1. Meeting the Incubus [part 4]

Holidays meant nothing to me, since every year prior to my move-out day both parents were out celebrating on their own, leaving poor little me all alone. We never celebrated anything, so I never found significance in the universally accepted happy days.

Glenn, however, did celebrate.

On Christmas Eve, he showed up at my door with a plate of homemade cookies and homebrewed eggnog. He was decked out in Christmas colors: merry red and forest green. We sat on the floor, dunking cookies in eggnog, taking turns in sharing holiday stories — although the conversation was short on my end.

On Christmas day — since he had slept over, neglecting his club’s needs — I woke up and found a diamond necklace beside my head. At first, I simply stared at it, wondering what the Hell it was and why the Hell it was there. I blinked a few times before picking it up. It had my name engraved on the underside of the diamond. Now, I don’t like diamonds at all, but the thought of someone caring enough to buy me a necklace with a sparkly, shiny, pointy gem is very dear.

I sat up to observe it carefully, dangling it from my hand, feeling the cold material slip through my fingers. After playing with it for a while, I noticed Glenn smiling at me from across the room.

Speechless, I said nothing.

The New Year was a completely different story, though, which brought me a grand surprise.

New Year’s Eve was spent drinking at Demonica’s bar, mindlessly flirting with random guys who walked by. Most responded; others directly said they weren’t interesting in dicks.

A pair of girls began flirting, poking, and probing at Glenn, batting their falsies falsely, thinking they were hot shit. Glenn glanced at them awkwardly, openly rejected them — but they urged in a way only females can.

Once I saw that there was no way to ward these girls off, I needed to intrude. I said, “Hey, leave my boyfriend alone,” slipping onto Glenn’s lap casually, draping my arms over his shoulders and around his neck.

Glenn set his head on my shoulder, smiling contently.

“Bitch, no one called you over,” one said to me.

“I don’t need to be called over. He’s already mine, and I’m not sharing.”

“Fuck off, fucking skank,” the second said.

“Fuck you and fuck off yourself. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it–”

This girl slapped me across the face.

The chain across my left face came off instantly. My nose ring popped out, producing a small cut on my nostril. The ring in my ear ripped out, causing another tear in my flesh. Ouch. It hurt.

I felt my nose and ear, pulling my hand back, watching the bright red blood. I glanced up at the girl, whose face contorted in a pleased smirk. I didn’t know whether to slap her in return or not ‘cause — um — I’m technically male. I really wanted to punch her in the face, though.

“Do it. No one would mind,” a whisper right beside the injured ear suggested. Obviously, it was Glenn.

Whenever his voice sounded, soft and melodious, it was like a command, his demand. I was compelled to do whatever that sweet, silky voice ordered me to.

I slid off his lap, harshly slapping the girl across the face, pulling away before she had time to react. She staggered backward. I don’t know what else overcame me, but I couldn’t stop myself from tackling her to the ground like the football player I was never meant to be. I hit and punched her right there on the floor. She just laid there on the ground, taking my attacks. No one around seemed to notice, or care. Even her friend had disappeared, blending in with the crowd oh so well.

After noticing bruises forming but no cuts appearing, I looked at Glenn.

His eyes were pitch-black. His smile was lustful. He held his hand out for me.

I took it — yes, I took his hand. I was terrified, absolutely. Sheer terror ran through my entire body and mind as he picked me up and led me elsewhere.

I couldn’t stop looking at his eyes. His incredibly black eyes — the whites and all — wouldn’t switch back to their original green and white state I loved so much.

He wouldn’t look at me.

I touched his eyelashes and he blinked, briefly glancing at me before averting his eyes again.

We were in his room — I could tell that much — but it was hotter than the club itself was. I could feel the heat pleasantly roll off my skin.

“You’re afraid,” he muttered, hesitating with my body. He didn’t want to let me go.

His words were such a cliché!

I shook my head, defiant against my true feelings — yes, afraid. I was terrified.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to argue with you–”

“Why are your eyes black–?” I questioned, unable to turn away.

He gulped, looking unsure.

“I didn’t know they were black — that explains why you were staring…,” he mused, looking at me with soft, weak eyes.

“Natürlich. Now explain all of this to me. I would like to know why my boyfriend’s eyes are black — and yes, I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared I’m ready to piss myself.”

His stare unnerved me; I wish I hadn’t spoken.

I returned his gaze anyway, a thought enlightening my dead mind.

“Hold — wait — you — didn’t know why I was staring at you–? Can’t you read my mind–?”

“Only when I’m in contact with the subject.”

I’m a subject.

“Then why can’t you read my mind?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why are your eyes black?” I yelled — yes, I yelled at him. I grew impatient. I was impatient.

Glenn looked away, licking his lips, blinking but never returning to normalcy.

“I need to feed,” he simply said, avoiding my paralyzed stare again.

“You need to feed. So go buy a fucking cheeseburger!”

A stupid response coming from a little, stupid person.

He chuckled nervously — that’s how unfunny and plain stupid my response was.

“Kraven — I don’t mean food. I’ve told you repeatedly: I’m not human — well, I am, but not entirely. I feed on other things.”

The words rushed out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“Feed on what other things?” I asked, leaning away from him, scared out of my mind.

“Don’t get the wrong idea when I reveal this — and I’m only telling you because you asked and you have the right to know. It’s only right that I tell you.” He stopped, closing his eyes for a split second. He reopened them again, searching for my reaction. I don’t let him read me. He said, “I feed on lust.”

I almost laughed because of how silly it sounded. The only reason I didn’t laugh was because he sounded so genuine. The sheer ridiculousness of his words obliged me to shut up. To me, it seemed like a big joke. He was the jester tricking the foolish audience. I was caught in the sea of thoughtless beings.

Instead of pouring out my thoughts, I asked, “What do you mean by ‘lust’?”

“I mean I live off of other people’s sexual thoughts and desires. Kraven — I’m an incubus. This isn’t a best seller novel where the protagonist turns out a bloodsucking vampyre or evil demon from — oh I dunno — outer space whatever.” He briefly stopped, but decided to continue after seeing my blank face. “Kraven, I’m an incubus who drinks other’s lust. I’m a high-class sort of demon, if you want to think about it that way — and I think you should go piss now.”

I scrambled to the bathroom, pissing away my fears and troubles, walking out moments after to find Glenn still sitting on the bed, his eyes closed pensively.

I stood before him, wondering how this chain of events would play out. I stared at him, pitying his forlorn expression, his obvious distress. I couldn’t imagine how a seventeen year old would handle this. I pitied him for Darwin’s sake–

“You can — you can feed on me — if you want to, you can feed on me,” I muttered, stumbling over my words, stuttering horribly, feeling a heavy blush crawling up my neck.

His eyes opened abruptly, gaze searching for truth in my own eyes. He said, “I don’t know, Kraven — I might get carried away.”

“What do you mean?”

“I might hurt you.”

“How?”

“You’ll–faint. You’ll definitely faint — but whether you wake up afterward is a matter of — truth.”

“What do you mean? Am I going to die?”

“No! No — you won’t die. You just might not wake up–”

“Stop using fucking euphemisms, Glenn,” I blurted, irritated, but quickly snapping my mouth shut. I tried a different approach after seeing his deeply hurt expression. “Where do you feed?”

“Numerous place: behind the neck, on either wrist, the skin between your thighs,” Glenn mumbled, a blush crawling up his skin. I didn’t know this was an embarrassing topic for him.

“Which do you prefer?”

“Wrists for girls; lower skin for boys.”

“Will it hurt?”

“No — kind of. You’ll feel a part of your mind wiping out, which I hear is a little painful but the faint comes immediately afterward, a sweet numbness.”

“Will I remember any of this?”

“You’ll pass out and think I fucked you when you come to your senses. I fed on Thorn once — that’s why he thinks we slept together.”

“Oh.”

Oh, that’s right. You’re touching me so that’s why you know Thorn told me about — huh, I thought to myself, knowing he could hear it as well.

Glenn nodded.

“Yes.”

“So are you really hungry?”

“Immensely.”

I emptied my mind of all succeeding thoughts before pushing myself forward — so very close to him — and unbuttoning my skirt, shimmying it down completely, sliding down the fishnets and binder covering my legs. The only barrier left was a pair of red and black polka dotted undies.

“Feed.”

Glenn pulled me forward, rolling me over so he loomed over me. He aggressively attacked my skin with his lips — pink lips swirling, whirling, tasting sensitive, pale skin. His tongue tickled me and I almost giggled, but I forced myself not to, for this was an important, rather serious issue.

He was right. It felt like he was giving me a blowjob or like he was fucking me senseless and making me into goo. A part of me detached itself, escaping to freedom across many borders and senseless barriers. I stopped wriggling soon after.

It was ecstasy at its finest, a strange taste of death that proved delicious. I think I died that night — and I probably did.

I placed a numb hand on his shoulder, a lethargic finger intruding his shirt, desperately stroking and feeling hot, smooth skin.

He looked up at me and smiled, licking my skin one last time before departing. His eyes were normal again, a brilliant green shade I missed so much.

I panted heavy breaths, trying to fill my lungs. Suddenly I was dehydrated, but I didn’t care; I forced myself to smile.

I allowed his hand to rid of my panties, not caring if he wanted to do it; I was too messed up to respond. It felt like was on fucking acid.

He bit his lip again, contemplating, glancing down at my leaking dick, the tiny hardness sticking up. Oh god. I wanted him to suck me — which was awkward because usually I do the sucking.

“I want to have sex,” he finally said, his mouth kissing the warm, delicate flesh just beside my dick.

“You’re not a virgin, I’m guessing,” I struggled to say, mewing, enjoying his wet lips on my skin.

“God, no,” he muttered into my pubic hair, his nose poking the light bush awkwardly.

“What a pity.”

“You’re not a virgin either–”

“Just fuck me, Glenn.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, but you’ll have to suck me. You look so fucking — sexy.”

I shook my head, responding, “No, no — you need to suck me first.”

“We’ll suck each other off together, yeah?”

“What, like 69?”

“Exactly like 69. Yea or nay?”

“Why the Hell not — let’s do it.”

He repositioned himself beside me, bending his body so that I could reach him — a foot difference in height really sucks.

His hands instantly touch my dick, stroking it gently before pumping it harder. I had to match his game — but since he was already too hard to foreplay with his toy, I took him into my mouth, sucking at it gently, mostly for my pleasure. Glenn placed tiny kisses along my length while I licked his slick. It was a strange combination.

Burying my head further in, deeper and deeper, I gave him my all, trying to impress him while not coming off as a slut.

He finally took me in and sucked, doing away with my manly juices.

I hugged his legs and pressed further, not caring if he was about to blow.

Glenn continued his magic when I stopped, realizing his was too close to not fitting. I wished he had stopped then, though, ’cause it felt like I would explode any time.

He stopped right after kissing the tip of my dick and cleaning up the mess he made, biting his lower lip, sitting up and staring me down. I could tell he prepared himself enough to fuck me.

I noticed a small glob of white stuff on his lips, clearly my white stuff, a strange turn-on of mine.

He attacked me again, pushing me back onto the mattress and neatly eating me up. Without a clear warning or heartwarming words, he stretched my legs outward and upward, positioning his dick against my hole.

“Glenn.” The word fell from my lips, disappearing as quickly as it appeared.

He pulled a face indicating his sheer pleasure at hearing me utter his name as his dick pressed inside, the lubricant I created letting him slip in easily.

He held me close as his body thrust forward.

I’m not going to say we moaned erotically or I screamed out erratically or there were slippery, wet, smacking noises resounding throughout the room — because we weren’t, I wasn’t, there weren’t any such noises — except the few low pants escaping our mouths.

His joy was evident on his face. I felt happy — or I would have anyway if I weren’t so distracted by his dick filling me up.

I looked down to where everything was happening, where he entered me ruthlessly and thoughtfully, a contradiction only he could construct. I let my hand wander downward, the index and middle fingers forming a V-shape where he contradictively thrusted into me. His dick grazed alongside the two fingers. He let out a long moan.

I bit my lower lip, occasionally letting go for little puffs of air.

My fingers made him come.

As for me? What had become of my own full dick? That old thing spurted like mad before I had even reached below.

Glenn — oh poor, young Glenn — looked exhausted. His post-orgasmic face was simply divine. He fell on top of me, his audible pants pleasant to listen to. His chest rose rapidly and dropped just as fast. His eyes were droopy. His dick twitched a bit inside of me.

I stroked his hair very lovingly — adoringly — gazing down at his peaceful face, a perfect mask of feigned sleep.

“I’m not asleep,” his mumble came from just beside my shoulder.

I stopped stroking and instead allowed a finger to travel down his head to his eye. I poked the lid playfully.

He glanced up at me innocently, asking, “How’s your ear?” As an afterthought, he murmured, “You taste like salt.”

I had totally forgotten about my ear — and the fact that some bitch ripped off the chain and most of my earrings.

“I honestly lost feeling. The heat’s all down there.”

Glenn’s smile was one of pride.

“I’m still horny. I could do you one more time.”

“I can tell,” I responded. “Your dick’s throbbing.”

I added in my mind, You’re still in me, Glenn.

“Shit,” he whispered, forcing himself out.

