Big Wheels and Bikes

I recently borrowed a few old photo albums from my Mom. From time to time you are going to have to see me chronicle my life. cause this is what you do in blogs and this is what you do when you are a few years shy of turning 40. i guess. Maybe someone will relate to the 70's-80's clothes and cars and bikes or whatever. If you want to send me, you, as a kid wearing or doing something rad. that would be cool. I remember struggling to reach the pedals. I was short and skinny and pretty much either the smallest or 2nd smallest kid in my class. So my parents bought me bikes and things that i had to GROW into. See.. I wore plaid. plaid. plaid. how much plaid can a kid wear? This is my birthday. I hope that explains the buckle shoes?. I am six and it's 1977. my favorite band is KISS and my favorite
TV show is Planet of the Apes. I still didn't know how to ride a bike yet. Learning on the giant
"green hornet" as I came to call it. wasn't pretty. my pants got caught up in the chain about 1000 times. scrapped knees, ripped pants, a few tears. It was the girl across the street who finally taught me to how to ride without falling off. she called me a baby for having training wheels. So, I went home got my dads tools out of the shed and took them off. I got in trouble for messing with my Dad's tools, but the girl actually ended up holding the bike steady for me until I got the hang of it. She ended up being the first girl i ever kissed. I mean check out the ride. Banana seat, sissy bar, all that chrome. who could resist. or maybe it was the plaid.

whatever killed our spark

I watch the automatic pool cleaner as it moves the length of the pool. It makes its way up and around. back. eating leaves and dirt and whatever else it likes to eat.
it's soothing how it moves through the water. crawling along the bottom, up the sides, and I try to predict which path it will take next. but, it's random. every time different.
still, there aren't many places it can go. there is no escape from doing it's job. eventually
it comes back to the place it started from. home. my pool is it's home.

my feet are hanging over the side and in the water. it's getting dark out. the sky is orange-lime with grey clouds. A mixed drink.
sink or swim
sink or swim
I'm thinking this as I let myself fall in. down. under.
A mantra.
close my eyes, hold my breath.
sink or swim.
I can smell chlorine in my nose. still holding my breath, I am at the bottom. I can hear the pool cleaner.
moving, shaking.

when I break the surface. The sun has gone completely down.
it's dark out. the moon reflects off my skin, slick and wet like a seal. there are the stars. the moon. and fire-flies in the bushes. that is the only light.

when was it that we last swam together at night?. and how the pool cleaner scared you so much. with its hoses, noises, and blue spiky feet and you took it out of the water so it couldn't breathe. so that it wouldn't wrap around you in the dark water.

so i did. I put my arms around you, our slick skin touching. I played polar-bear and took you under with me. my teeth in your neck. Marco - polo Marco-polo - remember our silly games?

and then you -wrapped in a towel with dripping hair. and me in bed under the blanket because the air was turned down so low it was freezing like a hotel room. your skin smelled like chlorine. you said you couldn't believe you were here. that we were together. that you thought we had drowned. but i told you how i let you up for air. I said see... and you looked. scratches from the bear. I am the bear. in summer- i am the bear.

photos: 1heliumglow
3moss-koete

I can't go to far away - from my heart

It rained. it's raining. right now. god said rain. she said rain. so. rain.
raining now, that's what I mean. Sometimes I don't see or write things in the moment and sometimes that's all i do. because it's all you can do. It's all you can hold on to. you can fall. you can say all the right things, or wrong things. right or wrong. she isn't going to be sleeping next to you
forever.
gone. see it's gone. the moment.
I forgot to blink the picture into my mind.
what was it that she looked like, tasted like, and who does she remind me of.
just like that,

water cascades down my window. glass blurry, water-stains, and dark sky.
I am ready to leave. bag packed. all i need :
the keys, blanket, tooth-brush, glasses, the note-book. the thing is, it's not what you take, it's what you leave behind.

