A Sweet Story

Johnny said: Tell me a sweet story, Marcus.  A really

sweet story.  Make it ooey-gooey-icky-too-too-sweet. Make

it so sweet that I'll say I hate it, and then wish it were

a dessert, so that I could turn right around and order

another one.

Marcus smiled, and began:

I. Johnny's Tutor: First Session

Now, Johnny, I don't

care one bit if you find

me attractive.

I'm here to work,

and work is all

I'm here for.

Besides, I'm thirty-six,

and you're eighteen.

Yes, I suppose you're

attractive enough, in

a skinny, boyish

sort of way.

No! For God's sake,

NO! I don't want

to see your dick!

Oh, my God!

Just zip up those pants

of yours right this

minute, and I mean it!

Oh my.

Who would have

thought it would

be that big?

II. Dendrology Homework

No, Johnny.

Pinus alba

doesn't mean

"white dick."

It means

"white pine."

And

Quercus phellos

doesn't mean

"queer fellatio."

It means

"willow oak."

Must you always

talk dirty while we're

doing your homework?

Now wipe that smelly

semen of yours off my

bare naked heaving

well-muscled chest,

young man, and let's

get back to work

right this minute.

III. Last Study Session before Summer Break

Oh, Johnny, Oh Johnny.

gasp, pant, gasp, oh

God, gasp, moan, oh

fuck, gasp, pant! pant!

Oh damn. Oh, God.

Oh, Johnny.

IV. Five Minutes Later

No, I don't care if

you've decided to attend

summer school.

You won't have me as

your tutor. This has

gone on entirely

long enough. Why,

what if someone

should find us out?

V. Two Weeks Later

All right, I'm here.

You've got me. Your

father gave me a big

fat raise, so how

could I turn that

down? But I want

to warn you, Johnny.

It's going to be all

work this summer, and I

do mean work.

So, let's just,

for pity sake,

how the hell did you get

undressed that fast?

VI. Four Years Later

Well, Johnny,

it's all over,

I'll miss you.

It's been a

good four years,

all told.

A wonderful four years.

But, all good things

must end, as they say.

No, I'm afraid I

couldn't possibly

see you any more.

No, I don't care

if you've got a

job at

HERE!  IN THIS

VERY CITY!

Well, I suppose

I could stop by

every now and then,

if it was convenient.

VII. Many Years Later

No, Johnny, I haven't

said it very much, you're

right about that.

Even though we've lived together

all this time, laughed,

bickered, yelled,

shouted. And loved.

And talked quietly.

Traveled.

Read widely, and

wildly.

Slept warm, and content.

But I'd have to say

you're right, I haven't

said it enough,

but you know it's

true.

Yes, my dearest Johnny,

I love you.

Thus Marcus ended his story, smiling a little guiltily.

Too sweet? he asked. Too ooey-gooey-icky-sweet?

Johnny said: Oh God, yes. Too sweet by far. Now, if

you please, won't you tell it again?

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Shy Boys at Home, published by Chiron Review Press in 1999.  It first appeared in Chiron Review, Vol. XI #4, December 1992.)