I let out a noise of lust as he left my body.

Resting beside me on the bed, he took my hand, kissing it tenderly, uttering an “I love you, Kraven.”

His hand lazily trekked up and down my torso, much like a cat.

“It’s too soon, don’t you think?”

“I’ve done worse.”

He didn’t reply, probably reading my thoughts, all the memories I kept hidden inside the dark crevices within.

He asked, “So — how is your ear?” He was worried — but I just shrugged.

“I can’t really see it, Glenn. Go ahead and check for yourself. Tell me how bad it is.”

I turned my head to the right so he could inspect the left ear.

Glenn moved my hair and looked on. His face contorted slightly, and then he leaned down and kissed my lips gently.

“The lobe is ripped slightly and there’s dry blood — very little, though. The ring is missing.”

Ignoring his words, I brought him back for another kiss, fiercely attempting to devour his lips.

Pulling back, I asked, “So Glenn — why ‘no tongue’?”

He looked at me simply, eyes hooded with heavy lust. I bit my lip.

“Because if I allow such an act, I’d risk your life.”

“How?” I quickly asked, my eyes widening.

“Because that’s the method incubi use to — make other demons. Incubi cannot make other incubi; they can only make demons. There’s no rule on how many demons we can make — but that’s a different topic.” He paused on some internal reflections, adding to his explanation, “Yes, demons are produced orally. We have this — chemical-like substance in our saliva that turns humans into demonic creatures.”

“And this is risky how?”

“Well,” he started, taking his place beside me again. “If you’re meant to be a demon, then you’ll faint and live. If you’re not, then — you’ll faint and never come back. See the complications? Do you realize how a small pleasure like kissing like the French can risk your life?”

“I’d risk my life to kiss you, Glenn.”

I paused before saying the magic words, which formed in my head before I could stop them, an obvious spoiler for Glenn — who can read minds, if you can recall.

His eyes widened.

“I love you, Glenn.” Bringing his head down rapidly, I uttered, “Kiss me. I’ll risk my life. I’ll die a pretty, wonderful death knowing I’ve kissed you.”

He licked his lips and kissed me. Harshly. Roughly.

My lips parted invitingly, greeting his warm tongue.

I rubbed my entire frame against what I could of his. He responded by shoving his tongue further into my mouth, nearly choking me. I turned the tables by sucking on his tongue lightly, shoving it back out.

I looked intently into his eyes, kissing him again, teasing him with my tongue. Glenn shoved his tongue back in, a tad gentler this time, but still rough.

There was a lot of tongue involved — and I fainted.

That’s how I met the Incubus.

1. Meeting the Incubus [part 3]

Part 3 of the beginning. Enjoy.

…

I knew I would see Glenn the following weekend, in his dusky den, under fluorescent lights, but I never thought of his weird proposal. I thought of him constantly, but never of the odd conversation we had.

Glenn followed me around the club every night I decided to pop in. Normally, I would stay by the always-safe bar, but because he stalked me, I began walking around the club aimlessly, talking to strangers and dancing by myself to songs I liked. Glenn watched me a meter away, visibly contemplating on whether he should join me or not. Could he risk it?

Little by little, he revealed himself to me, whispering small sayings into my ear when he had the chance. He would say the weirdest things, like his supernatural existence, or his supernatural powers. I told him more than once I didn’t believe in his supernatural bullshit.

Glenn proved himself the biggest nag as well. He always asked me whether it was a yes or no, when I had totally forgotten his existence in favor of exotic raver boys high on LSD, dancing around crazily, feeling each other up. I would shrug and tell him to wait; sexy guys are waiting for short, insignificant dances I can afford to give up.

Despite his naggings and strange, verbal unwrapping, he helped a lot around my house. After clubbing for hours on end, he finally asked if he could drop by my place and help with chores and stuff. At first I wondered whether he was genuine or not, whether his intentions were pure and innocent or dirty and naughty. I said yes anyway. It turned out he was a superb laundry-doer, snapping at me whenever I mixed white with colors, or mindlessly poured in black dye.

He’s also good with his hands. His backrubs were amazing.

Suddenly, we knew each other for two months. I went to his upstairs bedroom all the time; he dropped by after closing time or sometimes before club opened. He would walk me to double M. Glenn was a wonderful courtier — since apparently I was royalty to him. I never really understood that boy–

It was December, cold bitter nights awaiting us by the end of the day. My birthday had passed, about a month before, but we did nothing to celebrate. I didn’t want to do anything special; he respected my wishes. We went grocery shopping that day and despite my original mindset, he talked me into buying a rainbow-colored cake reading “Happy Birthday Kraven!”

He told me he didn’t eat. His energy-source was lust, he claimed, emphasizing his point by grabbing my wrist and kissing it softly. I drew away from him, scolding him for not warning me, scolding him for being weird in a public place. Besides, I was going to force granola bars down his throat anyway.

Glenn laughed, saying, “Yeah, you try that. I’ll have you down in less than a second and shove something else down your throat–”

Thorn quickly grew suspicious of our relationship. He always wondered aloud, asking no one in particular why Glenn seemed to be in a trance nowadays. It was obvious he directed his words at me. He wanted to know if we fucked already.

“No. We haven’t. I’m not planning on it. He’s cute and interesting and all that bullcrap, but I don’t think we need it,” I answered, picking at my new leather micro-mini, something to impress Glenn with.

“Do you want to, though? Doesn’t it seem like an exciting and sexy thing to do? Where is he anyway? It’s odd that he isn’t following you around like a lost puppy.”

I shrugged, secretly wondering the same thing. “He wasn’t here when I came in, so I don’t really care. I’m not going to wait for him like an idiot.”

“I think he might be downstairs.”

Downstairs. Glenn mentioned downstairs was his members-only club.

“London Dungeon, right?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested.

“Yeah. You can go in if you want, I’m sure. Glenn’s been all over you since day negative ten.”

“But isn’t it a members-only thing? Glenn said it was.”

Thorn smiled, setting an empty glass in front of me. “So you’ve never been down there, huh?”

I shook my head. “Never.”

“I’m sure you can go. You’re Glenn’s obsession. You might as well go down there tonight.”

“Obsession?” I ask of all things.

“Yes. Obsession. Now go down there if you really want to.”

“I don’t know what I want,” I confessed, leaning over my arms a tad dramatically, closing my eyes, feigning faint distress. His expression cries concern, discomfort, and sympathy.

“Why don’t you try asking him out? I’m sure that’s exactly what he wants, so why not play along? If it doesn’t work out, then dump him. Go easy on him, though, you and I both know how young love goes.”

I thought about it lightly, remembering all my old “loves,” internally rolling my eyes at all but one.

“Maybe. I’ll have to think about it.”

“Whatever. Just take this key and open that door over there.”

He handed me a skeleton key, giving me a stern look, probably because I openly rejected Glenn — and who in their right mind would do that? I left the bar defiantly, ready to face whatever came my way.

In situations like those, I had to play cool, act as if I knew where I was going and what I was doing.

I couldn’t find the fucking door. I felt stupid as I discreetly felt the walls, because the door clearly wasn’t visible. After a few touches, I finally found the door, a daft, ajar door blending in with the brick wall. I have no clue why Thorn gave me the key, but I kept it just in case

I entered with proud confidence and exhilarant achievement — but truly, I wanted to piss myself.

Before me was a torch-lit spiral staircase, delving deeper into the ground, possibly a good ten meters. Walking down the stairs gave me the creeps.

I gulped, cautiously making my way down, swearing to myself for every creepy sound I heard — which were many.

Eventually, the steps ended. I was immensely relieved, only to find that the dungeon-y corridor continued for tens of meters more. I took note of the prison-like hall as I trudged through, hoping this would be the last time I ever visited such a place.

There were three passages at the end, three openings reading, “Living Dead,” “Demonica Erotica,” and “London Dungeon.”

I was confused. Each tunnel looked equally disturbing, without a clear distinction visible. I used the ever-handy process of elimination.

The “London Dungeon” was off-limits, and therefore instantly the wrong path, for yellow “DO NOT ENTER” tape blocked the entrance. “Demonica Erotica” seemed like a nudist/fetishist paradise. “Living Dead” screamed flesh-eating beings that would want to eat me — or take my life away — or some crazy batshit like that.

So I could deal with the kinky stuff, I decided, venturing into “Demonica Erotica,” a mysterious path that turned out to be only about ten steps long. A steel door produced out of Nowhereville, situating itself in front of me. I tried the key Thorn had given me, successfully unlocking the door and pushing it out of place. Then there was a solid room, a room with four, solid brick walls.

Strange, I thought, not allowing myself to think any more than that. I felt tears coming, worthless, desperate tears. I sickened myself; I hated that desperate feeling.

I laughed at myself. I was going through such great lengths, such great heights just to get a glimpse of Glenn. I was scaring the shit out of myself, crawling through the darkest of tunnels just to see a seventeen-year-old supernatural being I vowed I wouldn’t care about — ‘cause caring got you into a lot of bullshit. Not caring about things or people actually helped you out — but what was I going to do now? I went too far to even try retracing my steps and fleeing the scene.

In the desperate state I found myself in, I walked to the opposite wall, intending to bang my head against the solid wall, ready to feel the immense pain crawl through my skin, the heat of blood warm my insides.

Odd music filled the room as my forehead made contact with the wall — only, it didn’t.

I quickly pulled back my head, eyes widening largely. I stared at the wall wide-eyed, the seemingly solid wall I was to bash my skull with. I touched it — and it definitely was not solid.

The strange, hypnotic music…the merry, toxic laughter…the endless cries of joy…the terrifyingly seductive murmurs — they all came from the other side of the wall.

I gulped nervously, forcing myself not to wet myself. Unknown places had that effect on me — but I had already gotten so far. I needed to go through with my quest for Glenn.

I crossed over cautiously, slowly, anxiously, taking in the atmosphere.

Everything looked relatively normal. This “Demonica Erotica” differed little to double M upstairs. The only obvious difference was the temperature; the scorching heat made you melt.

I tried not to hesitate as I searched for the bar, a safe place to observe the rest of the place.

No Thorn greeted me, of course. In his place, a man far skinnier with fugly brown hair took orders sluggishly. He had no cares in the world, but I was on a quest so I didn’t give a fuck.

“What can I get for you?” the guy asked, nonchalant expression smoldering holes in my skin.

“Glenn,” was what I answered, averting his gaze, impassively searching the crowd for my answer.

Alarmed, he asked, “Who’s looking for him?” He glared at me, the same smoldering gaze throwing daggers instead.

“Just tell him Kraven’s looking for him.”

“Ooh-kay. I’ll tell him his little tranny friend’s searching.”

He bounced off with a tight, mocking smile — and I almost scratched his eyes out. I really did. He called me a transvestite, that fucker. Kraven Schweitzer is not a tranny…

I set my elbows on the counter, deciding to ignore the derisive looks he threw my way, meanwhile waiting for the fucker’s response, which never came.

Hands set themselves on either shoulder of mine and I nearly shrieked.

I turned to find Glenn’s fierce glare. I tried smiling, but I couldn’t so I easily returned his glare and frown.

He stood there, saying nothing; I sat there, equally as silent. I guess there was no way around it–

“Hey baby, wanna go outside and talk?” I tried, forcing a tiny smile to form on my lips. His eyes softened.

Glenn took my hand, sighing, saying, “You are in so much trouble, mister.”

He led me away from the busy club and down a narrow path. We entered a black door at the end of the path, a door he locked once we were both on the other side. Glenn let go of my hand and sighed, running a hand through his long black hair. I stepped back, searching for any emotion in his movements.

“What the Hell were you doing out there?” he finally spat, crossing his arms athwart his chest.

“Sitting,” I replied indifferently, copying his arm movement.

“Fucking Hell. Something could have happened to you,” he muttered. He was just worried, I realized, which I admit was cute of him.

“Well, I wouldn’t be down here if you hadn’t not shown up upstairs.”

He looked at me, green eyes brightening.

“I didn’t think you’d come today. I thought — you said you would come tomorrow.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“I was bored.”

Which was true, but I probably shouldn’t have said it. The hurt was evident on his face. He pressed his lips together and began pacing around the room.

“You were bored so you come down here to see–”

“Whether you were here or not. You make great company when you’re not trying to get inside my pants–”

“Skirt,” he corrected, his eyes sparking once again. “Wait — so that means you wanted to see me, right?”

I rolled my eyes, replying, “You know, I could just walk out that door and leave. I could easily change my mind and see you some other day if you’re going to act like a pubescent girl.”

I turned away from him, taking a few steps before he grabbed me from behind. He hugged me closely, tightly — and I just stood there, paralyzed.

“Don’t leave, Kraven.” His head rested lowly on my own. A foot difference, ya know? It’s horrible to admit.

I faced him with a quick movement and draped my arms over his shoulders. He fought a smile.

“I have — a proposal of my own,” I gently said, my fingers twirling his fine locks.

I tried not to think about it so it would be a surprise. I thought of barfing unicorns and sparkly zombies.

“What’s the proposal?” he asked, eyebrow quirking.

“Let’s try dating.”

“Dating–?”

“Yes, dummy, dating. You know, like you and I should become boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends…,” he ponders.

“Just give me an answer, Glenn.”

