Iím a gay man
I reckon Iíve always been one, even when I didnít allow myself to recognize that fact
As I watched Saved By The Bell and was turned on by Mario Lopez
I told myself it was Lark Vorhees that cranked my wheel
Then she put out that weird book of hers
And there was no denying how I feel
The third time I made love to a man was in Baltimore
It was at an EDM show
The man who put it on was an awkward ass ginger
Who fancied himself a Buddha of the underground
We hit it off, took some molly
Talked about injustice, danced Ďtil dawn
He came back to my crib
I showed him some of my most personal poems.
The molly was coming on hard
He put his hand on my inner thigh
I got so thick I thought my cock would take his eye out
And make him a pirate of the EDM scene
Michael the pirate
We embraced, I tore at his JNCO jeans. I got them off. I bent him over and tried to get myself inside his pasty ass. I couldnít fit. His shit was too tight and he moaned like a child.
He suggested he give me a go. I was nervous, up until then I had always been the pitcher. I said, fuck it... desperate to get off.
He was having trouble getting hard so I put his junk on my tongue. Homeboy wasnít large but he was determined. I appreciate that.
He turned me around and slid it in. It was over before I knew it. I thought it would always be so quick and easy. With other men, Iíd learn the truth.
Men that never bothered asking my how I felt. Men that treated me like hamburger helper. Large, tough men- who didnít give a fuck about me. Who were always big spoon. Who never cried to me. Who showed me nothing, who illuminated nothing. Michael Morstein, wherever you are, Iíve never forgotten you. And I never will.