Bate Club Pt. 03

Oscar was awakened on Wednesday morning by a polite knock at the door. He checked the time on the clock-radio on his bedside table. Ten thirty. "Housekeeping," came a timid voice.

Billy rolled over. "Get fucked," he mumbled. He dropped a fart and wafted the sheets in the direction of the door.

"Housekeeping." The knock was slightly softer, but the voice was slightly firmer.

Oscar stirred. He knew he'd left the 'do not disturb' sign on the door when they came back in from the rain. Maybe it fell off. Who knows. Whatever.

He knew housekeeping would eventually get the message. Oscar rolled onto his side and kept sleeping.

Half an hour later, he felt fingertips tickling his balls. His eyes blinked open and he remembered who he was lying next to. He felt a pair of juicy lips plant a kiss on his cheek.

Billy's fingers began to explore a little more fervently, and in response, he felt Oscar growing in his hand. Smiling, he scooted down under the covers and took Oscar's cock into his mouth.

Oscar's spine nearly melted. "Fuck," he whispered, feeling Billy's rough tongue loop around his shaft.

Billy's juicy lips caressed the swollen head of Oscar's brown penis. His loose fist stroked his shaft, in no particular hurry.

Fireworks exploded at the base of Oscar's brain.

Billy's expert mouth began to swoop deeper now, enveloping least half of Oscar's shaft, then two thirds of it. It felt like his redhead guest was swallowing more of his dick than he could ever remember anyone else doing. Then again, it had been a while since the last time anyone sucked his cock.

Oscar felt something he'd never felt before while getting head -- a tongue licking his nuts. He realised Billy had swallowed him whole, and the sensation tipped him right over the edge. "I'm gonna ... fuck, mate, fuck, take it out ..."

No chance of that. Billy bobbed up and down until Oscar popped, painting the inside of his mouth a pure thick white. He moaned as his guest swallowed his load.

Billy let Oscar's wet cock fall out of his mouth. He crawled up and kissed him on the cheek again. "Your cum tastes nice, mate. Thanks for letting me stay here last night. Oh, and thanks for my breakfast smoothie, too." He jumped out of bed, looking for all the world like he was about to leave.

Oscar's brain was fried. For at least the next few seconds, grammatically complete sentences were out of the question. Individual words were hard enough. "Wait," he pleaded. His cock was still pulsing.

Billy began getting dressed, pulling on last night's undies and his t-shirt.

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah," Billy stated. "It's my day off, but there's some shit I need to do this arvo." He lived in a sharehouse in Newtown, a trendy 'alternative' suburb a few kilometres west of the city centre. He explained to Oscar that one of his housemates was moving out and he'd promised to help. Not only was he gonna miss her when she moved up to Brissie, but he'd have to pay more of the monthly rent until they found someone new to move in.

Oscar climbed out of bed, still naked, his cock wet. "Can I get your number before you go?"

Billy frowned. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, mate."

Oscar looked crestfallen. "I'm up in Sydney for a few more nights."

The two boys stood facing each other. The freckled redhead didn't reply, but nor did he move away. He still hadn't pulled his pants on.

"You busy tonight? Thought we could catch up for another beer or whatever." Oscar nervously shuffled his naked feet on the hotel room carpet. "That is, I guess, if you're at a loose end after you help your flatmate move out."

Billy sighed. "You're hot as, mate, and I'd love to play with you again, but, like, this doesn't feel ... umm ... this doesn't feel wise." He paused for a second. "You live in a different city, you're married, and you've probably got a couple of rugrats." He looked down at the floor, noticing for the first time that Oscar's toenails were painted black. "Tell me which bits of what I just said are wrong."

Oscar had only known Billy for less than twenty-four hours, but already, he was smitten. "Is it because I'm older?"

"No. It isn't that. Fuck, dude, I've had sex with blokes twice my age. But look. Listen, you don't wanna get messed up with someone like me," said Billy. "Like, I'm serious, mate, you really don't. I remember you called me a root rat last night. Maybe you were joking, but you probably don't know how close to the mark you were. I'm trash, and I don't wanna fuck up your life."

"I'm here for a few more nights," explained Oscar, "then I'm going back home, and you'll never see me again. All I wanna do is hang out with you and have sex, but if you don't want to, that's cool. I know I'll find someone else online to play with, but I don't wanna do that. I don't wanna hang out with anyone else, I wanna hang out with you." He paused for a second. "Besides, Oscar likes trash. I mean, I thought we established that at the pub last night."

Billy's heart fluttered. The hint of a grin escaped the corners of his mouth. "I seriously thought this was just gonna be a one night stand."

"So did I." Oscar smiled a curious half-smile. "You ever had a one week stand before?"

Billy's eyes drowned in Oscar's fiery irises. "Gimme your phone."

Oscar opened his contacts and handed the device to Billy. He smiled as he read what Billy had typed as his name -- 'root rat'. He test-dialled the number, and Billy's handset vibrated in response. "Can I ring you later on?" he asked.

Billy smiled. "OK." He pulled his pants on, tied his shoelaces, and left. "See ya." The hotel door closed behind him. He walked to Circular Quay station and was sweating by the time he arrived. He caught the train to Newtown, stepped out onto the platform and jogged up the stairs. After grabbing a quick coffee, he walked a few blocks to his rented house and began helping his flatmate move out.

Oscar's hotel room felt empty after Billy left. This had been a whirlwind twenty-four hours, and maybe a long walk would help clear his mind. He felt absolutely smitten with the wiry redhead, but he also knew he wasn't thinking straight. He got dressed and packed his backpack -- a bottle of cold water, the novel he was currently reading, his sunnies and his cap.

He walked down the hill to the Quay. To his left, ferries docked, carrying passengers to all reaches of the harbour and down the Parramatta River; to his right lay the expensive residential building disparagingly known as the Toaster. Ahead of him was the Sydney Opera House. Throngs of international tourists took selfies in front of the iconic building, and a few of them stopped Oscar to ask him to take a photo of them. He obliged, momentarily accepting their phones to help capture their moment. He smiled wide as his exaggerated Aussie drawl engaged them in conversation, welcoming the whole world to the city he grew up in.

It was another blisteringly hot January day.

