James/Joyce by davistrell@aol.com
Sodom and Gomorrah. All we
faeries talk like that.
Only in an Englishmun's dreams do we do.
So, I have a problem with my sexuality.
Sometimes I'm James,
othertimes Joyce. Depends on my mood, I guess.
You should've seen me as
ayoung man, maybe you would've wanted to paint my portrait.
Maybe it's
my Irish roots showing through,
but when you take Dubliners out of
Ireland, transplant them to the U.S.,
let the seedling grow, something
weird happens.
Now I'm a slave to the one-eyed trouser-snake, Ulysses'
version of
the Cyclops. I came into bloom, around my eighteenth
birthday, and
haven't looked back. My hero was a guy called Stephen, who
was an up and
coming writer, used the pen-name Daedalus. He showed me
the ways of men,
I was Icarus and flew too close to his Sun.
His room
was full of books, pamphlets, dictionaries, theasauri,
all manner of
literary tracts, unfinished poems and rejection slips.
Naturally seedy,
worn carpets, a simple gas fire, that needed a shilling
popped in the
meter,to provide gas,
to provide heat, much needed warmth. A
non-descript bed, the only place to sit,
as Stephen took the only
chair, next to the simple table,
where rested his trusty Underwood.
He was so literate, would quote all the contemporary poets,
Dylan
Thomas, Yeates,Borges, Eliot and of course himself.
He picked
me up in a public-house, the 'Horn-a Plenty' just by the
O'Connell
Street, by the cobblestoned bridge. He was drinking Guiness
and bought
me a Black Velvet, which is half Guiness and half dark-thorn cider,
a
woman's drink, so I guess he'd got my number.
Three of those, and I was
anybody's; tonight his.
He had a strange way of talking, asked me if I
were a quare
fellow, would I be a nicens little boy, his baby
tuckoo.
Would I be amoocow and let him milk me.
At first I thought
it was the Guinesstalking,
but it was the voice of a poet wanting to
get his end away.
Those days you had to be discreet, there was always a BullMulligan
who'd dash out the brains of any one 'quare'.
So it was a goodjob Bull
didn't see us out in the back alley,
kissing like scholgirls with
Stephen's hand
down the front of my corduroy trousers, feeling me up
and showing
I was willing to go further, all the way back to his dingy
bed-sitter,
his study by day, and tonight his boudoir.
He offered
me whisky in a cracked china cup, he offered his untidy
bed and asked me
to lie back. Did I want some air?
His hands went to mytrouser fly and
undidded,
one by one the black buttons until out fell my hardon, soon
to get harder
as Stephen applied a coy massage. He madedevotions,
cradling my cock in his fingers,
taking purchase, gripping firm,
exciting to me, to feel another's hand, different to mine own,
gently
rubbing, pleasure coursing through me, along with the whisky.
Hands
windswept, opening my shirt, feeling over pale chest, radiating heat,
nipples tremulous, lips embracing, full of incertitude, but breathing of
passion,
liplocked, tongues twining, eyes searching, body aching.
He quoted Milton:
"Perfume of embraces all him
assailed. Withhungered flesh obscurely,
he mutely craved to
adore."
"Bejasus..ohh..Beezlebub..!"
He stood up, high o'er me and removed his
tweeded jacket, leathered elbowed,
and thin cotton-whited shirt, he
unbespectacled himself, sat down, by me,
whispered 'View Halloo',
unbuckled his suspenders and offed his trews,
and showed his man stuff,
Priapus erect.
Bigger than mine, more seasoned, most pretty, and this prick Ikissed and
guzzled,
mouthfondling, tonguelicking, glans and frenum, acum-stick
lollipop.
He stroked my head, marching to a different drummer, but a
6/9 rhythm, a jazz-jizm tempo,
running up and down his bulging urethal
canal. Corpus cavenorum nostrum penis.
Yummy.
Staring close at Stephen's perineum the heart-shaped mound betweenarse and
bollocks,
I could see faint traces of sweat, glistening-shiny,a wild
hollow hoarlight winding, winking.
Mouthpump brought forth white lava, shoot, shoot. Drink divine.
We
laughed and giggled, not loud enough to wake his landlady and
buried
ourselves under the one grey blanket against the candy striped
mattress,
cock to cock and man to man. Rain crackled against the window-pane and
a
distant thunderclap sounded dark. We clinched together like two
schoolboys having been
told a ghosty story, and my hands clasped tight
his bum-buttocks pressing him
closer for comfort. Lying on a snail
trail of man-spurt.
Stephen, victor,victoriamus, sat up, air cold around his shoulders
and
we partook of a shared cigarette, making arabic calligraphic swirls
floating up to the ceiling, browning. Frabjous day, calloo calay, I made my
move.
Licking balls, head at groin-moved his hips, slip down
with
tongue protuding, enterdarkness, warm and wet and felt a man squirm
overhead.
Open wide, doctor style- with spatulate tongue to test the
waters.
I raised my hand, made into a pointy shape and slipped it in
him, rotating gently.
They call this buggery and I a sodomite, but thus with my cock I entered
him
and pushed and pulled, crammed and jammed, packed my whang, thrust
it up,
went inside, felt dark syrup, wetness and wailing. His legs he
raised, wrapped around my thighs and
pulled me in, I pulled me out, and
pushed me back in, riding, badgering his bunghole, cock
needling, in
and out like a tune played on a penny whistle, flexing gluteal muscles
driving deep into his arse, sphincter tight, grasping my greasy marrow
pole,
unable to hold, to stop the friction as I burrowed in his meaty
insides.
His mouth oped wide, eyes tight shut, his arms clinging to my
shoulders,
fingers splayed, hanging onto my back, taking all of me
in.
Dingly dell. A groan escaped his lips, a signal for me to spend,
orgasm I did,
with ejaculation hot and greedy, and I seeded him with
seminal shoot,
bowels wet with my spunk, and shuddered he, as I came
again, more than twice, thrice.
His belly frothed, as he gave his own
comeuppance, spilling on belly,
marshmallow whiteness, sticky, sticky
between us.
Another shared cigarette, glowing like my penis head, sore
with delight.
Lickety, licking me, till all was dry.
Stephen, my
hero, butt-bandit, ass-outlaw, raunchily romantic, myopic, my
sweetheart,
I, now his bum-brother, smitten by his hormones,
cock-beater; solo no more.
Later he had me, took me from behind, I bent
to his will and
succumbed to his lust. Poked, penetrated, bum-rodded, in
Stygian depths.
Palmy hands holding belly, butt bounced, dick stuck in,
wibbly-wobblying, pink-cucumbered,
arseslapped by minature coarse
coconuts, containing cock-milk, swooshing, gurgling, till my arse
drank, till prostate bruised, till fucked-tired, I swooned to his meaty
beating, upended, downturned,
everted, bent doubled, swooped and
swallowed as dick pumped, plunged, till his dam broke,
penis-puking,
spunk spillage overflowing brown-pink orifice. Carnal cardinal
sin. Genuflecting
obeisance, we drifted to sleep. Slept like angels,
till came the dawn, and both came again.
I can be James, but sometimes I like to be Joyce.