Aug 17, 2014

"They don't use bathrooms in Enid Blyton stories"--- This is heaven (teaser)

Until the crack of dawn, Alex and John spent some quality time in John's bed. Ben spent the night elsewhere (as an escort of John's A-level service). For additional context (e.g., the allusion to "executive mansions") have a look here, or there


There’s a knock on the door. I’m sort of confused, wondering whether anybody ever took the pains to knock on this door before. “Yes,” I say in the end. It’s Ben, and he looks overnighted the way you would expect A-level escorts to look overnighted, especially escorts on an accelerated learning curve. So he waves a slip of paper, hands it to me and says: “You know.” He sheds some clothes and slips under the remaining corner of the blanket, graffiti briefs and all. There’s a sense of slapstick to this which isn’t lost on any of the participants, including Alex, the perfect future husband this morning who rises to prepare coffee. “Don’t tell mother,” Ben says as if these are his last words. Alex fetches the check from my distracted hand. “From the Executive Mansion,” he reads.
“What?” Ben says.
“That was the name of the White House in Lincoln’s days.”
“Oohh,” Ben moans and spreads his extremities.

First cover of Enid Blyton's  "Five on a Treasure Island"

Aug 11, 2014

Today


The view around 17:00 --- the view is downhill, and the weather is also downhill, since four weeks

Aug 10, 2014

Timeless drama --- This is heaven (teaser)

The shortest teaser ever (John speaking):



I recall an exchange with a teacher in high school with a guttural name, Grothe or something, a man without qualities save one, nose hair. The class was about Shakespeare---the play, Romeo & Juliet. I was asking how someone could have the guts to build timeless drama on a walkout by the postal service---if it was a walkout that is, I forgot why the letter about Juliet’s “death” didn't reach Romeo---or, absent the letter, plan B, why timeless drama depends on minor gaps in the space time continuum, i.e., if Romeo would have returned from Mantua twenty minutes later he would have hit upon a reawakened Juliet and everything would have been roses by another name. So I ask this, and Grothe is baffled, he stutters, he’s left without words, I have him by his nose hair, I really do, and then I go too far and spoil everything---I forgot what I said but I totally miss the Perry Mason moment until it’s too late to say ‘I rest my case.’ Hold on, now I remember what I said, I said: “the classical drama depends crucially on people not having cell phones.”


Are you still there? Then you'll possibly like the GREEN EYES. The first part is out now, available as Kindle book on Amazon, under this link:


Night Owl Reviews
"click"


Go here for the previous teaser of This is heaven, and here for a selection of chapters of the Green Eyes.

Aug 6, 2014

"Guilty sex is good sex" --- This is heaven (teaser)

Alex and John are spending quality time in John's bedroom. Context: (a) there was this bizarre intermezzo between Taylor and John, of which Alex witnessed the beginning; (b) Barbette Bienpensant, Juliette's sister, is a professor of metaphysics; (c) there was this bizarre episode in Juliette's hotel room, with Alex administering a post-coital checkup (not what you think); (d) there was this bizarre episode between Alex and Godehart; (e) the boys had the opportunity to discuss Shishito peppers on the menus of San Francisco restaurants.

It's over the top, folks, this teaser, and short, and unsafe for work. Enjoy.



“I’m glad about Taylor,” Alex says, “nature loves symmetry.”
“Huh?”
“Guilty sex is good sex.”
“How would you be able to compare, with your amnesia?”
“I’m pontificating, you’re right. But still, makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“You had no reason feeling guilty,” I say.
“Well, I made up for Godehart, didn’t I,” he says. “The exchange of bodily fluids lubricated by the trade of guilty feelings.”

___________________

"The exchange of bodily fluids lubricated by the trade of guilty feelings." 
___________________

I slip under the blanket and hope for his hair-fidgeting routine. He doesn’t bite though, his hand lands on my thigh.

Aug 3, 2014

Coming out and of age in China (2) (reblogged)


Here's the second part of a wonderful story by Massoud Hayoun, an Arab-American who went to China at the age of 19 to learn Mandarin. The piece---originally published by Gawker---is here reblogged with the permission of the author. The first part sits under this link. All illustrations are by the Chinese artist Jin Linfu.

My sexuality was transgressive, once upon a time. In China. Exquisitely so, because it showed itself only under the cover of darkness, hushed in back rooms, crammed into what was the only gay bar in Beijing (not for prostitutes) at the time and in Chinese—a language I could speak in without fully hearing myself. A language I'd speak the truth in, however filthy. A language my family, my God, my countries would never understand.

In that sense, Chinese is, perhaps more than any other, my mother tongue. I can conjure the heart arrhythmia of that era—saying things I never would have said in English, in what has now become my most familiar—and preferred—of foreign languages.

Nowadays in New York, I've taken an apartment in Chinatown, on the off chance I'll have some sensory experience that recalls what I only know how to refer to as my original sin, that year of study abroad in China. That sin being the excitement of being wanted for the first time, by other men. To me, those were the moments where I suddenly started to have worth.


That is, before I realized that being wanted sexually is, in this life, the height of intimacy for me. I don't say that with much disdain. It's mostly a choice, of late. With all the men I've slept with since China, the sights, sounds and smells of being momentarily wanted have become too familiar. Grotesque. Mediocre. If I stay with the same man for too long—sometimes more than an hour, I suddenly water down into a puddle of inauthenticity.