somehow 1 became 3. coulda just im'd them to you, but what's the fun in not being able to dig them up weeks later to embarrass myself? i have no idea how good these are because i am slightly intoxicated. they're drabbles but they also feel like poems which is odd because the last poem i wrote was in 9th grade and it rhymed and i was forced to 6 or less words per line (and i only cheated once sort of)
1. last he knew he’d fallen asleep on jared’s chest. but when he wakes, desperately clutching the edge of the bed like his grandmother does her pearls, there’s this sinister purring...
2. “of course i remember how we met. it was the sex-in-art exhibition (or was it art-in-sex? i can’t—) well, anyway. we were underneath sex toy chandeliers by the ice sculptures of, of um, vaginas? and i said... i said, boy wouldn’t i like to see some dick right now. so you smiled and wiggled those golden tan fingers. ...oh, but that wasn’t you”
3. jared is not a dirty-talker. he is many other things, including: a) a dirty e-mailer b) a dirty texter (or “sexter”) c) a dirty (/passive aggressive) notes-writer d) a dirty instant messenger e) a dirty skyper f) a leaver of dirty things, like:
bedrooms
bathrooms
kitchens
& things like that;
but has never, to david’s knowledge said anything like— “what would you do to me, right now, in public if there weren’t such things as inhibitions?” so david is taken aback, almost a second then he narrows his eyes. “i’d hold your hand.”