Dinner Date

He picked me up at 7
Just like he said
All slicked back hair, shirt and tie
Perfect gentleman
Object of my desire
I couldn't seem to move
My breath a gasp
That caught in my throat
Held by the heroic heart in his chest
Saving the damsel from falling
At this Muse's feet
Because I will be who I am
All words, emotion and superciliousness
I will not be dictated to, controlled or held back
With the muse ready and willing as the
Vivid vessel for my viscid viscera
I will lay myself out here
Moral for your propriety
Naked for your pleasure
On a line that is so blurred
It's almost as invisible
As a line of coke
Snorted off my cock
But I digress

He drove me to Distraction
The favored diner for the preposterously psychotic
Perfect gentleman
Object of my creativity
I couldn't seem to speak
Because I will not move, bend or break
Here in the auspices of such company
The art will take control
The muse will stand on the table
And shout depraved and shameful desires
A test of the mettle for the most eager
Who will listen? Who has the balls?
And who will answer back
Climbing to meet him
I move as poetry with arms and legs
To lay down with him and whisper back
I want you inside me
Please come inside me
Grab this muse by the scrote
Just to pull him in
And he'll love every thrust
Until it all explodes in inked cum stains on the page
A Jackson Pollock of dark secrets laid bare
Before his broken promise to always be there
Cracked open, fragmented as the mind of
This musing Madman

And in the end
It will be me that is left standing
Boot atop the spent, exhausted muse
Fist clenched and ready to battle
Allegory, Alliteration, Simile and Verse
Because I will be who I am
All words, emotion and superciliousness
I will not be dictated to, controlled or held back
With the Muse ready and willing
I will lay myself out here
Armed with more words than can be spoken
I am my own muse.
Shirt and tie. Bearded smile
Object of your desire
Ready to catch you by the breath I grabbed from your throat
Nightmares playing reel to reel between your ears
Now I lay you down to sleep
Hear the depraved and shameful desires
That make you want me inside you
Walking through dreams from which you'll never wake
Waiting. Watching. Whispering.
I am God here
You will worship me.

Less Than Three

I can give myself to you

Body, soul and spirit

I can stand between sky and Earth

Grounding the Heavens for you to claim

I can summon Anu, Bel and Ea

Professing devotion to your beauty

Because it’s less than three

I can bring you light and heat and life

Through every atom of existence

I can protect you from mother, maiden and crone

Guiding you on the path of the warrior

I can protect you from seductions of lust, wealth and profanation

To keep your aura pure

Because it’s less than three

I can build your houses in all the realms

For you to make a home of hell, Earth and sky

I can create beauty in your name

Capturing essence in matter; the spirit of Godlike visage

I can offer laughter in grace and games for play

All to share in the joy of your being

Because it’s less than three

I can write verses

Symbolic, allegorical and esoteric

I can stand in the currents of life, sound and light

A conduit for all you desire

I can share devotion

From Druid and Poet to Soothsayer

Because it’s less than three

I can dedicate a sacrament

Thought, word and deed

I can live outside of time

Unrestrained in past, present or future

I can supplicate
Before the Creator, Preserver and Destroyer

Because it’s less than three

I can manifest reality

Length, breadth and depth

I can join magic, intuition and fertility

To bear the fruit of your invention

I can bring order

Combining power, wisdom and love

Because it’s less than three

I can capture treasures untold

Mirror, sword and jewel

I can claim armies for your rule

In the name of truth, courage and compassion

I can give myself to you

Birth, life and death

Because it’s <3

Life is But a Dream (Draft)

I can feel my heart thudding in my chest
I don't know if it's the drugs or the passion;
Either way it burns in my chest and pulses in my ears like bass at a rave
Sitting here now, with full intent to write it all down, get it all out,
Exploding in familiar loquacious ejaculation making the mind
As spent as the body
Sitting here now, the words won't come because the cum already came
So I write uncensored and unfettered
Far above your mortgage
and your car
and your bank
and your politics
and your chemicals
and your your war
and your death
Floating on a stream of consciousness

Merrily, Merrily, Merrily, Merrily
Life is but a dream

The Road to Recovery

-1-

"I really don't know why I'm here, you know." Said Charles Greene,

"It's been weeks. Honestly, Doctor Mattel, I don't think there's any reason to continue this charade."

"Now Charles, we've been over this." Said the man named Doctor Mattel, looking up from an open manila folder, over black rimmed glasses that were perched on the tip of his nose. His stubble looked scratchy and at the point where it was difficult to tell if he was growing a full beard or was just too exhausted or lazy to shave. The circles under his eyes betrayed that it was the latter.

"Yes, we have Doctor Mattel. And I am completely aware that I need to forgive myself for what happened. I understand the logic and the science behind it."

"Indeed you do, Charles. And yet I don't believe you've done any such thing. Forgive yourself, I mean. I think you're telling me what you think I want to hear. I can't imagine that discontinuing your treatment now would be of any use to you; and worse than that, it would be irresponsible of me as your Doctor."

