and we pleased each

other with copious shots of sperm, twice. The second go-round

immediately followed the first without the slightest interlude, and

completely spent, we hugged each other to sleep. We never even

got to use the lube or condoms that night; everything was oral.

In the morning, he called off work, feigning illness. Well, not

exactly —he told his supervisor that he “didn’t feel like his old

self and felt that he should spend the day in bed to get over

things.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, because he got over my cock and

took it all in. It was good we had stopped for the condoms and

lube, and then to quote his favorite line of poetry, he gathered my

rosebud. He was the first man ever there except for a few fingers.

I don’t know why I consented —I guess it was a combination of

new things: new foods to eat, new music I liked, a new man I was

starting to get to know and really like, and I guess I just wanted

to please him. And it turned out it was a lot more pleasing than I

ever thought the feeling could be. I didn’t feel I was giving up my

Alpha-male role, which in my psyche was how I always viewed

myself.

I mean, I had never ever expected I’d bottom for any man, but

Sid was different. He was all man, my age, a physical twin almost,

12 Duncan More

and definitely a very passionate guy, sort of my ideal. After I had

fucked him ’til I shot my load, I realized he hadn’t climaxed and

figured I’d suck him off. He insisted on the sixty-nine position

and took my recovering cock in his mouth as I worked on him,

sliding up and down. It didn’t seem to matter to him that this

time I was not going to go right back to my flagpole state. He

worshipped my balls, sucking on first one and then the other and

then just licking my ball sack, but then he slid a little further down

and started licking my hole. He got it wet and relaxed, and then I

felt a finger slide in and then two. It was not as bad an intrusion

as I always imagined. I protested at that point that I wasn’t into

that part of man-sex, but he didn’t stop probing. I guess I should

have protested more, but this was Sid, and then there was a third

finger. I felt like I was being ripped apart.

Sid kept saying, “Relax and enjoy; relax and enjoy,” and he

kept sliding those three fingers in me. “You don’t really want me

to stop, do you? I only want to give you the same pleasure you

just gave me.”

How do you tell someone who just pleased you completely

that you weren’t willing to please him? You know, “Sorry, guy,

I don’t get fucked.” I couldn’t find the words, and to tell the

truth, it was starting to feel a little sensual. All right, I’ll admit

it —it was feeling very sensual, even when it got a little more

exciting when the probing fingers seemed to get wider. Then I

realized he had four fingers sliding past my sphincter, and I know

from experience that four fingers have more girth than most

pricks. And if I could take four fingers, I could handle Sid’s prick

with less difficulty —the same way men that I’ve fucked have

accommodated my dick.

I guess I figured, at this point, that getting fucked was like

eating an oyster —you don’t know if you like it until you try one,

and since this was Sid who wanted my ass, I reached for the lube

and gave it to him. I wrapped his cock in latex and straddled him.

He positioned the head against my opening and pushed. I felt

him pop in and gradually felt him sliding up. I found my buns

pressed against his pelvis, and I knew I had seven plus inches of

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cock inside of me. I maintained this position for several seconds,

acclimating myself to this intrusion into my bowels. It didn’t hurt

anything like other guys had complained about at first when I

invaded their cherry asses. Actually it felt sort of good. I raised

myself and slid back down the pole and back up and then down

again. Once I had grown accustomed to it, it really started to

feel pleasing, and I increased the tempo. If this was the way Sid

wanted to climax, this is how we would do it. I rolled us over

and grabbed my ankles. I know this is the best fucking position

for a guy, for his balls really get some attention, banging against

flesh instead of being nearly squashed with each descent of his

partner, and Sid wasted no time starting a good ass-pounding

session, and I started urging him on.

“Come on, guy. Feed that prick to me. C’mon, Sid, shoot that

load of hot cream in me.” And the more encouragement he got,

the fiercer he plowed, driving his pole as deep in me as he could.

