Camy

Hi, If anyone tried to persuade me to sell my CD collection I'd firstly go ballistic 'cause I love music; and then I'd wonder why. I have friends who have literally thousands of CD's MP3's don't have the quality of a CD, so even though Green has them on his hard drive they're not actually as good. Um... Just saying, and none of my business... But music is really important, and personal. Camy

Hey! Thanks for the compliment. I guess I need to find a beta personage at some point. I hope you like the start of the new one. Camy

The problem with writing, or for that matter performing, is that eventually, if you're not insanely shy, you want to know if what you do is any good. You want, and in order to grow, need feedback. I'm a musician, and I love performing once I get over the hideous stage fright bit. I also write both poetry and fiction. Now I'm told that what I write is good, but I'm told that by people who love me, people who know me, and people who would probably not want to hurt me. So, honestly I can't trust a word they say. Sad, but the truth. Ergo here I am, not only leaping out of the closet to a total bunch of strangers, but also presenting slivers of the deeper bits of my psyche in the form of fiction. I guess I couldn't be bearing my soul in a better place. Anyway Albert's Day is a serial and I've put up chapter one... With trepidation. In other news I've decided I really am going to bed. Now.

I came to write a post about how miserable I was because I had to work all day; and I didn't get to see the last episode of 'Enterprise'; and I've lost the plot entirely with SGI... And I'm still laughing out loud over this entry in RHawes16's blog Typos are wonderful things, especially as I'm sure a lot of them are intentional, put in by bored copy typists. Ah well (wipes away a tear) where was I? Oh yes Miserable... Not. Thanks Rob.

Do You ever just look around suddenly and realize you don't know how you got somewhere? And worse you really don't know where you're going? You could add to that and why All the time, or if not all the time at least on a monthly basis. The other doozy is je ne regrette rien - regret nothing. That's twaddle too. I'm always thinking 'oh I wish I'd...' or 'oh I wish I hadn't...' That's life. I don't know quite what I'm trying to say here. Probably it's 'Have a good sleep and it'll all be ok in the morning.' A platitude that works for me most of the time. Camy

Thanks Kaiten, That makes me feel marginally saner. It's not a mistake I will make again Hope your weekends good too. Camy

I have to say I'm totally blown away by the warmth of the comments left on my first post. I was sort of expecting to drivel on for a while before anyone said anything. Thank you. I'm honoured. erm.. I would also like to add that I wrote this last month and didn't realise that it was on 'draft' mode. Duh. I'm stupid not impolite... Most of the time.

I was somewhat... erm... depressed today. I wrote: I'm sitting here silently screaming at myself. I'm surrounded by people who love me. So why do I feel so alone? Even though I want to talk, even though I'm asked and given every opportunity to talk I won't. I can't. Bri, who is downstairs watching TV has no idea at the swirling cess pit of angst sitting over her head. Yet I can blog about it... No. I can't even truthfully do that either. I want to smash the screen and rip the head off that damned emoticon who's grinning with both thumbs up. Bastard emoticon f**ker. What does he know... No doubt somewhere on this mad planet there is a school of emoticon therapy. And then deleted it on the basis I didn't want to bum anybody out who might read it. Then I read a blog by 'A Friendly Face?' who said: my own thoughts, beliefs, and opinions on ALL these matters tend to be very fluid and there's every chance I'll completely disagree with myself by the next time I read it. Which I totally agree with... So what I guess I'm trying to say is that I'm going to say what I want to say whenever I want to say it. If anyone doesn't like it then they can go elsewhere. Finally I dug up a story I'd written ages ago called 'Robert's Day' and posted it to the e-fiction section.

I do this all the time... Infact a lot of the time I'm absolutely sure I haven't written what I obviously have. I totally agree. It's no one elses business. I once read (or heard?) that sexuality is like a line with totally gay at one end, straight at the other and everything else in between. It's a line we all walk and move around on, depending on circumstance.

