This blog was long known as “the last fleeting seconds”, which came from the memory of a poem I wrote, many, many years ago, just after my eleventh birthday. We were asked to write a poem about a color. I choose white.
“White is everything yet nothing, in the last fleeting seconds of the day.”
While it's not quite the first thing I remember writing, it's up there.
Now, rather than regulate this old blog to the forgotten broken links of the internet, it is reinvented as a place to house my written work. -KBS Dec 2015
My friends. Let me tell you what a gay nightclub is like.
When you are 18 years old, and you aren't quite okay with the fact you want to dance with that cute boy, trapped in weirdly quiet, 21 and under room... it's okay, because someone next to you is doing something more weird, and you are okay, because you are in Neighbours with your friends Anna and Lara.
Everyone is safe.
When you are 23 years old, and your bartender knows about your relationship, and you don't know if long distance can work, and that's somehow not just your problem but you have all these random people who love you and want to help you make it okay ... You are in Purr, and you are with Alexandra Helling, and everything is going to be okay, because there are beautiful boys telling you it's going to be okay.
And then you are 25 years old, getting scared you are living someone else's life, scared you aren't performing against expectations, scared you have lost yourself and don't know what you want and where you want to be -- you are 25, and going dancing at R place every night, because you are safe there. Nobody will touch you. Or hurt you. Or make you be on guard. There, you are safe.
And now, I'm 28 years old, I fly through Paris and where do I go but RAIDD, take Arrizu dancing off her feet, because there, where there are gay boys, I don't have have to be on guard. Nobody will say anything. I can dance. I can be. I can relax.
That my friends, is what a gay club is.
You aren't supposed to die in a gay club. It's the safest of places. The one you can go to in any town, wearing anything, and everything will be fine.
...
The night before Orlando, Facebook popped up a memory of one of the best nights of my life -- it was me, Amit, Tara, Alex, Nicholas, Sam, and Stacey...
We were at Fabric, in London, outside in the smoking area, probably 3a, maybe 4. The smoking area had no exit. You were fenced in.
....
I can imagine so clearly the scene in #pulse that night -- the moment you realize something is wrong, the sudden shock of fear, the cold flush, the indecision ... the realization that you don't know your exits ... and then seeing people you were flirting with fall, bleeding injured dead ...
In a room with 6-700 people, watching one in 10 die? One in 5, fall, injured ?
...
Mourn the dead, but mourn also the passing of the innocence of the living. Mourn the indifference to life that brought us here. Mourn the passing of the safe space. Mourn the injustice of lives cut short, mourn the injustice of lives that will now carry fear.
And mourn those events that created such hate within a young man to drive him to buy a semiautomatic weapon and spray bullets into people's happy, dancing bodies.
...
To remember #Orlando, to praise the humanity of the fallen or maybe just because you love me, I ask this. Smile. Smile at someone you wouldn't normally. Ask a stranger if they are okay. Help someone. Be kind.
Let us remind our downtrodden they are not forgotten. Let us show compassion. If for no other reason, pure self interest -- you don't want to wake up and it was your friends who lived through a night of horror. Nor do I. Let us do all we can to never -- EVER -- let someone again get to that level of hate.
I realized sometimes a story is done, and it can’t be written more. I wrote another 7000 words to the story below before cutting it back and deciding I loved it where it started.
So, after many, many years, I’m publishing some of my work. This is the story of a young man named Matt, a week or so in his life, and just a small part of the journey of becoming a man.
The story is very roughly set in 2008, there was a time when designer drugs – freshly “designed” drugs, with custom effects and no hangovers – were all the rage. Available online, often without the negatives, they felt less scary and, quickly, seemed acceptable by virtue of their pervasiveness.
This background is unimportant for the story.
If you are a precocious, underage family member, this story is absolutely not appropriate to be read until age 15+, really 18+. I make a three year allowance only to keep myself from being hypocritical.