By now, with all the lube he had spread on my hole, he was able

to pull all the way out and drive right back in, and to my surprise

when he missed on one of his re-entries, it was my hands that

grabbed that great fuck-stick and aimed it right where it should

go. I squeezed his nuts, those marvelous cum-makers, urging

them to ascend into pre-climax position. I paid attention to his

nipples with my other hand, and finally, for the first time in my

life, I actually felt the spasms of a prick as it shot forth his load

deep in my entrails, and it was a turn-on for me.

When we were done, I told him, “You really are the first man

ever to fuck my ass. Hope you enjoyed popping a cherry.”

He smiled. “You know,” he said, “that line about rosebuds

came from a poem called ‘To Virgins to Make Much of Time

.’

I’m glad we made good use of time.”

I replied, “You know, Sid, so am I, and I am glad I am not a

virgin in that department anymore, and I am glad I met you, and

I am glad I traveled 9800 miles to get properly laid. Now when

I get home, I might enjoy a man’s love-making that way, should

an evening’s liaison take that direction. Of course, I would be

thinking about my first time with you, and I’ll probably let a smile

14 Duncan More

cross my lips when I do, Sid.”

Later that day Sid and I toured

Paddington Reservoir

Gardens, and I was really impressed with how they had taken

something totally obsolete and transformed it into something

so beautiful and serene and right there in the heart of the city.

Sitting on one of the benches, we lingered longer than planned,

just talking and finding out about each other —our likes and

dislikes, favorite songs, favorite foods like anything with garlic

in the recipe, favorite movies —especially

The Lion in Winter. We

actually started quoting lines from the flick, trying to outdo each

other and laughing vigorously at each, and I discovered we had

so much in common. Even our occupations shared a similarity.

As we strolled hand in hand through the rest of the gardens, I

told him all about my work with the Baltimore Zoo, some of

the strange things that had happened on the job. I just felt so

comfortable around Sid that I felt I could really open up and

share things I considered personal. I found out he was a caregiver

at the local animal shelter, and we both detested the same part of

our jobs —cleaning the animal cages. We swapped a few animal

shit stories, and he roared when I told him about one of the

elephants almost dumping right on top of me as I was sweeping

out their sleeping quarters.

Sid asked me how Baltimore got its name, and I gave him

a brief history about George Calvert settling the colony for

Catholics and religious freedom and about some of the troubles

the colonists had with the Indians who inhabited the area.

“You know, Bucky, it’s so like our history here. Once America,

the state of Georgia, I believe, wherever that is, could no longer

be the dumping ground of the Crown for criminal offenders,

they started sending them here for life sentences. It didn’t matter

that the Aborigines were already in tenancy.”

“All I know about the Aborigines,” I interrupted, “is that

they invented the boomerang. I thought they just lived in an area

somewhere in the middle of the continent. I never thought about

them ever living on the coast and then being pushed inland, just

like we did with the Indians. The conceited English belief of

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idney in

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ydney

15

‘You’re on the land, we want it, so move.’”

“Bucky, would you like to learn a little more about the

Aborigines? There’s a cultural museum just a few blocks from

here. Let’s go there. I’d love for you to see it. We

’ve

still got time

before they close.” He grabbed my hand, and we were off at a

very brisk pace.

Visiting the Aboriginal and Tribal Art Centre in The Rocks

section of the city was a wise choice; it was most educational.

The only other vital thing I learned that day was that I liked

his man-pole in my man-hole, and speaking of man-poles, Sid

quietly informed me that the average for an Aborigine male is

nine inches while it is only 5.5 inches for descendants of the

original colonists. Just the kind of trivia I needed to know in case

I ever become a Jeopardy contestant. After the museum, dinner

and another night of pub-crawling ensued as we hit several of the

various clubs on Oxford Street followed, of course, by another

session in bed at the hotel and a night of cuddling even allowing

him to cradle me in his arms instead of the reverse. I was really

falling for this guy like the proverbial ton of bricks.

“Happy Australia Day!” he greeted me when I finally awoke.

