Tag Archives: FTM
I imagine you, Ten years old and laying in your bed, On a single mattress with white cotton sheets, The breeze blows the window’s curtain open, Letting in the cool night air, smelling of ozone. You take one small fingertip, … Continue reading
I looked up. I was visiting Seattle, and this was the first ceiling I’d seen. My trick’s mother-in-law apartment had been refinished recently. The living room was paneled in real wood; not tacky rec room paneling, but rather 1930’s cabin resort fir planks. The ceiling was low and painted cream. I could see a thin crack the shape of Italy running diagonally near the northwest corner. It was clean and smooth, with no spider webs or dust. There was one couch, a wood and leather sling chair, a reddish Oriental carpet, and a music stand in the room, but not much else. Wine-colored velvet drapes hung at the room’s small window.
There is a trannyboy sailor in my bedroom, All round blue eyed with long dark lashes, Strong chin and wide lips, Peeking at me shyly. He wears a navy middy, And beneath it is his heart, An organ wrapped in … Continue reading
This hasn’t been a good three years for fucking, And by seven, I mean seven times not seven people, And my definition of “fucking” is somewhat broad; Would I do it at a cocktail party? Would I do it … Continue reading