Torii Lynn

“I am here while you choke on me.” What does that mean I thought. She was choking on me at that moment. Light was coming across her eyes beaming from a reflection from the building next door a spotlight shining on her face and warming my dick. A backhanded thank me later from god. She sat heavy on her knees but with a perfect spring board movement looking up ever so often. I was tangled in emotion of this stranger last week and now my perfect obsession. My hurt has gone to rest, my fingers finding hers tangled in her perfectly painted canvas of the moment. My blood alive with passion clearing the sky telling me I will be okay again. In till I choke on her.  


Marlene

Sometimes I feel like a mirror walking down a strange street. Reflecting everyones thoughts and pain, anguish, late rent payments, ulcers, nagging wives, abusive husbands, free less alcoholics, beautiful junkies, teenagers in love not realizing the curse this new feeling brings and looking for answers in each others face. Her laying her head on his shoulder softly looking up wanting to remember forever repeated with someone else wanting to remember forever. A kiss is just a kiss. I think it’s over for me. “ What do you mean”? She asked. “ I think it’s just over”…I repeated this time between my breath. She heard me and knew what I meant. Tears were slowly trickling down through the bridge of my nose onto the sheets. You could hear the bums on the street fighting over some trivial injustice, a pint of whiskey, missing stolen food, or missed prescriptions. The moon watched them turning their last traces of humanity into feral dogs. In side our bedroom moments before the scene was the same she was a sexual creature who sprung up at every command, it confused me, she s. All I could think was all the other men she had obeyed commands too the last two months in ingenious delight while we were apart. Unspoken cruelty of anger, fear, loneliness, depression, panic, emotional outburst and numbness. I had left this two months ago the linger of her smell was still fresh in the sheets. Lavender, cigarettes, wine, rain, grass, sage and b.o. the smells of the person I was I loved. She was back in my bed next to me she didn’t come into my life peacefully and now she refuses to exit quietly.  


Leah

Did you love her? Without hesitation I answered, yes. “Do you still love her”? she asked with a sense of reserve tone as if she was worried to hear the answer “ -Yes.” I responded. Her voice quivered, “why have we been sleeping together”? “Because you wanted to and that’s all you wanted, remember”. She had forgotten her plight the first night I met her that she will never be with me the 20 minute prepared speech on how we were never going to be more then just sex. But I knew why she was there she was here to fill the empty space left behind by the man who now ignored her calls, her text, her existence. I was there to repeat my dreams and thoughts to someone new.  


Maggie Mae

8 a.m. silence between us except her clanging of her spoon on the side of her mug as she stirred her Nescafe for what seemed hours. A slow painful gut wrenching clang of disgust, if they were chains wrapping my ears with years or tortured mixed in with chimes from her phone followed by crooked smiles. This was the second morning she had slept over and I already felt the tortured of a woman who’s every moment was covered in nauseation. Yet I pretended to care. She was another moment in life where you struggle through loneliness and heartache of the previous stupidity of your heart. “ What are you thinking?” she asked. - turn your phone ringer off, stop fucking pretending that’s the funniest text you’ve read, take your feet of my table, no I don’t want to meet your judgmental friends who would just finish the night with “she’s too pretty for him”. They would be right. She was. I hate everything about you and your fucking stupid lips, swollen with idiot purpose. That’s what I was thinking. “ How do you want your eggs this morning?” I responded.  


Sara

I could hear her breathing in , she was profusely sweeting on me. I was making an effort I wanted everything about her or nothing.  I continued breaking her in half like a wooden match, a champ .  Some scared, insecure part of me had known we wouldn’t make it…so I’d savored her.  I could see her phone turning on with a new text chiming ever min in a constant cadence.  Wondering who it was. Was it the nepotism of a has been Hollywood producer(daddy’s boy), with his photos in ill tailored suits, penis shaped roll royces, photos at Cannes seconds after he passed of the clipboard capturing the perfect photo of a sea of fakes,  mostly European fakes and their worldly counterparts and shitty fuckin French with their lack of back bones and lack of talent to make a good movie, pretentious sub par fucks.  But there he was with his Patrick Batenum hair cut and smirk among his own.   It was probably the newly discovered lesbian friend from high school with her fake self  “I want to be in bed with you” followed by ” oh shit disregard my drunk text” due to the fact she didn’t respond fast enough.   A new appointed u-haul lesbian not knowing how to play the game.  My dick kept getting limp from the escape  of blood moving from my dick to my head.   I started focusing on  her breathing in something to distract me, she was profusely sweeting on me. I was making an effort I wanted everything about her or nothing.  I continued breaking her in half like a wooden match, I felt like a champ.  Some scared, insecure part of me had known we wouldn’t make it…so I’d savored her.








