It was like pornography, pt. 3

I'm not a hero, Lij.1

I tell you as I fit my fingers, all long and slightly crooked, against the hollows of your ribcage, closing my fingers around the spaces between the bars of your heart.  I try to clapse, pushing down against the silk, the marble, the deathly paleness of your skin.  You gasp, and I'm mumbling false apologies against the scissor-like ridges of your collarbone, wedging one lip against the edge of one blade and one shy fingertip against the edge of another.  I'm waiting for your body to snap against my tall, willowy frame, severing me from here, now, then, and setting me like a diamond in the soft velvet of your forever.2

I'm not a hero, Lij3

I catch you curled like a child in the crook of his mother's breastbone reading a romance novel.  It is one of those grocery market romance novels that you buy when the sky was low and rumbling and you have already read all the tabloids for the week.  It is one of those pornographic romance novels that is too traditional to admit that it is really about two gay men and that it is all lewd physical passion, rumpled satin sheets, and condom wrappers.  It is one of those desperate romance novels written for mastrubating housewives who are too ugly to find younger men but is actually really read by senile old ladies in sterilized nursing home beds.4

It is one of those epic romance novels with heros.5

And that's why they're bullshit, I tell you as I bite your neck lightly, all the while hiding the trembling, coffee-burned fingers behind my back.  I want to whisper something more, something loving, stunning, beautiful, binding into your ear, but I just take a sip of coffee and a drawl of cigarette and leave you alone.  Alone so that you can't see the hairline fracture running from the dense and floundering pit of my heart to the clenching muscles of my silent voice.6

I'm not.7

You hurt yourself the other day with the kitchen knives.  Chopping celery, I think.  Or maybe trying to die.  I'm not sure.  And as you cried out and grasped blindly for something to stop your life from leaking through, I was napping, hiding.8

A hero.9

I had asked you what had happened.10

Lij.11

You said:  nothing.12

I'm not.13

I said:  oh.14

Lij.15

Author notes

3/5 in the pornography series!  I will be done soon (hopefully).

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  • Rebel Rebel silver member
    May 12, 2006
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    Pornography.

    A lover once visited me with one of those books and asked me to read excerpts to him. It was a lewd way to spend a night. Always he interjected something between us. It was normally a porn flick. Or he asked to use the phone to call a 900 number. Always he denied us and had to let something else stimulate the times we shared. It was hopeless. After all hope was gone I had to let him go.

    This piece reminded me of him. It reminded me of me. Love has never been a gainful employment for me.

    I like literature like this that gets me into the author when he gets me into myself.

    beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, overall: 6, ending: 5, characters: 5.