I told you it would. I'm talking about the rain part. It had been to long and things were dry, fires were starting up. pyro, i suspect. a flame doesn't start itself. everyone seems to have a grudge these days. it could be the high prices of oil, or disney- world tickets. it could be nothing. or it could be what i told you was true.
smoke-
I could see her signals. I could see that sometimes they were for me. don't think I don't see them. the shallow breathing, the staring at the ceiling in the dark. It could smell like me. but it doesn't. feel like me, and it will never.
did she miss me? did she miss me
a lot today.
don't think this is what it isn't.
or is.
or I'm not really sure at the moment. because you know how i am with moments.

the trouble i have sleeping, the tornado dream. I know what it means. I know what it means to
go there. I know.
if you get lost-
do I ask the scarecrow for directions? the witch?
are you the witch?

she tells me..." there is no place like it". I say "where?" then i understand.

friday's are all about driving. driving home, driving to bars, driving at night, driving to see her, driving away.
we all have somewhere to go.
extraordinary together- ordinary apart. i think I heard that on t.v.
something that keeps repeating. like that song. like the tornado. chasing me. chasing you. chasing words, chasing rain. the pavement, the night, the head-lights, the windshield wipers. your moment in this silent storm.

summer pills

Every morning the maple leaves.
Every morning another chapter where the hero shifts
from one foot to the other. Every morning the same big
and little words all spelling out desire, all spelling out
You will be alone always and then you will die.
So maybe I wanted to give you something more than a catalog
of non-definitive acts,
something other than the desperation.
Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your party.
Dear So-and-So, I’m sorry I came to your party
and seduced you
and left you bruised and ruined, you poor sad thing.
You want a better story. Who wouldn’t?
A forest, then. Beautiful trees. And a lady singing.
Love on the water, love underwater, love, love and so on.
What a sweet lady. Sing lady, sing! Of course, she wakes the dragon.
Love always wakes the dragon and suddenly
flames everywhere.
I can tell already you think I’m the dragon,
that would be so like me, but I’m not. I’m not the dragon.
I’m not the princess either.
Who am I? I’m just a writer. I write things down.
I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure,
I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow
glass, but that comes later.
And the part where I push you
flush against the wall and every part of your body rubs against the bricks,
shut up
I’m getting to it.

For a while I thought I was the dragon.
I guess I can tell you that now. And, for a while, I thought I was
the princess,
cotton candy pink, sitting there in my room, in the tower of the castle,
young and beautiful and in love and waiting for you with
confidence
but the princess looks into her mirror and only sees the princess,
while I’m out here, slogging through the mud, breathing fire,
and getting stabbed to death.
Okay, so I’m the dragon. Big deal.
You still get to be the hero.
You get the magic gloves! A fish that talks! You get eyes like flashlights!
What more do you want?
I make you pancakes, I take you hunting, I talk to you as if you’re
really there.
Are you there, sweetheart? Do you know me? Is this microphone live?

Let me do it right for once,

for the record, let me make a thing of cream and stars that becomes,

you know the story, simply heaven.

Inside your head you hear a phone ringing

and when you open your eyes

only a clearing with deer in it. Hello deer.

Inside your head the sound of glass,

a car crash sound as the trucks roll over and explode in slow motion.

Hello darling, sorry about that.

Sorry about the bony elbows, sorry we

lived here, sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwell

and how I ruined everything by saying it out loud.

Especially that, but I should have known.

You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together

to make a creature that will do what I say

or love me back.

I’m not really sure why I do it, but in this version you are not

feeding yourself to a bad man

against a black sky prickled with small lights.

I take it back.

The wooden halls likes caskets. These terms from the lower depths.

I take them back.

Here is the repeated image of the lover destroyed.

Crossed out.

Clumsy hands in a dark room. Crossed out. There is something

underneath the floorboards.

Crossed out. And here is the tabernacle

reconstructed.