“Does this mean you’ll be my queen?” he inquires slowly, a finger placed on his chin.

I gave his cheek a little playful slap.

“No. I’ll be your boyfriend with a skirt. I want to try out a regular relationship with you before finalizing my decision.”

“I love your skirt, by the way.” He picked at the waistband, his finger intruding.

“I found it delved deeply in the back of my closet.”

“So it’s not special?”

“No.”

We allowed a brief silence between us.

He said, “I’ll be your boyfriend, Kraven — and I hope I can convince you.”

He kissed my forehead a bit too lovingly — but I’m Kraven. I need much more than a kiss on the forehead.

I grabbed his head fiercely and abruptly, placing hands on either side. My lips landed on his and his eyes flew open. I smiled, moving my mouth against his in a slow manner. He picked up and returned my kiss, unsure of himself. It was obvious because he was clumsy. I guess he’d never really kissed anyone before, despite his obvious expertise in seduction.

I poked his bottom lip with my tongue, deliberately teasing him, trying to initiate a little tongue play.

He drew back, holding his hands up, building a border between us.

I pouted. He petted my hair.

“I’m sorry, Kraven. No tongue right now.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms, looking away.

Glenn picked me up so swiftly. He muttered against my ear, “Do you want to stay over…or would you rather go home?”

“Where are we, anyway? There’s a bed,” I observed, pointing at the huge object beside us.

“Oh. Yeah. This is my chamber — bedroom thing.”

I poked his septum ring — the one that makes him look like a bull — with my finger.

“What’s the thing upstairs?”

“Decoy,” he replied. “So where are you staying tonight?”

“I guess I’ll spend the night with my new boyfriend.” He was going to say something, but I went on talking. “On the condition that you’ll do nothing but sleep beside me. You can embrace me if it’s necessary or if you really want to, but nothing else. I swear, Glenn, if I feel funny in the morning, I won’t hesitate to leave you–”

Glenn set his hand over my mouth.

“Shh. None of that now, precious. Let’s go to bed.”

I nodded, closing my eyes and letting him take me into his bed.

1. Meeting the Incubus [part 2]

Part 2 of the beginning. Read on?

…

I returned to the Morbid Massacre every weekend afterward, slipping through groups of hopeful fags and horny sluts waiting for Glenn. I shortly became a regular, and some of the bisexual guys tried dancing with me, seducing me to the point where I walked away. I was known as “the Pretty Boy.”

I always wore a skirt. The shorter, the better. Guys mistook me for a girl, but it was fine. I didn’t want their pants, anyway.

The Beauty Monster never noticed me, never glanced my way. I liked to think it was because I was just too short. My presence drowned in a sea of uniformed individuals.

It was late October suddenly — the weekend before Halloween.

I stood first in line. The bouncer, already familiar with me and therefore a shitload nicer, was about to stamp my hand and let me in. Instead, he stopped with hand midair and saluted. Confused and slightly outraged, I turned to see whom he saluted. It was Glenn.

Glenn stared at me a moment before accepting a pewter goblet. He glanced at me before entering, leaving me bewildered and tingling.

The bouncer roughly grabbed my wrist and stamped my hand. I walked in before he could shove me in.

The music led me to my rightful place: the bar, where Thorn greeted me with his usual, “Is today my lucky day?”

“No, Thorn…it isn’t.”

“Come on, Kraven. You’ve been coming here for three months now. When’s my chance?”

“Thorn, you’re not my type. We’ve been through this before. Quit humiliating yourself–”

“Damn, you’re harsh,” a deep voice beside me comments lightly. It definitely wasn’t the wide-eyed Thorn who spoke.

I turned in my seat, half-scared, knowing whom it must be, my heart nearly seizing to thump. Of course, I wasn’t going to let the Beauty Monster see that.

He smiled. Glenn smiled at me, idly taking my hand into his, casually playing with my fingers as if we’d known each other since the cradle. He leaned forward, enough for me to memorize the dark flecks in his otherwise light eyes.

“Hello there. I’m Glenn,” he damn neared whispered so close to my face, causing me to jump a bit. He didn’t notice, which surprised me. He went on looking at me.

Just as coolly, trying to hide the fact that I was nervous, I responded, “And I’m Kraven.” I wasn’t going to let any babble spill in front of him.

“Pretty name to match a pretty boy. That’s what you’re called, right? ‘Pretty Boy’?”

Indifferently, looking away for emphasis, I said, “Some people call me that, a very degrading name in my opinion. I prefer Kraven.”

“Well, Kraven,” he started, his hand stroking my somewhat-exposed thigh. Fishnet, ya know? “How about you and I…go upstairs?”

“Depends. Is this a fling…or do you need help with the laundry?”

He laughed, his hand departing from my tingling thigh. I wanted him to keep touching me there. It wasn’t fair.

“Maybe both.”

“Hmm…sure. Lead the way, handsome.”

He took my hand and led me through the crowd. Stairs I never knew existed suddenly appeared. We walked up, cautiously aware of each other’s presence, wondering why two strangers were treading into the Unknown together.
There was a hallway, plain, whitewashed, dreadfully bare of ornaments. There were a few doors, too many to count or actually take notice of. He took me into one of them, turning on the lights so we could see each other perfectly. We sat on a clean, leather couch. I had no time to observe this place, but it looked normal and decent.

“I’ve been watching you for sometime now,” he began, listlessly taking my hand again.

Creepy, I thought.

“Yes, very creepy. But it’s nothing to fear, really. I watch many people. The moment I saw you, though, I knew it was different. I knew I had to have you. I know, that sounds so cliché and plain weird…but I need my queen — and I think I’ve found him.”

His intent stare unnerved me as he waited for my response. I blinked, not knowing what to say, or do in such an awkward situation.

I said, “Well…I honestly don’t know that to say. You seem to know what you want, but unfortunately, I don’t. I don’t know you. I’m not after a one-night stand.”

His smile was radiant. I didn’t think he was real. “Oh my god, you’re perfect, Kraven. You act as if you don’t want me, and I love it! You’re playing hard-to-get, instead of just throwing yourself at me like the rest — but you’ve wanted my attention since day one.” He said this so certainly.

“And you, Glenn, are very clever — only, I’m not playing hard-to-get. I just don’t know what I want, as I’ve mentioned before.”

“You want me,” he replied, his head leaning toward me, his pink lips seductive — but I don’t want to give in just yet.

I let out a chuckle, realizing my hand was still in his. I retreated completely, building a stout barrier between us.

“Sure, but I’m not going to become some stranger’s ‘queen’ just like that. I don’t even know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean. ”

“So you need some wooing on my part. Sigh. Anyone would have loved to be in your place right now.”

“I’m not just ‘anyone,’ though. I’m Kraven. Tough shit.”

“That you are.” His hand reached for my jaw, stroking it gently. Then he said — which completely threw me off — the following: “I’m not like Marck. I won’t be like him. I’ll believe every word you utter. I’ll believe you when you say you aren’t having an affair. I’ll see you for who you really are.”

I jerked away from his touch, eyes widening, freaking out because he shouldn’t know about Marck. His sad smile bewildered me beyond normal.

“How — how do you know — do you know Marck? Is he your friend?” I questioned, backing away from him quickly, clutching the armrest forcefully.

He pointed at his forehead, tapping it softly and sympathetically.

“What the Hell does that mean?” I squealed, furrowing my eyebrows.

“Mind-reading,” he answered indifferently, suddenly smiling.

Maybe it was an illusion of some sort, but his eyes — the whites and all — turned black. I blinked a few times, thinking I was going nuts. His eyes were green again.

“Your eyes are really blue. Really pretty,” he commented, too casual for comfort.

“And yours are green. Big deal.”

“Is that your natural hair color?”

“I don’t have time to bleach my hair.”

“Your piercings are exquisite.”

I involuntarily felt my dimple piercings, forcing myself not to move in any way.

“You look like a bull,” I countered, fighting the urge to whimper.

I don’t know why I was scared…but I was scared, confused, and sad. He made me think of Marck when I thought my heart would shatter at the mention of his name.

He laughed, leaning back on the couch. “You’re very cute. Where do you live? I can walk you home after this.”

“Can’t you just use your mind-reading thing? I’m sure you already know where I live. You’re like the perfect stalker.”

“You’re right. I do know — it’s just that I’d much rather hear you say it.”

“Oh.” I frowned, remembering the past ten minutes and saying, “Since I can’t read your mind — or anyone’s really — I can ask you questions, right?” I looked up at him with — what I hoped to be — innocent eyes.

He reached over and petted my hair, which was too degrading — much more than being called “pretty boy.”

“By all means, do as you please, princess.”

“I thought I would be your queen.”

“You will.”

“Explain that for me, please. Why ‘queen’? Wait — does that mean you’re king? What are you king of?”

His hand stroked my hair, sending chills down my spine.

“I’m the king of–nothing really. I’m just the owner of London Dungeon.”

“‘London Dungeon’? I thought you owned Morbid Massacre.”

“I do. London Dungeon is my exclusive club, a members-only kind of place. It’s downstairs.”

“Downstairs?”

“Below Morbid Massacre. London Dungeon consists of three rooms. Down there, I’m known as ‘king,’ but it’s not my title. I have no title. I’m just Glenn.”

“Oh. So why would I be–queen. Explain ‘queen’.”

“I like you. I love your history. It’s so…different and exciting. That’s why you would become my queen.”

“Why not king?”

“Pfft. Have you ever heard of two kings in the same realm? I think not. Since there’s already a so-called king, then his significant other must obviously be queen.”

“Oh. You’re so weird.” I added, “I’ve never had such a devoted, straightforward admirer before. This could be an interesting adventure.”

“Mmm. Admirer? I like that. You’re not-so-secret, devoted admirer — wait, does this mean you’ll do it?”

“I’ll think about it–” It occurred to me to ask, “How old are you, Glenn?”

“Seventeen.”

I shot straight up. “You’re a minor? Oh, fuck! You do know I’m nineteen, right? Oh, of course you do–”

“Age shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter to me, at least. It might not help knowing my birthday was in July.”

“My birthday is next month…god damn it, Spencer. I’m three years older than this kid.”

“Who the Hell is Spencer–? Oh, never mind. Don’t you think it’s brilliant, though?” Glenn asked so happily, pulling his legs under, much like a child.

Oh my Darwin and Spencer…he really was seventeen.

“So I’m guessing you like older guys,” I mumbled, crawling off the couch because suddenly it was unbearable sitting beside him. I settled on the floor.

“Is that a turn-off?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

I thought about it.

“No. It’s not. I’ve been with younger guys before. It’s just weird. You’re weird.”

Glenn beamed, and I had to look twice, blinking in between glances. His teeth seemed sharp, but maybe it was another illusion. Acquainting myself with the Beauty Monster simply freaked me out.

They are sharp, I thought. That’s weird…

He quickly shut his mouth, pressing his lips together in an awkward smile.

“So — when do I get an answer?” he asked, almost as if he were talking to himself.

I shrugged, replying with a simple, “I’ll think about it.” His encouraged expression compelled me to add, “I don’t normally jump at a younger guy’s request–”

“Am I exempt from this normality?” he interrupted, leaning forward to meet my eyes.

“You are not. I’m not some whore who sleeps around, happy to get into some guy’s pants. Whether you mind it or not, I’m going to take my time contemplating.”

“Fine with me. I didn’t expect you to jump at my dick when I — confessed my distant adoration for you, I should say.” He smiled tightly — so I wouldn’t see his teeth, I assumed — and began stroking my hair again. “You definitely aren’t some whore.”

I shrugged off his comment and stood from my sitting position.

He looked alarmed, matching my pace by standing as well.

“Where are you going?” he questioned, green eyes worriedly pleading.

“Home. You didn’t expect me to stay here, did you?” I straightened my skirt as I spoke.

“Well, no, but — um — would you like me to walk you home?”

He was pulling off the cute high school crush thing pretty well I had to admit. All he needed was a bashful kick to the floor and a scratch to his head. One other thing I had to admit: this boy was adorable.

“Uh — I don’t know. Would you like to walk me home?”

“I would very much like to walk you home.”

“Then you can walk me home, I guess.”

He gave off a super-duper-happy expression as he led me back downstairs, where the club was emptying. Only a few patrons remained, but soon the burly bodyguard would kick them out. Glenn casually mentioned he didn’t like too many people in his personal space as we walked away.

We didn’t leave through the front door because we were cool cats looking for an alternate route. Instead, we exited through the back door, where an alley lay behind, beckoning rape, murder, and other crazy crimes. It didn’t look safe, but I had a tall, tough dude to back me up.

Of course, he knew where I lived so I didn’t bother directing him.

He held onto my hand the entire walk, awkwardly enough.

I lived in an apartment complex about a mile away, two miles from the university. My parents dealt with the rent — just as long as their faggot son didn’t live under their roof, they’d provide a home outside of their own. After all, I was their son.

He walked me up the stairs and through the corridor, not bothering with the elevator because we secretly wanted to prolong our time together.

Glenn made a joke, and I laughed, mostly because I thought I should laugh. I had no idea what he said.

As our small fit diminished, I noticed a figure sitting in front of my door. Glenn and I stopped, stopping a split second before I urged we go on. He looked unsure.

