Tuesday, January 20, 2015

in a glass cage

The minute I saw him, I knew. He was the one.
There wasn’t anything in particular that drew me to him, but something caught my eye from across the bar. Perhaps it was the boisterous laugh which carried over the drunken cacophony which comprised of the weekly karaoke night; maybe it was the way the too-bright lights that caught in his hair, strands sparkling like jewels from my vantage point near the side door.
Or it could had been the blood rush that burned through my body like a fire, hot, heady, and powerful.
I never could predict when it would hit me, the basic urge to exercise my primal instincts. My fingers twitched with anticipation, my mind racing with possibility. Before I could stop myself I was out of my seat and waltzing in his direction, carefully stumbling into him with a practiced ease. He was surprised at first but gave a slight smile, and I knew he was hooked. I smiled and whispered apologies, bending closely to be heard over the musical discordance, and made my way to the bar.
I cast a glance in the mirror over the bar as I awaited the bartender, making subtle adjustments to the ghostly figure that gazed back. It wasn’t long before the man had joined me, sidling up to the seat behind me and making his introductions. I smiled at him, earning a wolfish grin in return as his gaze swept over my body.
He was toast before he ever knew my name.
Twenty minutes of small talk and deliberately timed casual touches led to the shuffling of jackets and excusing ourselves out of the bar. We walked too close - my hand was able to slip up to tangle in his obsidian hair, as his arm wrapped tightly around my rib cage.
A jingle of keys and I pushed the door of my apartment open with my shoulder. Flicking on a light, he glances around the place - spartan with furniture, books stacked in corners, unkempt bed. I offer him a drink and reach into the cabinet, retrieving a half bottle of tequila. We take shots.
I was surprised he was a kisser. Lanky arms wrap around my waist as his tongue explores my mouth. The taste of stale beer and cigarettes linger. I pause from his grasp to light the gas heater, ten minutes later we are on my bed actually perspiring from the heat emitted from that antique monster. His long frame is draped across my shirtless torso. Fetishy. He attacks my nipples, tears at them like a famished animal. I reciprocate and he moans and arches his thin anatomy. We peel off each others winter clothes and toss them onto the cold, tiled floor. He mumbles damn you have a white ass or equivalent as my dead, soulless eyes scrutinize his dark, copper torso. Apparently I am his first guero.
I slide my face down between his legs, kissing up his inner thighs.
"You know, I really don't like getting my dick sucked."
He repeats the statement.
I mention, "Oh, you must be that guy."
"What guy?"
"The only guy in the world who doesn't like getting his dick sucked."
"I just never liked it."
An awkward pause. Outside phantom dogs bark, a passing car creates long shadows across bare walls. I mechanically roll onto my back next to him inquiring what else? He straddles my chest. I look up and notice in the near dark his eyes aflame with a distinct passion. "I want to cum on your face." "Okay." He masturbates wildly. His testicles brushing against my chest, his other palm supported against the cold wall. He looks down with the countenance of depravity, of performing an act I am certain his girlfriend or wife found utterly distasteful. Only queers could satiate his peculiar innuendo.
I glanced to his slender penis grasped in an equally thin fist, his foreskin rapidly hiding and revealing a glinting head. From the tip, a string of precum dripped off clinging to my lower neck. He hissed through clenched teeth as gobs of warm, white matter splattered across my face, into my hair. "Don't move" He breathed, "I want to see this." He kneeled above me for long moments admiring his work of art. On another plane, demons applauded, angels wept.
Afterwards, we showered and dressed. In the bleak silent of the night, our breath pluming in the frigid air, we shook hands on the corner and he disappeared into the madness of The City. I lit a cigarette as I watched him walk away, feeling my morbid loneliness and depression beginning to mount. I need to get out of this place...I need to liberate myself of this empty nothing. But, how?

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