So that was Robert over and done with. I saw him once more when I was eighteen. He was sitting with a few friends in the garden of my local pub. We both spotted each other at the same time and made brief eye contact. I'd like to think he blushed. I walked by and he was gone when I got back. I finished prep school as a 'senior' at the grand age of twelve. I left early as the teachers had told my parents that If I was going to pass the exams I'd need tutoring. Tutoring was awful. The days seemed endless, sitting in a stuffy classroom with a bunch of other drossy pupils, none of whom wanted to be there. Every day I'd get dropped off and everyday I thought about legging it... I never did. I had a wonderful summer at the end of which I met Lolly at the park. Lolly had left my Prep School the year before, was thirteen, and so much older than me. While we were at school he had never talked to me, but out of school was different. The park had a wood at the top end and I vividly remember walking and talking, which was odd enough, but occasionally our arms would brush together, and the way he looked at me gave me a strange tingly feeling. So I invited him back to my house. We spent the first half an hour looking at, talking about Sammy, the hugely pregnant Cat I'd rescued, brought home and then told my parents about. We did this to avoid talking about why we were really there. He laughed and his tongue flicked over his lips. I liked his lips, though I had no idea why. How we ended up in the basement boiler room I have no recollection. It must have been a dare, a 'bet you won't' number that got out of control (or in control depending). He was taller than me, bigger than me, and he had both hair and was circumcised! To me this was really odd. I sort of knew what I was doing, and I sort of knew what he was doing but nothing spectacular happened, and though it was certainly exciting enough, I was naive. If anyone talked about naive at that time I'm sure I would have been top of the list, the prime example. That didn't change until I went through puberty at a hideously late fifteen. Lolly came to the Guy Fawkes Bonfire night... Which was fun! And once six months later in the height of pre-pubescent passion I went to his house. Ah well. Some things are meant to be. This wasn't. ---- "So. Do you want to?" "Want to what?" I said shyly, knowing exactly what Lolly was asking, and feeling both elated and terrified at the same time. "You know what." He said grinning, his hand casually resting on an obvious lump. "Umm. Yeah, but we can't here." I paused. He looked at me expectantly. "We'll have to go down to the basement." The house was late Victorian, and parts of it, the basement being a prime example, were still un-modernised. I had a 'wreck room' as my parents liked to call it, and generally If I wasn't elsewhere, or in bed that was where I was. Lolly following me downstairs was angsty enough. I was torn by wanting, needing, excitement; and a hint of actual terror. Though no one actually went to the basement during the afternoon, there was always the possibility that they might. My Dad employed a part time mechanic, and he could have been anywhere. A creaky wooden staircase led down from a light airy landing into the gloom of the 'below stairs'. 'My house' I reminded myself as Lolly's breath feathered my neck as I paused at the bottom. "It's this way." I whispered pointing down the gloomy stone floored corridor. "OK." Lolly replied, briefly touching my bottom. "Go on then." I was getting more nervous yet more excited at every step, and I could feel my heart pounding. Oddly this seemed to calm me as I led him past the wreck room, past the gently roaring boiler and into the storage room at the end. The room was about ten by five with wooden shelving stuffed with storage boxes along the wall. The door didn't have a lock, just a catch, so I closed it behind us and lent against it; the only light coming through three air holes at the top. At first all I could see was the top of Lolly's black hair. He prodded me on the shoulder with his finger. "Light"? "Umm... It's safer in the dark." I was now fully blown neurotic. My arms seemed stuck to my sides. I knew it was what I wanted. I knew it felt good, and I knew that my excuse, if caught, would be that Dad had said 'Camy, do what you want, provided you hurt no one'. Still I felt scared. What if the Boiler man was coming, what if my Dad, or worse my Mum needed something from one of the boxes behind me. Or worse, what if someone already knew... Lolly's finger slowly turned into a flat hand that wandered down to my chest, down and under the bottom of my T-Shirt, and back up again. My right nipple, which I'd honestly never really thought about a lot, began to feel nicely strange as he rested his thumb on it. "Nice?" "Mmm." "Thought so. I read it in one of Mother's magazines." It was then that his other hand cupped my crotch. "Gah!" I screamed loudly and hit the light switch, whilst Lolly disappeared backward into the boxes blinking furiously. "What the..." "Shhh!" I hissed. The frozen tableau lasted a good thirty seconds until it became obvious there were no running feet or shouts from upstairs. I still don't know what possessed me, but I moved slowly forward until our bodies were touching, looked up into his face and wrapped my arms around him. It felt so good. --- So. My first bit of 'fiction'. I always knew this blog would be good for something! I got the damn exams. My parents drove me around the country to three schools that had accepted me. The first was in Yorkshire, a very, very long way away from home for a kid. It was, funnily enough, my Dad's old school. The second was a very well known, 'frightfully frightfully' public school, with a stiff reputation for work over play - my Mother hated this because she saw a teddy bear on one of the beds. The last was close to London, not well known, and relaxed. My parents, in a fit of utter stupidity that I have thanked them for ever since, gave ME the option of choosing where I went. No contest really!