As we approached, I made out the mysterious figure. It was Marck. What he was doing there I couldn’t tell — obviously waiting for me — so I asked him.

I kicked his shoe playfully and he looked up. He was about to smile — the corners of his mouth sadly turning up, his eyes brightening — but he noticed Glenn…and my hand in his.

“You moved on.” He swallowed a lump in his throat.

Glenn let go of my hand, bidding me farewell with a reassuring smile and a thumbs up.

I turned to Marck and said, “Apart from the lengthy period between now and our breakup — three months — I have every right to move on. You dumped me with an invalid reason.”

“You cheated on me. I believe that’s valid enough,” he countered, meeting my stoic gaze.

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” I was going to say something else, but he interrupted.

“Why aren’t you denying it?” he asked.

“Because no matter how many times I deny it, it’ll never go through that thick skull of yours.” I sighed. “Can you, like, move aside so I can go in? What are you doing here anyway?” I crossed my arms.

“I came to apologize,” he said.

“What for?”

“Not believing you — and leaving you.”

“Well, apologize and get out of my way. I don’t like standing out here in the hall.”

“You’re bitter — I should have come sooner,” he mumbled, standing as he did so. Once up, he did almost the same thing as Glenn, acting like a schoolboy, scratching his head. “Kraven, I’d like to apologize for not believing you when you said you weren’t having an affair. I talked to Danzig. He said he tried initiating something, but you always turned him down. He boasted because he thought he was in love. I’m so sorry for…dumping you.”

I opened my door and slipped inside, muttering to him without turning around, “It’s fine, I guess. At least you manned up.”

I closed the door on him.

1. Meeting the Incubus [part 1]

So here begins Meeting the Incubus [the last draft of a 3-year process]. Here’s a craptastic summary-type thing I came up with: Kraven Schweitzer meets the incubus who will change his life, but then reality slowing creeps in, forcing Kraven to reevaluate his life. Through reflecting and reacquainting himself with his past, Kraven realizes age doesn’t just go away. The epic retelling of his past and present entwining help Kraven embrace life and its inhabitants in this post-coming of age story. Pretty shitty, huh? Well, if you’re interested, read on. There’s more to come.

…

I was bored — so I walked the dark, empty streets of Hamburg, looking for nothing in particular. I recently dropped out of university after half a semester, deciding it wasn’t fun anymore. It was also too time-consuming–

Fine — I’ll be frank with you. My ex-boyfriend Marck dumped me when we were in school, and I would’ve been damned if I went back to face him every day. He was jealous, green with envy, when Professor Danzig boasted about his faux-romantic adventures with a saucy freshman named K–

We weren’t in a romantic relationship. I would never have done that to Marck. We never had sex. He forcefully kissed me. I tried fleeing from every one of his attempts. He never backed off. Well, Marck thought otherwise. Honestly, why would I fuck a man ten years my senior? I’m twenty now, by the way, almost twenty-one in November.

That particular night, I traveled the murky streets — the dirty, odd-looking streets. It was late. It was dark out. I had no business strolling around in a black, flowery mini-skirt, a pair of four-inch platforms, and a low-cut, long-sleeved shirt, its shoulders slashed — but I did have some business out there. I was bored. I needed entertainment. Surely, there was a club somewhere.

There was. It was called the Morbid Massacre.

The line was lengthy, filled with piercing punks and grisly goths. The bouncer looked tough and non-woo-able. I reluctantly made my way to the back, gaining looks of approval from some, looks of disgust from others, and looks of envy from the rest.

Did they know I was a boy? Probably not.

I leaned against the brick wall, waiting out the line…waiting out with the line.

There was a pair of dyke chickies in front of me. They talked about feminist ideals, Neo-Nazism, and scoring five-dollar drug deals from some cheap dealer inside. A group of gothy men approached the line and took their place behind me.

“I wonder if Glenn’s going to be here — like last week,” one man wondered aloud, idly picking at invisible lint on his blacker-than-black clothes.

“Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for him too,” another moaned, shocked, slapping the first on his shoulder.

The line moved and I went with it, trying to ignore their conversation, succeeding when my mind floated away.

More people came. More people left. More people went inside. Only a few people stood in front of me; a truckload remained behind.

The bouncer looked at me suspiciously once I found myself beside him. “ID,” he barked, scowling at my five-foot stature.

I took out my identification card, revealing my age, name, address…

He stamped my hand quickly with a red glow-in-the-dark spider web and said nothing but a grunt.

It was my first time inside the Morbid Massacre. I had only walked by it during the day on my walk to school — but those walks stopped once I dropped out. Now I was inside, and all I could think was that the place looked a drab. I wondered why so many people ran in flocks and fought for a place.

I honestly didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know anyone there. I was lonely. I headed for the bar and snatched myself a seat — and just sat there.

The bartender, who looked just like Sean Brennan — only without all the bondage clothing — smiled and placed a skull goblet in front of me.

“What would you like?”

“Skyy. You have that, right?”

“Yes, of course — especially for one with such a pretty face.” He winked and left.

I’m sure he at least identified my gender correctly.

I waited and he came back with a brand new bottle of Skyy. He poured it into a shot glass instead of the goblet. I downed that thing in less than a second.

He leaned forward on the bar, asking if I wanted another. I nodded.

“What’s your name, pretty boy?”

“Kraven. What’s yours?” Common courtesy, I’d say. I swear.

“Nice meeting you, Thorn.”

The shot of vodka was gone.

“Another?”

“No thank you. I’m in no hurry to intoxicate myself.”

He smiled again, moving the bottle of Skyy away.

“Are you here alone, Kraven?”

“Yup.”

“What’s a pretty boy like you doing all alone?”

I shrugged. “I felt like being alone, I guess — but I also felt like having a little fun…by myself.”

“Aye, Thorn! Hit me up!”

“You seem to be summoned,” I teased.

“I’ll be right back,” he excused himself.

Once he turned to the other customer, I glanced around the club. Everyone seemed to crane their necks in search of someone or something. No one really looked interesting enough to talk to — not that I would walk up to anyone for casual conversation.

“Oh, there’s Glenn!” a girl beside me squealed, pointing to her left. I ignored the commotion, toying with the high shot glass Thorn gave me.

“He’s so…so breathtaking,” a flitty boy on the other side breathed, his hand fluttering to his chest. I hated campy guys; I wanted to smack him upside the head.

I arched an eyebrow and looked up, wondering what a gay boy would swoon over. I needed to see what hot piece was walking around, but I saw nothing.

Then I saw him, a beautiful monster of six feet in height, a slim, toned build, inky, disastrous hair, ivory, translucent skin, green, shining eyes…

My jaw dropped only slightly, mostly because I didn’t want to give in. My eyes glazed over, despite my best attempts. My head swam, although I looked away. My mind blanked, and suddenly it felt wrong sitting in this club full of crazed outsiders looking for a glimpse of that beautiful boy.

Thorn tapped my shoulder, and I looked up, dropping the shot glass. It bounced off the counter and onto the floor.

“Captivating, isn’t he?” he whispered loud enough for me to hear. “He’s wonderful in bed. Refuses to kiss, though.”

“You’ve slept with him?” The idea was bewildering.

“A few months ago, actually.”

“Oh.” When I looked back, the Beauty Monster was gone. “Who is he?” I asked, idiotically allowing my curiosity to emerge.

“You mean to say you don’t know?”

“Yes. I don’t who he is. This is my first time here. Is he a regular?”

Thorn grinned sympathetically, patting my shoulder. It was patronizing. “Kraven, he’s Glenn. He’s the owner of this place.”

“The — owner.”

“He’s my boss. He’s the envy of everyone. He’s the love of everyone’s life.”

“Oh,” I repeated. “I can definitely see why.”

“Yes, but he’s unimportant right now. What’s your number?”

“I’d rather not give it out just yet, Thorn.”

He visibly deflated, the little pride he still had running away.

“I’ve gotta go now. Thanks for the erhm…company, I suppose.” I placed twenty on the counter. “Later.”

Thorn said some more stuff, but the ghostly music drowned his attempts. Besides that, I just didn’t want to hear him.

I didn’t want to admit it at first, but Glenn really was captivating. I thought of the small glimpse I caught all the way home. Marck? Who was that? Where did he belong? Where could I place him? Glenn was someone new, someone who didn’t judge — but mostly, Glenn didn’t know who the fuck I was…and that was good enough for me.

Long Summers and Sunshine Shoulders

I know my prose isn’t really being recognized (as opposed to my poetry)…but this blog is for them. So I’ll keep trying. I’ll continue posting my stories.

This is a one-shot related to my full-length, might-as-well-be-a-novel story, Meeting the Incubus…which I might post eventually because I can.

…

I sit here in the cold, reminiscing of the past, our past, wishing we can go back to those sunny, golden days. I wish I can touch your smooth, gold skin and make your giggle again. But I can’t. And I never will be able to again.

I remember never noticing you because I was too preoccupied with other things, like my father’s business, my part-time job, school. We went camping as always, you, me, Hans, your father. We spent the entire day hiking until we found a suitable campsite and set up for the night. We all fell asleep and I still didn’t pay much attention to you…because to me, you were just a quiet, fourteen year old kid. I was just seventeen — what would I want with you, anyway? I’d much rather kill some game and chase skirts, but you were there by yourself, sitting outside the tent, writing in your notebook. No one else was around so I sneaked out for a leak and returned, taking  a seat beside you. You jumped, startled, clearly confused and uncomfortable. You looked down at your notebook and asked if I wanted something, and I asked where your brother and father were. You shrugged and smile, shutting your notebook and paying your undivided attention to me. I asked what you were doing after an eerie silence but you answered me anyway. As you spoke, your creamy voice reminded me of our age and your aspirations. I remember you said you wanted to be a writer, you wanted to write in some exotic place, somewhere peaceful, somewhere no one can interrupt you. I asked if I disturbed you, should I go away? I watched you think about it, mull over my question, shake your head “no.” It’s then I noticed the fine features on your angelic face, a roundness and softness neither your brother nor your father possessed. Your sweet pink lips curled into a delicate smile as you asked what I was staring at, did I find you pretty? Just then, they came back, boisterously roaring like drunken men, with three tiny hares. I watched your teasing expression melt into disgust as you jumped onto your feet and scrambled into your tent. I looked after you in surprise, and asked them what was wrong. They briefly explained your vegetarianism, your inability to even look at meat. You were an avid animal rights advocate, and you sometimes participated in extremist protests. You were born too late for your true generation, they scoffed. It was then that I decided I needed to know you beyond the beautiful shell provided. I wanted to know you despite Hans’ snickers, despite your rash departure.

I remember noticing you more and more after that weekend because you had left such a tragic and delightful impression on me. I was no abstract expressionism impressionist, but I knew you weren’t like others either. I knew if we were really meant to be, then you would come along. We would cross paths sooner or later, and I was right. You answered the door once when I looked for Hans. In your delicate voice, you said he wasn’t available and I almost left because I was so nervous to be with you, alone, without a masculine Hans barking beside us. Your sweet, candy lips parted in another one of your teasing smiles as you invited me in. I couldn’t say no to you, and I had to ask, was anyone else there? Were we alone? You said no one else was there, and won’t be for a long time, since they all went Krakow to visit some family. You had protested as usual, stubbornly deciding you were old enough to stay home alone. You complained about the Soviet Union and kept muttering that the United States will intervene as they did in the past…but I reminded you they were busy fighting their own wars. Your candy mouth smiled again and you looked down bashfully and asked if I wanted to spend the night, since you were so lonely at night…and there were creepy noises creaking. You felt under protected and I immediately agreed. I nearly slapped myself out of stupidity, and I laugh about it now. I remember you began telling me about some protest you attended the weekend before, a huge ordeal at the local zoo. You told me some stranger groped you and you freaked and you left without another word. You told me Hans frequently and meanly teased you for your effeminacy. Your soft doe eyes flitted up toward me as you said you liked me. I was different, you claimed, much more different than Hans and your father. I said maybe I was just like them, but was a great thespian and this was my play. You intervened and I was flustered. How dare you swing into my life so unannounced? You then told me I was being overdramatic, worse than you on your best days. I couldn’t believe your lithe, light body rubbing up against mine when you stood and offered your hand. I took it and you heaved me up, placing your arms around my neck. You pulled me forward and our lips met softly — I had finally tasted your candy mouth and I couldn’t get enough. I pulled you into me and you smiled into our kiss. You sighed dreamily as you placed your head on my chest and I hugged you closer. You whispered, softly so I almost didn’t hear, I’m much better than Hans, and your father…much, much better.

