Rage, rage against

Him

So, I say. An elf, huh?

He stands in my doorway, six feet of angles and perfect skin and cheekbones. Long blond hair, like something out of a Tolkien novel, minus the fantasy element. Long coat, a plain t-shirt, ripped jeans, and scuffed motorcycle boots. Several small silver studs along the knife-edges of his pointed ears. His cheeks red with the cold. "Can I come in?"

I shrug and step aside. The floor of my living room is littered with empty pizza boxes and greasy takeout containers. Dirty laundry everywhere, heaped like pale ghosts on every available surface. He follows, remarking neither on the state of my apartment nor the fact that I don't turn on the lights. We pass Sam's room. As usual, I can't help glancing at it. The door is still shut tight, with only emptiness and dust beyond. Something in me twists like a knife through leather, and I seize the elf by the collar and push him into my room.

The whole time we fuck, we do it in silence. When we're done, he rolls over. Fishes in the pocket of his discarded coat and lights a cigarette. The orange flare illuminates a million tiny details of his body I'd missed before. A scar on his chin, the same shape and size as a fingernail clipping. A chip on one of his front teeth. A faint sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He's lean and hard all over like a teenage hustler or a porn god. His dick is just slightly bigger than mine; uncut, nicely-shaped. Not a scrap of body hair on him, not even the telltale shadow of razor burn. Nothing but heat and sweat and slick.

I don't say anything. I sit at the edge of my bed and wait for him to finish his smoke and leave. Me, I'm not one for pillow talk or parting endearments. All this get-to-know-you crap, it gets old after a while. As if we'd ever become anything more than a casual fuck, a chance encounter on an app that everyone knows exists just to fulfill our dirtiest desires. A speedy fuck here, a quick wash there, and ten minutes later we're climbing back into the cabs that wait for us on the street corners. On to our next hookups. Moving in circles, but all hurtling towards the same, inevitable end.

Lying there in my bed with my crusted sheets bunched around his athlete's calves, he asks, "This is your first time, isn't it?"

Oh god, anything but this, I think. But he lights another cigarette from the filter of the previous one, and I decide to tell him the truth. To shatter his image of me as the lovable virgin. He deserves nothing less for bringing it up now. This is talk that always sounds better before the sex, not after.

No, I say. I've done this loads of times with complete strangers; in bathhouses, football stadiums, bar restrooms. Parking lots, stairwells, public gardens. Hotel rooms both swanky and sleazy. The backseats of taxicabs, the drivers wrinkling their noses at the smell, pretending not to notice. Once, in my work after hours, across my boss' desk. Not with my boss, though, I say, and he laughs, his eyes widening in surprise at my boldness. In the dim light, they are pale; a soft green, or perhaps a light gray.

But he's right in a sense, I tell him. This is the first time I've invited somebody into my apartment. Guys like me, our personal safety is of the utmost importance. In a hotel room, you can always call security if the hands around your throat get too tight. In someone else's apartment, you can leave if they threaten to shove a needle in your arm. In your own house, you can't run away. Your refuge becomes a prison.

Besides, I think to myself, I'd never have invited him in if Sam had been alive.

Catlike, the elf sits up, shakes the ash off my sheets. He flicks the remains of the cigarette into the overflowing ashtray on my crowded nightstand. He looks back at me, shyly. "You want to do it again?"

Sure, I say, whatever. I am unprepared for when he kisses me, his tongue sliding honey-soft across my lips. His mouth tastes like smoke and something else; something that reminds me of freshly-baked bread on Christmas morning, of the smell of the woods in the rain. I can't remember the last time someone kissed me like that, and I wrench my head away. Just fuck me, I say, and I lie back. I pull him on top of me.