The Old Pornographer by Traumarei
Disclaimer: Not really fiction at all...
I heard the old pornographer last night, Keys tapping in the dim light, Blanket over his lap, Visions of boys three decades younger Dancing in his mind.
On his screen, they laugh, love, Lust, cry out in sudden pleasure; Discover the joy their bodies can bring, The pleasure they can bring to themselves, The pleasure and pain they can bring to each other.
They're not gay. Or so they claim, some of them, Whatever their bodies may say. He can make no such claim. Neither, reading, can I.
And is the act of masturbation The one that takes place when his hand, As it always does, Clutches under the blanket in his lap As he lets out a stifled groan, Or is it the one when he hits the Send key, His story done?
And when I read, and stroke, and gasp, and cry out, Dribbling the remains of my passion onto myself, Am I having sex with him, or me, or with The ghostly young figures who play on the screen, Living only in my mind and his?
(c) 2008 by Traumarei. All rights reserved.
Other items (all of them actually stories, unlike the drabble above) that I've had posted on Nifty include:
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After School (Gay: Masturbation)
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Borrowed Time (Gay: High School)
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Good Friends (Gay: High School)
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Little Brother (Gay: Incest)
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Middle School Empath (Gay: Science Fiction or Fantasy)
Apparently I'm now listed as a prolific Nifty author. Whoda thunk? So you can keep track of my stories there too.