This summer I house sat for the Divine Miss T while she was in LA filming her latest porno. Now the trailer for Tristan's House of Ass is available on her website. The DVD drops sometime in early 2006.
December 12, 2005
Tristan's House of Ass
This summer I house sat for the Divine Miss T while she was in LA filming her latest porno. Now the trailer for Tristan's House of Ass is available on her website. The DVD drops sometime in early 2006.
December 11, 2005
Cruising
Tonight on the subway I saw this boy. “Boy” is the best word for him, though he was probably legal – barely. He was cute and blond and slight. When fags use the word “twink,” he’s what they mean. And he had perfect hair.
He noticed me noticing him on the platform and noticed me back. We got into the same subway car. He stood by the door and I moved further toward the middle of the car, partly because it was crowded and partly because I wanted to watch him from a safe distance. A lot of passengers got off at the next stop, so it was easier to see him. I stared at him, long and hard. And I’m pretty sure I made him uncomfortable. Or at least aware of the fact that he was being stared at.
I stare at people a lot. On the subway; in bars; pretty much any public place. Some might call it "people watching." The truth is, though, that I’ve always believed that if I concentrate hard enough I can make things happen. I guess that’s what more successful writers are calling “magical thinking” these days: believing you have some control over the circumstances in your life. I actually just think that if I try really really hard, I’ll eventually unlock secret telepathic abilities.
It’s sort of widely believed – and I think there is actual scientific evidence to back it up – that we only use a shockingly small portion of our brain. The rest is just kind of dormant, and some people think that if we actually figured out how to use those dormant parts we’d all be psychics or telepaths or something. I know it’s kind of weird, but I think there might be something to that.
So I stare and I think and I try. When it happens, I imagine it will feel like an alkeseltzer fizzling in water, except moving out and away from me and expanding my perception.
I looked at this boy on the subway and thought toward him, probably making him more and more uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell if it was uncomfortable in a good way or in a bad way. He might have known I was watching him and appreciated the attention. Maybe he felt prettier, more powerful because of it. Maybe he was hoping I’d talk to him.
He looked me right in the eye and held my gaze, which surprised me. I didn’t think someone as young as he looked would do that. His eyes were challenging and inviting at the same time. I looked away first and felt as if I’d been bested.
I got off the train at Union Square and thought about grabbing his hand and pulling him out with me. Instead I walked away and imagined him looking after, watching me disappear into the crowd.
He noticed me noticing him on the platform and noticed me back. We got into the same subway car. He stood by the door and I moved further toward the middle of the car, partly because it was crowded and partly because I wanted to watch him from a safe distance. A lot of passengers got off at the next stop, so it was easier to see him. I stared at him, long and hard. And I’m pretty sure I made him uncomfortable. Or at least aware of the fact that he was being stared at.
I stare at people a lot. On the subway; in bars; pretty much any public place. Some might call it "people watching." The truth is, though, that I’ve always believed that if I concentrate hard enough I can make things happen. I guess that’s what more successful writers are calling “magical thinking” these days: believing you have some control over the circumstances in your life. I actually just think that if I try really really hard, I’ll eventually unlock secret telepathic abilities.
It’s sort of widely believed – and I think there is actual scientific evidence to back it up – that we only use a shockingly small portion of our brain. The rest is just kind of dormant, and some people think that if we actually figured out how to use those dormant parts we’d all be psychics or telepaths or something. I know it’s kind of weird, but I think there might be something to that.
So I stare and I think and I try. When it happens, I imagine it will feel like an alkeseltzer fizzling in water, except moving out and away from me and expanding my perception.
I looked at this boy on the subway and thought toward him, probably making him more and more uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell if it was uncomfortable in a good way or in a bad way. He might have known I was watching him and appreciated the attention. Maybe he felt prettier, more powerful because of it. Maybe he was hoping I’d talk to him.
He looked me right in the eye and held my gaze, which surprised me. I didn’t think someone as young as he looked would do that. His eyes were challenging and inviting at the same time. I looked away first and felt as if I’d been bested.
I got off the train at Union Square and thought about grabbing his hand and pulling him out with me. Instead I walked away and imagined him looking after, watching me disappear into the crowd.
December 07, 2005
December 05, 2005
Dread and Elation
Aaron’s hotel room was on the 14th floor, overlooking Lexington and 48th. It did occur to me that climbing out the window and taking photos on the ledge wasn’t the smartest thing to do at 3 a.m., after several cocktails. But we’d seen Bjork at Hiro earlier, I was beginning to feel like I might be falling in love, and both of these facts made me somewhat bolder than usual. Looking down at the street below, I had this vivid impression, almost like a premonition, of dropping Aaron’s digital camera and then of losing my balance and falling. It seemed like just by thinking it I would fall; I had to fall. I could feel myself tipping a little too far and not being able to take it back. The sensation of unalterable momentum, of powerlessness against the inevitability of gravity and my own careless miscalculation filled me with both dread and elation. I was suddenly conscious of the fate of the John Russell in some alternate reality. It made me queasy and I had to step back inside and lock myself in the bathroom for several minutes.
When I came out, Aaron was busy repositioning lamps and removing their shades. He took out a big old Polaroid camera and started taking pictures of me. In between shots he would toss the camera aside and kiss me, gradually removing my clothes and his. He photographed me on the bed in my underwear, standing next to the mirror, from a distance, close up, from behind.
He slipped his hand inside my underwear and started to pull them off. I let him. I let him take pictures of my cock, of me playing with my cock, and he promised me they wouldn't end up on the internet. He took one of the two of us looking into the mirror. He’s behind me, holding the camera and looking sort of menacing. You can’t see it, but I’m naked, standing with my cock in my hand, looking at him.
The next day I had to get up really early and catch a flight to North Carolina for Thanksgiving. While I was at my parents’ house having a nauseatingly wholesome holiday and loving every Hallmark moment of it, Aaron sent me a text message:
“Last night in this fabulous hotel room, surrounded by all these hot photos. What’s a boy to do?”
Suddenly, I was aware of a different kind of unalterable momentum. It felt like my heart swelled to near bursting and then sank, settling, like the knowledge of something I can’t change, in the very bottom of me. It filled me with both dread and elation, and I couldn't wait to see him again.
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