#Nanowrimo vs #Danish Hotties

This year’s nano has been the toughest so far. Someday it was hard to stay motivated. I think that was mainly because I’m more of a pantser than an outliner – I like the surprises that letting the plot just go along as opposed sticking to a ‘this is what must happen next’ outline. I did my first run at Isle in 2008 so already knew the characters, the events & the finale.

I did do a fresh take on everything though, some cut-and-paste (which got deducted from my final word count) but did enjoy being so tied to merely expanding or reworking what I had already. One thing that did help was changing the time of year in which the Montreal section takes place. That happened to accommodate the time line I’d already laid out.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Thanks to Picture Perfect – last year’s Nano – did find that I enjoy food – describing it, inventing it. This year I did more of that plus indulged in more detailed  set descriptions. I also had fun with language – the Danish hotties were brand new to the story & thanks to google translate I let them talk in Danish, without feeling the need to translate that for the reader. I did put out a call for Danish sex slang but apparently there is none 😦

As with past years I’m about 1/3 of the way though this plot. It takes place in three locations – the 3 act structure: Montreal; Halifax; Isle St. Nuit. The first two being real places the third will be pure imagination. I will have to make some decisions about how much the supernatural will play a role in what happens. Who knows what lies in the stars, or even the cards, for my hero?

“Now we are ready for what the night will bring?” Eluf wiped his mouth.

“We can perhaps walk from here to see the fireworks.” Tyge consulted his cellphone. “GooGoo says it is about ten minutes walking from here. Ou est le toilette?” he asked the clerk.

The washrooms were small. Each with homme/femme on the door. Neither was big enough for two people but the two Danish guys squeezed into one of them while Mike used the other. He could hear the guys laughing in theirs.

He exited. They hadn’t even shut the door on theirs. Tyge beckoned him. “Come, we have party favours. You will like.”

On one of the cafe saucers there was a couple of lines of powder.

“We have saved some for you. Good quality.”

Mike backed away. “Thanks but no thanks.”

“I thought you like to party with us.It will make the fireworks so much better.” Eluf said.

“For you perhaps.”

“Okay.” Tyge said. “We will clean up and meet you outside.”

This was the last thing Mike had expected to happen though he wasn’t all the surprised. Other than toking up now and then drugs held no appeal for him. So much time spent on getting something that took so little time to enjoy.

The guys came out and glanced at him.

“Enjoy the fireworks.” Tyge said. “We are going to find real fireworks fun with real men.”

Eluf hailed cab. They got in leaving Mike at the curb. It happened so fast Mike didn’t have time to say anything. Did they forget he was there because of the coke, or whatever it was they were doing. It dawned on him that he wasn’t the real man or the real fun they wanted for their research.

(He was pissed off at them for leaving him without a second-thought.  He goes to the fireworks. This is the next day: )

He let himself into the b’n’b and was headed up to his room when someone called to him from the TV room.

“Mike? What is your hurry.” It was Eluf. “I must apologize for taking off like that last night. I didn’t realize how … rude that was until we were well on our way.”

“Yes, well, done is done.” Mike said.

“Done is done? That means you accept the apology?”

“No. It means what has happened cannot be changed. It was more thoughtless than rude. I was more puzzled than anything but also relieved.”

“Relieved.”

Mike glanced at his cell for the time. “I’m not someone who wants to spend time with guys doing drugs for a good time.”

“You are angry with us. I can tell by your … tone of voice.”

“Not angry,” Mike sighed. “Not interested, is more like it.”

“You were interested enough last night.”

“Until you got high and flew off in the first taxi you could get.”

“Let us take you to …”

“No thanks. I have plans for tonight. Enjoy the rest of your stay.”

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#Nanowrimo 2017 Playlist

As usual I’ve put together a extensive, very mixed, playlist for working on nano this year. In no particular order here is the over 36 hours of music. King Crimson: In the Court of the Crimson King (Expanded Edition) – I do have this as a standalone but wanted those bonus tracks. Faith, Hope & Charity: Faith, Hope & Charity (Expanded Edition) – one of those obscure disco/r’n’b: sweetly retro & fun; Best of Ruth Crawford Seeger – what,s better than an obscure, American, female, classical composer – mostly solo piano stuff.

Coast Modern Taarabu (6hr): Mpango Mzima – hey, a huge collection of bouncy, almost tribal music from Zanzibar; Superfruit: Future Friends – because some new queer pop music was a must have; Billy Strange: Goldfinger: The Big Sound of Billy Strange, His Guitar and Orchestra – someone posted Billy’s take on the Munsters’ Theme on tumblr & I had to have it. fun stuff in the Sandy Nelson mode. When the Sun Goes Down, Vol. 11: Sacred Roots of the Blues – exactly what it says: rare 20’s/30s recordings of gospel music. Janis Joplin: See See Rider (From the Beginning): a set of Janis – live before she even meet Big Brother: the coffee house days & great to hear. Sid Bass: Moog España, From Another World – these are two lps of crazy moog with big band. España is hilarious.

Hannes Kästner: Bach.Toccata and Fugue in D Minor – bought this as a single track as it was touted as the very best recording ever of the Toccata by anyone. Mount Kimbie: Love What Survives – electronic in the Aphex Twin mode; Future Beat Alliance: FBA21: Collected Works 1996 – 2017 – electronica in the S.U.N. Project mode; Jazznewblood ALIVE (Live at Iklectik/Efg London Jazz Festival 2016): this is a wow collection – someone posted a track on Tumblr & I had to have it. Deepest Blue: Late September, Deepest Blue remixes – I love the single Deepest Blue & wanted the remixes, the lp it comes from is Basement Jaxx lite.