He turned right at the steps of the Opera House, passing through the gates of Sydney's botanic gardens. Trees, plants and flowers from all over the world were here, all beautifully kept and curated. Walking up a slight incline, he passed under a group of trees where, way up in the canopy, nocturnal flying foxes slept. His favourite tree in the world was here in this garden -- a gigantic, ancient Port Jackson fig. Someone had placed a park bench under the tree, hard up against the trunk, and he sat for a while, enjoying the shade, reading a few pages of his book. He reached into his backpack for his bottle of water. He drank deeply as he wiped sweat from his brow.

Continuing east, he walked past the Art Gallery of New South Wales. Some summers, Oscar stopped in to enjoy the air conditioning, but he wasn't in the mood for art today. He walked down long flights of concrete stairs to the suburb of Woolloomooloo. The Bells Hotel was on his right, one of his favourite haunts back when he still lived in Sydney, but the pub had been renovated since he left, and it didn't feel the same anymore.

Walking past the naval facilities at Cowper Wharf, he found himself standing in front of them. The McElhone Stairs.

The Steps of Death. The Stairs of Doom. All one hundred and thirteen of them. They'd take him from sea level up to Victoria Street.

Climbing these stairs was always an important part of his week away in Sydney. It was almost like a ritual, or a rite of passage. His time up here was never complete until he'd conquered the McElhone. Back when he was still playing footy, Oscar used to run up them at speed, just like Rocky, but each year since, the task had become incrementally harder. Now, the aim was to get to the top as fast as possible, either running or walking. It didn't matter, so long as he didn't stop on either of the landings to catch his breath.

He made it today, running all the way, but by the time he got to the top, his lungs were on fire. There was nowhere to sit down, and as he guzzled water, he wished the park bench under his Port Jackson fig tree was here instead. He stood awhile, letting his heart rate recover.

Oscar loved the Kings Cross area of Sydney, but he especially loved Victoria Street. He'd move back to Sydney in a heartbeat if he could live here, on this wide, tree-lined boulevard, but that'd never happen; he knew how astronomically unaffordable it had become. There used to be a nightclub on this street. He remembered the first time he ever went there, ogling bare-chested men all night, though without the courage to act on his impulses. The site was boarded up now, with homeless people sleeping rough in front of it.

He walked towards the junction with promiscuous Darlinghurst Road. Strip clubs and adult bookstores lined this street. He looped around the area for a while, checking out the Art Deco architecture. He always made sure to stop at the El Alamein fountain, just outside the cop shop. Oscar carried a memory of being taken to this striking feature as a kid, and maybe this was when the romanticism of Sydney's eastern suburbs first took hold of him. Pressing east again, he walked past picturesque Rushcutters Bay. It was an uphill slog now, and by the time he reached Edgecliff Station, he was cooked. It was so fucking hot. His cap was saturated.

He caught the air-conditioned train just one stop back west, back to Kings Cross. Walking a block or two, he pulled up at the Potts Point Hotel, thirsty as fuck. He sat at the bar and ordered a beer. The barman was cute. "Ta," said Oscar, raising his liquid amber in salute.

The room was cool and quiet. There were maybe only fifteen or twenty other people, grouped together in twos and threes, and the music, thankfully, was turned down low. A variety of sports were shown on massive TV displays, but the sound was muted. Oscar spent a few moments quietly flicking through socials on his phone.

He took a deep swig of his beer. What the fuck was he doing? What the fuck was going through his head right now? He loved his wife and kids, and the life and career he'd built in Canberra had true meaning to him. This was the path he'd chosen, jointly with his wife. They were committed to each other, and to their kids.

If he was ten years younger ...

His annual summer trips to Sydney were only ever about temporary escapism. They were a release valve, and nothing more. Sure, he wanted to hook up and fuck, but he never expected to meet anyone that might get under his skin, nor did he ever want to. Every year he did this, he found sex, but it never held any meaning, and that was exactly how he wanted it to be.

But if he was ten years younger than he was now, he might've made different decisions. He might've come to different conclusions. He might've moved in different social circles. He might never have met his wife. He might never have had kids. His entire life might've been completely different.

His wife knew he had a Grindr account. He'd told her he was bisexual on their very first date, and she'd accepted his truth. But lately, and especially since they got married, she'd soured completely. She'd begun to detest the thought of her husband fucking some desperate male stranger, or, even worse, some desperate male stranger fucking her husband. Ew. But their marital bed had been made, and there was no unmaking it. Besides, she consoled herself, it was just one week each year, and if it made their relationship better for the other fifty-one weeks, maybe it was for the greater good.

Oscar sipped his beer, deep in thought. His anxious fingers tugged and ripped at the edges of his cardboard coaster. Did he still love his wife as a sexual partner? Did he still enjoy sex with her? And, equally importantly, did she enjoy sex with him? It sure as hell didn't feel like it lately. So where did the rot set in? Was the negativity circular, and if it was, where did the spiral start? Did his disinterest fuel hers, or was it the other way around? How long can the fire be kept alive before the embers finally cool? Scientists talk about entropy, wasn't this the emotional equivalent? Sandcastles get washed away by waves. Weeds swamp gardens. Wasn't this just the natural order of things? Isn't this what happens to everyone?

He drained the rest of his glass, and the barman poured him another. He tapped his credit card on the electronic reader, and it beeped in gratitude. He thought about how reluctant he'd been lately to initiate sex with his wife lately, and how little he got out of it, then compared it to the past twenty-four hours of his life.

If he was ten years younger than he was now, he might've made different decisions. He might've come to different conclusions.

Was he truly bisexual? Was he still into women, or was he skirting around an unspoken, unaccepted truth? Do bi guys go to bate clubs?

If he was ten years younger than he was now, he might've been braver. He might've flown a different flag. But time only moves in one direction, and nobody has the power to turn back the clock.

What's done is done.

It's surely way too late now.

Decisions have consequences.

If only he was ten years younger ...

Oscar held his head in his hands. Was he gay? Gay men can still fuck women, right? It's just a matter of getting hard, right? Like, you just think about cocks, right? It's just a physical act grounded in biology, right? Get hard, bust, job done.

He wanted his wife and kids to have the best lives possible. But was this the life he wanted for himself?

Right now, in this moment, he regretted asking for Billy's number. He'd felt so desperate for it before, but now, it felt like a mistake. If last night had been a one-nighter, he knew it'd be a night he'd never forget, but it'd be a night that never got in the way of anything. He'd go back home in a few days, eventually getting around to porking the missus, and he'd never hear from Billy again. He thought about deleting the new number from his contacts. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and just for a moment, his thumb hovered over the delete button ... people talk about 'sliding doors' moments ... he could make this all go away ...

