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Fragments About Fucking And Other Joys

"Oh joy Oh rapture Oh decline of space and time To find love in the shimmer of blood on stone To find passion in a maze of sun bleached bones"

-Thе Dеvil's Blооd "Everlasting Saturnalia"

[1]

"You look so beautiful when your head is between my thighs." She looks me in the eyes as she plays with my hair. She squeezes my head in an affirmation of my good work.

A smile plays over her head and she giggles in that way she does when she's getting close. She's draped over my shoulders, feet crossed, star crossed, her heel occasionally caressing my back.

She made love once. It was incredible. And yeah sure she had lots of sex before, she just thought it was a word one said to make it different, but no, everything about this was different.

There was an electricity to every moment. Goddamn sex had never been so easy or annoyance free, 'careful of the long hair', 'hold on my hip sometimes drifts out of socket', 'oh god my arms are tired, your turn', 'no no try something else', 'god fuck yes, holy shit'.

When she throws herself back onto the bed lost in joy her hair splays out like angel's wings, and her beautiful pale skin beckons me to enter.

I fall. Entangling with her as all cosmic bodies in collision, where I begin and she ends is a mystery. Stars colliding, atoms smashing, fission or fusion, I could never tell which. Kissing her was like touching lips to lightning, every hair on my body stands on end.

We lose track of the hours, the time spent entangled didn't matter anyway, time doesn't mean anything in that place where two people occupy the same space.

I end up above her looking down upon her at her ample breasts, they hang a little when she is upright, and on her back they have parted like a pair of seas. I throw myself overboard, losing more time to this beautiful moment.

We roll with the ocean waves for stretches of times and there is an earnest attempt at drowning me, but eventually we wash ashore together. On our backs but still touching, a leg over hers and her hand in mine. She smokes her cloves, stinky black filtered things, it mingles with the sweat, the pungent smell of our rutting but I don't complain, a small price to pay.

[2]

My hair completely envelopes her face and she giggles as she is consumed; Gehara devouring a young woman for pleasure. She swipes it about and gathers it up in her small fist, girlhands of my owner. A firm grip to pull me in; I'm not strong enough to resist; not that I want to.

The kiss is firm, no tongue to awkwardly probe me; a kind and thoughtful girl. No fireworks but an inferno of heat from our bodies, she burns like the sun but I would never let go; immolation would suit me just fine.

I'm blushing but I am smiling anyway; I feel so shy, vulnerable but she pulls something out of me; makes me fill to the brim with want; an aggressive intimate initiation of a dopamine addict, her moans and gasps like lines of coke off a stranger's coffee table.

Sweat soaked sheets and exhausted groans and panting, spent cartridges waiting for repacking. Soft cooing and neck nuzzles to calm down; she falls asleep with me draped on her like a sacred robe of a forgotten religion.

I feel small laying here with her, half her size; feeling this small and safe is the most comforting thing; it's hard to describe but it made my head fuzzy and the bees in my chest to get so loud. It takes me a long time to get to sleep, too enamored with the rhythmic sounds of her breathing. This is what home feels like.

[3]

I'm laying here in the dark next to her. I'm watching her sleep, I'm trying to remember every shape of her face because I know this won't last forever and I want to remember this angel who went through extraordinary lengths to kiss me.

This gorgeous creature laying beside me, this chooser of me, drove a long way to see what it was like to kiss me. To kiss me! I try to remember this, she wanted to kiss me. I never felt so desired before, it was intoxicating, to be ached for, to be longed for. But she's laying here and this won't last forever, so I cherish it, wish I could bottle it or inject it or snort it. Best drug hands down.

Not even out of her car a whole minute before we kissed under the stars, a jealous moon looks on.

Not more than a minute of introduction to my folks before I drag her into my room. We fumble our clothes off and fuck for hours. It had never been like that, I didn't know it could be like that. A whole weekend voraciously all over each other.

She's going home tomorrow and I may never see her again. So I am here in the dark of my room staring at her perfect face. They always leave, so I don't want to forget this moment, this weekend. And honestly I probably never will, this indelible moment, this unerasable person.

[4]

I stare at her, suddenly I am struck by how fucking beautiful she is, has always been, will always be. There won't be a moment for all time where she isn't one of the most beautiful things I have ever beheld.