Here is the part where everyone was happy all the time and we were all

forgiven,

even though we didn’t deserve it.

Inside your head you hear

a phone ringing, and when you open your eyes you’re washing up

in a stranger’s bathroom,

standing by the window in a yellow towel, only twenty minutes away

from the dirtiest thing you know.

All the rooms of the castle except this one, says someone, and suddenly

darkness,

suddenly only darkness.

In the living room, in the broken yard,

in the back of the car as the lights go by. In the airport

bathroom’s gurgle and flush, bathed in a pharmacy of

unnatural light,

my hands looking weird, my face weird, my feet too far away.

And the the airplane, the window seat over the wing with a view

of the wing and a little foil bag of peanuts.

I arrived in the city and you met me at the station,

smiling in a way

that made me frightened. Down the alley, around the arcade,

up the stairs of the building

to the little room with the broken faucets, your drawings, all your things,

I looked out the window and said

This doesn’t look that much different from home,

because it didn’t,

but then I noticed the black sky and all those lights.

We walked through the house to the elevated train.
All these buildings, all that glass and the shiny beautiful
mechanical wind.
We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too,
smiling and crying in a way that made me
even more hysterical. You said I could have anything I wanted, but I
just couldn’t say it out loud.
Actually, you said Love, for you,
is larger than the usual romantic love.
It’s like a religion. It’s terrifying. No one
will ever want to sleep with you.
Okay, if you’re so great, you do it—here’s the pencil, make it work . . .
If the window is on your right, you are in your own bed. If the window
is over your heart, and it is painted shut, then we are breathing
river water.

Build me a city and call it Jerusalem. Build me another and call it
Jerusalem.
We have come back from Jerusalem where we found not
what we sought, so do it over, give me another version,
a different room, another hallway, the kitchen painted over
and over,
another bowl of soup.
The entire history of human desire takes about seventy minutes to tell.
Unfortunately, we don’t have that kind of time.
Forget the dragon,
leave the gun on the table, this has nothing to do with happiness.
Let’s jump ahead to the moment of epiphany,
in gold light, as the camera pans to where
the action is,
lakeside and backlit, and it all falls into frame, close enough to see
the blue rings of my eyes as I say
something ugly.
I never liked that ending either.
More love streaming out the wrong way,
and I don’t want to be the kind that says the wrong way.
But it doesn’t work, these erasures, this constant refolding of the pleats.
There were some nice parts, sure,
all lemondrop and mellonball, laughing in silk pajamas
and the grains of sugar
on the toast, love love or whatever, take a number. I’m sorry
it’s such a lousy story.

Dear Forgiveness, you know that recently
we have had our difficulties and there are many things
I want to ask you.
I tried that one time, high school, second lunch, and then again,
years later, in the chlorinated pool.
I am still talking to you about help. I still do not have
these luxuries.
I have told you where I’m coming from, so put it together.
We clutch our bellies and roll on the floor . . .When I say this, it should mean laughter,
not poison.
I want more applesauce.
I want more seats reserved for heroes.
Dear Forgiveness, I saved a plate for you.
Quit milling around the yard and come inside.

by- Richard Siken.

the fear you won't fall

Fireflies

Tonight my yard is full of fireflies--a glitterfest of green, blinking by hundreds,

exactly like last year, when she and I

drove out into the Missouri countryside

to talk about our marriage. It was thick

with greenery. The air was hot and thick,

and we had decided to try and stay together,

though by first light she'd changed her mind again,

and, to be honest, our eleventh hour hope and promise lacked the weight of truth.

We wandered off the rocky dirt roadover weeds and brambles, through branches

and spiderwebs, and pressed into a clearing,

and it was like a pocket in the darkness that surrounded us--the misty night back

lit with thousands of glittering fireflies

bettering the stars. It was a mating dance,

and we gazed into a sputtering green sea of desire--such irresistible beckoning.

