Four of us there; though it’s hard to believe: Bald Jason, Paul and Darla and Steve.
The latter I stripped in Ann Arbor fountain before baring flesh pressing into his bottom; concealing our pact (which they labeled obscene) and that this healing act had in fact made us clean.
The nerve that in public made time seem to end:
Perving the lovesick with crime through the lense of twenty-one years flashing by in a blur…
The party that wasn’t for the people we were.
A moment of lust that had built beyond reason, Momentous trust in the shadow of treason, A moment of courage acknowledged and shared, Encouraged by touch though we weren’t prepared for the judgment of strangers and friends left outside, as we puzzled through riddles with longing our guide, But licentious struggles are seldom rewarded, For all our successes we may have been thwarted… For the world gazed in fear as if love were contagious… Our fumbled premiere saw us stumble toward greatness.
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. 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.
