Welcome to days spent curled up against radiators. Tearing away cottony white blankets of clouds to reveal the brightest of blue skies, but it doesn’t change the cold manifested into a clear drop hanging precariously from the tip of an indoor plant leaf. Life has become very very quiet and I fill the hours by colouring a tapestry in circus elephants, and writing steamy pornographic short stories set in the searing heat of a Sydney summer I dream of.

A throwaway opening:

I told him I wanted to see him touch himself. I had seen him shit, vomit, yell at his dad, cry, lie, fuck, and behave in a way so disgustingly pathetic, it only seemed right we breached this final unbidden territory. We had spent the day sweating out the December Sun, swimming in countless tall glasses of vodkas splashed with a taste of lime and lemonade, a day of useless nothing and fucking.

Stripped down to knee-high pants, he was all lean and brown body in the sun, the rays languishing the time they had to roll over all that bare skin. Though he laughed drowsily at my request, his eyes remaining closed, his fingers still fluttered flirtatiously over the top button…