The two of them moved smoothly through the conversation, betraying the fact that they'd had it many times before. Charles rolled his eyes and looked at the Doctor again, his eyes suddenly hooded, dark and intense.

"Doctor Mattel, what do you think you can do for me in here? I watched my fiancé butchered by Zombies in front of me."

"Now Charles, you know that they're not 'zombies.'" Doctor Mattel interrupted.

"I don't give a fuck what you want to call them," Charles answered, his voice slightly raised in frustration.

"Bath Salt addicts if you like, I don't know what they really were, I just know what I saw." he continued.

"I watched him eaten to death by those things. They pulled him off of me in the middle of fucking. Not just any fucking, no, no! This was hot, sweaty honeymoon fucking! They dragged him to a corner, and they ripped his flesh from his body and they ate it. Right in front of me."

Doctor Mattel no longer had a response, instead scribbling furious notes into the open file folder in his lap. Charles' voice was haunted, but unwavering as he relived the nightmare.

"They never touched me. They looked up at me, each of them, one at a time, but none of them touched me. They just ate him, in front of me. Until there was nothing left. They left him there, his intestines spilled out in front of him, broken bones jagged and sticking out through his skin. His eyes were open, but he just stared at me. Then they left, one by one. They never touched me. They never made a move toward me." his eyes were wide, and far away; frozen in horror. Then, they suddenly cleared and he looked up at the Doctor again. A background in psychology was not needed to understand that Charles relived this moment over and over in his dreams.

"And it's been weeks. And I don't understand why they didn't come after me now any more than I did then. Everything I told the police is still true."

"I know, Charles," Doctor Mattel said.

"Your story hasn't wavered since you were brought in. We-" he stopped, correcting himself.

"I believe you." he said soothingly.

"But we can't ignore how a trauma like that can affect you. But after several weeks, it's been determined that you are no longer a danger to yourself or anyone else. I want to be honest, Charles that I opposed and voted against this decision, but I was overruled."



"What decision?" Charles asked.



"I came here today to tell you that we're ready to move your treatment to an 'outpatient' status. You can go home today."

Charles didn't move. His face betrayed no expression.

"Did you hear me Charles?"

"Yes. I heard."

"Do you have anything to say?" Doctor Mattel prodded.

Charles looked up at him, tears beginning to stream down his face.

"While I've been in here it's been a dream, Doctor. I could never be sure it really happened as long as you kept questioning what I saw and what really happened. Now I have to figure out how to live without him." his voice broke and he began to sob unashamedly.

"That's perfectly healthy, Charles," Doctor Mattel said gently.

"That tells me you're on the road to recovery."

When recounting the story to others, Charles would recall that everything beyond the initial conversation that day passed in a blur. He was allowed to put his own clothes back on, he was allowed to rest in his room while the discharge papers were processed and his continued course of treatment was agreed to and signed by him; like some sort of contract. The entire process took the better part of a day and when he left the hospital with pills in hand, he'd never felt more alone.

He took the taxi provided by the hospital as far as his neighborhood, but got out to walk the last few blocks. A knot of anxiety had begun building in his stomach as soon as Doctor Mattel had told him he'd be going home. What would he find there? What would be left of the horrific scene he'd been dragged out of? What would happen when he walked in? All of these things stacked up inside him until he reached the front door of his building and collapsed on the steps/ He clutched his stomach and doubled over in pain. He'd expected to see yellow tape that boldly proclaimed "Police Line: Do Not Cross" or blood on the street, or the door that had been broken open to allow the creatures entrance. He'd not been prepared to see . . . nothing; the streets clear as if the entire thing had never happened. The rewriting of his history continued as he entered the building, noticing that nothing had changed there either. Soon, he was face to face with his own front door. He stood before it for a long while, willing it to change in appearance. He'd read something in his childhood to the effect that it was "dangerous business stepping out one's front door," and he smiled wryly realizing the ironic truth of the statement. Putting all he was into making it appear as it had that fateful night. In his mind's eye he could see the splintered wood of the frame and the blood smeared on its surface; today, though, he saw an ordinary door; an ordinary door with a lock that had been changed.

"Shit!" he howled, realizing that he didn't live there anymore. The locks had likely been changed as soon as he'd been taken away.

"And why shouldn't they be?" he said to himself,

"It's not like anyone had any reason to expect I'd be back."

He tried futilely to open the lock again before howling in rage, and passive aggressively breaking the key in the lock. Once again calm, he turned and walked from the building as if he believed for himself that nothing had happened. Behind him, at the door of a residence he no longer resided in; laid a bag of pills he knew he couldn't stomach.

-2-

Charles passed the next several weeks in a blur. News of the so called "Zombie Outbreak" became more and more prevalent, until it was finally something he couldn't escape from. He laughed in mock humor whenever someone with an official sounding title stared directly into television cameras to state very carefully that no one was calling the "things" Zombies, while the screen split to show camera footage of bodies in various states of decay moving through the streets attacking people. The video footage was always taken from grainy cell phone cameras and lacked so much detail that the supposed "Zombie Outbreak" could be mistaken for Big Foot sightings. Walking the street at night had become a nightly display of courage for most. As for Charles, he preferred to darkness. He enjoyed watching the parasites crawl out of the holes in which they slept away their days and wondered that he should feel more at home among the dregs and the undead than he should among the living. Such thoughts occupied his mind, offering just enough distraction from reality that he could avoid the horror behind his eyes.

