Volpone a new version
One-Man / Woman
Californian Lives (m/f)
Now We Are Pope (m)
Tadzio Speaks . . . (m)
The Butterfly's Wing
First and Fiftieth
A Sense of Loss
He is not handsome, but his nose and jaw are strong and sweat drips down
his cheeks from his damp and dark hair. He has no expression, is as unseeing as
if hypnotised or drugged or mindless. His chest is strong and the sweat flows
down, down, over the hollow of his stomach to be absorbed by the band of
white. There his sex is veiled, virginal, vigilant. He has the legs of a runner and
when he turns I can see the ripple of his backbone, the dancing shoulder-blades
and lean hollows of his hips. I want to take him, to have and to hold him, to
kiss and lick and stroke and arouse. He would be mine to make as I wish and
yet he would never change. He would listen and learn and yet be my teacher.
He would lie in my bed, our bed, and be made love to, he would overpower me
and make me his. We would fight and forgive, leave and live and love each
other. He is everything I desire, he is my desire and he is here before me, he is
here for me.
Discotheque - Four Voices in A Sense of Loss
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