TALES FROM THE LIST

BY PAIX ROBINSON  

Featuring illustrations by Brady Drose / @bradydrose

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MR. BROOKLYN BLUE

PART II

May 28th, 2011


Dear Journal,

Oh what liberation! Where do I begin? At the beginning? ...Or his middle to my end? Long story short or an in-depth account? Honestly, I'm so...I don't even know how, where, or what to think anymore. If we start at the interesting parts of the beginning I shall only say, this cross-country trip was originally a surprise for Summer’s twenty-second birthday in blind cupidity to rekindle the high school sweetheart flame-post Voldemort fiasco. Funny how we shoot for the moon and land on the nearby planet in another cosmos entirely.

When I bought my ticket from LA to NYC, he was the third person I told after Dani, who was putting me up for the week in Harlem, and Summer, which we’ve already skimmed over. Following a day of slutatious texting, Dani accompanied me to meet him and his crew for drinks at Night of Joy on Lorimer in Williamsburg. It was chill, minus a few instances of mental disarray caused by the fact that the last time he was in my presence, we were naked and sweat-stained in the south of France. It took a minute for me to recalibrate and wipe clean the fantasy goggles I chose to view him through.

There were a couple of moments where he was hard to gauge. It had been so long, and I wasn't sure if I was reading the right social cues from him or the group as a whole. Everyone was polite...ish. There was one guy in the gaggle of hipster gays who has made often romantic-style appearances in Facebook photos. I didn’t know enough about XXXX, let alone his friends, to have made a judgement call on this dude’s leading, or supporting, role in the night’s affairs. I kept my eyes and ears on all hands and arms within the group, hoping to deduce if I would get any action when they all dissipated.

After a failed but honest attempt at going to a club, we ultimately ended up at his friend’s house for drinks, drugs, and domestigaytion. By the time we got there,  his intentions became slightly more clear, as did my allegiance. It was weird, I'm almost positive the other guy I was talking about is the guy that he was dating when we laid together the first time in Aix, named David if I’m not mistaken. So when the drinks didn't stop but simply grew stronger, shit got more grey.

The unconfirmed but most likely ex, David and his new boo or simply that evenings conquest, started making out at the kitchen table and cleared up a bit of anxiety. Seeing this changed the rules on how free I felt to exhibit my eagerness at asserting a sexual hand in this game. I tested the immediate waters with my fingers to his knees, being the first step towards straddling his waist. I gulped down one more PBR, and we were making out just like the rest.

The red light special that dimly lit the apartment didn’t help our sight but did boost the sexual tensions in the space, and had it not been for Dani, I think the entire room would have ended up fucking each other with the Yeah, Yeah,Yeahs playing faintly around us. Not that Dani isn’t fuckable, she was just the only straight girl in sight, and I’m not sure her diversity of thought and acceptance would have dived head first into some nearby pussy.Plus she would have preferred the actual “Red Light Special” à la TLC. She said her goodbyes after checking in with me that I was okay and safe to be left alone with this man she didn’t know and had only heard about over cross-country conversations

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He and I left not long after. It was obvious everyone had sex on the brain and no space to really get the job done. The sharpness of our libido grew too hard be hidden or pushed to the side. He hailed a cab and we got in on opposite sides. When the doors closed seconds after the other, we met in the middle of the backseat with full force. The cab idled in angst awaiting direction for twenty three seconds until he released his tongue from my mouth and gave the cross streets, his fingers still firmly resting inside the rear end of my denim shorts.

He toyed with my ass and pulled me closer to him. It felt like the longest cab ride ever. When I got out, I honestly felt as if he had already had his way. I exited the cab on the passenger side, leaving the door open, and slowly walked up the stairs to stand at the top of the stoop, pulling and playing at the railing. He hopped up the steps to give me a quick smooch. He opened the building door with ease and then stumbled inside. He grabbed my shirt and we kissed all the way up the stairs, even more so as he turned the key into his apartment door with my back laid readily on the pre-war crown molding.  His eyes locked on mine as he quickly played tag with the standing hairs down the small of my back, further running into the creases of my denim through my briefs, gaily finding exertion in my arse.