"Gosh." The words fall out of my mouth. She looks at me with piercing galaxy eyes, constellations suspended in brown. I finally pick the words up. "I will kiss you every night, gently, with these inferior lips, graced with the chance to touch such a sainted thing as your mouth."

She giggles and smiles at me, the planets align, the stars twinkle, and she says "Dork." She kisses me and my soul leaves my body, I hear a symphony in the distance, the birds are singing along, and the kiss never ends. My soul lingers in this moment for a million eternities.

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"You want to go to the carnival? I know it's cheesy but it could be fun." I feel so dorky as it spills out of my mouth.

She rolls her eyes at me. "My dad works for the carnival. I don't-"

"aw, fuck. You're a carny?"

"What do you know about carnies?"

"I know enough that I'm not a rube. I just want to know what I am getting into is all."

She seems confused, I probably threw her a curve ball.

"Works office. Good talker, fun at parties. Do I pass your little test?."

Her razor sharp snark cuts and I wince because deserve it.

"I'm really sorry. I wasn't trying to offend, I got a big mouth with an expired permit."

"Your foot fits in there nicely." She smiled! We're so back.

"It sure does, often too. I often pop off without even realizing it."

"Well I sure hope not."

"I-" I can feel my face turn red. This always happens, I have a sharp wit until someone with the same rapier squares off and I find myself completely disarmed. I am completely defenseless against a good laugh and a quick tongue.

"Oh, that's cute." She runs me through, my guts a-dangle at the end of her blade.

I cover my face so she can't see me die right in front of her.

"You're not recovering from this are you?" She decapitates me, spits on my corpse, and she's hot while doing it. I shake my head held in my hands.

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I'll hold the gas can You strike the match I'd commit arson with you Because you're quite a catch

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We talked about you in therapy in Friday. Your name left my lips for the first time in so many years. I said your name and it was a floodgate of words and by the end the only thing she said was "it sounds like you were trying."

And I was, Goddess I was trying. I was always trying. Even when it looked like I had given up. I felt powerless or it felt pointless, I don't know, either way the end result is the same. I saw the leaving in your eyes long before you said the words. But I'll be the first to admit I was wrong. I'm real good at it by now. Sometimes love looks like fear and apathy.

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"I need you to know there was love in my heart. Even when I did those bad things. Especially when I did them. Love always seems to stream out the wrong way, I never could figure out how to change that."

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"For you this is an act of staggering brutality but from my perspective? This is survival. This was always a me or you situation, whether you realized it or not. So I'm sorry, doll. I do love you, but I love me more. Time to die."

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"This is my favorite part!" Sarah excitedly squeaks out. She's motioning at the television with a piece of popcorn firmly held between her forefinger and her thumb, small almost imperceptible cracks forming around its core. Light from Serendipity (2001) floods the dark room, the movie is her choice not mine, romantic comedies are really not my bag, but it was her favorite, I think because she shared a first name with the main character, and I still feel fondly about the movie as it reminds me of her.

She's laughing at the same jokes she's heard before, the dulcet tones of her beautiful mirth lights a fight in my chest, Synesthesia playing her beautiful fingers across my shoulders, laughs always triggers my synesthesia and it is always euphoric beyond words. The afterglow of every laugh leaves me filled with love.

The room is dimly lit by a single touch lamp with a bunch of settings, and she has set it at the lowest, the dim light struggling to maintain itself, that part always made my anxious, seeing the flicker in the filament, even if it was slight, but tonight I haven't even paid any attention because Sarah is having the time of her short and beautiful life.

I have a leg stretched out on the ratty sidewalk rescue couch now covered in blankets to make it more appealing to sit on, my other leg is hanging off, and Sarah is short and fully on the couch, leaned back against my chest, and I can smell her hair. Coconut shampoo and conditioner from some vegan place and it smells so good that I relish every inhale. I love this shampoo and I used it to this day and every time I lather it up I am taken back to this moment, this cherished impressible moment.

There's always one last good night, where you can trace back to before things started to go bad, and it's to remind you of the good, and with time it becomes a warm blanket to wrap yourself in.

This is our last good night and I took it for granted, tomorrow I will wake up to a Dear John letter and in 2 days the detectives will wound me in a way that seem so hard to reconcile even now over 25 years ago.

Tomorrow morning I am on the couch sitting in utter shock as I am being asked question after question about the last few days, about her mindset recently, about my whereabouts last night, they ask if she left a letter. And I never tell them about the letter, I never tell them about her final words, I never tell anybody about the words she left only for me, I remember every single one, I can't remember what I ate for dinner but I remember every word you left me.

