Safety
We were caught up in the moment. We were sitting in the front and the stage was right there.
I had dry-humped my girlfriend before the show. My buttons still buttoned and my zipper still zipped. I came in my underwear and then wiped it out with a towel. Then we went to see a popular band. The lead singer was very cute but seemed to have problems with her weight. She would look really good in a video and then she was all frumpy in some magazine. She's the kind of singer who spun around when she danced. She did it in her videos that way too. The audience loved it when she did that. They clapped and screamed. Her band played this happy, but kind of depressing, folk music.
When I fucked the girl before the show it was something that wasn't planned, but we had done it like that before. She had her clothes on too. She could make me do it that way because she was new. We weren't sick to death of looking at each other. Our bodies fit together well and she would tell me exactly what to do and it was just right. "Spread your legs a little," she said.
My friend Shawn went to the show with us and sat beside me, mesmerized by the cute folky singer and her thin, flowing dress. There was a time when making your dress swish around and spin with you was pretty cool. It was a mellow show, maybe about half of the people were up out of their seat and dancing. We sat down during the slow songs. Shawn was really getting into it and didn't even really look at the band at all. He just stared at the singer and smiled real hard.
When it happened during the band's #1 hit song I wasn't sure what to do. I felt everyone's uneasiness, their disapproval. The mood of the place totally changed. Shawn had jumped on stage and was walking toward the singer with his arms open, as if to hug her. Two of the guys in the band converged from each side and stood in front of her like bodyguards. Someone ran up behind Shawn, grabbed him, and led him off the stage. A roadie or one of those guys with the laminated name tags. He didn't get a hug from the singer. In fact it frightened her. I think she even stopped singing for a moment and the audience seemed concerned for her safety. After the song she said, "Thank you" and it sounded forced, like she didn't know what else to say. Watching the rest of the show was like watching someone display a birthday cake with the frosting all smeared up.
The next day I was making a mix tape of songs for my girlfriend and for some reason I decided to put the #1 hit song at the end of both sides of the tape. I wanted her to really like each side of the tape and then have this uneasy feeling at the end. Our memory of that song, and especially at that odd moment when people thought Shawn was some sort of weird stalker--the second chorus when everyone became concerned for the singer's safety--it was my attempt at a dark personal joke. But one of the weird things was that she claimed her cat liked that song. Whenever she played it at home the cat would come and jump on her lap and rub against her, purring.
A few months later, her cat started to act tired and dizzy all the time. She took it to the vet and found out that it had brain cancer or something just as bad. She had to put it to sleep. After that we started to drift apart. She never listened to the tape anymore and I started to feel an odd guilt. I wanted to see her and cry with her but I just couldn't do it. I took back the mix tape and listened to it, thinking I could find something to fix on it. I heard the end of each side, that song. It didn't feel the same. I began to feel what Shawn must have felt like, being taken off the stage that night--overcome by admiration, and no hug to show for it. The song was ruptured and monstrous. It had turned into something completely horrible.
Legs
I wanted to touch it through her shirt. I wanted to suck the tit. This is what feels like a cleft to me. When there are all these public people doing public things and I stand there thinking about crawling up between a woman's legs. I feel like I need eyes everywhere all over me. I feel like I should have eyes everywhere to see it all. All of the sexy women in their unique clothes.
One of them had her face pressed against a shop window. She had a milk mustache and it was smearing there. Also she was shaking. But she was pretty and I could not stop looking at her heavy, hanging chest. It makes everything seem new again.
I've adopted a game from a friend. She told me that when she drives home from work, she looks at all the men walking on the sidewalks in her part of town. She has to pick the two best-looking ones before she reaches her house, her driveway. When she gets inside, in her bedroom, she masturbates while thinking of them. "If I put something in my mouth, I'll cum very quickly," she tells me. I play that game now too. I like the challenge, but sometimes I don't win. Sometimes, there are no women on the streets. Also, you must know, and it is very important for the details in your mind to add this in: I don't need to put anything in my mouth to cum.
When I was a boy I wanted to bite my cousin's knees. I wanted to pierce her pantyhose. I would go into the laundry room and rub her pantyhose against my mouth. Now, when I find myself in a room full of legs, I can only think: This is great! This is amazing! But...how did I get here?
Kevin Sampsell is a Portland, Oregon writer, editor, critic, and publisher (http://www.futuretensebooks.com). His new book is entitled A Common Pornography, although it has little to do with pornography and is actually more about growing up in a small northwest town.
Recent work of his has also appeared in The American Journal of Print, 4th Street, McSweeney's, Bridge, and Pindeldyboz.