"Chuck?" a female voice interrupted his reverie, and startled him into anger.

"Dammit Marcy! I told you not to sneak up on me!" he snapped.

"Jesus, Chuck, sorry." Marcy said defensively,

"What the hell happened to you?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" he snapped irritably.

"You look like shit, man. What happened? Hey, wait . . . aren't those the same clothes you were wearing last week?"

"Who the fuck knows, man." he said, laughing.

"You see what's going down out there?" he poked a thumb at the street behind her, just outside the entrance to the alley where he now stood. The girl stood in the street, illuminated in the glow of a street lamp, while Charles retreated into the shadows.

"Everyone's seen it, Chuck." she said, her tone soothing as if trying to calm the man,

"No one believes it."

"Well, they goddamn better well start!" he snapped, angrier than before. He accentuated his anger by pounding a fist into a nearby brick wall. Marcy could see that he'd left a smear of his blood in the wake of his fist. Blood that she now saw dripping to the ground.

"Fuck!" She exclaimed,

"Fuck! Fuck you Charles! Fuck!" she was frantic now, backing away from him.

"What? Marcy, get the fuck back here. Where are you going?" he came out of the alley, wincing as the light hit his face.

"You know that blood draws them out. You know that the smell of blood makes us change." she said, her face ashen.

"No, not 'us,'" he said,

"Them. It makes them change. If you were one of them you'd already be eating me." there was no humor in his voice, yet his face twisted in an obscene smile. 

"I don't care, Chuck." She spat,

"You want to get yourself eaten that's fine, but leave me alone."

"They won't eat me, Marcy." Charles said, suddenly calm and nearly whispering,

"They don't want me. I don't know why." He shook his head, as if to clear it and then looked at her again, clear-eyed.

"Do you have what I need?" he asked, simply.

"Fucking weirdo." Marcy said, producing a simple brown bag,

"I've got your stuff." she said, handing it to him,

"It's the usual deal."



Charles handed her a wadded up ball of bills and snatched the bag from her, grunting a thank you. Marcy looked at him with a cold sympathy.



"I gotta get home, Chuck. Patty will be waiting. She asked me to grab a couple things from the store on my way, so I gotta jet."



"Marcy, do you remember what it used to be like?" He asked, softly.



"You mean before ... it ... happened? Yeah, I remember."



"I can't remember anymore. What was it like?"



Marcy pulled a phone from her pocket and quickly typed a text message while she spoke.



"What do you mean? The world or us?"



"Us. All of us. You, me, Patty, Franklin..." he answered, trailing off.



"C'mon Chuck." she answered with a softer, friendlier tone.

"We've always been besties, you know that."



"Yeah, I know. It just, it seems so far away from here."



"That's because it is." she said, her voice laden with compassion.

"You lose Franklin ... that was a big deal. It literally changed everything. It changed you."



"But you're still here." He said with a smile,

"You're still my best friend."



"And I always will be." she said, closing the gap between them to peck his cheek.

"Marcy, it's all over. Isn't it?" he asked,

"Everything's changing and it's never going to be how it was again."

Her face became a mask of fear and resignation.

"No, Chuck. It's never going to be like that again. Look, I really do have to go."



He grunted something at her and waved her away in acquiescence. He'd pulled the contents of the brown bag out and was inspecting them carefully. He held the small bag of pills up to the light and was counting them.



"Tell me you'll be okay?" she called over her shoulder.



"I'll be fine." he said back, walking in the opposite direction.



"Where are you going?" she asked,

"Maybe we'll meet up later?"



"It's Friday night Marcy. I'm going to observe the American tradition of getting fucked and fucked up."



"That's my boy!" she said grinning.



He waved at her one last time and stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground as he walked, unconsciously fingering the pills he still held in his hand. 

-3-

Hours later, Charles stood in the midst of a throng of very hot, very sweaty people in various states of undress all moving and gyrating in dance to very loud, bass driven music.  Clearly out of place as the only person who wasn't dancing, he struggled to make his way through the densely packed flesh to the bar. Nearly falling into the bar as he finally arrived.

"Easy there!" the comment was accompanied by a strong hand closing around his forearm. There was strength behind it that Charles was instantly attracted to.

"Thanks," he said, looking up.
"Almost wiped out there." He locked eyes with his rescuer and felt immediately at ease at the soft blue/gray that was scanning him for injury.

"Are you hurt, um ..." he trailed off, waiting for a name.

"Charles, and no. I'm fine. It's just uh, it's been a while."

"Sherman." the man said, offering his hand. Charles shook it and felt his attraction to the man deepen at the firm grip.

"Thank you Sherman." he said with a smile,

"What are you drinking?"

