Tuesday, January 15, 2008


Someone on the Bus

I rarely notice people anymore. Why did I give him a second glance? Maybe it was where he was sitting. In the back. Looking forward. His face not blank exactly, or false "expectant." Just interesting. So I sat in the side seat for a good view, my sunglass clips firmly fixed (Anouk Aimee at CostCo.) It could have been his physical disposition. He didn't slouch. A maroon pullover over a white T. Blewjeans (as Zazie would say.) Close-cropped brown Protestant rat-fur (hair) and close-cropped beard (like mine) About, oh late 20's? Can't really tell anymore. Definitely young enough to be my son if I were straight (an ever-expanding category of male loveliness.) Uh, oh -- there's something in his hand. It's a phone. (Crap!) He holds it nervously, occasionally glancing at it. Just as we pull up to Santa Monica and Fairfax he makes a call. No one there so he leaves a message. Considers another call then changes his mind. As he gets off the bus he gives me a quick glance. Had he noticed me all this time? Difficult to say. Where is he going? Impossible to say. 20 years ago it would have been to the Spike. Now -- who knows? The louche magnificence that was once Santa Monica blvd has vanished. Nondescript yuppie emporiums and Russian emigre foodshops now reign. Jumping into the Wayback Machine

I follow him into the Spike. We eye each other for a half an hour. He sips a beer, I a gin and tonic. Then we sidle up. He takes me back to his place. I peel off the maroon pullover, the T, pull down his Blewjeans and have at him -- and he me. Lovely.

We never see each other again.

Friday, January 04, 2008



The whitest body I've ever seen. White like the page in Mallarme. White like the figure the looms up at the close of Poe's The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym. The hair was white too. Long. cascading. But it was the smile you saw first. Do I remember his body moving at all. It seemed to just be there. Present. Glacial. The Prince Albert was a nice touch. But it was the white, the white. So white you couldn't see his cum when he came. The sound of his sigh so soft. He melts into memory like a cloud floating over the WeHo sky.

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