Tag: Inspired by Aaron Sanko

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Game Night

When you walked in to Starbs
with my man on your arm
in your charmingly gay jeans,
I smiled
and I thought that this could be fun.

I ran into an old customer
who told me about his son’s tumbling class
as I watched you both ordering coffee,
with an easy,
relaxed manner,
that spoke volumes of what was to come.

Your sing song ramblings
were the essence of adorable
and you seemed younger
than your pictures,
while also managing to look completely different
from whatever angle
I spied you from.

We agreed on Buffy’s Gift
and disagreed on LGBT actors,
though not in the typical, angry, grating way,
which Aaron and I had just discussed
in relation to a similar friend,
who has already secretly been mentioned here.

We had matching board games
which we managed to win
before I took pain killer
when I expected no more games to be played.

This, aside from
the tongue fuck of a kiss
which was seemingly dared
and then shared without mercy.

Later, that other kiss on the kitchen counter,
and you were the ghost of Sean Mobley,
whispering across my skin
before we all retired to the place
I expected us not to go…
which in all fairness,
I had insisted on.

There were obstacles to overcome
but in a relaxingly hazy, lustful way,
or that’s how I experienced it at the time.

Your sexy ass,
which I yearned to devour,
was sadly out of service…
and my painkiller infused erection
was quickly down for the count,
yet your beautifully thick dick
and mouthwatering sack
were open for business.

I did fucking love your sex drenched cock,
stretching me open
after riding your face
like you were some kind of bucking bronco.

You were energetic,
switching positions,
still looking different from every angle,
painfully / pleasurably
thrusting deep inside me,
filling the rubber with an impressive load of cum.

You left soon after,
since you don’t like to cuddle,
and the two of you needed to be up early
the next morning.

You took Ian McKellen (as James Whale) with you
and we traded messages on this or that service
but I don’t hear your voice in those words.

In these random exchanges
it’s hard to tell what is real;
hard to tell if we’re going to see you again.

Perhaps you really were just a shadow of Sean,
come to sing me carols and wake me with a kiss.

But I’d like to talk to you again: face to face.

It’s not all about your dick;
it’s everything else too;
all those angles are views I’d like to explore.

My sentences sent to convey this seem awkward
and desperate, but that’s not how they’re meant.

Like I said, it’s hard to tell what is real
in the light of day;
hard to decipher if what we experienced
was the beginning of friendship
or merely the end of a short, yet satisfying game.

Written by Jason Wright
February 13, 2018

For Joe

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Companions

The monsters
which stand between me
and true understanding
in this world of my own making;
unintentional as they may be
they must still die to set me free.

My mind and body
are split into fragments
which collectively form
the state of my being.

The Man I am proud I am becoming,
(I’ve worked very hard to become that man),
is excited and happy
that someone he loves
will have this opportunity
to explore and experience
that divine feeling of mutual lust
and reciprocal desire,
because I know
that he’s beautiful beyond reason,
beyond any other lover
that I have ever known.

I want him to know this.
I want him to embrace this
and to accept who he truly is.
I want him to know
and feel joy
and accomplishment.
I want him to achieve self-actualization.

A less developed part of me worries
that if he knows how much he is wanted
he may choose to leave me
for multiple partners.

But then again,
why would he do such a thing
when he already has someone
that allows him the embraces of others?

And if he can so easily be seduced from my side
is it worth denying him such knowledge?

I love him and could never hurt him in this way.

My inner child is small and hard
and terrified of what’s to come;
so excited that he may shit his pants,
wet himself, embarrass Daddy
with his hungry child erection,
which comes and goes repeatedly
based on levels of excitement and fear.

These images are too base
and too powerful to be ignored.

The man that I was before,
only years ago now,
is fearful of mistakes repeating themselves;
liars and cheaters and assholes
who could not give me
the attention that I needed
as they abandoned me
to explore all that I secretly desired.

But this time
it’s not a secret.

My Daddy knows
my shame and my lust.

Daddy knows what
hungers make me hard;
what makes my legs wobble
and my knees shake.

Daddy knows that
I call out for him
when I’m alone and stroking
on the edge of understanding,
on the brink of destruction
and the verge of orgasm.

