We Were Kids

“We were kids,” I told her over coffee. “We didn’t know what we were doing.”

 

“Don’t try to brush it aside just because we were young. And besides we didn’t do it terribly. Considering the chemicals rushing through our bodies and the thoughts rushing through our heads, we weren’t bad at all. I bet you’d give anything for a kiss like that again.”

 

We hadn’t seen each other in fifteen years, but somehow we came back to each other instantly. The touch of her hand, the smell of her perfume—still Chanel—and the rise of her lip when she poked fun at me were as familiar as the taste of the coffee.

 

“I’m just saying, we where what? Fifteen? We fumbled through everything, and I’m sure I didn’t have a fucking clue what I was doing, other than being desperate for your skin. Hell, desperate for your attention. Desperate for anything at all.”

 

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes for a moment, the look on her face so clear and easy that I almost loughed.

 

“You were sixteen. I was fifteen,” she reminded me. “And someone being desperate for my skin the way you were, would be… I don’t know what it would be. All I know is that I miss that longing, that worry, and that sense of wonder when everything was new. Christ, you must have spent an hour between my legs the first time, listening to me moan and as you tried everything you could think of to do with your tongue. There’s a lot to be said for enthusiasm. When was the last time you went down on a girl like she was magic?”

 

It was my turn to close my eyes and try to remember her taste. Try to remember the unbearable anticipation the first time I slid her panties off her hips, saw her brown curls and soft lips. Try to remember my heart beating like is hasn’t in years at the simple possibility of kissing a thigh and hearing a moan.

 

“We never even fucked,” I finally said, wondering as the words left my mouth if they meant anything at all.

 

“We didn’t think we were fucking, but we were so wrong. Your tongue, my hands, you knee between my legs, hell, it was all fucking. Your kiss was fucking. Your fingers in my hair were fucking. I don’t think we did anything else, even when we simply held hands beneath the table at dinner.”

 

“We were young,” I mumbled again, trying to remember the present. There was no point in nostalgia. No point in trying to get something back that we lost years ago. There was no point.

 

“Close your eyes,” she whispered, leaning in closely. I put my mug down and my whole body tensed as I sat upright. I had no idea what she was going to do, but my heart wouldn’t stop, and my head was spinning.

 

Without a word her mouth touched mine, her tongue pushing between my lips in a kiss that was tender, strong, and without any skill at all.

 

“What was that?” I asked, when she finally pulled away.

 

“That was me fucking you,” she said with a smile.

-gny

 

Summer and Fall

She climbed onto my lap as he watched us, a smile on his face that I had seen a million times before.

 

“I can’t believe I’ve never kissed you,” she whispered, her lips just brushing my own.

 

“Is that what you want?” I asked. “Just a kiss?”

 

“I want more than a kiss,” she said letting me taste her breath as I dug my fingers into the small of her back and pulled her closer. Her lips were full and soft, and I could feel years of anticipation pressing against the back of my throat. Our kiss was tender and strong. It was summer and fall.

 

“You two are beautiful,” he said leaning closer to us, even as I slid the straps of her dress off her shoulders. Her neck was impossibly soft and her collarbone left a pool of shadow in which I buried my mouth. When her hips moved I was hard in an instant, and she whimpered into my ear as she pushed against me.

 

She was the one who motioned for him to lose his shirt as I kissed the space between her breasts, and out of the corner of my eye I watched him kneel beside us, his hand on his belt and his bare chest strong and slick. Without thinking I ran one hand up his body from his stomach to his parted lips, where he took them instantly.

 

“Let’s suck his cock,” she whispered into my ear, her hand pulling at his buckle. “While we fuck,” she added as an after thought. I wiggled beneath her, my mind growing dizzy in an instant as she helped me pull my cock from my jeans and roll a condom over it as he watched. Her dress was around her waist, his hand inside his pants, and in a moment everything was clear once more.

 

She guided me inside her, slowly opening around me as I held her hips and ass; he lifted her dress, watching us join for the first time. He licked his lips as he watched, and then suddenly she was on me, my cock buried inside her completely, and my mouth back on hers with a hunger that bordered on ravenous.

