ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

Still amped up from an evening on the Dr Peppers and rum, a chronic back pain sufferer has looked to a casual acquaintance at a kick-on party for relief.

Phil Pichot, a farrier by trade, says he was down at the Intellectuel Asexué Barre & Grille on Greenbow Road when the call was made to head back to a friend’s place with a few boxes of beer and a positive attitude.

As the evening rolled on, Brett Corcoran began cracking the backs of various party guests.

Then Brett turned to Phil.

“Brother,” he said sensually and strong.

“It is your turn. Let me crack your back.”

He paused for a moment, remember that this man has consumed a large amount of drugs and alcohol over the past 12 hours.

“Fuck it,” he said to himself.

Rising majestically from the IKEA Poang chair like a banknote caught in an updraft, Phil followed Brett’s instructions as he carefully wrapped his thick, python-like arms around the upper torso.


A loud, muffled crack filled the living room. Drowning out the Gorillaz softly playing on the UE Boom for a split second.

Phil turned to jelly, a jolt ran down his back to his toes.

In a word, he was electric.

Brett sensed the euphoria rising from Phil’s aura, he took the time to smell his neck before gently putting him back down on the ground.

“How do you feel now?” he asked.

“Heaps better, thanks bro.”

More to come.


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