He couldn't do it.

Billy had gotten deep under his skin. Ten years of sober and mature responsibility versus twenty-four hours of why can't this be my life. He nearly shed a tear.

Oscar knew he was imagining shit, getting way ahead of himself. He left the bar and wandered around Kings Cross. The streets were busy. He walked past vibrant cafes, a few international fast food outlets, two or three bottle shops, a dozen kebab takeaways, and thirty thousand tobacconists. He wasn't hungry and he didn't smoke.

As the sun began to set and night began to fall, he knew the temptation to text Billy would become more and more irresistible as each hour ticked by. He knew his nerves would eventually crumble; it was merely a question of how long he could hold out. He remembered he'd brought a novel with him, and looping back to the pub, sitting back down with a fresh beer in front of him, he opened his book and began to read.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He'd been sent four photos.

The first was a random picture of a removalist's truck. Presumably full of Billy's flatmate's stuff on the way to Brisvegas.

The second was of two glasses of beer. Presumably this was a pic of Billy's parting glass.

The third was a photograph of Billy's erect penis.

The fourth was a close-up of Billy's sticky load pooling around the base of his shaft.

A message followed: 'this is what you did to me'.

Holy shit. Oscar wanted to reply immediately, but he knew how uncool and desperate that'd be.

Deep breaths. Take your time. No hurry. You got this.

He finished his beer. The barman asked if he wanted another, and Oscar nodded. He tried hard to read his book, but gave up once he realised he'd read the same sentence twenty times. The words on the page just weren't going in.

He pulled his phone back out. His thumbs were primed to dance across the screen, but Oscar wasn't quite sure what to say. He rehearsed six or seven cheesy replies, but luckily, held fire before committing to any of them to zeroes and ones. Suddenly, he knew what he needed to say. He waved the barman over. "Just going to the dunny, can I leave my shit here for a sec?" He gestured towards his backpack.

The barman nodded.

Oscar locked himself inside a cubicle. After taking a well-needed piss, he stroked himself hard. Given the pics he'd received, it didn't take too long. He snapped a photo of his smooth brown erection and messaged it to Billy. By the time Oscar returned to his barstool, he'd already received a reply.

Billy: 'that looks swollen and nasty ... like im not a doctor but if you need someone to help take the swelling down ...'

Oscar grinned as his thumbs danced wildly across the screen. 'u nearly killed me this morning u know'

Billy: 'nah'

Oscar: 'yeah'

Billy: 'cocksluts know their way around cocks, thats how this shit works'

Oscar: 'i know im not huge but nobody has ever done what u did to me'

Billy: 'reckon you know your way around a dick too ... you gave me the best blowie i ever got from a dude who's into pussy'

Oscar frowned. Pussy? His thumbs stopped moving as he remembered his wife.

Billy noticed the radio silence. From his perspective, his comment was meant as a compliment -- like, dude, for a bi guy, you got me off so fuckin' good -- but he had no insight into the internal dialogue Oscar had been wrestling with this afternoon. He wondered whether he should say something else to fill the gap. His mind encompassed broader possibilities. Like, maybe Oscar dropped his phone to take an urgent piss. Or maybe he was back in his hotel room, and housekeeping had returned with a vengeance. He waited.

Billy: 'u still there?'

Oscar: 'yeah just been thinkin bout stuff'

Billy: 'sounds dangerous'

Oscar: 'hows ur flatmate'

Billy: 'on a plane, i think ... im gonna miss her'

Oscar: 'sorry to hear that bro'

Billy: 'yeah, ta'

Another awkward silence fell.

Oscar: 'u want some company'

Billy: 'yeah maybe'

Silent minutes passed, and Oscar still wasn't quite sure what to say next. He knew Billy had been helping a housemate move this afternoon, but he didn't know how near or far away he was.

Billy: 'you know newtown?'

Oscar: 'yeah i used to live there b4 i moved south ... is that where you live?'

Billy: 'yeah im on wilson street'

Oscar: 'fuck no way i used to live on gladstone street'

Billy: 'just on the other side of the railway line'

Oscar: 'yep'

Their connection deepened and intensified.

Billy: 'you wanna swing by'

Oscar: 'yeah sounds good ... id love to see my old hood again'

Billy: 'have you eaten ... i haven't'

Oscar: 'not yet'

Billy: 'wanna grab a feed before we fuck?'

Oscar gulped. He'd never met a guy so forward in his life. 'sure, where?'

Billy: 'websters ... it's across the road from newtown station ... meet you on the rooftop in half an hour?'

Oscar googled. He knew the place; it was called something else when he still lived here. He crunched the numbers. From the Cross, he'd need to change trains at Central. 'ok see u soon'

Billy, pocketing his keys, closed his heavy front door behind him. His shared house felt emptier and significantly quieter since his flatmate left. He remembered watching the removalists' truck drive away with all her stuff, exhaust fumes caught in his nostrils. The truckers would be on the road for a long time; Brisbane was twelve hours north.

*

The sky had darkened significantly by the time Oscar arrived. Heat had given way to humidity. He got there later than he'd estimated. "G'day," said the redhead.

"Hey," replied Oscar.

"Fuck, I'm hungry," Billy admitted. "Been a big arvo."

"Yeah, same." They had the option to order food by scanning QR codes on their phones, but Billy liked to transact face to face. "What do you want?" he asked, standing up to head to the bar.

Oscar scanned the menu. "Barramundi sounds good," he replied. It'd come with chips and a garden salad on the side. "Want some money?"

"Nah," came Billy's reply. "I'll get it. All good." He strolled over to the rooftop bar.

Planes took off from Mascot. Oscar watched the heavy metal silhouettes arcing up into the sky. The sun began to set as they waited for their food.

"Tell us about your flatmate," inquired Oscar.

"Not sure what to say. She's like the sister I never had. She moved down from Brisbane a couple of years ago, and she ..." Billy paused, fixing a shallow grin upon his face. "Doesn't matter."

Oscar got the message. Billy wasn't ready yet. He looked up at the dark grey sky. "We might get another storm tonight."

"Yeah," Billy agreed. "Sydney in January. Every summer."

Their meals arrived. "Ta for buying me dinner," Oscar saluted.

"No worries, mate."

