The plane is going through turbulence and this guy walks towards me, crotch at my face, I'm thinking what would happen if I leaned over to take a bite? I could blame it on the turbulence, but instead I focus on eating the stir-fry I made last night. I'm not sure how well it's going to digest. I wonder if I should go into the bathroom and jerk off.
Ananda asks me if the flight attendant is straight. I say I think I saw him on "Charlie's Angels," he's the one who replaced Cheryl Ladd's replacement. Then I remember how my sister and I got angry when Farah Fawcett replaced Cheryl Ladd, and no one in the show seemed to notice the difference. We noticed Farah's badly permed hair; Farah's trashiness was no substitute for Cheryl's glamour.
Later, my sister and I found out that we'd been doubly duped. Because Cheryl had replaced Farah and we'd been watching the re-runs in the wrong order. After that, we stuck to "V," where the aliens peeled off their skin to reveal the dangers of too much sun exposure. The boy behind Ananda starts pounding on the seat, I say looks like you're getting the acupressure.
I start fantasizing about having sex with someone on the plane. I picture a guy next to me with shorts on and muscular legs. I can see his hardon pushing up at his crotch and I reach over, slowly, to put my hand on his thigh, just where the shorts end. He looks over at me. I smile. He leans over and we make out, my hand slides up his shorts to his dick, hard under boxers. My other hand is all over his chest, his hand grabbing the back of
my neck. He pulls up the arm rest: gate open.
At least I had fun in Seattle, finally got to Volunteer Park early enough at night to catch the cruising. Prime time in other cities had always been two to three a.m., but in Seattle there's a sign that says the park closes at 11:30 and people actually leave. I went in one night around ten, just intending to jerk off by myself, but before I knew it, I was back the next night, sucking some guy's dick while he gave me directions.
I pulled up my shirt and someone rubbed my chest and I pulled down my pants and someone else crouched behind me, rubbing my calves while he licked my ass and I kept sucking the first guy's dick, he was wearing a baseball cap to hide his age or identity. No one seemed to notice my magenta pants or the yellow plastic floral belt. The guy with the baseball cap was saying yeah, yeah, use your hand yeah suck that dick fuck yeah yeah fuck yeah. He grabbed my head and someone grabbed my dick, hard, and the guy rimming me stood up and pressed his dick against my ass and I angled my asshole away from him so I wouldn't suddenly be getting fucked without a condom.
I tasted precome in my mouth, the guy was ramming his dick into my throat, I grabbed his balls to push his dick in further. Yeah fuck yeah fuck oh yeah, yeah and then he came, I wanted to feel his come shooting down my throat but instead tasted it in my mouth, yum. He said thanks, zipped up and ran off, I stood up in someone's arms. Someone holding me tight and hugging me and before I had time to think about whether I should have let that guy come in my mouth, someone else was sucking my dick and the other guy was still hugging me, his tongue in my mouth, I was tasting him tasting come.
The guy sucking my dick smelled like a sex club but when he slid his lips up my shaft to my chest I almost came, rubbed his head and he started sucking fast and choking but not slowing down. I held his head still and said do you want me to come in your mouth? He nodded yes, yes, and when I came the other guy was still holding me and five guys were watching me and jerking off--maybe that was the sex club smell--and the looks in their eyes were so thankful I felt so whole and the other guy was still hugging me, yes, fucking yes why can't it always be like this?
My grandmother wants to know why all I write about is sex. The next day I was cooking vegetables in Jason's apartment where I was staying, I cut the carrots in thick diagonal chunks and put them in the steamer first. After a few minutes, I added cabbage and red onions, plus a few cloves of garlic. Then I threw in broccoli, and just before I turned off the heat, I put in snow peas and mung bean sprouts. I looked outside and there was this guy across the street, tan, with shorts and no shirt, lighting a cigarette. A few minutes later, I looked out again and there he was looking in at me like I was his wet dream. I looked him in the eyes and got hard, I looked down. I looked out and was he gone? I rushed outside and there he was, flabbier up close, but my dick was half-hard, pressing against my boxers. I said I don't live here so I can't really invite you up and the guy said oh well, looked crestfallen because this was porn, and porn is the place for crestfallen looks.
But what was really porn was when I said we can go in the laundry room and we went in, I grabbed his chest and we made out, I was so horny I went crazy with my tongue in his mouth, grabbing his ass, tasting the cigarette. And then down his stubble cheeks to his neck, bite, to his armpits, sweet, to his dick. After we came, I mixed our come into the floor and when he smiled I fell in love with the space between his teeth, he said I'll look for you. I went back to my vegetables.
When I told Jason, I think he was scandalized, he said the landlady could have walked in. I told him we were careful, even though we didn't have any laundry. When porn finally isn't boring, you can't be too careful. The next day I went jogging for the first time in my life because I was craving exercise and I didn't have time to get to the gym. That's when I was really a wet dream, soaked in sweat in the park, wearing nothing but shorts and running shoes.
In the park, I was my own wet dream, which is how it should be. If I'd seen myself walking through the grass I would have gotten that shot of longing that feels so desperate I want to scream. I went into the bathroom and three guys stood shoulder-to-shoulder jerking off over the urinal except wait a minute the urinal had been removed. So much for an excuse when the cops come in. We came all over the floor, and when I walked outside I was staring at the mountains. That's what I love about Seattle. When I got back to Jason's, I noticed a streak of come that ran from the bottom of my shorts to my knee, yellow and gelatinous. Good thing no one was around. I wiped the come off and sat down to eat, food tastes so much better after exercise and sex.
Matt Bernstein Sycamore is the editor of Tricks and Treats: Sex Workers
Write About Their Clients (Haworth 2000), and Dangerous Families: Queer
Writing on Surviving Abuse (forthcoming). His writing has appeared in Best
American Erotica 2001, Best American Gay Fiction 3, Best Gay Erotica 2000,
2001, and 2002 and other publications. He recently finished a novel, Pulling
Taffy. He can be reached by email here.
