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.)