Cleaning Up

On a recent Disability After Dark mini-podcast Andrew Gurza talked about the embarrassment of not being able to clean up properly after jacking off. In fact self-pleasure was something he (& his letter guest) found complex to even negotiate. As teen I had the ability to make this exploration in private. I didn’t have to find some code word to let my parents or anyone else know what I was up to. The need to keep it a secret was paramount in fact.

I was able to clean up myself but there was that crusty evidence. My mother once asked me what had happened to my socks? Oh, I … uh … stepped into some goo? Where, not in this house? I had no idea what to tell here. She said something like – Stay away from such dirty- disgusting habits.” This was one of the things that eventually pushed me into doing my own laundry.

I found out about jacking off from some guys that I casually knew – not even friends of mine. They were talking about growing pubic hair & then about ‘pulling themselves.’ They asked me if I had ever pulled myself & I hated to admit that I didn’t know what they meant.

All the sex talk I’d heard/had up to that point growing up in Cape Breton – I guess I was around 14 at the time – was about making out with girls, feeling them up, fingering them but nothing about playing with oneself. So one of them told what it was – how to do to & what result to expect. I tried it but nothing happened the first few times then I got the knack of it.

Did in the bathroom for a time but that lacked real privacy – hurry up, what are you dong in there – so the bed became the spot, though I did do it outside a few times where clean up of my surroundings wasn’t the issue issue – cleaning myself up was though. It was also the main reason I never shared my bedroom with my brother. I was fairly clear on that without giving a reason.

Even today that is one thing I rarely hear guys talk about. It’s as if admitting one still jacks off is a sign that no one wants them sexually so they are forced to satisfy themselves with help from porn. It’s become a sort of sad joke, last resort, as opposed to a fulfilling sexual expression.

Unfinished

he was one of those new scraggly clones

wisps of chin hair

glasses verging on skater punk nerd

laughing about venti coffee

even tossed out a latin phrase or two

but that wasn’t what I wanted tripping from his tongue

 

the frisky feel in the dark corner of the bar

made it clear he was packing more

than his super baggy jeans revealed

that was unless I was fooling myself

maybe he had a loaf of bread in his basket

 

when we got back to my place

my suspicions of unsliced was confirmed

he dropped his pants to reveal

the creature from the porn lagoon

thicker than the accents

of an entire Brazilian water polo team

his balls

whole worlds in the palm of my hand

his skin was like cozy flannel

his tongue a whispering clock

tasted of unripe apples

his teeth

warm endlessly round ice crystals

melted drooling draining

each step of the ten thousand to the the temple

his nipples express train rush pressure

for immersion into the guttural swamp of gasps

arm pits salt seasoned liquorice tempura teasing

ripple muscle stomach dunes

saharan but not parched for long

as we shifted camel humps

burdened with a growing treasure

an oasis of pubic eden

cilia savoury basil blue freshly crushed

rushed breathing deeply

 

this creature from the porn lagoon

an already oozing fountain

watermelon and baby power

his trembling tip tongue touch

amazing and transporting

back to back

face to face

tumble of choices chances escaping grasps

pushing back for more of the torment

his laugh now clinking in unfinished

coffee cups in my memory

https://wp.me/P1RtxU-2f6

HotDamn! It’s A Queer Slam
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June 8-9 – Capturing Fire 2018 – Washington D.C. (flight & hotel already booked)
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