When we entered the apartment that he shared with a close friend, the moon had already painted a vignette of objects across the open room. His queen size bed sat sill in the living room while his white sheets lay tossed in the grayish blue fog of the nighttime light. Rain started to tickle the window while he left me alone for the bathroom. I smiled at the reminiscent sounds of water dancing from the sky, tracing my mind back to the cameo such elements made the first time we found ourselves in my fantastical scenario. It was during those minutes that I took in the artifacts of his character displayed around me. Books lined the walls and the floor in and on makeshift shelves of wood, crate and concrete. Minimalist furniture, dressings, and foliage were placed here and there to give some breath of life to the stacks of literature, prose, poetry and textbooks.

I walked over to the window to stand and remember what the rain felt like on my russet skin the first time we hooked up and wondered if this was our calling; always left to mix and mingle our bodies under a drenched night sky. As I looked past the prisms of wet, I saw familiar figures and forestry through the glass in shapes and silhouettes that didn't seem new. Had I been here before? If only in my dreams, something felt a kin to my past with an unknown future, ready to remind me of where I was and where my choices had lead me.

He walked up behind me and gently pushed my waist back into his pelvis. I reached back with my hands to feel him take me while arching my neck to the side to let him taste me. The dim of the room beckoned us, and into the unknown I went. Next thing I knew, we were on the bed. He pulled my shirt off with an easy, devilish smile and hastily took my pants off. He smacked my glutes and said, "I love your ass," which was so different for me to hear, seeing as how I think of my rear end as a gluteus minimus, but whatever, it was a nice confidence boost.

Being under his chest and in his arms was exactly what I needed. The charm of this second encounter was fully in charge. The pain that I once felt, for what I regarded as my actual first time with him back in France, was now subdued by sensuality and care. I told him that he was the last guy that I had slept with, which was literally true, but actually closer to being half true. I offered no truths to the women I had been inside of or la femme française I met and dated after he and I joined erotic force. This was no time for Bi talk.

I started to take him in on my back in angst to get the initial thrusts, and the discomfort they brought, out of the way. He pounded what he described as a small cock as deep inside me as he could go until I could feel the ripple of his hips along the sides of my body, making the middle parts bounce back with reverb. When he pulled out I was in such a hurry to please him further I grabbed his shoulders and coiled his body around my own to dart him to the bed. I kissed his mouth and then trailed on to his nipples.

He had no problem verbalizing what he wanted and physically making sure it happened, albeit of my own vision to our naked dance. I sucked him off ravenously until he came in and around my mouth. I smiled and thought him relieved until his self-disappointment was evident. "Ah fuck, I didn't wanna cum yet," he said through bated breath. “Isn’t that the point?” I asked. He told me he resented the idea of just pleasure for pleasure’s sake. “Making it count,” he said, “was important,” not just to him, but should be for me.

He laid me down at the foot of the bed and returned the savory favor. With one hand rotating on the base of my penis and the other in my ass, he synchronized his motions and made me feel like a sensory explosion would soon follow. "Tell me when your gonna cum, ok?" he whispered. "Yeah, sure, ok...uh huh," I muttered with one heavy exhale. Listening to the melody of my breath and the rhythm of my stomach he was able to take me on an elongated journey along the hearts, stars and horseshoes, clovers and lagoons of my daydreams, finding a place in the beat of our touch.

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I thought it would have been over by then since he had already cum. To my minimal awareness (at the time) when the guy cums, the job is done, right?  But not with this Mister. It was crazy. It was like every time I would ascend to a point of orgasm, he'd blissfully knock me down a peg or two and enjoy watching me climb back to the top. He stroked and stroked with even melody when it came time to finally let me finish what he started. I could feel a slight resistance from my greedy bum followed by what could only be described as a breach of silent understanding. I shot up really fast and blurted, "what was that!? Omg?" He laughed and, trying to stay super sexy, replied, "Oh sorry those were some anal beads. Are you not into it?"  I quickly asserted, "No. That felt weird. Like I had to fart or something, I dunno, I haven't made it to the toy section of my repertoire, I’ll take good ‘ole penis for 500 please- ." And so he gave simply that.

