Want

I want to gaze longingly into his eyes…

His eyes are a murky brown, not green like he wrote in his dating profile. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot. Is he stoned?

Big chunks of sleep crust fill the corner of each eye. And dandruff dusts his eye lashes. His eyebrows look like the Brillo pad your grandmother has been using since she came to this country.

…caress his cheek…

His five o’clock shadow burns my palm. The landscape of his face is filled with craters,  bumps and sticky things.

…kiss him on his tender mouth.

His breath is putrid. When was the last time he brushed his teeth? Or saw a dentist? Dead animals smell more pleasant. I repress the urge to vomit.

His dry lips scrape against mine. They’re so chapped, it’s like little needles piercing my skin.

His rotten teeth smack against mine while his large, coarse tongue probes my mouth like a snake burrowing into the ground.

I want to feel his hands all over my body…

His palms are dry and riddled with callouses. He drags them down my back, exfoliating my skin with a series of harsh jerks.

…have him make passionate love to me…

He over-anxiously sheds his wrinkled, stained clothes before I even begin to undress. His misshapen body with a tiny, erect manhood presses against me. He struggles trying to remove my clothes, tearing my favorite shirt in the process. With undergarments still hanging off my limbs, he pushes me onto the bed. He practically jumps on top of me. It’s as if his entire body consists of knees and elbows.

His moves are rough, filled with awkward fumbling, rough rubbing and toothy sucking. Devoid of tenderness, style or rhythm.

His only desire is to pleasure himself. Even if he causes me pain.

He climaxes in seconds. Then it’s over. No concern if I finished. Or if I even feel good.

I don’t.

…and spend the night with me, snuggling.

His residue is barely wiped off me before he’s dressed, car keys in hand. With a few grumbled words, he exits my house.

I want him to be The One.

His number never appears on my phone again.

Tom Misuraca studied Writing, Publishing and Literature at Emerson College in his home town of Boston before moving to Los Angeles. He's the author of over 130 published short stories, two novels and over 150 short and thirteen full-length produced plays. He's won numerous playwriting awards. His musical, Geeks!, was produced Off-Broadway in May 2019. His story, Giving Up The Ghosts, was published in Constellations Journal, and nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. His work has recently appeared in Timada's Diary, Art Block and Beyond Queer Words. He’s a proud member of the LGBTQIA+ community.