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I gashed my side open on the jagged counter top, the one that has been poking and prodding everyone who gets too close, usually with a bloodless yelp and a promise to be more careful, but this time I am on the kitchen floor and everything is red.

I remember not being afraid, just this serene warmth washed over me and i slowly settled onto the floor. I didn't cry out and I hardly flinched, it was almost a painless affair minus a dull ache.

I was just watching the blood pump out of me at the speed of my heart, I knew it was really bad, I had never before seen what the fat inside my body had looked like, I could stick my fingers inside the wound up to the first knuckle. I knew for certain my mother was going to yell at me for getting blood on her floor but I strangely did not give a shit in those moments of calm.

The concern first dawned on me when I saw the look of abject fear on my mother's face, and then she screamed, I had never heard my mother scream like this, sure she had yelled but this was shrill and deeply fearful, and there wasn't a shred of anger in it.

This was the most love my mother had ever shown me up to this point, and only in the moments where I am about to die, when she might lose me, but always always when the moment is over and the fear slowly drains from her bones she returns to taking me for granted, she returns to the belittling, she returns to the scheming

When the paramedics arrived I immediately fall in love with the blonde with the broad shoulders and the deep but exceedingly gentle voice, when my mom doesn't think anybody can hear her (we can) she comments to my father about the paramedic looking like a man and I apologize to her.

I spend 2 days in the hospital because they were concerned with infection

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Wildflowers blossoming

Reaching towards sunlight

Colorful fingers uncurling

Waiting to finally be held

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The stubble on your thigh meets the stubble on my face and suddenly there are hundreds of tiny reminders that we are both alive, that we existed in spite of it all, together, with love and grace.

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Dear baby who could not be

I just don't have it inside of me

My lack of physical uterus aside

It's far too dark for you outside

You deserve a world so bright

But all that remains is endless night

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I am

V I B R A T I N G

and

and

and

all I want are your hands on my body

you feel the heat radiating off my soft, squishy body

hear the change in my breathing as your burning hands light my fire

worship at my altar sweet devotee

my divinity pools in your hands

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Pyrokinesis or: Understanding Fractured Memory

The house down the street is on fire and I think I did it. I think I am one of those fire psychic people, what's it called? Pyrokinesis the internet tells me. Or maybe I'm crazy, what would be the difference anyway? 

Anyhow, I think I started the fire but I can't be sure because my memory can't be trusted and while I don't remember going into the building and lighting a match but I can't say I didn't not do it, you know? Brains are temperamental things and prone to forgetting upsetting things. 

Oh, right, anyway, I think I started it with my mind. You see every day I walk to work and I cross East Hampton street and at the top of East Hampton is Von Strauss Manor, a very large, very old house with something like 10 bedrooms or whatever. 

And every morning I stop and I stare at Von Strauss Manor from the bottom of East Hampton where it ends at Charleston Lane and while staring at it, catching my breath from all the walking, and I imagine what it would look like engulfed in flames. And on the way home from work tonight my wish came true. 

Von Strauss Manor started life as a landowner's house and through the years property exchanged hands, people died, inheritances were had and now Von Strauss Manor was on fire and I think it was my fault. I would apologize but I would do it again and again, that house knows what it did wrong. 

You see, while staring at the monstrosity of a mansion with a baleful stare, imagining the fire licking the air, and before I know it the flames were there. And I didn't mean to actually harm the house, but it looked at me with a sinister gaze.

I felt threatened. It was an act of self defense. Manslaughter in the first degree with pyrokinesis. Well I guess houseslaughter, does that exist? Probably not. They'll write a whole new section of law for this. I don't think pyrokinesis is technically illegal... or legal.

I think they call that a "technical gray area" or something like that. Anyway, I'm sure I will be the catalyst for this houseslaughter legislature, they're always making laws to punish queers like me. 

But... Also... Why do I remember marble flooring and a sauna and hot tub? Why do I get flashes of a big rear projection TV and one of those sound systems with the big speakers you always see at Radio Shack in their gaudy tech display? Why the specifics? 

I am unsure, but I am sure of one thing: my brain was rearranged by a drunk redneck in a bar fight outside Tupelo, Mississippi sometime in July 1979. Why do I remember that date but never any birthdays or anniversaries or any of the government holidays? Oh right, the brass knuckles and the redneck, yes, well, that guy beat me bad enough that I can't trust my memory anymore.