He fucked me harder and it still wasn't enough to fill the void. I could feel the carnivorous thirst boiling inside my gut telling my arms to pull tighter and my back to support more for the push. He fucked me on my knees and on my side. He banged  me off the bed and in the middle of it all. It was raw and visceral. The room smelled salty and feral, and I loved every fucking second. Literally. When it came time for us to burst for the second time I could feel something different. The feeling itself wasn't different, it just sprouted from a new place and took a new pathway through my limbs and out through my screams and "ah fuck me's". It was like a hurling warmth that electrified all in its path, starting deep inside of my bowels and forcing through my torso, into each molecule in every flow of blood inside my veins. I didn't have to jack off to orgasm this time.  With him still as deep as he could go, he pounded and swirled into what I know now as my g-spot, giving me a new kind of release; the anal orgasm. I couldn't take the joy any longer and my body set free a herd of endorphins and serotonin that rocked my eyes to a wide close, mouth to a heavy open, and pulled whatever was tangible into my fists. My head felt weightless, I couldn't find a calm breath until I unhinged my thighs from his waist. I only did so as to not appear overzealous or too easy. As if.

"What in the entire fuck was that?" I asked him. He smiled and laughed while pulling out and plopping beside me, wiping his sweat from my forehead and my jet stream of protein from his chest. He etched the remnants of bodily juices with his fingertips and leaned in to kiss me. I pulled myself into him and snuggled in between his armpit and chest like I did the very first time he fucked me senseless.  We laid there for a while until the nicotine urge made itself known and needy. A shared cigarette out of the window in the kitchen made for an intimately delicate tableau. Aimless conversation and mutual kudos on sexual style and stamina followed. Everything that had felt foreign or estranged had been washed away by his thoughtfulness and genuine sex appeal. We let the conversation carry our still and depleted bodies back to entanglement, metaphorically speaking, we laid there on top of the clouds in his queen sized sheets, stained with our carnal confession, ending in a deep sleep, still tangled in ourselves.

And that was just the first night.

Waking up with him was a continuous fantasy made true. I had always questioned whether or not I could allow myself to accept my own desires enough to relinquish the standards of intimacy, so governed by the social rubrics around me, and this felt closer to letting go of all that. I relished in the  silence before his eyes opened. Reaching over to check a phone that I couldn't have cared less about throughout the night prior, I was reminded of what my projected mission to NYC had originally been, and how naturally it had strayed. Checking a set of text messages and a missed call from Summer in that moment was definitely an emotional wake up call. I responded that I was “...indisposed,” and probably wouldn't be able to see her. I told her that I was “...with someone,” and would most likely be a sloth for the remainder of my trip. I didn't give specifics or details. She's on a need to know basis, and she doesn't need to know how massively I had been banged or how much I wanted it again, again, and again.

He woke up with a soothing noise that stretched from his jaws into his toes and fingers. He hugged me and pulled me in, still naked, feeling his flaccid penis on my lower back. I adjusted from the spooning position to face and kiss him. With no regard to morning breath or hygiene, we kissed each other good morning and layed there a while. As much as I wanted to stay and mingle inside his brain, I had to go. I needed to ride that mental train back up to Harlem, change clothes, gather more thoughts and find my morals, all the while giving Dani a full play by play of what ensued after she left.

I started to fetch my clothes and make motion towards the door when he asked for more time. Much to my surprise and inner glee, he invited me to a Memorial Day BBQ his friend was having just a few blocks down.  “Sure!” I said. It was okay if he was doing the inviting, but I couldn't be made responsible for such a task. I wasn't there yet. He held the cards and held them well. More importantly, I wasn't mad at the hand he dealt. He knew how to play the game, and I was just getting started. Standing erect at the door with flaccid penis, he repeatedly kissed me goodbye and I left Brooklyn with a awkward sensation pulsating through my anal cavity. It was magical.

