boy whispers as he struggles, ‘Fuck, just stop, for one second. Listen to me.’
Everything is shards, slanting, harmful. The boy’s voice is underwater, reaching Jewel as if after miles, years. Over that distance, the boy comes to see that the farther he goes, the more Jewel reaches out. So he knows what he must do, what he must keep doing.
‘It’s not that simple,’ Jewel says.
The boy is frightened into stillness, as much by Jewel’s scorn as the words.
‘Nothing were ever that blood simple.’
WINTER
18.
When Jewel walks into the room, the boy is perched on the arm of the couch like a monkey. He pounces and Jewel play falls and then fall falls. The rug below them is thin enough to feel the floorboards underneath. The boy’s hand reaches around, grabs his cock, and Jewel feels it like a glove, the last jigsaw piece. He’s hard in seconds but the boy won’t let him have his way with him. Instead he plays Jewel for a song.
Jewel sings, This could go on forever . . . would that it would . . . would that it would . . .
The boy is late blooming, holding him so close that Jewel is singing into his skin. He holds Jewel’s face so their eyelashes touch. They make love like this, face to face so they can kiss. Jewel knows his taste like it’s his own, except, joyously, not.
Each thrust and the boy comes closer and closer and closer. As he comes, tears come into his eyes, they leave.
Jewel keeps singing, This could stop right now . . . would that it would . . . would that it would . . .
19.
Jewel is sitting, the boy on his lap facing him, naked, wearing only a headlamp. The last light is blown, the only other light from the bathroom. Jewel is rolling a joint between them, the goods spread out on a plate beside them. He’s using the rolling papers the boy got him.
‘Who’d have thought?’ he says, licking, rolling, laughing.
‘Thought what?’ the boy says looking up, the light sharping into Jewel’s face.
Jewel squints, his irises shifting proportion, pigment. ‘That you’d be lighting my way.’
The boy laughs and switches off the headlamp. He kisses him and Jewel puts the tray aside, kisses him back hard and hungry.
‘I must go,’ the boy says getting up, switching the headlamp back on, picking up his clothes.
‘Must you?’ says Jewel in mimicry.
‘Godknows, I were so crying late,’ the boy shoots back just as quick a mime.
Jewel smiles, his irises modulating again. ‘Leave the light, yeah?’
The boy hesitates as he buttons his jeans.
‘Or don’t,’ Jewel says in amusement, ‘I’ll finish in the bathroom.’
The boy throws his light at him and Jewel catches it like he knew it was coming all along. He knows to make up for the sass, so he doesn’t start licking and rolling just yet. He watches the boy pull on his t-shirt, arms first, knowing he’ll feel him watching. He watches him pocket his keys, open the door. And then just as he’s closing the door, Jewel calls out his love.
20.
The boy cuts into a peach with Jewel’s Swiss Army knife. Each new moon reveals a rust core, its skin curling loverly. He eats the peach standing over the sink, dripping, his hands cupped in prayer.
Jewel watches him from the doorway. He knows it’s a gift, what he has. He wants to take the knife and cut them both, stop the picture of now, in this moment. Instead every second takes them farther, into the coming gloaming, the inconceivable morning. What he will remember of now will be some pale decay. Better to leave history unremembered, undamaged.
He walks over and with one hand, takes the knife, wipes it clean, switches it closed. With the same hand, his knife hand, he touches his knuckle to the boy’s cheek. The silence following will hold this moment, will carry it to its grave, so no one else has to.
Give Her A Shot
Msbehave
PERSON 1
P lunging recklessly, it was deeper than last time. Exciting and scary at the same time . . . it was the best time to look, while she was busy
Everything is shards, slanting, harmful. The boy’s voice is underwater, reaching Jewel as if after miles, years. Over that distance, the boy comes to see that the farther he goes, the more Jewel reaches out. So he knows what he must do, what he must keep doing.
‘It’s not that simple,’ Jewel says.
The boy is frightened into stillness, as much by Jewel’s scorn as the words.
‘Nothing were ever that blood simple.’
WINTER
18.
When Jewel walks into the room, the boy is perched on the arm of the couch like a monkey. He pounces and Jewel play falls and then fall falls. The rug below them is thin enough to feel the floorboards underneath. The boy’s hand reaches around, grabs his cock, and Jewel feels it like a glove, the last jigsaw piece. He’s hard in seconds but the boy won’t let him have his way with him. Instead he plays Jewel for a song.
Jewel sings, This could go on forever . . . would that it would . . . would that it would . . .
The boy is late blooming, holding him so close that Jewel is singing into his skin. He holds Jewel’s face so their eyelashes touch. They make love like this, face to face so they can kiss. Jewel knows his taste like it’s his own, except, joyously, not.
Each thrust and the boy comes closer and closer and closer. As he comes, tears come into his eyes, they leave.
Jewel keeps singing, This could stop right now . . . would that it would . . . would that it would . . .
19.
Jewel is sitting, the boy on his lap facing him, naked, wearing only a headlamp. The last light is blown, the only other light from the bathroom. Jewel is rolling a joint between them, the goods spread out on a plate beside them. He’s using the rolling papers the boy got him.
‘Who’d have thought?’ he says, licking, rolling, laughing.
‘Thought what?’ the boy says looking up, the light sharping into Jewel’s face.
Jewel squints, his irises shifting proportion, pigment. ‘That you’d be lighting my way.’
The boy laughs and switches off the headlamp. He kisses him and Jewel puts the tray aside, kisses him back hard and hungry.
‘I must go,’ the boy says getting up, switching the headlamp back on, picking up his clothes.
‘Must you?’ says Jewel in mimicry.
‘Godknows, I were so crying late,’ the boy shoots back just as quick a mime.
Jewel smiles, his irises modulating again. ‘Leave the light, yeah?’
The boy hesitates as he buttons his jeans.
‘Or don’t,’ Jewel says in amusement, ‘I’ll finish in the bathroom.’
The boy throws his light at him and Jewel catches it like he knew it was coming all along. He knows to make up for the sass, so he doesn’t start licking and rolling just yet. He watches the boy pull on his t-shirt, arms first, knowing he’ll feel him watching. He watches him pocket his keys, open the door. And then just as he’s closing the door, Jewel calls out his love.
20.
The boy cuts into a peach with Jewel’s Swiss Army knife. Each new moon reveals a rust core, its skin curling loverly. He eats the peach standing over the sink, dripping, his hands cupped in prayer.
Jewel watches him from the doorway. He knows it’s a gift, what he has. He wants to take the knife and cut them both, stop the picture of now, in this moment. Instead every second takes them farther, into the coming gloaming, the inconceivable morning. What he will remember of now will be some pale decay. Better to leave history unremembered, undamaged.
He walks over and with one hand, takes the knife, wipes it clean, switches it closed. With the same hand, his knife hand, he touches his knuckle to the boy’s cheek. The silence following will hold this moment, will carry it to its grave, so no one else has to.
Give Her A Shot
Msbehave
PERSON 1
P lunging recklessly, it was deeper than last time. Exciting and scary at the same time . . . it was the best time to look, while she was busy
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