You knew I wouldn’t protest. You knew I was so entranced by you. You knew I fell hard for you. You teased me about it all the time — you said you were so glad you had turned me into a fag. But you only said that because I admitted to leaving my girlfriend. You knew I did it for you — and you never really hid it, did you? You never bothered acting secretive, hiding our little secret from — no, that’s not true. You had no one beside me and your notebook. Suddenly, I was your one friend. I was Hans’ best friend…but most importantly, I was your one and only friend. You shared your entire life with me; you invited me to all these events, all these protests, all these environmentalist, hippie-type gatherings, and I actually showed up to most of them, even when I ate red meat like any other growing teenager who wasn’t like you. Because you were different, and so beautiful — I almost took pride in being the only one who could steal your candy kisses and candy breath. Your lips were mine, and I knew it. You knew it. You introduced me as your boyfriend in some of the circles you associated with, and they called us brave…brave and young. Because, yes, you were brave and very young. I was young, too, and scared. I didn’t realize the loophole of love I spiraled into so willingly…and when I did realize, I was afraid. I never thought I could love someone so much, and care for the same person so much…especially when we never even slept with each other. You were so preoccupied with your hippie lifestyle we never had much alone time. We would meet behind supermarkets and in alleys during the night and steal our breaths away. You muttered continuously, I love you, I love you, I love you. I nodded and let you climb on top of me and stop the beating in my chest. Your giggle resounds sweetly now and I want to cry just thinking about it.

I remember you left for most of the summer, to some family vacation in Paris or Barcelona. Your entire family went, and this time your stubborn cries weren’t enough for them. I held you for an hour before you were forced to go. That summer seemed the longest to date — I was surprised when I was able to survive it. When I met you at the airport, I almost kissed you in front of your family. Instead, I hugged you especially tight compared to the rest. We went to our separate houses and met with each other in the evening. You had dinner at my house and you fell in love with my German shepherd. I teased you about it, asking, don’t you like me anymore? Why does a dog get more love than I do? You smiled your sweet, bashful, devious smile and let him go. You went up to me and kissed my mouth boldly, when we heard a tiny gasp from behind and we turned around. My older sister stared at us, shocked, her eyes nearly bulging out of her eyes. She had dropped our drinks and chips — she was so paralyzed I had to put her out of it by taking her to her room and lying her down on her bed. The look on her face almost put me to shame — but my love for you prevented me from feeling the shame and guilt. I went back outside and you apologized like a mad man, almost crying and feeling the remorse I should have felt. Instead I told you not to worry about it because I wasn’t worrying. You cried anyway and suggested we take a break, but I wouldn’t hear it. I kissed you again, hoping to clear your head from any delusional, insane suggestions and thoughts. We snuck into my bedroom and locked the door. I put on a David Bowie record and you smiled, singing along to the music. We found ourselves in bed and our clothes slowly withered away. I admired your tanned body, the golden brown skin, amazed by the crisp new color I was sure wasn’t there before. You told me you had sunbathed on the roof a few afternoons on your vacation, thinking you could impress me with an exotically dark body. You did impress me. I kissed your body down and you giggled lightly, gently massaging my scalp, gently scratching my head. Your giggles soon stopped when I kissed your intimate parts. Your mouth opened widely, but nothing came out. We made love for the first time that night, our sweaty bodies perfect matches. You never complained, and I never boasted. We slept peacefully, tangled in the sheets, lightly pressing kisses to our skin.

We made love several times after that, with and without protection, on my bed and yours. I skipped school a lot for you those last few months of high school. I acknowledged your age a lot then, realizing you still had a few years before graduating, whereas I was done in a couple of months. You said it didn’t really make a difference, but I saw it too much. The moments we made love, and I admired your sun-bathed body, I saw it. I saw the age difference clearly, mocking us. I couldn’t believe I had you in my arms, someone who should have been off-limits — someone who was off-limits. Our union was illegal, but we went through with it as any star-crossed lovers would. But sex wasn’t everything we did. We still went to those events of yours, we even went to the theatre, and delis. You stopped camping with Hans and your father…and soon, I stopped camping with them, too. You and I were inseparable — I just couldn’t leave you out of my sight anymore. I was that badly in love with you. It was shocking to learn someone could love someone else that much and actually not mind. I didn’t think it was possible…but it was.

I remember when you told me Hans might know about us. I thought about how he had been avoiding and ignoring me at school. I thought it might be true, but I told you not to worry again. If he did know about our relationship, why did it matter? We could exclude him out of it just as much as he was excluding us from his life. And we did. We stopped talking about him and worrying about it. He soon didn’t exist in our galaxy — because it was just you and me, two sole planets in the universe, two planets orbiting around each other, gravity pulling us toward each other. We never complained. We were smiles and grins and your giggles resounding in my ears from time to time. No, we never complained.

I never made plans for college or life, really, either. You were my life all those years; I didn’t think there was anything beyond you, because there wasn’t. When suddenly you turned eighteen and I was twenty-one, you told me you had applied to a college out of state — out of the country, actually. I stared at you, feeling betrayed, feeling all alone and finally the guilt seeped in, crawling unpleasantly in my veins. Four years had passed and we had never once discussed it. It was never brought up…but of course you wanted to go to college. It was selfish of me not to consider the possibility. I thought, is this kid for real? Is he really going to leave me here? I thought he loved me…and I know you did. I know you told me about the college in Bern, Switzerland because you loved me. You didn’t want to leave without a warning. You were nice enough to let me know beforehand — you were giving me time to adjust to this news you gave me. The months preceding your departure were the worst, and the shortest, I had ever experienced. Our union wasn’t illegal anymore, but we turned it up a notch and played around a little more than usual. You hadn’t come out to your family yet as I had to my own. I introduced you to them as my boyfriend and they almost flipped — but they were understanding. You were glad they didn’t socialize with your family and I understood you. At least at my home, we could act as the couple we were and that, you admitted, was a sweet gesture. You knew I was doing it for you. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. I was that in love with you…and you were beginning to see the intensity of it. You were beginning to regret applying to that college. And frankly, I wanted you to regret it so you could stay with me forever…but I didn’t want to strip you of your dream. I wanted you to become that writer in the exotic place you dreamed of so constantly — even if it meant I wouldn’t and couldn’t be with you. I wanted to go with you so badly…but even that was never brought up. It was understood between us that once you left…you would be gone for good.

You left. You went off to college in Switzerland, far from Leipzig…and I didn’t hear from you in a long time. I never spoke to Hans again. Years went by, but I never forgot you. I never took up with anyone else, never had a wife, another girlfriend, another boyfriend, never had any children. I inherited my father’s bakery when he died, and then I lived a lonely life, with only the shop to accompany me. I heard from high school contacts that Hans would marry a Swiss girl and I immediately thought of you. Years after that, I heard his child was born, a little blond boy — Hans’ pride and joy — and you were suddenly a husband and a father. I couldn’t believe my ears. I didn’t want to believe them. I was afraid it was true — and I suppose it was, since my own mother told me she saw you. She obviously knew about us, and she comforted me for a week as I fell into a loophole of depression instead of love. She watched her son cry for the first time in years, since he was a little boy scraping his knees with dirt and sticks. I hadn’t cried in years, Kurtis. But I cried for a week after finding out. I didn’t want to believe. It broke my heart.

My broken heart fractured some more when you called me one night about a decade and a half later. You said you wanted to meet me — and what could I think about this sudden call? It had been twenty years since I last saw you. I was in my forties, you were nearly there — what could I think? I knew you wouldn’t be the youthful boy I met decades ago, the one with the golden skin and creamy voice, the one responsible for my choking love and depression. We met at my bakery and you still had that beautiful teasing smile as you looked around and ordered a cream cheese croissant. I warmed it up for you and you smiled again, biting into it with delicate teeth. I couldn’t help staring at you and you asked the cruelest thing: was I still in love with you? I immediately said yes. I said I had never stopped loving you and I would probably continue loving you until my death. You choked out a laugh and abandoned your croissant on a table. You approached me quickly and hugged me in only the way you would: your arms wrapped around my neck. You stared into my eyes solemnly, cruelly, lovingly. I had to kiss you, and your lips were the same smooth texture they were long ago. Your soft, pink tongue felt the same in my mouth, always deepening our kiss. You hurriedly told me you had a wife and two children, and I said I knew. You cried and told me you couldn’t do it anymore. I stupidly suggested you stay with me forever, fuck the rest. You shook your head sadly but smiled, kissing me again almost eagerly. You said you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t go on. I didn’t know what you meant at the time…so I walked you to your house and kissed you in front of your door, despite the staring, nosy neighbors and your family just inside the house, with only a door between us. You said you never stopped loving me either, before smiling and allowing a lonesome tear down your face. You said you loved me before going inside.
And I cried again the next night when I got that phone call from Hans. I cried so much when he told me what you did to yourself. It felt like a lie. I told him he was lying.

Would you think I was lying if I told you I’ve been visiting this cold gravesite every year since you were buried? Would you think I was a liar if I told you I have this conversation with you every single year since then? Would I lie to you, my love? Would I lie about something like this? I never lied to you — and yes, I still love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. I couldn’t bring myself to hate you when you took yourself away eleven years ago. I couldn’t. I still love you, Kurtis…I promise I will, until the end, until my end.

Hollow Hills

The windows to your soul have lost
Their luster they had once attained
Before cracks varnished the surface
And it slid out.

Listless you stand in puddles delight
With nothing in mind for grating
Or deprecating
In light blight for your eyes remain gone.

Hills have the eyes they stole
From you long ago in a valley unknown
Where grass never seems to grow
But the sidewalk always vanishes.

Chain-link fence captures fleeing
Vagrants and brings them back
To places they do not like
With their grimy, grimy hands.

Places where the hills can reach them
And can trap their souls
With unkempt hands and weathered,
Bedraggled widows sing hymns.

Prayers for you without your windows
Or flaccid creatures with your souls
Go unsung by the elder
Who look onward with their sad, sad eyes.

For the hills really do have eyes,
Kept in jars and boxes
Under their beds and in their closets
Where they collect the morning’s dust.
They watch your partings
And your comings when you think
Escape is your only option
In these vast, hollow hills.

He Will Taste of Nothing

Warning: explicit sex and drug use. Read with caution. Written some time in January.

…

I met Rhys about five years ago when he was just eighteen. Clad in black from head to toe, he sprung from one group of people to the next, probably high on mushrooms given the speed and clumsiness in which he sprung. He looked just like everyone else and easily blended into the crowd, but he was completely different. He wore the same shades of color like the rest (blacks, greys), but he wore tight, ripped leggings instead. He wore this oversized, shredded t-shirt that clung to his skinny white body like a poncho. He danced around loosely, crazily, obviously not caring what others though of him. His heavy Doc Martens carried him around; he was a lone ship trying to find land. But he couldn’t, so he just went where the wind took him.

I spotted his half-shaved, obviously dyed black hair in the crowd when I was performing with my band. He stood near the stage, dancing lonesome, seeking anyone’s attention. I noticed him, but was too busy strumming my guitar to do anything about it.

After our set — and after a few hits of pot backstage — Jared, the vocalist, and I went to the bar at the back of the venue, toward the entrance, and ordered some Lager. Rhys appeared out of nowhere, sliding onto the stool in between us. Jared had this wicked glint in his eye before speaking.

“Hey little lady. Want something?”

Rhys responded with a giggle and words, revealing a studded and split tongue. “Sure.”

Jared ordered another beer for him. I casually sipped on my can, ignoring their flirts and suggestions. I observed his messy makeup, Rhys’ smudged eyeliner, instead. Up close, he looked far more beautiful than in the crowd. When they sneaked off somewhere else, I took my beer backstage, where I chilled out with the rest of the band for the rest of the night.
XXX
I’m looking through the eyes of a psycho! Uh-oh! American Psycho! Uh-oh! American Psycho! Uh-oh! American Psycho!

Clive thrashes along to the music, beside me, behind the counter of the record shop we own. I roll my eyes and push his shoulder forward. He loses his balance and falls face-first onto the floor…and I have to keep myself from laughing.

“Shit, man! Let a brother punk-out, naw?”

“No. Not while we’re working.”

Clive picks himself up, dusting his black-grey pants before setting himself back on the stool.

“It’s fucking empty. No one cares if I’m thrashing out here.”

“I care. I don’t want to see you thrashing out. I’m trying to think.”

He laughs, picking his Coke up for a sip. “What’s the Great Geoff thinking of now?”

“Nothing really–”

The tiny bells we set up long ago above the entrance ring. Clive and I look up almost expectantly as Rhys walks in drinking some sort of fruit smoothie and a greasy bag of food. He smiles gorgeously, setting the bag and his smoothie down on the counter.

“I brought you boys lunch.”

“You don’t want some?” Clive asks, digging into the bag hungrily.

Rhys makes a disgusted face as he walks around the counter and joins us. “Eww. You know I’d never eat that crap.” He sits on my lap, throwing his arms around my shoulders. “Hi baby. I missed you today.”

“Me, too, actually.”

He kisses me almost fervently, sliding his tongue in, a still-split tongue lacking its piercing. I return his kiss just as passionately and deeply.

“Oh, come on, guys. I don’t want to see that.”

Rhys flips him the bird, simultaneously grinding his lower half into my own. He softly moans into my mouth, pulling his lips away almost forcefully, resting his head on my shoulder.

“You’re like a fucking bitch in heat, Rhys.”

“Only for Geoff,” he responds, his baby-blue eyes flitting to meet my gaze, his ice-stone eyes glittering almost innocently…almost.
XXX
I lived with Jared at the time in a dingy two-bedroom apartment just a few blocks from the venue. I walked there sometime around midnight — past that, actually, around three or four — still a little high from the weed we smoked after the show. I stumbled into the apartment, flipping on the lights, noticing two bodies tangled up in sheets on the floor beside the couch. I stared at the figures until a head popped up and stared in return.