When I boarded the uptown A train for Harlem, I was still floating, with Norah Jones doing what she does best, soothing the soul and my butthole. My delights and whimsical thoughts were interrupted by a letting go of wind that seemed to have a little more substance that I expected regular gas-passing to have. “Did I over trust a fart?” I thought to myself, and instantly felt mortified. It wasn't until I was safe in Dani’s bathroom, with Dani sitting on the edge of the bath tub, that I could plop down and remove my pants and underwear to find what I deduced to be his jizz taking their gravitational exit. Again, mortified. I called Trevor, my fairy gay mother, with a host of questions and concerns on the matter. While Dani laughed in hysterics at my side,  Trevor offered much needed advice in my ear.

The whole day had damn near passed before he texted me again telling me what the plan was and how he anticipated it would go. A whole fucking day! In actuality it was probably like 4 hours, to be real. I was floored with anxiety and guilt ridden infatuation, then he texted me; all was well again. I left Dani’s house in a new look and new attitude, after giving her a host of projections, incentives, and objectives for the second Brooklyn rendezvous. My ideal day went as followed:

  • Meet up

  • Make out

  • Touch willies

  • Hang with friends

  • Public Displays of gay affection

  • Drinking

  • Return to being a dirty cum slut

  • Rinse + repeat

  • Sleep

As I sat there, on the downtown A Train, I thought to myself,  “What the fuck am I doing going all the way to BK to see this man? It's not like anything is going to come from this besides more careless sex and mystery...is that enough?” Such lingering emotions carried me from 125th street, all the way to his stop on the train, the walk from the station, onto his doorstep.  I sat on his steps, and wrote a poem about sitting on his steps and waiting for a leaf to fall as spring/summer bloomed all around me.

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When he appeared at the end of the block I didn't pull focus away from the page, instead I kept my cool and continued to write. The idea that he could see me before making himself known was hot, and I wanted to give him that little bit of that movie moment. He stood in front of me and said, "Hey stranger," with that coy and devilish grin of a  James Dean meets Jason Priestley. In an attempt play up the ‘romantic-comedy’, nature of the day I replied with the same, "Well, hello mister," while standing to kiss him softly.

He opened the door and back up we went. Only this time less tongue and cheek, and more of the appropriate functions to climbing stairs. I wasn't sure what to expect when I entered his apartment for the second time in 24 hours. This would be the first time we would spend our moments under the sun and although he was well-versed in just about every inch of my body, this was new territory; day time public outings with friends.

We grabbed a few cases of beer and snacks from the bodega at the corner and met up with a couple of his mates before heading up to the brownstone on the corner. The crowd was chill. Straight, Gay and all the in-betweens, enjoying conversation, booze and genuine Brooklyn interaction; grad school talk, indie-films that sounded like bands, bands that sounded like major motion pictures, issues of post existentialism in the 21st century among 80’s babies and undertones of cynicism of course. He held my hand as we walked in, and didn't let go as he introduced me as a friend of a friend he met in France. There were a few looks of intrigue but mostly everyone was just as happy to be there as I was. For different reasons I'm sure, but happiness all the same.

We laughed and listened to Brooklyn made music, drank beer locally brewed next to the navy yard just a couple train stops away, and ate a collection of good 'n greasy meats with vegan veggies and sweet kosher delights. After a few hours with the crew, he and I were entangled again on the couch below the stoop outside. Hands locked and legs twisted, we fell to the graces of the numerous “Omg, you guys are soooo cute!” remarks that adorned the already beaming smile on my face. I released my hand from his and asked for the bathroom. Three people I don’t remember names of pointed up and into the house, and I followed the direction of their index fingers.  

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror for a couple minutes and just smiled at the reality of the situation. I took a deep breath and opened the door to see him waiting in the hallway. "Well hello," I said, leaning up against the door frame all sexy and smooth-like.

"Hey," he said, pushing the word out of his mouth like water dropping to his chin.