Daddy knows how small I am,
how much Daddy’s cock
overshadows my tiny boyhood penis.

Daddy punishes me;
his words whispered lustfully
into my hungry bottom’s ears;
spanking me with diapers,
fucking my mind and my asshole;
bringing all that I am to the light
that I might solidify
and individuate
from all that has come before now.

Daddy knows that
I crave his calculatedly insincere cruelty
to make me cum;
to take me deeply into lustful spaces
beyond which I’ve yet dared to explore…
Impossible places that I
cannot reach without his loving embrace
of seemingly vicious incantations
which (spoken lovingly)
brutally summon the fragments within me;
bringing me to coalescence in this savage intensity,
this immensity of emotion and sensation
which I want / need to explore
in the paradoxically identical agency
from which his own exploritive needs are encountered;
that wellspring beneath his sense
of sensual worth and attraction
which unites us
in mutual self sexual exploration.

We’re two sides it would seem
of the same themed wet dream
that has haunted forever
and needs to be conquered.

Two shades of wanting
of the same kind of haunting
that has taunted forever:
we must slay our monsters.

And in the aftermath of our battles
be they excessive or successful failures
I know that I can hold him and tell him he is loved;
the way Daddy has told me that I am loved
after he punishes me
with unrestricted access to his most insightful lessons.

There are other, lesser fears of disease (given our precautions)
but they cannot prevent me from finding my truth
in the search for his own.

I love you. I love this.
I love that we can hold one another
as we walk through the terrifying war zones of our youth.

You are not alone.
I am not alone.

We are always together.

And I will love you forever.

Written by Jason Wright
January 18, 2018

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Rnsrk

The name means nothing;
I’ve no idea why it was chosen
or what it’s intended symbolism could be.

I tell myself
I’ve made peace with “Rnsrk”;
I feel for him and his struggles.

All of that is true,
but when I see those letters,
that face
returning from across the planet
to lunge back
into my world
I shudder.

I’m making too much of this.
I don’t want them to read this.
I don’t want them to know
how much this still hurts me,
even after almost seven months.

“Fuck.”, I curse,
which immediately makes me smile.

Fucking “Rnsrk”
is what got us into this mess in the first place.

Written by Jason Wright
January 14, 2017

For A & Z – who I won’t share this with.

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These Questions

Waking up without Aaron,
empty bedroom
with flashbacks
of desperately frenzied fucking
just hours before…
I’m always reminded
of my single sexual experience with Jeff
in his Grandfather’s basement.

Waking alone then…
I had been devastated.

What did he think and feel
as he disentangled himself
from my sleeping
naked
freshly fucked form?

Did he smile?
Did he regret?
Was he afraid of my morning after reaction?

I’ve never asked these questions before.

Did he snuggle against me
as his cum simmered inside me?

Did he kiss me goodbye?

These questions have never haunted me
as they do today.

“mad men who remember”
are lonely.

Did he dress in the basement?
Did he shower?
How many other men had he left in this manner?
Who were they?
Did they hear about me?
If so, were they jealous? Or maybe excited?
How many others were there after me?

I have no way of knowing.

My only bridge to that knowledge
is tenuous at best.

“Don’t fall in the river!”

At least my mad man remembers something.

I doubt he could answer my questions…

Perhaps we share that bed
in dream fragments
that he’s unable to decipher?

Or maybe he remembers everything
and keeps it to himself;
thinking it a dream
and terrified that I won’t remember?

He loved me.
I know that much.

He was beautiful
and he wanted me.

That sort of makes it bearable,
doesn’t it?

Those unendurable unanswered questions
are made beautiful by what we were together
and what we chose to do with the time that we had.

This theory is the only answer that I have.

Written by Jason Wright
January 10, 2018

Much of this was scribbled in a notebook on a train, on April 27, 2017. I always meant to return to this notebook and complete what I’d haphazardly written there. I didn’t expect it would take nearly a year to do so, but here we are.

For Jeff, who casted a long shadow,
and for Aaron – my partner in all things.

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This Diabolical Drama

I’m sitting right across from you
when you tell me how much you want to hurt me,
how much it will pleasure you to humiliate me,
how much you want to take what is mine,
use it for your own gain,
and leave me to wander
cluelessly,
ashamed and defeated.

