Jinsong

Date: Fri, 15 May 1994

From: dancer@cs.pdx.edu (Matthew Danzener)

To: wan9@midway.uchicago.edu (Jinsong)

Subject: Re: your last poem...

You probably don’t remember me; I wrote you a while ago asking you about a Yeats poem you quoted...

I just wanted to say how much I... umm... enjoyed your last poem. I was pretty stunned, actually. While I’ve been following your work for a while, and you’ve certainly had your high points and low points, I was really impressed with your honesty here.

I’m enclosing a copy below, just so you know which one I mean. I wrote you one in response — if you like, I’ll send it to you...

—Matthew

Confession

(You ask what I want.

I cannot tell you: Catholic upbringing, New England prudery,

a habit of silence combine to smother the words.

So write it, you say.)

I want everything, you see.

Men and women

indoors and out

top and bottom and sideways

to come screaming in a deserted forest

so that the only creatures startled are the deer.

More than a little bit of an exhibitionist.

Eyes watching

caressing

stripping away the layers

the flimsy chiffon covering of propriety

leaving me gloriously naked to a stranger’s fevered gaze.

I tease them shamelessly walking down the street

in cut–off jeans and minimal tank, hair swinging.

I make them wonder as they read my words

stare at the screen

touch themselves

(wonder if this is me; wonder if it is only a poem).

Riding the power trip

to its heights

(and I will taste the depths)

tied down so all I can do is strain against the black silk

blindfolded, so I don’t know whether you will lick a nipple next

spank me until I’m sore and screaming

begging for more.

I am not quite as brave as I would wish, but if I could

I would risk getting caught on the quads at night.

I would have two men at once, maybe three.

I would be fucked until I pass out.

I would have sex with someone without knowing whom it is.

I would do all the shameful things a good Catholic girl

should never, ever think of.

And I would tell you about it.

o0o

Date: Fri, 15 May 1994

From: wan9@midway.uchicago.edu (Jinsong)

To: dancer@cs.pdx.edu (Matthew Danzener)

Subject: Re: your last poem...

Thanks for writing, I’m glad you enjoyed it.

And sure, send me the one you wrote... I’m curious now. It’s been a very long time since anyone’s written me a poem.

—Jinsong

o0o

What... You don’t have lovers writing you poems daily? That’s hard to believe... If I were in Chicago, you’d get roses and poems on your doorstep every day.

Here’s the poem.

(Since you asked...)

Please

Please don’t be offended

if I also say something hard

hard to say

what’s on my mind

what’s on every

one’s mind

Please

meet me

in the dark

in a room

at midnight

or on the Sears Tower

observation deck

at noon

and we will

and I will

and you will

and then...

I can’t say it

because you might be offended

but it would have been

spectacular.

(What I wanted to say,

but don’t have the nerve,

was that I would

like

to

fuck you

to absolution...

But I am too shy to say this

to anyone I don’t know,

and also

to anyone I do know,

so I’m not saying it to you,

and it remains thought

but unsaid, and I hope

you remain

unoffended...)

—Matthew Danzener

o0o

I’m a little stunned. That’s certainly the best wanna fuck I’ve ever gotten. I might cry. I can’t really speak — and that’s impressive, stealing away a poet’s words.

Thank you.

—Jinsong

o0o

Hey, I really didn’t mean to make you cry.

I just wanted to give you something in return, after that seductive image of your bare thighs, and hair swinging loose against the small of your back.

I could almost taste the sweat collecting on the base of your neck, under all that gorgeous hair.

Sorry, you probably don’t even have long hair.

Ok, I admit it!

I’m insanely curious about whether you have long black hair. Or blue eyes. Or dry gold skin. Or wicked nails, to rake a lover’s back...

Are you a romantic?

I want to take you to the 95th Floor in Chicago for brunch, then walk along Wacker Drive and watch the sparkle on the river.

I want to take you to the beach at night and walk across the jagged rocks, somewhere we can see the city skyline, and kiss you till you’re dizzy and only my arms keep you from falling.

I want to take you.

At least you don’t sound offended... Yet(?)

—Matthew

o0o

I’m not offended. Flattered, really — I’ve had a hard couple of weeks — just broke up with my boyfriend, after an angstful relationship over the last year, and it’s nice to get some attention.

And yes, I’m a romantic. An utter, hopeless romantic. But I hate mush and sticky sentiment. Can you walk that line?

I’m demanding in my lovers. I want sweetness and sexiness, strength and vulnerability. I want a woman who can make me come just by spanking me, and a man who trembles when I kiss the small of his back. And the reverse, of course. I want utter honesty... but I admit that I play games sometimes. And compliments embarrass me. And I’m sometimes more brave than wise.

So a description — I’m small, slightly plump. Straight black hair, pale skin that oddly doesn’t seem to burn. Green eyes... my mother is gorgeous, but that’s unfortunately the only feature I seem to have gotten from her. I’m really my father’s daughter. He’s a professor in Near Eastern Studies here at U Chicago. Where are you, anyway? And what do you look like?

Who are you?

—Jinsong

o0o

I’m sorry about your boyfriend... at least, I’m sorry you’re sad…but honestly, you sound beautiful! And your openness and honesty makes you so very appealing. It’s hard to believe you’re so far away. If you were here... or I was there...

