Some Bodies

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I already know what it is,

and he already knows what we’re doing.

If you wanted this to be something sugary and sweet you could have called a lover, but you didn’t. You called me in the middle of the night knowing that I was going to cancel a whole night’s rest, and fuck up my entire tomorrow in advance.

When I get there, we share a cigarette.
He don’t waste much time stripping down from work clothes. Unlatches his shoes, unzips his trousers. He’s anything but shy and parts of him half-hang out of his underclothes, finally relaxed and free after a long ass day where ain’t nobody said thank you, where ain’t nobody asked our black ass opinions. Folks don’t even look you in the eye.

He says he doesn’t care much. He shows up when he’s supposed to, and clocks out when he’s done. He knows how to get by.

I’m mouthy. I’ve been mouthy and I’ll be mouthy until my time here on this earth is about done and that’ll probably be the reason I leave. Too much mouth for the job,

but just enough for him.

He knows better than to listen too carefully when I fake complain about getting his call after midnight. He smiles while I rant and pulls one more cigarette from the pack and lights it with a loose match he retrieves from his trouser pocket. We share this one too.

He only tells me about his day if I ask specifics, and he only answers in two or three words at a time if he has to.

What he will do is let me talk endlessly about whatever the hell I’d like ’cause I’m the one who left my apartment after midnight. and even if he lays around almost dressed, he never rushes me into anything, even though we both work early tomorrow.

I think he’d be alright if I just came by to smoke all of his cigarettes, so long as I looked him in the eye and made him feel like a person while I did it. Let him know I see him there looking good and smelling like work.

Remind him I know his middle name, and that I know he ain’t really moving back to where he came from.

He ain’t going back to dating yellow girls from good families and smiling pretty when they talk about children’s names.

Ain’t nothing back there.

and shit, not much here either.

But at least here, for just a couple hours after we smoke and do grown things men do, but never with each other, he feels like somebody,

and maybe I feel like somebody too.

Existential Head.

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You’d like it, but you don’t really need it.

And he’s cool, but you don’t really like him.
He’s pretty, but he’s not all that pretty

You’ve met him before but don’t really know him.

But still you two get together at his dusty ass apartment. Hardly any furniture. A raggedy ass couch and a television on top of a dresser, that kinda shit.

You roll a blunt, but don’t really smoke much.
He pours something to drink, and you don’t really drink much.
He puts on a movie y’all won’t really watch

’cause y’all settled on watching something neither of y’all care about.

Fake watching,
Fake caring,

Almost out of nowhere,

Without warning, he pulls out what he’s packing beneath his faded boxer briefs.
Long and thick, half-hard;he kinda thought this out, but not really.

But what the fuck are you gonna do? Ask him to put it away? Leave?
You didn’t come here to watch this damn movie, no way.

You pull yours out too.

Play with it a bit.
Get it to stiffen up.

Watch him play with his and he watches you play around with yours.
Soon, he’ll play around with yours and you’ll watch him as you play around with his.

It’s all light stuff, nothing you couldn’t have don’e yourself at home, but there you are , and here he is, and in what seems like a split second, and an assertion instead of permission, he wraps his eager lips over your almost hardened shaft.

And you just go with it.

You didn’t really want it but who the fuck turns down head?
There are other things you could have been doing right now, this isn’t your best use of time. While he’s there salivating on your semi-excited parts, you consider those things.

There’s homework you’re behind on.
There’s a test you wont be prepared for.
You compare this head to the kind you got back when you were with what’s-her-name. She was good, but you weren’t feeling it.

And so you thought you should try it with guys.

Not that you’re gay or anything, fuck that, not that there’s anything wrong with it, you just aren’t.

You’re figuring shit out. We all are.

And you don’t like guys, you just like the sex, and not this sex specifically, but you’re sure you’d find someone, some guy even, to have the sex you’d like.

A year or so before what’s-her-name, it could have happened. You found a guy, didn’t know him well, exchanged messages, and pictures. He was lowkey, but cute – nice smile, good features, you remember him? You two texted everyday for a week and a half. You thought this made sense. you wouldn’t marry him or nothing. The two of you could just stay low and build together. Keep the world out of your business.

By the second week, the texts stop coming in as fast and by the third, you weren’t texting at all.

You texted him when you relationship with what’s-her-name fell through; that shit wasn’t gonna last anyway.

He didn’t respond to your text.
You text again a week later.
Nothing, still.
You text him a month after that.
Not a goddam thing.

You’re confused as hell, making sense of shit as best as you can. What the fuck happened? The two of you hadn’t even fucked yet.

So you try and fuck everything else. You fuck anyone who responds and always plan it before the end of the week.

And so there you are, on someone’s raggedy ass couch. Their head bobbing up and down between your legs.

Your head is anywhere else.

Like Them Thick Boys

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Ain’t nothin’ in the world like them thick boys.

The ones that kinda waddle when they walk, or take a little extra time putting their jeans back on in the morning, right before they go wherever the hell they came from.

Prolly, hell.

Sent here just to tempt me in mine own life. Same way Lucifer told Jesus all the kingdoms could be his if he would just bow unto Satan, These boys – thighs wide and edible – look you right in the eye and tell you, “all of this can be yours if you just bow to me,”

and I do.

I absolutely do.

They ain’t even finish that sentence all the way before I give em’ half of every damn thing I got, hoping for a fraction of what they’re working with; hoping to feel the weight of their world on my shoulders.

Ain’t nothing like a thick boy.

They hug better.

More to hold onto when the world gets cold.

They eat good, and cook good, and can give you a mouthful if you’d just ask em’ nicely..

Thick ones are the freaky ones too, but you ain’t heard it from me. Usually raised good and picked on growing up, but ready to be loved right, and wrong, and fast, and good.

You’ve got to treat thick boys right.

’cause we don’t say it a lot, ’cause folks will look at you funny, but deep down, everyone wants a thick boy.

Thick boys have their options.

Someone will love em’ good.
Someone will feed em’ good.
Someone will fuck em’ good.

And I promise, your thick boy won’t think twice about you; but you ain’t never gonna forget about that one time you had a thick boy.

‘Cause ain’t nothin’ in the world like them thick boys.