I’m sitting right across from you
but what you don’t see
is that I’m not the man you thought I was,
and all your schemes were mine
before they were yours.

You think he’s sitting right across from you
but I’ve taken his place
and the words that were meant for him;
the words meant to conquer me
and raise you up have given me the greatest satisfaction
I can imagine.

I am afraid,
but it is the fear of an entertainer
about to take to the stage
where my most impressive performance
(which I’ve trained for my entire life)
is about to begin at last.

You are a liar and a manipulator.
You are hurtful and obscene.
But I am something you could not see coming.
And though you wish to hurt me
I thank you from behind my disguise
for you too have an integral role to play.

You, with the help of my co-conspirator,
will push me beyond those boundaries
I have never dared to traverse,
even though the core of who I am
has always ached to cross that line.

And in that gleaming treacherous climax
where all masks lead to the truth,
we will be transformed…

And you, in plotting my downfall,
will bring me to my utter salvation.

Written by Jason Wright
November 8, 2017

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Trinity

1 Mother Goose

Saturday night,
Pinocchio arrived at our door.

He was better looking in the flesh,
with the same witty internet banter,
yet fused with that vital magical glimmer;
that liveliness in his eyes.

The supposed Blue Fairy,
the one who actually had turquoise hair,
had fashioned Pinocchio into a real boy
for this blue fairy,
despite the wood that grew between us.

I know what you’re thinking,
but in spite of his need to come calling after sunset,
he was definitively not a lost boy.

Boys that are found to be real
grow up to be fathers of their own after all.

Pinocchio
(respecting the Sabbath)
and having suffered rejection by a prince
(who turned out to be a frog),
left Never Never Land
after the cow jumped over the moon
to visit Elphaba & Glinda
in Rapunzel’s 6th floor condo,
where handsomely dressed
in the emperor’s new clothes
he conspired with my wicked step-mother
to turn me into the double stuffed gingerbread man.

2 Holy Father

My partner,
deep inside of his name twin
as fourth father repeatedly stabs deep
inside of my joyously remembered
childhood cunt.

This doesn’t seem possible;
like a hazy wet dream
brought unexpectedly into being;
twisting the world into impossible shapes
that couldn’t have happened
before Aaron arrived at our door.

And while we writhe and wrestle
into differing rock formations
we fuck repeatedly in that wondrous configuration;
that sexual transmogrification
of inspiration, reemergence & renewal,
a cycle of hunger, thirst, cravings satisfied
and yet sparked aflame without end:

My lover pours himself into him,
as he pours himself into me,
and I pour myself over us all…
and yet we do not come to conclusion.

And at the third movement of the third hour,
this triumvirate charmed me to the spiritual power,
wrought through my flesh twixt symbolic clocks:
I survived crucified on their mystical cocks…
And forgive me for rhyming
for that moment still guides me…
Third time’s the charm
that I took them inside me.

Later,
as time is running out,
stranger friend injects me one last time as I curse.

The penetration is welcomed
yet overwhelming with sensation, vision,
pushing me deeper into myself –
further beyond my walls
where I can finally hear
what my body has been telling me all along.

I grip my lover’s thighs,
looking deep into those thoughtful blissed eyes,
charged connection between us
as man we just met
stimulates my deepest secrets
with the prick that we’ve both just worshiped.

As new father fucks deep into his unwanted son,
with his polyisoprene covered billy club,
my spirit seems to tear in two:
two different Jasons for two different Aarons.

DADDY.
FUCK.
SHIT.
DADDY.
DADDY.
DADDY.
DADDY.
FUCK!

Seven positions. Like ballet.
The Nutcracker: Sweet.

His thick, upturned cock hurts and heals me
with it’s transformative power.

And in the aftermath,
we whisper secrets in the dark…
as we all fail to convince ourselves that we were not
blessed, consecrated and purified.

Blasphemous? Maybe.
But then the truth often is.

3 Prostrated

Today,
during my prostate exam,
Doctor said he was sorry
as he inserted a single finger.
I told him it was fine.

I wanted to say (but didn’t)
that he could use more than one.

