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