

Tattoo Artist, 19, Native Mike was a little bit drunk. He always got tipsy before we fooled around, it made him feel easier about doing the gay thing I guessed. We had met only two times before, each of which ending up with us in bed but never going past heavy foreplay. He was too scared and would always plea, "I'm a virgin." I didn't mind it. He was a year younger than me and had never told a soul he was interested in men. He confessed he had "macked it" with a dude a month prior, while drunk and was probably witnessed by his girlfriend at the time. He still seemed traumatized by that incident. OtherwiTattoo Artist, 19, Native


Heavy Shit He asked me out the night before. It was midnight and he knocked on my window. "Want a cigarette?" We sat outside, my legs were freezing in ripped jeans from the midnight air. "I hate men," he said. "Me too," I responded. We laughed. The summer had separated us, pushing us to the opposite ends of Texas. It's not easy being queer in Texas, even less so when you are on your own. Jack called me everyday, sometimes long past midnight. I'd answer the phone half-awake and half-dreaming and take in theHeavy Shit
--
"pour salt
into an open wound
-wait
in pain
moan
and stick your tongue
in it
and do it
again"
:::Morris
(ha, damn, if only i could write "watch", i'm a dumbass)
--
Red Stripe: It's Beer!
Hooray Beer!!
--
"pour salt
into an open wound
-wait
in pain
moan
and stick your tongue
in it
and do it
again"
:::Morris
--
Red Stripe: It's Beer!
Hooray Beer!!
--
"pour salt
into an open wound
-wait
in pain
moan
and stick your tongue
in it
and do it
again"
:::Morris
--
Come here damn you, I want to touch you!
sorry for the bad english!
--
Anywhere in Albion ...
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