A Short Autobiography

(All names are fictitious.)

Published: 2 Dec 2024

Kevin had been feeling anxious all morning and as the hours slowly passed he questioned why he had agreed to such an invasive incursion into his very private life. The request had come from a lifelong friend and university academic who lectured at the University of Melbourne in the humanities. It appeared one of his brightest students was writing his thesis on something he described as sex and the single man during the decades immediately following the Second World War. As Kevin was a single man in popular understanding, Frank Townsend approached him with a request.

Although the title of single male may not be accurate, Kevin’s present status wasn’t of interest to the student’s thesis.

During Frank’s request towards accepting the interview, Kevin had questioned the relevance in suggesting he could be useful. True he was often prone to wearing his heart on his sleeve but when he did, it was a verbal heart, not one that would be written down in expressive language for anyone to read.

“I understand what you mean by thesis Frank and what has been outlined but I fail to see how I can be of any value to your young fellow.”

“In that I must disagree.”

“In what way?”

“Neil has based part of his studies on country living for a gay man bound by the need to guard sexual preferences from exposure during the post war years and leading up to a more enlightened modern age.”

Kevin laughs; “preference you call it.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Also I’m not so sure about enlightened times, only yesterday while I was shopping, I witnessed a team of road workers take out their bias on an obvious young man as he passed by. Mind you he was a little more than obvious with his pink shirt and bright green trousers.”

“I could tell Neil you aren’t interested if you wish.”

“No I’ll agree. It could be intriguing to hear what Generation-Z thinks about life back then but why doesn’t he use you as his guineapig?”

“I should think for two reasons, firstly I didn’t have the country upbringing you experienced and more importantly, I am his professor and could be considered biased, also Neil is a family acquaintance. In a roundabout way I believe we are related, my mother’s sister was Neil’s mother’s cousin or something like that.”

“That appears a little confusing.”

“Therefore you agree to at least meet with Neil?”

“Yes why not.”

The conversation between Kevin and Frank had occurred more than a fortnight (”two weeks”) previous but since then Kevin’s intrigue had lessened towards regret. True with most things, Kevin was inclined to wear his heart on his sleeve but when it came to, as in Frank’s interpretation, preference, he had always kept that from his sleeve, unless he could trust it was shared between likeminded people.

With Kevin’s agreement there was a proviso, he would meet with Frank’s young man before giving his final approval and if he did agree then his name would be omitted from the thesis.

Now with Neil’s imminent arrival Kevin’s nerves began to get the better of him.

‘Refreshments?’ Kevin thinks.

‘As Wayne is away, I haven’t anything suitable.’

‘Coffee and Tim-Tams.’

‘Everybody, even Generation-Z appreciate Tim-Tam biscuits ”(cookies).”’

Kevin opens a cupboard door and reaches for the biscuit barrel – no Tim-Tams.

‘Oh bugger!’

“It will have to be just coffee,” he utters in disappointment.

Kevin loudly sighs as he gives the empty biscuit barrel a gentle shake. There is a soft tinkling of crumbs and the distinctive scent of chocolate.

‘I could duck down to the shop.’

‘Na, I haven’t enough time.’

With the cupboard door open the ginger house cat is quickly at Kevin’s side rubbing against his leg.

Meow – followed by another whisk against Kevin’s leg with a caressing tail.

“Nothing more for you until tonight Smudge me’ boy.”

The cat persists.

“I have a visitor arriving soon and you know you hate visitors. You better find some place nice and dark to hide away.”

Realising there is nothing in the offering, Smudge returns to his chair. The cat appears comfortable bringing Kevin to smile, as in a short time the doorbell will chime sending Smudge scurrying into the yard and would not re-emerge until the visitor had departed.

“Shower,” Kevin unconsciously announces and heads for the bathroom.

‘I must look my best.’

‘I wonder what this fellow is like.’

‘I suppose being the academic type, it will be glasses, crooked teeth, sensible haircut and a lifelong membership of the young labour movement, while helping to arrange the next protest rally against the establishment.’

‘Odd that.’

‘They protest against anyone with wealth or property then graduate as doctors, lawyers, financiers and sting the rest of us for all we have.’

‘I guess not all of them are like that.’

‘This isn’t getting me showered.’

Refreshed and casually dressed while waiting for Neil’s arrival, Kevin opens his computer and checks for emails.

There are three; one is obviously a banking scam advising someone has gained accessed to his National Bank account and for him to enter his password so the problem could be fixed. If he didn’t follow instructions then his account would be blocked.

‘They have spelled National incorrectly and what of that hyphen between National and the word Bank.’

“I don’t have a National Bank account, you fool!” Kevin loudly scoffs, ‘possibly I could answer it with fake information to waste their time,’ he thinks but decides better to simply ignore the fake request.

The second is from his friend Liz with an invitation for dinner on the following Wednesday evening, while the third is from his partner Wayne.

Kevin deletes the scam email and ignores that from Liz for another time.

