being/longing (notes from the cock)

I dream of faggot communing (utopia) and it’s so close. I am an unabashed slut. I am like you; there is always an exception, a ‘but…’
In the cock the lights are red and the walls are black. Murals in Tom of Finland style reflect back, thick cocks and mustaches. 
First is the Italian by the bar with his cock out. He has been swapping boys all night and it’s my turn. I stroke him but he’s drunk and soft. He pulls me in and my button’s undone. 
Don’t touch me. Do. It’s a dance I’m accustomed to.
He’s on to someone else and I wonder if it’s because I’m cunted until I’m bent over ass out calling for a drink which makes him think, somehow, I am unclaimed land. He grabs my ass down my pants, a searching finger but fuck that and this time I’m stronger and this time I know my worth. I extract his hand. I take back command.
And I know I belong here but I don’t. Sitting on the toilet in an unlocked bathroom and I wonder.
What is it to be an anomaly? What is it to feel hunger?
Outside the cock I am sucking down a cigarette, hoping the cute gogo boy will come share some quiet with me. We are interrupted; small talk is never free.
This interloper is from San Francisco. He is telling me all about his straight couple friends who come here every Friday night. It’s not for the music, I say. Looking for a third right? 
A scoff; he wants to know if I ever slept with a woman. My ass reads gold.
“Let me blow your mind.” Should I be so bold?
The gogo boy and I are still making eyes. And why won’t this guy just go back inside? 
“I’m trans. And yes.”
He is incredulous. He doesn’t believe me. 
“If you’re trans then I’m married. And straight.”
This sense of belonging shatters so quickly and I just want a place where I am alive; myself. Where my body doesn’t matter or better, matters and is held. Where there’s no tension between trans and faggot and they just meld.
I kiss the gogo boy goodnight and sorry but I have to go. I don’t know if I belong here. I don’t know if I’m wrong or it’s here.
And what it comes down to is a difference; being and longing. Easy presence with my body or a yearning for something perpetually at a distance.

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