Sunday, April 21, 2013

derived from aperio, meaning "to open"

I may or may not have a broken pinkie finger. I certainly have a very bruised one after dropping a 35 pound weight on it yesterday at the gym.

However, I did not let a potentially broken finger stop me from jerking off in the showers with the guy in the shower next to me. My gym, for whatever reasons, has fogged opaque partitions between each shower stall, so that you can see a blurred image of the person showering next to you. This muscled-up guy came into the stall next to me and started washing himself with a little too much care, it all a little too slo-mo sexy shampoo commercial for me to not think that this guy was looking for something. So I started jerking off. He pressed his ass against the glass between us for me to get a better view. He turned to face me and I pressed my cock against the glass. He did the same. I had my hand resting on the glass. He put his hand there as well, across from mine, as if we were touching through the glass. I pulled my hand away quickly, as if from a hot surface, the gesture too intimate. We jerked off until we both came. I left the showers and as I entered the locker room blushed with something close to shame, convinced, probably falsely, that all these people in the locker room were aware that I was just jerking off in the showers.

The guy came out to his locker soon after, which, of course, was right next to mine. I got dressed even quicker. He wasn't as cute as the fogged glass allowed me to imagine him.

I smoked weed last evening to help with the pain of my finger and also because it was 4/20. I watched the same episode of Veep twice, really in love with the witty rapid-fire jokes. I listened to music and melted into my couch.

I awoke this morning to a text from the guy uptown. I hopped on the train and read the Roberto Bolano story in this week's New Yorker on the way there, and maybe you know and maybe you don't, but Roberto Bolano is a deity. It's been a while since I have read something by him but now I want to go back and read everything. He was such a talented writer - is - the writing is still alive so I am not sure whether that statement should use present or past tense. Also I want to move to Mexico City, which I have the urge to do probably at least once every six months. Amazing story though, is what I am trying to say, beautifully written stuff.

I finished the story right before getting to 96th Street. I pissed and came in the guy's mouth. He asked me how everything was going afterward and made the same jokes he always makes about how he might just be a homosexual. We talked about the weather. I took the train back to Brooklyn while I read about a film studio lot in China.

There was this cute young gay couple that got on the train at some point and stood in front of me. I got distracted from the story by the sight of the one's ankles. He was wearing dress shoes without socks paired with some Thom Browne length pants. I tried reading the story again but then they started to hold hands and China and its film lots started to seem so much further away.

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