I recognized Rhys’ ratty mohawk and smeared makeup peering up at me, so I turned off the lights and went into my bedroom. I fell asleep after changing out of my sturdy clothes.

The next morning, I went into the bathroom for my morning piss. I washed my hands and combed my ridiculously long hair. I ventured out into the living room, finding everything in its place, deciding food was essential.

I stopped once entering the kitchen, staring at a naked Rhys rummaging through the cabinets and pantry.

My eyes focused on the boldface “FAG” above his ass. He turned around swiftly, probably feeling my gaze, smiling softly, not at all bothering to cover himself.

“Good morning,” he sweetly greeted.

“Good morning.”

“Did I wake you?”

“Not at all.” I kept myself from staring at his body by focusing on his face. “Where’s Jared?”

“Who’s Jared?” His large blue eyes squinted a bit, almost cutely.

“The guy who brought you here.”

“Oh…him. He went to work or something. Said he’d come back in a few hours.”

I nodded, opening the refrigerator for some food. We sat together for breakfast, even though it was past noon.

“Do you work out?” he asked abruptly, as I tried eliminating the thought of his bare self on my furniture.

“Sometimes. Why?”

He motioned to my arms, pretending to squeeze them. “They’re huge. I don’t know how you do it. I’d probably die if I were ever that huge.” He added almost as an afterthought, “But you look good. You look natural.”

“Oh…thank you.”

We ate silently, but I could tell he was bursting at the seams. I left my dishes in the sink for later, went into my bedroom, onto my bed…and napped.

About an hour later, I woke up, sensing a warm presence on my bed, another body beside mine. Rhys was asleep, decently clothed in a skimpy pair of black panties, breathing softly and lightly. I stared at his sleeping form until he woke up ten minutes afterward.

He blinked his eyes awake, yawning, stretching feline-like. He smiled softly and explained himself. “I can’t fall asleep alone. I need another body.”

“That’s fine.”

I looked at his jutting ribs, his bony hips, the thin, almost transparent skin revealing bulging blue veins. Because I didn’t allow myself to look at him before, I just noticed the black hoops pierced through his nipples and the black navel rod. His knobby fingers slowly stroked his skinny frame, enticingly, knowingly.

“Do you want to fool around?”

“Not particularly.” I looked into his rejected, bloodshot eyes. He took my rejection lightly, though.

“I guess I should get going, then. Tell Jerry he was nice lay for me, yeah?”

‘His name is Jared.”

Rhys shrugged noncommittally, standing up and stretching again. I couldn’t help looking at his scrawny body, the bold “FAG” tattoo on his lower back.

“It’s all the same to me,” he answered, slipping on some black socks and his shredded leggings. He struggled with his shirt so I helped him out. I followed him to the door. “It was nice meeting you — hey, what’s your name?”

“Geoff.”

He grinned brightly, almost suggestively.

“Well, it was wonderful meeting you, Geoff.” He stuck his hand out and I shook it softly, afraid I would break him. “I’m Rhys, by the way.”

“I’ll see you around, Rhys.”

“Maybe.”
XXX
We walked out of the record shop, hand in hand, not knowing exactly where we’ll end up. We normally walk aimlessly like this until we think of somewhere to go. As usual, Rhys talks his head off — a good thing because I don’t feel like talking today. I’ll be all grunts and mumbles if I do.

“You’ll be so proud of me, Geoff. I went to the clinic today for a physical check-up and guess what? I gained ten pounds since my last test! I’m now a whopping one hundred and five pounds. It’s so hard not to stick a finger down my throat…but I’m trying. And it’s showing. I ate more than just a salad today, too: I ate a salad and a banana and a non-diet Coke. And that mango smoothie I left at Dark Hole. I was thinking we can go to that diner we saw the other day when we were walking to Sun Dried for dinner, but much later. I don’t think I can even look at food right now. The doctor said he’s proud of my effort, but I need to gain at least twenty more pounds. Maybe I should just eat an entire fifty-layer double chocolate cake by myself–”

“That’s unhealthy.” I add after a brief, one-second silence, “We can go to the diner around seven and we’ll share that root beer float you wanted to try.”

“Okay.” His perky voice makes me look at him. It makes me smile and lean over to kiss him on that sweet, pink mouth of his. He touches my face and says, “I love your random kisses. They tell my you love me.”

“I do you love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I kiss him again before we cross the street to our tiny one-bedroom condo, where we’ll probably light up some candles and incense and listen to music, old Cramps and Misfits, old Bauhaus and Cure.
XXX
Jared sent me to our dealer’s house once to pick up our stash for the weekend. I was all too eager since I was promised half of the load. In those lost days, acid sheets were cool. In those lost days, everyone needed a trip…even if you were conservative, even if you valued your life.

I knocked on Brandon’s door rapidly, then slowly, alerting him of my purpose.

A half-nude Brandon opened up, squinting at the sunlight behind me. “Heeeeeey, Geoff. Where’s the homie Jay?”

“At home. I’m here to pick up.”

“Sure, sure. Come in. I’m still sorting out some shit so you’ll have to wait, though. Want a drink?”

“No, thanks.”

I sat down on a filthy couch, glancing at a passed out girl on the floor, at another girl staring at the ceiling, counting the glow-in-the-dark stars and planets.

“So how’s your wife?” Brandon asked sarcastically, using gloves to separate the merchandise.

“He’s not my wife.”

“You know what I mean. You live together and all.”

“We’re just friends. And he has a girlfriend. And I’m not interested in him that way.”

He lit up a cigarette and the counting girl scrambled to him, begging for a drag.

Brandon laughed. “Dude, chicks want this shit so bad they’re willing to blow you for free.” He looked up at me with a smirk. “But I know they’re not the right gender, huh? I’ve got this guy coming in every now and then. Gives killer head — too bad he doesn’t stay long enough for anything serious. Not that I’m all that interested. I’ve got these lovely girls lapping at me for a drag.” He gave the cigarette to the girl, who crawled back to her counting spot.

I never knew how to adequately converse with our dealer, so I normally just answered his direct questions. Whenever he stated something, I would keep silent until he gave me what I came for. So he gave me a baggie.

“Here you go, kid.”

I handed him the money, unpleased with him calling me “kid.” I was twenty-eight already to his thirty-something. We were practically on the same age.

I don’t know why I asked, “Who’s the dude who comes around sometimes? What’s his name?” I can say it was curiosity, true, honest, earnest curiosity.

“Uh — Rye? Rice? Ritz–?”

“Rhys?”

“Yeah. That guy. He’s got that freaky tongue and pierced tits. You know him?”

“We’ve met before.”

“Careful, though. He probably has AIDS. That skinny motherfucker–”

I didn’t hear the rest of what he had to say because I was gone. I walked back to the apartment after depositing the baggie in my pocket. When I entered the building and climbed the many flights of stairs, I found a Post-It note stuck to the door, a bright green square demanding attention.

Hey Jeff
I think I left my pipe in there and I really need it back
Rhys

I stared at the note for a while, rereading it, taking in my misspelled name, his chicken-scratch, spiky writing, the elaborate “R” on the tiny note. I went inside and slipped the note in a box I kept inside a bookcase. I went on a search for an unfamiliar pipe that might have belonged to Rhys.
XXX

Rhys prances around the room, languidly, fluidly, moving around, lighting up scented candles with his pewter stone lighter. He prances whilst singing, “Who killed Mr. Moonlight? A shadow of his smile…a shadow of his smile…”

He switches off the lighter, looking around the otherwise dark room, content with the tiny flames. His eyes roam, locking with my own curious, content eyes. He smiles when the song ends and switches to our song.
Rhys crawls onto the bed, slowly, enticingly, the shirt sliding off his slim shoulder.

“Shivering under lampposts, shivering under glass. You’re standing on charisma again. God knows it cannot last. What’s the difference? Ice inside your body; blood inside your soul. Yet still twelve faces stand around, hugging your skinny bones. What’s the difference?”

He settles in my open arms. I hug him tightly, squeezing gently so I won’t hurt him. I don’t want to hurt him.

“The difference is…you don’t have to stand around shivering with your skinny bones when I’m around. I’ll warm the ice inside your body and the blood inside your soul,” I tell him, kissing his forehead, his shorter, green-black hair.

“That is very true, sir,” He presses his lips against my chin, down my neck. He presses his skinny body against my much bigger one. “I feel very warm and safe with you.”

“I hope so.”

“Can we nap? All your warm protection is making me drowsy.”

“We should probably distinguish the candles.” He pouts cutely, taking one of my fingers into his mouth, sucking on it, nibbling on it. “Okay — just a few, then. I don’t want anything to burn down while we sleep.”

“Fine. Maybe next time we shouldn’t light so many.”

Rhys forces himself off the bed and blows out nearly half the flames, and then crawls back into my embrace.
XXX
I found the tiny mysterious pipe under the couch and set it on the kitchen table so I wouldn’t lose it. The only thing left was to contact Rhys and tell him to pick it up. Since I couldn’t, I opted for waiting for him.
He never showed up. I took the pipe with me to Brandon’s house three weeks later, knocking softly and loudly for a different intention.

Brandon squinted his eyes despite the lack of sunshine behind me.

“Whoa — why are you here so late, man?”

“It’s only six–”

“What do you want? I’m out of merch for now. Come back next week–”

“Do you know where I can find Rhys?”

“Ritz? Oh — yeah. That little fucker’s in here somewhere. I think he’s in the bathroom.”

“Can I talk to him?”

“Come in. Make yourself at home, vato.”

Brandon stumbled off into his kitchen whereas I went looking for Rhys. I found him inside the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet, a bony finger down his throat. It took me a minute to realize what he was doing. I knelt beside him, avoiding the pale brown vomit he spewed, pulling him away, removing his finger. I pulled him up toward the sink and helped him wipe his face and hands. I gave him mouthwash I found under the sink.

Rhys looked up at me afterward, somewhat sheepishly. He averted his red-veined eyes when our gaze met for a second. I gave him his pipe back.

“You never came back so I came over,” I muttered, watching dry tears sliding down his puffy face.

“How’d you know I was here?” His voice was a small whisper I had to strain to hear.

“I know Brandon.” He gave me a quizzical look and I knew he didn’t know Brandon’s name. “The dealer.”

“Oh. Him.”

“Yes, him.” I turned toward the door and said, “Well, now that you have your pipe back…I guess I should go–”

“No. Not yet.” He grasped my arm tightly, his sharp nails digging into my flesh. “Keep me company. I promise not to attack you or anything. Just stay with me for a while.”

I couldn’t refuse him, especially after helping him out. Especially after listening to his cracked voice on the verge of breaking down, begging me to stay. Not after seeing his tough, not-so-fearless-anymore exterior cracked.

I nodded, leading him out of the foul-smelling bathroom and past the stuffy living room toward the door.

We sat outside on Brandon’s porch, sharing a damp cigarette in the cold. He clung onto me, frail, vulnerable. I let him lean against me and I thought I was going to break him.

He told me his age (eighteen, since about five months prior), why he was at Brandon’s (he didn’t want to go home…and he still needed a hit of heroin for later), why he was puking.

“I’m scared of getting fat. My mother put me through modeling classes when I was a kid. I was in a few commercials, actually, and cameoed in a few children’s films…but I knew it wasn’t for me. There was this photographer dude who molested me for a while, until I was about fourteen and the hairs on my body started getting darker and very unappealing. He made me take all sorts of pills until I was hooked on them like a baby on its mother’s tits. My own mother didn’t care and always yelled about the fat accumulating around my belly. Drugs helped me lose weight quick. She once told me to just shove a finger down my throat if I ever want to lose the weight…and it actually worked so I started doing it. She made me paranoid…so I left last year, but I can’t stop doing it.”

I almost left him at Brandon’s…but I was so touched by his honesty. I offered him a night at my place and he nearly cried again.

“You’re so nice, Jeff.”

“With a ‘G,’ by the way.”

“What?”

“It’s Geoff with a ‘G.’ It’s pronounced the same. You misspelled it on the note you left me.”

“Dude — I’m so fried right now I’m not going to remember this in the morning. There’s no use telling me.”
I took him home. We slept on my bed…and true enough, he didn’t remember the conversation we had the next morning. He didn’t even remember why or how he made it on my bed, either.
XXX
We oversleep, waking up around ten, but we get up anyway and don’t bother changing into fresher clothes. The diner is only a few blocks away, down the street from our condominium. The diner itself is this dingy little joint where most junkies and environmentalist freaks hang out. Rhys and I settle in a booth opposite each other, staring at the menu.

“I’m ordering breakfast,” Rhys announces, grinning almost childishly. And I have to remind myself he’s only twenty-three.

“That sounds great. I was actually thinking the same.”

“It’s full of fatty syrup and heavy butter — I’m sure to gain a pound or two.”

“You obsess over it too much, baby.”

He shrugs, glancing at the salad section…but I take the menus away before he changes his mind. He smiles goofily at me. It’s his way of telling me: thanks for saving me — again.

The waitress takes our orders and disappears. She reappears with our pot of coffee and array of creamers and sugars. We practically dump it all in our mugs.

“I’m so going to get fat after this–”

“So tell me what else you did today, after the clinic visit.”

