the key into the lock. I thought of their tails whipping my legs, the weight of their snouts in my palms. And their eyes—how they closed them in gratitude whenever I stroked their heads. Time to get out of here. I pulled up my pants, my right leg prickly with sleep. Home: odd to think of it that way, but that’s what it was now, for better or for worse.
I opened the door. Before me stood the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
We looked at each other, quizzical. An awful thrill went through my stomach. Had we known each other once? “Evan,” he might have said.
He stood there longer than was exactly comfortable, as if he, too, felt paralyzed. Though he was altogether perfect, it was his eyes that drew me to him, large brown eyes that revealed a soulfulness, an abundance of spirit, with just enough wryness thrown in for good measure. There wasn’t a wall between him and the world. Everything, I imagined—praise, insult, injury—registered on his psychic screen. I glanced about the booth as he walked down the hall. What should I do? The wadded tissues on the floor, the twisting bodies of the videos seemed otherworldly, radiant now, imbued with the richest amber light. I imagined taking him in my arms, nipping him, tugging the skin of his neck between my teeth. Then reaching downward for his belt buckle, rubbing circles on his stomach with my fist. A shard of paper dropped through the chicken wire overhead, and a note? Was that what this was? I want you right now. Meet me in #2.
My face blazed. I strolled down the hall toward the indicated door and entered the booth, reaching out into the darkness. My breaths quickened. His chest was warm, softer than I’d imagined, yielding. He smelled of orange rind, fresh laundry. He exhaled in a slow, satisfied half-whistle.
Only when my eyes adjusted did my presumptuousness become clear to me.
“You’re here,” whispered an odd, balding man.
“But—”
“What took you so long?”
He pressed a soft palm against my cheek. He gazed at me with such tenderness and awe that I couldn’t say no to him. He wasn’t attractive. His forehead sloped, speckled and vulnerable like the underside of a fish. I’d like to say that I treated him with warmth and compassion, some modicum of fellow feeling. Instead, I guided him to the floor, jerked down my zipper, and gave him exactly what he wanted.
“Suck it,” I mumbled.
“Mmmm.” He gazed up at me with glistening eyes, so grateful, relieved.
“Don’t say a word, faggot.”
I crossed my arms over my chest in a complete affectation of boredom. I thought: You can be whoever you want. Your name’s not Evan, and your longing isn’t killing you. I gazed down at my cock slipping in and out of his mouth, numbing every sensation from it, refusing to admit that we were even engaged in the same fundamental work. I didn’t touch him or urge him onward. Loneliness, I thought. This was isolation, and this was loneliness. I saw my bones turning at once to powder, particles of me flying up through the air filters. A broken bell chimed in a distant tree. Was it even sex that I wanted, or something more elusive, more rigorous than that? Had I wanted William to change my life? Had I wanted him to solace my pain, to exchange my former home for a better, more protected one? Had I wanted him to embrace every last facet of me—my speech, gestures, flaws, potential? And in expecting these things, was I pushing him away?
Or, simply, did I want a fraction back of what I was giving to him?
I thought of Al Parker’s bearded face. I pulled back from the stranger while there was still time.
“That was terrific,” he said, smiling.
“Thank you,” I said nervously, giving his shoulder a squeeze.
“No. Thank you. ” His face glowed with a freshly pink sheen. “I’ve never seen you here before. What’s your name?”
“Kevin.”
“I’m Irwin,” he said, offering his hand to shake.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay,” he
I opened the door. Before me stood the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
We looked at each other, quizzical. An awful thrill went through my stomach. Had we known each other once? “Evan,” he might have said.
He stood there longer than was exactly comfortable, as if he, too, felt paralyzed. Though he was altogether perfect, it was his eyes that drew me to him, large brown eyes that revealed a soulfulness, an abundance of spirit, with just enough wryness thrown in for good measure. There wasn’t a wall between him and the world. Everything, I imagined—praise, insult, injury—registered on his psychic screen. I glanced about the booth as he walked down the hall. What should I do? The wadded tissues on the floor, the twisting bodies of the videos seemed otherworldly, radiant now, imbued with the richest amber light. I imagined taking him in my arms, nipping him, tugging the skin of his neck between my teeth. Then reaching downward for his belt buckle, rubbing circles on his stomach with my fist. A shard of paper dropped through the chicken wire overhead, and a note? Was that what this was? I want you right now. Meet me in #2.
My face blazed. I strolled down the hall toward the indicated door and entered the booth, reaching out into the darkness. My breaths quickened. His chest was warm, softer than I’d imagined, yielding. He smelled of orange rind, fresh laundry. He exhaled in a slow, satisfied half-whistle.
Only when my eyes adjusted did my presumptuousness become clear to me.
“You’re here,” whispered an odd, balding man.
“But—”
“What took you so long?”
He pressed a soft palm against my cheek. He gazed at me with such tenderness and awe that I couldn’t say no to him. He wasn’t attractive. His forehead sloped, speckled and vulnerable like the underside of a fish. I’d like to say that I treated him with warmth and compassion, some modicum of fellow feeling. Instead, I guided him to the floor, jerked down my zipper, and gave him exactly what he wanted.
“Suck it,” I mumbled.
“Mmmm.” He gazed up at me with glistening eyes, so grateful, relieved.
“Don’t say a word, faggot.”
I crossed my arms over my chest in a complete affectation of boredom. I thought: You can be whoever you want. Your name’s not Evan, and your longing isn’t killing you. I gazed down at my cock slipping in and out of his mouth, numbing every sensation from it, refusing to admit that we were even engaged in the same fundamental work. I didn’t touch him or urge him onward. Loneliness, I thought. This was isolation, and this was loneliness. I saw my bones turning at once to powder, particles of me flying up through the air filters. A broken bell chimed in a distant tree. Was it even sex that I wanted, or something more elusive, more rigorous than that? Had I wanted William to change my life? Had I wanted him to solace my pain, to exchange my former home for a better, more protected one? Had I wanted him to embrace every last facet of me—my speech, gestures, flaws, potential? And in expecting these things, was I pushing him away?
Or, simply, did I want a fraction back of what I was giving to him?
I thought of Al Parker’s bearded face. I pulled back from the stranger while there was still time.
“That was terrific,” he said, smiling.
“Thank you,” I said nervously, giving his shoulder a squeeze.
“No. Thank you. ” His face glowed with a freshly pink sheen. “I’ve never seen you here before. What’s your name?”
“Kevin.”
“I’m Irwin,” he said, offering his hand to shake.
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay,” he
Similar Books
