Wellness

Quick riff on a deleted segment from another story. Different characters. Inner monologue. Some guy who realizes, in his forties, my guess, that he's gay. Mostly punny fun, no dirty language. Some cussing and heavy innuendo.



Wellness.


Noxious. Can’t move. Got my house blown down by the Big Bad Wolfie today. Not noxious. Always abased. Poor me. Abs used. Can’t move a muscle. Abused. Word! Feeling bad in gut. Good for the dogs. Paradocks. No really. Really is good in German, punny that. Gut ist. Diddya know? D’ya know herr-ie mann mann-ie gut? Dinnit know. Till today. Ist plenty, no, alles, gut mann. No I mean yes. Ending good. Alles wrong. Wrecked. Need a drink. 

Fuzzy Navel. Mm-hm. Pink drinks. Appropriate to celebrate. Cocktails. Mm. Lots of fuzzy wuzzy tails wagging in my face. Seeing triple now, sheesh. With pink leather collars. Diamonds too. Just for me. Sparky. Woof-woof. Good doggy. All sparkling. Pretty puppy. Fake of course. Candles. Hot dripping wax. Mm. Electric, so it doesn’t burn. But it does.White and gooey, like current, no. Come. On. Now! Onto my shiny globes. Burns at first. Get used to it. I’m mooning so he must be the sun. Burning bright. Walker in my skies. That’s not his name. Forget. Ask later. Maybe. At the tattoo parlor. Downstairs. Convenient. My cell. Upstairs. Phone. Numbered. Tattoo the number on his. Where he’s got room. Plenny. Whenever he can read it. Gonna call me and I’ll run coming. Your best ol’friend in me. Funny that, after all these years. Who woulda thunk it.


QB’s now WR no TB with TE. That’s me. FB’s always been a bit dodgy. Him. Shoulda known. Played for the Rams. No, the other team. Chargers. Shoulda gone pro wrestler instead, ask me, that dude. Tom Miller? No, my guy. Had me on the ground just like that. Didn’t even see him coming. Buffalo Bull. Too bad. Like to have seen him gush all over my. Next time. I’m the other guy. Sitting Bill. No, that’s a flick. For the limp wrists. Blue movie. Embarrassing. Pay cable. Only thing we could find. She was bored, I'm the one who got into it, how twisted is that, when she and I. She wasn't bored after we watched. High school. Her folks’ bedroom. Depressing shag. Purple. Early eighties, what can I say. Pimples and braces. Bad haircuts. 

Macho Man playing at the prom. Everybody’s laughing because he and I, ditched our babes, were dancing together. Just for laughs. Or kinks? Shoulda known, even then. Kicks you in the gut though, when you figure it out, decades too late, dunnit. Missed the party. And the pain. All that dying. Not fair. Just kids loving each other. God’s dead.


And then he went after the prom and banged up my bird. Just for proof. Not a poof. We didn’t talk for months. Not even in the showers. Especially not there. Where you always ask for it, you don’t just go looking for your dropped soap. Unless you’re, you know. 

Weird. Who was jealous of who, I wonder now. So confused. Poor chickies. Running around somewhere out there. Lost all track. Brothers. Of Time. Too long. Our sons. Growing up. Without their daddies. 


Mine and his. Together all the time while we weren’t. Well, hers too. Duh. Still needs a woman. Didn’t want to be a mother though. Poor girl. We were such dickheads. Trust fund brats. Huh. Almost same age, must be. No, He’s a bit older. I was the year before him. No, after, duh, he came after. So mine is older. Maths, blech. All those weird symbols. Hidden pinkie shake. Felt it once or twice. At work. Didn’t know what it meant. Thought it must be arthritis. Poor bugger. Boss once. No. In fact. I mean yes. Queer too?

The kids, today? Do they still say that? Smarter’n us? Our boys I mean. Better at math I bet. Maybe since tenth grade? When I started going at it. With chicks, natch. Awkward. Most of us. Still. One plus one equals fun, right? Maybe even earlier?

Now that would be kinky. Your two pappies are mille vanille, compared to you two, cuddling in your bunk bed. Don’t let mom catch you. She’ll have a cow. Send you to boarding school. Different ones. Catholic. Hope she didn’t. Worst punishment. Horrible places. Prisons, really. For the real pervs. The wardens especially. You hear stories, don’t you. All people talk about these days. The abuse. Not the real faces of love. So they think they’re … we’re … promise I’ll get used to it … all pervs. We’ll, I’m gonna be proud of it. Of us. So screw you all. Not!


