Describing himself in terms too tawdry to repeat, he evokes a sexualized self they admire and desire. What completes and creates? What attracts and repels all at once?
Montego Boy. Black as night. Surprisingly slender. A delight of debauchery.
Betwixt and... In the middle. In medias res.
The sum of his knowledge. His knowledge of sums. Something’s got to give.
Forgive and forget, my pet. It’s the least you can do given the circumstances.
The circumstances were a present but at present weren’t anything to consider as they were the what of that particular when.
Zen and the art. Alice lingers at the edge of the story here, potions and possibilities pretending at an answer and a question all at once.
She doesn’t ask anything at all. Just listens and lets it all unfold. Silence is a great provoker.
Mind the gap. Yes I do! As nature abhors a vacuum I adore connective tissues bridging the gap – the space between the silence so solidly held – a wall against the bay.
A boy rising in the wind like the cry of a wolf. A sea at the wall of possibility.
Hey diddle diddle, who’s in the middle?
Between stillness and motion lies anticipation. A state of expectancy so poised and pitched toward tomorrow it cannot be considered to be part of the present or the past.
His anticipation became so great he slipped from today to tomorrow without time passing at all.
You could consider it a fall – but from what to what or from where to where? Could he really be anywhere?
Between boys he considered his options: The woods. The river. The showers. The beach. The hot tub. The pool. The sauna. The steam room.
The smile across the room – the click of connection. A few flirtful glances, a gesture of beckoning. The confirming conversation. What exactly. Where exactly. Assurances exchanged. A taxi ride to the apartment. An offer of a drink, conversation. Polite refusal. A quick slip to the bedroom.
Tired of fucking the boy all night, he just wants to come and go to sleep but the boy’s insatiable, begging for more and more.
