Photograph by Lukasz Dunikowski (Creative Commons)

Lukasz Dunikowski


Chapter Six: Anal Sex

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Fucking you was harder than I’d thought.
First you objected to the word as crude
expression of a will to dominate.
When pressed, you offered “enter” as less rude,
more like a guest you would accommodate;
and then, I had to study books you’d bought.

For some it’s a sign of their first true love. Others view anal sex as an
assault on their masculinity.

I was horny. You tested your tight heart
and found no textbook answer but words coiled
to attract or drop you when your switch was flicked,
like love; assault. Your slender frame recoiled
from the thought of a firing section slammed, and clicked
into you; thought of being a female part.

First and foremost, a hole is not just a hole.

From books you knew the Spartans fought and fucked
with men. So did and died the Theban band.
But we want love without the war. What’s wrong
with being receptive Earth, not Vaterland?
The rub, of course, is these white cheeks belong
to you, a man. I prodded and you bucked.

Your external sphincter, the outermost band of muscle, is under your direct
control. Your internal sphincter abuts your colon wall. It is an involuntary

You worked out the steps, and the steps’ retractions–
white rubber cap, then finger to the lips
below until they, fatigued, swallowed; next,
two fingers. Having ripped the Bible’s scripts,
I groped and throbbed for vital signs in sex:
what part of love is will, what part, contractions?

Think of his penis as a battering ram, one for which your internal sphincter
is no match.

You unlocked the knobless door right on the hour
but clenched your face tight, ready to be struck.
I knocked. No movement. Knocked again but still
nothing. Struck till my arm, exhausted, dropped.
I couldn’t keep it up, not lust, not will
could batter down a staunch unyielding power.

A word for you Tops: your partner must be in control.

The manual had no message for the top
who is not hard enough to penetrate,
as if no lust will soften at the door
nor love will keep a place inviolate.
We know better: in love, unlike in war,
lust stops where local will asks it to stop.