Ours was, too--a death-dance of mating,

a slower, indecisive tarantella,

and she asked me never to write about this,

but I knew then that I had nothing to lose,

that at that moment there was nothing I wanted

more than to write about the fireflies.

by Richard Newman

you punch like a girl:

my old live journal heliumglow deleted. without much fanfare. without tears. just on a whim really. no sparklers or fourth of July. i lie that I am sometimes not missing her. and she was the reason. for it. I clicked to read my "friends" journals. clicked and its all just cold and empty. maybe they will find me. maybe they won't and it doesn't matter all that much any way. do or don't. that's what I am always trying to tell her. so with an urgency i get to trying to put it all down. and I started to write her name. but it wasn't funny anymore. it wasn't sad either. It wasn't relate able to my life now. it wasn't a lesson learned or time served. It was fake and desolate, it was lying and redundant. it was saying it- to say it. and you deservedly missing me. me, I am somewhere out there too.

a life time ago. so it seems. and i tell myself- the dirty is gone from there.............

to here.

Ive fallen in love, over merely her beauty. have you? I think everyone has. who's to say if its right or wrong. what is love? someone who treats you good. do i not? have i not? this has always been my way of saying it. and it's funny, how it's never quite enough. I guess there is always that question. is it even real.

beauty

it is nothing but something to look at. it is a trick to make you love me. to make me love you. but what of the skin and bones and blood? what if she bled for you. what if she made you feel something, something that you would never never feel again. would you want it back. Is that love? just be happy you had it. just be happy.

you

you
never looked back

I'm not so great:

i stayed over. the first time. and i knew. I knew it right off. I looked over at her sleeping and I knew i was so utterly fucked with smitten. so fucked with a crush, with a sickness. I'd reach out and touch her skin. my warm hand on her cold shoulder and Id warm it. pull the blanket up over her. I would be seriously destroyed. i wasn't acting like myself. but maybe i didn't know me. I wanted to weep. I went to the bathroom just across the hall. trying to be quiet. trying to let the angel sleep. across the tile floor bare-foot. cold. in the bathroom i looked at myself. I wondered how she could let someone like me even fuck her. but i did. we did. in the mirror my eyes watery. hair tussled. I knew i had to do something. She wasn't so great. i had to tell myself that, so i wouldn't get hurt. I saw her tooth-brush in a pink cup on the sink. I saw her tongue scrapper beside it. This was it. my only hope. I took it out and put it under my nose. id have to remember this.

and When she finally told me goodbye. that it was done. over. that I wasn't the one. I wasn't even close to it. i put myself back there in the bathroom. just after the night of sweat and words and kisses. after the sleeping next to her skin that smelled of vanilla. there in the bathroom with that foul fucked up smell of her dirty mouth under my nose.

all your pretty things

promises:

'fall back and I'll catch you' that's what was on the post-card she sent me. It's a German phrase about trust in romance. but once she finally let go. I told her that she could no longer have me. It's kind of a joke between us now. because once i didn't have her, I wanted her back. It was a shock to me just how much i missed her. just how far I'd go.
there is no game in letting go, which is why people rarely do. or one does and not the other. or both do and then you're really fucked. just how far will go? why do I always have to know that. we kissed. yeah. we lied some. we won. I think. or lost. and this is whats left. I'm glad the scary part is over. Oh, and what i said before about it being a joke between us. it's not. I just said that.


snow fight:

I am the opposite of bear. I want to hibernate in the summer.
Driving up the coast past the orange groves. less people on the road. the tourists have all gone home. bugs splatter against my wind-shield. when i finally get to the ocean, its flat. So I just paddle out and lay on my surf-board. I ride the wind-chop in to the shore. I'm sleepy from the drive. If I want to rest, there is a motel room close by. the inside looks like right out of the 70's. bright flowery bed covers. in the bathroom the sink and bat-tub are pink. The floors are linoleum and cool on bare-feet.
She lives closes by and if I call her, there is a good chance she might come. We'd listen to music and fuck and then Id be hungry and more tired. the sun.
What i do is, I ask her to tell me about snow. I ask her what its like to sled or make a snowman. then I'm cold. the noisy Ac unit in the room is pumping and grinding out ice cold air.
I pull the covers over us. Hibernate with me.