"House Mead." he said, accepting the unspoken offer.

"Sounds great." Charles said, taking position next to the man. He flagged down the bartender and ordered the two drinks.

"So it's been a while, eh?" Sherman said, sipping his Mead.

"Yeah. A while to say the least."

"So what brings you out after so much time? Just trying to 'get back out there?'"

"You could say that," Charles said,

"I'm not even sure it’s a good idea. It hasn't been all that long since I lost-" he stopped abruptly.

"Lost what?" Sherman asked.

"It doesn't matter." Charles waved it away.

"The point is that I'm here, doing this again. Whatever this is."



"Indeed," Sherman said through a sip of his Mead.
"What is this?"

"Flirting." Charles said abruptly, and bluntly.

"Really terrible flirting."

"I don't know. I don't think it's such a bad attempt. I'm here sharing a drink aren't I?" Sherman smiled.

The smile did something to Charles. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt all his stress melt away and he saw genuine affection behind the other man's beard and gorgeous blue/gray eyes. His eyes misted and he blinked to keep from crying.

"Thank you." he breathed.

"For what?" Sherman asked.

"For sharing the drink." Charles smiled, opening his eyes again.

"And for helping me realize something."

"What's that?" Sherman prompted. His amiable and laid back demeanor made it clear that he was hoping to make something happen with Charles while still holding an attitude of distant non-expectation. He'd moved to face Charles with his whole body, his legs becoming more relaxed and therefore slightly open at the thigh. Charles notices all of this and turned his body to match, allowing the body language between the two of them to drive the desire he was sure the other man felt. He took a sip of his mead.

"Unusual to have Mead in a place like this, isn't it?"

"It's the best kept secret in town." Sherman said. The music stopped as he said it, increasing the volume of his voice ten-fold. Charles smiled and waited to speak again until the next song started up.

"It is delicious." he conceded over the new thrumming bass that seemed to be the same as the previous thrumming bass.

"So uh, Charles," Sherman said,

"Where was this flirting going to go?"

Charles looked at him and smiled.

"I think we both know where that's going to end up." He finished the Mead and ordered another. When it arrived he produced the bag full of pills and swallowed a handful. The bag's contents were nearly gone with only a few remaining, he offered these to Sherman.

"I never mix booze and pills." Sherman declined.
"Don't want to end up like Marilyn."

"Unless you do." Charles said wryly.

"I like you Sherman, and I haven't liked anyone in a really long time."

"I like you to, Charles." Sherman said, moving in closer and putting a lingering hand on Charles' arm.

"What are those pills?"

"They help me take the edge off in large crowds."

"I bet! You swallowed at least a dozen of them."

"Two dozen actually." he held up the bag, which had only four pills remaining.

"Gotta save something for the afterglow." he winked at Sherman.

"Like I was saying Sherman, I like you. I think we have a connection. Ya know?"

"Well, I think there's some attraction there, sure." Sherman said, moving his hand from Charles' arm down to his thigh and around to his buttock.

"I mean beyond that. Sherman, I'm going to level with you about something."

"Ooh! Mysterious!" Sherman said, leaning in even closer. The two men were now close enough that they could kiss if they wanted to. Charles took full advantage of Sherman's forward nature and grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him furiously. The kiss lasted for minutes, the two of them fighting for control of it. Charles attacked with all the ferocity of a starving man given food for the first time in days. Sherman was more reserved, allowing Charles to lead, but remaining steady in his resolve, keeping the kiss going in the way he wanted and only for as long as he wanted. When they finally broke apart he looked at Charles, smiling once again.

"You kiss like you've never kissed anyone before."

"Like I said," Charles replied,

"It's been a long time."

Sherman looked him up and down, deciding to see where Charles was willing to take things. He leaned back, putting some distance between them but staying close enough that they could still touch.

"What were you going to say?" he asked.

"I was going to be honest about something."

"What's that?"

"You're my first." Charles began."

"No I'm not." Sherman scoffed.

"No one who swallows pills like that and kisses like that is a virgin at anything!"

"I didn't mean my first ever. I mean you're my first in a long time. See, I had this thing happen to me a while back. I won't bore you with the details but it was bad. Really bad. I spent some time in the hospital and only got out a few weeks ago."

"What happened?" Sherman asked, suddenly cautious.

"Well, I had just gotten married. We didn't have much money so we went home and had our honeymoon at home in our own bed. We were," he stumbled over his words.

"Uh, we were fucking and that's when it happened."

"When what happened?"

"They came in all at once, just broke the door down."

"Oh my god! What happened?"

"They pulled him off of me and held him in the corner while I watched. They left me alone. I never figured out why they left me alone. But they took him away from me and made me watch while they did it. And this is the part I need to be honest with you about. It messed me up pretty bad. I spent some time in the hospital, just to get my head right. They let me out a few weeks back; deemed me "not a threat to myself or anyone else."

He paused here, and looked up at Sherman, gauging the other man's response. For his part,
Sherman still sat looking at him, completely calm and listening intently.

"That's awful!" Sherman said, taking the cue that he should say something.

