Jack Henry

Hollywood nights

i look up at him,
close my eyes.
images dance through
grey folds in my skull.
rhythmic movements
lull me into false serenity.
i wrap myself around him,
patience winnowing as time
continues to creep along.

soon i will let loose 
again, upon streets wet 
with tears and rain. 
another soul loiters
in the dark narrows of
sudden expectation.

humanity no longer
coils through my blood,
my eyes dead black.
i vanish further into
fiction with each step i take.

one night in Palm Springs

i lightly drift across the threshold
of a lover’s dark secret
into a temple
poised to worship
the flesh

questions asked and answered
no lingering
nothing but desire
on the tip
of my tongue

i tremble in excitement
as i disrobe
in the parlor
angels are sighing
events start out slow

warm summer night
out in the desert,
a courtyard
fills with
delicate men

naked and lounging
i make my first contact
his taste exquisite
i swallow it all

no need for small talk invitations
eyes make all transaction
i follow
to the throne

his tongue
tastes like another
i follow his lead softly
we sit in a gazebo
i kiss my way down

we progress from oh baby
to deep penetration
i ride his ambition
and collapse at the end

several more cowboys
line up for inspection
so many riders
waiting in line

just before dawn
one last cowboy
at the disco
discovers my passion
with a slow
bump and grind

the alarm screams out
a warning
i breathe in fresh daylight
and i pull on my pants

trick and/or treat

i dress feminine
on a dare
for a neighborhood
Halloween party
where everyone tried
to keep up
with everyone else

the mirror suggests
i look good
i am passable
as the night goes on
as the drinks begin to hit
certain eyes think i look good
as well

it’s not quite drag
a little more subdued
naughty nurse
w/a bulge
no one can see
under a tight skirt
slender & fit
long legs, high heels
& a perfect round ass

he asks me to dance
he presses close
he breathes in my perfume
he holds the small of my back
he leads and I
he brings me drinks
he sits close
he whispers something
he takes my hand
he leads me to a corner where he kisses me

my hands slide down his chest
slip past the elastic of his scrubs
he’s dressed as a surgeon or something
we kiss hard, his taste delicious

there’s some privacy behind
the garage, next to the trashcans
where i really do taste him
and not just from kissing

when he offers me his phone number
i sigh and whisper,

i’m not the kind of girl
you take home to meet mom


Jack Henry is a queer writer based in the high desert of SE California. he has been recently published at Pink Litter, Horror Sleaze Trash, Ariel Chart, and others. In 2021, PUNK HOSTAGE PRESS published “driving w/crazy.”

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