The Balcony Scene

He has to leave. We’ve not slept.

We fooled around all night
while his parents wondered where he was.

We’d met at a kind of masquerade party,
where he fed me tequila,
but that was a different night.

The night we met I went home
with him and his friend David,
and although I slept naked between them
nothing was allowed to happen…
because all I wanted was him.

Looking back, I wonder…
what would have happened if I’d not objected?

Would our threesome have continued?
Would we all have remained friends?
Had they ever shared a lover before?
Did they do so long after I was gone?

I’ve never considered any of that,
but it doesn’t really matter.

Back in the moment, after our night
spent together and he’s still leaving.

He’s not even leaving my place
because I’m staying with a friend.

Was it in Diamond Heights?

“It’s funny how beautiful people look
when they’re walking out the door.”

Even then, I heard those words
as I was watching him go,
feeling the joy of what we’d just shared
and the sting of our parting; back then I’m
not sure if I’ll ever see him again.

I grab my camera, walk out onto the balcony,
call his name and snap the picture that confirms
Toni Collette’s line from “Velvet Goldmine”.

He was beautiful.
Facebook lets me know that he’s still beautiful.

And my many naked memories are more beautiful
than waking life would seem to deem possible.

Written by Jason Wright
February 27, 2018

Northbound (NSFW)

On the one train in Manhattan a song,
a lyric makes me think of San Francisco.

I’m shaving in Paul’s bathroom
while man I met at Radical Fairy drag party is watching me.

I’m nervous.
He’s so beautiful
and several years older than me;
he’s 30 & I’m 26.

It seemed like a lot then.
Maybe because the last guy I loved
was 9 years younger than him;
they had the same name.

I cut myself as I often did back then.
A tear of blood dripping down my face
and before I can react
blonde ken doll man moves in
and purposefully licks me clean.
Sacrament.

I remember wondering if he was crazy.
Blood. San Francisco.
I want to throw him against the wall
so I can penetrate him and understand.
Is there pain in his eyes or lust?
Possibly both.

I don’t remember what happened next
but the next song is beginning
and I imagine kissing him,
shaking him…

“Are you crazy?”
“Do you want to die?”

A side thought where I’m less sympathetic
and I give him the degradation I imagine him craving.
Strip. Kneel. Baptism in piss and cum.
Fucking him mercilessly.

The thought passes and I wonder at his state of mind.

He was newly out then and haunted by his past;
“But I’m a Cheerleader” was the wrong movie to watch;
it filled him with memories that made him sad.
I think he was reading “The Vampire Armand”;
I was reading “Merrick”.
His parent was seemingly gravely ill.
They called during our first sexual encounter
to request his presence at the hospital.
He talked them out of it.
I tried to talk him into it,
but instead he said “Damn” while I bit his nipple.
I remember telling him that his asshole tasted amazing
and then him asking if there were any that didn’t…
and I wonder if he ever found out?
A taste test with naked men all standing in a row.

He fucked me in that livingroom.
It was days later.
After he’d taken me to a leather bar and spoke of dangerous sex,
but nothing about the boyfriend he’d confess to later.
Devastating at the time.
I wanted to be his.
Just a crazy dream I guess.
Lies and dreams and strange encounters that I still cherish.

We’re friends on Facebook.
I don’t think of him often
and I’ve not seen him in person in over 14 years.

I’m 40 now and I’ve been fucked at least 6 times in the last week.
My partner is curious about why I’m so frenzied of late and I honestly don’t know;
I’m sure it’s nothing to do with this…
but past sexual encounters fill my thoughts of late.
This is but the latest example.

Walking from the train I ran up to my place to write this down.
I don’t know why.
It seems less important now.
I need to get groceries.

Written by Jason Wright
January 8, 2015

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