"Take the time out", they tell me. "You've got to put in effort." But I don't want to give up my time and I don't want to put in effort. I don't want anyone. I like to stare. Perfectly fine for me. I stare all the time. It's summer, it's hot. I take a walk and some times I do nothing but stare at these guys. I love calves, with just a nice amount of hair. I like seeing ankle. Is that weird? Sometimes I like to see bulge. Ok, I like to see bulge. But I don't have to. I like legs. I like legs up in the air. But don't see much of that lately. I also like arms, nice arms that connect back into nice shoulders, and strong forearms with some veins. And strong hands. I look at these things. And necks. A strong neck. I go crazy when I see a guy in shorts, low sneakers, and a tank top. It's a nice look.
It's difficult to take walks sometimes. To walk out on the street and be confronted by a guy with beautiful features. Some days I don't want to take walks, go out of the apartment, because I don't know if I want to deal with all that. It's too much. "I could never have something like that, so why look?" I tell myself. Still I look. I can't help it. I hate that about myself. I wish I could say to myself "don't look" and don't look. But I always do. Sometimes I'll follow the guy, even if I have somewhere to be, just to get a closer glimpse. Just a glimpse, and that's enough. I'll get close, see something like his skin, then his eyes, maybe pick up on an idiosyncratic marking on his skin, then go right back to where I was in my day. It's because I know that's all I could ever get. And I don't know what I would do with him if I ever got one. Probably the only thing I could do is stare. I don't think I suck cock well, and I can't keep it hard to do anyone right, and it hurts to be done. There's no ends to these means. So no means then and It's fine. I stare, even though I know it's pointless to stare. I neither want to be with them or do things with them. and I cann't get them anyway, so whats the point? Exactly, exactly, pointless.
Similarly, I walk into stores and look at clothes and don't buy them. I don't even try them on. I just look. That's not true. I sometimes try them on. But I don't buy them. Ok, maybe I buy sometimes. I do have a lot of clothes. So I must have bought clothes at some point. But I don't like to. I don't like to spend money very much. Not in this recession. They've been cutting back at work. I work in fashion. Actually, come to think about it, that's where I get clothes. They always have cool clothes laying around. But I don't really care about clothes. Just that these stores are always around and at work clothes are always around, so I look or in some cases, take.
I also look at porn a lot. It's a problem. I keep going, ok, gotta stop but gotta click on just one more. Maybe this time I'll really get off. I've noticed that some images make you cum more than others. Some images, images you never would think of creating in your mind, or as others would do in real life, get you off like you never thought. I find that fascinating. So I keep clicking. I do like to get off. That I do like.
It's funny, too. At work there are these male models that come in and test looks with some of the clothes. They get naked to change, and I look. Course, I think, I could never have these things, so I look and that's it. Then I'm back at my computer, still at work, and looking at porn. Here's the real thing in front of me, and more perfect, changing clothes, and I see ass, dick sometimes, besides beautiful stomachs, nice armpits, backs, and if they biked there or whatever or it was hot, I can even smell them- that sort of thing awakes something in me; yet I'm telling them, like nothing, "yeah here are the looks we're going for", get chummy, talk bullshit with them then tell them to talk to such and such person afterward, and I'm back to my computer looking at porn. It's habitual. There was a time when I was looking at my computer at work, some guy on top of another on the screen, small though, and I'm feeling this guy over me. It was one of the models. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "hey what u looking at?" I felt a smirk out of his face, although I didn't dare look at him. I think he started to reach into the collar of my shirt. I jumped. He didn't seem gay either, as many male models are actually straight. I remember him talking about skateboarding. I mean, how many skateboarders you know are gay? Anyway, after I gained composure I remember saying, "shit". Gave a look of "oh, I just remembered something" and then continued to walk off and look busy doing something.