Cher: Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves – a classic everyone should have & now I finally have it. Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band: Live/1975-85 (3hr 34min) – hey, I need & can appreciate some testosterone driven music too. Plus I’ve always had a hungry part for Bruce. The Foundations: Build Me Up Buttercup (The Complete Pye Collection) (3hr 10min) – who knew these one-hit-wonders recorded so much & all great soul music; Bela Bartok: Sonatas & Romanian Folk Dances – those Folk dances stir up more than dust on the dance floor. these are propulsive, romantic & great typing speed music. Madonna: Like a Virgin – another classic everyone should have & now I finally have it.

How did a Muttman meet anyone? He saw that unasked question in Sam’s eyes. After his misadventure with the Danish guys he knew his gaydar was totally fucked up. How could he not see that they were … amusing themselves with him.

But that was how he felt when he first met Patrick at that cocktail party. Patrick was at the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design as a lecturer for the film department. Mike hadn’t heard the lecture but had been invited to the cocktail party.

How did Patrick know he was queer? He never did find that out. Had Raphael pointed him out? Was it that mysterious thing some gay men had, to recognize it in a stranger.

Patrick picked up that he was queer. Even though he’d been direct Mike didn’t quite believe him. Handsome out-of-town lecturers were only interested in young hairless swim team guys. Yet they were in bed at Patrick’s hotel within the hour. Both a little tipsy but eager and flush with appreciation for each other.

Patrick really wasn’t what one would call a pretty boy either but a good reputation always added to a man’s good looks.. Not that that mattered much to Mike. Flesh was flesh. When the opportunity presented itself he was happy to accept it.

How long had it been before that night with Patrick? Five or six years since he’d touched a man. God, that last time was hell. As bad as Sam’s kindness. That politesse around offering the homely advice to avoid investing one’s own cock.

What was the point of it all? To be queer and find that men didn’t want you? He’d tried women but there was nothing there. Fuck! God why? It just wasn’t fair. He should have moved to be with Patrick that first year when the energy between them was high. Then this wouldn’t be happen. No, but he had his job, a career that he couldn’t leave.

Well, this is the price for that and, now where was he? Having some Eurotrash petty boys lead him on? Having some smug stranger tell him where ugly men could buy sex. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The sun glinted off a brass sign at eye level.

Musee Lumiere.

The grey brick building was nondescript in the context of the other buildings around it. He knew some of them dated from the 1700’s but this wasn’t one of them. More like Victorian, he decided, judging by the turret in one corner and detailing around the doors and windows. Three stories high with a spiked row around the roof with brass orbs that gleamed in the sun.

Four well worn red sandstone steps led to the imposing front door. Double doors with stained glass panels over carved inserts; stained glass panels on the narrow panels on either side of the door. All the stained glass and the wood carving played on the fleur de lis. He went in.

“Bon jour.” A young woman cheerfully greeted him.

“Salut.”

“Welcome, sir.”

Was his accent that bad? He paid the admission fee.

“There is a new installation on the second floor.”

“Thank you.”

“Enjoy.”

Why was there such quiet in these places? The shuffle of shoes on the floor, polite coughing, whispers and pointing. There was museum personnel in each room. They would turn on and off the lamps, ceiling fixtures, wall mounts, if you asked. The first room was made to look like a cave pre-historic humans would have lived in. Once the lights had been lowered, the uneven walls were lit by flickering flames in low stone dishes of animal fat. The smell wasn’t unpleasant at first.

“How did they manage?” someone behind him asked. “That isn’t enough light to do anything.”

Mike stayed for a few moments after the other few people had left. The room was silent. He couldn’t hear street sounds or the creaking of feet on the floor around him. So this is what it was like back in the day. Not like the movies at all where there would enough light from a single flame to illuminate an entire cave.

Each of the subsequent rooms took him through various era. Tallow candles, wax candles, torches. With each the guide would dim the lights so there was only the one light source.

“How many candles would it take to light a room in a medieval castle?” he asked the guide.

“Better yet who would light them all?” S man beside him asked in English. Then he repeated Mike’s and his questions in French.

The guide explained that it sometime took so many candles to light a room some would have to be replaced by the time the last ones were lit.

The man explained this to Mike. He was ebony black. About Mike’s height and hefty. The man spoke French freely with the guides and more than once explained to Mike, in English, what he had just been told.

In each room Mike was taken by how movies had changed history. Until the electric light bulb came into use most corners were in shadow. The light people had wasn’t a constant single glow but would flicker depending on impurities in the oils, depending on air flow. He had a greater respect for writers who worked in candle light. Bad enough to write War and Peace by hand and to have to do it by unsteady light too.

The second floor was devoted to the gas era and gave way to the electric era.

“Movies made gaslit rooms look so bright.” Mike remarked to his companion.

“Of course. How would you see the faces of the their magnificent movie stars.”

The installation on the third floor was the latest in l.e.d and holographic images. The technology left Mike cold. Not practical enough. No one was going to read by this kind of art.

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Lazarus Kiss.46

Sis amplexibus Amor alios mututa memini et amoris in mutationes memini.

May you be embraced by a love beyond recall that alters others

and a love within recall that alters you.

kiss

“I wasn’t into sports.” Harris patted his belly. “This is enough weight for me to lift.”

Harris looked at the framed photos of Alex along the wall by the door.

“From when I was on the pro circuit.”

One of them showed Alex shaking hands with a man in a business suit who presented him an ornate belt.

“Won m’ division that year. Called it quits soon after though.” Alex sipped his beer.

“Looks like a lot of work.”
“I enjoyed it. It was a way to channel m’energy. A polite way of sayin’ I had anger management issues. Never saw a fight I could resist even if I didn’t start it. Linda said I had somethin’ to prove. I never reckon what.”

“That you were the toughest?”

“Maybe somethin’ like that.”

“So why did you stop?”

“Funny t’ing was, the more I fought, the angrier I got, ya know. Got me more pumped up. I got bored of trash talk before and after the bouts. Huffin’ an’ puffin’. Too much worry about what to say, when I wanted to be poundin’.”