cake fight:

The heat is unbearable. when i was a kid i never noticed the heat. Maybe because I spent most my time hiding in the woods. the trees covered me with shade and there was a breeze that would blow branches and leaves, making a constant creaking and shhhhh- shhhhhh shhhhh..sound.
I searched for dirty magazines that the older kids would hide. somewhere in those woods I bet it's still there. the magazine with the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders. naked!. i swear. i found it under rotting ply-wood and leaves. usually I'd just look - put it back where i found it. but i wanted this one. so, I took it away and buried it.
I buried so many things in there. my little army guys, micronauts, bottles, cans, a lighter that i stole from my father, a knife from home, dead things I found. I peed on a girl in the woods. I touched her and she touched me back. once I brought a plastic thermometer from a doctors kit i had when i was little. I put it in her butt. It's there too. dirty. buried. I buried the truth there...... I buried our secrets and lies. I wish it was as easy now. the heat is unbearable.

photos by: in order of appearance
whywhat

dementee

moss-koete
m0thyyku

love is a scar that never heals

It won't rain here. I mean, it will (someday) but it hasn't for weeks. When it doesn't rain in Florida everything starts looking brown. trees and grass dry out. Fires start up easily in the Everglades. The swamps, canals and river beds dry up. I drive to work daily in a light haze and the smell of smoke. There is fire. and it's close by. they suspect arson.

My front yard has turned all brown. We are all on water-restrictions so I can only water it two days a week. It's not enough to sustain it's thirst. I have my doubts global abuse of the ozone layer is the cause. That's what everyone is saying though. Everyone is turning "green". It's the new big thing to distract us from the troops abroad and spending billions of our dollars. Blood for Oil? I think fucking NOT. Blood for money. Did you enjoy your 600 dollars?

"They" predicted more hurricanes for us this season. I personally find them rather exciting. It's nice to be forewarned of an upcoming possible disaster. Compared to earth quake or tornadoes. no warning. They scare me. but I like the chaos and fear a hurricane brings in the days leading up to it. I like the local media's sky is falling reaction.the panic it stirs up. You can feel it in the air.

back to the no rain thing: All i can say is that my life is pretty strange...

It's been the same since I was a kid. Doesn't rain for weeks and then all it does is rain. Somehow the universe knows. It takes care of itself. I remember the floods. Getting to stay home from school. Taking surfboards and inflatable rafts to the park to float around in the river that once was a soccer field. My friend. She got ring-worm from tromping through dirty water puddles. After about a week. The mosquitoes are fierce because of all that standing water. the city would send out trucks to spray down the neighborhood. all the kids from my block , including me would get behind the truck and run through the smokey spray (poison). the damage is done.

I dreamed about tornadoes again last week. Before that major storm system came through the Southern U.S. and killed several people. I'm not saying I am a seer or anything. not a prediction. Just I dreamed of being in a car traveling down a highway and 5 or 6 funnels formed and chanced us. Odd thing is there have never been very many tornadoes touching down in South Florida. In fact I've never been in nor have I ever seen one up close in my entire life. I

fun fact: I've never seen or been in snow either.

blue-berry pancakes

Watching Young Couples with an Old Girlfriend On Sunday Morning

-August Kleinzahler

How mild these young men seem to me now

with their baggy shorts and clouds of musk, as if younger brothers of the

women they escort in tight black leather, bangs and tattoos, cute little

toughies, so Louise Brooks annealed

in MTV, headed off for huevos rancheros

and the Sunday Times at some chic, crowded dive.

I don't recall it at all this way, do you ?