 

And before I could get used to anything, he was standing next to us, his hard cock in his fist as she leaned in and took him into her mouth. My hand replaced his in a second as I tried to focus on everything at once, and he was impossibly hard. She pulled him closer, leaning back just enough to watch my lips open as well, taking him into my mouth as I pulled her onto me with a hand on the small of her back.

 

I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but it might have been years; taking turns sucking his cock and fucking for the first time after waiting almost too long. I don’t know how I managed to focus at all, and I don’t know how she slipped a hand between our bodies to rub her clit exactly the right way. I do know that he screamed out both our names as he grew closer, and I do know that we laughed and grinned as we jerked him off into our waiting mouths. And I know that her sticky kiss, salty and sweet, was full of tenderness and come all at the same time.

 

He lay back and watched, his body still shaking as she clenched around me, her dress now lost to a dark corner of the floor. I kissed her neck and pulled a nipple between my teeth until she screamed. But it wasn’t until I threw her to her back, opened her thighs, and stared at her open cunt that I was fully present. I fucked her once more, her head nearly in his lap, and she closed her eyes and arched her hips to meet me as she slapped her cunt with an open hand. Over and over again she beat her tender skin as I slammed into her, her moans growing darker and deeper with each second.

 

When she came it was with a growl and with tears. Her face closed in pain and pleasure, her thighs closed around me, and her hands turned to fists in an instant. She screamed and screamed, even as I continued fucking her, and it went on for an endless moment. I kissed her mouth as he cradled her head, and when I finally held her she started to laugh.

 

I pulled out and lay next to next body, still in the spasms of release, and he sighed as he touched my face.

 

“So beautiful,” he said again, his voice echoing in the dark room like a light in the sky.

 -gny

Lions and Gazelles

As the frat boys roll into the Lower East Side, their collars popped and their Docksiders worn with salt water from the deck of Daddy’s boat, I stay close to the walls hoping to go unseen. Their girlfriends are impossibly tall, their legs going all the way up with boots that cover their knees, and skirts that go nowhere. They look foreign to me as if sometime a few thousand years ago we split off in separate directions down the evolutionary road. They are gazelles and lions while I’m fisher cat slinking through the shadows.

 

But back at my apartment, with the music switching been Lana Del Rey and Richard Thompson, there are limbs and whisky that have come from a million different directions. We’ve come from old families and broken ones. We’ve come from black sands and swamps, and we’ve come from towering buildings with doormen who raised us as much as anyone else. We’ve come from trailers and mansions, our bodies and minds as varied as the changing streets that crawl off into the hidden places we don’t yet know.

 

Sometimes I wonder if our kissing and undressing is simply another way to cope with the swirling mess outside our windows. If our naked bodies, slick with sweat and beautifully bruised, let us melt into the night as much as the heels and backwards hats do. We laugh loudly and often, even as thighs part and lips becomes wet with anticipation. We move between staring in awe and drifting off behind closed eyes while the world holds us without thought.


The elegant animals on the streets howl into the evening as we pull sounds from our own lips, drowning out the noise from below.

-gny

Creativity

“We used to go down on each other, pretending you had just come in us.”

 

I nearly spat out my drink as the words left her mouth because that was not at all where I thought the conversation was going. We had been getting caught up in nostalgia, thinking about an old friend, but it had been sweet reminiscing about sunsets and late nights laughing. It was wine in paper cups, college professors, and term papers.

 

“Can you say that again?” I asked, leaning in closer. Her blush was slight, but obvious, and I wondered if she had meant to say it out loud.

 

“We’re all allowed fantasies,” she said with a shrug. “It was fun. We both wanted you, so we just took turns, wondering what it would be like if the other stumbled home after a few hours in your bed.”

 

“Which turned you on more?” I asked, closing my eyes as I pictured them together once more. I had plenty of my own fantasies to choose from, and there had been enough nights years ago when I lay awake wondering if they were sharing a bed. They were the sort of roommates who held hands when they walked to class and wrote letters on vacation. They showered together after runs, and wore the same outfits to parties.

 

“That’s easy,” she whispered, taking my hand in hers. “It was always me. I always wanted to start it, to tease her, and to make her ask questions until she was so turned on she couldn’t help herself. I’d stumble into the room and tell her it had happened. I used to push her down onto my bed, my hand in her hair as she begged to hear more. By the time I felt her mouth on my thigh she was practically coming, and I was close behind.”

