F**k Buddies

Heath was an aspiring actor. To date I think his claim to fame is a dominos pizza commercial. I have friends that still see him around today and tell me he is still fighting the good fight.

I was seeing, well, fucking Heath. I was never really seeing H. He had set out very strict terms when we first hooked up and I respected that. He said this would never be a thing don’t expect anything. I never did. No one got hurt.

He had been in a long-term relationship before and he said after a while fucking her felt like puss.

It was probably easy to follow his terms because I found him so utterly ridiculous. He had an amusing relationship with my bottom.

He was a really handsome guy, beautiful face and very camera friendly. Fair skin, dark eyes and black hair.

Heath was a tight arse. He would drink whatever the girl he was seeing was buying. I refused to buy his drinks, the highest complement I ever got from Heath was when he chose to stay out with me and he actually paid for his own drinks. I laughed so hard when I saw him out once with a Champaign cocktail,

“Fuck off, Saffron,” he said as he sculled his fruity beverage, almost choking on a campaign engorged strawberry.

He got very upset with me when I missed his performance in Hamlet. When I did finally get to the cast party he was drunk. He reminded me of the Irish comedian Dylan Moran. He constantly had a cigarette in his hand (although I’m sure he never paid for it) and was a funny drunk.

A girl who had been in the production as well was trying to seduce Heath; she was a very pretty little blonde. Heath flatly rejected her and swaying languidly at the top of his lungs screamed,

“Fuck off, Saffron’s bum is better! I like your bum, Saffron.” Smiling at me wryly, before he threw up over the pier.

My favourite memory of Heath was outside a hotel in Newcastle and we were waiting for our friend Hugh to show up with his combi van to drive us home. Heath had been behaving strangely all-night, stranger than usual.

As the van approached he stood up, looked left, then looked right, like a meerkat. He pounced on a ficus that was in a pot plant out of the front of the hotel, in one swift jerk he uprooted it, ran across the road and jumping into the combi he screamed, “punch it!”

He had been sizing up that plant since we got there 4 hours earlier, at his house the next week, there is was, pride of place in an empty keg in his bedroom. It died soon after. He hadn’t put any soil in the keg. I tried to tell him it might be a good idea, he wasn’t having any of it.

“I don’t want dirt in my bedroom!”

“Obviously,” I said.

Heath was a lazy lover. He would always prefer that I be on top. He argued that that was the best way to rehearse his lines and he could see my boobs. Hamlet was a big thing for him at the time.

It was kind of romantic actually. I enjoyed it. Riding him for hours and quoting,

“O, That this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw, and resolve itself into a dew.” I would say

“Frailty, thy name is woman!” he would reply

Hamlet, Act I, scene ii

“O! what a rogue and peasant slave am I!” He would scream as he came.

Hamlet, Act II, scene ii

Heath did a lot of screaming, now that I think about it.

His mother was a minister at a local church and she was very kind she had a lot of time for me. His father was an accountant, I come from a family full of accountants, and they are a stale bunch.

I met his father or rather his father met my arse as it was bare raiding his fridge one Saturday morning.

We never quite hit it off after that. I had just turned 19.