Thursday, April 21, 2011

Finders, Seekers, Merciless Cheaters

Right now, I want you. Your voice to answer mine when it calls, and your body to come when I arouse it.
An exercise in causality, the desire for something necessary. And familiar.
This paper is killing me. Coming in fits and bursts, a torturous delivery.
I saw you on a4a last night. You'd changed one of your pictures, and I stared at it longingly, wondering how many other boys were, too. Wondering which one you would have over, or were already entertaining.
You'd texted me earlier. "I just wish I could talk to you =("
I followed our pre-arranged script: I said nothing, I ignored you.
And then you texted me again, almost two hours later: "wanna have sex?"
And I again followed our pre-arranged script: "Fuck off, J. This sucks."
"ok sorry," you replied.
And then I saw you on a4a and I seethed with longing. A kettle full of evaporation, nothing but hot metal.
I did not hide that I was looking at you, I did not "delete the trace" of my cruise.
I did not want to hide my desire for you, from you.
And now, after being flaked out on three times--and after doing it twice over myself to other boys--I am desperate for you. Some one as desperate as me. Perhaps you'd even be desperate for me.

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