I get irate with my friends these days when we're out and we're drinking, I'm on my fifth beer and gassy, and they start talking about their relationships- which really means, their sex life and I generally, in one way or another, end up saying, "I don't know what you're talking about." Which isn't completely true, as once upon a time I was in a relationship. But for purposes of a lack there of conversation I say I don't know. Then they call me a saint and "when are you going to fall for grace". And I say, I can't help it, I was just drawn that way. Which is stupid, as it's from a random movie, that Roger Rabbit one, and the friends frankly don't know what to say when I get to that point. Truth be told I was drawn that way in the sense that one day before I was born my mom, who was a graphic designer, was told to draw what her perfect son would look like, oddly enough at 15 I looked almost exactly like that picture she drew- she literally drew it. Years later, I still look about the same, minus the haircut (then it was a bowl cut). I looked pretty tame, minus the earrings. Oh yeah, that's different too from that image. I looked soft for sure in the drawing, but a bit vacant. Why she put that in there, I'll never know. Needless to say, it's a bit weird to be thinking of a image drawing of you that looks like you but made years before you were born. So me saying that really isn't that stupid, even though it comes off that way.
I remember one of the last conversations I had with my ex. It went something like this:
"I just wish you gave me more hugs, cuddling and stuff makes me feel more human," and I said, "How about you just face fuck me more and I'll learn to open my mouth wider and keep my tongue firmer."
To which he gave me a sad expression, and told me "go to hell, weirdo." I was joking, and he was too- I assumed, and I gave him a hug, but it was awkward. I don't take criticism well but I tried, trying can be awkward. Then, feeling him get somewhat hard, I reached down to grope him to which he quipped, "See, why can't we just hug? Why do we always have to go there?" I think- I recalled thinking, it's because you're always talking about how horny you are all the time. But I didn't say anything and walked off, muffling something along the lines of "shit, I forgot to..." and tried looking busy as I headed out the door.
So I was walking along the canals in Venice, so early in the morning that the streets were empty and the light was perfectly like a Canaletto. I was there for a photo shoot we were involved in. I just wanted to escape the madness of shoot the day before. A beautiful Italian guy walked past me, which I hadn't noticed at first because I was staring at how the architecture didn't seem to just float there on the water, the architecture and water seemed to be in two separate dimensions, visually on top of each other, immersed in each other but at the same time having no affect on each other. It may have been the stillness. Anyway, he came back to me and I noticed his neck, his perfectly olive skin, then his brown eyes then his lips. He asked me something, in Italian naturally, I think I somewhat melted, but I walked away. St. Marks was in the distance, and it was too much for me to not get close to.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Saturday, July 24, 2010
on difference and desire 1
While the very polarity of attraction of either sex in heterosexuality are not surprisingly given momentum in their very (abyss of)difference, it is within the homosexual difference and its heterosexual premaleness that gives momentum to the attraction between the subject and the object(s) of desire.
It is not enough to mention how many of us discuss our attraction, to go far as putting a requirement, for the one we are to be with(or fuck)to be masc(uline). The lack of balance here is that the masc ones and fem(inine) ones alike place this stipulation for masc. And with the fem gay being such a large part of the face of homosexuality as subculture as legitimate class of human race, why does no one want him, why does no one ultimately claim to be him?
It is too easy to say the main reason for this is because of the negative representation of the fem guy as our mascot has damaged the many of us that are not that. In other words, that the fem guy fails to "democratically" equally represent all of us. Isn't commonplace for any social group/subculture to denounce their visible spokespersons as not representing everyone in their group fairly? As if to say, "despite the stereotypical qualities that we seem to largely share, we are in fact a very diverse group"?
What I argue is that really we may not be a very diverse group. If we say that we are men attracted to Men, the Men we are attracted to- by this sort of semantics- suggests that the men(I/we) is different than the Men we are attracted to(object of desire). By nature of desire we are not what we desire, afterall, and even more paradoxically, we cannot be what we want, for a subject cannot want what he already is or already has. Meaning, if all of us ultimately want to the masc guy, then we ourselves must not be the masc guy.
