Free Heres to You Mr Robinson by Barry Lowe Page A

sometimes repeat the exercise all day Saturday and well into Sunday, before he drove me back to the campus, me all fatigued and usually sore.
    Not much likelihood of that in Dullsville as I liked to christen my dreary little town. It had the basics: a sex emporium which stocked gay porn DVDs, as well as having porno booths with glory holes. If I was desperate I could always get my rocks off anonymously. Dullsville also boasted a gay bar of sorts. By day it was a working men’s bar, catering to the factory workers in the area. At night, it transformed, like Cinderella, into a magic fairyland that, unfortunately, was more likely to attract the ugly sisters than Cinderella herself. It was a friendly haven for the same-sex attracted plus any number of variations that had been labelled perverted by psychiatry until well into the twentieth century.
    The small population, of course, did not allow for individual premises for each and every fetish and predilection so on any given night you were likely to see drag queens mixing with leather fetishists, and those into BDSM. I think the town ran to one or two of each sexual variation, which meant there was always someone to chat to, acceptance being the core value rather than moral outrage if you suddenly stumbled upon someone lying in the urinal waiting to be watered.
    Any new face in town was immediately the centre of attention, especially if he was a local boy returning. Strangers passing through were easy pickings, while kids just experimenting or coming to terms with their attraction were mentored through the lonely process by a number of older men in the town who saw it as their duty to ensure a happy transition into the brotherhood. It was a strictly hands off mentorship and the men were scrupulous in their dealings. It was one of the things I did admire about the town.
    It was always a shock on my return to feel a smile creep across my face and my pulse quicken as the familiar streets beckoned to me. My own street, in particular, made…
    Whoa, what was that?
    I was so busy craning my neck I almost ran into the gutter near our home.
    I pulled over, my heart racing, managing to croak out. “Who was that?”
    I thought it must have been God, he was so gorgeous.
    Mum turned to look. “Oh, that’s the Robinsons. They moved into the house across the street from us. I thought I’d emailed you about that.”
    If she had, she had failed to mention that Mr. Robinson was a gay boy’s walking wet dream.
    “Robinsons? Plural?” I asked.
    “Lovely couple. Two children, about eight and ten.”
    Damn. There was the word I didn’t want to hear: couple.
    Oh well, eye candy was useful to fuel my fantasies and, by the looks of it, Mr. Robinson was going to feature heavily in my dreams.
    “They’ve been here about five months now. Keep very much to themselves. Not exactly hermits but not exactly friendly either. Enough to smile and say hello.”
    “Maybe they’re just shy,” I said as I restarted the car and drove into the garage.
    My old room had been left as a shrine to my adolescence. The posters, the books, the Japanese manga all neatly stacked awaiting my return. One day soon all trace of me will be packed away and the room denuded of my existence as I cut the ties with home and head out into the bigger, scarier, and more exciting world. The thought depressed me for a moment, but I shook it off when I got a text message from Troy inviting me over to meet his new beau that evening.
    Mum was disappointed, but forgiving, as long as I stayed home long enough to greet my dad before I went out. I intended taking a nap as I find homecomings tiring. It’s the reactivating of old synapses in the brain that have hibernated during my absence from the town. After a cup of tea with mum who asked too many leading questions about my social life, although I think I successfully fielded them, I excused myself and went to my room where my bed welcomed me like an old friend. If I could bottle the