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Sunday 11 October 2009

I am detached to you, not from you

Posted in: NZ Writing
By David Newton - 30th July 2006

(for myself)

"I am detached to you not from you"
I am the boy, if still a boy, with bruises about the eyes sighs again. It doesn't hurt as much this time, I am loosening up, before it would hurt so much that I would have to stop awkwardly and clench, it hurt so much. Now it's not painful enough to warrant stopping and the wonderful cumbersome lolling around is gone. Its clumsier now, easier but not as good. I should really do some exercise.

"I am detached to you not from you"
By now we are not drunk ad I am still the boy with bruises about the eyes, rather everywhere I am still thin but places around my body seem more swollen than they were before my cheeks have bones but my nipples have lumps behind them. Alana an old friend used to wear particular items of clothing to shock and offend, an asshole detector she called it, people that commented on my florid colourful nipples the sam, I have asshole detectors under my skin. I asked a doctor what they were, hoping for the best he said, rather she said (I rarely see male doctors) that they were caused by me being underweight and so my glands are visible s I was not to worry, alright I won't worry starting now. My hips have a curve, unusual for such a thin boy, just a little so mens pants look strange, womens pants worse, living in shorts helps.

Its quiet near him, his reputation for being a party animal seems like a lie but I realise he is just having a moment to feed off me, hes been doing it for years. I was drunk before but the soft sober upset boy is back and I try and say something poetic before I fall asleep. From where he is lying he can't see that I reading a magazine. I have read it before in the doctors' surgery the smiling pink lipped blonde on the covers mouth is too big. He is now standing on his knees and my back is bent my legs in the air, my toe slides under the poster on the wall and the magazine slides off onto the pile of clothes at the foot of his bed, it hurts a little now, he is sharp inside me and it's hitting the sphere he is aiming at, if he hits it enough he'll win, the prize is I might stay here tonight. He empties me in a second and I feel his dry pointy tongue, he flips me over and finishes all over me again, my eyes are closed and my body shakes twice up down up down and my knees come up my hands wrapped under pillow, he wipes me off with my t shirt and tries to kiss me with his filthy mouth and thin dry lips. I fall sleeping and I dream about his bony fingers in out in out, I wake up with a sore head and after using the bathroom noisily I take his t shirt, it has a tiny green fluorescent deer on it. I wrap chains around my waist and cover my mouth with my perfumed scarf. His apartment is near a busy supermarket mine is in the middle of town so awkwardly walk home.

My shower is outside of my apartment down the corridor at the end when I am showering my friend, in every vapid sense of the word comes in and opens the door to the shower. I cannot see him because I am leaning on my back with the water on my face but feel the rush of cold a few seconds after and I look towards him, he smiles and slams the door on my words.

I rush, get a towel covering parts of me and run into the apartment, its about five minutes before I find him, he is in the empty room in bed rather a mattress on the floor watching the television set in the wall like a fireplace. There is no walls bar the concrete, no insulation so it is very cold and I am naked almost so I grab his underwear and put it on, I slide wet into his bed and roll him a cigarette.

"Where were you?"
"Out, I was drunk"
"Out fucking boys, were you with him?"
"Yeah, yes"
"I don't know, he found me when I was wasted."
"And he did it again, God I hate him"
"me too"

My friend is sulking and I want to sleep, there are no lights to speak of in the apartment not including the streetlight directly outside the window. I roll over and curl up next to my friend, not lover. I lie next to him when he swaps ends to watch a video he wakes me up by opening up my eyelid, I watch the dancing figures on the screen, get up to get money for our dinner, the same thing from the Satay place across from us. When it ets cold we go into the lounge, mattresses on the floor we watch video after video sometimes I stroke his furry head and he laughs with his huge pupils. I pick up our clothes and shoes and line them upand as the cold of the early morning hits in my sleep, I burrow up next to him. I live with nine people, and there are three of us here, he turns off the alarm pulls a hat on my head and I smile put my arms around my safe boy two floors of the ground. I kiss him on the lips, his tongue flicks into my mouth his hands on my hips, I laugh and splutter while he feigns sleep. I count the breaths he takes, one thousand till morning. welcomes short-format writing based on the joy of being gay or lesbian, whether it be verse, essays, anecdotes or personal insights.
The format is not important, the joy is.

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David Newton - 30th July 2006