There are undoubtedly those that are masc that say they want a masc guy. And undoubtedly, deep down inside, they aren't really all that masc. To be truly masculine in this society is really to be a heterosexual male. And as homosexuality is truly performative and our identity as behavior as held against heterosexual gender roles, then it goes without saying that in our development we will align themselves with woman, as they share our desire of men. And aligning ourselves to woman, however internally and mostly as adolescence, we take on the difference of the heterosexual polarity, however subconsciously, to maintain that we want what ultimately we are not, and never will be (heterosexual male). Afterall, to be truly man than we should be attracted to our difference which is woman, feminine, to which we commonly hear "I'm gay cuz i want to be with a man, NOT a woman!". Which could easily mean, "I'm a woman, why would I want to be with another woman?" or really "I never really feel completely like a man, hence I want to be with a man!".
It is common for gay and heteros alike to look at the fem guy, particularly the sassy, out spoken, highly dressed one, and call his behavior an unnaturally forced act (which can appear quite painfully so, true). But isn't the college, butch jock guy an equally unnatural forced act?
Being fem or masc are not two equally different qualities. Despite the strides of feminists and human rights, we still live in a patriarchal society. The best and easy proof of this: a feminine man is looked far more down upon than the masculine female. Even if called a bitch, the masculine female, tough and ruthless, still is associated with strength and, particularly in corporate america, power. The soft, sensitive, feminine guy is often considered weak and can, if left unprotected by friends/guardians/family, easily be left to abuse by harassers. Both are "equally" male and female, but the irony is the true difference resides in their performative qualities.
This all points to the fact in my mind how men and woman are still not equal. And the conflict that resumes continues even when the gender difference is materially rendered at zero, as in the gay world where all is the subjected man to objected man, or subjected woman to objected woman. It is an inequality within ourselves.
It is not enough to mention how many of us discuss our attraction, to go far as putting a requirement, for the one we are to be with(or fuck)to be masc(uline). The lack of balance here is that the masc ones and fem(inine) ones alike place this stipulation for masc. And with the fem gay being such a large part of the face of homosexuality as subculture as legitimate class of human race, why does no one want him, why does no one ultimately claim to be him?
It is too easy to say the main reason for this is because of the negative representation of the fem guy as our mascot has damaged the many of us that are not that. In other words, that the fem guy fails to "democratically" equally represent all of us. Isn't commonplace for any social group/subculture to denounce their visible spokespersons as not representing everyone in their group fairly? As if to say, "despite the stereotypical qualities that we seem to largely share, we are in fact a very diverse group"?
What I argue is that really we may not be a very diverse group. If we say that we are men attracted to Men, the Men we are attracted to- by this sort of semantics- suggests that the men(I/we) is different than the Men we are attracted to(object of desire). By nature of desire we are not what we desire, afterall, and even more paradoxically, we cannot be what we want, for a subject cannot want what he already is or already has. Meaning, if all of us ultimately want to the masc guy, then we ourselves must not be the masc guy.
There are undoubtedly those that are masc that say they want a masc guy. And undoubtedly, deep down inside, they aren't really all that masc. To be truly masculine in this society is really to be a heterosexual male. And as homosexuality is truly performative and our identity as behavior as held against heterosexual gender roles, then it goes without saying that in our development we will align themselves with woman, as they share our desire of men. And aligning ourselves to woman, however internally and mostly as adolescence, we take on the difference of the heterosexual polarity, however subconsciously, to maintain that we want what ultimately we are not, and never will be (heterosexual male). Afterall, to be truly man than we should be attracted to our difference which is woman, feminine, to which we commonly hear "I'm gay cuz i want to be with a man, NOT a woman!". Which could easily mean, "I'm a woman, why would I want to be with another woman?" or really "I never really feel completely like a man, hence I want to be with a man!".
It is common for gay and heteros alike to look at the fem guy, particularly the sassy, out spoken, highly dressed one, and call his behavior an unnaturally forced act (which can appear quite painfully so, true). But isn't the college, butch jock guy an equally unnatural forced act?
Being fem or masc are not two equally different qualities. Despite the strides of feminists and human rights, we still live in a patriarchal society. The best and easy proof of this: a feminine man is looked far more down upon than the masculine female. Even if called a bitch, the masculine female, tough and ruthless, still is associated with strength and, particularly in corporate america, power. The soft, sensitive, feminine guy is often considered weak and can, if left unprotected by friends/guardians/family, easily be left to abuse by harassers. Both are "equally" male and female, but the irony is the true difference resides in their performative qualities.