* * *
He’s hot. I want that kind of body. Ughh listen to those moans. Is she about to come? Oh my god I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m so close …. Matt reached over to the tissue box to clean himself up. That guy had been hot, hadn’t he? Usually they manage to cut the guys out completely of pornos, it’s like it’s a phantom dick that keeps popping in and out of the frame with no body attached. Maybe they had kept this one in because that guy was in such good shape.
Matt clicked out of the window, bringing up his messages on his phone. Kelly: Are you awake? Want to grab some breakfast? What the hell, Matt thought. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Kelly and we always end up talking the whole time. There’s never a dull moment with Kelly.
Yeah I’m awake. See you at 10a? Matt got up, threw his phone at the bed and pulled off his underwear. Was there some more definition? It looked like there was a hint of a six pack starting to come in.
Throwing his clothes on the floor, he grabbed a towel and walked out of the room to the shower.
* * *
“I wish I had never had sex,” she said, gesturing forcefully, “Because now, you know, I always want it.” Kelly paused for a second, but, hearing no response, continued. “It’s like…there’s this overarching need all the time. Like, if I had waited for marriage, I would’ve been fine. I wouldn’t have it. I would have normal needs; you know?”
Matt stared at her, trying to figure out if this was a roundabout proposition.
“Now, I just want something all the time. I don’t even really want a boyfriend; I just want some fulfillment.” Kelly crinkled her brow, either confused by the thought or the desire.
Was it a proposition? It seemed it could be.
“Anyway, so I think I just need a hook-up. Is that the right term? Some sort of person who I can just have there to sleep with and then sometimes have sleep over, but without any obligations. Because I don’t really need obligations, I just miss having sex.” Visibly struck, she sat upright and threw her hand forward, as she continued, “It’s like people who don’t have computers and don’t know what they are. But once you do, you want it. All the time. Until you have it. But then you want it again. Are you following me?”
Matt, surprised, noticed that none of the fellow diners in the café seemed to be paying them any attention. Given the volume that Kelly was continuing at, at least the nearest tables could hear the conversation.
“Anyway, I feel this is God’s punishment me for having been a wanton slut and having sex before marriage and now he has decided I’m not worth saving by infecting me with desires.”
Somewhere down the street, the chapel could be heard striking the hour. Inside the café, nobody reacted. The nearest table was dominated by a small child who had acquired some friends from surrounding tables and was proceeding to teach them how to slide in and out of the chair, while knocking it over and springing free in the process. For undiscernible reasons, this achievement was being loudly lauded by the child’s dining companions, who were of an ambiguous age and dress. While the age difference appeared to be enough for them to have fathered the child, they attitude and style of dress seemed rather too child-free to warrant their current reaction.
The other tables near Matt and Kelly were largely silent, possibly due to the frequent falling of the chair in one direction, and Kelly’s exceedingly loud voice and unusual topic for in the other.
“Do you feel like I’m a wanton slut?”
Matt brought his eyes back from examining the two gentlemen behind Kelly who were devouring the remnants of a éclair. Their spoons clattered on the plate as they carefully subdivided it to avoid taking the last bite. “No, Kelly, I don’t think you are wanton slut.”
“Oh thank God. But listen, Matt, I just don’t know what to do,” Kelly, looking flushed, began, for the second-time that morning, to rehash her confusion and guilt about having sexual desires. Nodding appropriately, Matt noted how her flush had spread down her neck and was serving as a cascading touch of color into the furrow her exceedingly low-cut, bra-less top somehow created between her breasts.
Behind her, in a strange twist, the younger gentleman scooped up the last of the éclair and held it to his breakfast partner’s mouth. With a degree of sensuality and drama absent from their previous interactions, the older man leaned forward and licked the sweet dessert off the spoon. As he did so, both men turned and stared directly at Matt, spoon and tongue still engaged.
Matt, terribly embarrassed and surprised, reached for his water while simultaneously pretending to cough. Unfortunately, the confusion of sending one hand to his mouth while the other went to the table resulted in a tangled mess of hands flailing and, subsequently, water pouring across the table. “Oh shit!”
