chuba

I'm in the middle of a "physical indiscretion" in the middle of the Williamsburg Bridge. It's about 3:30am so even though it is quite well lit, we find little other human traffic across the walk. Just before I "arrive" some bikers pass as quickly and quietly as possible. Out of politeness I assume. The piercing little breaths of excitement I get from their momentary presence gives me a mixture of feeelings. In one moment there is power at taking control of this tawdry event with someone like minded. All the while though my vulnerable, meek, hidden little thoughts, the ones not grunting like an asphyxiating demon, want to take in the scope of this place in time. Breathing in the lights as they jump off the water. With one hand entwined around her shoulder and the other holding the guard rail, our faces are leaned hard out to the reflection of the river. I actually feel like my face is entering the confines of the city with the same need and thoughtless adoration as I am in with her. But soon enough the moment stopped being poetry and returned to being truth, and we were two people. The bridge nowhere, the lights nothing, passersby passed, her screaming as loud as one can when there is no more concern, and me openly laughing at my own ridiculousness, I bite her neck. Then we walk away giggling baby like, and the bridge feels like my bedroom or some other private thing, some other issue of my spirit.
In other news, I am currently waiting out a lay-over in the O'Hare aeropuerto. I am alone heading west, and for one of the first times in months I feel whole. Not about Friday night's Billy Goat Gruff rutting, but about being by myself and holding these moments as my own. Then again I AM sitting here E-mailing y'all... because I still get bored with my own damn self. Some times I don't know why I need to explain things. Why couldn't I just have said "I fucked a girl between the thighs of Manhattan and Brooklyn. Good Evening to you." Probably because it WAS more than that. Airports are strange places.