Garments Nov 29th 2012

 I wake to a landscape littered with last night's clothes, fists made of dirty socks lie on the floor where I abandoned them, or with plans to love making I did not have, wish I had, dream like memory of which I might have done if she had felt brave enough to join me, the mingling of her clothes and mine on the bed or floor, so erotic I wake up truly motivated without a means to resolve the issue, save what I could do for myself,  iwake up to a desert where the legs of my jeans pose has as cactus, indication of swelling rises between the legs, if only I could have her here to undress her, Piece by piece, to fill the space between bedroom door and bed with our shedded garments, each piece making love to each other, while i still feel here, alone in the desert of my desire, undergarments stand with proof of our passion, my shirt cast over her blouse with arms wrapped around, I feel it even when she is not here and won't ever be, that even those pieces she cast off the men she passed off me

Acting my age Nov. 11, 2012

 

If I acted as my age might dictate, I would never have had you, this gap of years making me year for what should not have been, and now, when all this has passed and you have gone,  yearning all the more for it, falling to pieces like no man my age should, aching to kiss your moth, run my tongue down your soft arms or neck, to caress breasts and elsewhere, to kiss each eye lid as if I could taste what resides behind those eyes, the mystery of a universe I could never have understood at an age when all this might have been more appropriate, when even now at the age I’ve reached, I fail to comprehend the complexity of who you are, or all those potent thoughts I could never reach unless I climbed inside you, pushing part of me deep inside you, to feel what it feels like on the inside, and maybe learning what I could never have learned had we met hen I was as young as you, and you as old as you ae now. I cannot, will not, and never will act my age when it comes to you, needing to have it all, an agelessness time alone can endure
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Into the abyss June 3, 2026

 

Yes, I would do it over again, if I could, even the mistakes, clinging to those early moments when everything seemed possible, the fallacy of the high road we could never have taken. I would go back to those times when I was still utterly blind, led by my nose (or perhaps some other part of my anatomy), struck by the need for something I didn’t even know I needed, but wanted desperately, and still do, to be fooled again, strung along by the illusion of what might be, to believe all that was said and done as real, she teasing me until the very brink of the dark side where anything was possible, where joy ultimately resided, joy standing side by said with potential doom. Yes, I would do it all again, and maybe this time, I would leap into the abyss

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Bit by bit July 3rd 201 5

 

 

We should not speak of it out loud, to tell all we feel all at once, in a gush, love or lust, it breaks bones as it breaks silence, this confession of intimacy we ought to keep to ourselves, to bath in its beauty, it's tenderness, it's lush embrace, yet no declare it all, or rush, overwhelming the soul we seek to cherish, a wise man will dole out his admiration, a little drip st a time, soft drops into her open mouth, a taste of it, bit by bit, time letting it fill her up, but not drown her with too much too soon, or she might flee to a wiser soul, doing for her what we could not, seize her love from our grasp, we need to keep love closed mouth, or st beat, lips barely parted, giving her the flavor of what we feel, bit by bit

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Still holding on

 

Sometimes back then, I had to check my phone to see if I had called one of those area code 900 numbers, since she seem to have that routine down pat, a regular mistress of the night, who sent dirty pictures and expected them in return, whose soothing voice lit me up like a Christmas tree or Fourth of July fireworks. Even her texts sent me over the edge.

Where did she learn all this stuff, and did she do this to all the men in her life, making me one of her all male harem, all of us completely shocked about it, some of us aching to keep in going, to bring up those amazing dreams we have to clean the sheets from in the morning.

This 900 number lady, who somehow learned the craft and plies it, a master who has each of us hanging on every word, waiting for the next text or picture, and hold our manhood tightly for when she asks for a picture back.

All these years later, I’m still holding on

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What you needed June 1, 2024

  

I realize now

What I didn’t then,

How you needed more

Than I was

Willing to give,

A warm body beside you,

Powerful arms to hold you,

A tender kiss on your lips,

Your tits, your hips,

An embrace that is more

Than just a breeze passing

Through one window

And out the other,

You needed someone

Who could/would

Stay the night,

Arms that held you save

In those hours of vacacy

After I (and other men like me)

Had to move on,

A romance that would stay

Attached rather than

Peal away,

We always more a temporary

Reprieve, a Band Aide,

That causes as much pain

When removed

Than we foolishly believed

We could shield

You from.

I realize now

What didn’t know then,

What you needed

Was love.

 

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In the third floor men's room

 

“Go to the men’s room and do it there, thinking of me,” she told me, and like a submissive following a directive of a goddess, I do, climbing in the one stall on the third floor because I was scared to be seen going into the one near the owner’s office on the first.

But even as I stroked it, I kept waiting for someone else to come in, the stall door having gaps that allowed anyone to see me with it in my hand, worse, could hear the slap of flesh on flesh, and eventually the moan when it spurted in my hand, all this she wanted me to describe in detail when I got back to my desk.

Even back then, I knew just how much more experienced she was in these things, how to turn on a man like me like a light switch, and leaving me to sputter when not turned off.

She had asked other men to do these things, had them cradling their manhood in public space for her amusement, asking us to take a picture with our cell phones just to prove we had done what she told us to do, and even as old as I was, older than she, I felt like a kid, unable to fully grasp her intentions, or deal with the self-torture these things forced me to inflict upon myself, my imagination painting an even more vivid picture of what was possible and how far we might go, and how she might tell me to go there, in public, or in the dead of night.

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