This all points to the fact in my mind how men and woman are still not equal. And the conflict that resumes continues even when the gender difference is materially rendered at zero, as in the gay world where all is the subjected man to objected man, or subjected woman to objected woman. It is an inequality within ourselves.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
On apathy
The wine bottle smashed against the wall. The alley glittered in broken glass under the distant motion light. All I had to do was move slightly left and he missed. He was getting way tired, and desperate and even more maddened.
"Fuckin hoto, no me tocas no mas! No sabes nada!"
No, tu sabes nada. You don't know anything.
It was his almond eyes that were killing me. And his nipples on his pecs poking through his now drenched dirty shirt. His hat cocked to the side. The red cuts on his face. Him on the ground, half curled, trying desperately to retain himself. Didn't stop me from kicking him some more.
He thought he could get me to suck his dick while his wife's at home then do some damage to make it seem all ok. Well, he did have a nice verga. Reminded me of home. Smelled of dirt and cheap soap and testosterone.
He gathered a burst of energy and ran for me. I didn't dodge this. I let him get to me and then turned on him and pushed him, stomach and face against the wall. Like we were dancing. My pelvis pushed against his ass. Nice culo, too, huh? I pulled his pants down. He was beginning to shake. I was hard. I pulled my pants down now. My belt was a bitch to unbuckle with one hand. He barely struggled. I felt his asshole. Moist. And clean. Interesting. I shoved myself up against that, reached for my phone and took pictures.
"Smile puto. So when your cousins get here- I know you text them- I can show them y tu madre que es un hoto... or you can keep your mouth shut about everything and I keep my mouth shut like nothing happened. que piensas?" It was opening. I was in. I heard a slight moan. I was salivating. I started to thrust. It was hard not to. But I did it slowly. I wanted him to enjoy it. Then I grabbed the back of his head and pressed his face firmly against the wall. His breathe was uneasy. He was barely present.
I pulled out, eventually, pushed him down and came on his face. Again, he didn't struggle.
I knew his cousins would be there soon. Wouldn't be surprised if they had guns with them. They love guns, although they hardly know how to use them. They like the looks I think. It had been a long time since I had to put up with shit like this, but I remembered how things operated. You think about escape routes way ahead of time. I looked up for a quick second. The clouds perfectly framed the half crescent moon and some airplane exhaust lines cutting through it. Cuts.
Perhaps I should have just bolted but instead, with my jacket, I decided to wipe his face, Pulled his pants back on and since he was too far in shock, yanked him up to get him towards my car.
I headed towards an open field near the freeway, but yet another change of plans and turned towards my apartment. Changing your mind so quickly annoys me really. Doesn't stop me, though.
To keep him from any sudden outbursts I gave him some water with tranquilizers. I love tranquilizers myself. I always have them on me. And waited a bit in the car outside my apartment. I had his eyes covered with a tshirt on the way there, never can take chances. Eventually, I got him inside, showered him, cleaned up his bruises and cuts while he was knocking out. Stupid to go through all that work then have to clean him up like this. Again, annoying.
Him laying on my bed, I stared at him.
Then I thought of my mom.
No sabes nada, she'd tell me.
Tu no sabes nada.
Wanting to hold him crossed my mind. If I were any other poor gay motherfucker, I would have been left in the alley half dead by this chollo. So I didn't hold him. But I still sat and stared at him for a while longer.
Pendejo muy guapo.
I'd sleep for a few hours, then get him back to his neighborhood before the sun rose.
"Fuckin hoto, no me tocas no mas! No sabes nada!"
No, tu sabes nada. You don't know anything.
It was his almond eyes that were killing me. And his nipples on his pecs poking through his now drenched dirty shirt. His hat cocked to the side. The red cuts on his face. Him on the ground, half curled, trying desperately to retain himself. Didn't stop me from kicking him some more.
