Tagged: harsh realities

Six Sentence Sunday – 09/12/12

Hello again!

Welcome to another Sunday – which of course means another six sentences. I’ve really been enjoying this process of revelling mealy six of the (what feels like at times) millions of sentences that I write throughout t the week. It’s fantastic to see people enjoying what I’ve been presenting and given some helpful advice along the way. I’m very grateful for all the wonderful support you’ve been giving me over the past few weeks. So a big thank you to each and everyone one of you for reading.

This six comes from part two of the series and is about the consequence of the big night I had last night. Yes, it was last night –  Hence why this six is so fresh. It was only written his morning & I still have the feeling I might vomit every two seconds. Don’t feel sorry for me, (I’d be surprised if you did), It is only the fault of myself and the 5 bottles of wine me and my friend consumed.

This weeks six:

I’ve got the usual suspects – Headache, fragile stomach and world-class weariness.

Ideally, I need a recovery that is as fast as Usain Bolt, and as smooth as David Beckham’s arse..

The ritual of deep fried breakfast and orange juice has proven helpful time and time again to relieve the horrendous pain in my head and dulls the urge to kill anyone who dares to make loud noises around me.

If this hangover were a film, it wouldn’t have a decent plot line and would most definitely be in a foreign language: Unbearably boring to watch and overwhelmingly confusing to understand.

I still feel a little like this

I still feel a little like this

You like it? Hate it? Comment on it! xx

Blake. xx


Extreme Sexual Flashbacks In Public…

SO I was sittin in a cafe this morning doing some work on the series, when I started to write a Mills & Boon scene. Some of you will know my background in writing pretty much covers comedy, and not much else. Never have I been asked to write about real love, sex, or something that doesn’t contain a joke about breasts.  So now that I’ve been asked to write about my own love life (and to not leave out the sexy details), I tend to have quite realistic ‘sex flashbacks’ .. in public

I’m one of those writers that really has to get into what I’m writing. (Yep, I’m one of those wankers) So I visualise everything. I’m very lucky that I’m writing about my own life and own experiences because I’ve already lived what I’m writing. But when I want to go back to.. say that night with a particularly hot guy; I have to close my eyes and really get back to that frame of mind. What was I feeling, doing, ect. So when it starts to get a little hot and heavy.. the palms start to sweat, the smile on my face increases, and before I know it I look like this:

Replace Judith with the waitress holding my coffee with a look of concern on her face as one of her patrons is having (what looks like ) an orgasim in her cafe and you have the situation that was this morning.

Perhaps I should start writing these scenes in the privacy of my own home.

Slapped in the face with my Gay reality:

I am a friend of Dorothy. 

If you don’t get that ‘Wizard of Oz’ reference, chances are you either haven’t seen the Judy Garland classic, or you didn’t realize the ‘Tin Man’ was a raging homosexual. Living in what can only be described as hell, I was so closed off from the world that I didn’t even realize (until I hit a certain age of course) that being gay was even a possibility. As far as I was concerned, there was no such thing, and playing fashion parade or Chorus Line with my cousins Barbies was completely normal. It wasn’t until I was fourteen that I got slapped in the face with my gay reality. Ironically, I was sitting in the change rooms at school after football practice,when my best-friend at the time went to get changed into his favourite ugly shirt. As I had just begun to admire the delicious contours of his muscles, seeing that hideous piece of cloth prompted my mouth to open up, and before I knew it, the words

“Dude, that colour does nothing for your skin tone, and the fit is completely wrong”

tumbled out. There was silence in the change room. Feeling my insides fall apart, I calmly crammed my footy jacket into my bag and declared with feigned confidence and tranquillity: “Well, its true.” , and I got the hell out of there. To be honest, it wasn’t the fact that I was outraged by his terrible attire. I was getting out of there to hide my uncontrollable erection that was poking though my footy shorts. I mean it was a hideous shirt, but the sight of this muscular god was causing more problems in my pants rather than the issue of the fashion crime. And thats when it hit me like a cold shower. It now made so much sense why I never found fart jokes funny and why ‘Two-Girls One Cup’ had revolted me more that the others. I had the hots for my mate.

So I did what I had to do; for my high school days I ‘straightened up’. At one stage I even convinced myself that I could be remotely interested in vagina and I can tell you, that phase didn’t last long. Luckily I had my best friend Olivia, she ended up being the first person I told about my uncontrollable love with Harry Potter actor ‘Daniel Radcliffe’ and luckily for me she was totally okay with it. She was more of a red-head fan so we didn’t have to battle over which one of us would Daniel marry. Liv was the only person I could talk to about boys or fashion and she’d talk to me about her family problems. As I got older I got better at hiding my ‘fabulous’ qualities, I used to think of myself as an actor that was playing a character, and this character was straight. I should have won an Oscar for my performance because I had the whole town convinced. The problem with this character is that I had to play him all day and everyday. The last year has been the most difficult, there have been times that I’ve just wanted to scream and shout out to the world “I’m gay and why do you give a shit?” But I knew that if it became public it would devastate my family, being the only son; it would kill my father. My folks might not have been the best at dealing with me, (How could they not know? I asked  for pink shoes on my fifth birthday) but I couldn’t bare to put them though this all because I like guys. I wish it wasn’t like this, I wish it didn’t matter but in the ‘small country town’ it does.

Now living in Melbourne, I finally feel like I belong. Before I moved here, I never met another gay man. But now I feel like every second guy I meet likes ‘Ikea’ as much as I do and I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.

I’m now excited for tomorrow, and it’s the greatest feeling.