Also I remember it because it was the night of the Tupelo Concession Stand Brawl, Jerry Lawler & Bill Dundee vs. Larry Latham & Wayne Ferris in what would be known as the birth of hardcore wrestling. It was a wild brawl and goddamn I love wrestling.

Oh, right, the knuckles and the redneck, yeah that was my post-show ritual. I would go to the matches and cheer some good guys and yell at bad guys and have a great time, then I would come out here to the bar and drink a few drinks and walk home.

Well, on this night Mr. Redneck and I got into a verbal disagreement and he decided to rearrange my face, but what he didn't count on was my head bouncing off the pavement so hard my brain broke. A cheap shot blindsided me and now I have severe memory issues.

So now I am watching the firemen try to scramble and save the manor engulfed in flames by the weird trans girl who used her redneck brass knuckle birthed crazy person pyrokinesis and I realize, while I did do this, nobody knows I did do this because my brain did this for me. I think. I don't rightly remember.

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Fragments About Sacramento and the Castle

[1]

She's standing at baggage claim turnstile of Sacramento International Airport sending her 13th unanswered text while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her chest. 

Crestfallen and broken by the deafening silence. She wants the girl she has fallen in love with to at least answer her phone and reject her directly but instead she never hears from her again. Aching, wounding silence.

She wheels her baggage into a bathroom stall and cries so hard she feels like she's going to throw up, even gags a few times, her knees wet from the disgusting bathroom floor. 

This one hurts her for a long time, years of wondering what she could have done differently. She goes over every wrong thing she said.

They had talked for hours and hours, made each other laugh long into the night at the possibilities of the future they were growing together, and she never plans a future again, too afraid to curse all the good things she ever wanted.

And now she's here retching into the large bathroom stall, doesn't know what she is going to do since her return flight is 15 days away, 15 days she was supposed to spend with the love her life, or who she thought was the love of her life, now just a ghost in the shape of a pretty girl. 

She's trembling when she stands, spent too long on her knees and now they threaten to dislocate themselves under her weight. She leans in the corner of the stall for a few minutes, waiting for the blood to recirculate, and spends some time soaking up the piss from her knees.

When she gets back out to the curb she is crying again but now it's a gentle leak of her face dripping on her shirt. She starts texting everyone she knows in the city and luckily her friend takes her in for the duration of her stay, the endless kindness and generosity of the girl who loves cows with the rambunctious but lovable dog. She sees her first Rocky Horror shadow cast, eats amazing food, and makes the best of things as they were.

[2]

"So what brought you to Sacramento?" She asks from the bar, her bar. Her apartment is very nice, probably the nicest domicile I have ever been in. She has a great view of the town here as I sit on a white leather couch less than 10 feet from the bar, her bar. 

"Oh, just a little vacation in a city I always wanted to visit." I lie, not wanting to ruin the mood with more crying. I just wanted to do something fun, maybe memorable, and so I am doing something I would never normally do. 

Not that long ago I was standing in a dingy rented dance studio watching the Rocky Horror shadow cast rehearsals. My pervert brain is trying so hard to not look at the gorgeous woman changing mere feet from me and I almost fail, but I am saved from my own deviance when my dating profile receives a notification. “Hey, I’m a little drunk and you’re a lot cute, wanna come over and chill with me?”

I've been chatting with this girl for a few days, I'm gonna call her June because it's not even close to her real name, and I let loose that I would be in town for about 2 weeks and she told me to let her know when I had free time. And I do. I did. “I’d really like that :3 ”. Like I said I'm not a one night stand kind of gal, but I am trying to experience new things.

I meet her at the curb and she pulls up in one of those James Bond rich guy cars, a Bentley maybe, it's not important and I’m not a car gal. What is important is the car is easily over $100 grand. 

“Get in, cutie.” She smiles at me, takes a drag off her cigarette, I hear the automatic lock disengage the mechanism, and I fumble awkwardly with the door handle. I throw myself in, I am just closing the door and we are off like a rocket sending me scrambling for my seat belt.

I don’t immediately notice, it’s a block or two, but she’s very obviously intoxicated, too intoxicated to drive, and now I am in this car with her. And she is driving like a maniac. The entire time I'm trying to act natural while I am on the verge of screaming. 

