6 Bullets
After 14 years of anal sex
and cock and ball torture,
I handed Sarah 6 bullets
in a hooters parking lot,
and we kissed for the first time.
14 years of personal triumphs and tragedies.
We watched each other fall in love with jerks,
get used
and broken hearted,
heal up with time
and inner work,
then do it again,
and again.
I’ve spilled my hole heart out to Sarah,
then licked ropes of my cum
off her shiny pantyhose covered thighs
more times than I can count.
My cum tastes a little bitter,
just like the gun oil and steel
of my snubby 38 revolver.
I like that taste.
Bitter,
like the creature’s heart
that Stephen Crane wrote about in The Desert.
I’ve seen Sarah lose her whole fucking mind,
but still show up for a trade shoot
to fuck my ass.
We’re different kinds of crazy.
Our shattered minds fit together
like my face in her ass,
like hollow points perfectly fill 6 chambers.
Our kink films shine on tube sites and clip4sale
just bright enough to conceal our broken souls
like a 38 special hiding behind my Levi’s and t shirt.
That’s why Sarah got my bullets
instead of my cum that Sunday.
Someone I love very much saved my life,
outsmarted my PTSD like only they could
and convinced me to get rid of those rounds.
They’re one of the only souls that I know I can trust with my life.
I gotta live with the regret
of failing to show them
how special that is.
I don’t have many loads left.
I wanted those two to have all of them,
but first things first I guess.
You know the whole Femdom JOI video thing,
where a domme talks solo into a camera
making fun of your dick
and calls you a sissy cock sucker?
The whole “Brat Princess” video domme persona?
Sarah invented all that shit,
but no one gives her credit,
cause her kinda crazy hurts insecure dommes.
Sarah’s even better at edging dick in person
than she is through a video.
She can stroke
and pull my whole soul
into my dick,
giving me the bliss of wanting
with everything,
blocking out all the pain in the world for me,
eclipsing my my own ego and arrogance
and all those regrets I carry,
my selfish mistakes that make me alone.
When I truly want something
at a cellular level,
desire is all I feel
until she makes me blast cum on the crotch of her high cut leotard,
and pins me down until I lick it all up.
The trigger job I did
on that Smith and Wesson
made it pull like warm butter on a roll.
I’ve measured the weight.
It takes 2.3 lbs to pull it all the way.
I’ve trained gun fighting with velcro special forces assholes
long enough to know how to pull exactly 2.2 lbs
while I line up my last shot
in my minds eye
to put a hollow point through it’s center,
drooling around the barrel like a ball gag
edging my whole life
like Sarah edges my dick with silicone lube.
That kinda edge
is colder than the ice cream isle in the grocery store
when you’re wearing shorts
in the summer
and your sweat betrays you.
Bitter full body cold.
Another kind of bitter I like.
I felt the same icey edge 4 years ago
back when my mask of being a man
was successful and loved
on every level.
But all that love was for my beautiful mask
and I was scared to take it off.
No one was gonna love the woman underneath.
Just enough people told me that was true
to make me wanna live long enough to prove them wrong.
So I showed the world who Lucy Hart is.
I’m stubborn like that.
And I got weaknesses
but cowardice ain’t one.
It just sucks that so far they were right.
But,
as it turns out
Lucy is pretty fucking hard to kill.
I knew I was gonna pull that last 10th of pound
like I know gravity is real,
but this body is just trained to survive.
So Sarah’s gonna come out to Brooklyn
to fuck my ass on my birthday.
She’s actually on the ace spectrum,
and a great gift giver.
I needed a goal to live for
so I invited all my friends
and even 4 hot ex’s I still love
to run a train on me
in a dive bar in Bushwick.
I don’t know if that’s the best way
to blow my last loads,
but it’s Lucy’s way,
my way,
a little bitter,
and I like it.
