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Be a good boy, beatmaster v you were told. Reminded that your life had to be studded with sacraments if it was to mean anything. Those priests in their vestments describing the world in black and white, while beatmaster v all the while you wanted to explore the gray, the gray of your attraction to men. What you wouldn’t have given to see a man unclothed! Just naked, standing. You once told a therapist you’ve seen more rainbows than erect beatmaster v penises. But you have seen some since. You know that next week it could be another man or the same man but it will be fresh, these bouts of fucking without any apparent connection. This time you will end up spending the night because you remind the man of an Arab he once fucked in Haifa. You consider being insulted by the comparison. Then you say, Fuck it, and snuggle up to him. The man, now several years a widower, removes his wedding ring and puts it on his nightstand, and in a few weeks it will be your books on his nightstand and you will fool yourself into believing that you are in love, or some sort of caring relationship, although logic does indicate that a man who has nursed a sick wife and raised kids is probably running low on supplies of care
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