"And this was only weeks ago? Are you sure you're ready for anything at all with anyone else?"

"I'm more than sure. I wasn't when I came in here, but I am now, more than ever. Sherman, I think you were meant to save me." he put on his best smile for the other man and moved in closer, putting one arm around Sherman's shoulders and the other arm in his lap, blatantly groping the generous bulge he found there.

"Will you take me to your place so we can finish what we started?"

Sherman smiled halfheartedly.

"Look, it really sounds like you've been through a lot and you leveled with me so let me level with you. I'm not looking for anything serious. I'm here to hook up. Nothing more and nothing less. Hell, I've sucked 3 dicks in the back," he gestured to a door dividing the front of the club from the back,

"Just tonight. I'm not really sure I'm what you're looking for."



"No, no. You are." Charles soothed.

"You're exactly what I'm looking for. I promise this isn't going to last any longer than tonight. What do you say?" he groped Sherman again and nuzzled his neck. When he broke away the look of desire on Sherman's face was now as obvious as what the hand in his lap was doing.

"I say you've convinced Me." he said, grabbing Charles by the arm and heading for the door.

It was a short distance to Sherman's apartment. The Club was his regular spot and he walked there to avoid drinking and driving. Within ten minutes they were walking through his front door and within fifteen they were naked in his bed.

"You really don't waste any time do you?" Sherman said breathlessly.

"No. I really don't." Charles replied with a smile.

"Last chance, you sure you want to help me do this?"

Sherman smiled,

"I couldn't stop now if I wanted to."

"That's what I wanted to hear." Charles said. He pushed Sherman down on the bed and straddled him. He used his hips to lock Sherman into place and braced himself on his shoulders.

"See, I knew you were the one who would save Me." he said.

"Consider yourself rescued." Sherman said, yielding to Charles' strength.

"Now, let's get down to how you're going doing it."

"I don't think I need any instruction there." Sherman said, with confidence.

"Not everything is what it seems." Charles said. He got off the bed and walked to his pants, crumpled on the floor nearby.

"Wait? Are you going? I thought we were just getting started."

"I'm not going anywhere. I just need to be sure of something first." Charles said. He produced the baggie of pills from his pocket and held them up.

"These pills ... I wasn't lying. They're to help me take the edge off. I took more than enough to make sure. If this works the way I think it will then I'll be saved before you can do anything else. If it doesn't work the way I think it will then you'll save me by calling 9-1-1 and giving the paramedics these last four to identify what I took."

"What the fuck!?" Sherman exclaimed,

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Charles produced a butterfly knife from his other pocket, as if in answer. He deftly opened it with one hand and drew the blade down his left arm from elbow to wrist. It was a surface wound only, not enough to be lethal, but enough to make sure that blood would flow.

"What the fuck are you doing? You psycho!" Sherman screamed. He was off the bed in a single, smooth movement and grabbing for a phone in his own pants' pocket.

"Now," Charles said simply,

"Save me." He lay on the bed, silently, as the blood dripped from his arm onto the sheets where it spread as the fabric absorbed the liquid. He closed his eyes; suddenly afraid to witness what he knew would happen next.

"Save me, Sherman."



Sherman was staring into space, his demeanor suddenly changed. He was no longer panicked and looked at the cell phone in his hand, dumbly. He shook his head as if trying to clear it before dropping it. Charles heard the clatter of the phone on the floor and smiled. With his eyes closed he was unable to see what happened next but his ears registered the sudden, guttural growl that came from his would be lover.

"I knew it." Charles said.

He laid perfectly still, his heart beating in his chest, though he didn't know if it was the adrenaline of the situation or if it was the drugs he'd overdosed on, finally ready to take his life.

"You can eat me, like you ate him," Charles said,

"But I won't be here for It." he laughed.

He felt Sherman move closer to him and felt his breath near the wound on his arm. A clot was beginning to form, slowing the flow of blood. Sherman sniffed at the wound, and licked at the blood; growling all the time. Then, without ceremony, he moved away from Charles, heading slowly for the door. Charles opened his eyes and looked.

"Where are you going?" he called after Sherman. The other man looked back at him with a snarl. Charles could see the dead eyes and understood that all life had left the other man.

"Just like before." he said, dejected.

"Why won't you take me?" he cried, sobbing. The tears flowed and he howled in rage and pain. Sherman watched him expressionlessly until the sound stopped. Then, he turned and with no further fuss, left the apartment.

Charles looked after him, then at his bleeding arm. He lay back on the bed, naked and calm.

"It doesn't matter," he said to himself as he lay there staring at the ceiling, expressionless and calm. He thought he could hear the faint sound of sirens nearby and he smiled, knowing that they weren't for him. With a final, peaceful breath, he allowed his eyes to close once again.

"You still saved me."