Wayne has been delayed. He has been visiting his brother in Queensland and would be staying for a further week – the message ends with don’t forget to keep the water up to the bonsai trees and cover them against another possum ”(opossum)” attack.

Kevin answers Wayne’s email – all’s okay, will do.

‘I don’t know what Wayne would think of my agreeing to meet with this young fellow.’

‘Yes you do Kevin; he would say it’s best to keep private that what is private.’

‘Photographs.’

‘Possibly I could arrange a folder for Neil to view.’

Kevin opens his photograph folder.

Kevin laughs and quickly closes the folder, “not those,” he says.

The doorbell sounds and before the ding becomes a dong, Smudge is through the rear door into the garden and heading for the sunny spot on the neighbour’s garden shed. That would be the last Kevin would see of the cat until it was dinner time.

Kevin closes down the computer and hesitates at the door, ‘oh well – here goes nothing,’ he takes a deep breath as he opens the door.

A young man, dressed in jeans and a tea-shirt that is fighting to hide a well defined chest, is smiling. His green eyes twinkle with innocents while the smile refuses to wrinkle his youthful cheeks.

‘Nice,’ Kevin thinks.

‘What happened to my suggestion of the academic type?’

“Good morning sir,” the young man says while appearing a little bewildered.

It remains morning but only just as the hall clock chimes midday in the background – is the chiming a warning.

“Good morning,” Kevin nods with his greeting. His eyes are following the curvature of the young man’s tee shirt towards his crotch. Realising his wandering eyes, Kevin quickly breaks their downward glance and returns to the happy green eyes.

“I am here for an interview for my thesis with Kevin Barker, Is Kevin at home?”

“He is.”

The young man remains hesitant.

“I am Kevin.”

“Oh!”

“Neil; isn’t it and why do you say oh?”

“I was expecting an older man.”

“How old do you want me to be?”

“Sorry I’m being rude.”

Kevin breaks the developing awkwardness with a forced smile; “Then Neil you better come in.”

Kevin steps aside to allow passage.

His eyes are on Neil’s well formed buttocks as he passes and releases a soft approving sound.

“Nice house,” Neil complements.

“It is home.”

“Do you live alone?”

“No.”

Neil doesn’t further his line of questioning. “I like these old houses they have character,” he says, while eyes follow the ornate architraving around the short passageway to Wayne’s ceramic collectables and bookcase holding his many specialised books on the subject.

“Wedgwood,” Neil suggests.

Kevin is surprised, “you know of Wedgwood?”

“My mother has a couple of pieces that she inherited from my Grandmother.”

‘Grandmother,’ Kevin thinks making him feel quite ancient.

“Do you have your own place?” Kevin asks.

“At twenty I’m still living at home having my mother wash my underwear and with the present economic climate, I couldn’t even afford to rent a one bedroom flat.”

Kevin wished to ask the young man if he had a girlfriend to share the rent, instead he decides against becoming too acquainted so early in the encounter.

“Washing your underwear you say,” Kevin repeats Neil’s confession.

“It was a throwaway line to describe my reliance on family, although my old man continually asks me when I will be moving out.”

Kevin leads the way to a rear sitting room. It is small but comfortable with an outlook onto the garden, “don’t sit on the cane chair,” Kevin warns, “it’s the cats and you will get its hair over you and the hair is so fine it’s almost impossible to remove.”

There is a couch and a second chair. Kevin guides the young man to the couch as he takes the chair.

For a moment no one speaks.

“Well Neil what is all this about?” Kevin eventually asks.

“My thesis?”

“Yes Frank said as much. How long have you known Frank?”

Neil hesitates, “some years I should think. Frank was the reason why I took Humanities at University. Did you attend University Kevin?”

“No, during my school days in the far north of Queensland there wasn’t much chance of higher education, besides unless you wished to be a doctor or lawyer most training was done once you were hired. I only went as far as my Sub Junior year.”

“What is Sub Junior?”

“Was, is more the point, it was year nine and back then the first year of Queensland’s high school.”

“Things have changed a lot,” Neil says as he places his carry bag on the small coffee table; his eyes are requesting permission to do so.

Kevin nods with approval, “yes changed in every aspect conceivable and sometimes not for better – would you like coffee?”

“Not at the moment Kevin. May I call you Kevin?”

“I can’t say why not as it is my name.” Once spoken Kevin realises a measure of sarcasm in his tone and softens, “no Kevin is fine, there isn’t much call for formality these days. In many ways it was my generation that did away with formality, we threw away the hat, the suit, tie and manners towards our elders.”

The young man reaches towards his carry bag and shakes his head. He is smiling broadly.

“What is entertaining you Neil?”

“May I give you a complement?”

“I’ll accept one as they are rare on the ground these days.”

“You appear so young and fit for your age, do you work out?”

“I walk a lot and keep an eye on what I eat. I am of the opinion it is easier not to put on the weight in the first instance, than to take it off in the second.”

“You haven’t even gone grey, my old man is totally grey and he’s only forty-six.”

