You Love, You Wonder

November 7, 2015


You love a woman and you wonder where she goes all night in some tricked-
out taxicab, with her high heels and her corset and her big, fat mouth.

You love how she only wears her glasses with you, how thick
and cow-eyed she swears it’s only ever you she wants to see.

You love her, you want her very ugly. If she is lovely big, you want her
scrawny. If she is perfect lithe, you want her ballooned, a cosmonaut.

How not to love her, her bouillabaisse, her orangina. When you took her
to the doctor the doctor said, “Wow, look at that!” and you were proud,

you asshole, you love and that’s how you are in love. Any expert, observing
human bodies, can see how she’s exceptional, how she ruins us all.

But you really love this woman, how come no one can see this? Everyone must
become suddenly very clumsy at recognizing beauty if you are to keep her.

You don’t want to lose anything, at all, ever. You want her sex depilated, you
want everyone else not blind, but perhaps paralyzed, from the eyes down.

You wonder where she goes all night. If she leaves you, you will know
everything about love. If she’s leaving you now, you already know it.

Brenda Shaughnessy

Source: Interior with Sudden Joy (Farrar Straus and Giroux, 1999)

his frantic fingers…

November 7, 2015

Greg Staples Kane

KANE wiped the cold sweat from his pale brow as he hurried down the shadowy passage. Outside this horrible palace it must be night. Even now the full moon—the grim Moon of Skulls—might be rising above the horizon. He paced off a hundred paces and came upon the stair the dying priest had mentioned. This he mounted, and coming into the corridor above, he measured off another hundred paces and brought up short against what appeared to be a doorless wall. It seemed an age before his frantic fingers found a piece of projecting metal. There was a creak of rusty hinges as the hidden door swung open and Kane looked into a passageway darker than the one in which he stood.



She reminds me of the sea, the way she flows over me. In the morning her hair will look like broken honeycomb, and her eyes will flutter away the ghosts of her dreams. But just now, like the sea, she touches, withdraws…tempts, teases.

She has tattoos on the palms of her hands: intricate Mandalas, symbols of the infinite universe that cover both palms up to and including the second joint of her slender forefingers. Her right hand takes light hold of my cock, enfolds it in a sacred space of concentric ink circles, her touch as ethereal as Tantric ritual.

Oh, she is all ingenuity, too…and I soon become undone, my desire exposed by the faintest of involuntary sighs. My body is burning beneath her touch. And she wraps words around my head like the soft edges of her very existence. They are as arousing as the light grip of her hand on my aching cock.

‘You should stop,’ I say. ‘I can’t hold out. Too intense.’

‘No self-control,’ she whispers beside my ear. ‘So suffer the consequences.’

‘Please…I’m going to cum.’

‘I know you are. I want to see it…’

She moves, straightens. Half-sitting now, she gazes intently at her hand, which in turn continues its tentative stroking motion.

‘I would like to be inside you,’ I say, my breathing ragged, unraveling because of the effort I am making to control my level of arousal.

‘Not this time.’ She smiles, her gaze still fixed intently on the glistening head of my cock. ‘I’m attracted to the idea of seeing you spurt. That’s what I want for now. Afterwards, you can go down on me. Drink me in to your soul. Make me cry…’

And all I can think of is the touch of her hand and the warmth of her body in that wild tangle of sheets. There is no speech left in me. I want to cry ‘Oh, God…I’m going to cum!’ but my tongue is too big and awkward in my mouth. My whole body trembles. Back arcing. The faintest, feather-light touch of her fingertips becomes all of creation. The whole of existence. Soaring like a kite. High above us both.

‘Forgive my fingers,’ she whispers. ‘They can’t help themselves.’

And each fresh spasm feels to me like a taste of the infinite. Pleasure and pain and death are all here. I become convinced it will go on until I die. She’s draining me, my lifeforce. Grabbing fistfuls of midnight waves. Weaving spells on my stiff flesh. I will never stop ejaculating…

Then, finally, when I can draw breath again. My muscles begin to relax. My back straightens. But my cock still jerks slightly beneath her touch.

‘Wow,’ she says. ‘You are a messy boy.’ She picks up the box of Kleenex from beside the bed, takes a couple of tissues to wipe her hand and forearm, then passes the box to me. ‘Clean up time.’

I wipe my jaw, chest and belly with a handful of crumpled tissues. She watches, smiling. ‘My turn next,’ she says. She lays back, spreading her legs wide. ‘Good exercise for your tongue, this.’

And without another word I went down to drown in her fabulous ocean –


November 7, 2015