“What was your fight name?”

“Fuck.” Alex laughed. “ ‘At’s professional wrestling. No masks or capes for us. This was nothin’ like that. Bare-knuckles an’ brute strent. I fought as m’self. Sometimes I’d be called the Axeman. That’s A X E not Ass. Alex ‘the Axeman’ S. People liked them ‘x’s.” Alex became more animated as he spoke.

“Sounds like you miss it.”

“Yeah. It felt good t’ sweat. T’ bleed and win. Th’ other crap took too much space in m’ head. Always havin’ t’ be huffin’ and puffin’ t’ get people t’ notice ya. Bad as pro wrestling. Then …” he finished his beer. “Another?”

“No. I’m still working on this one. Then what?”

“We sometime did this run t’Detroit. Had to be careful. It was undercover exhibition matches. Not sanctioned. Plus we couldn’t fight and get paid in the states. I never understood that part of it but this time a guy got hurt. Bad. By me. I just lost it. Hurt him real bad.” Alex stopped. “Something came over me while we were going at it. Testoserone or I don’t know what.”

“By bad you mean … ”

“He died. Doc said something his brain popped. That it coulda popped at anytime but picked while I was poundin’ him in the face. That was when I tore m’ back. I used that … ya know to get out of d’ game. Back shit they understood. Killing a guy was suppose t’ be good for a rep. That wasn’t the rep I wanted.”

Harris wasn’t sure what to say. Knowing more about Alex didn’t ease the longing the curse had forced upon him instead he was more emotionally drawn to him.

“It shook me up. I could’t get back in the ring. Tried a few times but it made me sick. I did this’n’that. Bartending. Ya know the stuff ya do when ya got no skills.  Bartending. Waiting tables.”

“My life hasn’t been that exciting. I was one of those nerdy guys. Dirty thoughts and little action. My biggest thrill was to get to the comic book store. This curse thing has pushed me out of my comfort zone a lot too. I didn’t know I was in such a …. a rut. Made a few changes. Finally cut my hair.”

“I remember guys like you when I was in school. Sorry to say, loved shoving you around. To prove how tough I was, so no one else would shove me around.”

“How ironic … no … paradoxical that we’d end up pushed together like this. The bully and the bullied.” Harris wanted to make Alex not feel bad about his past. “We all get caught up in …. doing things without knowing what we were doing at the time. Like how this curse has put us together. Neither of us planned it, plotted it or thought about it while it was happening.”

“We gotta to live with it.” Alex put his hand on Harris’s inner thigh.

“I have to get going.” Harris finished his beer. “I have a date. Glad I could help with your spooge residue.” That was true, if he met up with Becky, it sounded like a total lie once he said it.

They both stood at the same time.

“You’re scared as I am, aren’t you.” Alex faced him. “I don’t know much, this family curse of your or whatever it is, but it is tearing me up inside. We can’t keep avoid where it’s pushing us. We can’t.”

The beer bottle Alex clutched cracked in his grip.

“Shit!” he dropped it. Beer sloshed on to Harris feet.

“You okay?”

“I reckon so.” Alex turned his hand,  palm up. “Didn’t cut m’self. My hide is tough from wiping all those tables.”

He ran his hand along Harris’s arm.

“Does it feel rough to you?”

“No.” Harris took a deep breath and stepped into Alex’s arms.

They embraced.  Alex’s forehead was at Harris chin hight. He looked up and bit Harris lightly on the jaw, continued biting as Harris lowered his head so they could kiss. This time Alex wasn’t as forceful as he had been at his apartment the night of the rain storm. His tongue tasted of beer.

“That wasn’t all that bad.” Alex stepped back. “Sit. This’ll make it easier for ya. Like I told ya this man on man, was a shocker to me. I couldn’t shake it, I figured if I watched what it was all about it would enough. Ya know get rid of these … urges. I watched this porno. I can’t tell ya how many I gave up on after five seconds. I got computer feed hooked into the TV.”

The porn started. It was called Learning to Pitch For The Other Team. It was two guys meeting on a street. They were like ordinary guys Harris saw everyday on the subway or walking down the street. Average Joes with decent figures. Not gym buff at all.

While he watched, Alex got them another couple of beers.

The guys in the porno were suddenly in a living room. On the wall over the couch were a pair of baseball pennants. They talked about a ball game they were going to later that day. The taller of the two went to the kitchen and brought back a couple of beers.

They continued to talk. Sat closer.

Alex sat closer to Harris. As one of the guys on the screen put his arm around the other Alex did the same to Harris. The other guy put his hand on tall guy’s thigh. Harris did that. The guys in the porn talked but Harris couldn’t hear them. All he could sense was Alex close to him, his own hand moving along Alex’s thigh, to his crotch. Alex’s legs opened wider.

“Yeah. You wanna touch m’dick, don’t you.” Alex breathed into his ear. “Go on.”

Harris didn’t want to touch. It was like adjusting a graphic image only he could actually feel it.

Alex kissed him. His stubble rubbed Harris’s face. He pushed Alex away.

“No, Alex! This is way too much.”

“Slowly. We can take it slow.” Alex pulled Harris tee-shirt off. Ran his tongue from his collar bone and down to his nipples. He bit gently, than harder.

“You call that slow.” Harris began to push him away but it felt okay. The slight pain was pleasant enough. The warm tongue mixed the with the scrape of stubble, the solid bite of teeth. Plus it was being done to him. He merely had to let it happen.

Alex moved to the other nipple and while he bit, his hand massaged Harris’s cock. Harris was surprised that he got hard. It didn’t make sense to him but curse or not, if this good looking guy wanted to suck his dick, such is life.

Alex stopped biting his nipples to kiss him again. “Slow enough? This isn’t too much for you is it.”