He hooked a finger in my belt loops, pulling me to him.I planted my palms on his chest and glided my hands along the cotton path, finding closure with my fingers locked around his neck. We made out in the hallway until someone needed the bathroom. We continued in the bedroom to the right which I hadn't noticed until I needed to. There, he grew increasingly aroused and shoved both hands down my pants and into my ass, something I was finding as comfortable as he.  He held each buttock with eight fingers while rubbing my hole with two single digits.

I reached for his erection, rubbing the shaft and tip above his pants before taking it fully in my hand. Once I could feel it more engorged, pulsating for attention in my hands, I gestured him toward the dresser and got on my knees. I took him inside my mouth and slipped past the slow and sensual, straight to the dirty-slut-bag-whore-shit with spit and precum all over my mouth and his cock firmly in my grasp. When he arose to pure undulation, he stood me up from my armpits and twirled me around, pulling my pants to my ankles in what felt like one choreographed movement.

When he entered my rear window, I felt a sharp stab in my belly, quickly followed by an ease of ecstasy.  He soothed my insides, making each thrust its own individual gift of pleasure, nott to be confused with just any ole’ thing or a cluster fuck of drunk and disheveled proportions. He wanted me to feel every single piece of him. He galloped to a steady pace and I kept as quiet as I could. This time felt different, like a game of fun,  a tug of peace between two men both alike in dignity, allowed to not care. We were finding joy in a friendly joust above, distressed denim shorts and ironic concert tees below.

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Noises aside we would have continued, but decided to go back to the party. We redressed ourselves and parted ways with a fifteen second delay between each exit, as to air out the scent of quick sex in a public place. The party was winding down, and as people laid claim to a bar or a club, we knew exactly where we were headed.

The apartment stoop was far from empty when we returned, and it was clear that it needed to be. A light conversation with his roommate ( Mio or Miko?...I can’t remember. It was something Asian and hella cool) about the day and night time plans was both candid, and the right amount of  invasive. "Oh tonight? I think we're just gonna fuck our brains out and pass out," he said as I looked on with jovial innocence. When his roommate took her exit after realizing home was no place for her that evening, we grabbed a few lasting beers, said our goodbyes to remaining party dwellers, locked fingers and followed Apollo as he carried the sun to bed.

We got back to his place like it was ours. I dropped  my bag at the door and slid out of my vans like it was my daily routine. We undressed in unison and kneeled into bed together. I wasn't interested in anything but making sure every angle, twist, and body roll brought him closer to orgasm. I let him finish inside me every time, one, because I didn't see any risk in the matter and two, even if I had I wouldn't have known how to suggest otherwise-romantically of course. He was in fact the last guy I had slept with, and the girls I had fucked since our last sexual encounter didn't involve my asshole at all, so the coast was clear to load up and leave nothing behind.

I kept him inside my rear walls well into the night, until we  could no longer move. Even as I lay face down with my arm stretched across his chest, I could feel the echo of his body within my own, a distant thumping; a feeling akin to leaving a dance party in high school and still feeling the grind of many on my pelvic muscles. I counted the soft thumps that galloped through my core until I went to sleep.

Waking up before him, I checked my phone for missed calls and messages from the girl I indirectly told to leave me alone. After a few failed attempts at getting him to rise in attention, I decided to smoke a lone cigarette out of the kitchen window and watch him sleep instead. While naked in the window I looked down at the backyards and felt that familiarity once again in the shapes and figures across the way. Only this time it wasn't a thought to metaphor, I actually had seen that backyard before. I knew those bushes and had opened that back door. It took me a second or three to survey the landscape and come up with an answer that would make human the alien feeling .

My phone made a sound and the memory clicked. The distant silhouettes of what looked foreign the night before began to take familiar shape. The light fixtures, home dressings and bodies in motion that  I could see from my vantage were made clear enough for me for me to identify exactly what and who. My mouth dropped a few inches and my cigarette hung from my lip like the cat in ‘hang in there’ poster. Written all over my face was the realization that  I had spent the entire weekend being anally massacred in the best way possible just a hundred or so feet across and above Summer’s backyard. What in the entire Fuck.

Of course! Because the world is actually that small and everyone who has ever wanted to or will want to fuck me, probably lives in Brooklyn.

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