He thought he could get me to suck his dick while his wife's at home then do some damage to make it seem all ok. Well, he did have a nice verga. Reminded me of home. Smelled of dirt and cheap soap and testosterone.
He gathered a burst of energy and ran for me. I didn't dodge this. I let him get to me and then turned on him and pushed him, stomach and face against the wall. Like we were dancing. My pelvis pushed against his ass. Nice culo, too, huh? I pulled his pants down. He was beginning to shake. I was hard. I pulled my pants down now. My belt was a bitch to unbuckle with one hand. He barely struggled. I felt his asshole. Moist. And clean. Interesting. I shoved myself up against that, reached for my phone and took pictures.
"Smile puto. So when your cousins get here- I know you text them- I can show them y tu madre que es un hoto... or you can keep your mouth shut about everything and I keep my mouth shut like nothing happened. que piensas?" It was opening. I was in. I heard a slight moan. I was salivating. I started to thrust. It was hard not to. But I did it slowly. I wanted him to enjoy it. Then I grabbed the back of his head and pressed his face firmly against the wall. His breathe was uneasy. He was barely present.
I pulled out, eventually, pushed him down and came on his face. Again, he didn't struggle.
I knew his cousins would be there soon. Wouldn't be surprised if they had guns with them. They love guns, although they hardly know how to use them. They like the looks I think. It had been a long time since I had to put up with shit like this, but I remembered how things operated. You think about escape routes way ahead of time. I looked up for a quick second. The clouds perfectly framed the half crescent moon and some airplane exhaust lines cutting through it. Cuts.
Perhaps I should have just bolted but instead, with my jacket, I decided to wipe his face, Pulled his pants back on and since he was too far in shock, yanked him up to get him towards my car.
I headed towards an open field near the freeway, but yet another change of plans and turned towards my apartment. Changing your mind so quickly annoys me really. Doesn't stop me, though.
To keep him from any sudden outbursts I gave him some water with tranquilizers. I love tranquilizers myself. I always have them on me. And waited a bit in the car outside my apartment. I had his eyes covered with a tshirt on the way there, never can take chances. Eventually, I got him inside, showered him, cleaned up his bruises and cuts while he was knocking out. Stupid to go through all that work then have to clean him up like this. Again, annoying.
Him laying on my bed, I stared at him.
Then I thought of my mom.
No sabes nada, she'd tell me.
Tu no sabes nada.
Wanting to hold him crossed my mind. If I were any other poor gay motherfucker, I would have been left in the alley half dead by this chollo. So I didn't hold him. But I still sat and stared at him for a while longer.
Pendejo muy guapo.
I'd sleep for a few hours, then get him back to his neighborhood before the sun rose.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
lovers
I have many lovers, but I'm not a slut. I fuck and get fucked by one or another and feel the lapse from touch to touch. One I've had for years, another for a complicated 3 months, and others for not long and not much longer I'm sure.
It's ridiculous, a bit trite, but true when i say I see myself in every single one of them. It's also true that each one's differences from me can many times alienate me with their consequential presumptions and impressing desires.
See my reflection and see it dissipate to someone else...
Maybe it is you who can save me.
A life of moments captured in smoke and mirrors has a certain charm to it... very atmospheric... and getting lost in the interpretations of interpretations, meanings take on a drama that can be, well, life affirming... Ever notice how life affirming doesn't necessarily connote purpose? Why is it we need to feel alive when we are already living? Why we need purpose to keep going when we're already moving towards tomorrow?
Losing yourself in love is as profound as finding who you really are in it.
Nonetheless I cannot accept another for who they really are, hence so many.
Is it really all about myself?
One only likes to suck cock. The other only likes to top. Another only likes to cuddle and make out. I can't remember anymore what I even like.
One feels we need a more farther reaching and efficient public transportation system. Another feels marriage is only for the straights. And still how many of them care about not much more than this or that band, this or that tv show? Most of them.
And one of them, if I recall, has something to say about how everything could be better. Again, most of them.
There are dreams somewhere in them, and I can't remember where mine are.