Their food arrived just as a fine drizzle moved in. As the raindrops became heavier, they grabbed their plates and scuppered inside. A storm was imminent. Thunder roared nearby, and they hunkered down at a table indoors, under shelter, adjacent to the bar. "Fuck, dude," said Billy, "it's gonna piss down bad." Hail the size of golf balls hurled down, literally bouncing off the table they were sitting at just a moment ago. Billy's eyes were wide. "No fucking way," he whispered.

"Out on the patio, we sit," sang Oscar.

Billy knew the tune. He joined in with a big grin. "And the humidity, we breathe."

"We watch the lightning crack over cane fields ..."

"... laugh and think, 'this is Australia'."

Their eyes, faces, hearts and souls connected with the lyrics of an iconic Australian song that was written well before either of them had been born.

"How's your feed?" Billy asked, munching away.

"Good," Oscar replied, shovelling a mouthful of salad into his face. "What about yours?"

Billy had ordered the exact same meal. His fingers pushed chips into his mouth. "Yeah."

As they ate, they watched the rain. The hail didn't last for long, but they knew Sydney well enough to know it was gonna rain for a bit longer at least. As soon as they'd cleared their plates, they walked back out onto the saturated rooftop bar. It was still raining hard as they leaned over the balcony. King Street was a mess. "Can you show me your place?" asked Oscar.

"You wanna see where I live?"

"It's my old neighbourhood," Oscar replied, "but I haven't been back here in a while. I'm curious."

The boys walked in the rain. By the time they arrived at Billy's house, they were soaked. He turned the key and opened the front door. The house was empty. "So, like, there were three of us," Billy explained. "Alison, the chick who just moved out, she lived in here." He gestured towards a vacant room before pointing to a closed door. "This is Laura's room, but it looks like she's out." Billy sighed. "Ali's a lezzo, Laura's trans, and I'm a gayboy root rat. Used to be a great place to live, just not sure it still will be with Ali gone." He sighed, his shoulders sagging. "Sorry. Like, I don't know why I agreed to bring you here. Right now, I don't think I wanna be here either, and it's my own fuckin' house."

"Totally get it," Oscar nodded. "Wanna hang out at my hotel for a bit?"

Billy's eyes lit up. "Yeah. Sounds good, bro. Ta." He grabbed a backpack, threw some dry clothes into it, and grabbed an umbrella on the way out. Through driving rain, they walked back towards Newtown Station, huddled under Billy's shelter, and standing on the platform, they waited for a train to take them back to the Quay. They sat close in the carriage, their damp clothes giving off steam. Billy's hand rested on Oscar's knee. He didn't give a fuck what other people thought.

They shared the elevator with an elderly couple. The boys looked wet and dishevelled, and the oldies wished them well, hoping they'd get dry soon. Arriving at their level, they walked out into the corridor, and Oscar found his room. "I'm fuckin' drenched," he said. He knew he could towel himself down and put some dry clothes on, but suddenly, he had an idea. "I need to warm up a bit after that. You wanna hop in the shower with me?"

Billy grinned. "Fuck yeah, bruh."

They stripped off and threw their wet clothes into the dryer. Oscar set it spinning. Both boys were hard already. Oscar fiddled with the taps, adjusting the water temperature and pressure. "Come on," he invited, flicking his wet hair back.

Under the warm water, the boys kissed a long, slow, languid kiss that seemed to last forever. Breaking the kiss, their eyes were droopy with lust for each other. Billy reached down and cupped Oscar's balls in his palm. Oscar felt rivulets of warm water cascading down his manhood as Billy gave his nuts a little tug. He began stroking Oscar's brown shaft, frotting it against his own.

The felt each other's warm breath on their faces. Their eyes locked through the mist. Billy's other hand craned around Oscar's neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss.

Oscar gazed at the beautiful constellation of freckles that adorned his guest's face. "This is so fucking hot, dude," the half-Latino seethed. "Like, you're totally gonna make me lose my shit if you keep doing that."

"I know," Billy whispered.

Oscar came in Billy's hand. He moaned as thick ropes of sperm shot from his cock, flooding across the redhead's fingers. Billy came just seconds later, his load cannoning into Oscar's sixpack.

After towelling down, Oscar walked to the window -- the rain had eased up. The boys climbed into bed and propped themselves up on some pillows. A giant flatscreen TV was mounted on the opposite wall. Oscar picked up the remote and handed it to Billy. "Pick something to watch?" he invited.

The redhead scrolled through a seemingly infinite list of things they could watch. He selected a cheesy action flick from the 90s and pressed play.

Billy's phone pinged with a text. "Wait a sec, this could be important." He read the message. "No work tomorrow," he declared. "I kind of half-expected that."

"Huh?" quizzed Oscar.

"It's not easy for a brickie to get shit done when the building site is saturated. It's also unsafe. Boss has already made the call. Site won't be good by morning." Billy shrugged. "This happens a lot in summer. Weather gets in the way of shit."

"Do you still get paid?"

"Yeah, but not my full daily rate. It's not my fault it rained, so part of my contract is I still get part-pay when work is called off."

They settled down to watch the film. Oscar threw his arm around Billy's shoulder, and the younger redhead snuggled in as they settled down to watch the movie.

Oscar's soul sang. He wished this was his life. About half an hour in, he realised he hadn't called his wife yet. He knew this was part of the deal. A quick check-in call each night was a very small price to pay for this trip. He took his arm back from Billy's shoulder. "Fuck, can you pause it for a sec? I need to ring someone."

"Missus?" Billy smirked evilly.

This was a mood-breaker. "Yeah. Fuck. Shit."

"Yeah, you'd better give her a ring, mate," Billy smiled. "If you know what's good for you, that is. You don't wanna be in the doghouse when you get back, do ya, bro?"

Oscar frowned. He reached for his phone and dialled her number. He held the handset up to his ear. "Hey babe."

"Hey, Oscy, how's things?"

"Hot as hell. Big storm this arvo, but it's eased off. What about at home?"

"We got some drizzle, but that's about it. You go for a walk today?"

"Yeah. Walked from the Opera House, through the Gardens, across Woolloomooloo, and up the stairs to the Cross." Billy crawled under the covers, and instantly, Oscar knew what he was up to. "Hang on a sec, babe." He pulled the handset away from his ear and put his hand over the mouthpiece, hoping to muffle his voice. "Don't!" he pleaded in a tiny whisper.

"You can't stop me," Billy taunted. "You're not the boss of me." Playfully, he poked out his tongue.

Oscar froze.

"Better get back to your missus," Billy advised, pointing towards Oscar's handset. "She'll think you're ignoring her." He pulled the bed covers up over his head.