The Dance of Men

your arms
Is the place I want to be
your smile
Is the place that reflects happiness
your kiss
Is the place that love grows

My eyes
Have seen this before
Never like this,
Beauty and love
With a soft strength
And a knowing truth in your embrace

My heart
Has felt this before
Swelling with hope at each beat
Breaking in pain at each pump of blood
For beginnings and endings
Crest and crash in time with the rise and fall of your chest

My lips
Have tasted this before
The ripened fruit of desire
Waiting to be pulled from your tongue
A unique sweetness
Full of passion and promise

My body
Has ached for this before
Out of breath as a fire on my skin
Ignites under your fingertips
Sharing the most private parts of myself
Beneath your skin

In your arms
My eyes see
In your smile
My heart beats
In your kiss
My body aches

Such is the dance of men.

National Coming Out Day

The first time I kissed a boy I was 29 years old. The first time I had consenting sex with a boy I was 15. Those intervening fourteen years were full of confusion, denial, less than safe sex (in less than safe places), a marriage, a birth, minor brain surgery, and a divorce  . . . in other words, life. None of that matters in terms of my coming out story and yet somehow all of it matters.

I was closeted for most of my life. Only in my teen years when I began noticing boys and girls and when I had fantasies about both boys and girls. the most confusing thins, though, were the times I'd focus on the men when I watched or looked at porn. I never wavered in my belief that the male form was just as desirable as the female form; which in itself was confusing as I was raised the same way everyone typically is that you will marry and love one woman.

I was never sheltered from homosexuality. I went to an Arts & Academics High School, and I was exposed to and had many gay friends (remember I was fifteen when I first had consenting sex with a man). I understood Gay, but I never felt gay. I liked girls too. I had sexual urges surrounding both. Yet my understanding at that stage in my life was that you were either gay or straight. Imagine my confusion at being both! I didn't even have a word for it, bisexual was something that girls were, and apparently all girls were as well. I did, however, admire anyone I knew who was openly gay. I wished I was as sure about who I was as they were about who they were. Ironically, I was, but at the time I didn't know that bisexuality was a valid identity for a male and I lacked the esteem and confidence to make it valid in spite of this. As it happened, there were three events that would happen around this time, which would put me in the closet and shut it's door for fourteen years.

The first thing that happened was having sex. By the time I was fifteen I'd already had sex with girls but never with boys. My first time with a boy wasn't like "fireworks" and "trains going through tunnels" and all that. What it was, however, was familiar. To contrast it against my sexual experiences with girls up to that point, I knew what I was doing. Here was a body I understood. I knew how a cock worked. I knew the ways to touch, fondle, stroke, lick, whatever; in order to make it feel good. When it was over, though, there was no afterglow. What I mostly felt was more confusion and a healthy dose of fear. No, not fear. Shame. I felt ashamed. I knew I couldn't tell my family. I knew I didn't want to "give up" girls. I knew I wanted to do it again with boys, but that I had to never do it again; and so I didn't. Not for a really long time. Instead, I stepped into the closet.

The second thing that threw me into the closet was gay porn. Also at around 15 or 16, my mom found a gay pron magazine of mine. When she confronted me, she was angry. Though, as I recall, the source of her anger wasn't the fact that I owned gay porn, it was that it had been left in the bathroom where visiting family members could have found it. She was embarrassed and she didn't want to have to explain her "gay" son to the rest of the family. So, when she asked if I was gay, I answered honestly and said that I wasn't. After all, I did still want girls. The closet door began to shut.

The final thing that pushed me into a fourteen year exile was homophobia. Specifically a homophobic moment with my mom. I had been dating a black girl and my mom was less than thrilled. She was very honest that she knew it was wrong and that it was just the way she was raised, and to her credit she was understanding but also protective. We have a mixed family and so her misgivings didn't and still don't make sense to me. Still, it was beyond her comfort level, until I asked her the following question: "would you rather I date a black woman or a white man?" She answered, "black woman." From there I don't remember much of the conversation, but I do remember clearly that she said to me that if I were gay it wouldn't affect her love for me, but it also didn't mean my partner would be welcome at Christmas. And with that one final statement I knew that I could never be honest with my family about who I was and how I thought of men. The closet door shut and I remained there, in the dark for fourteen years.

During that fourteen years, I lived a horrible cycle. I denied my attraction to men and tried really hard to forget it. The cycle, however, was more than persistent. It started as noticing the men when I looked at porn. It continued to finally buying gay or all male porn. It culminated in illicit encounters with men in bookstores, cars, alleys or, if I was lucky, a motel. If no men were available there were phone sex chat lines (this was the days before the Internet was "mainstream") which resulted in my not having a phone due to hundreds of dollars in phone bills for several months at a time. Dangerous to be sure, but even worse, it left me feeling empty and ashamed. Each time I would throw away all my porn, and resolve that it was just a weak moment. I would focus only on women and decide that my "urges" would subside when I met "the one." The cycle only repeated.I eventually got married when I was 24. I was physically faithful to my wife, though the cycle of porn continued and even grew as I gained more and more access to the Internet. I never told my wife I was attracted to men, though.