Bloods

  Thirty seven years old and this is who I am. I am a dog catcher for the L.A. Department of Animal Services. A reflection of a man running las callas de oro of my youth hiding from trouble without success and usually involved jumping a fence. If they knew I was a loco with a heavy penginton shirt, sharp creased Ben Davis pants which I would iron for sometimes 45 minutes to perfection and always gleaming white Nike Cortez’s, my uniform of then now replaced by green khaki pants and a pressed heavy polyester shirt with batches that made me an official of L.A. County’s public. Tuesday’s morning sun was rising as the neighborhood roosters sounded it’s morning serenade. I had been reflecting my old barrio for 20 mins now reminiscing by the smells of huevos estatellados, the morning sounds of decrepit cars trying to turn on for one more day, squealing, spiting, coughing its way to life. Doors opening in a syncopated pattern with it’s occupants streaming out holding their lunches in plastics bags all leading to bus line 67 towards downtown. The sounds and smells brought everything back, including the reason why I had left, the taste of fear in my mouth, the feeling of metal slicing in and out of my abdomen and my first true love laying in her own pool of blood lifeless the same blade that impermeated it’s metal with her blood was in me now had been since I left her there running away from the barrio’s war cries & blood shed. The violent poetry of the times written in the blood of its youth.  


Marry Christmas, we beat Jesus.

8 a.m. silence between us except her clanging of her spoon on the side of her mug as she stirred her Nescafe for what seemed hours. A slow painful gut wrenching clang of disgust.  As if they were chains wrapping my ears for years clanging away.   Tortured sounds mixed in with chimes from her phone followed by crooked smiles. This was the second morning she had slept over and I already felt the tortured of a woman who’s every moment was covered in nauseation. Yet I pretended to care. She was another moment in life where you struggle through loneliness and heartache of the previous stupidity of your heart. “ What are you thinking?” she asked. - turn your phone ringer off, stop fucking pretending that’s the funniest text you’ve read, take your feet of my table, no I don’t want to meet your judgmental friends who would just finish the night with “she’s too pretty for him”. They would be right. She was. I hate everything about you and your fucking stupid lips, swollen with idiot purpose. That’s what I was thinking. “ How do you want your eggs this morning?” I responded.  


Conceptual Romance/ Conceptual Love.

I think it’s over for me. “ What do you mean”? She asked. “ I think it’s just over”…I repeated this time between my breath. She heard me and knew what I meant. Tears were slowly trickling down through the bridge of my nose onto the sheets. You could hear the bums on the street fighting over some trivial injustice, a pint of whiskey, missing stolen food, or missed prescriptions. The moon watched them turning their last traces of humanity into feral dogs. In side our bedroom moments before the scene was the same she was a sexual creature who sprung up at every command, it confused me, she s. All I could think was all the other men she had obeyed commands too the last two months in ingenious delight while we were apart. Unspoken cruelty of anger, fear, loneliness, depression, panic, emotional outburst and numbness. I had left this two months ago the linger of her smell was still fresh in the sheets. Lavender, cigarettes, wine, rain, grass, sage and b.o. the smells of the person I was;  I loved.  She was back in my bed next to me she didn’t come into my life peacefully and now she refuses to exit quietly. 


Perversions or lack of.

“I want to know how you would fuck me”. She leaned forward in a sense of seductive way that I avoided and ignored all in one moment with a side step to the right. A move Sugar Ray Leonard would be proud of.
-“Ha, you don’t know me? You just met me I could be a terrible person.” - “Yeah that’s true”. She Responded. “But I have this thing for strangers I get off fucking a stranger more then the people I know or eventually love.” “ -Does it get you in trouble?” She paused and for the first time she hesitated as if she didn’t want to be so open anymore her memories handcuffing her perversions. “I slept with married man once. ” She blurted out breaking free… “ That got me into trouble and I slept with someone younger than me too, I didn’t like that so much but got me into trouble.” - How much younger” I asked. He was 16 and I was 19… We both took xanax and well consent was out the window by then”. - “Are you normally this forward? “ I asked. “Sorta when I want a guy.” - “Why do you want me?” -“ Because I find you attractive in every possible way as a man”. I didn’t respond contemplating everything…. Her, her proposition, her tongue, her tongue on my balls… I didn’t like it. I felt empty everything that a man is suppose to want has made me feel empty when I was suppose to feel something maybe this is what it felt like to be an attractive man.











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