“I guess not.” He kissed back. Their tongues moving together. He let Alex guide his hand back on his cock as he continued to caress Harris’s.

“Why don’t we get out of these.” Alex stood, pulled off his polo shirt at the same time. He hauled Harris to his feet. With bare belly to bare belly he unbuckled, then pushed Harris’s jeans down, wriggled out of his sweat pants.

“Let’s … take a shower?” Harris suggested. “I’ve been at work all day, you know. I may not be my freshest.” He laughed. Anything to delay the inevitable.

“Sure. It’s this way.”

The bathroom was tiny. The shower stall was barely large enough for two people to stand up but not to wash. They had to slip and slide around each other to get under the shower head.

“I’ll just help you soap up and rinse down.”

Alex’s hands moved quickly all over Harris’s body. Touching his cock, balls, awkwardly washing his feet. He started on Harris’s ass crack and stopped.

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AutoCorrected Perfection

AutoCorrected Perfection

there’s always something

my eyes don’t catch everything

words lose there meaning

thanks to auto spell

I often don’t know what I’ve just said

or if what you’ve written

is what you’ve written

so I don’t feel so responsible

for those little typos

that change love to leave

that change emotionally comithtemnt

I mean commitment

to being committed for emotionally disfunction

there’s always something

that’s why I count on your eyes

to pick up what mine miss

trust me no matter how right it appears

it needs you to make more better right

I couldn’t do it without

those sharp insightful comments of yours

you find what slips between the lines

while I’m so busy

making sure those lines are straight

to your perfect heart

Has this every happened to you – you type quiet & come back to edit & see that it is quite or even quit – that somewhere between your thinking, your fingers, the page & the push to get it out something is replaced in transmission. Concern become concerto thanks to auto spell – that algorithm that takes over your thinking to fill in what it thinks you have started or if you’ve, as I often do, switch two letters as you type jumps to concussions I mean conclusions.

There have been times I’ve let either the typo or the auto spell word stay – ‘head in the coulds’ is much more poetic than ‘head in the clouds’. I let it stand because by the time I come to edit a piece months may have passed & I no longer remember what it was I set out say anyway. So I jump on the coulds easily & gratefully. Right now autocorrect wants to change coulds either to singular or to colds.

This piece also plays on the notion of Freudian slip of accidentally saying what you don’t mean to say. Those verbal slips when one says “sure I want to leave you” when intending to say ‘sure I love you’. Or our frequent habit of saying one thing when we mean another ‘I’m busy that day’ when you mean ‘I don’t want to be there.’

In editing it’s always wise to have another set of eyes read before final product is published. In going back over Lazarus Kiss the number typos that even auto spell missed is amazing to me. I never said I was a copy editor. I don’t write a lot of directly romantic poetry so I pushed this one into what I hope is an unexpectedly cornball direction. I enjoy taking cliches and bending them into new shapes, in this case the shape of a heart.

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Preach Baby Preach

Preach Baby Preach

you know

if more people practiced safe sex

we wouldn’t need

all these precautions

it’s the fault of all them damn

fuck happy sluts

spreading disease

making babies no one can afford

wrecking lives

not caring as they go around

merrily fucking

away without a care in the world

with out a worry

for the medical system

for hospitals

that can’t afford a glass of water

unless someone’s insurance covers it

and my taxes go up

every time some horny idiot decided

to fuck without protection

just to suit their momentary pleasure

if you can’t keep it up

because of some barrier

you don’t deserve to fuck

you hear what I’m saying

unless you’re in the right financial bracket

you shouldn’t be fucking at all

taking risks

bringing babies into a world

where you expected others to care for them

to support you

while you stay off work

to bring them up

so use the brain between your shoulders

not the one between your legs

make some sensible choices

that won’t cost me anything

get that baby carriage out of my way

stop blocking the sidewalks

the grocery aisles with it

if you’d used protection

I could go shopping without

having to shove you

and your screaming brats out of the way

my children are well behaved

This piece is both a rant & an analogy. It plays on the paradox of what is being ranted about & the true  nature of the ranter – how we use shame as means of controlling the behaviour of others while wanting our own to be uncontrolled. When I first wrote this I had read things about men controlling women’s health & reproductive services – part of which was the notion that if they can’t afford to have children why should the state  have to become responsible for their irresponsible actions.

Refusing to fund methods to avoid getting knocked up for ethical religious reasons while at the same time condemning them for not using those methods or by merely keeping their legs close – yet denouncing women for emasculating men by refusing men the right to control when those legs are to be opened or closed. Its all about control not ethics or deeply religious convictions.

As the song says ‘the rich get richer the poor get babies.’ I read a specfic novel in which only those who could afford children could have them. A device was implanted that kept men & women from getting aroused – thus controlling reproduction. It created more problems than it solved. The TV series Handmaiden’s Tale is another take the religious control of women.

There’s also a sense that our preacher does exactly what is being preached against. As my piece progresses the narrator becomes less reliable when its clear its the fact of baby carriages, of his convince that is the issue. It ends with a nod to the blindness of many parents, even pet owners, that their precious one is perfect while others are the problem. My dog would never bite you, less you deserved it.

 

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Lazarus Kiss.34

Sis amplexibus Amor alios mututa memini et amoris in mutationes memini.

May you be embraced by a love beyond recall that alters others and a love within recall that alters you.

kiss

Lazarus Kiss.34

“Today I am to marry Mary Fields. I feel deep shame that she is with my child for if she were not I fear we would not marry. I do not recall the occasion of bedding her. If we had not been discovered by her mother and brother I would have denied it. The fact remains we were in the same bed together when morning broke.

When it was discovered she was with child I did the honourable thing by her and her good family.”

Later in the same diary:

“My dear wife has passed away in childbirth. I have a fine son to be named Eldon. I will miss her sorely as she has proved to be a boon and blessing despite our troubled beginning. She was most considerate and understanding of my various indiscretions. She never questioned my inability to remember what had transpired.