“Huh? Oh goodness!” Kelly pushed herself backwards just as the expanding pool reached the table’s edge and began to pour in a streaming river between her legs to the floor, catching the edge of her skirt, “Ah! How did that happen?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Putting some napkins down, Matt tried to stem the stream of water pouring on the ground while Kelly popped to the restroom to dry off.
In her absence, Matt checked his phone, and discovered a text from Alex. Given it was Sunday, it was unlike Alex to be up before 11 a.m., much less functional enough to be sending text messages.
Apparently there was a party in a couple hours. Monday was a holiday, after all, and it was definitely just like Alex to take advantage of that. Time to wrap up the conversation, Matt thought, as he saw Kelly walking back from the bathroom, “Listen, Kelly, I think you should forgive yourself. You’re just a little ahead. Now you can explore. See what’s out there. Maybe you can resolve these issues in some manner by yourself, or maybe you can buy something.”
Well-phrased, Matt thought. He’d encouraged her to masturbate without actually saying it, and managed to escape yet more of her obnoxious retelling of her story. Perhaps it was all a proposition, and now she’d hear him encouraging her to have sex and invite him back to her room.
Kelly made a confused face.
Matt sighed and decided it was time to end this strange conversation. Disengaging politely, he left Kelly and started walking home, texting Alex as he did for the details.
* * *
Bending over his desk, Matt tried to align the dollar bill with his nostril. Unfortunately, he seemed to miss his nose, or not understand the concept, because the line of powder refused to move despite his forceful inhalations.
“Dude, just relax. Hold one nostril shut and pull with the other one.” Alex, helpful as always, sent advice from his location on the bed.
How hard could it be? Matt bent his head over further and pulled hard, making sure the other nostril was thoroughly shut. Suddenly the line was gone, presumably sucked through the bill.
“There man, you did it,” came Alex’s voice from the bed. “Now come sit over here and look for the pretty lights on the wall.”
Sitting next to Alex, Matt tried to see if he saw any pretty lights. He seemed to see the wall, which looked pretty much the same as it had before he snorted the mysterious brown powder Alex had produced from within his jacket. Lying back, he thought to investigate if the lights had perhaps decided to show themselves on the ceiling.
Some amount of time later, Matt realized he was still staring at the same spot of ceiling and that there were, indeed, pretty lights. But also felt a strange sensation of warmth; there was an unusual degree of cool air around his midsection. Looking down, Matt saw Alex’s head very firmly engaged in his crotch and realized the warm arousal he was feeling was, in fact, because his penis seemed firmly occupied inside his friend’s mouth.
“Oh,” Matt muttered, before returning to gaze up at the pretty lights on the ceiling.
* * *
“…like such a beautiful contrast, you know? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, right? And he’s already half naked, we just need to take off his shirt. If he’s chilling without his pants it’s not a big deal at all, you know? It’s like totally fine. And besides, he looks totally hot. We could do a switch. Put his pants on him, then take his shirt off! No big deal at all.”
Slowly coming awake, Matt realized that he seemed to be hearing Kelly’s voice. He opened his eyes to realize that, yes, indeed, she was standing over him and seemed to be debating with an unknown figure whose legs were just within reach.
“Oh, good! Matt, you’re awake. We just needed to help you get your pants back on. Don’t want anything bad happening, right?” Kelly smiled down at him.
Matt, rather perplexed, realized that the ceiling above him no longer had pretty lights but that there was still a nice sensation of warmth and that, even though he seemed to be wearing no pants and in a room with other people, he felt normal. Comfortable.
Raising his arms, he allowed Kelly to take off his shirt and the tall, brown-haired girl to assist him as he pulled up his pants and then lay back down on the bed.
“Great, so let’s do it,” Kelly said presumably to the unknown girl. “Matt, honey, you hold still.”
Matt stared up at the ceiling noting, with a degree of surprise, that the mysterious other girl seemed to be pouring a line of brown power across his stomach.
* * *
The splinters were embedded deep in his hand. The soil had seemed nice, and, to Matt, sweaty from his run and the sun, sinking his hands into some deep, cool, rich soil had seemed like a rather fantastic idea. Unfortunately, there was bark. Hence the hundreds of stabbing sensations as he curled his fingers slightly, trying to make out where the wood was in his hands.
