FANTASY Do you half remember that year or so in Old Town down by the river, when we visited almost every day? Your third husband served wine to the wealthy all night and struggled to father three boys, not of his making, while you bounced from manic to depressive and my new wife struggled to become somebody? Do you remember the half naked moments in the warm sand, alfalfa sprouts, crystals and butterfly wings? It was you and I with the older memories, of Courtyard parties with gay men and their girlfriends, of magic mushrooms and your second son still bloody in my arms: those dark brick corner apartments and the distant rumble of the Ravenswood elevated trains in another world. Your man did not, needless to say, appreciate my predation upon the small territory he struggled to hold, and I simply ignored him as a johnny-come-lately; a disrespectful attitude on my part at best, for I was blinded. There was no reason or logic behind my incessant lust for you, but there I was, almost every day, your place or mine, down by the creek or the river, bedroom or boondock as naked as possible, savoring every stolen touch of hand or lip, every pheromone smell, every smiling, joyous lock of eyes. I think you knew. I think they knew. I think even the boys knew, except maybe the little one. You always seemed surprised when, on rare occasion, we found opportunity to grab and fondle, to suck and lick, to join our loins with one eye over our shoulders. I knew I wanted you, knew I always would, knew I never could be more than a flickering hot candle in one of your secret rooms. I could never be to you what you were to me. We have since shared many more new worlds, changed and remained the same. I still love you, without the same unbridled passion, but I do remember. Do you? D. Raymond Vines 1-29-14
Posted on: Wed, 29 Jan 2014 16:17:54 +0000
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