the story below is from the section in my memoir entitled ‘Stroking Naked Men’. The book is structured into 6 sections while remaining nonlinear throughout. It is a book of postcards. It is me configured into a paperback book.If you’d like to read it, you will find it in all the usual places - Amazon, any online bookseller, and any real world bookshop.
He came in from the cold.
A tall man wrapped inside good clothes, lightly dusted with snowflakes.
Sorry, he said, at the same moment I said, Welcome.
He couldn’t keep eye contact for long. His gaze skittered and ripples of anxiety rolled off him, falling into the kindest of rooms.
I take his hand in mine and breathe for both of us – slow breathing - feeling his nervous system begin to settle.
Barely perceptible cracks appear on the surface of his skin. I am allowed to slip into him – I tell him he is safe. I land in his micro capacity for trusting that.
Almost nothing happens.
After that day he comes to my door approximately every six weeks. He lets me unwrap him, each time allowing the nothing happening to deepen.
One time I take his face so gently between my hands, and my mouth finds his mouth. The almost-nothing-that-happens in this kissing brings tears. They roll down his face and into our mouths.
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