Between Men

Lately I haven’t been cruising,
and I haven’t been cruised.

I miss

those in-between spaces,
bathrooms and toilets,
changing rooms on the beach.

the press
as I feel myself
squeezed between
tile and skin,
the trickle of cum
oozing towards the drain.

Lately I’ve been biting
the soft flesh of my wrist
as I stand in the shower,
to the feel the touch of body –
any body –

in the time between cruises.

 

Fuck me better

I need you to
fuck me hard until
everything comes out –
hurt anger
sadness pain

Cover me with bruises.
Cover me with you,
make me feel whole
just for a couple of hours.

 

Feel Me Breathe

[1]
He says I musn’t move

feel me breathe

one breath

two breaths

three

I can’t see,
the blow comes from the black

feel me breathe

I count faster now
one two three four five

waiting
dreading
hoping
for the next blow

feel me breathe

 

[2]
He says it’s time for the belt
I hear the slither as he rips it from his jeans
and then he
wraps it softly around my neck.
It smells… new,
like the cow was only killed last week.

I tense,
brace for impact,
and the blows come

one

two

and all I can do is breathe,
it hurts, it fucking hurts,
I cry tears, warm and acidic,
and I half-call out the safe word
but the words catch in my mouth.

And all I can do is breathe,
breathe,

feel my heart pump faster
than it ever has,
feel my skin as though for the first time,
and it’s raw and ragged, and
the deep thud of stripes promise
the joy of bruises tomorrow.

[3]
and then it’s over, and
he leans and he takes the blindfold off,
tip-toes fingers over the red,
caresses the small of my back.

“You’re pretty when you cry,” he murmurs,
and then he takes his fingers and dips them in my tears,
and then puts those fingers to my lips and he
feels me breathe.

 

© 2006 Michael McAvan - Contributor's Bio