How sweetly complected and confident they look, their faces

unclouded by the rages

and abandoned, tearful couplings of the night before, the drunkenness, beast savor and

remorse. Or do I recoil from their youthfulness and health ? Oh, not recoil, just fail to see ourselves. And yet, this tenderness between us that remains
was mortared first with something dark, something feral, we still refuse,

we still refuse to name.

Glitter and Doom

Willy Wonka: Don't forget what happened to the man who suddenly got everything he always wanted.
Charlie Bucket: What happened?
Willy Wonka: He lived happily ever after.

At a major electronics\dept store late night to pick up a few things - went to the cd and gaming section and was fussing around with a controller hanging off some video game they had on display. ( I don't own a system and havent since Atari 2600) I thought the place was dead empty but a girl came over and started asking me about my ink and then if I have played such and such game. No. I said this thing just sorta caught my eye when i walked by and I couldnt kick my hands of it. I admitted that I didn't even have a system and don't really like playing video games. She looked at me strangely and told me she was a nerd or geek or something. gaming was fun and i should get into it. then we got into a discussion about the word "nerd" and "geek". words and meanings being far more interesting to me. I told her how I saw it was that "geek" implies hireabilty, it implies wealth, and that "nerd" skills aren't 100 percent sellable. She told me i was seemed very smart , a "very wise man" - making me feel more like her dad, which I think was not far off from being possible.

I speak and act in a totally unrestricted manner to animals. I tell them that I love them and touch and pet and hold. They make me feel all warm and cuddly. sometimes I wish I could be the same way with humans. It probably has something to do with fear of rejection. control. whatever. but i don't know. those cute little furry faces. How can anyone resist?

I couldn't keep my hands off you, you made me feel warm. I even told her that I loved her. silly me. silly silly me.

bottom photo: circle--of--fire

filler nicely

tabitha smoked in bed. I didn't believe her anymore than the last time she said it but as she lit up she said. "This is going to be my last."
I never called her by her full name. tabitha to me, was the girl I had known from 1st thru 6th grade in catholic school.
to me it was always tabbie and she smoked in bed or at least she did, after tonight who knows.
I noticed a pregnancy test laying on top of her dresser but she dismissed any suspicion that it was hers.
Our friend Becca was the one who was supposedly late and then tabbie, she jokingly asks if it's was mine. "cool if it were." she said. Shed be okay with it, we could all live together and give the baby a funky name like something out of a Francesca Block book. I said maybe Katee Rose or Poppy but nothing like Weetzie bat or something crazy.

I figured she was lying about it being for becca and if it were tabbie's then it was possible it could be mine. It could be a handful of other guys' too. it's bad to say that, but really, 2 others, that I knew of.
" I know what you're thinking Christopher Robbins " She called me that after Winnie-the-poohs friend.
" I am ALWAYS safe" stressing the word always so that the s sounded like z's
She is saying this knowing full well, we had NEVER used anything. But before I could say it she says " Except with you"
" I'm the lucky one " I say.
She doesn't bother answering, she snuffs out her cigarette, stares at the ceiling, then closes her eyes.
" Question: then why are you quitting smoking?"
" Cancer stupid, now tell me a story"
Im think of something to say, I look at her and she is calm, her head against a black pillow-case. She's on the pill isn’t she?
I think about what it would be like for her to have my baby inside her. I kind of want the test to be for her, I wanted something that dramatic for us, some kind of experience we would never r forget. something ours. I remind myself she is on the pill, but what if she missed one, I mean she isn't the most responsible person. But look who's talking I fucked her and used nothing. I’m going to have to trust her, a silent prayer in the dark and feel a little relieved.
I begin to tell her a story about a a princess in space. She sighs approvingly. Her eyes closed she looks to be peaceful, almost- glowing. I reach out brushing her tummy lightly and she giggles. I glance at the test on the dresser beside her. It's mocking me. I need to know the answers and she won't tell me. Or she did and I just wasn't listening.

