Archive for November, 2005

Will You Tell Her?

You are quiet, standing still behind the stall door. Your heart–thud, thud, thud–is slamming against your rib cage, because you think you might really do it this time.

Will you tell her? If you do it, will you? You don’t know, you’re not sure. Because if you do it, all bets are off, everything changes.

You’ve talked with her about it time and again. She’s always laughed, told you that you didn’t have the balls. You’ve laughed with her, telling her that she’s probably right, that she knows you too well. She’s always seemed rather fond of you, and you like that. You want to believe that you mean more to her than the other guys.

The outer door opens. The sound of music, voices, laughter. Dying off as the door slowly swings shut. A crisp swoosh when it meets the doorjamb, then silence. The click of a lock being turned. Footsteps.

“Are you in here? Where are you?”

His voice is deep, husky. It thrills you.

And then he is opening the stall door. You swallow, your mouth is so dry. But you are lowering yourself to your knees. Oh yes, you’re going to do it this time.



Well, hello, baby. Where have you been? I waited for your call last night. I missed you.

I, um, I was out. A friend was having a party, so I went, ended up staying late.

Did you have fun?

Michelle, I’ve got something to tell you.

Yeah? You can tell me anything, you know that.

I did it. I really did it.

Did what? Oh my fucking god! You mean….?

I mean I sucked a cock last night. I did it for real.

Damn! Well, did you like it? Was it as good as our fantasies?

Well, Michelle, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. You’ve been a doll. I really like you.


Well, the thing is, he’s coming over in a little bit. And, well....

Yes? Well, what?

I told the service before they connected us to cancel my account, that this is my last–

Cancel your account? What the fuck?

Michelle, this phone sex costs a lot. And this thing that is happening. It’s hot.

Fuck you!

I wanna see where it goes.

You’re a bastard.

Try to understand, Michelle, I have to pay him, and I can’t afford you both.



Hello? Hello? Michelle? FUCKING WHORE!

when i look at you

when i look at you
mostly, i know you love me
and mostly, that’s enough.

but i can’t see you now
and i’m not so sure anymore

Don’t Go in There

“What in the hell is going on, Sarah? Why are you acting so funny? Where’s Monica?

“Jason, I…”

Sarah turns to the window, brow knitted, trying to think of how to tell him. Damn her, she thinks, why did she have to do this today while I’m here?


“Sarah, what’s is wrong? Just tell me where Monica is.”

“Ok, remember New Year’s Eve? Remember when you and Monica had that fight?”

Jason hesitates, grabs hold of the edge of the table. It was just a spat. They were both drunk, him stupid and drunk. Monica had said things, crazy things, but she was drunk, for god’s sake.

“Where in the hell is my wife?”

“You don’t have to yell.”

Sarah turns away, biting her lip, looking toward the kitchen wall, staring at it. She looks back at Jason. Then he hears it. Very low, hardly noticible. Living in an apartment complex, you get used to ignoring the sounds of all those lives going on around you. But this is coming from inside the apartment; this is coming from the bedroom.

Jason walks over to the wall, reaching out, touching it. He looks back at Sarah.

“Who’s in there Sarah?”

“Jason, you told her you wanted her to do it.”

“I was drunk, Sarah. I was shit-faced drunk.”

But he remembers. Remembers showing the guys all the porn on his computer. How they all laughed, telling him he was a pervert. How Monica was standing there with her arms folded over her chest. How he laughed while Barry explained to Monica what cuckolding was. How pissed she was. How, when he kept laughing, she’d told him he might just get what he wanted. How the guys had joked and said they’d help out anytime. It was all so funny then. What had he said to her? Do it and make me happy for once. Something like that.

Jason starts toward the hall. The noise seems so much louder now. Does he hear moaning? Is that Monica moaning? The bedroom door looms, white and huge. He has to see, has to know.

“Don’t go in there.”

His hand on the doorknob, Jason barely hears Sarah. But he hears Monica now.

“Give it to me. Fuck me like a whore. Harder.”

He turns the knob.

“Jason, don’t go in there.”

He pushes the door open.

And there is Monica, there is his wife. And Brad.

real shoes

munchkins fed: in bed
paper read: wizard dead
(…there’s no place like home)
put on your real shoes, those ruby reds
(i won’t dance, don’t ask me)
(fairy tales can come true….)
(gotta dance!)


mind fucker

freud the mind fucker
molested sacred dreamscapes:
his healings impotent


am i forgotten
do i
in your dreams
does your cheek
my soft breasts
do the
cobwebs of me
to your heart
can you
me on your pillow
does my
upon your lips
does my
your distant eyes
can i
do you
were we