Blind hearts-ManxMan-boyxboy

tuna casserole

Through the amber mist in the fridge, Alex peered and ruminated on the eggs he had forgotten to buy, the indecipherable smell that would take hours to pinpoint, his thirst that would not be slaked. And the dinner he was supposed to be preparing … Dinner was supposed to be simple: Pasta, a jar of Alfredo sauce, three cans of tuna, and then plates and cutlery and glasses of tea, buffoonish entreaties to have his mom eat more, Susan’s complete obstinacy to gratitude and his jocular goadings to have a little dessert—Stupid bulls***—he let go of the fridge door with a rueful deflation of spirit.

Out the kitchen window, dwarfing over longitudinal view of the dividing paling was the twilight sky uneven with clouds and mockingly impenetrable. And he mumbled, “Mom could take care of herself.” The words tasted uneasy, indeterminately immoral, but a tad liberating.  And as he opened the cupboard and picked a box of pasta, the words resounded braver and bolder and all so without the queasy glimmer of his failure.

He put away the box, then giddy with the unfilial thrust of adventure, checked his phone messages. Frustratingly, Dimov hadn’t replied. Ah well.  Sure he could count on Dimov’s big hard cock, but crucially not on his big hard spirit to absolve him of his uncertain mass of feelings.  And so it would be Tony, then.  Yes Tony, affirmed Alex, already restless in the aching prison of lust.

“Hey love, I heard you wanted dinner,” Alex’s tone was jumpy as he opened the cupboard and looked over the blue muck of strewn pasta boxes.

“Why do you care all of sudden?” droned Tony, all more pathetic for its overtones of belligerence.

Alex would not allow mere aggression to resurrect fainting thoughts on duty. He shut the cupboard and said, “You want dinner or not?”

“That depends. You’re staying the night?”

Tony’s tiny request so mightily resurrected the bastard soldiers of duty. It was so unclear, so wrong, especially with the hot whites of the lights glaring down his face.

“Dinner, cuddle, f*** all night long, anything you want, love.” Alex’s voice rambled ahead of the sprint in his heart.

“You make it sound so … unpalatable.”

“Give me a f***ing break,” he said through his teeth.

“Man, are you all right there?”

Alex tumbled out of the stifling kitchen. Even the living room felt sweltering amid the globular forms of furniture in the unconquered dark.  The phone felt hot and clammy against his ear, and he switched the phone from one side to another.

“I’m going to jump into the shower,” he said resolutely, “I should be at your place in another hour, then you can punish me all night for being a bad, bad boy. Sounds good, baby?”

“Sounds okay ….”

Alex smiled in congratulations to himself. He danced to Susan’s bedroom and told her, without an inkling of remorse, of his change of plans. Her fallen smile was a bummer, his bad but just as well, he danced away to the shower. Then he danced out the door, brilliant and triumphant in a pair of corduroys, a v-necked shirt, five condoms in his pocket, and with a breath of cologne and a lovely log of a semi-hard d***.

Before he opened his car, his phone interrupted with message from Frank pleading suffering and pride.

FFFFF Janet. got her tixs to weird ass hipster show she whined for then she fing ditched me. tix cnt go to waste, so u and me comin to this s***.

Alex paced the sidewalk. Three cars sputtered by. Magnesium grey had conquered the abundance of sky. So everything, what he said in the car, his sneaky offer for a f***, was all forgotten, Alex groaned to himself.  He came to a full stop in front of a neighbor’s driveway, where three toddlers were running exhausting circles around the mailbox. Their rambunctious glee colored the lilacs and the lilies and tempted their mother’s glowering exasperation. Irritation could not reign long, for her eyes burned with love and tenderness bloomed in the twilight.