He smothered me in kisses and then asked, “Are you ready to

celebrate?”

“Celebrate?”
“Yes, I am meeting some stingers at noon, and then we’ll go

to the harbor and watch the barge races. Then we go to their

place for a barbie then back to the harbor for the fireworks at

dusk. Then usually I hurry home and watch the broadcast of

the Perth fireworks two hours later. It’s been a routine for us

for several years now, and this year I want you to join me in

celebrating and meeting a few of my closest friends.”

“The only thing I had planned for today was to pack my stuff

for my trip to Hawaii tomorrow morning. By the way, what do

you mean by stingers and barbie?”

“Fellow gay men and barbeque or cookout. Tell you what.

I’ll help you pack right now, and we’ll take it to my place. That

16 Duncan More

way you can spend your last night with me, and I can get you

to the airport easily from my place. I’m much closer. Together

we can watch the Perth Skyworks together and maybe have a

few skyrockets of our own —one last time.” He paused, and

for the first time there was a seriousness in his voice I had never

heard before. “You know, Bucky, I should warn you that I might

possibly cry at the airport. I’ve just totally enjoyed meeting you,

and I am a bit of a sentimentalist.”

“Okay, but no tears are allowed. Because if you start, I may

drown you with my blubbering, and grown men don’t cry in front

of each other. You know, stiff upper lip and all that rubbish.”

“Sorry, mate, in Australia they do. We aren’t ashamed of our

emotions.”

“Enough of this talk. Help me pack.” I quickly changed the

subject, for the thought of saying good-bye to Sid was already

overwhelming me. We checked out of the hotel and took a cab to

Sid’s apartment. We changed the bedding, even though we both

knew we’d make a complete mess of it before dawn.

“Now for breakfast,” he asked, “how do you like your

crackleberries?”

“My what?”
“Crackleberries.”
“What the fuck are crackleberries?”
“Eggs. How do you like them?”
“Fried, boiled, scrambled, whatever way is easiest for you.”
It was a small kitchen, but he was quite at home in it and

proved to be quite a good cook. Within a few minutes, I had a

plate filled with scrambled crackleberries, biscuits —as he called

the toasted English muffins, bacon, and steaming hot coffee

sitting in front of me.

“Cream or sugar?” he asked.
“I usually take it black, so I’ll start out that way. I’m not sure

how real Australian coffee tastes. I’ve only had hotel coffee up to

now. If I need something more added, I’ll tell you.” After a sip, I

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idney in

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ydney

17

added both cream and sugar. He smiled.

“Another similarity between us,” he said as he added both to

his cup as well. “Tell you what; it’s almost ten. We’ve got time to

hit the gym for a quick workout before we meet my friends at

noon, if you want. I’ve got extra workout clothes in my locker.

You can register as my guest.”

I consented, and being a national holiday, the place was quite

deserted when we got there. We had no waiting time on any of

the machines. I spotted for him on the bench-press, and he was

pressing twenty pounds more than I ever did.

“C’arn, let’s hit the showers.”
“C’arn?” I inquired.
“Despite your foreign accent, I keep forgetting you’re not an

Ozi. ‘C’arn’ is slang for ‘Come on.’”

“Oh! Well, c’arn. Let’s do it, and maybe under the showerhead,

I can pash you and even get some more of your goober if I’m

fast.”

Sid roared at my attempted use of some of his slang terms.

“You’re fucking kuta, mate.”

Again, I looked at him quizzically, thinking he meant “I was

completely nuts.”

“You’re the greatest, man,” he clarified,
“You’re fucking kuta mate, too!”
We were the only two in the shower room, so I did get to

pash him.

“C’arn, you can give me a little head, but the goober will have

to wait. You’re good, but we don’t have time. Besides I wouldn’t

want a one-sided quickie. I’d want some of your goober in return.

I mean, what kind of stinger would I be after what we’ve been

through together?”

So I got to do a little cock teasing and pleasing, and then we

dried off and dressed. He drove to his friends’ house.