"So what did you get up to today?" Oscar asked, shuddering as he felt Billy's wet tongue scrape across the head of his cock. He was as stiff as a board. He could feel Billy's fist stroking him, but all he could see was the rough outline of his guest's head as it bobbed up and down under the covers.

"Nothing much," his wife replied. "Basically same as yesterday."

"Cool," said Oscar. "And how are the kids doing?" He felt Billy's mouth wrap around his shaft. It was almost impossible not to moan.

"Good," came her reply. "They miss you." They talked for a few more minutes, though for obvious reasons, Oscar found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the conversation. Eventually, his wife let him go. "Hey, look, thanks for ringing," she said, "but I don't really have much more news, so maybe I'll let you get back to whatever it was you were doing."

Oscar suppressed a deep moan. He bit his bottom lip so hard he wondered if he'd drawn blood. Billy's mouth was killing him. Just like last night, he felt the tip of Billy's tongue tickling his nuts. He knew he couldn't take much more of this. If Billy made him bust while he was still on the phone ...

"No worries, babe," said Oscar. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Oscar had been teetering on the edge for about thirty seconds. He thought he'd touched the red circle on his screen before he dropped his phone on the floor, but in his state of high anxiety and deep horniness, he missed the target. The last thing his wife heard before she ended their call was her husband's voice shouting 'serious, bro, I'm gonna ...'

Despite having busted just half an hour ago in the shower, Oscar ruined Billy's throat. Billy swallowed hard, catching every single drop.

Billy finally scooted back up to sea level, and as Oscar wrapped his arm around his shoulder again, he leaned over to deliver a wet, sloppy kiss. Oscar tasted echoes of his own load on his tongue.

"Ready to put the movie back on?" Billy asked, holding the remote. "Missus OK?"

"Yeah, I suppose," came Oscar's scattered reply to both questions. He was still coming down from what he'd just experienced. He had absolutely no idea that his wife heard him busting in some stranger's mouth, but to her, that's exactly what it sounded like.

They watched in silence for five more minutes before Billy's phone pinged with another message. He reached for his device. "Laura, my other flatmate, she's gone up the mountains tonight to hang out with a friend. I guess she's feeling it too." He paused. "House is gonna be empty tonight."

"Well, you don't have to go home to an empty house, mate. I can guess how sad it'd feel. Like, you always can stay here again." He hesitated for a second. He wanted to make sure his offer didn't come across as a plea. "I mean ... if you want to, that is."

"Thanks, Oscy," smiled Billy.

"Wait. How the fuck did you know my wife calls me that?"

Billy blinked. "I didn't." His cheeky grin stretched from ear to ear.

"Shut the fuck up," volleyed Oscar, pretending to frown. Inside, he loved hearing Billy call him that.

They watched the rest of the movie in relative silence, their naked bodies lying next to each other in a warm, comfortable bed. When the film ended, Billy circumnavigated the entire TV dial but found nothing of interest. He left it on a sports channel, muting the volume. At least there were bodies to look at.

Something about Oscar was getting under Billy's pale freckled skin. He could feel something he hadn't felt in a very long time. "When do you have to go back home?" he asked.

"Two more nights after this one."

"OK." Billy's face wore a sad, puzzled frown.

"Why you asking?"

"Doesn't ... doesn't matter. Forget I asked." Billy forced a weak smile. "Hey, what's marriage like?"

Oscar blinked. This wasn't a question he ever thought Billy would ask.

"Like, what's it like to know you come home to the same person each night?"

Oscar remembered the proverb about the grass always being greener on the other side of the fence. Right now, he envied this slutty root rat, desperately wishing he was younger, uncommitted, and free. "There's good bits and bad bits," came his shallow yet honest response.

Billy rolled onto his side, facing his host. His dick flopped onto his thigh. "Tell me?"

"Well, I guess, the first thing is you get to know someone on a deep level. Like, really deep. If it's a good marriage, there are no secrets."

"No secrets, huh?"

"Yeah."

"So ... your missus knows what you did last night?"

Oscar didn't reply, but his facial expression gave it away.

"Your missus knows you went to a bate club on Oxford Street and got fuckin' waterboarded?"

Oscar cleared his throat. "I haven't told her that yet."

Billy laughed. "I'd love to be in the room when you do."

Oscar turned inward for a moment. He wondered how honest he'd be with her about last night, but he'd worry about that later. "There's a big downside to being married, though, and it's pretty obvious."

"Yeah?" asked Billy.

"Well, things can get stale."

"I reckon I could do stale," Billy asserted.

"Bullshit," laughed Oscar. "You'd be bored within a week."

'Maybe not so much with you,' Billy thought to himself. Given the lashings of cum Oscar took to his face just a couple of nights ago, he began to wonder what kind of relationship he and him might have had in a different universe. He stopped himself in his tracks fast: it'd never happen, Oscar was taken, and fuck, he didn't even live in Sydney. He resigned himself to Oscar's earlier description: this was a one week stand.

Minutes passed as they watched muted sports on TV.

"Sometimes I wonder how I turned out the way I did," mused the twentysomething year old with more than two thirds of his life yet to live.

"Gimme the remote." Oscar turned the TV off. "What do you mean, 'how you turned out'?"

Billy answered Oscar's question with one of his own. "Do you have parents?"

Oscar knew the inquiry wasn't grounded in biology, but in something else. "Yeah."

"Are they good people?"

"Yeah, I think so. They're separated, but they're still friends. Why?"

"Because mine weren't," said Billy. "My dad was a prick. He was a homophobic cunt. Used to tease me and taunt me, and eventually, disowned me. Last thing I ever did was kick him in the balls, and I don't regret it. Mum defended him, so she can get fucked too. So basically, I'm on my own. I don't have a family. All I have are the people I surround myself with. Maybe this was why it was so hard to say goodbye to Ali." He shed a tear. "I love her, and she loves me, but it's 100% platonic, and that's what made it so good. Like, she's a lesbian, and I'm gay, so there was never any chance of us ever hooking up. Our bedrooms were next door to each other, so we'd often hang out in each other's room talking, swapping stories, listening to music, knowing we were safe with each other, because there was never any chance of us ever ..."

Billy eventually ran out of breath, and Oscar tried to craft a constructive reply. "Yeah, but it's not really goodbye, is it? You'll see her again, right?"