After a few years I fell ill and nearly died. Brain surgery saved my life and I made a full recovery. this is another story. What matters for this story is that, when one stares their mortality in the face a great many things become clear. I realized that life is short and I wanted to live as a whole, genuine person. As a result of this I eventually came out to my wife. She did not take it well and after a long, painful process we divorced; even though I came out as bisexual. With my marriage over, I was free to really explore who I was. I didn't say experiment. I said explore. I tried on the label of bisexual when I was 28 years old and I started "dating." I learned quickly that bisexual dating for men is basically hooking up or one night stands. While the danger factor may have been removed, I recognized this was the same pattern I'd been in before I got married.

Then, I had my first kiss.

In all the encounters I'd had over the intervening years, male kissing was always very taboo. I didn't and don't understand this. Perhaps, this is because I love kissing so much. At any rate, I had been helping out a gay friend of mine by giving him rides to and from work when his car broke down. I was also "out" for the first time and so I openly flirted and made it clear that I was completely gaga for him. Eventually our friendship evolved and next came the moment I came out to myself. Completely and unequivocally came out. No quotation marks, no hesitation. It happened when he asked me:

"What would you do if I asked you to kiss me?"

I said I would do it, and he replied, "Well then why aren't you?" and I had one of the deepest most passionate kisses of my life. In the words of S. Morgenstern,“Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.” It was fireworks. It was trains through tunnels. Just that one kiss was more amzing and affirming than the previous fourteen years of illcit sex. And for the next several month I was happy and really feeling whole. Alas, we ultimately wanted different things and it was not to be more than a summer romance. From that point on, however, I was out to friends if not family. The immediate benefit to this was the fact that I no longer feared sex with men and so I didn't seek it in secret. I was no longer having dangerous sex. 

Completely coming out, or coming all the way out? That came as the result of activism. I had begun dating a woman who was polyamorous and this seemed like a great idea to me because I had denied my bisexuality for so long, I wanted to be free to explore it more. So we entered a relationship and she was the most supportive woman I'd ever met. In fact, if I hadn't been burned so badly by marriage I think I'd marry her. I was hired as a contributing writer for Bi Social Network and was literally over the moon about it because I had been struggling for years as a writer. My family had long known my desires to be a writer and I couldn't wait to share it with them. The only problem was that I felt I couldn't. Ultimately, with the encouragement of my life partner I decided to come out. I was nearly 30, I had a son, I'd faced death (literally) and I could be proud of who I was.

I chose to come out to my sister first. She'd always been accepting of me and so it was easier. She wasn't surprised and said she had suspected for a while. She congratulated me and has proven over the last four years that she accepts me no matter who I love and I am more than grateful for her. She is a beacon of support when life gets me down.

My mother  . . . this was harder. I had the memories of her disapproval from my teen years looming in my memory. I knew she wouldn't accept it and I fully expected to be disowned. Surprising me, however, she was supportive. She hugged me and she said she loved me and nothing would ever change that. She also said she couldn't have been more surprised if I'd said I had been half alien. She wasn't in favor of telling the rest of the family. Honestly, I'm not sure to this day if aunts and uncles and cousins know. But in that moment she accepted who I was even if she didn't accept my expressing it. She asked me to allow her the belief that any future boyfriends are "just friends" though I am happy to say we are working through that now.

At any rate, I came out and have been living out to everyone for four years. My partner and I are both bisexual and maintain our polyamorous relationship. Living a genuine life has led me to a life as a writer, to Los Angeles and the GLAAD awards where I met Josh Hutcherson, Chaz Bono, Milla Jovovich and many more people. It has led me to many more opportunities than trials and ultimately more love than I could have hoped for. I am free to date men and I do. I prove Dan Savage wrong every day of my existence.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.    

Black Widow

Words.  They're only words.  Oh, but we all know they're so much more.  I'd wager that it wasn't a face that launched those thousand ships.  It isn't a thousand words that are worth a picture.  No, it's the words.  They're power, and they're blood and they're life and death all at once.  And in the end they're all I have.  They're what keep me going, the fuel of my fire, what makes me happiest in this world--I'm like a child in a sandbox as I weave entire beings, races, planets galaxies and universes--so who could have foreseen that they'd cause me so much pain?  Who would have known that it would be words--no, not words . . . word--who would have known that a word would make me want to visit the dark places of my psyche that I haven't been to in quite some time.

You see, dear reader, this is the madness of my muse and as I told you in the beginning this is where you'll see my soul.  It isn't all fluffy poetry; here beats the heart of an artist and one thing you must understand about artists is that we tend to use pain as fuel for the creativity that drives us to entertain you.  Even now, my eyes burn with it and a rock resides in my gut, near my solar plexus as I process the events of life.  The love and the hate and how the two coexist in such harmony creating this thing of horrific beauty.  You cannot help but be entranced but your every molecule burns with the ancient instinct of flight; begging, pleading with you to turn away but you can't seem to do it because it's so beautiful.  Ironic, isn't it?  That love and hate should be the same thing observed from different precepts?  I didn't actually know this myself until this day.  The two are bedfellows and with the interplay of words--the intellectual intercourse between the two a world can be created that is a thing of beauty and a marvel of horrors . . . .