Replay is excellent, characters believable and well drawn. I'm impatient, which is one reason reading serials is a pain, unless they're finished. So post more. Now please! As for it being gay fiction... If the sex were removed it would work just as well. Like John Christopher or John Wyndham, you have talent. 'Last Night' is a different barrel of worms entirely. Talk about happy endings. Sheesh. Cheers, Camy

I've been tootling around the site, as you do, wandering from link to link. The front page is um... 'very nice' but it gives the impression of a backwater, like it's thrown together 'cause it has to be there, a sort of 'hey I'm not tarting it up, I've got other things on my mind' attitude. This could well be intentional, but I'm kind of glad I arrived elsewhere when I first did. Mostly there is a great top bar with menu, though on some pages it has a banner ad above it, on others the ad is below. Content is hard to find. What I'm trying to say, in a rather ham fisted way is that the site gives the general impression of the amateur, when the content, facilities: Board and Blogging etc are so damn professional. Take Underthehoodster. His story page is both brilliantly conceived and executed. I was hoodwinked and thought it was an external site. Clever. Dom Luka's page (one of the best writers I've read in a long while) is a column of graphic links to the stories. Both do a job. Both work. I just discovered the 'efiction' bit too. The Zot, (who is on the front page, but not on the 'hosted' page) is to be found here (along with 'replay' by RHawes16 which is fantastic btw). I'm starting to ramble... This place is astounding, and huge thanks for it; but you need a map, map reader, provisions and a holiday to get around it... I guess that's all part of the fun.

I lived in the same neighbourhood in London until I was twenty. When I was ten we moved just around the corner into a huge house know as locally as

The first post is always the worst. Especially because I'm aware that this is relatively public. Yet not. The people that might read this are at the very least of a like mind, and will not be judgemental... I hope. Even if they are, does it matter? It's true that what people say about what you do or write always matters. But not from the RL point of view of outing me. That is one great joy of the internet. Anonymity. I'd say I'm probably bisexual with a strong leaning towards men. Not that I'm out about it. Definitely not. Actually I'm probably more non sexual at present... Sex drive is a strange thing. I have it by the bucket load, but never seem to act on it with anyone. I seem to be liked at work, know gay people, fancy gay people, but never take the step that might end in disaster. Wow this is cathartic! I'm here for the stories. I think I found the place through Dabeagles site, but then that was a while ago. I used to drop by and never became a member until recently. It makes me wonder why I felt like risking the tiny bit of exposure it needs to sign up. Why not just stay a visitor, read the stories, dream, drool and leave? Perhaps I really am wanting to become myself. I live in England and went, from the age of twelve to a single sex boarding school with five highly competitive Houses. Later, in my sixth year they introduced girls. Not many, just a few in the upper school. An experiment that didn't affect me at all as they weren't in my house. When I started however it was just boys. Lots of boys. I'm from an upper middle class family and used to live in London. A really nice part of London. My father was an inventor, and my mother... f**K. So now what do I do. I'm actually shaking. Do I carry on in which case 'someone' might possibly read this that shouldn't. Or do I just use this blog as a muse tool for present thoughts... I suppose I should create a ficticious background, and people it with the dream family and kick ass friends. This needs some thought. f**K it. I'm from an upper middle class family and used to live in London. A really nice part of London, in a big Victorian detached house. My father was an inventor, and my mother was good at spending money. I was a late edition to two children, my sister being fourteen years older than me. I guess that really makes me an only child. I never knew my Grandmother was my Grandmother until I was ten or eleven. Before then she was just my Mothers best friend. I never thought this was odd at the time, and I can't actually remember how I found out. I think I just eventually guessed right. My sister got married and moved into a flat in the basement. At times I hated her, now we get on really well. I had a few close friends, but oddly, my best friend to begin with was Pie. A girl. Our parents were friends and we used to spend every avilable minute together. Pie was a tom boy in the true sense of the word, and though I know she had dolls, she never played with them. It was all about climbing trees, short hair, jeans and never, ever skirts! We used to have fearful rows, and once... She got me cornered in a shed and was so angry she put an axe through the window. Now she works in health services. I haven't seen her in an age. Then, when I was thirteen, Page moved in. His Mother was an actress, and he was gorgeous. A year younger than me but much more worldly and mature. He introduced me to what had been, until then, only a fantasy. So here I am. In the here and now. Jaded, complicated, and wanting... What I guess we all want. A soul mate of a like mind. I have two soul mates. One a girl I live with, the other close by. But that thing is missing.

Double post. Damn, and no way to delete it. So... (stilted pause) I guess I should say I love your stories, but then I wouldn't be here if I didn't! erm... Hope the weather improves!

I was going to make a facetious comment about items you can't cook on a rotisserie, but the idea of naked men vs women intruded too much. Ugly people are ugly naked, and to be honest on a really 'bad hair/body' day I prefer the dark It's odd how some people who are classically 'not too hot' have something about them, be it spirt, soul, whatever the indefinable is, that makes them beautiful clothed or naked. Rice btw