“Matt!” came the shout from somewhere behind him. It sounded like Alex. “What are you up to, man?” Definitely was Alex.
Matt ignored the voice, trying to focus on his splinters, which now seemed to be targeting nerve centers in the hopes of immobilizing his entire hand. A hand slipped around him and a tall body pressed up against him. “Uh, hey Alex,” Matt said, shifting so that his ass was not directly against Alex’s crotch.
“Hey, how are you? I was trying to call you yesterday. I wanted to make sure you were feeling alright.” Matt was confused. Alex, as he was speaking, had maneuvered himself so that he was again pressing into Matt’s back, and had continued the hug longer than necessary, and, in fact, had slipped another hand around Matt’s waist.
This did not fit with Matt’s normal style of interaction with Alex, nor how most hugs or greetings went. Matt, as he explained the large amount of work he had been occupied with, tried to again shift to position himself in a less awkward manner to avoid some of the full-body contact.
Unfortunately, because of tight hold that Alex had on his upper body, this meant that all Matt succeeded in doing was in rubbing himself against Alex. Perhaps taking that as a signal, Alex, as he answered, lowered his lips against Matt’s neck.
“…to work on your homework in my house. Come!” Alex finished, grabbing Matt’s shoulder.
What the hell, Matt thought to himself. He probably wants to blow me again, and besides, Alex can help me with my math homework. He seems mathematically inclined. He picked up his bag, tried to dust off the remaining splinters and let himself be pulled along.
* * *
It was completely dark and the wall was finally white again, devoid of the swirling colors that had dotted it. Matt tried to arch his back, noting with some resignation the hand firmly affixed around his chest, fingers seemingly frozen with his nipple between them.
As he did so, he realized that he and Alex were both naked, Alex was pushed against him and he felt distinctly sore.
On the counter in front of him, he saw Alex’s bag, a rolled up bill still next to it. Carefully freeing one of his hands, he dumped some out and then maneuvered his face towards it. He pulled hard, immediately feeling the pain in his nose as the powder shot up through the bill.
* * *
“So I heard you’ve started sleeping with, Alex! That’s, like, so awesome! I didn’t know that you liked men and I really didn’t imagine you would like it when people fucked you in the ass! I mean it must hurt so much, right? And is there poop? And blood? I just can’t imagine it at all. But I mean, it’s awesome that you enjoy it. I ran into Alex yesterday right after you left his room and he was just gushing about how wonderful it was and what a connection you guys have,” Kelly, in her usual style, was dominating coffee.
Matt was feeling dazed. He’d had trouble keeping thoughts flowing in a direct line since his sojourn to Alex’s room, which had turned out to last almost 48 hours as they blasted their way through the powder.
Unlike Alex, Matt found that he felt very relaxed and open, with a sense of general wellbeing and draining away of all negative emotions. Alex seemed to experience only a dramatic increase in carnal desires.
“…so what do you feel? Matt? I mean you can tell me. You know I won’t judge you. It’s just so funny because I totally thought you and I could hook up after last week! I mean I never pegged you as the gay one!”
Matt, resignedly, opened his mouth to speak, only to notice, with some degree of shock, the two men from last week, now on a table to his right. Both were staring at him, with a wide-eyed look, mouths slightly open. Perhaps they were anxiously looking at the counter behind him, waiting for their food, Matt thought.
One of them licked his lips.
“I don’t really know how I feel,” Matt said, trying to avoid looking. “I mean, I didn’t really mean to be there.”
Kelly looked confused. She had furrowed her brow and raised her eyebrows, but was nodding enthusiastically.
Matt found the combination to be rather disconcerting.
Trying to avoid looking at her, he shifted his attention to the wall behind. As he did so the younger man walked up to the wall, presumably waiting for the bathroom. “I mean, I was like really on that drug. And I don’t think I really like him. Or men at all. I mean…I just—I think you dropped something down your shirt.”
