URBAN HOMO #updownandaway.

#updownandaway

Throughout the course of the Mardi Gras season in Sydney I did in fact manage to wear all 21 pairs of newly arrived underwear, mentioned in the last update. In some cases, several times. I revealed at least 12 pairs to willing admirers. With intent. Another 6 pairs to not so willing admirers. Also with intent. There have been no less than 5 reports of additional but unintentional reveals. I am afraid that in my hazy recollections I will be unable to set any record straight. ‘Straight’ having very little to do with any record that may have been kept. Which included the following highlights: Fair Day. Victoria Park is as far west as I ever go. (There was that one time I went to Parramatta. Even during the day I felt my personal safety in jeopardy. I was there for a court appearance, appealing a drug conviction, but that’s a whole other story...) But generally Victoria Park is as far as I go, and it is only on this one day. And were it not for the encouragement of intrepid friend @dancing_girl I would not go at all. But fortified by new underwear, a couple of joints (in the spirit of festival mood), and the promise of a whole new demographic, I sallied forth into the midst of the lesbians, bears and other assorted pets. While frolicking on the grassy knoll, after 17 beers, I came into contact with another of my favourite animals, an otter. From Erskineville, no less. Further fortified by a couple of caps, I ventured even wester for the first big reveal of a new collection of intimate apparel, more toxic substances and the first of many written off days thereafter. I would have been happy to relinquish my body to the coma calling the following week, but the next weekend’s activities required me to keep up my health, fitness and beauty regime. I use the terms ‘health’ and ‘fitness’ loosely. Fat Blasters. Laxettes. Mesomorph. Sun beds. And spray tans. Usually these efforts are directed towards the goal of looking and feeling my best at a night time event. Where other patrons are drinking. Drugging. Dancing. And most importantly, doing all of these things in the dark. The combination therefore effecting a charitable assessment of fellow partygoers and their beauty. But the next Saturday I signed up for an entire day’s outdoor gayness. I went to Jamberoo. Yes I know. South of Wollongong. And a good deal further west than Erskineville. And you know what. I went by bus. Yes. By bus. And it was fantastic. No, that’s not a typo. Spent an hour getting there. Whipped off my top the moment I arrived. And spent five hours surrounded by shirtless hotties. In. The. Daylight. And absolutely loved it. I rode the Funnel Web. Surf Hill. The Bob Sled. And the @native_new_yorker. Just so we’re clear, while @native_new_yorker was definitely one of the main attractions, he was not an official part of this action-packed theme park. But I managed to ride him several times. At Jamberoo. On the bus on the way back. Yes, that was me. And on the balcony back at his room at the Sheraton on The Park. The courage for such public performance fueled by G, poppers and the unparalleled lust inspired by a two-metre tall African American with the body of a Titan and the dick of death. And of course the four hours of free drinks upped both my confidence and my libido. Don’t ask me how my body survived this particular cocktail. Or how indeed it was able to take on more the following weekend. Harbour Party. One of Mardi Gras’s most enduringly popular events among the Cool Kids and the DILFs. Despite its enduringly tarnished reputation from a total rain out and broken audio system one year. And the prevalence of boiler suited cops and enthusiastic canines in search of drugs. Every year. It is one of the most targeted events. Whether this is done as a deliberate ‘attack on the gays’ or whether just to show the ‘wider general public’ that the police and council have a zero tolerance is up for debate. Never mind that Field Day is just that for young hetero drug takers, but is a council sanctioned event. Not a labrador, alsatian or beagle in site. But I digress. Fully aware of the police peril that may lie ahead I always carry my recreational substances in hand, ready to fling them at a bark’s notice. Remembering the sacrifice many years ago of 6 pills that were hurled into a wheelie bin at the gateway to The Big Party. A recent drug conviction fresh in my mind. But back to Harbour Party 2014. The texts, the tweets, the calls. They were all coming through. The place was crawling with law enforcement. Both the two and four legged varieties. News guaranteed to strike fear into my heart. But I held onto my party favours until the eleventh hour. At which time the alleged officers hove into view. So I double dropped a third of my stash, and buried the rest under a mound of leaves at the base of a tree. To be retrieved later. As I went past, dancing/stumbling/part flying with another fuckable foreigner. This one staying in Woolloomooloo. So convenient. I stayed there until Sunday night. My body a receptacle for him, his traveling companion, and a seemingly endless supply of illicit substances. My compliance most appreciated. As were my Bloke Undees, which had been strategically peering above the waistband of denim shorts. But by Monday morning nowhere in sight. My absence from the workplace on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were, however, not so appreciated. Then of course there’s The Big Party. The Main Event. Sadly all the partying has stolen the spotlight from the Parade, which was of course the starting point. And I, along with many of my gay comrades, abandon all political and social concerns in favour of a new outfit, several new roots, and the quest for what I believe is officially known as a Good Time. What goes on at The Mardi Gras Party stays at The Mardi Gras Party. And on Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. And OMFG Youtube. So many may have seen my pieces de resistance. Yes, that’s pieces plural. Unscheduled shows I performed in the middle of several dancefloors. Both solo, and with support. None of which I actually recall, but social media confirms happened. So while the majority of my friends are battling to recover in Bali, Byron Bay and Noosa, I am battling the wake of Mardi Gras demons and other things at The Bay Retreat. Aka Re-hab. Awaiting the results of my sexual health screening. Stay tuned for reports of both. Instagram: urban_homo Twitter: @urban_homo_dna Facebook: Urban_homo