"Yeah," sniffed Billy, "if I ever go to Brisbane, or if she comes back to Sydney for a visit, but even if she does, it won't be the same." He sighed. "She's moved out. Little things, like coffee in the kitchen in the morning, won't happen again. It feels like a full stop at the end of a sentence."

Oscar nodded, tasting Billy's pain. "I know." Time passes, and it never comes back.

Billy lay his arm across Oscar's tight abs, deep in thought. "You mentioned my tatt before," whispered Billy, "but I noticed you don't have any."

"Tatts? Yeah, you're right. I don't have any."

"Why not?"

"Dunno. Good question, but."

"I know a good place," said Billy.

"Wait a sec, bro. I'm not gonna get a tatt just because," Oscar protested.

"Pussy," smiled Billy. "Scared of the pain? They'll get you so fucked up on bourbon you won't even feel ..."

Oscar interrupted. "Wait, but don't you need to know what you want first? It's gonna be there forever, so if I ever get one, I wanna be sure about it."

"Yeah," Billy mused. "Makes sense."

"I'm not scared about the needles, and I don't think I'm scared about the pain either, but I don't know what I want. Whatever I get, it needs to mean something."

Silence fell, and Billy's mind tried to parse part of what Oscar said. Was 'I don't know what I want' a comment about a tattoo, or was it about something else?

"I really like this one," Oscar said, breaking his guest's train of thought. He traced his finger up and down Billy's left arm. "It's beautiful."

"I had that done at a professional studio. Cost me two grand. Don't ask me how I got the money."

Oscar's mouth opened to ask.

"Bro, no, seriously, don't," Billy underlined. He pointed to a spot on his right hip, and Oscar noticed something he'd never seen before. It was a smallish patch of ink, no doubt, but he wasn't sure what it was meant to represent. "Had this one done when I was in jail."

Oscar gasped. "Holy fuck! You went to jail?"

Billy nodded.

"What did you do?"

Billy wasn't ready to divulge specifics. "What did I do? I fucked up. I broke the rules. I've always broken rules. I think I mentioned this after bate club. One of the rules there is 'no oral', but when you were covered in cum, I forced my cock into your mouth and busted down your throat."

Oscar coughed. He wanted him to. "Wouldn't say you forced it in."

"Anyway, I've broken rules much bigger than that. Hence, jail."

The room fell quiet. All they could hear was each other's breath.

"Can I ask you another question?"

"Yeah," replied Oscar.

"Have you ever ... like ... have you ever had a relationship with a boy?"

Oscar ran his fingers through his hair. "No." He paused for a second. "Not yet."

'Not yet,' thought Billy. He filed that away. "So your partners have always been girls?"

"Yeah. So far."

Billy filed that away too. He had a thousand more questions he wanted to ask. "I've never had a proper relationship."

Oscar was stunned. "Really?"

"I've had a lot of sex," said Billy, "but none of the boys I liked ever stuck around. Like, I know I'm not ugly, but maybe I'm a difficult cunt to be around." He paused. "Maybe I push people away. I find it hard to get to know people. Beneath the surface, that is. It's the easiest thing in the world for me to go up to a sexy boy and proposition him. But when you said marriage means you get to know someone on a deep level, I don't really know what that'd feel like. At least in terms of a relationship, that is. I reckon my shithouse childhood fucked me up. That, plus my time in jail. Or maybe it's just too much hard work."

"How long were you in?"

"Six months," Billy replied, "so not that long. But I wasn't in one of those high security prisons you see on TV. As far as jail time goes, mine was easy. They told me on day one that if I tried to escape, I'd get caught, and shit will get so much worse, and I totally believed them. Six months didn't feel so long." He smiled. "And it wasn't all bad, either. Being locked up with a bunch of horny blokes my age had its upsides. We used to just whip it out whenever we felt toey, and most times, other guys would jump in, so it'd be basically like a giant circle jerk. There was a lot of sex in there, dude. Like, you'd be surprised how horny men can get when they're cooped up. Even the straight ones turn, so for a cockslut like me, it was pretty fuckin' sweet."

Billy's monologue trailed off. "Bate club behind bars," Oscar observed, half-jokingly.

"Pretty much," Billy nodded.

"Someone should make a porno of that."

Billy laughed. "Next time you're bored, maybe check out the internet." He gazed out the window of Oscar's expensive hotel window.

"So what did you do?" Oscar asked again. "To go to jail, that is?"

"Robbery. I held up a bottle shop." Billy sighed. "I didn't have a job. I was on a Centrelink allowance, but you don't get much. I was struggling to pay the rent, and things were grim and getting worse. I probably could've asked my mum for help, but like I said before, fuck that bitch. I didn't have anyone else to rely on, so I did something stupid." He paused for a second. "In hindsight, it's one of the dumbest things anyone could ever do. Like, if you do something like that, there's no doubt in the world you're gonna get caught, right? CCTV footage, silent alarms, and so on. The boys and girls in blue knocked on my door at dawn the following morning. Wanna know how much cash I took?"

Oscar waited, curious.

"I don't even think it was two hundred. Wouldn't have got me very far with the weekly rent at all. Still, as things panned out, I didn't have to pay rent for the next six months." He paused for a second. "Six months for robbery? I reckon they went easy on me with the sentence because even *I* knew how fuckin' dumb an idea it was, and how unlikely it'd be for me to ever do that shit again. So when I got out, I got an apprenticeship and learned a trade."

Oscar waited for Billy to continue his story, but seemingly, there was nothing more to tell.

"I haven't told very many people about that." Billy paused for a second. "Must be because I like you."

"I like you too."

Billy frowned. "Yeah, but you're married to a bitch with a frontbum, and you live in a different city."

Oscar exhaled. "Yeah."

"Sucks."

"Yeah."

Billy ran his fingertip across Oscar's abdomen. "You're so fucking hot, bro."

Oscar felt like he was floating on a cloud. His ears were buzzing. It'd been so fucking long since anyone had said anything like that to him. Part of him was ready to dive in, but on the other side of the coin lay Billy's self-declared sluttiness. How much of this was coming from Billy's temporary emotional anguish at losing a close friend, and how much of it was genuine? Fuck, bate club was just last night; he'd barely known Billy for more than a day. There was so much he could lose. It felt so risky. He bit his tongue.

"Tell me about your wife?" asked Billy.

"Fuck ... like, I don't know what to say."

"Well ... for starters, what does she look like?"

"About my height, maybe a little bit shorter, brown eyes, brown hair ... like, she's cute."