Kelly looked shocked. Her mouth was open in a slight O, and she had, in her shock, thrown her shoulders back, causing her breasts to thrust forward. A small amount of frosting had been jostled from its position on her lips, and was now resting directly on her chest. Because of the shape of her shirt, Matt could clearly see her lack of a bra, and was within a centimeter or so of seeing the top of her nipples.
Matt shifted uncomfortably, feeling a bit aroused by the sight and suddenly cognizant of the fact that Kelly’s leg had been pressed against his throughout their meal.
Meanwhile, behind Kelly, the man had started rubbing his stomach and was slowly sneaking his hand down lower and lower, teasing the top of his underwear. At some point in time he had also started sucking on the fingers of his other hand and was giving Matt, or his dining partner, directly in front of Matt, a slightly wide-eyed stare, eyebrow arched.
“So you mean…you like, didn’t want to sleep with Alex? You mean you didn’t give consent? Oh my god we have to tell someone. That basically means he raped you! You have to go to therapy. And to the police! I hope you haven’t showered; they’re going to need samples of his semen. Did you swallow any? I heard that if you do it gets marked in your blood forever, so perhaps they can track it that way. I can’t believe I talked to him after he raped you for hours! I thought you guys were friends. Who does that?” Kelly, now exceedingly distraught, was gesturing forcefully, causing her already strained shirt to dally with the idea of slipping under her breasts. Wildly considering about how best to wreck havoc on Alex and inform the most number of people of the incident, she was paying no attention.
Instead Kelly was contorting her face into all sorts of unusual expressions, perhaps trying to indicate her seeming outrage, excitement, righteous anger and… perhaps arousal, as Matt noted her flush and growing alertness of her nipples.
As Kelly hit the crux of her argument, forcefully slamming her hand through the area as she opined about how Alex should be castrated, the chapel bells could be heard striking the hour.
Matt noted with them with a degree of unease that one sounded a bit different, perhaps out of tune. Unlike last week, the bells heralded a mass exodus from the café, except for the men on the table to the right, who had just been served an éclair.
“Matt, listen, I have to go to church. But I’ll come find you after. We’ll go to the police together.” Considering Kelly’s concern about being a wanton slut, it perhaps wasn’t surprising she had turned to God, but it was unexpected, given she had recently been convinced that God had abandoned her. Smiling, he agreed to see her later and watched her hurry down the road in the direction of the church.
In an effort to keep Tufts' Account Database current, the
University Systems Group is tasked with regularly deleting the
accounts of people who we believe to be no longer affiliated with
the university. The records we currently have indicate that your
official eligibility for this account has ended. Consequently, in
accordance with University policy, the following services will be
disabled on Tuesday, September 20, 2011:
- your trumpeter account, [email protected]
- your first.last email alias, [email protected]
Although we do our best to guarantee the integrity of the data from
which we work, there may be circumstances when someone receives
this message in error. If you believe you have received this
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your services remain uninterrupted, contact your Account
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This doesn't help us claim we don't deserve the "most dangerous" ranking...
*Today at approximately 2:35 PM the Tufts Police on the Medford/Somerville campus received a report that a male with a handgun was seen getting into a vehicle parked on Professors Row near Curtis Street. The male was then observed driving down Professors Row, taking a left onto Packard Ave.
The following description was given:
- African American male approximately 40 years old
- 6 feet tall, stocky build, bald and clean shaven
- Wearing a green shirt, jeans and a dark grey or black jacket
- Silver revolver shown
- Black Nissan 4 door vehicle, possibly an Altima or Maxima
- Possible Massachusetts license plate
An area search by the Tufts Police proved negative. Medford Police and Somerville Police were notified. If you have any information on the above incident, please contact the Tufts Police as soon as possible at 617-627-3030 (from an off-campus or cell phone) or X73030 (from a campus phone).
- Report any suspicious person(s) or circumstances to the Tufts Police immediately at 617-627-6911 (from an off-campus or cell phone) or X66911 (from a campus phone).
- Program the Tufts Police into your cell phone so you will be prepared in an emergency. SA10-12CPM *
