BD

 

[Your] Big Dick, 

boy’s delight.

Beautiful day.

Want

it gets BIGGR

 

“Come out wearing something,” he said, “so I can watch
you take it off.”

Don DeLillo, Falling Man

Protected: He’s got the whole world…

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[heart] flannel jammies.

“It’s all about dick.”

 

They were inseparable friends. One was homely, but had a big dick; the other was handsome, but had a small one—so they were both discarded for different reasons. In the end it would have been hard to say who had more sex; the pretty one had more partners, who had him just once, and that was enough—the homely one had a few people he has sex with repeatedly, since once they broke the barrier of his looks, the penis was one they were glad to get back to. “It’s all about dick,” said the pretty one as he sat eating French fries in a booth at Tiffany’s on Sheridan Square, where they would go for dinner after their workout at the Sheridan Square Gym. “Let’s face it. If two homosexuals arrived in New York from wherever they came from, you could predict exactly what sort of experience each one would have by telling them to just pull their pants down.” “What if they were the same?” said the homely one in his flat voice. “Then you’d have to get into other factors,” said the pretty one. “But you don’t have to be Susan Sontag to figure out what men want in this town. What makes them happy.” The truth was they were the happiest with each other— intellectually, at least—in a booth at Tiffany’s; sexually, they were always on the prowl for potential lovers, as was everyone in the city, it seemed.

The pretty one had almost Victorian ideals: monogamy, fidelity, romantic love, though couched in the obscene, cynical terms of a once bookish person who had stumbled into the Eagle’s Nest one autumn while writing a dissertation on William Blake at NYU. He was looking for brains. “I want someone who can quote Rilke, and eat my ass till his face falls off,” he liked to say. The homely one had dreams just as romantic but lived in such despair of their ever coming true, he sounded even more cynical. He liked going home with couples, he said, “so I can suck all that love out of them.” In the meantime, he had sex as often as he could. “What’s your idea of happiness?” the pretty one asked hum, the very afternoon they met (by accident, at the Strand Book Store, looking for the same novel by Machado de Assis). “Getting my kitten punched for a long, long time,” he said. (“Getting my kitten punched” was an expression he used for coitus.) When that wasn’t happening, they went everywhere together.

ANDREW HOLLERAN, from the short story Joshua and Clark, from In September, the Light Changes

Photos: by Greyson

Gospel

“Oh, it’s so big.
—Do you think it’ll hurt?”
“Honey, it only hurts when it’s small.”

ERIC ROBERTSON