The streets seem wider and it feels like tingles of electricity still go through you sometimes even when I raise my eyes at bars and I see my pint not being given I shout out and I still get scared and my eyes do catch females sometimes like the red haired girl in heels at the end of the street with short hair in the green coat.
Or sometimes it’s just no one and it’s the beer.
I look at a parent who drags a small child by hand the child being a bit too goofy and I just walk on, not knowing what they had been trying to achieve by pinning me down and I see the child’s dark eyes linger on me, maybe wishing it were as old as I am, I’d wish to be here but I’d want the memories to be more faint and distant and not so clinging as a shirt after running for no reason to an old used bookstore and dragging books ut, crossing legs as you feel both men and women looking.
It’s bizarre and obscure, allowing this sort of ‘sodomy’ to be allowed and now taken away from us.
I could’ve just fucked that child out on the street as the mother dragged him on into the direction of the old town, maybe to keep her child straight who she called as Ian and asked him to drag along as I’d call myself more new, true, I still stayed in the shadows and I don’t return your glance even now, but I still walk on.
We had met a few years later with the boy as I was having more alcohol and back when you could smoke in bars and people would discuss things before soberness would be a bad dream and an attempt to raise hands in the morning to pray for that feel they had forsaken and given in to sin.
I had been older and so had he, just sat with me.
As he had recalled,
“I click my fingers on the table, watching him throw another tantrum and laugh out before he enters the room and eyes me, smirking, collar up.
We share a cigarette.”
That was all you ever get from homosexuality, a shared cigarette which turns into a fag and you discard.
“Music was so rare you speak of, it seemed, you were still tense until you found interest, that had been the thing.” Ian speaks later, looking a bit down, shoulders loosened yet he is like a leaf holding onto the last things a tree can give before death.
“You seemed attracted.” Seems like a snap and a confession. Of course I had waited until the pub had nearly closed and I pressed him against a wall, a cubicle, waiting for the last to leave and quickly put my hand between his crotch, unbutton and reveal pleasure in my mouth as I started sucking the child off, it had been a weird comparisson and at the time I had known nothing, just the taste of his crotch and later on of his cum as he lunched forward and arched his back, nearly kicking me aside and pulling me forward.
It’s a sharred cigarette.
Then he had went down, a bit sloppy but looking at him had been enough and roughly thrusting so that he’d remember his as I believe first dick.
I came and hurled him aside, wanting a beer again and more thoughts triggered my mind.
-
I'm very sorry for not being able to post anything and if to be frank I haven't even been writing from everything going on and I'm finally back home for more than a week now. Hooooome, hoooooooome, it was good and is good to finally be able to walk around places not only loved but ones I've used like where Alison from Used Lighter used to take blood:) Really good to be back home, I'm serious, I missed you too much
<3
Or sometimes it’s just no one and it’s the beer.
I look at a parent who drags a small child by hand the child being a bit too goofy and I just walk on, not knowing what they had been trying to achieve by pinning me down and I see the child’s dark eyes linger on me, maybe wishing it were as old as I am, I’d wish to be here but I’d want the memories to be more faint and distant and not so clinging as a shirt after running for no reason to an old used bookstore and dragging books ut, crossing legs as you feel both men and women looking.
It’s bizarre and obscure, allowing this sort of ‘sodomy’ to be allowed and now taken away from us.
I could’ve just fucked that child out on the street as the mother dragged him on into the direction of the old town, maybe to keep her child straight who she called as Ian and asked him to drag along as I’d call myself more new, true, I still stayed in the shadows and I don’t return your glance even now, but I still walk on.
We had met a few years later with the boy as I was having more alcohol and back when you could smoke in bars and people would discuss things before soberness would be a bad dream and an attempt to raise hands in the morning to pray for that feel they had forsaken and given in to sin.
I had been older and so had he, just sat with me.
As he had recalled,
“I click my fingers on the table, watching him throw another tantrum and laugh out before he enters the room and eyes me, smirking, collar up.
We share a cigarette.”
That was all you ever get from homosexuality, a shared cigarette which turns into a fag and you discard.
“Music was so rare you speak of, it seemed, you were still tense until you found interest, that had been the thing.” Ian speaks later, looking a bit down, shoulders loosened yet he is like a leaf holding onto the last things a tree can give before death.
“You seemed attracted.” Seems like a snap and a confession. Of course I had waited until the pub had nearly closed and I pressed him against a wall, a cubicle, waiting for the last to leave and quickly put my hand between his crotch, unbutton and reveal pleasure in my mouth as I started sucking the child off, it had been a weird comparisson and at the time I had known nothing, just the taste of his crotch and later on of his cum as he lunched forward and arched his back, nearly kicking me aside and pulling me forward.
It’s a sharred cigarette.
Then he had went down, a bit sloppy but looking at him had been enough and roughly thrusting so that he’d remember his as I believe first dick.
I came and hurled him aside, wanting a beer again and more thoughts triggered my mind.
-
I'm very sorry for not being able to post anything and if to be frank I haven't even been writing from everything going on and I'm finally back home for more than a week now. Hooooome, hoooooooome, it was good and is good to finally be able to walk around places not only loved but ones I've used like where Alison from Used Lighter used to take blood:) Really good to be back home, I'm serious, I missed you too much
<3
This was so cool, I think you've managed to write the pairing well. Now, my comment was originally longer, but it had disappeared. Anyway, you have a great imagination, and your word stringing is sometimes hard to follow as some of your writing is like poetry, but I liked this more with each read and I think this was probably you making the most out of my prompt. :)
ReplyDeleteI hope we'll stay in touch through Tumblr, and OMG @ the Peter Hook comment you gave me. :O
Cheers,
Nikki.
Awww, thank youuu:3
ReplyDeleteSometimes I believe myself more of a poet than a writer, but I still go with the name of writer. Poetry I guess is more natural to me as when I first started my first creative writing course everyone would note how much poetry I had in, separate lines and etc really
But like for marking in courses I always use poetry as well actually xD
Of course we will @___@
I know :O
<3