So it’s been a while since I posted. I’ve had this itching at my fingers, or something like it, for a lot of that while. But I don’t know if it’s what y’all want, and if it isn’t, there’s nothing wrong with that, and my apologies (blush). But you know what it’s like when your fingers itch.
So here it is, for a number of reasons. For a number of reasons. STAYING ALIVE – over to y’all :-).
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STAYING ALIVE
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You know how it is? How some days, there’s somewhere you just have to be, someone you just have to reach out to? Well, that’s it. Like, today. A place I had to be. And you, someone I had to reach out to. Because I’ve loved you so fucking long, and you needed someone. And just like always, you didn’t call, didn’t ask. But some days, it’s not the call, not the ask. It’s just the ‘can’.
Well, I could, I guess. Maybe for the first time, maybe.
Time. It’s funny. Well, not funny-ha-ha. Just–just funny. It’s like the last seven years went by in a heartbeat. Which, I suppose, they did. After all, if my fuckwit heart ever beat for anyone, it wasn’t for me. It was for you–always for you. Like, the first time I ever saw you. If this was some book, or a movie, or shit like that, you’d have been some young god running round a field chasing a ball, and I’d have come up with some dumb idea to tackle you, or get in your way. Our sweaty bodies would have collided, and we’d have looked into each other’s eyes, and in that moment, we’d have known. Like, you and me, forever. We’d have timed getting changed after the game, made sure we hit the showers at the same time. Like, not to touch, not to be near–fuck, we were just kids, but we knew. Knew what would happen. No, just to be there–to be somehow ‘us’ without being us. Not even sneaking glances as we lathered soap, rubbed, rinsed–not in any boy’s shower we wanted to walk out of with the same number of unbroken bones we walked in with. No. No looking. All ‘being’.
But it wasn’t like that anyway. Not a bit. Mom and dad had just moved us here, and I was out scouting the ‘hood. And there you were. Walking up the street, hell-yeah muscle from top to toe, and not giving a shit. And there she was. Coming up to cross the street. She gets to the curb, and her bag breaks. All those cans and all those bottles she’d collected, all rolling. And I knew–guys like you, I mean. I’d seen you in every school hallway I’d ever been kicked out of. Kings. Fucking kings, and no need to give a shit. I knew you’d laugh, or maybe just ignore her, keep on doing your thing up the sidewalk, like John Travolta and ‘staying Alive’. Turned out, I didn’t know you at all. Like, maybe I’d not even known those other kings either. Because you see her, and you stop strutting your stuff, and you look round, like, to check nobody’s seeing you. And you do it. You stop, and you help her pick up every can, every bottle that isn’t broke. You take your shirt off–OK, so maybe you did look shit hot, but it wasn’t that I was seeing. You take it off, and you tie the corners and tie her bag, and you get all those cans and all those bottles, and you put them in your shirt and her bag. You get her across the street, to the store, and I watch you walk her in. And it’s not your shit-hot muscles I’m seeing, not your ass I’m watching. It’s you. A you maybe you never let any other soul see, apart from ones like that old street-lady. A you maybe only the people nobody else could see ever saw.
People like me. The me you never saw that day. Maybe because I wasn’t what you were looking for, maybe just because it wasn’t time. Because maybe there really was only ever going to be one time, our time, one moment, our moment, even if that moment was five years long.
Like I said. Time’s funny.
So it wasn’t no football field, and it wasn’t no swimming pool. And even if I saw you every day we were at school, you never saw me. Not that it was your fault. I mean, guys like me? We didn’t go out of our way to get noticed. So I sat in class, not at the back and not at the front. I didn’t put my hand up for questions, because that’s getting noticed the wrong way too. And I made sure to try to get my hand up a skirt or two. Not too many, because that’s another kind of bad name to get, but not so few the other kids started to talk either. And never, ever, ever for any skirt that might actually lift if I got near. Fuck, I wouldn’t have known what to do if it had. So a first date here, a second there. It wasn’t like I had to find a way to make sure I didn’t get a third. They knew, girls did, even if they didn’t know they knew. Girls are smarter about shit like that than guys.
And every day I saw you. Every day I saw you, and my throat would get dry and my cock would get hard some. But you wouldn’t see me, and nobody else would see me, or I’d brush it off and talk about another date that hadn’t worked out, but, like, fuck I wished it had because whoever it was had been so fucking hot and…
Yeah. Right.