We were caught up in the moment. We were sitting in the front and the stage was right there.
I had dry-humped my girlfriend before the show. My buttons still buttoned and my zipper still zipped. I came in my underwear and then wiped it out with a towel. Then we went to see a popular band. The lead singer was very cute but seemed to have problems with her weight. She would look really good in a video and then she was all frumpy in some magazine. She's the kind of singer who spun around when she danced. She did it in her videos that way too. The audience loved it when she did that. They clapped and screamed. Her band played this happy, but kind of depressing, folk music.
When I fucked the girl before the show it was something that wasn't planned, but we had done it like that before. She had her clothes on too. She could make me do it that way because she was new. We weren't sick to death of looking at each other. Our bodies fit together well and she would tell me exactly what to do and it was just right. "Spread your legs a little," she said.
My friend Shawn went to the show with us and sat beside me, mesmerized by the cute folky singer and her thin, flowing dress. There was a time when making your dress swish around and spin with you was pretty cool. It was a mellow show, maybe about half of the people were up out of their seat and dancing. We sat down during the slow songs. Shawn was really getting into it and didn't even really look at the band at all. He just stared at the singer and smiled real hard.
When it happened during the band's #1 hit song I wasn't sure what to do. I felt everyone's uneasiness, their disapproval. The mood of the place totally changed. Shawn had jumped on stage and was walking toward the singer with his arms open, as if to hug her. Two of the guys in the band converged from each side and stood in front of her like bodyguards. Someone ran up behind Shawn, grabbed him, and led him off the stage. A roadie or one of those guys with the laminated name tags. He didn't get a hug from the singer. In fact it frightened her. I think she even stopped singing for a moment and the audience seemed concerned for her safety. After the song she said, "Thank you" and it sounded forced, like she didn't know what else to say. Watching the rest of the show was like watching someone display a birthday cake with the frosting all smeared up.
The next day I was making a mix tape of songs for my girlfriend and for some reason I decided to put the #1 hit song at the end of both sides of the tape. I wanted her to really like each side of the tape and then have this uneasy feeling at the end. Our memory of that song, and especially at that odd moment when people thought Shawn was some sort of weird stalker--the second chorus when everyone became concerned for the singer's safety--it was my attempt at a dark personal joke. But one of the weird things was that she claimed her cat liked that song. Whenever she played it at home the cat would come and jump on her lap and rub against her, purring.
A few months later, her cat started to act tired and dizzy all the time. She took it to the vet and found out that it had brain cancer or something just as bad. She had to put it to sleep. After that we started to drift apart. She never listened to the tape anymore and I started to feel an odd guilt. I wanted to see her and cry with her but I just couldn't do it. I took back the mix tape and listened to it, thinking I could find something to fix on it. I heard the end of each side, that song. It didn't feel the same. I began to feel what Shawn must have felt like, being taken off the stage that night--overcome by admiration, and no hug to show for it. The song was ruptured and monstrous. It had turned into something completely horrible.
Legs
I wanted to touch it through her shirt. I wanted to suck the tit. This is what feels like a cleft to me. When there are all these public people doing public things and I stand there thinking about crawling up between a woman's legs. I feel like I need eyes everywhere all over me. I feel like I should have eyes everywhere to see it all. All of the sexy women in their unique clothes.
One of them had her face pressed against a shop window. She had a milk mustache and it was smearing there. Also she was shaking. But she was pretty and I could not stop looking at her heavy, hanging chest. It makes everything seem new again.
I've adopted a game from a friend. She told me that when she drives home from work, she looks at all the men walking on the sidewalks in her part of town. She has to pick the two best-looking ones before she reaches her house, her driveway. When she gets inside, in her bedroom, she masturbates while thinking of them. "If I put something in my mouth, I'll cum very quickly," she tells me. I play that game now too. I like the challenge, but sometimes I don't win. Sometimes, there are no women on the streets. Also, you must know, and it is very important for the details in your mind to add this in: I don't need to put anything in my mouth to cum.
When I was a boy I wanted to bite my cousin's knees. I wanted to pierce her pantyhose. I would go into the laundry room and rub her pantyhose against my mouth. Now, when I find myself in a room full of legs, I can only think: This is great! This is amazing! But...how did I get here?
Kevin Sampsell is a Portland, Oregon writer, editor, critic, and publisher (http://www.futuretensebooks.com). His new book is entitled A Common Pornography, although it has little to do with pornography and is actually more about growing up in a small northwest town.
Recent work of his has also appeared in The American Journal of Print, 4th Street, McSweeney's, Bridge, and Pindeldyboz.
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