Category: Growing Up

I’m Yours

~ Harlan Didrickson

When do we hand ourselves over to another?

His thigh
is strong
beneath
his jeans.
Warm, it
moves,
an eel
in a cave
of denim.
Hands reach
for eels, holding
them, squeezing
them, capturing.

Hands atopayours
eels, you quietly
whispered
I’m yours
I’m yours
he whispered.

When do two
lovers meld
into one lover?
When do we
moan, “I’m yours”?
When do we
adopt ours
abandoning
I me mine his
and his?

I’m yours
he whispered
to me, me
with my eyes
holding
his eyes, our
hands holding
our hands.

I’m yours
he whispered
meaning
we’re ours.

 

Loving Men-Rodrigo (Concave/vex)

~ Harlan Didrickson

A man’s body is simply concave/vex.

gaykiss1When I watch Rodrigo slip out of his undershirt nightly, I see a pair of wide shoulders become bare. These shoulders are capped by a beanie of muscle. Muscle he uses daily to lift, to haul, or, nightly to push and pull.

They are convex.

When I watch Rodrigo watching me, I see his eyes. Magnificently brown and almond-shaped.

They are convex.

At night, under the sheet from our bed I feel his buttocks. Flexing and relaxing they are simply muscle.

They are concave.

In the twilight and glistening with goose-flesh, I see Rodrigo’s face. His lips: a pair of smiles. His hollowed and haloed cheeks.

They are concave.

Men’s bodies are elegant and simple geometrical shapes.

Loving Men-Aliases

~ Harlan Didrickson

Who among us have never longed to be someone else.

I’m often asked, “Are all the men you write about real or fantasy?”

They are all real. Each and everyone.

It’s their names which are fantasy.

rodrigoman2They’re all aliases. Each and every one including Otter, Pup, D., Luciano, Jean-Baptiste, Sao Paulo, Isaiah, Corey, Calhoun, Mark, Michael IV, Micheal VII, Jeffrey, and yes, Rodrigo.

I write about how they’ve moved me, how they’ve touched me; I’ve writtenrodrigo2 about what they’ve said and how they shared it with me; I’ve described flanks, and torso’s, and buttocks, and faces, and waffling and pancaking (Rodrigo and I waffle).

I’ve learned that keeping my life secret was difficult for me, since I couplewrite a blog on the internet. But keeping the identity of lovers sacrosanct was something I hadn’t bothered to worry about. Who wouldn’t want to read about themselves on the internet?

All of them didn’t.

They understood and continue to understand that as a writer I will write about what inspires me, and what inspires me are them, the lovers in my life. But what they didn’t wish to share was themselves.

You see, how I see them and how the world would see them are different.

I write about them in ways that I see them; through my eyes; not through theirs. I point out things and feelings and places that they might never see.

An alias is more than a name.

An alias can be about an entire experience.

50,000

~ Harlan Didrickson

Dearest Readers,

My blog struck a milestone yesterday evening.

With Rodrigo at my side I checked the number of hits my blog has received since I started writing it back in 2008.

And there it was: 50,000+.

I turned to Rodrigo and smiled broadly.

“It’s at 50,000 isn’t it?” he asked.

“Yes, Rodrigo, it is, thanks to you?”

“Me,” he asked.

“You’ve inspired me like the others. Without inspiration I couldn’t write.

“And without readers I’d never be read. And that’s a writers lifeblood: readers reading.”

Thanks to each and everyone that collaborated to make this milestone a reality.

On to the next milestone, 75,000!

Loving Men-Escalation

~ Harlan Didrickson

When you hit black ice, even in relationships, don’t slam on the breaks, but be patient, and steer yourself into the skid thus facing it.

Escalation: To increase in attitude, magnitude, etc.

A lot of life escalates: Arguments, car wrecks, Love, love-making, sex, etc. Not all escalation is bad however.

couplesLast night Rodrigo and I escalated. We went further than we’d ever gone before. We hit that black ice and steered towards each other, feeling a definite sense of panic, but also a sense of relief to simply let go, and careen, silently, except for moans, towards an inevitable end. Not a crash, but more of an intersection. Last night we escalated.

When you’re driving down the familiar back country road of your bedroom, the only light coming through the tree-like slats of your window, a midnight moon silvered byblackice trees, you know the road like the back of your hand, and then it happens, the skid, the loss of control, the giving up to happenstance, the thoughts of demolition, of crashing, flailing into an abutment, or rail, or, like Rodrigo and I, into each other.

But the crash into Rodrigo isn’t a single crash. No, it’s a repetitive coupleskissing1crash. Like cymbals in a marching band or drums in a drum line. It’s a repetitive crash like an automatic weapon, which, when it ends, makes you sweat, exhausted, and, frankly, happy to be alive.

An escalation doesn’t always have to be negative. An escalating skid on black ice covering familiar roads will end in a collision. Hopefully, just like Rodrigo and I.