I didn’t say
that his finger felt amazing
but was only a shadow of what
I’d felt earlier on Sunday morning.

The exam was brief and painless,
but left me wet.

My doctor is a horrible tease.

The doc says everything’s great
and that there’s no blood;
no sign for worry;
no cause for alarm.

I nearly ask him to try again
but instead I give thanks
while marveling that I remain
both physically and spiritually
intact.

Written by Jason Wright
October 31, 2017

“Prostrated” was finished and released first, but the notes on the other entries were made at the same time and complete the cycle. These were begun in July and finished in October.

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What Did I Miss?

I missed you today.
[Same Space / No Connection]
My fault, I know…

I hope my lurking
didn’t make you uncomfortable.

I hope tonight will give you
what my presence lacks.

Hope you can help w/ my phone and SNAP
without frustration or exhaustion
because I’m terrified of failure.

More than two months without therapy
and I continue to struggle
with simple exercises of balance and breath.

I’m losing Jennifer
and I could lose myself if I’m not careful.

Need to connect with you –
with him –
with myself more often…

                     Honest
                     Lust
       Terrified of: Lost
                     in
                     Lies

The frightening power when you
stroke the keys –

to make me whimper, weep,
make me cum
with threatened / promised action!

I’m addicted.

Junkie grovelling for scraps
of a childhood seduction.

Breathe my dreams to life.

Because Honest
Lust
Lifted
in
Longing

            may free me from this horrible freedom.
            allow me to smile at my expensive joke.
            to strip lust naked & make it my slave
            until tricks rob me of your magic
            and kneel me down
            to worship all that I missed today.

Written by Jason Wright
October 24, 2017

For Aaron

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Jason Write

When I can’t think –
When I can’t remember –
Can’t write –

I tell myself it’s enough to
breathe, dress, leave, walk, ride.

And when I’m lucky
something connects
like a stranger’s kiss –
an excitement fumbling towards inspiration
through shock treatment lust
or cold water dread
traveling / taking me to where I always wish to be.

I write of nothing
desperate to not lose
what I once believed
and forgot
and was only reminded of on special occasions like
birthdays, anniversaries or when
he fucked that goth metalhead drag queen in Budapest.

I write so often that I sometimes can’t meet other writers
as I’m far too busy writing.

I read this for the others
as the time ticks away
after verses and compliments
and a shared glimmer
in the eyes of strangers.

Written by Jason Wright
September 12, 2017

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Dichotomy of Need

His scruffy messages
shock and blindside me,

Anger
Betrayal
and his cock inside me,

Still makes me cum harder
than bland romance…

Passionate game played out
through this dance
we tango together:
discover and spark…

We reach for the light
as we dance in the dark.

Written by Jason Wright
August 29, 2017

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Sirens

Tonight
after haunted days of painful painlessness
a siege of sirens comes
to serenade, seduce and succor…
to simplify…
to supply me with solace
as I drown
beneath waves of mutilation
(with apologies to Pixies).

My Aaron sings to me
his soothing tones
which are less like music;
more like verse…
strumming my ribcage
beneath salt water seas,
we swim naked for hours
through tears we’ve not shed.

The other Aaron,
the Aaron between us,
he haunts through
photograph, text and memory,
echoing across time and geography
to be one with us again.

There are naked hungry men
beneath those shadowed depths,
those sombre shades of green
lit by melancholy movie soundtracks.

The mermen dive for pleasure
and breathe truthfully through gilled
fantasy lies which excite and entice me
before dragging me down to my death.

In amber and glow,
through fogged glass of sunken ships
she is weeping her mermaid crocodile tears.

This is not truly Jamie;
this being is not my sister or my therapist.
The former doesn’t speak to me, even on land
and the latter will soon be lost to me –
just as I left her (unforgivably)
in the haste of my waking nightmare.

She will forgive me this unforgivable sin.

She is strong but she is wounded –
like me,
underwater –
like me,
and she will rise again –
like me.

Could this truly be her after all?

I smile and wave goodbye to her
but she can’t see me until Thursday.

Mermaid simulacrum smiles just the same…
but here my visions come to an end.

Written by Jason Wright
August 17, 2017

For Aaron Squared & Jamie Bloom

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