“Umm…I went shopping. I went to Ruby Vision for some new boots, but ended up trying on a shitload of clothes. There was this really cute dress…but I looked too much like a stick in it. So I bought some pants and a few coats and socks.”

“This is what you’re spending my money on?” I mock-scold jokingly, grinning like a fool in love.

“I bought you a new Cramps shirt. And a Sisters of Mercy one. I cut the sleeves off so I can see your sexy arms.”

“How very thoughtful of you.”

Our breakfast platters come and I start eating right way, almost ravenously. I stop after a second, watching him stare at his food disdainfully. I prod his hand with my fork, taking his other hand and lifting it up to my lips. I kiss his fingers softly.

“What’s wrong, love?”

He shakes his head, forcing a smile. “It’s too much food. I lost my appetite.”

“You don’t need to force yourself.”

He squeezes my hand and smiles.

“Thanks, Geoff.”
XXX
I didn’t expect him to stay for so long, especially after what Brandon said about him never staying in one place for too long. For three weeks, he slept in my bed, cuddling up beside me, never putting a move, never going out of bounds. Jared never noticed Rhys, mostly because he never entered my room. Mostly because Rhys never ventured out of it when Jared was around.

It was a nice feeling waking up with another warm body — well, another body. His was cold and always shivered. I watched him squirm at times, some nights, his teeth chattering. I would hold him until he sighed in his sleep. I usually woke up before him.

One morning, he was awake before me, only by chance. He was staring at me…his glittering blue eyes woke me up.

“I haven’t had something in my system since I’ve been here,” he grumbled, hiding half his face with a pillow. “It feels weird being sober.”

“I’m sure if you left, you’d be fried within an hour.”

“I can easily walk out the door.”

“Why don’t you?”

Rhys shrugged. “I don’t know.” He looked around the room. “I need to get out. Three weeks can really change your life…shit. I need fresh air.” He turned his blue eyes on me again, a look somewhat smoldering.

“Jay’s not here…do you want to sneak out for a while?”

I watched him squirm under the blankets, his usually bold demeanor wilting. His elated eyes turned wistful.

“Where do you have in mind?”

He smiled beautifully and widely. “There’s this place I always go when I’m fucked up and I need to think. It’s by the river.” He whispered gently, almost seductively. “It’s my secret…I’ve never shown it to anybody.”

We went down by the river, walking along the water, kicking stones and sticks away from our path. We loitered around for a bit before he decided to show me his secret base. We walked toward the mouth of the stream and into a small space under a bridge. He opened a tiny metal door on the slope, revealing a surprisingly clean space fit for two. We climbed in and he closed the door behind us.

“Seems unsafe,” I commented, feeling the concrete walls around us, tapping the concrete ceiling just under a road.

“It’s okay. It isn’t your bedroom…but it’s sufficient.”

He told me more about his childhood, about the father who stepped out when he was five, about the mother whose mind distorted and heavy affected his life tremendously. He told me about his first experience with drugs, the first time he drank alcohol, the first time he blew someone off in a grimy, public men’s restroom when he was twelve. He told me about each of his piercings and his split tongue, how he went around getting them all without his mother’s signature, which resulted in losing his virginity.

He told me about growing up a freak and a fag and simply not giving a fuck about anything. He laughed about it all, as if nothing hurt him. He told me he’d never fallen in love, he never had a boyfriend before…and that he probably never would. He was too shallow and too negative to snatch a more than decent guy, he said. It didn’t affect him.

“Geoff…I’ll always be alone. I’ll never have anyone to come home to, no one who’ll tell me to get my act together and start looking up. And I’m okay with that, really. I know I can’t always suck dick for my fix…but it’s all I have right now. It’s all I’ll have for a while.”

We kissed for the first time in his little secret place, our hands clumsily roaming each other’s bodies, innocently. But when he toyed with the button of my jeans, the scratchy zipper waiting to be pulled apart, I pried his fingers away. I noticed fresh tears staining his beautiful face, and knew I would become the person he thought didn’t exist. I would pull him out the hole he dug himself in.
XXX
Oh baby I see you in my TV set. Yeah baby I see you in my TV set. I cut your head off and put it in my TV set. I use your eyeballs for dials on my TV set. I watch TV. I watch TV…since I put you in my TV set.

“You’re so romantic,” Rhys breathes as I sing to him along with Lux. We lay on our bed again after our failed dinner.

“Lux knows how to write songs.”

“And you know how to sing them just right.”

He mounts my body, pressing his tiny frame against mine, tangling his fingers in my hair, kissing my parted lips. He slips his tongue in, gliding along the inside of my mouth one way and the other. I take hold of one half, shivering because I can never get used to sucking on only a fraction of an entire tongue. His free side gingerly licks my sucking lips. Rhys’ fingers slip under my waistband, pull on the dark, curly hairs, and do away with the button. He takes me into his hand and slowly rubs, slowly pulls.

He’s always been self-conscious of his own body — especially his own penis. I’ve never found anything wrong with it, never the size, never the slimness. He told me once that he needed to very intoxicated in order to let someone touch him, back in his lost days. Even after years of bedding each other, of sleeping together, he cowers away when I touch him.

Rhys mews into my neck, gnawing the skin gently. Flicking the two tips of his tongue. He lowers himself, leaving my hand empty…but I help him rotate. He pushes my pants down and takes me in, stretching his mouth enough for me to fit snugly. I take him in as well, holding his ass in place, pushing him forward so that his tip touches the back of my mouth.

I feel myself grow inside his mouth, a tiny moist cave growing hotter, hotter, and wetter. I feel his drool slide down my shaft, hitting my thighs. I hear him gulping down my mess, moaning because I’m sucking just as hard, swallowing just as hard.

His tiny hips threaten to thrust forward into me, but I know it’s the heat. It would hurt him too much if he did…just like mounting me would. He might enjoy the deepness of the fuck, the precious pain rippling throughout his body…but he’ll bleed like a virgin, profoundly, something we want to avoid. It’s safer if he lies on the bed limply.

He pulls away and kisses me down, his warm spit traveling everywhere…I’m ready to explode.

I pull him right up, pressing him against the mattress and going down on him again. His nails dig into my scalp and the sheets. He wriggles under me, moving along with the Cramps in the background, moving along with my lower body. I grab the tube of lubricant on the nightstand and apply it generously inside him, gently massaging the entrance for his comfort.

“Fuck me, baby,” he moans, his ass clenching around my finger. “God — I wished I believed in you. This feels soooooo good.”

I move above him, positioning myself before him and slowly sliding inside him.

We make love for the millionth time amid wondrous music, amid our beautiful heat. The torturous pain and pleasure mingle and mesh into a healthy hybrid ready to explode and implode on and in ourselves.
XXX
He went home about a week afterward, claiming he was sick of wearing the same outfit for a month. I didn’t follow him out, thinking he was a big boy who knew his way around cracks. I thought he learned something away from his norm, a life lesson of a sort…but of course, he didn’t. He relapsed almost immediately after he left.

I didn’t find out of his relapse until a month and a half later, when Jared and I and the rest of our band played at our home venue, where we first encountered Rhys.

We played our set and snuck into the backroom for some new pot, originated out of the States. It was rumored to give us an almost psychedelic effect. We smoked it and I ventured out to the bar, thrashing my way over because the band playing and the drug inside me induced such a thing.

Before I could even see the bar, I caught sight of a thin pale figure against the gritty wall, rubbing against a bigger form. I turned my head and realized it was Rhys dancing with a stranger, Rhys sucking face with a stranger. His body moved almost mechanically, not at all languid or fluid or natural. He seemed to feel my stare. He looked up with a near-shocked expression. All at once, he pulled away from the stranger and staggered toward me. I caught him as he tripped on his boots’ long shoelaces.

“Heeeeeey, Geoff!” Rhys stammered, his eyes huge, the pupils dilated. His skinny arms held onto me, and I saw tiny pinpricks on the inside of his elbows. Little scabs covered his skin and his mouth formed a lazy, loose smile. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“My band played just now.”

“Really? I thought that was you.”

I watched him struggle on his own two feet, and felt pity course through my innards. I wanted to take him home, keep him safe in my bed…until he dropped drugs and left again and took them up again, a vicious cycle.

“Are you okay?” I asked, even though it was obvious he was all but okay.

“Not really. My head’s pounding like Hell and I lost my fake ID so I can’t buy anything at the bar.”

“Do you want to go home?”

He shook his head, gulping his saliva down, his Adam’s apple bobbing almost painfully.

“Do you want to go to my house?”

He nodded his head happily, almost grateful. He clung onto my arms as I led him back into the sanctuary of my bedroom. We rested for a while. I watched his slack face falling into a deep sleep, his stick limbs curling up against me. I held his cold body until it warmed up.

Rhys spoke in his sleep, muttering about lost souls, lost innocence, more hits. He said he loved me, spasming, his limbs twitching. He opened his eyes and stared at me, still in his drug-induced funk.
XXX
Rhys slides up against me the next morning, kissing my lips, fully waking me up from my own deep sleep.

He giggles, pulling himself away, disappearing into the bathroom. He comes back with a devious expression, crawling under the covers to join me again.

“Are you in pain?” I ask, well deserving the look he gives me.

“Geoff, don’t worry so much. I’m fine. You were gentle and just perfect last night. I’m not bleeding. I don’t need to go into ER or anything.”

“Okay.”

I kiss his mouth, pulling him closer, running a hand down his tingling spine. He smiles into our kiss, nuzzling his face into my neck…as he usually does.

“So I was thinking…I want to travel.”

“Travel where?” I ask, searching his face for any clues.

“I don’t know…somewhere. Anywhere. We need a vacation from this place. I know Clive is, like, your best friend and all…but I’m thinking we need some alone time. Just you and me. Away from here.”

“I agree.” I kiss his forehead. “But where?”

He puts on his thinking cap, humming along to some old Cure song.

“I was thinking somewhere exotic, somewhere foreign. I want to get lost in some crazy land with you.”

“You’ve narrowed it down to about a million places. Keep adding prerequisites.”

“Somewhere old, somewhere in Europe…let’s go to Amsterdam!”

“And smoke all the pot we can?”

He smiles deviously again, setting his chin on my chest. “Maybe…but even that sounds unappealing right now. The prospect of losing myself with you sounds a shitload better.”

“I’m completely with you on that, believe me.”

Then he begins talking of his past.

“That photographer I told you about was from the Netherlands. His name was Soren something — I can’t remember. He would tell me about his childhood growing up in Rotterdam, and then moving to Amsterdam. It sounded so cool when I was a kid. It still sounds cool now — I want to walk by the neon lights, by the darkened fields. I want to go into the old towns and historical districts. Soren painted pretty pictures for me. He even showed me some photographs he took when he went back–”

“Do you really want to go there?”

Rhys remains quiet for a moment, avoiding my gaze.

“No, not really. That was Soren’s dream place.”

“Where’s yours?”

He thinks about it, meeting my gaze finally and smiling.

“Somewhere old. Italy? Greece? Turkey? Japan sounds nice, too.”

“We’ll go everywhere. Just think about it some more and we’ll go. We’ll go together and lose ourselves amongst the throngs of people.”

Rhys nods, burrowing himself into the folds of my body. We sleep for a couple more hours.
XXX
Rhys would stay every other day, traveling between the unknown place he situated himself in and my bedroom. He claimed he didn’t want to stink up the place with his dirty clothes. I didn’t mind when he left, because I knew he would end up in my bed by the end of the day, with few and few of his clothes. I made room for his stuff in my closet. Soon, it started filling up with random tidbits, random little clothes I would never fit in.

By chance, once, he stayed in my bedroom whereas I left. I went to pick up some food for us since Rhys said he was hungry. I bought him a salad and came back within the hour. I found him staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, his pupils dilated, a bag of mushroom caps beside him.

“How many did you take?” I asked from the doorway.

He didn’t respond at first, so I worriedly shook his shoulder. He gasped and turned his glazed eyes to me.

He forced a weak smile onto his face.

“Hey, Geoffy.”

“How many did you take?” I asked again, picking the bag up.

“Four caps. One stem.”

I took the right amount and swallowed with a small amount of water, trying not to taste the organic, earthy flavor. He stared at me, his hands reaching out for my arm slowly.

“Why’d you do that for?” he croaked, pulling himself up but then slipping back down.

“I want to do this with you.”

“But why?” Tears spilled from his eyes. “You must be fucking crazy.”

“I want to feel the same things you do.” I set myself down beside him, not yet feeling the effects of the drug.

“Every trip is different for everyone…”

“What are you feeling now? What are you seeing?”

“My head’s spitting apart…I see your lamp coming toward us.”

I looked at the lamp across the room, a heavy ornate thing floating sideways, frontward, backward…and then it really did come to us. Scraggly purplish, pinkish lines adorned the walls, moving slowly in all directions, a highway of veins threatening to split and explode on us. The lamp stopped midair and grew a mouth. It started singing something about rain and nature and love. It crashed against the wall above my bed and its smile broke in fragments.