Poison in a pretty glass

Late 70's summers were long and hot. I remember being sent to my grandparent's house that stood in the middle of painfully flat meadows. boredom and heat slowing me down, dizzy and not sure who I am anymore.
And yet...I remember one lazy afternoon. Laying on the grass in the orchard. Breathing in heavy air and smell of half - rotten fruit.
My eyes closed. time almost standing still. eating sweet, ripe apples.
And then the wasps came.
I felt the first one landing on my lips. Then the next and a few others. I was petrified.
I couldn't breathe.
But the wasps tamed me. The tenderness of their movements hypnotized me. I didn't want them to go. I gave in. I opened my mouth, slowly letting the wasps in. I think that they were feeding on the bits of apple. At the same time eating all my primal fears away. They flew away but they left the essence of their presence within me.
I was 8.
Since then I'm longing for the feeling of wasps crawling into my mouth. I live my life chasing the wasps.


I will make believe. shush. quiet.
I will still my demons. bury your ghosts. I will pretend.
I lay here on top of cool sheets, my entire arm stinging from needles. fresh ink under skin. I look at it. how odd. a sleeve that doesn't keep me warm. but i had her. have her, hold her now.
Ive lost my place in this book ive been reading. I turn pages and someone has underlined sentences. I think, "this is how much it has also meant to me. "
I have underlined you.
now I write in my moleskine journal. dear you. dear you. dear anyone, but you.

Has she underlined me? I'm thirsty but i don't want to get up, I'm hungry but I don't want to get out of this bed. I am trapped. Do you feel trapped?
this is heaven. just us. here. now. read it. It's for you but not for you. It's something I say when it's late. in the dark. it's something that you can feel but cant touch, does that make any sense? reach for it. ask for it. a story..silly. that's what I meant. ask and I will tell you something that Ive never told anyone ever before.
dear you,

what was our love worth if it was something we could gamble on

" I live near the abyss. I hope to stay"

-

The pact:

We've all made some crazy pacts in our lives. I made one with my friend when i was 12. we said that whenever we got a girl-friend or wife we would trade off having sex with each. The way things were looking, I guess we figured it would be hard enough to get even one girl. This would make it easy to at least get to screw two whole girls in single life time.

I run into him from time to time. He's married and all these years later, it's not like he's forgotten. He jokes that his wife is waiting for me. That he told her all about our childhood pact. And a pact is a pact and she says she understands. It's fine. In fact it's more than fine with her. But it's not really all that fine with me. It seemed like a swell idea at the time. now it's creepy. If it were dirty I'd do it. I can't find the dirty in it. It seems more wrong breaking the pact. It should never be that easy.

I made another one. It was with a girl. when our thing was about to end. you know when you can just feel it?. not enough trust, not enough self-esteem, not enough...whatever. it's to hard because it's to good and maybe you shouldn't be there. you don't deserve it. and you can't because it's not supposed to work like that. happy and scared. it's supposed to be just happy. right? safe. Scared? So there you are constantly waiting. waiting for the fall.

And so It was one of our last nights. the kind when you are just attempting to find some kind of closure. trying to figure out things while you still talk, still fuck. there is all this lying going on but you somehow believe you can cut through all that with a dick inside. Like it can really get in there. like you could ever really figure out what each other is thinking.

It was intense because we both knew it probably was the last time. when you fuck like its going be the last time. It's so good. The sweat and tears and you do it to make it yours. you look in her eyes and you make it. make it hurt. at least that's what i do. To make it mine, we made a pact. That no matter who we were with, how many years go by, any time, any place, move away, married, whatever the fuck. whoever the fuck. that when I find her, or she finds me. that when I call or write or text. I say that i want it. want her. want what is mine. she can't refuse. no matter what. she will meet me. we will meet. when i want it . when she needs it. again.

-

photos by:
photoshoppedflaws
firstkissfeelings