North Carolina

Tonight I am sober, sunburnt, and half crazed. I don’t think I’ve been this horny since I was 14 years old, and the only words I can find are hacked-up, tired clichés. Desire frustrated is a mean, nasty thing; a shaking, violent, cage-rattling ape, rabid and beautiful and angry.

But I don’t really feel angry or violent. Actually, I feel pretty elated. It’s like there’s a live bird in my chest, not an ape, light and fluttering, flapping it’s wings, making gusts of air that catch in my throat.

Being in North Carolina always does this to me. It’s Pavlovian; I was 14 here, this is where sex exploded into my mind – taut, wiry muscled marines; guys with sunburns, shaved heads, driving around shirtless in outdated cars that smell like roses and cigarettes; smell of sand, salt, sea, heat; bushy, unkempt pubic hair – so whenever I’m here, it’s like I am 14. My cock stirs and it’s like the first time, like it’s never been touched. Every inch of my body is awake, my skin crawling, grasping. It’s heavy and light at the same time, alive all around me, surrounding me, swallowing me, gliding over my skin, licking me like flames (see what I mean about clichés?), heavy between my legs. A soft, thick ache, a pulling in the center of me. And I’m out of breath and anxious, itching, squirming. After hours in the sun, I’m warmed, ignited, ready. I loosen, eyes roll, heart jumps...