Oh and this is where she mentions that her family owns a fucking castle in Scotland. She definitely has a faint British accent, a Brit would tell me where exactly it originally came from and how posh she sounded. Also she talks a million miles an hour.

When we get to her apartment I finally get a good look at her, everyone looks a little different in person vs photos, something to do with perspective probably. And my goodness she is incredible looking, I fight to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.

June is a 5’1'' Asian girl, black hair braided down to the middle of her back, sexy black dress with the super hot leg slit that is my FAVORITE, and a clutch purse decorated with glittery skulls. Her thick black lipstick stains her clove cigarettes when she takes a drag, and she wore sunglasses but was always looking over them to see.

She pours me like a scotch or something, I hardly drink it because that was never my thing. She puts a hand on my knee at some point and my anxiety almost escapes my mouth but I choke it down. My heart is beating a million miles an hour. This is so new to me, I am dying inside and incredibly turned on; a maelstrom in my mind. I am afraid of making the wrong move or saying the wrong thing, I don’t know how to act cool, calm or collected and I’m not a one night stand kind of gal.

Near trembling I think she senses my apprehension. She leans in, our lips meet, I can feel her hot breath on me, it reeks of alcohol, she leaves a bit of lipstick on my lips, I can taste her cloves, and then…  and then she pulls away, runs to the balcony and vomits the contents of her stomach off her balcony above the city. She calls a cab to take me home after a few tears and a million apologies. She never talks to me again. 

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Fragments About a Princess

[1]

I let my guard down for a second, I lose sight of you for just a minute, a desperate quiet moment to myself. I was in the bathroom for a minute, just long enough to feel the weight of it all. It's so heavy and I can feel myself going under the water when i hear you screaming, hair raising, fear of god, pure white hot terror floods my muscles and I've already flung the door open so hard the handle smashes the wall, a perfect circle like a bruise on porcelain skin.

I let myself feel weak for just a second and now you are on our kitchen floor covered in red, I'm white as a ghost, and you're turning blue. The knife clatters loudly and your arm is torn to shreds and it's all my fault.

I'm trying so hard to hold on to living and you're trying so hard to get on dying and I can't keep us both above water and my calamitous heart would rather sink with you then continue on alone. And our kitchen floor was never white again, they replaced the laminate flooring when we left because "it looked like somebody died in here", if they only knew the truth.

This isn't the last time I hold you in my arms expecting you to die, expecting me to perish there too. All you can say, all you can ever repeat over and over again as you try repeatedly to leave is "I'm sorry, Chance." And I repeat every time "It's okay, Princess."

And this goes on for a while. I start locking the knife block and any other sharp things I can find I lock away in a trunk I've had since childhood, the one I would hide in when my dad was on a rampage, the one that protected me, I put them there in hopes they protect you.

I hold you, lips blue, breathing so ragged and shallow. I cling to you, my deflated life preserver, we're sinking fast, me and you. I am covered in blood, your beautiful life all over the floor, I look like a horror movie. You leave a perfect hand print on the counter and it's the last thing I clean after I get home from the hospital. Your beautiful dainty hands, and I stare at the print for a long time.

I bring you home from the hospital again, at least a dozen times this year alone, I fear what our future holds, worrying about a future that will never come. You walked out a month after I brought you home, tried to fly and left this world.

And all I wish I could do is sit with you in those last hours and say "it's okay, Princess" until you finally close your eyes. I wish I could comfort you as I always.

[2]

I’m on California Route 23 which stretches from Fillmore to the sea. There’s a bridge right before Simi Valley where the 23 and the 118 Freeway meet. It doesn’t have a name but it rises over the Happy Camp Canyon, the Arroyo Simi River, and Princeton Avenue and curves from Moorpark to Simi Valley. The bridge is split in two with each half taking a direction, each half has 2 lanes and ample shoulder room. It reaches its maximum height on the southbound side right after the concrete fence factories.

This area is one of the best places to stargaze but on this particular night the sky is obscured by a clinging cold mist. Before I see her I know exactly what night this is. I walk up to the railing, just past the mile marker I found in the police report. My hands hesitate to rest on the damp railing sitting atop the concrete barrier. Every so often a car cruises by going a little slower than usual because of the visibility. 