"What kind of cute?"

Oscar frowned. "Huh?"

Billy tried to explain. "Like, is she fashion model cute? Is she mousy librarian cute? Is she sexy office bitch cute? Is she pornstar cute? Give me some clues, dude."

"Wow." Oscar tried to think. "Dunno. Probably the third one."

"Tight snatch?"

Oscar gulped. "Well, I'm the only one who's been in it, so ..."

"As far as you know, right?" grinned Billy. "Big tits?" he teased.

"Big enough for me."

"Implants? Or are those sweater puppies all natural?"

Teasingly, Oscar reached over to tweak one of Billy's nipples. "They're bigger than yours."

Billy pretended to be offended. "What, you don't like my boobs?"

Oscar laughed for a moment, but his bubbly smile went flat as he remembered his wife. He didn't want to go back home, yet at the same time, he knew how insane it'd be if he blew up his entire life for this. He decided to make the best of the next two nights he still had.

Billy broke the silence. "You wanna fuck me?"

Oscar's mind caved in.

"I mean, you won't get far if you wanna fuck my tits, but you can do anything else you want with me." The skinny redhead grinned as he reached out to tickle Oscar's balls.

For Oscar, this was way better than an anonymous Grindr hookup, but on the downside, it came with risk. He rolled on top of Billy, pinning him to the mattress. Their kiss was deep and urgent. As they kissed, Oscar started gyrating his hips across the skin of Billy's stomach. Billy felt five and a half inches of dark brown meat pressing into his abdomen. "You know," he smirked, "I reckon we'd both have a much better time if you put that thing inside me."

"Shut up, dickhead," laughed Oscar. He climbed off and rummaged through his luggage for his bottle of lube. He poured some of the viscous liquid into his palm and rubbed it over his dick. Lying back down, he dropped his hand between Billy's thighs, looking for ... there it was.

Billy sighed as he felt Oscar rubbing damp moisture onto his hole. He sighed even more as he felt Oscar's middle finger penetrating him. He closed his eyes for a moment, concentrating on the feeling. "Fuck yeah, bro ... that feels so fuckin' good inside me ... but you know what'd feel even better?"

Oscar desperately wanted him to say it.

"Your cock." Billy opened his eyes again. "I want you to fuck me."

Oscar lay on top and began pushing himself inside.

"Yeah, fuck, bro," Billy seethed. "Fuck my slutty pussy."

Oscar felt Billy's hole relax to let him in. He couldn't remember the last time his dick was inside someone's ass. Certainly not his wife -- her hole was exit-only these days. Maybe last summer? He wasn't sure, he couldn't remember, and right now, it wasn't worth the brain cells. He established a slow, steady rhythm. "Is this OK?" he asked.

Billy reached up to run his fingers through Oscar's shaggy hair. "Yeah, bro, your dick is fuckin' boss."

Oscar wasn't sure what to say.

They fucked slowly and quietly for a few minutes. Though the room was cool, Billy felt one or two drops of Oscar's sweat land on his chest. "Looks like you're gettin' a good workout up there, mate."

Oscar smiled in reply. "Want me to go a bit faster?"

"Depends," said Billy. "If fucking me faster is gonna make you cum faster, then no. Go slow."

Billy began stroking himself, and Oscar noticed. "I got your dick hard?"

"Yeah, bro, like I said, you're hot as fuck."

Oscar craned down to kiss his guest, and as their tongues intertwined, Billy's breathing changed pattern. He moaned deep into Oscar's mouth as he came all over his hand and stomach. "Feed me," he pleaded, and Oscar complied. Doing pushups with one arm, he scooped up Billy's thick sperm and dropped it into his hungry open mouth.

Oscar felt Billy's mouth sucking hard on his fingers, giving them a playful bite. That, plus the contractions of Billy's spasming pussy gripping tight around his shaft, threw him off right the edge. "I'm gonna cum," he cried, and with a roar, he flooded Billy's digestive tract with rivers of warm semen.

"Stay inside," pleaded Billy, feeling Oscar's shaft pulsing. His hands gripped Oscar's cheeks, pulling him in. "Please, stay inside me." But Oscar's exhausted cock was deflating fast, and it became uncomfortable and even just a little bit painful for him to hold it in. Eventually, he fell out with a wet plop. "Good thing this hotel has so many towels," Billy said. "We might need a couple more. I can feel you seeping out of me. I swear, I'd hate to be the housekeeping bitch for this room."

Oscar climbed out of bed.

"Wait, where you goin'?" Billy asked. He farted.

"The bathroom. To get some towels."

"I didn't mean right now, mate! Come back and lie with me for a minute."

Oscar lay on the dry side of the bed. Billy draped his arm across his stomach.

Billy was lost in thought. Sex for him was usually quick and dirty, with nothing to worry about after, but tonight felt completely the opposite. He reached down to touch Oscar's wet dick.

"You've made me cum three times tonight," said the half-Latino. "I don't think you're gonna get me hard again."

"I don't want to," he said, running his fingers across Oscar's shaft and balls. "I just like touching your cock."

Oscar couldn't believe some of the shit he was hearing tonight.

"Like, it's a little bit smaller than mine ..."

"I think we established that last night, mate," Oscar interrupted.

"Yeah, but ... like, your dick is really nice. It's smooth, it's got a nice colour and shape, and ... like ... it felt so fuckin' good inside me."

"Stop," said Oscar.

"Huh?"

"Stop saying nice things about me."

Billy was flabbergasted. "Why?"

Oscar couldn't explain his feelings.

"I'm just telling you the truth," Billy whispered.

Oscar's bottom lip trembled. A single tear escaped his right eye.

"Fuck, have I upset you?" asked a panicky Billy. "What did I say? What did I do?"

"Nothing ... nothing ... it's OK." Oscar forced the thinnest of smiles.

"Look, dude, I know we don't know each other very well yet, but I can tell there's something on your mind."

Oscar noticed the word 'yet' in Billy's sentence. He held onto it like a desperate man clutching a life buoy in a rough sea. "I've known you for less than 48 hours, and you've said more nice things about me than my wife said all last year."

Billy was shocked. "No way." He took his hand away from Oscar's pretty meat. It didn't feel appropriate given the change in mood.

"This is what I mean about how things can get stale." Oscar wiped his eyes. "Can I be honest with you?"

"Course you can, mate."

"I feel trapped."

Billy waited, sensing Oscar was about to unload some serious emotional baggage.