It grieves me deeply to have become an adulterer with no conscience or presence of mind to prevent it from occurring. Each time I have pledged to Our Saviour it would be the last, that it would never transpire again. Yet I would discover that it had.

Once my dear wife is buried I will leave this territory while I have a well regarded reputation for goodness.”

This is one of the last entries in the diaries. We know that he did leave Pennsylvania and move further west to set up his legal practice. He kept no more records himself of his life. He was elected to the state assembly of Colorado. It was his son Eldon who moved to Canada.

There are no records of a Rowell Byrnes, that is if this is an authentic name.  Rowell is mostly commonly a last name.”

Harris went through the pages and there was a photocopy of the actual curse. Did the original that Rowell wrote still exist. If he had that he could burn it and free himself from it.

*37*

Harris waited for Trevor on the east bound subway platform. The day at dE.tail had passed quickly and uneventfully. Life seemed normal. There had been, as far as he could tell, no sudden infatuations. His eyes ached as they often did from the constant staring at the screen while he nursed pixels of rose blush to rose less blush. Occasionally he wished he could turn his eyes off because he’d catch himself looking at the subway ads wanting to tweak shadows or nudge text a little to give images more pop.

“Hey Dog. Looking fresh.” He tousled Harris’s hair.

“New cut.” Harris tired to smooth out what Trevor had ruffled.

“Man I never thought you’d cut loose of that pony tail. Takes pounds off.”

The train pulled up and they got on. The car was crowded so they stood where they could find a space.

“Any further adventures today?”

“Nothing. Happy to say.” Harris shrugged. “A day of peace and quiet is what I wanted and that’s what I got.”

“Cool. This suits you. The highlights.”

“Since when did hair mean that much to you?”

“It don’t, man. Can’t a guy say something nice sometimes. I mean you’ve been making major changes. Don’t you want anyone to notice?”

Harris shrugged. When no one at dE.tail had said anything about the new cut he thought he should have gone for a more dramatic cut, a total hair color change. At work he’d caught himself a few times grab for an elastic to pull it back into a pony tail only to reach up and there was no hair there. At least his shoulders no longer felt bare without the shield of hair.

“I got more info on the curse.” Out of his shoulder bag he pulled the photocopies his Dad given him.

Trevor read them. “A love beyond recall … sound like poetry.”

“Yeah, I suppose. Beyond recall may mean you don’t remember, that you can’t recall, it once it has happened.”

“Possible. I always thought a curse would be something like ‘may your soul rot in hell.’ This sounds pretty good.”

“Me too,” Harris laughed, “Or ‘may your complexion never clear up.”

“Whoa, now that’s nasty.”

At Victoria Park Station the bus was right there.

Without the fog that shrouded it the last time the apartment block didn’t look as foreboding. The long hall smelled of French fries, then hot dogs, then burnt toast.

The door to Trev’s Aunt Nilasha apartment was open.

“I am so happy to see you again Harris. The confusion you were in the last time hasn’t cleared away. Trevor tells me you have had very exciting times since you were last here. ”

They stepped out of their shoes while she closed the door behind them.

“Exciting isn’t quite the word I’d use.” Harris took a gift bag out his shoulder bag. In it were hand cream samples that had come into dE.tail. “This is to thank you for being concerned with my mystery.”

“Really?” she laughed. “There is no need for this.” She opened one and smelled it. “Very pretty. Thank you.”

“Now sit. I have delved into the nature of your curse. One this subtle and yet so strong is very rare.”

“I figured as much. Sis amplexibus Amor alios mututa memini et amoris in mutationes memini.” Harris could remember the curse word for word.

Nilasha gasped. “These are the very words? Repeat them.”

He did.

“How did you obtain this?”

He told her about the diaries and give her the copies of the pages.

“Yes. Yes this confirms what I have learned. Do you understand that it is not a curse. It is a blessing, a gift.” She said as she sat. “You want to give the gift back?”

“I would if I could.”

“I’m of the opinion when it was first uttered it was meant to offer hope for those who found it hard to interest mates. What one acquires, another loses, though. The universe seeks equilibrium.”

“One gets love but loses memory?” Trevor suggested.

“Something like that. We assume that with wishes there is no cost when they are granted. There is always a cost to the receiver.”

“What about a cost to the the giver?” Harris asked.

“You are still looking for a way to rid yourself of it. Have you considered what it may cost you do that. What are you willing to sacrifice?”

“Sacrifice. Like a virgin on a full moon?” Trevor joked.

“I told you Harris, this is a blood bond that has been in your family for centuries. Now that you are sensitive to it I think you have to learn how to live with it. Leave these with me.” She patted the Tobias pages. “They have more to tell us.”

Outside Nilasha’s apartment block Harris turned on his phone. There were three voice-mail messages. One from his Dad to see if he had read the Tobias papers. One from Tavi to remind him of a big project starting the next day and to get plenty of sleep. One from Alex asking for his help for a computer problem.

“Why do people expect me to know anything about computers?” he asked Trevor. “Because I use one all day doesn’t mean I’d know how to fix one. Would you think a nurse knows how to fix an X-ray machine?”

When he got back to his place he returned Alex’s call. Although he didn’t want to follow through on what was there a part of him enjoyed Alex’s voice, enjoyed his memory of the look of him. He had tried watching an ultimate fighter show but the angry animal speed and the lack of discernible rules made it hard for him to follow or enjoy. He’d seen them all over each other on the mat, punching or trying to punch and didn’t know who to be rooting for, if anyone.

“Hey Alex. It’s Harris. I guess you’re at work. Try me around lunch time tomorrow. I have a big work project starting so my phone’ll be off till noon. Bye.”