If there weren't the choice of only sucking cock or only doing anal then making a claim that monogamy just isn't natural in the natural world (actually it's quite prevalent in the animal world)would be easy. But there are always preferences and these choices stem from an idea of a single thing. The question of one or many disseminates into inevitable hypocrisy and irony.
If you're so goddamn picky, that implies you want something, someone particular. You don't find that ironic, you whore?
Personally, I love irony.
... so who can save me from this mess of choices? Certainly not myself. I'm the reason I'm in this mess in the first place.
I'm not looking for a prince charming, and... I'm not looking for myself. I'm looking for a dream, I think. How does one deal with the frustration of the dream/real conflict?
I had a dream recently that one of them, standing sordid and tall and with a smirk said:
I wanted to be like you
I wanted everything
So I tried to be like you
and I was swept away
I didn't know that it was cold and
you needed someone to show you the way
I took your hand and we figured out that
when the tide comes
I'll take you away
Funny, too, 'cause I really love that song.
It's ridiculous, a bit trite, but true when i say I see myself in every single one of them. It's also true that each one's differences from me can many times alienate me with their consequential presumptions and impressing desires.
See my reflection and see it dissipate to someone else...
Maybe it is you who can save me.
A life of moments captured in smoke and mirrors has a certain charm to it... very atmospheric... and getting lost in the interpretations of interpretations, meanings take on a drama that can be, well, life affirming... Ever notice how life affirming doesn't necessarily connote purpose? Why is it we need to feel alive when we are already living? Why we need purpose to keep going when we're already moving towards tomorrow?
Losing yourself in love is as profound as finding who you really are in it.
Nonetheless I cannot accept another for who they really are, hence so many.
Is it really all about myself?
One only likes to suck cock. The other only likes to top. Another only likes to cuddle and make out. I can't remember anymore what I even like.
One feels we need a more farther reaching and efficient public transportation system. Another feels marriage is only for the straights. And still how many of them care about not much more than this or that band, this or that tv show? Most of them.
And one of them, if I recall, has something to say about how everything could be better. Again, most of them.
There are dreams somewhere in them, and I can't remember where mine are.
If there weren't the choice of only sucking cock or only doing anal then making a claim that monogamy just isn't natural in the natural world (actually it's quite prevalent in the animal world)would be easy. But there are always preferences and these choices stem from an idea of a single thing. The question of one or many disseminates into inevitable hypocrisy and irony.
If you're so goddamn picky, that implies you want something, someone particular. You don't find that ironic, you whore?
Personally, I love irony.
... so who can save me from this mess of choices? Certainly not myself. I'm the reason I'm in this mess in the first place.
I'm not looking for a prince charming, and... I'm not looking for myself. I'm looking for a dream, I think. How does one deal with the frustration of the dream/real conflict?
I had a dream recently that one of them, standing sordid and tall and with a smirk said:
I wanted to be like you
I wanted everything
So I tried to be like you
and I was swept away
I didn't know that it was cold and
you needed someone to show you the way
I took your hand and we figured out that
when the tide comes
I'll take you away
Funny, too, 'cause I really love that song.
Monday, April 19, 2010
on a better form of existence
Our hearts like broken plates strewn about the table, ready to be eaten from, it is no wonder the food spills on to the table, the spillage accumulating, the actual becoming the art. The experience becoming the expressed. A piece of Julian Schnabel. Before his films. What is messier than love? What is messier than a person who cannot grasp what love is, and how he needs it?
Our need for order is strong. Even an animal (on the most part) does not eat where he shits. Yet in orderliness it is not with standing that we get bored and create messes.
Praying for peace then is an interesting matter. Pray you might not actually get it. For if you do, your pathetic-ness will be then the sole reason for impending war.
Conversely, if you wage war each and every day- like I do, ensures that peace will follow.
Some days I feel we all live in one big fucking landfill.
Our need for order is strong. Even an animal (on the most part) does not eat where he shits. Yet in orderliness it is not with standing that we get bored and create messes.
Praying for peace then is an interesting matter. Pray you might not actually get it. For if you do, your pathetic-ness will be then the sole reason for impending war.