“Bucky, this is David and his Vietnamese lover, Trong,”

18 Duncan More

Sid said when we got there. They immediately made me feel as

welcome as if we had been friends for a long time. At the harbor,

we selected various barges we thought would win the race and

cheered our respective barge on to possible victory. David picked

a dark green barge with white decorations while Sid opted for one

trimmed in red and white. I picked one decorated with maroon

and gold —my high school colors, and Trong selected a rather

plain brown one because, as he said, “Look at that crew —they’re

cute all decked out in their dickstickers.”

I looked at Sid for an interpretation.
He whispered, “Tight bikini swimwear designed to accent

their balls and cock while keeping it all legally hidden.”

Trong came closest to winning as his chosen barge did manage

a third place finish. I won’t even mention where my barge placed.

It was so embarrassingly slow. At the cookout, I was not treated

as a guest but as a friend: I was not served; I had to help myself.

It was an interesting mélange of basic Australian cuisine with

Vietnamese highlights. There was the standard beef hamburger,

and it was the first time I tasted crocodile sausage with sautéed

vegetables. While I thought it would be gross, I was dazzled by

its spiciness and texture. It couldn’t even begin to compare to the

hot Italian sausage on a roll that I buy every year at the Preakness,

and the second one was even more scrumptious. Following the

cookout and some delicious chilled beer nicknamed Crownies,

the four of us hit a tea dance together, and a bit legless as they

called it —I would have called it simply drunk, we consumed over

a slab, I mean ‘a case

,’ of Crownies between us in less than two

hours. We got back to the harbor just in time for the fireworks.

Once the show’s spectacular finale high in the sky above

the Opera House ended, it struck me as funny that worldwide

the 1812 Overture is used in a fireworks finale. Sid and I finally

said goodnight to Trong and David and headed home for one

last night of togetherness —not discussing the inevitability

of separation the morning would bring. Perth’s fireworks, as a

televised broadcast nationwide, did little to wow or cheer us. The

pleasure of fucking each other’s cloiter —another slang term

S

idney in

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ydney

19

for asshole I learned —brought physical relief but not pleasure.

Only the cuddling seemed to offer any solace. We both knew we

had shared something special, but we would soon be 9800 miles

apart.

Tears at the airport in the early morning could not be avoided.

As I was about to enter the security screening area and take the

long lonely walk to the boarding gate, Sidney just hugged me

close. “You know,” he said to me, “for the first time in my life,

I think I know what love feels like, and it had to be this short

encounter, but believe me, I will treasure these days for the rest

of my life. I’m probably going to go right home and wrap those

sheets in plastic to save your scent and store them in the closet

so I can smell you and remember. Will you promise you’ll e-mail

me often?” Tears were welling up in his eyes, and then they were

pouring down his cheeks. I grabbed a handkerchief from my

pocket and tried to dry them.

“I will. These days meant a lot to me, too. I never planned

on this happening when I booked this vacation.” And then I

needed the handkerchief for myself as the waterworks really

began. “Look, you think you could come to the States?” I asked

through my sobbing. “I’d love to show you my Baltimore, D.C.,

and Philadelphia and my bedroom. Make it a month’s vacation

at least.”

“I’ll try,” Sid said, but we both knew the chances of that

happening were minimal. After all, I had saved for four years for

this vacation, and I was asking him to save that much in less time.

I kept to myself on the ten-hour flight to Hawaii. I just kept

repeating in my mind, “We will e-mail each other, Skype, video

conference, whatever becomes electronicly possible. I promise
you that, and next year you will come to the States.” But the

words offered no comfort. They sounded so empty to me. My

seatmate must have wondered what was going on with me as I

kept pulling out my handkerchief and dabbing away the tears

welling up in my eyes, but he was polite enough not to ask.

The welcoming luau did nothing to cheer me up; I only

felt the saddness of leaving Sid, an empty feeling I had never

20 Duncan More

experienced, neither did a day on the shores of the world’s most

fabulous beach. Despite the hunks, each more gorgeous than

the previous, walking around in their dickstickers packed with

inches of hot man meat, I simply was not the least bit interested.