And then it was over. Like, school, I mean. It was over, and it was graduation Ball, and what the fuck? I figured I might as well go. Might as well not even try to fake a date, just go and hang, show everyone how much I wasn’t John Travolta at all, drink some punch that wasn’t punch, but not so much I might say something stupid to the wrong person. Or worse, to the right one–to you.
And I did. I went. Oh fuck, I went. I went, and… I mean, like shit like this doesn’t happen, right? I mean, you were elected King. Like nobody saw that coming. And you went up. And they were just going to announce the Queen, and you stopped them. Stopped them and told them you didn’t know if you were the right guy to be King, because–well, because. Because there was something you wanted them to know, all of them, and you’d always been scared to tell them, but what the fuck? Because if nobody ever talked to you again, well, that was school. So you told them how you and a Queen wouldn’t really work, not even if it was Katie Barnes. Because it would only work for you if it was some other kind of Queen. Or how maybe you weren’t a King at all, and maybe you were the Queen. Because what you wanted to tell them was…
And you did it. You pointed at me. You pointed at me, and you took the other crown, and you held it out.
To me.
To us.
And that was it. You and me. Me and you. And we danced, all fucking night. We danced, and nobody gave us shit, and nobody got in our way. All fucking night. And sometimes I was Jackie, and sometimes I was Tony. And sometimes you were Jackie and sometimes you were Tony. But that night? All night? We were alive, and we were staying that way. And after the dance, after they’d slowed it down real slow, and we’d danced still, my cock hard against your hardness, your cock hard against me, we went out, and we went down to the river, and we found each other. Found each other and every part of each other. Turned out, neither of us knew a damn thing about what we were doing, and neither of us cared. Your tongue in my mouth, mine on your nipple. Your cock in my hand, yours deep in my throat. The stars smiling down on us as we explored, as we touched, as we entered, and we took each other, knew each other, accepted each other deep inside.
Five years. Five fucking years, and five years fucking. No, not just fucking. Loving, needing–the night you cried, your head on my chest, because our dog had died. The time I tried to do Bananas Foster like you said you loved in that restaurant we went to in New Orleans. You said how maybe I’d used a little too much flam in my bé, but boy, didn’t that bald fire-guy have a cute ass? And we rebuilt that kitchen from the floor to the ceiling, and decorated the walls with tiles covered in burning bananas.
And every night, we were us.
But nothing lasts forever, does it? Not even forever, and not five years. And it wasn’t your fault, and it wasn’t mine. Because that’s just how it is sometimes. Sometimes, you just look at each other over breakfast, and you know. You know, and you want to cry, and it you’re us, you do cry. You sob your fucking heart out, because you know. Not that there’s someone else, not that either of you did something wrong–just that you look into each other’s eyes, and for the first time, or the first time in five years, there’s no ‘us’ in those eyes. Just–just two people who wish they weren’t two but know they are. And you take each other’s hands, maybe for the last time, and you go to the bedroom, and you get undressed, and you say goodbye. Maybe for the last time. And you’re both still so fucking hard, and you both still fit so deep in each other’s bodies, but you know that somehow it’s just bodies now, not souls. And you kiss each other maybe for the last time, and you suck, and you swallow–the last pieces of each other you’ll ever have. And you smile through the tears, because you know the tears are all you have left.
And you get up. And you walk. But this time, even if you’re still holding hands, it’s away. Away from each other, and you leave each other behind.
Five years.
Five fucking years.
In a hearbeat.
Because that’s what it was, today I mean. Today, where there was just this place I had to be, just you I had to reach out to, one heartbeat ago. Because graduation was last night. Last night, and five years. And I didn’t go, because I had nothing to go for. And you did, and I’m sure Katie Barnes did to. And I’m sure I know what you and Katie did last night, one heartbeat ago, and five years. And I know we never went to the river, you and me, and I know we did. Because you can live a long time in one heartbeat, and I’ve had mine, all five years. And if they never happened to you, it doesn’t matter. Because they happened to me. And if today is where I have to be to get them, if here is where I have to be? That’s fine. And if you’re the one I have to reach out to? Then reaching is just what I want to do. And the 18-wheeler roars as the driver slams the brakes. The 18 wheels spin as I run into the road in front of it, as I reach–as I push. And you don’t see me, like you never saw me. But I see you, like I always saw you. Safe, and so very beautiful. And the semi roars, and the wheels spin and I feel them roll over me, crush me. And for a moment I hope they break me, so when you finally do see me you still don't see me, don't know me, like you never saw me, never knew me. But time, it's funny. And as the wheels crush me, for five long years, for one short heart beat…
I love you.