San Francisco Fantasy

Ah yes: To Shakespeare,
With Love.
I on the bottom, and Joseph
Fiennes on the top.

Fucking me on Fisherman's
Wharf, at Alcatraz, on the
Golden Gate Bridge, and
in Sausalito. On a roller
coaster, in an elevator,
and on an escalator.

Anywhere that's wild and
new, artistically creative
things to do: for this
Taming of the Shrew.

Meeting my every want
and need: plunging his
rockhard and sexually-
arousing missile into me,
filling me with his sperm
and seed, at Star Trek's
orgasmic full-warp speed.

Experiencing a 2004 Space
Odyssey, the mazurka, tap,
waltz, and hip-hop's pop.
Just about ready to reach
my climax: Killing me 
softly when, all at once,
there appears a cop,
and Joseph Fiennes
disappears.

======================================================================

The End, or the Beginning?

I don't remember his name,
I don't even remember what
he looks like.
But about promises of love,
if he asks you to ride bareback,
a man's dick does not qualify
for honesty or truth.

I sat on the bar stool at the
Chez Est, looking at myself
in the reflection of a mirror
and at the bottom of a gin
martini glass, praying to
Jesus that I hoped I would
score.

Find me a man, and surely
He did.

But, the end came even
sooner than I realized.

The end of a decadent 
one-nighter, a fuckfest 
night of promise, which
resulted in my heart
attack's death, upon 
being asked to suck a 
Dirty Old Man's
Prince Charming-less 
dick.

Life is not a neatly-tied
package. At my final
suck, I found that there 
were strings dangling, of 
things undone. But, in 
spite of my anonymity
and poverty, I was able 
to accomplish most of 
which I set out in life to 
do.

I didn't become rich or
famous. I didn't meet
my Prince Charming,
in polished armor,
riding on a magnificent
white charger, who first
popped my cherry and
took away my virginity.

It was a Pedophile, in
a park, who offered
me more than candy.
Virginity lost for his
candy, and a ride.

Followed by the Cleric,
at a church, who offered
me more than forgiveness.
Guilt and Shame found at
my confession, and a ride

The Pedophile's hand upon
my leg.

The Cleric's mouth upon my
dick.

And, I, in a first-time-to-be-
fucked missionary position.

Both spanked and whipped
for 'forcing' the Pedophile,
and the Cleric, to have sex
with me.

Praying for forgiveness,
Being punished,
for 'sexually arousing'
the corrupted hearts
and minds, of sinless
men.

It was my sins that made
them do it.

Amazing Grace saved a
'wretch' like me.

Heavenly indulgences.
Gay bars. Gay baths.

Life was like being let
loose, and completely
free, in a candy store.
I was like a gay Forest
Gump, who found that
"life is like a box of
chocolates. You never
know what you're gonna
get."

I was not a Sleeping Beauty, 
who was awakened by Prince
Charming's kiss; and by a man
who loved me more than any
one, or any thing.

I was the Street-Smart Kid,
suntanning on the beach and
working out in locker rooms,
looking for love in all of the
wrong places.

And, I usually found it.

But, sex was not all it was 
cracked up to be. There
was something missing.

What I really wanted was to be 
the recipient of a 24-hour and
365-day fuck marathon. One
in which I would be filled and 
fulfilled, by a sweet and oh-so-
generous Sugar Daddy.

In sharp contrast, my Prince 
Charming was a dick in very
tarnished armor, riding on a
Jack Asshole. In an elevator,
on an escalator, at a rest area, 
in a toilet, at a truck stop, in
the woods, or some secluded 
place, on a roller coaster, in a
helicopter, in a jet, flying with 
Prince Charming over Niagara 
Falls, and in the back seat of 
Prince Charming's jalopy car, 
riding him on San Francisco's 
Golden Gate Bridge. 

Jesus, what a wonderful flight,
and what one hell of a ride!

And, there's always that horny 
man that rings my doorbell, or
the U.S. Parcel man delivering
at my door.

And, who knows? To a gay guy, 
like me, this just might be what
dreams are really made of.

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