Lie down on your stomach Tommy," they say. "So we can talk to each other. And take your clothes off too."
I am in the middle of a desperate battle between two orifices of myself; my mouth and my bunghole, the former speaking for my mind, the latter for my heart.
I had thought over the eighteen years of my life that I had synthesized these, made them compatible and integrated. I apparently haven't.
I do as I'm told and lie inert, turning my head sideways on the pillow, a witness to their dialogue. My mouth speaks first.
"Look asshole, the poor dude just hasn't any sense."
"Watch your mouth, mouth! Call me by my proper name of Anus."
"Anus then if you choose to be so formal. Would you like a Mister in front of it?"
"That isn't necessary-you know I'm more cultured than you."
"How do you reach such a ridiculous conclusion as that?" my unsmiling mouth demands, irritation evident in his tone.
"Because I can feel things that you can't with all your educated ways and refined manners. I'm the one who takes it in, works it off and makes him a man, a happy man. All you do is get them ready."
"I've had a few in my time, don't make light of it. I can get them off as well as you."
"Bullshit and bubblegum!" my ass asserts, so loudly I'm afraid my parents will hear. "Your little blow jobs ain't nothing compared to what I can do."
"The boy has not even taught you to speak in the correct language, the queen's English," my mouth replies primly.
"Queen my own sweet ass honey! At least I know what it's all about."
"And what pray tell would that be?"
"It's what he likes sweetheart, taking it up the butt. Michael doesn't give him enough."
"But he likes other things too. He uses me to speak the elegant, glittering language he enjoys, the poetry of love, romance and faithfulness to the loved."
"And me to get the big dicks he loves as well as that."
I intercede at this point. "Look guys," I say, "You're both really important to me. I couldn't live without either one of you."
My mouth smarts off, "Yeah, when I'm eating a cheeseburger and someone asks me what I'm doing, I tell him I'm making turds. For you buddy!" he says to my derriere. I can practically feel him wincing.
With a tight pucker of his purse-string, my ass retorts, "It's a damn good thing you're so far away, I'd shoot you a fart for a remark like that if you were closer."
"Thank God we are divided, just like him," my mouth of its own volition says. "You're just jealous," he adds.
"There you go with the jealousy thing again. I've told you over and over there shouldn't be such a thing. It's only seven cc's of body fluid man-why get jealous over that?"
"I think you're wrong. Monogamy is a beautiful thing. You were born a whore and you'll die a whore!"
"I've seen you cruising some cute little numbers yourself from time to time, so don't give me any of that faithful, if you'll pardon the expression, shit."
Somewhat contritely, Mouth comes back, simpering, "Just because I'm on a diet, it doesn't mean I can't read the menu."
Again I try to interrupt. "I wish you two would stop quarreling. You're both completely dependent on the other, just as everyone else in there," Startled, I hear slight murmurings of approval from my other organs.
Anus quickly says, words tumbling out I feel between my legs, "Look Tommy, again, pardon the pun, but I wish you'd just butt out."
Mouth jumps in with, "He's right, this is between us- I'm trying to teach him about love of which he's completely ignorant, your animal nature. He is unable to seperate love from sex, making no distinction between the two as though they were interchangeable. I on the other hand am your human side, what distinguishes you from them. We've been having this same argument since you were thirteen and started tricking out. That was before you met Michael. Right Anus?"
"Exactly, but you know I'm not entirely responsible for what I do. This little guy in front of me ain't got no conscience at all sometimes."
"Possibly you're right about that. I should control him more," Mouth answers in a musing fashion.
I interject at this point, pride wounded, "Watch it with the adjectives about little." I hear a snicker from somewhere in front of me.
"Oh all right," they chorus, first one then the other.
The interminable argument continues unabated for a time, regarding my loyalty to my lover Michael.
At length, and, after much persuasion and extremely contortianate physical manipulation, (requiring an agility I had not previously realized I possessed), I managed to get them to kiss and make up.
After kissing my ass I've learned to love all those disparate parts of myself, making for the construction that I am.
James Medley lives what he describes as "sort of a gothic Tennessee Williams' sort of life" in Miami with his lover of thirty years and a boy named Chuckie. As of October 1990, two of his other short stories had recently been accepted, one by IN TOUCH and one by CHRISTOPHER STREET, and his first two novels were being read by St. Martin's Press and Amethyst. Trialogue, says James, came to him during an afternoon nap, and was thrown together in a couple hours.
For a copy of the issue that this story appeared in please use the on-line order form or email sott_backissue@unclemarkie.com
and ask for Volume 5, Number 2.
The cost is $5.00, plus $2.00 shipping and handling for each order.
| Return to top of story | Return to SOTT Home Page |
| Move onto other stories in this issue | Move onto other stories in this volume |
©1981-1998 Studio 403. All rights reserved.
For reproduction or retransmission rights, please email sott_rights@unclemarkie.com.