*38*

When he got to work the next morning his big project was a major overhaul of the Sport Spot advertising approach. No more pitching with spokes-people who were middle-aged pro-golfers. They wanted a younger market. The rough spec drafts of the online and print catalogues were ready. His job was to make the models look healthier, to give their complexions the right glow, the glow that would make buyers buy.

They had two new models: Geoffrey Calligan, multi-gold medalist olympic swimmer and Monica Bostford, who was extending her fifteen minutes of Top Model fame, her appearance on Big Brother last season and the Amazing Race this season. Racing amazed with Geoffrey as they promoted this new line of Sport Spot equipment and accessories around the world.

The catalogue was set up to tell the story of these two showing new recruits through the various equipment as if they were in a gym. The recruits looked as if didn’t they need a gym but that wasn’t his problem.

He was to make sure all their bodies had more eye appeal. Male models were to have less body hair. In the case of Geoffrey it was his job to make his particular ‘package’ look smaller. No one wanted the ab buster to become known as the ball buster because Geoffrey’s ample bulge pulled focus.

A day of flattening shadows, fattening calves, rippling six-packs and electronically nipping out nipple hairs.

#Toronto #amwriting #dating #lgbtq #nanowrimo #novel #Lazarus Kiss #Ontario

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Not Tonight Dear

Not Tonight Dear

I didn’t enjoy it

I never have

but so many do

I had to try it

I thought it might be different

with him

when I said yes

let’s do it

it was no different

I didn’t enjoy it any more or less

that I ever have

I expected

that if I did it often enough

with the right guy

I’d start to like it

start to see why others did it

but it never got more pleasant

in fact

I began to dread it so much

I stopped doing anything

with anyone

I didn’t explain

apologize

I kept it to myself

it seemed pointless to be contradictory

to have to explain it to anyone

I thought it might be better

with him

it wasn’t

I kept that disappointment to myself

even tired to act as if

it was great

oh baby oh baby

he was fooled

filled

I was happy to make him happy

looking forward to being together

yet dreading it at the same time

going through the motions

for the emotional pay off

My take on Law 38 reflects on people pleasing – things we do only to keep other people happy. Some of them are done out of politeness & have little emotional cost. Things like saying ‘good morning’ to a neighbour or asking someone how there are when in fact one doesn’t really care & often they feel it isn’t  any of your business how they feel anyway. We do this lock step of harmless courtesy that is more productive than being clearly indifferent or out right antagonistic.

When someone asks me how I’m doing I can’t even be bothered saying ‘ as you fucking cared!’ We all usually nod and say fine & go on or way. Do I enjoy those moments? Hard to say. But like many people I don’t have the energy or the inclination to challenge those harmless social niceties.

This piece does have a more sexual subtext though than mere social niceties. I know that for women for decades this sort of sexual cooperation for the good of the marriage has been a part of the bargain – putting their pleasure last – as if that made them more noble. Perish the notion they might impugn taxi masculinity’s sexual prowess.

I chat with, sometime meet with, guys who are into ‘things’ that don’t appeal that much to me but I’m willing to try – sometimes things that didn’t work with one guy work very nicely with another – often its a difference in attitude as opposed to technique. Also the speed at which things are expected comes into my willingness.

On the first date, as opposed to the fourth date – give me time to warm up to it – I’m a good communicator & let guys I meet know that directly – I’m not in bait & switch. Some this pieces comes from that sort of bait & switch. A guy says he’s a total top then after messing around becomes a power bottom who is pissed off at me for not going with this – not that I mind a power bottom but this switch is the off switch for me.

There are guys who try to ‘guilt’ you into things – someone, what are you afraid of, don’t you trust me, try it – because to many ‘no’ means negotiate & if you don’t negotiate you are a prude, no fun, not hot enough to begin with, or you should be grateful & give in as a way of thanking them for showing up.

If you are a top master dom who wants to train me as his sub & I say no thanks – it’s not because I am a closed minded prude but it’s because … well actually it’s none of his business why.

Like many of the Laws pieces this reflects some of me, but a past me who was eager for sexual experience & said yes to things & then realize ‘not for me.’  Saying ‘no’ doesn’t mean I have a closed mind but is not an invitation for negotiation either.

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Never Better

Never Better

call back later

not now

soon

another day

eventually

not this morning

just a second

don’t wait up for me

it’ll be worth the wait

antic-i-pation

don’t be late

night time is the right time

off-the-clock

the waiting game

when the stars align

premature

past due

on the dot

a watched pot

it’s over when it’s over

hold your horses

what’s your hurry

it’s about time

it’s now or never

better never than later

Law 35 is a list poem that at first seems random. In fact the rough draft was even more random. Part of the process of making a list poem, for me, is, in revision, to pace the items on the list so that there can be a sense of motion. The better ones even create a vague story line. This one doesn’t 🙂

This is a list of how things get put off while avoiding a commitment to actually doing them. Phrases we use with others to avoid saying NO. Phrases that I when I hear them I recognize as NO. Not merely as a NO for the moment but one that says: at no point in the future but I’m sparing you the harshness of that no by appearing to agree to it at some future point. ‘Don’t hold your breath’ was on the list at one time but I took it out as being too definitive 🙂

 

Some of these are song lyrics, some are iconic – ‘antic-i-pation’ from that sweet moment in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. All are cliche’s that have permeated our language and have become things we say automatically like good morning or how are you – that are serve to let people know you might be listening. The most recent revision lead to the last lines and the title.

It isn’t easy say NO – some people refuse to accept it or take it as a deeply personal affront that demands an explanation & an apology: I’m sorry but I can’t … so we buffer NO with avoidance so we can appear polite – so people will like us – we’ll if my NO results in someone not liking me I can live with, for now.

 

 

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Lazarus Kiss.14

Sis amplexibus Amor alios mututa memini et amoris in mutationes memini.

