Tuesday, May 31, 2011


A wanderer
in dark and light places
over thresholds unrestrained
lone expanse of blank walls
bare floors begging to hold
stark windows a screaming beacon
teasing with paths not walked.

Empty smiles returned
with an aching jaw
around corners, another
from the floor, a third
smelling of blind nescience
like fading puddles under dry heat.

A key shines in the dark
gold, or just fools
perched on the ledge of an ear
mumbling smoky promises
of an open door,
a wisp between reaching fingers.

Fickle and frail
this wandering thing
let it pierce the rusted groove.
With mortise freed, grace then fled
and the lock fell
to the floor.


Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Oh, Steven

I used to date a guy named Steven.  We met on a blind date in high school.  Steven.  Oh, Steven.  What a character.  Long, long hair.  Five o'clock shadow.  He was a senior.  Played the guitar, but not death metal like the last douchebag I fucked.  Oh no.  Steven played music.  And sang.  In his bedroom.  With weepy eyes behind his long hair.  Oh, Steven.  When I met him, on the blind date, I had a cast on my leg.  Just the knee down, but I was still annoyed and self-conscious.  He decided to take it upon himself to carry me everywhere that night.  Ev-ah-reh-wheres.  Yeah.  It's charming when you're 15 and crushing hard.  Not so much now.

Anyway.  Steven was a talker.  At that age, I was certainly not familiar with that kind of male creature.  And I saw a flash of innocence there that I wasn't quite sure where to place, either.  But I was crushing, so I shrugged it off.  Over the next several weeks of completely innocent "dating," I found myself emotionally exhausted and sexually frustrated beyond any teenage girl's ability to tolerate.  By that point, I was ready to fuck anything that moved as long as they would let me punch them in the face a couple times first.

Let me tell you, this guy was the most depressing, self-deprecating motherfucker I have ever met.  Woe-is-fucking-me, you know?  This cat needed a whole slew of violinists to follow him around all day.  I would spend hours on the phone with him talking him off the proverbial ledge.  He was never talented enough, smooth enough, attractive enough, smart enough..... The sky was the wrong color of blue.  The dirt wasn't dirty enough.  Blah, blah, blah, blah.  I was throwing myself at this guy and all he wanted to do was talk?  He has to be gay, yes?  I thought so, too.  So I started asking around.  Nope.  Not gay.  You want to know what he was?  A fucking virgin.  Holy mary mother of god pray for my sinning soul, Steven was a virgin.  Here I am 15 years old, crushing on this scruffy, guitar-playing senior, and I get more action wiggling on the seam of my blue jeans in homeroom than he's had in his entire pubescent life (whatever you're imagining, the answer is yes).

What's worse is that he effectively saddled his issues squarely upon my shoulders.  He wanted me, asked me directly, to be his "first."  Yep.  Because he didn't think I would judge him or dump him if it sucked.  I'd love to say I was a kind soul.  I'd love to say I took him under my wing and let him use me to take his first tentative steps into the world of carnal pleasure.  But alas, no.  I freaked.  And promptly relegated him to "friend status" while, at the same time, continuing to straddle his lap and grind on his dick through his jeans just for my own perverse pleasure.  OH MY GOD, I was such a horrible person.

I just thought, you know, since I told my story about bullying poor Jennifer, I might as well make amends with Steven, as well.

Dear, dear Steven.  You were such a sweetheart.  If I could go back to my 15-year-old self and fuck you silly, I would.  And I really hope your dick is okay.