johnEivaz

Your breasts are beauties, I say, but you pshaw it away, not believing me, still flattered. And what is that? I'm not trying to flatter you. I tell you your cunt is the prettiest I've ever seen. You squeak "Really?" Though I sense you squirming inside - from delight I hope - there's still emptiness in your response.

I guess I want more of a "You do, eh?" followed by some hip grinding, just as I'd have liked a reply nipple popped into my mouth before.

The emptiness suddenly turns mine, and I fill it by fucking you: sweaty, ungraceful, repetitive, in silence.

The More Things Change...

Long ago men used something beginning with V, and a guy in a wheelchair had his pump: hard, then soft, at will. Melinda, what was his name?

Plastic appliances and 2D visuals became passe. Were there really storylines, Melinda? We're more honest now.

Since Selena lurched through her first orgasm at 32, fingers sticky with her prescriptions, I've been a hungry, lonely man. The crackdown on black-market trade in Deviant Dole coupons hasn't helped either. Can't even buy a boner anymore.

So Melinda, can your AI explain why I even bother talking to you? Melinda? Did you freeze again? Melinda?

Sun Bath / Black Out

She left a note on our door, fifth floor landing:

Woof Woof I'm on the roof.

I climbed into sunlight, onto soft tarpaper, towards her chaise lounge.
Voodoo Chile on the boombox, fresh batteries. He was there, that
artist. She massaged my nuts in front of him; he licked her bare
shoulder. Ah, my Sadie, so true: Mem'ry's a bad sieve - works for me!

Much later she told me she's moving in with him, and all the city’s
lights disappeared, save for the red and white stream on the Deegan
below. Come join us, she said. Join us. Voodoo Chile.

Dan in the Diner

What could he tell himself? That he had grown old, tired and thin?

Leslie, under the silence of silverware in trays, plates in stacks,
as if in a dream: “I got a little fresh ham saved for you.”

Twelve years: is that a long time? Everyday, nearly. She’s not so attractive.

“Nice of you, but not tonight.” Buzz of neon. “Can I touch your hand?” His blood pulsed hard as he spoke.

Leslie quivered, unseen. “Had this job a long time, Dan. Need to finish closing up. Room’s just a few blocks away. Can you wait?”

The Brace

There would be another time, another place I told myself, adjusting the fedora to a jaunty yet sinister tilt, technicolor and digital. Smoke curls around her trench coat and kimono forcing present tense. There's a mist in the air. It will rain, I peer ahead, just like I can flashback: her milky skin, her slow fever building, her womanhood true to itself, set burning down. A cotillion, a cortege, the man in black comes to costume us. That's a wrap.

Help me, I'm being held, be the brace that steadies me even as I dissolve, plot and structure left standing.

john eivaz

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