Recent Blog: WE LIVE TOGETHER WELIVETOGETHER look at the face closely. It is the woman I saw from the stage. She is vaguely familiar. I search her intense, green eyes. Then, I know who it is. I have dreamed about her. Worried about her. Even written a song about her. It is Joanie. Bicycle Joanie as the boys in town all knew her. My first love. My first fuck. My first lesson in life.
My youth is a collage of mangoes, beaches and bone-dry heat. Bowen is the sort of sleepy coastal town that most travellers pass by. It has cattle and small crop farming but years of drought have ravaged its small economy. I don't go back there any more. The same boys and girls I went to school with walk the main street on a Saturday morning and talk about the same things as their parents did. And their grandparents did. The heat. The flies. The mango season. Where to go drinking on Saturday night. Bowen is a thirsty town.
Every town has its characters and when I was eighteen, the boys all knew Bicycle Joanie. She was thirty-five, still achingly beautiful. She had once been crowned Miss Mango Princess and feted through the town on a float which had her placed on a giant mango throne. Old photographs showed her waving a golden wand that matched her golden hair and the intense sunlight as she smiled at the cheering crowds. All that had been very long ago. When I knew her, she had become famous for other attributes which could be obtained for the price of a six pack of beer.
Home - Black cocks white sluts