I stand there leaning on the railing trying to work up the nerve to lean over and look at the ground, my heart is pounding so hard I think it might stop. I don’t know if I am more afraid of seeing her or flinging myself over to join her. Before I can consider I lean over and look but I don’t see her down there in the area she supposedly died. And as I right myself I can see her out of the corner of my eye walking down the shoulder towards me. 

She’s shivering and mumbling to herself, her arms pulled close to her body and she’s sobbing. She is pale as a ghost, her lips the color of Arkansas Blue Star. She’s wearing a black t-shirt and torn denim jeans with a black hoodie tied around her waist but she’s not wearing any shoes, she left them in my shoe rack by my front door. Walked nearly 5 miles from the Moorpark Park & Ride on Collins in Simi where she left her car and a note, she walked the whole way barefoot without a care.

I take a few steps toward her and she walks by me, her eyes never looking up from the ground. She leans on the cold railing with her stomach, looks at the stars and sighs. I step towards her and she looks right at me, right through my soul. “I’m sorry” she says and then she’s gone, over the edge.

I blink and I am 45 feet below the 23 in a field pocked with tall grass, trees and bushes. And there in the darkness a pale blue angel splayed out like a broken doll, limbs all the wrong direction. She looks up at me from where she is laying in the grass.

"Is that you, Chance?" She sounds raspy and confused.

"I'm sorry, Princess. This is just a dream."

"Oh. Then I guess I'm dead."

"Yeah. Yeah. For a long time now. And this never happened." I admit reluctantly.

She begins to sob softly and sit down beside her head and cradle her in my lap. I brush some foxtails out of her hair and wipe at her tears.

"Oh, Princess. I wish we had more time. I wish I could tell you all the times my mind drifted to you. I wish I could read you all the poems and stories I wrote. But there's never enough time here."

"I hope you loved again." She says softly as her eyes drift to the horizon.

"Oh, yes, Princess. I love very easy. Too easily. I love loudly and often because life is too short. You taught me that." 

"I'm sorry"

"Shh. Shh. It's all okay, Princess. I promise." 

"I love you, Chance" She says as the dawn's light peeks over the horizon.

And I'm awake gasping and shaking again.

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The Rigors and the Heft - Part 3

Elise is once again standing in the rain, but without the mud or the sorrow, and she was in the process of sprinting to the door of their apartment to avoid getting soaked but she stops dead in her tracks when she sees Chance standing on their patio staring into their apartment.

"Hey, darlin', what's on your mind?" Elise asks but she isn't greeted with any response. "Chance!" She yells but doesn't even wait for a response even though she is pretty sure she saw Chance flinch right before Elise hurried inside.

She's already opening the sliding glass door and swooping her arms around Chance and leading her to the shitty old couch they share ownership over. Elise casts off her wet leather jacket near the door and kicks off her combat boots next to it, not seeming to be bothered by the wet cuffs of her shredded jeans, more skin than denim and she liked it that way.

Elise allows herself one look in the eyes of Chance as she walks past her into Chance's bedroom to fetch a change of clothes and some towels. Elise casts open Chance's mirrored closet door to reveal piles of clothes, an organization to this madness, this isn't the first time Elise has been here.

She retrieves Chace's Pinocchio 964 shirt with its bright white Japanese lettering and the blue straightjacketed depiction of the main character, it looks distressed from years of wear.

And Elise wasn't trying to pick up this specific shirt, the shirt she kissed Chance in while drunk and the next day Chance didn't remember, Elise there with her heart of hope in her hands shredded by rejection unknown.

Elise decides in that moment that she will never let herself be hurt like that again, she bottles up her heart and submerges it in her sunken chest, drowned of hope.

College roommates, and then they moved into this apartment together after Chance graduated. Ten years of a dull ache and it almost doesn't hurt anymore. And it kills Elise a little bit seeing Chance aims those loving eyes at her, she aches but refuses to let her guard down.

Elise returns to the living room and Chance has dissociated again, she can always tell when Chance is check outed, and most people can't. She's used to Chance doing this, without hesitation she strips the clothes off her and dries hers off with a towel.

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Fragments About Fucking And Other Joys

"Oh joy Oh rapture Oh decline of space and time To find love in the shimmer of blood on stone To find passion in a maze of sun bleached bones"

-Thе Dеvil's Blооd "Everlasting Saturnalia"

[1]

"You look so beautiful when your head is between my thighs." She looks me in the eyes as she plays with my hair. She squeezes my head in an affirmation of my good work.