 

“And she…” I couldn’t get the words out.

 

“She dove in, eating my pussy like she was crazy. ‘I can taste him’ she’d moan, fucking me with her tongue. ‘I can taste his come inside you.’”

 

I leaned back and took a drink, wondering if I had been that clueless in school or if I was simply that foolish now.

 

“I wish you had told me,” I finally said, kissing her fingers. “I mean, I might have been able to help.”

 

“It was just a fantasy,” she said with another shrug. “Besides, it was the only way I could get her to go down on me. Sometimes you have to be creative.”

 

-gny

Day Dreams

Amy was the first to get rid of her cell phone and nobody saw her for a week. Marcus followed next, and we bumped into them on Avenue A one night on our way back from the bar. They smiled and laughed, and in the middle of our brief chat one of them asked us what day of the week it was. I looked over my shoulder as I staggered off towards bed, and their laughter lit up the night sky.

Peter quit his job the old fashioned way and hitchhiked west with a backpack and his smash faced puppy. He called from a payphone once, claiming that the world was on fire and we should look out the window. It took me days to realize he wasn’t posting on Facebook, and weeks to realize that I was jealous.

By the time I joined in the coup we there was a small colony of free people in pockets spread throughout the city. We drank less and spent more time in parks, always just finding each other by accident. Our schedules quickly became directed by our bodies and our needs, and within months we were sleeping through the afternoon and reading stories to each other at night. We often walked for hours at a time, crossing the island over and over again seeing buildings we had never seen before.

We fell to sleep content and with smiles on our faces.

-gny

It’s Okay

“It’s okay if you lie about me,” I whispered. “In fact, I like it.”

“You like it?”

I pulled her closer and kissed her hair once more, still marveling at the fact that she was in bed next to me at all. We had moved from exaltation to exhaustion more times than I could count and our bodies were sore and battered. Each time I thought we might slow down or sleep there was a whispered word or the movement of a thigh. Something as simple as a breath would draw us back into each other’s sticky embrace and once again time would forget what it was supposed to do.

“You’re so honest and kind,” I said, pausing to kiss her lips and look into her eyes. “So I like anything at all that makes you go against your values.”

She buried her head in the crook of my neck and shook it back and forth, her hair in my mouth in an instant. I squeezed her hand, wondering if for just a moment I had said the wrong thing. When she finally looked up at me again she was grinning.

“I think this might work out well,” she said before kissing me once more.

-gny

Metamorphosis.

I awoke one morning to discover I had been transformed into a human.

It was a remarkable thing, and as I rolled over in the bed I found I had two hands each with five fingers, two legs and feet each with five toes, and a taste in my mouth that was akin to a smoldering camp fire. I wiggled my appendages, yawned deeply and stretched my new body as long and deeply as it could go. Between my legs was a cock which was curiously hard and the cool sheets against it felt like a summer breeze at night time.

My eyes could open and close on their own, and when I pursed my new lips a sound came out like the cry of an unfamiliar bird. I touched my face. Then my chest. I ran my fingers over my muscles and fat, marveling at the contours of skin and hair. I touched the hard thing between my legs to find it too was soft and firm at the same time, and a strange sensation of light shot down my leg in an instant.

I smelled coffee although I’m not sure how I knew what it was, and my stomach growled with a new hunger. The room was full of clothes I knew I should cover my body with, and yet when I finally stood and stared at my new self in the mirror I felt no desire to cover up at all. I turned this way and that marveling at hair and spots. I leaned left and right watching skin stretch and rolls form where they had not been.

I climbed back into the bed on all fours. I arched my back and shook my head. It took long moments to realize that the sound coming from my throat was laughter.

I smiled in the early morning light. I shook myself one more time before I fell onto my back, the laughter growing stronger until it was indistinguishable from tears.

— gny

Tags: new york prose

He Knows Nothing

Out of all the people I know I am the least kind to myself.

 

I have never met another human, or dog for the matter, who would say the things to me that I do on a regular basis. I have never met anyone who could look so closely into my deepest fears and concerns and push and prod until my whole self is raw and open. And I’ve never met another soul who could so casually and fully invicerate my good qualities with a laugh and a joke.