The bed was cold.  Interesting because it was almost 90 degrees outside.  She felt the icy chill run up her legs into her heart and she knew he was touching her.  She didn't cringe, nor did she moan with pleasure.  She merely lay there, silently praying he would stop yet somehow hoping he wouldn't  It was the juxtaposition of these two things that gave her the greatest concern; this, and the fact that the icy chill she'd felt a moment ago now seemed to burn with a fire that began deep within her.  She cursed her own body as she felt the wetness begin and she knew that sex was inescapable now.  She welcomed it, in fact and this knowledge made her want to cry more than anything else.  Still, she didn't move, forcing herself to lay as still as if the rape she imagined in her brain were real because that was the only way she'd get through this, to lay still and just let him do to her what he wanted.  She couldn't . . . wouldn't let him know that she wanted it to.  She wouldn't say no or stop or anything else that might stop his hands touching her.  Her brain was a trainwreck and her emotions were the casualty.  She felt sexual and sensual beneath his touch.  She wanted to feel his hardness open her loins and push inside her but she knew that she was the victim in this and she knew she must put a stop to it.

She didn't move.

His mouth was on her now and she cursed herself for gasping.  For letting him know how much she loved it, for showing how aroused she really was through her hate.  She instinctively pushed herself onto his lapping tongue allowing herself to relish this moment, this the greatest of pleasure she'd ever received from her lover.  She inhaled sharply as she twitched within.  Somehow, sensing this he pushed two fingers inside and sensually made love to her using only mouth and digits.  Slowly and carefully as if loving her with his sex he drew her closer to the pinnacle of pleasure.  She cursed him again and felt her imminent climax intensify with the fire of her hatred and anger.  How dare he!?  How dare he make her feel this good when she loathed him so.  Worse, how dare she let him?  What kind of woman was she?  Harlot? Whore? No. These words described things she didn't believe in.  She gasped again as these thoughts fled from her brain under his expert tongue and she felt herself begin to cum.  She pushed him away from her but suddenly felt unbearable pain at his loss and so she pulled him back in.  He didn't let up through any of it.  He made love to her, still using only mouth and fingers and now she was going to cum and she knew it.  She felt her climax begin to explode behind her eyes and the pleasure burned as hot as the anger.  She knew then that she had to be rid of both to find peace.

She moved.

She motioned for him to lay down on his back and she looked at him.  He was soft, and somehow she knew that this meant he was giving to her.  He hadn't been looking for his own pleasure.  Rather, he'd been hoping to heal her using the power of his love.  He'd failed and he might never know.  She decided this was a mercy as she gripped him at his base, gave his soft but ample form a shake and was immediately rewarded.  The blood rushed into him as involuntarily as her wetness had rushed into her.  She felt the familiar rush of excitement as he became thicker and she knew she was going to miss the way she felt, full of him.  Still, cocks were a dime a dozen and there were any number of boys waiting for a chance to get inside her.  She knew she'd miss him but ultimately, he was replaceable.  She wondered if this meant she was in a full fugue state separated from reality . . . but decided not to think about it.  She looked down and noticed she was on top now, maneuvering him into position and she allowed herself a small moan as he impaled herself on his familiarly rigid, thick form.  She sank slowly down and enjoyed his hands on her hips; they always made her feel so sexy.  She pushed the feeling away and resolved to find her own sex appeal from now on.  He moved her hands onto his breast and her anger got the better of her and she grabbed the nipple and twisted with all her might.  She panicked when the blood came, but the panic wasn't due to what had happened, it was due to the utter elation she felt.  She twisted more and now the blood came in a gout, dark and thick.  He was unresponsive and she wasn't sure why; though this was secondary to her now.  She simply did not care.  She felt him throbbing inside her and she moaned louder reaching for a pillow.  He welcomed this and pulled her hands down positioning the pillow on his face.  He thrust urgently as she pushed the pillow down over him.  His movements were erratic and his moans loud.  Irritated she pressed harder.  The thrusting made her cum again and she felt her wetness run over him like a dam being broken.  She groaned louder moving her hips in time with his spasming body.

He didn't move.

She pressed the pillow tighter over his face, and worked her hips over his groin.  She gasped as she came again; finally able to relax now that he'd stopped moving, stopped moaning and stopped thrusting.  As her orgasm subsided she felt a warm, moist rush enter her and she relaxed softly.  His cum filled her and she smiled.  There were fewer feelings as good as this one.  She knew without knowing how that she'd never feel a man inside her again.  She didn't care.  She knew that she'd had the best men had to offer and she knew they'd damaged her irrevocably.  She'd done what she needed to do to be okay and she felt free.  She moved the pillow from his face and looked into his eyes.  They stared up, lifeless and empty; beautifully blue and breathtaking.  A drop of water fell into one of them and she was puzzled.  She felt her face cautiously and was sure now, it wasn't water, it was her tears.  Anger, pain and remorse flooded out of her and fell onto his face.  Laughter burst from her mouth.  It was over now.  Finally and completely over.

He didn't move.