Beckon

Warning: this text contains sexual language. Just so you know.

You met me at a strange time in my life. Who loves me the way I am now? Sleepless nights have turned me into a monster. So I am well aware that I am not the most fun person to be around now. Thoughts keep me awake deep into the night as I am trying not to lose track of all the things I need to do. I’m making a new life for myself, you see, with you. And it feels like everything around me slowly changes or gets replaced. Jesus needed a three-day weekend to sort out all the lies and betrayal. But how many days do I need for all of this? I put on a record for some background noise, like friends chatting away with glasses of wine and cigarettes at a house party. A soundtrack to this new life as sung by drunken sailors. Does the sea beckon me to drown out all the noise like a siren on a rock calling me into the deep?

As the shiny drops of sperm slowly dry on my white athletic socks, I smiled on the train on my way to work. This morning you told me that you had dreamed that I was fucking you. Jerking off in the kitchen together was a fine alternative instead. You will have to wait for the fucking until I come back again. Right after we were done, I tried to wipe off the evidence that was on my black shorts, but it turns out I didn’t do it well enough, because I could still see the stains in the sunlight. They’re also so conspicuously close to my dick that even a visually impaired person would draw the right conclusion. I have to take this to work now, and I can’t hide it until I can change into my work clothes.

“History repeats itself,” the newspaper says, but who reads the newspaper these days? Life could be so much better if we could let things go more easily. The childlike freedom and recklessness that we all once had. An open relationship should not be that hard, right? But why do I get the feeling that I’m always the one holding you back and making things difficult? An easy excuse for all those guys who want something from you. “I’d like to, but my boyfriend is having a hard time with it,” or “My boyfriend still finds it a bit exciting.” Because of that, all the first impressions of me are of the difficult man or the over-attached boyfriend. Can you paint me in a more colorful way, please?

My brain is a constant conveyor belt that feeds me endless thoughts and information. Like a goose being force-fed with a tube to later turn into foie gras. It’s ugly, but I promise that I will turn into a delicacy. And once I am ready, more people can enjoy me too. I’m learning everything as I go along and digest, and I’ve reached a new chapter again. People are seeing me in a new light, like a shiny new thing. I will change my hair, my beard, and my clothing. I might even add a new tattoo or two to remind my skin too. A new city, a new job, and new friends. It almost feels like a new life now, doesn’t it? With white stains on my shorts with a newfound form of confidence. Too bad for that siren, I will remain on this island. With a cocktail in one hand and a dick in the other.

Life is an in-flight magazine with prepackaged sandwiches. The first taste is stale, but you will get used to the rest. Just like everything new wrapped in plastic.