Peerage 2008

Tea timer- or Spoon meet Mug

Every day I think of you.

You both boarded us in new East Berlin, took us to the fancy store, toured the Metropolis stage. We could just afford to buy a tea timer, the best of Lang’s social control.
I turn it over each day as I make my tea and think of you and yours for exactly three minutes.

Tea made with forgiving water we all must use.
I think of you with fondness after decades of friendship (with occasional knots) My hope being made of the world shifting just a bit more slowly than my wish. I wonder if your friend who was planning to work in Africa is somewhere making tea?

You remain solid, dedicated in Africa, a devastated inner city volunteer helping children, bringing fresh water every week, teaching art.
You once gave me a hand made wooden spoon, every day I use it to stir my tea drinking a prayer for your safety.

It was in the middle of the last century you gave me a hand painted mug in celebration of my birth. Pastel brushed elephants and balloons, life is still a circus.
I was yet too small to hold it, I never met you, don’t know what you look like.
I drink tea from that mug, my first hoarded treasure.

Every day I thank you, working the same earth that I worked - from can to can’t - as a child picking weeds and grubbing bugs. World away field, daily toil and devotion familiar earth taste in my mouth. Your labor enriching countless every day - your hands slake my thirst, your spoon holds my flavor, your mug bears my childhood, your timer works upside down.

The tea tastes good.

Fish Creek, Wisconsin - Hat Island hat

Stella’s Gift

XMAS 2007

Steam Room Birthday

First stop:

Leaning over him I ran my big hand up between his thick-as-a-tree-trunk legs sliding my palm around his rigid drooling penis. He was Bubba shaped, round gut all field hand hard with a thick cock and firm balls. I knelt in the hot misty steam and licked at his ass cheeks and pulled his meat back between his legs pointing him back like a dog, licking and sucking at the wet tip, nursing on his slippery pre-come hoping for a fast load. He shifted, moving his thighs apart to allow access as his mouth slid metronome even on the almost now invisible man sitting one level up on  the tiles. He grunted softly as he slid down the man’s hard penis letting their mixed juices fall freely down his chin onto the wet surface below. The ceiling dripped on, blind eyed to our passion as the cycle of cooling steam and heating flesh made the tiles live with moving moisture. Our passion mixed as the rest of the room began to rise with us. The dykes fingers slapping and gentle hushed voices mixed in the background hiss of the steam port as he sighed and his load slipped into my now suddenly well lubed palm. I rose and turned to the shower cooling off in the stinging stream, my cock hard now, looking for a willing throat I leaned around my new buddy and eyed the trim leash wearing dyke who seemed transfixed, eyes dilated and hypnotic on my meat. I moved to her placing a flat palm between her soft tits pushing her against the wet wall and kissing deep and wet in between her lips she moaned and ran her tongue right back. I put both hands on her shoulders and guided her to the ledge putting one finger into her mouth began to massage her gums and pull at her jaw. She opened and using my thumb under her tongue to fishgrip her I slid her mouth onto me, her whispering girlfriends hand sliding quickly between her now opened legs. She gagged as I tugged at her but placed a hand around my balls guiding me into her throat and writhing her neck around and onto my cock. She began to throat me and as her partner held poppers to her nose she rubbed harder and slower,  her hips lurched and she spat me out gasping at the drug, groaning in orgasm as her lover licked at her slimed lips, mouth sucking at us as she came, fingers now deep in her own cunt. I moved on into the murky steam hoping for next.

Sadie Lune Castro Theater, San Francisco 2007

Dreamy

I dream of you
Each day
When I’m awake
At night
When sleeping
When I’m sitting
Or lying
And when I touch myself
I think of you
When I eat
And when I bathe
All the time
I wonder what you’re doing.
I remember your smell
And your skin
The way you smile
And your touch that drives me
To want you
I miss it
That thing you have
Inside you that makes
Me want
To do things that we can never talk about
To others
who would not understand
They would cower at
Our power
And what we
Do together
Would make them
Run screaming
To have us
Removed
Because
We love
In
Different
Ways.
My dreams
Of you
Are
Sacred

Just a cup of tea

The tea sits hot, sweet, fragrant next to the bed on the edge of the old oak secretary. I can smell the leafish scent enticing, full of waking promise. My hand reaches to the cup and pain strikes thru my gut in severe warning of physical limit. Just out of reach I try to roll or edge close and unable to get past the knife in my side begin to cry from my need to be able to move in a simple get the cuppa way that nearly everyone can do. I grab the headboard using my arms to drag my torso toward the cup and stop defeated by the aching hot hole cut in me. I lie still waiting again for pain to please go away now and in a few minutes it fades. Again and again I try for the cup, persistent and hopeful despite my limit I drip frustration from my eyes and become triumphant. Balancing my screaming belly I bring the now cold cup of tea to my lips and drink the whole thing in one long cool satisfying gulp.