Looking up

Jim loved the matted texture of Josh's leg hair. He sat naked on the floor, looking up at Josh standing above him. Fair and red-headed went so well with swarthy Jewish, he marveled, looking up at the naked statue of a human that stood before him – the purplish scrotum, the taupe shaft, the mauve head, silhouetting the brown man’s dark chest, smooth pointed shoulders and Jewfroed head. Hook noses always gorgeified men.

Jim wouldn’t be Josh's age in eleven years. Thirty-three was so old, same age as Jesus when he was crucified, Jim thought during their third round of vanilla sex. Maybe they’d get to the real stuff soon, he hoped. He was getting tired of mutual masturbation and blow jobs. His erection intensified with the thought of going all the way with this hairy Jewish god.

He reached for the shaft and took it in his mouth. Looking up, he remembered Earlwood Road when he’d dropped those books of fairy tales down the stairs. He’d looked up the steps and Mom stood way up the stairs, yelling at him, “Pick up those books! Good Lord, look at the mess you’ve made!”

He continued to suck. But he looked down and his erection had dissipated. Gone, gone, gone, limp as raw sausage at the meat counter. He continued to suck, hoping Josh wouldn’t notice. The real stuff would have to wait.