Vanilla Sundae. Palm Sunday, today, what time though, still early, Easter surprise, Kinders, with lots of sugary rainbow sprinkles. All sticky melting into you melting into me, babe. It’s on our jeans, too, bet. In. They say. If you don’t keep it zipped up. Get it zapped out. Working on it, they are. Raving funda-mental loonie tunes if you ask me. Let them … US be why don’t ya. Not hurting anybody. Jealous I bet. Too much good times. Except my own tush. And Mikey finds he likes it. Big bowl full of milky goodness. So there. Big deal.


The time? Too late, someone’s burning already. Can smell it. Honeymoon weekend with hubby making breakfast after? Sweet! Knew I could get used to this. Every Sunday, over easy, stacked with syrup in the middle. Melt the butter over the links and presto. Hell, every day, breakfast and dinner. Rest in between. Hurry up. Please, hon, I mean. Sorry. Hey, my spheres are starving. No, it’s my brain on fire. All deprived. Oxygen. From your electric clock. What a stock. Crock: fire needs air to burn, duh. Did learn that. I meant what a shock!

Shocking really. Is that how honey pink leather rhinestone dudes play pony boy on their ranch? Electric clock shocks? Secret’s out I guess. Lots to learn. Tails out of school. Coming out after what, almost thirty years. No telling with anybody I guess. So late, should get extra credit. All muggled up, before. 

Harry and Dudley. Magic secret. Who knew. They’re brothers but not, so. Would be ok. Deal with it. Not so kinky. Need magic practice. Never been spilled before I mean caught up by a dude’s spell. Pointless to resist, I get it. Uncle already. You think? Not gay? Go with the flow. Let the pressure go. All the way deep inside. Always felt it, like a huge knot in my gut. Bowling ball. So big and heavy. Solid rock. Painful.


Pain gone finally. I’m floating. Free. On air. Peace. Content. Yeah, happy. With myself. Finally. With us. Being like this. Together. Sharing. Loving. Strength in numbers. Watch out, world. Here we come. Better late than never. Better than blue and bowling balls. Ouch.

Oww. Canneye I have sum electric clock shocks for my training balloons globes wheels? Please dude? My green crystal balls. Don’t wanna shatter the fun palace, do we. Crimp my sty. Elle. Pretty baubles, sparkling but kaput. Dark, then, the magic. Candle’s out. For now. Thank the lord. Gone to wash up maybe. Could take off the blindfold. Nah. Still hoping for an encore. Still cuffed to the bed. Can’t reach it. Have to lie here in the dark all yummy and spread-eagled and just wait till he’s good and ready. Miss him so much already. Me hungry! Spinning my wheels here, your voodoo to me do, my wheels within …

Yoo-hoo! I’m in here, honey, gotta gogo, stuff the dodo, to do-do! shop for curtains and throw pillows. Toss the keys, sweetiepie? Time’s a wastin’. Am all locked up in my brain c-e-ell, under this way too long clock spe-e-ell. 


Always a problem for me. Spelling boys. No, their bees. The bees knees to know. Time too. Never knew. Buzzing around my brain, singing. Stinging balls. Like in those … wellness arias. Bald monks, big mallets. Mistake from the start. Letting them sting. Ignored. Shoulda left it alone maybe but no, just couldn’t get enough of them. Cradling them in my grabby little hands. Making them sing. See where that got me. Huge cussed metal  bowls. More than this big boy could handle. Amazing set. Three of them. Pure magic. From Tibet. What a rush. All over my skin, when he sets them off ringing. Cosmic vibrations, then deep dank peace. Dank Dich. That too. Mine. Must be said. Without even touching it. Golden bowls, that dude. Wow. Balls ringing. Like church bells. Kneel at the altar. Real gold rings for us? Worth it. Rock hard. Just like that all the pentupness draining from my poor aching … Didn’t know there was more to come, did I. First time. For everything.


I’m totally shitwrecked, aren’t I. Hull cleft on his cork. Rocky Shores. Cliff. That’s it. Hey, Cliff! What’s taking you, buddy. Futile! Resistance is. Shattered whole. Hull. Only hull. Broken. One little tear. Well, a few. Hot ones. But. My soul hole. Ass fubar. No biggie.

site content © 2013-15 all intellectual property rights of original material belong exclusively to me, Goesta Struve-Dencher, all rights reserved.