Conversely, if you wage war each and every day- like I do, ensures that peace will follow.
Some days I feel we all live in one big fucking landfill.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Decision
Clothes back on, raspy sleepiness in his voice still, he said to me:
There are so many that want just a piece of me, and you can have it all. Yet you have doubts. And the funny thing is that if any of those who want me were to actually have me like you can have me, even they would have doubts, too, wouldn't they. I had fun. See ya next time.
And with a quick shut of the door, he was gone.
There are so many that want just a piece of me, and you can have it all. Yet you have doubts. And the funny thing is that if any of those who want me were to actually have me like you can have me, even they would have doubts, too, wouldn't they. I had fun. See ya next time.
And with a quick shut of the door, he was gone.
Monday, April 5, 2010
on mountain climbing
It’s impossible to climb a steep cliff and not get an inherent feel of the mountain, the sturdiness of the mountain, of the insides of the earth. And inherently, your body responds: in the beginning the shifting of horizontal to vertical leaves you disoriented and slow, then all of a sudden you can sense the next rock upon which to step, you slowly sense your weight pulled towards the cliff face and not the other way around. Scaling upward becomes faster and smoother. You start to hear the birds more than your own thoughts.
“You doing ok? We’re almost there”
He started to feel like he was part cougar.
“Kale can you slow the fuck down!”
Even he could feel the light already lessening and they could get fined up here if they were there past sun down.
“Shit Sung, I want you sweating when we get up there!”
Sung was already sweating. More for the nervousness of the potential of falling than the workout. It was chilly, a cold front already started pouring in.
---
“Can you last longer than a moment?” Sung asked Kale.
“I can” he answered without hesitation.
“Good. Cause it takes a long time for me to cum” Sung smirked.
“Some things should take a long time.” Kale muttered while he chugged down a beer.
His eyes looked happy but vacant, but sharpened. Sung smirked some more.
---
“Dance with me up here you bastard” Sung was grappling his strong frame, without too much strain. But kale had to kiss first. They waltzed. Crows were cawing into between the seagulls. Could have been a more romantic chorus, but it did the trick.
The sun setting like the same one over tahiti, glowed with orange surrounded by a purple haze.
---
Well, I’m sad I missed ur txt. been busy. hav a good time in Europe. Call me when u get back.
(From Sung to Kale. )
Kale never called him when he got back.
---
The descent down left them feverish and gleefully exhausted. At some point, they fucked in the bushes with perhaps a couple silent coyotes taking notice of the ecstasy.
At the time, Kale was wishing he didn't have such feelings for Sung. The body, however, and feelings intermingle far too instinctually when shifting from horizontal to vertical.
“You doing ok? We’re almost there”
He started to feel like he was part cougar.
“Kale can you slow the fuck down!”
Even he could feel the light already lessening and they could get fined up here if they were there past sun down.
“Shit Sung, I want you sweating when we get up there!”
Sung was already sweating. More for the nervousness of the potential of falling than the workout. It was chilly, a cold front already started pouring in.
---
“Can you last longer than a moment?” Sung asked Kale.
“I can” he answered without hesitation.
“Good. Cause it takes a long time for me to cum” Sung smirked.
“Some things should take a long time.” Kale muttered while he chugged down a beer.
His eyes looked happy but vacant, but sharpened. Sung smirked some more.
---
“Dance with me up here you bastard” Sung was grappling his strong frame, without too much strain. But kale had to kiss first. They waltzed. Crows were cawing into between the seagulls. Could have been a more romantic chorus, but it did the trick.
The sun setting like the same one over tahiti, glowed with orange surrounded by a purple haze.
---
Well, I’m sad I missed ur txt. been busy. hav a good time in Europe. Call me when u get back.
(From Sung to Kale. )
Kale never called him when he got back.
---
The descent down left them feverish and gleefully exhausted. At some point, they fucked in the bushes with perhaps a couple silent coyotes taking notice of the ecstasy.
At the time, Kale was wishing he didn't have such feelings for Sung. The body, however, and feelings intermingle far too instinctually when shifting from horizontal to vertical.
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