May you be embraced by a love beyond recall that alters others

and a love within recall that alters you.

kiss

*14*

Alex dug women, breasts and pussy. He’d wake up from dreams about them. The smell, the feel of them in his hands, the feel of their hands on him. He craved the taste of, the the feel of a woman on his tongue, the shudder of a woman’s skin as he did what he knew would make her shudder, make them gasp not to stop. At work during a rough shift he would only have to think of being with his girl Linda and feel re-energized. He could fuck her then twenty minutes later want her again.

He had been hit on by gay guys a few times in the past. Once had to deck a soccer goalie who was too persistent. As a result he lost a job but his sister, Cally, got him in at Story. A man had to learn to live with that sort of thing in this city, in this day and age. He wasn’t interested period. What gay guys did to each other didn’t bother him, as long as they left him alone he didn’t give a shit. If a guy didn’t like pussy it was like a guy not liking beer. He didn’t care.

So when he caught himself almost making a pass at a guy at Story he was shaken. He’d even checked to get the man’s name, Harris Stevens. He had never done that for any of the women he’d met at McBrick. He remembered the name too.

When he got home that night he’d been more energetic than usual with Linda and she liked it. Pushed him on in fact. Their sex took on a new energy and he proved himself the man of her wet dreams. He dug her harsh gasps as he drove himself into her.

Yet he found himself wondering what it would be like to be doing that to Harris. To have a man raking his back, pushing him deeper than he thought possible. Thoughts like that made him work harder to please Linda and she responded with equal vigor. It was the best sex he’d ever had.

The next afternoon he found himself walking along Church street. He felt men look at him. He didn’t like it. They were seeing what they wanted to do his body. He wanted to look back, to look at them, but they held no interest for him. The only man whose face and body that came to him was Harris.

It wasn’t as if Harris had such a great body. Soft in fact. Not too hairy, he hoped. He would catch himself thinking like this at work. When he was with Linda he proved once more that he was a man. A raving, slobbering, cave man heterosexual.

One night he let a female customer pick him up. There was danger. Something the staff weren’t supposed to do but she smelled too good. Nice breasts and her pussy was crazy powerful. They went out behind the bar to do it. Met in the alley under the back patio and she had her hands on his cock so fast he nearly came.

Her tiny skirt hitched up a like belt and her panties an anklet as he plowed into her, shoving her up the dirty wall behind them, hearing cars in the street, conversation from the Story back patio overhead. At any time a light could have come on. She was hot. He met her heat with his. She tipped well too and for the rest of the night he had her smell on him. Each time he took a whizz he could smell her, smell sex.

When he got home he jumped into the shower because Linda could smell sex on him. If he even played with himself she could smell it on his hands.

When he went to work he was anxious to meet Harris again. He had promised to be there. The sexual tension increased and each night Linda was rewarded with the release of his unfulfilled expectations.

That morning when he woke he knew that tonight would be the one. It had to be. The guy would be there. He’d have to be ready. He had vague notions of what men did. It was pretty much what he did with women.

He did an internet search for gay porn. There was lots but he couldn’t look at any one for more than a minute. The fevered action made him nervous. None of it was hot merely busy. There was no kissing, only cocks, mouths. Too young.

He found sites of older guys, “bears,” but these had a slant that was mean, nipples with bizarre clamps on them, leather, half masks. No, this isn’t what he wanted. This wouldn’t work even with women. Sure he was a sex pig but he liked his sex normal. If this was what that Harris expected then it wasn’t going to happen.

Finally, under “vanilla,” he tried a simple scene. Two men meeting on the street. Average looking, unshaved, guys. They talked briefly. The scene jumped to a living room where they are having a beer. Yeah, that’d work. Hands on thighs and they were kissing. Flies down and cocks out. He had to stop. Cocks ruined it. He was enjoying it till cocks came out.

He watched the start a few times. Learning what to do. Eventually he let it go past getting cocks out. Fuck these guys had big dicks. Whose mouth was that wide? Did they have to do special training to get a dick that size into their mouths. But they did it. Linda wasn’t into giving him head. Her mouth never felt big enough for his cock. Not that it was large as these. Did the screen add weight to cock like it did to faces.

He bookmarked it, Linda would enjoy it. Yeah, he’d see if gay porn got her off at all. If guys are into two women making out might be the reverse could be true.

When Linda got home from work Alex decided not to waste that time on internet porn and got right down to the basics. A slow exploration on the edge of the sink that lead into the shower with her and finally on to the bed. If he worked off this edge urge when Harris showed up at Story he’d have no energy or interest. Nip it in the bud.

He let Linda ride him and while she did, he played with her nipples, using his fingers like the clamps he’d seen online.

“Good, baby? You dig dat don’ch ya.”

“Yeah.” Her eyes held his. She reached down and pinched his nipples. She’d never done that before. Her fingernails digging into the flesh.

“Yeah. harder.” He gasped. She obliged and he came. “On m’ face. Smother me wid love.”

She slid off his cock and to his face. He loved the smell of her pussy after he’d been fucking her. As she inched back and forth he pulled off the condom. He was still hard.

His tongue moved slow the way he knew worked best for her. Biting gently. He could tell she was almost there. He craned his mouth a little further along her ass crack and licked her butt hole. An action he knew would send her over the edge, but he only did it on special occasions. She shuddered and gipped his head. He wondered what it would be like to have a man’s tongue do that to him

His back arched, lifting him off the bed. He shot off again without being touched. It felt like his heart had stopped and he blacked out for a moment. He’d have no energy to be interested in anyone let alone this Harris guy.

Another shower and he raced off to work.  He arrived right on time at Story. No sign of Harris.

“Expecting another lady tipper.” Cally teased him.

“Sis, one good tip deserves another.” Alex snorted. He could still taste Linda on his tongue. He hoped he didn’t have box breath.

