Like Hansel and Gretel in the wilderness, Arthur and Zac didn’t realize it was a war-zone they had moved into at Darlinghurst Squats. The area had long been notorious for its rows of brothels, called the ‘Doors’ because all the women solicited from their doorways, and for its gambling dens, run by gangsters who laundered drug money through roulette wheels and two-up schools. Across the city corruption was an industry, from the Police distributing drugs and setting up heists right up to the Liberal State Premier, Bob Askhim, taking kickbacks from organized crime and selling Knighthoods. Rows of houses in East Sydney had been fire-bombed making them easier to be taken over as brothels and for all Arthur knew, he was squatting in the abandoned left-overs of a gang’s turf war.
As they sat in a huddle planning their mischief, a famous ‘Green unionist’, Jock Sunday, turned up and tried to calm their over-excited radicalism with his experienced wisdom, asking them not to do anything rash, like storm the ships. He got his picture taken with them for the newspapers as if he was Captain of the Elf Brigade but this gang eschewed sage advice and avuncular leaders, they already had their own ideas for action.Perhaps he'd been put upon by the Dockworker's Union to quash the disruption, more likely was the fact that his son, Michael, was a rambunctious member of the gang and a good mate of Arthur's and Jock didn't want his boy getting a criminal record. Not too many years later Michael died in a car crash, he would've been safer if he'd stayed in Arthur's milieu, and not a week went by without Artie remembering the dear boy.
It was an idyllic spot, under a gum-tree, looking down upon the cosmic campers; they needed a smoke to settle their bashful nerves and, blast his luck, Arthur discovered he’d forgotten to bring matches, no joint was to be had, flattening the occasion’s frisson, otherwise they might have chilled out and grooved down into it. He’d come unprepared for the big consummation, not realizing it was on the cards here at the placid sequel to the original, infamous “Up the Earth” orgy; he had no lubricant, towel, water or snack. Arthur couldn’t grasp that he was finally having sex with his ultimate, beloved boy-toy; the irony of it unfolding above an army of ‘back to the earth’ heterosexual breeders and spiritual celibacy monks lay heavy on his mind as he tried to concentrate on pleasing his lover. For all his heroic build, Zac’s penis was quite small and Arthur could see that this was a major hang-up for his mate, though it didn’t worry him, he adored the boy lasciviously. He kissed the small erection gently and the boy came in seven seconds, and it was all over and he looked at Arthur with dismay and disappointment as if to say, “Now what? Is that all there is?” Arthur saw his chance for the ultimate fuck of his life melt away quickly like ice-cream in the desert and could only shrug, “I don’t know. You say.” Zac frowned, “I thought you were the master? Let's forget it.”
Arthur spun away in shock, tears streaming from his eyes, all that sworn friendship and brave action forgotten, and his big butch dream hunk of a man had been a screaming little queen all along. He’d only become a damned revolutionary to please the guy, what a fuck-up! And he sang beseechingly into the wind, “No god save me from ever falling in love again.”