Brother, by Max Steele
Artwork by bowerystudio

“I’m obsessed with your butt” he says it like bubblegum.

“I’m so into your butt.”

I can’t get a good grip on him. His whole body is smooth. There’re tiny bits of stubble and I can’t get a good grip anywhere. Most boys you can grab on our hips or our shoulders or necks. Our ankles or wrists, or you can grab us by our ears or by our hair. He shaves his body all over, to get his skin to be smooth, to act like he isn’t hairy. Waste of an evening! He says how old are you I say 22 and a half how old are you? He says 25. He says let’s not talk about it. Like it’s so gross. Like I’m pestering him.

He cannot wait to take off my underpants.

“These are cute” The underpants are purple. My favorite color is Purple. It changed last summer, when it used to be blue. Some day it’ll be green then brown, then yellow then I won’t have a favorite color anymore, when I stop thinking about bruises, I guess. Then, my favorite color will be flesh-tone. I’ll be like the girl on the train. Today’s lipstick: Glossy Flesh Tone. Ultra High Gloss Flesh. Super.

So Brother pulls off my underwear and tells me “I love your ass. I’m obsessed with your butt. I am so into your butt.” I’m not obsessed with anything on myself. I feel exactly the same all over, everywhere on my body feels good and new.

Why do you think you’re you so obsessed with my butt? Because you know about my body? Because of my tight jeans and white belt possibilities of straddling you in the cab ride home? Talk about it like a television show.
Tell me what you really think, comrade.

It’s not hard - let’s make it together.

It’s like I’m blind: EXPLAIN IT TO ME. What does it make you think of? I’ve never been there, describe what it’s like. How would you change this landscape? What would you build, and where? I’m an immigrant, explain how to get a job in your city, sir. Magic and taxicabs. Brother alternately talks to me about records and movies and suck my cock.

I tell him: “Makes sense. Makes sense that you give good head. You’re popular. You have a lot of friends, you get around. It figures that you give really good head.” And I mean it when I say it.

I act like Brother’s a tour guide and I’m the passenger. Or, I act like he’s the tour guide and I’m the passenger and I’m also the bus. Who rides who? And I’m also the city, with old buildings to talk about. But mostly I’m curious what he finds so interesting about my butt. What can you tell me happened here, once, before you got there? Where can I find my way around? What do I have to do to make it here, my friend?

Two years ago I moved to New York City. I stayed up all night. Every night that summer, plugging myself in, in the middle of the night while you danced and drank expensive vodka and talked about the suburbs. I watched my veins open and we all turned 21.

At 4AM, Brother and I stop wrestling. I can start to feel my teeth again the nightclub drinks are wearing off. Brother says “I don’t know if I can do this. You’re so confusing.” Sibling rivalry. He says, “I don’t know. I get bottom vibes, but I also get top vibes too. From you.” He says. Hands me a pillow. “But, your ass.”

Hey Brother, show me how to win.

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Last 5 posts by Max Steele

• PUPPETEER: GOLD CODES, FROM "SCORCHER" - December 4th, 2008
• "OUR JOB IS TO QUIT", FROM SCORCHER - October 10th, 2008