As for me... skinny, strong, not too tall, scraggly brown hair with a winter–only beard, blue eyes, semi–introverted, but with a charming smile.

I’m in Pennsylvania... but I spent a summer in Chicago once. And would like to go back again. Maybe this summer?

Promise not to be offended if I tell you what I really want?

—Matthew

o0o

No promises. Be brave.

—Jinsong

o0o

I’d like to pick you up

pick you up

at your place

in my rental car

you’ve been sad

So I hug you tight

steal a quick kiss

and here’s a rose

we’ll go out

to dinner

we’ll go to your favorite spot

and have a glass of wine

we’ll get wine–happy together

laughing and talking

the waiter has to come back

we forgot to look at the menus

then under the table

I rub the back

of your hand with mine

and then off

onto your thigh

with my nervous hand

I hope you don’t mind.

I am becoming intoxicated

with your presence.

So many thoughts I have

you and I

this way and that,

here and there

but I can’t tell you

these thoughts

they aren’t decent.

You smile at me

at my awkward boyish attempts

After dinner

I want to take you

to a movie

we can walk from here

it’s close

hand in hand

I lust for your touch

in everyway

We’ll sit in the back row

(because this is my fantasy)

no one joins us

and in the darkness

my arm around your shoulder

I kiss you

and take your hand

slowly

onto my leg

and you rub my thigh

gently up and down

higher next time

and then higher still

and my intoxication

of you

reaches new heights

I am so drunk

on you

that nothing else matters

and your hand brushes against

my crotch

and the world disappears

and only you and I exist

for the moment

and I kiss you on the forehead

and moan softly in your ear

to show you

how much

how so very much

and you smile at me again

in the movie sound, soft–lit

theatre darkness

and you rub more firmly now

you are pleased

my spare hand has found your breast

under your jacket

and I caress gently first

until I feel the nipple

rising up peakedly

and I focus more on it

as you work your magic on me.

No one is near us

in this back row

so you move deftly

in a defiance of all that

is proper

and you unzip my pants

and reach in

and it is all I can do now

to control myself

to not scream out

at the pleasure

that’s mine

that you are giving

with your hand as

my cock spasms in your grasp

with a throbbing aching need,

in a way I can only remember

it doing when I was

in my teens and

every girl was

wickedly unavailable.

I move my breast hand down

down across your uncharted mids

to your netherworld

to your sacredness

to your promised land

of milk and honey

to your zippered crotch

and you spread

just a bit

for my hand to penetrate

to your jeans covered warmth

your covered secrets

and I rub you

gently first

until you press against my hand

and squeeze my cock pulsingly

as if to signal your approval

(since this is my fantasy)

you look around

furtively

and there is no one else

seated nearby

it’s a darkish movie

so you slide quietly

down to the floor

on your knees facing

and over in front of me

you are small

you barely fit

but a certain duty

calls

and you honor it

as you take my throbbing hardness

in your mouth

your warm wet mouth

your delicate lipped

eager, inquisitive mouth

and you tease me

with your slowness

as I want impatiently

to give you everything

to give up my reality

in exchange for this moment

this surreal moment

when nothing matters

except this act

this strange act of sex

of love, of total selfless giving

of yourself

to my need

And you suck me

succinctly

exquisitely

hungrily

up and down...

o0o

I have so many more fantasies, but I am afraid. Afraid of letting go, afraid of being the real me, and offending you with the real me, instead of this facade that I march behind in my normal daily life. No one else who knows me would think that I wrote the above.

Can I come see you this summer? School will be over in a few weeks and plane tickets aren’t that expensive.

—Matthew

o0o

I’m blushing, and crying, and excited all at once. The crotch of my jeans is uncomfortably tight, and the person sitting next to me just glanced at the screen, and glanced quickly away.

To have a stranger offer all this... is exciting. And frightening. But even more exciting, I think.

If you wouldn’t mind my roommate and her boyfriend coming along at first (we can always ditch them later)... then yes. YES.

Come to Chicago. Come touch me, come taste me, buy me roses and don’t be upset if they fall in the street while I’m kissing you. Let me shred your clothing, and your back — I will sharpen my nails and paint them gold for you.

I’ve been so very lonely.

—Jinsong

o0o

I want to ask you to promise something... but I won’t. You don’t seem to like promises.

Instead, I’ll tell you what I hope.

I hope that I am who you think I am... and you are who I think you are.

I hope that we like each other... that we become friends.

I hope that the summer heat will help us drop inhibitions.

I hope that we have sex on the quads.

I hope you like the way I taste.

and...

I even hope that maybe this might last a little longer than a summer fling. That maybe you could learn to care for me. I think I’m already learning to care for you. (enough. I’m afraid I’ve already gotten too sentimental for your tastes. I’m afraid.)

I bought the tickets today. I’ll be there in two weeks.

—Matthew

o0o

Oh, I don’t know how to say this. Once again, Matthew, I’m without words.

I’m sorry. What an empty, useless phrase. However true it may be.

My boyfriend and I got back together last night. Whether this is wise, I don’t know... but I do know that now it would be impossible for me to see you. Or to touch you. Honestly, I didn’t even want to write this... funny how much cowardice hides inside.

You’re a sweet, wonderful guy. I’m sure if you keep looking, you’ll find somebody less fucked–up than I am.

Thank you for holding me up when I was drowning.

Don’t write back, please.

—Jinsong