Boys Destroyed: Auditions
My world of boys revolved around spit, the palmed bet-glue, brawl beginner— insult’s first cousin. The farthest loogie ruled the club. So when he spit on my back once and I heard the thrill of his larynx clearing and releasing, like an engine left in disuse finally revving, leaving behind a spotted trail of smoke, I understood that sometimes when a man fucks another man, it is something else entirely. It is the last one on the court, the rotten egg; it is the quickest mile, the highest jump, the cheese stands alone; it is smear the queer, the mouth’s final drawl: I am bigger than you, I am faster than you, and I will always beat you.