“If you look closely you will see I’m getting there but that isn’t explaining what you would like to question me about.”

“Sorry,” Neil reaches into his carry bag and retrieves a small recording device, “do you mind if I record our session?”

“Not at all, I must admit your recorder is somewhat antique.”

“It belonged to my grandfather, he was a news reporter for the nine network in ninety-two during the Bosnia crises, besides I like the small tapes as they are easy for labelling and storage.”

“I would think it difficult to obtain tapes these days.”

“It is getting that way, I now need to order them directly from America.”

“As for your interview what is your main interest?”

“Didn’t Frank explain?”

“He said you were doing a thesis on sexual revolution during the period immediately after the Second World War and how many young men needed to live a double life.”

Neil places down his recorder, “true in part, although from a country angle as most of what is reported is from our cities. I am also interested in what it was like growing up in the outback during those years.”

“I must admit Neil, it was never something you gave much thought towards, what you did is all you knew and the rest of society was as distant and as alien as mars. The city was some place you read about but didn’t wish to visit.” Kevin gives a cheeky smile, “it was said they had traffic lights and no country driver would wish for them.”

“And yet here you are in the city,” Neil ironically suggest.

“Getting here is a long-long story and more than likely not in your field of interest.”

Neil gives a friendly smile, “can I commence with a personal question?”

Kevin returns the smile, “I suppose there will be many such questions before you have finished.”

Neil turns on his recorder – he speaks confidently, “This is an interview with,” he pauses the recording, “May I use your proper name?”

“I would prefer you didn’t.”

“Do you have a preferred pseudonym?”

Kevin gives the question thought, “why not Lewis Smith; Lewis is my middle name and Smith my mother’s maiden name.”

Neil gives a nod of approval and restarts the recording, “Interview with Lewis Smith session one. Lewis when did you first realise you were queer?”

“Firstly I don’t like that terminology,” Kevin sternly answers.

“Do you mean queer?”

“Yes that one.”

“What would you prefer?”

“Why not simply use gay, I can relate to that but before we continue I have a question for you, as at present I feel more like a right foot in a left boot.”

“Go ahead.”

“What is your preference?”

“Are you asking if I am gay?” Neil asks without the slightest hint of hesitation.

“I guess I am.”

“Didn’t Frank say?”

“No. Frank is very discreet.”

“Yes I am gay. Possibly I should have spoken earlier to put you at ease but I was under the impression Frank would had said so.

“I feel a little more comfortable now, as for your question,”

Kevin is winding back the years, his gaze is through the window glass to a large camellia bush that had been devastated by possums. He breaks his contact with the camellia bush, “that is difficult to equate,” he says.

“Why is it difficult Lewis?”

“Firstly, I’ll second think the pseudonym as it sounds weird only use it when you write your thesis.”

“Okay.”

Kevin hesitates.

It is a question Kevin had never contemplated during his younger years, although he did when he joined the workforce and real bigotry showed its ugly side. In the most it wasn’t what was said to him but what wasn’t mentioned and the feeling of being avoided by many of his work associates, especially for after work drinks on Friday, or invites to barbecues and weekend and family functions.

There had been times when his sexuality was challenged, one in particular is recalled when an area manager approached the suburban office where Kevin was manager, who with an accusing smile declared he had heard rumours suggesting Kevin was gay, asking if they were true.

Kevin’s answer had been quick and direct; I’m not interested in what you hear or think about me but take care in what you say, or you may find yourself receiving a solicitor’s letter. The Area Manager quickly backed away but so did Kevin’s chance for promotion for quite some time.

“My first consciousness is growing up as the only child on a sheep station in Queensland, then after a short town life and at the age of six being taken from my known world and placed into board. I guess I knew then I was attracted to boys but hadn’t given the attraction a name.”

“What went on at the boarding school?”

“In what way?”

“Were you or any of the boys sexually active?”

“Nothing; well not in the early years. It was co-ed’ with boys and girls well separated except for meals and special social occasions, with both sexes attending the town’s state school.”

“How long were you in board?”

“I had two stints in board, the first from the age of six until I was nine; then again from thirteen until a little after my sixteenth birthday.”

“I would think that second stint may have been either interesting or confusing for you,” Neil suggests.

“I should make a correction at this point as you may be imaging the military precession of public school life. That wasn’t the case with the Methodist church run hostel. It had been set up to service the children of cattle and sheep stations, who lacked opportunity for education in their districts.”

“True that is my perception of a boarding school, along with corporal punishment and prefects bullying younger boys.”

Kevin releases an ancient shudder as he speaks, “no prefects but bullying was common.”

“I feel I have hit a raw nerve Kevin?” Neil perceives.

Kevin appears to drift away and as the memories begin to flow like water on an arctic shore, the icy wind of past loneliness chill his bones.

Gary’s stories are about life for gay men in Australia’s past and present. Your emails to him are the only payment he receives. Email Gary to let him know you are reading: Conder 333 at Hotmail dot Com

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