A smile plays over her head and she giggles in that way she does when she's getting close. She's draped over my shoulders, feet crossed, star crossed, her heel occasionally caressing my back.

She made love once. It was incredible. And yeah sure she had lots of sex before, she just thought it was a word one said to make it different, but no, everything about this was different.

There was an electricity to every moment. Goddamn sex had never been so easy or annoyance free, 'careful of the long hair', 'hold on my hip sometimes drifts out of socket', 'oh god my arms are tired, your turn', 'no no try something else', 'god fuck yes, holy shit'.

When she throws herself back onto the bed lost in joy her hair splays out like angel's wings, and her beautiful pale skin beckons me to enter.

I fall. Entangling with her as all cosmic bodies in collision, where I begin and she ends is a mystery. Stars colliding, atoms smashing, fission or fusion, I could never tell which. Kissing her was like touching lips to lightning, every hair on my body stands on end.

We lose track of the hours, the time spent entangled didn't matter anyway, time doesn't mean anything in that place where two people occupy the same space.

I end up above her looking down upon her at her ample breasts, they hang a little when she is upright, and on her back they have parted like a pair of seas. I throw myself overboard, losing more time to this beautiful moment.

We roll with the ocean waves for stretches of times and there is an earnest attempt at drowning me, but eventually we wash ashore together. On our backs but still touching, a leg over hers and her hand in mine. She smokes her cloves, stinky black filtered things, it mingles with the sweat, the pungent smell of our rutting but I don't complain, a small price to pay.

[2]

My hair completely envelopes her face and she giggles as she is consumed; Gehara devouring a young woman for pleasure. She swipes it about and gathers it up in her small fist, girlhands of my owner. A firm grip to pull me in; I'm not strong enough to resist; not that I want to.

The kiss is firm, no tongue to awkwardly probe me; a kind and thoughtful girl. No fireworks but an inferno of heat from our bodies, she burns like the sun but I would never let go; immolation would suit me just fine.

I'm blushing but I am smiling anyway; I feel so shy, vulnerable but she pulls something out of me; makes me fill to the brim with want; an aggressive intimate initiation of a dopamine addict, her moans and gasps like lines of coke off a stranger's coffee table.

Sweat soaked sheets and exhausted groans and panting, spent cartridges waiting for repacking. Soft cooing and neck nuzzles to calm down; she falls asleep with me draped on her like a sacred robe of a forgotten religion.

I feel small laying here with her, half her size; feeling this small and safe is the most comforting thing; it's hard to describe but it made my head fuzzy and the bees in my chest to get so loud. It takes me a long time to get to sleep, too enamored with the rhythmic sounds of her breathing. This is what home feels like.

[3]

I'm laying here in the dark next to her. I'm watching her sleep, I'm trying to remember every shape of her face because I know this won't last forever and I want to remember this angel who went through extraordinary lengths to kiss me.

This gorgeous creature laying beside me, this chooser of me, drove a long way to see what it was like to kiss me. To kiss me! I try to remember this, she wanted to kiss me. I never felt so desired before, it was intoxicating, to be ached for, to be longed for. But she's laying here and this won't last forever, so I cherish it, wish I could bottle it or inject it or snort it. Best drug hands down.

Not even out of her car a whole minute before we kissed under the stars, a jealous moon looks on.

Not more than a minute of introduction to my folks before I drag her into my room. We fumble our clothes off and fuck for hours. It had never been like that, I didn't know it could be like that. A whole weekend voraciously all over each other.

She's going home tomorrow and I may never see her again. So I am here in the dark of my room staring at her perfect face. They always leave, so I don't want to forget this moment, this weekend. And honestly I probably never will, this indelible moment, this unerasable person.

[4]

I stare at her, suddenly I am struck by how fucking beautiful she is, has always been, will always be. There won't be a moment for all time where she isn't one of the most beautiful things I have ever beheld.

"Gosh." The words fall out of my mouth. She looks at me with piercing galaxy eyes, constellations suspended in brown. I finally pick the words up. "I will kiss you every night, gently, with these inferior lips, graced with the chance to touch such a sainted thing as your mouth."

She giggles and smiles at me, the planets align, the stars twinkle, and she says "Dork." She kisses me and my soul leaves my body, I hear a symphony in the distance, the birds are singing along, and the kiss never ends. My soul lingers in this moment for a million eternities.