He wandered into my life
on the arm of my lover,
set up shop for the night,
& “borrowed” my property.
Most of that night was a game
and honestly, a blur…
but the kiss in the kitchen was real
and brought everything into focus,
if not into the light.
This night’s passion wasn’t meant for me,
so the unexpected connection
was many conflicting things:
Excitement. Exhilaration. Shame. Damnation.
None of which I was prepared for.
He ate my ass like a pro.
His cock was delicious,
in my mouth and then deeper inside me.
He ravaged me while my lover looked on
and I loved it but I felt somewhat guilty,
which I may have loved even more…
or perhaps my guilt prevented me
from enjoying it completely?
It must seem strange
that I cannot honestly tell the difference.
But certain key details of lust are maddeningly lost on me.
There are certainly hints and subtle gestures;
implications and libidinous clues,
suggestions of an elusive contradictory nature…
pieces of a puzzle I wish only to solve
so that I might grasp the meaning
held within a finished and rapturious whole…
and yet I’m somehow trapped
within this self same labyrinth of intimations
which feeds the fire while slaking my thirst,
yet leaves me hungry just the same.
There was a danger there; a gamble…
I was risking something sacred
for the sake of something perverse,
if only symbolically.
He hit all the right spots,
but in a configuration hitherto unknown to me.
My deepest desires were completely inverted
during this encounter
and all the conversations that followed.
This isn’t my lover’s fantasy.
It’s not even mine.
It’s some mirror perverted version
and yet at the root of it all…
it is completely the same for me,
which confuses
even as it thrills.
In my mind
I am smaller than I appear,
and he ravages my lover
in depths that I cannot reach,
and I am finished far too soon,
before I’m undressed,
which has never happened
(and never will happen)
because that is not who I am.
“Yeah? You need my load again?”
“My cock hits places his doesn’t?”
“You craving it, boy?”
“You craving it?”
My fantasies are mine
and not my lover’s,
and though this man
says the words that I long to hear
he is saying them into the wrong ears,
because he cannot know
that what he has seen
and what he has interpreted as desire,
is actually reality’s cruel deception.
A trick of fate that pollutes my existence,
a caustic jocularity with an outlandish punchline
that I have endured and sought to diminish
through fantasy and honest communication;
and yet it remains a vicious mockery of all that I wish I could be –
a killing joke which has unknowingly to some,
made fools and victims of us all.
Written by Jason Wright
July 25, 2019
For A.J.
