destiny's child

perhaps the pressure of being a
skinny sexy studious blondehaired boy
drove him to it: the drinking,
the flirtations with nihilism, the
thoughts of the meaninglessness of life
and the peacefulness of death.

perhaps the pressure of being a
skinny sexy studious blondehaired boy
drove him to it: the marathon
masturbation sessions with the
three boys who were his closest
friends, the frequent spillages
of baby oil, the dampening of all
the rugs.

perhaps the pressure of being a
skinny sexy studious blondehaired boy
drove him to it: the awareness
of body beauty, his own aesthetic
nakedness, the lust-stimulating
qualities of the naked bodies of
his three big-dicked masculinely boyish
friends.

perhaps the pressure of being a
skinny sexy studious blondehaired boy
drove him to it: the realization
that intense feelings of this nature
corresponded directly to the certainty
of homosexuality as an ingrain
integral nerve-brain-centered
part of who he is, what he
is about, what his life is
to be interconnected and
interwoven with, him
and the three whom he loved, like-minded,
big-dicked, naked, in the sun,
smoking forbidden substances
and appreciating tactilely, through
touch and vision,
each other's sexy young bodies.

perhaps the pressure of being a
skinny sexy studious blondehaired boy
drove him to it: the big
bed where he and the three big-dicked boys
that he loved wiled away the hours
with nakedness and wine and
love-talk for each other, but
scorn & contempt for most
all the rest of the idiots of the
entire stupid moron world.

perhaps the pressure of being a
skinny sexy studious blondehaired boy
drove him to it: taking the
photographs of himself naked, and of his
three naked friends, too, in positions of
love and lust and actual
penetration, joy-mops of tousled pubic
hair semen-drenched, glistening in the good
light he'd so quickly learned
to exploit.

perhaps the pressure of being a
skinny sexy studious blondehaired boy
drove him to it: the meetings with
the cognoscenti, the showing of his
photographs in hip places, the
publication of the books of his work
by the moneyed few.

perhaps the pressure of being a
skinny sexy studious blondehaired boy
drove him to it: the big bed in
the arms of his three big-dicked
friends, his life one big
embrace, one long sleek orgasm,
comfort and touch and
the love of those who mattered
taking the sting off
the goddamned everythingness of
everything else, you know, the
rest of it, the great "out there",
the messy beyond.

perhaps the pressure of being a
skinny sexy studious blondehaired boy
drove him to it: the alcohol,
the forbidden substances, the beauty
of art, the insatiable savorings
of big-dicked male wonder-image,
there in the big bed with his three
naked big-dicked friends--the four of
them a family now, sharing lust,
love, laughter, the joy of
escape--everything
was bearable, there, and everything
that mattered, occurred.

perhaps the pressure of being a
skinny sexy studious blondehaired boy
drove him to it: the best of the
best, the most beautiful of the
beautiful, the arts, photographs his
niche, but he loved them all; the
sexy friendly interlinkages of his
own sweet sarcastic big-dicked
4-male family; their seminal sunlit
writhings; the light; the
sparking juicy electro-jolt sense
of aliveness spurting and gushing like
an orgasm, winning
out; an honest smile on sweet lips; he
loved many things actually, and
his heart was always racing.


--Carl Miller Daniels (2004)