Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Before I crash

Sometimes I look at my hair right when I get out of bed and I think oh, bring it on! Then I look a little bit later and I think oh, what a mess. Maybe that’s after I crash. It only takes a few minutes. The music stops because this stupid stereo isn’t working anymore -- it’ll play like two tracks from an album and act like that’s all. I guess I got it for not much more than $100, over 10 years ago in New York after the landlord broke into our apartment to steal everything, so now it’s time to get another one, although probably that won’t prevent me from crashing. If it did, then it would be quite a good investment.

I guess I’ll try another CD. Oh, this is the right one, except my sinuses still hurt, really hurt. But the CD just started, let me give it some time. Outside, I’m watching this guy from across the street, grabbing his crotch, adjusting it, looking to the side, hoping he’ll be looking for me when you looks this way, after he looks, he looks. I look back. No one else does. Sometimes it feels like a horrible injustice that here on the streets in the light and air isn’t where we find one another, why can’t this be our sex space, that guy up ahead, the way he’s studying something, is it my hair or my face or my eyes but just come here and we can hold. We can hold one another, it’s okay.

Up at the next block, I’m kind of getting hard in my pants, just walking up the hill, this so rarely happens. Maybe that guy with the floppy hair across the street, no he’s straight, talking to his straight friend, like the guy up at the corner who does look at me but then looks over at another straight friend, all these straight friends but we’re not friends and maybe I should go to the Nob Hill Theatre. I’m not sure if I really have enough energy, but I’m getting closer -- should I keep walking, or turn around? For half a block my dick get soft, then harder again and it seems like I might as well go, just for a few minutes, I’ve definitely never been there at this time of day, noon, really noon, noon, how strange.

I guess the Nob Hill Theatre is pretty much the same at any time of day -- the same people working, lurking. A tweaker in the hallway, texting, she’s cute enough except for that angry expression on her face. I go in a booth, and right away someone sticks his dick through the glory hole-- pale skin, I don’t have time to see who it is, dick curving into my throat, okay this is great. Then he pulls away and leans down to face me through the hole, do I want to come in his booth? Yes, much better for my neck, that’s for sure, when I get in he wants my dick but I’m not exactly attracted to him in that way, middle-aged guy with gray hair, a tension but soft his need or desire or whatever it is, I get back on my knees, yes his hands on the back of my head, yes the way his dick curves upward, he pulls up his shirt, I rub because I figure that’s what he wants, soon he’s coming in my mouth and I guess that’s what I want, before I thought I wanted to come but this is safer anyway, I mean safer for my energy, I rarely crash from eating come, except sometimes when I end up with a digestive nightmare, but we already know I end up there anyway. I stand up and kiss him on the cheek, then on the lips which is what he wanted before but now he’s shy.

Back in the hallway it’s just me and the tweaker, I’m grabbing my dick through my pants and he goes into a booth so I go into the next one, someone comes in right after me, a short cute muscley Asian guy, where did he come from but now he’s here and I stand up to hug him but then he’s scared of the tweaker watching, he leaves and then it turns out the tweaker only wants to grab my dick through the glory hole and that’s boring like I could come and definitely regret it, so I leave, back upstairs, past the tweaker working who tells me something happened on September 11, she can’t remember, what was it -- that’s what she was saying earlier, now she says oh, Ramadan, which would be fine except then she says I like pita bread, a little bit of pita bread with my grenade. I try to think of a way to illuminate her racism, but I can’t think of anything in time and then I’m back outside and actually I do feel better than before, I actually have enough energy to get home before I crash.

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