 

But I’m learning to tell myself to fuck off. I’m learning to look in the mirror and shut down the voice that tells me I’m less than perfect, and I’m learning to laugh right back at him with a grin, reminding him that he knows nothing.


It is hard. And it takes time. But if I know anything about myself, I know that I’m good at this shit.

A Million Things

I can go from crying to coming in less than an hour. Maybe less than fifteen minutes if I put my mind to it, and if you suck my cock like you did last night.

I walked in with my face a mess and my body covered in slowly drying sweat. I smelled of smoke and lunch, and you wore nothing but black lace around your tiny hips and a smile on your face as you leaned back in the kitchen drinking wine. I poured it all out (not the wine), because you allow it and ask for it and let it be what it is. The tears slowed down, the wine sped up, and within ten minutes we lay on the bed, your head in my lap as I slowly grew hard.

We fucked slowly. Within seconds our bodies were once again covered in sweat, but we moved inside each other, feeling everything, and wanting nothing.

That’s not true, we wanted, but we lacked a goal. We lacked a future at all. Instead you held me where I was, I slid inside you when it felt best, and we moved exactly as we needed to pull the most pleasure out of a fucked up world. We whispered and nibbled, we pinched and slapped, but in the summer heat we mostly fucked, escaping everything and leaving nothing behind.

There are a million things that can make sex hot, but very few that make it easy. Love helps, but it’s not always enough. Kindness can do wonders, and a willingness to listen and try are life changing. But there’s nothing that changes sex more than complete and utter acceptance; a willingness to let everything be as it is and feel as it does. A trust that each desire will be met with love and each need will be matched by a similar honesty.

We came with fingers inside each other. We came with simple words and slow touch. We came without any fear at all, letting each other be where we needed to be: in tears, in love, in compassion, and in hope.

-gny

Enough

I never dealt well with her longings.

In the evenings, on the stoop of her building, when we sat smoking cigarettes and drinking red wine from plastic cups, she often grew quiet and thoughtful in a disturbing way. I could see the lines in her face change, and her whole body shifted into someone I didn’t understand.

“I don’t want to live a normal life,” she said.

“Who does?” I responded, as if that was enough.

“I mean I don’t want to live life normally. It’s not the same thing. I don’t mind going to work and getting up early on weekdays. I don’t care about the laundry or the bills. That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean then?” I asked, picturing the life of an artist, sleeping ‘till three with an obsessive lack of caring about the details.

“You should know,” she whispered, lighting another cigarette. “I mean, you do know, you just want to forget.”

“I remember everything.”

“Do you remember when we had sex last week in the morning? I started to cry, and you stopped and kissed my eyes and told me everything was alright?”

I nodded, because it was the only thing to do. She often cried during sex, and I moved instantly from thrusting to holding her tight. Life was fragile for us both, and tears required comfort more than lust.

“Should I have kept going?” I finally asked, hoping to break the silence that had gone on too long.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, stealing the last of my wine. “What you did or didn’t do doesn’t matter. That moment? Those minutes of tears, sex, love, and confusion? That’s what I want. I don’t want a normal life.”

“I swear I’ll never understand you,” I said, leaning back and looking up at the darkening sky. The buildings across the street were silhouetted by the sun, and the streets were full of people longing for anything that didn’t involve tears.

“That’s okay too,” she whispered, leaning her head against my shoulder. “I don’t need your understanding.”

All I could do was kiss her hair, wondering if she would leave or stay. Wondering if it was true.

Wondering if any of it was enough.

Doc Holidays

The music is too loud

and the patrons are unstable

 

they wobble, of course

but their eyes also

shift about the bar

and I wonder that

violence rarely breaks out

 

the beer is nearly warm and the

tables lean back and forth with the

hipsters shooting pool

 

on the ceiling I can still

see the stains

of yellow smoke

from years ago when

ashtrays were furniture

 

the smell is worse in the summer

and the air conditioner chokes

as it struggles to fill the room

 

but after twenty years

I have too many memories

to let go

 

when I look up

to the wobbly men

their shifty eyes no longer

seem nervous

 

I see them smile

I hear them laugh

 

there are many names

for where

we call home

 

Shudders of Envy

She didn’t want to know his name.