"I come up to Sydney for a week each summer," Oscar began, running his fingers through his hair. "I like to go for long walks, enjoying the sun. And while I'm up here, I'm active on Grindr, looking for hookups. My wife knows, though I secretly think she hates it, but I try to make the most of it because, like, I only get one week each year. That's the reason it's so important that I call her each night -- because she's OK for me to come up and do this, so long as we speak each night, even if it's only just for a few minutes."

"Why do you reckon she insists on you ringing her each night?"

"Dunno. Maybe because that's what happy married couples are supposed to do. I don't really mind. We rarely talk for any longer than ten minutes anyway."

Billy smiled to himself. It was a bit less than ten minutes tonight. "Do you ever look for hookups at home?"

"For the most part, I've given up," admitted Oscar. "It's a smaller city. Same faces all the time, and too many anonymous black shadows. Someone'll start a chat with me, and we might talk for a bit, but as soon as I ask for a pic, they disappear. It's not worth the effort. I still check from time to time, but successes are rare." He paused, thinking. "The missus and I, we used to have good sex. We used to be into each other. I used to tell her about my hookups, and sometimes, she'd join us to make a threesome."

He paused for a second.

"I don't tell her about my hookups anymore. There's no point. I think she knows I get up to no good whenever I'm up here, but these days, I think she just puts up with it." He sighed. "Something went wrong somewhere, though I don't know where. But the thing is, if I don't know what went wrong, then how do I know how to fix it? I think she stopped ... how can I put this? ... she stopped being interested in me. Sexually, I mean."

Billy was gobsmacked. To him, Oscar was a stud who'd leaped out of a porn magazine. How could anyone not be interested in him?

"Maybe it's her," Oscar continued. "Like, maybe she's lost her sex drive because her hormones have gone wacky. I've read about this shit. It happens. But if that's what it is, she's never said anything to me, so I don't really know. But here's the bit I can't work out. She knows I'm bi, but it feels like she wishes I wasn't. She knows I'm into dick, but she makes me feel guilty about getting it. But at the same time, she's retreated. Sex is rare and getting rarer, but I'm a horny guy who's getting frustrated. She makes me feel guilty about chasing blokes, but at the same time, she won't put out." He paused for a second or two. "But it's not just about sex, it's about everything else. We've drifted apart in a lot of ways. It's like we live separate lives with separate interests. She used to watch the footy with me, but now she's doing other things instead. And I'm probably the same with her. It feels like we're the classic sexless 'we stay together for the sake of the kids' relationship."

"Keeping up appearances," whispered Billy.

"Fuck, bro, exactly. That's exactly what it feels like. Keeping up appearances. We put on a brave face for our families and friends, but something has rotted away inside. And, like, don't get me wrong, she's a nice person. She'd do anything for the kids, and it's not like we fight or anything. For whatever reason, she's lost interest in me, and maybe I've lost interest in her, too." He paused. "We still sleep in the same bed, but that's really the only time we're ever together."

"Why'd you get married in the first place?" Billy asked.

"Because we loved each other, because we were into each other, and because it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I was happy, and so was she. It's not the kind of thing you leap into if you're not 100% sure, and you go into it wanting it to last forever. We both knew it was gonna be an atypical marriage, because I had permission to play with dudes, but I thought we were both agreed on that, and that we'd had the right conversations beforehand and so on. I mean, like, she hasn't ever said to me 'please stop having sex with men', but it's just this feeling I get, like she wishes I wouldn't."

Billy winced at the word 'permission', but he knew Oscar wasn't finished.

"I went out for a long walk this arvo, trying to clear my head. I know you and me swapped numbers this morning, before you left, but to be honest, I didn't ever expect to hear from you again. The whole time I was walking, I kept asking myself whether I'm truly bisexual -- or pansexual, whatever -- or whether I was using that as an excuse, chickening out from what I truly am. Maybe gay guys in straight relationships weasel out of it by telling themselves 'nah dude I'm with a girl and we've got kids so I can't possibly be gay' and it felt so weird I couldn't answer the question. This is gonna sound creepy as fuck, but I'm checking people out as I walk past them, appraising them within the context of who and what I'm attracted to, and there were definitely less women on my mental list than men."

"But still *some* chicks?"

Oscar nodded.

"OK so if you're walking past women in the street and you're thinking 'given half a chance I'd do her', then you probably ain't gay," declared Billy. "I reckon most people are bi, they just don't admit it. Like, things are rarely black and white. It's a spectrum, bro. That's why there's a rainbow."

Oscar felt the need to wrap up and move on. "Anyway, thanks for coming to my Ted talk." He tried to smile.

Billy wasn't sure what to say. "I totally reckon I could do stale with you."

"Fuck, dude," said an exasperated, emotionally drained Oscar. "Like, I barely even know you, but for the longest time I've wondered what it might be like to hang out with a bloke, though it was only ever a daydream. And now you come along, popping up into my life from nowhere, the hottest, the most intriguing and easily the most interesting dude I've ever met in my life who keeps saying these beautiful things about me, but at the same time, you're waving a big red flag that says 'don't get too close, I'm a slut, I'm trash' that basically says to me 'this dude is gonna be so into you for a week, but then he's gonna be gone'. And then you say things like what you just said, and I'm like ... I can't ..."

"I've had a rough life," said Billy, "which might explain why I find it so hard to build connections. Sounds like you've had a rough life, too," he empathised, "but for an entirely different set of reasons."

Oscar didn't respond.

"You said you don't know me very well yet, and that's true."

Oscar didn't reply.

"And I don't really know you all that well either."

Oscar said nothing.

Billy's heart exploded. "I don't want you to go back home, Oscy, and I've never said that to any other boy ever, and especially not someone I've only just met. Most dudes I've ever hung out with are gone as soon as we're done, and that's always been the way I wanted it too, but ... I dunno ..." Billy wrapped his arms around Oscar's waist, pulling him close. "This is so fucking weird for me. I feel like I lost a sister this arvo, but on the same day, I feel like I found a boy. Move back to Sydney." He paused for a second. "We've got a spare room. You could move in with us, if you wanted to."

They hugged.

"Can we talk more tomorrow?" asked Billy.

"Yeah," Oscar replied. "That'd be good." He went to the bathroom to get towels.

As they drifted off to sleep, Oscar held his new friend close, images of his earlier pre-marriage life in Newtown dancing around in his head. His head knew there were big decisions looming, but maybe his heart had already made them.