In the Shadow of the American Dream by David Wojnarowicz

Author:David Wojnarowicz
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781480489608
Publisher: Open Road Media

February 28, 1980

He had a tough face, square-jawed and barely shaven, tight-cropped hair, wiry and black, intensely handsome like some face seen in old boxer photos of Rocky Marciano, a cross between him and Mayakovsky, a nose that might’ve once been broken in some dark avenue barroom in the waterfront district of a distant city, a slight hump to it, that curved down towards a rough mouth, beautiful lips. Sitting in a parked car by the river’s edge he leaned over and placed the palm of his hand by the water, and then placed the palm of his hand along the curve of my neck and stroked it slowly, his hands and arms brown like the skin of his face, a slight tan slowly receding to a blush. The heat was pumping in the car, the waves turned over and over by the coasting wind that shot across the river beneath the darkening clouds. Some transvestites circled down from the highway going from car to car leaning in the drivers’ windows to check for business. A couple of trucks from out of state, probably Kansas or Montana or Wyoming, idled near the abandoned warehouse, the interiors cleared of the beef carcasses and the drivers sitting up high in the cabs, the last cowboys with their wives or girlfriends sitting next to them, beehive bouffants and flannel shirts and Saran-wrapped sandwiches and a bottle for comfort. So this guy eases his hand down towards my legs and slides it back up beneath my shirt, says, Take it off, and I reach down and lift the sweaters and sweatshirts up together and pull them over my head and drop them to the floor where my pants are straddling my ankles. He pulls off his olive green army sweater revealing a T-shirt of ice blue, reaches down and lifts that off afterwards, revealing a gleaming torso, thick chest with a smooth covering of black hair, two brick red nipples buried inside the down. He turns and bends over me, licking me softly with his tongue, tonguing smooth circles around my nipples down my sides, his hand massaging slow between my legs, his other hand wetted briefly against his mouth and working his cock up till it’s dark and red and hard. When he lifted away from my chest I saw his eyes, the pupils, the irises the color of lapis lazuli dark chips of circular stone, something like the sky at dusk after a clear hot summer day, when the ships are folding down into the distance and dreams are uttered from the lips of strangers and white jet streaks are etched against the oncoming darkness, connecting whole cities with a single line. I could feel myself falling into them, populating them with dense mythologies and histories, quiet green neighborhoods of tree-lined streets and dusty fields left abandoned and long dirt roads that led into time unknown and secrets loosened by the faint roars of sixteen-wheel rigs barreling over the horizon. Whole dark winds rattling over plains behind those eyes.

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