It was important that I did, but anything more than that would move it from one thing to another. It was a ledge she wanted to sit on, and if there were too many things to hold onto, the excitement would vanish with the fear.

He was waiting in the room when she entered, and I could feel her heart beating through my grip on her arm. Her eyes settled on him in an instant, and for a brief moment I wondered if she might change her mind. By the time she stood in front of him, we could both hear her breath, and when I reached the zipper on the back of her dress a sigh escaped her lips.

“Would you like to see her naked?” I asked, stepping up beside him where he sat. We eyed her up and down, her lip trembling in worried anticipation. His nod was enough, and I marvelled at his composure.

Her dress fell to the floor in silence. She stepped forward, closer to him since there was no where else to go, and his hands moved instantly to her hips. When I unclasped her bra and removed it she trembled, and when I finally slid the lace off her thighs, she sighed once more. I pulled her hands behind her back an instant later, and she stood in front of him, bare to his wandering eyes and hands.

“I thought you’d like her,” I said, watching him take her in, even as I kissed her neck, my grip never loosening. “But tell me. Do you want to fuck her? If not, I’ll simply take her away.”

Without a word he pulled her onto his lap, her thighs parting as she straddled him. She leaned back and groaned, feeling him hard between her legs, and when my fingers gripped her hair she was nearly coming.

“Yes,” he whispered, his hands on her breasts, twisting and teasing her body in an instant. “I do want to fuck her. Now, in fact.”

She struggled to move, her arms still held firmly in my grasp as he undid his belt. She struggled not to beg as he pulled his hard cock from his pants, her cunt opening around him as her hips moved involuntarily, trying to take him inside her. I kissed her mouth as she groaned, and I reached between their bodies, opening her lips and pushing two fingers inside her. She was soaking wet, her want as urgent as his.

“Are you ready?” I asked her, holding him against her. “Are you ready to get fucked?”

“Please,” was all she could say, mumbling the word over and over again as she struggled against us both.

A second later and it was done. He lifted her up, wrapped his hand firmly around his cock, and then lowered her back down, thrusting inside her in one motion. Her head rolled back, her eyes opened wide, and the scream that left her mouth was animal and uncontrolled. I pushed her down hard as he pulled her to him, thrusting his cock inside her, as she grew louder and louder with each passing second.

“I want to come,” she moaned. “And I want him to come. Oh god, I want both of you to come. I want everything.”

She bit her lip as I stepped in front of her, my own cock in my hand as I watched them fuck. I leaned forward, pulling a nipple between two fingers, pinching her harder and longer than I ever had before as she called out my name over and over again. He didn’t once slow down, and it only took minutes before she began to clench around him, her whole body starting to let go.

When she came, she shook the room. When she came time stopped, the earth shifted on its axis, and the heavens shuddered in envy. When she came she drenched his body, her cunt letting go of everything, spilling her release across his skin.

When she came we both followed instantly, him deep inside her, and me covering her breasts and neck as I pulled her to me with one hand wrapped in her hair. He kissed her mouth and then I did, all of us shaking and moaning without any words at all, our bodies flooding each other in wave after wave of pleasure.

She didn’t stop, even after we did, her thighs clenching tightly as she lifted herself up and down, his cock still mostly hard inside her. She leaned in, his teeth now finding her skin as she came once more, this time lifting off of him, exploding everywhere as the shudders took her from head to toe. Her arms around his neck, and his face between her breasts, she held him there struggling to say a word.

When she looked up at me there was adoration in her eyes mixed in with relief and the desire for more. She grinned and she shook when I kissed her. She closed her eyes as he pulled her close, and he held her tightly as she gently rocked above him, their bodies soaked with release.

It was a long time before anyone said a thing, and then it was just one word. She kissed him slowly and firmly before looking up and pulling me close.

“Again,” she said, her eyes closing as her hips began to move once more.