Rhys laughed almost childishly, reaching out to the shards with one hand, covering his mouth with the other. He sat up, not as delirious as before, though. He glanced at me, raking a hand through his hair, playing with the ends of each ratty strand. His lovely features almost floated away, but I reached out before they could. I pressed his skin deftly, reassuring their positions. His lips parted when I touched them, his tongue flicking out, greeting my fingers gingerly. He moved forward, boldly taking in each finger and sucking on them gently. Rhys moaned against my skin…and I found myself extremely aroused as I watched the hollows of his lower back and pierced navel move with desire, as I felt his tongue rove over my hand. My erection was too big to ignore now.

He looked up at me, his eyes questioning me quite innocently. He was willing to do anything I asked him.
“Go ahead,” I breathed, lying down comfortably amid my pillows and sheets…as he fumbled with the zipper of my jeans.

He took me in, pushing it in all the way. I felt the slickness of his mouth enveloping my heat, abandoning it, leaving it cold, then returning. He did this for a few minutes, until I let go inside his mouth, down his throat. Rhys swallowed generously, sucking on me past the moment of limpness. He finally pulled away, licking leftover come off his lips, forgetting any boundaries we established earlier and kissing me full on the lips. I didn’t push him away this time.

We passed out shortly after.
XXX
We finally get up past noon, stretching listlessly and grinning at each other because we find love does that to you. Rhys searches for some edible breakfast as I venture into the bathroom, eyeing some leftover vomit under the toilet seat. Frowning, I decide to consult it with Rhys, because I don’t want him cheating himself. If there’s something he needs to tell me, he might as well say it. Hiding things doesn’t work, obviously…especially when you’re not good at hiding things in the first place.

He stands in the kitchen by the pantry, staring at a box of oatmeal blankly, reading the nutrition facts, contemplating the taste and calories.

I pour a bowl of cereal, slicing a banana and dumping the slices in, for myself. Seeing him still in thought, I grab another bowl and scoop in a cup of light yogurt, some granola bits, and fresh fruit. I place it in front of him. He looks down and smiles.

“Thanks.”

“No problem. I’m here to solve your life dilemmas.”

We sit down and eat — well, I sit down and eat. He sits down and picks at his food carefully, placing small amounts into his mouth and chewing slowly. After a while, I just sit there and watch his half-assed attempt at eating. He notices.

“What?” he asks with a half-full mouth, swallowing.

“You can’t live on come and air, Rhys. Eat some and actually enjoy it. Get used to this. We’re not going to leave until you eat it all and keep it down there — God. Why does it seem like I’m speaking to a child?”

“I already told you I stopped purging–”

“That’s not what the toilet seat told me.”

He stares at me, aghast, his mouth slightly open. He picks at his food some more, speechless. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, but I’m going to force him. And I hate myself for doing this.

“Look, Rhys…you know I let you do basically anything you want. I let you spend my money however you please. I let you go anywhere. I let you have fun. I let you do whatever you want with your body — because it’s yours. It’s up to you what you do. The thing that bothers me most, however, is that you’re lying to me. I thought we were past that — actually, we never went through it. We were always honest with each other. We always have been. I don’t know why you’re doing this now — maybe it’s because you don’t trust me. I trust you one hundred percent, so I don’t know what the problem is. Whatever it is, you have to tell me.”
He looks up with a paled, hurt face. I regret starting this. I shouldn’t have mentioned the toilet seat.

“I do trust you,” he squeaks, his bottom lip quivering.

“Then why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie–?”

“I didn’t lie. I’m not intentionally puking.” We pause. I wait for his justification. “It’s just that — great. I guess I should tell you. I guess I did lie, but on something else. Truthfully…I was in pain. After you fell asleep, I saw a few blood stains on the sheets and it made me sick. I puked in the bathroom before cleaning myself up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry. I figured if I shouldn’t worry about my weight anymore, then you shouldn’t worry about my…sensitivity.”

I don’t want to argue anymore. I see that I’ve hurt him with my stupid accusations.

“Well — at least we cleared that up,” I lamely end.

He solemnly nods, eating the rest of his food quietly.

An hour later, we leave the house and walk back to Dark Hole, the record shop, possessively holding each other’s hand.

Clive already sits behind the counter, reading an alternative lifestyle magazine casually. He doesn’t bother looking up when we enter.

Rhys hangs around for a while before smacking my lips with his own and leaving. Clive and I watch his skinny self moving around the record stands. We look at his immensely sliced-up shirt, a too-revealing thing barely considered coverage. We can fully see his “FAG” tattoo. It greets us kindly.

“How does the police not stop him?” Clive asks, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I think they’d stop him if he was completely nude.”

Clive gives me an incredulous look. “That isn’t nude to you?”

“I’ve seen him nude, Clive. That isn’t it.”

He now gives me a cheeky grin. “You fucked him didn’t you? I noticed a limp in his walk today that wasn’t there yesterday…and you both reek of sex.”

I don’t bother answering him.
XXX
Jared threw himself into the crowd, yelling his throat raw, thrashing his limbs mercilessly. The kids below carried him ruthlessly, pushing him everywhere until he fell flat on his ass. But he had smoked some heavy pot earlier so the pain was nearly nonexistent.

I watched from the stage, looking at him struggle back onto his feet, glancing at the angelic form dancing much like the first night. He thrust himself forward, gyrating like a belly dancer, almost, high on the music itself. He rejected everyone who approached him. I smiled, grateful, meeting his eye. He smiled, too.

After our set, Rhys met me backstage, sitting on my lap over-protectively, kissing my mouth fiercely and firmly. He dared anyone approach us. He ground himself closely to me, moaning until someone tapped his shoulder. Growling, Rhys turned around angrily.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Brandon stood there defiantly. He said, “Stop humping your boyfriend and pay the fucking money you owe me.”

“I don’t owe you shit–”

“How much is it?” I asked, producing a hesitant paused in both Rhys and Brandon.

“Five hundred,” Brandon answered.

I pulled out five one hundred bills and handed them over — and that was the first time I ever paid for Rhys.

He looked at me, his mouth a little open, betraying his shock.

“Shall we continue?” I prompted, pulling him back toward me.

“You’re the fucking best, Geoff,” he muttered into my mouth, wrapping himself around me. I picked him up, carrying him outside. He looked up once the cold air hit us. “Where are you taking me?” he asked, a sweet smile brightening his face.

“Back home.”

“For…?”

“I’ve had this sudden urge to fuck you. It may be the alcohol…it may be the drugs…it just may be because you’re grinding against my dick and I’m insanely horny now.”

Rhys laughed. “I’m horny, too, you know. It’s like you read my mind.”

“You’re always horny, though. I know that whenever I want to do something, you’re ready for me.”

He laughed again. “You make me sound like a slut — but I guess for you I am one.”

I figured our first time couldn’t be romantic or unexpected given Rhys’ nature, given the fact that our first sexual encounter was romantic enough in a trippy way. We didn’t need a million candles setting the scene.

We didn’t need hours of foreplay. This was already established. It was predestined.

We reached my bed like hungry lions. He laid himself on top of already-rumpled sheets, pushing his leggings down, pulling his dress over his head. Meanwhile, I ripped my own clothes off, throwing them somewhere on the floor. Rhys giggled as I played with the rings on his nipples, soon moaning when I pulled on them harshly with my teeth. I licked a trail down his chest, into the hollow of his belly, into the soft blonde bush.

“Don’t,” he gasped, but I ignored him and sucked his dick as best as I could…while he tried pushing my head away. I managed getting it up, kissing the tip before licking his asshole and softening the rigidness. He continued gasping as I stretched him open and slid my sheathed cock in.

I also figured he liked it rough.

But afterward, I completely regretted it. He started bleeding profusely. He assured me it was natural for him, especially just after a rough fuck. We climbed into the tub, where I soothingly promised to go slower and gentler next time. He kissed me softly, teasing my firm lips with his double-tipped tongue.

He whispered, “Geoff — you’ve already been so nice to me this entire year and a half since I’ve known you…one rough fuck shouldn’t shell-shock you like this. It’s okay, sweetie. I’m okay…okay?”

I nodded, taking him into my bubbly embrace, holding him tightly until he stopped bleeding.
XXX
Night rolls in quickly. Clive and I close the shop, joking about anarchist arsonists and their queer love for fire. We turn around and see a building burning. A fire truck comes wailing from a different street. We stare at the large flame, half in awe, half numbly.

“God — it’s beautiful,” Clive mutters.

“Yes, definitely.”

Then we start laughing because we just might have our own queer love for this beauty. We accompany each together to the corner, where we part ways for our respective homes. My own peaceful walk in the dark soothes any earlier tensions. My muscles loosen and they sky looks pretty tonight. I think of Rhys the entire walk.

All the lights are on once I get home. I expect him to be dancing around the house, like most nights…or flipping through fashion magazines, like other nights.

Instead I find him in our bedroom, trying on mountains of his own clothes. I watch him dress up, peer into a mirror, undress, and throw clothes into different piles. He doesn’t seem to notice me at the doorway.

“What are you doing?” I ask, smiling at his busy body rushing through clothes.

“Throwing stuff out — did you know more than half of my clothes have been ripped up to near shreds?

They’re so revealing — it’s embarrassing.”

“Most of your youth is embarrassing, then.”

“Exactly! I can’t believe it took me this long to realize…god.”

He slips on a micro mini-skirt, rotating his hips and squatting, shrieking.

“It’s sexy,” I comment lightly.

“Are you kidding me? My scrawny ass shows through so fucking easily! How did you ever fall in love with me?”

I shake my head, approaching him from behind, wrapping my arms around him. He sets his head on my shoulder and pouts.

“I feel like my entire youth was wasted on cheap drugs and cheap sex. It’s an awful feeling and realization, Geoff. I can’t believe I still own half these clothes…why didn’t you tell me something before I left the house earlier today?”

“Relax, honey. You just had an epiphany. I had one when I was your age, too.”

“That sounds impossible. You’re the wisest person I know.” He turns around in my arms and places his arms around my neck. “You’re also the sweetest guy for letting me get away with half the shit I do…and wear.”

And like a true epiphany, I realize I’m holding a fully naked Rhys (save for the sexy little scrap of clothing on his hips…but I don’t it should be considered coverage)…and he seems to realize this at the exact same time.

“Promise you’ll tell me you’re bleeding — or that you bled. Promise me now.”

“I promise.” He grins before placing his lips on my own, hungrily.

Then we somehow manage to squeeze ourselves in the small spaces left on our bed. But it’s hard to make love when we’re both giggling and laughing as we smooch, as we hold each other closely and tightly and just…I suppose there’s simply much more to it.
XXX
“This is so fucking amazing,” Rhys breathed, closing his eyes, twirling around the empty room.

I smiled, also closing my eyes and breathing in the smell of our new house. We had opened the windows before studying and exploring our new place.

I never told Jared I was moving away. I didn’t tell him I was quitting the band, or leaving town. One night, Rhys and I said “fuck you” to our old city and packed our bags. We left in the middle of the night and went east. We slept in the car for over a week as we made it to New Jersey. We slept in there for another week as we found a place to live. We were inside our one-bedroom apartment, feeling free. No strings held us back.

It was a fresh start for the two of us.

“I’m glad we were actually able to do it,” he added, opening his stone eyes, smoothing his naturally blonde hair subconsciously.

“What made you think we couldn’t?” I asked, watching him perch himself on the window ledge. He shrugged.

“I don’t know. I just…never thought I’d be able to leave that place…just like that. I thought…I was destined to be there, you know?”

“No, I don’t know. That place wasn’t my hometown. I moved there from Washington and now I’m here, far, far away from both places,” I answered honestly.

He smiled sadly this time. I saw a tear slide down his cheek.

“Rhys…bring out your candelabras. Let’s light up some candles in honor of this precious day where we’ve found a place to live. Let’s celebrate.”

Rhys gleefully jumped off the ledge and ran out to the living room. I helped him light up some candles, some incense…and we had our romantic moment in the desolate room soon to be inhabited for years…on the fresh, clean carpet. Our paper lungs and vacant mouths couldn’t take it in my old sanctuary of a room…so we had to find our romance elsewhere.

…

Lyrics by the Misfits (“American Psycho”), Bauhaus (“Who Killed Mr. Moonlight?”,”Slice of Life”), and the Cramps (“TV Set”). These wonderful songs obviously do not belong to me.

Mad Girl’s Noize

A villanelle I wrote about…five months ago. It’s about Ophelia’s death from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. I never really liked her, anyway.

…

World obscures; lilies dry, brittle and cold.
Living like the rest requires a fee.
Submerging in water becomes so old.

Vast fields of sense bring us into a fold.
Mistrustful, foolish, mad man — can’t you see?
World obscures; lilies dry, brittle and cold.

Kill off our desires and do as we were told.
We must set it aside and let it be.
Submerging in water becomes so old.

But how can you play, act and be so bold?
Listen to my cry; listen to my plea.
World obscures; lilies dry, brittle and cold.

Sit scheming with my sanity you sold.
Oh, brother, father, kin — won’t you help me?
Submerging in water becomes so old.

Watch the rigid congealment of my mold,
And always recall the imminent fee.
World obscures; lilies dry, brittle and cold.
Submerging in water becomes so old.

Beginnings.

This isn’t a story…because it’s not. This is just me, trying this out for the first time…hoping it’ll turn out okay. Here I go.