I promised to share more of the fruits of this fruit's labours. Here's the pretty yarrow which blooms in my front garden. Not a fruit, I know. He's a herb, I think. Like parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme, hence the post title. The honeysuckle and the dogwood tree that share his space are so big that they don't let Mr. Achillea millefolium get enough sun anymore, but moving him is more work, and fuck me if I don't have enough of that already. Meanwhile, he's a sunny yellow, isn't he?
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Speaking of promised to share more ...
There are millions of stories in the big city, and this is just one of them. I first got onto my bus for my morning commute and made my way down to the centre of the vehicle where I was lucky to score one of the seats that face the inner isle. As always, people were piling on board and the bus was soon packed. But not before this Abercrombie & Fitch looking hottie stood right in front of me holding on to the overhead straps for support. And people, when I say hot, I don't just mean hawt. I mean walking wet-dream and worship at his feet (hmmm ... maybe slowly working my way up) muthaf**king scorching!
He was wearing fleece tracksuit pants and a matching sloppy joe. The track pants rode very low on his hips (much like I would, really, given half a chance) and, along with the sloppy joe riding up as he reached overhead, constantly showed me a tantalizing glimpe of flesh. Lower back and touch of butt here, turn around and brad-in-heaven! glimpse of treasure trail there. Trackie pants, of all things! But do you think I could get the image of slowly and ever so easily sliding them down his no doubt muscled thighs outta my head?
And then, barely having composed myself from this vision, I had to leave him (::sobs::) and rush to board my train. I dutifully take my seat and then I saw him. A twinkalicious little blondie that could well get away with being Justin's (Randy Taylor from Queer as Folk) twin brother. Trying not to drool on the new slash-resistant City Rail seats imagine my surprise when he walked straight down and sat next to me. Even though, unlike the bus, there were plenty of other spare seats. I couldn't take my eyes of him. His thigh rested against mine, our shoulders touched. I could feel the heat radiating from his body on the clear but chilly Sydney winter morning. And then he smiled at me, just like Justin, in that knowing, confident and incredibly adorable way. I smiled back, and I swear he then moved over just that little bit closer to me.
He got off (hmmmm) at the station before mine. When he left, you could almost hear the schlup sound as my eyeballs peeled from his body. And we shared a brief moment again just before he left when he briefly glanced back and our eyes locked. Oh shut-up bitches, we soooo, like, did. 'Justin' hinted at a smile ... I was probably drooling again.
Suffice to say, all of that has now so Brad-dam worked up and horny sitting here at my work desk. Shifting uncomfortably in my seat. At this point of time I could do the photocopier, if it looks at me right ...
I need a good commute like you wouldn't believe right now.
You have the best tales, Bodhi-kins.
J'adore dogwood trees! Pink or white? Why I haven't seen one since I left home. I remember how the hillsides would be dotted with their blooms come springtime. How pretty for you! R U sure you want to give up all the flora/fauna for a big city lifestyle? YOU have a whole tree; I can buy a branch of blooms for $20 bucks. Yep.
Pretty it is, indeed, in pink. But I'd sell its ass wholesale to unchain myself from all this yardwork (not to mention homophobia) and get the hell out of Dodge/East Bumfuck. At times I love a house to spread out in and a yard to foster all kinds of blooming things, but I'd be equally at home in a cozy condo as long as there was a park nearby. I'm versatile like dat.
If you like my dogwood, wait'll you get a load of my Eastern redbud.
unchain myself from all this yardwork
Oh for Brad's sake, that what Gardener's are for, sweetie. At times I have had the benefit of a large yard, but if you for even one second think I got dirt under my nails or ever had to so much as lift a finger, you would be sadly mistaken. And no extra points given for guessin whom that hot little Gardener was/is.
Go find yourself some nice whore-ticultural Jesse Metclafe lookalike, Mikey, and you can come across all Desperate Housewives as you watch him glisten, strain and sweat. Hell, I bet he will even do the garden for ya too ;-)
*roll eyes* : )
P.S. i can vouch for the validity of Bodes stories - this really happens it is not in his imagination. You r a hottie - lol
q-60's, the part where I'm a hottie? That part is in Bodhi's imagination.
Ohhhhh pluh-easssse.
We all know, with absolute certainity, that you, sweetness are hotter than a naked boyband overdosed on viagra in a sauna.
And believe me when I say it, dude that's damn hot which ever way you look at it.
Mwah!
Awww trust me its all reality Michael - if Bodhi says so it is true ; )
I suppose I do have some nice parts and as for the rest, that's what pillow cases are for.
Oh yes i much prefer being around Bodhi when he is wearing the old pillowcase - it makes him so much easier on the eye of course!! hmmm lol
But seriously a pillow case? just how big is your head Michael - most of us just use a paperbag, no? Cute ; )
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