 

Shredding Our Memory

in the morning she lies between us

her lips parted and her body still bruised

 

the room smells of honeysuckle

and sex with a hint of coffee

just beginning to brew

 

he opens his eyes and smiles at me

our minds drifting back

to just hours before

as she writhed between us

begging

longing

needing us to

fuck her harder with each

breath

 

I can see the mark he left on a shoulder

and her skin

is red from my come

 

when she rolls to her back

our eyes open wider

and we lose all restraint

 

our hands begin to move

and her thighs part

shredding our memory

and replacing it instantly

with now

 

when she stretches her limbs

her body waking from a dream

it’s with a whisper on her battered lips

 

more she says softly

I want more

-gny

A Thousand Letters

When I think about the night we spent together it all piles up in my head, and it’s nearly impossible for me to pull any single detail from the whole. If I could write about sex with her it would be one word, the letters of a thousand others bunched up on top, sitting in one place, ready to explode. If I could write about her, it would be a thousand voices all speaking at once.

I know that I asked her for a kiss, and I know that from that moment on all of our words were whispered in ears as we lost clothes, tugged and scratched skin, and discovered things about each other we didn’t know. I didn’t know how hard she liked to be pushed until she whispered it in my ear. I didn’t know she wanted me to fight back until I pinned her arms above her head and listened to her breath. I didn’t know she wanted me inside her until she opened her legs and closed her eyes.

There were times when I wanted to slow down until the sensation of our bodies was the only thing in the world. There were times when I wanted to stop and stare into her eyes without moving a muscle. But quiet wasn’t what she needed, and it wasn’t what my body wanted. It was my brain telling me to slow down. It was my thinking mind so used to worry and fear that it nearly shut me off without noticing.

But somehow I managed to avoid it, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t her lips. Or if I said it wasn’t her words. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t her skin and her mouth urging me to forget everything. And somehow I did. Somehow I forget to struggle and I forgot to be afraid.

Somehow I forgot to think at all.

 

-gny

The Mess

“I’m not monogamous”, sounds different to me than “oh yeah, we’re poly” — with a long ‘o’ and a rolling ‘l’ like David Duchovny talking about bloooooogs. Not to skew the sample, but clearly I’m having a word issue today. Aside from the problematic latin/greek roots issue, what bothers me is that it’s a whole lot more work than simply saying no to an insane concept of outdated structures.

The word polyamory implies a history of relationship styles with an almost required hierarchy that is hard to predict. It’s Dottie whispering in my ear that I should be fucking all my friends and it’s Tristan asking me which box I fit into to see if we can be friends. It’s married couples playing with singles while laughing about summer homes, and it’s pony tails and sandals that seem to imply making an effort is the latest sin. I can own my word baggage (I have after all, read the right books) but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Sometimes I think the word ‘honesty’ might be enough to replace it. If I’m being honest, I do want to sleep with that person. If I’m being honest I’m curious to see where it goes because this crush is going to strangle me in my sleep. If I’m honest I don’t want to come home tonight, and if we’re both being honest we’ve learned how to say no a whole lot, even though it’s nearly impossible for us to say no to anything.

But what’s worse than the self-righteously honest? Oh how quaint, we say with a laugh. Why don’t you try telling the truth?

If we’re honest as a culture, people cheat. And if we’re really honest, we understand that we’ve created an entertainment industry based on unhealthy and unsustainable models of love that leave out a whole spectrum of feeling. If we’re honest as a people we’re often afraid, and we desperately hope that the solution to our fear is to hold on tighter and close our eyes.

But instead of saying, “this thing we do as a culture doesn’t work, let’s tear it down,” we’ve said, “let’s create an alternative that feels just as safe but allows a bit more freedom”. Let’s create a new model that we can swallow without having to accept the reality of the mess. The reality that love isn’t safe. That relationships are volatile. The reality that love is always a risk.

There is little difference in what we all do, as much as we’d like to claim some moral superiority based solely on the amount of hours we’ve spent processing with our partners instead of sneaking out on the weekend and fucking a stranger in the park. Some people lie, some people cheat, and some people write contracts that detail every inch of their agreements. But it’s all messy. When we let ourselves fall in love without restraint, when we let ourselves be honest with what we want in both mind and body, and when we let ourselves stop seeking a safe harbor, it’s messy.

But trying to clean up the mess is a sisyphean task of ridiculous proportion. Especially when the mess is what moves us so hard to begin with. Especially when the mess is the part of love that refuses to play our game.

Especially when the mess is the part of love that is bigger than ourselves.

-gny