Did I ever tell you that the night I yelled you out of the bar, I had planned to give you a hand job. I had resigned myself, in fact, practicing in a mirror the different ways I would hold your cock. I have imagined it many times, all of the adjectives and puns to describe your cock that make me feel uncomfortable now that I think about it. But that night, I was hoping you would get drunk enough to come home with me, drunk enough to comply. Even with all of the compliance in the world, we cannot understand the heft and weight of kismet. Who is to say and when. Come home with me please for the first time anew this one time, I told my friends when we were getting ready, this one time I was so close, I was so close to putting my hands down his pants, but he wouldn't let me, I don't understand.
Did I ever tell you about that one time. This one time. No, now.
Did I ever tell you about bravery? Did I ever tell you that my mother found my foils when I was smoking cocaine and asked me if it was for weed and I said yes, it's all I do, as if that alleviates the fact that I am smoking something on foil in her house in the first place. You tell me you do not live where you lived once and will never live there again. Inside all of the feelings, commence on bleachers, American flag waving, this is America.
Did I ever tell you about the time at the races when things didn't go my way which is every single time? They took the dogs out and brought in horses, they took the horses out and brought in video games in consoles, you don't actually sit next to other people in real time, you are a consul sitting in a console, alone.
I am sorry, he says to me after he hits me the second time, I am sorry, he is weeping while his hand comes down, while I jump back as his nails scrape my face (what does it say to have long nails for anyone, really?) I have a scrape on my face, I am so so so sorry he says, what can we do, calling
the police on himself, hello yes did I tell about the time we had to call the police, I didn't even know you.
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