The hot humid night kept him pretty busy. Side patio, front patio, main house, pool room and the upstairs quiet lounge with it’s back patio. One of those nights when they need extra hands.

At around seven he saw Harris’s pal arrive with a woman he didn’t guess he’d ever seen before. She was hot. They took a table on the upstairs patio. The pal ordered them drinks and left her. The pal met Harris at the entrance when he arrived about fifteen minutes later and they got a table in the main house.

Alex rushed over to wipe that table down. Made eye contact with Harris.

“How are you gents t’night?”

“Fine.” Harris seemed embarrassed.

A couple of other tables emptied and he had to clear them. He was disappointed. After all this expectation he had hoped for more of a reception. That Harris would acknowledge him somehow. But how. With a pat on his ass?

Once drinks and sweet potato fries were served the pal went upstairs.

Alex went directly to the table. “ ‘Bout last week …”

“You remember that do you?”
“Fer sure.”

“I’ve been thinking about it myself. I’m heterosexual.”

“I reckon as much. I don’t know what made me …. ”

“Here’s my number. Call me.”

Alex grabbed the number and shoved it in his pocket. “I will. We c’n meet fer coffee or sometin’.”

“Yeah I think I’d like that. To see you in broad daylight.”

“Tables upstairs Alex.” a server reminded him.

His legs were unsteady as he went up the stairs. He had almost shot off when Harris gave him his number. Linda would be in for it when he got home tonight.

 

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Smooth Man

Law 24: Play the Perfect Courtier

Smooth

he says

you’re so smooth

as his runs his hands along stomach

I think

my belly isn’t flat enough

he says

you’re skin is so soft

so smooth

he is kissing me between his words

he turns me onto to my stomach

stroking my back

I can’t get over how smooth you are

how soft you are

he cups my ass cheeks

squeezes and parts them

I love your ass

firm and smooth

I’m not sure what to say

I don’t want to stop the flow of his words

the flow of his hands

I have been touching him too

he isn’t as smooth as I am

each time I start to reply

he kisses me

let me enjoy you

he says

I can’t tell you are enjoying me

you like my touch

yes I say

I love your ass he say

smooth firm

white

it is so white I bet it glows like the moon

it glows when you touch me

I say

he laughs a little

I can’t say

your skin is so black

it would feel weird

not that I am colour blind

but that isn’t what attracts me to him

it is his fascination for my skin

I never expected to be so fetishized

so sexualized

because of my skin color

because of my smoothness

I don’t see a reason

to turn this into a discussion

about race

I like to fuck white ass

he says

as he lubes my hole

I know

I tell him

you’ve told me that before

he slowly enters me

you like my black cock

you like it in you

yes I answer

you have a wonderful cock

I don’t tell him

it would be a wonderful cock in any color

I don’t tell him

how little I usually like getting fucked

I let him

I invite him

because his tells me

you skin is so amazing

a miracle

I love your ass

while he’s fucking me

I choose to believe him

This piece Law 24 springs from my real life – yes this is one of those autobiographic confessional pieces that people seem to consider ‘authentic’ poetry – only my confession isn’t all that emotionally demanding or deep – much like me 🙂 The notion of perfect courtier easily became what we say to get what we want.

In this case it was a guy I was seeing for a while & our interaction was pretty much as described here. I met him on a gay site – his ‘handle’ was blacktop4U. I clicked then moved on – I figured he was too young & too hung to be interested in me. But on many sites one can see who clicked on your profile & so he contacted me.

He was ultra eager but only interested in one thing – fucking. I invited him over. We met several times after that first encounter & then it ended – knowing too much & not enough at the same time. He was open about his immigrant experience – in particular his distain for other blacks who lacked his ‘class.’ I got bored of his racist biases & ended things. A nice package but to keep my interest I need the whole package not just one part of it. Unlike the poem I never did believe he cared for me as a person but as an ass to fuck. Caring for me as a person is part of the whole package.

He also refused to give me his phone # or even an email address in order to protect himself from identity theft. So we could only get in tough with each other if we both on line, on site, at the same time. His name changed from Rob to Ron to no name. What I call red flags. This was taking NSA too far.

This piece went through several revisions and title changes from the above first version. It is one of the laws that I’ve performed & it is in my chap book After The Falling.

This is the published version:

Man In The Moon

he says

you’re so smooth

he runs his hands

along my stomach

 

I think

my belly isn’t flat enough

 

he says

your skin is so soft

so smooth

he is kissing me between his words

he turns me onto to my stomach

stroking my back

I can’t get over how smooth you are

how soft you are

he cups my ass cheeks

squeezes and parts them

I love your ass

firm and smooth

 

I’m not sure what to say

I don’t want to stop

the flow of his words

the flow of his hands

I have been touching him too

he isn’t as smooth as I am

each time I start to reply

he kisses me

 

let me enjoy you

he says

I can tell you are enjoying me

you like my touch

 

yes I say

 

I love your ass he says

smooth firm warm

ivory heated by afternoon sun

it is so white I bet it glows

like the moon

 

it glows when you touch me

I say

 

he laughs a little

I like to be

the man in your moon

 

I can’t say

your skin is so black

it would feel weird

not that I am colour blind

but that isn’t what attracts me to him

it is his fascination for my skin

I never expected to be so fetishized

so sexualized

because of my skin colour

because of my smoothness

I don’t see a reason

to turn this into a discussion

about race

 

I like to fuck white ass

he says

as he lubes me

 

I know

I tell him

you’ve told me that before

 

he slowly enters me

you like my black cock

you like it in you

 

yes I answer

you have a wonderful cock

I don’t tell him

it would be a wonderful cock in any color

I don’t tell him

how little I usually like getting fucked

I let him

I invite him

because he tells me

you skin is so amazing

a miracle

I love your ass

 

while he’s fucking me

I choose to believe him

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