I couldn’t even think about impersonal sex with any of them, as

hot and as appetizing as they were.

Finally the total reality and solution to our situation presented

itself to me. The proverbial lightbulb went off in my brain. I

called Sidney. “Hey guy, I’m just lying here on the beach and was

curious. Were there any other sites you wanted me to see?”

“There was so much more, just on Oxford Street alone and

the Taronga Zoo since you work for one back home and Luna

Park, a fun-packed, harbor side amusement park, and Sydney

Tower Eye. We could have boarded a destroyer or squeezed into

a submarine at the Australian National Maritime Museum, and

from Sydney Observatory, we could have observed the night sky

and the stars of the Southern Cross,” Sid said.

“Give me two days, and you can show me, and make sure the

bed is ready.”

“What do you mean?”
“I mean screw Hawaii. Screw Baltimore; I’m coming back, if

you want.”

“You just tell me when the plane will land, and I’ll be there

with bells on.” Sid couldn’t hide the joy in his voice.

“I am deleriously in love with you. My life just seems to always

have been empty until I met you, and I don’t want to go back to

that emptiness. I can’t go back. I want you to fill every day of

the rest of my life.” It felt so good to finally say it —to put into

words all my feelings, to get them honestly out in the open.

“I know the feeling. I have done nothing but mope around

and cry for the last forty-eight hours over what might have been,

and now you’re telling me it can be real. I am in love with you,

too, never thought it would happen, let alone happen so fast.

Three days with you turned my whole world upside down. Please

—hurry back to me as fast as possible.”

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idney in

S

ydney

21

I immediately called the airline and cancelled my flight to the

mainland and booked a flight back to Sydney. I called mom and

told her the wonderful news. “Mom, sit down. I got something to

tell you. I’m not coming back to Baltimore, at least not anytime

soon. I found true love, and I’m going back to Sydney to start a

life with him. I know this is sudden —it was lust at first sight, and

I think love almost immediately thereafter, and he feels the same

way about me. He’s everything I ever hoped for in a mate. Please

forgive the rashness of this decision and give me your blessing.”

“Are you sure?” she inquired.
“Absolutely, never more certain of anything in my life.”
“Then, son, I’m happy for you, and may God bless you too.

Just don’t do anything rash like get married. I’ll need at least two

weeks notice to get there. I love you, son.”

“I love you too, Mama.”
I called the zoo and resigned, effective immediately. I contacted

the Australian consulate in Honolulu and made an appointment

for the next day to find out what I had to do for an extended stay.

I called Sidney back. “I got a night flight tomorow and will

see you at seven a.m. the day after tomorrow, Flight 118. Go get

those bells.”

“Jingle. Jingle. Jingle!” came the only reply in Sidney’s lovely

tenor voice. “Jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle!!”

a

bout the

a

uthor

Duncan More hails from northeast Pennsylvania. A former

musician, actor, theatre director, writer, and teacher who has

worked in Pennsylvania, Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina,

and Georgia following the death of his long-time partner, More

also owned and operated a gay club for eighteen years.His varied

experiences with people in all these venues has given him the

ability to create interesting and unique characters for his stories.

He has published four erotic gay-oriented novels and a collection

of short stories for what he jokingly refers to as “left-handed

readers.”

t

radeMarkS

a

cknowledgMent

The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark

owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of

fiction:
Dallas (TV show): Warner Bros. Television
Pac-man: Namco
Star Trek: CBS Broadcasting Inc.
Foster’s (beer): Foster’s Group LTD
Bee Gees ‘To Love Somebody’: Warner Music Group
AC/DC: Sony Music Entertainment
Jeopardy: Sony Pictures Television
Preakness (refers to Preakness stakes): Maryland Jockey Club
Crownies (nickname for Crown Lager): Carlton & United

Breweries
Skype: Microsoft Corporation

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